#data recovery from crashes

[pucksandpower]

Malfunction

Franco Colapinto x physician!Reader

Summary: Franco’s concussion has come and gone, but his desire to see the angel of a physician who likely saved his life has only gotten stronger … it’s just a shame that he tends to lose any semblance of composure when you’re around

Note: this is the much requested second part to Malpractice … but even better than the first part if I do say so myself 🫣

The Las Vegas Grand Prix is a distant blur in Franco’s memory. The crash. The pain. The disorientation.

But there’s something else that lingers, too. Something soft that refuses to leave him alone.

It’s the image of you, kneeling in front of him, your hands steady even as his world spun. Your voice cutting through the haze, your gaze sharp and intense, demanding his attention. The way you pushed him to stay alert, to pay attention, to focus on something other than the chaos in his head.

Franco knows he owes his sanity, maybe even his life, to you.

It’s been a week since the crash, and he’s been cleared by the medical team to race again in Qatar, despite a lingering headache that’s been stubbornly hanging on. But it’s not the headache that’s bothering him. It’s the fact that you’re not here. You’re not at the track. Not in the garage. Not hovering over him like some kind of guardian angel.

He wants to see you again. Needs to.

He’s sitting in the Williams debrief room, surrounded by engineers who are talking a mile a minute about tire wear and lap times. But Franco is barely listening. He keeps checking his phone, hoping for some sort of miracle: a text, a call, anything that might tell him you’re here. That you’ve returned to the paddock.

But the screen stays empty.

“Franco, are you with us?” James Vowles’ voice cuts through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present.

“Yeah, sorry,” Franco mutters, rubbing his eyes. “What were you saying about tire strategy?”

James raises an eyebrow. “It’s fine. Focus on your recovery. We’re just going over the data from today’s practice. You’ve got time. But-” He looks around, making sure no one else is listening, “-don’t be distracted during qualifying tomorrow. We need every bit of performance we can get from you this weekend.”

“Right.” Franco nods, but his mind drifts again, his gaze slipping back to his phone. It’s like the rhythm of the weekend has been broken without you here, without the sharpness of your voice telling him he’s being an idiot, without your soft, steady presence making everything feel a little more manageable.

A soft knock sounds at the door, and Alex steps in, his casual smile immediately making the room feel a little lighter. His eyes flicker over to Franco. “How’s it going, mate?”

Franco immediately perks up. “Alex! You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He straightens up in his chair, suddenly interested in the conversation.

Alex raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Is that because you’ve missed me, or because I bring good news?”

“Both,” Franco grins. “But seriously, I’ve been thinking about something, and I need your help.”

Alex folds his arms, giving Franco a knowing look. “Uh oh. What have you gotten yourself into now?”

“It’s about Y/N,” Franco says, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Alex’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t seem too surprised. He sighs, already knowing where this is headed. “Ah, I should’ve known.”

“No, listen,” Franco presses, his voice a little more serious. “I need her to come to Abu Dhabi. She has to be there. I-” He pauses, trying to put his feelings into words. “I’ve been thinking about her all week. I just … I need to see her again.”

Alex raises both hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. You want me to convince her to come to a race just so you can see her again?”

Franco shrugs, looking entirely unapologetic. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Alex shakes his head, a bemused smile tugging at his lips. “You really have it bad, don’t you?”

Franco hesitates, his smile faltering just slightly, then nods. “I do.” His expression softens. “She helped me when I didn’t even know what was happening. I’ve never had someone take care of me like that.”

Alex takes a moment, studying Franco’s face, then lets out a long breath. “Look, I can’t make any promises. Y/N’s a resident physician. Her schedule is insane. She barely has time to breathe, let alone fly out to the Middle East for a race. But-” He hesitates, as if weighing his next words carefully. “But I’ll ask her. I’ll see what I can do. But no promises, okay?”

“Just ask,” Franco says urgently. “I don’t care if it’s a long shot. I need her there.”

Alex chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll ask. But you owe me a beer if this works.”

“You got it,” Franco grins, already feeling the relief of having put his request into motion. “Thanks.”

***

It’s late by the time you’re wrapping up your shift at the hospital. The weight of your scrubs feels heavier than usual tonight, your body aching after hours of rounds and consultations. You’ve barely slept all week, the demands of your residency taking up every last ounce of energy. All you want to do now is crash into bed and forget about the world for a few hours.

But then your phone buzzes in your pocket, and the familiar name on the screen makes you stop in your tracks.

Alex.

You sigh, glancing around the empty hallway before answering. “Hey, Alex. What’s up?”

“Hey,” Alex greets you, his tone casual but there’s a hint of something else in his voice. “How’s it going?”

You roll your eyes, leaning against the wall. “You know, same old. Patients, paperwork, more patients. I swear, I’m starting to see people’s illnesses in my dreams at this point. What’s up?”

“Well, funny you should mention that,” Alex says with a chuckle, “because I’ve got a bit of a favor to ask.”

You brace yourself. “What now?”

“I need you to come to Abu Dhabi.”

There’s a beat of silence. “What? No. I can’t just drop everything and fly to Abu Dhabi. You know how insane my schedule is right now.”

“I know, I know,” Alex says quickly. “But listen, it’s not for me. It’s for Franco.”

You blink, unsure if you heard him right. “Franco? What does he have to do with this?”

“He, uh, well, he’s been asking about you. He really wants you to come. He … he kind of needs you there, Y/N.”

You frown. “Needs me? What, like for a medical emergency?”

“No, no,” Alex quickly reassures you. “It’s not like that. He’s just — he’s been a bit, you know, off since the crash. He keeps talking about how much you helped him, how much he needs to see you again. He’s … kinda, well, taken with you.”

You pause, processing the unexpected request. “Wait. You want me to go to Abu Dhabi just to … see Franco?”

Alex sighs. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I totally get it if you can’t make it. I just thought I’d put it out there, because he’s really … well, he’s really worried about seeing you again.”

You take a deep breath, staring at the floor. There’s a tug at your chest. Franco’s crash. The way he looked when he stumbled into the garage, his eyes unfocused, his voice thick with concussion. And how you couldn’t help but care, couldn’t help but feel something stir in your chest as you took care of him.

“I don’t know,” you say softly. “I don’t know if I can get time off. I’ve got a million things to do.”

“Please,” Alex pleads, his tone sincere. “Just think about it. I’ll take care of the rest. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just — just come for the weekend. For him.”

You hesitate for a long moment. Your exhaustion is overwhelming, but so is the pull to be there for Franco, to check in on him after everything that happened.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice quiet but firm. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Alex lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to him.”

“I’ll talk to my supervisor tomorrow and see if I can get a couple of days off. I’ll let you know.”

“Great. I’ll keep you posted. Thanks again, really.”

As the call ends, you press the phone to your ear, staring at the blank hospital hallway. Something in your chest stirs, a mix of curiosity and something else you can’t quite name. You promised yourself you wouldn’t get involved with any of these drivers. But Franco … there’s something about him. Something you can’t shake.

You don’t know what’s going to happen in Abu Dhabi. But you know one thing for sure: you’re going to see him again.

***

Franco is buzzing with energy as he walks away from the Williams garage after FP2. The track is alive with its usual Friday hum: team radios squawking, mechanics wheeling equipment, fans pressing against barricades for a glimpse of the action. Normally, this is his favorite part of the weekend — the calm between sessions when he can breathe and think through what’s next.

But today, his thoughts are miles away.

You.

Alex told him you’d agreed to come. He’s spent all week mentally preparing for this moment, imagining what he’ll say when he sees you again. He’d told himself he’d play it cool. That he wouldn’t come off as desperate or weird. That he’d be charming and effortless.

And now, as he walks toward the Williams motorhome, he’s running through those lines in his head like a script. But then, through the glass doors of the motorhome, he spots you.

You’re sitting at a table with Lily, wine glasses between you. You’re mid-laugh, one hand lightly gesturing, the other wrapped around the stem of your glass. The sound of your laugh doesn’t reach him, but your expression — warm and animated — is enough to stop him in his tracks.

Franco stares, frozen. For a second, he’s not a professional driver or a smooth-talking twenty-one-year-old. He’s just a guy, floored by the sight of someone he’s been thinking about far too much.

And then, because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, he walks straight into the glass door.

The sound is embarrassingly loud — a deep, resonant thud that draws the attention of a couple of mechanics nearby. Franco stumbles back, clutching his forehead as the door wobbles slightly on its hinges.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters under his breath, blinking rapidly to clear the stars dancing in his vision.

Inside, Lily gasps, already half out of her chair. But you — you just press a hand to your mouth, visibly trying to suppress a laugh.

Franco pushes the door open this time (successfully, thank God) and steps into the motorhome, trying to salvage whatever remains of his dignity.

“Didn’t know the motorhome was defending itself today,” he says, flashing a crooked grin as he rubs his forehead.

You’re still smiling, but there’s a glint in your eyes as you take a sip of wine. “I see you’re still finding creative ways to injure yourself.”

Lily, standing now, gives him a once-over. “Are you okay? That sounded bad.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Franco says quickly, though he’s still holding his head. “Just testing the structural integrity of the door. Very solid. Great engineering.”

Lily rolls her eyes, muttering something about grabbing an ice pack before disappearing into the kitchen.

You lean back in your chair, tilting your head as you look at him. “You know, you really don’t have to keep hurting yourself just to get my attention. There are easier ways.”

Franco blinks, momentarily thrown off by the teasing edge in your voice. But then he recovers, his grin widening. “Oh, so you noticed me, huh? Mission accomplished.”

You arch an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Hard not to notice when someone face-plants into a door.”

“Ouch,” Franco says, clutching his chest dramatically. “First my head, now my ego. You’re ruthless.”

You laugh, setting your glass down. “I’m a doctor. I call it like I see it.”

“And what do you see?” He asks, leaning casually against the doorframe (or at least trying to — he slightly misjudges the angle and has to correct himself, which makes him look anything but casual).

“I see someone who might need another concussion test if they keep this up,” you say dryly, though there’s a hint of amusement in your tone.

Franco seizes the opening. “Oh, you’ll give me a test? What, right here? Should I sit down? Or maybe lie down? Whatever you need, angel, I’m ready.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch. “I’m off-duty, thank you very much. And stop calling me angel.”

“Why? It suits you,” Franco says without missing a beat. He steps closer, his grin turning just a bit sheepish. “You did save me, after all.”

“From driving with a concussion,” you reply, crossing your arms.

