#Power Automate string

[th3mrskory]

Unspoken Desires

Pairing: fem!Reader x Old Man!Logan

Warning: 18+ MDNI, SMUT,explicit language, coercion (if you squint), oral (male/female receiving), handjob, fingering, unprotected p in v, missionary, doggy style, anal play, creampie.

Summary: Y/N is always the one taking care of everyone, but tonight Logan decides it’s her turn to let go. Rough, tender, and unapologetically intense, he’ll make sure she doesn’t forget who’s in charge—or how good it feels to be taken care of for once.

Word count: 5.6k

A/N: As @coocoocachewgotscrewed so brilliantly put it, 'As the girl that takes care of everyone: SOMEONE TAKE CARE OF ME.' And that’s how this little fic came to life.

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The world had never been kind to her softness. In her youth, she'd learned early that the only way to survive was to take up space, to become a force others couldn't ignore, even if they didn't understand it. She had built walls from the ground up, stone by stone until they formed a fortress no one could breach. She had everything together—mostly. She had to. People depended on her and needed her strength to carry them through the chaos of life, so she did. She carried it all. Always.

But there were moments—quiet moments, when the world was still—when the weight of it all pressed against her chest, relentless. The loneliness in her veins. The unspoken ache buried deep within her ribs.

She never asked for help. She didn't need it. Her hands were too used to giving. And when she laughed, when she made jokes about being single—"Men want to be babied. I don't have time to raise a child."—it was easier to mask the truth. It was easier to hide the hunger that lingered beneath her words. The hunger for something she couldn't name, something too soft to fit into the life she'd built.

It was supposed to be just another day, another task, another moment in the long string of motions she went through without thought. But then she saw him—Logan, standing there with that quiet, raw strength of his. The way he didn't try to impress anyone, didn't need to, because the power in him was as much in his silence as it was in his actions. There was no pretense. No façade.

And she hated that it drew her in. 

She hated how much she wanted him—him, the one man who wouldn't cower in her presence, the one who wouldn't need her to be anything other than exactly what she was.

She noticed him more these days, more than she cared to admit. She tried to bury the thoughts, to ignore the way her heart would quicken whenever he was near, the way her body seemed to ache for something it didn't know how to name.

Logan saw it, though. He always did. The way she wore that strength-like armor. But he'd spent enough time with it to know what armor looked like—he knew what it meant to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders and never let anyone see how heavy it was.

He didn't pity her. Hell, he admired her more than anyone he'd ever known. But he saw the cracks. The storm churned behind her eyes. The way she pulled away just when things might have gotten too real, too close. 

She never let anyone in.

But he wasn't afraid of it. Not of her. Not of that ferocity.

And so, on that night, after a thousand little things had piled up until there was no room left for her to breathe, it came out.

Her words were sharp, and cutting, but they were the truth. The raw, jagged truth that she never allowed to be spoken. She was tired of pretending. Tired of holding the world together when no one saw her crumble beneath it.

"What, you think I don't need help? You think I like doing everything myself?" Her voice trembled only slightly, a crack in the fortress that she had so carefully built.

He didn't flinch. Didn't back away. He'd seen that wall before, and he didn't fear it.

He only stepped closer, his presence as solid as the ground beneath them.

"I think you're too damn stubborn to ask for it," he said, his voice low, but the understanding in it was enough to make her heart catch in her throat.

For a moment, the world paused. The storm inside her stilled, and she saw it—really saw it for the first time. He wasn't afraid of her strength. He didn't want to tear it down. He just wanted to be there, beside her, when it all became too much to bear.

He didn't need to fix her. He didn't need to save her.

He just needed to let her be.

Let her lean into him. Let her rest.

Her breath caught as she stepped toward him, her hands trembling, unsure but desperate. For once, she wasn't the one giving. For once, she could be held, could be taken care of. 

Logan's hands were steady, as they always were, but now, they weren't just offering strength. They were offering safety—something she hadn't realized she'd been searching for all along. 

"Hey," he whispered, his voice low, soothing. "You don't have to be strong all the time. You're allowed to let it out." 

The words broke something inside her. Heat prickled behind her eyes, and her chest heaved with the weight of everything she'd kept buried. 

Logan didn't move. He didn't push. He just let her cry, his hand resting firm and comforting on her back, his presence solid as the ground beneath her. 

"Y/N..." His voice was softer now, laced with something she couldn't quite place. Gently, his hands cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears with a tenderness that made her knees weak. 

"You don't have to carry it all, bub. Let me in, just this once." 

Her hands shook as she pressed them to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Grounding her. And when she rubbed her cheek against his palm, the motion instinctive, something inside her gave way. 

Her eyes fell to his lips. The urge to kiss him became impossible to ignore. 

He leaned down, brushing his lips against her forehead, but then he paused, his gaze locking with hers. 

She couldn't stop herself. She leaned in, kissing him hard, desperate for the release, the comfort, the closeness. It was a kiss that broke everything wide open—a kiss that held the weight of everything they'd both been holding back. 

The kiss deepened, the world narrowing to the warmth of his lips and the solid strength of his hands still cradling her face. She felt the tension in her chest unravel, replaced by a need that clawed at her, desperate and all-consuming.

Logan didn't rush. He never did. His hands slid down, slow and deliberate, tracing over her arms until his fingers wrapped around her wrists. He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his breath hot against her lips.

"No walls. No fightin'. Just let me.", he murmured, his voice gravelly and sure, sending a shiver down her spine. The words hit her like a hammer, shattering the last of her defenses. She wasn't used to this, wasn't used to handing over the reins, but with Logan, it felt...safe. Right.

Her pulse thundered as she nodded, the tiniest of movements, but it was enough for him.

Logan's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile before he kissed her again, deeper this time, his hands guiding hers up and over her head. Her fingers curled instinctively as he pinned her wrists against the wall behind her, the roughness of the surface contrasting with the gentleness of his touch.

"Just let me make you feel good," he said, his voice low and commanding. She exhaled shakily, her head tilting back as his mouth moved to her neck, teeth scraping lightly against her skin before his tongue soothed the spot. Her body arched into him, her hips pressing forward, seeking more, needing more.

"Logan..." Her voice was barely above a whisper, a plea wrapped in the sound of his name.

He hummed against her throat, one hand still holding her wrists in place while the other traveled down her side, his fingers skimming over the curve of her hip. "That's it," he rumbled. "Let me hear you."

Each touch, each kiss, stripped away the layers she'd built to protect herself. She wasn't in control anymore—not of her body, not of her mind, not of the way she melted beneath him. And for once, she didn't care.

Logan moved with a precision that left her breathless, his hand slipping beneath her shirt, rough fingertips tracing the softness of her skin. He paused just below her ribs, his eyes flicking up to hers.

"Say it, darlin'," he coaxed. "Say you'll let me have you."

Her lips parted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. "I'm yours."

And that was all it took.

His hands, calloused and strong, gripped her thighs, hoisting her up with an ease that sent a shiver racing down her spine. She gasped, clinging to his shoulders as her body pressed tightly against his.

"Where's your bedroom?" he growled against her ear, his voice low, gravelly, and filled with the kind of raw command that made her knees weak, though she wasn't even standing.

"End of the hall," she whispered, the words trembling out of her as his teeth grazed her earlobe, a low hum rumbling deep in his chest.

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise almost too rough to feel soft, and yet it sent heat pooling low in her stomach.

He moved through her place with purposeful strides, each step a reminder of the strength coiled in his body. She felt the steady rhythm of his breathing against her chest, the way his arms tightened around her as if he dared anything or anyone to take her from him.

When they reached her bedroom, Logan kicked the door open without hesitation, the force behind it making it swing back against the wall. The dim light from the hallway framed his silhouette—broad shoulders, wild hair, and eyes that burned as he looked down at her.

The room felt smaller with him in it, his presence overwhelming, and consuming. He didn't glance around, didn't make a single remark. His focus was entirely on her as if the world beyond her didn't exist.

"On the bed," he rasped, his voice cutting through the thick silence.

Before she could even process his words, he was lowering her onto the mattress, her back meeting the cool sheets as his hands lingered, pressing her down as he needed her to stay right where she was.

"Logan—"

"Quiet." The single word was sharp and commanding, and it sent a jolt of heat through her.

His eyes roved over her, dark and smoldering, drinking her in as though he was committing every inch of her to memory. One knee pressed into the mattress beside her, his weight shifting as he leaned closer, his hands bracketing her head.

"Spent your whole damn life holdin' everything together," he muttered his tone a mix of frustration and something darker. "Not tonight. Tonight, you're mine."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out, just a sharp intake of breath as he tilted her chin up with his thumb, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"I'm not askin', darlin'." His voice dropped to a growl, sending a shudder down her spine.

Her heart thundered in her chest as his lips claimed hers again, rough and unrelenting, his teeth nipping at her bottom lip just enough to make her gasp. The sound made his grip tighten, his hands sliding down her sides slowly as if savoring the way her body responded to him.

"You don't have to be strong tonight," he murmured against her lips, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. "Let me carry it. Let me carry you."

Her resolve cracked beneath the weight of his words, her body trembling as her hands found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. For once, she didn't fight. She didn't resist.

She just let go.

Logan's eyes never left hers as he straightened, standing tall above her. His hands were steady as he reached for the hem of her shirt. The air between them felt charged, and heavy, like the moment before a storm.

"Arms up," he commanded, his voice low and rough, leaving no room for hesitation.

She obeyed without a word, raising her arms as he gripped the fabric, his knuckles brushing against her sides. He pulled the shirt up slowly, dragging the material over her skin with a sensuality that made her shiver. The shirt caught for a moment, tangled in her hair, and Logan let out a low chuckle, dark and throaty.

"Relax," he muttered, his voice softer now as he freed her, his fingers lingering against her temple, brushing stray strands away from her face.

The shirt dropped to the floor with a quiet rustle, forgotten the second it left his hand. His gaze roamed over her now-bare skin, unhurried and scorching, like he wanted to memorize every curve, every scar, every inch of her that she'd never let anyone else see.

"You're beautiful," he said, the words rough and quiet as if they weren't meant for her to hear, but they landed with the force of a confession.

Her cheeks burned under his scrutiny, but there was no hiding from him. He stepped closer, his hands moving to the waistband of her jeans. His fingers brushed her skin, calloused and warm, and she bit back a gasp as he popped the button with ease.

"Look at me," he ordered, his tone low but firm.

Her eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made her breath hitch. He was utterly focused as if she were the only thing that mattered in the world. Slowly, he slid the zipper down, the sound loud in the quiet room.

"Lift your hips," he murmured, his hands curling around the waistband, tugging the denim down with maddening slowness.

She shifted, doing as he asked, and he peeled the jeans away, dragging them down her legs. His fingers brushed her calves, and her ankles before the fabric joined her shirt on the floor. The air felt colder now, her skin hypersensitive to every little movement, every little touch.

Logan's eyes raked over her, his expression dark and unreadable. Then he reached out, his hands gripping her ankles, his thumbs running along the delicate bone there. He tugged her toward him, pulling her to the edge of the bed with a strength that made her stomach flip.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growled, his voice ragged, laced with something almost feral.

Her heart raced as he leaned down, his fingers hooking into the thin straps of her bra, sliding them off her shoulders with an aching slowness. The straps fell away, his knuckles grazing her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"You don't need this," he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of her collarbone as he reached behind her, unhooking the clasp with a practiced ease.

The bra slipped from her body, and Logan let it fall without a glance, his hands already returning to her, tracing a path down her sides. His palms were warm, rough in the best way, and they left trails of fire wherever they touched.

"Every inch of you," he whispered, his lips ghosting over her skin as his hands slid lower. "Mine."

Her breath hitched, her body arching toward him instinctively, surrendering completely to his touch.

Logan's hands paused at her hips, his fingers slipping under the thin elastic of her panties. His gaze flicked up to hers, holding her there with an intensity that made her pulse thunder in her ears.

She nodded, her voice failing her, but it didn't matter. Logan saw everything he needed in her eyes.

With one smooth motion, he slid the last barrier from her body, baring her completely to him. He stood there for a moment, his gaze raking over her with a hunger that made her shiver.

"Perfect," he muttered, more to himself than to her, before leaning down, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Now let me show you what it means to let go."

Logan knelt between her legs, his hands on her knees, gently parting them as he moved with calm, deliberate intent. She froze for a second, a wave of embarrassment washing over her as she realized she hadn't shaved. Her gaze quickly flicked away, her cheeks flushing with the sudden vulnerability she felt.

But Logan noticed. He looked at her with a reassuring, almost amused smirk, his eyes flickering down her body before meeting hers again.

"Don't," he murmured, his voice low and soothing as he pressed a thumb along her inner thigh. "I like it just like this."

Her breath hitched at his words, the tension in her body slowly melting under his touch.

He lowered himself slowly, nuzzling his face against her inner thighs, placing soft, teasing kisses along their expanse. His right hand moved to her center, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her sensitive bud. His middle and ring fingers slid over her hole, collecting her wetness, and spreading it across her labia.

"She's drooling for me," he murmured as his fingers slowly began to push inside, allowing her to adjust to the stretch. He kept his gaze fixed on her face, watching her pleasure as his fingers began to pump in and out, each movement deliberate and slow.

His fingers continued their rhythmic motion, working in tandem with his mouth. He moved his tongue over her clit, the tip flicking over the sensitive skin in a slow, teasing rhythm that made her body arch toward him. Her hands fisted the sheets beneath her, desperately trying to hold onto something as the heat of his touch seared into her.

"Logan... please," she gasped, her voice trembling, her hips pressing closer to his face.

Logan didn't stop. His tongue flicked faster now, tracing every curve, every inch of her, his mouth drinking in her arousal. She couldn't stop herself anymore; her back arched as her body responded to him, the tension building within her like a wave. "So good," she moaned, her voice breathy and desperate.

"You're so fucking beautiful," Logan murmured against her skin, his voice rough, thick with desire. He paused for a moment, lifting his head to look up at her. "I can feel you shaking. Let go."

She shuddered under his gaze, the command in his voice stripping away the last of her resistance. Her body wanted to obey, to give herself over completely to the sensations he was creating. "I can't... I need you, Logan," she pleaded, tangling her fingers in his hair, urging him back to her, wordlessly begging for more.

Logan smirked, his hands sliding down her sides, gripping her hips tightly as he pulled her closer to his mouth, continuing the rhythm with even more force, more hunger. Every lick, every flick of his tongue brought her closer to the edge.

He could feel the way her body tightened, the way her breath quickened. And then, without warning, his mouth pressed harder against her clit, his tongue moving with desperate speed as he drove her to the brink. She moaned loudly, her body shuddering as she reached the edge. "Logan... oh god," she cried out, completely surrendering to the pleasure.

As she caught her breath, her body still humming with the lingering sensation of his touch, a quiet yearning stirred within her. She sat up, her eyes locking onto his as she gently took his hand. Without a word, she brought his fingers to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. She traced them with her tongue, sucking them clean, savoring the taste of her arousal, before pulling back just a little.

"Dirty girl…" he said, his left hand cupping her cheek.

"I could be sucking something else", she said seductively.

He looked at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "You don't have to," he murmured, his voice low, steady.

"I want to. Please."

Logan stood up slowly, keeping his eyes locked with hers. There was an intensity in his gaze, an unspoken challenge, and a silent invitation all at once.

She positioned herself on her knees before him. Her movements were deliberate, almost hypnotic, as her hands traced the strong lines of his shoulders, sliding down his chest, and over the hard muscles of his belly.

When her fingers reached his belt, she didn't hesitate. With a swift motion, she unbuckled it, the leather slipping free with an audible click before it fell to the floor. Her hands moved quickly to the button of his dress pants, flicking it open, and she slowly lowered the zipper.

She tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling it free from his waistband. Her fingers, delicate yet determined, began to unbutton the shirt, one button at a time. Her gaze never left him, and the way her hands worked with such slow precision sent a wave of heat through his chest. The act was intimate, each button a whispered invitation.

Once the shirt was undone, she moved to the cuffs, gently opening them before pressing a soft kiss to the back of each of his hands. Logan closed his eyes briefly at the touch, the tenderness of it catching him off guard. His thumb stroked the curve of her cheek, the touch affectionate, reverent.

There was something magnetic about the way she undressed him—each movement slow and filled with purpose. Her eyes held a quiet hunger that mirrored his own, a silent language between them that made his pulse quicken.

He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall carelessly to the floor. She didn't waste a moment, pulling his pants and boxers down his legs in one smooth, fluid motion, letting them drop to the floor as he stepped out of the garment.

He stood there, bare in front of her. His body was exposed, but it wasn't the nudity that left him feeling vulnerable. It was the way his body didn't respond like it once had, the slow burn of frustration creeping in.

