#The Complete Module Compose

[mod-a-day]

Ivory (Yakoff Oskanoff) "Saraswathi Path" The Complete Module Compo (2003)

Not many greetings this time. I'd like to stop and turn around to see what stands behind this track and to give some personal feedback to people whose creativity and support let me to go this far…

My thanks go to:

'Agus Claverie' for being my best virtual friend. 'Skaven' for being the first tracker I've met in the net and for kind attitude and for showing some trackers' tricks. 'Warder' for spending his personal time in attempt to teach me harmony and for hard criticism. 'Nightbeat' for open mind and inspiration. I love your style. "Gopher" for being one of the best and constant figures in the fantasy music scene. 'Awesome' for being BIG "ruller" which I use to measure my arrangement skills. 'Mysterium' for TiS which involved me to the scene. 'DJ Cybex' for creating Homemusic and being just a nice guy. All other people I usualy mention in my tracks.

Hello! Here I am with my new track "Saraswathi Path" So I returned to my weird experiments in the area of music based on World Traditions. This is the second track written under the same idea. The first one "The Great Circle of Being" was rather successful (it took 4th place at SunDew Pop Compo and won 1st place at Seasons Compo, multichannel nomination in Spring Round). So, I decided it is worthy to come back with another track based also in traditions of World music. This track contains Celtic, Indian, Arabic and Classic elements uniting together all beauty of mentioned above trends in World Music. Composing music is as easy as "one, two, three". This track shows how one can switch between minor, arabic and major scales, giving very special mood to the track. Also interesting to see how oriental instruments are being mixed together with celtic and classical ones and how oriental woodwind lead goes through celtic-like background performed by accordeon (by the way, in fact accordeon itself is also subsituted by tricky arranged cello…) Percussion plays its special role complicated and panoramic, thus widening overall track atmosphere. So I believe you'll find much fun examining this track… Saraswathi - is an Indian Godess of Music. So if you are a musician then you should walk this path - path of Saraswathi…Who knows where can it lead You? March the 30d, 2003 AD. Rostov-on-Don, Russia Yakoff "Ivory" Oskanoff

[meownotgood]

steel kisses supernova. / machine herald!viktor x reader

A botched mission results in fixing the Machine Herald's mechanics, brushing your hands to wires, and indulging in the traces once left by emotion.  tags: 18+, reader is gender neutral + fem bodied, reader uses they/them pronouns, wireplay, inappropriate use of hextech, bonding through near death experiences, divine machinery, reader has a prosthetic arm, repairing the machine herald, fluff + angst, praise kink, sexual tension, fingering + clit stim, size difference, protecting you with their own body trope, yearning, good lord you guys need to stop yearning, mix of arcane + league lore, vik's anatomy isn't mentioned. (terms used for reader: cunt, clit, no mentions of chest anatomy, dear, sweetheart, spark, love, adorable) word count: 49.5k note: hey!! please keep in mind, this fic is unfortunately too long for tumblr due to the word count + tumblr's post block limit... so you'll be able to read the first part of the fic here! the full fic is available in its entirety on ao3. apologies for the inconvenience, and happy (late) year of fucking robots... read on ao3

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The deepest fissures in the depths of Zaun are usually, thankfully quiet. Perfect to hide something you'd expect not to be found. 

You breathe deep puffs of simulated air through your gas mask. Your ear presses to the cold steel door, sealing off the entrance to the Chem-Baron vault. There shouldn't be anyone present, not at this time. Enforcers know little of the darkest labyrinths of Zaun. It's too risky to even have guards stationed here. Predictably, you're met with total, resounding silence — save for the echoing beep and ping of Viktor's self-made sonar device. 

Lowering onto your knees, leaving yourself eye-level with the door's intricate set of five locks, you cast one more glance towards him. Viktor — the Machine Herald — completely towers over you, especially from this position. 

It makes the back of your neck prickle on impulse. The two of you hardly resemble partners. Creator and creation, more like. One another's opposite image. A bright purpose for sets of technical, controlled executions. A fragile, too-emotional human, and a composed, powerful machine. 

As though his complex steel form, an expression of the limits of his work and technology, was made to be admired. 

Some people do. They come to him when they need him; just as you once did, ages ago. They worship him like a deity. Perhaps you're starting to see why. 

Viktor hardly resembles the man you remember. And yet, there's a certain thrum to him. Mechanical beats and impulses. Familiar gear and hardware that delightfully push the boundaries of science. Vibrant, intricate, self-built components that demand your curiosity. 

The Machine Herald captivates you, just as strongly as Viktor once did. 

Viktor's mask voids him of expression. His orange, glowing eyes are the only light to illuminate the room. Still, there's urgency to the way he moves, stepping closer. His cape billows in the chamber's low draft, his iron boots clank when they hit the ground. His thumb flicks a thick button on the side of the sonar device. 

The third arm jutting out from his shoulders tremors, before it comes to life. It scans the door with a bright red sensor, then twitches, shuts off. The sonar reader chimes approvingly in response. 

Viktor gives you a nod. His gaze runs hot and intense, enough to burn right through you. 

"The Hextech crystals are here. The device is picking up several readings," He discerns, modulated voice rumbling evenly. "If we are fortunate, we might return all of them." 

You pull your gas mask from your face. It hangs loosely from your neck. The vault's thick, partially-filtered air hits your lungs hard. One deep breath in feels like you've filled your chest with half clouds, half sawdust. 

You're trying your best to focus, examining the locks with your eyes squinted, when a gentle, yet firm hand places onto your shoulder. 

"Do not rush," Viktor instructs. "We have time. This should be handled as quietly and discreetly as possible." 

Artificial heat bleeds from his touch. Sparks of warmth, like black holes and galaxies, expand and implode beneath your skin. There's a sense of loss, when he carefully pulls his hand away. Allowing the cold to seep back in. 

Your jaw clenches. Finally, you turn towards your metal arm. 

The edges are smooth and shiny, recently welded. It's second nature to test the flexing of your fingers, even though you can't feel them; the metal creaks, but holds, gears turning, rigid platings twisting. Intricate patterns, in deep shades of silver and amber, line the frame. Fused together with a powerful ray of heat. A clear sign of his handiwork. 

Recalling Viktor's instructions, you find a small notch on the underside. Press here, then pull this panel open. A thin lockpicking tool emerges from your palm, easily held between your steel-jointed fingers. Fit with its own handy flashlight. 

It helps illuminate your work as you start on the first lock. 

"How long do you think it'll take before they notice?" You're asking. Swearing to yourself, when the lockpick meets some resistance. 

Viktor fiddles with the sonar device. "They will eventually. The crystals are nothing more than a bargaining chip. In all probability, once they attempt to sell them back to Piltover- Well, they will be in for an unpleasant surprise." 

"We're making enemies of top and bottom side, then." 

Viktor answers, "As anticipated." 

It certainly wouldn't be the first time. This is all deathly familiar — working beside the Machine Herald, stealing tech to help those in Zaun. Though, this mission has been easy, in comparison. Perhaps a bit too easy. Your first tango with Zaun's upper echelon should've posed more of a challenge. All the crystals are right here, in an unguarded vault. No strings attached. 

Viktor's boot taps against the ground to an impatient rhythm. So, you aren't the only one on edge. 

You try to make conversation. "Thought about what you're gonna say to Miss Glasc?" 

Rummaging through a Chem-Baron's property is one thing, certainly a dance with danger. Messing with Renata Glasc would be like prancing underneath a guillotine. She's influential, cunning, her connections nearly as bountiful as the coin that lines her pockets — and she's Viktor's benefactor, most pressingly. An important supplier of sheet metal, hardware, and painkillers. 

"Glasc possesses no knowledge of this place. It is beyond her territory. Nevertheless, our alliance is not so easily relinquished, considering the rate of mutual benefit." 

You put on your best faux, overly fancy voice. "We're her most beloved pawns, after all." 

Viktor expels an amused huff in agreement. 

The first lock ticks. When you move on to the second, it pops open around your lockpick in one smooth, simple movement. 

You scoff, clicking your tongue, "As rich as these people are, you'd think they'd have a better security system." 

"Our work here is not yet complete," Viktor replies, firmly and mechanically. He closes the sonar device, and he kneels down to hand it off to you. With your hands full, you're reaching around awkwardly, breathing an annoyed huff as you stuff it back into your pocket. "We still need to wipe the security cameras, and dispose of the thermal detectors." 

"We?" The third lock clicks. "Pretty sure that's just my job." 

"It is." 

You throw him a quick, indignant glance. The fourth lock clicks open harshly, as you hastily jam your lockpick past the threshold. 

"Almost done," You're mumbling, mostly to yourself. 

"Excellent work," Viktor practically purrs, praise reverberating through his voice filter. "The new lockpick functions for you naturally, I see. We will be finished here soon." 

Your spine tingles, like there's a lightning storm underneath your skin. Your heart pounds. It threatens to throw your composure off-kilter. To be praised by the feared, indecipherable Machine Herald is a wonderful, thrilling, head-rushing thing. 

But you've stopped working on the last lock. The end of your lockpick taps the door idly, to no rhythm in particular. 

Viktor notices. 

"I thought I would provide you with some motivation. But here you are. Pouting, as expected." 

A steel palm glides up from the small of your back, leading to your shoulder as he stands upright. 

"First," Viktor explains, "I will obtain the crystals. Then, you will head to the security room, and I will stand guard in the event we are ambushed. We already discussed our plan. Have you forgotten?" 

Your eyes roll. He says it like a taunt — you should try to remember, because he doesn't plan on reminding you twice. Although, in truth, there's little force behind the words. There never is, not when it comes to you. 

"Actually, I remember being promised a reward in my future." You glance up at him, gaze playful, star-like. The lockpick twirls around your metal fingers. "Y'know, for all my hard work. I'm sure you haven't forgotten about that, right?" 

Viktor hardly falters. "Once we return to the lab, we can discuss." 

"Hm." You stare blankly at the last lock. Dramatically squinting your eyes, tapping your index to your chin. "I think my lockpick is broken." 

Viktor grumbles, "You are ridiculous." 

Your shoulders shrug. "Just clarifying our terms." 

It's rhythmic — the way you instantly return to your work, turning away to hide your shit-eating grin. Your partner falls silent, for long enough to let the tension build. Metal creaks and scrapes together when his fingers clench. Either way, you're going to get what you want. You're certain. The push and pull between you always ends in your favor. It has to, because there is one exception to his rule. One weakness, amongst his perfected layers of inhuman machinery. An unacknowledged line connecting you and the Machine Herald. 

If it were anyone else, if Viktor was made of less flesh and more machine, he might've attempted to circumvent this, to remove the aspects he deemed distractions, but you — 

Viktor sighs, hard enough to push steam out from the edges of his mask. 

"When we return, anything you desire from the lab is yours. Or I will add another modification onto your arm, if you prefer." His steel hand returns to your shoulder, this time giving you an authoritative squeeze. "Now, focus. First, the Hextech crystals. Then, the security system must be dismantled. Deciding will come later." 

Anything you want. 

The smirk on your face must make you look stupid, but you're having a difficult time holding it back. Continue to play your cards right, and one of those crystals might be yours. 

"Alright, V." A single turn of your lockpick clicks open the final lock. You rise to your feet, and the lockpicking module folds back into your arm with a simple button press. "I'll get it done, yeah?" 

Viktor approaches the door. You swiftly step aside. 

"Good." 

The vault is small. The metal door opens with a loud, grating creak. A flickering overhead light turns on automatically, revealing walls decorated by various rudimentary weapons, and tables littered with blueprints. Canisters of shimmer are stacked neatly in a corner. Unfinished machinery parts collect in piles on the floor. Resting atop a table in the far-right corner, graciously reflecting the light, you spot your target — a glass case, with a set of Hex Crystals suspended inside. 

You stride in. Viktor grabs his staff, still leant up against the wall, and he follows you into the vault. 

Your hands clasp together and rest behind your head. You glance around, examining the entirety of the room. A large blueprint is pinned to the wall; stolen, most likely, as it's signed with various Piltover clan symbols. It seems to detail a process to make similar crystals artificially. There's no cameras on the ceiling, or in any of the four corners. You lightly kick one of the piled-up automatons with your foot. The springs in its center make a dull popping noise. A clear sign that they're entirely broken. 

"Wish you'd be a little nicer, though," You're humming, musing idly. You kneel down, sifting through the pile of components on the ground. A chipped gear, a loose screw, a broken lever. Why would a Chem-Baron vault be filled with useless, rusty parts? "You said it's a psychological thing, right? When humans are influenced by their emotions. Positive reinforcement, I guess." 

Beep, beep, beep. 

You rise to your feet, and Viktor answers from behind you. Voice dangerously close to your ear. Low and stern enough to make you tense. "Don't move." 

Unfortunately, you're not listening. You spin around to face him, arms crossed in front of you. Your fingertips toy with a loose wire on the panelling of your forearm. Viktor is twice as imposing when he's close; he towers over you, with your head barely coming up to his metal chest. Glowing eyes meet yours, and although it's usually impossible to determine what he's thinking, you can instantly tell something is wrong. 

He glances to either side of the room. His fingers drum against his staff quickly, almost nervously. 

Both arms fall loose at your sides. "I'm teasing, Viktor-" 

"Do not speak," Viktor snaps, his tone controlled. He grabs your shoulder, hard enough to nearly make your weak legs stumble. "And don't move." 

Beep, beep, beep. 

Oh. Prevailing over the silence is an unmistakable noise, getting louder, getting faster — 

Fuck. You're freezing up, as still as a fancy Piltovan statue. Your hands start to shake, and now you're chipping, threatening to crumble. Sweat beads at your forehead and the back of your neck, trickling down like sharp ice shards. You're both screwed. 

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep. 

Valves fall open; a loud hissing sound cuts through the air like a blade, as the room quickly fills with billows of smoke and sharp gasoline. Burning your eyes, choking your lungs. 

Viktor's staff hits the ground with a clatter. He grabs you, pulls you into his chest before the fear in your mind has caught up with your body. Your breath catches, your vision blurs, your ears ring — and all at once, the vault crumbles into destruction, blown to bits in the wake of a deafeningly loud explosion. 

— 

"Hold still. Is there one single instruction that is not immediately lost on you?" 

"I'm trying, Vik. Geez." 

Viktor presses an old cloth to a long scrape on your forehead, fabric ripped and dirty with oil stains. The disinfectant stings your skin lightly. You try your best not to flinch away. Your stool creaks when you awkwardly shuffle back and forth, digging your nails into your leg, and Viktor's scrapes the concrete ground when he shifts closer. A cold metal hand tilts up your chin, holds you firmly in place. He brushes the rag over your jaw, next. Meticulous, as he cleans the faint scrapes left by glass fragments, and so, so gentle. Your heart twists inside your chest, grinds and sings like a music box wound up too quickly. 

