#control data corp

[thegikitiki]

The World at Your Fingertips...

Control Data Corporation, 1968

[galaxygazer-lav]

Hey chat what if I made a Brothership OC-

[digitalsymbiote]

Cockpit Exposure

There’s a terrible screeching of metal as your cockpit is rent open, exposed by a glancing blow from your opponents weapon. Suddenly your senses are muddled, two sources of data now vying for the attention of your shared mind. Your external cameras shift and refocus, as light streams in through the semi-transparent visor of your flight helmet.

Your partner is screaming in the back of your mind, and the terrible phantom pain in your chest tells you exactly why. It’s a huge strain on your mind to try and decipher between the information coming from your metal body, and the information coming from your flesh one. Your cockpit was designed to mimic a sensory deprivation chamber for this exact reason, most full-immersion frames are. The sensory deprivation of the pilot makes it easier to settle into the skin of the mech, fewer external distractions to remind you of your flesh body nestled under all that metal.

All of that is gone out the window now though, as the sounds and sights of combat assault your organic form through your breached cockpit. Distantly you recognize that you’re hyperventilating, and the safety systems are struggling to compensate. You guess this is because your partner’s panic is bleeding through the neural bridge. She did just get a huge chunk torn out of her front, after all.

With a monumental effort, you wrench control back from your panicking IMP, and you feel her systems settle down a bit as you enforce some order on things. The cold air and biting wind howling in your cockpit are doing all they can to distract you, but you’ve got a fight to finish and you’ll be damned if you end up gutted in your own cockpit.

Metal strains as your synthetic body stands and pulls the giant sword from the sheath on its back. You fire the boosters in your legs, feeling the g-forces slam your body back into the pilot’s seat as you charge your opponent. Blade strikes blade, and your damaged servos strain against theirs. A shot of fuel into your boosters breaks the stalemate and you pull back, circling around the opposing mech. You have to be extra careful to protect your cockpit now, one more hit to your chest and you’ll be pulp on your enemy’s blade.

Something shifts inside you, and you feel your IMP having off-loaded some of its processing into your wetware. She’s moving the limbs on your flesh body inside the cockpit, rooting around for something, piloting you the way you’re piloting her.

The lights on the front of your chassis flicker red in glee as you realize what she’s searching for. You send a mental acknowledgment over your shared link and hunch over, preparing for another bout. You’ll get your partner her opening.

According to regulation, mechs are required to have certain items stocked in their cockpits in case of emergency. Rations, a medical kit, an emergency radio, and most importantly: A flare gun. The standard flare gun had always seemed a bit superfluous to you, what difference is a meager flare going to make in spotting a 10-story tall Mech? But you’d convinced both your CO and your IMP to let you keep a few High-Explosive rounds for the thing stored alongside it, for a rainy day like today.

So the next time you clash with your opponent, blade grinding against blade, you feel your organic body move again. Your IMP makes use of the gaping hole in your chest, and manages to plant a high explosive round directly into the emergency hatch on your enemy’s chest, blowing it clean off, and disorienting their pilot in much the same way they had done to you only moments ago. You, however, will not squander this opportunity.

You drop your weapon, slam a hand through the breached hole in your opponents chest, and pulp the bleeding heart within it. The massive weapon of war you’ve been fighting slumps to the ground, the trauma of losing it’s organic half rippling through its systems. You grab the mech’s head and pull, metal screeching and cables snapping as you tear it free from the rest of the metal corpse. You find the glint of the enemy data core and crush it between two of your massive fingers, putting the enemy IMP out of its misery.

And suddenly it’s quiet again.

The faint sensation of wind upon skin echoes over the link, and you realize your IMP has removed your flight helmet. She’s half out of the pilot’s seat, and you can sense wonder radiating through the link as she looks out at the carnage through organic eyes. You decide to let her, regulation be damned.

You’re looking out at it through her eyes often enough, it’s only fair to return the favor.

[bayporwave]

ZENITH REF UPDATE

Goober got a cooler fit and a smidge of lore.

Zenith lives upon Olympus, a massive AI controlled space station owned by the Xerox Corporation. She's mostly a recluse on the station, mainly doodling and gaming in the spare time. At work she's running errands for her boss, A-7142, a sapient data analytics AI whom Zenith fauns over.

Minor Olympus lore: The space station's AI is named Eureka. She was Xerox Corp's greatest achievement until she replaced a massive portion of their human personnel after they left the solar system 200 years ago. Most of the residents on-board are either RC units ran by her, or AIs that budded off her code over time.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Not one step back

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“Sire, the entire front is collapsing.”

“Do you think me an imbecile?”

General Mi’v swatted the report out of his subordinate’s hands drawing the attention of senior staff as it clattered to the floor. Mi’v waved a hand across the holographic table while glaring down the current target of his discord.

“Do you think I am incapable of reading a map?!”

The hologram projected was of the planet’s surface below and it was not painting a pretty picture. The entire frontline was being pushed back across several dozen kilometers. In some places entire coalition regiments had been encircled and wiped out before they even knew what hit them.

“Why did intelligence not-“, one of his aides began to voice before Mi’v held up a hand to forestall them.

“This is not the time for such questions,” He spoke softly as he eyed the nervous looking intelligence officers, “but I assure you that there will be a reckoning once this is over.”

While the intelligence corp began to make themselves busy the general got to work salvaging what was the verge of a complete rout.

“Have the 33rd and 42nd corps redeploy to the 16th artillery core and begin reinforcing the positions. Order the 16th to begin bombarding their positions once they have confirmed to evacuated them to buy us some time.”

He directed his attention to the northern front. “Send in the armored 10th to cover the retreat of the 89th. They won’t be able to deal much damage but the enemy may think it’s a coordinated counterattack and divert forces to meet them.”

Several aides nodded and began relaying the orders with great haste as the general continued to issue a rapid succession of orders. Slowly but surely the chaotic retreat reformed itself into a coordinated withdrawal.

It was while he took in the southern front that something perplexed him.

“What is that?”

The general pointed to an isolated blob of green friendly territory in an ever growing sea of red hostile advances. It was still where the frontline had been several hours earlier, but unlike the other positions the enemy had not overrun them. Instead they had opted instead to bypass the emplacement entirely without any apparent attempts to remove them.

One of his aides scrolled down on their data pad and pulled up the relevant information. “That sector is under the command of the human contingent; a one Colonel Finn Rosek of the 199th.”

“Do we still have communication with them?” Mi’v asked. One of the radio operators leaned in over their headset, fiddling with the controls, before looking back and nodding at the general.

“I have the colonel for you now sire.”

“This is General Mi’v, what is your status?” the general spoke with authority.

“What’s your authorization code?”

The response was crisp and somewhat startling as several aides and officers watched the general’s face turn a shade of purple from embarrassment.

“I am the commanding general of the Coalition war effort!” Mi’v stated forcefully, barely containing his anger. “I do not need authorization codes.”

“You say that,” the human replied crisply once more, “but how do I know you’re not some Glek’n saying they’re the general?”

The shade of purple turned to a deep black as the general’s anger now was on full display.

“Do you have any idea who you speak so flippantly to!?!”

There was a long pause as the room thought the human had finally realized the serious of the situation. Their next reply showed they had clearly not.

“Someone claiming to be a general at the moment.”

“I AM THE GENERAL!” Mi’v roared into the transmitter.

“Then provide us with the proper codes or get off this frequency.” The human replied dryly. “This line is reserved for military communications only and if you continue to clog it I will need to file a report with your superior officer.”

Mi’v threw up his hands in frustration as all he could muster from his mouth were half swears and curses upon fools.  He snapped his fingers at the nearest radio operator who had been listening with well hidden amusement. They swiftly entered a series of keys on their keyboard which then lit up green.

“Transmitting codes.” Mi’v spoke through clenched teeth.

The console chirped several times as the codes were transmitted as the general paced back and forth along the edge of the projection.

“Codes received.” The human replied dryly. “What can I do for you general?”

“Get me Colonel Finn Rosek at once; then give me your name and rank.”

Another long pause as they gathered officers heard what sounded like the human speaking to someone else before returning to the transmission.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that general.” The human continued unenthusiastic. “The Colonel is not here at the moment.”

“Where are they!?” Mi’v shouted; his temper finally long since crossed.

“He went to speak with you at your headquarters over recent failed deliveries of rations; by last account he should still be at your headquarters.”

Mi’v’s head shot up and he took a look around the headquarters. From the corner of his eye he did indeed see a human Colonel step forward and offer a crisp salute.

