#carbon steel coils

[tradebhansali]

[patramispat]

Unveiling Strength and Durability: SAILHARD Plates

Patram Ispat offers SAILHARD Plate, a premium wear-resistant steel product manufactured by Steel Authority of India Limited (SAIL). SAILHARD Plates are renowned for their exceptional toughness and hardness, making them ideal for applications in industries where abrasive wear is a challenge. These plates provide robust protection against impact and sliding abrasion, ensuring prolonged equipment life and reduced maintenance costs. Known for their superior quality and durability, SAILHARD Plates from Patram Ispat stand as a reliable choice for demanding environments, offering a reliable solution for industries requiring high-performance wear-resistant steel.

Read more:- https://steelmanufacturers.business.blog/2024/01/30/unveiling-strength-and-durability-sailhard-plates/

[zhishang-steel]

Carbon Steel Coil

[hensonmetal]

Spring steel strip Steel grade 65Mn,1065,SAE1055,1045,CK50,CK55, CK60,CK67, CK70,CK75, C75Cr1,50CrV4, 51CrV4, 60Si2Mn, etc Thickness 0.08-4.0mm Width 3-400mm Hardness <200HV, 200-300HV, 300-550HV Edge slit edge; both rounded; one side round, one side slit; square etc Surface polished (blue, yellow, white, grey-blue, black, bright) or Nature etc Tolerance thickness +/-0.01mm max; width +/-0.05mm max Physical propety Tensile strength: 450-1850N/mm2 contact: Mobile/whatsapp 8613853842286 /hsma@tahenson.com

[zhendaowaiilian]

MA-(0.8~4MM)×1300MM Steel Coil Slitting Equipment

MA-(0.8~4MM)×1300MM Steel Coil Slitting Equipment is designed and constructed to the highest accuracy, efficiency , automation and performance for processing various kinds of metal coil materials， processing with the slitting the coil with different size to small strips. MA-(0.8~4MM)×1300MM Steel Coil Slitting Equipment is with high precision high speed and high efficiency and high automation. This line is a light type line which has lower investment and suitable for small or middle factories who has lower budget.

Applicable material:Carbon steel Q195 Q235 Q345 Thickness of material:0.8-4mm Material width:800~1300mm Inner diameter of steel coil:Ø480mm ~ Ø520mm Outer diameter of steel coil:≤Ø1800mm Weight of steel coil:20T Thickness of finished product:0.8-4mm Inner diameter of finished coil:Ø480mm ~ Ø520mm Outer diameter of finished coil:≤Ø1800mm Min. slitting width:35mm Slitting speed:60-100m/min adjustable. Cutter knife diameter:D250d120T10

[gracebaosteel]

Prominent Manufacturer of API 5CT Tubes: Grace Bao Steel Industry

Grace Bao Steel Industry is Prominent Manufacturer of steel pipes, Bars, coils and tubes. The API 5ct Pipe has different carbon and chromium contents in the different product specification levels. These are used in transportation of oil and gas, water and other fluids as necessary. API 5ct Pipe is a specification of pipes that are used for casing or tubing in industrial gas lines and in tube well.

[ecafez-tatasteel]

Launched as a specialised high-tensile steel grade, Tata Astrum Solar has been successfully empowering India’s solar mission. Sign up today and place your order.

[cryptotheism]

She awoke to a boxcar full of corpses,

which was damn lucky, because it meant she now had a one-way train ticket to exactly where she wanted to go. All that was left to do was pass the time.

The student took inventory of her body. It was the first thing she knew to do in case of catastrophic injury, but the ritual of it was almost meditative now. Start at the bottom, work your way up.

Feet: Sore from walking. The leathery sheathe of mutagenic skin that ran up to her shins was largely unfeeling scar tissue at this point. They looked and functioned like a pair of high-topped hiking boots, except permanent and a part of her body. They were a rough custom job, designed for traversing the pools of acid that dotted the necrotic swamps common to her homeland. Home. Not much left of home now. She was getting sidetracked.