You force your breathing to steady. Your eyes stare into where his would be. Soft and golden, honey-drenched suns. The light of his pupils burns when you look at them too long. The artificial glow behind his mask carries amber-hued traces of what you remember, but he's utterly unreadable. Would he be looking at you with annoyance? Disdain? Guilt? 

Another corner of the rag is brought to your neck, and you roll your sore shoulders back. Trying to find a distraction, your gaze trails to the table behind him. 

Stray parts are scattered about. There's scalpels, messy rolls of bandages. Tools are sorted into piles: various wrenches, different sizes of pliers. In tonight's chaos, a few screwdrivers have rolled onto the ground already. 

And at the edge of the table rests a small glass case. The lid cracked, the surface charred. Each Hex Crystal remains suspended inside. Completely, tauntingly unharmed. 

Emberflit Alley is quiet and secluded, especially once night has fallen. Viktor's lab hums to its own familiar, comforting rhythm. It allows you to finally breathe again. 

Experiments you've been working on together litter every flat surface. Breathing devices, prosthetic outlines. A prototype hand takes up its own corner of his desk, parts separated neatly. There's a makeshift bed by the door, surrounded with discarded cans, left by the stray cat you both have been feeding. A couch rests in the room's corner, cracked leather showing its age. Stacks of your clothing pile up on the arm, neatly folded. You're sure you'd last left them in a heap on the floor. 

The adjacent end table houses an ashtray, littered with your smokes. Coffee stains burned into the wood form halos around your chrome lighter. 

(Viktor made it ages ago, to replace the ones you kept losing. It never leaves your pocket. Your thumb likes to trace over the jagged, uneven edges, welded from scrap material. You flick the sparking gear until there's a flame. Molten and warm, reminiscent of his heat — over and over again.) 

Finally, Viktor leans back, satisfied. He turns in his stool, tossing the rag onto the table. He sifts through his tools for a moment, metal clanking together, before he turns back to you, wrench in hand. 

"Your arm." Viktor instructs simply, holding out his gloved hand; and you're quick to extend it for him, allowing him to grasp and examine the broken gaps between your forearm's metal platings. 

The memory of the evening's events flicker dimly through your mind. You both were lucky, all things considered. 

You fucked up, must've tripped something. The vault shook, a bomb went off, and everything was a blur from there. A mix of hazy sensations. Ears ringing. Head throbbing. Rubble pinning you into place. Thick fumes choking you, burning in your chest, making your eyes water. Suffocating the cramped vault and mixing with the heavy air of the fissures. Pressure assigns itself a stronger definition. Its force pushes between your ribs, as though it hopes to split them open. 

Viktor's greys and oranges took on a watercolor swirl in your teary vision. He pressed your gas mask to your face until you were breathing again. He helped you to your feet, carried you when you were starting to fade in and out — 

Right. Viktor shielded you. He purposefully pressed you beneath him with seconds to spare, to ensure most of the rubble would damage him, instead. 

His chassis was mostly unscathed; the advantages of steel, you suppose. 

Your arm is busted, undoing all of Viktor's recent enhancements. Your lungs still ache. Your body hurts. The sort of hurt that crests like a fully-encompassing wave, the form of hurt you can't name. Not a this is sore here, or a this is injured there. 

It hardly matters, in the grand scheme of things. 

If the explosion damaged the canisters and blew through the shimmer, if it reached the crystals and sparked a chain reaction, the decimation would have been unrecognizable, you're sure. 

A dangerous chill laces up your spine. It taps you on the shoulder, reminds you of the risks. Viktor adjusts the crooked lockpick-panel on your palm. He holds your hand in place when your fingers start to twitch. 

You're alright, though. Alive. The realization perplexes you. It makes your chest ache, the memory a tender blade, pressing deep. 

Viktor saved you. And for the faint, blurry moments in between, it felt warm, to be held in his arms. It felt safe. 

This feels safe, familiar — Viktor skillfully glides his gloved hand down your forearm, examining where the frame has buckled in on itself. Metal components have been warped by heat. The outer armor is digging into the steel skeleton, blocking several axles and hinges. 

He reaches behind him, exchanging his wrench for pliers. You're watching him think as his fingertip taps your arm rhythmically. You can practically hear the vibrations of his memorized voice, echoing through your mind. The skeleton is unaffected, but the outer shell has been decimated. Most functions are rendered inoperable. Additional augments can be repaired in time. For now, returning function to the joints is the primary objective. 

It is a simple adjustment. You are in good hands. As you always are. 

Viktor has no problem with wordlessness. But matters between the two of you rarely get this silent. 

He holds your arm in a tight, unmoving grip. Pliers in hand, he works on bending each plating back into place. 

It reminds you of the past, pleasant and persistent. Viktor's been working to improve your prosthetic since you met. When the line between you sealed into a knot. When tension brought you together, two ships on stormy seas, and you decided to turn your sails and bond over the shared struggles you had to overcome — your arm, Viktor's leg. Piltover was less of a grave, and more of a home, then. 

Weakness, experimentation, and danger followed Viktor as a second shadow. Ultimately, it only made sense to rush after him. No matter where he returned to, no matter what he was slated to become. 

Without Viktor, you might find yourself flexing your handmade fingers, staring at the piece of him you're doomed to carry with you. A reminder of the half to your whole. Like the connection between gears. Like what the hammer is to the nail. Bright light to a systematic solar panel, crisp air to weak lungs. A hacksaw to fragile flesh. Inseparable. 

Viktor finishes adjusting the armor on that very same arm, and he begins to reach for your shoulder. His glove brushes your skin. Gentle, but you swiftly realize it's meant to be a distraction, reassurance. Crooked screws dig into the separation between your shoulder and your arm; Viktor tightens them carefully, and you wince, tensing up. 

Low and soft, Viktor's words crunch through his partially-damaged voice filter. "Tell me if I am hurting you." 

"No, no," You're answering, shaking your head. "I'm fine. Just a little sore." 

You shut your eyes. Viktor tightens the last screw. Fuzzy stars blanket your eyelids once they flutter open. 

His Hexclaw reaches behind him, handing him another tool. Ever-so careful, he examines a dainty set of wires leading through your forearm. He pushes them aside, attempting to reach a line of broken pistons set into your wrist. 

Metal clinks against metal. The lab hums quietly, jars bubbling, vents thrumming. 

"I cannot believe you waltzed right in." 

Oh. Viktor shatters the silence — and your placidity, along with it. 

"We're gonna start with this now?" You're huffing; the steel tip of your boot taps the floor anxiously. 

Viktor stops. He tips his head up, glowing eyes with rings of circular, mechanical pupils glancing at you. Expectant, intimidating. 

Your entire body weakens when you sigh, jostling your arm, making him hold you tighter to keep you still. The firm grip he has on your forearm's frame screams annoyed. 

"How the hell was I supposed to know they had the place tripped?" You argue, "And weren't you supposed to detect it? With that device, like you did with the cameras?" 

"Thermal cameras give off a unique heat signature, which the device was tailored to analyze," Viktor explains evenly. The end of his multi-tool extends to reveal small tweezers, which he uses to delicately remove specs of rubble from the joints in your wrist. "The Hextech crystals, as well. The energy they radiate is relatively equivalent. Failing to detect the tripwire indicates a clear error of design. It will be adjusted for our next mission. Now, your wrist. Test how it functions." 

Viktor sits back, and you twist your wrist in either direction. The joints swivel smoothly, and the modified pistons hold firm when you clench your hand. 

"Perfect. This will suffice," He concludes, with the familiar air of pride he always regards for his creations. Grasping your forearm once more, he returns to working on its inner mechanisms. 

"We needed those crystals, Vik," You're continuing. Fiery gaze fixated on him, even though he's focused on his work. "Our current procedures aren't cutting it anymore, and you know that better than anyone. Hextech has the potential to save so many people. I'm not like you. I can't just… sit around and calculate every possible outcome before I make a move. We can never make progress without taking-" 

"Risks only serve as obstacles when they threaten permanent consequences. Progress is not linear. It comes to those who are patient enough to know when they should further it." 

Viktor compares a few different sized gears in his palm, eventually choosing the smallest one. It fits perfectly into the juncture of mechanics just below your wrist. 

He glances up at you once. Then, he calmly returns to adjusting your arm. "Impulsivity will get us nowhere." 

You groan, tossing your head back. 

"They tripped a vault. With explosives." You're gazing at the ceiling, focused on the large, Machine Herald shaped shadow Viktor casts as he works. "Why even store the crystals there if you're just going to blow them up the moment someone nabs them? It doesn't make sense." 

"This was not about the crystals. They are sending a message. The Chem-Barons will not hesitate to dispose of us, if we continue to cross them." 

The pieces click into place, in hindsight. Voices flit through your memory. Takeda's shimmer-drunk drawl as he leans back in his leather seat and counts his coin. Make sure you tell your tin-can he still owes me. Veraza's cold tone as she crushes a purple petal between her fingers, the thick air of her greenhouse planting roots inside your lungs. Careful, now. The other Chem-Barons believe you are pulling at your leash much too tightly. Do not let them break your neck. 

Ah, the crystals were bait. An expensive trade-off. And the vault simply housed the things they were trying to get rid of. Unauthorized weapons. Stolen shimmer. You, and the Machine Herald. 

Physical pieces slot where they're supposed to, as well, when Viktor finishes adjusting the chain of gears that line your steel skeleton. This was the easy part. He rolls his shoulders back in frustration, as he attempts to adjust some warped, particularly stubborn strips of framework. 

"But this discussion is about you," Viktor grits, as though the words are spoken between bared canines. "What in the world could you have possibly been thinking? Or were you failing to think at all?" 

Your eyes roll. "You know what? I don't even want to get into it." 

"We are not getting into anything. It is a simple conversation," Viktor swears under his breath. He pulls and pulls at the thin cylinder but the broken metal won't give. "And I believe you should contribute." 

"I think it's best if we don't talk about it. We're both stressed, and just-" 

"I disagree." 

"I'm fucking tired, Vik," You're huffing, free arm rubbing the sore nape of your neck in emphasis. "My whole body hurts. Sorry if I'm not thrilled to sit here and listen to you scold me, because somehow, this is all my fault." 

Viktor rebuttals, "You are missing the point." 

"Oh, I think I understand it perfectly." 

"I am merely asking you to consider your actions." Viktor pulls at the last broken strip hard. It snaps, and he tosses it onto the table behind him with an equal display of impatience. "From now on, precautions must be put into place. Especially in situations involving the Chem-Barons. And you must promise me, if we find ourselves in a comparable situation, for once, you will listen." 

"Fine." 

You're yanking your arm away the moment he finishes closing the platings. You examine it quickly, front and back, flexing your fingers. Some sections are still chipped, but it'll do. Clear, delicate care has been put into the intricate assembly of each division, each joint, to ensure movement is as comfortable and responsive as possible. Viktor's work is always articulate, but doubly so, when it comes to you. 

His adjustments have already taken considerable weight off your shoulder. Surges of warmth kindle faint flames in your chest — but you're sighing, arms crossing, brows pinching. 

"Next time, I'll stay here. Keep the place warm, since it's all I'm good at." 

"I did not-" Viktor weakens in the wake of a sigh, as if the air is shuddering through his makeshift lungs. "I apologize, I should not have made it seem as if I was blaming you-" 

"No," You interrupt. Teeth gritted. "I'm tired of feeling like all I do is get in your way." 

You know you're being unreasonable, but you hardly care. The words simply tumble out, like they've been toppled from the knots in your mind. You glance down. Your fingertips fiddle with a line of screws embedded into your forearm. 

Whatever rebuttal Viktor was planning dies as quickly as a blossom in a snowstorm. He drops forwards; his fingers lace, he rests his forehead against them. Tension buds in his body like you've never seen before. Finally, he runs a hand through his hair, and he sits up. 

His voice fizzles with heavy, husky, insuppressible static. 

"I could have lost you. That is what you do not understand." 

Your spine tingles. As though it's laced in gold. You can feel the pull of guilt and tenderness — like gravity, in your heart, in your chest, in your flesh. The words must flicker differently through a mostly mechanical system, if they mean anything to him at all. 

You stand slowly, kicking your stool away half-heartedly. 

He's grabbing your wrist before you can get far. Your real wrist. He holds you there, hesitant. (The changing of seasons rarely reaches the depths of Zaun; you're gradually beginning to forget what they're like.) But Gods, Viktor's steel touch feels the same as the heat of summer, artificial warmth resembling basking in sun rays, dipping your wrist into candle wax. And yet, at the same time, it reminds you of the frigid chill of winter. Cool metal reminiscent of the sharpness of ice. 

"Lay down," Viktor instructs, as though he plans to give you little choice in the matter. "It is late. You should rest." 

Perhaps you truly do have a problem with listening. 

Because even as Viktor is speaking, your gaze is travelling across him, eyes narrowing as they catch downwards. Your partner hates asking for assistance, but you're used to reciprocity — to completing something for him, in exchange for what he does for you. To further the cycle of fixing and repairing. Little losses and small victories, strung between the fate of you, and the Machine Herald. 

Viktor's hand slips from your wrist. He follows your line of sight, and there's a look in your gaze he's long since come to recognize. Pure persistence. 

Your palm reaches out to him, makes a grabbing motion. "Screwdriver." 

Viktor drums his steel fingers against his iron thigh, making metal rhythmically clink against metal. Your stubborn nature is a stake, driving into him intimately. Like it never really left. 

Leaning his elbow on the desk, he reaches behind him, to hand you the particular screwdriver he knows you'll need. Flat-tipped, handle weighty. A light smile paints satisfaction across your expression. He continues to keep his gaze on you as you're sliding down — your frame appears small, when compared to his, simply because you're only human; this state amplifies the difference between your mortal form, and his large, metal chassis. Eventually, you're settling on your knees in front of him. 

The column of his leg is busted. It's functional, sure, but a few of the plates were crushed under rubble, the brace-like mechanism has springs loose and cogs twisted. Everything might crack, under the strain of continued usage. 

For now, you can fix the platings. You've done it before. On his arms, a few times. On his back, once. You'll reinforce the gears and tighten the framework back into place, to keep it stable, until he has the time to make a full replacement. 

You decide to start with his ankle, and work your way up. You're lifting his heavy leg, exhaling a weary breath as you place it close to your lap. The end of your screwdriver finds the seam on the back of his calf, screws crooked and stripped. Your jaw grits. You forcibly push the steel back into place, tightening each screw as far as it'll go. 

