#Salvage operation process

[painted-bees]

Thinking a little more on the whole "when did Margie and Raf realize they were In A Relationship?" question, and while they'd both struggle to find a definitive moment, I think there was one particular situation that arose to kinda...lock things in for them.

Sometime prior to autumn 2009, Margie was headhunted by Bioware[Edmonton] thanks to the recommendation of an old Orbital Media colleague who was trying to establish/salvage Bioware's beleaguered handheld dev team. Following a promising phone interview, she was asked to make a 30 second demo track as part of the hiring process, and met expectations well enough that she was offered a job as an in-house musician and sound designer. Which also meant that she'd have to move to Edmonton. She had been keeping Raf up to date with this whole thing, mostly because she was too excited to keep it to herself. Raf was hugely supportive and excited -for- her. 'Cus like...he plays games. He even plays Bioware games, so, yanno...very cool. But he had also assumed this was gonna be more of a freelance contract kind of thing. And so, hearing her mention that the company would cover the costs of relocating her to Edmonton comes as a weird surprise. And suddenly, he's having a real hard time being excited for her. He keeps it to himself, 'cus he'd be an asshole not to. He's been really adamant with himself, and with anyone who asks, that he and Margie are just really good, comfortable friends/roommates. But even by this point, he's kinda known and been unwilling to admit to himself that the only reason he hasn't openly recognized their relationship for what it actually is--is because the non-committal ambiguousness provides him a clean way out if he starts feeling cagey/uncomfy about anything. It was an exit door that he liked keeping open incase he needed it. But Margie had seen it differently. To her, it was a door she figured she was gonna have to leave through eventually. Because Raf would inevitably find a more serious partner to settle down with, or he'd be whisked off by some other important venture that she couldn't be a part of. She figured he was leaving that door open because his current situation was a temporary transitional stage in his life that he simply allowed her to be a part of. And so, she's not really torn-up about the prospect of leaving, especially under the circumstances. It presented an easier, more exciting transition than she might have had to face if Raf had 'outgrown' her first.

So, Margie's excited about the new job offer, and Raf's sitting there feeling like he played himself--while being wholly unable/unwilling to tell her "Hey, uh...this sucks, actually, I really don't want you to go." Because that'd require him to admit that he's been lying to himself--which sucks. But more than that, it'd require him to admit that he's been lying to her--only employing honesty as a tool of convenience to dissuade her from going and getting something really good for herself. He can't, he won't. The sudden off-key in his tone, though, doesn't go unnoticed by her, and Margie is perfectly candid about the whole "we'll visit each other, I'll stay in touch--I'm not gonna disappear on you lmao" Except that's not really...how Raf operates. Distance + time does not make this man's paranoid lil' heart grow fonder. There's never been a relationship-friend, family, or otherwise-with enough staying power for Raf to maintain it once they're no longer within physical proximity. Even if he wants to 'keep in touch', it quickly falls off. He's just known...too many people, and been too many places...his brain doesn't have the bandwidth to maintain close relationships when there's a distance. And, after a long enough pause in communication, his paranoid anxieties lift the barrier of entry higher and higher until it's almost insurmountable. People become strangers again. Always. In the end, Bioware did not get to develop any more handheld titles, and the handheld division in Edmonton is dissolved before Margie was even offered a job start date to plan her big move around. And so the whole thing falls apart before it even had the chance to get started lmao. At which point, Raf finally allows himself to be honest and say "thank god, I was fuckin' dreading an empty apartment again." Treats her to a consolatory dinner, and gets to tell her as much as he is able to figure out for himself--that he doesn't really know what he wants, actually--but that things aren't as casual and clean-cut as he thought it was. He still can't bring himself to be like "yes, romantic committed relationship, that's us, that's what we are" but he does at least take measures to establish that he'd really like to take off his shoes, place them on the rack next to hers, and close the door behind him.

[smalltimidbean]

tell us about key lime please! They're so silly :D

(Although probably gonna break some of said paragraphs into bullet points so it's not too daunting jkfdgkjs)

First part is backstory stuff!;

Key Lime Pie - usually just shortened to Key - was clone number #04963, and is predominantly insect DNA, such as dragonflies, ants and beetles (haven't decided specifics yet)

They managed to escaped containment when all clones were being moved from an off-site lab to one in the Tower - thanks to their small size, they were able to sneak past any security and make their way into some vents

Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately - they fell down said vents and ended up on the third floor of the Tower - specifically what is known to us as the level 'Deep-Dish 9'

From the scientists' perspective, no one noticed Key was gone until they were moving clones into their rooms, and since most of the clones were unfortunately seen as expendable, no one looked for them and Key was quickly presumed dead, and thus a failure

But Key was alive - although a little shaken up by the fall and suddenly in a new and unfamiliar place - but they were a brave little guy!!!

They explored around for a while, and they found an unused spaceship, along with a spacesuit

Unbeknownst to them, these were intended for Peppino, but upon seeing a portrait of Peppino in previously mentioned spacesuit, by previously mentioned spaceship (where did this portrait come from? idk), Key had convinced themselves that the image was of them and these were their space things

Key had also changed their form to more resemble the portrait - mainly losing the chef's hat and tank top

Key donned the spacesuit - and despite the size/number of arms discrepancy between themselves and Peppino, the suit fit them just fine (bc it's super advanced or something)

However the ship was not in the best condition, and could not fly, but it was fitted with some accommodations - like a little kitchen and bedroom - so Key decided to make the ship's current location their base of operations until it was fixed up enough to fly

There was... A lot of trial and error as Key figured out how all the technology worked, but Key was probably one of the more intelligent clones, so it didn't take terribly long for them to understand it

They would frequently leave their ship to explore and look for supplies and parts - often 'borrowing' from the Olive Aliens or dismantling the larger, crashed ships and salvaging the things they needed

Key has also snagged an Olive Trooper's blaster as a means of defending themselves - although they have never actually used it as a weapon yet. Luckily for them, they haven't come across many threats and most run away when faced with a blaster (or Key just runs away first)

Key lived like this for a while, and they did eventually manage to get their ship working enough to fly, occasionally exploring the other planets that were nearby

They were on one of these explorations when Peppino went through the level, so they did not see him nor were they aware of his mission

Key had returned just in time for the Crumbling of the Tower, not sure what was happening, but they attempted to make an escape, just as all the other beings were doing

Unfortunately, Key's ship was hit by falling debris, and crashed, also knocking Key unconscious in the process

By the time Key woke up, the Tower was completely destroyed, and the ship was part of the debris

However to Key, they thought that they'd just crash-landed on a new planet, completely unaware that they were just simply outside the Tower

And now, Key is currently working on fixing up their spaceship (again) to try and get home - also completely unaware that there is no 'home' to return to...

This part is character things!;

As mentioned, Key is very smart - when they were in the lab, they'd frequently ace any tests given to them, and had great potential to the scientists - although, it was also this intelligence that helped them escape in the first place

They can figure out new technology fairly quickly - albeit with a lot of trial and error - and they enjoy taking things part and putting them back together, just to see how it works

While they are very curious, and love to explore, Key is incredibly anxious around other living beings, and usually avoids any interaction if they can help it

They are mostly mute, and cannot speak any human language - if they do need to communicate, they 'talk' via chirping (akin to a cricket)

They are pretty non-expressive in the face, but their antennae usually gives away to how they are feeling - ie curled is neutral, crooked is distressed, completely curled up and pressed to the sides of their head is overwhelmed, twitching slightly is happy etc

Along with the pair on their head, Key's 'moustache' are also antennae - these are all extremely sensitive and can be used to smell, hear or touch things

Key has a hardened shell on their back (known as an elytra), which can open up to reveal a set of dragonfly-like wings (how do wings longer than the elytra fit in there? idk, clone bullshit kjdfgk)

While they can fly with these wings, Key rarely does so, usually only hovering to reach something high or to give themselves a boost while jumping - they also tend to flare their wings out when surprised, frightened, or performing a threat display as a means to appear larger than they are

Speaking of threat displays, while Key also rarely uses theirs, they tend to split their face open while performing one

Despite being a 'flight' over 'fight' being, Key has a lot of abilities that they could use in a fight, if they so wanted to, thanks to their various DNAs - they have very large teeth, a fairly potent venom which can cause burning hot hives and itchiness, and although they have a very small stature, they are incredibly strong, able to lift roughly 50 times their own weight

But as implied, they do not like to fight, and prefer to keep others at a distance with the help of their blaster - any attacks are made in self-defence

Also as implied, unlike most clones' 'clothing', Key's spacesuit is not part of them and can be removed - not that they like to take it off

They also rarely remove their helmet as of currently, believing that the planet's air could be poisonous to them (which isn't wrong but y'know), and they will only remove it while in their ship

The large pocket on the front of Key's suit works similarly to a clone's pouch - as in it is a small hammerspace - but Key's can be opened from the inside, allowing them to interact with outside objects from the safety of their suit (i.e. they put something in the pocket from the outside, close it and then open the pocket from the inside)

They mostly use this pocket (and the other pockets on their suit) to carry parts and their blaster, they have recently started collecting other things, such as lost jewellery, coins and shiny rocks

They also have an interest in the local flora, frequently taking flowers back to drink the nectar in them - this may or may not have caused the sudden boom of new plants growing around the remains of the Tower, as Key is both planting them and pollinating them, albeit unintentionally

Much like flowers, Key very much enjoys the rain, finding it very soothing, and they will either sit out in it with their suit on, or have a nap to the sounds while in their ship - however, they don't like to get wet, mostly bc of the unpleasant sensation on their skin, and they cannot fly if their wings get wet

While there usually is rain when it happens, Key is terrified of thunder and gets overwhelmed to the point of a panic attack during thunderstorms - they usually hide in their room when one happens, but they'll find anywhere they can if they are away from their ship

Key has yet to experience other weather phenomenon such as snow, but they are confused and somewhat unsettled about hail (hard rain? how?)

