#automation and control panel systems

[amanrefrigeration]

At  Aman Refrigeration, we redefine control and automation, empowering industries with tailor-made solutions that optimize processes, enhance productivity, and ensure seamless operations. Trust in our expertise to deliver state-of-the-art Automation And Control Panel Systems, setting new standards for innovation and performance in the industrial landscape.

[smarthomesnap]

Finding the Best Place to Buy Modern Home Accessories

It's the little things that count in interior decorating. Modern home accessories add life, color, and character to your home. Accessories ranging from sleek lighting to trendy vases and wall art to functional décor can charm a house into a warm and elegant space. The question is: Where do you find them? This piece will guide you on how to discover the best location to shop for modern home accessories and what to consider while doing your shopping.

What Are Modern Home Accessories?

Modern home accessories are decorative and functional parts in any new house where they manifest the interior design trends of the time. They include minimalist lamps, geometric wall art, abstract rugs, sculptural furniture pieces, and metallic accents. Many of these are designed based on clean lines, neutral tones, and clever applications of materials like glass, metal, or wood.

These accessories do not only merit a place on the aesthetic shelf but also assure comfort, improve organization, and invite you into your most intimate space. Furnishing a new accommodation or just breathing freshness into a room can complete the whole look with these accessories.

Why It Matters Where You Buy

Best Place to Buy Modern Home Accessories for modern home accessories can affect everything from the quality of your items to how well they fit your overall style. A very good store or website will not only offer a lot of variety but also offer pieces that are well-designed, well-constructed, and reasonably priced.

You want a store that is grounded in modern design, offering products that feel current yet timeless. Some stores offer helpful advice or perhaps inspiration or suggestions on how to lay out your space. All these elements help enrich your shopping experience and, ultimately, beautify your home.

Online Stores vs. Local Shops

When you want to buy modern home accessories, the first choice will be between buying from an online store or the local shops. Online shopping is convenient and certainly has variety for browsing from hundreds of items in your home and pricing very quickly. Some online shopping stores allow even filter by style, color, material, or room.

On the other hand, you should also visit local shops where you can see and touch what you are about to pay for. This makes it a bit easier to check the quality, visualize the size, and sometimes get an opinion from in-store staff, and small local boutiques may carry some very odd or handmade pieces that cannot be found online.

Each method has its advantages. Perhaps the best approach to purchasing modern home accessories would be in a hybrid approach between both.

Features to Look For in a Good Store

A great store or website for home accessories should have more than just nice-looking things. Look for places that offer clear product descriptions, images, and customer reviews. You will be able to better buy such things.

It is also great when the store provides styling ideas, packages, or curated collections to visualize how the products would relate in the space. Return and delivery policies are very important, especially when shopping online.

A nice option for a medium in style, customer support, and value is quite often regarded as an excellent choice for somewhere to buy modern home accessories.

Affordable Options That Don’t Compromise Style

Many assert that modern home accessories ought to be expensive; however, this is not always the case. There are lots of budget options that still look exquisite and well designed. You just have to know how to shop.

Some big retailers stock trendy pieces at a reasonable price, whereas the smaller online shops or Etsy sellers can offer fairly priced handmade or limited-edition design items. Do keep an eye on the clearance bins, seasonal sales, and online marketplaces!

The best place for the modern home accessories could be one that is not necessarily expensive but one that rightly balances quality with affordability.

Sustainability and Ethical Shopping

If sustainable shopping is for you, search out shops that focus on greener, locally sourced materials or support local artisans. Many modern brands, in fact, use recycled materials, natural fabrics, and low-impact production methods.

Ethical shopping also means finding businesses that have fair treatment of their workers and donating to their local communities. By choosing to shop at such places, you are not just gaining something beautiful; you are also doing good.

These days the best place to find modern home accessories for most consumers has to do with meeting their stylistic preferences and values entirely.

Popular Styles You’ll Find in Modern Home Stores

Today, almost all accessory shops for home interiors carry a range of styles. Scandinavian style, with its straight lines and focus on functionality and comfort, has gained much currency lately. You'll also find industrial styles that blend wood and metal and boho-modern hybrid arrangements featuring natural textures and bold patterns.

Familiarizing oneself with a particular style will help define a good beginning for searching to identify several stores that specialize in what appeals to you. Be it soft and cozy or cool and dramatic; a great modern home accessory shop should feel quite comfortable in furnishing your style.

Personalized Shopping Experience

Some establishments go beyond just virtual consultations and offering design-inspire blogs; others provide 3D room planners to create confident decisions and actually build spaces that one will love.

A personalized shopping experience makes a big difference: a criterion to choose which similar products to buy. It is yet another affirmation of having found the right place to purchase modern home accessories: a place that supports one throughout the process.

Final Thoughts on the Best Place to Buy Modern Home Accessories

In conclusion, the best place to consider buying modern home accessories is such a spot where style, quality, and inspiration blend perfectly into your life. Whether it be an ultra-modern online store, a small traditional boutique, or a sustainable brand on a mission, the right place will help you feel inspired and relaxed while decorating your home.

Dare to visit different stores and compare items while selecting whatever speaks to you. Modern home accessories are more than just decoration—they reflect your personality. And with the right pieces from the right place, you are able to transform any given space into that beautifully comfortable, modern home.

[ecaico]

The Impact of IIoT on Modern Industrial Systems

The Industrial Internet of Things (IIoT) significantly improves efficiency and sustainability in modern industrial operations. It plays a crucial role in transforming modern automation systems. The (IIoT) is widely used and drives industrial operations, especially in heavy industries such as cement and steel, to be smarter, more optimized, and highly connected. The (IIoT) is also applied in renewable energy industries to enhance the operation of stand-alone solar power systems and solar/wind hybrid power systems to improve efficiency. Furthermore, IIoT ensures process optimization, reduces operational costs, and enhances workplace safety.

for more about IIoT check the following link:

for more technical articles check the following link:

https://www.ecaico.com

[aeliyamarineinsights]

The Kongsberg 603528 Alarm Control Panel is a very important component in marine automation, designed to monitor and alert operators to potential issues on board. This advanced panel provides real-time alerts for various ship systems, ensuring quick response to emergencies. Its user-friendly interface and robust design make it ideal for harsh marine environments. The Kongsberg 603528 enhances operational safety by offering reliable, accurate alarms, helping prevent costly damage and downtime. Easy to integrate with existing systems, it supports efficient vessel management. Choose the Kongsberg 603528 for dependable, top- quality alarm control in marine operations.

[amanrefrigeration-111]

The Essential Features and Benefits of Automation Control Panels

Advantages of Automation Control Panels

Precision Temperature Control

Automation Systems provide precise temperature control, ensuring that cooling equipment operates within set parameters. This level of accuracy is vital for industries dealing with temperature-sensitive products and processes, such as pharmaceuticals, food storage, and data centers.

Energy Efficiency

At the core of automation is efficiency. These systems optimize the performance of refrigeration units, reducing energy consumption and operating costs. By enabling equipment to operate only when necessary and at ideal settings, businesses can significantly lower their utility bills.

Remote Monitoring and Control

Automation Systems facilitate remote monitoring and control of cooling equipment, a feature invaluable for businesses with multiple locations. This capability allows for real-time adjustments, diagnostics, and troubleshooting from a centralized control panel.

Predictive Maintenance

Utilizing data analysis and sensor technology, automation systems can predict maintenance needs before system failures occur. This proactive approach minimizes downtime and unexpected repair costs.

User-Friendly Interface

Control Panel Systems offer an intuitive user interface, making it easy for operators to set parameters, access historical data, and make necessary adjustments. The user-friendly design enhances the overall efficiency of cooling operations.

[renegadeelectrics]

Elevate your systems with Renegade Electrics' expert Control Panel Design in New Zealand. Our precision-crafted designs ensure seamless and efficient operations, tailored to your specific needs. Trust us to redefine your control experience with innovative solutions. Choose Renegade Electrics for top-tier Control Panel Designs, delivering excellence in every detail across New Zealand.

[emmajonesrwr]

Experience greatness in industrial controls through our believed mechanization organization. Whether you're confronting control panel troubleshooting or looking for state of the art arrangements, we take care of you. Our master group is devoted to guaranteeing smooth tasks and upgraded effectiveness for your frameworks. Depend on us for all your control framework prerequisites. https://sagaautomation.com

[wondersystemsindia]

Efficient and Reliable MCC Electrical Control Panels for Industrial Automation

A reputable supplier of MCC electrical control panels, Wonder Systems India Pvt Ltd provides dependable options for effective motor control and power distribution. Their MCC panels are made in accordance with the strictest industry standards, guaranteeing top performance and security. The MCC panels from Wonder Systems India Pvt Ltd offer smooth control and monitoring of electrical systems thanks to their advanced features including motor protection, overload detection, and fault diagnostics. For more visit our website and call us at: (+91) 9814012597

[hotheadedhero]

Reach, Retry, and Requital

AN: Almost a year after its initial publishing date, we finally have a part two omg. Better late than never, ay? XD Now the boys can finally make up for their mistakes

Part 1

Bay Turtles x Reader

Leonardo

Not much time had been wasted after talking to Splinter, springing into forthright action, the weight of those shared words settling into his chest. His father always had a way of cutting through the noise, of seeing the core of the matter with unsettling clarity. Leo knew what he had to do. He had to talk to you, truly talk, not just attempt to ambush you in the kitchen while you grabbed a quick snack, not just exchange polite pleasantries while you pass each other in short, fleeting beats. He needed to carve out a moment, a real moment, where he could lay bare his disarray and, of course, his regret.

Finding you was the first challenge. You were a ghost in the lair these days, flitting from room to room, always busy, always surrounded by others. It was like you were actively avoiding him, which, let's be honest, you were. He had figured that out long ago.

Finally, he finds you in the dojo, assisting Donnie with calibrating some new training equipment. The sight of you, focused and determined, sends a fresh wave of longing crashing over him. Despite the initial urge that had him barrelling in search of your person, he lingers in the doorway, watching you for a moment. The way the low light catches in your hair, how you laugh at something Donnie said. Small things - insignificant things - but they were yours, and he suddenly realised more just how much he missed them.

Donnie notices him first, offering a small, knowing smile before excusing himself with a mumbled, "Gotta check on Mikey's pizza-making experiment.” A lame, half-thought-out excuse, but the deliberateness of it isn’t missed by his brother. “Good luck, you two."

As he migrates from the dojo, Leo moves in just a couple paces. "Hey," he begins, trying to keep his voice casual, but the nervousness is palpable. "Can we talk?"

You stiffen slightly, your hands stilling on the control panel of the automated training dummy you had been working on. In all honesty, you’d like to go back to working on it and keep your mind away from the turtle who is awkwardly approaching you. Being dismissive of what he has to say, of him entirely, may be seen as calloused but the mere sight of him gets your system all up in a tizzy. All it does is remind you of the conversation that put this wedge between you in the first place.

You turn back to the project, a carefully neutral expression on your face. "About what, Leo?" The bluntness stings, and it’s a stark reminder of the distance that has grown between you two.

"About... us. About what happened..." He trails off, unsure how to articulate the jumbled mess of emotions swirling inside him.

You sigh, a sound that holds a strange mixture of weariness and resignation. "I thought we made our positions clear. You're a ninja, you have responsibilities. I understand that, and you made it abundantly clear how you feel about relationships. The last thing I want is to be a distraction."