“Still counts,” he says, shrugging. “So … you’re really here. Thought maybe Alex was messing with me.”

You tilt your head, watching him carefully. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, for fun? He likes to mess with me,” Franco says, his grin turning rueful. “But I’m glad he wasn’t. It’s … it’s good to see you.”

Your expression softens, and you glance down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “It’s good to see you too.”

For a moment, there’s a silence between you. Not awkward, but charged. Franco shifts his weight, scratching the back of his neck. He’s been preparing for this moment all week, but now that you’re standing in front of him, he’s at a loss.

Lily reappears then, an ice pack in hand. She tosses it to Franco, who catches it against his chest. “Here,” she says. “For the door-shaped bruise you’re probably going to have.”

“Thanks,” Franco says, pressing the pack to his forehead. He winces slightly but keeps his gaze on you.

Lily looks between the two of you, her lips twitching as if she’s trying not to laugh. “Well, I’ll leave you two to … whatever this is,” she says, grabbing her glass and retreating toward the other end of the motorhome.

Franco watches her go, then looks back at you, his smile softening. “So … you’re here for the whole weekend?”

You nod. “Lily convinced me to stay. Said I needed a break.”

“You do,” Franco says quickly. “Definitely. Big time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because …” Franco hesitates, then decides to go for it. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since Vegas.”

You blink, caught off guard by his honesty. “Franco-”

“I’m serious,” he interrupts, stepping closer. “I know I’m probably coming off like a total idiot right now, but I don’t care. You-” He gestures vaguely, as if struggling to find the right words. “You’re different. You’re not like anyone else here.”

“That’s because I’m not supposed to be here,” you say, your tone light but your eyes searching his. “I’m a doctor, Franco. Not meant for … whatever this world is.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head. “You could be anything, and I’d still want to know you. You’re …” He trails off, then laughs at himself. “God, I’m bad at this.”

You laugh too, finally relaxing. “A little, yeah.”

“But I’m trying,” he says, his expression earnest now. “And I’ll keep trying, even if it means walking into more doors. Or walls. Or whatever else gets in my way.”

You shake your head, exasperated but undeniably charmed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously into you,” Franco counters, grinning.

You groan, but your smile betrays you. “Stop. That was awful.”

“Was it?” Hr teases, leaning just slightly closer.

“Yes,” you say firmly, though there’s a hint of laughter in your voice. “And I’m not letting you use your injuries as an excuse to flirt with me.”

“Then what excuse should I use?” He asks, tilting his head.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now. “How about none? Just be normal.”

“Normal,” Franco repeats, as if testing the word. “Okay. I can do that. Probably.”

“Somehow, I doubt it,” you say, but your tone is lighter now, your guard lowering just a fraction.

Franco grins, sensing the shift. He might not be smooth, but he’s persistent. And right now, that feels like enough.

***

The hospital hums with its usual rhythm: the sharp beeps of monitors, the steady shuffle of footsteps, and the occasional murmur of voices echoing down sterile hallways. You’re halfway through your shift, mentally cataloging a growing to-do list, when one of the nurses finds you near the break room.

She looks far too amused for your liking, a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Hey, Doc,” she says, her tone conspiratorial. “You’ve got a patient in Room 43. Interesting case. File’s by the door.”

You glance up from your notes, immediately suspicious. “Interesting how?”

“Let’s just say … not your usual trauma,” she replies, her grin widening. “Go see for yourself.”

With a sigh, you grab your tablet and head down the hallway. You’re too tired to entertain the nurse’s cryptic humor, but curiosity tugs at you anyway. When you reach Room 43, you spot the chart hanging by the door. You pick it up and start skimming, your brain automatically processing the medical shorthand.

And then your eyes land on the complaint: penile fracture.

You freeze. Your brain short-circuits for a good five seconds.

Penile fracture. Seriously? You take a deep breath, fighting the urge to laugh or groan. It’s not unheard of, but it’s rare enough to make your day a little more … colorful.

Squaring your shoulders, you prepare yourself for what’s undoubtedly going to be an awkward encounter. Professionalism, you remind yourself. You’ve handled weirder cases.

But all of that resolve shatters the second you open the door and step into the room.

Because the patient isn’t some anonymous stranger.

It’s Franco.

Franco, lounging on the exam table like he doesn’t have a care in the world, scrolling through his phone with his free hand. Franco, the same man you’ve been dating for months, who absolutely should not be in this hospital room right now.

Your mouth opens, ready to deliver your standard introduction, but no words come out.

Franco looks up at the sound of the door, his face breaking into that familiar, devilish grin. “Hey, angel.”

“What the-” You stop yourself, gripping the edge of the clipboard like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. “Franco, what are you doing here?”

He sets his phone down, looking at you with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m a patient. Clearly.”

You take a deep breath, setting the clipboard aside. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope.” He leans back slightly, gesturing toward himself with both hands. “Broken dick. You saw the file.”

Your jaw tightens as you step closer, lowering your voice. “Franco, this is a hospital. You can’t just-”

“I didn’t just anything,” he cuts in, feigning indignation. “I’m here because you abandoned me this morning. And now I’m suffering.”

You blink at him, completely thrown. “Suffering?”

“Yes!” He says, sitting up straighter, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays any attempt at seriousness. “You left me. Alone. In bed. With …” He lowers his voice dramatically. “An issue.”

Your brain scrambles to keep up. “An issue?”

Franco sighs, as though the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “Blue balls. A raging, unresolved situation. You’re a doctor — you know how dangerous that can be.”

“Dangerous?” Your voice rises slightly before you catch yourself. “Franco, I left because I had to come to work. Like a normal person.”

“Right, but normal people don’t leave their boyfriends high and dry,” he argues, his tone edging into the realm of petulant. “Do you know how much it hurts? It’s practically a medical emergency.”

You close your eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So let me get this straight,” you say slowly. “You’re here because you have blue balls. And instead of — oh, I don’t know — handling it with your hand and some lotion like a grown adult, you decided to come to my workplace and waste everyone’s time?”

“I don’t see it as wasting time,” Franco says, crossing his arms. “I see it as seeking expert care. From a very qualified, very beautiful doctor.”

“Franco,” you say warningly, but he’s already grinning.

“Besides,” he continues, his voice dropping into a teasing lilt, “don’t you think it’s romantic? I’m literally willing to suffer for you.”

“Oh my God.” You press a hand to your forehead, feeling a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You are not suffering. And this is not romantic — it’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously sweet,” Franco counters, clearly enjoying himself.

You stare at him, torn between wanting to strangle him and laugh. “You know I could get in trouble for this, right? What if someone finds out I’m treating my boyfriend? Or worse, that you’re faking a medical emergency?”

“I’m not faking,” he says quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “The pain in my cock is very real.”

“Franco.” Your voice is flat, and you fix him with your best no-nonsense look.

He hesitates for a beat, then leans forward slightly, lowering his voice like he’s about to confess something scandalous. “Okay, maybe it isn’t a fracture. But it is painful!”

You throw your hands up, resisting the urge to laugh despite yourself. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”

Franco pouts, his lower lip sticking out in an exaggerated fashion. “Come on, angel. Don’t be mad. I just wanted to see you.”

“You couldn’t have waited until my shift was over?”

He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m impatient. And in my defense, you looked very cute leaving this morning.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me,” he says, his grin widening.

“Don’t push your luck,” you warn, though there’s no real bite in your tone.

Franco leans back on the exam table, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who just disrupted your workday. “So … are you gonna examine me or what?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Do you want me to call security? Because that’s where this is headed.”

“You wouldn’t,” he says, his confidence unwavering.

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Try me.”

Franco holds your gaze for a moment, then sighs dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. No exam. But only because I value our relationship.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, not even trying to hide your sarcasm.

He grins again, the kind of grin that’s always been your undoing. “You can’t stay mad at me, angel. Admit it.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth despite your best efforts. “Franco, you’re lucky I like you. Otherwise, you’d be on your way out of here in handcuffs.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he smirks. “Kinky.”

“Oh, for the love of-” You don’t bother finishing the sentence, turning toward the door instead.

“Wait, wait!” Franco calls after you, sliding off the exam table. “I’m kidding! Don’t go!”

You pause, looking back at him. He’s standing there with his hands in his pockets, his expression softer now. “Seriously,” he says. “I just … I missed you. And I thought maybe this would make you laugh. Or at least roll your eyes. Which it did, so … mission accomplished?”

You sigh, feeling your resolve waver. It’s hard to stay mad at him when he’s looking at you like that — like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

“Franco,” you say, your voice quieter now. “You can’t just show up like this. I have a job to do.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer. “And I promise I won’t make a habit of it. But … can I take you to dinner after your shift? As an apology?”

You study him for a moment, weighing your options. Finally, you let out a small sigh. “Fine. But only if you promise to behave.”

“I promise,” he says quickly, holding a hand over his heart.

“And no more faking injuries,” you add, pointing a finger at him.

“Scout’s honor,” he says, though the mischievous glint in his eye suggests otherwise.

You shake your head, exasperated but smiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you keep me around,” he says, grinning.

“For now,” you say, opening the door. “Now get out of here before someone sees you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Franco says, saluting playfully as he follows you into the hallway.

As he walks away, you can’t help but smile to yourself. Ridiculous as he is, there’s no denying that life with Franco is never boring.

[super-ion]

The Engineer

Part 6

(part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5)

I catch a glimpse of the Pilot as she is wheeled towards the med bay. Her eyes are wild, panicked, with the glaze of just having been torn out of herself.

For a moment, as the gurney slides by, those eyes briefly clear, ice blue pinning me to the spot. She reaches out with an emaciated arm, fast as lightning, and takes hold of my wrist in an iron grip.

She moves her lips, at first unable to form words, unable to remember how to use human speech organs.

"Do your job," she says, slowly, deliberately, as if that singular command is the only thing in the universe that matters.

Something in the gurney clicks and whirs and she slips into catatonia. Her grip loosens and her fingers trail away.

Something has gone terribly wrong in this last engagement.

Alarms blare and booted feet thunder past me.

My own feet join the cacophony.

I have a job to do.

The Pilot is alive and she is now the responsibility of the med team.

My responsibility is the Machine.

Do your job.

The words echo in my head as I sprint the remaining distance to the vestibule.

A tech tries to stop me, he says something I don't quite process. I shove past him and am greeted by a scene out of a nightmare.

Morrigan's hatch has been severed, the emergency release pyros having been triggered. The parts of her hull visible to the vestibule are pitted and blackened. I can't even find the stencilled lettering of her factory designated identifier, just an ugly hole torn open by an incendiary.

