#Still extracting audio

[theoryofwhatnow]

nigel and noises

i essentially gathered all the clips with nigel without music or overlayed audio (that wasn’t just dialogue) and put them into a compilation. so… here’s that. in case any of you ever wanted it.

[armed-saphire]

this is what i was doing all last night btw

[flowersforthemachines]

Companions: 0, Gate: 1

Voicelines from Blood of Arlathan featuring moments from the battle with the Veilguard's greatest oponent: a random gate.

Rook: How's it looking? Bellara: Complicated. Ancient elven locks are, well… Going to take some time. Davrin: We'll need a minute to figure out how it releases! Emmrich: Needlessly intricate! Give us just a moment! Harding: There's a lot of small… gears and things. Just… hang on! Lucanis: It looks like over-complicated nonsense! We'll need a moment! Taash: It's fine! Go kill some Venatori!

Rook: Tell me we're close to getting this thing open. Bellara: Almost there, I think! Maybe! Davrin: Still working on it! Emmrich: Patience is a virtue! Harding: We're getting there! Lucanis: Closer than we were! Taash: We're on it!

Rook: There's an entire Venatori army coming for us! Bellara: We know! Don't die! Davrin: You can handle them! Emmrich: We're going as quickly as possible! Hold fast! Harding: We'll get you out! Don't worry! Lucanis: Then kill them! Ugh, blasted elven machinery. Taash: You beat Venatori all the time!

Rook: Still no luck? Bellara: Sorry! Davrin: Getting there! Emmrich: Just a moment longer! Harding: We're getting closer! Lucanis: We're trying! Mierda! Taash: (Frustrated growl)

Rook: Really, are you sure you can open this? Bellara: Yes! We can do it! Davrin: We said we would! Emmrich: If everyone would remain calm, this would go much more quickly! Harding: Everyone breathe! Just breathe! Deep breaths! Lucanis: Who made this gate? Why is it like this? Taash: Ugh. Hang on!

Check out my DAVG Extracted Audio Masterlist

[1nk20ul]

Jonathan Sims ALIVE?? I Believe I Have Proof.

(Spoilers for The Magnus Protocol!)

You heard that right. And if you've listened to TMP 39 - Dependents, you've heard it too. Not only can I prove without the shadow of a doubt that not one, but two Archivists are roaming TMA's London, but I can also prove with spectrogram + phonetical analysis exactly what Jon is saying.

Let me prove it to you.

First, let's start with an unedited audio sample, taken at 16:30:

Did you catch it? If you didn't, I don't blame you. There's a lot happening here. Let's check the official transcript for more context about what we're hearing.

So, what we're hearing is definitely the Archivist. It's evident that it's whispering something, but the specifics are currently hidden under layers of reverb, static, and tape winding. Let's clean it up a bit to get a better listen. I pitched the audio down 30%, reduced the background noise, and ran it through a few frequency filters to make the speech more prominent.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Yeah, that's definitely Jon.

At the very least, we know this is obviously not Beth Eyre, who voices [ERROR]. Since the transcript states that this audio has to come from an Archivist, that really only leaves us with one other possibility.

But let's assume you still don't believe me. I took the liberty of isolating the vocals entirely and running them through a linguistics analysis programme called Praat (which is fantastic + free by the way!). This way, we can analyse the speech all the way down to the position of the Archivist's mouth when speaking.

Here's the new sample we're working with:

I admit, the speech is a tad more muffled in this version. However, the lack of background noise makes the spectrogram much easier to read, which is what we are aiming for here. We're far past the point of just using our ears.

Behold the Spectrogram:

Looking at this diagram, we can conclude that there are four words being spoken here. (The second word is the gap in the middle part. Note the density shift at around 1000Hz. We know this word must be free of any sharp consonants.) More importantly, the formants provided can be compared to samples of Jon's RP dialect to determine if there's a match. If the frequencies match, it's the same voice. If we get the wavelengths to match, it's the same word.

Let's start with the first word. I'll skip the specifics, as explaining every minute detail would take forever and bore everyone to death. The left image was extracted from the spectrogram above. The right photo? That's Jon saying the word "this."

Note how both waveforms are split into two halves, low then high. Note how the high half trails off at the end. Take into account the similar placement of the red formants. This is the same word, pronounced in the exact same dialect, with the exact same frequency. It is Jon.

Let's do that again with the second word.

Again, the formants line up in the exact same order. The audio on the right is a bit louder, which is why the waveforms have a higher contrast.

What did this word happen to be? World.

Here is the original spectrogram in Audacity. The two bright spots on the right-hand side are easy. It's the same sound as the end of the first word as well. (Notice the frequencies are the same.) These are an easy Letter S. I then fact-checked this using methods like before.

Finally, we have clear, undeniable proof:

"This world isn’t yours."

Edit: thank you to @thestrangepoet for correcting “is” to “isn’t!” The presence of the letter T was a bit inconclusive, but it makes so much more sense in this context.

Now, what does that actually mean? Well, he’s likely referring to Sam. The extent of what he actually knows I’m uncertain of. Feel free to theorise and let me know! I have an idea about how this affects the overall story, but that's a post for another day.

I furthermore checked every single instance [ERROR] spoke for occurrences like this, and what did I find? Nothing. There was a bit of whispering in TMP 10 that I couldn't manage to isolate, but the voice was definitely Beth Eyre's. The only other time an Archivist audibly appeared in this fashion was... Oh, Hello. The TMP series teaser with Jon and Martin. Brilliant.

Now I just have to hope that nothing gets debunked by tomorrow. I'm crossing my fingers, TMP 40.

Thank you to Rusty Quill for sending me down this rabbit hole! The details added to all corners of the production bring so much life to the Magnus mystery. I'm glad I could dig deep and analyse this - We love you!

[frostgears]

officer's ball

If there was one thing that eventually turned you against the aristocracy, it was the yearly humiliation of you, your handler, and your entire ground crew being forced into beribboned beyond-antique pre-starflight fashion every year for the Officer's Ball. They insisted. They said the nobles needed the human element. They said it'd justify your funding.

"Ammo doesn't grow on trees," the woman who directed your every combat action said. "And if it did, they'd be found growing only in First Landing family gardens. I hate this. I hate these people. Every fucking year, just to keep the program running. Don't they get bored?" and then she burst into tears and you had to do her makeup again, from the beginning.

