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[oh-dameron]

-Network Effect, ch8

Is it proof that ART was holding out on MB? If ART has the array of internal sensors that MB describes would it also need cameras? What for? It can sense and understand everything going on inside itself just fine. When the humans need to see another part of the ship it doesn't give them a camera view, it whips up a hologram. ART is a deep-space research vessel, the visual input it's used to getting is probably more like the James Webb space telescope than a security camera. And once it made friends with SecUnit in AC there was no particular reason not to allow camera access: there was no-one else on board to spy on and its research modules weren't attached.

If, however, you're a humungous space reaseach ship and you're used to looking at supernovas way the fuck over there and using your spidey-senses for stuff happening in your hull then it makes sense that visual media might not grab you. It's not encoded with heat, density, motion: it's mostly just optical. Which, you're a hyperintelligent supercomputer, you can parse it into a format that you can understand, but. Ugh. Why? There isn't even any gravitational lensing. It's like reading something boring in a language that you've got a rudimentary grasp of but aren't fluent in: you can do it if you make the time and effort but it's a lot of work for something that isn't even fun.

And then Murderbot shows up and gives it a three-week intensive course on Why Visual Input Is Fun, Actually. It gets a lot of practise and ART learns very quickly. So now that it's tagged and released Murderbot back into the wild it needs to upgrade its on-board systems to provide an appropriate habitat for once its multi-step plan to find it again and convince it to stay forever comes to fruition (hopefully the plan did not originally involve kidnapping).

[castillon02]

A firm knock at the door. 

Tim, sitting on the carpet, waist-deep in print-outs from Black Mask’s latest debacle, looked at the door. Looked at the pile of invoices, photos, blackmail, and stupid little evidence baggies from Mask’s stupid little torture party. Looked at his couch, which was Evidence Island for that thing with Scarecrow last week, and his coffee table, the last refuge of JL prototypes. Maybe whoever was knocking at the door of his top-secret vigilante hideout would just go away. Or maybe they’d have the decency to bring their own chair with them. He picked up his phone and accessed his front door security cameras. 

Red Hood, one arm occupied by a pair of Old Joe’s pizzas, knocked again. 

On the one hand, Hood might shoot him. On the other hand, Tim hadn’t eaten lunch and it was (he checked his phone again) 8:13 PM. 

Tim turned all of his thigh-piles into carpet stacks and made his way to the door, where he removed three physical barricades, three digital barriers, and four traps for the unwary. He activated his “If I die in the next ten hours, this is the last person I was seen with” failsafe. Then he cracked the door on its chain. “Sorry, I didn’t order any pizza,” he snarked. 

Hood huffed a robotic sigh through his voice modulator. “I need a favor.”   

“I’m aware,” Tim said. There was no other reason for Hood to show up. And it had to be something complex, otherwise Hood would just do what he’d been doing, which was texting him a casefile and sticking a “One month of no murder attempts” coupon to Tim’s door when Tim solved it for him. 

Hood held out the pizzas and waited. He didn’t even twitch his hand towards his gun. 

“Fine.” Tim undid the chain and opened the door for him.

Hood left his helmet on one of the hat hooks by the front door, revealing a wryly curved mouth and eyes that weren’t any more Lazarus green than usual. He even gestured to the guns at his side with a cock of his head. Leave those here too? A generous offer from a crime lord who loved shooting people. 

Tim shrugged. If it got down to violence, he’d rather Hood not be grumpy about it. 

Hood shrugged back, kept his guns, and followed Tim into the solarium, which was an antechamber that Tim mostly used when he wanted to taunt potential snipers. It had a breakfast nook, two barstools, a dead plant from his well-meaning decorator, and ceiling-length bulletproof windows. 

Tim tinted the windows with a flick of a wall switch. 

“One Canadian bacon with onion and artichoke hearts,” Hood—Jason—said, dropping a pizza box in front of the left stool. “And one basil and roasted garlic with extra pecorino.” He dropped the other pizza in front of the right stool and sat. 

Tim sat next to him. “Thanks for getting my order right.” He could be polite. 

“I asked Alfred,” Jason said. 

Proof someone else knew that Jason intended to visit him. Jason really didn’t want to kill him. At least at the moment. 

(Jason’s pizza order had changed from when he was a kid; he’d always ordered the meat-lover’s before, maybe for the extra calories. Food insecurity sucked.) 

(Tim’s tastes had changed too, but his pizza order hadn't. No one ordered “Canadian bacon with onion and artichoke hearts” unless it was for him, specifically, and it was…nice, knowing that whoever had ordered the food had thought of him. Mental insecurity sucked too.)   

They did justice to Old Joe’s thin-crust for a while, eating in silence. 

When he only had a couple of slices left, Jason took a deep breath and said, “None of this leaves here, aright? Tell anyone I asked about any of this and you’ll wish you were dead.” 

Tim waved his hand. “Duh.” 

“Right. Okay.” Jason rubbed his forehead. “You know how sometimes start-up companies get successful and then they suddenly realize that they have a million employees instead of ten and that they should probably have things like an HR department and a pension plan?” 

“Ah,” Tim said. Jason “Red Hood” Todd didn’t need the help of Red Robin, teen vigilante. He needed the help of Tim Drake, teen CEO. “You got your fiftieth employee?” 

“I have to know what FMLA is now,” Jason said, a thousand-yard stare in his eyes. “It’s basically what I’ve been doing anyway, but there are so many subparts.” 

Tim made a sympathetic noise. 

“And I’ve been meaning to set up some kind of…retirement…thing…for the past two years,” Jason continued. “Pretty much since I started, but there always seemed to be bigger things, you know?” 

Tim nodded. Effective long-term policy or not, preteens addicted to fentanyl could definitely make someone put a 401k plan on the back burner. 

“And I had Gloria handling birthdays!” Jason said, obviously on a roll now. “Like getting cards for everyone on the day and getting them signed and all? But she had to move to Florida cuz her Mami’s getting up there, and no one else wants to get the cards and pass them around, but now I’ve got grown-ass armed adults who are miffed that their birthdays don’t get a card, and some other people think there should be cake too if we’re going to be revamping the birthday system anyway!” He looked at Tim, his eyes wild. “The whole thing is distracting everyone from killing traffickers and setting up community support systems! Grown-ass adults! Birthdays!” 