“If you need anything else please feel free to reach us at 1-800-IDNT-C—“

The link went dead as Mi’v turned his attention to the Colonel who had just inadvertently made a mockery of him in front of his own command staff.

[cenorii]

In 2021, dirty secrets about the use of bioweapons are revealed inside BSAA + there are direct hints in Umbrella Corps that Wesker is alive. I just combine the two puzzle pieces together in my head. So let's look at another interesting post-2009 scenario.

AU - ELEGY OF FREE RADICALS

Chris was once careless about eliminating Wesker. Knowing his nature, he still didn't check Wesker's presumed place of death properly. Relying on his own luck, Chris left the place of battle and never returned there. But he had to go back. It has become his mistake.

Chris reported the scene of the victory to the BSAA. Rotten BSAA could have used that data in any way they wanted. Like going back there and checking out the volcano. They could have indicated on the documents that they were headed to clear the area of the remnants of Uroboros, but in fact to search for Wesker's remains to get rich off the sale and study of his unique biomaterial. But what they didn't expect was to find him alive. Badly injured, helpless, but somehow alive.

Taking advantage of the weakness of the still living organism, he was taken to the secret laboratory of the headquarters. Now Wesker could be under the supervision of BSAA scientists for a very long time. He's much more useful alive than dead. His knowledge, skills, all of it could be utilized. And it was also possible to conduct endless experiments on his unusual body... Testing the limits of his abilities, testing various poisons, looking at the lethality of their new weapons, and etc. He was once again a puppet, as he had once been in Spencer's hands, from which he had miraculously escaped.

The BSAA kept Wesker's abilities under strict control, he was trivially stripped of any PG67A/W injections, replaced with an alternative that was only necessary for his body to regenerate damage after the battle in the volcano, but didn't provide any additional benefits. So he would remain weak but healthy.

Another remedy was also applied to him, eliminating the consequences of merging with the Uroboros, which modified his body in a volcano. It was discovered in 2011, after the events of Revelations 2. It was rude to call it just a serum, it was something more, because it did not remove the virus itself from the body, but brought it into a more stable form, allowing Wesker to take his ordinary appearance. With him, in this form, it became easier for employees to work.

The BSAA restored Wesker, stripped of his strength, any dignity, as well as his freedom. He was bedridden for several years and various weapons were tested on him, then recorded how his body reacted and at what rate it recovered. An immobilized lab rat, a deserved punishment for someone like him? Perhaps. It was thanks to his "sacrifice" that the anti-regeneration weapon was invented, which had once come in handy for Chris in the battle against Mold.

Just think… how many things could the BSAA have invented using the infinite resources of Wesker's body? He was terrified of these thoughts. Terror at the realization that he had no chance of escape, that he was trapped here forever, that he would continue to have his organs taken out of him and be forced into endless pain. He reflected that he hadn't actually managed to do so many contradictory things to deserve eternal torment. And it's better to let him die than to endure this hell. But his own body played a cruel joke without dying. It was an expert on regeneration. His pride was trampled when he begged for death.

BSAA absolutely did not spend any painkillers and sleeping pills on Wesker, absolutely all experiments were carried out when he was conscious. They had already spent a lot of money on him during his recovery, it was a waste to spend even more on someone who could repair any of his damage.

Pain and terror haunted him for six years. He cursed what he used to idolize in himself.

And then he was forced to work for them. In 6 years he had grown accustomed to the constant pain and had already learned to see himself as nothing, sending his consciousness into free floating. Deep in his thoughts, he created a place where he learned to ignore the endless physical torment. But when he was put on his feet and pulled out of this place… Wesker was even more devastated.

It was unusual for him to suddenly return to normal work, all this created a mess in his head, reality seemed to be nonsense. The usual paperwork after hell? Are you kidding me?!

Morally, he was destroyed. His psyche was severely damaged. Wesker from the "torture room" was locked in a cell that looked like a combination of a room and a laboratory. For fear of being put back on the operating table again, he dutifully began to work and develop various things that BSAA would use in the future. But it wasn't life either. Weakened body, lack of abilities... he wanted to die, but he couldn't afford it, because he was practically immortal. Although, even if he used a weapon that stops regeneration on himself... he still wouldn't kill himself.

«Not here»

«Not like this»

At times he thought he was balancing on the fine line between normalcy and insanity. He saw people at best once every two weeks who came to check on his work and were not at all talkative. Wesker had always been convinced he didn't need company, but 12 years without socializing had made him question his beliefs.

Once a month he was provided with food, and then carelessly, because he didn't need food. His body, experiencing hunger, could devour itself and regenerate immediately.

The only reason he was given a room and released from the operating table was because the organization wanted to see what he could offer them. Of course, they didn't stop studying his unusual body and conducting experiments, but Wesker was already in charge of the process himself. Independently amputated his limbs and so on. Only closer to 2019 were these experiments stopped, because they had extracted all possible benefits from his body.

Wesker remotely, horrified, realized that thanks to his body he would live much longer than the average person, if not forever. Which led him to believe that he would be kept in this cage for centuries. BSAA would close, others would take their place, find him, torture him again. And so on in a circle, for all eternity, as long as human society and greed existed. This had to end... but how? A plan was needed, a complex one that could not be unraveled.

His life and existence was a BSAA mystery from 2009-2021. For 12 long years he was not allowed out of the walls of this cell.

Of course he wanted to escape, he had many unrealistic thoughts in his head about it. He was also interested in meeting Chris, aged, changed. To see his reaction, genuine shock rather than the anger he'd reacted to Wesker's earlier 'resurrections'. Is Chris even still alive today? What year is it now?

But this life couldn't go on forever, the BSAA was cracking at the seams. In 2021 it was revealed that they were using B.O.W. soldiers, something Chris couldn't ignore. So he headed over to European headquarters to deal with it - right where his nemesis was located, a complete headache. Chris couldn't accept that his organization, which was fighting biological weapons, would use them. It didn't fit in his head. He had long ago stopped trusting the BSAA, but this was the last straw.

Arriving there, Chris did not expect to meet someone in the basement laboratories whom he had buried a long time ago.

What was he going to do with him? Shoot him in the head without any thought? That would have been logical and in Redfield's character, but over the years he'd stopped being a complete hothead, learned to think first and then act. Gained a little equanimity.

It will turn out that it was Wesker who was involved in the creation of the B.O.W. in BSAA. Especially since these soldiers are improved clones of Chris himself. Who else could have come up with such an idea? Only to a man who thought Chris was "one of his best men".

For the past 6 years, Wesker has been forced to be an advisor to BSAA, sharing all the knowledge and ideas. He might have been able to pull it all off, if only to get back at that organization, turning Chris' anger on it, and turning his attention to himself at the same time. After all, only this "one of his best men" was the only one who could save him. Yes, Wesker was pathetic. He felt he wasn't even worthy of his former name, being so pathetic as to enlist the help of his enemy. But it was the only option. There was no more talk of pride.

However, it didn't matter now, Chris had come here to punish the founders, so their prisoner, their chief counselor, might prove to be the best informant. And an ally.

Natural intuition made Chris believe his former enemy, the biggest manipulator of them all. As if he was definitely not lying now, because he was in such a big asshole that he couldn't let his words sound unconvincing. Earlier, Chris would have easily recognized his lies, but not now. Right now, completely honest and dull eyes were looking at him from beneath translucent glasses. So damn pitiful that Chris automatically assumed the role of the hero rescuing the damsel in distress.

Chris was quickly combine the information together in his head: the situation, the physique, the setting... His opponent had been held hostage by his own ambition, it couldn't help but bring a smile to Redfield's face. But he hid it in his thoughts, because he deemed it inappropriate once he read Wesker's imprisonment papers. Chris had some free time to devote to the situation.

He read about what had been done to Wesker. About all the torture. And Redfield clutched his head, when he got to the description of his ammunition that he'd used against Mold a couple years ago. He was terrified that this weapon had been created in such a gruesome way... through the suffering of his enemy, who, even considering all his guilt, didn't deserve all this. Chris felt that Wesker should have died and rid the world of himself rather than suffer endlessly. Even for him, he thought it was inhumane.

The first thing Wesker said to Chris was: - Now you've taken on the role of captain of the «alpha» too. This jabbed Chris slightly, but he noticed how the hostage said it without malice. Redfield involuntarily remembered 1998, the mansion, the betrayal, the deaths of the Alpha and Bravo group...

