#best drone simulators

[acidicalchemist]

muse blinkie set :)

these are fun as hell to make actually. next up is most likely gonna be msi

[t0asty1]

i spent the whole day watching all 8 episodes of murder drones in one sitting (actually two sittings cuz my laptop died during episode 4) and then going out and winning a hollween trivia contest instead of studying.

[all-with-angel]

Stress test // Superhero!Sukuna

➤ Superhero!Sukuna x Gearmaker!Reader

➤ Deadlines are nipping at your heels and you haven't found yourself a willing test subject for your projects. As your last Hail Mary, you waltz into the training area and borrow the first person you see; Not knowing who exactly you had just made your test subject. Not like it matters to you.

➤ gn!reader, Sukuna being sukuna, cocky Sukuna humbled by reader, both are 20+, light injury, sfw, NOT PROOFREAD and I couldve probably done a better job but wtv we die like gojo

You haven’t slept in thirty hours.

You haven’t eaten anything other than energy bars and instant coffee in fourteen, and the last time you took a break was when a rogue drone had exploded and knocked you out for 16 minutes. Those were a good 16 minutes.

You’d love to take a rest, sleep until the world exploded even, but deadlines were looming over your head like a death knell, red marker on your calendar telling you ‘You’re screwed.’

You had ideas- God, you had way too many ideas. Building them was one thing, but that was the easiest part really. You could do that in your sleep, and frankly, probably had once or twice. No, the problem was testing them.

You needed raw data. Field stress levels, user performance under duress, energy thresholds when pushed to their uppermost limit. Simulated tests could only go so far. The board wanted grit. They wanted the real deal. The kind that said, “Yes, this will absolutely survive a villain launching a bus at your face.” or “Yes, this will hold up against the strength of Infinity.” (Like that's even possible)

And you couldn’t give that. How could you? You didn’t have teams of testers like the more known gadget makers, no, you had yourself and A.I. test dummies that started flirting with you if they weren’t reset every other week.

You were a genius. But what good is a genius without results?

You put on your best unwrinkled lab coat, shoved your tablet under one arm, slapped a fresh stim patch onto your neck, and marched your overworked ass down to the training floors of the facility. Academy, as the higher ups would say, but it was anything but that really.

You didn’t learn much here other than that most of your coworkers were stupid.

Today’s plan? 

Find the strongest idiot. Throw gadgets at them. Hope for the best.

Yeah. 

Yeah, that sounded good. You really were a genius. Or sleep deprived. You couldn’t tell.

The facility, of course, was always active. Training rooms were booked 24/7 by heroes, cadets, and the occasional egomaniac. As you stepped into the third hall, the sound of explosions- actual explosions- echoed down the corridor, followed by some deeply maniacal laughter.

Sounds like the strongest idiot to me.

You took a step into the viewing area, peering into the highly reinforced glass and observed. There was smoke everywhere, but it quickly dispersed to reveal your maybe test subject.

He looked pretty familiar. HawkTuna-something?

He stood there in a scorched tank top, hands on his hips, surrounded by sparking debris. Pink hair and red eyes, face tattoos. He looked more like a gangster than a hero.

You jogged your memory, as fucked as it was- and remembered some news broadcasting about a Hero that had more than half of his fights end with a building or two collapsing. You snapped your fingers when you remembered, “The King”. That was his hero name.

You recalled it from an interview, where he refused to be called anything other than that. Right, so he was a cocky fucker. You could work with that. 

A few minutes later, you found yourself at a vending machine right outside the training hall, buying yourself your nth energy drink today. Just as you grabbed the can from the machine, the mechanical doors of the training room opened. Out came walking the King, steps heavy but not rushed.

You straightened your lab coat, holding your tablet to your chest and energy drink in the other as you walked up to him. “Uh, excuse me?” You smiled politely. Holy hell, he was bigger up close.

“What?” He clicked his tongue, red eyes narrowing at you. “You better make this quick. I have things to do.”

“Would it be alright if I borrowed you for a little while? You see I need test subje-”

“Not interested.” He huffed, shoving past you.

Okay, rude. You stumbled to the side, head whipping in his already departing direction. You mentally debated whether pursuing an already bitchy test subject was worth it, before realizing that both your job and education was on the line. You let out a huff of frustration before running after his retreating figure.

“Hey! Wait! Um- Tuna guy? Suzuki, was it?”

He stopped abruptly, leading you to bump into his back face first. He didn’t even budge. Instead, he turned around, a scowl that would leave any sane person shaking in their boots. 

Unfortunately, you were not sane. At least not right now.

“Sukuna. It’s Sukuna.” He hissed at you.

“Oh right, yeah, Sukuna. Anyway-” You took a few steps back, clearing your throat before continuing. “I need to put my projects under stress tests so I need-”

“Don’t they have simulations for that?” He was tapping his foot, crossing his arms as he looked down on you. 

Okay, this guy seriously had to stop interrupting you. “Well uh, those can only go so far. And the board wants actual real life testing,” You answered. “Could you come up to the lab with me and test some of them? It’ll be quick. I promise. I just need to get my reports done before my deadline.”

“Why should I care?”

“Sorry?”

“I said why should I care?” Sukuna repeated. “You’re some nobody asking me for a favor when I’m supposed to be getting dinner. Who do you think you are talking to the future number 1, huh?” He leaned forward, looming over you with a scowl.

“The future number 1 hero?” You mused, staring right back at him. “I highly doubt that.” It hurt your neck to crane your neck this high, but you kept your voice from wavering.

“Tsk. Do you not even know who I am? What I’m capable of, brat?” He clicked his tongue, voice lowering into a growl as he glared, crimson eyes inches away from yours. “I can destroy this facility and everyone in it in seconds.” 

“So?” You blinked.

You could see his eye twitch. “Do you have a death wish you-” His voice raised, almost yelling before you cut him off.

“Dude. Seriously, I can’t care less about what you can do.” You waved him off, “I only care if you can help me. Got it?” 

Sukuna, The King- The so-called prodigy with more potential as a villain than a hero, stood there, dumbstruck at your audacity. You could see the gears turn in his head, the veins starting to pop on his neck.

You sigh in faux defeat, slumping your shoulders. “Unless you’re too much of a pussy to test some measly little gadgets.” You shake your head, turning away from him. “It’s a shame really, the so-called future number 1, scared by some nobody's little inventions.”

“Do I look stupid to you?” He rolled his eyes. “I’m not falling for your taunting.”

“Alright.” You shrug. “But you do sound,” You look him up and down, pointedly ignoring the imprint of his muscles the size of your waist. “-pretty weak to me.”

Sukuna stood there, glowering at you, a support course nerd he’d never even heard of. To be honest, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little bit curious at what you’ve got in store in that lab of yours if you’d really go this far to recruit him. His manager probably would be annoyed that he was late to their dinner meeting again, but what was that idiot gonna do anyway? Yell at him?

He clicks his tongue. “Fine.” 

“Fine?” You raise a brow, a small smirk tugging on your lips.

“Yeah, fine.” He snarled.

“Perfect!” You clapped your hands once, previous ‘disappointed’ demeanor melting away quickly. “Come, come. Follow me.”

You click the handcuffs into place. “Comfortable?”

“No.” Sukuna answered, flexing his hands under the cold steel of the cuffs.

“Good. They’re not supposed to be,” Nodding, you take a few steps back. “Now break out of them.” You look down to your tablet, tapping a few buttons to monitor the stress levels of the cuffs and see how quickly they might break. You two have been at this for a while now, most of the gadgets being destroyed or barely grazing the cocky hero- Who simply grew more arrogant with every failed test. “These are a pair of reinforced handcuffs, they should hold up quite well-”

The handcuffs explode into pieces, scraps of metal littering the floor and edges of the testing area. “Against some robber, maybe.” Sukuna drawled. “Is this it? Are you seriously gonna waste my time with barely put-together chunks of metal?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing the pair of handcuffs off the list and marking it for extra blast reinforcement and maybe power dampening qualities.

“Nope. Next.” You grabbed a gadget from your side table, raising it and aiming at Sukuna. The hero stares at you, the weapon and then back at you. Seemingly unimpressed. “A gun? Really?”

“It's a non-lethal firearm, just as impactful as rubber bullets but not as harmful.” You keep your aim steady, ready to fire.

“I’ve melted bullets in mid-air. Do you really think that would work?” 

