#depth positioning sensor

[sw5w]

I Will Not Defer

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:28:35

[meownotgood]

steel kisses supernova. / machine herald!viktor x reader

A botched mission results in fixing the Machine Herald's mechanics, brushing your hands to wires, and indulging in the traces once left by emotion.  tags: 18+, reader is gender neutral + fem bodied, reader uses they/them pronouns, wireplay, inappropriate use of hextech, bonding through near death experiences, divine machinery, reader has a prosthetic arm, repairing the machine herald, fluff + angst, praise kink, sexual tension, fingering + clit stim, size difference, protecting you with their own body trope, yearning, good lord you guys need to stop yearning, mix of arcane + league lore, vik's anatomy isn't mentioned. (terms used for reader: cunt, clit, no mentions of chest anatomy, dear, sweetheart, spark, love, adorable) word count: 49.5k note: hey!! please keep in mind, this fic is unfortunately too long for tumblr due to the word count + tumblr's post block limit... so you'll be able to read the first part of the fic here! the full fic is available in its entirety on ao3. apologies for the inconvenience, and happy (late) year of fucking robots... read on ao3

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The deepest fissures in the depths of Zaun are usually, thankfully quiet. Perfect to hide something you'd expect not to be found. 

You breathe deep puffs of simulated air through your gas mask. Your ear presses to the cold steel door, sealing off the entrance to the Chem-Baron vault. There shouldn't be anyone present, not at this time. Enforcers know little of the darkest labyrinths of Zaun. It's too risky to even have guards stationed here. Predictably, you're met with total, resounding silence — save for the echoing beep and ping of Viktor's self-made sonar device. 

Lowering onto your knees, leaving yourself eye-level with the door's intricate set of five locks, you cast one more glance towards him. Viktor — the Machine Herald — completely towers over you, especially from this position. 

It makes the back of your neck prickle on impulse. The two of you hardly resemble partners. Creator and creation, more like. One another's opposite image. A bright purpose for sets of technical, controlled executions. A fragile, too-emotional human, and a composed, powerful machine. 

As though his complex steel form, an expression of the limits of his work and technology, was made to be admired. 

Some people do. They come to him when they need him; just as you once did, ages ago. They worship him like a deity. Perhaps you're starting to see why. 

Viktor hardly resembles the man you remember. And yet, there's a certain thrum to him. Mechanical beats and impulses. Familiar gear and hardware that delightfully push the boundaries of science. Vibrant, intricate, self-built components that demand your curiosity. 

The Machine Herald captivates you, just as strongly as Viktor once did. 

Viktor's mask voids him of expression. His orange, glowing eyes are the only light to illuminate the room. Still, there's urgency to the way he moves, stepping closer. His cape billows in the chamber's low draft, his iron boots clank when they hit the ground. His thumb flicks a thick button on the side of the sonar device. 

The third arm jutting out from his shoulders tremors, before it comes to life. It scans the door with a bright red sensor, then twitches, shuts off. The sonar reader chimes approvingly in response. 

Viktor gives you a nod. His gaze runs hot and intense, enough to burn right through you. 

"The Hextech crystals are here. The device is picking up several readings," He discerns, modulated voice rumbling evenly. "If we are fortunate, we might return all of them." 

You pull your gas mask from your face. It hangs loosely from your neck. The vault's thick, partially-filtered air hits your lungs hard. One deep breath in feels like you've filled your chest with half clouds, half sawdust. 

You're trying your best to focus, examining the locks with your eyes squinted, when a gentle, yet firm hand places onto your shoulder. 

"Do not rush," Viktor instructs. "We have time. This should be handled as quietly and discreetly as possible." 

Artificial heat bleeds from his touch. Sparks of warmth, like black holes and galaxies, expand and implode beneath your skin. There's a sense of loss, when he carefully pulls his hand away. Allowing the cold to seep back in. 

Your jaw clenches. Finally, you turn towards your metal arm. 

The edges are smooth and shiny, recently welded. It's second nature to test the flexing of your fingers, even though you can't feel them; the metal creaks, but holds, gears turning, rigid platings twisting. Intricate patterns, in deep shades of silver and amber, line the frame. Fused together with a powerful ray of heat. A clear sign of his handiwork. 

Recalling Viktor's instructions, you find a small notch on the underside. Press here, then pull this panel open. A thin lockpicking tool emerges from your palm, easily held between your steel-jointed fingers. Fit with its own handy flashlight. 

It helps illuminate your work as you start on the first lock. 

"How long do you think it'll take before they notice?" You're asking. Swearing to yourself, when the lockpick meets some resistance. 

Viktor fiddles with the sonar device. "They will eventually. The crystals are nothing more than a bargaining chip. In all probability, once they attempt to sell them back to Piltover- Well, they will be in for an unpleasant surprise." 

"We're making enemies of top and bottom side, then." 

Viktor answers, "As anticipated." 

It certainly wouldn't be the first time. This is all deathly familiar — working beside the Machine Herald, stealing tech to help those in Zaun. Though, this mission has been easy, in comparison. Perhaps a bit too easy. Your first tango with Zaun's upper echelon should've posed more of a challenge. All the crystals are right here, in an unguarded vault. No strings attached. 

Viktor's boot taps against the ground to an impatient rhythm. So, you aren't the only one on edge. 

You try to make conversation. "Thought about what you're gonna say to Miss Glasc?" 

Rummaging through a Chem-Baron's property is one thing, certainly a dance with danger. Messing with Renata Glasc would be like prancing underneath a guillotine. She's influential, cunning, her connections nearly as bountiful as the coin that lines her pockets — and she's Viktor's benefactor, most pressingly. An important supplier of sheet metal, hardware, and painkillers. 

"Glasc possesses no knowledge of this place. It is beyond her territory. Nevertheless, our alliance is not so easily relinquished, considering the rate of mutual benefit." 

You put on your best faux, overly fancy voice. "We're her most beloved pawns, after all." 

Viktor expels an amused huff in agreement. 

The first lock ticks. When you move on to the second, it pops open around your lockpick in one smooth, simple movement. 

You scoff, clicking your tongue, "As rich as these people are, you'd think they'd have a better security system." 

"Our work here is not yet complete," Viktor replies, firmly and mechanically. He closes the sonar device, and he kneels down to hand it off to you. With your hands full, you're reaching around awkwardly, breathing an annoyed huff as you stuff it back into your pocket. "We still need to wipe the security cameras, and dispose of the thermal detectors." 

"We?" The third lock clicks. "Pretty sure that's just my job." 

"It is." 

You throw him a quick, indignant glance. The fourth lock clicks open harshly, as you hastily jam your lockpick past the threshold. 

"Almost done," You're mumbling, mostly to yourself. 

"Excellent work," Viktor practically purrs, praise reverberating through his voice filter. "The new lockpick functions for you naturally, I see. We will be finished here soon." 

Your spine tingles, like there's a lightning storm underneath your skin. Your heart pounds. It threatens to throw your composure off-kilter. To be praised by the feared, indecipherable Machine Herald is a wonderful, thrilling, head-rushing thing. 

But you've stopped working on the last lock. The end of your lockpick taps the door idly, to no rhythm in particular. 

Viktor notices. 

"I thought I would provide you with some motivation. But here you are. Pouting, as expected." 

A steel palm glides up from the small of your back, leading to your shoulder as he stands upright. 