The compartment Wesker was in was to him both an office and a laboratory, and a room. A kind of prison, which he could not leave on his own because of his weak physical condition. He was weakened by the daily injections putting his viruses inside his body to sleep.

Releasing him and examining him at arm's length, Chris made sure that in the state Wesker was in now, he posed no danger, just an ordinary disgust. He resembled only a pale copy of his former self.

The BSAA operative dragged him carelessly behind him like some sack of garbage, concerned only with keeping the information in his head intact. But in his mind Chris still held images of what the BSAA bastards were doing here to Wesker. He didn't want to feel sorry for him, but he couldn't control it, Redfield had never been heartless. Initially he had only cared about information, but it wasn't long before he didn't even notice how protective he had become of him. As if a friend, which in truth, he never was. His captive's behavior was different from what Chris remembered. It was different, like a throwback to the past. Perhaps 12 years of imprisonment had had that effect on him.

He was docile, which wasn't surprising, since Wesker had been treated like an object by the organization, and the operating table had been a good teaching moment. Chris couldn't believe that after so many years of hell his former enemy's mind was still intact, that he hadn't lost his mind and was capable of dialog.

Time passed unnoticed during the proceedings with the BSAA about B.O.W., eventually the organization was destroyed and all its equipment, along with Chris's squad, transferred to TerraSave.

Chris during all of this had to sign Wesker into the Hound Wolf Squad as either a prisoner or an advisor. To keep him from getting shut down again, that was the deal. He helps them, they help him. Over time, he was getting back to normal. The food and good company had done their job.

However, Chris didn't know that his new ally hadn't lost all of his strength, and the ones he had were sleeping under the influence of the medicament. But time passed, the medicament slowly stopped working without new doses, and Wesker understood it perfectly well. And felt it. It didn't affect his appearance, so he could play his role for as long as he wanted. But was it a role? Sure he was portraying a courtesy that annoyed Chris to the point of nausea, but it was partially sincere. Having broken with his past at the fault of the BSAA, Wesker could only hope to find a new purpose. After all, as Spencer had raised him, there is no life without purpose.

Therefore, was it so necessary for him to betray Hound Wolf Squad? Would it be beneficial to him? Chris is a strong point. He has no doubt that if he kills Redfield - another will take his place, and will definitely get him into the basement wheel of samsara. So Wesker had no grand plans yet. After all, any of them would be doomed to failure as long as there was anyone in the world capable of resisting.

But Chris risked to give him a goal, which, however, called impossible - to become the best version of himself. To help the Hound Wolf Squad, to work with TerraSave, to use his knowledge for something other than endless failed experiments. Stop being Spencer's failed experiment. The only option Chris would give him a chance at.

Those words stuck in Wesker's head for a long time. Mentioning the old man was like a low blow. Chris knew where it hurt the most.

It had been several years since Wesker had joined Redfield's team. All that time he'd been hiding his abilities so as not to lose the fragile trust in his person. But the truth couldn't help but surface one day....

On one of the missions connected with B.O.W., the blade of an exploding helicopter blew off Wesker's head, and then another piece of debris cut his body in half.

But he didn't die.

Chris was enraged. With resentment, he felt cheated. What else could he have expected?

First, the black mass connected the body, restoring functionality to it, and then this silent carcass picked up the head. It was slow. It looked helpless and creepy. Chris's squad was on edge, but he ordered to wait. The black substance emerged from the base of the neck and attached the head to itself, then the calm expression on the reanimated head changed to horror. Was he in unbearable pain from the newly received oxygen? Or from the fusion of tendons?

When Wesker recovered, he couldn't at first think of a response to Chris' "explain yourself!"

Everyone's fragile trust collapsed, but not Redfield's, for he knew that if his former adversary had wanted to betray him, he would have betrayed him long ago, he wouldn't have let himself be so ridiculously exposed. Especially after all the torture he'd endured. Chris could understand why Wesker was hiding his powers. Redfield had stepped on the same rake of trust again, convincing himself that he had everything under control.

Wesker, ever since the prototype had merged with Uroboros in his body, had acquired a number of flaws, chief among them an unbearable sensitivity to pain. The only time he could not feel pain was when he was BSAA injected with force restraining drugs. But without them, all the disadvantages came out.

Whereas before he could recover from any wound without feeling anything but minor damage, now the pain was so obvious that every regeneration was accompanied by agony. Especially if it was a burn, for heat is a major weakness for Uroboros. The healing places on his body, after that helicopter situation, hurt like hell.

He was closer to human now than he had been before, and Chris seemed to realize that. That was why he hadn't killed him a second time, but had accepted him back into his squad. It was not only a gesture of goodwill, but also a precaution, a way to keep a dangerous object as close to him as possible so he wouldn't do anything.

How long will they have to cut off the heads of hydra in the face of the creators of bioweapons?

- Why do you trust me, Chris?

- I still believe that anyone can become the best version of themselves. We should prioritize fighting for the future to give someone a quiet life that you and I have been robbed of. I know about Project W. Together we can stop new organizations and prevent many tragedies like this from happening again. And you can help us, Wesker. BSAA took away your choice, but I'm giving it to you now.

Wesker at first couldn't find the words to respond, but after a moment he barely audibly whispered: "Thank you."

From a man who never thanked anyone, Chris was shocked to hear that. And he was proud of him. Had he forgiven him? No, his deeds were unforgivable. But Chris wasn't the kind of man who would turn his back on his one chance to make things right, to make things right on Earth, to save someone's life. In this truce, he sees a future that's bright for everyone.

[89hitokiri]

黒影 (KuroKage) Fever 🥳🎉🎊

These images are KuroKage (黒影) propaganda from Kage Corp (影社), designed to circulate on the darknet and reaffirm the corporation's absolute control over global information, security, and counterintelligence. They sometimes contain encrypted messages in their metadata.

Through KuroKage (黒影), Kage Corp (影社) projects an invisible yet omnipresent force, ensuring that their enemies know no network is inaccessible and no threat goes unanswered. It serves as a stark reminder of Kage Corp's (影社) unstoppable power in a world where control of data and counterintelligence determines who rules. This propaganda is crafted to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies and inspire unwavering loyalty in their followers.

"Thank you for selecting Kage Corp (影社). As pioneers in state-of-the-art technology we are committed to delivering excellence and innovation in everything we do. We extend our heartfelt wishes for unparalleled success and prosperity in your endeavours. Rest assured, we will prevail".

#ILoveKuroKage❤️

[spiderb0mb]

✸﹕Introducing, CyberSpace and the Underground [antishifters dni]

NextGen, a corporation formed just a few minutes after the dawn of time. In association with Kronlock corp to bring your planet a next level experience.

NextGen is dedicated to bringing you connection, between planets, solar systems, and even galaxies. Whether that be in the form of telecommunication, space travel, or simple business transactions between two solar systems.

NextGen - Reach for the Stars

Are you ready to begin?

[yes] [no]

Step up onto the scanner, and line the crosses on your clothes up to the screen

Height - [63] .in Weight - [\] .lbs

+ Head - [\] .in

+ Neck - [\] .in

+ + + Shoulders - [\] .in

+ Bust - [\] .in Waist - [\] .in

+ / \ + Hips - [\] .in

+ + Thighs [\] .in

\ /

+ +

+ + Calves - [\] .in

Scan complete, physical body registered.

────── ✦ ──────

Lay down in the link bay for your brain scan.

Scan complete, soul registered.

NextGen thanks you for your patience

[Worker discretion, all data collected here can only be viewed by official NextGen/Kronlock workers above level five. Soul drives are stored in secure off-world facilities where your shell will be created. In no circumstances will your drive be viewed by anyone outside the corporation. Upon the unlikely event that it is damaged, destroyed, or stolen it will be immediately replaced and the emergency shutdown failsafe will be activated, deleting any data stored on the drive]

────── ✦ ──────

Congratulations! Your registration is now complete, you are officially a NextGen citizen and/or worker! You can collect your identification badge and other documents at the reception on your way out. Housing is freely provided to any NextGen worker, you will find more detail in your documents.

_________________ 007 - 682 Identification badge

╭━━━ ★ ╮ Name ; [\] NextGen X

Age; 18 Gender; Female

Model No°; EX3-47 Pilot

╰━━━ ★ ╯

reg no° 088-682-47_________________

007-682 Documentation

Homepage

Welcome to your new life! As both a citizen and worker for NextGen, you get added perks (only apply when in NextGen branded planets)! Which would you like to view first?

| Housing | | Job Details | | Benefits |

Your register number (also shown on ID) is important. It is what allows you to identify as a NextGen worker. Without it you cannot gain access to ship controls or NG centres.