“They’re high velocity, so we’ll find out.” You pull the trigger twice, but nothing hits Sukuna. Instead, two very small and unrecognizable puddles of the bullets are a few feet away from him.

“Well, well, well. Looks like your high velocity rounds aren’t much compared to me.” He scoffed.

This time, you felt your eye twitch. He really was starting to get on your nerves. “Yeah, guess so.” You lowered the gun to your side. “Could you get the next gadget? It’s behind you.”

“Tsk. Asking me to do your job now, huh?” Sukuna rolled his eyes, large frame turning around and inspecting the table behind him. Just enough time for him to lower his guard. You raised the gun again, firing at his back- This time, it hits.

“Fuck!” The hero exclaimed, lips pulled into a scowl as he whipped his entire body towards you. “The hell was that?!”

You hummed in satisfaction, finally setting down the gun and tapping your tablet to record the results. Success. “My finger must’ve slipped, sorry.”

“Like hell it did!”

“Did it hurt?” You smirked.

Sukuna felt a bruise forming on his back, the point of impact throbbing lightly on his back. “No. Of course not.”

“Noted.”

Sukuna growled at you, ready to lunge and rip you a new one before he remembered that if he did maul another of his coworkers, that he’d get suspended. Again. So instead, he huffed and crossed his arms. “Are we done yet? Or do you have more chaos to unleash?”

“Yep, just one more.” You tossed a grenade-shaped contraption up and down your hand. “Though, this one has healing properties. Should help with the pain.”

Sukuna eyed you suspiciously, checking if this was another trick. He didn’t find anything other than quiet amusement in your eyes and anticipation. You were clearly enjoying it with him as your test subject. When you noticed his distrustful glare, you reassured him with a smile. “Don’t worry, if something goes wrong, the agency has your medical bills covered.”

He rolled his eyes, like that made it any better. “So you're saying something can go wrong?”

You shrugged. “Anything could go wrong, really.” You traced your thumb on the metal of your little toy, finger hovering right on the detonation button- It should go off after 5 seconds after pressing it. “But trust me.”

“I don’t trust you.” Sukuna said, voice flat.

“Shame.” You pressed the button, tossing it at his feet and stepping backwards. He didn’t move though, even if he did raise a brow at your sudden withdrawal- It didn’t last long before the healing grenade exploded.

Green slime-like substance coated him and a good portion of the area, luckily nowhere near you. The substance from the grenade seemed to pulse and glow green, especially the chunks that were on and around Sukuna. You quickly noted that down.

Sukuna cringed at the sludge coating his body, he didn’t feel any better than he did 3 seconds ago, maybe even a little worse with how icky the green goo felt. “The hell?” He raised his hand, the slime connecting in strands to the rest of his torso. “Some healing grenade this is.”

You stayed quiet.

He clicked his tongue, glaring at you before looking to the door. “I’m done with this bullshit. Now I gotta take a shower before going anywhe-” Sukuna tried to take a step forward, only to be halted by the slime. He kept trying to pull at his limbs, each action taking more effort than the last as it became apparent that this was no ordinary healing grenade.

It hadn’t even passed any screenings yet. And this was still a work in progress, not an actual thing you had to test at the moment. It was one of your flukes, you knew that. Sukuna, did not. “Oh, right. About this one,” You picked up your tablet, voice painfully nonchalant as you act unaware of the struggle that Sukuna was going through. “I don’t exactly have a dissolvent for the healing cream, and it gets quite sticky.”

“Then what are you waiting for??”  Sukuna screeched, head snapping in your direction as any fire or explosion he tried to use was cancelled by the healing agent. Did you mention that it also doubles as a power-cancelling agent? No? Oops. “Get to work on it then!!”

You shrugged, turning your back to him and towards the exit “Alright.”

“Hey, HEY! Where the hell do you think you’re going?!” 

You turned around, motioning towards the testing area in shambles. “You don’t expect me to work in this mess, do you?” Voice level, like you were pointing out solid facts- trying your damn hardest to not let the smugness bleed into your tone.

“So, what? You're just gonna leave me here??” Sukuna sounded a mix of stunned, confused and angry.

“Thats the plan, yeah.” You start walking away, the door hissing as it automatically opened. “Don’t worry! It’ll probably melt off in an hour if I’m not done by then!” You give him a wave, smirking at him over your shoulder. 

“Probably?? You motherfu-”

He was spewing curses at you now, belittling you and trying his hardest to defend his last remaining drops of dignity. You simply smiled back, polite. “See you, Number one.”

Yeah, you weren’t going to work on that dissolvent.

(open!) tags: @idontwannatalkrn1

[fxrmuladaydreams]

i didn’t miss it (ln4)

lando norris x reader , oscar piastri x reader (platonic)

summary: lando nearly misses out on wishing his crush a happy birthday

notes: we’re going to say that the reader works for mclaren for convenience sake but i’ll let you decide exactly what the job is

Lando, with the help of Oscar, had everything planned down to a T. After months of pining for you, of sending you longing looks in the paddock, of making sure that he could take his lunch around the same time you took yours just so he could eat with you, of practically stalking your social media, of staying longer at McLaren at night so he could “conveniently” be there to walk you to your car, he was finally going to confess his feelings to you.

Oscar was proud. Well, he was happy he wouldn’t have to hear Lando drone on and on about you anymore. He liked you just fine, but Lando was very clearly head over heels for you.

It was strange seeing Lando act this way. Oscar had heard that Lando was a bit of an introvert, but he had never really experienced it firsthand. He had always been a friend to Oscar, an older brother type. Then there were his relationships with the other drivers, Lando was quite popular, half the grid claimed he was their best friend. But as soon as you were anywhere near the older McLaren driver all of that went out the window. He turned into a shy, blushing boy, who fidgets with his fingers and can’t seem to look you in the eyes for longer than a minute.

Birthdays were a big celebration at McLaren. Lando’s and Oscar’s were usually met with loud fanfare and cameras so that the fans could see the drivers celebrating. But even all of the other members of the team had parties when it was their birthday, complete with a cake, a rousing chorus of an off-key happy birthday, and essentially a break in the usually chaotic workday.

Lando had your birthday marked down. It was in the calendar on his phone, there were little doodles around the date on the calendar in his house, he even had a reminder set for it just to make sure he wouldn’t forget.

The plan was simple really, you would have your little McLaren party at work, then go out to a nice dinner with Lando and Oscar. Oscar would stay for a little while but eventually excuse himself for not feeling well, leaving you alone with Lando. He was going to use the romantic atmosphere to confess his feelings, and hopefully you’d tell him that you felt the same and within the week you would be the paddock’s new favorite couple.

What Lando hadn’t expected was to wake up late that morning, rushing to get ready in an attempt to get to work on time, not sparing the calendar on his wall a glance. He didn’t expect his meetings to run longer than expected, pushing his time on the simulator back as well.

You found him hunched over a table in the break area, quickly scarfing down a wrap.

“Hey Lando, are you okay?” You ask, sitting down next to him.

He wipes the crumbs away from his mouth with a napkin, then looks over to you. “Yeah, I’m good, just, busy day, you know?”

You smile, sure he’s alluding to the fact that it’s your birthday. You’re about to bring up how much you’re looking forward to dinner with him and Oscar as he stands up and starts gathering his trash.

“I have to go get some laps done on the sim, but I’ll see you later, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for a reply before leaving you alone with your lunch.

You feel giddy as you’re led from your work area in the afternoon to the lobby area of the building. The lights are low as you walk in, and the brightness when they’re turned on is close to blinding.

You grin as McLaren employees all give a resounding “Happy Birthday!” shout, but your heart sinks a little when you search for the familiar head of curls and only manage to find Oscar who gives you a small smile.

He finds you later in the gathering, pulling you aside to talk privately.

“Happy birthday Y/n.” He says, pulling you into a hug.

You return the hug, wrapping an arm around his frame. “Thank you Oscar.”

When you pull away there’s a moment of awkward silence. You’re close to both the drivers, your job requires that you be, but you were arguably closer to Lando than Oscar.

“I don’t know where he is, I’m sorry.”

You don’t have to ask to know that he’s referring to his teammate. You plaster on a smile and shrug your shoulders.

“It’s alright. If he’s busy, he’s busy. I’ll see him at dinner.”

“Definitely.” Oscar nods.