Legs: Also sore from walking, but less so. The musculature was hers, but the skeleton was reinforced with carbon-steel after a fall when she was little. Shock absorbing hydraulic femurs were nice for someone who did as much walking as she did. Skin was necrotizing again. Gotta get that replaced. Maybe one of the corpses is fresh enough to provide a graft.

Pelvis: Mercifully unfeeling. The surveyor had grabbed her by the hips. Skeleton was completely replaced a long time ago, but she could feel a hitch in the joint of her left leg whenever she moved it just so. An easy fix but time consuming, and not the sort of work to be done on a moving train. No necrotization here, at this point it was all synthetic. Uterus was completely original, not that it meant much. The little bundle of braided tubes that assisted her endocrine system remained stapled to her skin. The jangling was annoying, kept getting stuck on her hatchet, thus, staples. Fluids were looking a little dark, she must be dehydrated.

Torso: Felt fine, aside from the strain on her spine from carrying her things. Even with the augments, spines in general were just poorly constructed. Flesh was scarred, lots of burns, but mostly original. Both clavicles were removed and replaced with cargo sockets. She rolled her shoulders, it seemed like everything was working well. Breasts and sternum had been removed too, replaced with subdermal bulletproofing. She had spent extra for the good stuff there. One solid hand-ground piece of sloped armor. Getting shot in the lung was a lesson you only needed to learn once. Heart was completely mechanical. She even had a backup in her bag just in case. She traded the old lung and the breast tissue for that.

Right Arm: She rolled back the sleeve of her heavy coat and stretched her arm, watching the little electric motors dance. It was strong and dexterous, with half a dozen small tools built into the length of her forearm. No need for skin. In a pinch she could perform everything from network intrusion to basic surgery. Most of it was covered by the sleeve of her heavy coat. The amputation was above the elbow. She had leased her original arm for the current mechanical one when she was working on the pit crew for for an order of knights. She ended up keeping the arm.

Left Arm: She liked her left arm. She was proud of it. The trademark of a sythetimancer. It was pretty. Biological and mechanical features blending seamlessly together. Coils of veins and circuitry making intricate braids up her arm terminating in perfect Fibonacci spirals. Softly bioluminescent blood, filaments formed from calcified nerve tissue, synapse clusters under crystal clear de-pigmented bulbs of alpha-keratin. She concentrated for a moment, allowing the whirls on her palm to twist and readjust themselves with a tingling sensation. Carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, all recombining into butane. She snapped her fingers, igniting a tiny flame, letting it dance along her fingers for a few moments burning and repairing the flesh as she went, spirals parting and coalescing like leaves navigating the twain of a gentle river. They looked like the little shell fossils she found at the white desert when she was little. Memories. Loss.

The spirals in her hand began to twist and pulse, little corkscrews of bone began to form, growing outwards against the thin layer of biosynthetic skin. It hurt. She winced, and regained control a moment later. Careless. She shook her arm, and the flame on her finger went out.

Head: Still a bit hazy from the pain. Where to start with the head? Neck. Parched. Currently being warmed by a scarf with a length of handmade maille hidden in the folds. Rebreather was working well because it was made well. It was made well because she made it. She made it because it used to be her job. Like everyone of her strain, she had no teeth, only two solid ridges of tough bone, largely blunt and made for gnashing but gradually coalescing into a single triangular point, evolved for ripping flesh. She clacked her jaws together experimentally. Clack. Clack.

Eyes were tired and dry. There was a short mechanical hiss and a snap as she the shields over her eyes retracted back into their sockets in her cheekbones. The only light was from a pair of grates in the ceiling, but the glare nearly blinded her. She snapped the shields back into place, and the heads up display came slowly back into focus.

Originally her skin was the sort of rust color common to her strain. By now it was a deep weather-worn red, except for the parts that were charred black and rotting. Gotta replace that. If she could grow hair, she had done a damn good job of making sure it was thoroughly singed off. It occurred to her that it might be fun to have hair one day. Maybe she could make it herself. Would it grow in spirals? She looked down to open the bag of genebending tools at her waist, and her heart jumped into her goddamn throat.