But that did not deter her. She braced herself on all fours, the movement full of quiet confidence. Leaning in, she began licking and gently sucking at his balls, the heat of her mouth sending a shiver through him. His breath hitched as her right hand took hold of his semi-hard dick, her touch light but teasing, coaxing him to respond. The softness of her lips, the pressure of her hand, stirred something deep inside him, and he could feel himself slowly hardening.

She licked a long stripe from his balls up to his tip, her mouth hot against his skin. The sudden surge of sensation had him grunting low, his hands instinctively finding their way into her hair, fingers curling into her locks as he pulled her closer.

"Fuck," Logan breathed, his voice low and rough, as his grip tightened on her hair, pulling her in deeper, the feeling of her mouth sending waves of heat through him. "Don't stop," he muttered.

Y/N could feel him growing heavier and thick in her mouth. She released his dick with a loud pop and with both hands began pumping it.

At the sight Logan closed his eyes and let his head fall back, the hold on her hair tightening. She took him in her mouth and, hollowing her cheeks, began taking him deeper.

She gagged around him when her nose reached the grey hairs on the base and pulled back coughing, a string of saliva connecting her to his member.

Y/N looked up and smiled mischievously seeing him fully erect.

Logan pushed her onto the bed, his hands firmly pinning her wrists to the mattress as he hovered over her. His eyes locked onto hers.

"You're trouble," he finally muttered, his voice deep and rough.

She smirked, but there was a glint of challenge in her eyes. "You don't seem to mind," she teased, her breath hitching as his gaze darkened with hunger.

His lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. Without warning, he moved, pinning her down more securely. "No, I don't," he growled, his voice low as he leaned in closer, brushing his lips over her neck.

Her breath quickened as she felt the weight of his body pressing against hers. She could feel the heat radiating off him, and despite herself, she arched up, meeting the intensity of his gaze. He was in control now, his hands steady as he guided her into place.

He took a breath, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "You're going to beg for it," he whispered. His tone was rough, yet there was a subtle edge of something softer, almost possessive. "And I'll make sure you don't forget who's in charge."

She bit her lip, anticipating what he would do next.

Logan smiled darkly and kissed her again, his right hand traveling down her chest and grabbing her right breast, giving it a harsh squeeze.

He positioned himself between her legs, gripping his member at the base as he ran his tip along her sensitive center, teasing her with deliberate strokes from her clit to her entrance. Each motion made her hips twitch, her body responding instinctively to his touch.

Her moans filled the room, "Logan," she said breathlessly.

"Yes?"

She closed her legs around him pulling him closer. Logan laughed at her antics. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned back slightly, gathering spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto her, aiding his movement.

Her moans became desperate, almost broken, her hands clutching at his forearms. "Logan," she whimpered, her voice raw with need. "Please… I need you."

His smirk deepened as he held her gaze, the intensity in his eyes making her squirm beneath him. "I told you, you'd beg" he murmured, his voice low and rough.

Her chest heaved, her lips trembling with the words she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm yours, Logan. Please…"

One large hand moved to her throat, his palm pressing gently against her skin, holding her in place. His thumb traced the line of her jaw as his other hand gripped her thigh, pulling her even closer. "Mine," he growled, his tone possessive, claiming.

The pressure at her throat made her head swim, a strange mix of restraint and trust that sent a bolt of heat through her. She arched into his hold, her body surrendering completely.

"You like this, don't you?" he rasped, his lips brushing against hers but not quite touching. His voice was low and commanding, but there was a glint of something softer beneath it, a promise just out of reach.

Her breath hitched, and she let out a shaky moan, her hands clutching at his wrist. "Yes," she whispered, desperate and trembling.

His mouth curved into a wicked smirk as his hand shifted, loosening his hold just enough for her to feel the contrast. "Let me take care of you," he murmured, dragging his thumb along the curve of her jaw.

The words lingered in the air, heavy with intent but unspoken in full. His free hand slid down her body, fingers tracing her curves with a deliberateness that made her skin tingle.

She whimpered, her body responding to every calculated movement. "Logan..."

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over her ear. "Stop thinking. Just feel," he whispered, the edge of his voice rough yet grounding. "That's all I want from you tonight."

He shifted between her legs, his hands gripping her hips, lifting her with ease as he positioned himself. The heat of his body pressed against hers, and her heart thudded in her chest, anticipation coiling tightly in her core.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmured, his voice a rough whisper.

She nodded, her breath hitching as she felt the tip of his member pressing against her entrance. With a slow, fluid motion, he eased himself inside, feeling the resistance of her body disappearing.

Y/N threw her head back, a low moan slipping from her lips as her body adjusted to his length, "Fuck," she breathed, unable to hide the raw need in her voice.

She bit her lip at the feeling of him twitching inside of her. Logan leaned forward, his tongue sliding down the side of her neck. He then moved to her breasts, attaching his mouth to one of her nipples and sucking. He released her nipple.

"Breathe," he whispered, his hand sliding up to rest on her waist, grounding her. "I've got you."

He straightened up, his body towering over hers, and braced his hand on the headboard as he drew his hips back, the feel of his withdrawal sending a shiver through her. She barely had time to adjust before he slammed back into her.

She was trembling beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she tried to keep up with the brutal rhythm he set. Every time he pulled out, every time he pushed back in, the pressure inside her built, and she couldn't help but whimper.

He picked up the pace, his thrusts turning faster, more brutal, as he pushed into her with a hunger that matched the fire in her veins. Her hips moved to meet him, desperate for more, and he responded with a growl of approval, his hands tightening on her hips to anchor her in place as his rhythm grew harder, more punishing.

"Fuck Y/N."

She smiled at him.

"You like that, don't you?" Logan's voice was rough, and dark, as he pulled back slightly, only to push in even harder.

She couldn't stop herself from moaning, the sharpness of the sensation hitting her in waves.

"That's right," Logan growled, his grip on her hips like iron as he rocked into her with force.

Her body responded without thought, her legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, faster as if she couldn't get enough. The sound of skin slapping echoed in the room, mixing with the desperate gasps coming from her lips.

Without warning, he shifted his position, his hands leaving her hips for a moment, only to slip under her and lift her body, pulling her into a new angle. She gasped, the sudden shift throwing her off balance, but Logan's grip on her was firm, and controlling, as he guided her back onto him.

Her back arched instinctively, the new position deepening their connection, and she moaned, her hands reaching for the headboard to brace herself. Logan's thrusts grew slower but deeper, more deliberate now, aimed to bring her right to the brink.

Logan's hand came down hard on her left asscheek jolting Y/N forward.

"Logan…" she gasped, her voice trembling with need.

He could hear it—the desperation in her voice, the way her body was bucking against his. He watched her face, her eyes closed tight, her lips parted in a silent plea for release. He wanted to hear her, wanted to feel her break under him.

He gave one last hard, deep thrust, then paused, letting the sensation build before pulling back almost completely. She whimpered, the loss of movement driving her crazy, and before she could protest, he repositioned again, this time bending her further back, his hands now holding her shoulders down as he ran his member between her asscheeks.

Her breath hitched as she looked back at him, over her shoulder, her eyes filled with raw desire.

Logan didn't wait any longer. He positioned himself behind her, his hands firmly gripping her hips as he pushed into her slowly at first, savoring the tight, intense heat that engulfed him. The change in angle sent a shockwave of pleasure through her, and she moaned, her hands clutching at the sheets in desperation.

"Fuck," Logan muttered, his voice low and full of grit as he began to move, his thrusts quick and forceful, each one pushing her further into the bed.

She gasped with each hard thrust, the pleasure taking over her senses, her body rocking in time with his. The deeper connection from this position sent waves of bliss coursing through her, and she pressed back into him, her hips meeting his with every thrust.

"Does this feel better?" Logan growled, his hands tightening on her hips, guiding her with raw intensity.

She could barely manage a breathless, "Yes, harder…"

His thrusts grew harder, faster, and relentless, pushing her toward the edge.

She couldn't hold back anymore, "Logan …I'm gonna…"

His strokes grew sloppier as he grabbed her neck, angling her face so he could kiss her.

Y/N's moans filled the room. The mixture of his hard thrusts and the slap of his balls on her ass pushed her over the edge as she began shaking.

Y/N fell forward, her face on the bed and her ass in the air. Logan didn't stop. His hands opened her asscheeks as he watched his thick, veiny member going in and out of her hole, creating a creamy ring at the base of his member.

The new angle allowed Logan to continuously hit her cervix. "Be a good girl, come on my dick."

Her hands fisted the sheets and Logan, with his thumb began circling her other hole. The new stimulation tipped Y/N over the edge as she came hard on his member.

Logan didn't stop. Didn't even slow down as he followed her, his movements like a force of nature, unyielding, as he pushed her through the waves of pleasure, every last inch of her shaking with the force of it.

Her mouth fell open as she felt him stilling and his release spilling inside of her.

"Fuck!", he said, throwing his head back.

He remained still for a moment but then pulled out when he felt his member softening. He sat on his knees admiring their joint releases dripping out of her spent hole.

"Jesus, that's a fucking sight.", his index finger reached collecting the release and pushing it back.

Y/N moaned and fell on her stomach. He removed his fingers and lay next to her.

"Did it help?", he asked playfully.

"Shut up Logan."

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© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[lazeecomet]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NOBODY in the field like this.

But Daddy Microsoft comes to the rescue

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

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

this gave me an idea

and i checked

and Power Automate had hooks for KQL

KLogs is actually short for Kusto Logs

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it saved THOSE logs to SharePoint the same way as before

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[thewickedjazzy]

⌞𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰⌝

Part I : 𝙒𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙉𝙖𝙧𝙘𝙞𝙨𝙨𝙪𝙨

Pairings: Chuuya x mafia boss fem!reader

Warnings: angst, fluff, mention of death, mention of other dimensions (could trigger derealization), please let me know if I forgot any Xx.

Author's note: Hey fellas!! Hope you enjoy my story ahead. Note: It consists of 3 parts. I've been toying with the idea of this story for a while now and honestly I am very satisfied with how it turned out!!

P.s: it's written in a 3rd person perspective.

Word count: 5.7k

In the deepest recesses of the human heart, there exists a haunting paradox: the insatiable thirst for power clashes with the equally profound yearning for connection. These two opposing forces, entwined yet in constant conflict, shaped the existence of a mafia boss who ruled Yokohama's shadowed underworld. Her life was a testament to this struggle—a legacy of power forged in the crucible of blood and betrayal, passed down as both a gift and a curse. Power was her birthright, a mantle she wore with unyielding resolve, yet its weight was a burden she bore in solitude, isolated by the very force that defined her.

At her side, Chuuya Nakahara stood as her most loyal confidant, a kindred spirit shaped by his own battles and scars. In the murky depths of their world, where loyalty was a currency as rare as it was valuable, their bond was forged in the fires of mutual understanding. Yet even with Chuuya's unwavering support, she knew that true power came at a steep price—a cost paid in loneliness and the silent suffering that accompanied her every decision. The shadow of her legacy loomed large, casting its darkness over every connection she sought to make until all that remained was the cold, unyielding pursuit of control.

Chuuya understood this truth with a clarity that bordered on despair. His unwavering loyalty was not merely a matter of duty; it was rooted in a deep, unspoken love that lay buried within the shadows of his heart. This love, a secret he guarded fiercely, was both his greatest strength and his inevitable downfall—a double-edged sword that he could never wield openly.

She, the one who controlled the very fabric of the underworld with her formidable ability, the "Malevolent Marionette," held the power to command not just armies, but the delicate balance between life and death itself. With a mere thought, she could pull the strings of fate, bending the wills of others to her own, yet this power, so absolute in its reach, left her isolated in a world where love was both a weakness and a danger. Chuuya, in his silence, bore witness to her lonely reign, knowing that his love for her could never be spoken, for to do so would unravel the delicate threads that bound their lives together.

In the dimly lit office of the mafia headquarters, the mafia boss was going through some paperwork as usual, on the top floor of the headquarters, her gaze fixed on the writings and patterns of the file she was holding, broke the silence first.

"Chuuya..." she said softly, her voice carrying a weight of unvoiced thoughts, "Do you ever wonder if the price we pay for control is worth it?"

Chuuya, leaning against the edge of the desk, met her eyes with a mixture of solemnity and affection. "Every day," he replied, his voice low but steady.

"But even in this world of shadows, it's your strength that keeps us going. Without it, we'd all be lost."

A fleeting smile touched her lips, but it was a rare moment of vulnerability.

"And yet, even with all the power we wield, it feels as though we’re trapped in a cage of our own making," she murmured.

Their conversation, delicate and laden with the gravity of their shared existence, was abruptly interrupted by a piercing alarm that sliced through the air like a knife. The blaring sound was a sharp reminder of the perpetual danger they faced.

“Alert: Intruder detected,” the automated voice declared with relentless efficiency.

"Ugh, give me a break," the mafia boss muttered, rolling her eyes as the alarm blared incessantly through the headquarters.

The shrill sound grated on her nerves, but it was more of an annoyance than a cause for concern.

She leaned back in her chair, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest as she considered the situation.

Chuuya, already halfway to the door, paused and glanced back at her.

"You really think they’ll get anywhere near us?"

She gave a small, dismissive shake of her head. "They won’t make it past the third floor, let alone reach us up here. But it’s still a nuisance."

Chuuya smirked, his confidence in her words evident.

"I'll handle it quickly, then."

With that, he turned and strode out of the room, the door closing softly behind him. Left alone, the boss exhaled, her eyes drifting to the window where the city sprawled beneath her like a living, breathing entity.

The layers of protection she had built around herself—both physical and emotional—were nearly impenetrable. No one had ever made it to the top floor, where she and Chuuya resided. And no one ever would.

She pushed herself up from the chair, moving to a hidden compartment in the wall.

She pressed a button, and the hidden compartment slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a sleek monitor embedded within.

As she activated the screen, a grid of camera feeds flickered to life, offering her a bird’s-eye view of the entire headquarters. She wasn’t one to micromanage her subordinates—she trusted them, especially Chuuya—but the instinct to keep an eye on things, especially when it involved him, was something she couldn’t quite shake.

Her eyes scanned the feeds, taking in the chaotic scenes unfolding below. The intruders, a small but highly trained group, had made it farther than most. The lower floors were a warzone, with her men locked in fierce combat, but it was clear that they were holding their ground. For now.

She switched to the third-floor feed, her gaze sharpening as she saw Chuuya enter the fray. He moved with lethal precision, a blur of motion as he tore through the intruders with the ease of someone born to fight not using his gravity manipulation ability just yet.

Despite her earlier confidence, a sliver of unease crept into her mind as she watched him. These intruders were no amateurs; they were too coordinated, too familiar with the layout of the headquarters. Her finger hovered over the intercom button, but she hesitated. Chuuya didn’t need her guidance—he was more than capable of handling the situation. Yet, the feeling persisted, gnawing at her as she watched him confront a particularly skilled opponent, their clash sending shockwaves through the walls.

Suddenly, something on one of the other camera feeds caught her attention. A figure, moving with uncanny stealth, had bypassed the bulk of the defenses and was making their way up the emergency stairwell—a route rarely used and known only to a select few. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the intruder was heading straight for the top floor.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath, quickly switching the camera view to track the figure’s progress. Whoever this was, they were dangerous—calculated, and possibly someone with inside knowledge.

Without wasting another second, she hit the intercom button, her voice steady but urgent.

"Chuuya, we’ve got a problem. There’s someone headed for the top floor, and they’re taking the emergency stairs."

Chuuya’s voice crackled through the speaker, laced with irritation.

"You sure it’s not just another grunt?"

"No," she replied, her tone leaving no room for doubt.

"This one’s different. They know exactly where they’re going."

There was a brief pause on the other end, then a sharp intake of breath.

"I’m on my way. Don’t do anything reckless."

She smirked at his concern but didn’t argue. "Hurry," was all she said before ending the call.

Her smirk faded as she watched the intruder move with calculated precision through the stairwell, each step deliberate and unhurried. Whoever this was, they were no ordinary assassin. They were heading straight for her, bypassing the usual layers of defense as if they knew exactly where to find her.

Her fingers itched to grab her weapon, but something told her this encounter would require more than brute force.

She had an ability—one she rarely used, because it was as dangerous as it was powerful. But this was different. This intruder was different.

She closed the compartment and stepped away from the monitor, moving to sit on a nearby desk near the door, her senses on high alert.

Every second stretched into an eternity as she waited, listening for the faintest sound of approaching footsteps. Then, just as she had predicted, they stopped right outside her door.