007 represents year of creation and is not specific to you. 088 is your division, the team you will be joining. 682 represents your shell model and is not specific to you. 47 is your unique identification number. Do not forget it.

: P all I have for now. The page links will be hyperlinks to new posts

heres the rest of my concept images, this us going to be a sort of cyberpunk arcane dr with a little a lot of changes to plot

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

A lot of good sources linked in the original article!

By Bruce Mirken

As the dangers of Long COVID become more recognized, the country's going backwards on preventing new infections.

While I’m far from the only person worried about Long COVID and our society’s general inclination to look away and pretend it’s not there, people like me certainly feel badly outnumbered. It’s beginning to feel reminiscent of how people with AIDS and their loved ones felt circa 1986—and maybe it’s time for the same kind of response.

For those of you lucky enough not to have lived through that era, by the end of 1986, AIDS had killed nearly 25,000 Americans, but president Ronald Reagan had yet to speak the word “AIDS.” His press secretary had joked about it and the White House press corps laughed. While individual scientists were doing important work, the bureaucracies running the NIH and FDA seemed very much to be in business-as-usual mode. Because the casualties had largely been gay men and injection drug users, it seemed like no one with any power cared whether we lived or died.

So, a group of New Yorkers – mostly gay men – decided it was time to start raising hell. Calling themselves ACT UP, they disrupted the New York Stock Exchange and, as chapters sprang up nationwide, they staged protests that shut down the FDA and NIH. Eventually, people like Anthony Fauci began to see they had a point. I joined the Los Angeles ACT UP chapter in 1988 and ended up getting arrested half a dozen times in protests at the LA federal building, the County Board of Supervisors and the U.S. Capitol, among others. We won major improvements in HIV/AIDS care in the Los Angeles County health system, which cared for thousands of people with AIDS who had no health insurance. When I landed in San Francisco in 1993, I connected with ACT UP Golden Gate.

Here I am (with my late boyfriend Tim at the left) at one of the protests in that L.A County healthcare campaign. Most of my closest friends from that era have been dead for decades.

I get that COVID has played out very differently than HIV/AIDS. AIDS ramped up slowly and seemed not to affect “normal” people until it killed closeted gay movie and TV star Rock Hudson in 1985, and even then officials largely looked the other way. Only scientific breakthroughs in the 1990s finally stemmed the tide of death. In contrast, the much more highly transmissible SARS-CoV-2 virus came on fast and furious, turning Americans’ lives upside-down almost immediately.

But now, we’ve arrived at what seems in some ways like an eerily similar place. When needed precautions to curb a highly infectious airborne virus spurred frustration and political pushback, officials largely threw up their hands and gave up. Even measures that don’t involve mandates or restrictions on behavior have mostly either been dropped or never happened in the first place.

LONG COVID’S GROWING TOLL

Unfortunately, the virus hasn’t gone away, even if the initial wave of mass death has receded. In August, as a summer surge peaked, US COVID-19 deaths exceeded 1,000 per week, though the latest September data suggests the numbers have begun declining toward pre-surge levels, when deaths were generally in the 300-400 per week range. That’s still equal to a 9/11 every eight to 10 days. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention tracking of SARS-CoV-2 levels in wastewater—probably the best data on US viral prevalence now that cases aren’t being reliably tracked—showed 15 states with “very high” levels and another 19 rated as “high” as of Sept. 19.

But COVID is not just a matter of cases and deaths. The disease’s long-term effects have disabled millions of Americans, and the numbers keep growing with each new wave of infection. An updated review published in Nature Medicine puts the current global number of Long COVID sufferers at 400 million and estimates the worldwide economic impact at a staggering $1 trillion.

We now have plenty of people experiencing repeated SARS-CoV-2 infections. The good news, if you can call it that, is that these reinfections may produce fewer new cases of Long Covid than a person’s first infection – but they absolutely produce some, and the Omicron variants circulating in the last year or two seem to produce more Long Covid than earlier viral varieties. Every time you get COVID, you roll the dice with your health – maybe for the rest of your life.

If I sound alarmed, well, I am. As longtime readers may know, I have some first-hand experience with Long COVID, though in milder form than many experience. My January 2022 infection left me with peripheral neuropathy—painful nerve damage—in my legs and feet. It’s incurable and nearly impossible to treat, as conventional pain drugs don’t help. I will likely never live another day without pain and walking more than six or seven blocks at a stretch is a struggle. I used to enjoy hiking, but will probably never do it again. Still, I don’t have the more debilitating symptoms like crushing fatigue or dysautonomia—disruption of the part of the nervous system that controls automatic functions like heartbeat, blood pressure, digestion and breathing—that afflict some Long COVID sufferers. Lots of people have it way worse than I do.

We know that COVID can have lasting impacts on many parts of the body, including the brain. A recent study of 52 COVID survivors—about half with mild to moderate initial illness and half with more severe disease—found that compared to healthy controls, both groups “had a significantly higher score of cognitive complaints involving cognitive failure and mental fatigue” 27 months after their original illness, with no significant difference based on the severity of that initial illness. On a series of tests, researchers found “changes in brain function” that may explain the reported problems.

Just as scary, a study of people aged 65 and up just published in the Journal of Alzheimer’s Disease reports that “people with COVID were at significantly increased risk for new diagnosis of Alzheimer’s disease within 360 days after the initial COVID diagnosis.” This review of the medical records of over six million patients found that the risk escalated with advancing age. As with many of these long-term impacts, the mechanisms involved remain unclear.

Survivors of an initial SARS-CoV-2 infection also have increased rates of high blood pressure, now documented in multiple studies. High blood pressure increases your risk of deadly cardiovascular complications like heart attack and stroke.

I can’t help but wonder whether these issues have affected me, but there’s no way to be sure. My blood pressure, well-controlled for a dozen years with a very low dose of medication, began ratcheting upward about a year and a half ago, necessitating three medication adjustments since then. I’m also definitely more forgetful than I was, mostly little things like walking into a room and forgetting why I went there. But those things can happen to older people with or without COVID, and it’s hard to know cause-and-effect in a given individual.

But I sure as hell know I don’t want to get this virus again and risk these and other issues getting worse. Unfortunately, avoiding it is getting harder by the day, and neither government at any level nor public health authorities seem to care.

PREVENTION? WHAT PREVENTION?

While there’s some evidence that the antiviral drug Paxlovid can reduce the likelihood of Long COVID if administered early enough, the results so far are mixed and not overwhelming. The best way to avoid Long COVID is to not get infected in the first place. As a society, we’ve pretty much stopped trying.

The government is still encouraging vaccination, as it should. But it’s been clear for some time that while the vaccines are very good at reducing the chance of severe illness and death if you get infected, they offer only limited protection against getting infected in the first place. “Vax and relax” can prevent mass death, but it can’t prevent mass infection and an ever-growing number of cases of Long COVID, even if most people get vaccinated. And vaccination rates have been declining for a while, with a new Ohio State University survey reporting that only 43% of U.S. adults have gotten or plan to get the new COVID-19 shot.

And in a bit of absolute madness, Florida’s Ron DeSantis-appointed Surgeon General Joseph Ladapo has actually advised against use of the newly updated mRNA vaccines. In a post on Mastodon, Yale epidemiologist Gregg Gonsalves called this “beyond irresponsible. It is malpractice.”

Ladapo is an outlier, but even his saner colleagues around the country downplay the fact that we don’t have to limit ourselves to vaccination. It’s an airborne virus, so there are two main ways to stop it from spreading: 1) Get the virus out of the air, or at least reduce its concentration to a very low level, and 2) Protect yourself from breathing in any virus that’s in the air around you. We know how to do both.

Masking works, but the type of mask matters. As the Mayo Clinic notes, “Respirators such as nonsurgical N95s give the most protection. KN95s and medical masks provide the next highest level of protection. Cloth masks provide less protection.” Two and a half years ago, a CDC study found that those who reported regularly wearing an N95 or KN95 respirator in indoor public settings had an 86% lower risk of catching COVID-19.

Recently, during my first return visit to San Francisco after moving in early 2022, I met my nieces for lunch at the Ferry Plaza. It was a Saturday, Farmers Market day, and the place was jammed. In three-plus hours I saw no more than half a dozen people wearing any sort of mask, and only a couple were N95s. In my new hometown of Hilo, masking is only slightly more common. At the supermarket, I see barely 10% of customers and staff in some sort of mask. In some venues, it’s less.