(And you're aware this is stupidly reminiscent of a lifetime before, although Viktor is twice as metal, and half as human. Emotions and sentiment are among the many things he swore he discarded.) Yet, he's leaning back. Relaxing, almost. Giving in to you, to this. 

Unable to sit still for long, Viktor twists. He finds the two broken halves of his staff, resting them in his lap, pressing them together. The Hexclaw twitches, before its laser hums. He begins to expertly weld both halves together. 

After a while, you're breaking the silence. "Vik?" 

Viktor doesn't look up. He examines the end of his staff, fiddles with a few wires and jacks. It's still out of power, predictably. 

"Yes?" 

"Back then, when the bomb went off." Your fingers trail his knee, admiring the smooth, solid structure. "You tried to protect me. Why?" 

"I thought you did not want to talk about this." 

You breathe a slight tch. "Just answer me." 

You're glancing up at him, but Viktor is pointedly not looking at you. His Hexclaw curls behind him to set his staff on the table, and to grab another part. In tandem, he's reaching for his throat, pulling its front panel open. 

He tilts his head back. Thumbs through the wires and exposed circuitry to yank a small part free, so hastily it seems like it'd hurt. He shoves the new voice box inside, until it clicks into place. Viktor rolls his neck once the panel is shut. 

"The explosion was inclined to originate from the entrance, perhaps aiming to trap us inside," He explains, voice strikingly clear, this time. "As soon as it convened on the shimmer or the crystals, the entire room would be set ablaze. Fortunately, it did not. It was a poor plan. But, regardless of their failures, you are… not suited to withstand such conditions. The only option was to use my construction as a shield." 

Your chest splits with an arrow-shot ache, because you know he's fucking right. If Viktor wasn't there, or if the fire had spread just a little more; if you weren't standing so close to him, or if your gas mask had broken, or if anything had changed — 

You swallow hard enough to make your eardrums prickle, and you busy yourself with fixing the drilled-in brace, just above his knee. 

"I guess that makes sense." 

"And our mission was a success," Viktor reasons. "Was it not?" 

"We got the crystals. But-" Your grip tightens on the screwdriver's handle. You breathe a long sigh, heavy enough to make your lungs hurt. "I'm sorry. For snapping at you, for acting like an idiot, for everything. I should've known it was a setup. The stupid vault was filled with junk. And I was standing so close to those shimmer canisters, I could've-" 

Your head shakes; your breath does, too. "Nevermind." 

Viktor's gloved hand grasps his gauntlet, where the power source feeds energy into his palm. You swear you catch his fingers trembling just slightly, as he deftly pulls the panelwork apart. 

"My body will not take long to fix," He replies. Metal fingers clenching individually, while he prods deep into his own arm. "If that is your concern." 

Your palm glides up his thigh slowly, exploring every dip and notch in the shape. Firm steel curves under your fingers. Beckoningly smooth. "I know. I want to make this up to you, is all." 

A steel index finger drifts underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards, in his direction. 

It's momentary. Viktor takes his hand away to grasp his gauntlet again, snapping the panel on his wrist shut. The molten light on the back of his hand glows brightly, indicating a newfound charge of energy. 

"I need you to listen carefully." 

"Mmm," You hum. You're warm, pliable, electricity traveling from the base of your neck to the end of your spine, like gliding gentle touches over tender bruises — "I'm listening." 

"This was a minor setback, nothing more," Viktor continues. "Betrayal from the Chem-Barons was anticipated. Your safety is my only concern. On that subject, I believe I have made myself clear. There is no need to hold yourself responsible. You do not owe me anything." 

Right. Just your life. 

You take your time on the last screw in his upper leg. Rising to your feet, you toss the screwdriver onto the desk, causing it to roll all the way to the edge. You give him a swift once over. 

The back of your hand taps against his chest. "Something's broken in here. The platings are all misaligned." 

"Potentially." 

Viktor grasps your hand. Squeezing, first, before he pushes it away. Gods, you know it's artificial and intentionally practiced — Does a machine's best attempt at replication still count as intimacy? — but it makes your head spin, all the same. 

"I will handle it," He concludes, assured. Words thick and accented as they rumble through his filter. 

Your head shakes. "No, it's- this isn't some kind of obligation. I want to fix this for you." 

"Spark, you have done enough for me. You may rest, now." 

The next breath you draw in aches to say his name. 

So, you let it. 

"Viktor," You murmur, although a hard, determined edge is returning to your voice, one that doesn't intend to take no for an answer, "Let me help you." 

You can feel the vibrating thrum of machinery beneath your palm, with your hand pressed flat to his chest. You half-expect another argument to ensue. You're preparing for it, as you worry an impression into your bottom lip. Instead, Viktor shifts, sitting up fully. 

He reaches down. Thumbs pressing a set of latching mechanisms, one on each of his sides. The armor around his entire midsection begins to hiss approvingly, releasing small puffs of pressurized steam. 

"This," He starts, although he's already popping open the structure of his central system, "Would prove much more simple if I chose to complete it myself. But I will teach you. If you are willing." 

Your smile shows your canines. "Of course." 

The moment Viktor has his platings fully opened for you, armor swiveled to the side like doors on hinges, a thick blanket of smoke pours out, filling your lungs. You cough, batting it away. The sound of his machinery is so much louder: ticking gears, moving pistons, the hum of various pumps. Your eyes squint, and you place your hands on your knees, bending down to peer inside. 

It reminds you of the automatons you've worked on together. The blueprints he followed for his own structure must have been similar, at least. But this won't be like operating on a person, nor an automaton. The little fixings you've done for the people of Zaun, fusing organic with inorganic, pale in comparison to the complicated system before you. Viktor's system. 

Viktor's fingertips dance over the inner edges of his armor, pressing a few more latches into place. Locking functions, you're guessing. To keep the platings open. 

"At odds with your expectations?" He questions, noticing your hesitation. 

"Well, I suppose," You're answering, throat dry. "This wasn't what I was expecting, no." 

"Ah. I will take it from here, then." 

"No, just… give me a minute. Need to get my bearings." 

A lull takes over. Viktor leans back slowly, he rests his elbows on the desk behind him; hands clenching, as he resists the reflexive tick to busy them. You allow yourself to kneel, still propped up enough to put your gaze eye-level with his mechanics. 

It's… a lot. 

You couldn't even begin to describe every individual intricacy. Different mechanisms all work in tandem, pushing out steam, clicking gears into place, powering various motors; and there's hundreds of wires, leading every which way like veins. They connect through a diverse array of parts, but they all inevitably curl into one central space — like the crest of a wave, like a Fibonacci spiral, an unintentional golden ratio. Bridging into a singular unit, runes carved on its edges. A small crystal suspended within. 

You're reminded of Viktor's words from years prior, when his newfound form first perplexed you. When you steeled yourself and simply asked, because your gaze kept catching on the jarred organs surrounding his workspace, despite his declarations that he'd relinquished all of himself. Because you're watching him dig a scalpel into his forearm, skin dead and pallid like snow, obsidian-hued blood trickling into the gap between sizzling, split circuitry. 

It was practical, this way. To replace imperfect organs with a consistent, mechanical system. 

Actually, the configuration before you is anything but. 

The mechanics show signs of Viktor's own handiwork. Welded edges, carefully constructed synapses. Bundles of wires have been grouped together messily. Displaying a clear motive: to focus on making a functional system, not a pristine one. 

The central unit, housing the crystal, is surrounded by two large pipelines, interconnected by steel conduits. Their purpose is lost on you, but one is smaller, the pipe closest to the unit. Like the way one lung is smaller to give room for the heart. 

Some of the parts are recognizable, albeit a bit rudimentary; they're prototypes you remember improving upon ages ago. Viktor must have deemed them still functional. Or perhaps, he hasn't had the time to replace them. It humanizes him, in a strange, opposite way. Viktor is so busy with the rest of his endeavors — evolving his plans for the Undercity, assisting others, including you — he hasn't been able to rebuild himself. 

And there is something beautiful about it, about him. Something worth worshipping. Alluringly, divinely synthetic, self-made by his hands. Everything within him vibrates with electricity and life. Resembling a tangible, second soul. 

(You're starting to understand those who pray for their flesh to be replaced with mechanics. Those who worship their image of the Machine Herald, despite not knowing he was once a man, just like them. Because still, every time you see them, knelt in reverence before a statue or a stained-glass depiction of the Grey Lady, you can't help but think of Viktor, and yourself.) 

Your heart hammers wildly inside your chest, a perfect contrast to his steady, exposed system. Your breath echoes so sharply through the lab, you're sure with the proximity, he can hear it, too. 

Maybe it's the circumstance — this is Viktor, after all. You're giving yourself a headache, trying to figure out how you should work on your own partner, how to understand the Machine Herald's stupidly ornate insides. 

And it's exciting, interesting. You've never worked on anything so complex before. He's a puzzle you desperately want to learn to solve. 

But, more than anything, this feels personal. Intimate. It's a thrilling, entirely new way to admire him, yet you're finding it difficult to stay relaxed. You think of the Viktor you once knew. Of how it would feel to be shown the softness of his guts. To be asked to dig through his sinews and his lungs and his innards, instead of wires and mechanics and gadgetry. Palms brushing a body made of fragile bones and pallid skin, not metal. 

Fucking hell. You'd do it, either way. Without hesitation. 

"Okay," You breathe, attempting to place yourself back on course. You rub the overwhelming tension from your temple, allowing your tired eyes to close for a fleeting second. Then, you're pulling up your stool, sitting across from him to continue your examinations. 

Beneath his mask, Viktor's gaze stays magnetized to you. To the pinch in your brows, to your hands folded in your lap, moving with the bounce of your knee. 

The curious, ambitious, lost-in-thought side to you is always impossibly enthralling. 

"This is sort of familiar, actually," You reason, as though you're trying to convince yourself. "Kind of like Blitz, just… way, way more advanced." 

You focus on locating the parts you recognize, as opposed to the ones you don't. The center unit is definitely a main power source. The pumps and fans surrounding it are likely for cooling. It amazes you, honestly. Viktor must know all of this like the back of his hand. 

"I will explain the process to the best of my ability." Viktor replies. 

"I'm, uh- a little nervous, V. It's your body, and I just- I don't want to mess anything up. When's the last time someone poked around in here? Is there anything I definitely shouldn't touch?" 

Viktor clenches his hands idly. He leans back a bit further. "Comply with my instructions, for now. Once the major repairs are complete, and we have eliminated all present malfunctions, you will be free to tinker with each apparatus, as you see fit." 

"Okay. I can do that."

"As for your additional question, it has been quite a while since I have improved upon my own design. This would make you the only one I have… shown this to, for lack of a more acceptable term." 

"Oh." You shrink up, recoiling your hands before they can reach for him. Jaw set, as you bite down your own nerves. "Should I- are you sure this is okay, then?" 

"Yes." Viktor's head tilts slightly, analyzing. "Go on. I trust you." 

Your heart races at that. Running circles around itself, abiding by its own laws of chemistry to create unbridled, newfound energy in your chest. 

Without another moment of hesitation, you shift closer, and you stick your hands inside. 

Warmth radiates off of him, sparking from the countless movements of parts and mechanics. It warms your face, envelops your palms as if you've held them to a campfire. It's definitely too hot, all things considered. 

"Looks like there's a problem with temperature," You're commenting, although it's certainly obvious. You run your fingertip over a line of fan blades, set into the top of his chassis. You turn them yourself, and pick out a few tiny pieces of rubble. "Yeah, fans are all stuck." 

"The fans are an auxiliary measure," Viktor clarifies, tone smooth and systematic. "The central pump must not be pushing coolant. Check the thermoregulation cylinders. They lead into the manifold." 

"Vik." Your gaze flickers up. "Whatever you just said, it sounded like total mechanical gibberish." 

"Give me your hand." 

With his metal palm already extended, you lean forward, and you gently brush your warm fingers to his. 

Viktor guides you carefully, steel digits closed around yours; the entirety of your hand fits in his palm with ease, it's at least twice the size of your own. Your fingertips slip past wires and circuitry, to hover over an intricate array of cylindrical conduits. 

"Do they feel hot? The cylinders," Viktor clarifies. "Touch them carefully. Do not let them burn you." 

His grip on your hand loosens. You're wincing, as you hesitantly press your fingertips forwards — but the metal isn't hot. Far from it, in fact. 

"No, they're… lukewarm, maybe." 

"Hm." Viktor leans back once more, elbows propped on the desk behind him. "We will begin with the fans. This fix will be the least complex."  

"They connect to a main unit, right?" You're asking, even though you've already started moving on your own. The automatons you remember working on carry similar cooling systems. "If that goes out, they all do." 

"Correct." 

You follow a fan's wiring with your hands. It loops several times, before it plugs into a small metal box: sides caved in, surface smashed. 

"Ah. Found the problem." You tap the surface of the power supply with your nails. "It's busted." 

"Do not touch it yet," Viktor instructs. "Its processes may still be running, in which case, it could overheat. Remove each connector and extract the unit. I will add it to my list of obligations, I suppose." 

You quickly pull every wire from the fan power unit, and you reach over his shoulder to place it on the desk. Viktor leans his head back. A few valves in his chest expel large puffs of steam, somewhat akin to a sigh. 

"The main cylinders," He continues, "Do you remember where they are located?" 

"Mhmm." You find the cylinders with your fingertips. Metal smooth, cool to the touch. 

Viktor stretches, rolling his shoulders back, armor slightly clinking together. He tips his head down to study you. 

"Shift your hand to your right. You will find a main cooling manifold. Open it. Flip both notches paneled into the intake. Up, for precisely three seconds. Then, flip them down. It will overclock the thermocore, enabling a full reactivation." 

You nod slowly. Right, you've got all that. Open, flip, down, close. 

Your fingers brush along the cylinders until you find where they lead into. The manifold's panel opens easily — slowly, with all the delicacy of opening up a ribcage. Fingertips to the notches, you push them both up; like tending to a wound, like softly tracing scar tissue. With bated breath, you keep count in your head. One. Two. Three. Then, down. 

You click the front panel back into place, and the entire assembly begins to whir. 

"Now, they will resume function. The systems are… cooling down- very good, well done." Viktor affirms, tone ripe with relief. Within him, sets of valves and pistons gently heave. 

His praise makes you shiver. Selfishly, you want to hear more. The cylinders are starting up. They're still slightly cool, as you drag your fingers across them; but Viktor's warm voice has the opposite effect. Guiding heat to coil and ignite in your gut, like you've swallowed phosphorus and matchsticks. 

You remove your hands carefully, settling them in your lap, and you give Viktor time to catch his breath. 