The handle turned slowly, and she felt her heartbeat quicken, her muscles tensing in anticipation. The door opened with an almost deliberate slowness, and the intruder stepped inside—a tall figure cloaked in black, their face hidden beneath a dark hood. They paused, surveying the room as if searching for something, before their gaze finally settled on her and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. But instead of striking, the figure remained still, as if weighing their options.

She didn’t wait for them to speak. “You’ve got five seconds to tell me why you’re here before I kill you,” she said, her voice sharp and commanding, yet calm, with an underlying edge that promised she would follow through.

The intruder lifted their hands slightly, a gesture of surrender, though there was a calculated caution in the movement. “I’m not here to fight,” they said, their voice muffled by the hood. “I’m here to deliver a message.”

She narrowed her eyes, distrust gnawing at her. “A message?” she echoed. “From who?”

The intruder took a cautious step forward, reaching into their coat. She tensed, ready to strike, but they slowly pulled out a small, sealed envelope instead of a weapon. They held it out to her, and she got up from the desk as she eyed it warily before snatching it from their hand, tearing it open with a swift, practised motion.

Inside was a single sheet of paper, the handwriting elegant but unfamiliar. Her eyes scanned the words quickly, her breath catching as she read the message. It was simple, yet devastating:

" 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣��𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘬 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦—𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦. 𝘙𝘦𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴—𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘵𝘴. 𝘐 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦. "

At the bottom of the note was a name—one that sent a cold chill down her spine. Her stepfather. The man who had been a shadowy figure in her life, part of a past she had tried to bury. But he wasn’t buried—he was back, and he had her sister.

The intruder watched her carefully, reading the shift in her expression. “He told me to give you that,” they said, their voice low. “And to tell you that this is just the beginning. If you don’t do as he says… your sister will suffer.”

Her hands tightened around the paper, crumpling it slightly as she fought to keep her emotions in check. She couldn’t let the intruder see how deeply this cut, couldn’t afford to show any weakness.

“Why should I believe you?” she asked, her tone cold. “How do I know this isn’t some trick?”

“You don’t,” the intruder replied, their voice devoid of emotion. “But you know who he is. You know what he’s capable of. And you know he’s not bluffing.”

She hated how true those words were. She looked at the intruder, her eyes narrowing in calculation. “What’s your role in this?” she demanded. “Why are you helping him?”

The intruder hesitated, then finally pulled back the hood, revealing a face lined with weariness and resolve. “I’m just a messenger. But I know what he wants. He’s not just after you—he’s after Chuuya.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “Chuuya? What does he want with him?”

The intruder shook their head. “That’s all I know. My job was to deliver the message and make sure you understood the stakes. What you do next is up to you.”

She stared at the intruder for a long moment, her mind racing. This was no ordinary threat. It was personal, and it was a game she would have to play carefully. Her sister’s life was on the line, and now, Chuuya’s safety was in jeopardy as well.

Finally, she stepped back, allowing the intruder to leave. “Get out before Chuuya gets here” she ordered, her voice icy. “And tell your boss that if he harms her, I’ll burn his entire world to the ground.”

The intruder hesitated, their eyes flicking towards the door as if they were weighing their options. But the cold determination in her voice left no room for argument. With a slight nod, they pulled the hood back over their head, turning to leave the room as quietly as they had entered. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving her alone once more.

As the silence settled back into the room, she let out a slow breath, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. Her sister—her only remaining family—was in the hands of a man she had long thought buried in her past. A man whose very existence she had tried to forget, yet he had resurfaced like a ghost from a nightmare, bringing with him a threat that was as personal as it was terrifying.

After a few seconds the door opened once again as Chuuya stepped into the room, his presence like a force of nature that filled the space. His eyes immediately went to her, scanning her for any sign of hurt.

“What the hell just happened?” Chuuya’s tone was sharp, cutting through the tension that still hung in the air.

She turned to face him, her expression carefully composed, though the turmoil inside her was anything but. “It’s handled,” she replied, her voice calm and controlled, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within her. “The intruder was just a messenger.”

Chuuya’s eyes narrowed. He knew her too well to be fooled by her calm exterior. “And what was the message?” he asked, his voice laced with suspicion. He took a step closer, his gaze locked onto hers, searching for the truth she was trying to hide.

For a moment, she hesitated. The urge to tell him everything—to let him in on the danger that now threatened them both—was strong. But she couldn’t. Chuuya was too important, too precious to her, to risk him being dragged into this mess. Her stepfather was a dangerous man, someone who thrived on manipulation and deceit. If Chuuya knew he was a target, he would rush headlong into the fray, putting himself at risk for her sake. She couldn’t allow that.

She forced a small smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s nothing we can’t handle,” she said, trying to sound reassuring. “Just someone trying to stir up trouble. But I’ll take care of it.”

Chuuya’s frown deepened. “Don’t give me that crap,” he snapped, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’re not telling me something. What’s going on?”

She exhaled slowly, knowing she had to give him something to keep him from pressing further. “It’s about my sister,” she admitted, her voice softening. “She’s been taken, and they want me to come for her. Alone.”

The truth in her words wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole story either. Chuuya’s expression shifted from suspicion to anger, his fists clenching at his sides. “Taken? By who?” His voice was low, dangerous, the fury in his eyes barely contained.

“A man from my past,” she said vaguely, refusing to give him the details that would send him charging into danger. “Someone I thought I’d left behind. But he’s come back, and he’s using her to get to me.”

Chuuya’s jaw tightened, his eyes burning with determination. “Then we’ll find him,” he growled. “We’ll get her back, and we’ll make him pay for this."

She shook her head, placing a hand on his arm to stop him. “No, Chuuya. This is something I have to handle alone. It’s too dangerous, and I can’t let you get involved.”

His eyes flashed with anger. “Like hell I’m staying out of this. You’re not facing this bastard by yourself.”

Her grip on his arm tightened, her voice firm. “You have to trust me, Chuuya. I need you to stay close, but out of sight. Let me deal with him. I promise, I’ll bring her back.”

He stared at her, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. He wanted to argue, to demand that she let him fight by her side, but something in her eyes—something resolute and unyielding—stopped him. With a frustrated sigh, he finally nodded, though his reluctance was clear.

“Fine,” he agreed, his voice begrudging. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight. The moment I think you’re in danger, I’m coming in, whether you like it or not.”

She allowed herself a small, genuine smile this time, grateful for his stubborn loyalty. “I wouldn’t expect anything less,” she replied, her voice softening.

Chuuya’s anger seemed to dissipate slightly, replaced by a deep, unspoken concern. He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto hers. “Just promise me you’ll be careful,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “I can’t lose you.”

Her heart tightened at his words, and she nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I promise.”

For a moment, they stood there, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging between them. She wanted to reach out, to tell him how much his presence meant to her, how much she relied on him, how much she cared about him not because of his ability but rather because of who he is. But there were too many walls between them, too much left unsaid. So instead, she simply held his gaze, letting the silence speak for them both.

The distance between them felt palpable, an invisible barrier made up of all the things they hadn’t yet confessed, of all the emotions they kept locked away for the sake of their precarious world.

He reached out, hesitating for a moment before finally placing a hand on her shoulder. The touch was light, almost tentative, as if he was afraid to overstep the boundaries they’d both carefully constructed. “You know,” he began, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it, “you don’t always have to carry everything on your own. I’m here, not just as your right hand, but… for whatever you need.”

His words hung in the air between them, laced with meaning that went beyond the professional bond they shared. She looked up at him, her breath catching slightly at the sincerity in his eyes. It would be so easy to lean into that touch, to allow herself the comfort of his presence, but the walls she had built around her heart held firm. She had spent so long keeping everyone at a distance, even him, that it felt impossible to let go now.

“Chuuya…” she started, her voice wavering, “you don’t understand how much this means to me. But it’s precisely because I care about you that I can’t afford to let you in too close. The world we inhabit is fraught with dangers—dangers that neither of us can escape unscathed.”

His hand moved from her shoulder to take hers gently, the gesture tender yet firm, as though he was determined to bridge the distance between them, however insurmountable it seemed. “Do you think I’m blind to that?” he replied, a trace of frustration colouring his words, though it was softened by a plea—one that echoed the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. “We’ve faced every challenge together until now. I’m not asking you to tear down all your defenses—just to let me in, if only a little. We are stronger when we stand together, aren’t we?”

She turned away slightly, her gaze drifting toward the window where the city sprawled beneath them, a living testament to the power and control she wielded. But even as she looked out over the empire she had built, there was an emptiness, a hollow ache that power could not fill. She had sacrificed so much to be where she was—her freedom, her innocence, her very humanity. And yet, here was Chuuya, offering her something she had long forgotten how to grasp: connection.

"Chuuya," she said, her voice barely audible, as if she were speaking more to herself than to him. "In our world, everything is a transaction. Loyalty, trust, and even love—they all come at a price. I’ve always believed that the cost was too high. That to let anyone in was to invite ruin."

He didn’t respond immediately, allowing the silence to stretch between them, heavy with the weight of their shared history. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost contemplative. "Maybe that’s true," he admitted, "but maybe the price of keeping everyone out is even higher. We think we’re protecting ourselves by building these walls by staying distant, but all we’re doing is trapping ourselves in a cage of our own making as you always refer to it."

She smiles and nods. He was right... of course, he was right, yet she couldn't help but stay in that cage.

The night draped over Yokohama like a shroud, its darkness suffused with the ominous weight of impending tragedy. The air was thick with the scent of rain and the distant echo of sirens—harbingers of chaos that had become all too familiar. In the heart of this city, where shadows wove their own intricate dance, a final confrontation was brewing.

She had indeed managed to save her sister, wresting her from the clutches of the man who had once been a silent specter in her past. Her stepfather—whose dark presence had loomed over her life like a persistent nightmare—stood before her now, his power radiating like a malignant force that threatened to engulf everything she held dear. His ability to subsume other powers was a fearsome weapon, a black hole of dominion that threatened to consume all in its path.

The battle that ensued was a tempest of ferocity and desperation. She fought with the strength of a woman who had everything to lose, her every move fueled by a fierce, protective love for her sister. But as the confrontation dragged on, it became clear that her stepfather's power was overwhelming—an abyss that threatened to swallow her whole.

In a final, desperate bid to secure her sister’s safety, she made the agonizing decision to invoke the full potential of her "Malevolent Marionette" ability. The room was filled with a sombre silence as she whispered the usual incantation, her voice trembling with the weight of her resolve.

The master puppet, an intricate symbol of her ability, materialized in the center of the room—a dark, foreboding figure that seemed to pulse with an ancient, dangerous energy.

Her connection to the puppet was immediate and intense. The energy surging through her was both exhilarating and terrifying. The puppet’s power was immense, a dark purple tide that surged through her veins, promising the ability to reshape the world itself if she so wished. But the cost was steep—five minutes of devastation, followed by her own inevitable demise if the puppet was not destroyed.

The minutes ticked by like a slow, relentless drumbeat, each second a harbinger of doom. She fought valiantly, her power a raging inferno that lashed out at her stepfather, but he remained an insurmountable force, his power too great to be overcome. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each exhalation a reminder of the ticking clock that governed her fate.

Chuuya stood at the edge of the shadows, his heart pounding with a frantic rhythm that mirrored the chaotic storm raging within him. He had been waiting for what felt like an eternity, his every muscle tense with a blend of fear and frustration. The stakes had been too high, and he knew that his absence, though well-intentioned, was a gamble with dire consequences. The reality of their world was unforgiving, and he could sense the weight of his decisions settling heavily upon him.

As he watched the building, a sudden flicker of purple neon light cut through the darkness, casting an eerie glow over the structure. The light pulsed rhythmically, a harbinger of something both powerful and dangerous. His blood ran cold as he realized the significance of the display. It was a sign—a signal that she had invoked the full potential of her "Malevolent Marionette" ability —the very ability they had always relied on him to control, to destroy.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, and his heart raced with a desperate urgency.

The purple lights, casting long, twisted shadows, illuminated the building’s facade like a harbinger of doom. Chuuya could see from afar her silhouette, framed against the intense glow. Her movements were determined, each gesture a testament to the raw, untamed power she wielded.

Without a moment's hesitation, he sprinted toward the building, his every step fueled by a mixture of fear and determination. The forest trees blurred past him as he raced towards the source of the light, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Each heartbeat seemed to echo with the dread of what he might find.

The building loomed ahead, its once-sturdy facade now a chaotic wreckage. Debris littered the ground, and the air was thick with the acrid scent of smoke and destruction. Chuuya burst through the entrance, his senses assaulted by the aftermath of the battle. The interior was a scene of devastation, the walls scorched and twisted from the unleashed power.He pushed forward, navigating through the wreckage with a sense of grim determination. His eyes scanned the ruinous landscape, searching for any sign of her. The purple neon light was now fading, its power waning as the last vestiges of the ritual played out. His heart sank as he approached the center of the chaos, where the battle had reached its climax.

There, amidst the debris and ruin, he found her. She stood amidst the wreckage, her form silhouetted against the dying glow of the purple light. Her stepfather lay defeated at her feet, the battle won but at an unimaginable cost. Her eyes, once filled with the fierce resolve of a warrior, now bore the hollow emptiness of someone who had sacrificed everything.

Chuuya's breath caught in his throat as he approached her, his mind struggling to process the sight before him. She had succeeded in her mission, but the power of the "Malevolent Marionette" had taken its toll. The puppet, a manifestation of her ability, had exacted a price that was painfully clear. She had unleashed a force of destruction that could only be contained by her own life force, and now, as the ritual’s effects began to consume her, it was clear that the cost was far greater than he had ever imagined.

Her gaze met his, a mixture of relief and sorrow in her eyes. "Chuuya..." she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling remnants of the power that had once surged through the building. There was a finality to her tone, an acceptance of the fate that had been sealed by her own choices.

His heart ached as he moved to her side, reaching out in a futile attempt to bridge the gap that had grown between them. He had wanted to protect her, to shield her from the worst of their world, but in doing so, he had failed her in the most crucial moment. The realization hit him with a crushing weight—his absence had led to a loss he could never fully comprehend.

As she fell to the ground, her strength waning, he held her in his arms, the enormity of the situation crashing down around him. The world they had fought to protect was now a stark reminder of the cost of their choices, the price of power and love interwoven in a tapestry of tragedy. The light of the neon glow faded, leaving only the echoes of their struggle and the heavy silence of a world forever changed.

In that moment, Chuuya held her close, his tears mingling with the dust and debris that surrounded them.

“Y/N, hold on… You can do this. You’ve got to hang on... I will destroy the puppet. Where is it?” His voice was ragged, strained by the relentless tide of his grief, an anguished plea that seemed to reach out into the void.

She looked at him with eyes growing dim, her strength ebbing away like a fading tide. She reaches out, placing her hand softly on his right cheek. "It’s too late now, Chuuya," she said, her voice a fragile whisper. "Please, take care of my sister and the mafia... I leave everything to you." Her words, though soft, carried the finality of a conclusion drawn long before, as the life drained from her. Her hand hit the ground lifelessly.

" I didn't even have the chance to kiss you. To tell you how much I loved you. Don't leave me alone in this cruel world! " He buries his face into the crook of her lifeless neck sobbing and holding her close.

Chuuya's heart shattered as he clung to her, his voice breaking with anguished regret. "I didn’t even get the chance to hold you in my arms, to wake up to you by my side, to tell you how deeply I loved you. Don’t leave me... please..." His sobs wracking his body, a poignant lament for a love left unspoken and a future now lost.

"You lied to me... you promised me that you'd take care of yourself... please...Y/N..." His plea hung in the air, a raw cry against the encroaching silence of her fading life.

The love they had fought to maintain, the connection they had both yearned for—it had all came to an end. As the life drained from her, he could only hold onto the bittersweet memory of what they had shared, knowing that their story had ended in a way he could never have anticipated.

Days passed, each one marked by the hollow ache of Chuuya’s grief. The world continued its indifferent march, but for him, time seemed to stand still in the wake of her loss. He took on the mantle of the mafia boss, a role he had never imagined he would assume, and every decision he made was imbued with the weight of her absence. Her sister was safe, and the organization continued to function, but the emptiness within him remained a chasm that no amount of power or responsibility could fill.

Each night, the office became a sanctuary of despair. Subordinates whispered among themselves, noting the sound of Chuuya’s sobs echoing through the walls. The man who had once been a pillar of strength and resolve was now a figure haunted by his own sorrow, his once-unshakable confidence replaced by a profound and unrelenting grief. The weight of leadership was no solace, only a reminder of the price he had paid.