Staring up at her from the pile of corpses was a pair of bright red eyes on an unnaturally pale face with no nose or lips. Which would not be terribly upsetting or surprising, had it not just said “well met” in an oddly pleasant female voice, attempt to sit up, fail, and then ask politely if its new acquaintance would stop sitting on it.

This is the first chapter of Amber Skies. The complete story can be read here, along with its currently-in-progress sequel, Emerald Seas.

[shewroteaworld]

The Aftermath

Premise: You're nearly killed on the job. Aaron is there to help you through the aftermath.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

TW: descriptions of canon-typical violence, brief mention of ableism, survivor's guilt

Word count: approx. 1,000

The fraying threads of his throw blanket are the only things keeping you from crying. You pick at the red tassels, rolling them between your fingers over and over again. It’s a desperate Hail Mary. You’ve officially come unglued. You’re too shaken to do anything productive, like baking or taking a drive, without snapping into reality and breaking down. But the silence of nothingness is also too painfully loud. So you’re frozen, like an invalid, rhythmically stroking this fucking blanket because if you don’t, you’ll be there. 

You’ll see the gun perfectly pointed at the inches between your eyebrows. You’ll see his smirk, the way he smiled, as his partner tightened the binds around your wrists, the warmth of your own blood dripping down your fingertips as the gun inched closer and closer and closer. You’ll watch as he and his smirk take over your field of vision as the carbon steel of the gun barrel brushes your forehead. He moves into kiss you– the fucking freak– before a shot rings out, and for a moment, you’re certain you’ve heard your own death– as if your spirit you weren’t sure you believed in left your body and you’re observing your last moments in an astral projection. 

But you were listening to his death. The barrel of the gun fell away 100 times faster than it came as the unsub succumbed to the bullet through his temple. You screamed as you thrashed against the wooden pole, like a child screaming for a lifeguard. More shots rang out and you heard from roughly two yards behind you the crack of his accomplice's body smacking against the concrete. 

It was over. 

“Are you okay?” You flinch and whip around to the source of the hand that had the audacity to touch you. It was Aaron. You snap back into the present, and the coil in you relaxes. You force it back into its spiral before you come undone.

You allow yourself a moment to take in his face: the shadow of the deep set of his eyes and his signature tense brow. Your eyes disobediently drift to his torso and your breath hitches. You recall collapsing against it. You recall how the air in you and the room disappeared as you sobbed. You recall how he gently cupped your shoulder blade as you fell to pieces on his shoulder.

You recall how something in you froze when the paramedic touched your shoulder. How the fear choked you. 

You can’t breathe.

Aaron’s suddenly kneeling before you. “Are you okay?”

You scratch your head. Your eyes burn. “I’m…” You rub the tassels between your fingers. “I’m losing it.” You whisper. 

“You’re not losing it.” 

“How would you know?” You ask genuinely.

“I know you.” He says gently. He pauses. “What you’re feeling is normal and right. It would be worrying if you weren’t affected by what happened.”

“Of course I’m affected by what happened.” It spills out of you before you can block it along with a few rogue tears.

He reaches for the coffee table and grabs a tissue. He offers it to you. You smear your cheeks dry.

“We can talk about it." He says. "I’m here to listen or talk with you if it will help.”

You were silent when the medics checked you over. You were silent on the jet ride. Aaron let you exist in your silence even when you both knew you would have to puke up the intimate details for an incidence report for the FBI that would be scrutinized by higher-ups and mental health officials. The most violating moments of your career, from start to finish, would be under the detective lights of anyone with the authority. It would be immortalized in some database. The most terrifying experience of your life couldn’t even just be yours.

You both knew that, even if he couldn’t know how much it terrified you to your bones– how violated you felt– to have your life like that on display to whomever it may concern. But he allowed you to cling to your safety blanket all the same.

But now you were off the jet and not in prying eyes. And though, over the course of your blissful yet short love affair, you knew he would not go away quite as easily. You suspected he wouldn’t pry; it wasn’t in his nature. But he would make it clear how open he was. And knowing you, and feeling the emotions bubbling against the lid of the pot you’d trapped them in, you felt like you had two options. And you didn’t like either.