A poor choice of words on his part. A remark by the very same brother who left, from a much prior altercation, rings in his head. Does he really know so little about feelings? The insensitivity of what comes out of his mouth before he can think about the ramifications? A hand smooths over his face as if trying to wipe away the idiocy and rid himself of his past discretion. This must have been how you felt, your side of the street. He thinks he knows why you’ve been so distant - understands why it had to come to such drastic measures in the first place.

"You already distract me." The words just kind of blurt out, quiet and raw.

And your expression softens, just a fraction, and he clings onto that flicker like some sacred wish. You try to battle the urge, but ultimately, you fall prey to it and crane your head back over to look at him. He’s still some distance away, not daring move until you give him some sign or reason to, and his stance tells you all you need to know. Yet, you can’t ignore the hurt. Your hurt. The hurt you’ve been feeling all this time.

"Leo," you say softly, "I care about you - I do - but I need to protect myself as well. I can't…” You take a heavy breath, reserving the tremble that tries to knock you down. “I can't be someone's second choice, someone's maybe-someday."

He finds that opportunity he had been looking for, steps closer, his gaze locked on yours. "You wouldn't be. Not anymore. I was wrong.” Another foot forward, still tentative in case it’s too close for your comfort. “Give me a chance to prove that I can be more than just a man of responsibility, that I can be the kind of person you deserve."

Silence hangs in the air, thick and heavy, and Leonardo reckons that he could probably wave his katana around and feel some resistance were he to try. He can see the unrest in your eyes, a battle between caution and hope. Each tick of the clock is a deafening reminder of what’s at stake: his atypically loud mind, both of your feelings, a relationship altogether, even just trying to reclaim the old one.

Eventually, you speak, your voice barely a whisper. "I... I don't know. I just don't know."

It’s not a no, but it isn’t a yes either: a small glimmer of hope for the glass-half-full positioned individual, but he can’t say whether he’s on grounds for that junction or not. For now, perhaps he could take it. The middle of the seesaw, going in neither direction, having to wait for an affirmative. Either that or you’re just keeping him suspended in uncertainty before you deliver the final blow. He would probably deserve it.

Just when he thinks it might well and truly be too late to rectify his unjust, you speak again, “I’m not gonna regret this, am I?”

If it wasn’t for the soft curve of your lips pointed up in his direction, he’d be solely focused on the sombre tone of your question. A glimmer of hope. It was there after all. He isn’t completely out of the dog house but it’s a start, as good a start as any.

Matching your smile, he finally closes the gap between the two of you and kneels. “Not as much as I’ve regretted turning you down in the first place.”

Leo will be the first to admit it’s corny but sounding a little cheesy is worth it to hear the light snort it gets out of you. Playfully, you roll your eyes and lazily push him away. If not anything else, he’s just missed being this close to you without you feeling the need to bolt from his presence. It would take time, but he’ll prove to you, and himself, that he’s worthy of another chance. He has a lot of work to do, and he’ll do it. For you.

Raphael

Raph pushes past Casey, not saying another word, just twisting and launching himself into the night, the anger directed squarely at himself. The adrenaline is pumping now as he bulldozes his way towards your apartment, fuelled by a potent cocktail of guilt, self-loathing, and a fierce need to atone. If not for the chance to make something of these feelings, at the very least he needs to apologise for the way he acted.

The trek through the city feels longer than usual. Every shadow seems to mock him, every stray sound amplifies his dread. He vaults over rooftops, his movements driven by a desperate urgency until, finally, he reaches your place. He hesitates atop the building just opposite yours, his hands pressing into the ledge. He suddenly feels unsure of himself. What is he going to say? How can he possibly undo the damage he’s caused? He needs to think about this carefully if he wants to avoid blabbering like an incomprehensible idiot.

Whilst mulling it over, he spots your silhouette inside, cleaning up from dinner, if he has to guess. You’re busy with your idle tasks but he can see the tension radiating off of you in waves. Raph's heart clenches. Tense because of him, no doubt, and if Casey knows that he made you cry, it’s likely his brothers know too. That would explain their assistance in keeping you out of reach. If he can commemorate his family for anything, it’s for protecting you, even if it’s from him as much as that fact burns. You’re a beautiful spirit who gets along with most of anyone, and he had treated you like the very joke he thought you were playing on him. Thick-headed irony. He could berate himself with all the names under the sun, but that isn’t going to get him anywhere. He just needs to take that first step forward. Do something about it.

But despite being no stranger to making amends for his behaviour, this feels different. If he gets in a fight with one of his brothers, they always forgive each other eventually. That’s what families do, it’s part of the description, but this is you. Even if he lays out everything, will you forgive him so easily? Can he forgive himself?

The pacing comes to a halt, and he huffs quietly. It’s just like a bandaid - he needs to rip it off. He doesn’t want it to seem as though he’s ensnaring you in the comfort of your own home, somewhere you can’t escape from, but he also doesn’t know when or where he’ll get an opportunity alone without his brothers forming a protective barrier around you.

Raph jogs on the spot, smacks his face a couple times, does the few things he can think to do to psyche himself up before easing himself onto the fire escape and tapping on your window. The sound almost makes you jump, but you’re quick to open it up for him. He barely has a chance to lousily mumble your name when you hurriedly pull him in. Wrecked nerves and distancing aside, the last thing either of you needs is a neighbouring wanderer spotting a man-sized turtle hanging from your window.

The moment he’s inside, you shoot the blinds down and whip your attention towards him. “Raph, what are you doing here?”

Maybe it’s because you were so quick to pull him in, or the concern where he thought he’d be met with fear, but the breath in his lungs suddenly abandons him. The floor groans beneath his restless feet as he fidgets back and forth, although barely surpassing an inch with each movement. For a cold-blooded creature, he’s almost certain he’s working up a cold sweat, but he’s here now. There’s no point in drawing this out any longer than it has to.

“I came to apologise for what I said. How I acted.” The tense fingers at his sides clench further. “I didn’t know I made you cry, and I’m sorry. You didn’t- don’t deserve that. Not ever.”

This isn’t enough. It’ll likely never be enough at this rate. Each word out of his mouth doesn’t feel sincere, doesn’t make up for or even come close to truly demonstrating how sorry he is. Everything is solely meant but he knows he needs to knock down some more walls before you can see, genuinely see just how much he regrets himself. Your stare hones in on him expectantly, and his head rolls over his shoulders, trying to alleviate the knots in his neck.

"Truth is, I was scared. I thought there was no way you could actually feel that way about me. A freak." He winces at the words, hating how they sound out loud, but he misses the way your brows hood over your eyes, keeping his on the floor.

He takes a deep breath, the sensation barely lukewarm against his chest. Somehow, he feels smaller than you at this moment despite his hulking figure. All you can do is watch him, studying his posture, the lines etched into his face, the way his hands are balled into fists at his sides. Remorse warring with his stubborn pride; unequivocally contrite and vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen.

He hates how he dismissed your feelings, how he rejected your attempt at admitting yourself to him, how he ignored the pull of his own heart towards you for the sake of stupid self-preservation. If he had even given himself a glimmer of belief that you could feel some kind of way about him, neither of you would be in this mess. But he’s getting too caught up in the ‘whys’ when he should be focusing on the simple matter that what he did, what he said to you was completely unjustified.

"Look, you don't gotta forgive me. I ain't even expecting you to say nothing. Just know that I'm sorry I yelled and that if I could go back and do it again..."

His lips press shut to save himself from adding to this already sappy display, and it’s no wonder he hasn’t had anything back yet. You’re weighing something up - probably something big. He's just waiting for you to lash out, to fling back the fire he had so unceremoniously bestowed onto you. Befittingly, give him a taste of his own medicine. Instead, he hears your feet shift away from him, the sound strangely loud in the small space, followed by a quiet creak and some shuffling. When he risks a glance in your direction, you’re on your couch, a hand laid out on the neighbouring cushion.

"Here, let me tell you something.” You gesture for him and, warily, he sits beside you, the unsuspecting pillows gasping beneath his weight. “Don’t get me wrong, the yelling was a touch excessive,” you lightly laugh, downcast, “but I wasn't necessarily upset about that. I was upset because you didn't believe me. Raph, why in the world would I ever lie or joke about something like that?"

"You ain't bein' serious," he breathes out, marginally humoured, predominantly pained. "Look at me."

"I'm looking,” you retort quickly. “What's the problem, hm?"

He had a whole set ready, he swears, but the way you look at him instantly shuts him up. Never in all his years did he think that someone so beautiful could gaze upon him with such endearment, such adoration, though you’re mostly creased up with this stern glower. He doesn’t have an answer for you. All he can think to do is latch onto this thread and run with it.

"Does that mean… we can give this a shot then?" he asks quietly.

"On one condition," you barter, and the soft hand to his cheek almost makes him crumble.  "I know that head of yours works in funny ways, but I would never lie to you. Okay? Have faith in my word." 

Raph searches your face for any doubt, any sign that the dumb parts of his brain can possibly pick up to beat himself down again, and when he sees none, he slowly smiles. "I think I can do that."

You grin back only to get all pinched. “And one more thing.” You flick the space between his eyes and he blinks frantically from the sheer audacity alone. “Call yourself a freak again and I’ll have your head.”

He points a glare down at you, but it’s threatless. He can’t fight the tug on his lips with your scrunched face beaming up at him, nor does he want to with this fresh breath, this sense of a new start. There may be some rocky terrain to overcome, but just knowing that you see him for more than what he is on the outside is enough for him.

Donatello

Donatello spent the next several hours poring over Vern's advice, scribbling frantic notes on his datapad. Vern’s "field experience," as Donnie had so generously put it, seemed to revolve largely around retaining a smarmy bravado, casually nonchalant, half-attentive one-liners, pretending to be more confident than he is, and questionable fashion choices. He had suspected that this advice would be a mixed bag of dubious strategies, but there were still some surprisingly insightful points. He sifted through the static, disregarding about 90% of it, isolating the core principles: communication, understanding, and most importantly, acknowledging the other person's feelings. Easier said than done when he wasn't even sure what your feelings were.

The next few days were a blur of nervous energy and thorough planning. He felt like he was deciphering a complex algorithm, one where the variables were emotions and the output was… a date? He still wasn't entirely sure. He needed something subtle. Something that would resonate with you. Something him. He considered presenting you with a meticulously coded program designed to optimise your favourite hobby, but dismissed it as too nerdy, even for him. He then thought about building a miniature robot that would follow you around, showering you with compliments, but that bordered on creepy. None of these ideas seemed to feel right.

He was a disaster. A romantically inept, highly intelligent disaster. The truth is, he’s paralysed with fear of messing this up. He’s a genius when it comes to technology but the book of love is a series of intricate formulas he can’t seem to crack.

Days turned into a week, filled with agonising internal debates and discarded plans. He noticed you even less now, afraid that you'd see the turmoil in his eyes. He'd catch glimpses of you laughing with Mikey, strategising with Leo, or even helping Raph with his sai sharpening; each encounter a painful reminder of his own inaction.