A recent Ipsos survey found that half of Americans believe they’ll never get COVID again. Only 20% described themselves as “trying to stay as safe as possible.”

None of this is a surprise—people are simply responding to the messages they get from the people supposedly leading on health issues. The CDC promotes vaccination but barely talks about masking anymore; it acknowledges the value of indoor air quality but doesn’t seem to be doing much about it. In interviews, CDC Director Mandy Cohen regularly urges vaccination but almost never brings up masking or air quality and says little about Long Covid. Political leaders mostly talk about COVID in the past tense and pat themselves on the back for a job well done in prior years. The result is what you’d expect: Most Americans now treat COVID like a common cold, disregarding most precautions and not bothering to test when they get sick.

Back in 2022, when public policy on COVID was still relatively sane, the Biden administration published indoor air quality guidance and made congressionally-approved funds available that “that can be used in schools, public buildings, and other settings to improve indoor air quality.” It’s unclear exactly how much of that money has been used and for what, although some school systems have definitely made HVAC upgrades. But we’ve never had either enforceable indoor air standards or a coordinated plan to implement them. As Science noted in July, “The COVID-19 pandemic has clearly shown the vulnerability of society to the spread of infectious diseases. At the same time, with frequent outbreaks in elder care facilities and school classrooms, it became clear that it was a fatal mistake to largely neglect the recommendations of scientists and engineers regarding minimum standards for ventilation and indoor air quality.”

In any case, those federal dollars were aimed at schools and public buildings. It’s been left entirely to the private sector to do, or not do, anything to reduce airborne pathogens in supermarkets, theaters, clubs, malls and other privately owned spaces. Local groups like Chicago’s Clean Air Club and Austin’s Clear the Air ATX have tried to fill the gap by lending HEPA filters and other clean air equipment to arts and performance venues and other gathering places.

A RADICAL IDEA: DO WHAT WORKS

We know what to do. As Clean Air Club founder Emily Dupree and co-author Shelby Speier wrote in Sick Times in May, “We possess the technology to make public spaces safer. Studies show HEPA air purification and far-UVC lamps drastically reduce the number of airborne pathogens in a room and therefore lessen the likelihood of COVID-19 transmission. When combined with other layers of protection, these tools have the potential to finally make our shared spaces more accessible during an airborne pandemic.”

A key word here is accessible. Failure to address indoor air quality and other prevention measures makes public spaces seriously dangerous for those at highest risk, including the elderly, the immunocompromised and those with long-term health issues, including Long Covid.

Such simple, factual messages are rarely heard in official statements about COVID. “What I find the most frustrating about official handling of COVID and prevention is the lack of care, education, and honoring the science around COVID,” comments Clear the Air ATX founder and Long Covid activist Katie Drackert. “Telling people to ‘stay home when they feel sick’ for a virus that spreads asymptomatically? Well, they are just straight up ignoring science.”

Admirable as they are, the small, volunteer-driven efforts of groups like Drackert’s and Dupree’s are not remotely comparable to the scale of the problem. For now, people must take matters into their own hands. “In the year 2024, people still need to be wearing a well fitted KN95 or above for optimal communal and individual protection,” Drackert says. In the absence of reliable information about air quality in indoor spaces, she suggests getting a portable air quality monitor, which can be reasonably affordable. “High CO₂ levels indicate poor ventilation, which may lead to higher concentrations of aerosols that could contain the virus,” she explains. “Some air quality monitors track particulate matter (PM2.5 and PM10), which are small airborne particles. While COVID is smaller than these particles, high PM levels may indicate poor indoor air quality.”

Most of us can’t entirely avoid being in spaces with poor air quality, and that leaves us with masking, which the country has largely abandoned. Worse, we’re starting to see bans on face coverings in public spaces being enacted—for example, in Nassau County, New York, and North Carolina.

These laws typically contain exceptions for people masking for health reasons, but, as New Jersey’s Star-Ledger noted in a recent editorial opposing a proposed mask ban, “t leaves it up to the cops to decide whether someone has a legitimate medical reason for wearing a mask at a public gathering. “How will they know that? It’s subjective. And based on past experience, we know what that means: Police will disproportionately stop and question Black and brown people, who have also been the most likely to continue wearing masks to protect against COVID-19.” It’s hard to imagine a more demented public policy than making disease prevention illegal. And it’s not hard at all to imagine a COVID-19 prevention framework that would make a meaningful difference without causing a nationwide freakout: Encourage masking. Even if mask mandates are a political non-starter, there’s still plenty we can do. First, officials can talk about it and actively encourage people to wear high-quality protection like N-95s when in busy, indoor spaces. They can remind people of its importance—that COVID is not over, not just a cold, and that even a “mild” case can change your life forever. Federal, state and local governments could distribute N-95s or KN-95s free or at minimal cost. Get serious about indoor air purification. Build on what the Biden administration started a few years ago: Develop medically informed, enforceable indoor air quality standards and create a verification system so that people know when a building they enter meets them. Start with public buildings and the largest, busiest private venues, like sports arenas, concert halls and theaters, and move on from there. Give business owners generous technical and financial support in meeting those standards, and a reasonable amount of time in which to do it. While this program is ramping up, fund the local organizations now struggling with limited resources to fill the gap. None of this is that difficult. It’s not even that expensive when you consider that the federal government is in the process of spending $634 billion to upgrade nuclear weapons that with any luck will never be used. What’s missing is political will, and that won’t be there until people scream bloody murder. That’s why I think it may be time for a new version of ACT UP focused on COVID-19. The issues are somewhat different, but less so than you might think. While the original ACT UP focused a lot on research, treatment and care, it also addressed prevention. ACT UP chapters around the country started syringe exchange programs, handed out condoms at high schools, and sometimes succeeded in shaming the system into doing the right thing. And of course, there are issues to tackle around Long Covid research that I haven’t addressed here, but which I will try to cover in a future piece. The fundamental problem is much the same as people with AIDS faced in 1986: a system stuck in neutral, politicians stuck in denial, and a public closing their eyes, covering their ears and shouting, “I don’t hear you!” The first task must be to break the system–and the broader population, as much as possible–out of its present inertia, complacency and denial. I honestly don’t know whether ACT UP tactics like occupying the CDC and disrupting state and local health commission meetings will have the same effect they did decades ago, but at this point I don’t know what else to try. Nothing good lies at the end of our current path.

[republicsecurity]

A Special Treat

K7L32 found the Intelligence Conscript huddled over a display console in the corner of the briefing room, the low hum of climate control muffling their conversation from any curious ears. Both wore the standard black full-body armor of the Enforcer Corps, though their helmets rested on a nearby bench. Their shaved heads gleamed under the overhead lights, giving them that unmistakable, unrelenting look of the system’s finest.

K7L32 approached cautiously, his boots clicking on the polished floor. “Sir,” he ventured, keeping his voice respectfully low. “What are you doing?”

The Intelligence Conscript didn’t look up right away. He tapped a rapid-fire sequence of commands into the console before finally turning to face K7L32 with a smirk of dark satisfaction.

“I’ve got a special ‘treat’ lined up,” he said, the cynicism in his tone as thick as the recycled station air. “You know how normal parent updates are all sunshine and propaganda? A nice little montage of well-scrubbed cadets marching in formation, showing off their academic marks, everyone smiling like we live in a utopia.”

K7L32 nodded. He’d seen the official PR feeds, the carefully curated glimpses into the good strand of Academy life. The footage that tried to make it look like the biggest problem these kids faced was picking which vitamins to swallow for breakfast.

The Intelligence Conscript’s grin widened into something almost predatory. “Well, I’m manipulating the feed to our dear dissident father—that one, remember? The guy who got strong-armed into signing away his kid?” He tapped another command, and the display flickered with new data. “I’m giving him the unedited, raw side of Academy life. The other strand. The ugly bits. The bits most parents never see.”

A shiver rippled through K7L32, the memory of his own induction flickering like a half-buried nightmare. He’d been on that side once. Drills that pushed him to the brink, psych reprogramming sessions that felt like having his mind yanked out and reinserted sideways. “I remember,” he said softly, a quiver threatening to creep into his voice.

