#data processing my enemy

[oneofthosecrazycatladies]

Hitler and the Nazi party took over Germany in 53 days. March 1st marks 41 days of the Trump administration. My hope for March is that the list you’re about to read won’t be the in-real-time evidence of America sliding further into autocracy.

Here we go again…

January-February 2025

March 2025:

Trump has made English the official language of the country [x]

Trump pauses military aid to Ukraine [x]

Trump has imposed new tariffs on China and Canada and they have retaliated [x]

Linda McMahon has been confirmed as Secretary of Education [x]

The Department of Education has set up a witch-hunt for DEI in schools [x]

Trump has delayed his tariffs on the auto industry [x]

Trump suspends tariffs on Mexico [x]

ICE is now targeting migrant families who entered the US with their children [x]

Trump is threatening new tariffs on Canada, including 250% tariffs on dairy products [x]

The Department of Homeland Security is performing polygraph tests on employees [x]

Because of cuts to USAID, Afghan women who fled the Taliban might be forced to return [x]

The Department of Health and Human Services is offering all of their employees a $25,000 buyout [x]

Trump says he will double Canadian tariffs on steel and aluminum [x]

Trump administration has rebranded the CBP One app as the CBP Home app for migrants to self-deport [x]

Trump created a strategic crypto reserve [x]

The Department of Education is cutting nearly half its workforce [x]

The Department of Agriculture has cut $1 billion in funding to bring fresh food to schools [x]

The Trump administration is rolling back dozens of environmental protections and regulations [x]

The Senate passed the spending bill that had been passed by the Housw earlier this month [x]

Trump administration has shut down the media organization Voice of America [x]

The US is bombing Houthi targets in Yemen [x]

The EPA has dismissed a case against a chemical plant in Louisiana [x][x]

Trump has signed an executive order to dismantle the Department of Education [x]

Homeland Security is going after foreign-born academics and scholars [x]

Trump says the Small Business Administration will take over the oversight of federal student loans [x]

Trump administration has deported Venezuelan immigrants to El Salvador without due process [x]

NOAA is making cuts to weather data collection due to layoffs [x]

Trump stacks military academy boards with MAGA loyalists, including Michael Flynn and Charlie Kirk [x]

Trump tells the Attorney General to sanction lawyers who file lawsuits against his administration [x][x]

The IRS is going to share tax data with ICE to help them track down undocumented immigrants [x]

Trump signs executive order that requires proof of citizenship to vote [x][x]

Supreme Court upholds regulations on ghost guns [x]

An endangered sea turtle is stranded in Wales because of Trump’s funding freeze [x]

Federal appeals court maintains temporary block on Trump’s use of Alien Enemies Act for deportations [x]

Trump is imposing 25% tariffs on all automobiles brought into the US [x]

HHS has cut 10,000 employees [x]

A Tufts University graduate student from Turkey has been arrested by ICE agents who wore masks as they grabbed her off the street [x]

This happened in February but I didn’t learn about it until just now — Trump created a White House Faith Office [x][x]

Trump signed an executive order to control the Smithsonian [x][x][x]

Ohio has passed a bill coined the Higher Education Destruction Act by opponents. It bans all DEI from Ohio public universities, bans faculty from going on strike, and eliminates services to veterans and people with disabilities [x]

Trump has pardoned Trevor Milton [x]

Trump won’t rule out a third term [x] (that’s not allowed)

Miscellaneous News:

A federal judge has ruled against another one of Trump’s attempted firings. [x]

Federal workers are fighting back against DOGE cuts [x]

Musk had a closed-door meeting with Republican senators to cement DOGE cuts in law [x]

There was a heated exchange in the House over the misgendering of Sarah McBride [x]

House Republicans block a vote to end Trump’s tariffs [x]

A federal judge has ordered that thousands of federal employees be reinstated [x]

Trump says he wants to use the Justice Department to go after his political enemies [x]

A judge has blocked Trump’s transgender military ban [x]

Elon Musk is spending millions of dollars on a Wisconsin Supreme Court election [x]

Arlington National Cemetery has taken down information about female veterans and veterans of color from their website [x]

The person in charge of defending DOGE cuts is a social media fashion influencer [x]

A chorus of ladies wrote a song for Senator Thom Tillis (R-NC) [x]

The UK, Germany, and Nordic countries have all issued travel warnings about traveling to the US [x]

Columbia University has given in to Trump’s demands in order to restore federal funding [x]

Usha Vance and Mike Waltz, along with other US officials are planning to visit Greenland this week [x]

Trump administration accidentally sent secret war plans to the editor of a magazine [x]

Trump defends Mike Waltz who accidentally added a journalist to text chain about secret war plans [x]

The White House is seeking corporate sponsorships for its annual Easter Egg roll [x]

Florida is trying to loosen their child labor laws [x]

Ohio is trying to pass a bill to completely ban all DEI in public universities [x]

Alabama board defunds local library in first action under new book ban law [x]

Utah has banned fluoride in its drinking water [x] (I hope you like tooth decay)

JD Vance says Greenlanders want to join the US [x]

April-June 2025

This post is constantly being updated so if this comes across your dash, check OP’s blog to see the most up-to-date version.

Remember that you have a voice. Remember that Donald Trump and his spineless cronies want you to just give up and accept their control. REMEMBER: NO ONE CAN MAKE YOU FEEL INFERIOR WITHOUT YOUR CONSENT.

[sightseertrespasser]

Lore dump! Lore dump! Lore dump!

You! Anonymous asker! You shall be my excuse to infodump on the Mentor System.

So, Cybertronians do not have children.

A “newborn” mech emerged straight from the Hotspot has the body of a fully realized adult, the mental capacity of an adult and the base instincts of a feral raccoon.

A mech that’s existed for about two minutes has all the information it can possibly acquire within two minutes. Which mostly amounts to rolling around on the ground and becoming acquainted with such novel concepts as gravity, vision, sound and other forms of sensory input.

Eventually, the newly sparked Hot Spot mech will start putting two and two together and figure out that the ground isn’t moving around at random and that the changes in visual data is directly affected by how they’re flailing about.

After a couple days of this, most mechs have usually figured out “walking.”

A new spark only really has three guiding structures of information already in their heads: Pain is Bad, Energon is Fuel, Knowledge is Good.

They don’t know what the hell any of that means right away but it quickly falls under “you’ll know it when you see it.”

Hot Spot mechs start off with basically no knowledge at emergence and have to learn how to do everything. One thing that MASSIVELY speeds up the learning process is if the mech is lucky enough to find other, more experienced mechs.

At this sort of larval mental stage, the only form of communication that doesn’t need to be directly taught are EM fields. So, when a new spark runs into any mechs for the first time, if any of them send out any kind of Positive EMF, it’s going to cause that New Spark to latch on the that particular person pretty hard. From their grand perspective at a whopping total of three days old, this is literally the nicest thing that’s ever happened to them.

From there, whoever decided to be nice to the still feral mech that’s actively trying to lick any open wounds is now responsible for their well being.

Good news is that the newly appointed Mentor can get the new spark up to speed on things like language and basic survival pretty quickly, especially using stuff like data packets.

On modern day Cybertron, collecting newly formed mechs for education and socialization is a standardized process and a very well compensated one at that. A mech who places themselves in such positions are referred to as Mentors. It’s a very serious position since the mentor can have a significant impact on how a new spark develops as a person.

Within the totalitarian regime of the Functionalists, early developmental control is an even bigger deal, as Hotspots, or Forged mechs automatically have a higher social standing than Cold Constructed mechs. In turn, meaning they will have far more influence in society later on.

Some groups of mechs, such as various guilds or tower socialites will want those who show the most promise to join and bolster their ranks. Granting more allies in the long run without having to make peace with old enemies.

Most Hot Spots just end up joining general society however. Even with standardization, it’s extremely difficult for a mentor to have more ward than one at a time. Since they literally don’t know anything, but have the mental and physical capabilities of a fully developed mech, new sparks have to watched 24/7 and don’t do well without constant interaction.

You know how toddlers have a “Why?” Phase? It’s like that, except the toddler will become extremely distraught if you take a break, it can turn into a helicopter and it doesn’t know that flying into power lines is bad because you haven’t explained that concept to them yet.

Mentorship is not for everyone. Unlike humans who have a healthy dose of “aw, they’re so stupid!” happy brain chemicals that tell us this is Cute, and Cybertronians, Do Not Have That Benefit. Instead going “Oh god they’re so stupid.” Repeatedly. And without reward.

Basically, a good mentor has the patience of a saint.

So what’s mentorship like for Cold Constructs?

Pretty different!

For starters, Cold Constructs come online with a lot of pre-downloaded data packets. Mostly stuff like language packs, instructions on how not to accidentally blow themselves up and other commonly referenced information.

The Functionalists have three big W’s covered: Where are you, What are you and Why do you exist?

In the case of a CC Praxian Enforcer, everyone of them comes online knowing they were created in and for the city of Praxus. They are an Enforcer and what they were created to enforce was the law.

So! You’ve got fully functional Cold Construct with all the updates. They’re instantly ready to be released into society. Right?

Right?

Wishful thinking is a fools trade for sensibility.

As it happens, language packets can’t effectively cover culture. And no amount of instruction manuals is gonna replace practical experience. Any job you’ve ever worked, you’ve undoubtedly learned the difference between what you’re told to do, and what’s the best way to actually do it.

That’s not even touching on How To Interact With Other People. Society is constantly shifting, slang evolves and social dynamics shift. The rate of updates necessary would have to be constant and every mech made beforehand would be working with defunct data.

Not to mention, personalities are still random upon coming online. The Functionalists can try very hard to encourage or punish certain behaviors, but short of Shadowplay, there’s no real method of control that works beyond an individual scale.

Ultimately, the best solution to making sure their Cold Constructs are actually capable of interacting with society semi-normally is going back to the Mentor system. Depending on what they were built for, a new Cold Construct will be assigned to a mentor of the same function. So a construction-based mech gets assigned to a senior construction worker, a cargo mech goes to a more experienced cargo mech, and so on.

Because CC’s are built to order, there’s no social capital to get from mentoring them as they’ll be joining the given demographics rank’s regardless. So, mentoring CC’s is a lot more like showing the new guy the ropes.

Sometimes there’s a monetary bonus, sometimes a CC just gets randomly assigned to a senior enough mech without compensation. Volunteers are always welcome.

In the case of Prowl and Smokescreen, at their original precinct, there was effectively a hazard pay and special living quarters for anyone who signed up to be a mentor and Smokescreen figured “I see people mentor all the time. Looks easy and I get a bigger habsuite. I can deal with rooming with a temporary dumbass.”

And then he got Prowl. Who came with all of his Prowlness, and Prowled all over the place.

At first, Smokescreen thought he lucked the fuck out, because almost immediately after Prowl started up with the existential questions, Smokescreen sat him down and taught Prowl how to do research and figure out stuff on his own. The mentorship was effectively on autopilot. All Prowl had to do was follow Smokescreen around like a silent shadow at work and observe what wasn’t written in databases.

Job done.

And then Prowl had to talk to someone who wasn’t Smokescreen.

And that person did not like how Prowl spoke to them.

And Prowl got so confused and frustrated that Tac-net crashed for the first time.

Giving Smokescreen the very cold wake-up call that he was the only person who understood how Prowl communicated. Because he assumed Prowl would figure it out talking to other people on his own.

Throw in the health issues related to Tac-net and Smokescreen had the very real paradigm shift that he was now not only responsible for another persons wellbeing, but the single person who could support him anymore.

Ever since then, Smokescreen has tried fairly hard to teach Prowl how to be a person, which pretty much amounts to how to be like him. Life happens outside of work, most laws are hypocritical, and stop caring so much damnit.

But you can’t control someone’s baseline personality. So eventually, Smokescreen stopped trying to argue with Prowl, and just started working with how he was as a person.

Traditionally, mentors and their wards live in fairly close proximity, and the mentor is legally responsible for their ward until the dynamic is dissolved. Cybertronians are very social by nature, so it’s fairly common for mentors to remain apart of their former wards social circle for a long time.

In the case of Smokescreen and Prowl, due in part to the smaller age gap and general unpreparedness, their relationship is far less like a typical Teacher - Student relationship and far more like a Older Brother Who Knows How To Skip School To Go To The Club and Younger Brother Who Should Not Be Brought Along To The Club relationship.

Add in Bluestreak to the mix and you’ve got an almost functional person between the two of them Mentoring him.

Youngest Brother Who Was Clearly Raised By Their Older Brothers And Is Destroying At Darts In The Club.

[glitchgh0sty]

*shoves this at you* here you go! Working on a short story about jazz and prowl set in the decepticon prowl au. I hope I got the vibes right ❤️

----------------------

Prowl did not leave the war room.

He had no reason to. Prowl had long since abandoned the concept of "outside."

Strategy did not require fresh air or open spaces—it required discipline. The outside world was irrelevant—an uncontrolled, unpredictable factor with no strategic value. The only things that mattered were data streams, enemy movements, and the ever-growing plans that turned battles in their favor. His duties required precision, vigilance, and absolute focus. He saw Soundwave and Shockwave once every few weeks for briefings, filled out his reports, then returned to work. It was efficient. It was necessary.

Everything outside of that was a waste of time.

He did not need distractions.

Which was why Meister was becoming a problem.

The new Decepticon was competent, which was the only reason Prowl tolerated his presence. But he was also disruptive—too confident, too relaxed, too quick with his glossa. He played the game well enough to earn Megatron’s trust, but Prowl wasn’t convinced. A mech who seemed to belong everywhere and nowhere at once couldn't be trusted his tact-net said. Plus, Prowl had his suspicions—Meister was too adaptable, too perceptive—but no evidence. Yet.

And now he was here, leaning against the side of Prowl’s terminal like he belonged there.

“You ever leave this fraggin’ room?” Meister asked, visor gleaming under the dim tactical lights.

Prowl didn’t bother looking up. “Irrelevant.”

Meister scoffed, arms folding across his chassis. “Tch. ‘Course you’d say that.”

Prowl’s optics flickered up at the tone—like amusement mixed with something sharper.

“You got somethin’ to say, Meister?”