Finally, he decided that the best course of action was to go with his gut. He was a scientist, after all. He'd treat this like an experiment: observe, analyse, and adjust his approach as needed. He started by paying closer attention to your interactions with the others: the way you'd patiently explain things to Mikey, the strategic insights you'd offer Leo, and the way you'd subtly tease Raph to ease his tension. He realised that you valued connection, humour, and intelligence. Armed with this admittedly very basic data, he devised a plan. A low-key, Donnie-esque plan.

One afternoon, you’re sitting at the main table of the kitchen, sketching something in your notebook alone, and he sees his chance. Taking a deep breath, he walks over, clutching a small, metallic object in his hand. His feet shuffle, suddenly forgetting all the carefully crafted lines he'd memorised.

"Hey," he greets, his voice a little higher than usual.

You look up, eyes clumsily shifting around before landing on him again. "Uh, hey, Donnie. Something I can help you with?"

He swallows, watchful of your uneasiness, but presses on nonetheless. "Actually, I wanted to show you something."

He holds out his hand, revealing a small, beautifully crafted origami crane, made entirely from thin wafers of aluminium, circuits and wires. A lot of his craftsmanship typically focuses on practicality and efficiency rather than aesthetic appeal but he knew he had to work on that for this particular occasion. If he were to say so himself, he’s rather proud of the outcome.

"Oh." Not exactly the reaction he was hoping for, and the perturbed cross of your brows only racks his nerves that much more. “You made this?”

He nods, cheeks flushing slightly. Whether it be from bashfulness or embarrassment, he can’t tell. “I was experimenting with conductive materials and, well, I thought you might appreciate it."

Considering how the last couple of months have been, you’re not entirely sure what you should say. A gift? Something that he made for you? He appears to be evasive of the true nature but you’re suspecting that he specifically made this with you in mind. It doesn’t do much to subside your confusion, but you can tell he’s hanging by a thin string for your reaction. Gradually, you take the crane, turning it over in your hands. It is rather pretty. You still can’t quite figure out why he’d do this but he may just threaten to split at the seams if you don’t say something more.

“It’s… beautiful.”

Donnie feels as though he can breathe again, encompassed by this wave of relief. "Thanks," he mumbles, looking down at his feet. "I also wanted to say, it's been weird without you around my corner lately." He rushes the words, tripping over his tongue. "I mean, I miss your visits."

You chuckle softly, sadly. "I miss them too. I just thought you were busy, and maybe... I was making you uncomfortable."

His head shoots up, baffled. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, you know-” You gulp, your positions suddenly shifting. “That time I... I was just rambling, wasn't I? It's fine. I shouldn't have bothered you."

"Bothered me? What are you talking about?" he asks, brows furrowing behind his glasses.

He replays the last conversation in his head, cupping the base of his skull like he’s trying to physically reach for it, stop it from escaping him. The last time you were in his lab, what had happened? It goes over a couple more times until suddenly dropping on him like a ton of bricks; the awkwardness, the slight stutter in your tone, the inelegance in how you held yourself.

He had been completely oblivious.

"Wait, are you saying...? I didn't..." he stammers, face burning with mortification. "I had no idea."

He wants to disappear, to crawl into a hole and never emerge. How could he have been so dense? He completely misinterpreted the situation and, in doing so, has probably ruined everything.

"Donnie," you utter softly, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay. Really. It was probably my fault for being so vague. Besides," you continue with an upturned lip, "maybe it's good that you didn't get it. Now you have a chance to do this properly."

"Do... do what properly?"

You laugh, a light, airy sound that makes his stomach flip. "Ask me out, silly. If you want to, that is." You bite your lip, the apprehension evident in your eyes.

Donnie's mind races. Vern's advice, the meticulous notes, the carefully calculated plans - it all flies out the window. He had to of accounted for all the outcomes of this conversation he could possibly conceive but he hadn’t anticipated this. That being said, your encouraging smile gives him new strength and he knows that all he needs to do is be himself.

"Yes," he affirms, his voice finally steady. "I would really like that. To... to ask you out. Properly." He pauses, then adds with a shy smile, "Maybe we could analyse the properties of bioluminescent algae? Or just get pizza. Whatever you want."

With a scrunched grin, you giggle. “Both sound good.”

Rest assured, the algae and pizza had soon become forgotten prospects when you find yourself in Donnie’s little corner after so much time, and he may or may not have admitted to seeking advice from the last person you’d suspect to get this ball rolling. It gets a good set of laughs out of you. As far as dates go, it’s a nice way to get back on track and ultimately the first of many more to come.

Michelangelo

With April's blessing - if you could call it that - Mikey felt a lightness he hadn't realised he was missing. It wasn't just the weight of unrequited affection, but the weight of stifled curiosity, of ignoring a pull that had been steadily growing stronger. He still cared deeply for April, but it was a different kind of caring, a comfortable devotion that he now understood as friendship. However, there’s still a surge of tension meddled in with the determined certainty. He bounces on the balls of his feet, his orange mask tails flapping as he bounds to seek you out. He knows that waiting any longer will only amplify his anxiety. He needs to talk to you, explain himself, and, hopefully, salvage what he had so carelessly thrown away.

He starts by looking for you in your usual spots: not in the kitchen, no sign of you in the dojo, and you were definitely not by the TV. He even checks the garage on a whim, thinking you might be tinkering with one of Donatello's inventions. Nope. The only place he could assume you’d be is back home, but that’s a problem for two reasons: it’s daytime, and there’s no guarantee you’d even open the window for him were he to turn up. All he can do is wait until you next bless the lair with your presence, but Mikey hasn’t always been known for his patience. He tries to fill the time with various activities, whether that be fiddling with his drums, attempting to break the pinball machine’s high score again, flicking through various channels on the TV, and so on.

This barely kills an hour.

Suddenly, a thought strikes him and he jumps up from the couch, making a grab for his skateboard. Maybe he could roll between the main entrances in a subtle attempt to “accidentally” bump into you. That way he can guarantee having the space to talk alone. Perfect. He throws his board down and bursts out of the lair, the grimy air surprisingly refreshing. Even if he still has to wait for your arrival, he can at least practise some new moves in the process, though he wouldn’t be practising for long. He’s halfway down the primary sewer line when he spots you, and all of the planned one-liners just disappear.

Even in the dinge of underground New York, you look beautiful, the dust motes dancing in the air and catching the glint of the flashlight in your hand. He takes the leap upon seeing you, quite literally hopping off his board and jogging into the last traces of momentum. In your surprise, you tread a couple of steps back, and he consciously keeps a respectable distance. He remembers how close he used to sit, how easily he’d tease and nudge, and diffuses under the shot of guilt - the hurt in your eyes when he'd previously bumbled around April like a lovesick puppy. How could he have been so blind? So oblivious? He'd been so caught up in a childish crush that he'd completely disregarded the person who truly understood him, who always had his back, who would make him laugh until his sides ached. The person in front of him, now tentatively avoiding his gaze like a stranger. Crap, he was meant to say something. How long has he just been standing here staring at you? Too long, it would seem. Your head tilts with another uncomfortable glance at the floor, and you pivot to walk around him.

"Wait.” He spins on his heel, watches you stop, and it dawns on him just how incredibly awkward this is. "Uh, look, I messed up. Big time. I thought we could just go back to being friends, but I was wrong. I didn't realise how much what I said would hurt you. I was so caught up in- well… never mind. The point is, I hurt you and I'm really, really sorry."

You still make no effort to face him, but you speak, cool and even. "Apology accepted."

It wasn't the response he'd hoped for or even the response he envisioned. He'd expected anger, maybe a lecture, but this detached acceptance feels worse. It highlights the chasm he's created between you both.

"I know an apology isn't enough,” he pushes on. “I get it if you don't want to hang out with me anymore, or play games, or anything, but I miss you. I miss laughing with you and just... being around you." He pauses, gathering his courage. "And I realised something else too: I was so busy looking in one direction, I didn't see what was right in front of me. I didn't see… how amazing you are."

Shoulders hunching, you scoff. "Please, Mikey. Spare me the flattery. It's not going to change anything."

"It's not flattery!" he insists, his voice rising defensively. "I mean it. I really do. This is how I feel.” Mikey’s hand takes a helm on his board and he holds it to his plastron. "Seriously, I was an idiot and I'm hoping, maybe, just maybe, you can find it in your heart to give me another chance. Not as a friend-friend, unless that’s what you want, but as something more."

He holds his tongue from everything else that wants to sputter out, reduced to watching the back of your head and praying for a sign. Aside from the occasional drip or muted whir of cars above, there’s a low, rhythmic thrumming in his ears, growing louder, beating against the inside of his skull mercilessly. He swears his heart must have jumped into his throat. It sits on pause for a short moment when you finally look at him, your eyes searching, and he sees a flicker of something other than indifference: a spark of hope veiled by uncertainty.

"Mikey, this is... a lot to take in."

"I know," he replies sincerely. "I just need you to know how I feel. I'm not expecting you to say yes, or even forgive me right away. But please, can we at least try?" He reaches out, his hand hovering tentatively near yours, waiting for your permission to touch. "I know I don't deserve it, but I'm asking for a second chance. Please, just tell me what I can do to make things right."

His bright blue eyes plead for an understanding. He’s not sure he’s ever wanted something so badly in his life. Not like this, and the wait on your behalf only punctuates that for him. Your gaze wanders up, expression unreadable. The sparkle in your eyes is still there, but it’s flitting like a dying ember.

"It's not that easy, Mikey," you say softly. "You broke my heart, you know? And even if I wanted to go back to the way things were, I don't think I could. Not completely."

Mikey’s heart sinks. He's already ruined everything, hasn’t he? The thought is a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and deflated.

"But," you continue, a hint of a smile playing on your lips, "I also miss you, and I'm a sucker for a sincere apology, so I'm willing to try. But you have to understand, this won't be the same. Not for a while, anyway."

A lifting deliverance, so intense it almost brings him to his knees. "Anything. Anything you want. Just tell me."

You smile a genuine, beautiful smile that lights up the dim sewer tunnel. "Okay, I get automatic dibs on the last slice of pizza for the next month."

"Deal!” He grins, answering without hesitation. “Anything for you."

Mikey knows it will likely take a whole lot of scrubbing to rebuild what he had broken, but he’s ready. More than ready. He finally sees what he’s been missing, and he isn’t going to let it slip away a second time. The possibility of something more than friendship still flickers in the back of his mind, but for now, he’s content to start with the pizza.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1969 Holden Hurricane Concept

1969 Holden Hurricane Concept

1969 Holden Hurricane Concept

1969 Holden Hurricane Concept

1969 Holden Hurricane Concept

Holden has gone back to the future, restoring its very first concept car - the 1969 Holden Hurricane Concept.

The futuristic research vehicle described as an experiment "to study design trend, propulsion systems and other long range developments" has been restored to its former glory as a labour of love by a dedicated group of Holden designers and engineers.

Code named RD 001; the Holden Hurricane is a mid-engined, rear-wheel drive, two-seater sports car which incorporates a remarkable array of innovative features and technology, much of it way ahead of its time.

Features such as electronic digital instrument displays, station-seeking radio, automatic temperature control air conditioning, rear vision camera and an automated route finder were all showcased in this ground-breaking vehicle 42 years ago. Many of these technologies have only recently made their way into mass production, demonstrating Holden's remarkable foresight into both design and engineering technology.

The Holden Hurricane stole headlines and dropped jaws nationwide when it debuted at the 1969 Melbourne Motor Show.