"First," Viktor explains, "I will obtain the crystals. Then, you will head to the security room, and I will stand guard in the event we are ambushed. We already discussed our plan. Have you forgotten?" 

Your eyes roll. He says it like a taunt — you should try to remember, because he doesn't plan on reminding you twice. Although, in truth, there's little force behind the words. There never is, not when it comes to you. 

"Actually, I remember being promised a reward in my future." You glance up at him, gaze playful, star-like. The lockpick twirls around your metal fingers. "Y'know, for all my hard work. I'm sure you haven't forgotten about that, right?" 

Viktor hardly falters. "Once we return to the lab, we can discuss." 

"Hm." You stare blankly at the last lock. Dramatically squinting your eyes, tapping your index to your chin. "I think my lockpick is broken." 

Viktor grumbles, "You are ridiculous." 

Your shoulders shrug. "Just clarifying our terms." 

It's rhythmic — the way you instantly return to your work, turning away to hide your shit-eating grin. Your partner falls silent, for long enough to let the tension build. Metal creaks and scrapes together when his fingers clench. Either way, you're going to get what you want. You're certain. The push and pull between you always ends in your favor. It has to, because there is one exception to his rule. One weakness, amongst his perfected layers of inhuman machinery. An unacknowledged line connecting you and the Machine Herald. 

If it were anyone else, if Viktor was made of less flesh and more machine, he might've attempted to circumvent this, to remove the aspects he deemed distractions, but you — 

Viktor sighs, hard enough to push steam out from the edges of his mask. 

"When we return, anything you desire from the lab is yours. Or I will add another modification onto your arm, if you prefer." His steel hand returns to your shoulder, this time giving you an authoritative squeeze. "Now, focus. First, the Hextech crystals. Then, the security system must be dismantled. Deciding will come later." 

Anything you want. 

The smirk on your face must make you look stupid, but you're having a difficult time holding it back. Continue to play your cards right, and one of those crystals might be yours. 

"Alright, V." A single turn of your lockpick clicks open the final lock. You rise to your feet, and the lockpicking module folds back into your arm with a simple button press. "I'll get it done, yeah?" 

Viktor approaches the door. You swiftly step aside. 

"Good." 

The vault is small. The metal door opens with a loud, grating creak. A flickering overhead light turns on automatically, revealing walls decorated by various rudimentary weapons, and tables littered with blueprints. Canisters of shimmer are stacked neatly in a corner. Unfinished machinery parts collect in piles on the floor. Resting atop a table in the far-right corner, graciously reflecting the light, you spot your target — a glass case, with a set of Hex Crystals suspended inside. 

You stride in. Viktor grabs his staff, still leant up against the wall, and he follows you into the vault. 

Your hands clasp together and rest behind your head. You glance around, examining the entirety of the room. A large blueprint is pinned to the wall; stolen, most likely, as it's signed with various Piltover clan symbols. It seems to detail a process to make similar crystals artificially. There's no cameras on the ceiling, or in any of the four corners. You lightly kick one of the piled-up automatons with your foot. The springs in its center make a dull popping noise. A clear sign that they're entirely broken. 

"Wish you'd be a little nicer, though," You're humming, musing idly. You kneel down, sifting through the pile of components on the ground. A chipped gear, a loose screw, a broken lever. Why would a Chem-Baron vault be filled with useless, rusty parts? "You said it's a psychological thing, right? When humans are influenced by their emotions. Positive reinforcement, I guess." 

Beep, beep, beep. 

You rise to your feet, and Viktor answers from behind you. Voice dangerously close to your ear. Low and stern enough to make you tense. "Don't move." 

Unfortunately, you're not listening. You spin around to face him, arms crossed in front of you. Your fingertips toy with a loose wire on the panelling of your forearm. Viktor is twice as imposing when he's close; he towers over you, with your head barely coming up to his metal chest. Glowing eyes meet yours, and although it's usually impossible to determine what he's thinking, you can instantly tell something is wrong. 

He glances to either side of the room. His fingers drum against his staff quickly, almost nervously. 

Both arms fall loose at your sides. "I'm teasing, Viktor-" 

"Do not speak," Viktor snaps, his tone controlled. He grabs your shoulder, hard enough to nearly make your weak legs stumble. "And don't move." 

Beep, beep, beep. 

Oh. Prevailing over the silence is an unmistakable noise, getting louder, getting faster — 

Fuck. You're freezing up, as still as a fancy Piltovan statue. Your hands start to shake, and now you're chipping, threatening to crumble. Sweat beads at your forehead and the back of your neck, trickling down like sharp ice shards. You're both screwed. 

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep. 

Valves fall open; a loud hissing sound cuts through the air like a blade, as the room quickly fills with billows of smoke and sharp gasoline. Burning your eyes, choking your lungs. 

Viktor's staff hits the ground with a clatter. He grabs you, pulls you into his chest before the fear in your mind has caught up with your body. Your breath catches, your vision blurs, your ears ring — and all at once, the vault crumbles into destruction, blown to bits in the wake of a deafeningly loud explosion. 

— 

"Hold still. Is there one single instruction that is not immediately lost on you?" 

"I'm trying, Vik. Geez." 

Viktor presses an old cloth to a long scrape on your forehead, fabric ripped and dirty with oil stains. The disinfectant stings your skin lightly. You try your best not to flinch away. Your stool creaks when you awkwardly shuffle back and forth, digging your nails into your leg, and Viktor's scrapes the concrete ground when he shifts closer. A cold metal hand tilts up your chin, holds you firmly in place. He brushes the rag over your jaw, next. Meticulous, as he cleans the faint scrapes left by glass fragments, and so, so gentle. Your heart twists inside your chest, grinds and sings like a music box wound up too quickly. 

You force your breathing to steady. Your eyes stare into where his would be. Soft and golden, honey-drenched suns. The light of his pupils burns when you look at them too long. The artificial glow behind his mask carries amber-hued traces of what you remember, but he's utterly unreadable. Would he be looking at you with annoyance? Disdain? Guilt? 

Another corner of the rag is brought to your neck, and you roll your sore shoulders back. Trying to find a distraction, your gaze trails to the table behind him. 

Stray parts are scattered about. There's scalpels, messy rolls of bandages. Tools are sorted into piles: various wrenches, different sizes of pliers. In tonight's chaos, a few screwdrivers have rolled onto the ground already. 

And at the edge of the table rests a small glass case. The lid cracked, the surface charred. Each Hex Crystal remains suspended inside. Completely, tauntingly unharmed. 

Emberflit Alley is quiet and secluded, especially once night has fallen. Viktor's lab hums to its own familiar, comforting rhythm. It allows you to finally breathe again. 

Experiments you've been working on together litter every flat surface. Breathing devices, prosthetic outlines. A prototype hand takes up its own corner of his desk, parts separated neatly. There's a makeshift bed by the door, surrounded with discarded cans, left by the stray cat you both have been feeding. A couch rests in the room's corner, cracked leather showing its age. Stacks of your clothing pile up on the arm, neatly folded. You're sure you'd last left them in a heap on the floor. 

The adjacent end table houses an ashtray, littered with your smokes. Coffee stains burned into the wood form halos around your chrome lighter. 

(Viktor made it ages ago, to replace the ones you kept losing. It never leaves your pocket. Your thumb likes to trace over the jagged, uneven edges, welded from scrap material. You flick the sparking gear until there's a flame. Molten and warm, reminiscent of his heat — over and over again.) 