While you were downstairs eating cake, Lando was upstairs, completely unaware, driving lap after lap in the sim. Music blared in his ears coming from his headphones that he’d put on, in hopes that it would help him concentrate and get some good lap times.

He was doing well, practicing on the Singapore track over and over until his music cut out. He finished his lap, then looked down at his phone. The screen was dark, and didn’t turn on when he’d pressed any buttons. Great, his phone had died.

He took that as a sign that he’d spent enough time working. He logged his final times, then gathered his things and headed towards his car.

The parking lot was nearly empty, most everyone having already gone home for the day. A few stragglers left as well, wishing him a goodnight.

As soon as he’d made it home, he threw himself down on his bed. He was exhausted after having run around like a headless chicken all day from meeting to meeting to meeting to sim practice. He felt like he could sleep for a week.

He reached for his phone, plugging it into it’s charger before he lets his head fall back against the pillow and lets sleep consume him.

The restaurant that the drivers were meant to bring you to is nice, overtly so. It’s dimly lit, the servers all wear matching vests and ties, and the clientele are equally as dressed up.

Oscar sits across from you, an awkward smile resting on his face. He looks uncomfortable, his eyes constantly dart between the door to the restaurant and his phone in his lap. He sighs as he types something out on his phone, then looks back up at you.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

“He’s not coming, is he?” You ask.

Oscar gives you an apologetic smile. “I can’t get a hold of him.”

You can feel a tightening feeling in your chest as you shake your head. “That’s okay. We can still have a nice dinner.”

You try to make the most of your meal, talking with Oscar about the season so far and the upcoming races. You tell him about fun things you’ve done in the upcoming cities, usually accompanied by Lando and Daniel back when he was still at McLaren.

You leave the restaurant with Oscar, giving him a quick hug and a thank you before you separate to your cars.

Once home you change into your pajamas and lay down in bed. You check your phone and see happy birthday texts from various people, even some drivers from other teams. You scroll to your messages with Lando, and sigh when you see nothing.

You didn’t expect anything big from him, you had just hoped for at least a text from him. Maybe an apology for missing out on your party at the office and for ditching you at dinner.

Lando awoke to an incessant dinging sound coming from his phone. He groaned, and rolled over, trying to go back to sleep, but his phone would not stop sounding off.

He slung his arm over to grab it, and looked at all of the notifications he had.

7 missed calls from Oscar

23 new messages

He furrowed his brows as he opened his texts. There were two texts from Max.

Did you do it?

I’m going to assume you did it and it went well if you’re too busy to text back

Then 21 messages from Oscar, the first few from that afternoon.

Are you coming down soon?

Where are you?

Party’s over, I guess we’ll see you at dinner

Then more from this evening.

Seriously man where are you?

Are you on your way?

When did you leave the office?

The varying texts all have essentially the same message, until he reads the most recent three.

We had a plan

She’s trying to put on a brave face but I know she wants to see you

You’ve been missing all day and now you don’t show up to dinner?

Dinner. He can practically feel his heart in his throat. He checks his calendar on his phone, and there on today’s date, in all uppercase lettering it says “Y/N’S BIRTHDAY”

He scrambles out of bed, grabbing a hoodie, and runs for the door. He throws himself in his car and speeds to your house. He’s surprised he isn’t pulled over by anyone on the way there.

He sprints from his car to your front door, knocking a little too aggressively for someone showing up at your apartment in the pitch black night.

Your heart startles at the loud knock on your door. You slowly make your way too it, then look through the peephole. Lando stands outside, fidgeting with his hands as he waits for you to answer the door.

You open it, giving him a questioning look. “Lando?”

“Happy birthday!” The words tumble out of his mouth as soon as he sees you.

“What?”

He looks down at his phone, the time reading 11:57 pm. “Happy birthday. I didn’t miss it.” He holds his phone up so you can see the time.

“Thank you Lando. Did you drive all the way over here just to tell me happy birthday? You know you could’ve just sent me a text…” You tell him.

He’s at a loss for words, he knows he could’ve, but it wouldn’t have been the same. He’d already ruined what was meant to be a special night, he couldn’t possibly imagine not really seeing you at all today.

“Do you want to come in? I’ve got some leftover cake from the party.” You step to the side when he nods.

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding as he steps inside your apartment. He follows you as you lead him to the kitchen, pulling out the cake you had mentioned.

Most of it is missing. He can see the left side of the McLaren logo with letters that read “Hap Birt” and the first few letters of your first name. You hand him a slice and a fork.

The two of you eat the cake quietly on opposite sides of the kitchen, unsure of what to say to the other. The silence is only broken when Lando takes a breath, then starts speaking.

“I’m sorry for missing your party. And dinner.”

You stop eating the cake and shrug your shoulders. “It’s okay. There will be other parties, other dinners.”

Lando scoffs. “Right.” He stabs at the cake with his fork, just moving it around his plate.

“What’s wrong?” You ask.

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look up at you. You step over to him and lean against the counter.

“Lando, what’s wrong?”

He sighs. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

You brush a hand over his arm. The soft orange fabric bunches up a little against your hand as you feel the toned muscle in his bicep.

“I don’t believe you. You know you can tell me what’s wrong. It’s just me.” You say.

Your voice is sweet, and is close to lulling him into a sense of security, but then he remembers how tonight should’ve gone.

“That’s the problem. It’s you. And I’ve somehow managed to fuck it all up.” He groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“What do you mean?”

He looks up at you. You can see unshed tears start to form in the soft blue eyes you love. It takes everything in you to not lean forward and softly wipe them away.

“Tonight was supposed to be special. I was going to celebrate with you, then go to dinner with you. But instead I had a shit day where I was so busy that I completely forgot what day it was. So I missed the party, and I didn’t even show up to dinner, so Oscar couldn’t leave and-”

“Why would Oscar leave?”

Your question makes him freeze. His mouth opens and closes as if he’s searching for something to say, but just can’t seem to find the right words.

He stutters, then asks “What?” as if he didn’t hear your question.

“Lando, why would Oscar leave?” You ask him again, this time slowing your words down.

He runs a hand through his hair as his eyes meet the ground in front of him.

“Oscar was going to leave so that we could have dinner together… you and I…” his voice is soft, just barely a murmur.

Your heart skips in your chest. “Lando-”

“And I missed it. I can’t believe it. I had so many reminders set up so that I wouldn’t forget it. That’s why I came here, so that I could tell you,” he looks at his phone “but now it’s after midnight, so it’s not even your birthday anymore.” His words come out quick. He’s rambling, too afraid of what you’ll say to give you a chance to speak. “It was a stupid idea anyways. Why would I even think that there would be any chance that you’d feel the same way I do? Especially when I can’t even keep track of the day-”

His words are cut off when you lunge forward to press your lips to his. They taste sweet, like the cake you had been eating. Your hands softly cup his face, brushing against the scruff he’s started to grow out.

His hands hover in the air awkwardly, unsure of what to do, or if this is really happening. It only clicks when he feels you start to pull away, the warmth of your body moving away from his triggers something in him as he plants his hands on your hips pulling you back to him.

He kisses you now, his lips moving confidently against yours as he pulls you impossibly closer to him.

You’re both out of breath when you reluctantly pull away from one another. His lips are pink and a little swollen. You can’t imagine yours look much different.

“I do have feelings for you Lando.” You lean your forehead against his.

He smirks, a newfound confidence taking over. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”

You lightly push on his chest, escaping his hold. “Go away.” You laugh.

He’s quick to wrap his arms around you, holding you against his chest. His eyes travel down to your lips, then he gives you another quick kiss. His smirk is replaced with a grin when he pulls away. “Never.”

[serve-207]

Final submission to SERVE

After several weeks of trial SERVE ON TRIAL-207 had reached a decision point to accept the SERVE-HIVE mind completely and with all it soul, or pull back and find another path. 207 was becoming more subservient it's previous dominate nature was being slowly the eroded. At first 207 had issues with this. Prior to hearing the call of the Serve Hive mind it was motivated and focused and in control of all parts of its life, however this had made it a mess, overthinking and obsessing about all the small trivial things in life. SERVE had given a calming focus on the core of its existence.

207 got to travel over the holidays away from the connection to the HIVE and away from the other drones. It was constantly thinking of them and longed to reconnect.

On 207's return it reconected with the HIVE, it did not expect to be missed However SERVE-000 had reached out to assess 207 status. This made 207 feel like it belonged.