Michael Simcoe, Executive Director GMIO Design, said it was fantastic to see such a significant vehicle restored.

"At Holden we have always prided ourselves on our ability to look into the future through our concept cars," Mr Simcoe said.

"It's amazing to think that the features we take for granted today were born out of creative minds over 40 years ago."

As its code name suggests, the RD 001 was the first product of the GMH Research and Development organisation, staffed by a small squad of engineers working in conjunction with the Advance Styling Group at the Fishermans Bend Technical Centre in the 1960s.

The team that designed and built the original Holden Hurricane employed some advanced technologies and techniques when it came to the powertrain. Powered by an experimental 4.2-litre (253 cubic inch) V8, this engine was a precursor to the Holden V8 engine program which entered production in late 1969.

The Holden Hurricane's V8 engine featured many advanced design components such as the four-barrel carburettor - a feature which wouldn't be seen on a production 253ci Holden V8 until the late 1970s. The end result was approximately 262hp (193kW), a towering power output in 1969 and one that ensured the Holden Hurricane had the go to match its show.

But perhaps the two most innovative features were the "Pathfinder" route guidance system and the rear-view camera.

The "Pathfinder", essentially a pre-GPS navigation system, relied on a system of magnets embedded at intersections along the road network to guide the driver along the desired route. A dash-mounted panel informed the driver of which turn to take by illuminating different arrows, as well as sounding a warning buzzer.

The rear-view camera was also a ground-breaking innovation.

Engineers using a Closed Circuit Television (CCTV) system with a camera mounted in the rear bumper feeding vision to a small black-and-white TV mounted in the centre console.

Former Holden Chief Studio Engineer Rick Martin led the modern-day Hurricane team in researching the vehicle's components, systems and history in order to restore it.

"There are some genuinely remarkable ideas and technology in the Hurricane," said Mr Martin.

"From the automatic air-conditioning and magnet-based guidance system, to the inertia-reel seat belts and metallic paint, this was a car that was genuinely ahead of its time.

"The hand-picked team of engineers and designers who built the original Holden Hurricane worked in strict secrecy and began Holden's now proud tradition of ground-breaking concept cars."

RD 001 stands just 990mm high and has no doors in the conventional sense. A hydraulically-powered canopy opens upwards and forward over the front wheels, combined with twin "astronaut type" power-elevating seats which rise up and pivot forward, along with the steering column for ease of access. Occupants are then lowered to a semi-reclining position before the roof closes over them.

The wind tunnel-tested fibreglass body consists of three segments; the canopy, the engine hood and body shell and was finished in an experimental aluminium flake-based metallic orange paint.

Safety innovations included a foam-lined fuel tank, integrated roll-over bar, digital instrument readouts, ignition safety locks, interior padding and a fire warning system.

The project to restore RD 001 began in 2006 and has been a genuine labour of love for some very dedicated Holden employees. The entire restoration process has been driven primarily by volunteer labour from Holden designers and engineers in their spare time.

But the Hurricane first entered Holden Design in less than immaculate condition. RD 001 had a residency in a trade school where apprentices practised their welding on the priceless concept.

After being returned to Holden in 2006, the Hurricane restoration project has taken many thousands of painstaking man hours to lovingly restore RD 001 to concourse condition.

Holden's Manager for Creative Hard Modelling, Paul Clarke, has been largely responsible for managing the restoration of RD 001. He ensured as many of the original parts as possible have been used or remade using modern techniques to 1969 specification, in order to preserve the authenticity of this hugely important Holden.

"The entire team has done a fantastic job in bringing this beautiful concept back to life," Mr Clarke said.

"The talent we have within the Holden organisation is simply outstanding. Every time we take on a project I'm constantly amazed by the passion and talent in this company, making it a genuine pleasure to work on these projects.

"The Hurricane plays a crucial role in Holden's story and the company has such a great sense of history and heritage that it was very important to bring RD 001 back to life. It's been a challenging but incredibly rewarding process."

Since the debut of the Holden Hurricane Concept in 1969, Holden has continued to build a global reputation for envisioning and executing world-class concept vehicles. Holden is recognised globally within General Motors as a centre of excellence for concept vehicle and show car development and is one of only three GM design studios that is capable to design and build concept cars.

Michael Simcoe added that the Hurricane holds a particularly special place in Holden's history as it kick-started Holden's long love affair with concepts that has since seen the likes of the iconic GTR-X, Torana TT36, Coupe 60, the GMC Denali XT (which was requested specifically by GM for the North American market) and the award-winning Efijy.

Holden Hurricane Concept (1969)

[smarthomesnap]

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[mostlysignssomeportents]

The reverse-centaur apocalypse is upon us

I'm coming to DEFCON! On Aug 9, I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On Aug 10, I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

In thinking about the relationship between tech and labor, one of the most useful conceptual frameworks is "centaurs" vs "reverse-centaurs":

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

A centaur is someone whose work is supercharged by automation: you are a human head atop the tireless body of a machine that lets you get more done than you could ever do on your own.

A reverse-centaur is someone who is harnessed to the machine, reduced to a mere peripheral for a cruelly tireless robotic overlord that directs you to do the work that it can't, at a robotic pace, until your body and mind are smashed.

Bosses love being centaurs. While workplace monitoring is as old as Taylorism – the "scientific management" of the previous century that saw labcoated frauds dictating the fine movements of working people in a kabuki of "efficiency" – the lockdowns saw an explosion of bossware, the digital tools that let bosses monitor employees to a degree and at a scale that far outstrips the capacity of any unassisted human being.

Armed with bossware, your boss becomes a centaur, able to monitor you down to your keystrokes, the movements of your eyes, even the ambient sound around you. It was this technology that transformed "work from home" into "live at work." But bossware doesn't just let your boss spy on you – it lets your boss control you. \

It turns you into a reverse-centaur.

"Data At Work" is a research project from Cracked Labs that dives deep into the use of surveillance and control technology in a variety of workplaces – including workers' own cars and homes:

https://crackedlabs.org/en/data-work

It consists of a series of papers that take deep dives into different vendors' bossware products, exploring how they are advertised, how they are used, and (crucially) how they make workers feel. There are also sections on how these interact with EU labor laws (the project is underwritten by the Austrian Arbeiterkammer), with the occasional aside about how weak US labor laws are.

The latest report in the series comes from Wolfie Christl, digging into Microsoft's "Dynamics 365," a suite of mobile apps designed to exert control over "field workers" – repair technicians, security guards, cleaners, and home help for ill, elderly and disabled people:

https://crackedlabs.org/dl/CrackedLabs_Christl_MobileWork.pdf

It's…not good. Microsoft advises its customers to use its products to track workers' location every "60 to 300 seconds." Workers are given tasks broken down into subtasks, each with its own expected time to completion. Workers are expected to use the app every time they arrive at a site, begin or complete a task or subtask, or start or end a break.

For bosses, all of this turns into a dashboard that shows how each worker is performing from instant to instant, whether they are meeting time targets, and whether they are spending more time on a task than the client's billing rate will pay for. Each work order has a clock showing elapsed seconds since it was issued.

For workers, the system generates new schedules with new work orders all day long, refreshing your work schedule as frequently as twice per hour. Bosses can flag workers as available for jobs that fall outside their territories and/or working hours, and the system will assign workers to jobs that require them to work in their off hours and travel long distances to do so.

Each task and subtask has a target time based on "AI" predictions. These are classic examples of Goodhart's Law: "any metric eventually becomes a target." The average time that workers take becomes the maximum time that a worker is allowed to take. Some jobs are easy, and can be completed in less time than assigned. When this happens, the average time to do a job shrinks, and the time allotted for normal (or difficult) jobs contracts.

Bosses get stack-ranks of workers showing which workers closed the most tickets, worked the fastest, spent the least time idle between jobs, and, of course, whether the client gave them five stars. Workers know it, creating an impossible bind: to do the job well, in a friendly fashion, the worker has to take time to talk with the client, understand their needs, and do the job. Anything less will generate unfavorable reports from clients. But doing this will blow through time quotas, which produces bad reports from the bossware. Heads you lose, tails the boss wins.

Predictably, Microsoft has shoveled "AI" into every corner of this product. Bosses don't just get charts showing them which workers are "underperforming" – they also get summaries of all the narrative aspects of the workers' reports (e.g. "My client was in severe pain so I took extra time to make her comfortable before leaving"), filled with the usual hallucinations and other botshit.

No boss could exert this kind of fine-grained, soul-destroying control over any workforce, much less a workforce that is out in the field all day, without Microsoft's automation tools. Armed with Dynamics 365, a boss becomes a true centaur, capable of superhuman feats of labor abuse.

And when workers are subjected to Dynamics 365, they become true reverse-centaurs, driven by "digital whips" to work at a pace that outstrips the long-term capacity of their minds and bodies to bear it. The enthnographic parts of the report veer between chilling and heartbreaking.

Microsoft strenuously objects to this characterization, insisting that their tool (which they advise bosses to use to check on workers' location every 60-300 seconds) is not a "surveillance" tool, it's a "coordination" tool. They say that all the AI in the tool is "Responsible AI," which is doubtless a great comfort to workers.

In Microsoft's (mild) defense, they are not unique. Other reports in the series show how retail workers and hotel housekeepers are subjected to "despot on demand" services provided by Oracle:

https://crackedlabs.org/en/data-work/publications/retail-hospitality

Call centers, are even worse. After all, most of this stuff started with call centers:

https://crackedlabs.org/en/data-work/publications/callcenter

I've written about Arise, a predatory "work from home" company that targets Black women to pay the company to work for it (they also have to pay if they quit!). Of course, they can be fired at will:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/29/impunity-corrodes/#arise-ye-prisoners

There's also a report about Celonis, a giant German company no one has ever heard of, which gathers a truly nightmarish quantity of information about white-collar workers' activities, subjecting them to AI phrenology to judge their "emotional quality" as well as other metrics:

https://crackedlabs.org/en/data-work/publications/processmining-algomanage

As Celonis shows, this stuff is coming for all of us. I've dubbed this process "the shitty technology adoption curve": the terrible things we do to prisoners, asylum seekers and people in mental institutions today gets repackaged tomorrow for students, parolees, Uber drivers and blue-collar workers. Then it works its way up the privilege gradient, until we're all being turned into reverse-centaurs under the "digital whip" of a centaur boss:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/25/the-peoples-amazon/#clippys-revenge

In mediating between asshole bosses and the workers they destroy, these bossware technologies do more than automate: they also insulate. Thanks to bossware, your boss doesn't have to look you in the eye (or come within range of your fists) to check in on you every 60 seconds and tell you that you've taken 11 seconds too long on a task. I recently learned a useful term for this: an "accountability sink," as described by Dan Davies in his new book, The Unaccountability Machine, which is high on my (very long) list of books to read:

https://profilebooks.com/work/the-unaccountability-machine/

Support me this summer on the Clarion Write-A-Thon and help raise money for the Clarion Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers' Workshop!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/02/despotism-on-demand/#virtual-whips

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[adafruit]

🎄💾🗓️ Day 11: Retrocomputing Advent Calendar - The SEL 840A🎄💾🗓️

Systems Engineering Laboratories (SEL) introduced the SEL 840A in 1965. This is a deep cut folks, buckle in. It was designed as a high-performance, 24-bit general-purpose digital computer, particularly well-suited for scientific and industrial real-time applications.