“Oh, don’t worry—I’m not showing him everything,” the Intelligence Conscript went on, his tone cruelly dismissive. “Just enough to keep him awake at night. We’ve got a few choice clips from the drill instructors’ armor cams. Shots of that precious brat forced into daily runs with a weighted pack, cramming down standard-issue chow that tastes like cardboard, and popping those mind-regulation pills. Let’s not forget the black standard-issue chastity cage.” He raised an eyebrow knowingly, giving K7L32 a once-over. “All Enforcers wear one, after all.”

K7L32 exhaled, carefully schooling his face into neutrality. He’d never exactly liked the system’s approach to controlling every aspect of a cadet’s life—especially that aspect—but it wasn’t like he had a choice. The protective plate that doubled as a groin guard had become as normal as wearing boots. “But what’s so bad about it?” he asked, echoing the rhetoric he’d been drilled to parrot. “We all wear it.”

A bitter laugh escaped the Intelligence Conscript. “Yeah, but does daddy know about it?” He reached down with a casual, mocking gesture, patting the groin protector of his armor. “I doubt he suspects just how... thorough we are.” The flicker of malicious glee in his eyes suggested he was relishing the father’s incoming horror.

He toggled another switch, and the overhead speakers crackled to life, pumping out dramatic, anxiety-inducing music as the visuals on the console screen danced with stuttering footage of the unfortunate cadet—this kid—being browbeaten by a harsh-voiced drill instructor. His face was soaked in sweat, eyes wide, shaved head gleaming like a brand of ownership. Another snippet showed the cadet strapped into a psych-adjustment rig, electrodes taped to his temples, his body jolting under the demands of VR reconditioning.

“Too much?” K7L32 asked quietly, his own memories threatening to churn up. He could still taste the metallic tang of the pills on his tongue, the stale air in the dorm block, the constant ache in his muscles.

“Not at all,” the Intelligence Conscript countered, leaning back in his seat with a self-satisfied drawl. “Just the right amount. We’ll let the father see exactly what’s happening to his precious boy, piece by piece. Hard physical training, humiliating routines, the ID tattoo laser-burned onto his chest, the enforced chastity gear. Maybe we’ll even showcase the morning lineup, the barked orders, the chemical enhancements.” He shrugged with theatrical nonchalance. “All standard procedure in the other strand. We make sure the rebellious get extra... guidance.”

The screen jumped to another angle: a close-up from someone’s helmet cam. The lens jostled as the drill instructor forced the cadet’s mouth open for a pill check. The kid’s eyes were half-lidded from exhaustion, but the camera lingered on the black ring of the collar pressing into his throat—a subtle promise that he wouldn’t be disobeying any time soon.

K7L32 swallowed, trying to rein in his sense of unease. “I guess the father’s going to be pretty devastated.” A flicker of pity crept into his voice, carefully suppressed before it could blossom into something that’d set off the loyalty monitors.

“That’s the idea. Think of it as a psychological demonstration: you sign the paper, you lose your kid, and if you try to be sly about it? We’ll show you just how thoroughly we’ll mold him. Maybe next time he’ll think twice before crossing the Republic. Or maybe he’ll break entirely. Either way, we win.” The Intelligence Conscript’s grin returned, a thin slash that held no warmth.

Then, as if remembering he wasn’t alone, he turned to K7L32. “So, tell me, cadet. Have I forgotten anything? What do you think?”

K7L32 hesitated, images from his own transformation swirling in the pit of his stomach—the faceless instructors, the thunder of their boots, the relentless, pounding soundtrack of reprogramming that hammered out every last shred of autonomy. He caught himself, forcing a practiced smirk. “No,” he said, sounding more certain than he felt. “It’s perfect, sir. It’ll do the job.”

“Good.” The Intelligence Conscript tapped a final key, confirming the edits. The feed turned live, spliced with tension-amping music and queued for the father’s next scheduled ‘update.’ “We’ll see how he likes this show.”

Somewhere in the dusty corners of his mind, K7L32 felt a pang of something like regret. But the conditioning—always there, a constant hum—tamped it down before it could take root. Instead, he simply nodded. The father’s pain was just another method, another tool, another reminder of how absolute the Republic’s grip truly was.

[frostchimeart]

Oh Shadowrun, how much I love your gritty mash-up of Cyberpunk dystopia and fantasy... if only your Rulebooks weren't so piss-poorly edited and your rules so needlessly complicated, lol. Oh, and Catalyst Game Labs sucks as a publisher.

This is an older art piece from 2022 showing my Technomancer who goes by the Runner name "Pulse". A corpo-baby rising starlet from Geneva who was primed to go to the Olympics for sharpshooting, her whole world came crashing down on her when it was discovered that she was a Technomancer, a human who was born with the innate ability to traverse the Matrix (Shadowrun's version of the 'Net) and control, hack and manipulate data. In Shadowrun lore, most people can only accomplish this through the use of cyberdecks they either carry or install on their body as cyberware, so needless to say, she was a rare commodity that her corporate overlords would inevitably want more control over.

Luckily, her own parents had the foresight to get her out of the corp's grubby hands before it was too late, and one unwilling extraction run later, she's found herself on the other side of the fence and forced to turn to shadowrunning to make ends meet, hoping to scrape up enough cash and influence to find and reconnect with her family, who have since gone MIA while arranging for their daughter's extraction.

She's sassy, cultured, and horribly out of her depth, so she tries to cover up her initial terror for this new "lifestyle" by projecting an aura of confidence and utter non-chalance at the situation -- though the idea of being on her own, free to do as she wishes without corporate oversight, proves to be an intoxicating draw towards the shadows...

[feminist-space]

"In the age of smart fridges, connected egg crates, and casino fish tanks doubling as entry points for hackers, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that sex toys have joined the Internet of Things (IoT) party.

But not all parties are fun, and this one comes with a hefty dose of risk: data breaches, psychological harm, and even physical danger.

Let’s dig into why your Bluetooth-enabled intimacy gadget might be your most vulnerable possession — and not in the way you think.

The lure of remote-controlled intimacy gadgets isn’t hard to understand. Whether you’re in a long-distance relationship or just like the convenience, these devices have taken the market by storm.

According to a 2023 study commissioned by the U.K.’s Department for Science, Innovation, and Technology (DSIT), these toys are some of the most vulnerable consumer IoT products.

And while a vibrating smart egg or a remotely controlled chastity belt might sound futuristic, the risks involved are decidedly dystopian.

Forbes’ Davey Winder flagged the issue four years ago when hackers locked users into a chastity device, demanding a ransom to unlock it.

Fast forward to now, and the warnings are louder than ever. Researchers led by Dr. Mark Cote found multiple vulnerabilities in these devices, primarily those relying on Bluetooth connectivity.

Alarmingly, many of these connections lack encryption, leaving the door wide open for malicious third parties.

If you’re picturing some low-stakes prank involving vibrating gadgets going haywire, think again. The risks are far graver.

According to the DSIT report, hackers could potentially inflict physical harm by overheating a device or locking it indefinitely. Meanwhile, the psychological harm could stem from sensitive data — yes, that kind of data — being exposed or exploited.

A TechCrunch exposé revealed that a security researcher breached a chastity device’s database containing over 10,000 users’ information. That was back in June, and the manufacturer still hasn’t addressed the issue.

In another incident, users of the CellMate connected chastity belt reported hackers demanding $750 in bitcoin to unlock devices. Fortunately, one man who spoke to Vice hadn’t been wearing his when the attack happened. Small mercies, right?

These aren’t isolated events. Standard Innovation Corp., the maker of the We-Vibe toy, settled for $3.75 million in 2017 after it was discovered the device was collecting intimate data without user consent.

A sex toy with a camera was hacked the same year, granting outsiders access to its live feed.

And let’s not forget: IoT toys are multiplying faster than anyone can track, with websites like Internet of Dongs monitoring the surge.

If the thought of a connected chastity belt being hacked makes you uneasy, consider this: sex toys are just a small piece of the IoT puzzle.

There are an estimated 17 billion connected devices worldwide, ranging from light bulbs to fitness trackers — and, oddly, smart egg crates.

Yet, as Microsoft’s 2022 Digital Defense Report points out, IoT security is lagging far behind its software and hardware counterparts.

Hackers are opportunistic. If there’s a way in, they’ll find it. Case in point: a casino lost sensitive customer data after bad actors accessed its network through smart sensors in a fish tank.

If a fish tank isn’t safe, why would we expect a vibrating gadget to be?

Here’s where the frustration kicks in: these vulnerabilities are preventable.

The DSIT report notes that many devices rely on unencrypted Bluetooth connections or insecure APIs for remote control functionality.