Finally, Viktor leans back, satisfied. He turns in his stool, tossing the rag onto the table. He sifts through his tools for a moment, metal clanking together, before he turns back to you, wrench in hand. 

"Your arm." Viktor instructs simply, holding out his gloved hand; and you're quick to extend it for him, allowing him to grasp and examine the broken gaps between your forearm's metal platings. 

The memory of the evening's events flicker dimly through your mind. You both were lucky, all things considered. 

You fucked up, must've tripped something. The vault shook, a bomb went off, and everything was a blur from there. A mix of hazy sensations. Ears ringing. Head throbbing. Rubble pinning you into place. Thick fumes choking you, burning in your chest, making your eyes water. Suffocating the cramped vault and mixing with the heavy air of the fissures. Pressure assigns itself a stronger definition. Its force pushes between your ribs, as though it hopes to split them open. 

Viktor's greys and oranges took on a watercolor swirl in your teary vision. He pressed your gas mask to your face until you were breathing again. He helped you to your feet, carried you when you were starting to fade in and out — 

Right. Viktor shielded you. He purposefully pressed you beneath him with seconds to spare, to ensure most of the rubble would damage him, instead. 

His chassis was mostly unscathed; the advantages of steel, you suppose. 

Your arm is busted, undoing all of Viktor's recent enhancements. Your lungs still ache. Your body hurts. The sort of hurt that crests like a fully-encompassing wave, the form of hurt you can't name. Not a this is sore here, or a this is injured there. 

It hardly matters, in the grand scheme of things. 

If the explosion damaged the canisters and blew through the shimmer, if it reached the crystals and sparked a chain reaction, the decimation would have been unrecognizable, you're sure. 

A dangerous chill laces up your spine. It taps you on the shoulder, reminds you of the risks. Viktor adjusts the crooked lockpick-panel on your palm. He holds your hand in place when your fingers start to twitch. 

You're alright, though. Alive. The realization perplexes you. It makes your chest ache, the memory a tender blade, pressing deep. 

Viktor saved you. And for the faint, blurry moments in between, it felt warm, to be held in his arms. It felt safe. 

This feels safe, familiar — Viktor skillfully glides his gloved hand down your forearm, examining where the frame has buckled in on itself. Metal components have been warped by heat. The outer armor is digging into the steel skeleton, blocking several axles and hinges. 

He reaches behind him, exchanging his wrench for pliers. You're watching him think as his fingertip taps your arm rhythmically. You can practically hear the vibrations of his memorized voice, echoing through your mind. The skeleton is unaffected, but the outer shell has been decimated. Most functions are rendered inoperable. Additional augments can be repaired in time. For now, returning function to the joints is the primary objective. 

It is a simple adjustment. You are in good hands. As you always are. 

Viktor has no problem with wordlessness. But matters between the two of you rarely get this silent. 

He holds your arm in a tight, unmoving grip. Pliers in hand, he works on bending each plating back into place. 

It reminds you of the past, pleasant and persistent. Viktor's been working to improve your prosthetic since you met. When the line between you sealed into a knot. When tension brought you together, two ships on stormy seas, and you decided to turn your sails and bond over the shared struggles you had to overcome — your arm, Viktor's leg. Piltover was less of a grave, and more of a home, then. 

Weakness, experimentation, and danger followed Viktor as a second shadow. Ultimately, it only made sense to rush after him. No matter where he returned to, no matter what he was slated to become. 

Without Viktor, you might find yourself flexing your handmade fingers, staring at the piece of him you're doomed to carry with you. A reminder of the half to your whole. Like the connection between gears. Like what the hammer is to the nail. Bright light to a systematic solar panel, crisp air to weak lungs. A hacksaw to fragile flesh. Inseparable. 

Viktor finishes adjusting the armor on that very same arm, and he begins to reach for your shoulder. His glove brushes your skin. Gentle, but you swiftly realize it's meant to be a distraction, reassurance. Crooked screws dig into the separation between your shoulder and your arm; Viktor tightens them carefully, and you wince, tensing up. 

Low and soft, Viktor's words crunch through his partially-damaged voice filter. "Tell me if I am hurting you." 

"No, no," You're answering, shaking your head. "I'm fine. Just a little sore." 

You shut your eyes. Viktor tightens the last screw. Fuzzy stars blanket your eyelids once they flutter open. 

His Hexclaw reaches behind him, handing him another tool. Ever-so careful, he examines a dainty set of wires leading through your forearm. He pushes them aside, attempting to reach a line of broken pistons set into your wrist. 

Metal clinks against metal. The lab hums quietly, jars bubbling, vents thrumming. 

"I cannot believe you waltzed right in." 

Oh. Viktor shatters the silence — and your placidity, along with it. 

"We're gonna start with this now?" You're huffing; the steel tip of your boot taps the floor anxiously. 

Viktor stops. He tips his head up, glowing eyes with rings of circular, mechanical pupils glancing at you. Expectant, intimidating. 

Your entire body weakens when you sigh, jostling your arm, making him hold you tighter to keep you still. The firm grip he has on your forearm's frame screams annoyed. 

"How the hell was I supposed to know they had the place tripped?" You argue, "And weren't you supposed to detect it? With that device, like you did with the cameras?" 

"Thermal cameras give off a unique heat signature, which the device was tailored to analyze," Viktor explains evenly. The end of his multi-tool extends to reveal small tweezers, which he uses to delicately remove specs of rubble from the joints in your wrist. "The Hextech crystals, as well. The energy they radiate is relatively equivalent. Failing to detect the tripwire indicates a clear error of design. It will be adjusted for our next mission. Now, your wrist. Test how it functions." 

Viktor sits back, and you twist your wrist in either direction. The joints swivel smoothly, and the modified pistons hold firm when you clench your hand. 

"Perfect. This will suffice," He concludes, with the familiar air of pride he always regards for his creations. Grasping your forearm once more, he returns to working on its inner mechanisms. 

"We needed those crystals, Vik," You're continuing. Fiery gaze fixated on him, even though he's focused on his work. "Our current procedures aren't cutting it anymore, and you know that better than anyone. Hextech has the potential to save so many people. I'm not like you. I can't just… sit around and calculate every possible outcome before I make a move. We can never make progress without taking-" 

"Risks only serve as obstacles when they threaten permanent consequences. Progress is not linear. It comes to those who are patient enough to know when they should further it." 

Viktor compares a few different sized gears in his palm, eventually choosing the smallest one. It fits perfectly into the juncture of mechanics just below your wrist. 

He glances up at you once. Then, he calmly returns to adjusting your arm. "Impulsivity will get us nowhere." 

You groan, tossing your head back. 

"They tripped a vault. With explosives." You're gazing at the ceiling, focused on the large, Machine Herald shaped shadow Viktor casts as he works. "Why even store the crystals there if you're just going to blow them up the moment someone nabs them? It doesn't make sense." 

"This was not about the crystals. They are sending a message. The Chem-Barons will not hesitate to dispose of us, if we continue to cross them." 

The pieces click into place, in hindsight. Voices flit through your memory. Takeda's shimmer-drunk drawl as he leans back in his leather seat and counts his coin. Make sure you tell your tin-can he still owes me. Veraza's cold tone as she crushes a purple petal between her fingers, the thick air of her greenhouse planting roots inside your lungs. Careful, now. The other Chem-Barons believe you are pulling at your leash much too tightly. Do not let them break your neck. 