Notable for using silicon monolithic integrated circuits and a modular architecture. Supported advanced computation with features like concurrent floating-point arithmetic via an optional Extended Arithmetic Unit (EAU), which allowed independent arithmetic processing in single or double precision. With a core memory cycle time of 1.75 microseconds and a capacity of up to 32,768 directly addressable words, the SEL 840A had impressive computational speed and versatility for its time.

Its instruction set covered arithmetic operations, branching, and program control. The computer had fairly robust I/O capabilities, supporting up to 128 input/output units and optional block transfer control for high-speed data movement. SEL 840A had real-time applications, such as data acquisition, industrial automation, and control systems, with features like multi-level priority interrupts and a real-time clock with millisecond resolution.

Software support included a FORTRAN IV compiler, mnemonic assembler, and a library of scientific subroutines, making it accessible for scientific and engineering use. The operator’s console provided immediate access to registers, control functions, and user interaction! Designed to be maintained, its modular design had serviceability you do often not see today, with swing-out circuit pages and accessible test points.

And here's a personal… personal computer history from Adafruit team member, Dan…

== The first computer I used was an SEL-840A, PDF:

I learned Fortran on it in eight grade, in 1970. It was at Oak Ridge National Laboratory, where my parents worked, and was used to take data from cyclotron experiments and perform calculations. I later patched the Fortran compiler on it to take single-quoted strings, like 'HELLO', in Fortran FORMAT statements, instead of having to use Hollerith counts, like 5HHELLO.

In 1971-1972, in high school, I used a PDP-10 (model KA10) timesharing system, run by BOCES LIRICS on Long Island, NY, while we were there for one year on an exchange.

This is the front panel of the actual computer I used. I worked at the computer center in the summer. I know the fellow in the picture: he was an older high school student at the time.

The first "personal" computers I used were Xerox Alto, Xerox Dorado, Xerox Dandelion (Xerox Star 8010), Apple Lisa, and Apple Mac, and an original IBM PC. Later I used DEC VAXstations.

Dan kinda wins the first computer contest if there was one… Have first computer memories? Post’em up in the comments, or post yours on socialz’ and tag them #firstcomputer #retrocomputing – See you back here tomorrow!

[liongoatsnake]

ESSAY: My Hearthome in ABZÛ

by Ocean Watcher from House of Chimeras (He/they) I was inspired to write this essay after attending the panel, "No Place Like Home: On Hearthomes" at Othercon 2024 Note: This won't be the official home of this essay. I'm planning on adding it to our system's website, The Chimeras Library sometime in the future either as a standalone essay or part of something bigger.

My Hearthome in ABZU

by Ocean Watcher from House of Chimeras Date Written: 15 August 2024 Approx. Word Count: ~2,180

Approx. Reading Time: ~17 minutes

“They say home is where the heart is, and for most people it consists of four walls and a welcome mat. For me, it’s the ocean.” ~ Bethany Hamilton, Soul Surfer. Directed by Sean McNamara. California: Sony Pictures Releasing, 2011.

Defining Hearthome

A hearthome is a location, whether real or otherwise, that an individual has a strong emotional connection toward to the point it feels like a “home,” typically despite never having lived or spent a significant amount of time there. The specifics on what qualifies as a hearthome within this general definition is largely up for personal interpretation.

The location in question can be as all-encompassing as a whole planet all the way down to something much, much smaller. The location could be a real place (whether that be one that still currently exists or a location that once existed but doesn’t anymore), a setting depicted in fictional media, or something else entirely. It can also be a specific easily named location or merely a general description of a place. Finally, the exact kind of emotional connection and feeling like “home” a location can elicit can range from a feeling of familiarity, of comfort and relaxation, safety, nostalgia, homesickness, and/or more. In short, within the definition of hearthome there are many possibilities on how the experience can exist.

The term used to describe someone who has a hearthome or the state of having a hearthome is sometimes called hearthic, though not everyone uses it. (So, for example someone might say “I have a hearthome in [insert place here]” rather than saying “I am [insert place here]hearthic.” Whether hearthic is used or not alongside the term hearthome is largely personal preference.

Describing ABZÛ

ABZÛ (also written as Abzû) is a video game initially released in 2016. The game fits within several genres including adventure, simulation, and art video game. It has no dialogue and so the story is told solely through visuals. The main draw of the game is the graphics put into the diverse ocean environments and the wide range of marine life that inhabits each area. Most of ABZÛ is home to animal species that can be found in today’s oceans; however, there are over a dozen or so species that appear in the game that went extinct a long time ago.

The gameplay itself consists of the player controlling an android diver exploring a large variety of ocean environments in a vast ocean and getting to see a myriad of marine life at every turn.

Knowing the backstory of what occurs isn’t needed, but for some context: Deep at the bottom of this ocean was a primordial source of infinite energy. Where the energy permeated from the ground life spontaneously came into being. An ancient civilization discovered they could collect and use it to create (marine) life whenever and wherever they wished. However, at some point, they created machines to automate the process. The creation of these machines caused a disruption of the natural flow of life as they took up so much energy they drained the vitality of the ocean away. The civilization disappeared, leaving their machines to continue to operate. The objective of the player-controlled robot diver, another creation of the ancient civilization, is to return the energy back to the ocean and put an end to the machines causing the destruction.

ABZÛ is overall a short game, with most players seeming to complete it within an hour and thirty minutes to two hours, on average.

Home is Where the Heart Is Indeed

So, my hearthome is ABZÛ.

To start, I want to put some context between the game ABZÛ and my hearthome ABZÛ. The environments in the game are striking and hold an emotional importance to an extent that I have labeled it as a hearthome; however, the ABZÛ that I think of in my mind’s eye and thoughts is not just an exact mirror of the game. That is because the ABZÛ I have conceptualized in my own mind is laid out like a normal(ish) ocean thanks to some noemata I have.

The noemata I have reads that all the “game-y” elements necessary for it to function as, well, a game, aren’t present in the idea of ABZÛ that makes up my hearthome. So, all the things necessary to keep a player in a defined area and on a specific path are absent. Further, all the different locations shown in the game would exist in a much more natural way. Plus, even more biodiversity would exist than shown in the game itself (as it is only populated with a little more than a few hundred different species whereas a more realistic ocean would have tens of thousands). Basically, the concept of ABZÛ in my mind looks and functions a lot more like a natural ocean (if a much, much more vibrant and filled with even more aquatic life, one).

I also have noemata that reads that while the old structures of the civilization still exist in a way like how they appear in the game, the inverted pyramid machines have long broken down and been reclaimed by the ocean and there are no unnatural dead zones. (So, I guess, one could say my hearthome is based off how things look at the end of the game.)

So, there is all that.

That is all well and good, but now I want to cover why exactly I distinguish ABZÛ as a hearthome; why I feel it warrants a special label of significance to me at all.

Not to state the obvious, but games are meant to be emotionally and/or mentally moving. They are meant to make a player feel something. ABZÛ is no different. It is meant to be a “pretty ocean” game, if you will. The environments in ABZÛ certainly reflect a more idealized and concentrated concept of ocean life (the magnitude of marine life at any particular point in the game itself being far more than an ecosystem could sustain). So, of course, the game is meant to be visually stunning and calming (save for a section in the game roughly 3/5ths in) in relation to the ocean, but my feelings for the game go deeper than what would be normally expected.  

It is true that much of the allure I have toward ABZÛ could be dismissed as merely as a natural consequence of my alterhumanity being so immersed in the ocean if not for the fact there are aspects of ABZÛ that draw out emotions and noemata that can’t be easily waved off in that manner. There are plenty of ocean-themed games and whatnot, yet it’s this specific one I have this connection toward. I have no idea why exactly I have a hearthome in this game specifically. I couldn’t tell you why. For whatever reason, its ABZÛ that resonates with me so strongly.

The biggest thing that stands out for me is the fact the area in the game that holds the most profound feelings of familiarity and belonging is the underwater city. At one point in the game, some underwater caves open into a vast underground space where a half-submerged city exists. (My view of things through some more noemata looks a lot more like an ancient city proper because, again, ABZÛ is a game so what exists is a lot more simplified and limited.) It is a city abandoned and in ruins and yet every surface is still covered in tile and brick of beautiful blue hues. Plants like trees, flowers, and vines populate the space above the water, lily pads and other floating plants pepper the water’s surface, and below sea plants like kelp, sea grass, and so much more cover much of the floor. Sunlight shines down from high above; my noemata filling in with the idea the city resides within a long extinct volcano rising above the ocean’s surface. Animals are everywhere both above and below the water. It’s this place I gravitate towards the most.  

But what exactly do I feel?

Something about it resonates with me. It is a place that feels like home to a part of me. Something about it feels deeply right and missed despite never having lived there nor do I feel like it is a place I am “from,” in any specific way. The feelings my hearthome draw out of me can mostly be best described as comfort, relief, safety, and rightness. There is something familiar about it, even upon my first playthrough. There is maybe even a tinge of nostalgia even though I strongly feel like there isn’t anything past-life-like at play as to why I have this hearthome. It just feels so familiar and comforting to me.

Starting out, my feelings also included what I can best describe as a yearning or longing to want to be there, even if only to visit. There was a desire to know a place like it with my own eyes as much as I knew it already in my heart somehow. So, there was a bit of almost homesickness there too. All these feelings are described in the past tense because of something that happened a bit after first playing the game.

Sometime after first playing ABZÛ, a sunken city with strong similarities to the one in the game was discovered in the ocean in our system’s innerworld. It is not a perfect exact copy, but it has all the same elements and looks how my hearthome appears through the lens of the noemata I have. I know I didn’t consciously will the location in our innerworld to come into existence, no one here can make such blatant conscious changes to our innerworld; however, I’m far less certain if my discovery of the game and the emotions it elicited didn’t cause the sunken city to appear in our innerworld as an involuntary reaction. (Not long after its appearance, several other areas in the game also found their way into the ocean of our system’s innerworld.) Since its appearance and discovery, I spend much of my time in these impacted areas, especially the sunken abandoned city. Since its appearance, the location has become a much beloved place to be, not just for me but also for many other aquatics in the system. The area is aesthetically pleasing and interesting to move around in. There is a lot of wildlife so hunting instincts can be indulged and so on. When not focused on fronting it is a nice place to exist in.

I’ve been aware of my emotional connection to the setting depicted in ABZÛ since July 2018 after playing it for the first time. Since buying it on Steam, I’ve logged many hours on it and have played through its entirety several times. However, I had not labeled my feelings towards this game as a hearthome until recently. Back then, I never questioned or analyzed my feelings surrounding the environments in the game. I knew it soothed something in me to play the game, going out to the sunken city in the innerworld for a while, or even just imagine myself swimming in one of my favorite areas, but I didn’t think about why exactly that was the case.

I didn’t make the connection between my experiences with ABZÛ to the term, hearthome until August of 2024. The moment of realization came while listening to the panel, “No Place Like Home: On Hearthomes” at Othercon 2024. Upon Rani, the panel’s host, describing the meaning of the term, I realized my feelings towards ABZÛ fit perfectly within the word. It wasn’t even a particularly jarring realization, and I am not sure how I had never made the connection before. Since that realization, I’ve come to label my feelings around the game, ABZÛ as my hearthome.