Key has also yet to see another clone at this time, nor have they seen the real Peppino despite living nearby

This part is just fun facts about their creation!;

As previously mentioned, Key is based on another OC of mine called Kyp, who also believes themselves to be from another planet and has several bug-like features. But unlike Key, Kyp is just a baby and was adopted by a couple, and has a weird cat

Kyp is also from the same world that Satoshi (Linguine's OG form) is from! While they have never interacted in that world, they might in this one, hehe

Key's spacesuit and the idea it was meant for Peppino is based on Deep-Dish 9's title card, where Peppino is wearing a white suit with red gloves/accents

Similarly, the idea that the spaceship was also intended for Peppino is from the scrapped mechanic that Peppino would deliver (a) pizza, presumably while in one like the title card (but that's just personal speculation) - so Key taking the suit and ship is why Peppino doesn't do that in this AU hkjgdjkl

Originally, Key was going to believe themselves to be an Olive Alien, but I thought that was too farfetched and came up with them seeing a picture of Peppino instead

As with most clones, Key is a giant metaphor for the 'tism, can you tell dgkljsghk

And I think that's all I got for now! So if you read all that, then thank you jkfgkfg

[elwenyere]

Just thinking...about Andor Inception heist au...and who would be what role...

Ohhhhhh what a terrific question, my friend!!! Thank you so much for this. <3<3<3 Here are some initial thoughts, and I would love to hear what other people think as well.

Cassian and Luthen both strike me as incredible forgers. They're super adept at reading people, and they have very flexible, intuitive relationships to identity. I feel like they could observe, impersonate, slip in and out of roles as needed, and seize very quickly on the most essential emotional/relational pressure points in any problem set in front of them. If you want to incept someone, you want a Cassian and/or Luthen there: someone who can read the emotional terrain and modulate their performance to become exactly the kind of figure who can leave you thinking something they suggested was your idea all along.

I think Cassian would also be a great extractor, for some similar reasons, as would Dedra, probably, if we're including the show's villains. They both have a sense of how and where to apply force to encourage people to reveal what's most important to them and of how to use the emotional power of larger events to their advantage (thinking about the different ways they both attempt to use the Rix Road funeral as an opportunity to extract a person of interest).

Kino and Kleya would both be stellar point people, I think. They're thorough, meticulous, competent, loyal - able to see the full scope of a process and get the right people and weapons to the right places. They might not have the same kind of theatrical imagination as Cassian or Luthen, but they have a terrifyingly sharp grip on how to make a team of people work together, where to direct energy and resources, and how to solve problems in a pinch.

Nemik and Melshi seem like architects to me. They're both idealists (in their different ways) who also have very pragmatic grasps of how systems of navigation and crowd control work (Nemik builds the model of the Aldhani garrison and handles navigation on the way out, and Melshi handles the demolition pragmatics on Scarif and sees right through the operations on Narkina). And they both seem like characters who would dive into dream architecture in particular: they strike that balance between understanding how a structure is put together in the real world and having the divergent urge to bend the laws of accepted physics to imagine something more daring and beautiful that could exist.

I'm less certain about chemists, but my first thoughts are Mon Mothma or Bix, for different reasons. Mon demonstrates that she has a sense for what levers need to be adjusted to influence people's patterns of thought and behavior, though not in quite as dramatic or improvisational a way as Luthen or Cassian: her interventions are subtle, intellectual, precisely calculated. And Bix is a mechanic and a salvage specialist. She knows how to spot substances of value and how to reformulate and recombine them in creative ways that will enhance their effect for particular audiences and purposes.

This was a very fun thought experiment!!! I hope folks will feel free to chime in with more possibilities.

[warden-melli]

Would Ingo be a merman? Maybe he's a human who got turned into a merman and only has vague memories of his past human life?

Funnily enough I’ve been working on a backstory/design along these lines lol. I imagine Ingo as an experienced ship captain, who is transformed into a mer after being shipwrecked in a mysterious storm. I haven’t drawn him properly yet, but here’s some design concept art

Confusion overwhelmed him as he struggled to make sense of the situation. Something horrible had clearly happened, but what? His body felt strangely unfamiliar, but as he watched his tentacles sway along with current he was unsure as to why? He was unsure of most things. He could recall his name, but that was it. Nothing else about himself, or why he was battered and alone amongst the wreckage of a newly sunken ship. All he knew was that his body was sore, his head hurt and the water was cold.

Attempting to investigate reports of a ship going down in the storm, two Pearl Clan scouts discovered Ingo laying barely conscious on the sea floor. After chasing away a few curious magikarp, determining that he was still alive, and after a brief argument as to whether or not he posed any threat, the scouts decided that it was against their clans beliefs to abandon him there, where he could possibly freeze to death, or be eaten by opportunistic Pokémon. Their leader could decide his fate after they arrive back at the Pearl Clans underwater home.

Sometime later Ingo woke in the presence of the Pearl Clans leader, who was curious about who he was, and his situation. He offered what little information that he could. His name and nothing else.

Intrigued, the leader offered a theory. “Octomer are extremely rare and valuable, even amongst other mer. Perhaps it’s possible that you had been captured by the humans that operated that ship. Perhaps they were taking you to the mainland to do.. whatever it is humans do with our kind? The storm may have been a bittersweet blessing in disguise, offering you the opportunity to escape, yet dazzling you from your memories in the process?”

There was no way to know.

Ingo was grateful for the leaders kindness. Even though he was a complete stranger, the Pearl Clan took him in, tended to his wounds, and offered him a place within their Clan. With no memories and nowhere else to go he agreed, pledging loyalty and service to the Clan that saved his life. Yet as happy as he was in his new role, and among his new family, Ingo couldn’t help but dwell on the possibilities of the type of person he may have been and of the life he may have led before losing his memories that day.

He was offered a home, food, and clothing in his new clan’s colours, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to part with the old uniform he was wearing when he was discovered. If the leaders theory was correct then perhaps the uniform belonged to his former captor? Was he wearing it out of desperation, salvaging it from the wreckage before losing his memory? Or perhaps he took it as a trophy to celebrate their hypothetical demise? Was he that type of person before? What he did know is that whenever he looked at the tattered coat and the stained hat, it made him feel something, and for a man whose memories were filled with mostly a whole lot of nothing, “something” felt important

[contentment-of-cats]

Tell me there's no good news without saying "We're looking for bodies."

From CNN:

"They're freezing cold. The water entirely surrounding the ship is at freezing or slightly below. When they exhale, their breath condenses. There's frost on the inside of the parts of the submarine. They're all huddled together trying to conserve their body heat. They're running low on oxygen and they're exhaling carbon dioxide." He told CNN the submersible has a "limited ability" to absorb the exhaled carbon dioxide, which at high levels could trigger headaches, confusion and nausea. "The oxygen and the carbon dioxide and the freezing are what they got to hold onto as long as possible to give the rescuers the time they need," Marquet added.

And then think about this - their air, such s it is, runs out in about 12 hours from now. Then there is this also from CNN:

A US Navy salvage system has arrived in St. John’s, Newfoundland, a Navy official said Wednesday, as crews prepare it for mobilization to the site of the ongoing search for a missing submersible.  The Flyaway Deep Ocean Salvage System (FADOSS) is capable of retrieving objects or vessels off the bottom of the ocean floor up to a depth of 20,000 feet, more than enough to reach the wreckage of the Titanic. But before the FADOSS system can be used, it must be welded to the deck of a ship, a process which can take a full day, the official said. “Our estimate is approximately 24 hours of round-the-clock operation to weld it and secure it to the deck of the vessel prior to getting underway,” the official said on a call with reporters. The Navy does not currently have a vessel lined up to carry the FADOSS to the site, but the official said they are trying to contract a vessel soon.  “We have a vessel of opportunity that we are looking to put under charter, but it is not currently under charter,” said the official.  The FADOSS was most recently used to recover a F/A-18 Super Hornet fighter jet from the Mediterranean Sea last July. Its deepest recovery to date was at 19,075 feet, the Navy official said. Asked if it had ever recovered someone alive, the official said, “Usually, we’re recovering objects from the bottom or aircraft from a mishap.”