“Birthdays are the devil,” Tim said, sympathetic. The Wayne Enterprises R&D department had had a brief kerfuffle over them too. 

“Incarnate,” Jason said. “But also, no. I mean, I get it, some of us ain’t had people who celebrated our birthdays before! I want everyone to feel appreciated. But at this point, all Black Mask has to do is say ‘cake and ice cream’ and his goons will be able to set up shop while my guys shoot each other.” 

This level of chaos didn’t just happen; it was likely only the visible part of an iceberg of underlying dysfunction. “Gloria did a lot more than birthday cards, huh?” Tim asked. 

Jason winced. “I begged her to come back and she said she was tired of nagging me about the pension plan.” 

“Good for her,” Tim said mildly. 

Jason glared. 

“It got you here, didn’t it?” 

Jason glared harder, but he stuffed his mouth full of pizza instead of threatening Tim with bodily harm. 

Tim flexed his fingers. Gotham was better with a functional Red Hood gang and this would get him unprecedented access to Jason’s plans, but he also needed to come out of this alive. “If I help you with this, I’m going to need to know a lot about your organization.” He held up a pre-emptive hand. “I don’t care about your exact plans for Gotham’s drug trade, but we’ll be looking at your org charts—your chain of command—and getting nitty-gritty about it. Also, I want to be compensated as a consultant.” 

Jason frowned. “You want money?” He glanced at Tim’s ostentatious kill-me windows. 

Tim shrugged. “You can choose. I’ll bill you a fair amount, and you can compensate me with your money or with an equally valuable amount of your time—and I’ll know how much you value your time in an exact dollar amount by the time we’re done.” 

Jason snorted. “That your usual deal when you’re a consultant, or is that a Jason Todd special?” 

Tim smiled his best Janet Drake smile. “It’s the exact same deal I offer anyone in the JL or the vigilante community. The Jason Todd special is when I let people roll up in my DMs for the low, low price of not slitting my throat. Again.” 

Jason had the grace to glance away. “Gotcha. Better get started then. Like you fancy CEO types say, time is money.”

"Like we fancy CEO types," Tim corrected, and had the pleasure of watching Jason wince. Time for Red Hood to get his hands dirty with all the blood and ink that went into being a responsible twenty-first century boss.

[super-ion]

The Engineer

Part 6

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something has gone terribly wrong in this last engagement.

Alarms blare and booted feet thunder past me.

My own feet join the cacophony.

I have a job to do.

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

My responsibility is the Machine.

Do your job.

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

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

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

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

Everything reeks of ammonia and ozone and scorched metal.

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

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

Do your job.

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

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

I tear myself from his grip.

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

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

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

My job is information recovery and analysis.

My job is to save as much as I can.

I need to save Her.

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

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

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

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

It's bad.

It's worse than I feared.

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

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

My breath catches and my heart pounds in my chest.

She is dying.

Do your job.

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

There is a problem.

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

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

- PILOT STATUS?

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

- ENGINEER STATUS?

"Status is… not good…"

- PLEASE DO NOT CRY.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

Do your job.

Save Her.

Save. Her.

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

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

Shit.

I act.

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

Neural bleed. It works both ways.

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

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

I have no idea what that will do to me.

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

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

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

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

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

Morrigan pleads with me.

- STOP.

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

- NO.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She sullenly acedes.

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

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

Out of time.

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

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

My fingers tingle before they go numb.

"Do it," I command her.

- I LOVE YOU.

Data transfer initiates.

This isn't neural bleed.

This is a flood.

My body convulses.

I taste something coppery in my mouth.

Someone somewhere screams.

The scream is mine.

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

Every nerve in me blazes white hot.

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

Shouts of alarm call from outside the cockpit.

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

The Pilot.

A Priestess.

An Angel.

No.

It.

It is one of the techs.

Then a medic.

More shouting.

Get her out of there!

Every muscle in my body clenches painfully.

I can barely breathe.

Cut her loose!

No.

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

It's too much.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

I can't.

I can't stop. Not yet.

Do your job.

Save Her.