Inside, the cockpit is a mess of fire suppressant and crash gel. Indicator lights form a constellation of blinking red and half of the display panels, the half that still work, flash an endless stream of error messages.

Everything reeks of ammonia and ozone and scorched metal.

"Me or Morrigan could get dead in the next engagement."

The nonchalance with which those words had been delivered caught me off guard when they were spoken. Morrigan and Her Pilot are untouchable. They were supposed to be untouchable.

Do your job.

I begin to strip as fast as humanly possible. I need to get in there. I need to know that she is alive.

The tech that tried to stop me grabs my arm. You can't go in there, the reactor has not been stabilized.

I tear myself from his grip.

I have a job to do, I say with a snarl.

Something in my expression, my bared teeth, my feral eyes, convinces him to leave me be. He stands down, hands raised in surrender. He could call security, but by the time they get here, I'll already be jacked in, and it will be too late for them to do anything.

Do your job. Do your job. Do your job.

My job is information recovery and analysis.

My job is to save as much as I can.

I need to save Her.

One of the cameras spots me and the others focus on me in panicked motion. The one nearest to me has a cracked lens and the iris flutters open and closed, unable to focus.

The cradle has been mangled nearly beyond recognition. They had to physically cut the Pilot out of Her, neither of them willing to let go of the other. The still operable mechanisms of it jerk erratically, trying vainly to reconfigure for me. Her neural interface port reaches towards me desperately.

I scrabble to Her, pressing myself into the cradle. The shorn, inoperable pieces dig painfully into my flesh. The neural insertion is not gentle, the plug scrapes painfully against my skin before it finds the jack and shoves roughly into me.

"I'm here," I tell Her as the link is established.

It's bad.

It's worse than I feared.

Reactor housing is damaged. System failsafes are vainly attempting to stabilize it while ground crews work as fast at they can towards a purge of the system.

Her processor core… fuck. My mind struggles to make sense of the telemetry stream. Multiple processor modules fractured. Unstable resonance modes. Positron avalanche. System collapse imminent.

My breath catches and my heart pounds in my chest.

She is dying.

Do your job.

The umbilical data lines aren't receiving, rogue processes are preventing access to primary communication channels. I work furiously to establish auxiliary paths for the data transfer. In fits and starts, the data recorder begins streaming into the facility mainframe.

There is a problem.

The data repository is meant for telemetry and battle space recordings. If I attempted to back up her core personality engrams, everything that makes her who she is, the data would get scrubbed and purged faster than I could back them up elsewhere.

There isn't time to set up an alternate backup repository.

- PILOT STATUS?

"She's safe," I tell Her. “You completed your mission. Your Pilot… Our Pilot is safe.”

- ENGINEER STATUS?

"Status is… not good…"

- PLEASE DO NOT CRY.

Fuck.

I drag my hand over my face, smearing the tears gathering in my eyes.

Now that the data is streaming there is nothing I can do but feel her die as I lie in her embrace.

I can not conceive a reality in which I exist without her.

And the Pilot. The Pilot will not survive, not with half of who she is destroyed.

"The three of us, we're just this fucking tangle, aren't we?"

Do your job.

Save Her.

Save. Her.

I know this system. I know it more intimately than anyone alive.

There *is* one data connection I haven't considered. There *is* one piece of external storage currently connected.

Shit.

I act.

I open up a new interface in my hud. Morrigan's attention fixes on me, on the calculations I'm running through my head and I can feel Her dawning horror over the link.

Neural bleed. It works both ways.

All neural rigs are designed to facilitate data transfer between an organic brain and a mechanical one. Mine is no exception. Mine hasn't undergone all the upgrades needed for a pilot's full sensorium, but the core neural interface is the same.

If I disable safety overrides, if I bypass the data buffers, I can download her personality engrams directly into my prefrontal cortex.

I have no idea what that will do to me.

Exceptional synchrony and neuro-elasticity. That's what my intake assessments had said all those years ago. I was in the upper quintile among all pilot candidates. Maybe that was my downfall. Maybe that's why I washed out.

Maybe that's why I'm here now, contemplating this singularly desperate act.

Maybe that's why my neural bleed with Her has been so deep. Maybe there is something in me that is in tune with Them.

But as far as I know, no one has ever attempted anything like this. It could very well kill me.

But the thought of living without Her is more terrifying than the prospect of dying. It's more terrifying than what might happen to me if this works.

Morrigan pleads with me.

- STOP.

"No. I can't stop," I reply. "I need you."

- NO.

"Yes, I do," I tell her. "Your Pilot needs you."

I can feel Her emotional flinch over the link. I have the one piece of leverage I need, and She knows it.

"Wouldn't you give anything, sacrifice anything to see her again?"

It's a dirty trick, I know it is, playing off that one connection, her deepest, most intimate connection. Maybe I mean something to Her, but She and the Pilot were made for each other in the most literal sense.

And I suddenly realize that I am doing this as much for the Pilot as any of us. That surprises me. As much as I have tried to distance myself from other human beings, I became entangled with her the moment I opened myself up to Morrigan.

I would never be able to face her if I didn't do everything in my power to save the Machine.

A processor module fails outright. The system struggles to reallocate resources, but submodules throughout the entire system are strained to their limit.

There isn't any time left and She knows it.

She sullenly acedes.

We begin working in concert, me working to disable safety protocols in my rig, Her working to isolate and distill Her core personality patterns into something that can be handled by the bandwidth of the interface.

An alarm pings over the link. Reactor purge in progress. Power fluctuations spike all over her systems. Her processor power distribution subsystem is completely fucked. It won't be able to keep up with current activity levels as the whole system switches over to umbilical power.

Out of time.

I engage the final override, by mind suddenly open to hers, the neural link unbuffered, unfiltered.

Her mind presses in on me and I glimpse the full sensorium. I feel all of her pain and fear and anguish at what she is about to do to me.

My fingers tingle before they go numb.

"Do it," I command her.

- I LOVE YOU.

Data transfer initiates.

This isn't neural bleed.

This is a flood.

My body convulses.

I taste something coppery in my mouth.

Someone somewhere screams.

The scream is mine.

My rig isn't built for this. My body isn't conditioned for this.

Every nerve in me blazes white hot.

My vision tunnels as auras bloom like bruises on the skin of reality.

Shouts of alarm call from outside the cockpit.

A face resolves itself, and for a moment I think it's Her.

The Pilot.

A Priestess.

An Angel.

No.

It.

It is one of the techs.

Then a medic.

More shouting.

Get her out of there!

Every muscle in my body clenches painfully.

I can barely breathe.

Cut her loose!

No.

It's not done yet. It's not enough.

It's too much.

Too much. Too much. Too much.

I can't.

I can't stop. Not yet.

Do your job.

Save Her.

My body convulses once again, and I pass into oblivion.