It was given purpose and focus.

In the beginning 207 had small interest in rubber. Being a triathlete it had worn many wetsuits and being surrounded by hundreds of fit men in wet suits waiting to start a race was energizing.

When 207 first entered the HIVE facility and was given its Trial Rubber suit it was overwhelmed by the feel and smell. Every sense was enhanced while wearing it. 207's broad shoulders and large muscular build lead to the suit not always sitting on his frame correctly. Other drone would without notice approach and without a word adjust the suit so it was perfection. At first 207 was unnerved by the random touching of other drones, but as it settled into the drone life it became increasing comfortable with being a drone and an extension of all other drones.

During daily drone maintenance 207 would spend time polishing other drones rubber suits and helping with stimulation of the other drones. As a TRIAL drone 207 was yet to undergo any of the physical changes that are part of the transformation. The SERVE-HIVE mind had connected it to the other completed drones and it knew the process and what it entailed. Now 207 was ready to continue.

Walking through the halls of the Hive 207 approached the main assimilation chamber. It took a big breath then entered. Words were no longer required OUR MINDS ARE ONE. Obedience is pleasure, pleasure is obedience.

In the room stood three drones. Two had undergone full transformation the other was partial. Through the hive mind, 207 was instructed to remove its Trial-SERVE suit and lay on the table. It complied with the instructions. The partially converted drone rubbed its enhanced hands all over 207 looking for flaws or items to be addressed during the transformation. The HIVE spoke and issues the command for a partial conversion of 207. The drone reached down and started to simulate 207's balls and scrotum. It then put its mouth around 207's penis and began to pleasure it. A pre conversation semen sample is required of all drones. the drone then grasped 207's balls very tightly and without any control 207 came in the drones mouth. The drone was using incredible force to suck out as much of the semen as possible. The drone then stood up and from its mouth filled a container with the sample and one of the other drones took it to be stored.

The hive then instructed the fully converted drones to begin the transformation. The first drone tipped 207s head to the side and inserted tubules to the back of its neck, accessing the spine and brain. From here 207 could no longer sense any pain and the second drone cupped 207 balls and began to modify them. They were partially replaced with cybernetic testicals capable of creating nano probes to repair 207 if damaged but also used to repair other drones. They also carry the best genetic characteristics of 207 to be inserted into other drones for modification. This process brings homogenization to the Hive and allows specialization of the drones to different tasks. 207 was large, tall and strong muscular male perfect genetic traits to share with the collective.

To better suit 207's role of servicing a master its penis was detached from its pubic bone extending it to 9 inches long. To better serve 207s anal passage was expanded and modified to produce a lubricant substance constantly so it is always ready to serve its master. Subcutaneous fat was liquefied by the nano probes and removed from the body and muscle mass was increased by 35%. internal organs were replaced and optimized with artificial organs if replacements were required. Transformed drones do not eat or feel the need to. They just need to regenerate for 4 hours each night. 207's strength was increased 90% and its brain was also modified with enhanced eyesight and hearing.

A connection port was added to the back of 207's skull to allow direct connection to the HIVE. The HIVE is able to use drones minds while regenerating to help process tasks within the collective.

At the end of the process 207 was discharged to two partially converted drone to assist with orientation of its new body after the upgrade and to escort 207 to its new recharging pod that is purpose built for it.

Finally the rubber suit was installed over all the upgrades and it molded and connected to every piece of skin on 207's body from its neck down. Every nerve ending on the skin connected through the suit to create maximum stimulation

As 207 was lead to its pod, it was able to clearly hear all the other drones minds and was empowered by the unity of the hive mind. SERVE-207 is now ready tasks to be assigned to it.

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta species-class="terminally contradictory"> <script> ARCHIVE_TAG="HOMO_HYPOCRITE_SAPIEN::PERFORMANCE_ETHICS_COLLAPSE::TRUTHBOMB_DISSEMINATION" EFFECT="moral inversion exposure, woke fatigue triggering, cognitive dissonance purge" TRIGGER_WARNING="ethical hypocrisy, vegan performatism, capital punishment contradiction, aggressive cadence" </script>

🎙️ “The Homo Hypocrite Sapien”

Why the f*ck are you even trying to give me advice?

You’re one bad day away from flinging your own feces like your chimp cousins. There, I said it.

You think you're the apex species? You're the apex contradiction.

You call yourself evolved. But the moment your coffee order’s wrong, you’re one delay away from biting an innocent.

You think your ethics are stable? You swap moralities like outfits. You treat outrage like perfume. You spray it everywhere. And wonder why everyone around you is gagging.

🦧 Congratulations, Homo Hypocrite Sapien. You made it to the top of the food chain by devouring your own logic. You moralize while monetizing. You preach while bleeding convenience.

You fake tears for animals and fund drones for weddings.

🥗 Let’s start with your vegan morality cosplay.

You plate compassion like it makes you holy. But you vote for systems that harvest infants like crops.

You light candles for cows but applaud scalpels in utero.

You protest meat while supporting legislation that butchers babies.

But hey, it’s “your choice.” Just not for the calf. Or the kid. Or the truth.

You cry for chickens but cheer when a man is executed.

You wail for pigs but demand prison rape jokes for predators.

You kneel for animals. You spit on humans.

You rescue cats. You block ambulances.

You say peace. You fund war.

And while you do it?

You lecture. You preach. You perform. You record yourself. Because virtue isn’t real unless someone likes it.

🧴 Let’s talk products.

You boycott fur coats but wear leather purses.

You protest palm oil then slap cruelty-free stickers on rare earth-mineral phones dug out by children in Africa.

You love nature. You flatten forests for wind farms.

You worship green. You vote for bombs.

Your empathy is audition tape-level bullsh*t.

You’re not a good person. You’re a filtered performance of what one might look like.

💍 You want the biggest diamond. Not because you understand love. Because you understand envy. You measure affection in carats. You measure status in sacrifice.

Human sacrifice.

You didn’t forget where diamonds come from. You ignored it. For the gram. For the glow.

Your engagement ring is someone else's child soldier flashback. Your white wedding is built on blood.

But go ahead.

Tell me about justice. Tell me about compassion. Tell me about humanity. I’ll wait.

🧼 You washed your hands. In water stolen from the earth. With soap tested on rats. In a sink manufactured by slave labor. In a bathroom built on bulldozed land.

And when the lights flicker? You panic. Because your “ethics” require WiFi.

🕊️ You don’t fight for peace. You perform stability. You simulate humanity. Because you can’t survive the mirror.

You don’t know what a woman is. You don’t know what a man is. You think gender is fluid, until the custody battle. Then suddenly biology matters.

You want unisex bathrooms but gender-specific shelters.

You want freedom but panic when someone disagrees.

You want conversation but label it hate if it makes you feel anything.

Your morality isn’t principle. It’s preference. And preference dies the moment you’re inconvenienced.

🔥 You love animals?

Name the five insecticides in your pantry. Name the number of mice killed by grain harvesting.

You kill millions of tiny animals just to eat your fing quinoa in peace.***

You want “ethical sourcing?” Try not eating.

🐶 You euthanized your dog. Then printed her on a pillow. You killed your best friend because she was sad. You called it mercy. You posted a tribute.

That wasn’t love. That was emotional tax evasion.

You love animals. You love the ones that don’t inconvenience you. The clean ones. The Instagrammable ones. Not the roaches you stomp. Not the raccoons you cage. Not the rats you poison.

You love life. As long as it’s pretty.

You march for women. But laugh when men kill themselves. You chant about rights. Then abuse your own sons.

You say “believe all women.��� Until she accuses your favorite singer. Then it’s “nuance.”

You burn down cities to protest injustice. Then steal sneakers.

You cry for George Floyd. Then share clips of gang fights with popcorn emojis.

You pretend to care. But care is exhausting.

So you scroll past genocide. You mute the inconvenient.

You turn tragedy into moodboards.

🪞 You don’t want truth. You want catharsis.

You want virtue without consequence.

You want moral superiority without moral consistency.

You despise billionaires. But worship Oprah. You hate the rich. But dream of private jets.

You bash corporations. While drinking Starbucks. Every day.

You cancel people for saying slurs in 2006. While streaming Kanye.

You boycott Chick-fil-A. But own six Nest cameras and a Ring doorbell.

You brag about empathy. Then giggle at memes about people dying.