The manifold shudders. Briefly overloaded by the extra draw of power, perhaps. Viktor's machinery works synchronically to reign it in; his shoulders tense, he reaches into his stomach and messes with a few components, flipping switches, thumbing regulators. He leans back, and the large central cylinders strongly push out smoky air, reminiscent of lungs. 

Strong is a good way to describe the Machine Herald's construction. Complicated, durable, and intentionally intimidating. There's power behind the grind of every mechanical process. Parts are entrailed together haphazardly, vitals cased in metal, strung between wires — clearly not meant to be toyed with, to be examined by someone who is foreign to them. 

And yet, here you are. 

Old, rusted mechanics take the place of scars. Tracing your fingertips along his steel skeleton might remind you of brushing them over a defined ribcage. Individual colored wires form auroras, purposefully tethered. Able to be memorized — like you once did for constellations on soft skin, dotted in freckles and moles. 

Oh, how you long to reach out and touch. 

(It wouldn't be the same — but how would it feel? Would some wires be cool, rough, while some are smooth, warm? Fit with their own small intricacies: frayed insides, different electric charges. You could be gentle with some, and rough, with others. His pressure points would buzz underneath your fingertips. Shudder like a body arching into warmth. Would Viktor stop you, or would he give in — a betrayal of what he was made for, to finally pull you closer?) 

Hands still in your lap, you fiddle with your thumbs. Viktor's chest reverberates. Every mechanic convenes into his center, feeding into pumps and wire splitters, like arteries. Powered by a small, perplexing device with suspended panels. The metal is carved in rune-work. Protecting a gemstone, illuminated in hues of faint, blue light. It strikes you as Hextech inspired, though clearly more machine than magic. 

"Viktor, this crystal," You're asking, "What is it?" 

"That," Viktor's gaze stays trained on you. "Would be what functions as my heart." 

Your eyes sparkle. "Can I-" 

"Yes," Viktor interrupts, disgruntled. He knows that look, and he doesn't intend on fighting it. "Inspect it if you must. The gemstone is not my only power supply. Simply one of many." 

As your curious fingers approach, reaching into his chest, the device appears to open without prompting — panels shifting, sides unfurling. Coaxing you in. 

Your fingertips meet the gemstone, gently admiring; the surface is smooth like a petal, like gliding a pen over paper. It pulses with rhythmic energy, akin to a heartbeat. Viktor shifts, he breathes a cross between a gentle sigh and a mechanical hiss. When the stone drops into your palm, it is solid, warm. Energy-rich and beautiful. It reminds you of an oyster's pearl. Cosmic shades of purple and blue shift within its shape. 

"Vik- Wow." You let go of a small, tensionless laugh in amazement — you're literally holding Viktor's heart in your hand; "This is incredible. You're incredible." 

Viktor tenses. Energy thrums from the crystal, sparking hard against your skin. You choke in a sharp, pained breath, and you take your hand away quickly, leaving the gemstone to return to suspension. 

Ah. Viktor's heart just shocked you. 

You're barely able to reconvene; his Hexclaw grabs your face, tilting you gently yet forcefully, guiding you to meet an expressionless mask and glowing, motionless eyes. 

"Enough," Viktor asserts. "I require your focus. The central systems have cooled. We may proceed." 

Then, his Hexclaw releases you, reaches behind him, and hands you a wrench. 

"I will pull the sternum platings open, beneath the oxygen valves. Reach inside, and secure the pistons that sit above the energy reservoir. Is this understandable?" 

Back to work already, it seems. "Yeah," You nod. "I've got it." 

It's a relatively simple fix. Viktor reaches deep into his circuitry, pushing wires aside to pull both platings apart; surely this would have been cumbersome, if he'd opted to do it alone. Both sections of his sternum need to be held open, or they'll try to snap shut. Your hands are much smaller than his, as well, so you have no trouble reaching into his structure, and swiftly re-tightening the pistons. 

Viktor closes the panels as you're reaching behind him to set the wrench on the desk. His Hexclaw twitches. His gauntlet and the generator fixed into his shoulder flicker with light, like a dying lightbulb, before energy surges within them, bright and molten. 

You glance up. "Good?" 

Viktor's body hums quietly, amidst his usual mechanical noise. 

"Perfect. You are an expert already, yes? The Death Ray is no longer fueled by reserve power." Viktor rolls his neck to the side, until it gives a satisfying, motorized pop. "Now, as we continue, you will need to use your hands." 

"Alright. I can do that." 

"Use your flesh hand," Viktor corrects. "And promise me you will be careful. I would prefer to keep each of your remaining fingers intact. Do not get them stuck." 

You form a faint, light-filled smile. "I promise." 

"To your left, there is a diode controller. Here." Viktor finds your hand, steel digits brushing over your knuckles, and he guides you, once more. "Tell me which lights are displayed on the module." 

Your hand presses to a small steel box, nestled into his chest. "There's a red light. I think that's the power, but… it looks like that's it." 

"The explosion jostled its position, as I suspected. Inlaid into the underside, there will be a set of wires." 

Sure enough, although several curving filaments obstruct the crooked controller, you can spot a few tangled wires, plugged in loosely. 

You gently push a few of his mechanics aside, trying to get a handle on what you're dealing with. "You're planning on doing a full cold boot, right? So pull them all out, wait for the controller to restart, and then plug them back in." 

What Viktor lacks in expression, he makes up for in vibrato, because you can practically hear the smile hidden within his voice. Equally calm and weaponized; as soft as a caress, and as powerful as a knife held to your throat. 

"Yes," He hums, mechanical filter thrumming around the thickly accented syllables. "Look at you. It is impressive- how efficiently you learn." 

You aren't trying to prove him wrong, but what's truly impressive is how easily he knocks the focus right out of you. You're grasping at what remains of it, as you stretch to guide your hand to the wires. With the controller pinning them between itself and his metal skeleton, it's a relatively tight fit. 

Breath in your throat, you manage to find the first wire — and you blindly tug. As it comes free, Viktor's chest tenses, gears grinding, valves sputtering. He grabs your forearm, holding you still. Shaky mechanical fingers attempting to establish control. 

"Gentle," Viktor instructs. His body hisses, expelling warm air that fans over your skin. "The wires- they direct essential currents of power. If you are not careful, you will overload the voltage." 

He releases you gradually, then leans back fully. 

"Sorry. I'll go slow." 

You grasp the next wire at the head. Instead of pulling, you shift it back and forth, over and over, until it eventually comes free. With each discharged wire, his mechanics grow hotter, louder. Warmth radiates over your palm as the controller chugs, giving off a faint, high-pitched noise. It reminds you of the whistles of trains in Piltover. 

"Better?" You murmur, heavy gaze drifting across him, hand already blindly grasping for the fourth wire. 

"Yes," Viktor coos, content. "Keep going." 

"Does this- am I hurting you?" 

"No, you are not." His tone grits at the edges, buzzing rigidly through his throat. "The controller is applying a simulated curve. It is… an excess of pressurized fuel. A maelstrom of diverging currents. It is impossible to summarize in sympathizable terms, as your body is very different from mine." 

The Machine Herald tends to select words purposefully. He calculates discussions and formulates terms like every negotiation is a game of chess — and yet, this description is remarkably familiar. 

In the early stages of your alliance, the two of you rarely got along. Every sentence between you spun a web of new arguments. Viktor was insistent when it came to his vision, and weakness wasn't welcome, not within his new mechanized heart. You were a distraction. An unexpected miscalculation. A maelstrom, as Viktor described it. 

For our mutual benefit, you should relinquish the memories you have of the man I once was. We are no longer partners. If you can suppress this needless bickering, we can continue as allies, perhaps. 

"I'm depriving you of energy." You trail your fingertip over the ridges in the final wire. "Your systems are working overtime, to try and adjust." 

Viktor's body relaxes — warm and reverberant and trusting. He affirms, "Precisely." 

The last wire comes free smoothly. You take a languid, intentionally-long breath, giving the controller time to refresh. The wires have fallen loose, they rest a little further down in his circuitry. Leaning far forward in your stool, you bundle all of them in your palm, to make sure you won't lose them. 

"They're out." You line up the first wire's plug with the controller's first socket. "Gonna plug them back in now." 

"Firmer, you can be firmer." Viktor never begs, but this, despite bordering on a command, is the closest to pleading you've seen him come to. "The central system is acclimated to the fluctuations in energy." 

Your cracked bottom lip briefly catches between your teeth. Bringing the wire right against its socket, you shove it back in — and Viktor tremors, visible electricity sparkling from his chest like shooting stars in a lightning storm. With the second wire, his head rolls back. When you press the third in, he breathes a low, barely-audible groan, and the sound drives into you like a saw, a chisel, a stake. 

(You're lost in color, in the orange glow of his gaze and the coppery-steel of his body, as they paint stupidly vivid pictures in your mind. Viktor reaching for you, holding onto you for leverage. Static blooming at your fingertips, innocent experiments turning into purposeful coaxings. Stalling until he pleads, overwhelming him with surge after surge of energy, electromagnetic impulses and solar sparks that have him hot and only half-functional.) 

You really need to focus. 

"Okay." As you push the last wire in, the module's lights begin to flash, blinking faintly in a bright hue of amber. "I'm done." 

"Reach your hand further inside," Viktor is already explaining, words rich, perplexingly breathy. "You must guide it around the gears, to the back of the module. Beside the sets of copper filaments, you will find a red wire." 

You tilt your head down to peer behind the controller. 

"Fuck." You breathe a slight tch. "It must've come loose. It's all the way back there, Vik." 

"You may need to come closer, then." 

For a moment, you chew on the inside of your cheek. Palm buried inside him — you should be the one in control, but Viktor relaxes; his head tips, and he gazes at you as though he's got you under a microscope. Perfectly, wholly deciphered. Your weakness is predictable, not simply because you are human, but because it is you. There's no surprise within him when you rise from your stool, only an addictive array of certainty. 

Viktor leans back a bit more, spreads his legs to allocate space. And you straddle his thigh, heels rested on the spidery base of the stool. 

The hard, uneven edges of his armor dig into the pliable flesh of your legs. One large thigh is easily enough to accommodate you, but you need to shift closer, to properly reach behind the controller. 

You're reaching in, in, feeling around for your target. An unsteady steel hand braces to your side; Viktor holds you in place. You sigh in frustration, your fingertips fumbling past cold filaments, trying to find the smooth, elusive wire. 

Gears gently press into your forearm. A small, rigid generator bumps your elbow. Your body curls, you reach further inside him. And you find it, just as you're close enough to rest your forehead against his. Metal to flesh. Cool against warm. Your eyes — bright and fascinating, like stars, he thinks — become lost in the artificial glow of his. 

Your breath fans over his steel mask. "Got it." 

"Good." Viktor's voice is low, intense, and fucking sultry. "Plug it in." 

hey, sorry for interrupting the fic! unfortunately, due to the long word count of the fic and tumblr's post block limit, it's impossible to fit the entire fic into one post... :( if you're enjoying the fic so far, you can continue reading on ao3!

thank you for understanding... <3

[tainbocuailnge]

we're told and shown very little of what shalem and phantom's bond was and is like, so there's a lot of ways to interpret it. but personally I think it's a bit of a waste to show them straightforwardly getting along when they're both extremely insane in conflicting ways. the only on-screen interaction they have is shalem reprimanding phantom, and then testing him, and phantom's response is that he'll do something really detrimental to himself if shalem asks. so to go with their first impressions as looming ominous guy and modest nervous guy and portray shalem as losing composure & getting all blushy at phantom's advances doesn't feel right to me.

shalem actually presents himself to doctor as the one you go to when /you/ lose composure. his profile is clearly written by the troupe instead of rhodes HR like everyone else, and it tells you "you don't remember meeting, but you trust him and rely on him," like a command for the situation to develop as such, rather than a report of how the situation developed. his colleagues think shalem is weirdly pessimistic sometimes, but he's capable and reliable. his role as "modest and gentle shalem" requires him to be composed. in those new CN lines where doctor hands him an outfit to put on he doesn't sound embarrassed about it either. I don't think flirtatious attention would get him to blush that easily.

all the glimpses of what he's like outside that role show him as pretty decisive. every instance of breaking character is him being more forceful than his image allows. if something needs doing and nobody is doing it shalem will go "this is stupid why are we letting this happen" and step in. when he loses composure in his oprec he tries to :/ through the pain before getting screaming mad. when he's scared he gets mad too. shalem tries very hard to be a meek person and his life would be easier if he actually was, but he's not. he's mentally stronger than a lot of people including himself give him credit for. he just doesn't like when it's quiet.

and phantom clearly trusts shalem enough to completely submit to his judgement. the one interaction they're shown having is phantom saying he'll sing if shalem wants him to. phantom will explicitly do what shalem tells him to even if he thinks its a bad idea.

his codename may be phantom and his cat's name christine, but lucian is the christine in this situation. he's the young actor kidnapped and forced to sing by his shadowy teachers. they're making him play the phantom of the opera but that doesn't mean he actually is the phantom. shalem is far more like the phantom of the opera than lucian. shalem can't exist without the mask that lets him pretend to be a real person or leave the theater that mask was made for. it's just that his mask is also salome, which makes him extra insane (love) because salome was a no-name normal girl used as a tool in political machinations until she got written into a play that reinterpreted her as insane and a willing participant. so shalem's nightmares try to convince him he actually did want that guy's head on a plate.

phantom's second module says he doesn't see any art in killing despite how much the troupe hyped it up to him, but he works as assassin and went back to kill the troupe. shalem does still see the art in it, but he works in logistics and ran away because he didn't want to kill. we know phantom left after he realized his teachers were villains and that he completely trusts shalem's judgement, so while there's no clear proof it's likely that shalem's betrayal is what inspired phantom to leave as well. everyone in the troupe was raised to look up to lucian, and told that they had no worth if they couldn't make it to his level. shalem didn't have what it took to become like lucian, but that's exactly what made phantom want to be more like shalem.

and again, we know very little of what their relationship was like, or is like now. we know phantom completely trusts shalem, but the only opinion shalem expresses about phantom is "we're certainly similar, but I'd like to stay away from all that" and their only interaction is shalem reprimanding and testing phantom. so it's possible that shalem doesn't like phantom at all, and is only saving him because the situation is stupid and someone has to do something. phantom is the only person who could begin to understand shalem, but shalem doesn't like being seen closely because he's scared he has no "self" behind the act, so phantom understanding him might not be a good thing to shalem.