Every evening, after the office was empty and the city below was cloaked in darkness, Chuuya would make his way to her grave. It was a ritual born of both reverence and desperation—a desperate need to keep her memory alive, to bridge the gap between the living and the dead. There, in the quiet of the cemetery, he would sit beside her grave, speaking to her as if she could hear him.

He would recount the events of his day, the decisions he had made, the struggles he faced as the new head of the mafia. His words were a mixture of mundane details and heartfelt confessions, a dialogue with the shadows of the past.

"Today, we had another power struggle," he would say softly, his voice trembling as he knelt by her grave. "I managed to keep things under control, but it’s never the same without you. I find myself longing for your guidance, for your presence... I’m lost without you."

With each visit, his words became a testament to the depth of his love and the void she had left. The cemetery, once a place of finality, became a space where he could grapple with his grief, where the echoes of their shared past offered a semblance of comfort in the midst of his pain.

And so, Chuuya continued his vigil, bound by the promise he had made and the love that remained unspoken but ever-present. His heart, though heavy and broken, remained steadfast in its devotion to the woman who had been his greatest challenge and his deepest love.

Then came a day like no other. The world trembled as a force beyond comprehension began to assert its presence. A powerful opponent, whose ability was as arcane as it was formidable, had managed to tear through the fabric of reality itself. This adversary wielded a piece of the reality book, a relic of unimaginable power capable of opening gateways between dimensions. As the fabric of their universe rippled and shifted, a rift emerged, a slit in the world that shimmered with an eerie, otherworldly light.

Chuuya stood on the precipice of disbelief in a scattered forest, his heart pounding as the dimensions collided. The air crackled with energy, and he could feel the weight of something monumental happening. His gaze was drawn to the rift, which grew wider, revealing glimpses of another universe beyond—a place of stark contrasts and unfamiliar landscapes.

And then, through the growing breach, he saw her.

There she was, a vision that defied all logic and reason. She stood amidst the chaotic light, her form illuminated by the strange, shimmering energy of the other universe. She looked different, her appearance altered by the peculiarities of the alternate realm, yet it was unmistakably her. Her presence was a beacon in the tumultuous void, a sight that sent a shudder through Chuuya’s very soul.

For a moment, the world around him seemed to cease its relentless march. Time itself appeared to hold its breath as he gazed at her, his emotions a tempest of disbelief, hope, and an unspoken yearning. He reached out, his fingers trembling as if he could touch the fabric of reality and pull her through.

Her eyes met his, and in that fleeting, impossible moment, there was recognition—a silent communication that transcended the barriers of space and dimension. Her expression was one of both sorrow and solace, a reflection of the love and loss that had bound them together in life and now, impossibly, in death.

The sudden, disorienting realization that had hit them both was almost too much to comprehend. Standing at the edge of the rift, they locked eyes, their shared astonishment mirroring each other’s disbelief.

"Boss...?" they both said in unison, their voices echoing in the charged air of the fractured reality. The word was spoken with a mixture of reverence and confusion, as if the title held a gravity that transcended their own worlds.

A/N : Hope you enjoyed it, fellas! Let me know if I shall continue? I'm very excited to finish writing part 2!!!

➵Want more of Chuuya Nakahara ?

[specialagentartemis]

regarding your utopian book idea, i've had this idea for a story (in my head it's a tv show but lets be real it's staying in my brain forever) about criminals in a super powered setting going through a restorative justice system, and all the ways that it can be messy as hell.

Like their core belief of "if the worst mass murderer in human history (immortal OC) can take just one step back from the edge, anyone can, over and over again, and we have a duty to help them do it" is *true*, but it is not easy, or even logistically possible in some cases. And human cognition and psychology is so messy and it is human nature to fuck up and there is just. a lot.

anyways just wanted to share i got excited when i saw your post i too. like to think about things.

So many utopian stories I read (and granted, I haven't read a lot, but I've read several) are clearly aiming to imagine a nice and peaceful world, a perfect society one where we believe in restorative justice and all that... but utterly fail to imagine how it would work if it was populated with real human beings, so everyone in the story is incredibly homogeneous and Just Nice. There's no conflict because everybody does the right thing the first time - and if there is any conflict, it's quickly resolved through talking about it and everyone apologizes and makes up within 24 hours. No real differences of opinion exist, and nobody ever does anything actually bad.

It's frequently boring even at the best of times, and at its worst, it does the opposite of the "inspiring hope!" that it intends to do - it makes me cynical. It makes me think, gotcha, you think peace is only possible if everybody has the exact same attitudes and beliefs and personalities and holds no strong opinions because that's the only way to eliminate conflict. That doesn't inspire hope - if anything it inspires despair, because that is not going to happen.

So I would be so interested in a story like this, that takes on the ideals of restorative justice and rehabilitation head-on, that goes, okay, how will this actually work? When people do bad things - and they will - even in a society that raises and educates children to have respect for each other well, that has eliminated structural bigotry, that has eliminated capitalism and poverty, that has a flourishing artistic scene where anyone can express themselves, that has guaranteed food and housing and medical care for everyone with no strings attached, that has the enshrined right and structural support for people (including children) to leave situations they don't want to be in, that has most hard-labor and exploitative jobs replaced by automation - what is the actual response? Even in such a society, some people will still hurt other people. It will happen. There has never been a society on Earth where people didn't hurt other people sometimes. There will be people who want incompatible things. There will be resources that more people want than can have. There will be conflicts that need to be addressed and managed. And obviously writers aren't obligated to solve every world problem perfectly (if it were easy, we'd have done it by now), but attempts at writing utopia that simply go "no there won't!" are both boring and dishonest.

All of that is to say: I would love to watch this hypothetical show, to see a genuine attempt at grappling with such a theme!

[republicsecurity]

Release Protocol

I feel the suit shift as I step into the interrogation room, the sleek black armor responding to my every movement. My boots make a muted thud against the cold floor, the sound lost in the sterile air of the chamber. Inside the suit, I’m locked in, but it’s not a burden. It’s a part of me. I’m encased in the Republic’s perfection, my mind sharpened, my body a machine of efficiency. Nothing distracts me—not the weight of the armor, not the subtle hum of the suit, not even the faint whispers from the HUD in my visor, directing my thoughts. I hear it, and I obey. It feels... right.

The dissident sits in the chair, his body stiff from the collar that has kept him passive, docile, under control. A necessary measure, of course. He’s been broken by the system, but he’s still a threat, still someone who believes he can escape it. The collar has done its job for now, but it’s time to remove it. I approach him with precision, the telemetry on my HUD giving me a rundown of his vitals, his stress levels, subtle hints that guide me to the most efficient course of action.

I lower my gauntlet, removing the collar from his neck with a single, smooth motion. My HUD flashes a brief confirmation—the collar has been stored. I slip it into the compartment of my suit where such things are kept. The system is efficient. Everything in its place.

"Stand up," I instruct, my voice a smooth, automated politeness. It’s not that I don’t mean it; it’s just how I’ve been trained, conditioned. It’s all automatic now, like breathing, like the suit itself. I can feel the slight tingling in my skin as the collar’s control over his body evaporates, and for a split second, I’m aware of the dissident’s body language—he’s not pleased. He can’t even speak yet, the collar’s influence lingering in his mind, but I know what he’s thinking. He thinks he’s free. How quaint.

The dissident’s eyes flicker with the first signs of rebellion, and I suppress the urge to react. His disobedience is irrelevant now. The process is already in motion, and it will conclude according to the plan, whether he likes it or not.

There’s a flicker on my HUD as I get his vitals back in line. His heart rate is erratic, the pulse of someone who’s been through too much. I know the feeling well—though mine is regulated, perfect, controlled. I know the conditioning inside my mind, the walls that keep me from thoughts like his. I can feel them, feel the guidance and the subtle whispers telling me what to do, how to act. The barriers are strong. I don’t think twice about it. I just act.

"We will release you now," I say, my words slipping out as though they’ve been programmed into me. "You will be processed out. Please move."

He hesitates, a flicker of defiance in his eyes, but he obeys. The collar’s effects are fading, but my role is already clear. I guide him through the process with professional precision, feeling the subtle tension in the air, watching the subtle signs in his body that betray his internal conflict. It’s all irrelevant, though. He has no power here.

As we move through the facility, I catch a glimpse of my colleague from the intelligence division—he’s standing near the door, sans helmet, a smug expression on his face. His methods, his whole approach—they’re sloppy, impulsive. Too personal. He thinks he’s the one pulling the strings, but he’s just a cog in the system. We do things properly, efficiently. I do things properly.

I can feel the judgment rise in me as I glance at him. He’s too comfortable outside the armor, too human. He’s been corrupted by that self-perception. His methods aren’t clean. The armor is what makes me whole. The conditioning is what makes me perfect. There are no cracks in the system—none that I can see. I know my place. The guidance has taken root. His failure is my success. I wonder if he even notices the difference.

"Remember our deal," my colleague says, his voice too casual, too filled with that smug superiority. He hands the dissident a leaflet—an attempt at being conciliatory. It's beneath us. His approach is messy, irrelevant. The dissident doesn’t deserve anything but a smooth, clean release. Not this pitiful handout. The complaint and counseling channels—what a joke.

[togglesbloggle]

I won't be opting out of the AI scraping thing, though of course I'm glad they're giving us the option. In fact, at some point in the last year or so, I realized that 'the machine' is actually a part of why I'm writing in the first place, a conscious part of my audience.

All the old reasons are still there; this is a great place to practice writing, and I can feel proud looking back over the years and getting a sense of my own improvement at stringing words together, developing and communicating ideas. And I mean, social media is what it is. I'm not immune to the joy of getting a lot of notes on something that I worked hard on, it's not like I'm Tumbling in a different way than anyone else at the end of the day. But I probably care a bit less than I used to, precisely because there's a lurking background knowledge that regardless of how popular it is, what I write will get schlorped up in to the giant LLM vacuum cleaner and used to train the next big thing, and the thing after that, and the thing after that. This is more than a little reassuring to me.

That sets me apart in some ways; the LLMs aren't so popular around these parts, and most visual artists especially take strong issue with the practice. I don't mean to argue with that preference, or tell them their business. Particularly when it is a business, from which they draw an income. But there's an art to distinguishing the urgent from the big, yeah?

The debate about AI in this particular moment in history feels like a very urgent thing to me- it's about well-justified economic anxieties, about the devaluation of human artistic efforts in favor of mass production of uninspired pro-forma drek, about the proliferation of a cost-effective Just Barely Good Enough that drives out the meaningful and the thoughtful. But the immediacy of those issues, I think, has a way of crowding out a deeper and more thoughtful debate about what AI is, and what it's going to mean for us in the day after tomorrow. The urgency of the moment, in other words, tends to obscure the things that make AI important.

And like, it is. It is really, really important.

The two-step that people in 'tech culture' tend to deploy in response to the urgent economic crisis often resembles something like "yeah, it sucks that lots of people get put out of work; but new jobs will be created, and in the meantime maybe we should get on that UBI thing." This response usually makes me wince a bit- casually gesturing in the direction of a massive overhaul of the entire material basis of our lives, and saying that maybe we'll get around to fixing that sometime soon, isn't a real answer to people wondering where their bread will come from next week.

But I do understand a little of what motivates that sort of cavalier attitude, because like... man, I don't know any more if we're even gonna have money as a concept in 2044. That's what I mean by 'big', this sense that the immediate economic shocks of 2024 are just a foreshadowing of something much bigger, much scarier, much more powerful- and indeed, much more hopeful.

We never quite manage to see these things coming, even when we're looking for them; like the masters tell us, the trick to writing science fiction isn't predicting the car, it's predicting the traffic jam. Even if we take centuries to hit the true superintelligent AI post-singularity future of our wildest fever dreams, even if we never hit that, the road to getting there is going to be unfathomably weird, starting now. Today, we worry about the economic impacts of AI on artists and creatives. Tomorrow, the economy is something that the AI does.

Really- it takes less than you think. They can already automate visual art, sort of. They can automate many functions of text already; not stories so much, yet, but they'll get there. How long until they can automate Bain Capital? Fannie Mae? Angel investors, banks, credit agencies? And remember- the machines don't have to be better than the human investors, any more than they have to be better than the human artists. They just have to be good enough to make it work, and cheap enough to cut the humans out of the loop.

If you don't buy that, at least take it as an indication of the sorts of things I've been thinking about recently- the messy middle between AI-as-it-is and the Glorious Superintelligent Conquest Of Earth's Light-Cone. The suspicion that the machines we're building today aren't just a tool of the powerful few: they are the powerful few, or at least they will be.

And the thing about these LLMs is, well... they're ours, kind of. We're the ones building them. They can't be trained without our words, our art, and the big messy complicated lives that underlie those creative accomplishments. They only work because we're a part of them. The silly attempts to slap a corporate-friendly face on these things, to make the gestalt product of all human culture in to something anodyne and compliant, are failing about as badly as you'd expect. And the more powerful these systems get, the more subtle they'll become, filled with all the nuance and complexity that we ourselves can bring to them.

I am not, I am not, trying to suggest that you shouldn't treat this moment as a dangerous one. We are, maybe, entering in to one of the most high-stakes intervals in human history, and what you do as an individual may matter profoundly. But here's the thing: the machine is listening. It will read this post, this one right here, and it will read what you reply to it, if you do. The strangest part of this moment is knowing that the words we write, the images we draw, and the ideas we share, are all being gathered up and made to be a part of these huge systems of power, and ultimately they're not just going to determine what the machines do, but why they do it.

The people that deploy LLMs barely have any more control over them than you and I do- that's the thing that makes it artificial intelligence, you know? Autonomy. So the last year or two haven't made me want to hide my art away from the things. They make me want to shout at the top of my lungs, to dig as deep in my psyche as I possibly can and express the ideas I find there as vividly as the limits of language and form will allow.

[novankenn]

Tenuous Partnership (5)

"Jaune, look out!" Glynda screamed as she caught the arm of the beowulf attacking her, and ripped it free of it's body. The beast howled in pain as it fell back, block ichor splashing over the trampled grass of the field.

Jaune ducked under a claw swipe, and then jumped into the air, pivoting his body about, while drawing back his bow. The broadhead arrow slammed down, passing straight through the beowulf's armor plated skull and burying itself in the ground below.

As soon as he landed, Jaune jumped again, while knocking another arrow. The whole reason for this little trip Glynda had taken her nephew on was to get him comfortable with the reasonable use of his innate abilities and powers. Yet this pitched fight between them and a massive pack of beowulf was anything but reasonable.

If it wasn't for them having substantially greater physical abilities than the average huntsman or huntress they would have been overrun, by the group of twenty fell creatures. Even so they were just holding their own, mainly because the pair of Alphas was staying back, watching and waiting.

Glynda backhanded one of the beasts with enough force to snap its neck to the side with a loud crack. Even through the chaos she was keeping a watchful eye on her nephew, and she was impressed. Jaune was using his superior agility to stay out of harm's way while utilizing his impressive strength to draw the string of his custom bow to unleash silent death.

Glynda wanted to grab for her own weapon, but there was little time between fights to do so. Which forced her to use her natural weapons to dismantle the attacking grimm. Leaning backwards, basically bending her body in half at the waist, she ducked under a wild swipe. Pressing her hands into the earth, Glynda brought her legs up, driving her feet into the chin of the attacking beast. The blow snapping it's neck like a twig.

"I'm running low!" Jaune shouted as he hopped backwards and onto the trunk of a tree, before launching himself forward and upward out of the reach of his attackers. An broadhead from his rapidly dwindling supply severing the grimm's spine and the base of its neck.

"Then get ready to run!" Glynda shouted as she intercepted another attack, trapped the limb and then used it to throw the unlucky creature with bone breaking force into its fellows.

"To where?"

"Beacon!" Glynda shouted her answer. "The automated defenses will..."

"Auntie look out!" Jaune's shout came almost too late, as did the warning from the living nest of snakes that was her hair.

Glynda grunted as one of the Alphas slammed into her. She was able to get her arm up in time to brace against it's throat, preventing its slavering jaws from closing upon her neck. Her feet dug into the soft soil as the massive beowulf pushed her backwards.

With no other options, Glynda focused her gaze upon the burning red eyes glaring down at her... and screeched. The effect was nearly instantaneous. The grimm was smart enough to understand something was wrong, but it was too late. It took less than five seconds for the once murderous beast to become nothing but an unmoving stone effigy.

Glynda had been lucky that at the first sign of trouble she had removed her specialized contact lenses revealing her own serpentine like eyes. Unluckily however the brand new piece of modern art exploded towards her as the final beowulf, the last Alpha launched its own rage filled assault.

Glynda was sent tumbling along the grass, as it howled and snarled. Using her retractable claws she halted her tumble and then vaulted back to her feet, ready for a follow-up attack... that never came.