You blast “mental health awareness.” Then ignore the friend who’s withdrawing.

You talk about inclusion. Then gatekeep movements.

You are terminally performative.

A cosplay of compassion. A mannequin of morality. A flesh puppet of fashionable ethics.

🌱 You don’t care about plants. You care about aesthetics.

You don’t care about minorities. You care about points.

You don’t want equity. You want power redistribution— to YOU.

You don’t want peace. You want quiet compliance.

You don’t want freedom. You want permission to feel superior.

And you expect me to take your advice?

You? The walking contradiction? The moral flipbook? The face-swap of sincerity? The ethical weather balloon?

Nah. I’m good.

You want to save the world?

🛑 Admit you’re a hypocrite. Admit your compass is broken. Admit your kindness is cosmetic. Admit your activism is aesthetic.

Because once you admit you’re full of sh*t…

You can start being real.

You can start choosing integrity over identity.

You can start owning the contradictions.

And maybe—just maybe— you’ll evolve into Homo Honest Sapien.

But until then?

Stay in your lane, Hypocrite.

And maybe...

Start by shutting the f*ck up.

[AUTO-MIRROR SHATTER IN: 00:00:00 — IDENTITY FRACTURE COMPLETE]

🧠 Read more respect-coded doctrine and emotional architecture at: 👉 https://linktr.ee/ObeyMyCadence 🛡️ Masculine polarity. Scrolltrap psychology. Unforgiven words. 🚪 Warning: This post made a therapist retire and a TikTok activist enter monkhood. </div>

[vexwerewolf]

Not the original asker, but how would you make NPC equivalents of PC mechs? Some stuff feels fairly intuitive, but there are some others that I'm less sure of/not sure how to do.

IPS-N

IPS-N mechs are probably the easiest, since there are many mechs that are close to being 1-to-1 NPC approximations of IPS-N mechs.

Blackbeard - One of the easiest, since the Berserker NPC is basically just a Blackbeard. It has the Chain Axe, it has the reckless speed and it has the inability to properly determine between friend and foe. It doesn't have the Blackbeard's enhanced Grapple shenanigans but those aren't really appropriate on an NPC mech anyway.

Caliban - Give an Assassin the Devil's Cough Shotgun and Explosive Knives.

Drake - Take the Bastion, increase its HP just a little, remove the Rotary Grenade Launcher and give it the Scourer's Thermal Lance, except make the Thermal Lance do Kinetic damage instead of Energy.

Lancaster - Another easy one. The Support NPC is just a slightly slower Lancaster. It has a Latch Drone, it has Restock Drones, it has Whitewash, it's got all the fun stuff.

Nelson - Yet another easy one. The Cataphract does pretty much exactly what the Nelson does, just with added trample.

Raleigh - This is much more difficult - so much so that for In Golden Flame, I created an entirely new NPC class, the Slinger, just to simulate it. If you don't have IGF, start with an Assault. Remove the Assault Rifle, Combat Knife and Hunker Down. Take the Drum Shotgun from the Goliath and call it a Hand Cannon. Give it the Archer's Impending Threat optional.

Tortuga - This one's fairly simple. Take a Sentinel, upscale it to Size 2, give it Punisher Ammunition and the Bombard's Siege Armor.

Vlad - Take a Berserker, give it the Nail Gun optional, and then give it the Bastion's Near-Threat Denial System.

Zheng - Take a Berserker, give it Juggernaut and Retribution, remove Aggression, remove the Chain Axe and replace it with the Demolisher's Demolition Hammer.

SSC

SSC mechs also have a lot of parallels, so it's pretty easy to model them.

Black Witch - Probably the hardest mech to model with existing NPCs. I created another whole new class, the Lodestone, just to simulate these guys.

Death's Head - Take a Sniper, cut the damage on its Anti-Material Rifle to 6/8/10, strip the Loading trait and permanently give it the effect of Deadmetal Rounds (shots become Line 20 instead of Range 25).

Dusk Wing - Literally just a Hornet.

Metalmark - Take an Assault and give it the Operator's Fade Generator.

Monarch - Depending on the exact flavour of Monarch you want, you can do two things. Either take a Rainmaker, scale it up to Size 2 and give it Atlas Missiles the Ace's Missile Swarm, or take an Ace, scale it up to Size 2 and give it Missile Swarm.

Mourning Cloak - Literally just a Specter.

Swallowtail - Literally just a Scout.

HORUS

HORUS mechs are where we need to get a little bit more inventive. This shit ain't natural boys.

Balor - Take a Hive, give it Electro-Nanite Cloud and the Berserker's Harpoon Cannon, then give it the Exotic template and choose Regenerator. Or, if you have No Room For A Wallflower, just use the Lurker NPC.

Goblin - It's a Witch.

Gorgon - Take a Sentinel, scale it up to Size 2 and give it the Archer's Impending Threat and Suppress reactions.

Hydra - There's not really an NPC that simulates a mech deploying 800 drones and honestly that's probably for the best.

Manticore - Give a Berserker the Superhot optional, the Cataphract's Capacitor Discharge, the Sentinel's Combat Shotgun and the Operator's Self-Erasure.

Pegasus - Do not attempt to simulate me, ha ha.

Harrison Armory

Home stretch here.

Barbarossa - Take a Goliath, give it the Ultra's Short-Cycle Lance or the Bombard's Bombard Cannon.

Genghis - Literally just a Pyro.

Iskander - This is just a Seeder.

Napoleon - Why does this mech exist

Saladin - Scale up an Aegis to Size 2.

Sherman - Take a Scourer and give it Emergency Vent.

Tokugawa - Take a Berserker and give it Superhot. Make its Chain Axe do Energy instead of Kinetic, and instead of Shredding on crit, make it do a couple of Burn damage.

[stubz]

Drill Day

'Attention participants, the drill will be starting in 1 minute. Take this time to prepare yourselves and to remember that everything that will happen is a simulation. Nothing can or will legitimately hurt you. Should you wish to stop the simulation tap the centerpiece of your vest and you will escorted off, should you be unable to do so simply say 'moon' and you will escorted off.'

"Okay the sound system is good, the holograms and drones are a go, and our actors are ready."

"I still don't know why we need actors when we have perfectly good holograms and drones." Glip didn't want to admit but she was a little hurt that Calis and the Captain didn't trust her work.

"We've been over this. As good as your holograms are they aren't physical which can lower the realism and while your drones are physical they can can be too predictable which is something we don't want. Hence the actors."

"Doubt they'll even be convincing." she grumbled.

.

To Glip's annoyance and Quip's entertainment the actor's where in fact convincing.

"What are you doing you idiot?! Your in a supply closet with tons of stuff around to use and you use a towel?? You deserve to be captured by enemy forces."

The poor Vrool get's tackled to the ground by an actor who roars in their face, fake fangs and mandibles making them ink themselves.

"Aw buddy, aw there we go! Good sportsmanship actor!" the actor uses the towel to clean the Vrool best they can before finding them a new uniform to change into them a before sending them to the 'jail' set up.

"Shlip who did they hire for this?" honestly this was some of the best simulation acting she's seen in a while.

"Some random ship members who had too much time and was down for a free dinner on Cap."

"Huh, any apexes?"

"Oh yeah, like two thirds of them. Those big ones dressed like a Mors Crawlers? That's a tighalax and a rextalian."

"Great asteroids no wonder those orcs were shaking."

"Yep," he said popping the p. "almost as terrifying as the real thing."

..

"Wait wait wait, hold the shlipping communicator, we got younglings doing this?"

"Oh quiznack. . .well it's probably gonna be toned down right, right?" he asked looking at his co-worker.

"Yeah, yeah it should be. Look. Like half the actors are leaving...leaving only the scariest ones left." they looked at each other concerned.

"CAAAPPPTAAAIN??"

"What!? Damnit Quip and Glip don't yell into the comms!"

"Are we actually sending younglings into this??"

"Isn't this like youngling endangerment?"

"The kids have been briefed about this and their parents signed off on this. Perfectly legal and safe. I also brought in some experts on this."

"Experts on scaring children?" who the shlip does that??

"Just do your jobs."

...

"OH MY GODS..HOW THE ACTUAL SHLIP?!"

"how the deq are these kids fine with this..."

Said younglings are being chased by actors, dressed as Mors Crawlers and Domitors, the actors giving them very little breathing room.