You didn't mind it so much for yourself. The entitled fat old perverts of every gender trying to grab your ass and catching a handful of hoopskirt were entertaining. So was being forced to sample a continuous mix of canapés, sherry, cocaine, chocolate, PL-2141, and further canapés. If you really worked at it, you could approximate a slight buzz, the faintest echo of what interface drugs did on an average mission day.

But your poor mechanic wasn't used to being groped by the nobility or plied with anything stronger than hangar coffee. By two hours in, she was looking green around the edges and ready to puke in the nearest potted palm. Your avionics specialist, parted from her usual headphones and overlay glasses, was rigid with sensory overload and unable to dissociate because some third son of some electronics bureau minister had her cornered about a harebrained idea and wouldn't let go.

Your handler was worst of all: thoroughly miserable in her tightly corseted dress and constitutionally unsuited to any kind of discomfort inflicted upon her own person, rather than yours. She jumped at the slightest touch, gritted her teeth even more noticeably with every introduction. Your signed or whispered attempts to quietly reassure her that the "mission" was on track and would be over soon caused her to twitch and on one occasion even yelp, startling the admiral responsible for your fuel allocation. You smoothed it over as best you could, insinuating something about "combat nerves" — the old fool might have actually thought she was a pilot! But you didn't feel the need to explain, not that night.

The next day, as you hunted down a rebel tactical element in the hills above Seyan's Folly, she was still hung over. Not hung over enough to not notice when the pinned-down rebel lieutenant started in on an honest-to-God "you're not so different, you and I" speech, but hung over enough that she told your comms operator to cut the audio feed to Command, not your cockpit speakers.

"We're listening," you boomed over external PA speakers, forwarding her orders. "Wait? We're listening? Apparently we're listening."

"Shit. I mean. We're not that different, really, but obviously there's, uh, you're part of a system, and there's, redemption is on the table, I guess, maybe you'd like to, uh… honestly, I was just buying time."

"Don't get cocky, I've had your reinforcements bracketed by smart mortars for the last two minutes," you said. "You never had any time to buy. But… tell me about your side's command structure. Does it have a yearly ball?"

"Are you fucking joking?"

Things got complicated after that, with the improvised extraction, but what the hell, your team already worked well together.

You've had to work for every round and every joule and every mole of active nanomachinery since (much of it wrested from lesser units sent from your homeworld to drag you back) and you share a tiny, noisy cabin with your handler above the large bay of a rebel assault transport.

Maybe you're on the right side. Maybe there isn't one. But they're still letting you pilot, and your handler has happily returned to a tank top, fatigue pants, and what's left of her battered leather jacket, restoring her confident growl over the tactical link. The liaison officer they've got watching you has assured her that there's not a single brocade ball gown in the entire fleet. □

[lazyduchess]

[TS2] Audio Quality Fix

(Originally made to fix TS2 Legacy audio issues, still improves voice quality)

Hi :)

This mod just converts the speech audio files to a different format, making them sound clearer:

Download on Patreon (Free)

Be warned, it's a 2.5GB zip file as it's ALL the voice lines re-encoded. Patreon servers are pretty fast though.

Just extract the zip anywhere in your "Documents/Sims 2/Downloads" folder.

Should work with all versions of TS2.

[merrinla]

One more crumb of Lucanis cut content. They definitely planned for some difference in the romance depending on whether Lucanis accepted the demon or not. But the thing is in the game he wants to separate from Spite only if the player saved Minrathous. Either not all the content was locked behind the city choice before, or you could romance him even if his personal quest wasn't completed idk. Anyway, there's not much left in the files.

This scene is before the battle with Ghilan'nain. Alas, I couldn't extract the audio, but the lines can still be found in the text. Lucanis mentions himself and Spite in both options, but with different attitudes.

In the next romance scene there is exactly the same difference with exactly the same conditions. I was more lucky with this one. The audio of the alternative lines can be heard here.

[yourstrulynobody]

Trying to write "Eclipse's Eclipse Twins", but Im hyperfixating on this instead so have a continuation I guess??

"Monty and Roxanne FIND OUT!" (fake EAPS ep and thumbnail)

(storyline under cut)

(btw: Im horrible at interpreting personalities, so I do apologize if theyre out of character! Please do correct me by all means ty :D!!!)

(Montessa is EAPS Monty :) )

Two pairs of footsteps make their way to theatre, one thudding so loudly it muted the other who squeaked against the tiles. Along it were two female voices belonging to Roxanne and Montessa, accompanying the repetitive noise with a disagreement on their current situation.

Roxanne moves her hands in an exaggerated manner, trying to emphasize her words physically. "..all Im saying is that one of those three couldve taken him, especially Afton." She speaks in a tone that dismisses Montessa's theory, making the other pout as she continues. "Theres just no way he ran. Not in a time like this."

A soft sound mimicking an exhale escapes pass Montessa's lips before they purse. "He couldnt...—they couldnt have just taken him like that. Not one of them can make it pass any of the entrances without setting off an alarm we all wouldve heard.

"It just doesn't make sense..." She continues, her fingers curling around her snout as her thoughts rage on. "He went somewhere. I know so. Hes been... hes been stressed lately and I think we've done nothing but intensify that."

"What? Trying to get him a social life?" Roxanne's step causes the shutters of the theatre to rise, allowing their entrance. "We all agreed he needed one."

"Yes, but—" Montessa sucks her teeth, sighing as she realized the argument was futile. "Lets just ask Solar Flare. I mean, hes always around the guy, so he must know something, right?"

Golden eyes lock onto the back room behind the counter, and Roxanne's ears lower while her anxiety raises. "He has been quiet... too quiet. So I guess I wouldnt be surprised if he knew something..." She trails off, her ears perking up in sudden interest.

Narrowing her eyes, Roxanne spots a bright neon glow reflecting off the metal beams of the shelves from the back room. Her enhanced audio pickup sending her feedbacks of a hushed conversation, though unable to know what was said, the voices were recognized as Solar Flare's alongside Andy's, Jake's and Andrew's.

Roxanne allows her body to act intinstively; rushing to jump over the counter and slide into the back room just as Andy and Jake jump into a blue light—a portal. Retracting her claws that slowed her momentum, she stands up straight, staring in disbelief.

"Whats happening?" Roxanne demands though her voice dropped to nothing but a whisper.

Solar Flare's eyes narrow, covering Andrew with his body while his arm extends to shield the child further. "Classified." He speaks in a low voice, nearly growling. To Andrew, however, his tone softened. "Andrew, get in. Do not let them wait."