Ah, the crystals were bait. An expensive trade-off. And the vault simply housed the things they were trying to get rid of. Unauthorized weapons. Stolen shimmer. You, and the Machine Herald. 

Physical pieces slot where they're supposed to, as well, when Viktor finishes adjusting the chain of gears that line your steel skeleton. This was the easy part. He rolls his shoulders back in frustration, as he attempts to adjust some warped, particularly stubborn strips of framework. 

"But this discussion is about you," Viktor grits, as though the words are spoken between bared canines. "What in the world could you have possibly been thinking? Or were you failing to think at all?" 

Your eyes roll. "You know what? I don't even want to get into it." 

"We are not getting into anything. It is a simple conversation," Viktor swears under his breath. He pulls and pulls at the thin cylinder but the broken metal won't give. "And I believe you should contribute." 

"I think it's best if we don't talk about it. We're both stressed, and just-" 

"I disagree." 

"I'm fucking tired, Vik," You're huffing, free arm rubbing the sore nape of your neck in emphasis. "My whole body hurts. Sorry if I'm not thrilled to sit here and listen to you scold me, because somehow, this is all my fault." 

Viktor rebuttals, "You are missing the point." 

"Oh, I think I understand it perfectly." 

"I am merely asking you to consider your actions." Viktor pulls at the last broken strip hard. It snaps, and he tosses it onto the table behind him with an equal display of impatience. "From now on, precautions must be put into place. Especially in situations involving the Chem-Barons. And you must promise me, if we find ourselves in a comparable situation, for once, you will listen." 

"Fine." 

You're yanking your arm away the moment he finishes closing the platings. You examine it quickly, front and back, flexing your fingers. Some sections are still chipped, but it'll do. Clear, delicate care has been put into the intricate assembly of each division, each joint, to ensure movement is as comfortable and responsive as possible. Viktor's work is always articulate, but doubly so, when it comes to you. 

His adjustments have already taken considerable weight off your shoulder. Surges of warmth kindle faint flames in your chest — but you're sighing, arms crossing, brows pinching. 

"Next time, I'll stay here. Keep the place warm, since it's all I'm good at." 

"I did not-" Viktor weakens in the wake of a sigh, as if the air is shuddering through his makeshift lungs. "I apologize, I should not have made it seem as if I was blaming you-" 

"No," You interrupt. Teeth gritted. "I'm tired of feeling like all I do is get in your way." 

You know you're being unreasonable, but you hardly care. The words simply tumble out, like they've been toppled from the knots in your mind. You glance down. Your fingertips fiddle with a line of screws embedded into your forearm. 

Whatever rebuttal Viktor was planning dies as quickly as a blossom in a snowstorm. He drops forwards; his fingers lace, he rests his forehead against them. Tension buds in his body like you've never seen before. Finally, he runs a hand through his hair, and he sits up. 

His voice fizzles with heavy, husky, insuppressible static. 

"I could have lost you. That is what you do not understand." 

Your spine tingles. As though it's laced in gold. You can feel the pull of guilt and tenderness — like gravity, in your heart, in your chest, in your flesh. The words must flicker differently through a mostly mechanical system, if they mean anything to him at all. 

You stand slowly, kicking your stool away half-heartedly. 

He's grabbing your wrist before you can get far. Your real wrist. He holds you there, hesitant. (The changing of seasons rarely reaches the depths of Zaun; you're gradually beginning to forget what they're like.) But Gods, Viktor's steel touch feels the same as the heat of summer, artificial warmth resembling basking in sun rays, dipping your wrist into candle wax. And yet, at the same time, it reminds you of the frigid chill of winter. Cool metal reminiscent of the sharpness of ice. 

"Lay down," Viktor instructs, as though he plans to give you little choice in the matter. "It is late. You should rest." 

Perhaps you truly do have a problem with listening. 

Because even as Viktor is speaking, your gaze is travelling across him, eyes narrowing as they catch downwards. Your partner hates asking for assistance, but you're used to reciprocity — to completing something for him, in exchange for what he does for you. To further the cycle of fixing and repairing. Little losses and small victories, strung between the fate of you, and the Machine Herald. 

Viktor's hand slips from your wrist. He follows your line of sight, and there's a look in your gaze he's long since come to recognize. Pure persistence. 

Your palm reaches out to him, makes a grabbing motion. "Screwdriver." 

Viktor drums his steel fingers against his iron thigh, making metal rhythmically clink against metal. Your stubborn nature is a stake, driving into him intimately. Like it never really left. 

Leaning his elbow on the desk, he reaches behind him, to hand you the particular screwdriver he knows you'll need. Flat-tipped, handle weighty. A light smile paints satisfaction across your expression. He continues to keep his gaze on you as you're sliding down — your frame appears small, when compared to his, simply because you're only human; this state amplifies the difference between your mortal form, and his large, metal chassis. Eventually, you're settling on your knees in front of him. 

The column of his leg is busted. It's functional, sure, but a few of the plates were crushed under rubble, the brace-like mechanism has springs loose and cogs twisted. Everything might crack, under the strain of continued usage. 

For now, you can fix the platings. You've done it before. On his arms, a few times. On his back, once. You'll reinforce the gears and tighten the framework back into place, to keep it stable, until he has the time to make a full replacement. 

You decide to start with his ankle, and work your way up. You're lifting his heavy leg, exhaling a weary breath as you place it close to your lap. The end of your screwdriver finds the seam on the back of his calf, screws crooked and stripped. Your jaw grits. You forcibly push the steel back into place, tightening each screw as far as it'll go. 

(And you're aware this is stupidly reminiscent of a lifetime before, although Viktor is twice as metal, and half as human. Emotions and sentiment are among the many things he swore he discarded.) Yet, he's leaning back. Relaxing, almost. Giving in to you, to this. 

Unable to sit still for long, Viktor twists. He finds the two broken halves of his staff, resting them in his lap, pressing them together. The Hexclaw twitches, before its laser hums. He begins to expertly weld both halves together. 

After a while, you're breaking the silence. "Vik?" 

Viktor doesn't look up. He examines the end of his staff, fiddles with a few wires and jacks. It's still out of power, predictably. 

"Yes?" 

"Back then, when the bomb went off." Your fingers trail his knee, admiring the smooth, solid structure. "You tried to protect me. Why?" 

"I thought you did not want to talk about this." 

You breathe a slight tch. "Just answer me." 

You're glancing up at him, but Viktor is pointedly not looking at you. His Hexclaw curls behind him to set his staff on the table, and to grab another part. In tandem, he's reaching for his throat, pulling its front panel open. 

He tilts his head back. Thumbs through the wires and exposed circuitry to yank a small part free, so hastily it seems like it'd hurt. He shoves the new voice box inside, until it clicks into place. Viktor rolls his neck once the panel is shut. 

"The explosion was inclined to originate from the entrance, perhaps aiming to trap us inside," He explains, voice strikingly clear, this time. "As soon as it convened on the shimmer or the crystals, the entire room would be set ablaze. Fortunately, it did not. It was a poor plan. But, regardless of their failures, you are… not suited to withstand such conditions. The only option was to use my construction as a shield." 