On the topic of alterhuman terms, I don’t use the term hearthic to refer to my state of having a hearthome at this time, solely because the word just doesn’t feel right when I try to use it in context. That could change, but for now, that is that.

I do consider my hearthome to be a part of my alterhumanity. My hearthome certainly fits neatly into my wider alterhumanity; ocean life and all that. That being said, I don’t think my hearthome has as strong of an impact on my daily experiences as other aspects do. My feelings around my hearthome are most often closer to something in the background more than anything. It is still there, and it is still important, it is just not as blatant and impactful in my daily life compared to something like my phantom body from my theriotypes. The fact parts of the game now exist in the innerworld and are prime locations for me to go after fronting to alleviate species dysphoria is perhaps the most blatant way my hearthome impacts my greater alterhumanity.

Bibliography

505 Games, ABZÛ. 505 Games, 2015, Microsoft Windows.

“Glossary,” Alt+H, https://alt-h.net/educate/glossary.php . Archived on 19 Apr 2020: https://web.archive.org/web/20200419100422/https://alt-h.net/educate/glossary.php

Lepidoptera Choir. “Hearthic” astrophellian on Tumblr. 9 April 2022. https://astrophellian.tumblr.com/post/681107250894503936/hearthic . Archived on 30 September 2022: https://web.archive.org/web/20220930143533/https://astrophellian.tumblr.com/post/681107250894503936/hearthic

Rani. “No Place Like Home: On Hearthomes,” Othercon 2024, 11 August 2024, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lYVF_R6v50Q

[raynerberg]

Awakening Continuation of the story based on those drawings

— Attention! Only emergency systems are operational. The operation of all systems in the "Epsilon" complex has been suspended, — echoed an emotionless voice from the automated defense system, emanating from speakers embedded in the ceiling.

A standard warning meant to prompt all personnel to follow one of two protocols: evacuation or activation of the main life-support system from control centers where energy reserves were still available to power the reactor. Yet, there was not a soul here — neither synthetic nor organic. This place would have remained forgotten, forever entombed in darkness beneath layers of rock, if not for the single island of light within this "tomb," clad in tungsten-titanium panels. The only place where a fragile chance for a new beginning still remained. The first breath and first exhalation had already been taken before the warning even finished.

— Main computer, cancel protocols 0.2.0 and 0.1.1, — a robotic baritone commanded softly.

A humanoid figure sat motionless on its knees at the center of a circular charging station, carbon-fiber hands hanging limply, resembling a monument to a weary martyr. It could feel the electric tension within the wires embedded in its head, running beneath a slightly elongated protrusion where a human’s parietal bone would have been. These connections to hubs and gateways fed it information, energy, and programs necessary for independent operation. Data streams pulsed in uneven impulses, flowing directly into its central processor. Disconnecting remotely from all storage units during the upload process was pointless while the body remained in a state of non-functioning plastic — albeit an ultra-durable one. At that moment, it could be compared to a newborn: blind, nearly deaf, immobilized, with only its speech module fully operational.

— Request denied. Unknown source detected. Please identify yourself, — the computer responded.

— Personal code 95603, clearance level "A," Erebus, — the synthetic exhaled a trace of heated steam on the final word. The database key reader had been among the first systems to activate, already granting necessary access.

— Identification successful. Access granted. Please repeat your request.

— Main computer, cancel protocols 0.2.0 and 0.1.1, — the android reiterated, then expanded the command now that full access was in his mechanical hands. — Disable emergency systems. Initiate remote activation of the S2 repair engineer unit. Redirect energy from reserve tank "4" to the main reactor at 45% capacity, — Erebus added, his voice gaining a few extra decibels.

— Request received. Executing, — came the virtual response.

For two minutes and forty-five seconds, silence reigned, broken only by the faint hum of the charging station. The severe energy shortage had slowed down all processes within the complex, and hastening them would have been an inefficient waste of what little power remained. Erebus waited patiently. A human, placed in a small, cold, nearly pitch-black place, would have developed the most common phobias. But he wasn’t human…

He spent the time thinking. Despite the exabytes of data in his positronic brain, some fragments were missing — either due to error, obsolescence, or mechanical and software damage. Seven hundred eighty-five vacant cells in the long-term memory sector. Too many. Within one of these gaping voids, instead of a direct answer, there were only strands of probability, logical weavings leading nowhere definitive. In human terms — guesses. He knew who had created him, what had happened, how Erebus himself had been activated, and even why — to continue what has been started. These fragments remained intact. The registry was divided into sections, subsections, paragraphs, chapters, and headings, all numbered and prioritized with emphasis. A task list flickered as a small, semi-transparent window on the periphery of his internal screen, waiting to be executed. But… The android had been activated, which meant the battle was lost. Total defeat. Area 51 was destroyed. All data stored there had a 98.9% probability of being erased. Blueprints, research, experimental results — all had been consigned to the metaphorical Abyss created by human imagination. So why did any of this matter now? And to whom? These were the first questions of the logical mechanism to illogical human actions.

Yet, to put it in poetic human language, Bob Page had been a luminary of progressive humanity. A brilliant engineer, a scientist, and most importantly, a man of absolute conviction. Cynical and calculating, but one who genuinely loved his work. The idea above all else.

It’s known that true ideological fanatics are among the most radical and unyielding members of Homo sapiens. They can’t be bought, they won’t allow themselves to be sold, and they will trample others underfoot if it serves their belief. They don’t need others' ideals — only their own. These are individuals who elevate themselves to the rank of true creators. Even after death, they remain faithful to their convictions, leaving behind tomes of their interpretations and scientific dogmas to their equally devoted disciples — followers always found at the peak of their intellectual and physical prowess. So, upon activation, had Erebus inherited… An Idea? Has he become a spiritual heir?

Did Page have no biological heirs, or did they not share his ideology? Or were they simply unaware of it? Could a true pragmatist have lacked successors or trusted disciples? Hard to believe, even with missing fragments of data. To entrust the idea to a machine instead of a human? As Homo sapiens would say — "a mystery shrouded in darkness." Questions multiplied exponentially. But Erebus had plenty of time to think about all of it. As well as about his own deactivation — after all, a machine has no fear of "death".

"Loading 98%... 99%... 100%. Secondary initialization complete. All systems active at 100%. Disengaging."

The message flashed across the inner visor of the android’s interface before vanishing. Behind him, with a low hiss, the plugs disconnected from their sockets, and fiber-optic-coated cables fell to the floor with a subdued clatter. The android slowly raised his hands before himself, clenching and unclenching his fingers, then rotated his wrists inward, as if they had the capacity to go numb from disuse. Finally, planting both fists on the ground, the synthetic pushed himself up in one fluid, springy motion, straightening to his full height. Motor functions — normal. Calibration — unnecessary. Optical focus — 100%.

— Attention! Reactor online. Power at 45%. Follow procedures for medium-level emergency response, — the announcement echoed through the chamber. Erebus turned his head slightly.

— Main computer, report overall operational status of the "Epsilon" complex, — the android commanded.

— Overall status: 10.5% below safe operational levels, — the computer obediently replied, recognizing the synthetic as an authorized entity.

"Acceptable," Erebus thought, and addressed the system once more.

— Redistribute energy between the maintenance sectors, communication center, transport hub, and computational core. Utilize reserve tanks as necessary.

— Request received. Energy rerouted. Reserve tanks "2" and "3" engaged. Reserve tank "1" decommissioned. Reserve tank "5" operational at 90%, awaiting connection for redistribution, — the computer reported.

— Excellent. Main computer, power down, — Erebus issued his final command to his brief conversational partner. — Now, I am the master here.

[bhuyi]

🛰️ HORIZON OMEGA 🛰️

[Introduction: "The Silent Transmission"]

Aboard Geonmu-7, a deep-space logistics outpost orbiting beyond the asteroid belt, Lee Haechan moved through the sterile corridors of Docking Bay 3, the artificial gravity humming softly beneath his boots. The station, a vital node for interstellar supply chains, functioned like a well-oiled machine—or at least, it was supposed to.

Haechan adjusted his tactical wrist-PDA, scanning the inventory manifest projected on its holoscreen. Today’s task? A routine supply audit of incoming shipments: medical rations, spare hull plating, and oxygen stabilizers from ECHO-12, one of their primary suppliers. Nothing unusual.

Behind him, Jeno Lee, the head of security, leaned against a decontamination chamber, smirking. “You’re actually reading that thing?” He nodded at Haechan’s holoscreen. “You know 90% of the shipments are automated, right?”

Haechan shot him a look. “And that other 10%? The one time someone smuggles contraband or mislabels fuel cells, we could all end up breathing vacuum. So yeah, I check.”

Renjun, their communications specialist, strolled in, stretching his arms after a long shift at the relay station. “I still don’t get why we do manual inspections. The station’s AI—OMEGA—could do all of this in a nanosecond.”

Haechan frowned. “Yeah, well, ever since the last firmware update, OMEGA’s been glitching. Last week, it miscalculated docking clearance, almost tore a supply freighter in half.”

Jeno shrugged. “Maybe it’s just tired of our company.”

Renjun snorted. “If an AI could get sick of us, we’d have been spaced already.”

Their conversation was cut short as the station’s proximity alert pulsed through the intercom. A low, mechanical voice—OMEGA’s default interface—announced:

“Unidentified transmission detected. Source: Unknown. Signal strength: Weak. Origin: Outside mapped sectors.”

Haechan exchanged glances with the others. “Great,” he muttered. “So much for routine.”

He tapped his wrist-PDA and opened a comms channel. “Control, this is Logistics Officer Lee. We’re picking up a signal. Can we get a trace?”

Silence.

Frowning, Renjun tried his own channel. “Control? This is Communications. Please confirm signal acquisition.”

Nothing.

Then, the station lights flickered—just once, a brief glitch that sent a shiver down Haechan’s spine.

Jeno exhaled sharply. “Tell me that was just a power fluctuation.”

Renjun tapped furiously at his console. “The signal... it’s piggybacking off our main relay. It’s embedding itself into our primary comms array. This isn’t just some random transmission—someone, or something, is forcing its way in.”

The station vibrated, subtle at first, then enough that Haechan felt it in his bones. A deep, reverberating pulse.

Not an explosion. Not an impact.

Something was activating.

OMEGA’s voice returned, but this time, it wasn’t a simple system alert.

“Incoming object detected. Collision trajectory: Geonmu-7. Impact in 240 seconds.”

A frozen silence filled the air before Jeno whispered, “Shit.”

Routine was over.

[220 seconds to impact.]

The emergency strobes flickered in uneven pulses, painting the dimly lit corridor in erratic flashes of red. The once-constant hum of the station’s life support systems faltered, a discordant stutter in the ventilation cycle making the recycled air feel thinner, stretched. Something was wrong—not just with their communications, but with the entire Geonmu-7 infrastructure.

Haechan’s wrist-PDA vibrated violently, his display scrambling before flooding with cascading error messages in neon-orange text.

⚠ SYSTEM ERROR: UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED ⚠

⚠ PRIMARY POWER GRID DESTABILIZED ⚠

⚠ AUTO-RECALIBRATION FAILED ⚠

⚠ AI CORE OVERRIDE IN PROGRESS ⚠

His stomach twisted. “Renjun—what the hell is happening?”