Yes it is still in port, they can't predict four assholes and a teenaged kid are going to dive to the bottom of the ocean in an overgrown bathtub toy!

They do not have a ship on hand to weld this equipment to. Once they do, it has be welded in place, then get to the site. In other words, a minimum of 72 hours if a ship of the correct class can be found RIGHT THERE for work to start immediately. Otherwise it will be used in recovering the sub (or what's left of it, if it imploded), and the bodies of the crew.

[askagamedev]

Say a studio misses a milestone by a wide enough margin that the publisher decides to get involved. What exactly can/will the publisher do to put the project back on track?

Typically it takes more than one milestone for a publisher to decide to intervene. If the publisher believes that a project has gone off the rails there are two major options available. If they think the project is too far gone, they'll cancel the game and reallocate the workers, have a big layoff, or some combination of both.

If they believe the project is still salvageable, the usual process is to replace the team's leadership (or assign them a new boss) and send in their [rescue operators] to take up key team positions and try to save the project. The publisher's rescue team tends to be very experienced and very good at triage. They are there to take a hard look at what is currently going wrong and change the development trajectory to reaching minimum shippable status within the time given. This usually means replacement of the team's existing leadership because the project needs major directional change. The goal is no longer "make the best game you can", because that goal is now unreachable. Instead, the goal becomes "get the game to ship".

At this stage we don't have the resources to get new assets or significant code changes, so most of what we need to do is cobble things together that fit within the existing frameworks and work well enough to be a (mostly) complete and cohesive experience. Features and content that aren't up to snuff get cut or repurposed quite quickly here. Entire levels that are too far behind schedule to reach completion by the deadlines will be cut, set aside for potential DLC repurposing, or scrapped for parts/assets to be used elsewhere in the game.

Not all rescue operations are successful. I would say that one in ten or twenty rescue operations ship something pretty good. A good one third or so of rescue projects fail outright and get cancelled. The rest of the time, the project ships and then either get savaged by critics and/or players or get the 'mid' 7/10 game ratings that are so often quickly forgotten.

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[generic-sonic-fan]

I Can't Take All This

Summary: A corollary to “I Can’t Accept All This”. 

Metal Sonic finds itself buried under the rubble with Sonic, and is forced to contemplate the most extreme execution of its prime core directive.

(Or: what if it was Metal Sonic buried alive with Sonic instead of Omega?)

Word Count: 1677

(Inspired by the lovely @ramblingsofasandvich!)

Metal Sonic’s processor could not even begin to chart a path of egress before the rubble fell. 

Catching the falling debris with its arms joints locked above its vital processor was a decision made in the next three frames of its continued existence. It flexed its elbow joints to prevent them from snapping. Its legs sheared off at the knee joint instead. Now its foot and calf plating lay in front of it, tactile sensors refusing to reconnect no matter how many times it urged them to. 

Its every other sensor was tuned to escape options. It did not need to devote precious processing power to the calculations to know that its frame would only withstand another half an hour bearing this weight, and that was a generous estimate. It probed the wreckage above and to every side for weaknesses or natural cavities in the collapse formation. It found none; at least, none accessible, even if its turbine could achieve maximum spin-up and airflow in these conditions. 

And it registered, upon turning its scanners to the floor, that Sonic the hedgehog lay only five feet southwest of its position. Heart rate, elevated; breathing, erratic; alive. 

The only barrier separating them was a metal panel. This panel was not load-bearing and only a quarter of an inch thick. Easily pierceable. Metal Sonic ran simulations of the various tearing motions with its claws that could achieve a breach. All of which, though, required releasing its hold on the ceiling. It could not flee to Sonic’s cavity for shelter should it pursue that course of action, as his cavity was not a natural result of the debris formation, but rather-

But rather-

Metal Sonic flinched its head forward as its operating system was whipped with a reprimand for its direct disobedience of its prime core directive. Its arms shook. This motion translated into the greater debris, knocking particles loose from the ceiling. One large particulate landed on Sonic’s head, rousing him from an unconscious state. 

“Hello? Help? HELP!”

The organic hedgehog rose from his prone position. A surge of tactical protocols flooded Metal Sonic’s already overwhelmed processor. It calculated, in two-point-three seconds, every possible angle of attack Sonic could utilize should he choose to tear through the thin metal plating, and it concluded that it would have no defense. This would lead to near-complete chassis loss and require extensive repairs from Dr. Ivo Robotnik to remedy. 

. . . or it could release its hold on the ceiling. 

“Is anyone there? I’m here! Help!” Sonic screamed. 

Sonic would be crushed in an instant. His skull would cave, his ribs would snap, and his viscera would be squeezed into whatever miniscule gaps remained. Metal Sonic had run similar simulations thousands of times before. The outcome was certain.

Similarly, though, its own frame would be not just lost, but obliterated; titanium torn, copper and hydraulic fluid spilled into open air, every last trace of its code arcing down the nearest conductive surface to be lost to the ground below. “Repair” was not a concept that existed after this outcome. Neither was “restoration”. The closest was “rebuild”, and that was if Dr. Ivo Robotnik could even find enough salvage to make the operation worthwhile. 

This was no mere processor wipe. This was complete annihilation.

“Come on, come on, Sonic! Calm down! Think! I have to find a way out of here.”

Metal Sonic was once more whipped with punishment from its prime core directive for allowing itself to disassociate in the presence of its enemy. Its frame shook. Something snapped in its left shoulder joint, causing its arm to slam into the pit of the socket. The resulting vibrations in the ceiling structure caused Sonic to whimper, a unique sound that Metal Sonic saved to its memory banks for later analysis before it could stop itself. There should be no future analysis. It should fulfill its prime core directive.

Another, secondary core directive surfaced in its processor, whispering something about self-preservation. Metal Sonic seized this directive and brought it alongside its prime core directive. Combat circumstances allowed for the secondary core directive to be violated if this meant fulfilling the prime. But these were not combat circumstances, it reasoned to itself. Sonic was trapped and incapacitated. These were not combat circumstances, so therefore it must consider both directives. 

The rationale was weak, but enough to allow it to forgo an immediate decision while its subroutines detangled the paradox. 

“Okay, let’s try this. . .”

Sonic was pawing at a wall of loose debris. This debris, though not load-bearing, held back a wall of gravel-sized pieces. The gravel supported other concrete chunks throughout the structure above, the shifting of which could impact the load Metal Sonic was bearing. Sonic was digging, and fast- it did not have time to calculate whether the impact of the shifting gravel would be negative or beneficial. 

It tested its vocalizer and released a negative ping. 

Sonic ceased his movements. “Hello?”

After a few seconds, Sonic continued. Metal Sonic released another negative ping. 

“No, wait, I know that sound. I know that sound. Who- Metal?”

Sonic knew it was here.

“You’re trapped here too?”

Sonic could easily tear through the metal plating separating them. 

“Metal, if you’re in here, gimme another ping.” 

Sonic would destroy it. The ceiling would collapse. They would both be obliterated.

“I’ll- I’ll get us out of here. Don’t worry about it.” Sonic panted. “Don’t worry. We’re okay. I’m okay. Are you okay?”

His voice diminished the longer he spoke, and his heart rate spiked. His breaths became shallow gasps. It matched an emotional state Metal Sonic had witnessed from Amy Rose when it had first captured her. The colloquial term was a “panic attack”. 

It was. . . remarkable, to register such a drastic fear response from Sonic. 

This observation was interrupted by a snap in its right shoulder joint. Its other arm was forced deep into the pit of its socket, now uniform with its left. The consequent shaking dropped a watermelon-sized rock onto Sonic’s lap. The impact did not break any bones, but it would leave him severely bruised, and caused him to begin openly sobbing. This was another unique sound that Metal Sonic recorded to its memory banks. 

It would not have much longer to record things to its memory banks. With both of its shoulder joints having failed, its arms now impaled into the walls of its center chest turbine. The load would force these walls to fail in fifteen minutes, and with that, send the debris tumbling down atop its processor. 

Why did it delay the inevitable?

Self preservation, its secondary core directive whispered. But what difference did fifteen minutes make?

Metal Sonic let go.

At least, its processor sent the command to its actuators to release, only to find both its left and right shoulder joints inoperable. 

If it was programmed to laugh, perhaps it would have. 

It began calculating methods to wiggle its arms out of their sockets, before abandoning this pursuit. What difference did fifteen, now fourteen, minutes make? Sonic was going to die. Its purpose was going to be fulfilled. It no longer needed to strain its processing capabilities towards this end. It no longer needed to exert its physical form or make determinations about the limits of its chassis. Its purpose was complete. Its existence was now unnecessary.

It should find itself finally able to rest, with this conclusion. 

. . . it should not be scrambling to find any other solution. 

Metal Sonic scanned every inch of the ceiling above for points of weakness and found none. It scanned the walls around it for natural cavities to flee to, and found none. It scanned, and scanned, and scanned, and found only the same unforgiving concrete and the same panicking hedgehog. It reviewed all of the lines of rationale its short-term adaptive processing had generated since the collapse, analyzing each bit of logic for any hidden clues or missed solutions, only to be led to the same conclusion. 