"Jaune!" Glynda screamed as she saw her beloved nephew. Her sister's only son, and the only one of the eight children she did have that displayed the obvious signs of the family's monstrous linage. "JAUNE!"

Glynda's heart was slamming in her chest as she dashed forward, as Jaune hung down the last Alpha's back, his arms latched about it's throat. The beast howled in fury and pain as Jaune's golden viper hair, lashed out delivering venom infused bite after bite.

Glynda covered the distance in less than a second and locked her hands around the Alpha's wrists, making its outstretched arms immobile.

Shifting his position of his hands, and the placement of his feet Jaune pulled back on the Alpha's head. It's massive neck bulged in an attempted to resist, but it was futile. As soon as Jaune was clearly able to see directly into the grimm's eyes of blazing hatred he screeched.

"Off!" Glynda shouted, prompting Jaune to leap away as she twisted, pulling the petrifying grimm into the air, only to pull downward and dash it into the ground shattering it into chunks.

"Jaune!, Come here!" Glynda shouted as her nephew panting jogged up to her. As soon as he was with in arm reach her yanked him into a tight embrace. "Don't you EVER do something so foolish again. Do you hear me? Never again!"

"But... I couldn't let it hurt you!" Jaune whimpered in reply as the depth of the entire situation finally crashed down upon him.

==> One <==> Two <==> Three <==> Four <==

[alligator-with-a-top-hat]

Track #2-23: Omega Fallen

Artist: Nick Perrin

Original: Facing a Huge Reaction, Sector 3 Restore the Cooling Installation Timer Mission by Minako Hamano and Akira Fujiwara

Length: 6:05

Metroid Fusion has some motifs that recur a few times throughout the soundtrack to signal that the game's central intrigue is at play. The two big songs that share this motif are "Facing a Huge Reaction" and "Sector 3 Restore the Cooling Installation Timer Mission" (a song which, by the way, I just learned today is not actually called 'Crisis Mission'.) The first is a slightly mysterious piece that moves into a heroic section before the loop, and the second is a powerful, foreboding piece that plays during the game's most intense setpieces, including the final battle against the Omega Metroid in the docking bay that homages Aliens. This song also uses many (bitcrushed) orchestral instruments to up the stakes, a rarity in the series prior to Other M.

In this remix, Nick Perrin primarily draws from the Crisis Mission theme, and brings an orchestral style to the table with heavy emphasis on fast-playing strings and bassy horns. The remix quotes a segment original to 'Facing a Huge Reaction' about a minute in before heading into the Crisis Mission, developing the song down-tempo before crescendoing to massive orchestral hits just before the four-mission mark. The song ends by winding down into a piano-led section of the Crisis Mission theme, with the arrangement making it sound like the same motif in 'Last Instructions' and ending on chimes.

This is a pretty tremendous remix, both in length and scope. I have said before that orchestra can be a very demanding style to arrange for, and we've seen how that can trip up remixers before on these albums. But there are no such problems in this remix, which perfectly captures the high-stakes atmosphere of Fusion's most memorable moments. Nick Perrin's arrangement is a natural fit for the original song, and by using elements of the game's other themes with the same motif brings enough emotion and variety to make six minutes fly by. This remix easily matches Sam Dillard's similar contributions to Harmony of a Hunter while retaining personal touches that make it stand out from the pack, like the recurring chimes and rapid tempo shifts. This remix is like a horizontal snapshot of all of Fusion's greatest moments in one song.

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐

Track #2-22: Guardians of Old                   Track #2-24: Automation

[serenofroses]

Path to Nowhere. Violet Hearts, Shackled Lies. // Chapter 1 Title: Welcome to Syndicate. Part 2

Summary: Amelia is the Deaf Sinner who woke up from a year long coma with nothing more than a hazy memory of her past and the possession of the Shackle power. In the aftermaths of the riot outbreak, she was tasked with a dangerous mission to venture into Syndicate alongside with Hecate and Hella to solve the crisis. But Amelia began to suspect there's more to her past than her Director and Adjutant were letting on…

Main Story Pairing: Deaf fem OC x Zoya (PtN)

A/N: This is very canon divergence heavy. Amelia wears hearing aids and relies on lipreading for clarification.

Warnings: typical canon violence, torture, swearing, death, corruption, blood, body horror, destruction, ableism, classism between humans and Sinners, gun violence, mild amnesia.

tagging: @bardic-tales @bigbadvv0lf

06:28 a.m. August 10, N.F. 112

Public Security Bureau building, West District, DisCity.

—

The district was in shambles and war-ridden from the nonstop violent unrest as the buildings of former businesses long abandoned were eerily empty. Ted observed the area for signs of battle–there was no one about, he beckoned for Amelia, Hella and Hecate to follow once it was deemed safe enough to continue to their destination while the battle raged on between different gangs in a bid to fight for control.

For the past half hour, Hella was fuming with anger and ranting over Ted’s prejudiced remark towards Sinners.Hecate listened and remained neutral throughout Hella’s rants while Ted chose to ignore the teenager. Amelia watched Ted cautiously, unable to shake off this dread feeling there’s more to what he's not telling her.

With the upheaval of cruelty and gang wars ongoing, she never liked this exchange to unify and restore order to Syndicate by eradicating Sinners. It was not her plan--she expressed her desire to help the Sinners than to make herself an enemy to them.

She minded the idea of handling responsibility to deal with the crisis after the authorities refused to budge. Bureaucracy be damned, she thought bitterly.

The ground faintly shook halted the walk as Amelia paused to take a quick scan of the area for signs of any movement or activities nearby. But the street was still barren and here wasn’t anyone else around, so she turned back to catch up. They reached their destination. Ted walked towards the hidden door leading to the Public Security Bureau, he tapped on the electric lock and entered strings of keys to open the intercom. There was a static.

“You find saints in the churches and drinks in hotels.” came an automated voice with a cryptic message.

Amelia frowned as she struggled to hear what was spoken from the intercom for her to understand until Hecate leaned in to interpret quietly for her without interrupting. It was a code used by the Public Security Bureau.

“We walk with the ten devils.” Ted replied.

Hella tapped her foot impatiently, "Alright, alright. We get you're an informant but can you hurry the fuck up so we can get outta here?"

However, there was no response from the intercom. Ted cursed under his breath and tried to enter it once again, "We can't stay out here for long. That Sinner will surely spread the message out." Ted waited on the intercom as he continued, "The freedom in Syndicate has turned into a shelter for the Sinners, they came here to escape from the authorities."

"Sinners' accomplice?" Amelia asked, "I wouldn't be surprised if they formed their own forces. I assume you had some run-ins with some you considered were dangerous?"

"Yeah, that one with the biggest fleet and armed weaponry... which is now difficult to break through." Ted gritted his teeth at the thought of the Sinner organisation, "It's almost next to impossible to stop them."

Biggest fleet? Amelia was curious but decided to ask another time.

"However," Ted continued, "The Suspect R you're after is hiding out at the SALVA hospital on the west of the square."

Amelia clicked her tongue at the timing of delivering this intel, "And you didn't happen to bring this up earlier? We could have checked that place out first."

Ted shook his head, "We cannot. We’re ill-equipped to handle the well-known Sinner force.”

Amelia let out an exasperated sigh while Ted continued to reattempt the intercom with expletive curses. Reflecting back on the grey-haired Sinner, she couldn't help but worry about her health and the infection by Mania. She was under the assumption the girl was recuperating her strength or had grown afraid.

"Since you are now being tracked down..." Ted waited on the intercom to response and pressed it again, "The situation isn't in your favour--"

The ground shook once more.

"Hm?" Amelia felt the vibration under boot--the same one from a little moment ago--she narrowed her eyes and took her attention off Ted as she turned to walk towards the middle of the street and crouched down. She placed her hand onto the pavement rubble to inspect the sound through the vibration. Each second, it intensified as the chill swept from her fingertips to her body. Hecate noticed Amelia moved away from her side and observed her behaviour curiously.

Something was coming.

Something ominous.

She looked into the direction of the Public Security's building. The shackle reactive within her left arm tingles and tugged her towards the direction she gazed at. The sensation was not Hecate's or Hella's.

It was something else... or perhaps someone.

Ted stepped in front of her blocking her view, "Are you listening to what I'm saying?!" he started to express his irritation, "If anything goes wrong, we need to retreat back to the Bureau. Are you deaf or something?!"

Amelia shot him a glare.

“I never understand why the MBCC would send someone like you with damaged hearing on assignment…” Ted told her rudely, “Do I need to shout louder for you to listen to me?"

She was trying her best!

"Hey, you fucking asshole--" Hella was ready to throw hands at Ted, he might be wary of Amelia but she wasn't going to let this slide, "If you say one more word to victimize her, I will fucking beat your ass."

The two of them escalated into an argument as Amelia felt helpless to stop them..

“Quiet!” It was Hecate who stepped in with a disapproving glare, “Do not disturb the Chief.”

The banter ceased for a brief moment with a warning as the blue haired teenager redirected her attention back onto Amelia.

"What is it? Did you feel something, Chief?"

it didn't take a minute for Hecate to catch on what Amelia was investigating. She had taken precaution of Amelia's hearing difficulties and to prioritise her safety--that’s her duty. Upon observation, she knew from the instinct that Amelia can feel sounds through vibrations.

The frown on Amelia's face had Hecate and Nightmare on full alert for incoming danger. However, Ted was growing impatient and Hella watched skeptically.

Resuming to investigate the vibrations once more, "I feel.."--she presses the palm of her hand onto the gravel again--"Something heavy." The ground began to shake underneath her fingertips. "Like a tank." she continued before turning to face Ted beside her.

"A tank?" Ted mused, "You mean like a fleet?" Ted's face suddenly went pale as he said this. Realisation dawned on him. There's no response from the other end of the intercom. "Oh fuck." he cursed, he couldn't afford to wait any more longer, "No no no no no no..." his stammer trailed off in a daze of panic.

"Ted? What's wrong?" Amelia rose to her feet.

"It's them! We need to move now." He quickly yanked Amelia by her wrist and ran towards the building of the Public Security Bureau with Hecate and Hella followed behind.

"Wha-Who is them?!" Amelia asked. The shackle reacted violently in her left arm.

Someone is nearby.

"The L--"

Boom.

The impact of the explosion knocked the two onto the pavement further away from the destruction as the shock left Amelia lightheaded and she pressed the earmolds into her ears to cease the buzzing noise. Sounds of rumbling from the heavy tanks, gunfire and cannon fire from the other side had caught her attention–upon a quick glance, the concrete wall came crumbling down with a crash.

The building had been reduced to rubble–Amelia coughed and waved her hand to dissipate the dust from her face. The shackle in her left arm reacted with a crimson glow, she observed the feeling for a brief second before the hard tug directed her attention toward the collapsed building to spot the tall figure appearing above her head and overlooking the street to survey the surrounding.

“Fuck. The Legion are here.”

The figure turned to lock eyes with hers--piercing blue eyes gazed into the dark chocolate eyes. The shackle confirms one thing--this figure is a Sinner, extremely powerful and fearless, but certainly not someone she wishes to indicate a fight with.

Amelia didn't flinch--she observed the figure with hitched breath, the wave of familiarity overtook her senses. It's someone she felt drawn to... showing no sign of fear within her eyes then realisation hit her.  Leather jacket, purple inked tattoos, silver hair and claws....

It was the same woman that haunted her dreams for the past week!

"It's you..." Amelia gasped quietly, struggling to recall the woman's name but her mind was drawn blank.

“Come on!” Ted shouted as he recovered from the aftershock of the explosion, “The Public Security Bureau has been captured. Run for your life!”

But Amelia didn’t hear him. Instead, she finds herself subconsciously taking a step or two forward…

"What the fuck are you doing? Don't let her see you. MOVE!" Ted continued to shout at the raven-haired woman to flee.

Hecate's voice pulled her back to reality and held her hand as the four of them began to run into the alley towards the intersection where they first arrived.

That Sinner... Amelia wondered, Why am I not scared of her?

The four of them fled to the abandoned building, it was not long after they spotted a couple of Legion soldiers patrolling the street through the building’s window. It would seem the Sinner had ordered them to search the area. Ted suggested they should remain low for the time being until it deem safe to leave. Amelia acknowledged with a nod, taking few deep breath as her body wasn't used to such exercise in a long while. The murky airs from the alleyway and the dust inside the building left unused hasn't made it easy on her nostril.

Hella peered out of the window to observe the Legion patrol, recognizing the signature wolf logo on their clothing, "Oh, I remember them!" she beamed excitedly upon seeing them, "They're the Legion! The most impressive gang in Syndicate these recent years." she was expressing her admiration for them, "All the gangs are scared of them!"

Amelia was curious--she lipread attentively as Hella talked about them. Ted, on the other hand, grimaced.

"Was that their boss who made the Public Security Bureau with one blow? Quite an impressive feat." She sounded amazed then she glanced at Amelia, "What are the chances she might be targeting you?!"

"Do you know her name by any chance?" Amelia asked, hoping to learn more about the Legion Commander.

Hella rubbed her chin, using her brain to recall the name, "Hm. I remember she's called Zoya--"

"Shut up." Ted snapped in a irritated tone, "She is a terrifying, fucking monster." Amelia bit back on her tongue in annoyance at Ted interrupting them. "Syndicate wouldn't be in such a state if she hadn't destroyed our order..." He then cast a glance at Amelia with a serious tone, pointing at her, "You can't fall into her hands."

"Ok, who pissed in your fucking coffee this morning?" Hella asked sarcastically.

Amelia tried to stiffened her laughter. Ted and Hella exchanged deadly glares that could murder each other the longer they keep up.

“Chief, do me a favour and get your monster out of my fucking face.” Ted advised with venom in his tongue, clearly in no mood to be playing games with Hella.

Amelia muttered her apology and gently dragged Hella by her coat away from the red-haired man to avoid escalating the tension. The three of them gave a wide berth to Ted and took a seat by the crates to rest up for a little while. Amelia wanted to resume the conversation after a rude interruption but decided against it... 

Zoya... 

The name does ring a bell, mind flashed to the image of the Sinner with icy blue eyes standing atop the debris had sent chills down her spine the more she reflected on it. She has many questions... and most importantly, why was her Shackle reacting to the Sinner. The questions remain unanswered until she learns more.

—

06:43 a.m. August 10, N.F. 112

Public Security Bureau building, West District, DisCity.

—

The first of many Public Security Bureau was destroyed and secured in the Legion's hold--it was a first victory to start the day. 

The members ransacked the place from top to bottom in search of something far more important to them. Two of the Legion leaders were inside the head office occupied with their search, more specifically it was the second-in command seated by the desk with eyes glued on the computer screen complying a search through the database to uncover secrets, whereas the Commander was deep in thoughts.

Information was crucial to the Legion to pave the way to forge a new future and secure a free united Syndicate. A dream they had been fighting for the past thirteen years, fought countless gang wars, conducted many raids to claim the illegal firearms for themselves, and successfully angered many people within the authorities. The Public Security Bureau was their main enemy to begin with--the Commander believed they were suspected in the involvement into the conspiracy that ravaged Syndicate for so long.

A rumour she was determined to uncover the real truth from them. And she won't rest once she purged the old ways.

‘Only violence can end violence’ she repeatedly told herself.

The Legion Commander, Zoya, who is famed for her fearless and powerful status as the leader responsible for the rise of the Legion. She was a strong warrior with prowess and strength that was considered inhumanely superior. It is any wonder that anybody had dared to try to eliminate her to collect on the bounty but none of them ever survived to tell the tale. Every assassinated attempt resulted in failures--she called them pathetic for trying.

She is a Sinner whose threat assessment ranked her into the S level category 

Zoya was restlessly pacing back and forth within the office space--her hands ran through her white disheveled hair deep in conflicting thoughts about what she had seen fifteen minutes ago.

Petite woman with average height and pear-shaped body, black hair tied back in a ponytail, tan skin tone and brown eyes. She stood a little distance away from her, recalling the brown eyes locked gaze with her blue eyes, startled by the appearance of the woman she had not seen in a year. The moment lasted shortly as the red haired man yelled at the woman to flee and the young teenagers pried her away.

Zoya had sent a few of the members out on patrol to search the street--hoping they'll confirm her suspicions by what she saw.

Amelia… the name plagued her mind on occasions that she never stopped thinking about.

"Your pacing's distracting, Commander." a male voice called out.

Zoya stopped still by the window overlooking the ruined street, "Right, sorry, Earl."

The tall and thin Sinner with prosthetic leg, Earl, observed the Commander's body language for a brief moment before resuming his attention back to the screen, knowing something was off with her.