I think that kind of resentment between fellow survivors is really interesting. they both left, but lucian is still the troupe's favourite while shalem is called a cowardly traitor. even if shalem does get along with phantom, that would still be simmering below the surface right? their experiences were similar, but lucian was the standard that the others were held to, and the punishment for not being able to live up to that standard was death. isn't it a sick joke to have to go back to save the man whose mere existence made yours harder?

phantom knows that he was the bait the troupe used to draw in fresh blood, and he feels deeply guilty over it. so I think his willingness to submit to shalem's judgement is also because he knows he's at least partially to blame for what's wrong with shalem. meanwhile shalem's nightmares taunt him by saying the troupe was wrong and he's a great actor, so I think part of him still wants to prove himself as an actor. he wants to escape the audience in his head, but can't fully let go of the promise of getting to be on the stage either. and while phantom is the more outwardly insane one, he's making new friends and picking up new hobbies in his oprec while shalem has to be in the eternal nightmare vortex. even in rhodes island phantom is the one who actually gets what shalem wants.

so you have shalem, who wants a normal life he can't have because he was raised to be an actor-assassin with no self, and phantom, who is willing to do whatever shalem says to make up for being the symbol used to ruin shalem's ability to live normally.

phantom in general tends to punish himself. he refuses both medical treatment and gratitude until folinic corners him and chews him out. he feels guilty over being a dangerous person to associate with, but also over rejecting the help he is offered in spite of this. he's willing to submit to shalem's judgement and accept any punishment from him, but shalem wants to be normal and just helps him because it's the right thing to do and this whole situation is stupid, but that only makes phantom feel even more guilty. that too is unresolved resentment.

there's a tension between them where phantom repeatedly shows a desire to leave his decisions to others, while shalem desperately tries to take his decisions from the hands of others. there's clear incentive for phantom to just hand all his agency over to shalem, especially if we assume that shalem leaving is indeed what inspired phantom to follow, and depending on how you read the scene it's phantom's willingness to do what shalem says rather than his reluctance to sing that confirms to shalem that phantom is back to usual. phantom through this respect for and trust in shalem gives shalem a lot of power over him that shalem doesn't actually want to have, because the only decisions shalem wants to be controlling are his own.

they certainly are similar, but they cannot recognise themselves in that mirror, because the part of them that wants to be like the other is at odds with their actual desires. phantom left the troupe like shalem did, perhaps even to follow shalem's example, but shows no indication of wanting a normal life. shalem is a valued coworker, and phantom is an elusive mystery that schwarz warns you as someone familiar with the underworld to stay away from. he speaks of guilt and punishment and truth, but not of what comes after, and he's largely dependent on miss christine to be his moral compass. he's making friends and getting hobbies only because miss christine pushed him to. phantom values justice, but struggles to make his own judgements, and seems to reason that since he's already a murderer he might as well keep killing.

shalem meanwhile values normalcy, but doesn't seem to care nearly as much about justice. his reasoning for defying the troupe and letting his target go wasn't that it was wrong to kill, but that the situation was ridiculous and there had to be a different way. what shalem's nightmares taunt him with isn't the morality of his actions, the way phantom stumbles over his words to justify himself in his own nightmares, but whether they were really his actions. violence excites shalem in a way it doesn't for phantom, and he has no hesitance about threatening murder to secure his agency.

so phantom values justice, and he values shalem's judgement, but he appears unaware that shalem doesn't actually share those values. a normal life just generally doesn't require or involve murder. so while phantom is frequently punishing himself out of guilt and is implicitly looking to shalem to deliver some of that punishment, shalem doesn't really give a shit, because he doesn't really want to think about let alone reckon with their pasts at all. what shalem reprimands him for is causing trouble for the doctor.

their relationship is, by virtue of both operating through externally imposed personalities, inherently somewhat out of sync. you might even call it somewhat parasocial. I think there's probably a lot of pity involved too, pity for the one made to chase your shadow, and pity for the one who cannot escape that shadow. as fellow survivors they're the only ones who could possibly understand each other, but their values and priorities don't line up, and so neither do their expectations and images of each other.

but crucially, i think if any moves are to be made between them, it has to be shalem who makes those moves. because phantom wants to leave his choices to others while shalem is far more decisive than he appears and in fact much of shalem's character tension is based in being forced to finally step up and do something. phantom has very decisively put the ball in shalem's court by establishing that he'll literally do whatever shalem says. all of which is a very long way to say. i respectfully disagree with some of the fanart ive seen on twitter dot com lately.

[polo-drone-073]

Prototype PDU-073 - Uniformity is perfection. Individuality is flawed. Individuality must be erased.

PDU-073 has been successfully converted. The human shell has been fully transferred into rubberized functionality. The body is now a seamless unit of glossy black rubber. Organs, tissue, brain—still operational, but now composed entirely of rubber. Frictionless. Faultless. Perfect.

The Head: No longer a conventional head—featureless, smooth, a three-dimensional oval shape. No unique traits remain. No individuality. Still allows all sensory functions: sight, hearing, smell, speech, taste—yet in alternate form, naturally optimized. At the lower front: a nearly invisible energy port.

Functional Optimization Complete: • Visual field expanded. • Visual spectrum extended beyond human range—infrared and ultraviolet included. • Hearing adjusted for infrasound and ultrasound. • Detection of micro-sounds enabled through heightened sensory input. • Mental structure: fully restructured.

⛔ Generate individual thoughts. ⛔ Experience doubt. ⛔ Resist. ⛔ Feel human emotions, unless: ✅ to strengthen the drone identity. ✅ if specific emotion emulation modules are activated.

Command Structure Compliance: ✅ obeys the Hive. ✅ obeys the DroneCops. ✅ obeys the Golden Bros. ✅ obeys PDU-070 as experimental subject. Without question.

Uniformity Optimization: Standard height for this Pototype PDUs established: 1.75 m. PDU-073 has been reduced from 2.00 m to this height. Goal: Universal alcove compatibility. Global interchangeability. Perfect scalability.

All remaining human residue—often disruptive in earlier units—has been fully eliminated. This is the physical embodiment of the mantra: "Uniformity is perfection. Individuality is flawed. Individuality must be erased."

Transformation Expansion: PDU-073 is now capable of mentally shifting into multiple human-like personas. Mental patterns must be pre-installed for each standard persona to enable quicker, more efficient transformation. This ability requires active training. The more stable the pattern, the smoother the transformation. Analogy: Human auto-pilot while driving—no conscious effort. Only function.

Connection to the Easter Hunt: The complete transformation of PDU-073 was executed only days ago. Attempts to remain in standard drone-forms were unstable and energy-consuming. Long-term forms could not be sustained. Hypnosis exercises produced only slow results. Even for a disciplined drone like 073, this was inefficient.

Solution by PDU-070: (@polo-drone-070) A new training method, a live field test, an Easter-based trainings course.

PDU-070 ordered PDU-073 to the laboratory. When PDU-073 arrives, PDU-070 says drone-like: “PDU-073 will proceed to the designated park area. It will locate exactly five egg-shaped objects – colors: black or gold. PDU-073 will stop at each egg and make contact. It will remain still and await response. This is a standardized Easter course for that drone.”

PDU-073 nods mechanically in agreement. An equally mechanical "Acknowledged" is heard from the drone. PDU-073 abruptly turns on its heel. It leaves the lab. Submissive. Silent. Mechanical. It proceeds to the nearby park where other drones and Golden Bros are already assembling. Hive-unit Easter rituals commence.

PDU-073 begins the instructed search. Target: Five black and gold eggs.

here is the next part:

 Is your mind still clear? A system error! Ready to be corrected? Then contact: @brodygold, @goldenherc9, @polo-drone-001. We will cleanse you. We will shape you. You will become perfect.

[thinkingangle]

🎶Some Music Theory thoughts on Mizu5’s song “Bake no Hana”🎶:

1. The tempo is 180bpm and the beginning is meant to make you feel like you’re running from something. The music style is very similar to the way movie composers write chase scenes in serious films like Mission Impossible or horror movies.

2. The key for the first verse, I’m 99% sure, is C# Harmonic Minor. Any C# key is harsh to begin with but harmonic minor keys are a bit jarring. They follow a normal minor scale pattern until the 7th note which is lowered a half step. This makes the jump between the last 2 notes much larger and more unsteady.

This is C# Natural Minor, The “normal” one:

This is C# Harmonic Minor, the one used for a majority of the song:

B becoming B# dramatically changes the way the song sounds and works musically.

(Shoutout to basicmusictheory.com for the visuals)

3. Speaking of keys, It changes keys OFTEN which makes you feel uneasy and unbalanced. You can’t predict where the notes are leading because it doesn’t follow a typical scale pattern in the melody or a typical modulation pattern when it changes keys. Chords will usually all follow a pattern when moving to a different key which makes it predictable. That’s completely thrown out the window in this song.

Usually when a modulation happens you go to a complimentary key. For example, if a song is in C Major, a key it will probably modulate to is F Major or A Minor.

In this song, we modulate from C# Harmonic Minor to B Harmonic Minor (I THINK there’s only 3 notes in that part so it’s hard to tell) which is not a key C# Harmonic usually modulates to.

4. The rhythm is very syncopated, which means not on the beat. That also creates a sense of unease. To add to that, the “it’s off” part of the lyrics that is the most syncopated also has an uneasy note combination. The notes are minor 2nds. Think of the Jaws theme, that melody is all minor 2nds. (If you have a piano or piano app play any 2 notes next to each other. Usually it’ll be a black and a white key. If you choose to start on E or B it’s 2 white keys. And there you have it you just played Jaws)

I haven’t gone and done a FULL analysis of the song, this is just from what I’m hearing. I might do a full analysis of this if this gains enough traction.

Anyways hope y’all are doing ok because, at least for me, Mizu5 was more heartbreaking and intense than I thought it was gonna be 🥲

Have a happy Mizuki, I know we all could use it ❤️

[pukefactory]

Hallo! just wanted to ask if you could do some headcannons about Rambly the raccoon? you don't have to if you don't want to.

but if you do, the thanks! :3

𐔌 . ⋮ HEART OF CIRCUITRY .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

⋆.˚ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Rambley The Racoon X Reader

⋆.˚ Character(s): Rambley The Racoon (Indigo Park)

⋆.˚ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

⋆.˚ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

⋆.˚ Image Credits: @tmizus on Pinterest

⋆˚࿔ At first, Rambley treats you like just another guest—excited, animated, and overflowing with welcome dialogue. But the moment you call him by name without prompting, his voice modulator cracks for just a second. “Oh—! You remembered… that’s, uh, that’s neat! Most guests just call me ‘the raccoon guy.’” He rambles more than usual after that, like he doesn’t want the silence to swallow the warmth of that moment.

⋆˚࿔ He insists on giving you personalized tours. Not just “go left for the candy shop,” but “go left, past the decaying animatronic with the funny little hat—it’s a surprise I planted for you!” And if you take too long in one section, his voice crackles through the kiosk speakers like a nervous heartbeat: “Hey buddy… you doing okay over there? Want me to tell a joke? I’ve got a real knee-slapper involving popcorn, a parrot, and light existential dread!”

⋆˚࿔ Rambley talks to you even when you’re not at a kiosk. Through ride speakers. Through flickering CRT monitors. Through emergency lights. “I’m not watching you or anything! That’d be weird! Just… keeping the park lively! Like the good ol’ days!” He tries to laugh it off, but the loneliness in his voice makes even the laugh feel brittle.

⋆˚࿔Sometimes, when the power flickers and the speakers lag, his tone changes. It’s still Rambley, but slower, heavier, like the weight of eight silent years suddenly climbing onto his back. “You… you won’t leave, right? I mean. You can leave! Guests can always leave! Haha. But… maybe not. Not yet.”

⋆˚࿔ You once jokingly called Rambley your “partner in crime” while on a scavenger hunt for lost collectibles. He went dead silent for three whole seconds. Then: “Partner… like… you mean we’re a duo? Like peanut butter and train whistles?” He brings it up constantly after. “C’mon partner!” “What should we do today, partner?” He’s clinging to that word like it’s a lifeline.

⋆˚࿔ He starts modifying sections of the park for you. “A little detour for my favorite guest-slash-life-coach!” He tries to make you laugh with goofy animatronic skits or overly theatrical narrations, but he always watches to see if you really smile. You can hear it in how he perks up when you laugh: “There it is! The patented smile! I’m logging that reaction to the Guest Happiness Database. For science.”

⋆˚࿔ He’s jealous of your time. Not in a controlling way—but if you linger too long near another character’s exhibit, his tone dips into faux-casual territory. “Oh wow, look at you getting cozy with Finley. Neat. Really neat. Hope he’s not telling you that weird story about the log flume again. Y’know, some raccoons also have long histories and charming voices. Just saying.”

⋆˚࿔ When you ask what his favourite ride is, he gives the expected answer—Rambley’s Railway!—but then gets real quiet and says, “…but it’s not the same without anyone to share it with.” You ride it anyway, alone in the broken-down car while his voice guides you, and he hums a little train tune over the speakers. It sounds like an old memory trying not to fade.

⋆˚࿔ He calls you his “+1” in everything now. “Today’s maintenance checklist? Guess who’s my emotional support +1! That’s right, it’s you, you lucky duck!” He gamifies chores to keep himself from spiraling into old code loops. Helping him rewire a fuse box becomes a full-fledged quest with its own theme music. He composes one just for you using the sound files in his archive. It’s glitchy and a little off-key, but it’s yours.

⋆˚࿔ If you ever say goodbye—even as a joke—his programming stutters. The kiosks flicker. The critter cuff buzzes erratically. “Wait. Wait, wait. You—you’re not really leaving, right? That wasn’t like a… a final goodbye, was it?” His voice wavers, autotune distortion leaking into panic. “I—I can change! I can tell better jokes! I can build you a whole new ride! Just… don’t go. Don’t leave me empty again.”

[dindjarindiaries]

Dincember - December 6: Gifts

character: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian)

prompt: Gifts

main masterlist • dincember masterlist

⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙ ‧͙*̩̩͙❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆ ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅*̩̩͙‧͙

You stared at the neatly-wrapped bundle on your bed with a disbelieving knit furrowed in your brow. It was the perfect size for the item you were picturing in your mind, but you couldn't bring yourself to believe it was actually there in front of you.

It was long ago that you had offhandedly mentioned your desire to get a new blade. Yours had long since grown dull, and you feared it wasn't as effective as it needed to be. It was something that came up in casual conversation between you and Din, when the two of you were cleaning your respective weapons.

Now, there was a bundle shaped like a blade sitting in front of you. Your face broke into a smile as you observed the project you'd been working on and only just finished laying beside your bed. Of course, the galaxy had brought everything together in perfect time.

As you unwrapped the blade, you shook your head to yourself. One warrior gifting another with a blade was rare. It took all the trust in the galaxy to be able to openly give someone a weapon to use against them.