Suddenly, there was a massive shift in the rubble above, and the load Metal Sonic was supporting decreased. Another vibration swept through the space around it. Then another. Then another. 

The ceiling was lifted off of its hands, revealing Dr. Ivo Robotnik’s Eggmobile hovering above. He released the chunk from the claw of his crane before lowering the glass dome surrounding him with the press of a button.

“Well, well, my finest creation! You certainly have a habit of wanton destruction in your attempts to destroy Sonic. Still wasn’t expecting you to bring the roof down on top of yourself though. I’ll see if I can tweak that habit during your next-” 

Metal Sonic flicked its cameras in the direction of Sonic in an attempt to warn its creator of what he’d just done, but it was already too late- Sonic jumped to his feet, scrambled up the debris, and disappeared beneath the open sky before Dr. Ivo Robotnik had uttered his last syllable. The man ducked beneath the walls of the cockpit as the shockwave rocked his vehicle.

When the Eggmobile steadied, he peeked his eyes over the side. “Huh. You didn’t tell me you managed to trap the rodent down there with you!”

Metal Sonic had not engaged in any communication with the outside world after the collapse- the layers of concrete had blocked any signal but the strongest, most bare of distress pings.

Distress pings. Metal Sonic checked its communication feed and found that it had given off the signal automatically the moment the roof had collapsed. If it had disabled this ping, its creator would not have stumbled upon it, and Sonic would finally be dead.

“Eh, that’s alright. There’s always next time.” Dr. Ivo Robotnik shrugged as he returned to his controls.

He lowered the crane claw and grabbed Metal Sonic’s frame. Upon safe retrieval, protocol was to enter standby mode to limit processor activity. Metal Sonic allowed this mode to dampen its awareness as it was hoisted into the cabin of the Eggmobile.

It could analyze its utter failure later. 

[stabbedinthenameofscience]

Help Rebuild Historic Michigan Blacksmith Shop

My friends at IronAngel Forge in Hart, MI, lost the shop on July 1st after a neighbour's shed caught fire and then leapt to the forge. It was the longest continually operating forge in the state, with six iron craftspeople owning it since 1884.

Please share and, if you can, donate to the rebuilding effort.

Text from the Go Fund Me page under the cut.

On July 1st, 2024, our historic blacksmith shop in Hart, Michigan was destroyed by a fire, which spread from the neighbors shed. We are asking for assistance here to clean up and hopefully rebuild, so we can get back to work. Unfortunately, we did not have insurance.

Our shop, as far as we have been able to research, was the oldest continually operating blacksmith shop in the state of Michigan. The original part of the shop was a small 24x24 foot timber frame structure built in 1884. Over the years, as more space was needed, it was added onto increasing it's size a section at a time. By 1914 it had reached it's final configuration that would last for over the next 100 years, and six different owners. John Griswold, the current owner, purchased the shop and historic tooling in 1998, and has lived and worked there since.

As of this writing, we are still assessing and attempting to figure out how to go about what we hope will become the shop's future form to hopefully carry on the history of this place for the next century.

While the damage is very extensive, it appears the original 24x24 heart of the shop is may still be salvageable. Our goal, with your help, is to rebuild around this historic heart if at all possible, keeping it's history alive and still operational to teach the craft to future generations. While we will not be able to rebuild identical to the former additions, we hope to be able to do it justice and rebuild something as functional and elegant as those who came before us. And do it in a way that fits in harmoniously with the Historic District across the street, without looking like a modern pole barn. There will also be inspection for structural soundness and planning on how to go about each step in this process.

As well, we will need to find a way to keep working elsewhere during the clean up and hopeful reconstruction to continue to make money for this massive endeavor.

At the moment, we are still deeply saddened, shocked and overwhelmed, trying to recover what ever we can from the extensive collection of artifacts that were left over from the shop's past.

We thank you for your time, and any aid in this effort you may be able to provide.

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

WiP Wednesday 28/08/24

Little bit of in-progress chapter 11 of Unsinkable. Kind of the calm before the storm… 😉

Sitting on the stone bench under the IG-11 memorial with the afternoon sun warming his face, Din couldn’t help but think that this was one of his favourite parts of the day.

He waited with over a dozen others—mostly parents, a few grandparents, some aunts and uncles—all of them either standing or sitting, a few conversing idly to pass the last bit of time before the bell chime rang out.

He found it hard to believe these people had lived on Nevarro their whole lives. He certainly never saw the likes of them before, when this was a backwater nowhere known for nothing more than its dens of pirates and mercenaries. The only children he recalled seeing on Nevarro back then were the covert’s children—the foundlings and the few tribe-born. He knew not everyone who lived here could be a struggling merchant or a spice-dealer or a bounty hunter, but he found it hard to fathom such normal, temperate folk ever eking out a life in such a place as this once was.

It added weight to the worth of the battles fought. So many of those skirmishes he had just stumbled into and these people weren’t in his thoughts while he was dodging blasterfire from Stormtroopers or getting blown up by an E-Web cannon, but here now, seeing them out in the daylight, in the middle of the city, talking with their neighbours while they waited to collect their children from school, he was glad he had won those battles, he was glad he had had some part in buying back their freedom.

Some thread in that line of thought pulled him to twist around and glance up at the statue standing guard behind him.

“Statue” was not quite an accurate term.

After the first battle on Nevarro with Gideon, Greef and Cara had hired Jawas to scour the lava fields and salvage whatever they could of IG’s remains in the hopes there might have been enough to reconstruct the bounty-droid-turned-nurse. They found a chunk of his torso, most of his head, an arm, and a pile of twisted and charred metal fragments, their original function and form impossible to identify. The droid’s self-destruction hadn’t totally disintegrated his body, but it had accomplished its goal of utterly destroying his memory banks and anything that contributed to his operating system. The flotsam could be used in the making of a new droid but anything that was IG-11 was gone forever.

So they commissioned a replica of his body in bronze and completed the form with the salvaged, lifeless parts, immortalizing him in the centre of the city he gave his life to save.

Din supposed that was true: ultimately, everything they did that day contributed to this world’s liberation. But he knew the droid didn’t sacrifice himself for Nevarro; he sacrificed himself for four people in a boat who had no way out.

He sacrificed himself for a child he had almost killed under orders given by wicked men.

He sacrificed himself for a man who lost no sleep over shooting him in the central processing unit just months earlier.

Din still didn’t profess to understand droids, but he knew IG’s sacrifice was not simply a part of his programming, and he believed it had as much value as that of an organic being.

The bell chimed then.

He dropped his gaze in no hurry.

The doors to the school opened and when the kids began trickling out, Din stood and made his way over, his pace calm.

A cloud of noise erupted on the scene. He couldn’t distinguish anything through it but it didn’t bother him; it was a good kind of noise, all laughter and chatter, farewells between friends and promises to see each other again tomorrow, excited accounts of the day and its lessons to guardians as little hands slipped into bigger hands.

Somewhere in the middle of the crowd of children came his son, sitting in his pod, hovering alongside Chopper.

Grogu’s big eyes searched the square and when they finally latched on Din, his ears flew up like flags, a smile bursting as if he hadn’t seen him in so long. Gripping the edge of his pod with one hand, he waved to his father with the other.

Din closed the distance between them and scooped the boy up, laughing softly as his little one nuzzled his cheek fiercely, babbling away all the while.

[thefirstknife]

Another thing I wanted to talk about is how new information coming from Neomuna is giving us some questions (and answers!) about previously established origins of the colony.

Originally, Spire of the Watcher dungeon lore gave us information that Neomuna was founded by a rogue AI's attempt to save humanity from the Collapse by effectively stealing a single ship from the ECHO project, embedding herself into it with a piece she partioned away before the rest of her were sealed in the Spire.

ECHO project was Clovis' colony project, aiming to colonise the Andromeda galaxy. The project was a joint operation between Braytech and Ishtar Collective. They worked on the colonisation effort and specifically on the AI called Soteria. Soteria, the Augurmind, was an advanced AI based on Braytech's codes and Ishtar's Vex research. Soteria was able to make accurate predictions about possible colony worlds, best routes to get there, viability of travel and so on.

Given that Braytech was involved, Exos were included in the project; Exos were aboard the ships to serve as effectively immortal stewards overseeing human embryo development to start the colony.

During one of the test flights for an ECHO ship, Soteria suddenly deviated from orders. Clovis tried getting her to follow but she refused. She insisted she must take control of the ship and drive it to a safe location to hide it and preserve humanity. At this point, she had already detected the Black Fleet. Clovis refused to listen and ordered her to be pilloried. However, the pillory process is not instant so she managed to section off one piece of her, attach it to one of the ECHO crafts and pilot it away, hidden, to safety. The ship went to the edge of the system and "crashed through azure clouds."

This was obviously meant to mean Neptune. We were led to believe that this was the ship that made Neomuna. But that means Exos were on board and we have not seen or heard of any Exos or Exo technology on Neomuna. Odd! And as a matter of fact, not only are there no Exos, Neomuni apparently did not even believe that living Exos exist!