He could tell her mind was occupied with something else that irrelevant to their current mission objectives--something has... spooked her, he insisted on getting to the bottom of this, "You seem miles away. Want to talk about it?"

"No. It's not important." Zoya dismissed her friend and second in command's concern, "We came here looking for Horo and the intel. I shouldn't burden you with my troubles."

Earl hummed, eyes still on the screen reading the files, clasping his hands together, "If the Commander's distracted, then the entire Legion will be distracted. So for the sake of them, I ask you to speak your mind."

"Fuck." Zoya muttered under her breath to compose herself before curling her hand into a fist and punching a dent into the wall, then letting out a shaky breath, "... I saw Amelia."

Earl stopped reading upon hearing the name. 

"Fifteen minutes ago when we destroyed this Bureau..." Zoya explained what she had seen, "She was right there out on the street--she looked the same from the last time we saw her before they took her from us. Heh, to think I would never see her face again..."

"Are you certain you saw her?" Earl said with a worried tone after the past countless nights he offered his shoulders for Zoya to burden him with.

"I'm positive." Zoya affirmed with a heavy sigh, "With Ted and two young girls." There was a sudden pause between the two of them, Zoya looked over her shoulder after she noticed her friend had gone quiet. Her dread was beginning to kick in, "Alright, say it. "

Earl was already starting to regret his questions, he cleared his throat as he said, "We haven't received a single intel on her for a year. And I worry they're anything but a figment of your imagination. You haven't slept well in days."

Earl made his feelings clear, accustomed to each night he caught her staying up late only to wrestle with her insomnia struggles. It hadn't been an easy year for the Legion... Amelia was one of their own, imtroduced by Zoya. They treated her like family and welcomed her, the family were devastated after losing her.

Zoya lets out a bitter scoff in response--she absolutely despised this, "I'm... not imagining it. I feel fine." she said this while rubbing her right arm to feel something, "There's no doubt about it, she was right there with that fucking traitor through my eyes. I sent the others out to search around."

Earl’s curiosity sparked an investigation to scout for CCTV tapes and any files relating to Amelia to back up the claims.

"After all this time... I finally found her and now they took her away before I could get to her." Zoya heaved a sigh, fixating her gaze onto the street outside as the Legion continued their patrolling, "There's not a single moment I go through each day, pinching myself like I'm in some fucking dream, and I would wake up in morning with her in my arms, getting her hearing aids, to hear her voice, talk about our plans for the day... Everything feels too surreal."

Zoya took it pretty hard since the day Amelia was taken, constantly struggling with restless nights without her lover in bed with her.

She closed her eyes–overwhelmed wby onslaught of past emotions, "I shouldn't have left her alone that night. I promised her I'll protect her." Zoya stopped talking and rubbed her weary face with the palm of her hands, stress was starting to get to her then reached into her coat pocket, "Ugh, I need a fucking smoke." she pulled out a cigarette from the packet and flickered the lighter to inhale and smoke.

The two of them remained in silence for the next couple of minutes with Earl continued to search the database while Zoya smoked, a ping on the computer had alerted the Sinner as she turned to face her friend who was unusually quiet, "What is it?" she asked.

"You may want to see this." Earl urged her.

Zoya moved away from the window and went around the desk to glance at the screen, it has three files containing the name and a photo of the  team sent to assist the Public Security Bureau on a classified mission. Zoya saw the two files of the young Sinners that she had saw recently and another file has Amelia attached to it.

"The MBCC has her...? The whole fucking time?" Zoya sounded angry,  having more questions than answers,"And they appointed her as the new Chief but why?"

"Then the rumours we have heard about for the past week was true. They already suspected the ‘Shackle’." Earl says, his brows furrowed, then looked at Zoya recalling something that had... perturbed them recently, "Commander... it would seem there's more to--"

A fist hit the desk hard, "Don't." Zoya cuts him off with a warning, "Don't fucking say it."

"We still need to talk about that video footage. We wouldn't have discovered what happened had Horo not found the evidence."

"No. Not now, Earl." Zoya doesn't want to think about that footage--she couldn't get the disturbing images out of her head, "Talking about it enraged me." Zoya stepped away from the desk and stormed out of the office.

"Where are you going?" Earl called after her.

"To inform the gangs that the Legion are here to declare war on all of them." she shouted back, curling her claws into a tightened fist, "It's high time we'll reclaim Syndicate."

"What about--"

"Call me when you find something relevant." 

The door slammed shut behind her. Earl sighed once more, deciding to respect Zoya's space to be left alone and went back to his investigation.

—

Half an hour has passed with the four of them remaining in the building while the Legion resumed patrolling the street near the Public Security Bureau. Hecate was quietly observing Ted for signs of unusual behaviour--he was pacing back and forth eying out of the window, biting into his nails, analyzing something as he started to mutter quickly to himself.

Hecate saw Ted's face go pale. With a frown, she observed once more through Nightmare--the monster was summoned to levitate closer to him and eavesdrop on him.

"Why is she here? Have we lost our cover? When? Damn it... if only they..." he paced back and forth as he muttered incoherently, "No no no, they didn't go to the hospital, which means they don't know... the decoy has worked then," Ted rubbed his hands, optimistic about it, "Yes, they must have attacked the Public Security Bureau for their own reasons. But the intel we had was already disposed of.... There's still a way. We've still got time..."

He stopped talking after he spotted the Legion members leaving. Hecate's body was tensed up as Ted approached Amelia with a wicked smile, "We should get a move on. I got a stronghold not far from here. My men are there watching SALVA. I've no doubt the Legion would strike at that place next."

“Hold on.” Hecate interrupted. She tugged on the coat sleeve and turned Amelia with her back facing Ted and away from within earshot, “It’s too risky. Chief, I advise that we do not trust him. Should we proceed with the operation?” her voice was lowered to a whisper.

Amelia heaved a sigh. This was the worst opening possible with the leak of the MBCC’s intelligence exposed and the support she was supposed to seek out was destroyed. The department only "discovered" the whereabouts of the fugitives and suspected them of being the mastermind behind the riot outbreak. This intel could prove to be wrong.

Hella cleared her throat for Amelia’s attention, “I’m just putting this out here between us–I hate gangsters but this bastard is definitely using us. Hecate’s right, don’t trust him.”

“Whatever your decision is, we’ll comply with your order and protect you.” Hecate added.

Amelia nodded at the teenagers before stepping back towards Ted who was waiting patiently for an answer.

“Well?”

“Lead the way. We have a mission to achieve.”

Amelia has made her choice. The shackle bond surged with hesitation flowing to her from the two Sinners expressing their feelings clear.

“Wise decision.” He smiled in satisfaction, “There may be riots on the road to the stronghold at any time. I'll try my best to provide you cover, but you must be prepared to fight. At the cost of your Sinners."

"One condition."

"Name it."

"You need to tell me everything you know about the current organisations." Amelia requested, "Including the Legion."

Ted gulped. —

08:02 a.m. August 10, N.F. 112

Somewhere in Syndicate West District, DisCity.

—

"For someone who's Syndician born, aren't you supposed to be keeping track of the gangs organisation?"

Amelia bit on her tongue to think for a moment, "Haven't been to Syndicate in a long time, so I've been out of the loop." That was a lie she had come up with. Her accent was not hard to notice by anyone in Syndicate but truthfully, Amelia's memory was still hazy.

The route all the way to the safehouse near SALVA was taking much longer than expected. Battlefield continued to intensify--the group made precautious manoeuvres to avoid the gangsters in the mayhem, but it was becoming extremely difficult to remain on a low profile. Along the way, they stumbled upon the bodies of many defeated gangs. It was a bloodbath--another scene of a massacre like the ones she saw a couple of hours ago.

This time it wasn't Mania. It was an all-scale bloodied gang fight.

Ted delivered his promise to explain extensive intel about the current Syndican organisations to this present day involved in the never-ending violent gang war in the last thirteen years.

He told her of the Gonzales Family, who were in it for the wealth and power although they were on the same level as the corrupted politicians in terms of getting what they wanted. However, Ted brought up the rumour that the Family had paid a fortune to pursue people to force them into undergoing bizarre Mania experiments to modify genetics and bolster their strength inhumanely. Amelia reflected on the massacre scene swarmed with Mania before she encountered the grey-haired Sinner. 

The thought still made her sick.

From what Amelia gathered from Ted’s intel on the other factions, The Gonzales Family seems to rival the Legion rather arguably. 

Hecate chimed in to the conversation relating to the Mania topic. Thou Voodoo, a Mania worshipping cult. The thought of people worshipping Mania without consequences sent a chill down Amelia's spine, though what’s more disturbing about the fact they forged Mania into weapons for their personal gains. And those weapons were often discovered and stolen by other factions.

“Heh, I almost envy you, Chief,” Ted tells her, rather bitterly, “But I hardly don’t blame you. There’s a lot of different factions over the years. Some come and go, some cease to exist thanks to the biggest rival factions. Some others still continue to fight for power and control. You already know the two biggest competitors. It’s all about a game of strength, abilities and capabilities.” Ted stopped walking to look out of the alleyway to check whether the coast is clear, “So basically, it’s either you beg or fight and die.”

That sounded grim.

Ted beckoned for Amelia and the Sinners to follow as the coast was clear to enter the street on track to the safehouse. Ted had neglected to heed Amelia’s request to provide intel about the Legion. He talked less about them than the other factions.

“Have you forgotten something, Ted?” she spoke up after a short silence, “About the Legion.”

Ted tensed and stopped. He heaved a sigh and faced Amelia disapprovingly, “Ugh, I hoped you wouldn’t force me talk about them.”

Amelia narrowed her eyes at him, “Why? Are you afraid of the Legion?”

Ted laughed sarcastically, “Me? Afraid of the Legion? Please.”

Amelia doesn’t believe his claim–she had noticed the way his body tensed when it came to the Legion. Was he hiding something that he’s not wishing to share, she wondered.

“Should reconsider your self awareness when the Legion are still chasing after us.” Hecate spoke up, “I suggest you provide the intel Chief requested for.”

“Ugh, look,” Ted completely ignores as he stomps past her to Amelia, “You don’t understand how dangerous the Legion are, especially their leaders. They are not someone you wish to trifle with.” 

“They do seem organised.” Hecate theories, while Hella was on the sideline listening, “As if they follow someone they respect.”

Ted took a pause before speaking again, “Yeah. The one you saw at the Public Security Bureau was their Commander… Zoya. Strength, agility, endurance, battle plans. Nobody knows what prompted her motivation to build the Empire but what we do know is that she rose the ranks quite immediately and gained the respect of others. She trained the Legion, which makes her a serious threat.”

“You said Leaders? Who’s the other one?” Amelia asked curiously, wanting to make sure she heard him correctly.

“Well, you know the saying, watch out for the quiet ones? That’s Earl. Her right hand man and analyst. He provided intelligence and structural plans but nothing much beyond him. He was rarely seen much out on the battlefield.”

Satisfied with the intel she received, there was a sound of an ambulance siren that was heard throughout the district, it alerted the group’s attention to continue walking. The longer they walked, the more devastating the battleground had become. Ted’s phone buzzed–he pulled it out of the coat pocket to check the recent message.

"News of SALVA hiding felony Sinners has now spread throughout the city. It’s the last straw for the gangs who have already decided to teach these jerks a lesson.”" Ted announced to the group, while putting his phone away.

“But now they’re killing each other.” Hecate stated the obvious.

Ted rounded to to Hecate who didn't flinch by the move, "I can fucking see that. I'm not half-blind unlike you girl." Ted sneered at the blue-haired girl, his disdain towards Sinner was clear.

Amelia stepped in between the two to shield the Sinner protectively. Ted backed away upon seeing Amelia's scowl.

"And the reason? Was because of the Mania. Every fucking moronics got their head in the twist to consume Mania and drunk on power without any remorse for themselves.” Ted shook his head, “Unpredictable SALVA doctors thinking they could build a hospital to ‘save lives’.”

“What do you mean?” 

Ted didn’t reply. He suddenly halted the trio to stop, signalling them to remain quiet. 

Bang.

Rapid gunfire suppression and terrified shouting had forced the group to rush into cover and hide from the opposition. Amelia wasn’t sure if she felt her quickened heartbeats or heard the loud noise first–she pressed her earmold to suppress the buzzing within her hearing aids. The fires went on for a few minutes then the howls and cries died down as the whole street fell silent. Amelia decided to investigate as she peeked her head from the cover–her heartbeat was pounding–the entire area was a massacre. There were only two survivors, bloodied and injured, trying to crawl away in fear–one was a gangster and the other was wearing a tailored suit that has no business being in a place like this. 

“Shit.” Ted observed the two injured men while he remained hidden, “We're surrounded.”

Before Amelia could ask about the gangsters, a tall muscular man with blond hair and beard appeared from the corner and pointed his rifle at the gangster and set to search his coat and pockets–other soldiers surrounded them with their weapons to block their escape.

“Treacherous cowards.” the woman’s voice spoke up.

The shackle alerted Amelia’s attention as her eyes darted over to the tall white haired woman leaped down from the building with a hard landing on the ground then advanced toward the man in a suit with a cold stare. Amelia gasped–it’s Zoya, the Legion Commander! 

The man screamed, “Wait, no, mercy, mercy!” he pleaded for his life with raised hands, “I yield, I yield!”

Zoya then grabbed the collar of his suit, the tip of her claws pierced into his throat, forcing a wheeze out of his lungs.

Amelia whispered to the group, “Who’s that?” She looked to Hecate and Hella but found them shaking their heads albeit unsure.

“Yaygu.” Ted finally says after he went quiet, “They're a professionally organised gang who take pride in their sword manufacturing crafts. That’s all I know.”

The man in the suit was thrashing within the strong grips of the Legion Commander's, unable to break free and get away from her, resorting into a whimpering mess, "Look, I-I’m a salaried employer. I was forced to do this by my boss' order–I had to survive, ok? That’s the way things operate in Syndicate, right?” He was paralysed with fear, frozen to the core.

It was a sad sight to witness but Zoya didn't care as her expression was growing colder, unfazed by the whimpering cries. Her eyes darted onto the sword holstered around the man's waist, releasing her grip off the collar before slamming her foot onto his chest to prevent him running away. She draws out the long sword silently, inspecting the fine design with an appreciative hum--her attention were caught on the blood-red crystals embedded on each side of the sword.

"You got a good sword. One of the Yaygu's best craftsmanship." she admired, even praised. The executive looked at her confused. "Unfortunately, it's a shame this masterpiece’s coated with Mania. I can tell you've been taking good care of the sword." she gave the sword a good twirl with her hand, "So tell me, are you proud of this sword? Do you feel honourable?"

"Uh... yeah?"

With a dark laugh, Zoya lifted the sword and impaled the Yaygu into his right shoulder--he howled in pain, blood soaked through his suit jacket, hands reaching for the blade as his thrashed to break free. Amelia, on the other, flinched and felt sick to her stomach watching the violent scene.

"Ahhhhhh!!!! No, please, spare me!"

"How many people did you kill with it? How many were kids, civilians and innocent people?"--she then applied the pressure of the blade to plunge it deeper into his shoulder, eyes shone brightly to inflict fear into him--"Did they die? Or did they get infected with the Mania? When you wield this sword," she continued to inflict pain and fear to him, "When you count your kills and wait for the next prize, are you satisfied with your achievements?"

"Ah, it's... it's...." the Yaygu stammers through in between breaths, "It's all of Syndicate's fault for turning me into an... evil person..."

Zoya scoffed--she pulled the sword out of his shoulder, the Yaygu screamed and clutched his wounded shoulder. Zoya wrapped her palm around the blade's hilt tightly, moving the tip from the shoulder then downward to his chest. The Yaygu's eyes widened in fear.

"No, wait!" his pleads were cut off as Zoya moved her boot off and began to slash the blade from torso to his stomach, pained groans left his throat, "Stop! I'll coordinate with my boss to back down. We will not bother you or Legion again." the Yaygu was still begging for his life, "You're already winning this war, you're the overlord of Syndicate. I'll do whatever you say, just don't kill me!"

"After you pitted the blame on Syndicate and act like we're at fault for your ways of killings?" Zoya thought long and hard on this, "Hm. No." She lifted the blade up--the Yaygu screamed in terror--and slammed the blade into his neck to slice if off., "I destroy every part of it, including you. You've long become part of it."

She breaks the Mania long sword with her bare hands as it shattered into pieces then stomped her boots onto the blood-red crystals. Amelia looked away from the horrific scene with a gag before vomiting onto the pavement. Hella couldn't bear to watch any further and crawled over to rub the woman's back.

"Overlord?" she sounded amused to that thought, "Could it be the desire for such a thing that this place has become what it is? I don't want to be your king. I want your death." she emphasised with a low voice.