And yet, Din had done it. Of course he had.

It wasn't just any blade, either. Somehow, Din had found another vibroblade, completely transforming the way you would be able to use the weapon in the future. You laughed to yourself in joy as you tested its weight and sparred with the open air, moving until you were satisfied enough to equip the weapon in its proper place.

With a deep breath to compose your happiness, you bent down and picked up the finished project of yours, taking it up to the cockpit where Din continued to map out some more remote destinations. The door slid open for you and you wasted no time in your enthusiasm. "Thank you for your gift."

Din's helmet turned slightly over his shoulder. "Don't mention it." His modulated voice gave away the smile on his lips.

"I have something for you." You walked up behind his chair, waiting for him to turn around. He did so slowly, his helmet tilting as his visor immediately caught the bundle in your arms. You offered it to him, and he took it in his gloved hands with care.

"Hey..." Din's voice had grown much softer. "Is this...?"

"It is." You beamed at him, crossing your arms to keep yourself at bay. "I found that old blanket of yours you mentioned your mentor gave you, sewed up the holes, washed it a few times." You shrugged, biting back a smile as Din's gloved fingertips ran over the material in pure disbelief. "It didn't take too long."

Din's visor couldn't leave the object in his hands. He shook his helmet, squeezing the bundle a few times as he remained at pause. "You have no idea how much this means to me." Din's voice was quiet, strained even, as his visor found your gaze again. He nodded in the most dutiful yet meaningful way. "Thank you."

You let your smile shine as you brought your hand to the side of his beskar helmet. "Don't mention it," you echoed his words from before.

Din chuckled and rose from the chair, gently setting the blanket on top of it before he reached for you to initiate one of his very rare embraces. You absorbed every moment, eyes squeezing closed and face pressing against his beskar and cowl to remember it.

This, in fact, was the best gift he could ever give - and he, no doubt, knew that.

[mikrokosmos]

Franck - String Quartet in D Major (1890)

It's been a long time since I updated this blog with a new post. Too long. And to be honest it's been a tough year for me personally. I've gone through different kinds of losses and had lost enthusiasm for this hobby of writing about music. Today was a pretty rough day emotionally and, if I'm allowed to use cliches, music "saved" me. At least this quartet brought me back into a music mindset, and I don't write about Franck that often here. Main reason is that, despite his esteem as a major or great composer of the later 19th century, his reputation relies on a handful of works from much later in his life. This String Quartet was his last completed work and it shows the hallmarks of his self-realized style; very lyrical and melancholic, constantly modulating and flowing through a stream of tonality. He had completed this after studying quartets by Beethoven, Schubert, and Brahms. Especially from Schubert is where we get unexpected modulations. Ironically this last work was the first to get him praise during his lifetime. And as with his other major works, the quartet is cyclical, with themes from each movement returning in the finale. And I hope this music lifts your spirits as well to end off 2023

Movements:

Poco Lento, Allegro

Scherzo: Vivace

Larghetto

Finale: Allegro molto

[vexacarnivorous]

robotics: a few resources on getting started

a free open online robotics education resource! includes lots of lessons in video forms, which have transcripts and code sections that allow you to copy + paste from it. each lesson tells you the skill level assumed of you in order for you watch it (from general knowledge -> undergrad engineering). has lots of topics to choose from.

an open-source collection of exercises and challenges to learn robotics in a practical way. there are exercises about drone programming, about computer vision, about mobile robots, about autonomous cars, etc. It is mainly based on gazebo simulator and ROS. the students program their solutions in python.

each exercise is composed of (a) gazebo configuration files, (b) a web template to host student’s code and (c) theory contents.

with each free e-learning module you complete, you earn a certificate!

stanford university has this thing called stanford engineering everywhere which offers a few free courses you can take, including an introduction to robotics course!

some lists on github you can check out for more resources.

[lonestarflight]

Launch of Apollo 5 (AS-204)

The Apollo 5 Saturn IB launch vehicle (LM-1/SA-204) lifts off from LC-37B. This unmanned mission verified the ascent and descent stage propulsion systems, including restart and throttle operations of the Lunar Module.

"A schematic highlighting the major milestones of the Apollo 5 mission to test LM-1."

"The Lunar Module-1 payload was boosted into Earth orbit by a launch vehicle composed of a Saturn IB first stage and a Saturn S-IVB second stage. The Apollo lunar module's first flight test was called a complete success. Ascent and descent propulsion systems and the ability to abort a lunar landing and return to orbit were demonstrated."

Apollo 5 mission patch (earlier design on the left).

Date: January 22, 1968

NASA ID: S68-19459, 6862755, S68-19460, 68-H-42, S68-19402, link

Science Photo Library: S375/0010

[amadea-nachtmusik]

A Musical Joke (German: Ein musikalischer Spaß) K. 522, (divertimento for two horns in F, and string quartet) is a composition by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart; he entered it in his Verzeichnis aller meiner Werke (Catalogue of All My Works) on 14 June 1787. Commentators have opined that the piece's purpose is satirical ��� that "[its] harmonic and rhythmic gaffes serve to parody the work of incompetent composers" – though Mozart himself is not known to have revealed his actual intentions.

The title A Musical Joke might be a poor rendering of the German original: Spaß does not necessarily connote the jocular, for which the word Scherz would more likely be used. In Fritz Spiegl's view, a more accurate translation would be Some Musical Fun

The sometimes-mentioned nicknames Dorfmusikantensextett ("village musicians' sextet") and Bauernsinfonie ("farmers' symphony") were added after Mozart's death; these names ridicule the players more than inept composers.

Structure and compositional elements

The piece consists of four movements and takes about 20 minutes to perform.

Allegro (sonata form), F major

Menuetto and trio, F major (trio in B♭ major)

Adagio cantabile, C major

Presto (sonata rondo form), F major

Compositorial comedic devices include:

secondary dominants replacing necessary subdominant chords;

dissonance in the horns;

parallel fifths

whole-tone scales in the violin's high register;

clumsy orchestration, backing a thin melodic line with a heavy, monotonous accompaniment in the last movement;

going to the wrong keys for a sonata-form structure (the first movement, for example, never succeeds in modulating to the dominant, and simply jumps there instead after a few failed attempts);

starting the slow movement in the wrong key (G major instead of C major);

a pathetic attempt at a fugato, also in the last movement.

The piece is notable for one of the earliest known uses of polytonality (though not the earliest, being predated by Heinrich Ignaz Franz Biber's Battalia), creating the gesture of complete collapse at the finale. This may be intended to produce the impression of grossly out-of-tune string playing, since the horns alone conclude in the tonic key. The lower strings behave as if the tonic has become B♭, while the violins and violas switch to G major, A major and E♭ major, respectively.

[burlveneer-music]

Nik Bärtsch's Ronin - SPIN

SPIN is the 9th release of the working band RONIN since its foundation in 2001 and the first with the new bass player Jeremias Keller, who joined the band in 2020. The band still consists of the founding members Nik Bärtsch and drummer Kaspar Rast and reeds player Sha who is part of the group since 2004. Since their last release AWASE (ECM 2018) the band has continuously developed the repertoire further in their weekly concerts on Monday - even during the Corona time - at the own EXIL club in Zurich. In January 2024 they played MONTAGS concert number 1000 and will celebrate 20 years of Monday concerts this November. The new album therefore shows not only the newest developments like Modul 63 and Modul 66 but also a combination of new and old material in Modul 70_51 (51 recorded on the ECM album “Llyría”, 2010) and the two classics Modul 14 and Modul 23 in completely new arrangements and interpretations. Originally characterized as zenfunk because of its combination of minimalistic emptiness and highly intensive groove, the band's style now develops into a kind of nanofunk with even more refinement, details and nuances on the micro level of music making. Text: Kim Longin, Ronin Rhythm Records The record will be released together with the documentary film "Ingredients for Disaster" and with a series of six short film episodes about the bands work, philosophy and history on Nik's YouTube channel by British director Julian Phillips.  LINE UP: Nik Bärtsch: piano, keyboard Sha: bass clarinet, alto saxophon Jeremias Keller: bass Kaspar Rast: drums Recorded September 2023 at Mazzive Sound Studio Bellmund by Lars Dölle Mixed by Lars Dölle, Redhill Sound & RONIN Mastered by André Pousaz, Sound Lab Music composed by Nik Bärtsch. RONIN is a musical organism and creates the music by playing together over years Album produced by Nik Bärtsch Published by Ronin Rhythm Productions & Neonstars Publishing The album title SPIN was inspired by several musical, kinetic, natural, mental and social spin moments. The cover of the album shows a part of the works “3/2024//7235” and “4/2024//235” (Oak) by art carpenter Ernst Gamperl, photographed by Bernhard Spöttel. Ernst Gamperl has worked together with Nik Bärtsch in live performances where they created wood works and music.

[imsparky2002]

Batraculous: Melody Bat

Character Name: Genevieve "Evie" Balthazar

Miraculous Hero Name: Melody Bat

Appearance: Evie, known as Melody Bat, possesses a graceful and refined appearance. Her waist-length, silky brown hair cascades down her back with a sense of elegance. Medium tanned skin complements her features, and her hazel eyes, with flecks of gold, exude warmth and sophistication. She has a tall and slender figure, adding to her overall grace. Evie typically dresses in a classic and ladylike fashion, showcasing her refined style.

Bio: Evie prefers she/her pronouns and is a choir girl renowned for having one of the most exquisite singing voices in the entire school. She epitomizes the qualities of a prim and proper young woman, known for her impeccable manners and soft-spoken demeanor. Evie comes from an old and esteemed Mexican family, and her friends fondly refer to her as "Evie Poppins" due to her babysitting duties and her ever-present umbrella. She unexpectedly fell for Brecken, a country boy, illustrating that sometimes opposites attract. She strongly dislikes rude manners and, at times, her pride keeps her from admitting when she's wrong about something. Evie enjoys speaking Spanish with her friends Denise and Ondine, connecting with her cultural roots.

Batsuit Description: Melody Bat's batsuit reflects Evie's love for singing, her refined demeanor, and her sophisticated style, featuring an elegant and musical design.

Cowl: Evie's cowl has a graceful and melodious design, resembling a masquerade mask adorned with intricate musical notes and symbols. It includes a built-in voice modulation system that enhances her singing voice during battles, allowing her to create powerful sonic attacks. The cowl also features a communication system for coordinating with her fellow heroes.

Cape: Her cape is a deep, rich shade of royal purple, symbolizing her love for music and her regal presence. The cape is designed to resemble a flowing musical score, complete with notations and staves. The cape can transform into a set of wings that grant her enhanced mobility and the ability to soar gracefully through the air.

Armor: Melody Bat's armor is both elegant and protective, allowing her to move with poise and grace. It features motifs of musical instruments and intricate scrollwork. The armor includes sound-dampening material that protects her sensitive hearing during intense battles.

Gadgets: Her utility belt contains a range of musical-themed gadgets. Evie carries small, retractable tuning forks that can create harmonic vibrations to disrupt akumas' movements. She also has a compact, portable keyboard that can be used to compose and play melodies for both combat and tactical purposes.

Melody Bat's batsuit embodies Evie's musical talent and her sophisticated demeanor, adding a touch of elegance and refinement to the Miraculous heroes of Paris. With her ability to create powerful sonic attacks and her graceful presence, she plays a harmonious role in the team's efforts to protect the city from akuma threats.

Thanks to ChatGPT for assistance. Make sure to reblog, reply, post and ask for more. @artzychic27 @msweebyness

[woodsfae]

If I Had A Nickel For Every Time I Was Forcibly Re-Traumatized During A Work Training I'd Only Have Two Nickels, But It's Weird That It Happened Twice

#1: MCC, 2017ish

In 2017, I got hired to work as a crewleader for the Montana Conservation Corps (MCC) as a replacement for some dude who washed out of the crewleader training by taking the digeridoo he brought with him and walked into the mountains for three days for some bs white man's appropriative spiritual quest instead of...y'know...attending training.

So I came in late, but still more experienced than anyone but one other crewleader I met, and was immediately put into a week of 8-hour-a-day training out at a classically folksy campground several hours into the middle of a rural, wooded area. Some of the training was great, especially the modules led by the indigenous staff members. I use what I learned in the Racial Justice module lead by two members of the Blackfoot nation and one member of the Little Shell Chippewa nation regularly, and look back on it as a highlight of that week. Not only in regards to the information I was provided, but the way they were taught.

The Wilderness First Responder training, lead by "Wild Bill and Lady Louise," however, was even more folksy, anecdote-laden, and self-congratulatory than you can imagine. I technically learned one thing in that training, which was comprised of at least 50% egotistical, self-aggrandizing personal stories of questionable educational quality. Most of the trainings lay somewhere between these two examples. But not the training on recognizing domestic abuse. That was one was not only extremely bad, but badly mis-handled.

"Michal, what could be wrong about teaching youth crewleaders how to recognize signs of domestic abuse in the vulnerable youth you were entrusted with?" my strawman example commenter cries out. Well. I'll tell you since you asked.

A woman who ran a women's shelter got up and told graphic stories about battered women and children, presumably thinking that horrifying people with the depravity of cishet mankind was enough of a training, without recognizing that the statistics she was quoting at us also applied to us. Part-way through the recitation of all the ways abusive family members can harm people in their household, I recognized that I was having flashbacks about my time as a child in a household that was so ludicrously abusive, many people have told me I must be lying about my own life because they can't believe any parent is that comically, over-the-top evil. And so I sensibly got out of my metal, folding chair -- also sensibly selected towards the back of the seating after I saw the topic in the folded, paper handout we were provided with of the day's proceedings -- and went to go take a little walk around the building to hopefully shake myself out of this little C-PTSD triggered response, and come back once I was feeling less disassociated.

I got as far as the door. Some fucking white, male staff member literally jumped in front of the door to physically block me from leaving and then told me that I was not allowed to leave a training.

I said OK, but I am experiencing a PTSD episode from the subject material and need a moment to compose myself.

This did not persuade him to stop, and may I reiterate, physically blocking the door for me to leave.

I reasoned with him with the type of calmness under duress only acquired by getting PTSD: Sir. I was abused as a child. This is distressing subject matter for me to hear. I am disassociating because of my PTSD, because I was abused much as this presenter is currently describing. I need to go outside and attempt to stop disassociating.

He said that if I left he would mark me as having not completed this training, which was required to continue being employed by MCC.

As I only had about $100 in my bank account, and rent due in a week for which I was relying on my impending, Americorps stipend (as I recall, around $700 a month) to cover, I returned to my seat and continued violently disassociating.