Scientists have recently confirmed the rumored existence of living Exo units on Earth. Long believed extinct, Exos were creations of Clovis Bray, the result of extended and inhumane experiments on human subjects.

Furthermore, the original ship that made Neomuna is referenced as Exodus Indigo. From Tropopause:

The archivist went on. "We've got historical texts both pre and post-Exodus Indigo...

And some flavour text on weapons:

"Now this puppy came off the Exodus Indigo herself! Though it handles like it was manufactured yesterday."

Neomuna does have some Braytech influences. You can see it in the designs of some areas where there's literally the same assets being used. But also there's much more open references to the Ishtar Collective. More than Braytech! Braytech is left in the designs, but nothing speaks of it.

We also know that Maya Sundaresh (and her wife, Chioma Esi) are one of the founders of Neomuna. This was the first hint that ECHO perhaps wasn't what made Neomuna, at least not directly. Maya and her wife certainly wouldn't have been passengers on a test flight of a colony ship, especially not after Maya resigned from the project because Clovis pilloried Soteria without her permission.

If Maya hadn't been there, then this wouldn't have been an issue, but she was! She founded Neomuna!

But why would she choose Neptune as a destination? Well, Maya spoke extensively with Soteria about colony worlds. Maya was personally pissed off about Clovis partitioning Soteria. Maya would have detected Soteria's flight and tracked her trajectory to Neptune.

Perhaps Maya wanted to see what happened to the ship. Perhaps she wanted to salvage Soteria. Perhaps she believed Soteria's choice of a safe world to hide from the impending doom. So she chartered her own Exodus ship, Exodus Indigo and followed the trail Soteria left. Since the ship didn't aim to leave the system, it would've been able to get to Neptune and disappear.

The Exos being nonexistent on Neomuna suggests that ECHO's "crash through azure clouds" was lethal. That's the only thing that would've killed all Exos aboard and left Neomuni to speculate about Exo survivability. The ship may have been found and salvaged, which would explain the Braytech influences. Also everyone on the Exodus ship would've come form the Golden Age where Braytech designs were probably ubiquitous and well known to everyone. They started building on the things they've known: Braytech and Ishtar.

Really interesting twist and turn! Soteria and ECHO ship are still crucial to Neomuna's existence, as Maya would've absolutely known about where it went and why, as well as trusted Soteria's judgement. And Maya definitely found Soteria there, because she's referenced in the files as having survived and possibly merged back with the Vex, as per her origins. Soteria's (and Maya's!) legacy continues with her involvement with the friendly Vex faction. Without Soteria, her stolen ECHO ship and Maya's trust in the AI, there is no Neomuna.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Steve Brodner

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

June 13, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

JUN 14, 2024

The Port of Baltimore reopened yesterday, fewer than 100 days after a container ship hit the Francis Scott Key Bridge on March 26, collapsing it into the channel. The port is a major shipping hub, especially for imports and exports of cars and light trucks—about 750,000 vehicles went through it in 2022. It is also the nation’s second-biggest exporter of coal. In 2023 it moved a record-breaking $80 billion worth of foreign cargo. 

After the crash, the administration rushed support to the site, likely in part to emphasize that under Democrats, government really can get things done efficiently, as Democratic Pennsylvania governor Josh Shapiro demonstrated in June 2023 when he oversaw the reopening of a collapsed section of I-95 in just 12 days. Reopening the Port of Baltimore required salvage workers, divers, crane operators, and mariners to clear more than 50,000 tons of steel.

Yesterday, at the reopening, Secretary of Transportation Pete Buttigieg noted the “whole of government” response. State leadership under Maryland governor Wes Moore worked with those brought together by the Unified Command set up under the National Response System to coordinate the responses of the local government, state government, federal government, and those responsible for the crisis to make them as effective and efficient as possible; the Coast Guard; the Army Corps of Engineers; the first responders; and the port workers. 

Buttigieg noted that the response team had engaged all the stakeholders in the process, including truck drivers and trucking companies, trade associations, and agricultural producers. He gave credit for that ability to the administration’s establishment of the White House Supply Chains Disruptions Task Force, which, he said, “put us in a strong place to mitigate the disruptions to our supply chain and economy.”  

Clearing the channel was possible thanks to an immediate down payment of $60 million from the Department of Transportation’s Federal Highway Administration. The department estimates that rebuilding the bridge will cost between $1.7 billion and $1.9 billion. President Joe Biden has said he wants the federal government to fund that rebuilding as it quickly did in 2007, when a bridge across the Mississippi River in Minneapolis suddenly collapsed. Within a week of that collapse, Congress unanimously passed a measure to fund rebuilding the bridge, and President George W. Bush signed it into law. But now some Republicans are balking at Biden’s request, saying that lawmakers should simply take the money that has been appropriated for things like electric vehicles, or wait until insurance money comes in from the shipping companies. 

Meanwhile, former president Trump traveled to Capitol Hill today for the first time since the January 6, 2021, riots. Passing protesters holding signs that said things like “Democracy Forever, Trump Never,” Trump met first with Republican lawmakers from the House and then with Republican senators, who, according to Senate minority leader Mitch McConnell (R-KY), gave him “a lot of standing ovations.” Representative Adam Schiff (D-CA) called it “bring your felon to work day.” 

Republicans billed the visit as a brainstorming session about Trump’s 2025 agenda, but no discussions of plans have emerged, only generalities and the sort of cheery grandstanding McConnell provided. The meeting, along with a press appearance at which Trump made a short speech but did not take questions before shaking a lot of Republican hands, appeared to be an attempt to overwrite the news of his conviction by indicating he is popular in Congress.

The news that has gotten traction is Trump’s statement that Milwaukee, Wisconsin, where the Republicans are holding their convention in July, is a “horrible city.” Republicans are trying hard to spin this comment as a misunderstanding, but their many different attempts to explain it away—as meaning crime, or elections, or Pere Marquette Park (!)—seem more likely to reinforce the comment than distract from it. 

Indeed, it’s possible that the agenda had more to do with Trump than with the nation. Anna Massoglia of Open Secrets reported today that Trump’s political operation spent more than $20 million on lawyers in the first four months of 2024, and Rachel Bade of Politico reported hours before the House meeting that Trump has been obsessed with using the powers of Congress to fight for him and to, as she puts it, “go to war against the Democrats he accuses of ‘weaponizing’ the justice system against him.” 

Bade said that after his May 30 conviction by a unanimous jury on 34 criminal counts, Trump immediately called House speaker Mike Johnson (R-LA), insisting in a profanity-laden rant that “We have to overturn this.” Johnson is sympathetic but has too slim a House majority to deliver as much fire as both would like, especially since vulnerable Republicans aren’t eager to weaponize the nation’s lawmaking body for Trump. 

As David Kurtz of Talking Points Memo explained this morning, House Republicans “are already advancing Trump’s campaign of retribution.” Yesterday they voted to hold Attorney General Merrick Garland in contempt of Congress and recommended his prosecution for refusing to hand over an audio recording of special counsel Robert Hur’s interview with President Biden. Biden, who was not charged over his retention of classified documents as vice president, has provided a transcript of the interview but has exerted executive privilege over the recording.

The demand for the audio is particularly galling, considering that Biden voluntarily testified while Trump refused to be interviewed by either special counsel Robert Mueller or special counsel Jack Smith. But Biden has a well-known stutter, and having hours of testimony in his own voice might offer something that could be chopped up for political ads. 

Indeed, former Republican representative Ken Buck (R-CO) acknowledged that Republicans are “just looking for something for political purposes,” and House Oversight Committee chair James Comer (R-KY) sent out a fundraising appeal promising that the audio recording “could be the final blow to Biden with swing voters across the country.” 

White House Counsel Edward Siskel wrote to Comer and Judiciary Committee chair Jim Jordan (R-OH) saying that the administration “has sought to work in good faith with Congress.” It released Hur’s long report editorializing on Biden’s mental acuity without redacting it, allowed Hur to testify publicly for more than five hours, and provided transcripts, emails, and documents. “The absence of a legitimate need for the audio recordings lays bare your likely goal,” Siskel wrote, “to chop them up, distort them, and use them for partisan political purposes.”

The attack on Garland, journalist Kurtz notes, continues the steady stream of disinformation the House Republicans have been producing through their “investigations” and impeachment hearings and press conferences. 

In the Senate, six MAGA Republicans demonstrated their support for Trump by threatening to block Biden’s key nominees in protest of the New York jury’s conviction of Trump, although they are trying to frame the convictions as “the current administration’s persecution of” Trump. The senators are J. D. Vance (R-OH), Mike Lee (R-UT), Bill Hagerty (R-TN), Roger Marshall (R-KS), Tommy Tuberville (R-AL), and Eric Schmitt (R-MO). 

While MAGA Republicans show their reverence for Trump, Democrats are working to get them on the record on issues the American people care about. 