“I don’t…” You swallow. “I’m upset.”

He gently grabs your hand like he’s cupping a fragile thing. When you don’t jerk, he squeezes it. The knot begins to unfurl and before you can register it, more tears stream down.

“I feel like I should’ve been ready for this, but I’m not.” You admit.

“Being held hostage?” He asks gently.

You sniffle. “It’s my job.”

“It’s not your job. Your job is to solve crimes. That was not another job responsibility. That was a traumatic experience.”

You sob. He cups your wet cheeks. 

“I’m here.” He says. “I’m right here.”

“How can I go back to work after this?”

“You don’t have to bounce back.” He assures.

“I feel…I feel…I can’t put it into words.” You wipe your face in frustration.

“Is trying to explain it helping or hurting?”

You sniffle, mucus uncomfortably coating your throat. “I think it will help if I…stop being so hard on myself.” You confess. “It’s just…I feel so frozen. I still feel frozen.”

“It’s normal to feel that way directly following something like this." He says gently.

You shake your head. “No, I’m not talking about the aftermath. I’m talking about during. When I was tied there.” You swallow thickly. “When he had me.”

“I couldn’t breathe.” You continue, grateful he gave you a moment of silence to pull your thoughts together. “I was…helpless. At their mercy and I…I...”

You squeeze the blanket in a white knuckle grip. “How could they do that to me? How could that happen to me? How can…how can I feel this way?” 

His eyebrow furrows. “What do you mean?” You know he can feel the guilt radiating off of you.

“He killed those other young women. Mutilated them. Violated them. I was the lucky one, wasn’t I?” your voice cracks.

“No. No one is lucky in a situation like this. Your pain is valid and doesn’t take anything away from his other victims.”

“I feel helpless.”

“It’s okay to feel helpless.” 

Something in you jumps at his response. “What do you mean?” You sniffle.

He bites his tongue. You see that furrow in his expression– like he’s weighing his approach. “Your life was in grave danger. The pain won’t go away; your mind and body need time to heal. And I swear I will take care of you as long as you need. You have all the time in the world to recuperate.”

“What about–”

“You don’t need to worry about work right now. All I want you to do is worry about you.”

Your lip can’t help but quirk upwards. “Pot meet kettle.”

He smiles. “Pot meet kettle.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “I love you. I’m here for you.”

“I love you too.”

He hugs you, his arms warming you through the cover of the throw blanket. You’re can't comprehend how you will heal from this. But in his arms, you know you won't be walking alone.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Grateful for you <3

[hxdonist]

.::. I AM THAT I AM .::. ikarus ito

Citizen Profile Loading. . .

profile loaded. ERROR CODE 1F1N1T3FUN: Some Data Expunged.

.::. A SICKNESS UNDEFINED .::. basics.

NAME: IKARUS CAELUM ITO ALIASES: IK, IKKA, THE FOX OF EIGHT EYES, 1NF1N1T3FUN AGE: THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OLD. [JANUARY 17TH] GENDER/PRONOUNS: CIS MAN HE/HIM SEXUALITY: PANSEXUAL // DEMIROMANTIC HUMAN // HOST: HUMAN OCCUPATION: DATA EXPUNGED - - - as far as you need to know, I am a friend. A netrunner and a braintrip cutter of the...shady variety. AFFILIATIONS: NANO ZILLA. And any gang, corp, or solo with the balls to think they can run with me.

.::. IT'S MY KINGDOM COME .::. going deeper.