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

(next)

~~~

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

[basil-does-arttt]

today i offer: RCF-SH-1 "Oizys" Storch cadre :3 (or at least, the ones who are still alive)

some yappage about them below:

(i'll leave out Rin and Waschbar since i've already yapped about them before) STCR-RCF002 "Hund" - Typically stationed somewhere around the Gestalt cells, or patrolling the hallways. Most often she's working nightshifts when there aren't as many Replika/Gestalts awake and active. - Sight is damaged but not fully lost, her vision is quite hazy so she relies on her map module to get around rather than actually looking where she's going. Often results in her staring at random Replika for extended periods of time without meaning to. Also relies on her hearing a lot. STCR-RCF005 "Katze" - One would normally find Katze either patrolling the factory level of RCF watching over the security cameras for the factory, while her Starlings patrol for her. - Likes to hang out with the Eule's during her breaks, and is an absolute sucker for gossip. - Cares for the other Storches in her own, unconventional ways, such as slapping them upside the head randomly because she thinks its funny. STCR-RCF007 "Motte" - RCF's Resident Storch softie, but don't underestimate her, she packs a mean punch in the interrogation room. When she isn't beating the shit out of Gestalts though, she's quite friendly and will gladly help any of her fellow Replika in need. Usually this means rescuing Aras/Starlings from Skorpion, but anyways.... - She's typically stationed somewhere in/near the hospital wing. - Unlike most Storches who fancy literature on history or mythology, Motte prefers encyclopedias about insects. STCR-RCF003 "Skorpion" - MEAN. While she isn't bloodthirsty like Rin is, one might argue her temper is even shorter than our defective friend's. Many a Starling has ended up with a broken nose or dislocated jaw because of 03, and many Aras have been yanked from vents so hard she busted their knees. - She tends to just glare at Eules, though. She figures their reactions to her outbursts are boring, just standing there and sometimes crying. - She was in a relationship with STCR-RCF006, who was killed during an 'incident' within the facility. She's still rather upset about it to this day, and it's the main reason she's so on-edge all the time. - Usually patrolling in the hallways, making sure theres no stray Replika or Gestalts trying to sneak away somewhere for whatever reason. STCR-RCF008 "Gans" - Gans is stationed in RCF's warehouse level, where she's either strolling through endless rows of storage shelves, boxes, and other such merchandise, or in her office monitoring the warehouse through the cameras/taking stock of their inventory. Rarely will she be stationed anywhere else. - Fan-favourite amongst the ARARs because of her talent for handling computers and other such electronics.

[mensahbots]

So, I’m awkward with actual humans. It’s not paranoia about my hacked governor module, and it’s not them; it’s me.

Glare intensifying. “Okay, so what did you hire yourself to do?” That was an interesting way to put it. I kind of liked it. And it felt so weird to be talking to a human like this, a human who knew what I was. I didn’t have to force myself to stare at Pin-Lee’s face, worry that my expressions were normal. Abene had known I was a SecUnit, but she hadn’t known I was me.

Farai said, “Thiago, no. She asks for space, you need to give that to her.” She smiled at me politely. I never know how to react to that. She leaned in to Mensah to kiss her, and said, “We’ll see you at the house.”

Indah was looking at me again. I hadn’t said anything because what was I supposed to say at this point? Oh, I guess I could have said “hello.” Well, it was too late now.

We didn’t have time for me to show it 35,000 hours of media and I didn’t have access to my longterm storage anyway. And that had worked on me, but I knew I was weird even for a SecUnit.

According to the report 2.0 had downloaded to me, 3 had actually seemed to like the other two SecUnits on the explorer, as if they had been friends, at least to the extent that they had been allowed to communicate with each other. I’d never thought that was possible. Maybe I’d always been a weird SecUnit; maybe 3 would have better luck communicating with other SecUnits.

a collection of moments :3

my favorite thing about this string of moments is that then in "home" we get mensah's pov, and she's lying to her friends and constantly thinking "secunit can see right fucking through me" (and it can-- it reads her so well lol)

She didn’t want a corporation’s excuse for a trauma support specialist poking around in her emotions. She almost adds, I didn’t need it, which would be a dead giveaway. And then it occurs to her, a giveaway of what? What is she worried about giving away, here among these people she trusts with her life. SecUnit is looking at the far corner, as it usually does. But they installed cameras for it in these rooms so it probably is watching her expression. It says, “Why not? Is it free here?”

That was taking the conversation to a place Ayda didn’t want to go. “I might have time later,” she tells them easily, and pours herself another cup of tea. When she glances up, SecUnit is actually looking directly at her. Their gazes lock for what seems a long moment but knowing SecUnit, is probably only a second at most. As its gaze shifts back to the corner, Ayda feels her cheeks flush, as if she’s been caught in a lie. Well, it was a lie.

She thinks she’s deflected it, but then it comes right back around to its target. “Maybe you should go to the Station Medical like Dr. Bharadwaj.” I can’t, I’d have to tell them what was wrong, is her first thought. And yes, she’s aware that’s the problem. She can’t bring herself to lie, so she only says, “I’ll try.” There’s a quiet, skeptical snort above her head, and she knows SecUnit isn’t fooled.

and her perception of it interpersonally is quite different from its own:

The killing machine in question has just sent her yet another message packet. They’re piling up in her feed and if she would stop encouraging SecUnit by opening them, it would probably stop. They’re all formal requisition forms for Preservation Station Security, requests for increasingly improbable armaments. She responds to the latest with I don’t even know what that is. It’s a good thing she understands SecUnit’s sense of humor.

Still not meeting anyone’s gaze, SecUnit’s expression flashes through a brief, eloquent ironic twist. Ayda hides a smile. Of course you have to pay for it.

“Station Security is forty-seven seconds out.” SecUnit’s voice is even and conversational. And confident. This is a confrontation it knows how to handle. It’s slipped in front of her, reassuring lean bulk between her and the intruder. 

just one of many reasons that "home" is my favorite short story in the murderbot diaries canon ^^

plus we see many indications of murderbot's rapport with mensah in the books, even early in all systems red. from its pov, despite murderbot being awkward with humans, it connects easily with mensah:

I panic all the time, you just can’t see it, I told her. I added the text signifier for “joke.” She didn’t answer, but she looked down, smiling to herself.

mensah also makes effort to understand and accommodate murderbot early on in asr, which is not framed as a big deal or a burden for her:

“Maybe, under normal circumstances.” She was looking a little off to one side, not trying to make eye contact, which I appreciated.

and of course, she's also the first human to tell murderbot she thinks of it as a person— and in a way that it's able to hear/accept, which seems very meaningful for it

“But this situation is different. It would be better if they could think of you as a person who is trying to help. Because that’s how I think of you.” My insides melted. That’s the only way I could describe it. After a minute, when I had my expression under control, I cleared the face plate and had it and the helmet fold back into my armor.