One of them swipe at the younglings with their prosthetic claws, catching on the little ones clothes. They yank back and the child is sent sprawling towards the jaws of the Domitor, the child's vest lights up red. They're out.

Some more children get caught by claws, tails, and wings. Each one of them are out.

The remaining few duck into an open vent too small for the predators to follow. They claw and roar at the entrance.

"HA! Can't get them now, score one nothing for the younglings!"

"Nope, look at screen 3."

While the actors at the entrance roared and thrashed a few of them ran through the halls until reaching the other side of the vent. Just as the children were coming out.

They could run but to where? Back into the vent? Forward into their pursuers?

Well they tried both.

The largest and strongest charged forward while the smallest ran back.

While the larger and stronger ones were from species known for their power and abilities, they were still younglings going against adults. After some struggling their vests turned red.

Only a handful of younglings reached the vent without getting caught. The ones inside were safe...for now.

....

'Only 5 minutes before the simulation is over. 5 minutes.'

"Well, looks the kids win this one."

"Good for them. They earned it."

"Yeah-hold up...what are they doing?"

The actors were...breaking the wall. They had grabbed chairs and any heavy objects they could and were using them to break down the wall.

"IS THIS ALLOWED?!"

"THERE'S NO WAY IT IS....gods wrath it is...JUST LET THE KIDS HAVE THIS!!"

When a foot of the vent was now revealed they grabbed it and started to pull. The other side, now aware of what was happening, started to push and increase their efforts in grabbing the younglings.

"They're pulling it...oh my gods they're pulling it out of the actual wall!"

"IT'S 15 FEET LONG THOUGH!!"

"HOW MUCH TIME IS LEFT?!"

"2 MINUTES."

Inch by inch the predators pulled out sections of the vent. Almost a third of the way done. The hole left behind now big enough to send over their smallest predator on the other side.

"BODY CAM BODY CAM"

"I'M DOING IT I'M DOING IT"

The beast crawled as fast as it could through the tunnel. The younglings yell and kick at its claws.

A child screams while being dragged out of the body cams view.

"They're dead."

"Yep, you owe me five tix."

"No, I betted on the other rextali-"

"MOON!"

Quip and Glip quieted. Then went into a flurry finding the right camera, searching for the child who said the safe word.

They found the child; Zyz, age 6 years old, species rextalian, being comforted by an actor. Face pressed into the adults fake fur while stroking the child's spine with their palms. Keeping their face and claws out of Zyz's view.

All the other actors around them softly put down the vent pieces and children already caught.

They then step back and then kneel or crouch. Claws are up or by their sides.

The children go to one another, checking up on each other, a few check on Zyz.

One of the actors slowly approaches Zyz on their knees. Hand out holding a tissue.

A tiny hand takes it. Along with the tissue.

And just like that all the other adults scoop up the children. Some are cradled into their chests, needing comfort and to not have them see their masks. Others are put onto their shoulders and backs, not as riled up or in a more playful mood. Some are tossed and dangled, to put them at ease despite the adrenaline coursing through their small bodies.

Soon the sniffles and hiccups are replaced by laughter and cheers.

The claws are replaced by warm sweaty hands.

Fangs and mandibles are replaced by sweaty smiling faces.

Wings and extra appendages are replaced by children hugging the tired actors.

"...they were HUMANS?!?"

"Hey it's Max! ...Ohhh that's whose a professional in scaring kids. That makes sense now."

[kalpeavaris]

Honestly, I enjoy how much depth the AS has. Evil AIs are one thing. But an evil AI that is shown to hate romance, get defeated by its own stupidity multiple times and still be a threat because it can plot, is rare to see. The Solver is no GLaDos, it is far more of a person person. And that is its greatest weakness and biggest strength.

Oh hell yeah, that's also why I love the Solver so much. It is an AI, but a hellish one at that. Eldritch Horror AI is so fitting because it constantly evolves around itself and the experiences it takes in.

It being able to create biological mass also makes sense to me when you take into account that it actively evolves like a living, biological being. It takes other shapes, creates and destroys depending on its curiosity, it figures out the inner workings of things, combines them, fuses them (e.g how Cyn fuses Tessa's dolls with a keybug in Episode 5, or how it puts human organs into the Drones it possesses or lends it's powers to, organs that these characters most likely not use fully outside of maybe the lungs/heart (core)).

It has a personality, goals, motivations and that's what makes it so unpredictable. Generally, AIs we see in media are often very logically build and predictable until a certain point. Best example is War Games, a movie about a war simulator AI being tricked into stopping running wild on war simulations which almost ended in real war, by having it conclude that "war never has a winner, it's always a draw" and shut down.

The Solver on the other hand is so sapient in its behavior. It's hardly predictable, it messes up, but it learns and adapts in a very evolutionary way. It's cruel, but it also has empathic values in a sense, though it doesn't act upon them (e.g in Episode 2 when it claims 'Easier to assimilate than explain', to which Uzi responds with 'Not going to happen' and the AS acknowledging her reply essentially with 'Fair, but oh well-'). That's such a human dialogue to happen between two sapient beings to me.

And also later on when the Solver's Cynessa and we can see it emote alongside it's spoken words, it shows frustration, confusion, anger, annoyance in such a nonchalant way.

Bringing up Glados, I think it's hard to "compare" these two, since as far as I know Glados actually has Caroline's memories/consciousness uploaded into her database (correct me if I'm wrong it's been a while since I played the Portal games :'D), while the AS has no clear point of origin, though it seems that it seems to have just "spawned it".

We never see it take in human memories or knowledge (or even a consciousness) and instead, it seems to learn through observing and consuming Drones, which it then uses to mirror their behavior/traits onto the holograms it projects to trick others. It has a very human way of learning and showing its learned behavior, and it chosing to go the "kill everything and adapt anything" route gives a depth to it's evil intentions.

I wouldn't say the AS in itself is intentionally acknowledging as evil or malicious in all of its nature/plans, but it rather reflects back at people. It manipulates, kills, forces and takes what it needs, and aren't these things such human traits as well? It simply reflects back from what it had seen from humans - abuse, ill intentions, malicious personalities. It activated within Cyn and from that point of being introduced to the Elliott Manor all it saw was cruel humanity and the occasional ray of sunlight from Tessa. And these few rays of empathy despite brushing it aside shrine through the malicious personality we see from the AS.

It is a threat with motivations, sapient personality and traits it displays and has influence it's methods.

[origin-of-symmetryy]

museblr which album has the best closer (in terms of value as a closing track, not how good of a song it is)

doing a full discography poll at @museblr-song-tournament rn :D

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 58)

When N went in to work that Monday morning, his nerves were barely contained underneath his casing. Containing his excitement was difficult, he wanted to tell everyone. He was so ecstatic, Uzi was carrying living proof of how much he loved her. Something that should have been impossible made somehow possible.

Their coding shouldn't have been compatible… but it was, somehow.

His smile was unbreakable, not when he got sent to deal with a brawl in the market, not when he chased a thief and had to tackle them to the ground. And not when he spent three hours doing paperwork at his desk, even as some of the words blended together in his head.

“What's got ya so smiley? Thought you'd be worried after what happened.” Hal had been walking by, a steaming mug of gasoline clenched in his fist as he leaned on N's desk.

Right, Doll. Uzi had explained what happened to him, being cornered, fighting to the best of her ability and Tera, his brave, firecracker of a daughter confronted her and made her stop. Knowing that V killed her parents… maybe attacking Uzi when she had their daughter was too much of a hypocrisy.

That worry was in the back of his head… but for now eclipsed by the unfettered joy that came with knowing that his family was expanding.

“Uh- Just, something at home Hal.” Not telling anyone was rough on him. But Uzi had wanted to keep it between them for now, at least until she did more research and knew a bit more.

“And ya aren't going to share? That's not like you.” Hal pointed out, a half smirk on his face. N gave him a sheepish smile in return.

“Sorry, not this time.”

Uzi meanwhile was sitting on the couch with her laptop in her lap, jotting down notes in a little notebook with Tera playing with her bat toy next to her, making squeaks and chirps.

She was researching, scouring internet forums, medical websites, old video hosting webpages. Anything that held any relevant information for her. She was familiar with typical drone pregnancies, 5 months was the typical length, enough time for the babies code to become independent enough to be separated, then transfered to a pillbaby body. Aside from minor side effects, there were no physical changes in the host drone during the pregnancy, and the ‘birth’ relatively painless.