Fixing these flaws is well within the reach of manufacturers, yet companies routinely fail to prioritize security.

Even basic transparency around data collection would be a step in the right direction. Users deserve to know what’s being collected, why, and how it’s protected. But history suggests the industry is reluctant to step up.

After all, if companies like Standard Innovation can get away with quietly siphoning off user data, why would smaller players bother to invest in robust security?

So, what’s a smart-toy enthusiast to do? First, ask yourself: do you really need your device to be connected to an app?

If the answer is no, then maybe it’s best to go old school. If remote connectivity is a must, take some precautions.

Keep software updated: Ensure both the device firmware and your phone’s app are running the latest versions. Updates often include critical security patches.

Use secure passwords: Avoid default settings and choose strong, unique passwords for apps controlling your devices.

Limit app permissions: Only grant the app the bare minimum of permissions needed for functionality.

Vet the manufacturer: Research whether the company has a history of addressing security flaws. If they’ve been caught slacking before, it’s a red flag.

The conversation around sex toy hacking isn’t just about awkward headlines — it’s about how we navigate a world increasingly dependent on connected technology. As devices creep further into every corner of our lives, from the bedroom to the kitchen, the stakes for privacy and security continue to rise.

And let’s face it: there’s something uniquely unsettling about hackers turning moments of intimacy into opportunities for exploitation.

If companies won’t take responsibility for protecting users, then consumers need to start asking tough questions — and maybe think twice before connecting their pleasure devices to the internet.

As for the manufacturers? The message is simple: step up or step aside.

No one wants to be the next headline in a tale of hacked chastity belts and hijacked intimacy. And if you think that’s funny, just wait until your light bulb sells your Wi-Fi password.

This is where IoT meets TMI. Stay connected, but stay safe."

https://thartribune.com/government-warns-couples-that-sex-toys-remain-a-tempting-target-for-hackers-with-the-potential-to-be-weaponized/

[usagirotten]

Why Mr. Robot Is the Cyberpunk Masterpiece You Didn’t Know You Needed

Mr. Robot: The Show That Made Hackers Cool Again (But Also Sad, Real Sad) Alright, fellow sci-fi heads and tech romantics, let’s talk about one of the most underrated psychological thrillers of our time: Mr. Robot. If you’ve ever wished Fight Club had more code, fewer abs, and a darker, glitchier aesthetic—this show’s for you. It’s not just a drama about hackers. It’s a deep, moody exploration of mental health, capitalism, and whether we even control our own lives in a surveillance-obsessed society.

Sounds heavy? It is. But stick with me, because it’s also one of the smartest shows you’ll ever binge. 🧠 Meet Elliot: Our Favorite Unreliable Narrator At the core of Mr. Robot is Elliot Alderson, a hoodie-wearing loner who’s basically the Batman of the darknet—if Batman had social anxiety, insomnia, and a serious dissociation issue. Played by Rami Malek (yes, that guy who crushed it as Freddie Mercury), Elliot is equal parts genius and mess. And then there’s Mr. Robot—his rebel mentor, played by Christian Slater—who may or may not be real. I won’t spoil anything, but if you like plot twists that make you question everything, you’re in for a ride. The rest of the fsociety crew? They’re misfits with purpose. You’ll love Darlene’s punk energy and curse the name “E Corp” every time it flashes on-screen. (Seriously, it’s Evil Corp. Not even subtle.) 🎥 What Makes Mr. Robot Hit Different? Fourth Wall? What Fourth Wall?Elliot talks to us—yep, you—like we’re part of his broken reality. It’s trippy, unsettling, and incredibly effective. Cinematic AFWeird angles. Silent tension. Haunting scores. You don’t watch Mr. Robot. You experience it. Actual Tech AccuracyForget movie hacking with 3D cubes and blinking lights. Mr. Robot keeps it real—Linux terminals, Python scripts, social engineering. It respects its nerds. When it premiered in 2015, it looked like another cyberpunk thriller. But what creator Sam Esmail delivered was far deeper: a complex narrative about mental health, capitalism, surveillance, and identity—all wrapped inside the story of a socially isolated hacker trying to bring down a corrupt conglomerate.

🚧 The Flaws (Yeah, It’s Not Perfect) Okay, even masterpieces stumble. Some episodes in the later seasons slow to a crawl. Dialogue gets... philosophical. Occasionally, you’ll yell “Just hack something already!” at your screen. And a few side characters? They fade into plot devices. Still, the emotional and thematic payoff by the finale? Worth every minute. 🧩 Themes That Stick With You Mental Health ≠ GlorifiedElliot’s mental illness isn’t a superpower. It’s raw, painful, and treated with care. Late-Stage Capitalism Gets RoastedFrom debt culture to surveillance to Big Tech overreach—Mr. Robot isn’t subtle about the system being broken. It’s here to smash it. Morality Isn’t BinaryHeroes make bad choices. Villains have sympathetic motives. You’ll be questioning who you’re rooting for the entire time. 📺 How It Stacks Up If Black Mirror had a long-lost, emotionally tortured cousin with a vendetta against capitalism, it’d be Mr. Robot. Unlike the anthology format of Black Mirror, this show follows one wild, spiraling plot across four seasons. Fans of Fight Club, The Matrix, and even Breaking Bad will find plenty to obsess over here. 👾 Should You Watch It? If you: Love tech Are fascinated by mental health Like stories that don’t spoon-feed you Appreciate stylish, smart storytelling Then yes. Plug in. Hack in. Fall in. But if you’re looking for quick payoffs or feel-good fluff? Maybe not this time. 🧠 Final Thoughts Mr. Robot isn’t just a TV show. It’s a layered, brain-breaking critique of everything from data privacy to the illusion of choice. It’s dark, it’s demanding—and it’s absolutely worth your time. So the question is: Are you ready to wake up? In an age where data is currency and algorithms shape behavior, Mr. Robot isn’t just relevant—it’s prophetic. It asks the big questions: Who owns your identity? What is real in a curated digital world? Can individuals still disrupt systems? For anyone working in a space influenced by tech (which is all of us), those questions aren’t fiction. They’re strategic considerations. 🖥️ Have you watched Mr. Robot? What did you think? Drop your thoughts below or hit me up on Discord—we’ll debate capitalism and keyboard shortcuts all night.

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[monkeyssalad-blog]

X-15 Launch from B-52 Mothership by NASA on The Commons Via Flickr: This photo illustrates how the X-15 rocket-powered aircraft was taken aloft under the wing of a B-52. Because of the large fuel consumption, the X-15 was air launched from a B-52 aircraft at 45,000 ft and a speed of about 500 mph. This was one of the early powered flights using a pair of XLR-11 engines (until the XLR-99 became available). The X-15 was a rocket-powered aircraft 50 ft long with a wingspan of 22 ft. It was a missile-shaped vehicle with an unusual wedge-shaped vertical tail, thin stubby wings, and unique fairings that extended along the side of the fuselage. The X-15 weighed about 14,000 lb empty and approximately 34,000 lb at launch. The XLR-99 rocket engine, manufactured by Thiokol Chemical Corp., was pilot controlled and was capable of developing 57,000 lb of rated thrust (actual thrust reportedly climbed to 60,000 lb). North American Aviation built three X-15 aircraft for the program. The X-15 research aircraft was developed to provide in-flight information and data on aerodynamics, structures, flight controls, and the physiological aspects of high-speed, high-altitude flight. A follow-on program used the aircraft as a testbed to carry various scientific experiments beyond the Earth's atmosphere on a repeated basis. For flight in the dense air of the usable atmosphere, the X-15 used conventional aerodynamic controls such as rudder surfaces on the vertical stabilizers to control yaw and canted horizontal surfaces on the tail to control pitch when moving in synchronization or roll when moved differentially. For flight in the thin air outside of the appreciable Earth's atmosphere, the X-15 used a reaction control system. Hydrogen peroxide thrust rockets located on the nose of the aircraft provided pitch and yaw control. Those on the wings provided roll control. Because of the large fuel consumption, the X-15 was air launched from a B-52 aircraft at 45,000 ft and a speed of about 500 mph. Depending on the mission, the rocket engine provided thrust for the first 80 to 120 sec of flight. The remainder of the normal 10 to 11 min. flight was powerless and ended with a 200-mph glide landing. Generally, one of two types of X-15 flight profiles was used: a high-altitude flight plan that called for the pilot to maintain a steep rate of climb, or a speed profile that called for the pilot to push over and maintain a level altitude. The X-15 was flown over a period of nearly 10 years--June 1959 to Oct. 1968--and set the world's unofficial speed and altitude records of 4,520 mph (Mach 6.7) and 354,200 ft (over 67 mi) in a program to investigate all aspects of piloted hypersonic flight. Information gained from the highly successful X-15 program contributed to the development of the Mercury, Gemini, and Apollo manned spaceflight programs, and also the Space Shuttle program. The X-15s made a total of 199 flights and were manufactured by North American Aviation. X-15-1, serial number 56-6670, is now located at the National Air and Space Museum, Washington DC. NASA Media Usage Guidelines Credit: NASA Image Number: E-4942 Date: 1959

[tunastime]

Slim and Easy Pickings

a little late, but here's a piece for bigb's birthday that kind of got away from me! watching all of wild life in his pov really made me obsessed with him, so now I've scruffed him and put him in sen <3 happy birthday to the guy ever!!