PERSONALITY: CHARMING TO A FAULT, IKARUS DESIRES ONLY TO CORRECT WHAT HE PERCIEVES AS 'SOCIETAL WRONGS.' WHILE HIS BANNER SEEMS AT FIRST SOMETHING WORTH WORKING BENEATH HIS METHODS ARE MANIPULATIVE MUCH LIKE THE MAN HIMSELF. A HEDON WITHOUT CARE FOR THE 'WAY THINGS HAVE ALWAYS BEEN' HE IS A GLUTTON FOR ATTENTION, POWER, SEX, DRUGS- ANYTHING THAT MAY FIRE THE SYNAPSE REQUIRED FOR PLEASURE- AND RIPS THROUGH THE THINGS THAT PLEASE OR ANGER HIM LIKE A MALICIOUS VIRUS WITHOUT DIFFERENTIATING WHICH IS WHICH. SELF-ASSURED TO THE POINT OF BEING COCKY TO THE EYES OF SOME, IKARUS' SKILLS ARE RARELY CALLED INTO QUESTION, AND HE PREFERS IT THAT WAY, HE WILL ONLY STAND FOR THE BEST IN HIS RANKS, SOURCING NEW MEMBERS THROUGH REGULAR 'TESTS' DEPLOYED ON THE NET BY 'THE FOX OF EIGHT EYES' AND REJECTING ANY WHO FALL SHORT OF STANDARD. DESPITE THIS, HE IS LOYAL TO THOSE WHO EARN IT, A DOGGED, STRONG-WILLED FRIEND TO HAVE IN ONE'S CORNER, DESPITE BEING A RATHER SLIPPERY ASSOCIATE IN ANYTHING TO DO WITH POWER.

AESTHETIC: WIRES COILING AND BLACK, BOUND LIKE CHAINS TO THE NET; ALIVE IN CODE || A FOX WITH TOO MANY EYES AND BROKEN, SPIDERING LIMBS. IT BECKONS TO YOU IN THE DARKNESS. || STATIC SOAKED SCREENS FROM YEARS PAST WATCHING WITH INTENT; THE GHOSTS OF WHAT WE WERE. || A REFINED BLACK SUIT SLICKED WITH BLOOD- UNBOTHERED YOU LIGHT UP A CIGARETTE- JUST ANOTHER NIGHT IN THE CITY.

KNOWN CYBERWARE: NEURAL UPLINK PORT STANDARD IN NETRUNNERS. HEADWARE RIG USED FOR ON-THE-FLY HACKING. SINGULAR PROSTHETIC ARM, MATTE BLACK CARBON AND RED LIGHTING ARRAY. IMPLANTED WEAPONRY LIKELY CONTAINI- DATA CORRUPTED. ERROR CODE: 2NOSY;)

HISTORY: CORRUPTED DATA RESTORED. BACKUP DRIVE CREATED. File Attached: FoxOfEightEyes.txt [TRIGGER WARNINGS: CHILD ABUSE, ANIMAL DEATH] [Mobile version of bio available in a google doc HERE] [hint: use the forcecode to skip the puzzle.]

.::. FROTHING AT THE MAW .::. connections.

CAT TO MOUSE; FOX IN YOUR HENHOUSE: The eponymous 'predator and prey' relationship- but who's who when the chips fall? Be you a Corpo burned by Nano Zilla, a gang member too foolish to determine you were being swindled before it happened, or even a Cowboy with your eyes on a pricy take- 1NF1N1T3FUN welcomes your attempts on his life- and recommends you come prepared.

FOLLOW THE WHITE RABBIT: An understudy/mentor relationship- a recently welcomed netrunner into the embrace of Nano Zilla and their base made in Dreamland, you followed the Fox of Eight Eyes and found its den to rest in the retrofitted depths of a once-bustling theme park; the skeleton of whimsy and fun now inhabited by the kind of people who treat the net as their playground. Ikarus only welcomes the best into his family, those willing to shirk the existing rules and demands of corporations and the government to seek building something greater- through technological subterfuge- he'll take you under wax wings, teach you to wind among the wires with the best of them- just make sure you know exactly what that means, when the time comes.

BITTERLOVER.EXE: The ever-present exes connection. Ikarus is a different man, in love. Dedicated to ideals and the ever-elusive 'better' his goals seem lofty- but oh, he always seemed to have time for you, and a carbon-steel fist that drives his crew so firmly was always soft in the quiet of a tiny apartment- but that was then. It's hard to recognize him now- you can't imagine you want to, because when push came to shove- Ikarus chose power over you. This is a connection for an ex who dated Ikarus recently, while he's headed and operated with Nano Zilla as an active anarchist/insurrectionist.