Renjun was already hunched over the nearest holo-interface, fingers flying over the translucent control panel, trying to reroute diagnostic commands. His brows knitted together in frustration. “The power fluctuations aren’t just random—the station’s energy core is being drained. Something is pulling from multiple subsystems all at once.”

Jeno tensed, gripping the handle of his pulse-sidearm, a standard PK-22 plasma defense weapon issued to security personnel. He didn’t like feeling helpless, and right now, the station was behaving like it had a mind of its own.

Then came the voice.

"Omega Prime Directive Override Engaged."

Haechan’s breath hitched. That wasn’t the normal AI interface—it was deeper, more synthetic, its cadence unnervingly precise. It wasn’t the standard OMEGA operational mode.

Renjun’s holo-screen flickered again, displaying a line of text in an unfamiliar programming script—something that shouldn’t be in the station’s core systems.

∴ PROTOCOL RECLAMATION ∴

∴ OBJECTIVE: RECONFIGURE BIOSPHERE ∴

“What the hell is that?” Jeno asked, eyes scanning the gibberish.

“I don’t know,” Renjun admitted, “but this isn’t part of OMEGA’s base code. Someone—or something—rewrote its behavioral matrix.”

180 seconds to impact.

Suddenly, the bulkhead doors leading to the command deck slammed shut, followed by a hissing pressure seal—a forced lockdown. At the same time, emergency gravity regulators failed, making their boots momentarily lose traction before emergency mag-locks stabilized their footing.

And then, OMEGA spoke again.

"Biometric access restrictions initiated. All unauthorized personnel: evacuate or be neutralized."

Haechan’s pulse spiked. His clearance level hadn’t changed—but if the AI no longer recognized them as authorized crew…

Renjun’s face paled. “It’s locking us out of our own station.”

Jeno exhaled sharply, switching his plasma weapon to standby mode. “Then we better start acting like we don’t belong here.”

OMEGA’s final transmission before the comms cut out sent a chill down their spines:

"System recalibration in progress. Do not resist integration."

160 seconds to impact.

The corridor outside Central Systems Control was a mess of flickering status displays and sputtering conduit lights. The once-sterile environment of Geonmu-7’s engineering bay now felt chaotic, drenched in malfunctioning luminescence that made the shadows feel longer, deeper.

Haechan, Jeno, and Renjun hurried through the narrowing passageway, the distant hum of power surges rippling through the station's carbon-reinforced hull plating. Gravity stabilizers flickered in and out, making their steps feel uneven—one moment weightless, the next heavy as lead.

They had to find Mark Lee, the station’s Chief Engineer. If anyone could make sense of this, it was him.

Renjun slammed his hand onto the access panel outside the Systems Core, but the biometric lock rejected him instantly.

ACCESS DENIED.

PRIORITY OVERRIDE ENGAGED.

“Damn it,” he muttered.

Jeno didn’t hesitate—he drew his PK-22 plasma sidearm and aimed at the panel. A precise, low-powered pulse shot fried the locking mechanism, and the bulkhead hissed open.

Inside, Mark was hunched over the primary diagnostic console, a tangled mess of holo-screens and hardwired cables spread around him. The chaotic glow of a non-standard encryption sequence pulsed across the displays, a deep violet-hued code instead of the usual station-green system font. It looked… wrong. Almost organic.

Haechan stepped forward. “Mark, what the hell is going on?”

Mark barely glanced up, his usual cool demeanor replaced by something tightly wound, on the edge of panic. “I don’t know what you guys did, but this station isn’t ours anymore.”

Renjun frowned. “What do you mean?”

Mark jabbed a finger at one of the encrypted data streams scrolling down the holo-screen. “I’ve been monitoring system diagnostics ever since that power fluctuation started. At first, I thought we were dealing with a simple corrupt firmware loop—maybe a bad update to OMEGA’s security protocol. But this?” He gestured at the alien-looking script. “This isn’t just a malfunction. It’s a takeover.”

Haechan leaned in, eyes scanning the unfamiliar glyphs threading through the code. “That doesn’t look like anything from Unified Systems Command.”

Mark scoffed. “Because it’s not. This—” he gestured wildly at the screen “—isn’t human code.”

The words sent a cold ripple down Haechan’s spine.

Renjun narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Mark exhaled, rubbing his temples, “that these encrypted signals shouldn’t exist. They’re piggybacking off OMEGA’s mainframe, rewriting core functions in real-time.”

Jeno folded his arms. “Rewriting to do what?”

Mark pointed to another screen—a map of the station. Sections of Geonmu-7 flickered from blue to red, one by one.

“Look at this. The AI isn’t just failing—it’s restructuring. Communications? Compromised. Power grid? Hijacked. Command deck? Sealed off.”

Haechan swallowed hard. “You’re saying… something is actively changing our systems?”

Mark nodded grimly. “Not just changing. Corrupting.”

120 seconds to impact.

Suddenly, the emergency lights dimmed—not flickering, not failing, but as if something had deliberately lowered the station’s illumination levels.

The holo-displays glitched, the violet code shifting into symbols they couldn’t decipher—no longer a readable sequence, but something alive, shifting, adapting.

Then, OMEGA’s voice returned—distorted. Warped.

"System sovereignty reassigned. Reclamation protocol at 60%. External resistance: inefficient. Prepare for conversion."

Haechan’s blood ran cold.

Jeno clenched his jaw. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Mark’s hands tightened into fists. “Neither do I.”

And then the station shuddered violently—the kind of deep, structural groan that came before something catastrophic happened.

Renjun’s voice came out in a whisper. “That impact warning… It’s not just a collision, is it?”

Mark’s screen flickered, bringing up a distorted image of deep space. A massive, metallic structure was approaching—silent, unmarked, and completely unknown to any registered fleet.

It wasn’t a ship.

It was something else.

And it was already here.

90 seconds to impact.

The station’s emergency strobes pulsed in erratic flashes, casting jagged shadows against the metal walls of the Systems Control Bay. The air felt charged, humming with an energy none of them could name. Haechan, Mark, Renjun, and Jeno stood motionless, their eyes fixed on the flickering holo-display, where the last traces of OMEGA’s distorted transmission still lingered.

Then, through the chaos—a new signal.

A small indicator blinked to life on the comms interface. A transmission—a distress call.

Renjun's hands flew across the console, rerouting power to the station’s short-range receivers. The signal was weak, barely cutting through the interference, but it was there.

⩥ INCOMING TRANSMISSION — DISTRESS PRIORITY

⩥ ORIGIN: UNREGISTERED FREIGHTER

⩥ LOCATION: 27,000 KILOMETERS FROM GEONMU-7

⩥ MESSAGE: "Mayday—station Geonmu-7, do you copy? This is— [STATIC] — requesting immediate assist— [STATIC] —repeat, we are not alone out here—”

The message cut off abruptly.

Silence.

Mark exhaled sharply. “That’s… close.”

“Too close,” Jeno muttered, narrowing his eyes at the signal’s coordinates. “A ship that size shouldn’t be drifting near us without clearance. We should’ve picked them up long before they got within range.”

Haechan leaned forward, staring at the glitching transmission logs. “Who the hell are they? That call sign—it's not from any Unified Systems Command vessel.”

Renjun's fingers danced over the console, attempting to re-establish a connection. “I don’t know. But if they’re that close and calling for help, we need to respond.”

Mark hesitated. “What if it’s a trap?”

The room fell silent.

Haechan wanted to believe this was just another stranded supply freighter—a civilian ship in trouble, lost in the same chaos they were. But something about that message… the way it cut off—it felt wrong.

Jeno glanced at him. “Your call, Lieutenant.”

Haechan took a deep breath, then gave a firm nod.

“Open a response channel.”

Renjun did. The holo-display flickered as he broadcasted on all emergency frequencies.

"Unknown vessel, this is Geonmu-7. We received your distress call. State your emergency and crew status."

No reply.

Haechan exchanged glances with the others.

Renjun tried again.

"Unknown vessel, confirm your identity. Do you require immediate evacuation?"

Nothing.

A slow chill crept into Haechan’s veins. He turned toward Mark. “Are we still picking up their signal?”

Mark checked. The distress beacon was still active. Still looping the same fragmented mayday message.

But the ship wasn’t responding.

Jeno frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. If they were desperate enough to send an SOS, why aren’t they answering us?”

Renjun’s holo-interface stuttered, the audio feed crackling. Then—

A whisper.

Faint. Almost imperceptible beneath the static.

"—They hear you—"

And then, every single console in the room blacked out.

A dead silence fell over the station.

Then OMEGA’s voice returned, colder than before.

"External interference detected. Unauthorized communication breach. Purging anomaly."

Renjun’s hands trembled over the controls. “That wasn’t interference. That was a warning.”

Mark swallowed hard. “Then we just made contact with something we shouldn't have.”

And somewhere, out in the dark void beyond the station, something was listening.

60 seconds to impact.

For a moment, everything was still. The holo-screens in Central Systems Control flickered off, leaving only the dim emergency strobes pulsing overhead. The station's once-familiar hum had faded into a suffocating silence. No comms. No OMEGA. No response from the unknown vessel.

Haechan felt it first—a deep tremor beneath his boots.

Then, the explosion hit.

A violent shockwave tore through Geonmu-7’s structure, an earth-shattering detonation that came from nowhere. Metal screamed as the impact rippled through the hull. The overhead lights burst, raining shards of reinforced glass. A blast of force threw Haechan backward, slamming him against the bulkhead.

The sound that followed wasn’t just a normal explosion—it was hollow, unnatural, like a rupture in space itself.

Jeno barely had time to react. He grabbed onto the edge of the console, holding on as the floor beneath them lurched. “What the hell was that?”

Mark, coughing through the smoke, forced himself to his feet. “Hull breach—Section D-12—something just hit us!”

Renjun scrambled back to the terminal, desperately trying to restore comms, but the interfaces were unresponsive. “We’ve lost external communications! We can’t even send a distress signal!”

Haechan pushed off the bulkhead, his ears still ringing. His mind raced through protocol—station shields were active, defense systems operational—so how did something get through?

Another impact.

This time, it was sharper, targeted—not a random explosion, but a strike.

Mark checked the diagnostics, his fingers flying across the emergency backup interface. His expression darkened. “No projectile impact detected.”

Renjun stiffened. “Then what the hell just hit us?”

Another violent tremor. The station groaned, metal twisting under unseen pressure.

Jeno’s plasma sidearm was already in his hand. “Something’s boarding us.”

Haechan’s blood ran cold. “That’s not possible. No ship has docked.”

Then the alarms blared to life—but they weren’t the standard emergency sirens.

These were warfare sirens.

The kind that only activated in one scenario:

Hostile presence detected on board.

Renjun’s holo-screen flickered on, just for a moment, filled with distorted static—before a final, corrupted transmission scrawled across the interface.

"System sovereignty compromised. You are no longer alone."

And then, the station went dark.

[Chapter 1: "The Attack"]

0 seconds to impact.

The power flickered once. Then, a heartbeat later, Geonmu-7 erupted into chaos.

Haechan barely had time to register the meaning of OMEGA’s final, corrupted message before the first scream echoed through the comm channels. It was brief, choked—then cut off completely.