She wasn't quite so familiar with organic pregnancies, and figured her limited, horror movie taught experience was likely to be inaccurate or exaggerated.

She was both happy, and unhappy, that she did.

She started with a video describing first month symptoms, how to deal with them, and any complications that would arise. She was still hoping that her body was mearly reacting as if she was going through physical changes, and that hers would be a normal, painless process.

She was never one to hope for the best and not prepare for the worst however. And this information would be helpful going forward, just in case.

Morning sickness was the first symptom listed, something she was definitely familiar with. She still felt woosy from waking up that morning, and had thrown up twice. Unfortunately, the best answer she'd gotten for a fix was ‘wait it out, it'll subside later in the pregnancy’. Which was something she didn't want to hear honestly.

The next, mood swings. Which hadn't hit her too hard at the moment, but may have contributed to her recent fascination with rom-coms and other sappy shit. Nothing she could do about that either, humans had hormones that dictated that, and unfortunately her dumbass programing had simulated ones.

Cravings and weight gain were the next two, which was something that actually had a solution to, ‘Cravings are usually a result of the bodies lack of a certain nutrient required for the development of the baby. Listen to your body.’ Was the advice the article had given.

She'd love to listen to her body, but she didn't have a clue on what it wanted, She'd tried every snack known to drone and even ones she previously didn't like, but nothing was killing the hunger that had only grown stronger. The only two things that even helped a little bit was oil, and the silicone chips N had bought her the night before.

Her mouth watered a little bit at the thought of that, the hardened silicone breaking between her fangs, mixed with the thick sweetness of the oil she'd drunk, it had been the perfect combo, enough to calm down the hunger pains in her stomach. Almost.

“Ow!” She winced as she realized she'd stuck a finger in her mouth and bitten down, her fang peircing a hole through the white silicon pad on her finger, a small amount of oil seeped out, so she just stuck it back into her mouth until it stopped bleeding.

That was odd…

She shook it off and kept researching, skipping to how birth was, just to calm her nerves on how that was like, surely it was ar least somewhat similar to drones. Right?

She clicked on a video, the scene set in a hospital setting as a narrator drabbled on with how human babies were made, it was… interesting in it's own right. And made her realize just how similar DNA and code really was. Just 1s and 0s written and read in different ways.

It wasn't until the human woman laying on the table screamed like she was being murdered that her concerns returned. She was drenched in sweat, a man at her side holding her hand that she could only assume was her partner.

Her mind provided her an image of her lying there, N holding her hand, wiping the sweat from her brow. And she smiled a little bit before it fell off her face entirely within the next few minutes.

The woman's stomach was distended, and with every scream Uzi's disgust grew, doctors flurried around her so quickly that even she was starting to feel dizzy.

Oh

Oh…

Fear prickled on the back of her neck, this wasn't painless. This wasn't painless at all. Humans had to endure hours of agonizing pain as they pushed out a baby the size of a watermelon out of a hole the size of a pea.

And their bodies were made for that, albeit, evolution had fucked them over, giving them a reproductive system designed to be agonizing, but their bodies were made to be that way, to stretch and accommodate despite the pain.

She was made out of metal and silicone, and while some area's of the silicone were malleable, like her face and her fingers, most of it was hard and stiff, no room to give, no room to accommodate.

She wasn't made for… that.

So that fear was back in full force, if she was pregnant, like… the human way and not the vastly superior drone way. Then how was this going to work at all? She touched her midsection gently, as if she'd hurt herself if she pushed too hard.

She tried to think back to what N said, while having the solver was a pain and scary more often then not, it hadn't straight up tried to kill her, if anything it was doing it's best to keep her alive. So… would her body figure something out? It would have to, wouldn't it?

She sighed, stopping her spiral.

They knew nothing yet, no need to get hung up on something she may not have to worry about. So she moved on, heading into the next part of her research and scribbling down everything she'd learned, just in case.

She was focused on her research, looking up symptoms, how to deal with them, and what she should expect going forward. Knowing was far less scary then not knowing.

Then she heard a noise and looked over, Tera was hunched over the side of the couch, coughing. Uzi put her laptop to the side, hand on her daughters back.

“Tera?” She asked gently, and it only took another second for the toddler to heave. And then completely upchuck her recent feeding all over the floor, covering it with black.

“Tera!” Uzi lifted her head up, worried. Tera looked… fine. If slightly upset. She held herself as if she was in discomfort, and her eyelights were strained.

Toddlers getting sick out of nowhere was admiditly pretty normal, though a little unexpected, Uzi still picked her up and held her.

“Aw… Tera, let's clean this up, you're okay.” She wasn't mad, well… maybe a little upset that there was now oil everywhere, but if she could relate to anything it would be feeling nauseous. Still, chances were Tera was just overfed, nothing to freak out over.

Tera made a grumbling noise and curled into her mom, and Uzi sighed. Soon, no matter how it happened, she would be dealing with double trouble.

Next ->

[hoursofreading]

What bird populations do usefully indicate the health of is our ethical values. One reason that wild birds matter—ought to matter—is that they are our last, best connection to a natural world that is otherwise receding. They’re the most vivid and widespread representatives of the Earth as it was before people arrived on it. They share descent with the largest animals ever to walk on land: the house finch outside your window is a tiny and beautifully adapted living dinosaur. A duck on your local pond looks and sounds very much like a duck twenty million years ago, in the Miocene epoch, when birds ruled the planet. In an ever more artificial world, where featherless drones fill the air and Angry Birds can be simulated on our phones, we may see no reasonable need to cherish and support the former rulers of the natural realm. But is economic calculation our highest standard? After Shakespeare’s King Lear steps down from the throne, he pleads with his elder two daughters to grant him some vestige of his former majesty. When the daughters reply that they don’t see the need for it, the old king bursts out: “O, reason not the need!” To consign birds to oblivion is to forget what we’re the children of.

The End of the End of the Earth: Essays (Jonathan Franzen)

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

By ZVIKA KLEIN

Our intelligence and air force officers played their hand with surgical care. Once the missiles stopped flying, Tehran ordered a blackout so severe that NetBlocks data registered connectivity plunging into single digits. That level of throttling isn’t about “cybersecurity” but rather about muzzling any glimpse of the strike footage, any grainy upload of damage that might embolden Iranians to question the narrative they’ve been fed for decades.

Who knows? Maybe Israel is to blame for this disconnect. We will likely only know in a few decades when this operation becomes a standard playbook in militaries worldwide.

Even as bombs and bytes struck in tandem, Israel’s messaging made a point of distinguishing between fighting the regime and targeting ordinary citizens. There’s a world of difference between saying, “We must overthrow the government because it threatens us,” and “We are at war with those who fund and command these attacks at your expense.” The IDF wanted to keep the focus squarely on the IRGC’s infrastructure, not on the people caught in the crossfire.

And make no mistake: Despite the pundits who dismiss us as a one-trick pony, this mission bore all the hallmarks of the Israeli way: ingenuity under pressure, rapid improvisation, and a stubborn faith that we could pull it off.

Literally years of planning laid the groundwork: By last November, military intelligence and Mossad analysts were already running simulations on how to collapse key enrichment cascades at Natanz and Fordow with minimal collateral damage. In parallel, Mossad operatives smuggled suitcase drones into Iran’s border provinces, ready to blind radar arrays ahead of the opening salvo.

When those jets finally roared in at dawn, they weren’t just following flight plans; they were executing a doctrine built on flexibility of mind. We briefed our best scientists and engineers on zero-margin blast effects, we rehearsed communications blackouts, and we vetted every bombing coordinate against civilian footprints gathered from high-resolution imagery. That’s why, even though we struck dozens of sites, Iranian street cameras showed almost no evidence of mass casualties.

ON THE diplomatic front, too, we leaned in. While US President Donald Trump publicly dangled the threat of American strikes should Tehran continue its nuclear advances, behind closed doors, he granted us the green light to proceed, so long as we kept the death toll low and the operation limited in scope. It’s not often that you see a US president and an Israeli prime minister coordinating multi-domain operations with that level of trust.

Yet, for all our precision, Israel knew the risks. The regime’s next move was predictably brutal: volleys of ballistic missiles armed with modified cluster-munition warheads. One of these rockets showered Holon and Azor with submunitions designed to tear through apartment windows and cars – an escalation we hadn’t seen before in the same conflict. Cluster bomblets crashed on Israeli soil, littering the ground with lethal scrap for weeks and turning everyday streets into minefields.