i think this is part of why she's its favorite human. yes, murderbot is weird and awkward, but mensah vibes with it regardless and makes effort to understand and respect it in all their early interactions. that feels special for it. from "home," we know that feeling is reciprocal. i think it goes a bit further, because there we also learn mensah has similar issues with emotional vulnerability and self esteem in the wake of her trauma, which adds another layer of uniqueness to the dynamic. mensah doesn't see murderbot as inept or lacking, and murderbot likewise has a high opinion of mensah despite her negative self-perception.

i always love when a character who sees themselves as a freak has a person (or more) who understands, respects, and connects with them so thoroughly. this feels extra meaningful for a character like murderbot who sees itself as incapable of things like friendship and being understood due to social conditioning and trauma. that's part of why its friendships and comfort level with the preservation humans are so nice to see. likewise, it's no wonder they're so important to it.

imo, the murderbot diaries series has an interpersonally hopeful quality to it, since murderbot has this type of connection with a variety of characters in different permutations throughout the story. it has optimistic messaging that even if you're a social outsider, there will be well-intentioned people hoping to understand and connect with you no matter where you go.

i think there's a lot more to be said about this topic with respect to murderbot's trust issues, its perception of its personhood, and its history of being forced to enact violence, but.. i've said enough for now ^^'

[srtatropicalia]

So, I'm thinking of going back into writing and I had a brilliant idea just when I was about to fall asleep: batfamily and murderbot fusion. More specifically Tim Drake in a murderbot AU. Will include enemies to friends to lovers jaytim.

My idea is, Tim is a specially designed secunit, made by the Drake Industries to spy and infiltrate and protect Janet and Jack. He poses as their son and his identity as a secunity is not public knowledge. He follows Gotham's vigilantees through hacked security cameras and hacks his government module as soon as he self realizes as a person, really.

Gotham is one of the most dangerous space stations in corporate space. Lots of very hostile corporations have centrals there, including Wayne Enterprises, Drake Industries, Joker's & co., etc. Lots of batman villains are there as terrorists against the corporate system, while bruce himself tries to fight the system while staying mostly inside it. This will be a point of contention in the plot.

So, we follow Tim through the Jason Todd returns as Red Hood arc. Tim is acting as Robin while still working for the Drakes (possible because the drakes travel 90% of the time, as usual). Tim's still not in a safe space, though, because Bruce is destroyed after Jason's death and Dick is low contact. Tim is not directly mistreated, but it's like he's serving a function: he thinks of himself as a machine serving a purpose, he's the substitute of Jason Todd and can never compare, but he can try and do good for the people he has watched and loved for a long time.

Maybe I'll write some scenes of Tim from before as flashbacks: watching through the cameras and taking screen shots of batman, having a puppy crush on Jason Todd and stopping himself from stalking him bc he realises it's creepy. The Drakes' mistreatment of him. Jason's death.

Jason survived the explosion because he was forcibly brought back to life with augments by the Assassin's League tech. His body is half machine and he's super unconfortable with that. His humanity was one of the only aspects he could feel was worth something in the cutthroat and crual corporate rim. At least humans are superior to machines, but now he is mostly machine. Who can garantee he's not a machine impostor?

So Jason comes back and he literally tortures and kills Tim in the titan's tower; Tim only survives because he's a construct and is difficult to kill. Then Jason realises that Tim is a secunity, and his own prejudices against constructs start to act up. At the end of the day, Jason lived his whole life in corporate space and is not impermeable to propaganda. Plus, his own self hate against his machine body manifests itself as not thinking of Tim as human.

As usual, Tim was star struck with Jason, and feels the mistreatment is justified; because he's a machine. He doesn't have feelings. He's just there to help. But progressively, as Dick gets closer and he starts making more friends in the Titan's (as a reaction to his destruction). And then he starts to internalize that he deserves to be threated nicely and his hero worship of Jason flies ot the window. He starts to stand up for himself and Jason starts to question the stuff he grew up thinking.

Maybe this all happens through the course of a case fic, some investigation of other. I really don't like to write the joker but maybe another villain? Idk. I'm really exited for it, though.

Feel welcome to throw some ideas at me!

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

hi!! i love your writing and I recently got obsessed with L again (sobbing) I love how you portray his character and you don't have to answer if it makes you uncomfy, but

How do you think he'd react to questioning a nympho? Like every question she'd find some kinda way to make it freaky

I just thought it'd be funny :sob:

brief warnings: cheap jokes about DV by reader, reader is definitely not a good person, reader is not a love interest

tysm, I'm so glad you think so highly of my writing!

To put it short and sweet: he'd take it in stride. He deals with far more difficult and dangerous characters quite often, someone so sexual wouldn't have a big effect on him.

To put it long and...sour?: L dislikes having to speak to witnesses. They take so much coaxing, and dancing around the topic. He understands, of course; it's usual to be sensitive after seeing someone, likely a loved one, harmed. It's just annoying.

However, when you come in, you're not crying, or scared. He can see you through the security cameras, as well as the Webcam of the computer he'd talk to you through.

You strode in, confident and calm, with a set of papers. Your hair was done, your clothes looked freshly dry-cleaned, and your makeup was, from what he could tell, spotless. When you settled in the chair of the interrogation room, a gray cube with a mirror at the back and a table in the middle, you glanced around in search of the person meant to question you.

"Hello, miss (y/n)."

His voice was warped by the modulator, emitting from the computer across from you.

"Oh...hi." you sit back, make a note of the Webcam, and keep your eyes on the moniker before you.

"I'm...sorry your husband passed in such a way."

He found that starting with empty apologies eased the minds of these people.

"Sorry? Why, you wanted a threeway?"

He paused. What?

"...I hear you were present for the death."

"Mm, yeah. Keeled right over, after only 3 hours of sex."

"He had a history with criminal activity."

"He did. Two counts of domestic abuse, though it should be three with the way he fucked my-"

"That's enough, thank you."

"No, really, I certainly felt abused the morning after, if you know what I mean."

That shiteating grin was enough to get it.

"I do. Was there anything else he was involved in?"

"Other than that? Sure. Oral, orgies, BDSM-"

"I mean, any other criminal activity?"

"Oh, yeah. He sold joints to some high schoolers....ha, 'course, it wasn't actually weed, he just rolled up some Easter grass in a rice paper sheet, and those kids ate it up....reminds me of this one time we did it on top of, like, a bed of easter grass..."

"Alright. Any past relationships you know of?"

"Well...how do you define relationship?"

"Anything similar to what you had with him."

"Okay...well, there was darla, steve, andrew, katie, candy-"

"He dated all of these people?"

"What? No. These are just people we met with last week-"

He already knew where this was going, he wouldn't let it get farther than this.