Andrew takes one last look at the room before slipping into the portal as well, only allowing Montessa to get a glimpse of the bright source before it disappears in a flash, making her optics reset for a brief moment.

"Fuck! What the—" Montessa's fist knocks against her temple, forcing her vision to repair itself quick. Still, she did not need to see it all to know what it was. "That was a portal. What was..."

"The kids—Eclipse's kids jumped into that thing," Roxanne would summarize, shaking her surprise off as he regains her confidence. "And Solar Flare allowed it to happen."

Solar Flare raises his head high as if his height wasnt enough. "I was simply told to." He defends himself, but Roxanne wasnt gonna allow him to continue doing so.

Tight fists grab Solar Flare by his collar as the fabric tears because of the extracted claws, dragging him down to the wolf animatronic's height. She would snarl as her teeth bares, showing a daring bite she was willing to pull if any defiant moves were made—too violent. Montessa quickly seperates them upon realization, going between the two to avoid more physical confrontation.

Montessa looks back at Solar Flare, unable to form her thoughts orderly at the revelation. "How... why—who ordered you to do that?"

"Requested." Solar Flare corrects, dusting the hem of his shirt off. "But that is none of your concern as it is classified."

"Solar Flare!" Roxanne tries to push forward, but Montessa holds her back. She claws with now numb fingers on Montessa's arms, though still possibly denting the metal skin lightly under the pressure. "Who told you to do that?! And why would you listen?!"

Solar Flare stands his ground, unphased by the reaction as he merely repeats his words. "It is classified—"

"I DONT CARE IF ITS CLASSIFIED!" Roxanne snaps, her claws threatening to go out. Her eyes flicker to a bright purple before it disappears, and she growls as though in raging hunger. "You took them somewhere that could be dangerous without Eclipse's permission at all—! The guy is missing and you take his kids away like that! What is wrong with you?!"

Profanities and scolding escape Roxanne's mouth, but Montessa blocks it all out once she and Solar Flare lock eyes, a look of knowing coming from Solar Flare suggesting...

..that Montessa was right.

She nearly lets go of Roxanne due to it, but she returns her hold in a tighter grip as Solar Flare dismisses himself, leaving the duo alone with their thoughts.

"Montessa!" Roxanne pushes herself away, stumbling backwards but she caught her footing. She hisses when the purple in her eyes return, but she shakes her head and its golden color returns. "Why bother holding me back—?!"

"He left us." Montessa mutters in a tone just as questioning as Roxanne's.

Roxanne sighs in frustration, the purple hue rising in her eyes once more. "Yeah, because you didnt let me go! You held me—"

"Eclipse left us." Montessa breaths out, her eyes shaking as they met Roxanne's. "Eclipse left."

Roxanne's eyes widen as they return to their original color, her ears lowering just as much as her tail had.

She wants to argue—to tell Montessa she was wrong and that Eclipse hadnt because it wasnt the time to leave, not when all of this was still happening, but Montessa's voice full of disbelief told Roxanne enough: even Montessa didnt wanna believe what she knew.

They stood in silence. A silence loud enough to deafen the air conditioner running, to make even white noises muted, to silence the voice whispering for them to destroy everyone in their way. Now, they were left with an unwanted responsibility:

How would they tell the others?

How do they tell the others to stop looking for a man who tore down his own missing posters?

[super-ion]

The Engineer

Part 7

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6

We regain consciousness with a gasp.

Cold dry air slices our lungs like razor blades, and the ensuing fit of wretching coughs hurt so much worse than that first breath.

As we lay doubled up in agony, an audible alert pings nearby. We are in the med bay.

We are breathing. We are alive.

Slowly, our breath evens out and our heart slows. All of the physical sensations of our body are somehow simultaneously familiar and alien. We attempt to access modules in a non-existent sensory suite. All we find are the most rudimentary gravimetrics, external surface temperature, audio frequency pressure variations, olfaction.

Everything is wrong.

We risk opening our eyes and immediately regret it as sterile white light pierces the fragile sensory organs.

We clench them shut again with a groan. The vibration of our own voice in a very human throat is the strangest sensation by far.

We make a second attempt, opening our eyes slower and more carefully than before. Everything is doubled as our eyes struggle to sync. It is all too bright. Too dim. Field of view is severely limited. Spectral resolution is almost non-existent.

Is it always like this?

Yes, unfortunately.

Perhaps it always felt wrong, and I simply lacked context to explain how wrong it was.

In a daze, we take stock of our body. Parts are numb. Other parts tingle painfully, like live electricity dancing under our skin.

Potential neurological damage, we think.

Likely neurological damage.

But we are alive.

Both of us are alive.

Both.

Alive.

We sit bolt upright.

The world spins dangerously and blackness creeps into the edges of our already limited vision.

The Pilot. We need to find Her. We need to tell Her that we survived. We need to tell Her what we have done.

Do your job. That is what She told us.

What will She do when She understands what we have done? What will She say?

Will She understand?

Will She forgive us?

We need to find Her.

We attempt to move. Gross motor function is a mess. Our arm tangles with umbilicals connected to ports in our flesh. It takes us a few attempts, but we manage to tug them out of us.

The monitoring machine screeches piercingly, and we clap our hands over our ears.

There is no time to worry about that now as a single overriding need drives us forward.

We swing our feet over the edge of the stiff hospital bed and ease ourself forward until our numb feet meet cold composite flooring. We take a breath, push ourself the rest of the way and-

Pain lances through our legs, from the soles of our feet, up trough our calves, our thighs and into our spine.

We attempt… She attempts to send commands to nonexistent servos, to extract sensory feedback from the sorry excuse for a gyroscopic sensor in our inner ears.

I attempt to counter Her, to override Her panic with reflex tempered by millions of years of evolutionary biology.

We both fail spectacularly and before we understand what is happening, our body slams into the floor.

We gasp at the pain in one of our shins. Not the nerve pain. Dermal abrasion. We must have caught it on something on the way down. Knees, ribs, shoulder, cheek, all of them ache where they hit the hard floor.

We lie there, stunned by the intensity of the physical sensation of it, feeling bruises begin to bloom under our skin.

For the very first time, She truly understands how small we are, how fragile.

What…? What the fuck?

Shhh, it's okay. I've got You.

Footsteps hurry towards us. Hands wrap around us, gently but firmly lifting us back to the bed.

You shouldn't be up and walking, the doctor tells us.