ISANYONEUP.MP4: You need help sourcing an illegal or otherwise damaging to your reputation braintrip and with some digging- you've found the editor who spun it. Sure, he wasn't the gunman that left your loved one dead in the dirt- wasn't the bastard who filmed the two of you having sex and sold it off after- but he knows who was, picking around in the BT with his editing software- he's said he'll help you, for a price- are you brave enough to take that offer?

ADDITIONAL CONNECTIONS

Childhood friends

Exes (younger than 19 years old/schoolkid ages)

Former coworkers (Ex Gestalt Bureau Corpo, abandoned his position at 23.)

Fellow Nano Zilla netrunners who work for/under him

corpos/ceos/high ranking officials he's got existing dirt on

Braintrip recorders/sellers who use his services as an editor

regular hookups

literally anything I'll take it all babyyyyyy

[f1mike28]

AMG GT R Pro „The Monster of The Green Hell“.

Bach in the days the AMG GT R PRO was characterised by yet further improved driving dynamics, in particular on the racetrack. The experience from the AMG GT3 and AMG GT4 racing cars entered into the development.

The measures from motorsport can be clustered in four areas: suspension, lightweight construction, aerodynamics and looks.

Suspension: the optimal set-up

The AMG coil-over suspension offers even more choices for tailoring the set-up to the particular circuit. As in professional motorsport, the driver is not only able to set the spring preload length mechanically, but can now also adjust the compression and rebound of the dampers. This is done quickly and precisely without tools via a click system with an integral adjustment dial on the damper. The compression rate is adjusted separately for high-speed and low-speed movements.

This means that the settings can be dialled-in for slow and fast compression movements as is common practice in motorsport. This allows influencing the body dive and roll as the well as the traction of the AMG GT R PRO even more selectively.

The front axle is fitted with an adjustable torsion bar made of lightweight carbon fibre. Its counterpart at the rear is made of steel, is likewise adjustable and also saves weight due to its hollow tube design.

The AMG GT R is already fitted with Uniball spherical bearings at the lower wishbones of the rear axle. The AMG GT R PRO now gets these bearings also for the upper wishbones.

Mercedes-AMG One man, one engine Handcrafted by Michael Kübler @f1mike28 in Germany Affalterbach. Driving Performance is our Passion!

Mercedes-AMG the Performance and Sports Car Brand from Mercedes-Benz. Mercedes-AMG Handcrafted by Racers.

Fuel consumption combined: 12,5 - 11,4 l/100 km | CO2-Emissions combined: 284 - 261g/km.

[patramispat]

Carbon Steel Plate

Patram Ispat specializes in offering high-quality Carbon Steel Plates, essential components in various industrial applications. These plates are crafted from carbon and alloy steel, ensuring durability and strength for demanding structural and construction projects. Patram Ispat's Carbon Steel Plates exhibit excellent weldability and versatility, making them ideal for manufacturing machinery, equipment, and structures. With precise specifications and stringent quality control, Patram Ispat ensures that their carbon steel plates meet industry standards, providing reliable solutions for customers seeking robust and cost-effective materials for their engineering needs. Patram Ispat's commitment to excellence positions them as a trusted supplier in the carbon steel plate market, catering to diverse industrial requirements.