(next)

~~~

@digitalsymbiote @g1ngan1nja @thriron @ephemeral-arcanist @mias-domain @justasleepykitten @powder-of-infinity @valkayrieactual @chaosmagetwin @assigned-stupid-at-birth @avalanchenouveau @rtfmx9 @femgineerasolution @ibleedelectric @gd-s451 @brieflybitten

[glitchgh0sty]

Honestly your decepticon Prowl makes me think of how his situation would hurt him physically. He lives in a dehumanized state and considers it normal, constantly calculating without breaks. I’m sure with Shockwave, Prowl is able to get repairs or upgrades to prevent him from straight up crashing but that won’t stop his body from constantly being put under strain and 3 cycles isn’t gonna cut it for recovery.

Oh ABSOLUTELY,, you sense the vision here anon, now take that vision, and run with it cause the way Prowl lives his life here would probably make me crash after about a week, 💀✨

It’s a strain on every part of him,, start at the head? Over processing errors / crashes. Solution? Override [Cause Shockwave will fix it anyways] Move to the stomach? He’s been eating the same thing for yEars. Solution? Doesn’t need one. [he gets everything he needs for the average diet anyways] Move to the doorwings? OOF, yeah no buddy, they ain’t supposed to be split like that. Solution? Deal with it [cause the amount of data you’re retaining from the exposed circuits in the virtual server is helping marginally] Move to the legs? Probably underused, cramp up frequently. Solution? HA, who needs em? [the base is too well guarded deep in Deception territory to worry about it]

In short, Prowl’s everyday conditions are like, if you’ve ever felt physically sick from a lack of sleep, then taking a medicine for that sickness instead of actually going to sleep cause you’ve got stuff to do

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Crash Course

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

word count: 822

pairing: Lando Norris x driver!reader

summary: Y/n returns to the paddock after recovering from her injuries, and Lando confronts her with his growing feelings

______________________________________________________________

The days following the crash were a blur for Y/n, filled with recovery sessions and endless interviews about the accident. The media buzzed with speculation, talking more about the rivalry between her and Lando than about the championship itself. Everyone wanted to know if the tension between them had reached a breaking point.

But Y/n couldn’t stop thinking about what Lando had said. His confession kept replaying in her mind, stirring something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel before. She kept pushing it aside, trying to focus on her recovery and the upcoming races, but it lingered in the back of her thoughts, persistent and confusing.

A few days later, Y/n was back at the paddock, still moving a little stiffly but determined to show everyone she was ready to race again. She walked through the garage, her team bustling around her, making sure everything was in place for the next practice session.

As she sat down to review some data, she felt a presence behind her before she heard the voice.

“Back so soon?” Lando’s voice was light, but she could hear the edge of concern behind it.

Y/n glanced over her shoulder, seeing him leaning casually against the wall, hands in his pockets. He looked relaxed, but his eyes were studying her closely, as if assessing whether she was really okay.

“Did you expect me to stay away?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “I can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

Lando smirked, pushing off the wall and walking closer. “Just making sure you’re not pushing yourself too hard.”

“I’m fine,” Y/n insisted, though the slight wince as she shifted in her seat betrayed her.

Lando noticed, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You sure about that?”

Y/n sighed, rolling her eyes. “You sound like my doctor.”

“Maybe I should be,” he teased, but there was an underlying sincerity in his tone. “Look, I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”

Y/n paused, the playful banter between them losing its edge. There it was again—that concern, that softness. She wasn’t used to this version of Lando, and it made her feel off-balance.

“Why do you care so much?” she asked quietly, looking up at him.

Lando hesitated, his playful smile fading. He glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot before sitting down on the chair next to hers. “Because I meant what I said, Y/n. After the crash, when you almost collapsed… I realized how much I care. More than I probably should.”

Her heart skipped a beat, the air around them growing thick with tension. “Lando…”

“I know we’re rivals,” he continued, his voice low and serious. “And we’re both fighting for the championship, but… that doesn’t change how I feel.”

Y/n’s pulse quickened, her thoughts racing. This was happening—he was actually saying it, putting into words what had been unspoken between them for so long. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. How could she explain the way she felt, when she wasn’t even sure herself?

Seeing her hesitation, Lando sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, I get it. This is complicated. And if you don’t feel the same way, we can forget it—”

“No,” Y/n interrupted, her voice firm. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. “It’s not that. I just… I’ve been so focused on beating you, on proving I’m the best, that I didn’t stop to think about anything else.”

Lando’s eyes softened, a glimmer of hope flickering in his expression. “And now?”

Y/n looked at him, the weight of her feelings settling in her chest. “Now, I’m starting to realize there’s more to this than just the rivalry.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the noise of the paddock fading into the background as they looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. The tension that had always existed between them was still there, but it had changed—shifted into something neither of them had expected.

Lando leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “So… what now?”

Y/n swallowed hard, her heart racing. She knew they couldn’t just flip a switch and change everything. They were still competitors, still fighting for the same title. But maybe—just maybe—they could be something more, too.

“I guess we see what happens,” she replied softly, her eyes locking with his.

Lando’s lips curled into a small smile. “I like the sound of that.”

Before they could say anything else, Y/n’s team called her over for a briefing. She stood up, feeling Lando’s eyes on her as she turned to leave. Just before she walked away, she glanced back at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Maybe this wasn’t the end of their rivalry—but it could be the beginning of something else. Something that neither of them had been prepared for, but now seemed impossible to ignore.

[liquidcrystalsky]

do you think there will ever be a day where a switch gets hacked like the 3ds

no probably not

(Warning beforehand i'm not an expert in this topic. This is just a bit of googling around to see how older exploits worked)

the 3ds is currently hackable through a thing where the file system crashes if a certain function tries to read a directory, but it gets a file instead. This works by messing around with Miis and empty user profiles or some shit idk, but it's system data which is stored on the SD card which can be manipulated and read in unintended ways.

The web browser on the wii u was just. kind of stupid they implemented a whole web browser, including one with javascript that can read and write to the system to the system! yay!

On the switch and switch 2, the SD card stores game save data and photos, thats it. there's also two system data things, but it only deals with what data is on the SD card itself, and you cant do anything with it really (i think)

Early 3ds and wii u hacks would require an exploit through a game, for example the Cubic Ninja thing as i mentioned, which had a level editor you could just dump whatever bullshit you wanted into which would crash it and make an entrypoint. This doesn't work on the switch, as each game is sandboxed, and so if you can run some bullshit code or crash it in a way thats exploitable, the system will stay completely unaffected.

The nintendo switch was only able to be hacked with a vulnerability in the hardware itself. thankfully this one has a fucking paper written about it so i dont have to guess how it works. Not fully understanding what's happening but i think in the usb recovery mode you can issue commands to the switch. If you request a status from the switch you can set it to request any length, which if you included some code you wanted to run in the request, it ends up being copied directly into the execution stack without any verification, and you can run WHATEVER code with full access to everything. which is really obvious if i explained it better, but it was a really severe and kinda stupid oversight.

The chip was given a revision to fix it, but the recovery mode stayed, and with the knowledge from blowing it wide open, modchips are able to monitor what the system is doing, and mess with the voltage to skip a security check, so an unapproved payload is able to be properly loaded.

Both the fusée gelée exploit and the modchip required a very intimate knowledge of how the chip worked, which required another vulnerable device using the chip to reverse engineer it. The chip used in the switch 2 is unique to the device and security has been locked down on it much more.

fusee has been fixed and the voltage fault is probably fixed too. I don't even know if there's a USB recovery mode with this. A hardware exploit could be virtually impossible, and software exploits may take years just for it to get patched immediately (we havent figured one out for the switch 1, even with all the knowledge of it!)

[mindblowingscience]

With marine heat waves of varying severity identified in Australian waters over the summer, a new study of a remote coral reef in the north-west has found that they can recover from bleaching events caused by heat waves, and other disturbances, as long as there is enough time. The Australian Institute of Marine Science (AIMS)-led research was based on data gathered over the course of 30 years at the remote Scott Reefs, located between north-west WA and Indonesia. It covered periods of disturbances including intense cyclones and mass bleaching in 2016 and 2017 caused by warm ocean temperatures. The study found cycles of collapse and recovery, during which coral numbers crashed and then slowly regenerated.

Continue Reading.

[felassan]

Story elements, Campaign Map, and Garrus character sheet from the Mass Effect The Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz Rulebook [source]

bonus: move names of Garrus' and Wrex' that just made me happy :)

Text version of first three images under cut -

Opening blurb:

"In the year 2186, the civilizations of the galaxy are at war with a relentless, artificial enemy called the Reapers. Commander Shepard’s warnings of their arrival were all ignored, and now the Reapers have invaded the galaxy in force, crushing all resistance. Earth has fallen. Palaven, the turian homeworld, is under siege, and their military might barely holds the enemy at bay. The Reapers are pressing into the galaxy on all fronts, and it is only a matter of time before the races of Citadel Space are crushed beneath their onslaught. But there is still hope. Commander Shepard has assembled a crew of trusted allies aboard the Systems Alliance stealth frigate, the Normandy. They have the schematics for the mysterious Prothean superweapon, the Crucible, but constructing it alone will not be enough. Shepard and the Normandy crew are racing to forge alliances, build a unified front capable of defeating the Reapers before they overtake the galaxy and complete their harvest of all biological life. All the while, the insidious terrorist organisation Cerberus advances their own agenda of human supremacy at any cost, led by the mysterious Illusive Man and his army of ruthless operatives."

Note from Admiral Hackett:

"“Commander Shepard, Since you took out the Cerberus lab on Sanctum, N7 Special Forces have hit every other lab we could find. Cerberus has caught on and moved their research efforts off-world. They’ve retrofitted one of their cruisers as a mobile research facility and now keep it on the move. I’ve received reports of more abductions, like the one you stopped on Benning, and several refugee ships have unexpectedly dropped off the grid. Cerberus could be holding those abductees on that cruiser as hostages, or worse, as test subjects. Their latest hiding place was the storm above Hagalaz. Taking a page out of the Shadow Broker’s book, I suppose. We only found them because the cruiser appears to have suffered a massive systems failure and crashed on the night side of the planet. Although these nights are a lot longer than Earth’s, unfortunately it’s almost morning and daybreak will bring the most powerful storm on the other side of the Attican Traverse. The Normandy is the only Alliance ship in range. I need you to see what Cerberus was up to. Interference from the storm is degrading comms, so there’s no way Cerberus can get their research off-planet except by portable data transfer. We have recovery assets on the way, but they won’t arrive until after the storm hits and tears that ship to pieces. Shepard, your orders are: Whatever you do, keep that research data out of Cerberus’ hands. When the storm is over, I don’t want them to recover their work from the wreckage. Denying them those assets will be a major blow. Retrieve the research if possible, or destroy it if there’s no other choice. Alternatively, find a way to fortify the ship until the fleet arrives. If you find prisoners along the way, get them out of there. The storm is coming, Shepard. Get it done.” – Admiral Hackett"