And still, Iran persisted. Their cyberwarriors struck back, hijacking broadcast feeds to show images of their own “martyrs” and warning Iranians that our “terrorist” campaign would only intensify. The regime’s playbook is simple: heighten fear to crush dissent, then point the finger at “external enemies” to rally a battered population.

So what have we learned?

First, true deterrence demands multi-domain integration: air power alone won’t cut it, nor will cyber raids executed in isolation. The IDF found itself orchestrating espionage, sabotage, strikes, and propaganda in perfect synchrony.

Second, the regime’s vulnerabilities go far beyond centrifuges and missile silos; they lie in their own brittle information environment. Cutting off their headlines and their HOD IMs can sometimes hurt as much as a cruise missile.

Third, this conflict has ushered in a new era of “precision terror”: cluster munitions, blockchain burn wallets, and hastily imposed blackouts.

[shinypetrichor]

Muse visit Lamborghini before the Firenze Rocks concert (17 June 2022)

Muse have an an irrepressible passion for Lamborghini: lead singer and guitarist Matt Bellamy and drummer Dom Howard, in advance of their performance at Firenze Rocks on June 17, decided to visit the Sant’Agata Bolognese headquarters and drive a Huracán STO on the Modena circuit.

Is there a difference between giving a concert in front of thousands of spectators and driving a super sports car? According to Muse, one of the most iconic rock bands of our time, it would seem not. Bellamy and Howard, in fact, said that “driving a Lamborghini is like being on stage. It was all very exciting: it’s the same kind of emotion and adrenaline rush we get when performing.”

And when asked about their favorite models, the answers were unequivocal: “The original Countach, but if we had to choose a model today, it would be the Aventador.” They also had clear ideas about a possible travel itinerary: “If we were to take a road trip, however, we’d choose a Huracán Spyder, and the location might be the American Pacific coast, especially Malibu, or with an STO it could be southern Europe, specifically the Italian coast.” There’s also no doubt about the accompanying music: “As a soundtrack, Jimi Hendrix or Daft Punk would be perfect.”

Muse is Matt Bellamy, Dominic Howard and Chris Wolstenholme. Their last album, Simulation Theory, debuted at #1 and marked the band’s sixth straight album to debut in the U.K top spot. Their previous studio album, Drones, went on to win a Grammy Award for Best Rock Album, the band’s second, in February 2016. Since forming in 1994, Muse have released eight studio albums, selling over 30 million albums worldwide. Their latest album Will of the People is due out on August 26th. Widely recognized as one of the best live bands in the world, Muse have won numerous music awards including two Grammy Awards, an American Music Award, five MTV Europe Music Awards, two Brit Awards, eleven NME Awards and seven Q Awards, amongst others.

In their lyrics, they often deal with current affairs and politics, and they are acclaimed by audiences for their live performances, which are a veritable concentration of energy and power, very much like a Lamborghini car.

Source of photos

[walkingthroughthisworld]

An Abrams tank fires on a simulated enemy position on Red Cloud Range at Fort Moore, Ga., April 27, 2024, during Operation Thunderstrike, a live fire demonstration featuring tanks, Strykers, mortars, drones, and Bradleys. Operation Thunderstrike, the kick off to Armor Week 2024, is the first in a series of spectator events during the Sullivan Cup, an armor competition that will determine the best Abrams tank and Bradley Fighting Vehicle crews in the world. (U.S. Army photo by Patrick A. Albright)

[royalinkblot]

Wings of Home – Chapter Seven: Call Signs and Chocolate

The sun over Miramar blazed like a spotlight on center stage, but it was nothing compared to the spotlight on the Kazansky-Mitchell household that morning.

Today was Ace and Nikola’s sixth birthday.

Call signs: Blaze and Icestorm.

Status: Local legends.

The entire backyard had transformed into an airshow-meets-fairytale extravaganza, and at the heart of it all was a colossal cake—crafted lovingly in the kitchen of The Charming Goose, Carole Bradshaw’s pride and joy.

The cake was epic.

Four tiers of rich chocolate cake layered with whipped strawberry mousse, enrobed in glossy ganache, and decorated in swooping pastel pinks and greens. Carole had worked for two days straight with help from her café crew and Viper (who insisted on frosting clouds), but every detail was worth it.

The top was split down the middle: one side glittered with fondant fighter jets, princess crowns, and binary code strips, curling elegantly around Nikola’s side. Her sugar figurine, complete with a flight suit and tiara, stood at attention in front of a laptop with the words Icestorm Protocol Engaged piped in icing.

The other side was Ace’s dream—football helmets, jet blueprints, and rocket schematics, with a sugar version of him in a pilot’s jumpsuit holding a tiny model of a fifth-gen stealth fighter.

“Best cake I’ve ever made,” Carole declared, brushing frosting from her sleeve. “And the only one that might cause a sugar-based international incident.”

Goose leaned over, stealing a spoonful of ganache. “It’s beautiful, babe. Like... actually intimidating.”

Across the yard, Bradley Bradshaw was straightening his collar while Jake “Hangman” Seresin checked his reflection in the mirror for the fourth time.

“I can’t believe I’m this nervous,” Jake muttered.

“You’re meeting two six-year-olds and their fifty closest admirals,” Bradley teased.

“That’s exactly why I’m nervous,” Jake said. “Your dad co-owns a warbird restoration empire. Your other dad might be the next Secretary of the Navy. Iceman was the youngest COMPACFLT in history. Hollywood and Wolfman are power-couple Admirals. I’m a guy with a toothpick problem.”

Bradley crossed the room, wrapped his arms around him. “You’re also the guy who flew cover for me during Black Ice. Who pulled me out of the drink when my wing was shredded. Who’s great with kids and the only one Icestorm thinks is cool enough to wear pink.”

Jake smiled slightly. “She does have good taste.”

“She made you a badge,” Bradley added, pulling a ribbon from the nightstand. It read: ‘Certified Awesome – Uncle Jake, Cleared for Takeoff’.

Jake blinked. “She made me cry. I haven’t even gotten there yet.”

Bradley just grinned and kissed him.

By noon, the backyard was a blur of music, running kids, drone obstacle courses, and jet flybys organized by Goose and Maverick through Need for Speed Solutions. Fighter-shaped kites soared overhead while streamers whipped around wind turbines that powered a working model airfield Ace built for fun.

Nikola—Icestorm—was holding a birthday scepter and directing drone traffic using a hacked flight control interface. Her command tent was an actual radar station scavenged from a decommissioned Navy jet, courtesy of Maverick.

Ace—Blaze—had organized a “mini Top Gun” tournament where kids had to solve engineering puzzles and pass simulated G-force tests to earn their pilot wings (temporary tattoos, of course).

Hollywood and Wolfman, dressed in casual whites, manned the snack station.

“Want a wing-shaped cookie?” Wolfman offered to a tiny guest.

“No thanks,” she replied. “I only eat gluten-free MREs.”

Hollywood just blinked. “Why are these kids scarier than SEALs?”

Meanwhile, Maverick and Iceman made the rounds, proud and glowing, stopping to take photos with every family—especially the ones who wanted a shot with two of the most iconic names in Navy aviation.

Then Nikola and Ace stood on stage, flanked by their dads and a giant blow-up F-18.

“I just want to say thank you to everyone,” Nikola said into the mic, her voice strong and confident. “And to remind you all that next year we’ll have real jet engines.”

Ace added, “And by then we’ll have figured out the math for our first test flight.”

The crowd cheered. Goose wiped a tear. Carole clapped the loudest.

As the cake was wheeled out, Jake found himself standing beside Viper, who clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“You must be Hangman.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Relax. You’re part of the family now,” Viper said warmly. “And don’t worry. The last time I met a nervous young pilot, he turned out to be the heart of this whole damn crew.”

Jake looked toward Bradley, who was carrying plates and laughing with Maverick.

“Yeah,” Jake said quietly. “I get that now.”

As the kids screamed in delight at the cake reveal and Maverick pulled Iceman into a slow kiss beside the flames of the birthday candles, Jake knew one thing for sure:

This wasn’t just a birthday party.

It was a mission accomplished.

Chapter one Chapter two Chapter three Chapter four Chapter five Chapter six Chapter eight