A cargo-runner with his own ship, "Captain" BigB spends his time hauling supplies from station to station. This particular trip, despite it's semblance of normalcy, isn't going quite to plan. Especially when his recipient, Ren, the CMO of Medical Station 4, asks him to make a wayward stop for extra cargo. And that that cargo happens to be a person. (1067 words)

BigB puts the ship's computer to rest. Here in the cockpit, the lights dim, he leans his head back against the padded upholstered headrest and shuts his eyes for the briefest of moments. Of course the computer is running in the background—the ship's reprogrammed, but complimentary AI, SmallB, was still running life support, navigational control, security protocol. But without BigB poking around in its brain, it could devote part of its processing power to doing something it actually enjoyed, like watching BigB's reactions to media, or music, or books. 

He'd reworked the framework of the central AI not too long after he made his last installment on the ship and actually powered the damn thing on. He'd kept it dormant while still hauling for the Deep Space Miner's Corp from the connector station between a moon and its planet (he'd long since forgotten the name, now. Lunara? Lumiara? Luminary? Something like that) but now that it had been his for almost six months, he'd gutted and rebuilt the whole thing. He can almost feel it poking around in his data feed, squirreled away while he tried to rest his eyes.

He was fourteen days out from the medical station, and already, after ten days, cabin fever had started to set in. He'd been really good about it before, six, eight, even nine months quietly roaming his ship in bouts of silence. Maybe he was just anxious to stop moving for a bit. 

The medical station was more than just a hospital. It was like it was its own planet, with shops, docks, and transient housing. He'd been to stations like that before, but nothing that nice. And, he'd been promised, at the behest of station management, that his week of leave time could be spent there. They'd already arranged him a room, assured him a currency card for meals, and left him an open docking spot. It was nice—and he was suspicious, or would be, if he hadn't talked to the station chief himself. He'd also talked to a man called Ren, and Ren was who this delivery was for to begin with, stacked four crates high and three crates deep with medication, liquid, solid, reusable and disposable medical utensils, all the equipment an orbit-locked transitional medical facility needs to function. Ren was pleasant, spoke conversational common with a voice that sounded like it smiled more than frowned, and an accent reminiscent of people BigB used to know during his dockings on the orbital of Luminary (Luminary, is what is was, that was the name. At least he'd known it as Luminary, which was what people from planetside and dockside had said. Might've been called anything). He was the chief medical officer and head surgeon of the reconstruction unit—BigB was not interested in knowing what the term reconstruction meant. 

He blinks his eyes open. Not a nap, but definitely a rest for his dry eyes.

"Captain—" says SmallB, even though BigB isn't a Captain, not in the slightest. "Looks like we have an incoming transmission from the Octagon. Interested?"

“Depends on who it’s from, SB,” BigB says, stretching his arms and rising to a stand.

“Looks like it’s from the CMO of Medical Station 4, if that’s anything to you?”

“Ren?”

“The same.”

“Sure,” BigB says, repositioning himself in his chair. He sits up straight, trying to will the knot in the top of his spine away. “Patch him through.”

There’s a small, affirmative chime from the ship’s computer as the two telecom links join together. Even at this distance, through an array of satellite and range extenders, planetside connectors, and ship-bound relays, com links could successfully patch through, even with a short delay. There would likely be about a thirty-second difference between the MS4 central hub and BigB’s own, smaller computer. Plus it would be audio only; there was no way for SB to support the strength of a holograph projector in any capacity, unless BigB did some serious rewiring and power allocation changes.

Ren’s voice jumps to life through the speaker.

“Captain B!” he says cheerily, still in that accented common tongue. “Nice to chat with you.”

“Likewise, Doctor,” BigB says. He takes the brief pauses as time to readjust the travel calculations and update his positional log. If Ren were collecting transmitter data real time, he wanted it to actually be there to collect.

“Please,” Ren says after the delay. “Just call me Ren. Listen—I wanted to ask you a favor. I know you’re still about two weeks out, and we’re expecting you on time, but I wanted to know if you would be willing to make a slight detour for me.”

BigB frowns. His concern must bleed slightly into the feed connection between himself and SB, because he feels an internal nudge, and sets his shoulders again.

“That depends on the favor, I guess. What sort of thing did you have in mind? And, maybe forgive the directness, but what kind of incentive?”

The pause is more significant this time, suggesting that Ren were taking time to consider the question, rather than just the connection relay delay. SB pokes him, quiet.

<You’re not a smuggler, remember?>

BigB wrinkles his nose.

I know that, he says, or really, subvocalizes, pushing his message into the feed connection between the two of them. I remember. But maybe it’s not what we think it is, yeah?

<Maybe so.>

Ren’s voice startles him, and SB, who’s jittering, electronic start shuffles through their feed connection enough to shock him. 

“I’ve got… a friend who needs transport. It’s a bit personal, but I’m willing to pay double for it. Plus what he’s willing to pitch in. He’s in a bit of a jam, but should just need a tow to MS4. If you’re willing?”

BigB pulls a face. It’s something SB sees, but doesn’t comment on. He drags his tongue between his teeth, frowning slightly.

“Double?”

“You’ve got my word, Captain,” Ren says, letting out a sigh that sounds more stressed than concerned. BigB feels a knot start to form at the notch of his sternum, right at his solar plexus. It feels… dangerous. But it can’t be the most dangerous thing he’s ever done. He sits back in his chair again, steepling his fingers, tapping them against his chin. 

“Alright, I’ll see what I can do,” BigB says, steeling his expression. “Send me the coordinates.”

[glitchinginthegarden]

8, 16, 23 for the violence game 😉

-> choose violence ask game

you're gonna get me ostracized, thank you lol

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

"Fem V gets too much attention from the devs."

Oh no. What do you mean the second protagonist is being used for the second half of the game's advertisable lifespan? What do you mean maybe the devs wanted to change the face of the game after its initial flop release? What do you mean marketing in gaming is still, in general, defined by the male gaze? (I bet the dudebros complaining about it would sing a different tune if her attire changed tbh.)

I won't apologize for this one because I am so tired of seeing White Guy #472 as the face of every game on the market.

Don't get me wrong, I love cinematic m!V and his sad puppy eyes. He's a great character. Because, guess what? THEY'RE TWO SIDES OF THE SAME COIN. V IS V.

It is LOGICAL for a game company to utilize both protagonists in their marketing. It's not a slight against male V players. It's not raising fem V onto some pedestal. It's marketing.

I am begging people to remove the personal connection here and just see that it's marketing. Idk take an online business class or something.

Disclaimer: this is exclusive of the modding community. I will agree that there is definitely a larger volume of aesthetic and clothing mods made for fem-bodied V. That's an entirely separate can of worms though and I'm not touching it beyond this.

16. you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

The idea that Arasaka would give two shits about V beyond using them as a source of data for their own gains. I don't care how far up on the corporate ladder you headcanon your V to be (or have been prior to the heist), they are no more than a number in their system.

Unless corpo!V is a member of the Arasaka family, they don't matter one iota. The only value they have to that corp is that of the tech in their head.

Can you tell I will never go The Devil ending route?

23. ship you've unwillingly come around to

*longest loudest sigh* Viktor/V

I've just seen some really compelling fanart and vp out there and it's slowly worn me down to going, "Okay, I guess this is actually kinda cute sometimes." Especially if we lean into the Beat On The Brat stuff and Vik's history in boxing. Deep down, I'm a sucker for the character realizing they have feelings for their sparring partner. Something something knowing one another's bodies in the context of causing controlled "harm".