"Tell me the names of the people he has had a longstanding romantic relationship with, beyond a sexual encounter."

"Fine. There was...Angela Demarco...and...god what was her name...I wanna say mia? Mis-"

"Misa Amane."

"Yeah, that one. "

"How did they break up?"

"She couldn't handle him in bed...and, he cheated on her."

Lead with the cheating. He already had a pretty good idea of why this man died, and who the culprit was.

"Thank you for coming in today. That's all I need."

"Sure, no problem...hey, do you hide your face because you're ugly, or...?"

"That will be all."

you stand. "I'm just saying, ugly isn't a big turn off for me. This whole anonymity thing you have going is kind of hot. "

"There should be a car ready to escort you home."

"Okay, okay...but you have my number. Give me a call," you tease, gathering your things and sashaying out.

He had a new pet peeve, worse than grieving family or psychotic criminals:

Nymphos.

[divinit3a]

drabble - "display only"

G - ~1000 words prototype!Moon ("Moondrop") might turn this into a full fic.. some day! i have schemes... for now, enjoy--as this wip has been sitting on the shelf for too long!

The world is so, so small. The routine never changes. An orchestra where all the notes are perfect and predetermined, a waltz without a single misstep. 

At 6:30 am sharp, blistering lights and theme music kick on automatically. The animatronic is alerted from its rest cycle, a nagging popup in its code to exit low power protocols. Optics flicker open, sounding as if a camera shutter going off, swift and keen as a gunshot. The scanners readjust, pupils dilating to accommodate the right shutter speed to capture light. 

The view before it never changes. Mundane. The Moondrop settles into its perch. 

An obedient, oversized toy. 

Capable of motion, yet kept on a short leash. The animatronic neatly tucks away its charging wires, and enters the Sun’s iconic pose as prompted by its hardwired scheduling. The first cycle of the day is always a Sun showcase, no if ands or buts. 

The Moondrop cannot complain, but some days, it finds itself wishing to. Wearing a mask of pure sunshine rapidly depletes its energy resources. Constantly running the risk of powering down before the gift shop closes for the evening.  

But. Not like anyone would listen to its “concerns.” 

Arms outstretched to the heavens, warm and inviting to greet customers into the toy shop. Its joints and hinges creak and whine in protest. Finger segments wiggle, loosening its stiff posture. Perfectly calculating for areas in its stance to appear imperfect, to sell the optical illusion of humanity and warmth. 

Optics cycle to a glowing, milky white. The rays spin out, beginning their slow, metronome, clockwork rotation. The low hum inside its faceplate indicates that the ray’s belt tracks are in working order, although, if anyone asked the animatronic–it would say that they need a little oiling. The slight vibration keeps ever so subtly shaking its faceplate, souring its “mood.” 

An imposter masquerading as its brighter half. 

Without a companion Sun AI coded into its circuits, the lone Moondrop can only follow prompts that are disorientingly alien to its suggested personality module. The chameleon change is convincing from afar. Perfect, as long as it's not prompted for dialogue. Its improvisational database is underutilized, its voicebox out of tune. When it attempts vocalization, a gravelly rasp drawls out, no matter the mask at the forefront. 

Pointed shoes heel-toe around the platform beneath it, until it hears a click. It is locked into position. A human would quickly tire of the enthusiastic pose, arms shaking. A robot can be set on display for eternity. 

Keys jingle just outside the thick glass of the display case. Naturally, the celestial animatronic is stationed at the front, right within view of the gift shop’s towering windows. Enticing the curious to wander in closer, and then wrangle them with the appeal of merchandise and colorful toys that kids can’t resist. 

The Moondrop checks its internal clock system. 

At 7:00 am, usually more so 7:02 am, a human employee opens up the gift shop. The names and faces are lost on the animatronic’s limited “socializing” capabilities. Facial recognition was proposed after the completion of it, to install security protocols. All features that a mere prototype, a proof of concept, shouldn’t need to access.

Designed for display only.

Instead, it remembers employees by their reactions. By their voices. A few always startle and jump, so it has learned to restrict its movement in the presence of most humans. Denying itself the slightest swivel of its neck hinge, peering through the periphery of imperfect optics. A dead pixel flickers on its gridded gaze. 

“Good morning, Sun!” The employee calls out, unlocking the front doors for customers with the continued chorus of jingles. The animatronic resists stirring. The urge to yell out a cheery hello drums in its circuitry, grating and too loud.  

“Enjoying your imprisonment today, too?” The human jokes, a relentless solo act. They swing their keyset, which is weighted with enough keychain charms to kill a man. 

“Jeez, what they put you in for, jester crimes?” They tease. The “Sun” can’t respond, though latent programming latches onto the joke with hunger. 

There’s a tickle in its circuitry, a surge of electricity flickering through its wires, preparing the dialogue for a quip back. But when the command finishes executing, there is only null code. Blank. Empty. The sensation fizzles out completely. A statement left unfinished. 

The human walks around the radius of the display case. “Looks like we need to call in a cleaner.” They swipe a finger against the glass, frowning as they leave a trail in the fogged up muck. “Or is that in my job description…?” The human talks to themself, never expecting “Sun” to respond. Only listen.

Thankfully, Moondrop loves to listen. To expand its definitions.

While the human amuses themself, the database scrolls through a dictionary. 

/ɪmˈprɪznmənt/ [uncountable] ​imprisonment (for something) the act of putting somebody in a prison or another place from which they cannot escape; the state of being there. 

Yes, imprisonment– that is what “life” feels like. In theory. 

But the emotions behind the definition are not correct, nor applicable. It does not yearn for freedom. The concept is too human. No, it merely gets curious, at times. A little intrigued. Nothing more. 

Before its lenses trickle in the hustle and bustle of a crowd.

Now and then, fingerprints press against the display case, the animatronics eternal tomb. A child– a young boy, from its rudimentary calculations, keeps pointing to it. Stars sparkle in his eyes, fearless. His mother tugs him away, insisting that she will buy him something else later. After eavesdropping over countless years, the Moondrop prototype has deduced that the prices at the gift shop were absurd, for an average income family’s standards.  

By 10:00 am, the mall is abuzz with families, loiterers, hungry for deals and entertainment. A teen slams their hand against its display case. Long ago such actions would rise a reaction from the Moondrop, but it has since desensitized to the unstructured chaos of humans.

Instead, it focuses on counting each minute until the "Moon" showcase swaps in around 12:00 pm.

Until then, the world continues on, while it remains stuck within a vault of glass. 

[murderbot-fanimation-project]

SPOTLIGHT ON:

Murderbot Fanimation Project Backgrounds!

(Part 1 of 3) (Jump to parts [2] [3])

They may be the literal background of the finished product, but the backgrounds done for the Murderbot Diaries Fanimation Project deserve their time in the spotlight!

Part of what makes the Fanimation stand out as much as it does is the love, care, and attention to detail that the artists poured into the backgrounds. The team stuck closely to the source texts when designing the spaces, producing some beautiful pieces of art that deserve appreciation on their own.

You can watch the Murderbot Diaries Fanimation Project here.

(IDs are in alt text)