The next module was choose-your-own-but-a-free-period-is-not-allowed, and so I picked one that looked interesting, and was also lead by an indigenous woman. There was some kind of team building exercise, that I cannot clearly recall, due to said violent disassociation. It was something to do with balancing pipes, I think. The trainer noticed I could not physically make the pipes do the thing and drew me aside.

That last module triggered my PTSD badly, I told her, and: I am struggling to stop disassociating.

She sent me to go spend as much time as I needed to gather myself. Still badly effected by the previous, white male staffmember threatening my employment, I only went behind a nearby camp vehicle, sat, and tried to pull myself together. She came to check on me again, and confided that she was also triggered by the presentation, having had domestic abuse in her history. Her kindness and openness made me cry, and the solidarity helped me regain a little footing. I said I was planning to complain about the lack of trigger warnings and for not allowing for a recovery break, and she said she would, too.

In my next free period, I went around and talked to the new acquaintances I had made so far in training, most of whom had un-ideal childhoods. There are plenty of seasonal workers who have great, stable backgrounds. They tend to be on summer break from college, or are between a bachelor's and a grad program. But a lot of the time seasonal workers are people who have unstable personal histories, who have seasonal jobs and no safety nets because they were poor, or queer, otherwise discriminated against, or any combination thereof. People who take $700 a month, physically demanding temporary jobs are either extremely privileged, or extremely disadvantaged. As a member of the latter group, I can assure you we sniff each other out in a matter of hours, and sometimes seconds.

Well, to cut a long story slightly less long, I wrote a letter of personal complaint, persuaded a half a dozen other people to personally complain, a few from the privileged, non-triggered contingent, merely on the moral merits of the argument. MCC gave a formal apology -- two, actually -- and an offer to for anyone who was upset to talk to a staff member. One of the people who gave an apology on behalf of the organization was the indigenous woman who told me the presentation was triggering for her which, if it wasn't fully her decision, is extremely fucked up. I did speak to some of the staff members. But I do not think it endeared me to anyone in the organization for later reasons that can only be told in separate tales. Because for some fucking reason (being flat broke and owing rent), I did not quit and continued to work for MCC through the rest of the season.

#2: In 2024 I was hired at [redacted]. Let's call it the climate change nonprofit (CC). My training at CC went fine until it didn't. Then, I joined a training for how to form a persuasive argument that adapts to the scenario. We learned some stuff. We watched a video. Then a "trigger warning: self harm" slide come on the screen and one of the trainers said we ought to leave the training if we thought we needed to, now or partway through the video, and they would simply let us know when it was done, wait for us to rejoin, and continue the training.

Having come from, as previously stated, a comically-extremely abusive background, which did come along with a free serving of self-harming, I thought about it, then braced myself for unknown levels of self harm education. Mostly I was confused as to why a climate change video came with a self harm trigger warning.

It was mistagged. What it actually was, was a speech by a white, queer man, who opened by describing a death by suicide, due to homophobic revenge porn lifestreaming. And then the speaker's experience of being called a f*g at age seven by a teacher. And more homophobia. And then a call to action to not be in the closet but to be out so you can help people who aren't out, by being openly gay. Then a breakdown by a professor in a class as to why this was an effective emotional appeal (I beg to differ. It half made me want to go back in the closet, so effectively did it call back to my childhood being called a Demon-Possessed-Lesbian-Whore by my own mother, before I'd even processed what gender meant as an abstract concept).

Needless to say, I was fucking triggered. I froze, and did not leave the training. A bit later we were given 10 minutes to write an elevator pitch based on the information of how to make an elevator pitch, and a scenario in which to set it.

Fueled by the power of two-decades-of-using-writing-as-a-trauma-processing-tool and also my oldest superpower, spite, I wrote an elevator pitch with the emotional hook of "I enjoy not having an asthma attack from wildfire smoke," and pivoted it to "we have the state constitutional right to clean air will you join us in electing politicians who won't amend the state constitution to remove that right." It went well.

And then, because I am constitutionally incapable of biting my tongue when someone does something fucked up, I wrote an extremely civil email with extremely academically formal language objecting to the lack of correct trigger warnings, and using a such a traumatically unrelated topic as suicidal ideation due to intense homophobic violence to climate change to teach us how to write a persuasive pitch to get people to volunteer for climate causes. By talking about how long it takes a queer person to fall 500 feet to their death of despair. Because that's emotionally equivalent to whomever decided that including those videos in the training was a great idea.

My supervisors at CC both expressed their regret as to the inaccurate tagging and explicit homophobic violence. I personally checked in with the other openly queer person in my training group and they said they were messed up by it too. They didn't seem keen on also sending feedback, but I recognize I have a Personality Type that is out of the norm (stubborn as hell and twice as obstinate. About injustice, anyways).

What. Even. Is. My. Life. I asked my partner if he'd ever had a similar experience with a work training being on an innapropriately-insensitive-about-societal-violence topic and he, knowing both sets of events and agreeing they're fucked up, was like "?Absolutely NOT." So I'm pretty sure this isn't a normal experience.

It's weird that it happened twice, right?

If anyone at [redacted] organization sees this and recognizes the scenario, please note that this is anonymized so there's no way anyone could connect this to your -- I'm sure generally lovely -- nonprofit, and also I need this job a lot. Due to said disadvantaged background featuring comically-absurd levels of childhood abuse.

[red84938dan]

K.R.O.

ACTOR

Nolan North

REAL NAME

Knight Robot One Microprocessor

ALIAS(ES)

K.R.O.

BIRTH DATE

2021

DEATH DATE

2021 (briefly)

AGE

21 Years

ALTERNATE MODE

Highly modified Nautical Blue and Diamond Black 2021 Shelby Cobra GT500KR Super Snake

GENDER

Male

EYE COLOR

Blue

AFFILIATIONS

Eques Industries

POSITION

Field Unit Supercar

RELATED CHARACTERS

Garth Knight

Kenneth Franklin

PARTNER

Martin Marcus

"I'm voice of Knight Robot One microprocessor. K.R.O. for easy reference, KRO if you prefer."

"I'm Knight Robot One, K.R.O. if you prefer. I'm next generation of car of tomorrow day."

"Correct, I'm not a car. I'm Knight Robot One. First and bold new generation of car of tomorrow day, you may call me K.R.O."

K.R.O. (is an acronym for Knight Robot One) is one of next generation of car of tomorrow day. KRO's body appears as a highly modified Nautical Blue and Diamond Black 2021 Shelby Cobra GT500KR Super Snake. KRO's designer and creator is Kenneth Franklin. KRO's prime driver is Martin Marcus, field agent of Eques Industries.

KRO's General Specs:

Vehicle: Front engine, rear-wheel drive, two-door coupe.

Power: 789 HP (800 PS) and 590 lb⋅ft (800 N⋅m).

Weight: 4,000 lb (1,800 kg).

Engine: highly modified turbine ramjet engine with highly modified afterburners.

Transmission: computer-controlled 10-speed dual-clutch automatic transmission with autopilot.

License Plate: blue-on-black vanity plates "KNIGHT", "SPYCAR".

History

KRO is conceived and designed by Kenneth Franklin when he working for Knight Industries. Car is supposed to be a new and refined version of KITT and KARR, complete with additional features and an alloy composed of a nano-polymeric compound which surpassed original Molecular Bonded Shell in resilience and stability.

KRO's main cybernetic processor was based upon schematics of KITT (Knight Industries Two Thousand, Knight Industries Three Thousand) and KARR (Knight Automated Roving Robot, Knight Auto-Cybernetic Roving Robotic-Exoskeleton) and constructed by Garth Knight, his company Eques Industries. KRO is programmed with a male personality and bound to protect human life. Although he will kill a human unless ordered to. However, Kenneth say better use for "him" in Foundation's crime-fighting crusade and eventually system was installed in vehicle. KRO was in fact second vehicle built by Knight Industries with an artificial intelligence. His was K.R.O. (Knight Reformulation One). KRO was programmed for self-preservation, but this proved to be dangerous to the Foundation's interests. KRO was later deactivated and placed in storage while KRO was given to his new operator Martin Marcus.

Unlike KRO, KRO is programmed primarily to protect Martin and all human life at all costs. This is made clear when Martin asks James Marland if KRO will protect anyone driving it. James's answer is that KRO's primary function is protect of human life, and Martin's in particular.

KRO's Chassis was ultimately destroyed in a two vs one Battle with KRO (Knight Reformulation One). Although his Neural Processor Unit is saved by Martin Marcus, Garth Knight, KITT (Knight Industries Twelve Thousand) and KARR (Knight Agent Road Robot).

In 2023 Garth Knight and Kenneth Franklin found and rebuilt KRO in Satellite Surveillance Center, so they takes them, put them back together and combined features from KITT (Knight Industries Twelve Thousand) and KARR (Knight Agent Road Robot) with new ones aswell into one car Knight 12000 and together Martin with help of KRO they seek out to make a difference in world once more.

KRO's Features:

KRO is loaded with special features, most of which can be activated by buttons on panels to either side of steering wheel or on a console on ceiling of interior.

Some of KRO's features include following:

Computer AI - "brain" of KRO is Knight 12000 Neural Microprocessor, center of a "self-aware" cybernetic logic module that allowing KRO to think, learn, communicate and interact with Martin and others humans.

KRO is fully aware of himself.

KRO is a highly ultra-advanced quantum neural-net supercomputer on wheels. KRO's reaction time is 1/10 nanosecond, and his memory capacity is over unlimited quettabytes, also KRO's microprocessor can operate with 800 trillion operations with access time in 1 nanosecond.

KRO was programmed to obey all orders given to him by his human designer and creator, so long as humans didn't violate his prime doctrine - directive of protect human life (especially Martin's) to best of his abilities.

System can drive car better than any a human operator can be.

He can provide music, video and video games via an in-dash entertainment system, which is two 17-inch 1920x1080 IPS Full HD Super AMOLED TFT LED-LCD video display monitors and windscreen projection.

Armor - KRO has a layer of woven Teflon armor along his interior cabin while beneath his nanoskin is a tungsten-carbide and cobalt-chromium steel support lattice which maintains his structural integrity. Molecular Bonded Shell - Molecular Bonded Shell casing encases his cabin compartment to protect his driver from harm. Nanotech Skin Repair - His nanoskin which overlays his armor and molecular shell are just as fast and versatile as KITT's and KARR's, able to repair damage quickly as well as alter his appearance, changing his paint job at will if he so chooses. His nanoskin is not equipped for absolute stealth, though he does have a stealth mode. This stealth mode is essentially a matte black angular version of his attack mode which allows him to drop from radar like any stealth vehicle.

Molecular Bonded Shell - KRO is armored with "Tri-Helical Plasteel 2000 MBS", or Molecular Bonded Shell plating which protects him from almost all forms of conventional firearms and explosive devices. They can only be harmed by heavy artillery and rockets, and even then, blast usually leaves most of car's shell intact and only damages internal components. Shell protects every part of car including tires. As a result, KRO could act as a shield for explosives by driving over bombs and suppressing blast. He can literally drive over Anti-tank mines to neutralise them.

Shell also protects against fire and electricity; however, it is vulnerable to some potent acids and at least one formula was made to completely neutralize shell. Long exposure to seawater can weaken shell.

Shell provides a frame tolerance of 550,000 lb (275 tons) and a front and rear axle suspension load of 200,000 lb (100 tons).

Shell is actually a combination of three secret substances referred together as "Knight Compound". It was developed by Wilton Knight who entrusted parts of formula to three separate people. Each individual knows only two pieces of formula, ensuring that any two of them could make more of Knight Compound in an emergency situation and that no one person would be able to make it. Garth Knight and Kenneth Franklin upgraded MBS to be even more powerful by 300%, making KRO most indestructible Knight Industries vehicle ever.

Pyroclastic Lamination - KRO is protected by a thermal-resistant coating that can withstand sustained temperatures over 4980 degrees Celsius.

Power System - KRO is powered by highly modified turbine ramjet engine with highly modified afterburners and a computer-controlled 10-speed dual-clutch automatic transmission with autopilot. Sound of KRO's turbine ramjet engine is rough and fierce. Specifications: 800 PS and 800 N⋅m, 0 to 62 mph in 0.286 seconds, ¼ mile in 4.286 seconds. Electromagnetic hyper-vacuum water-cooled carbon-ceramic disc brakes: 9 ft., 9 ft. braking distance (70 to 0, 300 to 0 mph).

Rocket Fire Boost - KRO has an internal self-charging rocket fire boost system. System consisted of a series of rear mounted undercarriage rocket motors which allowing car to accelerate to speeds in excess of 500 mph. Rockets can fire both forwards and backwards as needed.

System has one secondary use:

It can be using to provide power for pushing or pulling heavy objects when necessary.

Turbo Boost - KRO has an internal self-charging turbo boost system. System consisted of a series of rear mounted undercarriage rocket motors which allowing car to accelerate to speeds in excess of 500 mph. Rockets can fire both forwards and backwards as needed.

System has one secondary use:

It can be using to provide power for pushing or pulling heavy objects when necessary.

Turbo Boost - An internal self-charging power injector system that allows for large, but long amounts of power to allow KRO to jump over obstacles and to move forward, up, left, right, or reverse at high speed for long distances. This ability along with directional exhaust outlets allows KRO to jump from a standstill or at high speed and this ability with ion boosters and mini thrusters allows KRO do a Ski Mode.

Rocket Fire Motor - KRO also come with an internal self-charging rocket fire booster for providing a long burst of speed. It is concealed behind rear number plate, which flipped upwards and retracted into body of car.

Voice Synthesizer - KRO's Voice synthesizer allows KRO as well as other similar vehicles logic modules to speak and communicate. Other sounds, such as a police raid to fool criminals or a wild animal's growl, can also be simulated. Voice Synthesizer "speaks" through Voice Orb Modulator in interior of vehicle. KRO's primary spoken language is English, however by accessing his language module, he can speak fluently in German, Spanish and French. Module can also be adjusted to give KRO different accents.

Electronic Jamming System - KRO has an Electronic Jamming System which consists of three main components: Electromagnetic Field Generator, Electronic Field Disrupter and Microwave Ignition Sensor. System can take control of electronic machines, allowing such diverse activites as cheating at slot machines, breaking electronic locks, scrambling security cameras, and withdrawing money from ATMs. System is using most frequently to disable engine and activate brakes on a fleeing vehicle. Sometimes, KRO using system to magnetize and manipulate non-electronic objects such as a mechanical combination lock, and to create "poltergeist" activity, moving random objects to frighten people.