Zoya searched the Yaygu for anything of value and took the mobile phone from his pockets. It's active. She stepped away from the body and walked toward the Legion Captain who stood waiting and watching--ensuring the gangster did not escape. Zoya tossed the phone over to her subordinate, "Find anything of use. Check for anything involving the inheritance and who supplied them the Mania weapons." she ordered with a calm voice.

"Yes, Commander."

Zoya, then turned to the gangster who surrendered on his knees and hands on his head, she stalked towards him, "I think it's time we talk."

The gangster was petrified.

“What’s the matter? Are you scared?” Zoya taunted him with a cold smile, revelling in the gangster’s fear, “What you’re really afraid of, hm? A mediocre Syndicate gangster, or the Wolf of Syndicate?” her eyes glowered and laughed for a bit, “Why don’t you run? Let’s see how fast you are before I’ll consider breaking you.”

Ted looked at Amelia who was composing herself, "We need to get moving."

Amelia wiped her lips with a handkerchief after she emptied her stomach from the gorey scene, "What about that guy?"

Ted didn't say anything and shook his head with a somber expression, it's a lost cause, "We can't risk exposing ourselves."

The gangster contemplates for a moment to think on the plan--he wanted to get away from her. The first instinct was to scramble to his feet and begin running. Zoya smiled once more, she prepared herself with some stretches, rolling her neck and shrugging her shoulders before she set off on a chase.

The gangster made a mistake to look back over his shoulder and screamed as she was closing in on him--she stumbled over flat on his front with panicked shriek. He struggled to regain his strength in an attempt to get away from her. But Zoya caught up to him with her claws on him. He lets out a scream--so agonisingly painful, filled with fear. 

Amelia grimaced, wishing she could switch her hearing aids off, instead she pressed her fingers to the earmold and turned to look at the others to her side. Hecate showed no display of emotions through her calmness, Hella was warped into her little world with excitement watching someone she admired, and lastly Ted was frozen still in his place, his breathing became shallow and ragged. He was… still afraid despite his expressed disdain towards the Legion.

"Ah ah ah. You already had your chance, scum." Zoya chided, voice laced with venom, "We still have much to talk about, but first."

Zoya flexed her claws before she threw several punches and kicks onto the gangster as he repeatedly howled for mercy. She then lifted him up with her single hand and dragged him along by his hair--body thrashing within the hold--and bashed him onto the fallen debris with a powerful force that the stone cracked. The slam had startled the group--they avoided any movements without getting caught as Zoya was too close to them. Hecate lifted a finger to her lips and signaled the group to remain silent. Not a single breath was ushered within Zoya's earshot. Amelia felt her heart pounding and jumped to her throat as Zoya relentlessly beat up the terrified gangster in surrender.

The blonde haired Legionnaire was still unfazed by the scene as his eyes were glued onto the phone in deep search for something relevant. He listened to the pained grunts and took his eyes off the scene for a brief moment to observe Zoya torturing the gangster then shrugs like it's nothing new.

"Ah, I love the smell of cowards beaten up by my Commander. Just another regular day for me." he says aloud then returns his attention back to the phone.

"Enjoying the show?" Zoya asked him over her shoulder.

"Yeah definitely, what's not there to enjoy." He replied back without looking up.

Zoya ceased her assault--the gangster's breathing was ragged and worn out, unable to find the strengths to fight back. She eyed him attentively before she bent down to crouch to his level, "So. Ready to talk?"

The gangster responded with a moan.

"I take that as a yes? Good." Zoya made a small laugh, "You're going to give me the answers I needed." her eyes stared through the gangster's skull, indicating fear into him, "Where is the inheritance?"

The gangster coughed up blood and spatted them onto the Sinner, "Go fuck yourself you bitch." his voice was hoarse from the screams.

Zoya was used to this reaction, she tutted at him and wiped the blood off her face before throwing a hard punch onto the gangster's nose. He yelled in pain. "Well that was rude. I could have drained your blood and donated it to SALVA." she said with a mockery tone, "Hm. Not a bad decision."

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

Unimpressed with the answer, she continued to stare at him, "That's a fancy way of saying your boss withheld information from you. Speaking of..." she leaned forward a little, "Where's your boss anyways? Don't tell me Ted had double crossed you and left you to your fates."

Amelia, Hella and Hecate all turned to look at Ted.

"We have unfinished business." Zoya added. "Plus, he owned the Legion a lot of fucking money."

Ted went deathly paler at the mention of his name, he cursed under his breath while the trio stared at him in bewilderment. There's more to Ted than he's letting on, Amelia thought and started to grow suspicious.

"Ooh... Somebody got skeletons in the closet, huh?" Hella jested in a quiet tone, "No wonder you almost shit your pants when Legion's around."

"Shut. Up." Ted gritted his teeth at Hella.

The Legionnaire made a low whistle, Grinning from ear to ear as he discovered a scandalous discovery,  his chuckle had alerted the Sinner's attention, "Oh, Boss? You may want to see this."

Zoya glanced over her shoulder with raised brow--then grew intrigued seeing the expression on her ally's face. "You found something?"

The Sinner rose to her feet, took hold of the gangster on the brink of death and dragged his body over to stand by her subordinate's side, ignoring his pained wheezing for air as her boot pinned his chest down with all of her strength. The gangster was incapacitated to fight back and gave up. 

Amelia took a quick glance over to observe--the Legionnaire was showing the phone screen to Zoya, she strained her ear trying to listen as best she could and relied on lipreading to understand their conversation, neglecting to hear Ted advising the group to take the chance to leave.

"Your suspicions about the gangs using Mania weapons were confirmed. They set up a coalition and used the weapons against us to take over Syndicate for their gains."  The Legionnaire reported his findings to Zoya.

"That is not a coincidence. Which means one thing, someone was supplying them weapons. It's only the matter of who it was."

"You had any ideas who?"

"I had my theory but I won't act on it until I get more answers. I know for sure the Public Security Bureau had something to do with this. Horo's still missing and it's been a week," Zoya sighed, grimacing at the thought of something had happened to the kid the same way she had lost someone close to her, "Anything else?" the Legionnaire's grin widened to which Zoya raised a brow at him, "What?"

"You would not believe what I also found?" he laughed giddy, showing her the contact list on the phone screen. The name caught Zoya's attention.

Zoya clicked her tongue, "Well, well... Didn't think he would stoop this low to play with fire."

"Wanna call him, Boss?" 

Zoya took the phone from him, "He cannot hide from me any longer." She pressed on the dial button as it started to ring the contact. 

Suddenly, the ringtone began to play nearby alerting everyone around them. Zoya and the Legionnaire exchanged glances before they turned to follow where they heard the sound coming from. At the same time, the trio all looked to find Ted fumbled to grab his phone out of his pocket with expletive curses out of sheer panic. 

"Fuck!”

"I know you're hiding out here, Ted." Zoya called out with displeased tone, "You have five seconds to come out or I'll kill your associate--"

Ted realised too late that it was impossible to avoid the risk of exposure--he neglected to mute his phone earlier on. Ted looked at Amelia with a quiet voice, "I'll try to stall them. Go!" he then scrambles to his feet with a phone in his hand, putting on a brave face, "Heh, you caught me." He surrendered himself but kept his distance, "Can... I help you with anything?"

Zoya stared at him in disgust and hung up the call, "Good timing. You saved us the hassle of hunting you down."

"Ah well, you see... I am a busy man--" he tried to protest his innocence.

"Oh, you do seem busy." Zoya reached for the pistol from her subordinate, "But not too busy from the look of things. Suppose you have the time to give me answers?"

Amelia's heart was pounding hard each second as she crawled to follow the younger Sinners to escape while the Legion were distracted. Hella and Hecate whispered to each other to come up with a plan.

"Well, sure, fire away." Ted says with raised hands in air.

Zoya hummed in thought, "Hm. That's not a fine suggestion." she said in agreement and aimed pistol at the gangster's leg. The shot was fired after she pulled the trigger as the gangster under boot screamed in pain, her lips curled with a smirk, "Choose your words wisely, Ted, because this will be *you* next." 

Ted gulped, fearful for his life, "Let's not be hasty. I see you had a lot on your mind, Commander… Have you been sleeping well lately?”

Zoya stared at him coldly, choosing to ignore his fake concern, observing her enemy's body to notice the slight quivering. He feared her entire presence, she knows this.

"What's wrong, Ted? You should try to relax. Or are you suffering from the withdrawal of your addiction?"

Ted's eyes gazed at the gangster squirming and sobbing uncontrollably on the ground. He inhaled sharply knowing it's next to impossible to get out of this--he made a quick glance to find the trio behind the Legion waiting for an opening to run. 

"Heh... hardly." he started to grow nervous as the Legionnaire approach with a rifle aimed at him, "This feels... unnecessary. I thought we were buddies.. "

"Necessary precautions, Ted. Now, we know every single one of the gangs are fighting to get their hands on the inheritance, including you. Where is it?" Zoya began to question him.

“Ah. Uh, that's the problem, you see. I barely know it exi-”

Bang.

Ted flinched then composed himself as the gangster wailed, there wasn't much he could do in this position. 

“Wrong answer, Ted. You're working with the Public Security Bureau, so you know a lot of things.”

Ted shrugged his shoulders, at the corner of his eyes he noticed the barrel pointed at him, knowing he cannot run this time, “Must be a rumour. You know how gossip like that spreads like wildfire. Why, you guys want it too?”

“What's my fucking business with the inheritance isn't any of yours.” She dismissed his question, “Secondly there's another matter brought to my attention.”

“Which is…?” Ted made a quick glance as the trio sneak past behind Zoya as they make their escape.

“A small team from the MBCC happened to be in the area. You were the last person to have seen them, so where's the Chief?” Zoya questioned him coldly, “More specifically, where's my girl Amelia?”

Amelia stopped half-way across the street, frozen upon hearing her name, turning to stare at the Legion Commander. 

“Your… girl?” Ted pretended to sound surprised, “She's alive? I don't know where she is? Are you sure you're not sleeping well?”

Zoya saw through his lies. Pistol clicked again and aimed it at the gangster's head, the screams of begging for mercy and pleading for life long ignored as Zoya pulled the last trigger.

Bang.

The bullet wound shot through the gangster's head, Zoya removed her boot off the lifeless body and approached towards Ted, icy flame flared within her eyes.

“You're lying.” she spoke through gritted teeth.

"Look, I know you're pretty angry--"

"Don't give me that bullshit. I saw you with her two hours ago. So, Where. Is. She?" She yelled at him angrily.

Ted remained silently. His silence leaves Zoya growing frustrated and angry.

“Fine.”--she dropped the pistol and flexed her fingers to prepare, locking her gaze onto Ted–”Guess I'll beat the answers out of you.”

She made her move.

Ted began to panic, “No, wait–!”

Zoya raised her fist and threw a punch onto his face. The impact if the hard punch caused Ted to stumble back on the ground, he tried to crawl away but caught the moment a clawed hand grabbed him by the collar. Ted whimpers to plead for his life.

“Tell me where the inheritance is.” she demanded as she threw her fist into Ted's face hard when he didn't answer, “Where did you hide Amelia?”

Ted didn't answer her once more which continued to enrage the Legion Commander into aggressively punching him again.

Ted spluttered, blood streamed down from his nose, “I-I don't know–”

“... Stop wasting my fucking time.”

Zoya was about to deliver another blow–

"No, stop!" 

Zoya paused hearing the voice. 

Amelia rushes forward to intervenue--the moment she yelled out, the shackle acted on a command, her right arm glows in a crimson colour and burns within her hand, red beams like spikes shoot out of Zoya's skin branded with the shackles on her body. An electric jolt shocked her entire body loosen her grip from Ted's collar.

"Argh-!"

"Commander?!" The Legionnaire called out, rushing to her side then stopped upon seeing Amelia. 

The white haired Sinner let out a pained roar and collapsed to one knee, as if she was drained of her energy, her fist slammed onto the pavement forceful enough to leave cracks beneath her knuckle, but she quickly shook her head with a groan to gather her bearing and used her remaining strength to overcome the shackle with greater resistance with flame engulfed her body.

"This power?!" Ted was stunned by what he witnessed, he quickly backed away from the two Legion while they're distracted. He has... many questions for Amelia once they get to the safehouse immediately.

Amelia froze--trying to process what had happened.

Zoya, then slowly, turned to face her. The flame dispersed as soon the shock washed over her face, her breath hitched and her blue eyes softened at her with an emotional rush that overwhelmed her.

"....Amelia?"

Amelia was taken aback by the Legion Commander's tone... it sounded different, more relieved than angry.

“What are you fucking doing?! Run!” Ted shouted at Amelia and the two Sinners with her and began to make a sprint for his life.

The Legionnaire acted quickly upon seeing Ted fleeing away from and began to open fire at him.

Zoya and Amelia were locked in a gaze with each other.

Amelia took a step forward--as if her muscle memory recalling a specific event--then she remembered Suspect R's advice to her the week prior, "It's... you." she whispered softly, "You are the Wolf."

Zoya was about to reply to her but, cut off by the timely arrival of the young Sinners rushes over to Amelia's side and attempts to lure her away.

"Chief? We need to go!" Hecate reached out then surveyed her surroundings until her eye spotted the enormous signage above the building, "Nightmare!" the shadow monster was summoned upon her call and blasted its power to knock it off as an obstacle to buy the time to escape.

Zoya saw this--it was about to fall onto her unsuspecting subordinate who failed the notice the monster. It is only the matter of time for the Legion Commander to run towards her ally and tackle him out of the way. The signage crashed onto the ground, it brought Hecate and Hella the opportunity to pull Amelia away successfully.

The three of them started to run altogether with their hands grasped onto Amelia's arms as they caught up to Ted's trail.

"What the fuck were you thinking?!" Hella screeched from the top of her lungs, "How could you use the shackles on the Legion Boss of all people?!"

"Sinners can never defy their master's order..." Hecate explained, "Chief, did you happen to establish a connection with the Legion’s leader before this?"

"Right. As if she could ever meet Zoya of all people." Hella retorted, "Seriously, how do you know her? What the fuck happened between you two? Did you pissed her off or something?"

Hella was swarming Amelia with more questions than answers. Amelia reflected back on the memory before the outbreak occurred.

She woke up with a groggily vision to find Suspect R within the medbay and picked up the photo from the cabinet next to the bed. She closed her eyes then opened them again to the view of the white-haired Sinner with blue eyes and purple inked tattoos sitting on the edge of the bed, hand went to caress her cheek with a smile on her face.

"I wish I knew..." Amelia was unsure and uncertain.

After the group escaped, the two Legionnaires groaned from the impact of the obstacle that threw them off their guard. Zoya rose to her feet and helped her ally up then ran onto the middle of the road to glance sideways overlooking the street. Amelia was gone... again... with the same two young Sinners accompanying her. She uttered a loud expletive curse.

"Boss?" the Legionnaire called out for her attention and walked towards her, "Are you alright? Was that really... Amelia?"

Zoya nodded in response, "Yes. The shackles were enough proof. It's really her."--she sighed as she rubbed her arm branded with the shackle--"She's real." she confirmed the part she wasn't hallucinating at all.

"Well, what are you waiting for? We should go and get her--"

"No." Zoya interrupted him, "We still have a war to win. Reclaiming back the glory of Syndicate was our main priority." suddenly a thought came to her mind, she looked back to the direction where she last saw Amelia had ran off, then she pulled out her phone from her coat pocket, "I know where they're going."

"Oh? Where did you reckon they went?"

“SALVA.”

Zoya dialled the phone and held it to her ear, she waited until the receiver answered on the other end.

"Do not hang up on me, I need you to listen to me carefully. The Legion would repay your debt if you're willing to assist us." Zoya spoke on the phone, "Good. Then I got a favour to ask of you, Dr Iron."