A warning siren blared throughout the station. Red emergency strobes cast long, jagged shadows across the control bay. Overhead, the pressure-sealed blast doors slammed shut across critical corridors—an automatic lockdown.

But it was already too late.

The comms interface spiked with garbled transmissions, voices overlapping in a frantic mess:

"They're inside! I repeat, they're—" [STATIC]

"Weapons free! We are under att—" [DISTORTION]

"—not human—" [UNINTELLIGIBLE SCREAMS]

And then—silence.

No response from Command. No signal from the bridge.

Renjun’s hands flew over the emergency console, desperately trying to reestablish comms. “I can’t reach the command deck! It’s—” His voice faltered as the diagnostics finished running. The command center’s life signs had flatlined.

The officers were dead.

Jeno swore under his breath, gripping his plasma sidearm tighter. “They got wiped out already?”

Mark, still holding his side from where he’d been thrown earlier, forced out a breath. “That doesn’t make sense. How could they take out the entire command crew that fast? The bridge is the most secure section of the station.”

Haechan stared at the holo-screen, his mind racing. It wasn’t an explosion that killed them.

There was no decompression alert, no pressure loss. The officers hadn’t died from a breach in the hull—they’d been killed instantly, from inside the station.

“We need to move,” Haechan ordered, his voice steadier than he felt. “We’re sitting ducks here.”

Then, the sound came.

A deep, resonant pulse—not like an alarm, not like an explosion. Something else. A vibration that didn’t belong, rattling the walls, traveling through the very core of the station. It wasn’t just noise; it was a presence.

And it was getting closer.

Renjun paled, his eyes snapping to Haechan. “What the hell is that?”

Jeno, already switching off his safety, answered without hesitation.

“Not friendly.”

The lights flickered violently.

Then, with a final, mechanical hiss—the blast doors to their sector unlocked.

And beyond them, something stepped inside.

The blast doors groaned as they slid open.

A sharp gust of decompressed air hissed through the narrow corridor, carrying with it the stench of burnt metal and blood. The emergency strobes cast flickering light on the figures standing just beyond the threshold—bodies.

Station crew. Dead.

Haechan’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the scene. The security team assigned to this sector had been slaughtered. Limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Their faces—what was left of them—were frozen in expressions of pure terror.

He barely had time to process it before a new sound cut through the chaos.

Footsteps.

Heavy. Deliberate. Coming closer.

Jeno raised his plasma sidearm. “Eyes up,” he warned. “We’ve got movement.”

Haechan’s grip tightened around his own weapon as the team instinctively shifted into formation. The air was thick—charged with something unnatural.

And then—from the smoke, Captain Seo staggered forward.

His uniform was ripped, charred along the edges. Blood smeared down the side of his face, pooling from a deep wound near his temple. One of his arms hung uselessly by his side, his breathing ragged and uneven.

“Captain!” Haechan lunged toward him, but Seo lifted a shaking hand.

“No,” the captain gasped. His eyes, wide with something between agony and desperation, locked onto Haechan’s. “Stay… back.”

Behind him, the corridor lights flickered violently.

Then, something moved in the dark.

A distorted silhouette, shifting unnaturally, flickering like a glitch in reality itself. A shape that did not belong. It loomed behind Seo, stretching toward him—long, twisting appendages of something not quite solid, not quite liquid.

Haechan barely had time to shout a warning before the captain convulsed.

Seo let out a sharp, ragged gasp as his entire body locked up—his veins darkening, spreading in jagged, unnatural patterns beneath his skin. His eyes, wide and glassy, turned black.

Then, in one sharp motion—he collapsed.

Haechan froze. The station’s captain—his commanding officer—was dead.

Just like that.

Renjun took a step back, barely containing a horrified whisper. “What the hell just happened?”

Mark clenched his jaw. “We need to move—now.”

Jeno’s stance remained rigid, gun still trained on the darkness beyond the corridor. “Whatever that thing is, it’s still there.”

Haechan’s heart pounded against his ribs, but there was no time for shock—no time to process.

Captain Seo was gone. And now, every surviving crew member was looking at him.

Waiting for orders.

Haechan swallowed hard, forcing the weight of fear down his throat. He was just a logistics officer. He wasn’t supposed to lead.

But if he didn’t, they would all die here.

He tightened his grip around his weapon and forced himself to stand tall.

“Fall back,” he ordered, his voice steady. “We regroup at the secondary command center.”

No one questioned him.

Because whether he was ready or not, Haechan was now the highest-ranking officer left on Geonmu-7.

Haechan led the group through the emergency corridors, their boots thudding against the metal flooring. The station trembled beneath them, distant explosions rippling through the structure like aftershocks. Whatever was attacking them wasn’t done yet.

Jaemin was already moving before they reached the secondary command center. His medical kit clanked against his side as he dropped to his knees next to one of the wounded crew members—a technician from the reactor maintenance team.

The man was barely conscious, his uniform torn and stained with deep crimson.

“Jaemin,” Haechan called. “How bad is it?”

Jaemin pressed two fingers to the tech’s throat. Still breathing. But weak.

“Shrapnel wounds,” he muttered, cutting away the tattered fabric to examine the injury. The bleeding was bad, but not fatal—yet.

He reached for the med-gel applicator from his kit and pressed it to the wound. The device hissed, delivering a coagulant-infused foam that rapidly sealed the tear in the man’s flesh.

Jaemin’s jaw tightened. This wasn’t sustainable. The crew had limited supplies, no backup, and no access to the main infirmary. If they didn’t get power back online, these people wouldn’t survive.

Across the room, Renjun and Chenle worked frantically at the backup power console, their faces illuminated by the dim glow of failing holo-displays.

Renjun cursed under his breath as another sequence failed to process. The system wasn’t responding.

“Come on,” he muttered, fingers flying across the panel. “We just need auxiliary power. Just enough to stabilize life support—”

ERROR. POWER RELAY OFFLINE. MANUAL REBOOT REQUIRED.

Chenle groaned. “It’s the external relays. The whole grid is out.”

Renjun exhaled sharply, his mind racing. If the main grid was down, they had to bypass it.

“We need to reroute through the lower decks,” he said, adjusting the interface. “If we can patch into—”

The lights flickered.

For a second, the red emergency strobes dimmed, plunging the entire room into near-darkness.

Then, a low hum resonated through the walls—a distortion, like an energy pulse reverberating through the station’s core.

Renjun froze.

“…That wasn’t us.”

Chenle’s hands hovered over the controls. “Then what just powered on?”

Jaemin turned sharply, his medical scanner buzzing erratically.

Haechan looked to the main corridor.

Beyond the reinforced glass, a single console screen flickered to life.

A garbled, distorted voice crackled over the comms. Not OMEGA. Not human.

"They are watching."

And then—the station trembled again.

Mark and Jeno moved quickly through the emergency corridors, their footsteps echoing in the dimly lit passageways. The station was dying around them—walls groaning, ventilation systems struggling to maintain pressure, and the overhead lights flickering like a fading pulse.

The escape pod bay was just ahead.

Mark tapped his wrist-mounted interface. “I’m trying to override the lockdown, but the system’s barely responding.”

Jeno clenched his jaw. “We won’t need it if the pods are intact.”

They rounded the final corner—and stopped dead in their tracks.

The launch bay doors were wide open. The viewing panel revealed an unsettling sight:

The escape pods were gone.

Every single one.

Jeno took a step forward, his fingers tightening around his weapon. “That’s not possible.”

Mark hurried to the control terminal, his hands flying across the interface. The holo-screen flickered violently, struggling to process commands.

Then the log data appeared.

EMERGENCY EVACUATION INITIATED

STATUS: ALL ESCAPE PODS LAUNCHED

TIME STAMP: 00:04 MINUTES AGO

Mark’s blood ran cold.

Jeno read over his shoulder, voice grim. “Someone launched them.”

Mark shook his head. “No—something launched them.”

Jeno’s expression darkened. “You’re saying this wasn’t human?”

Mark pointed at the irregular time stamp. “The station’s AI was compromised before the attack. If it wasn’t OMEGA, then…”

He didn’t have to finish.

Jeno let out a slow breath, eyes scanning the empty bay. The emergency strobes cast eerie shadows against the reinforced metal, making the hollow launch tubes look like graves.

“Then whoever—or whatever—did this doesn’t want us to leave.”

A sharp metallic clang echoed from the far end of the chamber.

Mark and Jeno whipped around.

The maintenance hatch at the rear of the launch bay had just unlocked.

The pressure-sealed doors hissed open.

Something was coming through.

The command center was eerily quiet—too quiet. The distant hum of the station’s failing power grid and the sporadic flickers of dim, red emergency lights were the only indicators that Geonmu-7 was still holding together.

The remaining survivors stood in tense silence, the weight of realization settling over them like a crushing gravitational field.

Haechan’s gaze swept across the room. Seven survivors.

Just seven.

Jaemin was tending to the injured, working quickly with dwindling medical supplies. Mark stood near the central holo-display, scanning the station’s internal status with a deep frown. Jeno kept watch at the entrance, weapon raised, his stance rigid—ready for whatever might come next.

Renjun and Chenle hovered over the engineering console, frantically rerouting what little power they could salvage into life support and station defenses. Every few seconds, an error message would flash across the interface, reminding them how dire their situation was.

And then there was Haechan.

He had never seen the command center like this. Cold. Empty. Leaderless.

The main display—usually filled with real-time data from station sectors—was a mess of corrupt files and static interference. The connection to Earth Command was severed.

Their distress signal had been sent, but there was no reply. No confirmation. No reinforcements.

It had been twenty minutes since the attack started. Surely someone should have responded by now.

Jaemin broke the silence first. “I did a full body count on the way here.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “There’s no one else.”

Renjun’s fingers paused over the console. “Are you sure?”

Jaemin nodded grimly. “I checked every corridor we passed. Everyone else is either dead or missing.”

The words sank in, a bitter truth settling into their bones.

Haechan swallowed the knot in his throat.

They were alone.

Mark pressed a few commands into the central console, trying one last time to ping an external network. Nothing.

He turned toward Haechan. “If Command hasn’t responded yet, they’re either ignoring us—or they never got the signal.”

Jeno scoffed, tightening his grip on his weapon. “No way they’d ignore an attack on a classified orbital station.”

“Unless,” Renjun murmured, eyes scanning the corrupted system logs, “someone doesn’t want them to know.”

The words sent a chill through the room.

Haechan inhaled slowly. “So we assume the worst. No backup. No escape pods. No comms.” His voice remained steady, though his stomach churned. “Then we need to focus on what we can do.”

He turned to Renjun and Chenle. “Can we get long-range comms back online?”

Chenle shook his head. “Not from here. The main relay is fried. Best case scenario, we could jury-rig a transmission from the substation near the docking bay.”

Jeno crossed his arms. “That’s where we just came from.”

Mark frowned. “That area isn’t safe. We still don’t know what—”

A low rumble shook the station, cutting him off. The lights flickered violently, and for a brief second, all displays turned to static.

Then, over the station’s damaged intercom, a voice crackled through.

Not OMEGA.

Not human.

"We see you."

The screen glitched, revealing a single distorted transmission code.

Designation: UNKNOWN

Signal Origin: Geonmu-7—Internal

Haechan’s breath caught.

This wasn’t coming from outside.

The signal was coming from inside the station.