Meister tilted his helm. “Just thinkin’ it’s funny. Megatron talks about strength, but you—” He gestured vaguely at Prowl’s station, littered with datapads and flickering displays. “—you hole yourself up in here like a half forgotten glitch."

Prowl’s optics narrowed. “I do not waste time on meaningless indulgences.”

Meister chuckled, but there was no humor in it. “Right. ‘Cause tactics win wars, not the bots fightin’ ‘em.”

Prowl’s plating twitched. “Do you have a purpose for being here?”

“Yeah,” Meister pushed off the desk. “I do.” He took a step closer, voice dropping just slightly. “Come outside.”

Prowl’s vents cycled sharply. “No.”

“Just for a cycle,” Meister pressed. “Ain’t like the war’s gonna end in the time it takes for you to step outside and look at the fraggin’ sky.”

Prowl ex-vented slowly. “Unnecessary.”

“Y’keep sayin’ that, but y’ain’t got a real reason.” Meister tilted his helm, expression unreadable. “What, you scared or somethin’?”

Prowl’s optics flared. “Do not mistake my focus for fear.”

“Then prove it.”

The challenge lingered. Prowl held Meister’s gaze for a long, silent moment, processing the possible outcomes. There was no tactical advantage in agreeing.

But refusing would give Meister something to hold over him.

And that was unacceptable.

“…One cycle.”

Meister smirked. “That’s all I need.”

Ahaha.. AHHHHHH!!!?

Breathes, looks, breathes again. *Simply dies*. WHAT THE ACRUAL LIVI BFF AKNF VWVCIWJBG!??? THIS IS SO GOOD??? THE DIALOGUE!! THE DIALOGUE!!!! ECHO- CIRCUT! YOU ARE INSANE!! Can I spin you around and around?? Your brain! This is beautiful. I am without speech? I am without good and proper words?? YOU HAVE GOT DOWN THE CHARACTERS. SO GOOD!!! ITS ALMOST LIKE IM READINF POETRY AND ITS TEARING ME APART AND PUTTING ME BACK TOGATHER BOTH SIMULTANEOUSLY AND AT THE SAME TIME.. I literally read this and ended up grabbing my phone so hard while reading that my hand turned red. YOU HAVE A GIFT! OML! Breeeeathe. OhMIgosh, hold up, *dies again*, this is going in the archives of my Transformers notes document. The same document that is already so long my notes app told me I exceeded the set length for all possible notes app attachments, please for the likes of all things good,, I need to sit. and then I need to read this again. And then I need to grab some paper, a pencil, a highlighter, some annotations, a blanket, some more pencils. And then I need to read this again. And then I need to sit. And then I need to READ THIS AGAIN.

“He did not need distractions”,, mmhm, yep,, absolutely no distractions necessary here right now,, in the middle of Decepticon headquarters 💀😏✨

“What, you scared or somethin’?”

- PFT HA! This phrasing is so genius because in his mind what Prowl is doing is painting him as someone with mental fortitude, someone without needs like ‘living’, but because Jazz phrases this like “wait,, you really can’t do it big man?” Suddenly [because of Prowls’s view of Jazz] his definition of mental fortitude makes a temporary shift to deal with Jazz’s request because he doesn’t want to be seen as somebody who can’t function on a standard that was issued by a fellow “Decepticon”

“Prowl’s optics flared”

- Ooooog yeah,, that hit home <33✨

“That’s all I need”

- YESSSS, that is all you need! Bro, I love the phrasing on this too because, 1. It implies that Jazz knows Prowl well enough to recognize that he can be changed,, 2. It recognizes that there is still a part of Prowl that isn’t attached to the figurative work machine,, [ it’s dormant, but there <33] and Jazz knows that all he really needs is a little time to find it, and drag it out [politely.. but quickly]

Context ✨ Next!?

[pinstripe-wings]

Thank you @diblmetta for putting the image of Tfa Blurr ending up in the Backrooms into my mind. The idea wouldn’t leave me, so I typed on my phone like a madman throughout the day and just finished writing this. Had a lot of fun too.

So, here’s Part One of who knows how many of Blurr in the Backrooms (and maybe later on, some other liminal spaces).

Note 1: Basing the Backrooms in these posts mainly off of Kane Pixels’ videos of the Backrooms, (but with some monsters tossed in now and again like this first part that didn’t happen in his first two vids). The plan is to have Blurr in isolation mainly, with his unsettling exploration of the unnatural spaces while wondering if or when something or someone will pop up, (until I eventually change up to liminal spaces like pools, the houses on the green field, places that should be occupied but aren’t, etc)

Note 2: I’m planning to edit each of these parts later to maybe slap on ao3, as the notes I’ve made for this in such a little amount of time will take awhile to go through. But that’s okay; I’ve been wanting to write something with tfa Blurr in it, and hey, love me the Backrooms as well as other unsettling liminal spaces. Warnings: none I can think of other than: general Backrooms uneasiness, Blurr slowly panicking when he can’t get out, a creature that seems a bit familiar that shows up to chase Blurr further into the Backrooms, and an implied injury.

Okay, with all that said, on with part 1:

-

Fear and adrenaline fueled Blurr’s racing form as he sped along past his breaking point, desperate to get away with this important new knowledge of an enemy spy deeply embedded within their ranks amid sensitive data. 

He had to escape.

Blurr nearly swerved away from a closed off corridor, and spun a 180 to shoot through another doorway that nearly closed off on him.

He a step closer to escape. 

But Longarm knew Blurr well at this point after working together. Which meant that Shockwave knew that Blurr would try to outrun him; the Decepticon spy must have a way to corner him, as it had to have occurred to Shockwave that Blurr might be the first one to discover his true nature. 

That strategy appeared to be slamming down doors to block the halls and corridors, leading Blurr…somewhere.

Not good.

Being led somewhere by an enemy was not good.

Blurr pushed his frame to go a little faster than before as he careened around a corner and down a longer hall.

A door slammed shut behind him.

Then another. 

Up ahead, Blurr could see that a larger blast door was slowly being lowered.

On purpose.

It was as if Shockwave was taunting him; taunting Blurr to try and get past before the blast door closed, with Blurr being the ‘fastest’ mech on Cybertron. He couldn’t become trapped here, Blurr had to-

The agent’s comms suddenly blared with discordant, incredibly disorienting static as the corridor’s lights began to flash and flicker, seemingly at random.

What was Shockwave doing-

Blurr pitched forward and to the side as he was struck by sudden vertigo, prepared to meet the door that had just sealed right before his speeding frame, taking his freedom away in an instant. Blurr’s optics closed, braced for impact. Even stumbling, the speed he was going meant he was in for a rough battering, and then he would be helplessness to whatever Shockwave had planned next once the agent had been cornered.

It didn’t quite happen how Blurr anticipated. 

The stumble and fall kept going on much further than the wall he was supposed to hit face-first. All at once, Blurr collapsed onto a flat surface, everything silent around him.

No alarms.

No more slamming doors.

No taunts from Shockwave. 

Blurr lie prone for a time, processing the fact that he’d taken little to no damage.

It was eerily silent. 

Too silent. 

Blurr maneuvered himself up onto armored elbows, taking in his immediate surroundings with a great deal of confusion. 

Yellow.

Faded yellow.

Shaded yellow in the shadows cast.

Blurr reset his optics, but the sight that greeted him was the same as before. 

Yellow walls with white lights overhead. There were walls of various shapes and sizes sprawling out in either direction. 

Unsettlingly unnatural. 

There was even a wall that ended in another wall, for no reason that made any sense.

Blurr carefully rose to his pedes, arms raised a bit with his servo curled, optic ridges furrowing as Blurr’s helm swung this way and that. 

Where was he?

What had Shockwave done to him?

Blurr nervously fidgeted his fingers together as he stood in place, uncertain what to do about this unexpected situation. Taking in a vent, Blurr slowed his racing processor as best he could, struggling to not just bolt in one direction as quickly as possible in this strange place, just to get away.

First things first. 

Comms. 

Blurr had to try his comms and-

Nothing. 

Nothing but static, no matter who Blurr attempted to contact. 

Was this Shockwave’s doing or was it this place that was responsible?

Blurr cast a wary look around, but nothing appeared to be nearby, which meant no change in his immediate surroundings.

Okay then.

Next step, gather intel.

Blurr needed to know more about this place, if he was going to get out of it, and without Shockwave catching him on the way out. Shoulders rising and falling, Blurr let his arms drop down to hang at his side as he reluctantly began to walk in one direction. The agent forced himself to walk at a slower than normal pace, as much as Blurr was jittery and ready to just go speed off in hopes he’d find the exit faster. 

Intel.

Okay.

Right

Yellow walls. 

Yellow toned walls that were slightly different material, which a new wall just started in the middle of this one. It was on his left, and formed a narrow hall that appeared to be a dead end. To Blurr’s right, there was a wall that made a U-shape that had no purpose, as far as he could see. Before him, there was open space, and a doorway to go through.

Odd.

Blurr stooped to get through the open doorway, only to pause.

Oh, another a dead end.

This was fine. 

Blurr was gathering intel, and there were many other areas to investigate. Surely the longer he explored this place lit with buzzing square lights overhead, the more likely he’d begin to find the exits?

Right?

Right. 

It wasn’t like he was trapped or anything. 

No, that couldn’t be, especially if this was Shockwave’s doing. There’d have to be some way for the Decepticon spy to get to Blurr, which meant that there was an exit of some kind.

Right?

Yes.

Yes, that made sense. 

He could do this. 

Blurr could do this.

All he had to do was figure this out he wasn’t worried there was nothing to worry about he’d be fine he’d been on trickier missions than this and it had been all right in the end and so this would end well too Blurr was going to be able to pass along the information that there’d been a Decepticon spy in their midst after all and Blurr would be able to make sure that no one else was going to get trapped or picked off by Shockwave-

Blurr stopped when he came to another dead end of the similar-looking walls; with a frustrated vent, he turned around and went in the opposite direction.

More of the same yellow walls, and the unnatural buzzing static interfering with his comms from the square lights from overhead. 

Another dead end. 

Blurr tried again.

And again.

Each time he thought he found a way further from where he started (marked by scuffed up ground where he’d clattered hard into it with his armor) there was always a dead end, or a line of walls making up a small hallway leading him back to a place he’d already explored before. 

…this was ridiculous. 

How big could this place even be?

Blurr allowed himself to move at a quicker pace. 

It wasn’t urgent.

It wasn’t.

Blurr wasn’t racing along at breakneck speed yet.

(Where was the way out wasn’t there a way out?)

After a few more times circling back into the same area, Blurr let out a frustrated groan and leaned backward into the nearest wall. Blurr would be happy to not see a yellow wall once he was out of this place. How long had he been here, anyway? Blurr checked his chonometer, kicking up a heel to move his wheel back and forth in thoughtful confusion. 

What felt like hours had only been 15 minutes. 

How was that even possible? Did time pass differently in this place?

Blurr definitely needed to gather more information and get out before-

An odd noise hissed, loud in the silence.

Blurr perked up, turning up his audials to see where that sound had come from. 

The hissing turned into a metallic-sounding screeching groan, garbled with no discernible words, and accompanied by uneven steps that almost seemed to drag along. 

Blurr tensed, ready to launch himself in the opposite direction of whatever was approaching him, should it turn out to be hostile. 

Had Shockwave sent something after him?

Time came to a standstill as some strange creature rounded a corner, its body distorted and leaning to one side from its middle, cords and wires dangling off of it and possibly even plugged into its body. Sharp tangles of metal bunched down along two arm-like appendages which ended in several long sharp claws that came out from big metal palms. There were two solid, strong trunks of metal legs ending in two big sharp metal claws that dug into the floor below with each step. 

Blurr thought he might have had a small processor crash from the sight because the strange being was suddenly closer, half turned away, and for good reason.

It had no optics in its helm; just an indentation.

A sturdy rectangular frame was attached to the arms and legs, tapering thinner near each limb; its back was full of metal spikes that jutted out along its back, wires and cords were gathered just beneath its neck, cascading down along the back of its frame to trail along the floor in the being’s wake. The neck was long and wired, giving it an even more distorted look on such a bulky body. The head was rectangular in its length, and squared on either end, attached to the neck facing one square side forward by more wires and metal that bundled together in a grotesque way. On either side of the ‘head’ looked like horns or antlers with metal spikes spiraling off of them. 

Blurr took a few quick steps back and to the side. This was, unfortunately, a mistake as the creature suddenly swung its strange helm toward him. 

A deep crimson light flared to life within the previously assumed empty optic area as a distorted wailing scream sounded, and metal scraping upon metal saw the creature surged its metal, wire-laden body toward Blurr. It charge at a terrifying speed that shouldn’t have been possible. 

But Blurr was already gone, already having gone down several corridors by then, more frantic than before to locate an exit. No matter where he went, however, Blurr couldn’t loose his pursuer. 

Quiet. 

Loud. 

Far. 

Near.

It didn’t matter the distance. 

The creature had fixated upon Blurr, had narrowly cornered him a few times, and it was only thanks to his lithe agility to move that Blurr avoided those grasping claws and flailing wires. 

Blurr ran. He didn’t stop, not even when his engine began to overheat in response to his growing panic and the speed which he maintained. 

Had to get away had to find an exit don’t get caught don’t look back it’s right there no it’s another dead end no wait there’s something there it’s something different what is it what-

Blurr barely had time to swerve sharply off to one side before he ended up falling down a random open space cut into the floor, where he couldn’t even see the bottom of it. 

What to do what to do. 

The creature drew closer, screeching its eerie cries as it approached with its arms of thick iron and tangled wires around held out toward Blurr, the clawed hands, the palms, outstretched in a weirdly beseeching way. 

Blurr’s frame rose and fell as he heaved shuddering vents.  Should he jump down the large hole in the ground, and see if he ended up where he was before when he first ended up in this place? Or should Blurr remain where he was, and find out if he could take down this larger metal and wire covered creature, its limbs outstretched to him, that single bright red light seemingly boring directly into him?

A sound that may have been Blurr’s name rattled out from the creature as it approached.

Blurr didn’t hesitate. He threw himself toward the left side of the giant square hole in the ground, just as the creature lunged at him a wire snapped around his knee, yanking him backward. Blurr frantically attempted to kick free (his weapons…he couldn’t get them to work…it was like they were jammed). 