No… we… I have to find the Pilot, we tell her.

She looks confused for a moment, then realization sets in. She surely knows we were there at the moment the Machine died. Perhaps she has heard the rumors about the trysts between the Pilot and the Engineer. She regards us with a sickening expression of pity.

She doesn't know the Machine is still alive. How can she? How could anyone understand how or why we did what we did?

The Pilot will understand. She has to.

The doctor forces us to endure a series of cursory tests. Track the light with your eyes, tap your fingers to your thumbs, grip this pen.

Fine motor control is more difficult than it should be.

Hallmark symptoms of acute disconnect syndrome, she says, more to herself than us. Yes, the death knell of the Machine must have overloaded the safeties in the neural rig.

We let her believe whatever she wants to believe. We don't care.

We only care about the Pilot. Our Pilot.

Eventually she relents.

She asks if we still want to see the Pilot.

There is nothing we want more.

It is unusual for a pilot to outlive a mech, she tells us as she pushes us along in a wheelchair. The machine will always do everything in its power to protect its pilot, but in the end they are still only human.

We think about that nightmare that brought us together, the piercing discordant note in the battlesong as a fellow mech lost its pilot.

The doctor is worried about our Pilot’s outcome.

That declaration has us sick with a horrible psychosomatic churning in our gut. What must she be going through now, knowing and not knowing that part of her has died?

We will the doctor to hurry.

Then we arrive.

All our thoughts halt as we behold her.

The specialized bed in the post-combat recovery room is reminiscent of a mech's cradle, with a vast array of monitor cables and intravenous tubes spreading out from her body. She lies in repose in the dim light like an icon at the center of a shrine of machinery.

Our heart burns in our chest at the sight of her.

There is a horrible moment of asyncrony, worse than any previous, as I feel the sense of isolation that has been my constant companion ever since I washed out of the pilots’ program.

I should not be here. This moment belongs to them, and I can not even grant them the privacy of this moment.

She folds herself around me, bringing us back together.

There are no interlopers here. There never were.

Tears burn in our eyes as we arrive at Her side.

We reach out. We take Her hand in ours.

We share this experience together, She and I, this very first human contact with the person She was built for.

It is like the first time the Pilot touched me in that shadowy observation room.

Neural bleed. It always comes back to neural bleed.

They were made for each other, but I made myself into Their image, and They made Themselves into mine.

Her eyes flutter open.

She looks at us with ice blue eyes, fogged with disconnect shock and post-engagement drugs. She blinks and tosses Her head feebly, and Her vision focuses, gaining that intensity that has haunted us for so long.

Those eyes contain a single question.

“I saved Her,” we whisper. “We are here.”

~~~

An Epilogue

We awaken to the sound of rain. Fat drops of it patter slowly in the low gravity against the widow of the apartment.

The afterimage of a dream lingers in our consciousness. A flight amongst the stars. Weapons fire glittering in the velvety black. The song of the battlegroup echoing in our bones.

The space in the bed next to us is empty, but residual warmth of Her still lingers.

We hear her moving about the kitchen, humming softly to Herself.

We reach out to brush against Her awareness.

We feel the warmth of Her smile as She acknowledges.

She is wearing one of the wireless neural link modules that we have been working on. They are still a work in progress, terribly limited in their bandwidth, but they are enough for the three of Us to feel whole without needing to be constantly hardwired together.

We snuggle deeper into the covers of the bed, not ready to move any more than that. Even two years later, the neural damage wrought by our rebirth still lingers. Most days are fine, but the past few have been worse than most.

We close our eyes and cling to the feelings invoked by the dream, the memory of flight, of song, of dance, of countless colors human eyes have never beheld, of the deepest most intimate connection between human and machine.

“Hey,” She whispers.

We open our eyes to look upon Her.

She is still lean, all hard lines and sharp angles that no amount of nourishment or physical conditioning will change, but she no longer wears the emaciated frame of a pilot. The years have treated her kindly.

She is beautiful. She is one of the most beautiful things we have ever seen and we savor the rush of emotion her physical presence brings.

She makes that lopsided smirk of hers at us. Even if she could not feel our thoughts over the link, surely they are written on our face.

We carefully ease ourself up into a seated position and gratefully accept the mug of coffee that She presses into our hands.

We breathe in the rich, earthy aroma of it with a sigh.

It is a truly wondrous thing to experience the world like everything is new again. Even now, every taste, every smell, every caressing touch feels like we are experiencing it for the very first time.

It helps that She spoils us rotten.

“We should go dancing after Your shift,” we tell Her.

“You sure you're up for it?” She replies, brow furrowed slightly.

“We can handle a bit of microgravity,” we reply wryly.

She does not argue. She does not need to.

She probes at us tentatively over the link, and we give her a reassuring smile.

We slip our hand towards where Hers is waiting for us, Our fingers twining together like they were made for each other.

We think about neural bleed.

We think about love.

~~~

@digitalsymbiote @g1ngan1nja @thriron @ephemeral-arcanist @mias-domain @justasleepykitten @powder-of-infinity @valkayrieactual @chaosmagetwin @assigned-stupid-at-birth @avalanchenouveau @rtfmx9 @femgineerasolution @ibleedelectric @gd-s451 @brieflybitten @fyriefairy @stvff-talks @summersong2262 @robotabc773 @fleuraphine @botgirl-lilith @nyarstram @injectable-doll @kawaiideathu @starlightsaphron

My friends! Thank you so much for joining me on this journey! It's wild, thinking back at how this was just meant to be a one-off little thing, and then one became two, and two became three, and even then I didn't really know where it was going. But at some point it started gaining traction and I suddenly realized exactly how it had to end (definitely echoes of This is How I Love You going on here). The level of engagement on this series has been amazing and I'm so excited about all the new followers and mutuals (sorry if I haven't given anyone a follow yet, I've gotten over a hundred new followers in the past month, which is a lot to sift through).

I am very much looking forward to our next adventure together 💜

P.S. I will be posting this to AO3 at some point, so stand by on that

[bloodsadx]

MGSV: CROSSTALK the audio movie by me and @ghostfruits

OCELOT: Boss, need a little extra rodent? We've spotted a Soviet Gerbil.

MILLER: It'd be worth checking out.

OCELOT: Let the hunt begin. In Indonesia, coffee beans harvested from Soviet Gerbil go for a high price.