Today, Senate majority leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY) held a vote on whether to advance a bill that would provide federal protection for in vitro fertilization (IVF), an infertility treatment in which a human egg is fertilized outside the body and then placed in a human uterus for gestation. IVF is popular: a March poll by CBS News/YouGov found that 86% of Americans think it should be legal, while only 14% think it should be illegal. But the white evangelical Christians who make up the Republicans’ base are increasingly demanding that the nation’s laws recognize “fetal personhood,” the idea that a fertilized egg has the full rights of a living human. This would end all abortion, of course, as well as birth control that prevents implantation, such as IUDs and Plan B. And, if fertilized eggs are fully human, it would also end IVF because the procedure often results in some fertilized eggs being damaged or discarded. 

This is a vote Republicans did not want to take because voting to protect IVF will infuriate their base and voting to end it will infuriate the 86% of Americans who support it. So they tried to get around it by signing a statement noting that IVF is legal and that they “strongly support continued nationwide access to IVF.” While it is true that IVF is currently legal, the Alabama Supreme Court in February ruled that frozen embryos should be considered unborn children and their destruction could be prosecuted under the state’s Wrongful Death of a Minor Act. In the wake of that decision, two of Alabama’s eight fertility clinics paused their IVF treatments. 

In today’s vote, all but three Republicans voted against taking up the bill protecting IVF. Susan Collins of Maine and Lisa Murkowski of Alaska voted in favor of it; Eric Schmitt of Missouri did not vote. All the Democrats voted in favor, although Schumer changed his vote to a “no” so he could bring the vote up again later. 

Regarding the difference between the statement and the votes, Leah Greenberg of Indivisible posted: “Who are you gonna believe, me or my voting record?”

In another window onto the future of reproductive rights, the Supreme Court today unanimously decided that the antiabortion groups trying to get the drug mifepristone banned did not have standing to bring the case. This preserves access to mifepristone, commonly used to induce medical abortions, but as legal observers point out, the court ruled only on standing, meaning that others, who do have standing, could bring a similar case. 

This afternoon, Biden posted: “Kamala and I stand with the majority of Americans who support a woman’s right to make deeply personal health care decisions. And our commitment to you is that we will not back down from ensuring women in every state get the care they need.”

And so, going into the 2024 election, the question of abortion is on the table.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[savage-rhi]

Duality

Chapter 9: The Reconcile

Summary: Sawyer Kiddo has walked a razor's edge as a hacktivist for several years, driven by the loss of her family in the Raccoon City incident. Haunted by past choices and fueled with desire for vigilante justice, Sawyer's work takes an unexpected turn when she ventures to Spain and crosses paths with Luis Serra—a man with blood on his hands long thought to be dead. Together they unravel a web of corruption and face an impending bioterror threat, fighting not only monsters but also the darker elements of their humanity. As they delve deeper into each other's pasts and the conspiracy at large, Sawyer begins to sense something unsettling about Luis—something that might be even more dangerous than their mutual enemies.

Read on AO3 Here

Sawyer’s fingers hovered over the laptop keyboard, her brow furrowed as she scrolled through the VITA network archives. The screen’s soft blue glow illuminated her face, casting shadows that deepened the lines beneath her eyes.

It had been hours since Luis left, and she’d spent every moment since scouring VITA’s hacked intel, digging through databases that reached into the darkest corners of governments, both familiar and obscure. She was even coming across data on countries whose names most civilians were never supposed to know.

Each time Sawyer had done a deep dive on a person or assignment, she’d always return to the surface with something tangible she could work with. She was used to this—this relentless pursuit of truth—but tonight, the truth seemed to be evading her, slipping through her fingers like a loose rope. 

Nothing.

There was absolutely nothing on Luis Serra Navarro. 

All she had to show was a handful of data, a few scattered notes about his work with Umbrella on over-the-counter drugs, and one vague, cryptic mention in a classified US government file suggesting he might’ve died in some nameless Spanish village back in 2004, but nothing definitive.

There was no closure, just more uncertainty.

A deep frown marred her face as Sawyer scanned the information again, muscles tensing with each word that offered nothing. She leaned back in her chair, the screen reflecting her exhaustion. How could someone so pivotal, so tangled in her life now, be reduced to a few sparse lines of text? She knew there were people in the black market who were more than capable of eliminating someone’s data from the internet. Still, it wasn’t a foolproof process, especially with ex-Umbrella employees from her own experience. Even those among the crueler rings of that underworld always kept blackmail for insurance, so how did someone like Luis pull it off?

More questions, no answers…

Her jaw clenched while she resisted the urge to slam her laptop shut. It wouldn’t help things, but the thought was tempting nonetheless. 

With a resigned sigh, Sawyer opened a secure messaging app and began writing a quick status update to Maestro. She needed to get this done ASAP before sleep would consume her, not wanting yet another thing for the man to bitch her out on later. 

“Onyx at checkpoint 105. There have been casualties in Madrid, Spain. Soldado is dead; the reason is unknown—alleged victim of a shooting. Spector is dead; the reason is bio-organic weapon contamination, the method through an attack via a stinger,” Sawyer muttered to herself while she typed. The words felt cold and insufficient as if they were coming from someone else. She hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly.

“Rebus and Atom remain unaccounted for. I'm uncertain if they made it out alive. Soldado’s base of operations was destroyed; the method through bio-organic weapon contamination and a facility self-destruct sequence. No documentation was salvaged.”

The cursor blinked back at her rapidly as if demanding more, like it knew she had something to hide. 

Sawyer needed to mention Luis and knew it was logical—not to mention proper protocol, but something held her back—an apprehension, a whisper of doubt. If she told VITA’s higher-ups about him, they’d see Luis as a threat, a loose end needing to be tended to. Despite her contempt and the betrayal she felt after discovering his connection to Umbrella, the thought of putting Luis in Maestro's crosshairs made her stomach churn. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that. 

She closed her eyes, pushing herself to take a deep breath—to think. Her mind raced, torn between duty and the confusing feelings Luis had stirred in her.

Luis was an enigma of the highest, a walking contradiction—a man who could be both ally and adversary. Dangerous, yes, but human too. And damn it, he was right about one thing during their little spat: he had nothing to lose with his survival on the line. If he hadn’t intervened, if he hadn’t helped her escape Soldado’s clutches, she wouldn’t be here. She’d be dead or, worse, would’ve suffered a similar fate as Samuel.

And someone truly evil wouldn’t have done what he did, would they...?

Her fingers froze over the keyboard, battling with deciding whether or not to seal his fate. 

“I’ll be returning to the States tomorrow. As soon as I reach LA, I will provide a follow-up, and I’ll check in for my probation,” she added, the words final and detached, like putting a period at the end of a chapter she wasn’t ready to close. 

Sawyer pressed Send before she could change her mind. The screen blinked, the message disappearing into the void of the VITA network. She stared at the empty inbox, her pulse a steady drum in the silence. Unsure if leaving Luis out of the report was a betrayal or an act of mercy.

Perhaps there were no correct answers.

The room felt too quiet now; the only sound was the faint hum of the computer and her tired breaths. Sawyer rubbed her face, her fatigue settling in. She turned her head, her gaze drifting to the window where raindrops traced paths down the glass, Madrid’s lights blurring in the humid night. She wondered if Luis was out there, somewhere in the rain, with just his t-shirt, sweats, and that old jacket against the chill.

Sawyer had yet to determine if he was going to return. Hell, she couldn’t find herself to blame him if he never did. Not after condemning him the moment she had the chance. Her hand still ached with the memory of gripping her gun, eager to pull the trigger against him.

Her thoughts once more drifted to the night Samuel bailed her out. The memory of that event crashed over her like the rain that pounded against her windshield as she drove, mad with grief and vengeance. She had almost thrown her life away in a moment of rage, only to stop at the last second because of one action—one hesitation.

“...You had it in you to stop yourself, to hold onto restraint.” 

The words made her grimace, shaking her head as if to dispel an apparition from her past. 

“I really screwed up this time, Sam.”

Her eyes landed on Luis’s lighter, sitting upright on the table beside the computer. She reached for it, her fingers tracing the engravings of the UE6 scientists’ names. The metal was cool against her skin, grounding her in the present as her thoughts raced between sleep and the VITA archives. There were still secrets to uncover, truths Luis had kept hidden from her, but Sawyer wondered if it would matter in the end. Would it change anything or deepen the pit she was already sinking into?

Samuel’s voice lingered, that comforting baritone that had always been there to guide her, even at her lowest.

“Sometimes—Kiddo, the hardest thing to do is nothing. But doing nothing isn’t the same as being passive. It’s a choice, and sometimes it’s the bravest choice you can make.”

Sawyer glanced up, looking at the spare beds in the room meant for Samuel, Mobley, and Kari. She closed her eyes, imagining Samuel sitting across from her on the bed to her right. His eyes were weary, but they held that familiar twinkle that always promised her that everything would be okay, even when it seemed impossible. 

“What would you do in this case?” she whispered into the empty room, hoping the answer would come somehow, even though she already knew the truth: sometimes, there were no easy answers.