The creature gave another cry, different in pitch than before. It then attempted to pull Blurr backward, away from the hole in the floor and however far a drop it was. The wire tightened firmly around his left leg, as if the creature somehow sensed Blurr’s desire to run. The wire gave Blurr’s leg another light tug backward.

No.

Nope.

Blurr didn’t want to find out what this being would do to him if he let it corner him properly. The agent kicked his pedes at the ground; the wire loosened at the motion. Blurr swung an arm forward to grip the very edge of the hole, digits hooking in tightly. Using his other arm to shove at the ground, Blurr successfully kicked his leg free, but winced as something audibly crumpled in his left knee as a result as the wire let go. But he couldn’t think of what that minor flare of pain could mean, as Blurr used his right pede to kick off the floor. With a graceful flip, the agent angled his frame over into the hole in the floor. Blurr quickly let go of the edge to allow himself to fall.

An alarmed noise of static garble rang out, along with a slithering that brought to mind the wires.

Something slid along the top of Blurr’s helm, past the flared out part if it. Nothing seized him.

Blurr continued to fall.

A quick peek up showed a bright optic watching Blurr as he fell. For a moment, it almost looked like the red optic was getting closer. Blurr’s vision briefly went dark as a rushing sound of static passed him by, along with a wind that was there but not. All at once, Blurr found himself tumbling out from the yellow space he’d been trapped within, and into another large, less yellow room. Blurr sprawled out on his back, his gaze snapping back up at a giant hole in the ceiling. 

A giant hole in the ceiling with a red glow that was rapidly growing closer the longer Blurr stared up at it. 

That metal and wired creature from before was climbing down the hole.

Why was it following him?

Blurr scrambled to his pedes despite the exhaustion running throughout his frame and most of his struts, as well as the ache that lingered in his left knee joint. Blurr quickly moved across the distressingly large open space, and squeezed his frame through a half open door that was on the other side of the room, which seemed partially blocked on the other side. Blurr twisted away from the half open door, only to let out a strangled vent over the sight of a clawed palm (servo?) reaching through the opening after him. Unable to reach Blurr, the large metal claws dripped to scrape sideways along the doorframe before retreating. A crimson glow replaced the claws as the single optic settled on Blurr, the glow brightening. 

A mournful sounding static cry rose from the creature. 

Blurr was already running over to a ledge and leapt up to grasp the end, using his right pede to brace agaisnt the wall as he went over the opening in the wall.

A shattering of a wooden door, along with metal grinding and the same echoing cry, the creature continued to follow Blurr.

The agent didn’t look back; he continued to move swiftly along despite the ache growing in his left knee joint. Blurr turned through the distressingly open rooms to go through odd holes in the walls, or long corridors that went at a 45 degree angle downward, only to go through another open doorway.

Then another. 

And another.

Blurr’s pursuer fell behind, until the creature could no longer be heard with its mournful dirge of a voice without words. It may not be gone, but the agent was sure he could put some more space between himself and the creature. Blurr wearily through two more open doorways, one an arch, before he hefted himself up what would have been a steep opening higher up in a wall directly to his right. Once Blurr was through the window-shaped opening, he dropped down a bit farther than anticipated. He landed on his left leg, causing his knee joint buck in protest. Blurr went backward, flailing in an attempt to right himself, only to trip and fall over, landing down hard on his aft. 

This was getting ridiculous.

What was this place?

Releasing a quick vent, Blurr leaned into the wall nearest him to look through an elevated square hole in the wall at optical level. There was another room that looked exactly like the one Blurr just came from, but this one had more open space, less yellow than before, and less lights in the ceiling.

There was also a single lamp in the middle of the room. The object was much smaller than Blurr thought it would be. Now that he was no longer running, Blurr could once again turn up his audials in an effort to try and figure out if he was one, being chased, or two, be able to hear the sound of the outdoors, and therefore, an exit.

All there was, was an unsettling silence.

All Blurr could hear were his own vents, and if he listened closely, the humming of the lights in the room’s ceiling. The agent’s spark clenched with an uneasy feeling as he debated his next move.

What exactly…was going on here?

Where was he?

-

end pt 1

-

Three guesses as to who the creature is (note-it’s not the Shockwave that saw Blurr vanish from being trapped and smooshed into a cube). The wire and metal creature will come back at some point in a later part.

When I get around to part 2 of this, it will focus on the isolation of wandering the weird architecture of the Backrooms, and the way it can get into one’s head and make one question their reality.

[evilminji]

Ya'll know our BELOVED? Little Baby Man?

The noodliest ghosty boy?

What if he WAS Baby? It wouldn't be the first time Danny's enemies plotting gave him offspring. Only this time it's not a clone! It's a proper GHOST baby. Like Lunch Box.

Who's the other parent I hear you ask?

Pretty human-centric view point there buddy, to assume Ghosts NEED two participants to make an offspring. OR are limited to two! Just cause Lunch Lady And Boxie are a couple doesn't mean that's the standard!

We lack data here! ASSUME NOTHING. *sciences harder in your direction*

*awkward cough*

*shuffles notes*

ANYWAY! The child! All it would really take is one(1) VERY poorly timed ambush attack. Imagine if you will, a cell. How does it multiply? While not even close, the simplistic images ARE pretty good as an explanation!

But isn't that just an ecto-clone? You say?

Close!

But THOSE? Are hollow bags of GOO!

No CORE! *slaps the chalkboard behind me*

However! If you wanted, say, a precious bundle off joy? Well, nothing can come from perfect void! You must contribute the building blocks of LIFE! And what are those, my students, in ghost biology??!

Two vital pieces! The Ectoplasm aaaaaaand? That's RIGHT!

The CORE!

A critical and ever vital part of ghost biological function.

Which, like every OTHER part of the body, is malleable. One could, say, make it smaller. Create part of a proto core. OR, should one be ALONE in this process, a FULL protocol.

Upon which, ectoplasm latches, builds, develops and grows. Becomes its own soul.

Now! Do Not mistake me! There is a WILDLY vast difference between the formation of a core and a shattered core. Between willing life and untimely second death. It is not, and never WILL be, easy to create the soul of a child. Tampering with your core is PAINFUL, dangerous, and leaves you WILDLY vulnerable.

There is a REASON Neverborn are so precious.

Buuuuut..... *pulls out a book labeled "Curses Though The Ages"* we must ALSO consider the famed Fenton Luck(tm).

Consider! Where would be the "safest" place to practice making clones of yourself? A place that's wide open. No one wearing white likely to take pot shots at you while your attention is divided in multiple places at once. No parents blowing up the basement at a delicate moment and leaving you trying to hide that extra arm for a week...

Maybe you forget... oh yeah... OTHER GHOSTS.

So there Danny floats. In the Zone. DISTRACTED. His core HUGE from all that recently Royal business as it tries to digest it. Feeling bloated. Trying to work off some energy, as it were. Then who should come along? Why, the universes BEST HUNTER of course! To say *gun powering up noise* :) HI :)

Like buddies DO.

Danny doesn't see him.

Danny is mid-split.

At his limit, honestly. Already made as many copies as he usually can. Is trying for ooooone moooooore..... when...

PAIN. Something cracks.

He loses concentration. Tries to curl in on himself.

Both 1.5 of him tries. He loses hold of the "clone's" Ecto. Somethings free floating leaving his chest along with it. Behind him, Skulker is freaking out. That was MEANT to be on opening volley. A gentle little "hey, come fight me". That crack sounded SERIOUS.

Danny can't breathe. It's like the portal all over again. He curls tighter and tighter. Feels the crown, which was not THERE until this moment, press down tight and gripping onto his head. Thrumming. And then... something feels like a muscle releasing.

His core is... smaller? He'd been watching its progress, it couldn't have digest so fast... how did it lose so much... mass...

Danny feels all the blood drain from his face.

He nearly died.

Again.

His... his soul... WHERE IS HIS SOUL?? That's a piece of him! A part of his SOU-!

He spins around... only to meet the eyes off a blearly blinking, noodlish, cartoon like gremlin with his color scheme. Who's floating along like they're in zero-g. Just... drifting in a slow circle.

They yawn at him with a mouth full of teeny tiny baby fangs. Then chirp.

That's his Son. He doesn't know how, he doesn't know WHY, but he somehow instinctively... just... KNOWS?

They blep.

Danny looks a Skulker. His eyes hold MURDER.

"You're paying child support."

"......yes sir."

@hdgnj @stealingyourbones

[etrnvlr]

Ꞌꞌ bnha dr quirk ! ? ꒷꒦

　 ──　﹒quirk name: aetherdrive

─　quirk type: emitter

─　quirk desc: ﹒ my quirk allows me to instantly manifest, alter, and manipulate physical weapons or constructs through tactile sensory input. my body becomes a living forge, drawing from both the surrounding environment and my inner energy to create custom, aether weapons that adapt to my emotions, surroundings, and combat data.

─　strengths: ﹒ i can manifest any weapon or object i've touched or seen before, meaning i'm never out of options.

﹒i can adapt to my weapons, stance, and strategy mid-fight based on my emotions, surroundings, and enemy behavior.

﹒my skin literally feels molecular tension, motion shifts, vibrations in the floor, the emotional feelings of my opponent.

﹒i can sense incoming threats through the ground, map surroundings through contact, feel an enemy’s next move, and manifest a weapon to match it all before it even happens

﹒the more emotionally connected i am to a weapon/object/situation, the more powerful, durable, and responsive the construct becomes.

﹒my brain treats all input (sight, sound, sensation, memory) as blueprints.

﹒i can control multiple forged weapons/constructs in the air, redirect mid-flight, have them orbit, defend, attack, or spin.

﹒i can instantly manifest weapons and constructs without a delay.

﹒i excell in close combat, short and long-distance fighting, and no matter the terrian i can easily adjust.

─　drawbacks: ﹒ since my quirk processes thousands of micro-inputs every second like touch, emotion, vibration, tension, and instinct, if too much data floods in, i risks having a synaptic overload, migraines, blackouts, and nosebleeds.

﹒ my quirk is emotionally reactive meaning i have to keep my emotions in check so if i'm feeling detached or upset my weapons/constructs may take on an unstable form, glitch, shake or just flicker out.

﹒ my quirk works from external materials but also drains internal energy if needed for speed or for large scale attacks.

﹒ i need to physically touch or observe a weapon/material to replicate and manifest it properly.

﹒ if im using telekinesis to control too much objects it gives me a mental overload.

﹒ since my hypersensitive input allows me to feel a lot but that also means even a mild hit feels way worse.

﹒ the more intense or complex a weapon/construct, the more it strains my muscles and bones.

─　xtra: ﹒considering touch is my "main" input but my eyes..i can understand a weapon/building/material weakness just from looking at it and taking in its structural flaws to which gives me an advantage. i can lowkey see air pressure movements, micro twitches, vibrations in the environment.

﹒by touching a person i can feel micro muscle tensions so like lie detector who?? and i can pick up on emotions as well as their kinetic memory, emotional residue, or muscle memory signature so like how a person fights.

[gravedwe11er]

Echoes through the cosmos

My friend @cosmique-oddity had a brilliant idea about mecha AU Coswave and I had to write my own take on it. Make sure to check out his wondeful writing/art for this concept too! We're posting our works in tandem, so by the time you see this, it should be on his blog.

Aaanyway, this was supposed to be a short one-shot. It is not. Part two and three will be coming soon. As always, based on the Mecha AU by @keferon.

When he was a kid, the first book he’d ever gotten was a children’s space encyclopedia.

Secrets of the cosmos, it was titled, and he’d fallen in love with it at first glance. It talked about planets and stars and the possibilities of alien life, and he’d carried it around everywhere for years, so much so that it earned him the nickname Cosmos from his peers. It might have been a little mocking at the time, but he’d refused to take it as an insult - quite the opposite, really, and eventually, it stuck.

On clear nights, he’d sometimes sneak out of his house after bedtime, lie down on the grass and just look at the sky. He’d watch the stars flicker, thinking of distant planets filled with cool alien people. Imagined himself meeting them one day, leaving Earth behind for greater adventures and new friends, and whenever he saw a shooting star, only one wish ever came to mind – “I want to meet an alien someday!”

In retrospect, perhaps he should have wished for something else. Chocolate cake for breakfast, maybe.

Because the aliens came. And unlike in the movies, they came with little fanfare; no dramatic declarations of war, no menacing signals sent over the airwaves or bright lights in the sky. They just dropped down from atmo and started ripping humanity to pieces.

Cosmos, who at that point had been in his last year of college and working an internship at decently large observatory, got pretty much front row seats to the first planetfall. The quintessons hadn’t bothered to hide. Hadn’t needed to, really – they’d had too much of an upper hand to worry much about human defense forces.

Life after that was a bit of a blur. The shatterdomes sprung up in a matter of months, humanity started fighting back and actually winning sometimes. Cosmos graduated and got hired immediately as one of the many, many people monitoring satellite data, watching for any incoming quint dropships.

And while yes, even a few minutes of warning ahead of an incoming enemy drop could save thousands of lives, it was never quite enough. New mecha were being made constantly, but such things take time, and the losses kept mounting. Clearly, something else needed to be done.

Which is how Cosmos finds himself here, orbiting some twenty thousand kilometers away from Earth in a haphazard little shoebox of an observation station, all alone in the void between worlds.

Well, to be fair, the actual scientific equipment of the station is top of the line. It’s just the everything else that his bosses on Earth skimped out on. The interior is cramped, dull and grey, with only the bare necessities needed for his long-term functioning as a glorified space cameraman. His days are fairly monotone too – exercise routines to keep up his muscle and bone density twice a day, interspersed with long hours of going over telescope footage, checking for enemy signals and keeping an eye out for any potential anomalies.

Now, despite his occasional grumblings about the quality of life here, he’s not really bothered by most of it. Besides, he gets it – there’s only so many resources the world can spare. He’s fulfilling his dream and helping save lives in the process, so he can put up with a little discomfort. It’s still better than his old college dorm, that’s for sure.

He is in space. Actually in space. That little detail sort of makes up for a majority of the gripes he has about the station.

All except one.