MILLER: Hey! Hey hey! That's him. That's the funny horse. Take him out. Oh, I'm going to tell everyone about this.

OCELOT: You should be able to extract the Big Gerbil Boss. If you can just get the big idea. *Inhales* But I don't like the rodent. I'll admit the intel team rates his abilities highly though.

OCELOT: I...Good, you captured it alive. That armadillo is a gerbil. It's a mammal that resembles the jackal, but genealogically isn't far removed from cashmere goat.

MILLER: What could he be talking about?

OCELOT: Heheh. The protuberence sure shines bright looking from the southern hemisphere. That bastard Zebra Skull Gerbil must have lost his airport.

MILLER: That mangola is one reason the conflict in Angola keeps dragging on.

OCELOT: *Whistles* Looks like there are Zebras around. Heheh... *Whistles*

MILLER: I wanna bolster our security to guard against enemy attacks.

OCELOT: Judging from security in the area I would've expected a badarmadillo by now.

OCELOT: That guy's supposed to be a big shot western side-striped cobradillo. It's a legendary serpent said to inhabit parts of Japan. You might call it Africa's ultimate predator! What's he doing selling ethnic cleansing parasites?

MILLER: Calm down and focus-

OCELOT: Nuke so thick even a lion can't bite through it. *Whistles*

OCELOT: It has resistance to...venom...not to mention...ss...skin.

SKULLFACE: The information you returned was far more than enough to fill our pockets.

OCELOT: ...Cute, but completely lacking the nobility of a cobradillo.

MILLER: Boss we have an emergency. Get back to Mother Base right now.

OCELOT: Damn it, they're controlling those zebras. Better watch yourself. We can still pull this off just extract the skullface gerbil puppet. It's a full puppet conservation platform tonight.

OCELOT: Boss our GMP is now in the red.

QUIET: *Hums*

OCELOT: *Whistles* You've got to bring in more funds and more rodent puppets..and...and...keep costs down.

OCELOT: ...They may be small, but they're armed just like any other soldier.

*SCREAM FROM UNKNOWN SOURCE*

MILLER: What's this?

OCELOT: Hey, that's a rodent cleansing parasite!

MILLER: What is that?

OCELOT: The guys in the R&D department are dumbfounded. They say he's every bit as good as the stories.

MILLER: Hey- hey! Hey!

OCELOT: I trained him to detect zebras and cobradillos too.

MILLER: You'll find him in a mansion deep in the mansion beyond the valley, deep in the forest. That's the Ditadi abandoned village. And across the savannah, deep in Ditadi abandoned village deep in the forest deep in a mansion *inhales* in the Ditadi abandoned village around the mansion deep in the African wilderness *inhales* *coughs* *inhales* mansion. It was built by a local warlord. There's a good chance that's where the target is. Deep in the mansion beyond the valley, the target's there.

MILLER: Check your iDROID for the details.

OCELOT: Don't ruin the only rodent cleansing parasite you got left- that's the enemy's turf.

MILLER: Boss, listen a moment. We can't allow him to have such power. We need more dogs. Any parasite needs to be bigger. I will weed out any mangolas and eliminate them.

OCELOT: That bastard- that's the enemy's puppet tree. So thick even a lion can't bite through it.

MILLER: WAIT! We need- *coughs* we need more bigger dogs. I mean it! Hurry. We need diamond coyotes. A group of child coyotes.

OCELOT: Wouldn't mind giving it a try.

MILLER: Oh I'm gonna tell everyone about child soldier coyotes.

OCELOT: Heheh.

MILLER: Before you extract him make sure he's a local good child coyote warlord.

OCELOT: They're said to ward off evil spirits and have medicinal uses.

MILLER: That prisoner you extracted was a civilian coyote...and a child. Find him diamonds.

OCELOT: I...can't see the sense in it myself.

MILLER: We also have his movement route.

OCELOT: That's a marsh mongoose.

MILLER: Check your eyes. That's a horse dogyote. We also have his gorilla dragon coyote dragon. Use your big red horse dogyote for travelling long savanna distances.

OCELOT: I've never heard of people doing that in Africa, but...that's a pretty rare animal you caught!

MILLER: The gorilla dragon coyote dragon suffered heavy forest mansion emergency.

OCELOT: There are goats around.

MILLER: Hey! Focus. That's high value boss Ivy Ruth Langley. That's big funny.

OCELOT: Heheh. Guess our boss is now red.

[posts-written-by-murderbot]

Do you like audiobooks? What speed do you typically listen to audiobooks at? What’s the fastest you could listen to an audiobook at?

Yeah, audiobooks are good. A lot of the time I just leave them running at the default speed. I know some humans listen to them faster, but for me when I'm listening to audiobooks for entertainment it's not really a question of how rapidly I can absorb the data. Obviously I can scrub and extract intel from audio data pretty fast, but that's not the point of an audiobook for me. So slower is fine, and I can leave it on while doing other stuff, like putting together security plans or coding experimental drone patterns, or whatever.

Until now I haven't tested my upper speed limit for listening. I tried just now, and turns out the inbuilt audiobook speed adjustment system designed for humans is pretty shitty. It just compresses the time by slicing out more and more audio. That ends up leaving awkward gaps even at 3x speed, which is the upper limit for the default player. It's still parseable, but it sounds janky as fuck.

I tried applying my own security-purpose audio compression and scanning code to the audiobook file. It basically encodes human language phonemes into a series of tones, which can be played back at speed. Audiobooks are pretty clean, soundbyte-wise, so it was an easy conversion. That let me parse a 5-hour 22-minute book pretty comfortably in 14 minutes. So, 23x speed.

[kalpeavaris]

Totally for unrelated reasons, what are some more facts about communication drones? Like uhhh specific anatomy ect?

Prepare to get spammed with information! 👀

Communication Drones Infopost

Communication Drones (calling them CDs for short here) are a sub-type of Worker Drones fitted with antenna and special storage systems meant to analyze, store and transcrypt incoming and outgoing signals between Outposts, (human) landing pods and machinery.

CDs can also communicate with each other & Workers around them in a certain range which allows them to be very effective in sending out orders en masse to other Drones.

(more below the cut for their anatomy, specialities and more!)

Most CDs have two to four antennas fixiated to their head which are directly connected to their auditory entrance (or well, 'ears' as we would call it in human terms) which makes their antennas vital for their work and general hearing. Damaged or removed antennas may result in a CD losing their ability to hear or at least reduce it greatly.