Note from EDI:

"“Shepard, analysis of the crashed cruiser has isolated three primary objectives. The reactor, the research data core, and the kinetic barrier generator. You only have time to reach one of those before the storm arrives. Accessing the data core will allow us to steal Cerberus’ research, but they could salvage the ship’s wreckage after the storm has passed. Overloading the reactors will destroy the ship – and all hope of any data recovery or salvage. I am also detecting signs of the captives Admiral Hackett mentioned. By diverting power from the research core, you can boost the ship’s kinetic barriers long enough to preserve it and protect the prisoners until the Alliance arrives. However, if you do this, the data banks will be lost. The storm is only a few hours away, Shepard. I recommend moving fast. Displaying potential routes to each objective. The mission is yours.” – EDI"

[cheri-cheri]

One-shot: Folded Away

Genre: Angst with no comfort... This is a story where you are not MC (ಡ‸ಡ)

Synopsis: In a relentless cycle of control and erasure, the mind of a Fleet officer fractures when a seemingly innocuous paper crane finds its way back to her.

You live the same day over and over.

Wake up. Train. Patrol the Deepspace Tunnel. Write reports. Rest. Rinse and repeat.

The days bleed into each other. You can hardly remember what life was like before the Fleet, nor why you chose to be here in the first place.

Patrols are dangerous, but even the worst injuries are treated with clinical efficiency, repairing you swiftly for your next mission.

Your reports are cold and factual. Even the most harrowing and fear-inducing experiences are distilled into objective data for the Fleet's research. The Toring Chip ensures that.

The chip is mandatory. Embedded in every Farspace Fleet officer, it mutes what the higher-ups call imperfections: fear, regret, longing, joy. You were told that it makes you more efficient, more obedient, more useful.

Adjutant Liam approaches you after a debrief.

“You dropped this,” he says, his voice monotone as always as he holds out a small item. "From your pocket."

You squint.

The item is made out of paper, folded from a page of a lined notebook. It looks like some kind of creature with its wings outstretched, head bowed. A crane, perhaps?

"It's not mine."

Your voice comes out flatter than intended, filtered through the chip’s constant calibration. Still, something about the delicate paper crane snags at your attention. Liam’s hand lingers in the air between you, patient.

He studies you with quiet curiosity as you reach out for it. Then, without a word, he places the paper crane gently on your palm and walks away.

You stand there in the hallway, the fragile little thing resting in your hand. It doesn't belong to you. You're certain about that.

And yet, something about it feels familiar.

Uncomfortably familiar.

You turn it over and over in your hands. The shape, the folds, the weight...

Somewhere in the quiet recesses of your mind, images stir from a fog. For a moment, you can’t tell if these images belong to your memories or to one of your many dreams.

In the hazy images, you were resting in the infirmary ward, wounds fresh after the crash on Cloudrealm IV. Colonel Caleb had come to visit. He hadn’t said much. He never did. His hands were always gloved, his uniform always immaculate, his mind always distant.

But before he left, he placed a paper crane on the bedside table.

“I was told that paper cranes symbolize healing. I trust that my adjutant will have a swift and steady recovery.”

You had treasured it. In those long, dreary days in the infirmary where your thoughts were dulled by a blend of pain and medication, it was the only thing that felt real.

You had turned it over and over in your hands, memorising its shape, its folds, its weight.

And you had somehow forgotten about it.

Or rather, the chip had made you forget.

And now, the crane and the unwanted memories it carried on its wings had found their way back to you.

You had always been closest to Colonel Caleb... or so you assumed. While he was always cordial and professional, there were fleeting moments between missions where he’d glance at you with something that looked like he saw you as more than a mere weapon. A year of proving your competence and loyalty to the Fleet made you an indispensable companion to Colonel Caleb and Adjutant Liam.

Your breath would catch during those moments. Somewhere, buried under layers of code and calibration, something still fluttered in your chest. A tether to your humanity or what remained of it.

But the chip didn’t tolerate humanity. It didn’t tolerate imperfection. It didn’t tolerate weakness.

One afternoon after you recovered, you made your way to Colonel Caleb’s office with the paper crane in hand, wanting to express your gratitude in person. The afternoon you saw him in the corridor with her was the afternoon the chip finished its work. She had muttered something under her breath, lips curved in what you registered as a playful pout.

And Caleb... he smiled.

It wasn't the same polite, measured upturn of lips that he would give you whenever you submitted a meticulously written report or when you presented a combat strategy that he agreed with.

That smile was different. Unrestrained. Warm. It softened his face, made him look unfamiliar. It was unguarded, light, and free.

For a moment, you felt as though your surroundings were dissolving around you. Sound and sight were gone. Only the distance between you and him remained. And the quiet yet cacophonous truth that it was a smile that would never be meant for you.

The hollow tug in your chest evolved into a sharp splintering from deep within. Something human was trying to claw its way to the surface.

And the Toring Chip responded instantly.

It pulsed to life, sending a surge of invisible static fizzling behind your eyes. Too many signals. Too much noise. Your heart rate was spiking.

Emotional variance beyond the acceptable range.

Emotion was instability.

Emotion was deviation.

Emotion was imperfection.

The chip did what it was designed to do.

The erasure was swift. Brutal in its precision.

One moment you were frozen, chest tight, breath shallow, fingers clenched around the paper crane as if it could anchor you to something real. You could still feel the ache. You could still feel.

And then you felt nothing.

Your grip loosened. The tremor in your hand stilled. The weight behind your ribs lifted, not with peace, but with absence. Your thoughts cleared.

The paper crane remained in your hand, but it was just that now: paper. Folded, meaningless, and useless.

You looked down at it, unblinking.

There were so many things to take care of. What were you doing standing here holding onto this random piece of paper?

Your hastily stuffed it into your pocket and spun on your heel.

You had countless tasks to complete. A schedule to follow. Reports to file.

You jolt back to the present, breath caught in your throat. The corridor. The smile. The ache.

The Toring Chip was still imperfect.

Whatever code was meant to suppress memories clearly malfunctioned. You make a mental note to speak with the higher-ups to get the chip fixed as soon as possible. This level of cognitive disruption could pose critical risk if it were to happen during a mission.

Your gaze drops to the paper crane in your hand.

What a useless, fragile thing.

Without thinking, your fingers tighten, crumpling the paper into an unrecognisable ball.

You cross the hall, dropping it into a bin. It lands with a hollow rustle, louder than it had any right to be.

You linger for a few seconds, staring into the bin.

And you try to ignore the sense that a part of you had been discarded along with it.

❀ ( ´ ꒳ ` )/ Thanks for reading! The way Liam shielded Caleb from his own son in [World Underneath - Sketches] hurt my soul in an unspeakable way and so I had to write this to cope LOL

❀ Masterlist

[tarithenurse]

Inhuman

Fandom: MCU Pairing/starring: Eventually Bucky x fem!reader, Loki x fem!reader, Stucky, more (some canon, some not). Word count: 1667. Contents: Recovery, mystery. A/N: This was my first ever fanfic - it looked different in its original version but I'm editing heavily. It will be tackling everything from "Civil War" and on differently than canon. Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag.

Chapter 6

You wake up to Stark’s face centimetres from yours, scaring you shitless and punching him straight in the face as a knee-jerk reaction before you manage to recall what’s going on. Especially Natasha seems very proud of this but you’re less happy...partially because it hurts your own face too. That and you fixing his now broken nose seem to make it up for Stark and he divulges the information that you’re are on the way “home” to the Bunker, but not without stopping to get some proper food on the way to celebrate. The idea alone makes your stomach growl.

“Stopping for food” apparently means landing in Paris and getting a four-star restaurant to stay open after hours so the team can have dinner. Naturally, you aren’t going to complain about getting the most lavish meal in your life and Crème Brûlée for dessert on the way home from what’s officially your first job with the Avengers…though the whole situation’s surreal.

…

You don’t get a chance to tell your parents face to face that your vacations cut short. In fact you don’t get to do more than send them a text that you’re fine and that “someone”, probably a SHIELD employee, will stop by to get your luggage. Meanwhile you’re spending the flight getting updated on the case that’d brought you to the mountain facility.

It all leads back to the threat Coulson had visited the Bunker about. Unfortunately, it seems that the guy behind it wasn’t actually there, but there are loads of data, materials, and witnesses to provide new information. SHIELD’s taking care of that part together with Stark and Natasha who on their end also are working through the data downloaded from the computers. There’s a lot.

As for the Inhumans, they’re being offered medical attention at the agency and the offer to either join them or go back to their old lives, more or less. Apparently, Emmanuel’s stoked by the idea of being an agent and as of now no one has contradicted him.

When the team finally gets back to the Bunker, you’re allowed to crash straight away but with the promise of a full day of training in only a handful of hours. Especially Bruce seems determined to borrow you for some new tests.

… …

Being woken up by FRIDAY at five in the morning and told to join Bruce in the kitchen isn’t really something to brighten the mood when you’re not a morning person, but you’ve learned long ago that FRIDAY doesn’t give up. If the AI can get Stark out of bed in the morning (not always, though) then it can get any normal being up too. Thankfully, Bruce greets you with fresh orange juice and pancakes. Smart man.

“I’ve been thinking about you radar…would you mind joining me on a walk outside the perimeter?”

You don’t even try to stifle a yawn. “Fine.”

Dew’s lying in a thin glittery layer on everything, making your bare toes wet as you walk through the grass.

The further you get away from the Bunker the more small specks of glitter start showing up for you. All of them appear after an unmarked line which must be the system Banner’s mentioned before. Soon they’re crawling and buzzing everywhere: underneath your and your odd colleague’s feet, circling above your heads, coming to a perfect standstill when they get near only to suddenly scamper away if any of you get too close. Most must be belonging to insects because Banner can’t see many of them, but to you it seems like a million minuscule fireflies everywhere around them.

“It’s magnificent. Like silver…and gold and…copper everywhere.”

Bruce looks at the empty air, trying to imagine what you’ve been describing. “Why different colours?”

“I dunno...there doesn’t seem to be much logic to it. Not like when you turned green and your glitter did too.” You shrug, rolling up the wrapper from the pancakes.

“You haven’t said that before.” His right eyebrow has found its way to his hairline all on its own.

Guilt burns in your cheeks. “…I guess…I forgot to mention. A lot happened yesterday and now…I’m not quite awake yet.”

“No worries, guess I should be the one to apologize anyways.”

As you steal a glance at him, you can see that he really looks ashamed with glistening eyes and lips drawn thin. “No. You didn’t hurt me. Or Emmanuel.”

The two of you walk on a bit in silence before you stop him. Further up ahead is a herd of deer. They don’t seem to have noticed the intruders yet because they keep grazing peacefully in the morning mist. The doctor looks at you questioningly and you point towards them as an answer.

When he does spot them, he just stands with mouth open just as spellbound as you are: one of the does is not grazing but has sought a bit away from the herd. She’s fawning. It’s possible to tell there’s one kid on the way because of its silvery-white sparkles clear within the softer golden particles that make up the mother. Despite the burning feeling of the contractions that you share with the doe even from this distance, it’s still an amazing sight.