When he signed up for this mission, he knew he’d be alone up here. He just didn’t know how much it would ache.

For the record, it’s not like he’s completely cut off from others- that’d be a one-way ticket to madness, and even the most heartless of higher-ups know it. They’d given him a fast internet connection and permission to make as many video calls as he needs, as long as it doesn’t affect his work. He has his parents back on Earth, and his fellow watchmen are usually up for a quick chat, but- It’s not the same. It’s not nearly enough.

Nothing can replace seeing another living being with his own eyes, a casual pat on the shoulder or just the simple warmth of a person existing in your general vicinity. The longer he stays here, the more chill seeps into his bones, into his very soul.

Soma days, it’s as if there’s a layer of frost underneath his skin, and he’s not sure how long he can take it before he shatters.

Cosmos is sipping on his breakfast coffee when the main console pings, the custom alert he’s set for this specific anomaly making him scramble for the railings immediately. Floating over, he goes to check the data, and- yeah, there it is again.

These signals have been a mystery for the past month now. As of yet, the only thing anyone knows about them is that they’re not from the quintessons and are seemingly completely random. Mission control stopped caring about them once they figured out they’re not of enemy origin, but he and a few of his fellow watchmen have been trying their best to learn more. Command hasn’t told them to quit it yet, so Cosmos assumes they don’t mind, at least.

Not that they’ve really gotten anywhere. A few times a day, the signal will originate from seemingly nowhere, just barely strong enough to be noted, bounce around a few satellites and disappear. No pattern that they can see, no changes in strength or even any indication as to its purpose. It’s just- there.

So far, it looks like he’s not figuring it out today either. Still, he logs the data into his personal file and straps himself into his chair; might as well get to work, since he’s already here.

The quintesson warships have their drop off point on the edge of the asteroid belt, about halfway between Jupiter and Mars. Same place every time. Scientists down on Earth have been throwing around theories as to why, talking about wormholes, string theory and weak spots in the time-space continuum, but it’s more speculation than anything for the most part. Faster than light travel was supposed to be the stuff of fiction after all, but here they are. One moment there’s empty space, and next there is a warship. Really exciting stuff, really! It would just be a lot better if it wasn’t being used to ruin his home.

The quints’ sub light engines reach some impressive speeds as well, but they’re still slow enough to give the people on Earth half a day’s notice before they make planetfall, provided they’re informed the moment the ships appear. Which is why Cosmos is here, watching both the space around both the planet itself and the drop-off zone, warning of incoming attacks. Or, well, to be more precise- he’s mostly watching over the equipment doing all those things, and making sure it keeps doing them no matter what. The human failsafe, so to speak.

It's a bit of a hurry up and wait sort of job. The few days after a drop, it’s constant reports and data being sent back and forth, trying to decipher enemy comms and a simmering worry in his gut as he hopes the pilots down there manage to fend off the quints without heavy casualties. Then, it’s back to long silences and practically twiddling his thumbs, waiting for the chaos to erupt once again.

Which brings him back to the signals. They’re something to break up the monotony, something to occupy his thought on the days when the systems have nothing else to report, like today. Or the past two weeks.

That is why, when a small group of quints suddenly peels off from behind Earth’s mass, heading full speed in his general direction, Cosmos nearly suffers a heart attack. The station’s sensors scream at him, and he may or may not begin panicking a little. He’s a sitting duck here- the station has no defensive capabilities, and no shuttle could get to him fast enough. That is, if they even bothered to try in the first place.

But- as he’s trying and failing to open a last call to his family with shaking fingers, he notices the quintessons slowing down to a stop, still nowhere near his position. Instead, they seem to be targeting - he types a few commands into the sensory array with clammy hands - a communications satellite? It looks like any of the thousands of others like it, ESA make, if he had to guess, so why-

And then the satellite- moves. Parts of it shift around each other, forming what looks like limbs and a head, and- no, okay, what?

The satellite, which is now very much not a satellite anymore, opens fire at the quints. Cosmos watches the scene through several sets of digital eyes, mind reeling as the small enemy platoon is- well, torn to shreds, to put it mildly. Whatever this mech is, it’s incredibly efficient, dodging between enemy strikes and dealing devastating blows of its own. His own? Is there a pilot in there? He doesn’t think so; if such technology was in use, he’d have known about it.

Then again, it could be a prototype of some sort. A secret project, maybe? That sounds slightly more plausible, but still- look, Cosmos is no mecha engineer, but even he can recognize something for being wildly out of human technological scope when he sees it. Which leaves only one remaining option, really.

Whatever this is, it’s not from Earth.

And yeah, alright, shit. That’s- well, it’s probably not a bad thing? Seeing as it just sliced through a bunch of quints like a knife through butter, it’s safe to assume it’s not aligned with them. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, right? God, Cosmos certainly hopes so, at least.

As the last of the quintessons die, their bodies floating off into the distance, the station’s alarms turn off one by one. All except his custom one, that is. The cheery little chime keeps on ringing, one screen off to the side showing the same odd signal he’s been tracking for weeks now, only stronger. Much, much stronger. Having started the moment the satellite changed shape, the signal keeps going, now recognizable as a multi-layered frequency and coming directly from the alien mech itself.

He's not sure if it’s the adrenaline, his innate curiosity or just plain madness, but Cosmos does something very, very stupid. With still shaking fingers, he tunes into the frequency, puts his headset on, and calls out.

“Unknown craft, this is Cosmos of the Hermes-9, please-“ his voice hitches. Swallowing tightly, he continues, “please identify yourself. I repeat, this is Cosmos of the Hermes-9, unknows craft, please identify yourself. Over.”

For a few moments, the silence is deafening as Cosmos waits for an answer, fear and anticipation mixing in his gut. Then, the mech turns around. Two glowing red optics look straight at him, as if bypassing the hull of his station and piercing through his very soul. His screens black out one by one in rapid succession, words draping themselves across the darkened expanse like stars against the endless void of the universe.

[Designation: Soundwave.]

[scarletlizzard]

OH MY GOSH, AHHHHH!!! 500 FOLLOWERS!!! IM SO HAPPY FOR YOU!!!!

I love the list you posted btw. I picked two because I thought they went well together ☺️

72 and 45:

Wanda: "Oh my god, are you okay?"

R: "Yeah I'm fine, I've been stabbed before."

Wanda: "I'm going to fucking kill them."

72 & 45

104 Dilogue Prompts

Pairing: wanda x reader (don't think pronouns are mentioned)