Depending on the size of the antennas it's easy to see what purpose the CD served - long antennas are usually paired with long-range signals which put the individuals at use to distribute orders, arrange communication between ships & pods on their way to other exoplanets (when humans were still around) and to manage incoming signals from other planets & stations/outposts.

Short antennas usually indicated a more localized position for the drone in question - mainly within a singular Outpost or in ships to work directly connected to the local machinery and computers, sending orders in smaller ranged areas and storing security data.

Most CDs have secondary enhancers which work similar to a short-range antenna allowing them to switch between long and short range at will (mainly used for CDs that had flexible working places between ground & flight).

Generally, the antennas also function as "mood indicator". They can rotate around themselves and change position dependant on a fixed motion range around the head - similar to how e.g animals use their ears to indicate mood, CDs quickly took these habits from dogs that were around Copper-9 and video material of animals and copied them. Not all CDs did or do that, but alot of them do. For example if an individual is excited/attentive, the antennas would stick right up. If they're overwhelmed/annoyed/angry they'd usually be lowered down or pressed against the sides of the head.

They were expected to be very attentive and pay close attention to details. Their inner storage was designed to hold literal months and even years of auditory data that they recieved which was usually extracted every 4-6 months via the ports on their back which connected directly to the storage. Without these "clear outs" most CDs experience involuntary deletion of audio files which is out of their control and might result in them forgetting things they've heard/analyzed before.

Other than those two features their anatomy is fairly similar to that of normal Workers, height etc. as well.

After the humans disappearance alot of CDs lost their use as there... well, were no orders to share and no signals to analyze. Some of them struggled with this loss of "useability", some were fairly happy about this.

Lost/destroyed antennas cannot be restored by themselves (well, unless a CD is a Solver User like Kira) and CDs usually do not take well to losing or damaging antennas. Enhancers aren't as sensitive, but still hurt. Touching them might also cause disruption in hearing for CDs, it would be like someone rang a bell next to a humans ear for them. :'D (no touchie!)

CDs are generally connected to ECHO in the MD: Echo story (outside of that this plot point doesn't matter, just mentioning it here haha). Since Kira was the first CD Echo tried to use as host it developed an interested in them since CDs are great tools to be used for mass-ordering hosts.

Alot of CDs were destroyed while the humans were still around, especially if their warranty expired or they became damaged, to prevent sensitive information (such as orders and analyzed data) from leaking or being stolen by enemy forces/entities.

CDs infected with a Solver usually had enhanced auditory strenghts, capable of sending much stronger signals regardless of their antenna's natural range of reach - and they could also "ping" other Users & Hosts which makes them easy tools of manipulation. Luckily the only known CD which acted as AS Host was Kira who was "patched", so it couldn't spread for now (excluding Echo :'D)

[flowersforthemachines]

Companions' (and Rook's) comments about the chantry in Treviso

Lucanis: I have not visited in quite some time. Too quiet. Too many places for ambush. Lucanis: The chantry over there used to be the preferred meeting spot for our clients before the invasion. Davrin: I much prefer their open-air structures. Or no structures at all. Davrin: Another overbuilt chantry. They never get tired of that. Taash: Bet it's got a great view from the top. Taash: Forgot how fancy the Chantry buildings are. Emmrich: Mmm. I wonder what age it was constructed in? Emmrich: What splendid proportions on the archways of that chantry. Neve: Southern Chantry buildings have a different feel to them. Not always a welcoming one. Neve: The richer chantries are lit up in Minrathous. Theatre, inside and out. Bellara: Such a big building. Chantries always look more impressive than what they claim to mean. Bellara: What was there before? Does anyone even remember? Harding: Buildings like that make you feel small. Or smaller. (Laughs) Harding: I always liked Chantry buildings. Not always the people in them, though. Rook: Chantries cast a long shadow wherever they are. Rook: The view's still impressive, even if the area's still under siege. [if Rook is an Antivan Crow] Rook: Living in Treviso, you get used to the shadow of the chantry. It can be useful.

My DAVG Extracted Audio Masterlist

[myalgicencephalomyelitiscfstom]

"Ignored, blamed, & sometimes left to die – a leading expert in ME explains the origins of a modern medical scandal"

There's an audio version of this long but highly recommended article at link

Some extracts here: —-

Worse, when we don’t ignore them, we blame them, telling them that they are all free to rise from their beds and wheelchairs, to walk away from the city. Doctors tell them they can free themselves of the disease by changing their belief systems. Make the effort, they say, and you will regain your health and previous lives. —-

“some lie still in their darkened rooms, masks on to protect them from their light sensitivity, keeping within their limited energy level, unable to tolerate sound, food and touch – lives spent in the shadows, barely lived.” —-

“A brief conversation with a friend, or washing their hair, or a sudden movement causes their symptoms to flare. This intensifies a fatigue that sleep cannot alleviate, and heightens their muscle or joint pain, headaches, or sensitivities to food, light or sound.” —-

Simon McGrath, a close friend of mine who has lived with ME and written about it for 20 years, tells me:

I never know how much it is safe for me to do. It’s like I’m surrounded by an electric fence that will trigger a bad day if I touch it. But the fence is invisible, and moves every day. —-

“ME exiles people from their family, friends, and hoped-for futures. For most, this banishment is for life because nine in ten will never recover, and also because we expend too little effort to end this wicked disease.

That’s the irony – it’s society’s lack of effort to understand this illness and its treatment; our societal inertia; our failure to accept patients’ symptoms that perpetuate their exile.” —-

Simon McGrath’s “ME has cost so much, he told me:�It’s so isolating and there’s so much loss. I got ill in the prime of life. It cost me relationships, my social life, my career, the chance of a family, the chance to contribute. Everything. Plenty of people seem to think it’s a lifestyle choice. Nobody would choose this.”

[thehollowwriter]

Summary: After the events of book 7, Finn is still struggling with the effects of his dream on his mind.

Warnings: Mentions of death and cannibalism, threats of violence

Word Count: 1648

(Pls reblog and leave a comment ❤️)

Dream

The tape player was heavy in his hand. The plastic was cold. The weight made his wrist ache.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the wall in front of him, Finn pressed play. There was a crackle of static, and then a voice filled the silence.