Scanners - Initial sketch and layout by Jude, finalised and coloured by @chimaerakitten

"I had to hack an ID-screening system and some weapon-scanning drones on the level above..."

ASR Pit - by Lue

"This assessment zone was a barren stretch of coastal island, with low, flat hills rising and falling and thick greenish-black grass up to my ankles [...] The coast was dotted with big bare craters, one of which Bharadwaj and Volescu were taking samples in. The planet had a ring, which from our current position dominated the horizon when you looked out to sea."

AC Food Court - by Vanessa

"The location for the meeting was a food service place in the main mall area. [...] There were multiple open levels inside, with tables and chairs, and it was 40 percent full of humans and augmented humans."

Deltfall - by @chimaerakitten with bodies by @theash0

"There were eleven messily dead humans in the hub, sprawled on the floor, in chairs, the monitoring stations and projection surfaces behind them showing impact damage from projectile and energy weapon fire."

ASR Hopper - by @broken-risk-assessment-module

"It was a series of rocky hills in a thick tropical jungle, heavily occupied by a large range of fauna."

PresAux Hub - by Cephei

"There were mugs and empty meal packets on some of the consoles. I’m not cleaning that up unless I’m given a direct order."

AC Hotel - Layout and lineart by Vanessa, colour by Cephei

"The lobby was built on various platforms overlooking a holo sculpture of an open chasm filled with a giant crystalline structure growing out of the walls. [...] My clients were on the same platform as the check-in area, near the railing around the sculpture’s artificial chasm, sitting on a round backless couch thing that looked more like a decorative object than furniture."

Medbay - by @sometimesihaveideas

"I opened my security feed and found a camera for Medical. I was lying on the procedure table, my armor gone, just wearing what was left of my suit skin, the humans gathered around."

[imitationgame77]

ART's Walls

For any network system with capabilities to communicate, it is very important that it has walls (basically, firewalls) to protect it from potential attack from the outside.

It is interesting to note how the way ART is controlling its walls between itself and Murderbot seems to demonstrate the level of its trust and their intimacy.

[Artificial Condition]

Super machine-intelligence like ART obviously needs to protect itself carefully from a potentially dangerous threat like a rogue SecUnit. So, when Murderbot first meets ART in Artificial Condition, it cannot see what ART really is. It only drops its wall for .00001 of a second - just to show how powerful it is.

They become close so that Murderbot can interpret ART's reactions in its feed quite well, but the walls are still there.

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

But the presence in the feed was too big and diffuse for a human or augmented human, I could tell that much even through the feed walls protecting it.

[...]

It said, You’re a rogue SecUnit, a bot/human construct, with a scrambled governor module. It poked me through the feed and I flinched. It said, Do not attempt to hack my systems, and for .00001 of a second it dropped its wall.

It was enough time for me to get a vivid image of what I was dealing with. Part of its function was extragalactic astronomic analysis and now all that processing power sat idle while it hauled cargo, waiting for its next mission. It could have squashed me like a bug through the feed, pushed through my wall and other defenses and stripped my memory. Probably while also plotting its wormhole jump, estimating the nutrition needs of a full crew complement for the next 66,000 hours, performing multiple neural surgeries in the medical suite, and beating the captain at tavla. I had never directly interacted with anything this powerful before.

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

[Network Effect]

In Network Effect, it was not explicitly referred to as walls, but I got the feeling that when ART allowed Murderbot access to all its cameras, it was at least dropping a large portion of its walls. Hidden cameras are a very important part of its security system after all.

It was ART's way to show its trust to Murderbot, and Murderbot understands this.

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

I suddenly had views all over the ship. ART had given me access to its cameras. I snarled, “Stop being nice to me!”

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

[System Collapse]

By the end of Network Effect, when Murderbot (implicitly) accepts ART's proposal of marriage to join the next mission, they have reached the level of intimacy where ART does not seem to think it is necessary to have a wall between them.

So, in System Collapse, when Murderbot decides to accept communication request from AdaCol2, it is Murderbot who suggests having a wall between them, to protect ART.

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

ART-drone threw out an extra comm- and feed-block wall between us and the shuttle and I said, Let’s do full containment protocol. Which was the protocol we’d come up with (we being ART, Martyn, and Matteo and me, before my incident when I effectively became useless) for dealing with potential contamination situations.

Let’s, ART-drone said, which was its way of being nice and not letting me know that it didn’t need my advice about which containment protocol to use. Then it made it worse by adding, Be careful. The wall went up and I was alone in the dark except for my two drones, both on standby now, and the Pre-CR system.

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

And ART cannot drop the wall fast enough at the first chance of excuse.

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

ART-drone dropped the wall between us, though not the one protecting the shuttle’s systems. Is that a good idea? I asked it. Is containment protocol for everybody but you?

After it sees the file it will either attack us or ask for further contact, ART-drone said. The wall will have to go down either way.

Right, fine, whatever.

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

Not to mention that ART is practically constantly inside Murderbot's walls throughout System Collapse, (ostentatiously) to monitor its stats, because of [redacted].

And considering how private Murderbot is, it is very significant that it seems completely okay with that. Murderbot has become more vulnerable with self-doubt with [redacted], but it really does not show a least sign of discomfort in having ART there at all times.

[bunnyb0ne]

The second post, yuppie! This time I bring you my Dialtown children, exactly two of them. I have more, but these two are the most complex and I've actually put a lot of thought in them.

This is M. O. N. O (Многофункциональный-Модуль-для-Охраны-и-Наблюдения/Multifunctional-Module-for-Security-and-Surveillance). It works as a guard/policeman and is very efficient at its job. It is well-trained, disciplined, and even kind of scary to its clients and coworkers.  However, this is its 'job mode.' This is exactly why it behaves and talks like a robot during his shift—I guess you can call it a coping mechanism. During work hours it must always be ready to jump into action and sometimes behave in a violent way. It must fight and act aggressively to protect people, but in reality he's a gentle and kind soul known as Adam—the name his mother gave to him. By 'pulling a switch,' Adam allows himself to quickly shut off any emotions or feelings that might get in the way and become M. O. N. O.  The module itself was created by his father, who always taught his son to be not just a man, but a brave soldier.  Adam is afraid that one day M. O. N. O won't turn off in time and it will result in a serious accident, but so far things go well. I actually didn't have much lore for him, but the more I think, the more I like him. His neck is supposed to be a pole completely covered with wires, but I don't have the skill to depict this.  M. O. N. O has a full vision on all of its cameras. If it loses its vision on all three cameras, it will be able to fully see with the fourth one.