-----------

Two Legs trudged through the rain, each step heavier than the last as the cold droplets bounced off his jacket and fell to the ground at his feet. The fight with Sawyer replayed in his mind, a relentless loop of bitter words and unresolved tension that clawed at him. He wasn’t sure what angered him more—her stubbornness or how she made him feel so conflicted.

So human...

Seeking refuge under the awning of a closed café, Two Legs stopped walking. The dull sign above cast a weak glow onto the wet pavement. The rain pattered on the roof above, the unsteady rhythm doing little to soothe his agitated thoughts. His right hand instinctively reached into his jacket pocket, searching for Luis’s lighter, only to come up empty-handed. A frown creased his brow. Realizing that he’d left it back at the hotel made him chuckle. 

With a sigh carrying the weight of worlds, Two Legs pulled out a bent cigarette, placing it between his lips. It was more than just the nicotine he craved; it was the ritual, the familiar act of leveling himself when everything else felt like it was tumbling away. While going through the motions, he pondered to himself. 

Smoking had never been the plaga’s habit. It was Luis’s—a vice that Two Legs had inherited along with everything else that came with this body. He chewed on the end of the cigarette, the bitter taste filling his mouth, and the peculiarity of it all wrested in his gut. He wondered why his conflict with Sawyer—his quarry, made him crave Luis’s old comforts. The answer eluded him, yet his thoughts couldn’t stray far from her. 

Sawyer's presence had a way of setting his heart racing, not out of only hunger but something far more confusing. A protective instinct that went beyond the primal need to claim or consume. It was maddening how her accusations about his host’s past life had sparked a rage in him that wasn’t entirely his own. Two Legs knew he had every right to be upset; any living creature with its life threatened would react accordingly, but the whole speech he went on about being dehumanized, and even his smart-alec remarks didn’t feel like himself. It felt too raw for his own good. 

For a moment, a thought crept in. One that the plaga had been avoiding for so long. Wondering if there was still a part of Luis lingering inside of him, fragments of the man’s essence influencing his actions, thoughts, and feelings. Two Legs had considered it before, especially during moments of existential doubt, but he had never dared to peel it back any further. He wasn’t ready to confront the idea that he might be sharing his body with a ghost—a passenger.

A parasite…

The irony wasn’t lost on him. He darkly chuckled, a hollow sound swallowed up by the rain.  Just as he was on the verge of an epiphany—a realization that maybe, just maybe , he wasn’t entirely in control—his senses caught something.

A faint, unmistakable scent carried on the wind like a fleeting whisper. It was earthy, tinged with the musty smell of rain-soaked soil, and something else—something pungent, almost rotting. It wasn’t unpleasant to Two Legs. In fact, it was nearly nostalgic, stirring memories of his time in the caves as a larvae. A pleased growl escaped his throat as the dots clicked. 

There was another of his kind nearby.

The world around him seemed to fade as his eyes scanned the street, narrowing in on a shadowy figure across the way. Even from this distance, he could feel their gaze, a predatory assertiveness that sent a shiver down his spine, yet he didn't sense hostile intention, at worst it was a curiosity—like a shark seeing an unidentified shape at the oceans surface, wondering if it was a meal or a potential threat. Without a second thought, Two Legs gave chase, his feet splashing through puddles as he darted across the street to confront them. The figure moved almost supernaturally, descending through the shadows like smoke.

“Hey!” Two Legs called out, his voice lost to the storm, but the entity was frighteningly fast. By the time he reached the spot where it had been, the street was empty; the only evidence of its presence was the lingering presence of dread and hope in his stomach.

Two Legs stood there, rain running down his face, mixing with the sweat of exertion and nervousness. Whoever —it was, it had vanished without a trace, leaving behind only questions. He wondered if it was a regular plaga, maybe a loose brethren from Valdelobos, or if it was something more—something like him, pretending to be human. The probability was low, but there was still a chance. 

The thought unsettled Two Legs, the idea that there could be another like him out there, wandering the world alone. The excitement of that prospect was quickly surpassed by the fear of what it might mean in the grand scheme of things. When he dwelled on it, Two Legs  wasn’t ready to face another anomaly like himself, not when he could barely hold onto his own identity. He shook his head with a sigh, trying to rid himself of the concern while he pondered his next steps.

Chasing the creature through the storm was a foolish endeavor, especially if it had any intention of harm. The plaga beat himself up for giving into impulse, and realized  he couldn’t afford to waste fuel on a mystery that might be better left unsolved, especially not after how much he expended during his time at Lab Unit D and facing down Samuel as a Tusk. His stomach growled, a reminder of more immediate needs.

He would have to let this go—at least for now.

Cautiously, Two Legs retraced his steps, his mind racing as he put more distance between himself and the foreboding presence he’d felt. The further away he got from his relative, the better—less temptation to follow, because perhaps that was what the blasted thing wanted all along. He learned his lessons back at the village to not fall for that sort of "play", at least he liked to hope. 

Eventually, as the night wore on, he stopped at a vending machine, its garish lights flickering in the rain like a lousy neon sign. An amused chuckle escaped him when he noticed one of the slots stocked with condoms and other adult content. For a moment, he was rather curious. The plaga tilted his head to the side as he skimmed at a packaging advertisement showing two people locking lips, both participants looking rather satisfied.

“Classy,” he muttered, a bitter snort accompanying the words. He paused for a moment, looking puzzled. The comment seemed odd, but he dismissed it with a shrug as if shaking off an old habit.

Two Legs fed a few coins into the machine, retrieving two chocolate bars and a bag of chips. The mundane action grounded him, pulling the plaga back from a million thoughts that wanted to take center stage. He tucked the extra bar and chips into the inner pocket of his jacket and unwrapped the spare chocolate bar. As he took a bite, the sweetness offered further respite, easing the tension that had knotted his shoulders from his encounter with the entity, but the pull to return to the hotel was persistent, a nagging thought that tempted him.

A part of him wanted to cut his losses and run, to put as much distance as possible between himself and his quarry after their fight. Yet another part— a part he was reluctant to acknowledge —yearned to see Sawyer again. They had unfinished business, after all. 

Sighing out a curse, Two Legs turned on his heel and jogged through the darkened streets, ensuring he wasn’t being followed as he ventured back to the hotel—finishing off the rest of the candy bar before he made it to the entrance an hour later. 

The door softly creaked open as Two Legs entered the dimly lit room using the spare keycard Sawyer had given him. Sober and unspoken, the remnants of their earlier argument clung to the atmosphere.  His eyes fell on Sawyer, lying on her bed with her back to him, her form taut even in the stillness. Two Legs would've assumed she was asleep, had he not seen her visibly flinch when he let out a breath. 

He could no longer smell the grime of the lab on her person or Samuel’s fluids. The faint scent of soap and shampoo lingered, telling Two Legs she finally sought comfort in a shower, perhaps trying to wash away the day—or maybe just trying to find a fleeting moment of peace after he left. Either way, he was grateful she decided not to lie in the filth, not wanting his predatory drive to be tempted further like it had been when he stitched her head. It was hard not to bite it off when she was at his mercy in that moment. 

Two Legs hesitated in the doorway, waiting for some unseen force to push him forward. The anger that had fueled him earlier had burned out, leaving behind a recessed pang that chewed at him. With a quiet sigh, he crossed the room and sat on the edge of her bed, careful to keep his distance. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, a subtle acknowledgment of his presence. For a moment, neither of them spoke. He was still reeling from the earlier hurt.

“I’m...I’m sorry. Lo siento.” Two Legs finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t turn to face her, his gaze fixed on the wall across from him as if it could offer the answers he sought. “What I said about you making poor choices was uncalled for. I’m not going to apologize for protecting my identity, for lying about what I knew to keep myself safe, but I am sorry that I hurt you. And I’m sorry about what happened to Sam and your friends. It wasn’t your fault, y’know?”

His words dangled in the air, stiff and awkward, but it was all he could manage. 

Two Legs turned his head slightly, hoping for a response, but Sawyer remained silent. He swallowed hard, fighting the urge to get up and leave, to escape the vulnerability that crept up on him, but alas, he stayed. 

“As for the favor... ” he continued, his voice faltering momentarily. “I’m looking for someone...mi padre, father. I heard he might be in the States. I was hoping you could help me get there. Help me get out of the country.”

The lie sat heavy on his tongue, easier than admitting the truth. Easier than confessing he was searching for more of his kind—the very bugs that destroyed her friends and tore her life apart. 

“Anyway, ” Two Legs breathed, rubbing his head. “That’s all I have to say. ”

He fished into his pocket, pulling out the other chocolate treat he had picked up earlier—a small, simple indulgence that now felt like an afterthought. The crinkling of the wrapper seemed loud in the hush.  He had intended to eat it to alleviate himself further, but now…now it felt wrong.

His fingers hesitated shortly before Two Legs turned, stretching his arm out to place the chocolate bar beside Sawyer. The gesture was small, almost insignificant, but it was the closest thing to an olive branch he could offer. 