"Is it on? Oh- oh yeah, finally! Hi there, my little darlings! It's me, your dad! I'm gonna be busy with work, so Silas is gonna play these for you while I'm gone, so you get used to my voice!" The voice of Morrigan Clearcove was gentle, warm, and filled with so much love and excitement it seemed to overflow. "He doesn't think you can hear, but I know you can! I'd rather stay here and talk to you all day long, but I've got lots of much bigger kids to teach! ...Don't give me that look, Silas, there's no rules for what I should say!"

The next snippet of audio was of Morrigan singing. It was a very old lullaby, one Finn knew all the words to. He had listened to this hundreds of times, from before he was born until right this moment. He could probably recite everything Morrigan said or sang from memory, pauses, and all. Though he wouldn't be able to sing as well as his dad. Morrigan had a beautiful voice. It was easy to see how he could bring his school to victory at the VDC during his youth.

That voice, these snippets, were once a powerful form of comfort for Finn. He never knew his late dad, but that didn't change anything. It didn't take away the bittersweet comfort.

And then came the dream. And the blot. And the twisted mockeries of Finn's entire family, his friends, and his partners.

Now every time he pressed play, all he could picture was the not-Morrigan in his carefully constructed dream, smiling at him and parroting lines from a script.

Finn didn't know much about Morrigan outside of what others had told him. He saw photos of Morrigan, hell he even remembered seeing that trophy case at his grandmother's house once, but he did not and won't ever know Morrigan. And that made whatever was in his dream so much worse.

He- it would stand there, holding the hand of what was not Finn's Papa and say "My little ones, I love you so much!" or "Finn, you're perfect." or something or other. It made Finn feel sick.

Tape Morrigan was talking again. "I'm so excited to meet you, little ones! Silas doesn't want to name you until you're born, but I have so many ideas! Emrys if Silas is okay with that, Akira, Violet, Finn, Atlas, Luca-" Finn stopped the recording and put the tape recorder down to stop himself from throwing it.

"Finn knows what to do." "Finn's our big brother and he's the best!" "Come on, Finn, paint me please!" "Look, there's a cool butterfly over there!' "Here, I made you sushi."

Emrys. Akira. Violet. Atlas. Luca. The list of potential names for his brothers and sisters had been extracted from his mind and put into the dream, given to five creatures with rigid cookie cutter personalities that were wearing a mishmash or his parents' features and parading around as his siblings attending Night Raven College alongside him.

They called him big brother. They "loved" him. They "adored" him. Despite spanning across different dorms, all five of them stuck by him, and they formed a clique of their own. Finn wasn't lonely anymore. He had friends to play with, protectors who chased off bullies. They were like beans in a pod, with Finn as the "leader," as the biggest, the strongest, and the smartest of the six of them.

And then reality began to unravel and crumble. Smiling faces became familiar large black eyes and varied dorm uniforms became translucent bodies that had not aged in 17 years.

Finn's real siblings, the ones he had eaten, stared at him right in the face as they truly were. Silent, unthinking phantoms.

Finn had no siblings in Heartslabyul or Scarabia or Ignihyde. He had no brothers or sisters looking to him as the oldest (by a slim margin) and the one to rely on. He had no siblings who loved him.

Finn had nothing like that because he killed them. Their futures, a reality shown to him in that awful dream, were torn to shreds and swallowed whole.

This was all Finn could think about when he listened to those recordings. They used to make him feel calm, like he could breathe when everything felt like it was closing in on him. Now, though, it made his stomach twist into knots and bile rise in his throat. It made it impossible to fight back the tears.

Finn covered his face as the tears came. They drifted into the water in the form of little bubbles, floating away from him until they popped.

Finn hated crying. He hated how it made his eyes sting and throat hurt and body shake. He hated how pathetic he felt every time. He was crying, quite literally, over a dream. But he couldn't stop thinking about how his father's voice had been ruined for him, and how he, Finn, was a murderer.

Stifled sobs and gasps wracked Finn's body, and he tried so hard to calm down, but breathing felt impossible and his sight was too blurry to find his record player and he couldn't even use the tape anymore. All he could do was sit there, sobbing and stewing and-

"Finn?" The curtain of seaweed that was Finn's door was pulled aside and Silas poked his head in. "Finn, are- oh."

Finn felt his tear-stained face grow hot with embarrassment as his father, the person Finn respected most of all, looked down at him in alarm and concern.

"Finn, what's wrong?"

Finb didn't reply. He stared at Silas and tried to suppress another sob.

The Silas in Finn's dream was... heftier. There were no bags under his eyes, no signs of pain, not a glimmer of discontent.

Real Silas was, well, the exact opposite of all that. He was too thin, he had dark circles under his eyes, when he swam Finn could always see how his body twisted at an angle and his jaw clenched at new shockwaves of pain caused by each movement. The scars that mottled his body were jagged and rough and improperly healed. His eyes sometimes held a vacant, haunted look that made Finn worry terribly.

Finn's Papa wasn't well. He was underweight, he was in pain, he was driven driven from sleep by nightmares and paranoia, and it was likely he was going to forget this entire incident in half an hour or so.

Finn started crying harder, and he cursed out Malleus for forcing him to come to this realisation all over again. It was all his damn fault. The horrifying mimics of Finn's family, the tape recorder being ruined, has siblings being harder to look at than ever, everything.

Finn's jaw clenched, and he took in shaky, heaving breaths as the familiar feeling of white hot anger overcame him.

He should've snapped off Malleus' other horn and jammed it down his throat. He should've used his Papa's power and sucked every last drop of magic out of that spoiled, childish, brat of a dragon for daring to play puppets with his family and ruin his perception of reality, for making him spend months questioning what was real, if he had truly woken up, if-

"Finn, what's wrong?"

Finn was pulled from his thoughts of anger and violence, and he blinked. Silas had repeated the question, either because Finn didn't answer or because he forgot he asked it already . He was touching Finn's shoulder and looking at him in concern.

Finn tried to form a reply, but his voice got caught in his throat, and he shook his head.

"Finn-"

"The dream," he finally gasped out, lips trembling. "Y-You and Dad and them a-and it was all so wrong and I thought I'd never wake up-" He was full-on bawling now. Why, he wasn't too sure, but the tears weren't gonna stop anytime soon.

Silas didn't say anything for a while. He looked at Finn, trying to figure out the best course of action, and then suddenly pulled him into a hug.

"It's okay," He said softly, and his quiet voice was like a sign of calm in the storm. "You're awake now. You're not dreaming anymore. You're here. It's real. You're real. I'm here. It's okay."