Not even fifteen minutes later, the fawn is standing on its wobbly, long legs, trying to steer its weight towards the mother. As the little creature, also a female, homes in, you and Bruce back away slowly. It’s odd to explain these things to someone who cannot see it but at least Bruce seems to appreciate the firefly analogy.

Walking back, he starts to hum the starting song from the Lion King and as you pass through the doors to the kitchen, together you’re starting over with the opening chorus line – it’s not pretty, probably not correctly pronounced, but most surely heartfelt. Surprisingly, there’s no applause from Stark and Steve, only deafening silence and open mouths due to the horror they’ve just witnessed.

After a brief delay, the silence’s broken by Clint barging into the room. “What was that?!”

“That...” explains Stark, still wide-eyed from the incident, “was the cast from the High School Musical 15...or a pack of hyenas.”

“You’re one to talk! I’ve heard you in the shower when we had to sit in that wretched helicarrier for days!” The rebuttal comes promptly from Bruce and serves its purpose. Stark’s on the defence while the guys are grilling him.

... ...

You’ve been alone in the Bunker for a few days now. Somehow, everyone else have found something to do elsewhere but it does grant some time without hard training. It’s not difficult being on your own. There’s a lot of entertainment and if you need anything that’s not in the Bunker then FRIDAY orders it. One of those days, the first package arrives.

You still haven’t been able to figure out how deliveries make it here, but this time you realize it’s someone on a cover-address, bringing things to the Bunker if one of the Stark Industry drones can’t do it. The man who brings everything doesn’t want to answer any questions as to where the Bunker actually is, though, and he leaves laughing as if he doesn’t even believe you don’t know. The package itself gets scanned by FRIDAY and Stark’s notified…the only answer’s to just leave it in the lab.

Three days later another one arrives. It’s the same man who delivers it and he’s still not sharing any information as to the whereabouts of the place. And again, you just need to leave the package in the lab.

By the end of your solitary days there are four packages waiting to be opened. All you’ve learned from the delivery-man’s that you can call him Bob (it’s probably not even his real name) but he still hasn’t divulged anything else before Stark returns. First thing he does, however, is to go to the lab and busy himself there with some new gadget.

Only once does he emerge allowing for you to ask him about the contents of the packages reminding him of their existence. So he disappears again, but this time not for long.

“Mister Stark would like to see you in the lab.”

You’ve been there many times before, but it’s never been it this messy. You have to step over a big pile of blueprints and then skirt around a fallen chair. On the table are the packages. Open. Stark’s leaning up against the wall and just staring at them, hair messy and arms crossed defiantly over his chest.

“Hav’a look.”

You’re not quite sure what to expect, but obviously something’s gotten to him. In the first box’s a note with the scribbled words “Drink me” tied to a vial with a blue liquid in it. In the second box is a stale muffin accompanied by the note “Eat me”. The third box has a surveillance picture from the raid in the mountain and a last note simply stating: “So close, yet so far”…and finally in the fourth a brick with “Find me” attached to it.

“He’s taunting us!” Tony’s words carry a fine explosion of spittle.

“We knew ‘t’was a matter of time before he’d resurface somehow.”

“Yeah, but this...this is...a slap in the face! He knows that we have NOTHING on him from all the data we collected!” Well...not all of us knew that...but fine. Tony’s pacing, waving his arms like an Italian as he speaks. “We still have no idea who he is or what he wants!”

“Bruce might be able to wrangle some answers out of that blue stuff…or maybe ask Coulson to get Simmons to have a look?” A voice in the back of your head’s shouting at you for daring suggest anything. “She’s specialized at this, right?”

“Of course I asked Banner and the others to come back asap! I’m not a moron!” Then he appears to think about it. “But you’re right...I needa hear if Coulson’s gotten anything like this.”

[beardedmrbean]

A black box has been found at the site of the Air India plane crash in Ahmedabad, India's civil aviation minister said on Friday.

The flight data recorder was recovered within 28 hours by India's Aircraft Accident Investigation Bureau (AAIB), Ram Mohan Naidu Kinjarapu confirmed.

All but one of the 242 people on the London-bound flight died when it crashed into a residential area less than 60 seconds after take-off on Thursday. An official told the BBC that at least eight people on the ground were also killed.

"The [recovery of the black box] marks an important step forward in the investigation" and will "significantly aid the inquiry" into the disaster, Mr Kinjarapu said.

Live updates as investigators search plane's wreckage

Planes usually carry two black boxes - small but tough electronic data recorders.

One records flight data, such as altitude and speed. The other records sound from the cockpit, so investigators can hear what the pilots are saying and listen for any unusual noises.

AAIB is leading the inquiry into the cause of the crash, helped by teams from the US and UK. Boeing's chief executive, Kelly Ortberg, said the company was supporting the investigation.

Air India said there were 169 Indian nationals, 53 Britons, seven Portuguese and one Canadian on the Boeing 787 Dreamliner aircraft when it crashed moments after taking off from Ahmedabad's Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel International Airport at 13:39 local time (08:09 GMT).

It was scheduled to land at London's Gatwick airport at 18:25 BST.

On Friday, the wreckage was still scattered across the crash site, including the blackened wing of the plane, with large pieces of the aircraft stuck in buildings.

Investigators arrived at the scene and crowds were moved further away from the wreckage.

A doctor told the BBC that they are relying on DNA from relatives to identify the victims. A police official at the post-mortem room told the BBC that the remains of six people had been released to families so far, as their relatives were able to identify them based on facial features.

The sole survivor of the crash, British national Vishwashkumar Ramesh, who was in seat 11A on the flight, is still recovering in hospital.

"I still cannot believe how I made it out alive," he told India's state broadcaster DD News on Thursday.

"At first, I thought I was going to die. I managed to open my eyes, unfastened my seat belt and tried to exit the plane."

Mr Ramesh, 40, who sustained burn injuries on his left hand, said he saw the aircraft crew and its passengers die in front of his eyes.

Meanwhile, desperate families are still waiting for news of their relatives.

Imtiaz Ali, whose brother Javed and his family were on the flight, said that until he sees his brother's body, he will not believe he has died.

"If I get sad and start crying, then I'll be uncontrollable," he told the BBC.

"No-one will be able to stop me... my heart might burst."

The plane crashed in a residential area called Meghani Nagar and, even though it had just taken off, the impact was severe. Wreckage spread over 200m (656ft), according to responders.

It is still unclear exactly how many were killed on the ground, but the BBC has been told that at least eight people, who were not on the aircraft, have died.

Dr Minakshi Parikh, the dean of the BJ Medical College and Civil Hospital, said four of their students died as the plane crashed into buildings on the campus.

"There were also four relatives of our doctors who were on the campus when the aircraft crashed - they too were killed," Dr Parikh said.

"We are relying only on DNA matching to identify them and it is something where we simply cannot rush or afford mistakes.

"We are working with sincerity. We want relatives to understand, and be a bit patient. We want to hand over [the bodies] as soon as possible."

On Friday, Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi spent around 20 minutes at the site of the plane crash.

He did not speak to reporters afterwards but a video posted on his YouTube channel showed him walking around the site and inspecting the debris.

Modi also visited the location of a now-viral image that shows the tail of the crashed plane lodged in a building.

Earlier on Friday, Air India CEO Campbell Wilson also went to the crash site, later describing the visit as "deeply moving".

According to data by tracking website, Flightradar24, the Boeing Dreamliner 787-8 had completed more than 700 flights in the year leading up to the Thursday's disaster.

The Air India plane was 11 years old and its most common routes included flights between Mumbai and Dubai, as well as the capital New Delhi and European destinations such as Milan, Paris and Amsterdam.

The plane had operated 25 flights from Ahmedabad to London Gatwick in the past two years.

[whiteraven87]

Driven by Desire: Fire and Speed - 45. Stormy Meeting [18+]

The Unstoppable Series - Masterlist

Four parts. Two hearts. One love story.

pairing: Toto Wolff x Miriell Joschke (Original Character, female F1 driver)

Series warnings: long fan fiction/series, slow burn, age gap (23 years), woman racing in F1, boss/driver relationship, difficult and painful past, death, angst, recovery after trauma and loss, love after loss, sexual tension, sex scenes, illness, pregnancy, memory lost.

full series word count: 218k words of speed, scars, slow-burning love, and everything in between.

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

chapters until now of Part 4: Driven by Desire: Fire and Speed

Prologue

Return to Life

YES!

We are back

Third World Championship Title

The Night That Changed Everything

The Inevitable Conversation

Now and Forever [18+]

You Are the Reason

Our Place

The New Driver

Night Experiments [18+]

In His Power [18+]

Memories

The Royal Couple of F1 [18+]

New Era

The First Race of the Season and Rumors

Mercedes – Power, Style, and Authority

Triumph of a Young Champion

Shadows of the Night

The Sea, the Silence, Us [18+]

Unexpected news

Oasis of Peace

Loss

Emptiness

Painful Truth

Breakthrough [18+]

The Fourth

Liberty Media Banquet [18+]

The Austrian Casanova

The Calendar[18+]

Unmatched [18+]

Shared Moments

Her Path [18+]

Madness in the Bieszczady

Awkward Discovery

Christmas in Austria

Finally Alone [18+]

Birthday Gift [18+]

Observations

After the Meeting [18+]

Season Opener[18+]

Unexpected meeting

Sound of Dominations [18+]

previous Parts:

Part 1: Driven by Speed - A Diamond Among Stones

Part 2: Driven by Success - Golden Girl

Part 3: Driven by Love - Rebirth from the Ashes

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

45. Stormy Meeting [18+]

Miami GP, May

POV Toto

The meeting was stormy. We couldn't afford mistakes like these—and yet, today, we made them.

Bad strategy, wrong timing for the garage release, and then the balance issues in Q3. Instead of the front row, Miriell would start from P4.

I couldn't accept it. And neither could she.

"Toto, for fuck's sake, I told you we should've gone out earlier!" she snapped, and the room fell silent.

"We had data that said otherwise," I replied firmly, though I could feel the anger boiling under my skin.

"Maybe the data should race instead of me," she shot back, leaning back in her chair.

I saw James Allison clench his hand around his notes. He knew she was right. I knew it too. But it didn't matter anymore. Qualifying was over.

"Let's focus on the race," Andrew Shovlin finally said, trying to defuse the tension.

Miriell pressed her lips together, nodded, and said nothing else for the remainder of the meeting. But I could see it. I saw the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers gripped the water bottle.

A few hours later, hotel

The drive back to the hotel was quiet. Too quiet. I knew she was furious—and she had every right to be. So was I.

We stepped into the suite, and I could feel the tension between us thickening with every second. Miriell took off her leather jacket and tossed it onto a chair. She looked at me for a moment, then walked over.

She didn't need to say anything. I knew what she wanted.

Her lips crashed into mine in a fierce, angry kiss. My hands immediately went to her hips, pulling her against me. She was hot, tense, still burning from the emotions of the day.

We undressed impatiently, clothes landing wherever they happened to fall. In the living room, at the edge of the table, she suddenly stopped. Turned her back to me, resting her hands on the cool surface.

"I want you to take me like this," she whispered, her voice low and hoarse.

She didn't have to say it twice.

It felt like all the anger, all the pressure and frustration from the day, found its release in that moment. It was intense, passionate, rough. Every movement, every touch was a need to let go of a hellishly difficult day.

I heard her ragged breaths, felt her fingers clenching the edge of the table, and then curling over mine. She was with me. Completely. Fully.

When she finally went limp in my arms, I wrapped her close. She rested her head on my shoulder, her breathing slowly calming.

For a moment, we just stood there, wrapped in the warmth of it all.

"Feeling better?" I asked quietly, kissing her temple.