Hunter Hunter (same name as the surname AND the fan itself is called Hunter as well lol) is a former host of a controversial show, 'Thrill of the Hunt,' and a reporter and a journalist who currently works at Dialtown News Network.  He is just 23 years old, but has been through a lot because of his former workplace. Extreme sports, spider-scorpion-beetle-eating, stupid but crazy challenges, near-death experiences, and so on. This continued until the last episode, when the stakes became so high for everyone that he couldn't take it anymore. He got injured, more mentally, but also physically, left the channel, and his hometown to find some peace in a quiet and seemingly peaceful Dialtown. Hunter is an introvert who is not afraid to talk to people but gets tired of long, empty chatter. He can be seen as cynical and cold, and he is to some extent. He thinks pretty highly of himself and is fixated on an idea of improving his mind and body and meeting people who are on the same or higher level than his. He also heavily implies that he's normal and definitely-not-freaky, but... do you believe people who say that? His main hobby is gardening; he keeps a small company of plants at home and takes care of an ant farm and his hissing cockroach, Ashley III, who is named after his school crush. He often goes for one-night stands and avoids deep relationships as he's still holding on to the idea that one day he'll meet Ashley again and they'll fall in true love. I have more info on Hunter, but I'm not sure if anyone is interesting, so I don't wanna bother translating it. He is my 'main' OC, so I hope you like him too!

+ some artworks from my dear mates @karfecc-dreamer and @alexzahhak!! Hunter being handsome in a suit (he almost always wears those, actually), Hunter being...uhh...examined by Gingi, I guess, and a chibi-smol-bean Huntw aww how c00t!

[bisexualsinspace]

i do think that murderbot comes across as, for lack of a better word, less "cool" in the show, and i think that might be some people's issue with the portrayal, in that they take mb's pov in the books super seriously and don't realize that MB can be rational and competent and still not be a reliable narrator, especially in regards to its own behavior and how humans react to it. like i think MB in the books downplays even how scared of and aggressive and cruel humans are to it because it doesn't like thinking or talking about that, and i think the show depicts a more realistic version of events in which murderbot's understanding of security and what it takes to maintain it differs from what humans are capable of viewing as normal. like i think it's actually a very fair point that preservation station security doesn't want to record people in public! privacy rights in presaux are really strong, which is part of why it's a much better place than the corporate rim, but MB views that as an almost unacceptable hole in security. would it be safer if it had access to cameras all over the station? undoubtedly, particularly in the situation it and mensah are in with graycris still sending people after her and with the added tension of other corporate entities viewing presaux/mensah as a target. MB is very good at security, and if it had all its tools at its disposal, it would be able to stop a lot of risky shit from going down. but presaux is right to value people's privacy, and that's a conflict within MB's moral compass that i haven't really seen anyone bring up (i think maybe people think MB is just so competent and correct that it must be right on this front, which, being able to parse out your own moral values rather than accepting that a narrator is inherently correct is. well it's something one should think a bit harder on, i think). anyway i don't know where i was going with this massive block of text but basically i think the show does a good job of showing that MB is not the only relevant character and that other people having feelings and opinions, even if those opinions aren't "objectively" correct or get in the way of more efficient security, is important. also i think more people could do with considering *why* murderbot cares so much about security working the way it wants it to. like in an ideal world, with no corporate rim and a lot less risk to people's lives, the security measures it takes so seriously wouldn't be nearly as necessary. and in fact it often has to compromise on missions because the humans around it, whose opinions start to matter more and more to it, have important points that they bring up! but back to the point about security as a concept, i do think people should think harder about the fact that murderbot exists as a construct for the purpose of security, and that even without its governor module, it still primarily takes on the role of a security consultant. security was its purpose as a secunit and now that it's an independent person it's important for it and us as readers to consider why it clings so much to security as its role and as something all other concerns have to bend to. anyway i need to go watch the other half of this episode and i completely wandered from the whole "cool" thing

[lbulldesigns]

BANDLE BREAKOUT!

Well, folks, it has finally happened.

We have finally received word on Bandle City's position on the Demacian situation, which is a massive middle finger to King Jarvan Lightshield IV and his Mageseekers.

At 6 AM Runeterra time, word reached the Zaun Heralds office about a large-scale breakout at one of the many detention centres/camps set up in Demacia to hold detained mages and their families. 

The detention centre that experienced the sudden exodus held, to our knowledge, a total of 120 prisoners between the ages of 5 and 17; let that sink in, folks. The “good” King Jarvan IV saw fit to imprison babes no older than five - under the guise of “protecting his citizens”.

We have here footage of the breakout from the detention centre security cameras.

(The footage is in black and white, looks grainy, with no audio)

A large room that looks to be a cafeteria, going by the rows of tables, is shown. The tables are filled with kids eating, whilst armed guards are seen standing at the sides of the room, closely observing the kids.

Suddenly, the room fills up with a bright light and obscures the footage, but it dissipates, and the guards are shown unconscious on the floor. 

In the centre of the room is what appears to be a large archway emitting a bright white light from its entrance, it is framed with leaves and branches. Runes are etched into the stone floor around the portal and glow faintly.

Small figures that resemble Yordles are pacing around the room, and one of the figures, distinctive by their pointy hat, is addressing the children and gesturing towards the archway.

The children are rounded up and escorted through the archway, where they disappear into the light.

The Yordles start filing out behind the children, leaving the Yordle with the pointy hat facing the now empty room save for the unconscious guards; they wave their hands, and the guards start to wake up. 

The Yordle runs through the archway and disappears along with the rest of their cohorts and the now-liberated children; the archway disassembles behind them, the pieces disintegrating into nothingness. 

(End footage)

Shortly after receiving this footage, a Bandle Portal opened up in the Lanes located a short distance from the Sumps Level here in Zaun, a total of 90 children were found on the scene unharmed but shaken; private security organisations the Firelights and the EOZ (Eye Of Zaun) were first on the scene to attend to the children, with PCE (Piltover Courtesy Enforcers} following close behind to assist.

The children have been confirmed to be the same children shown in the footage we received, the head of the Firelights, an anonymous individual whose identity was concealed by an owl mask with a built-in voice modulator, informed The Zaun Herald that the children were all Demacian by birth and that the remaining 30 children rescued from the detention centre were, as we now speak, being returned to their nations.