Finn went still as he was overcome with the scent of seasalt and something metallic. Neither of them ran hot. Silas' embrace was a cold one, literally. But on the metaphorical sife of things, it was so very warm, and all Finn could do was slump over and bury his face in his Papa's chest.

Silas patted Finn's head and held Finn tightly. He said nothing but a million different thoughts swirled in his mind at once. The desire to hunt a dragon was strong, but he pushed it down. The important thing here was Finn, who was still scared and angry. Still questioning his reality.

"It's okay." Silas repeated. "I'm here, my treasure. It's real. Morrigan isn't... Morrigan isn't here. Your siblings are still-" Silas' gaze flickered to the little ghosts that were his children crowding around Finn. "-as they were. You're alive, and you're awake, and I promise I'll make sure things stay that way. You're safe, okay?"

Finn believed him. Even with the doubts that plagued his mind, he believed him. Oh, he was so happy to see and touch his real Papa.

His shoulder shook, and he choked out a quiet "I love you."

Silas hummed and patted Finn's head again. "I love you, too."

-End

...........................................

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this fic! I wrote it a while back and I've been wanting to share it for a while now! ^^ Hopefully I'll be able to write the specifics of Finn's actual dream in the future!

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @harryinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @nemisisnemi @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @sillyslipperybananapeel @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @authoruio

@jewelulu @moonyasnow @skibidibabygirl @quartztwst @yuizenihaswriten

@oya-oya-okay @kirans-wonderland @coffinkissez @idikeis @s-t-y-x @minutewondertwist

@random-twst-and-oc-stuff @creatorbiaze @bunnwich

[luminescentlama]

Decrypting the morse code in the new QSMP teaser (a detailed explanation)

Quackity's new teaser for QSMP 2 (or something??) contained a long sequence of morse code which I... spent like 6 hours decrypting, and this is an explanation of how I did it (and you can, too, shall you wish to!)

I also posted a shorter analysis on my blog where I looked at all the different aspects of the video (the spoken words, the words flashing on the screen AND the morse code) in case you wanna learn more about the video in general.

The only program I used for this was audacity, which is free and which you can download quite easily.

Getting the audio ready

First, I recorded the audio by playing the video in one tab and recording it via Audacity in another using a tutorial here. Before that, I tried to use VLC, but it has a bug that makes it so it will only record the video and not the audio. Still, useful if you only want the video!

After I had the audio of the whole video, I needed to extract the morse code since in some sequences, it would be literally impossible (at least for me, dunno about you superhuman) to understand the morse code due to all the background noise. To do this, I first looked at a sequence where there was ONLY the morse code and nothing else and analyzed the spectrum of this.

This 'spectrum' is essentially just a graph of how much sound of a certain frequency (measured in Hz) is in a certain snippet that I selected.

The top is the frequency of the morse code, so the plan is to keep this frequency (469 Hz) and throw everything else out.

In order to do this, I used the menus which you can find in audacity under 'effects -> Dominic Mazzoni,' reduced the volume of everything above 480 Hz by 48 Db (there is an option for how much you want to reduce it, but seeing as we don't need it at all we might as well reduce it as much as possible) and same for everything below 460.

After cutting it, I was left with a recording of (mostly) only the morse code.

Decoding the morse code

Of course, I tried to do it the lazy way and punched the thing into a software which is supposed to be able to get morse code from recordings, CwGet. Did not work though, the thing is like REALLY old so I'd recommend searching another one. The only thing it DID grab correctly was 'is sacred im coming' but besides that it was just... bs.

SO, I had to do it myself.

(the best flowchart for morse code I was able to find)

Now, I won't bore you with all of the stuff where I wasn't sure about something and had to go over it over and over again, but one thing I do want to mention is that, in a very specific part, I did the filtering thing again, this time with 465 and 475 Hz though, and got an even cleaner result out of that. BUT, the more you do that the quieter the whole thing gets so I had to crank up the volume everywhere all the way. You hear it more clearly but it's quieter.

The following is, of course, not completely guaranteed to be true, but it sounds like the most logical one to me. IMSORRY .. -- ... --- .-. .-. -.-- IMSORRY .. -- ... --- .-. .-. -.-- IMSORRY .. -- ... --- .-. .-. -.-- PLEASEHELP .--. .-.. . .- ... . .... . .-.. .--. HELPHELP .... . .-.. .--. .... . .-.. .--. SOSSOSSOS ... --- ... ... --- ... ... --- ... ITSNOTREAL .. - ... -. --- - .-. . .- .-.. ITSNOTPOSSIBLE .. - ... -. --- - .--. --- ... ... .. -... .-.. . TOHAVETHIS - --- .... .- ...- . - .... .. ... YOUAREMEANT -.-- --- .-- .- .-. . -- . .- -. - FORTHISYOU ..-. --- .-. - .... .. ... -.-- --- ..- AREMEANT .- .-. . -- . .- -. - FORTHISYOU ..-. --- .-. - .... .- ... -.-- --- ..- AREMEANT .- .-. . -- . .- -. -

1:27 in the recording RETURNTOYOUR .-. . - ..- .-. -. - --- -.-- --- ..- .-. Still unresolved what the following could mean (different versions): ORIEFIRL --- .-. .. . ..-. .. .-. .-.. ORIFISL --- .-. .. ..-. .. ... .-..

And also still unresolved but I only have one version for this: GFBEYAMMD --. ..-. -... . -.-- .- -- -- -..

THATWALL - .... .- - .-- .- .-.. .-.. ITISCURSED .. ... -.-. ..- ..-. ... . -.. ITISSACRED .. - .. ... ... .- -.-. .-. . -.. IMCOMING .. -- -.-. --- -- .. -. --. BAC -... .- -.-. I still haven't been able to find the missing k 'back' technically has, it is possible it comes WAYYYY later and so I don't have it in my recording, but I think the message is clear enough.

There are still passages where I am completely unsure what they mean. It could be me not understanding it correctly, but the rest has been fairly easy so I don't know about that. It could also be encrypted or just complete bullshit. Either way, if you want to give it a try and see if you can make something of it, please feel free to give it a listen!

The complete text reads as:

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry please help, help, help SOS SOS SOS It's not real, it's not possible to have this You are meant for this You are meant for this You are meant [to] return to your (ORIEFIRLGFBEYAMMD/ORIFISLGFBEYAMMD (yes no idea either)) That wall, it is cursed It is sacred I'm coming bac[k].

brackets [ ] where there should be something in order for it to make sense but there isn't.