Read more:- https://steelmanufacturers.business.blog/2024/01/04/advantages-of-using-carbon-steel-plates-in-construction/

[diabolus1exmachina]

Ronart W152 MK.II 

The W152 was the first car to be designed and built by Ronart Cars, which was founded in 1984 by Rona and Arthur Wolstenholme and launched at the 1985 International Classic Car Show, with production commencing the following year. Of original conception, the design was intended to reflect the style of the front-engined Formula One cars of the 1950s, of which the humped headrest and external exhaust are typical ingredients. The car is built around a backbone chassis and clothed in an 11-piece body comprising: centre tub section, nose cone, bonnet, front side panels, rear section, boot lid and quartet of cycle wings. The centre section is reinforced with a steel cage, to which a roll-over bar is firmly attached; the tip of which is cunningly secreted under the driver's head rest. On Mk. II versions, such as the sale car, a boot is built into the rear section. This stunning British sports car is presented in racing red with carbon stripes and a black leather interior piped in red. The bodywork on this particular example is carbon fibre which we believe to be unique and clearly provides this car with a substantial weight advantage against its rivals. It is fitted with a Jaguar six litre V12 sport engine which is fuel injected with high-impedance fuel injectors, emerald management system with V12 map installed. It also has a power lock 3.07 differential, fully adjustable pedal box, Willans four-point harness, Le Mans fuel filler, boxed gel battery, three stage trickle charger and Brooklands aero screens. It has stainless steel headlights and sidelights, fully independent suspension with adjustable coil over shocks, AP racing brakes and calipers and wire wheels. Also,  the car was set up to do rallying and therefore it does have the relevant  timing equipment fitted. 

[luvwich]

wip whenever

happy friday! just sharing a little WIP excerpt from this chapter i'm workin on

He moves. The moist earth gives beneath each bootfall (heel toe heel toe), pressing shallow, boot-shaped divots in beds of needles. The needles yield their aroma to each measured inhalation. The salt of unseen waves chimes in, and beneath this melange, he finds the fragrance of his target before he's seen or heard it. A warm, bestial, bristled smell. A scent-signature of matted fur and the ferment of musk. The target moves. The moist earth gives beneath each hoofstomp. Plucky, anxious rustles: this one is small. It'll be a fresh-snouted adolescent, short of tusk and tender. Far overhead, sunbeams filter through sap-dressed branches to become shadows, shifting, projecting abstractions to the earth and the needles below.

The chrome in his spine tingles and warms. Silicon convenes with nerves in an electric language. Within him, around him, time elongates: expanding, contracting just slightly, expanding again and unfurling, buoyed. Time coils and uncoils, serpentine, as he moves. His boots are a blur, arms a blur, mop of hair a pale, untamed blur. He moves like a bullet between raindrops in the fragrant shade, skimming the undergrowth, boots barely disturbing the bed of needles. The tingle in his spine is a blue heat. Time is a choking kingsnake. He navigates tenths of seconds like a drop of rain dribbling across the snake's temporal scales. Now, he meets his target: short of tusk and tender, immobilized by the snake of time. When his arm curls to embrace the young boar, he communes with its heat. Feels three mournful heartbeats deep in the bristled young chest, padum padum padum, and his own heart responds in between, slower, in two-thirds time, like (bomp….) padum pa(…bomp)dum padum. His chin nestles between soft, tapered ears that heard his boots too late. The blade in his free hand is high-carbon steel, a curved gunong with a pistol grip, and when, in between the tenths of seconds, blade meets throat, he whispers his gratitude into one velvet ear. The serpent of time seizes, stiffens, and turns to ash. The heat in his spine cools. Back to ninety-nine degrees, back into the slipstream of time; back pressed against the bed of needles as it warms and reddens with blood. One heartbeat remains, grieves, and gives thanks until he draws himself to stand and begins the ritual of field dressing.

[bikebound]

Sense of Speed: Royal Enfield Continental GT650 “KAI” by Koichi Fujita of @anbucustommotors, built for @royalenfield Custom World. “I imagined a racing machine that was used on the track in the 1970s to 1980s, but modified so that it could be ridden on open roads.” Conventional 38mm Kayaba forks with one-off billet yokes, YSS X-Series rear suspension with custom mounts / subframe, hand-shaped aluminum tank and tail, carbon fiber fairing with offset headlight (an AN-BU signature), custom steel exhaust “like a snake coiling around a spike,” and much more.” Special thanks to @tadashi_kohno. Photos: @kgo106. Builder interview and project gallery today on BikeBound.com. ⚡️Link in Bio⚡️ https://instagr.am/p/CsoEsCyOxFa/