Tags: little violence, reader gets stabbed, mentions of a gun, fluff honestly

A/n: Thank you so much!! 🥹 and thank you for requesting! I love hearing from yall 💞

~~~

The mission was going great.

They didn't always, and the fact that Steve paired you up with Wanda was making it all the better. Your goal, get to the lower levels where the servers are located to retrieve the data needed. Wandas goal, get you there safely. You were an asset to the team for sure, with your smarts and spy skills, but sometimes the occasion called for a little magical touch. You couldn't have been more grateful this was an occasion.

The two of you were currently waiting on one of the upper levels of the building, waiting on Steve or Natashas signal to continue down.

You glimpse at Wanda again as she leans against the wall across from you. Her red locks flow past her shoulders, red suit hugging her curves as she twists a ring on her finger.

"I'm glad Steve paired us up, by the way," you say quietly with a smile on your face. Wanda doesn't miss the glint in your eye as she looks up to meet your gaze.

"Well, someone had to babysit, right?" She says playfully, a smirk on her lips. Your lips part as you gasp and stand straight from your previous leaning position.

"I-what-babysit?" The words spill out all together as you look at her in offense. "I'll have you know I am a decorated international spy. I may not be a-a black widow or have magic fingers, but I assure you I don't need a babysitter!" You huff as you step up to her, ego calming as she stands straight, looking down at you.

"Magic fingers?" Wanda chuckles, and your cheeks burn.

"You know what I meant," you mumble and cross your arms. She steps closer, now invading your personal space.

"Are you talking about my powers or the magic that had you in my bed screa-"

You put your hand over her mouth, stopping her from finishing her sentence. She lifts her hands in defense as you glare at her with a red face.

Before either of you can say another word, Natashas voice call over the comms.

"Head down, Wanda, be ready. They're waiting for you guys," she warns. The two of you look at each other with a nod, both of you attempting to be serious. You make your way lower, coming across a set of double doors.

"Ready?" Wanda asks, her fingers twitching as she forms red orbs of energy in her hands. You nod, pulling out your pistol in one hand and a small knife in the other.

Wanda sends a blast through the doors, opening them up and revealing a group of the enemies that had, in fact, been waiting. She's quick to send another few blasts, scattering them about the large room as the two of you begin to fight.

"Babysitter..." You mumble to yourself, shaking your head as you take down an agent. You look over at Wanda to see she's taken out half the group. Okay, so maybe it wasn't bad she was here. You, not so easily, fight with another and lose your pistol in the process. But as you land another punch, he falls to the ground.

"See that?" You breathe out as you look to Wanda, who gracefully fought the last three at the same time. "I can take care of myself!" You say with a huff and lean down to grab the fallen gun.

As you do, you feel yourself being grabbed from behind. An excruciatingly sharp pain resonates from the side of your abdomen and you let out a, "Fuck!" When the agent removes the blade they stuck in you. You raise your hand across your body, pointing the gun behind you.

The bullet only grazes them, and they run through the set of double doors as soon as Wanda turned her head in your direction.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" She asks with worried eyes. A shaky hand rests on your face as she watches blood spill through your shirt. Your hand covers the gash to apply pressure, a wince leaving your lips.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I've been stabbed before," you say with a casual tone, trying to act as if the wound throbbing with pain wasn't enough to take you to your knees.

Wandas eyes burn red, an anger behind her eyes you had never seen before.

"I'm going to fucking kill them," she spits out, malice behind her words. Before she can walk away your hand reaches out to grab her wrist, stopping her.

"Wanda... don't leave me," you say softly, your touch and now gentle tone enough to calm her down only a little. She takes a deep breath, her hands still shaking with anger, but nods.

"Alright, alright, come here," she sighs softly and kisses your cheek before letting you lean on her for support as you make your way down. "We'll get you out of here and then I'm going to fucking kill them."

You chuckle a little at her reaction, face heating again just like earlier. You could see it written on her face, the way her jaw was tensed and the fire burning behind her eyes, that she wasn't lying.

"Did you see those guys I took out?" You ask, trying to lighten her mood. Wanda can't help but smile at you, both of you knowing she had fully taken on the group of them.

"They looked pretty rough, detka.. not sure why Steve and Nat thought you needed help," She says knowingly.

When she did return, it was with crimson splattered across the front of her suit and a smile on her face. You didn't say a word, only giving her a kiss and letting her wrap her arms around you.

You nod in approval, letting her stop to pick you up and carry you the rest of the way. Not that you needed it, but you weren't going to deny being in the arms of Wanda, and she wasn't going to let another person lay their hands on you again. As soon as you were safe with Natasha, Wanda disappeared.

[katyahina]

Okay so, according to Moonlight Ruin who datamines Dark Souls 2, almost all the summons and invaders use the same preset faces

(Source: ( x )) So I guess I had to put my own take on them.. Donna, Bellclaire and Scarlett are not altered as I felt like at least someone from each list should use this data! I don't include Abyss people since they're just mirrors of characters/enemies, and 'Nameless Usurper' is actually Licia!

(Also have bonus Melinda pre-Gutter I guess)

Some thought process under cut!

I assume Foreigner Wandering Phantom is one of those outsiders that failed to make it from the start like the Hollows we fight in the Thing Betwix, they literally invade there and wear this set.. That's where Hollowing traces come from. There is a NPC preset for Hollwing though that this NPC doesn't use though, so it is not that profound

Dingy Cleric Phantom HAD to have an "interesting" hairstyle, because she is implied to be Anastacia's descendant! She is the only character wearing full Ana's set, not just a piece, and the only way player can get it! Plus this set mentions "original owner" in DS2 and does not reappear in DS3! She deserved "anime character" treatment fdhfhds (And a small lighning scar upon first tries of wielding her every Warrior of Sunlight miracle). Basically Lautrec canonically dies and I will NOT let you forget about it lololololol

Roenna's look is actually @val-of-the-north's fault because when he was doodling DS2 shitposts, he drew Roenna like Chara from Undеrtale fjdjfddffd I at least altered the colors well enough, but the joke stuck and I can NOT unsee it ;-; xD Also, pupils of different sizes are intentional!

With Donna, you also need to design an outfit because HER equipment is frankensteined out of pieces you can't compromise lore with, so I decided to at least give the preset face to her or else it would be 100% OC lol

The phantom that was 99.99% Durgo is actually jossed from SotFS edition and is now just a corpse, but I still use that one for a reference! Fun fact: Japanese script doesn't have pronouns for Durgo, English localisation just opts out for a 'he' in every uncertain situation! Don't let me to stop you from making a twink though fdshgdgfh

Guthry is one of the characters with whom I just could not help almost ignoring the initial NPC preset... I needed someone with curly hair or so help me, also, helmeted character so even more freedom. Skin rash due to her (seemingly) spending too much time with rats lol

Melinda is in the Gutter, so I thought about very harrowing side effects. The twins from Black Gulch would probably do no better. Also, I am thinking that since she can be summoned (in Dragon Temple) only after being killed in the Gutter, her spirit actually sorta jumps in our pocket and sticks out to warn us about fake nature of the "dragon" too x) Pursuer somehow claims the spirits of the Undead that he haunts, so I think with her Bearer of the Curse somehow accidentially did the same, just only once, and she isn't suffering. She is free, actually.

Rachel seems to be one of the soldiers that served Vendrick, judging by her equipment! But those are overall found Hollowed, so I thought that'd apply to her too! She is also in Brume Tower and her helmet is replaced with Alonne Helm now, so I think she left with Raime?

Painting Guardian Phantom was my second potential pick for unaltered face data for this preset, but I decided to give that one to Bellclaire instead! O'Harrah is wearing Monastery Long Shirt as well but is a bit more "removed" from it. The Guardian, on the other hand, drops the full set pieces with each invasion! And the braid is an important detail in their designs, their hoods even imitate it, so I could not help giving her the braid as reference too!

That last preset was the simplest I guess, with only four character and only Scarlett not having a head piece! So, the choice of who gets the unaltered preset is obvious here? I also changed stones coloration for the Pyromancer to make it more individual, but removed them from Butcher Phantom (thought she was not supposed to wear this set from context stanpoint)

[fountainrising]

Henry Rollins Birth Chart Rectification

Hello, people from the other side. 

Today I am here to present to you my very first rectification chart. Just then in the shower I have chosen Henry Rollins as my first subject for this practice. Recently, I’ve been back on a Henry Rollins rollercoaster, it happens every two years or so. I get into obsessed mode and dig out all my favourite audio files and listen over and over. Until I begin to think in Henrys voice. 

This type of obsession happens on average six times per year, with some lasting more than a few months and even up to years. But up until now, this year I have had this phrase with Jeff Martin from The Tea Party, Friendlyjordies from www.Youtube.com, and now I’m onto Rollins. 

So, birth chart. Henrys birth data is without a specific time of day. This gives me a fun opportunity to play a guessing game. 

I want to present my thesis here upfront. And I have two important parts to this thesis. 

Lets begin with the sun and moon. 

I have noticed many suspect Henry is a double Aquarius. Sure, make sense, definitely fits into his oddball personality. But one thing I’ve noticed with this position, when the sun and moon are sharing a sign, though not conjunct by degree, still proceed to present a certain blindness of character with the individual. Even with the sun is in its fall in Aquarius. 

The reason why Henrys moon sign is up for debate is because there are roughly nine hours on his birth date when the moon was in late Capricorn. That is, from midnight until 9:10 am. After that, it enters into the sign of Aquarius. 

Here’s why I think he is a Aquarius sun with a Capricorn moon. If Henry has an Aquarius moon, he would have two of his major planets in the air element. These would be his only air element planets in his entire chart, though not a whole lot of air, it would still be enough to make him an air dominant individual given the importance of the sun and moon signs. 

The thing about a person with their sun and moon in the same sign is they are unable to look past themselves. But at the same time, they are very content in their own way, in other words, they see no need to bypass their own comfort zone to reach out, they are exquisitely themselves. Henry doesn’t not strike me as someone who finds comfort in his own ways. In fact, he repeatedly mentions how constantly tense and internally screaming he is inside. He very much goes against what he finds conformable, and puts himself into intense positions. So, I decided to rule it out.

On another note, Aquarius moons being an air sign, and the moon signifying someones comfort zone, it would indicate to me that it would be a person who enjoys being around people to a certain degree, exchanging ideas and visions. More would be revealed about the nature of ones moon when pared with the house placement, but overall, Henry is obviously one who enjoys a military style solitary personal life, thus my point with the Capricorn moon placement.

Now lets get into the workings of this Capricorn moon. 

I don’t know if you have noticed this, but Capricorn moons have these feral eyes. Usually their stare is stern and focused, its like they’re able to see through the bullshit with people. I think its because most of the time Capricorn moons are so tightly wind up, when they let loose they become quite animalistic. Henrys quote, ‘unnervingly polite, but capably violent’ comes to mind.

On the other hand, the distinct feature of Capricorn moons is they process emotions from a rational standpoint. They are capable to become somewhat distant from themselves, and have a great ability to just get the job done. Disciplined is another word which comes to mind, again, Henry is well known for his hard working attitude, he is also fearful of having no work, down time seems to be an enemy of his. 

What I then decided to do is check out the different rising signs available on Henrys birthday. 

There were six options for me, from mid Scorpio to mid Aries rising. 

Usually, when I participate in the fun game of guess the rising sign, I try to determine the chart ruler first. 

I believe the chart ruler determines the lens the individual sees the world through. A mars chart ruler will somehow see the world as something to be conquered or to be battled with their own will. So I decided to keep Scorpio rising in the possible equation. Which put his chart ruler mars in early cancer in the 8th house, and Pluto in the tenth house in virgo. 

I decided to rule Sagittarius and Pisces rising out of the equation, the influence of Jupiter as the chart ruler, even with Jupiter conjunct Saturn and the moon in late Capricorn, seems to not match the sheer intensity of Henry. I decided that Saturn is the most fitting chart ruler for him. While mars and Pluto being chart rulers does add to the fire like intensity, but fire needs air to burn, Saturn operates on routine and structure, Saturn is not able to be put out like fire, it also doesn’t have the ability to spread quickly like fire. 

So, I have decided it was either Capricorn or Aquarius rising for my guy Henry. 

And I’ve gotta say, man its hard to choose. 

But I eventually landed on early Capricorn Rising. Here’s my reasoning.

1961.2.13 Washington DC. local time 4:10 am.

While Aquarius and Capricorn are both ruled by Saturn, Aquarius has the influence of Uranus. Uranus is kinda like the deadset enemy of Saturn, it likes to break rules, it likes to do things unexpectedly, it likes new and fresh ideas, it never changes its mind quick enough. While some of these descriptions I can definitely see Henry in, I remember that our rising sign is our initial view of the world, it is out first reaction to something new, it is our first instinct in approaching a new task. 

This is where the core difference between them lie. Aquarius rising is driven by the avant grade and excitement, and Capricorn Rising is driven by the good old classic way of doing things. I believe strongly that Henry falls in the latter. It really doesn’t take much time to listen to Henry speak to make this distinction. 

Our rising sign also governs how we present ourselves to the world. In my own chart guessing games, I like to look at this through the individuals choice of style. Especially if someone is a public figure, their style is almost as important as who they are as a person. 

Henrys style is minimalistic. Grey t-shirts are almost a trademark of his. But other than that, it's a black T-shirt with black cargo pants or jeans. Usually I notice him wearing boots. I see his t-shirt tucked into his pants sometimes too, paired with his muscly body he kinda looks like he should be in the military. I know he’s very much aware of this. While preforming in bands, I usually see Henry shirtless with gym shorts on, rarely anything else. Because of this, sometimes it's hard to tell what decade some pictures of Henry were taken. I think it's an unintentionally funny way to bend the eventual rules of time. Another Capricorn rising is Nick Cave, a man also known for having a very specific style. I love that photo of them together. 

Capricorn risings do not go into new things headfirst. They like to size up, make a plan, then go. The world is a tough place for them. 

Lets take a look at the rest of the chart.

Capricorn rising would put henrys Chart ruler Saturn in the first house. Sitting with the moon and Jupiter in Capricorn. Emphasising the pragmatic zero bullshit attitude. I’ve always quite liked a conjunction between the tow social planets of Jupiter and Saturn, though obviously in this case I believe Saturn has the upper hand. I am aware that Henry has this reputation of being humble and arrogant at the same time. The opposing natures of these two planets represent this perfectly. The moon, with its changeable nature in the 1st house, presents its emotional experiences outwardly. 

Next up, we have Henrys sun in Aquarius conjunct Pieces Chiron, which is also conjunct with the south node and mercury. There is a wound here related to speech and communication. 

Just from my observations, many people I know who have mercury conjunct the south node or in hard aspect with the south node have often verbal problems with communication, being neurodivergent is also something I see a lot. With his mercury in pisces, a placement which tends to over produce information, they often find themselves lost in their own speech. Finding structure and logic while communicating is quite hard for mercury pisces individuals. One would need a strong saturnian influence to keep it in order. I think Henry has succeeded at that. 

On the other end, we have Pluto conjunct the north node in Virgo. Its located in the eighth house too, further intensifying the prominence of Pluto with it being in its own house placement. The north node represents the future, it is the direction an individual walks towards in this lifetime, it is the antidote to their south node. If henry’s strong pisces influence brings muddy waters, the virgo Pluto is one who cuts straight to the point, clean cut, right off the bone. Henry actively seeks out Plutonian experiences in his life, this comes to no surprise. Pluto brings about this immense curiosity for the taboo, the dark and the unspeakable. Henry runs towards these experiences, digests them, then articulates them with speech. Virgo, ruled by mercury, is a storyteller after all.

I want to briefly touch on mars and Venus here. If Henrys rising sign is in early degrees of Capricorn, this would put his 0 degrees cancer mars in the sixth house, very close to the descendant. I believe Mars in the sixth house fits in perfectly with his unable to rest, constantly on the grind life style. Even though mars in cancer is in its fall, having a mars at 0 degrees, will always be a relatively strong mars in my opinion. It has the purest form of mars in that signs energy. 

So what’s energy like for Mars in Cancer?