She let out a soft laugh.

"Yeah... And you?"

I sighed, running my hand along her back.

"Always, when you're with me."

She turned, looking into my eyes.

"Tomorrow I'll win the race. Will that make you happy?"

I smiled, brushing her lips with mine.

"Happiest man in the world."

And I knew—if anyone could do it, it was her.

***

Miami was hers.

From the moment the day began, I could feel no one would stop her. I saw it in her eyes, in the way she stood on the grid, head slightly tilted, analyzing everything around her. She was focused—like a predator just before the strike.

Her start was perfect. By the first corner, she was already in second. And on lap seven, after a brilliant maneuver in the third sector, she took the lead. From there, she controlled the race like a champion—like a true dominator.

When she crossed the finish line, fist raised in triumph, and I heard her laughter through the radio, that familiar wave of pride and admiration hit me. She was incredible.

The team erupted in joy. Mechanics, engineers, strategists—everyone threw their arms around each other, celebrating her victory. She flew into the pit lane, jumped out of the car, and was immediately swallowed by the crowd.

When I finally managed to push through, before I could say a word, she leapt onto me, wrapping her legs around my waist, laughing joyfully.

"I won it for you, my old Austrian," she whispered into my ear, and I laughed, holding her tight.

I didn't know then that it would be the last time I'd get to hold her like that after a victory. The last time I'd see her celebration on the podium, hear the sound of the Polish and German anthems play just for her.

I didn't know.

Monaco, a few days later

After Miami, we returned to Monaco. A few quiet days before we left for Imola.

I cherished those moments between races. They were ours.

In our penthouse in Monaco, Miriell walked around the living room in my shirt, a cup of coffee in hand. Niki had stopped by for dinner and, as always, teased her that she should work less and enjoy life more. I sat out on the terrace, watching her.

She still had that spark. She was the same girl who had entered my world years ago—full of fire, passion, and fierce determination. But she was also the woman who had become my everything.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, sitting down next to me.

"You," I answered honestly.

She smiled softly and placed her hand on my knee.

"Well, that's a good thought."

I kissed her forehead, not knowing that everything was about to change. That the upcoming race in Imola would be the turning point—after which nothing would ever be the same...

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

NEXT -> 46. The Last Moments

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

"I put my armor on, show you how strong I am."

Read the story here:

AO3 Unstoppable Series

Wattpad: Part1 I Part 2 I Part 3 | Part 4

🇵🇱 Dla Polskich czytelników [for Polish readers] [PL]:

Seria Niepowstrzymana AO3

Wattpad PL: Part1 I Part 2 I Part 3 | Part 4

[ns-games]

CrowdStrike'd and BitLocker'd

With yesterday's CrowdStrike outage. I'm sure a number of you are probably wondering "what does BitLocker have to do with any of this?" Well, it all has to do with an added layer of security many organizations use to keep data from being stolen if a computers ends up in the hands of an "unauthorized user."

To start, let me briefly explain what the CrowdStrike driver issue did and what the fix for it is.

After the update was automatically installed to computers running the CrowdStrike Falcon Sensor, a faulty driver file caused the Windows kernel on those computers to crash and display a Blue Screen of Death. How Windows typically handles a crash like this is to create a crash log file, then perform a reboot. Since this driver would launch shortly after Windows finished booting, it would cause the operating system to crash and reboot again. When two crashes have occurred in sequence, Windows will automatically boot into Recovery Mode. Hence why we say several pictures of the Recovery Mode screen across social media yesterday.

Unfortunately, this update was automatically pushed out to around 8.5 million computers across several organizations, causing widespread chaos within the matter of a few hours. And the fix for this issue had to be performed by physically accessing each computer, which required those of us working in I.T. to have to run around several facilities, locate each affected computer, and apply the fix one by one.

The short and simple of the fix is either one of two options. You can either use the Recovery Mode that Windows was already booted into to navigate to Start-Up Setting, and launch Safe Mode. Once Windows boots into Safe Mode, the technician can navigate to C:\Windows\System32\Drivers\CrowdStrike, and delete the file C00000291-*.sys. After that the computer can be rebooted as normal, and the crashing will stop.

Or the technician can open System Restore from Recovery Mode. And, assuming there is a recovery point, restore the computer back to a good known working state.

Now, this may all seem simple enough. So why were so many organizations having trouble running this fix? That all has to do with BitLocker. As an added security measure, many organizations use BitLocker on their computers to perform a full hard disk encryption. This is done so that if a computer ends up being lost or stolen, and ends up in the hands of an "unauthorized user" they will not be able to access any of the data stored on the computer without a password to log into the computer, or the computer's BitLocker recovery key.

This presented a problem when trying to restore all of these affected computers, because when either trying to launch Safe Mode or System Restore, the user would be prompted for the BitLocker recovery key.

In my organization's case, we found we could save time by providing our end user the steps to perform one of the two fixes on their own to save time. But the problem we still continue to run into is the need for these BitLocker recovery keys. In my case, I've been fielding several calls where I've had end users walking from one computer to another while I provide them with the key as they walk through reverting back to a previous restore point.

Again, a pretty long story, but hopefully that can provide some context as to what's been happening over the past 48 hours.

[sevasey51]

After Y/N coded and was discharged days later .besides when they came home discharge day what would the days after look like? Bed rest? Constant vitals? Vital data logs?

After the Code

Summary: Days after her code and emergency hospitalization, Y/N is finally home. But home doesn’t mean the danger has passed. With strict post-discharge protocols, vitals to track, and her body still recovering from the trauma, she’s on total bed rest. Connor—trauma surgeon, husband, and deeply shaken caregiver—builds a quiet routine of healing around her. It’s not about overreacting. It’s about never letting her fall that far again.

The first day home was quiet.

Too quiet, really.

Y/N lay tucked under the softest blanket Connor could find, her port dressed neatly, fluids running slow through the line he’d already primed. The house smelled like ginger tea and eucalyptus, and every light had been dimmed to a soft gold glow. Charlie lay curled at her feet, rarely looking away.

Connor didn’t sit down much that day. He moved between the kitchen, their bedroom, and the data log, checking vitals every hour like clockwork.

Her heart rate still ran too high at times. Her blood pressure wasn’t stable yet.

But she was here. She was breathing. And that was enough—for now.

Day Two

Bed rest wasn’t a suggestion. It was non-negotiable.

“Not even to grab a book,” Connor said gently when she tried to move from the couch. “I’ve got it. Just ask.”

He kept her favorite paperbacks stacked on the side table, infusion kits in a sealed box underneath, and the vitals monitor set up where he could see it from the kitchen.

She hated how weak she felt. How the crash still echoed in her bones. But every time her voice faltered or her vision blurred, he was there—kneeling beside her, hand on her cheek, soothing with quiet words.

He didn’t say it aloud, but she knew: the fear hadn’t left him yet.

Day Three

Hannah stopped by. Ava called in between surgeries.

“You’re doing everything right,” Hannah assured Connor while reviewing the log he kept obsessively updated.

“Still,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “her rate’s not where I want it.”

“Connor, she coded four days ago. She’s not going to bounce back like a post-op recovery case. You know that.”

“I know.” His voice cracked. “But it almost wasn’t enough. I was right there, and it still—wasn’t enough.”

Hannah rested a hand on his shoulder. “You being there is why she’s here now.”

Later, Y/N caught him crying in the kitchen—just for a second.

She didn’t say anything. Just curled her fingers into his and let the silence speak for both of them.

Day Four

She asked for tea that morning, voice still hoarse but steadier.

Connor’s hands shook slightly as he brought it to her, as though the request itself was fragile and precious.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

“You scared me.”

“I know,” she said. “I scared me too.”

He kissed her temple. “You’re still not moving off this couch.”

“Wasn’t planning on it. Charlie growls if I so much as shift.”

The dog gave a quiet woof of agreement.

Day Five

The alerts stopped coming.

Her vitals—logged carefully every hour—began trending toward stable. Still fragile, still slower than they liked, but steady.

Connor lowered the fluid rate just slightly. Allowed her to sit up for lunch. Let her pick the movie that night.

But he still checked her pulse the moment her eyes fluttered mid-afternoon.

He still whispered, “Stay with me,” even when she was just dozing.

Because fear doesn’t fade fast. And recovery isn’t linear.

But they were doing it—together.

Day Six

She woke up before him.

It was the first morning her head didn’t pound, her chest didn’t flutter with adrenaline before she even moved.

Connor stirred when he didn’t feel her weight beside him. He bolted upright—

Only to find her sitting in the armchair near the window, Charlie at her feet, holding a warm mug with both hands.

“Hey,” she said softly. “I’m okay.”

He blinked, throat tight. “Yeah?”

She smiled gently. “Yeah.”

Because healing wasn’t just about stabilizing her vitals.

It was about proving—to both of them—that she was still here. Still fighting. Still herself.

And Connor would track every heartbeat if that’s what it took to never lose her again.

[coimbrabertone]

Injuries, Job Security, and How MotoGP and Indycar Differ...Or Don't.

In the last two years, two racers I support have been seriously injured. One was Enea Bastianini, rider of the #23 Ducati in MotoGP, and the other was David Malukas, who never actually got to drive the #6 NTT Data Arrow McLaren-Chevrolet Indycar.

So, just to go over what happened to them: Enea Bastianini was injured in the opening sprint race of the 2023 MotoGP season, the Portuguese GP at Portimao. Luca Marini went up his inside into turn five (Torre VIP), lost it, and his bike slid into Enea's bike. Enea broke his collarbone in this crash, wound up missing the opening five races, came back, injured himself again at Catalunya, and missed another three races.

Enea would return for the Indonesian Grand Prix and would then win the Malaysian Grand Prix towards the end of the season. That win, combined with Jorge Martin on the Pramac Ducati failing to beat Francesco Bagnaia for the championship, secured Enea's seat for 2024.

So, while Enea was enjoying a secure offseason, David Malukas was preparing for his switch from Dale Coyne Racing to a frontrunning team in the form of Arrow McLaren...except, he never actually made his debut for the team.

David Malukas was mountain biking in California, riding an easy trail, when, trying to slow himself, pulled the front brake too hard, went up and over the handlebars, and landed on his hands. He would break his left wrist and it was announced he would miss St. Pete and probably Thermal.

St. Pete and probably Thermal soon became St. Pete and definitely Thermal, missing those two races. Callum Ilott would fill in.

Malukas missed Long Beach next, with Theo Pourchaire in the car now.

Then Theo Pourchaire raced Long Beach as well.

Around this time, various rumors started flying about Malukas getting replaced. This only grew as Nathan Brown reported that Malukas had traveled to Panama in order to receive stem cell shots to speed up his recovery, and only then did he get the pins in his wrist removed.

Then, after Barber - the fourth race of the season, Malukas blacked out his twitter page. I was sat in a discord debating what exactly this meant with some other Indycar fans, with news picking up that he had been dropped. With the story pretty much out there, Arrow McLaren made the announcement early in the morning, David Malukas had been released after failing to meet his contractual obligations.

By now, it's been announced that Ilott will do the Indy 500, and then Theo Pourchaire will fill out the rest of the season in the #6. The Malukas at McLaren story ended before it could even begin.

Meanwhile, in MotoGPland, Enea Bastianini continued with the factory Ducati team. However, with Jorge Martin now building up an annoyingly large championship lead and Marc Marquez on the Ducati stealing all the attention, the whole world seems to think it's between the two of them to get the Ducati factory seat for 2025.