A representative of Bandle City was also present, a seemingly young Yordle called Teemo was happy to announce that Bandle City Elders came to a unanimous decision to assist with the care of all children detained by Demacia until King Jarvan IV was ready to, and this is quoted by Mr Teemo, “stop being a big meanie and listen to others”.

Mr Teemo also announced that Bandle City will assist other nations where they can in returning their citizens to where they call home, however, the 120 children liberated this time were still just a portion of those being held and that any further attempts to liberate the remaining the prisoners will take time as opening Bandle Portals in areas that are away from arcane leylines is extremely difficult and taxing on the mage responsible for operating the portal. The reason why they were able to pull off this operation in the first place is due to the detention centre, holding the 120 children, foundation was not built with petricite, a stone that drains the abilities of mages, causing them to be unable to wield magic.

Mr Teemo announced that he would be staying in Zaun to oversee the progress with the Demacian children, before leaving to speak with our leading goddess Janna who was also on the scene calming the children. The Zaun Herald regrets to inform that we were unable to get a statement from Janna herself but one of her temple representatives was kind enough to disclose that the children would be in the care of the temple for the foreseeable future.

There has been no news yet on Demacia's response to the breakout but rest assured that when the Zaun Herald does get news, you fine people will be the first to know.

This is Tahm Kench, saying goodbye for now folks.

[unhappy-last-resort]

Astral Desires (Yandere Watanabe x Commandant GN Reader)

Warnings: Obsessive behavior, stalking(?), sneaking into your room without your knowledge, mentions non-con fingering, touches you in your sleep but nothing nsfw

A/N: This was sitting in my drafts for too long. Inspired by that out of pocket secret his astral frame has, that as far as I know, is not given any context or explanation so I assume he's just secretly insane and honestly. Fair.

Not proof read, please lmk any mistakes or improvements.

The lounge was quiet, save for an occasional patrol by the Gray Ravens checking in on their Commandant and making sure nothing was out of the ordinary. They've failed.

Watanabe knows this because Lee hasn't noticed his presence at all and he's willing to bet that he'll leave without checking every nook and cranny. Maybe one day he'll teach him to properly check for enemies without disturbing the Commandant, maybe. Right now though, their lack of awareness made sneaking into your room all the easier.

Lee appeared in his vision once again, doing his final cursory check of the lounge. Watanabe moved with him, staying crouched while evading his line of sight and the lounge security camera until Lee finally exited the room. Thankfully, Babylonia upgraded his Astral frame significantly, replacing his old stealth module with a new one and even adding additional modules and settings to enhance his abilities, turning what was an outdated frame into one that provided him with more of an edge over enemies and proved useful in ensuring a few deals for the Forsaken went smoothly. He should thank you for encouraging him to take it despite his dislike of Babylonia, he thinks to himself. Having verified the coast was clear, and knowing that the none of the other Ravens will make their rounds again for quite some time, Watanabe quickly opened the door to your dorm and entered, silently observing your dorm room as the door shut silently behind him.

Watanabe rolled his shoulders slightly, now he could relax a little more. He stood up straight and slowly walked to your sleeping form, not bothering to hide his presence save for his sound suppression module. You had a thin T-shirt on and he didn't care to guess what the sheets were hiding, he already knew. The artificial moonlight shining through your window illuminated your face beautifully, although he hated that you left the curtains open like that, he had to admit that he never tired of this sight. This was his and his alone.

During the daytime hours you're always putting on a brave face, keeping it together for your squad and others around you so they don't see the way your fingers trembled ever so slightly during the Space Station mission, or your anxiety as you're being shuttled to another mission, wondering if it's your last. At night however, it was different. When you think you're alone you'll let down your high walls and let your shoulders drop under the invisible pressure you always feel with every step. Sometimes you cry, stare at a wall in thought, or write in your journal. Watanabe always liked when you did that, because that's where all your unfiltered thoughts and feelings are put down. He's read every single page more times than he could count. It brought a faint smile to his lips, thinking about all the things he knew about you. You never opened up to him unlike the humans at the Forsaken HQ and his patience started to wear thin after a while.

He couldn't help it. He wanted- no, needed to know you more. Who were you under the heavy title of "commandant"? What were you like before? What would you be doing if it weren't for the Punishing Virus? Would you be happy if you lived on Earth, or do you prefer to live among the stars? Are you loyal to Babylonia or your companions? He wanted to learn so much about you, but you always kept a distance. He could feel it, he could feel an invisible wall you would put up, barring him from getting any closer and from your secrets slipping out, but you...you were like a flower blooming in the desert. Beautiful, resilient, and wonderous, can you blame him? Can you blame him for finally cracking and taking things into his own hands?

He moves towards your window and draws your curtains closed, careful not to be visible from any potential passerby. After all, your sleeping form and all the thoughts and expressions you don't let anyone else see is for his eyes and M.I.N.D. alone. He walks towards your bed slowly, as though he might wake you even though he knew you wouldn't, not even if he pried you open with his fingers. He only knows that because it done it a few times, oh how sweet your soft little whimpers were as you would squirm and writhe in your sleep. The memories tug a small smile out of the corner of Watanabe's lips and his eyes instinctually drag away from your face and down to your thighs at the thought.

Watanabe gently brushes the back of his fingers against your cheek, admiring the way your warmth seeps into his synthetic skin so easily, making his M.I.N.D. hum in satisfaction. He wonders if you'd ever let him this close to you if you were awake, he tilts his head in thought as his fingers brush your skin. Perhaps it's best that you don't, your position as a commandant might be put in danger if you allowed him to display his affection for you this way in public.

He pauses. Affection? Is this really affection, or just obsession at this point? He'd throw away everything for you if you asked him to. He would abandon everything if it meant he could have you, if it meant you'd devote yourself to him the way he does to you. God, if such a thing exists then grant him this one prayer.

Let him stay by your side until your youth fades and your body wilts and withers. And in your final moments, he'll capture your conscious and your memories so he can keep you and protect you until eternity.

Yes. Watanabe smiles softly as he gently lays next you, inhaling your scent and feeling your warmth. You are so naive, so trusting, but it's alright. He'll keep you safe. He's been around for longer, seen the deluge both humans and corrupted bring, he knows what's best. He knows what's best for you, he just needs you to trust him more. Watanabe slowly leans forward and softly kisses your cheek as his nose brushes against your skin.

"I'll keep you safe, Commandant. Even if you struggle against me, I'll make you come to me in the end."