Your chest splits with an arrow-shot ache, because you know he's fucking right. If Viktor wasn't there, or if the fire had spread just a little more; if you weren't standing so close to him, or if your gas mask had broken, or if anything had changed — 

You swallow hard enough to make your eardrums prickle, and you busy yourself with fixing the drilled-in brace, just above his knee. 

"I guess that makes sense." 

"And our mission was a success," Viktor reasons. "Was it not?" 

"We got the crystals. But-" Your grip tightens on the screwdriver's handle. You breathe a long sigh, heavy enough to make your lungs hurt. "I'm sorry. For snapping at you, for acting like an idiot, for everything. I should've known it was a setup. The stupid vault was filled with junk. And I was standing so close to those shimmer canisters, I could've-" 

Your head shakes; your breath does, too. "Nevermind." 

Viktor's gloved hand grasps his gauntlet, where the power source feeds energy into his palm. You swear you catch his fingers trembling just slightly, as he deftly pulls the panelwork apart. 

"My body will not take long to fix," He replies. Metal fingers clenching individually, while he prods deep into his own arm. "If that is your concern." 

Your palm glides up his thigh slowly, exploring every dip and notch in the shape. Firm steel curves under your fingers. Beckoningly smooth. "I know. I want to make this up to you, is all." 

A steel index finger drifts underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards, in his direction. 

It's momentary. Viktor takes his hand away to grasp his gauntlet again, snapping the panel on his wrist shut. The molten light on the back of his hand glows brightly, indicating a newfound charge of energy. 

"I need you to listen carefully." 

"Mmm," You hum. You're warm, pliable, electricity traveling from the base of your neck to the end of your spine, like gliding gentle touches over tender bruises — "I'm listening." 

"This was a minor setback, nothing more," Viktor continues. "Betrayal from the Chem-Barons was anticipated. Your safety is my only concern. On that subject, I believe I have made myself clear. There is no need to hold yourself responsible. You do not owe me anything." 

Right. Just your life. 

You take your time on the last screw in his upper leg. Rising to your feet, you toss the screwdriver onto the desk, causing it to roll all the way to the edge. You give him a swift once over. 

The back of your hand taps against his chest. "Something's broken in here. The platings are all misaligned." 

"Potentially." 

Viktor grasps your hand. Squeezing, first, before he pushes it away. Gods, you know it's artificial and intentionally practiced — Does a machine's best attempt at replication still count as intimacy? — but it makes your head spin, all the same. 

"I will handle it," He concludes, assured. Words thick and accented as they rumble through his filter. 

Your head shakes. "No, it's- this isn't some kind of obligation. I want to fix this for you." 

"Spark, you have done enough for me. You may rest, now." 

The next breath you draw in aches to say his name. 

So, you let it. 

"Viktor," You murmur, although a hard, determined edge is returning to your voice, one that doesn't intend to take no for an answer, "Let me help you." 

You can feel the vibrating thrum of machinery beneath your palm, with your hand pressed flat to his chest. You half-expect another argument to ensue. You're preparing for it, as you worry an impression into your bottom lip. Instead, Viktor shifts, sitting up fully. 

He reaches down. Thumbs pressing a set of latching mechanisms, one on each of his sides. The armor around his entire midsection begins to hiss approvingly, releasing small puffs of pressurized steam. 

"This," He starts, although he's already popping open the structure of his central system, "Would prove much more simple if I chose to complete it myself. But I will teach you. If you are willing." 

Your smile shows your canines. "Of course." 

The moment Viktor has his platings fully opened for you, armor swiveled to the side like doors on hinges, a thick blanket of smoke pours out, filling your lungs. You cough, batting it away. The sound of his machinery is so much louder: ticking gears, moving pistons, the hum of various pumps. Your eyes squint, and you place your hands on your knees, bending down to peer inside. 

It reminds you of the automatons you've worked on together. The blueprints he followed for his own structure must have been similar, at least. But this won't be like operating on a person, nor an automaton. The little fixings you've done for the people of Zaun, fusing organic with inorganic, pale in comparison to the complicated system before you. Viktor's system. 

Viktor's fingertips dance over the inner edges of his armor, pressing a few more latches into place. Locking functions, you're guessing. To keep the platings open. 

"At odds with your expectations?" He questions, noticing your hesitation. 

"Well, I suppose," You're answering, throat dry. "This wasn't what I was expecting, no." 

"Ah. I will take it from here, then." 

"No, just… give me a minute. Need to get my bearings." 

A lull takes over. Viktor leans back slowly, he rests his elbows on the desk behind him; hands clenching, as he resists the reflexive tick to busy them. You allow yourself to kneel, still propped up enough to put your gaze eye-level with his mechanics. 

It's… a lot. 

You couldn't even begin to describe every individual intricacy. Different mechanisms all work in tandem, pushing out steam, clicking gears into place, powering various motors; and there's hundreds of wires, leading every which way like veins. They connect through a diverse array of parts, but they all inevitably curl into one central space — like the crest of a wave, like a Fibonacci spiral, an unintentional golden ratio. Bridging into a singular unit, runes carved on its edges. A small crystal suspended within. 

You're reminded of Viktor's words from years prior, when his newfound form first perplexed you. When you steeled yourself and simply asked, because your gaze kept catching on the jarred organs surrounding his workspace, despite his declarations that he'd relinquished all of himself. Because you're watching him dig a scalpel into his forearm, skin dead and pallid like snow, obsidian-hued blood trickling into the gap between sizzling, split circuitry. 

It was practical, this way. To replace imperfect organs with a consistent, mechanical system. 

Actually, the configuration before you is anything but. 

The mechanics show signs of Viktor's own handiwork. Welded edges, carefully constructed synapses. Bundles of wires have been grouped together messily. Displaying a clear motive: to focus on making a functional system, not a pristine one. 

The central unit, housing the crystal, is surrounded by two large pipelines, interconnected by steel conduits. Their purpose is lost on you, but one is smaller, the pipe closest to the unit. Like the way one lung is smaller to give room for the heart. 

Some of the parts are recognizable, albeit a bit rudimentary; they're prototypes you remember improving upon ages ago. Viktor must have deemed them still functional. Or perhaps, he hasn't had the time to replace them. It humanizes him, in a strange, opposite way. Viktor is so busy with the rest of his endeavors — evolving his plans for the Undercity, assisting others, including you — he hasn't been able to rebuild himself. 

And there is something beautiful about it, about him. Something worth worshipping. Alluringly, divinely synthetic, self-made by his hands. Everything within him vibrates with electricity and life. Resembling a tangible, second soul. 

(You're starting to understand those who pray for their flesh to be replaced with mechanics. Those who worship their image of the Machine Herald, despite not knowing he was once a man, just like them. Because still, every time you see them, knelt in reverence before a statue or a stained-glass depiction of the Grey Lady, you can't help but think of Viktor, and yourself.) 

Your heart hammers wildly inside your chest, a perfect contrast to his steady, exposed system. Your breath echoes so sharply through the lab, you're sure with the proximity, he can hear it, too. 

Maybe it's the circumstance — this is Viktor, after all. You're giving yourself a headache, trying to figure out how you should work on your own partner, how to understand the Machine Herald's stupidly ornate insides. 

And it's exciting, interesting. You've never worked on anything so complex before. He's a puzzle you desperately want to learn to solve. 