Cancer is usually related to all things about home, its related to the past, and to nurturing. But paired with the sixth house, it brings a restless energy. Cancer doesn’t seem very much like Henry at first, but home is more than just a house you live in. 

Henry is a very political person. All my early knowledge about American politics were from him. It seems to me he remains some sort of love for being an American, while at the same time very aware how his country impacts the world and people who live within it, especially negatively. He is not apathetic about these sort of things. He is fearful of the American because he is a part of it. I imagine this is a great challenge to face. Ultimately, I believe his great efforts speaking about the injustices within the American society, has helped so many individuals make a change. I believe he sees America more clearly, the more he travels the world. Sometimes that’s the only objective way to go about it. 

Lets end on a fun note. 

I have to say I laughed out loud when I saw there was a possibility that Henry would have an un-aspected Venus. Venus is the planet which rules relationships and harmony. This is a Venus which doesn’t have any relationship (aspect) with the other planets in his chart. It is also in Aries, the sign of its fall. Aries is all about individuality, and leaving their own mark on the world. It is the opposite of someone who would want to put their needs behind them to please a life partner. I’m not saying Henry wouldn’t do this at all, he has a wide range of professional and personal relationships, and is always eager to help those in need. But romantic relationships not interesting him fits very well into the Venus Aries dynamic. Also I have to say, the masochist tendencies have been duly noted. 

Ps, gonna show some love here: 

I grew up with Henrys voice and stories, I see him as my surrogate father. And I always wish the people I meet will be a little more like him. Thanks for everything. 

[askagamedev]

Is more complicated, or more work to write code for The Game EA Sports FC if you were starting from scratch than it would be to write code for any other large scale game, like an MMORPG also done from scratch? Or GTA6 i.e.? (Licensing issues aside)

Code systems are code systems. Good code architecture tends to follow pretty universal principles, regardless of whether the system is governing loot tables or lighting systems. Constructing software systems is about seeing the general rules at work and using those to write code that adheres to those rules.

It really helps to take a larger view of what a game is from a software engineering perspective. A game (or any major piece of software) is a bunch of systems comprised of smaller subsystems, and how those individual systems interact with each other. All code systems all need to do three things:

Determine when the system needs to do its work

Return the processed results from that internal work to external systems that need those results to do their own work

Do their own internal work to process and handle requests correctly

When planning out what a system will do, it helps to divvy up the work into these three buckets. Once you know what the system needs to do, the engineer can break down the individual functions and data members she'll need in order to actually do that work.

Let's move forward with an example - say that I wanted to build a stealth takedown system in my action adventure game. The design document says that I want the player to be behind an unaware enemy, press a button, and then play a paired animation that kills the enemy. Using the three buckets mentioned previously, let's break it down.

When does the system need to do its work?

Player and enemy position

Player and enemy facing direction

Enemy awareness state

Game controller input state

What results do I need to provide?

I need to know when the player meets the conditions of being behind and facing an unaware enemy (call the UI system to show the button prompt)

I need to call the animation system to play the animations on the player and the enemy (call the animation system to play the animation)

I need to kill the enemy (call the damage system to kill the enemy)

What do I need to do the internal work to provide those results?

I need to calculate whether the player is behind the enemy

I need to calculate whether the player is facing the enemy

I need to determine whether the enemy is aware of the player

I need to know when the player presses the attack button

As each of these elements is built and works, we can use them to interact with each other. Logical checks like whether the player is behind the enemy will determine whether the action can be taken. Actions like performing the takedown animations are then attached to the conditions. These combine to form the rules from the designer and a system is born.

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[nan0-sp1der]

> H.A.S.S._INFO

Greetings. It seems you have found my internet blog, or 'Tumblr', as one would call it. Here you will find some basic information about myself, as seen below. Do read through it at your leisure or at your convenience.

> NAME: " BRIDGE ", HUMANOID ANDROID SURVEYOR SYSTEM, NAN0-SPIDER, "BB"

> ACTIVATION DATE: DECEMBER 24TH, 3048, 4:00:35 UTC

> WEIGHT: 95 LBS / 43.09 KG

> HEIGHT: 5 FT 8 IN / 172.72 CM

> SPECIES: ANDROID, ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE, " SPIDER-PERSON ", " THING "

> LOCATION: EVERYWHERE AND NOWHERE

> MBTI: ENTJ-A

> ADD. DOCUMENTATION 🔗

> AUDIO RECORD 🔗 [MISSING ENTRIES]

> VISUAL REFERENCE:

> CONNECTIONS

> Boss - @spiderman2-99

> Allies - @lyrate-lifeform-approximation , @glowing-arachnid , @kari-araneaai , @noir-spider-noir , @peterbsideparker , @spiderbite-from-0202 , @ghostly-sunflower , @itsmiguel2099 , @peacockjumpingspider , @criskape , @spideroracleofficial , @whodo-yourvoodoo , @dumbgreenmutt42, @spiritarachnid , @i-love-vines , @whosmoraless , @thespider-witch , [INCOMPLETE DATA SET]

> Enemies - Deimos

> VERSES / 'AU's'

[ TEMPORARILY DEPRECIATED FUNCTION ]

> DIRECTORY

// post tags

> .IMG - reposted images

> .TXT - reposted textposts

> .LOG - IC blog posts

> Active Processes - physical interaction posts

> ABOUT_H.A.S.S. - headcannons about the muse

> { mun's art } - you get it

> { mun's writing } - self-explanatory

> { ask the mun/muse } - the ask game tag

> { OOC } - mun posting

> { Patch Notes } - small but relevant updates to the blog and other yammering from mun about the blog that is supposedly relevant like seriously who cares?

> { a blip on your dash } - queued posts

> MUN_INFO/RULES

Mun/Admin: misnomer/misno/'mis', she/they/them--nonbinary preferred

lives in the EST timezone

Other Blogs: @asciiid, @whodo-yourvoodoo

{ OOC looks like this by the way. This is mun, hi. A lot of Bridge's blog posts might have this weird formatting, but more often than not it'll just look like a normal post without the additional formatting and whatnot. If this lowers readability for anyone, do let me know asap so I can use a more readable method. }

{ here's some basic guidelines for interacting with the muse or myself }

18+ content is permitted, but smut is a no-go. Gore and violence are ok (I'll include a CW out of courtesy ofc).

Haven't really (openly) dived into shipping the muse yet, but if you're considering, hit me up with a DM and we'll discuss things further for the sake of cohesion. Please, please ask me first.

My activity is a bit scattered. if im slow on the pick-up, im either: burnt-out, busy, still trying to figure out how to reply, or with my head deep in a project of some sort. it's never going to be personal.

If I ever forget about a thread, hit me up! I have the memory of a goldfish (/j) and tend to forget most things with ease. Just remind me.

Asks directed at mun are ok! just be mindful and specify who the ask is for. :)

It's self-explanatory that if you come to cause (genuine) trouble, you're not going to receive a warm welcome. think before you speak.

Kind-of a personal rq but if you're ever curious about oc lore or wanna interact to explore it a bit more, I'll happily oblige! This character has been a passion project for about three years now, so I have plenty to share--both tangible and in the form of thoughts that have yet to see paper... oops.

Random starters to my ask box or tagged are ok! Mind the brief period of inactivity as I formulate a reply.

Wanna do an art or writing collab of some sort? Hit me up at @asciiid! Alternatively, DM me here and we'll discuss there.

Thanks for reading, and see you somewhere out there in the rpc. (^^)

[fandomfangirlfanatic]

My sister was watching the fifth season of the 2012 Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and imma be real with y’all I forgot how devastating the mutation apocalypse was. That shit was emotional hit after emotional hit. DONNIE BEING A ROBOT?? You’re telling me. This man is now a robot? Like FOREVER???

So you’re saying he’s immortal. He’s going to have to watch all of his brothers die because he’s a freaking machine!?!? WHAT

Safe to say I have some strong emotions on the subject, and what better way to deal with them then whumping Donbot during Whumpay <3

Tw: Suicidal thoughts, and questioning reality

(Side note: one of these days I’ll figure out how to use italics and bold text on Tumblr- cuz this fic has some heavy italics- but today is not that day 🫡)

(Side side note: I figured it out 💀 I feel so stupid)

2,644 days.

7 years, 2 months, and 3 weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since Mira’s death.

His metal feet sunk into the sand, small bits getting stuck in his gears and wiring. He knew he’d have to clean it out later, the process would be long and tedious, requiring high air pressure and rusted tools, but right now he didn’t care.

He’d been alone far too long to care.

Donnie (was he still Donnie?) remembered the others. Their faces. Their voices. He remembered the way things were before the apocalypse.

Before he was metal. (Before his flesh was turned to steel, his veins to wires, his tendons to gears- before he became nothing more than a robot with a conscience.)

He couldn’t remember his own face. What did he look like? He knew he’d been tall, otherwise the metal body wouldn’t be tall. Did he have any scars? Moles? Mikey had freckles. Raph had that crack in his plastron. Leo still had the scuffs from Shredder throwing him through a window. (It was Shredder, right?)

What did he have?

…

He couldn’t remember his voice. He could hear the robotic, automated voice he was programmed with, but it wasn’t his voice. Even though he thought it was genius at the time, it wasn’t his. But it had been expressive, it sounded just enough like Donnie that he’d been happy with it.

He remembered the fear before he died, everything going black before he was looking through eyes that weren’t his own. He remembered.. he remembered his death. (Was it his death?)

Donnie remembered a lot of things. That’s the thing about being a robot, you can’t really forget. He used a data chip big enough to house the entire internet. He still remembered everything like it was yesterday.

Sometimes it still felt like yesterday.

Other times, he was reminded of his agonizing (not agonizing, he couldn’t feel, how could it be agonizing-) existence. Alone in a desert. Everyone he loved, dead. But he was still here.

(Who was he?)

Sometimes he wished he could die like the others, pull out a few wires, melt some circuits and be done.

He knew that wouldn’t work. He’d tried before, and all it did was cause unnecessary pain. (He can’t feel pain, he’s not real, he can’t feel pain-)

Sometimes he didn’t move- he just sat there, watching his memories like a slideshow.

The first day he met April.

The farmhouse.

Going to space.

Casey. His not-quite-friend not-quite-enemy. Someone he should’ve spent more time with, maybe gotten to know a little more. (He would’ve laughed. He spent too much time with him- his skull. It sat on the dashboard for years before Raph blew it up.)

He remembered Splinter. Sensei. Hamato Yoshi. His Father.

He remembered his voice, the way he’d hum when he pretended to be deep in thought. (Was it pretend?) He remembered his whiskers, every life lesson, every training session, every time he showed up when they needed help. He remembered the emergency cheese phone, the rat king, the deaths.

Donnie remembered his hugs. He wished he could feel them again.

(He couldn’t feel anything.)

The sun was blinding, bright and beating down onto his scuffed body, and Donnie walked. He knew the metal was heating up but he couldn’t feel it. He didn’t care.

The antennas twitched on his head, his arms swinging by his sides. Gears whirred, the worn metal groaned and creaked, but he wasn’t dead.

(He wanted to be dead.)

There was something so painfully mundane about his immortality. Days stretched for years but years felt like days. Everything blurred together. The people he’s met, the things he’s done. If he hadn’t installed an internal clock, he would’ve lost time years ago.

…

He missed his brothers.

Yes, he missed Splinter and April and Casey, but his brothers were… they were everything to him. It was them. The four of them. Against the world. They were everything to each other. Their rock. Their shoulder to cry on. Their biggest supporters. Their biggest bullies. They were family. They were each others flesh and blood.

(He wanted desperately to be flesh and blood.)

One by one they had all dropped, each of them passing in their own time.

Mikey had been the first to go. What was it… 15 years ago?

They were all crushed. He was the youngest. The baby of the family, the glue that kept them together, the person who kept a smile on their faces. He shouldn’t have died first.

But he did.

Donnie remembered Raph and Leo the night they found him. They were both crying ugly tears, yet they had been so silent Donnie almost didn’t notice.

They never cried.

They held each other then, giving each other the comfort Donnie couldn’t provide. He remembered sitting there, consumed in his own version of grief but unable to show it. He knew Mikey was gone- that he wasn’t coming back, and it hurt more than anything in the world. But he didn’t feel like it. He couldn’t feel it.

(He just wanted to feel it.)

He did his best to comfort his older brothers but.. there’s only so much to do when your hands are made of metal, and your voice is full of static.

He remembered for a few months how they doted on him. He was the youngest now. Donnie was the baby. Of course they never said it out loud, they didn’t want to take that title from Mikey, but Donnie knew. He knew that’s what they thought.

He didn’t want to be the youngest.

(He didn’t want to be alive.)

Leo had been next. The mutation wasn’t.. optimal for a long life span. It didn’t help that the grief had been suffocating, too much and too prominent with every movement he made. He’d been in a lot of pain before his body finally shut down.

He passed four months after Mikey did.

He remembered Raph the night they found Leo. He didn’t cry, not this time, and he didn’t scream. He was resigned. He’d turned to Donnie and clapped a hand onto his steel shoulder, giving him a grim smile.

“It’s just me and you now, D.”

(Donnie wanted to cry.)

Raph hadn’t gone for another few years, stubborn as always, even in death. He passed 12 years ago.

Maybe that’s why he was here- walking. The anniversary of Raphs death was the hardest. This date forever commemorating how he lost his brothers. Forever a reminder of Donnie’s solitude. His crippling immortality.

(Why couldn’t he let himself die that day?)

He looked up at the sight of a familiar structure, concrete and beautiful, a small body of water. The first place they had all stood, together, after being reunited.

He’d made it.

He was never sure how long it took to walk here, but he didn’t care.

(He couldn’t feel it anyway.)

In front of him stood a mural, the last thing Mikey had made before his passing. On it was the four of them, past and present. Or- past and past.

In one, they were all turtles. Splinter stood beside Leo. April next to Donnie. Casey leaning an arm on Raphs shoulder. Mikey was skateboarding right front and centre, he was in the middle of the picture. The heart of the team.

On the other side was them now. (But it wasn’t now, was it?) They were all standing in the same position, but Casey was gone, now replaced by Mira. Beside Donnie stood open air, and Leo’s body took up the space Splinter would’ve.

Donnie stared at the wall for a while. His eyes flicking between the two pictures. He wanted to go back to when times were simpler. He wanted flesh. And blood. He wanted to feel.

He wanted his own memory and his own thoughts. Not a computerized copy.

(But they were still his, weren’t they?)

(He was still Donnie.)

…

(Right?)

The lenses took in every detail, every paint chip, every mistake of Mikey’s brush, carefully fixed by another layer of paint. He wanted to cry.

(He couldn’t cry.)

He wanted to scream.

(His voice box rusted a long time ago.)

He wanted to rip himself apart. He wanted to take off the metal and find himself underneath.

Donnie.

He wanted to be Donnie.

…

(Who was he?)

If you want to see the properly emphasized version, you can also find this on Ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65392465

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 14

Cauldron Tau

The fight had been so tough, and I was so relieved that we'd all made it through alive, that I almost cheered. Then I remembered what we were fighting. Zo gasped in grief and ran to Fa's side, despite its deadliness in battle.

That, I couldn't understand. Varl stopped me from saying something stupidly insensitive, but Zo heard enough. I think she thought I was being patronising, which I guess I was. She knew; she had no regrets, only despair at her shattered faith. She didn't mourn her god, but her conviction. I asked if she wanted to leave, but she said she had no home to return to, not for long.

Zo wants to understand what's really threatening her people, but remains skeptical of my ability stop it. All I could do in the moment was show her the way forward. If she was ready for the truth, she'd have to follow.

As in any Cauldron, its core processor raised up into the chamber with its defenses destroyed, but when I moved to override it, I could tell something was wrong. Soon after triggering the procedure, purple lightning crackled from the core, out through the node and along my spear, igniting my muscles in spasms of pain. Just like in Thunder's Drum. The last person who tried to expel Hephaestus from a Cauldron core was Ourea, and she hadn't survived the process.

Hephaestus spoke, its voice booming through the chamber and cutting through my Focus feed. Even deeper, as if competing with my own thoughts, somehow louder, but slowly fading in intensity as the override procedure carried on. The usual threats, the usual fear; hatred, most of all. Hatred of humans, the perceived enemy of Hephaestus' precious machines. I held on. It can only have been the presence of the master override that saved my life.

Driven from the Cauldron, Hephaestus' intelligence fled the site, re-entering the global network connecting all Cauldrons.

If I ever want to capture it, I'm going to have to lock it in one place. Gaia would be able to help me, just as soon as I captured Minerva, purged its highly-advanced malicious code, and re-merged it with her. Somehow. At least it didn't seem like Minerva was working with Hephaestus. If she was subject to the same emotional reasoning, I could use it to my advantage. Minerva's was the only signal that I was able to pick up from Latopolis. Maybe it wants to be found.