“You should eat something, ” Two Legs said softly, his voice vulnerable. It was as much a peace offering as it was a plea on her behalf. 

With a quiet sigh, Two Legs retreated to a spare bed, lying down and letting his eyes find Sawyer in the dark once he turned off the last remaining lights that were on. He watched her back from across the room, curiously awaiting her to speak up. The distance between them all the while felt like a chasm. 

Sawyer shifted on the bed, her movements slow as she processed his words. The silence had changed—it was no longer oppressive but still dense with unresolved hurt. After a long pause, she got the courage to speak, her voice quieter, stripped of its earlier sharpness she had shown him.

“There’s a passport and visa under the bed, ” she began, her tone almost hesitant. “It was meant for Samuel before... ”  

Her voice faltered. Two Legs blinked and remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

“It won’t get you to the States, ” Sawyer swallowed. “but it’ll get you to England. It’s fake, though. The cops we were working with in Madrid had connections—people at airport security who could look the other way for a short time. If you try to use it after the next twenty-four hours, the authorities will come for you.”

Two Legs mind considered the possibilities. The UK wasn’t where he wanted to go, but it was an escape—a start to his long-term goal of finding a hive he could settle into. He nodded, knowing she couldn’t see it in the darkness. 

“Thank you, ” Two Legs whispered, the words thick with emotion he couldn’t fully articulate. He wanted to say more, to convey the gratitude that welled up inside him, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he swallowed them down, replacing them with something practical.

“I can escort you to the airport in the morning, if you'd like? We can leave together. ” he offered. 

For a moment, he wasn’t sure if she would accept, but then she nodded. A subtle movement that he barely caught in the dark.

“Alright..."

“Está bien...”

With that, they settled into an uneasy truce. 

Sawyer shuddered, her breathing slow and stable as she stared at the ceiling, lost in her thoughts. The chocolate bar lay untouched beside her for a while before she hesitantly reached for it, trying not to make a sound. Once in her grasp, she curled up further onto her side. Her mouth gently nibbling a corner edge as her eyes welled up, unsure if it was out of being grateful to eat something delicious like this again, or if it was from the trauma she endured. Whatever the case, she was thankful Luis had done this for her—despite not having the boldness to say it out loud. 

Two Legs watched her from his bed, his gaze softening as he heard the small munching noises she made. The plaga noted that something pleasant stirred whenever he looked at her and remembered what he was— or what he used to be. The latter thought made him swallow, growing distant while he closed his eyes and tried to quiet the noise in his head, hoping “the other place ” wouldn’t be on the other side to greet him tonight. 

They would go their separate ways tomorrow—she to the States, and he wasn’t sure where. But for now, they had their peace.

Somehow, it felt like enough for her but not for him.

[mitigatedchaos]

A lot of the lefty people in the universities assume that they can be as partisan as they want, and the university won't go under, because Republicans don't have a choice. University degrees mark selection for talent, and they can't drop the talent-selection system and replace it with nothing.

Republicans have already been splitting K-12 schooling using the idea of charter schools - privately-operated schools that receive public money through vouchers.

What's different between universities and the K-12 system? Well, mostly research. If the research is increasingly partisan, however, then the two systems become more similar, and Republicans could begin partitioning out the different functions of the universities as part of a reform movement after the shift from truth-oriented organization to politics-oriented organization.

The long-term goal would be to move the credential-minting portion of the university's portfolio - its main source of cash and influence - from universities to a third-party in-person exam service. New university degrees would then be legally deprecated, and employers would be prohibited from accepting or knowing about them in hiring and promotion.

The intermediate, "one foot in the water" approach would be to require that all accredited degree-granting universities provide a by-exam award of each degree they grant, and they can't differentiate between traditional students and exam-only students in the awarding process - or mark it on the credentials in any way. (Naturally, this rule would also require that all of the involved texts are published openly, and there is no factual information involved which is not in the texts.)

What is the value of learning on Harvard's campus, from Harvard's professors, as compared to someone with a similar level of aptitude learning from a small school in Iowa?

Who can sit to take the exam? That depends on just how brutal the people who implement this policy want to be. If you're feeling merciful, you can allow Harvard to limit the number of by-exam seats to match the number of seats they have on campus, and impose conditions similar to the ones they use for admissions on the exam takers. This would still allow Harvard to keep most of their revenue, especially since a Harvard student would likely be guaranteed a seat.

If you're feeling harsher, you can allow Harvard to set the fee necessary to administrate the test, but 1) all in-person Harvard students must also pay the fee, and if they can't pay it, they can't take the test, and 2) the fee is limited to 1/10th of tuition, adjusted downwards for financial aid received by Harvard students.

I'm not going to go in to further details. There are also a number of potential problems, which I'm not going to go into, either.

The reason that the Republicans haven't unbundled the universities isn't because it's impossible. It's because they don't want to. They still think the universities can be salvaged, and that it makes sense to pool researchers with learners. They have lighter-touch tactics available before resorting to this, as well.

[sangyeonsmuse]

BREAK THE WALLS | Kim Hongjoong

Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Full Chapter List

🀥 Government agent Hongjoong x Rebel Oc

🀥 genre | dystopian society, halazia x geurilla concept , enemies to lovers

🀥 word count | 831

🀥 Summary | An organization by the name of Sector 1 was well known for their work in the underground, theyve been well known for the recruiting of teens and using them to form an army since the year 2034. Collecting strays for their rebellion against those in higher power. Now the year is 2064 and the organization still runs strong they run like a family, with the new technology theyve found ways of keeping alive those that have been scorned in any past battles theyve had against the government.

When the government sends in 7 of their best men to infiltrate the organization. What will they do when their cover is blown and their true intentions are revealed? Will they join the rebellion or will they continue to let the government pull their strings like the little puppets they once were?

Skylar district October 1 2062

Two months, two months had passed since they had lost half their team in the mission ambush. The explosion had taken out 200 out of the 300 that made up the organization. Two months after they had completed the operation on Tahani and she still rested in bed unawaking. She was the first in the organization to ever undergo a transport surgery as big as this, with how much damage had been done to her body there was no salvaging anything but her arms and from the neck up. There was also no telling if she'd ever even wake up. Despite not knowing the results of the surgery she underwent, Jongho remained hopeful. The only thing he worried about was how the girl would react to everything she would be told when she did awake, as well as how she would react to her new body. Knowing her when she woke and found out what loren had done all hell would break loose.

Tahanis eyes fluttered open only to land on a ceiling that was very familiar to her. The Sector infirmary. Her head had been thumping and her lower half felt cold, stiff and heavy. Slowly and gently she pushed herself up in the bed and looked off to the side where she found a sleeping Jongho, as she swung her legs over the side of the infirmary bed it was then that she realised why her body had felt so cold, so stiff and heavy. Dropping the sheets that had previously covered her to the floor, her eyes scanned over the body that was once hers, now replaced by black scraps of metal.

"What..happened to me." She spoke to herself before pushing herself out of bed only to fall back down at a sudden dizzy spell. In the process she knocked down a nearby pan of surgery utensils

Which scares Jongho out of his sleep and onto the floor. When he finally realized the cause of the noise his eyes widened and he rushed to Tahanis side and engulfed her in a hug.

"Jongho...what the hell happened." At that question Jongho found himself frozen in place as he hugged her. He knew that this moment would come, the moment she'd wake up. And for some reason he also knew that when she became curious of everything that happened he'd have to be the one to tell her. For a moment he just stood there silently hugging her before he finally sighs and lets her go.

"...it's been two months. Two months since the mission at the rural building Tahani. We salvaged all that we could of you when we got back after the mission but with your old body you'd have never lived past a week. The only good news that came from that mission is you finally got your name but I don't think you'll be too happy about the events that followed." And so Jongho told her everything, he told her about the entire ambush, about Mingyu finding out that the entire time he thought Loren was on their side he had been working for the enemy. Worst of all, the thing that he dreaded telling her the most, the thing he knew might break her more than anything and he of all people has to be the one to tell her the news.

"When Loren escaped he had taken a bunch of files with him. The files not only gave the names of those part of the organization but it...the family names were on there too.'' Jongho spoke hesitantly.

"What are trying to say to me Jongho?'' Tahani sensed it the moment she saw his shift in mood, the moment she saw how much his face dropped she knew it would be nothing good.

"I'm sorry tahani but..you parents, your brothers, your baby sister. They're gone.'' Tahani wanted so badly to be told it was a lie, some sort of twisted joke. It felt like her heart had been ripped out of her chest and she hadnt known if she was more angry with loren for betraying their trust or heartbroken by the fact that the ones she had been fighting for the most were now gone. Without thinking Tahani jumped up from the bed and she ran and she ran and she ran. She had been too lost in thought to even realize the inhuman speed at which she had been running. She continued to run until her feet finally stopped in the very spot where her family's house once was. But there she stood, not looking at a family home but a large pile of broken structures and concrete. As she dropped down to her knees and tears filled her eyes to the brim she soon felt a presence beside her.

"I want them dead Jongho, I want them all fucking dead....And when I find Loren he's gonna wish that he'd never been born."