But, more than anything, this feels personal. Intimate. It's a thrilling, entirely new way to admire him, yet you're finding it difficult to stay relaxed. You think of the Viktor you once knew. Of how it would feel to be shown the softness of his guts. To be asked to dig through his sinews and his lungs and his innards, instead of wires and mechanics and gadgetry. Palms brushing a body made of fragile bones and pallid skin, not metal. 

Fucking hell. You'd do it, either way. Without hesitation. 

"Okay," You breathe, attempting to place yourself back on course. You rub the overwhelming tension from your temple, allowing your tired eyes to close for a fleeting second. Then, you're pulling up your stool, sitting across from him to continue your examinations. 

Beneath his mask, Viktor's gaze stays magnetized to you. To the pinch in your brows, to your hands folded in your lap, moving with the bounce of your knee. 

The curious, ambitious, lost-in-thought side to you is always impossibly enthralling. 

"This is sort of familiar, actually," You reason, as though you're trying to convince yourself. "Kind of like Blitz, just… way, way more advanced." 

You focus on locating the parts you recognize, as opposed to the ones you don't. The center unit is definitely a main power source. The pumps and fans surrounding it are likely for cooling. It amazes you, honestly. Viktor must know all of this like the back of his hand. 

"I will explain the process to the best of my ability." Viktor replies. 

"I'm, uh- a little nervous, V. It's your body, and I just- I don't want to mess anything up. When's the last time someone poked around in here? Is there anything I definitely shouldn't touch?" 

Viktor clenches his hands idly. He leans back a bit further. "Comply with my instructions, for now. Once the major repairs are complete, and we have eliminated all present malfunctions, you will be free to tinker with each apparatus, as you see fit." 

"Okay. I can do that."

"As for your additional question, it has been quite a while since I have improved upon my own design. This would make you the only one I have… shown this to, for lack of a more acceptable term." 

"Oh." You shrink up, recoiling your hands before they can reach for him. Jaw set, as you bite down your own nerves. "Should I- are you sure this is okay, then?" 

"Yes." Viktor's head tilts slightly, analyzing. "Go on. I trust you." 

Your heart races at that. Running circles around itself, abiding by its own laws of chemistry to create unbridled, newfound energy in your chest. 

Without another moment of hesitation, you shift closer, and you stick your hands inside. 

Warmth radiates off of him, sparking from the countless movements of parts and mechanics. It warms your face, envelops your palms as if you've held them to a campfire. It's definitely too hot, all things considered. 

"Looks like there's a problem with temperature," You're commenting, although it's certainly obvious. You run your fingertip over a line of fan blades, set into the top of his chassis. You turn them yourself, and pick out a few tiny pieces of rubble. "Yeah, fans are all stuck." 

"The fans are an auxiliary measure," Viktor clarifies, tone smooth and systematic. "The central pump must not be pushing coolant. Check the thermoregulation cylinders. They lead into the manifold." 

"Vik." Your gaze flickers up. "Whatever you just said, it sounded like total mechanical gibberish." 

"Give me your hand." 

With his metal palm already extended, you lean forward, and you gently brush your warm fingers to his. 

Viktor guides you carefully, steel digits closed around yours; the entirety of your hand fits in his palm with ease, it's at least twice the size of your own. Your fingertips slip past wires and circuitry, to hover over an intricate array of cylindrical conduits. 

"Do they feel hot? The cylinders," Viktor clarifies. "Touch them carefully. Do not let them burn you." 

His grip on your hand loosens. You're wincing, as you hesitantly press your fingertips forwards — but the metal isn't hot. Far from it, in fact. 

"No, they're… lukewarm, maybe." 

"Hm." Viktor leans back once more, elbows propped on the desk behind him. "We will begin with the fans. This fix will be the least complex."  

"They connect to a main unit, right?" You're asking, even though you've already started moving on your own. The automatons you remember working on carry similar cooling systems. "If that goes out, they all do." 

"Correct." 

You follow a fan's wiring with your hands. It loops several times, before it plugs into a small metal box: sides caved in, surface smashed. 

"Ah. Found the problem." You tap the surface of the power supply with your nails. "It's busted." 

"Do not touch it yet," Viktor instructs. "Its processes may still be running, in which case, it could overheat. Remove each connector and extract the unit. I will add it to my list of obligations, I suppose." 

You quickly pull every wire from the fan power unit, and you reach over his shoulder to place it on the desk. Viktor leans his head back. A few valves in his chest expel large puffs of steam, somewhat akin to a sigh. 

"The main cylinders," He continues, "Do you remember where they are located?" 

"Mhmm." You find the cylinders with your fingertips. Metal smooth, cool to the touch. 

Viktor stretches, rolling his shoulders back, armor slightly clinking together. He tips his head down to study you. 

"Shift your hand to your right. You will find a main cooling manifold. Open it. Flip both notches paneled into the intake. Up, for precisely three seconds. Then, flip them down. It will overclock the thermocore, enabling a full reactivation." 

You nod slowly. Right, you've got all that. Open, flip, down, close. 

Your fingers brush along the cylinders until you find where they lead into. The manifold's panel opens easily — slowly, with all the delicacy of opening up a ribcage. Fingertips to the notches, you push them both up; like tending to a wound, like softly tracing scar tissue. With bated breath, you keep count in your head. One. Two. Three. Then, down. 

You click the front panel back into place, and the entire assembly begins to whir. 

"Now, they will resume function. The systems are… cooling down- very good, well done." Viktor affirms, tone ripe with relief. Within him, sets of valves and pistons gently heave. 

His praise makes you shiver. Selfishly, you want to hear more. The cylinders are starting up. They're still slightly cool, as you drag your fingers across them; but Viktor's warm voice has the opposite effect. Guiding heat to coil and ignite in your gut, like you've swallowed phosphorus and matchsticks. 

You remove your hands carefully, settling them in your lap, and you give Viktor time to catch his breath. 

The manifold shudders. Briefly overloaded by the extra draw of power, perhaps. Viktor's machinery works synchronically to reign it in; his shoulders tense, he reaches into his stomach and messes with a few components, flipping switches, thumbing regulators. He leans back, and the large central cylinders strongly push out smoky air, reminiscent of lungs. 

Strong is a good way to describe the Machine Herald's construction. Complicated, durable, and intentionally intimidating. There's power behind the grind of every mechanical process. Parts are entrailed together haphazardly, vitals cased in metal, strung between wires — clearly not meant to be toyed with, to be examined by someone who is foreign to them. 

And yet, here you are. 

Old, rusted mechanics take the place of scars. Tracing your fingertips along his steel skeleton might remind you of brushing them over a defined ribcage. Individual colored wires form auroras, purposefully tethered. Able to be memorized — like you once did for constellations on soft skin, dotted in freckles and moles. 

Oh, how you long to reach out and touch. 

(It wouldn't be the same — but how would it feel? Would some wires be cool, rough, while some are smooth, warm? Fit with their own small intricacies: frayed insides, different electric charges. You could be gentle with some, and rough, with others. His pressure points would buzz underneath your fingertips. Shudder like a body arching into warmth. Would Viktor stop you, or would he give in — a betrayal of what he was made for, to finally pull you closer?) 

Hands still in your lap, you fiddle with your thumbs. Viktor's chest reverberates. Every mechanic convenes into his center, feeding into pumps and wire splitters, like arteries. Powered by a small, perplexing device with suspended panels. The metal is carved in rune-work. Protecting a gemstone, illuminated in hues of faint, blue light. It strikes you as Hextech inspired, though clearly more machine than magic. 