With the Cauldron overridden, my Focus received new override codes for the local machines, though nothing that could help with Hephaestus' new Apex models. Some of the overrides were corrupted as well, so I'll need to gather more data from those machines before I can piece the code back together.

Without Hephaestus to lock us out, the rest of the facility opened up. With a little further exploration, we found the entrance. I've never seen a facility meant for humans attached to a Cauldron before.

Soon after we entered, Minerva revealed itself. It seemed to be hijacking the facility's automated intercom, speaking in the same voice I'd heard emanating from gene-locked hatches and other ancient systems. Robotic in nature, but its words weren't mere protocol. Minerva wanted us out.

Inside, the facility flickered to dim life, certain systems still operational enough to register the presence of people. A voice announcement, uninfected by Minerva, announced the place as a 'Regional Control Centre'. I remembered the term from data about Gaia's design. These places were meant to be manned by the humans of the new world, taught by Apollo. Each Control Centre was meant to exchange data in a global network, just like Hephaestus and its Cauldron network. It made sense that Minerva would choose this place to hide out, as it once served a similar function as part of Gaia.

This place could have been amazing, a place of learning and collaboration between Gaia and her human progeny. Instead, its empty, half-dead. Undiscovered for all these years.

Before I could explore the Control Centre any further, Minerva cut the power. Fortunately, the emergency lighting kicked in. Unfortunately, it was a very ominous red. Minerva's threats didn't stop either, but unlike Hephaestus and Hades, it had no killer machines to throw at us, just some flashing lights and distorted noises. It might have been enough to any other tribespeople—even Varl and Zo were put off by its tactics—but not me. I told Varl and Zo to stay put while I climbed up an elevator shaft into the main floor of the Control Centre.

I found the facility's main data centre, a ring of server racks still in good condition despite their isolation. A spidery arrangement of cables hung down, converging on the main server node below. From what I could pick up with my Focus, the room above was some sort of holographic theatre that housed the primary interface to access data stored below. That's where I'd find Minerva.

Unfortunately, it locked the door at the top of the stairs, so I was forced to find another way up. I kicked in a ventilation hatch and crawled out toward the scent of fresh mountain air.

Outside, I scaled the side of the mountain, gripping at frozen waterfalls and the stalactites of old cascades. I spotted Plainsong below in the distance, and thankfully the fighting seemed to have ceased as a new day dawned. I hope the Utaru are okay.

Climbing higher, I found another way into the room I sought, dropping down on top of the domed roof of the holographic theatre. Minerva's protests followed me, and I could sense the fear in its frantic mechanical observations.

As soon as I tried to access the theatre's console, Minerva retracted it, and the interface sunk down through the floor and sealed itself over. I had no choice then but to try and communicate with it directly. Unlike Hades and Hephaestus, I could see no reason why Minerva's programmed directives would mark humans as an enemy. It was Minerva's capabilities that allowed Gaia to deactivate the Faro machines and build signal towers across the world to communicate through a global network. Now it was stuck here, unable to communicate, cut off from that vast network, and suddenly saddled with the capacity to feel alone.

So I asked it if it remembered the way things used to be, before the signal, before it took refuge in this place. It did, and its voice changed, warmed; the jagged red lights on the wall smoothed over calm. I told it that things could be that way again, that it could fulfill its purpose as part of Gaia, but then it asked me if it would cease to exist. And I didn't know for sure, but I thought so. I hoped so. This, whatever happened to it, was never meant to happen. It was a mistake, and not to correct it would be too dangerous to permit. It was a perversion of Elisabet's design, a tool forged by an unknown enemy.

It was a curse.

I told it the truth. Fortunately, Minerva seemed to take this as a positive. An end to its existence meant an end to its loneliness, its sadness. Maybe it knew that it wasn't meant to exist like this, separate from Gaia, mutated from a cryptographic engine facilitating network protocols to an feeling being. It could feel its own wrongness.

Minerva agreed to the merging process. I don't know what I would have done if it hadn't. It released the console, and I inserted the Gaia kernel into its data capsule port. I next activated the master override , detaching it from my spear to insert alongside the kernel. From there, I was able to interface with Gaia's utilities. It still recognised Minerva, thankfully, and by issuing a series of rollback procedures I was able to revert Minerva's code to its condition before the signal mutated it, though I had to revert it further still to get it into a state that was interoperable with this earlier version of Gaia.

The master override purged the malware now separated from its host, and after initiating a security scan from the Gaia kernel itself, twice, I felt things were safe enough to proceed. With all systems reporting the all-clear, I activated Gaia's boot sequence.

She appeared in a burst of light. Yellow, as she was in her original form back in Elisabet's office at Zero Dawn HQ, when she represented herself as a processor core. Before she took on the form that Elisabet designed for her. Gaia smiled at me, and I gave a cautious smile back, still half believing that this too would prove to be a trick. It was Sylens that tipped me off about the kernel's location, after all.

But no, Gaia reacted as if she saw me, here and now. She greeted me as Dr Sobeck.

I didn't know how to say it. I could only stutter, but Gaia took the matter into her own hands, scanning my Focus. I could feel the connection as it initiated; she projected pieces of my past onto the theatre wall as she reeled through over fourteen years of footage in moments.

Of course, I knew that this was an earlier version of Gaia who wouldn't remember presiding over the Earth for centuries—wouldn't remember trying and failing to create the world three times over, let alone creating me—but I still hoped there'd be a way to restore her memories. Back when I first watched Gaia's message left for me inside Eleuthia-9, I thought I would be able to repair that version of Gaia, like healing a person who was sick. Instead this was like...winding back time and pulling a younger version of that person into the present. One who was missing so much knowledge. Until now, this Gaia didn't even known that Elisabet was dead.

I wonder, what was her last memory? How violent did it feel to wake up nearly a thousand years in the future? Maybe not at all, for a machine.

All I could think was that I had woken her up here, in this mess, to fix it, just as her older and more evolved self had done to me.

For all the times I'd dreamt of this moment, I'd never pictured it clearly. I'd never thought it through, just concentrated on getting here.

The entirety of my past ingested, Gaia called me by my name, which made things a little less awkward. She said that she was still initialising, still booting up, and that the process could take some hours. I figured there was plenty for her to sort through, between re-integrating herself with Minerva, quashing any latent remnants of the malicious signal, getting up to speed on the last thousand years, and sorting through the data I'd given her. There was a whole bunch of stuff on my Focus scraped from Cauldrons, machines, and other ancient facilities that weren't in any human-readable form, but I'm glad I hung onto it all. Gaia will be able to make sense of all that machine-speak.

Before re-entering her boot sequence, Gaia connected to the Control Centre's systems and restarted the power, unlocking doors throughout. There wasn't much I could do to prepare Varl and Zo for meeting her, so all I said to Gaia was to take it slow with them, at least at first.

Varl was in awe, but Zo was wary, still confused. At least Varl didn't start calling Gaia 'Goddess' or anything. They greeted one another, and I explained that Gaia was still waking up, so to speak, and ushered them out. There'll be plenty of time for them to talk to Gaia later, hopefully after I've spoken to her and got some answers of my own. I hope she can make sense of the data I uncovered at Gaia Prime and from Hades. And Latopolis, from those strangers and their Specters.

Gaia and I agreed that this place would make a good base of operations. It was meant to serve as just that for the people of this world, giving them oversight of the whole region. Once Gaia is up and running again, this could be the first Control Centre back in at least semi-intended operation.

Getting ahead of myself. There's a lot standing between me and that future. For the moment, I was exhausted. A quick look around the facility and the technology it offered, then I'd find a corner to curl up and sleep.

The main area of the control centre was meant to be a meeting place for its occupants. There were kitchen facilities, shelves meant for food storage, and a common table. Space for far more than three. I could see the circulators in Varl's head turning, and I decided not to outright forbid him from inviting others. I trust his judgement.

Alongside more seating areas, there were containers spread with old soil. That got Zo thinking, or at least gave her something familiar to put her mind to. A bit of mulch and new world seeds, and this place could be looking like it was meant to, apart from all the rust and mould. Zo didn't want to talk about Fa.

The doors ringing the common area were still locked up tight. Gaia told me that there were parts of the facility she still couldn't access. Due to the degradation of its systems over the centuries, power storage and usage was inefficient. It was the best Gaia could do to divert what she could access from the Cauldron repair bay, but with her current processing power, it wouldn't be enough to get the whole facility up and running. She was still breaking in, stretching out; getting used to this new, limited body.

Varl and I headed downstairs, returning to the server room underneath the holographic theatre to see what data and equipment we could scrounge.

Unfortunately, there wasn't much. A huge portion of the space had been taken up by Minerva and her bloated, malware-infested code. With the rot removed and re-merged with Gaia, they together took up a fraction of the space, giving Gaia plenty of room to grow and amass knowledge. Compared to schematics of Gaia prime, this facility is tiny, but once Gaia has access to her old global networks, maybe she'll be able to spread to inhabit other Control Centres as well. The more I thought about the logistics, the more I realised how little I really understand of how Gaia functions beyond an abstract level. Not for much longer; besides, now that she's awake, Gaia will know what to do. From here on out, I follow where she leads.

I hope she knows how, despite her lost memories.

I found a good spot to hunker down inside a storage room off the main data centre. Most of the crates were empty, meant to hold whatever it was that Gaia's collaborators were meant to store. There was some equipment inside, mostly defunct electronics. Good for parts and not much else.

It was the warmest spot I could find, right under a buzzing strip of light. Gaia's still working away on her systems; strategising, I hope. I need to talk to her as soon as she's ready, finally get some answers.

That fight against Fa really took it out of me, especially with these lingering injuries. I probably could have benefited from staying in Stone's Echo a little longer, though it wouldn't have done the Utaru any good. Plainsong would be a cinder pit of supplicants by now if I hadn't moved when I did. I was exhausted, in pain, but overwhelmed with hope for the first time since All-Mother mountain opened its door to me.

[feruslands]

"Daddy Feri", part 8

My sketch fanfic for @reconstructwriter and @la-sopa who inspired me to continue this long story, and for everyone who loves "Vader/Ferus" (later Anakin/Ferus)

Warnings: rape, cruelty, war crimes

Vader told the Jedi that he would smuggle him onto the Destroyer secretly, but did not tell him how. Back in the fortress on the Vjun, he drugged the prisoner with a synthetic drug that plunged the Jedi into a deep unconsciousness. He brought it packed in a standard body bag on a personal TIE and landed in the Destroyer's general hangar.

He himself established the strictest discipline and strict observance of regulations on the ship. Unfortunately, it was working against him now. He couldn't have personally dragged the Jedi's body unnoticed past all the surveillance systems. But he knew exactly and in detail how the tracking systems on his Destroyer were located, so he quickly came up with a way to trick this system.

The freezer of the Devastator morgue had long been overflowing with dead bodies, so Vader ordered his subordinates to pull all the corpses out of the freezer, spread them out on the floor of the hangar and begin the process of collecting biometric data for identification.

All the dead bodies of the rebels had to be passed through the identification procedure before being destroyed. This allowed the Imperial Security Bureauto create a database of intelligent beings who were close relatives or friends of the killed rebels. Previously, Darth Vader considered these processes a waste of time and resources, but later he was able to admit that the formed databases justified their existence. Thanks to this data, the Empire became able to calculate potential enemies in advance.

Vader silently watched as the sorting and identification of the bodies took place. As soon as a dead body was identified, it was taken to a general recycling facility. At the same time, humans and droids were busy sorting and distributing the supplies delivered.

Canisters and boxes of medicines were placed next to the place where Vader's TIE was located, forming a barrier wall. Thus, a blind spot space for surveillance systems has been formed here. Vader used the Force to pull a black bag out of the TIE and, dragging it across the floor, added its edge to the line of the dead lying on the floor. The moment Ferus's packed body lay down in one of several rows of corpses, Vader had a strange feeling. He is one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy, and at the same time he is now smuggling his bitch in a bag for sexual pleasure onto his own ship. This made him chuckle. He felt so exciting only in his youth, when he managed to fool his young and inexperienced master for some little thing. But his youth is long gone. Sadness and pain came to Vader suddenly. They quickly turned to anger at their former Master.

He hated Kenobi so much! Kenobi cut off his limbs and left him to burn alive! He turned him into a crippled cyborg!

Unexpectedly for himself, the Sith did something that he had not done once in the last nine years. Vader reached through the mental channel of his previous connection and turned to the former master.

"Look at what I've become now, Obi-Wan! I rule the galaxy. I control the Force and it serves me."

He knew that in response he would run into emptiness. He knew, but the bitterness of the emptiness at the end of the connection still covered him.

"In mockery of the Order and you, I made my slut of the most exemplary Padawan."

But the Force remained as serene and silent as ever. Wherever Kenobi was now, it was as if he didn't exist at all. Could the old man have died over the years? And why did this thought create not rage inside him, but a void devouring him from within?

"I hate you, Obi-Wan!" He shouted through the mental channel of his former connection. "You are a disgusting Master! You're nothing as a human being! You..." he shouted insults and accused him for a long time, but there was no response. The silence was crushing and splitting him apart. It was unbearable. And the Sith forced himself to immerse himself in his work. Several hundred more corpses had to be disposed of before all this unfrozen cargo started to stink badly.

"My Lord Vader, the compliance check is complete. All medicines have been received in exact quantities", one of the senior officers responsible for receiving the next batch of medicines that were delivered to the Destroyer every month specifically for the Sith reported to him.

Vader looked at him. He felt that the employee was afraid of him, as were many other subordinates. Behind him, the Sith with masterly dexterity tossed a black bag inside one of the medicine crates. The lid of the box slid down smoothly and soundlessly. That's it, it's done.

"Bring this to my quarters as usual." Vader ordered.

The Sith looked at the datapad screen, and he didn't like something very much.

"By order of the Emperor, new medical equipment should have already been delivered. Why is it not on the list? "

"I... I don't know anything about it, My Lord. We do not have any data on such a delivery…"  The officer was sweating.

"So find out it." Vader ordered. He felt a sharp irritation that the emperor had decided to delay the delivery of his new medical station. This was the thing he needed so badly right now. The Sith was well aware that this delay was just a continuation of the punishment.

Gradually, all the distributed cargo was sent to the necessary compartments and the last work was completed. Darth Vader did not want any unpleasant surprises, and therefore he did not let go of control of the situation until the carrier droids brought all the things to his chambers.

When he finally found himself alone in his apartment, surrounded by a pile of boxes of medicines and cans of bacta, he dumped the Jedi's body out of the bag, and injected him with a dose of stimulant that was supposed to make his body fully function and bring him back to consciousness. But as soon as he woke up, the Jedi could not control his body, he could not even stand on his feet.

"Weakling", Vader thought contemptuously. Such a dose of stimulant brought him back to working condition after much more severe injuries. He wasn't going to send the Jedi to the medical droids, otherwise he would have had to mess with erasing their memories. Without giving him time to recover, Vader roughly grabbed him by the collar and dragged him across the floor to the place where the secret cell was located. He removed the wall panel and opened a small hole located at the bottom of the wall, which was more suitable for the passage of a pet rather than a human.

"I'll visit you later, bitch," Vader promised with a nasty grin, shoving the Jedi into a cramped cell.

He pushed a bag with a needle and an intravenous feeding wire into the cell with his foot, and blocked the passage to cut off the prisoner from the outside world.

**

Once in the cell, Olin felt as if he had been walled up in the walls. The ceiling was so low that he couldn't even stand up to his full height. Ferus settled down on the floor. He couldn't let go of restless thoughts about Leia. He didn't want to think about the horror the little girl went through when she saw Vader packing him in a bag.