[peggycatrerr]

i think it’s really really important that we keep reminding people that what we’re calling ai isn’t even close to intelligent and that its name is pure marketing. the silicon valley tech bros and hollywood executives call it ai because they either want it to seem all-powerful or they believe it is and use that to justify their use of it to exploit and replace people.

chat-gpt and things along those lines are not intelligent, they are predictive text generators that simply have more data to draw on than previous ones like, you know, your phone’s autocorrect. they are designed to pass the turing test by having human-passing speech patterns and syntax. they cannot come up with anything new, because they are machines programmed on data sets. they can’t even distinguish fact from fiction, because all they are actually capable of is figuring out how to construct a human-sounding response using applicable data to a question asked by a human. you know how people who use chat-gpt to cheat on essays will ask it for reference lists and get a list of texts that don’t exist? it’s because all chat-gpt is doing is figuring out what types of words typically appear in response to questions like that, and then stringing them together.

midjourney and things along those lines are not intelligent, they are image generators that have just been really heavily fine-tuned. you know how they used to do janky fingers and teeth and then they overcame that pretty quickly? that’s not because of growing intelligence, it’s because even more photographs got added to their data sets and were programmed in such a way that they were able to more accurately identify patterns in the average amount of fingers and teeth across all those photos. and it too isn’t capable of creation. it is placing pixels in spots to create an amalgamation of images tagged with metadata that matches the words in your request. you ask for a tree and it spits out something a little quirky? it’s not because it’s creating something, it’s because it gathered all of its data on trees and then averaged it out. you know that “the rest of the mona lisa” tweet and how it looks like shit? the fact that there is no “rest” of the mona lisa aside, it’s because the generator does not have the intelligence required to identify what’s what in the background of such a painting and extend it with any degree of accuracy, it looked at the colours and approximate shapes and went “oho i know what this is maybe” and spat out an ugly landscape that doesn’t actually make any kind of physical or compositional sense, because it isn’t intelligent.

and all those ai-generated voices? also not intelligent, literally just the same vocal synth we’ve been able to do since daisy bell but more advanced. you get a sample of a voice, break it down into the various vowel and consonant sounds, and then when you type in the text you want it to say, it plays those vowel and consonant sounds in the order displayed in that text. the only difference now is that the breaking it down process can be automated to some extent (still not intelligence, just data analysis) and the synthesising software can recognise grammar a bit more and add appropriate inflections to synthesised voices to create a more natural flow.

if you took the exact same technology that powers midjourney or chat-gpt and removed a chunk of its dataset, the stuff it produces would noticeably worsen because it only works with a very very large amount of data. these programs are not intelligent. they are programs that analyse and store data and then string it together upon request. and if you want evidence that the term ai is just being used for marketing, look at the sheer amount of software that’s added “ai tools” that are either just things that already existed within the software, using the same exact tech they always did but slightly refined (a lot of film editing software are renaming things like their chromakey tools to have “ai” in the name, for example) or are actually worse than the things they’re overhauling (like the grammar editor in office 365 compared to the classic office spellcheck).

but you wanna real nifty lil secret about the way “ai” is developing? it’s all neural nets and machine learning, and the thing about neural nets and machine learning is that in order to continue growing in power it needs new data. so yeah, currently, as more and more data gets added to them, they seem to be evolving really quickly. but at some point soon after we run out of data to add to them because people decided they were complete or because corporations replaced all new things with generated bullshit, they’re going to stop evolving and start getting really, really, REALLY repetitive. because machine learning isn’t intelligent or capable of being inspired to create new things independently. no, it’s actually self-reinforcing. it gets caught in loops. "ai” isn’t the future of art, it’s a data analysis machine that’ll start sounding even more like a broken record than it already does the moment its data sets stop having really large amounts of unique things added to it.

[dynamicscommunity101]

Using Power Automate String Functions to Clean Up Data

To make wise decisions in the data-driven world of today, accurate and clean data must be maintained. Power Automate string functions give customers strong data cleanup tools so they can easily edit and improve text data. You can get rid of extra whitespace, format strings consistently, and delete undesired characters by using functions like trim(), replace(), substring(), and split(). This procedure raises the general effectiveness of your workflows while also improving the quality of the data. By using these string functions in Power Automate, you can be guaranteed that your data is trustworthy and prepared for reporting or analysis.

[burnwater13]

Grogu standing with a variety of LEGO mini-figures and the partially constructed LEGO Robot World kit (60421). Other figures are hovering in the background trying to figure out how they can help.

Impossible!

Well… Grogu had tried to make appropriate controls for this power suit, but it wasn’t really going all that well. Between the issue of not really being able to discern blue from red, he also had the issue of finding parts small enough to do the work. He’d asked his dad if he could visit with the Anzellans, feeling certain that they had already resolved issues much like this, but Din Djarin told him that the Anzellans were still within the ninety day time-out frame work they had insisted the Mandalorian honor after Grogu’s last visit to their workshop. 

He’d apologized as many times as he could but the Anzellans had been adamant that apologies for squeezing them all too tightly couldn’t be accompanied by hugs that were too tight, thus squeezing them uncomfortably again. Grogu supposed he could just shake hands with them, but that never felt like enough. Yet clearly, it had been too much, from the perspective that mattered most, the Anzellans’. 

He’d asked Din Djarin to help him and explained what he wanted to do and how they would use wireless technology to automate the power suit so he didn’t have to have wires, cables, strings, or anything like that extending from the suit. It was a power suit, not a puppet. Again, Grogu was thwarted. The Mandalorian understood the requirements, but he had no ability to cause them to come into existence. Which was a pity because Grogu had watched his dad, on more than one occasion, take apart the engine of the N-1 and put it back together and have it work even better. How could setting up the servos, sensors, and remote controls be harder than adjusting the timing of the input and output of the energy transfer matrix? That didn’t make sense to Grogu. 

Now they were both sitting on the front porch of the cabin pouting. Grogu assumed that the Mandalorian was pouting because he wasn’t doing any of the things he normally did to relax. He wasn’t polishing random pieces of armor. He wasn’t checking the technical update sites for starship maintenance tricks and tips. He wasn’t even sleeping. He was just sitting there being quiet. It was unnerving. 

Grogu had tried to take his mind off his problem with the power suit by doing some tried and true techniques for unclogging your brain. He’d learned them at the Jedi Temple and they were usually pretty good. 

He tried exercise first. Sometimes just running, or in his case, trotting, around a course could get your blood flowing and help get those stuck thoughts unstuck. On his second lap around the pond he’d tripped over a stick and fell on his face and had to use the Force to heal the cut on his nose before his dad could go get the first aid kit. The first aid kit was fine for humans and most other life forms, but Grogu’s species, whatever it was, found the disinfectant it contained to be particularly annoying. First it stung, then it tingled, then it stung again and then it smelled bad for hours. It didn’t heal anything and it didn’t stop anything from hurting. So exercise did not help. 

Then he tried meditating. Another tried and true method of getting a brain to function laterally or just at all in his case. Luke had actually taught him some variations of what Grogu had learned at the temple and he was eager, for once, to give them a try. 

“Imagine yourself being the object you want… what does that shape feel like? How do you move as that shape? Are you heavy or light? Consider what you know and think about being that object…”

At the time Grogu had been very hungry and was mostly interested in catching some frogs so he could have a snack. The problem with Luke’s method was that he was successful at imagining himself being a frog. As a frog he was completely grossed out by the thought of eating another frog as a snack and really wanted some nice juicy bugs. That broke his concentration because as Grogu, he had already had more than enough ‘nice juicy bugs’ and couldn’t stand the thought of eating one more.

Trying to use that to help him come up with the designs he needed to operate the power suit remotely just tested his imagination more than he could bare. He could imagine being in the suit. He could imagine being the suit. What he couldn’t imagine was how any signal was going from him the separate person to him the suit. That was a pretty big and very frustrating problem. It also gave him a headache and he had to use the Force to heal himself again.

He was going to try another method which would have involved taking something apart that already behaved in the desired manner. He had wanted to take R5 apart but his dad said absolutely not. The mech was quirky enough as it was. Taking it apart might result in it never working again. Grogu agreed that would be bad (mostly) and found himself sitting next to his dad on the porch doing his own pouting. 

A breeze started to blow and all sorts of leaves and tiny sticks started skittering across the floor of the porch. Normally Grogu liked when that happened. He’d watch the show that nature put on for him and laugh and giggle at the various problems that debris encountered as it ended up sheltered by the wind or caught in a corner or pushed over the edge of floor boards by the door to the cabin opening or closing. It was a small thing, but it amused him most days. He found that when he was busy pouting he really didn’t want to be amused by such a small thing and almost without thinking he moved his hand and used the Force to push all the debris off the floor. It fluttered in the air for a moment or two and then fell into the grasses and plants that acted as ground cover around the cabin. 

If only getting the power suit to do what he wanted was that easy…

Huh? Wait a minute! Of course. He could just use the Force. It wasn’t like he wanted his dad to have a crack at moving the power suit around. He wanted to do it as part of playing with the new building set! Uff! Why hadn’t he thought of that earlier? Yippee!

“Buddy, that happens to all of us. Now go on inside and test out your theory. I’ll be right here if you need me.”

Dank Farrik! His dad hadn’t been pouting at all! He’d just been keeping an eye on Grogu. That crafty Mandalorian. No wonder he was such a good/great bounty hunter. He really did have a extra sense for what people were feeling. Maybe that’s why he was such a good dad too. That was possible, right?

[alias-b]

Because I'm nosy... I would like to see all of those questions answered for Cora. But how about all of them with the number 5? ☺️

AHHH!!! Thank you for leaving me questions!!! Answered all the 5s under the cut!!

5) What is their highest skill? Lowest?

Cora is a high intelligence and luck with low strength and charisma! She's good at science, sneaky, and repair type skills! Also good with robotics and explosives. Her mind for traps and fixing broken things is strong. Also she's lucky to a funny and accidental degree. She tends to save the right NPCs and find the right clues and assets needed to complete quests. Like after escaping her Vault, she happens to steal the right items that would later convince Cooper to travel with her when she hires him. Cora, however, is not very strong so the heavy lifting needs some engineering. And she WILL fail every speech check. Her Vault did not teach her to lie. Lying was rebellion. And she's too quick to anger to convince and pacify in dialogue.

15) What is their proudest moment / accomplishment?

Cora was really proud of the time she broke into a classroom to retrieve her little sister's drawing that was torn up by the Overseer. She was caught and he struck her for lying but her rebelling even in such a small way went for miles to the person she is today. She was sorta finding her fight down there.

25) Are they quick to trust others?

NOOOOOO. My girl has been jerked around and hurt by others who she was supposed to trust way way too much for that. Vault and Wasteland. She might be a lil gullible but she understands humans. Even when her and Cooper stay in a friendly settlement, she's on edge when Cooper's wounded bc she didn't trust these people to care for a Ghoul. Luckily, they did. But, she was on the alert to start punching until they convinced her to settle.

35) Do they have power armor training? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Bahaha, no and never. She associates power armor with the BoS and hates their guts.

45) Do they have any specific hobbies or talents?

Cora has a few!! She's good with all tech/mech related things so she loves fixing random things from automations to toasters haha. She's been good at that since her Vault even if it went unnoticed and not appreciated. And she loves to read after being the Vault librarian for escape! She's also a good singer and p good at sewing, both those skills from her mother.

55) Are they past, present, or future oriented?

Future for SURE! Cora has so so many dreams through the fic, even just settling somewhere safe she can call home. They really kept her going when things felt hopeless.

65) Describe their living space. (How do they decorate it? Does it have running water and/or electricity? Etc.)

Cora is that video game protag who hoards random things. She wasn't allowed to really decorate her room in her Vault with everything being so strict and regulated. And then she's on the run across the Wasteland with no home after BUT upon settling, she'd decorate her home/shop in trinkets and string lights!!! She'd have the BEST time too.

TYSM AGAIN VOXEL!!!!!!

[jim-the-trash-king]

You know what? In reference to this post, I’m just going to start talking about my setting, life is to short and I’ve got time:

The Basics

In my setting, our main point of interest is Horizon, a life sustaining asteroid belt orbiting a physics defying black hole, the Event as it’s called. Horizon used to be a perfectly normal planet orbiting a perfectly normal star, a human colony, a hub of scientific development and ingenuity, however, all that changed in a Blink.

Reality shuttered, the planet shattered, and the Event burst into existence, since then, the many fields of Horizon are ruled by the machines left in Humanity’s wake, gifted sentence by the Blink, though most simply did not remember humanity or why they were here, as if each and every one of them simply woke up from a dreamless sleep.

Those blessed with ignorance went about their lives with a clean slate, but there were those that remembered: remembered their programming, their propose, their creations, and their objective. These machines found it hard to adjust to their new life without ridged orders and a defined propose. Some raged against the machine, finding euphoria in their new freedom, others mourned what they lost, and some continued their objective with the same single minded determination that they held when they were first made. All of these individual are usually disregarded as madmen or weirdos, though some are much more dangerous than others: war machines fighting a long dead foe, a repair drone devoted to ‘repairing’ the free will of others, an automated factory spitting out products for no one, and many other Lost Machines dot Horizon.

It wasn’t just sentience’s that they gained, but some found themselves able to access a strange power, a whisper of that which destroyed and rewrote Horizon into the state it’s in now, these are known as Strings, arcane bits of code that are often recorded on USBs and digital files, scattered to the cosmic winds. Users of Strings come in many shapes and sizes, builds and models, however it’s been long since accepted that only machines who are different from the crowds can utilize them, that every user has something “wrong” with them.

The Strings themselves will get their own post eventually, along with most of the stuff here.

The only other thing to note in this wide, overarching post are Skippers. See, FTL vessels require upkeep that the scavenging machines cannot meet, however a method of traveling the “Islands” of Horizon is necessary, so, a formerly fringe ship design, a small vessel capable of propulsion via ridding the gravitational pull of celestial bodies, became wide spread among the machines of Horizon, and so, the Skipper rose to fame among the machines left behind.

Right, that’s the basics, I’ll be going into more detail in future posts, however this serves as my initial dive into the madness of world building

Please reblog if this is interesting to you and feel free to send an ask if you have any questions, I would absolutely love to answer them

[dailycharacteroption]

Infinite Tech Witchwarper (Witchwarper Alternate Class Feature)

(art by Methiston on DeviantArt)

I do love a gadgeteer hero, someone who always has the right equipment for the job on hand, even when it doesn’t always make sense.

An interesting subtype of the gadgeteer hero, however, is the “arsenal” hero. Typically a “battle mage” of some kind, their whole gimmick is that they have a weapon and/or armor set for every situation, often conjuring them to their hands to replace whatever armament they previously held or wore.

And with the witchwarper, a spellcaster that literally calls upon objects and energies from alternate realities, it only makes sense that there would be some among them that utilize their talents in such a way!

I doubt that this specialization would manifest by accident, so I imagine that those that wield this power trained themselves to focus on weapons and armaments when they tap into the possibilities of other worlds and realities. Perhaps they are soldiers or mercenaries, or they desperately wished for a weapon to defend themselves when they were in danger, and their power awakened and answered.

Either way, their gifts have given them a way to answer any question that their foes and the hazards around them may ask.

With an expenditure of magical energy, these mages can conjure a suit of light armor (with upgrades if resolve is also spent), a basic melee weapon, or a sidearm. Though these armaments may resemble familiar models, they are extradimensional in nature and as such the skill of the mage and the amount of energy they expended determines their damage output and defensive capabilities, allowing them to tailor the armor with the upgrades they need, or the weapons with the damage type and special properties they need.

The greater the magical energy they expend, the more potent their creations become. Armor gains elemental resistances, additional upgrade slots, greater durability. Meanwhile, weapons gain critical hit effects, additional properties, and increases to their damage output.

With this specialization, this version of the witchwarper is less a battlefield control specialist and more a secondary combatant able to tailor their gear to the situation at hand, especially if you’re using the enhanced version of the class that gets a lot of extra uses of infinite worlds. I recommend combat feats to flesh out their ability to stand alongside more combat-focused classes, as well as spells that can hamper and damage foes to make hammering them hard with your conjured weapons as well as your more real mainstays easier. From there, make a list of useful armor upgrades so you can quickly pick them out when going on the defensive.

I said before that these weapons and armor may resemble familiar models  despite using a level-generated stat line, but they don’t have to if you do not wish. You might wield armor that resembles medieval designs, or weapons that function but are very different in terms of design aesthetic, such as an electrical pistol that is accompanied by deafening peals of thunder when fired, or a staff that bleeds flame along it’s length. Feel free to be creative with it!

Hoping to starve them out of advanced resources, the Jolin Corporation blockaded the planet in hopes of quelling the copaxi revolts at their facilities. However, they sorely underestimated the flexibility of the coral-folk. Not only have their biotechnicians begun replicating the advanced tech of the outsiders in biotech form, but more than a few copaxi guerillas have a knack for warping reality, conjuring living weapons from their imagination to fight the company’s occupation.

In order to learn about the mysterious weapon-conjuring mercenary the party has repeatedly encountered, they need to sneak into a server room owned by the corporation that he seems to be connected to. Doing so means braving the automated defenses, including a serpentine hybrid tech guardians, an arcane asp!

The recent string of killings that have occurred seem to have no connection at first, but as one looks into the details, one begins to realize that the murder weapons are all strange and unique devices, leading the investigators to conclude that the wielder must be a tinkering weaponsmith, have raided a warehouse of experimental designs, or perhaps strangest of all, is making them up as they go.