"Viktor, this crystal," You're asking, "What is it?" 

"That," Viktor's gaze stays trained on you. "Would be what functions as my heart." 

Your eyes sparkle. "Can I-" 

"Yes," Viktor interrupts, disgruntled. He knows that look, and he doesn't intend on fighting it. "Inspect it if you must. The gemstone is not my only power supply. Simply one of many." 

As your curious fingers approach, reaching into his chest, the device appears to open without prompting — panels shifting, sides unfurling. Coaxing you in. 

Your fingertips meet the gemstone, gently admiring; the surface is smooth like a petal, like gliding a pen over paper. It pulses with rhythmic energy, akin to a heartbeat. Viktor shifts, he breathes a cross between a gentle sigh and a mechanical hiss. When the stone drops into your palm, it is solid, warm. Energy-rich and beautiful. It reminds you of an oyster's pearl. Cosmic shades of purple and blue shift within its shape. 

"Vik- Wow." You let go of a small, tensionless laugh in amazement — you're literally holding Viktor's heart in your hand; "This is incredible. You're incredible." 

Viktor tenses. Energy thrums from the crystal, sparking hard against your skin. You choke in a sharp, pained breath, and you take your hand away quickly, leaving the gemstone to return to suspension. 

Ah. Viktor's heart just shocked you. 

You're barely able to reconvene; his Hexclaw grabs your face, tilting you gently yet forcefully, guiding you to meet an expressionless mask and glowing, motionless eyes. 

"Enough," Viktor asserts. "I require your focus. The central systems have cooled. We may proceed." 

Then, his Hexclaw releases you, reaches behind him, and hands you a wrench. 

"I will pull the sternum platings open, beneath the oxygen valves. Reach inside, and secure the pistons that sit above the energy reservoir. Is this understandable?" 

Back to work already, it seems. "Yeah," You nod. "I've got it." 

It's a relatively simple fix. Viktor reaches deep into his circuitry, pushing wires aside to pull both platings apart; surely this would have been cumbersome, if he'd opted to do it alone. Both sections of his sternum need to be held open, or they'll try to snap shut. Your hands are much smaller than his, as well, so you have no trouble reaching into his structure, and swiftly re-tightening the pistons. 

Viktor closes the panels as you're reaching behind him to set the wrench on the desk. His Hexclaw twitches. His gauntlet and the generator fixed into his shoulder flicker with light, like a dying lightbulb, before energy surges within them, bright and molten. 

You glance up. "Good?" 

Viktor's body hums quietly, amidst his usual mechanical noise. 

"Perfect. You are an expert already, yes? The Death Ray is no longer fueled by reserve power." Viktor rolls his neck to the side, until it gives a satisfying, motorized pop. "Now, as we continue, you will need to use your hands." 

"Alright. I can do that." 

"Use your flesh hand," Viktor corrects. "And promise me you will be careful. I would prefer to keep each of your remaining fingers intact. Do not get them stuck." 

You form a faint, light-filled smile. "I promise." 

"To your left, there is a diode controller. Here." Viktor finds your hand, steel digits brushing over your knuckles, and he guides you, once more. "Tell me which lights are displayed on the module." 

Your hand presses to a small steel box, nestled into his chest. "There's a red light. I think that's the power, but… it looks like that's it." 

"The explosion jostled its position, as I suspected. Inlaid into the underside, there will be a set of wires." 

Sure enough, although several curving filaments obstruct the crooked controller, you can spot a few tangled wires, plugged in loosely. 

You gently push a few of his mechanics aside, trying to get a handle on what you're dealing with. "You're planning on doing a full cold boot, right? So pull them all out, wait for the controller to restart, and then plug them back in." 

What Viktor lacks in expression, he makes up for in vibrato, because you can practically hear the smile hidden within his voice. Equally calm and weaponized; as soft as a caress, and as powerful as a knife held to your throat. 

"Yes," He hums, mechanical filter thrumming around the thickly accented syllables. "Look at you. It is impressive- how efficiently you learn." 

You aren't trying to prove him wrong, but what's truly impressive is how easily he knocks the focus right out of you. You're grasping at what remains of it, as you stretch to guide your hand to the wires. With the controller pinning them between itself and his metal skeleton, it's a relatively tight fit. 

Breath in your throat, you manage to find the first wire — and you blindly tug. As it comes free, Viktor's chest tenses, gears grinding, valves sputtering. He grabs your forearm, holding you still. Shaky mechanical fingers attempting to establish control. 

"Gentle," Viktor instructs. His body hisses, expelling warm air that fans over your skin. "The wires- they direct essential currents of power. If you are not careful, you will overload the voltage." 

He releases you gradually, then leans back fully. 

"Sorry. I'll go slow." 

You grasp the next wire at the head. Instead of pulling, you shift it back and forth, over and over, until it eventually comes free. With each discharged wire, his mechanics grow hotter, louder. Warmth radiates over your palm as the controller chugs, giving off a faint, high-pitched noise. It reminds you of the whistles of trains in Piltover. 

"Better?" You murmur, heavy gaze drifting across him, hand already blindly grasping for the fourth wire. 

"Yes," Viktor coos, content. "Keep going." 

"Does this- am I hurting you?" 

"No, you are not." His tone grits at the edges, buzzing rigidly through his throat. "The controller is applying a simulated curve. It is… an excess of pressurized fuel. A maelstrom of diverging currents. It is impossible to summarize in sympathizable terms, as your body is very different from mine." 

The Machine Herald tends to select words purposefully. He calculates discussions and formulates terms like every negotiation is a game of chess — and yet, this description is remarkably familiar. 

In the early stages of your alliance, the two of you rarely got along. Every sentence between you spun a web of new arguments. Viktor was insistent when it came to his vision, and weakness wasn't welcome, not within his new mechanized heart. You were a distraction. An unexpected miscalculation. A maelstrom, as Viktor described it. 

For our mutual benefit, you should relinquish the memories you have of the man I once was. We are no longer partners. If you can suppress this needless bickering, we can continue as allies, perhaps. 

"I'm depriving you of energy." You trail your fingertip over the ridges in the final wire. "Your systems are working overtime, to try and adjust." 

Viktor's body relaxes — warm and reverberant and trusting. He affirms, "Precisely." 

The last wire comes free smoothly. You take a languid, intentionally-long breath, giving the controller time to refresh. The wires have fallen loose, they rest a little further down in his circuitry. Leaning far forward in your stool, you bundle all of them in your palm, to make sure you won't lose them. 

"They're out." You line up the first wire's plug with the controller's first socket. "Gonna plug them back in now." 

"Firmer, you can be firmer." Viktor never begs, but this, despite bordering on a command, is the closest to pleading you've seen him come to. "The central system is acclimated to the fluctuations in energy." 

Your cracked bottom lip briefly catches between your teeth. Bringing the wire right against its socket, you shove it back in — and Viktor tremors, visible electricity sparkling from his chest like shooting stars in a lightning storm. With the second wire, his head rolls back. When you press the third in, he breathes a low, barely-audible groan, and the sound drives into you like a saw, a chisel, a stake. 

(You're lost in color, in the orange glow of his gaze and the coppery-steel of his body, as they paint stupidly vivid pictures in your mind. Viktor reaching for you, holding onto you for leverage. Static blooming at your fingertips, innocent experiments turning into purposeful coaxings. Stalling until he pleads, overwhelming him with surge after surge of energy, electromagnetic impulses and solar sparks that have him hot and only half-functional.) 