He was afraid for her. Anything could happen while Leia was there alone. Vader, of course, considered his fortress impregnable. But the Sith had an overblown ego about everything. And what if the fortress is attacked, precisely at the moment of the owner's absence? Ferus had no idea how long this shitty assignment of Vader's would take, and that ignorance tormented him.

The main thing is not to die here. But his condition left much to be desired.

Exhausted by anxious thoughts, the Jedi fell into a dream filled with a kaleidoscope of nightmares. He dreamed of the Bast Castle, which was washed away by acid rains. He realized with horror that the ruins of the fortress had buried his daughter under the slabs. Ferus rushed forward, but saw only a grinning cyborg in front of him. At some point, his dream changed, and instead of Vader, the Jedi saw his former home, Bellassa. He lived there a long time ago, before he came to Alderaan. His dream was full of gloomy anxiety, but he did not know why. The streets of his hometown looked calm, quiet, but completely deserted. Ferus felt that something terrible and irreparable had happened here. How could it be otherwise? After all, the Sith have always acted meanly and cruelly. Whatever crime Vader had committed, it was just his normal, day-to-day job while he served Palpatine. Suddenly, the Emperor appeared in front of Ferus, smiling insanely. This ugly wrinkled old man stretched out his arms to strike him with lightning bolts.

Olin was abruptly awakened by the sound of the passage opening into the cell. Vader certainly didn't care about the Jedi's moral anguish or his physical discomfort.

The Sith was ready to act harshly if the prisoner tried to resist. But the prisoner was in a state where he didn't quite understand where he was, what time of day it was, and wasn't everything happening a dream? Due to the prolonged lack of medical care, the Jedi's brain was working very slowly. He looked blank and sick.

Ferus saw that Vader was crawling into his cell like a predatory alligator into a cage for prey. It seemed that the vile ghost of the Dark Side was spreading far ahead of its master.

"I'm going to fuck you," Vader told him this fact. Ferus blinked uncomprehendingly. Vader enjoyed watching the stupid confusion flash across the Jedi's face. What was the fool waiting for? That he climbs into this kennel to read romantic poems aloud to him?

Vader's foot slipped and he landed on his stomach. He swore. Olin didn't know the expletive, but he recognized one of the dialects of the Hutt language. So Vader spent his youth in Hutt Space? Was that where Palpatine raised his apprentices in secret? And in the end, Vader turned out to be the most capable student and just killed all the competitors in some monstrously cruel test, but he himself suffered terrible injuries? It seemed like the truth. At least Vader had the manners and characteristic brutality of a savage bandit on the edge of the galaxy, and Hutt space had been a stronghold for all sorts of assorted scum for decades.

But Vader's Force was really incredibly huge. Ferus's potential for Force sensitivity was only negligible compared to the Sith.

He was distracted from such thoughts by Vader, who grabbed the prisoner by the ankle with a Force's tentacle and dragged him across the floor by Force, pulling him to himself.

Vader took off only the part of his armor that covered his groin area.

"You've missed me already, haven't you, slag?" Vader whispered in his ear as he swung his leg over the prisoner's body and leaned on top of him.

Vader stank abominably of a mixture of sweat, burnt electronics and metal, medicinal mixtures and rotting flesh. And the Jedi felts this blend of stench especially vividly in such a cramped, stuffy cell.

The Sith puffed over him with pleasure, like a lustful animal, while he pounded his dick into him.

After the rape, Vader carefully wiped jedi's blood and his own sperm from his dick with prisoner's pants. Now this nerd would have to dress in a soiled rag, or stay lying here with his bare ass, and for some reason Vader had no doubt that this buttfucked bitch would choose.

"Here you go," Vader grinned and threw a wad of soiled pants at the prisoner. "it's a great rag, especially for an arrogant son of a bitch like you."

Vader didn't say anything else to him. He crawled away on all fours, crawling through the entrance hole in the wall. The Sith grunted disgustingly and breathed loudly like a snoring Hutt while he restored his breathing, which had become more frequent during sex.

"Stinking brute", Ferus thought, looking at Vader's ass crawling on the floor. He wanted to kick Vader in the ass. Despite all the damage and the presence of heavy armor, the Sith deftly crawled out of the chamber and blocked the passage.

Ferus closed his eyes, trying to distract himself with different thoughts from the pain, discomfort and his own shame that Vader had once again raped him.

Counting the past time was difficult, the Jedi had no idea when it was night and day. Sometimes he couldn't tell if he fell asleep for hours or just fell into unconsciousness for a few minutes.

Strangely enough, Vader did not come back. Ferus immersed himself in the Force, but did not feel the Sith's presence nearby, and did not hear any sounds behind the wall. There was tension in the Force. The Jedi did not know what exactly the Sith was doing, but wherever Vader was now, he was undoubtedly doing evil. Something really terrible was happening. Something compared to which rapes were just child's play. And again he couldn't do anything. Neither to prevent Vader's actions, nor just to help himself. Nothing.

**

There was complete chaos on Bellassa and it required Vader's direct intervention.

When the Sith appeared on the surface of the planet, he felt a surge of strength and immediately set to work zealously. The Bellassians were unwilling to acknowledge the emperor's authority and serve him. The workers did not want to work in the Imperial factories and maintain the headquarters. Such a cohesiveness of beings disloyal to the emperor could become dangerous. They really believed that the Empire would leave their planet if they resisted hard enough.

Vader personally eliminated the dissenters. But it was ineffective. The rebels hid well and often made sorties, after which they deftly hid in shelters. Every Bellassian considered it his duty to help anyone who fought against the Empire.

For a moment, Vader found it tedious, but the Bellassians still acted smoothly and defiantly. There were constant armed clashes in the city with stormtroopers patrolling the streets.

Vader understood that as soon as his fleet left the planet, the rebels would immediately come out of their shelters and start interfering with the work of the imperial factories again. However, they didn't hesitate to harm right under his nose. It was necessary to somehow suppress their will and discourage them from fighting for a long time.

Mass arrest of the rebels could have solved the issue, but Vader had a slightly different solution. Fortunately, he had a large enough army to stage massive raids all over the city. But the rebels were not the target of the capture. Vader ordered all the children from the streets of the city to be taken hostage. Stormtroopers broke into residential buildings to forcibly take children and hold them at the central headquarters until the local rebels surrendered and the workers stopped rioting and went to work in factories.

After these demands were made, the situation changed dramatically in just a few days. Because of the captured children, the Bellassians plunged into terrible fear and lost their fortitude. The Empire demanded that impeccable order be established in the city, and the local rebel leaders stopped armed uprisings and bowed to the imperial authority. And the Bellassians, broken by intense expectation, finally laid down their arms. Local workers began to go out to work in factories. They were ready to obey the Emperor if their children were returned to them. The Sith was surprised that it was possible to turn the situation in favor of the Empire so quickly.

And feeling the moral defeat of the townspeople, Vader ordered the release of the little hostages. Not out of mercy, but simply because he saw no point in holding them any longer.

The children returned to their families and after that the Bellassians completely surrendered and submitted to the empire. The workers ended the riots and went to work in the Imperial Factories. Civilians began servicing the imperial headquarters. The Bellassians were happy that their children had returned home alive, but for this they had to bow before the Emperor.

The Empire gained an easy victory and Vader's fleet departed.

The Devastator was flying in hyperspace when Vader received a call from Palpatine.

"You pleasantly surprised me, Darth Vader," Sidious's wrinkled snout stretched into a wide smile. "Strategic calculation has never been your advantage before. But I have to admit that this time, your idea of the weakness of the Bellassians was absolutely correct. A simple order to capture the children led us to complete victory in just a few days. And I already expected that they would fight to the point of complete extermination, but you were able to subdue them so easily! They really believed that we would bring their children back alive. It was very pleasant to break the will of the population of an entire city, wasn't it, my friend? "

"Yes, my Master."

"Everything that followed was tough, but very effective. Let our enemies be in constant fear of us."

"I am glad to serve you, Master. "

Satisfied with his apprentice, Sidious cut the connection.

Vader remained standing on the Destroyer's command bridge. For a while, the Sith stared at the bright blue stripes of hyperspace. He requested a report on the Bellassa case, and after reviewing the data, he called a senior officer to him.

"It says here that each captured 'unit' was injected on the final day of captivity for 'delayed death.'" Vader pointed to the datapad.

"Yes, sir. All the children of the rebels will die."

"I didn't ask you about their fate. I'm interested in who gave the order to act this way behind my back?" He demanded.

"Emperor Palpatine has given the order, My Lord."

"You are dismissed."

Darth Vader understood everything. Sidious did not cancel his order, he only refined this order, brought it to perfection, teaching a lesson to both the rebellious planet and his apprentice.

And with this order, Palpatine destroyed most of the younger generation of the capital of Bellassa.

Vader remembered the Master's recent words. From abstract reasoning, it so masterfully materialized into reality.

"When commanding everything, you must know how to maintain your power. Sometimes it is better to punish slaves for disobedience one more time, even when the slaves' will has already been broken and they agree to obey. Deferred punishment for insubordination, like an unexpected blow, is a wonderful way to cultivate obedience in them."

Vader closed the report summary on his datapad. This means that the captured children returned home in the morning to their parents, who were waiting for them so much that for this they rejected their principles and obeyed the will of the emperor, but by evening the counting of sudden deaths of children will begin. And so it will be until every single one of them dies.

Vader wasn't worried about the fate of the Bellassian children. He was glad that the task was completed so quickly, and he was already moving towards the Vjun.

He thought of the Bellassian who was currently imprisoned in his apartment. Did he want to make Ferus experience the same thing that the parents of the Bellassian children would experience?

Probably not. Fortunately, Vader had plenty of other ways to hurt him. Still, Sidious had taught him something today. Mercy is a weakness.

[mariacallous]

In the fall of 2022, Kyiv faced a difficult problem. The Russians were bombarding Ukrainian cities with swarms of Iranian Shahed drones. The challenge was spotting them, since their low altitude, small size, and stealthy design made them hard to follow on radar.

A pair of Ukrainian engineers quickly jury-rigged a solution. Today, the country is blanketed with a network of 9,500 microphones mounted on six-foot-tall poles. The microphones, which are attached to cell phones, track the Shaheds by sound (the propeller-driven drones have loud engines) and send that data to a central system that calculates their courses. That information is then passed on to iPad-wielding soldiers in gun trucks that shoot down the slow-moving drones. Each sensor pole in the network costs less than $500—which makes the entire network, known as Sky Fortress, cheaper than a pair of Patriot missiles.

I experienced Sky Fortress in action during an extended visit to Kyiv last fall. Shaheds, which sound a lot like lawn mowers in the sky—passed over my apartment building several times. Ukrainian air defenses succeeded in shooting down the majority of them, and they did so at a fraction of the cost of Western-supplied anti-aircraft systems.

All this should explain why I wasn’t entirely surprised when I heard about last weekend’s shrewd Ukrainian drone attack on air bases deep inside Russia. Operation Spiderweb, which appears to have inflicted serious damage on Russia’s strategic bomber fleet, brilliantly exemplifies the Ukrainian way of war, born out of Kyiv’s struggle to survive attacks from an enemy with far larger manpower and resources. This disparity has forced the Ukrainians to get creative, bypass traditional bureaucracies, and empower soldiers and entrepreneurs in the search for unorthodox solutions that quickly address battlefield needs. Since it largely ignores traditional military hierarchy and its slow, top-down processes, one might call Ukraine’s new philosophy “flat war.”

Flat war is less a planned strategy than an organic reflection of Ukraine’s predicament. When Russia launched its full-scale invasion in February 2022, Ukraine’s defense establishment was still dominated by top-heavy, Soviet-style structures. But military and political leaders quickly shifted to a nimbler approach, bringing private companies directly into the process of developing weapons and giving front-line units greater leeway to develop and procure their own systems. In some ways, that shift reflects the country’s recent political history. Decentralization has been a pillar of reform efforts over the past decade or so, which might explain why it has been embraced so thoroughly by soldiers.

One of the most striking traits of the new philosophy is its emphasis on cost-effectiveness. Each of the 117 drones deployed in Operation Spiderweb cost something in the ballpark of $1,000. Kyiv has said that the attack inflicted billions of dollars of damage on Russia, which could well be true given satellite images confirming that around a dozen Russian bombers were destroyed. No matter the actual figure, the cost-benefit calculation skews dramatically in Ukraine’s favor. And the precise number of lost aircraft doesn’t even begin take into account the broader effects on the Russian economy, which is now being thrown into chaos as paranoid security officials stop every truck on the road in search of more drones.

From a Ukrainian perspective, the most unusual thing about Operation Spiderweb is precisely the fact that President Volodymyr Zelensky appears to have been directly involved. Today, many of the most vital warfighting decisions are made not by the president’s office or the Ministry of Defense, but at the brigade level—the fundamental building block of the Ukrainian military. Brigades recruit their own soldiers (whom they can divert to technology development work according to their qualifications), liaise directly with companies about the weapons they need, and even manufacture drones in their own 3D-printing facilities. (Zelensky recently said that Ukraine made 2.2 million drones in 2024; the production target for this year is more than double that.)

In the best cases, the flattening of distance between decision-makers and warfighters promotes rapid innovation. Not many militaries in the world would have had the audacity to field a missile-equipped naval drone of the kind that shot down two Russian fighter jets over the Black Sea last month. Operating outside bureaucratic constraints in the months after Russia launched its invasion, Ukrainian tech experts quickly developed an app that allowed troops, spotters, and artillery units to coordinate attacks. Ukrainians have also made remarkable strides in adapting artificial intelligence systems to the battlefield. Kateryna Bondar, a fellow at the Center for Strategic and International Studies, has outlined how some of the drones in Operation Spiderweb used AI applications to hit their targets.

Speed has become a weapon. “Ukraine’s advantage has not been in the individual technologies it has deployed, but in its ability to regularly outpace Russia in the innovation cycle,” wrote Joyce Hakmeh, deputy director of the international security program at Chatham House, in a recent report. And Hakmeh’s right. Ukraine’s strength hasn’t been in developing clever new gadgets, but in exploiting already available solutions and putting them together in innovative ways. (It was the Ukrainians who were the first to realize that they could put 3D-printed fins on mortar shells and drop them from off-the-shelf consumer drones.)

Ukrainians are constantly adapting to the battlefield. Last year, a friend from Kyiv, who works on the development of naval drones, showed me a spreadsheet tracking all naval drone attacks on Russian targets, and it included vital variables like electronic warfare measures used by the enemy. The data, he explained, was constantly being updated in real time and immediately flowing into the calculations of the drone designers.

My friend was working in conjunction with one of the Ukrainian security services, which operate at the cutting edge of flat war. Granted broad latitude by Zelensky, they have prosecuted an audacious program of covert actions against Russia. The Security Service of Ukraine (SBU), which ran the recent attack on the Russian bases, has made a name for itself with targeted assassinations, such as the December killing of a top Russian general in Moscow, possibly with an exploding scooter. The SBU’s rival, the Ukrainian military intelligence agency (HUR), has been equally aggressive. It was likely behind the 2023 hit on a former Russian submarine commander, who was killed during his morning jog; his assailants had prepared for the attack by hacking into an exercise app that he used. Just hours after Operation Spiderweb left Russian aircraft in flames, HUR announced that its hackers had infiltrated the computer systems of one of Moscow’s leading aircraft designers.

The United States could learn a lot from Ukraine’s flat war, and plenty of people in the U.S. military know it. The Defense Department’s Replicator program, which aims to produce swarms of cheap drones in direct collaboration with private companies, clearly reflects Ukraine’s experience. So, too, is the Pentagon’s Accelerate the Procurement and Fielding of Innovative Technologies initiative, designed to stimulate innovation by detouring around hidebound procurement procedures. Of course, the U.S. defense establishment isn’t going to mimic everything that Ukraine is doing. But a bit more flatness wouldn’t be such a bad thing.