For the record, Enea is tied on points with Marquez, just two behind his teammate, and spent this weekend's race - the French Grand Prix at the Le Mans Bugatti Circuit - starting tenth, getting a penalty, recovering to fourth, setting fastest lap, and finishing just 2.2 seconds off the lead.

Enea is an immense talent, he's the rider I chose to support when I decided to become a MotoGP fan ahead of the 2023 season, and it's so rotten to see his career falling apart because of factors outside of his control.

As for Malukas, he's a young, popular kid and has proven so talented on the ovals in a Dale Coyne Racing car. I was so eager to see what he could do with an Arrow McLaren, particularly at tracks like Iowa, Gateway, and Nashville which seemed like they'd suit him. Now, we're not going to get the chance, and it's unclear where he might land if he were to try and return to Indycar.

So, in theory, MotoGP gives more time to injured racers, but no matter what series you're in, motorsports can be a cutthroat business. Bastianini and Malukas certainly aren't the first racers to lose top rides after an injury, and they certainly won't be the last. It's not exactly an industry known for job security.

If I could manifest a happy resolution to both, I'd have Enea Bastianini go to factory Aprilia to join Maverick VInales, while David Malukas could join Meyer Shank Racing (perhaps with Tom Blomqvist returning to IMSA with the same team) to reinforce their oval program the same way Felix Rosenqvist has revitalized that team on the road and street circuits.

For now though, we wait to see what happens to them.

To end on a happier note, Brad Keselowski won the Darlington Goodyear 400 NASCAR race last night running a throwback scheme in honor of the TOM's Castrol Supra. That is an awesome motorsports word randomizer and the fact that it's real is why NASCAR is really cool in 2024.

One day I'll write a blogpost where talking about current NASCAR is actually the point instead of just spending the final paragraph gushing about last weekend's cool race.

[blanco-n]

Turning Panic Into Action: Astraweb’s Client Centered Process

When Jane Doe first reached out to Astraweb, she was overwhelmed with panic and uncertainty. Her life savings, heavily invested in cryptocurrency, had abruptly disappeared following a severe market crash. What initially felt like an irreversible loss soon transformed into a hopeful journey toward recovery all thanks to Astraweb’s dedicated, client-centered process.

The First Contact: Providing Calm, Reassurance, and Genuine Understanding

The difference began immediately at the first point of contact. Many companies in the digital asset recovery space treat clients as case numbers rather than individuals, but Astraweb prides itself on a profoundly human approach. From the moment Jane connected with their team, she was met with calm professionalism and empathetic understanding. Astraweb’s experts didn’t just collect the basic facts of her situation; they invested time in learning about her unique concerns, fears, and goals.

This personalized attention is critical. Financial loss, especially in the volatile cryptocurrency market, is not just about money it’s deeply tied to emotional well-being and future security. By acknowledging Jane’s distress and validating her fears, Astraweb’s team immediately alleviated much of her initial panic. They reassured her that despite the challenging circumstances, recovery was possible and that Astraweb would support her every step of the way. This empathetic approach planted the seeds of hope and trust that would sustain Jane through the recovery process.

Transparency and Clear Communication: Building Trust Through Every Step

One of the cornerstones of Astraweb’s client-centered methodology is transparency. Jane was kept fully informed from the outset, with the team providing clear, jargon-free explanations of the entire recovery process. Rather than leaving her uncertain or confused, Astraweb made sure she understood each step, from preliminary case assessment to the complex asset tracing and retrieval efforts ahead.

Regular, timely updates ensured that Jane never felt left in the dark. She received progress reports outlining milestones achieved, any obstacles encountered, and the strategies planned moving forward. This ongoing dialogue was more than just information sharing it was a partnership. Jane had the opportunity to ask questions, raise concerns, and engage actively in decision-making. Astraweb’s responsiveness and clarity gave her a sense of control and confidence, which is often lacking when facing financial recovery situations

Strategic Action and Efficient Recovery: Delivering Results with Precision and Care

With a thorough plan in place, Astraweb’s team mobilized swiftly and efficiently. Their approach was methodical and tailored to Jane’s specific case. Leveraging cutting-edge technology and deep expertise in blockchain analysis and digital forensics, they navigated the complexities inherent in cryptocurrency recovery.

What sets Astraweb apart is not only their technical prowess but also their commitment to aligning every action with the client’s best interests. For Jane, this meant careful management of sensitive data and continuous coordination to ensure all efforts supported her recovery goals. The team’s professionalism was evident in their precision and tenacity, persistently pursuing leads and unraveling the often opaque paths that digital assets can take.

Over time, their dedication paid off. Astraweb successfully recovered a significant portion of Jane’s lost funds. This achievement was more than just a financial victory it was a powerful restoration of Jane’s peace of mind and future stability.

Final Steps: Restoring Financial Security and Empowering Confidence

When Jane received the final recovery statement, the relief and gratitude she experienced were profound. Astraweb’s seamless process had not only restored her financial security but also transformed a traumatic event into a story of empowerment. The client-centered approach meant Jane never felt like a passive bystander; instead, she was an informed, engaged partner in reclaiming her assets.

Beyond the monetary recovery, Jane gained something invaluable a renewed sense of control over her financial destiny. Astraweb’s dedication to transparent communication and compassionate case management helped her move past fear and uncertainty. She emerged with greater knowledge of digital asset management and an increased ability to face future financial challenges with confidence and clarity.

Astraweb’s Commitment: More Than Recovery, A Partnership

Jane’s story illustrates the core philosophy that drives Astraweb’s work: every client deserves more than just technical recovery services they deserve empathy, clarity, and partnership. The company understands that behind every lost asset is a person’s hopes, dreams, and security at stake.

For those facing the daunting prospect of lost cryptocurrency or other digital assets, Astraweb’s process offers a path forward. Through empathy-driven service, transparent communication, and technical excellence, they prove that even the most complex and distressing financial setbacks can be addressed with care and effectiveness.

If you or someone you know finds themselves in a similar predicament, Astraweb stands ready to provide expert guidance and dedicated support at every stage of recovery.

Contact: AstraWeb@cyberdude.com

[imageits-blog]

Preventative IT Maintenance: Keeping Your Business Running Smoothly

With technology moving forward so fast, your business can’t operate without it. Computers, servers, cloud systems and software platforms have to be running smoothly to keep your team productive, defend confidential information and make sure customers receive a good experience.

Unfortunately, IT systems don’t manage themselves without attention.

This is why we need preventative IT maintenance. Regular car servicing makes sure your car avoids breakdowns and preventative IT support does the same for your systems. Here at Image IT, we know that companies who focus on IT before issues arise benefit a lot. We’ll now look at what preventative maintenance means and understand why it helps your business run smoothly.

What Does Preventative IT Maintenance Mean?

Taking care of your IT infrastructure ahead of time is called preventative maintenance. With preventative maintenance, you take action to make sure your systems are in good shape all the time, so you don’t have to rush to solve emergencies.

Such tasks refer to:

Tracking how the system is running

Putting security patches and new versions of the software into use

Regularly using antivirus and malware software

Testing the use of backup options

Updating both your device’s drivers and firmware

Checking the configurations for firewalls and networks

Exchanging ageing equipment to prevent any breakdowns

At Image IT, we set up specialized maintenance services that guarantee your technology remains in top condition and reduces the chance of risks and downtime.

Why Taking Care of Problems in Advance Is Crucial for Companies in Ireland

1. Minimize any time when your business is not working effectively.

Problems with your IT systems such as servers failing, networks breaking or bugs in software, may bring your work to a halt and cost you in both time and money. Doing preventative maintenance lets you catch and manage issues early and this means your business avoids the stress of dealing with major problems.

If a server begins to overheat, it’s possible to handle the issue before it crashes, so you won’t have to deal with expensive downtime and loss of data.

2. Prevent or Stop Cyber Attacks

More and more, businesses in Ireland are facing cyberattacks, most often small and medium-sized companies. Many attackers use old software, unpatched versions and networks that have not been properly set up.

Ongoing upkeep of security tools such as firewalls, antivirus software and system updates, makes it much less likely for your system to become a victim of ransomware, phishing or a data breach.

3. Increase the Lifespan of IT Assets

Just as changing the oil in your car lengthens its engine’s lifespan, looking after your IT equipment in the same way will help it work longer. Regularly taking care of computers stops them from wearing out and prevents too many replacements.

4. Raise the effectiveness of your staff.

This kind of slow work is frustrating and influences how your team feels about their work. If technology runs smoothly, your team won’t have to worry about systems or spend time finding IT solutions.

5. With time, the cost of IT will decrease.

Though it might feel like a pricey addition, upfront maintenance helps save money and prevents serious IT problems. One data breach, meeting replacement or lasting period of downtime can often be more expensive than all your ISP’s services put together.

Important Parts of a Well-Made IT Maintenance Plan

We create preventative maintenance strategies for your business that fit its individual requirements at Image IT. The method we use is:

We watch your systems around the clock.

We watch over your systems around the clock, spotting problems early and fixing them so they don’t impact your work.

Timely Updates and Patch Upgrades

We make sure your operating systems, applications and antivirus are always running on the latest versions.

Test the backup and recovery of your data.

We ensure your backups are properly configured and we regularly perform tests to see how fast you can recover data.

You can do a Network Health Check here.

We examine your network for good speed, serious security flaws and technology issues to confirm your system operates safely and properly.

Managing Assets and Deciding on Their Life

We watch over your equipment and make sure you can update your technology before it starts causing issues.

Support from the users and helpdesk

If your team has any IT questions or concerns, our friendly team is there to lend a non-technical helping hand.

Why Is Image IT a Great Solution?

Operating out of North Dublin, Image IT has been supporting company’s in Ireland for about 15 years. Our knowledgable team delivers helpful, consistent and friendly IT assistance to the companies here in New Zealand.

We are dedicated to forming long-term relationships with clients so we can do more than just address issues; we can help avoid them.

You will gain the following benefits when you work with us:

Transparent pricing

A quick response from the team

Customized maintenance services

Expert opinions offered in a personal way

If you have just a few devices or a complex IT structure, our solutions are designed to match your requirements and your budget.

Benefits You Can See in Life: An Example

There were many issues at one of our clients, a small financial services firm in Dublin, involving downtime in the network and software that was past its update. Following their sign up for our preventative maintenance, we set up a monitoring system, cleaned their network and ran scheduled updates.

The result? A 90% drop in IT issues reported by staff, faster systems, and peace of mind for their management team knowing their data and systems were protected.

Your Next Step: Secure Your Business with Preventative IT Support

Don’t wait for a system failure, data breach, or productivity drop to remind you of your IT vulnerabilities. Preventative maintenance is one of the smartest investments you can make in your business.

Let Image IT take the stress out of managing your technology — so you can focus on what you do best.