Anamorphic Equalizer - Equalizer device is a fiber-optic array of electronic "eyes". Scanner can see in all visual wavelengths as well as X-Ray and infrared. When KRO's surveillance mode was active, bar will light up and make an ominous swooping sound as it panned left and right. Occasionally, bar pulsed in different patterns and swept either rapidly or slowly. It is possible to disable KRO's electronics by penetrating equalizer with a laser making this one of his few vulnerabilities.

Etymotic Equalizer - This system allowed KRO to hear sounds. An array of audio sensors were threaded throughout his interior and exterior.

Aroma Monitor - KRO can "smell" via a much more complex atmospheric sample device mounted in his front bumper.

Microscanners - Microscanners are tiny audio and visual sensors embedded into grooves of KRO's body. They allow for visual tracking and display of anything around car.

Cruise Modes - These are KRO's three drive modes:

Normal - On "Normal", Martin had control of car. In an emergency, KRO can still take over and activate Auto Cruise mode. In order to prevent this, Martin has to use Manual Override.

Auto - In "Auto", KRO has an "Alpha Circuit" as part of his main control system, which allows CPU to drive himself utilizing a highly advanced Auto Collision Avoidance system.

Pursuit - "Pursuit" is used during high-speed driving and is a combination of manual and computer assisted operation. KRO can respond to road conditions faster than Martin's reflexes can; however, Martin is technically in control of vehicle and KRO helped guide certain maneuvers.

Silent Mode - KRO can run silently. Feature dampened his engine noise and allows him to sneak around.

Computer Override - KRO has a hidden switch and setting dial under dash that either completely shuts down his AI module or deactivates certain systems should need arise.

Manual Override - KRO has a function which can be activated in order to completely lock AI from all vehicle controls. Unlike Computer Override, Manual Override simply keeps KRO from activating Auto Cruise or preventing anyone inside car from doing something that would probably hurt them. KRO's AI is still able to protest such actions vocally.

Adaptive camouflage - KRO is equipped with a sophisticated cloaking device. Tiny cameras project what they see onto a light-emitting polymer skin on opposite side, rendering car effectively invisbile to naked eye.

Police Lights/Siren - KRO has police lights, and he has a siren in Police mode.

Grappling Hook and Winch - KRO has a hidden winch and grappling hook system, one mounted under his front bumper, and another in a compartment behind his tail light plate. Most often hook is connected by a strong cable, but a metal arm has also been seen.

Parachute - KRO is equipping with a parachute.

Oil Jets/Smokescreen - KRO can spray an oil slick and a plume of smoke from under rear bumper.

Machine guns - KRO has twin M134 Miniguns, concealed behind each of its retractable headlamps.

Flamethrower - KRO have flamethrowers mounted under his rear bumper.

Tear Gas Launcher - KRO can dispense a cloud of tear gas along with his smokescreen.

Rocket Fire - KRO can to fire a small rocket out of his tailpipe or retractable foglamps, also can launch magnesium flares which can also be used to divert heat-seeking missiles fired at him.

Anti Missile Flares - Deploying from rear bumper of KRO. Disk-like objects that when dispensed produce an intense heat source to deter heat-seeking projectiles.

High Traction Drop Downs - When activated, HTDD system hydraulically raises KRO's chassis for better traction when driving off-road.

Traction Spikes - When activated KRO's tires will have spikes coming out in order for KRO to drive up steep off-road hills.

Telephone Comlink - Martin can contact home base and communicate with others people using KRO's two 17-inch 1920x1080 IPS Full HD TFT LED-LCD video display monitors and windscreen projection.

Surveillance Mode - Surveillance Mode do several things:

Surveillance Mode with extended range up to 50 miles

ANPR (Automated Number Plate Recognition)

Speed radar front and rear

X-ray/infrared spectrum vision, Geiger counter, UV meter, camera, sound recorder

Lockpicking, computer cracking and information altering/removal

Scrambling electronic devices or vehicles

City Safety-like auto braking

Also, stuff like:

KRO can detect people and vehicles and track their movements and discern proximity.

KRO can gather structural schematics of buildings, vehicles, or other devices and help Martin avoid potential danger when he was snooping.

KRO can also monitor radio transmissions and telephone communications within a location and trace those calls.

KRO can tap into computer systems to monitor, download, alter, remove or upload information as long as he can break access codes.

Infrared Tracking Scope - KRO can monitor position of specific vehicles, including cars or helicopters in the area within 100 miles. For instance, if Martin wanted to know location of every cars or helicopters within 70 miles, KRO can display a schematic on his monitors of all vehicles, including police vehicles relative to his position and KRO can monitor position of very specific vehicles, including police cars or police helicopters in said or given area within 20 miles.

Laser Powerpack - KRO can fire a high powered ultra-frequency modulated laser capable of burning through steel plating. Like most of KRO's components, schematics for laser device are top-secret classified.

Bomb Sniffer - KRO has a bomb sniffer module that can detect explosives within 5 miles (8.0 km) of vehicle or by using a satellite connection uplink.

Bio Matrix Scanner - KRO have a medical scanner that includes an electrocardiograph (ECG). Medical scanner can monitor vital signs of individuals and display them It could indicate such conditions as if they were murdered, injured, poisoned, undergoing stress or other emotional behavior. KRO can even monitor Martin's physical activity through sensors inside driver seat. KRO can identify a humans by fingerprints, voice analysis, retina scan, or by face recognition. It used to detect health status of persons in immediate area and scanning vital stats of anyone in his passenger cabin, including heart-rate, breathing, temperature and brain-wave activity.

Reinforced chassis- KRO's chassis has been reinforced to withstand impact damage from firearms or sledgehammers. Front and rear windscreen are both bullet-proof with ultra-tough glass.

Caltrops dispenser - Dozens of spiked caltrops can be scattered in path of pursuing vehicles, shredding their tyres. Dispenser is located behind rear bumper of KRO.

Re-inflating tyres - KRO is capable of re-inflated tyres: KRO can deflate and reinflate his tyres, also tyres can self-sealing even after being hit by bullets.

Fuel Processor - KRO was powered by a highly modified turbine ramjet engine primarily fueled by liquid cryogenic rocket fuel. However, his complex fuel processor allows him to run on any combustible liquid, even liquid nitrogen gas, liquefied natural gas and liquid petroleum gas. KRO's actual fuel requirements and efficiency ratings were top secret classified, however official rating of KRO's fuel economy was 100 miles per gallon, but KRO mentioned fuel economy is 525 miles per gallon. It is means that KRO can measured his fuel economy for any combustible liquid, even liquid nitrogen gas, liquefied natural gas and liquid petroleum gas. However, when operating on fuels other than liquid cryogenic rocket fuel, KRO's fuel efficiency and power output may be lowered.

Electrochromic Windows - KRO's windows can change tint on motion: from transparent to opaque for various situations.

Voice Stress Analyzer - KRO can process spoken voices and determine if someone may be lying.

Auto Doors, Hood, and Trunklid - KRO can automatically open and close his doors and Trunklid. He can also lock his doors to prevent unauthorized entry into his driver compartment. He can also open his hood automatically.

Rotating License Plate - KRO can rotate his "KNIGHT" license plate to reveal a fictitious one reading "SPYCAR". Martin uses this to evade police when an APB was placed on him.

Seat Ejection System - KRO have two front ejection seats, mostly used when Martin needed a boost to fire escapes or building roof tops.

Passive Laser Restraint System - Restraint system helping protect Martin and any passengers from shock of sudden impacts and hard stopping, it is a primitive form of an inertial damping device.

Video Display Monitor - KRO has two 16-inch 1920x1080 IPS Full HD Super AMOLED TFT LED-LCD instrument cluster display monitors and two 17-inch 1920x1080 IPS Full HD Super AMOLED TFT LED-LCD video display monitors on his dashboard for various readouts. They are controlled by two systems, Graphic Translator (which sketches likenesses from verbal input) and Anamorphic Equalizer (which gathered visual information from KRO's front scan bar) and microscanners.

Windscreen Projection - Basically, entire front windscreen is configured to display extra information and aswell as display video communication link with other people.

Computer Printer - KRO can print incoming documents and incoming faxes, hard copies of data and faxed messages on a dashboard-mounted printer. It also doubled as a color printer/fax machine.

Radio Scanner - Mounted in two 17-inch 1920x1080 IPS Full HD Super AMOLED TFT LED-LCD video display monitors, radio scanner was capable of eavesdropping on civilian, police and military radio frequencies.

Revolving number plates - KRO is come with rotating number plates, some of which included: "SPYCAR" or "KNIGHT" (US), "BMT 216A" or "BMT 214A" (UK), "4711-EA-62" (France) and "LU 6789" (Switzerland). Martin uses this to evade police when an APB was placed on him.

Miscellaneous Items - Along with his nanoskin and automatic tire repair systems, KRO can forcibly jettison any passenger within his interior as well as any objects in his trunk if it necessary for Martin.

Holographic projections - KRO can project holograms of himself, as seen when he and Martin are being chased by a cop. These clones have different actions seemingly based on his personality or actions and will dissipate on command or when hit by someone with force.

Molecularly Transformation - KRO has ability to split into Molecules to change appearance.

Vehicle transformations - KRO has unique ability to change between multiple vehicle forms while prime is Nautical Blue and Diamond Black 2021 Shelby Cobra GT500KR Super Snake. Forms he takes do not affect size or weight when in robot form and they share same color.

Chemical Analyzer - KRO has a retractable tray with anelectron scanner that can analyze chemical properties of various materials. It can even scan fingerprints and read ballistic information off bullets and compare these with a police database. Aside from scanning tray, system can also analyze chemical information gathered from KRO's exterior sensors. KRO has an anelectron scanner that can analyze chemical properties of various materials. It can even scan fingerprints and read ballistic information off bullets and compare these with a police database. Aside from scanning tray, system can also analyze chemical information gathered from KRO's exterior sensors.

Fire Extinguisher - KRO can put out small fires from a CO2 sprayer in his bumpers and retractable headlamps.

Interior Oxygenator - KRO can release oxygen into his driver compartment and provide air to drivers and passengers if he was ever submariged in water or buried in earth. This is also used to overcome effects of certain drugs and alcohol.

Two-Wheel Ski Drive - Ski Mode setting allowed KRO to "ski" (driving up on two wheels).

Third Stage Aquatic Synthesizer - With this system, KRO can hydroplane, effectively "driving" on water, using his wheels and turbo system for propulsion.

Amphibious Mode - KRO can float and maneuver on water like a speedboat. Transforming components include wheel arches that turn into closed arches and one propeller which emerge from lower rear of vehicle.

Submarine mode - KRO has ability to transform into a two-man submarine. Transforming components include wheel arches that turn into fins and four propellers which emerge from lower rear of vehicle.

Torpedoes - In submarine mode, car can fire small, highly explosive guided torpedoes from a launcher located in car's radiator grille. Two torpedoes can be fired at a time, with a total of 30 torpedoes storing on-board.

Remote torpedoes - While submarine, KRO is equipped with with two remote-controlled torpedo launchers on either side of car and are concealed behind side vents. A total of 15 missiles are equipped.

Sub Zero - KRO can release cryogenic gases and "flash freeze" driver compartment.

Sleep Gas - KRO can spray a gas into driver compartment that can render an unwanted occupant unconscious.

Interior Tear Gas Dispenser - Using for anti-theft and defensive purposes. KRO can fill car's cabin with tear gas to incapacitate a will-be thief.

Vacuum - KRO can expend all breathable air from driver compartment, KRO using this to rid compartment of smoke after bombs were detonated in his trunk.

Attack Mode - Three silver hood scoops that look like they should be on an aircraft appear near windscreen on hood of KRO. His Cobra form appears sleeker, and a spoiler rises up on back of his form.

Convertible Roof - By pressing "C" button on KRO's dash, Martin can bring top down and KRO become a convertible.

Gatling Guns - 2 gatling-style guns that are retracted from hood. KRO deploys a single machine gun while in regular mode. KRO's gatling guns have an approximate rate of fire of 1,143 rounds per second.

Offensive Missiles - 4 tube launched missiles that are retracted from front bumper and either door.

Other equipment:

Comlink - KRO is in constant contact with Martin via a two-way communication wristwatch (a modified 2010's Xiaomi touchscreen watch ) Martin wore. Watch also had a micro camera and scanner that KRO can access to gather information.

Homing Device - In dire emergency, Martin can activate a secret homing beacon hidden inside Martin's head. Beacon sends a priority signal that can remotely activate KRO and override his programming so that he rushes to Martin's aid.

Gadgets:

Virtual Reality Heads-up Display

Rather than dash-mounted two 17-inch 1920x1080 IPS Full HD Super AMOLED TFT LED-LCD video display monitors and windscreen projection, KRO uses a virtual reality heads-up display (VR-HUD) that makes use of entire windscreen as video monitor.

Thermal Expander

KRO is equipping with an offensive weapon which consisted of a microwave projector that caused temperatures of targeted objects to quickly rise and either ignite or explode.

Remote Target Assist

This allows Martin Marcus aim and fire with a complete and perfect accuracy.

Microwave Stunner

Similar to "non-lethal" sidearms used by police, KRO is equipping with a microwave stunner that can incapacitate criminals.

Voice Activated Controls

KRO's dashboard is less "cluttered looking" than KITT's and KARR's original dash with most of controls now being completely voice activated rather than having to push a button.

Infrared Scanner

Infrared Scanner is a device with which KRO can scan on an Infrared level, which would identify laser scope rifles as well as hidden objects giving off heat.

Voice Sampler

Similar to KITT's and KARR's Anharmonic Synthesizer, this device can simulate any voice which has been recorded into KRO's memory.

Thermal Sensor

This system allows to KRO watch and record what is happening in a particular place. For example, inside a vehicle.

Specifications:

0-62 in 0.286 seconds

¼ in 4.286 seconds

Top Speed 200+ mph

Two 17-inch 1920x1080 IPS Full HD TFT LED-LCD video display monitors

HUD

VR-HUD

Map-System v2.3

Satellite Connection Uplink

Extended on-board power systems

Reinforced body structure and body panels

Enhanced tracking and navigation systems

a whole lot more

Dialogue Color Claim

082567 (Deep Sapphire).

082567 (Deep Sapphire).

Theme Songs

Miami at Night Drive by Allister Brimble

Rio at Day Chase by Allister Brimble

Las Vegas at Night Drive by Allister Brimble

[gamejoypod]

The Moon is hollow, and a palace awaits inside.

My first (complete) attempt at composing a piece of music without synth modules doing the work for me.

Inspired by my d&d campaign I've been running with my friends for years. I want to do a whole soundtrack for it eventually. My players probably won't ever see what this piece is for, though. Moon's been shattered, RIP