You really need to focus. 

"Okay." As you push the last wire in, the module's lights begin to flash, blinking faintly in a bright hue of amber. "I'm done." 

"Reach your hand further inside," Viktor is already explaining, words rich, perplexingly breathy. "You must guide it around the gears, to the back of the module. Beside the sets of copper filaments, you will find a red wire." 

You tilt your head down to peer behind the controller. 

"Fuck." You breathe a slight tch. "It must've come loose. It's all the way back there, Vik." 

"You may need to come closer, then." 

For a moment, you chew on the inside of your cheek. Palm buried inside him — you should be the one in control, but Viktor relaxes; his head tips, and he gazes at you as though he's got you under a microscope. Perfectly, wholly deciphered. Your weakness is predictable, not simply because you are human, but because it is you. There's no surprise within him when you rise from your stool, only an addictive array of certainty. 

Viktor leans back a bit more, spreads his legs to allocate space. And you straddle his thigh, heels rested on the spidery base of the stool. 

The hard, uneven edges of his armor dig into the pliable flesh of your legs. One large thigh is easily enough to accommodate you, but you need to shift closer, to properly reach behind the controller. 

You're reaching in, in, feeling around for your target. An unsteady steel hand braces to your side; Viktor holds you in place. You sigh in frustration, your fingertips fumbling past cold filaments, trying to find the smooth, elusive wire. 

Gears gently press into your forearm. A small, rigid generator bumps your elbow. Your body curls, you reach further inside him. And you find it, just as you're close enough to rest your forehead against his. Metal to flesh. Cool against warm. Your eyes — bright and fascinating, like stars, he thinks — become lost in the artificial glow of his. 

Your breath fans over his steel mask. "Got it." 

"Good." Viktor's voice is low, intense, and fucking sultry. "Plug it in." 

hey, sorry for interrupting the fic! unfortunately, due to the long word count of the fic and tumblr's post block limit, it's impossible to fit the entire fic into one post... :( if you're enjoying the fic so far, you can continue reading on ao3!

thank you for understanding... <3

[wayti-blog]

"The phytoplankton that populate oceans are known to play a key role in marine ecosystems and climate regulation. Like terrestrial plants, they store atmospheric CO₂, and produce half of our planet's oxygen via photosynthesis. However, the mechanisms that control their distribution remain poorly understood.

By studying the light perception process of diatoms, a group of phytoplankton, scientists from the CNRS and Sorbonne University discovered that these microalgae use light variation sensors which are codified in their genomes: phytochromes.

These photoreceptors enable them to detect changes in the light spectrum in the water column, thereby providing information regarding their vertical position within it. This function is especially important in turbulent aquatic environments subject to substantial water mixing—such as high latitude, temperate, and polar regions—in order to adjust their biological activity, in particular photosynthesis."

continue reading

[cr4shdummy]

tech talk: ride height, road bikes, and entertainment

last week, we witnessed fabio quartararo relinquish a hard-fought race lead due to a unique type of mechanical error: the rear ride-height device of his Yamaha M1 was stuck in the low position. i was struck by the similarities of that incident to maverick viñales' DNF at sachsenring in 2022, the first real peek at the potential unreliability of rear ride-height devices.

the process is simple: the back end of the bike drops down when exiting a corner, improving acceleration and stability. lowering the bike's center of gravity reduces its chance to wheelie, meaning all that low-gear torque from the engine goes straight into the front wheel.

the ride-height device that MotoGP bikes use is, under the current rules, entirely mechanical. a sensor at the fork reads the front position as the bike corners, then starts a sort of rube goldberg machine-esque series of reactions to trigger the back to drop during corner exit.

the front ride-height devices that Ducati used briefly until they were banned in 2023 were a similar system, but were triggered by the rider instead of automatically. in this clip, you can see pecco disengage it coming out of the last corner at mugello.

when front ride-height devices were banned in 2023, it was with the support of 5 out of 6 manufacturers -- Ducati were the only ones opposing it. i'm conflicted; on one hand, ducati worked hard to develop and integrate the technology, and even if it gave them an advantage, that's just how improvement works in a machine-based sport. on the other hand, if one team can guarantee success by just pouring the most money into development, the sport becomes increasingly asymmetrical and frankly boring.

with all ride-height devices now set for elimination in 2027, i'm again split on the rationale for turning the clock back and regressing a lot of racing technology. in terms of making MotoGP more road-relevant and accurate to the average consumer, eradicating ride-height devices is supposedly an obvious solution. but consumer ride-height add-ons exist, and they're not mechanical, they're electronic! they're more reliable as well. in fact, when the ducati front ride-height device was banned, both romano albesiano of Aprilia (now Honda) and sebastian risse of KTM both raised that example.

albesiano said,

risse said,

it's the same argument that Dorna has used to justify the 2027 tech rollbacks, but in reverse: front ride-height tech wasn't road-relevant because it was behind what production motorcycles can do, not ahead.

this exposes a contradiction in Dorna's plan. if MotoGP should exist as a sport to help manufacturers test and develop technology specifically to improve production motorcycles, why eliminate tech that exists in better forms for the average consumer? why not simply mandate that ride-height devices be electronic, thus resolving the issue of unreliability and making the technology more accurate to something a normal person could buy?

Dorna has also been clear that the tech rollback is a response to negative reactions among fans and viewers, who feel that the sport has become uninteresting. i'm one of them. but i would point to World Superbike, which is significantly more road-relevant since the bikes used are (theoretically) actual road bikes: World Superbike is fucking boring. i'm sorry, it just is. and a lot of that is because the bikes are slower and more realistic, not in spite of it! now that BMW has lost its superconcessions for the current season, they're running a very stripped down machine that's on par with or worse than most others on the grid. and because of that, the only rider that can find any success on it is Toprak Razgatlioglu, who is leaving anyway.

i'm not saying Dorna should just allow teams to pour money into futuristic rocketship motorcycles that win a million championships. but if Dorna wants to make the sport more fun and more realistic, they need to make more specific, in-depth changes than just sweeping bans. an electronic ride-height system would be a great way to test that principle.

[stevebattle]

Double Vision, by David Buckley, in Practical Robotics, July 1984. A simple stereo scanning camera for a computer. "One of the fundamental difficulties with most mobile robots is that they have no way of sensing the position of obstacles in their environment except by bumping into them and activating touch sensors. The problem of not knowing what is there also faces arm robots but in a more limited way. Humans and most animals have solved this problem by developing eyes. This project is a simple, very low-cost vision system which provides stereo images of objects. Stereo vision has one big advantage in that it is possible by using the two views to extract depth information about the scene under view." – David Buckley, Seeing is avoiding, Practical Robotics, July 1984.

[puckingeccedentesiast]

Hospital - 3

Nova Crosby -

11:46 pm

Luke sat in the blue hallway of the hospital, hands shaking as he picked at the buttered banana bread that the nurse suggested he purchase, he had to admit. It was very good. Sitting there in his own world of dismay, struggling to find his footing in the storm of uncertainties. Since he was sent down to the cafe, which closed half-an-hour ago no new information had arised.

Luke was still waiting for Sid near the entrance of the hospital, responding to his message with an 'I'll tell you when you get here.' Both men knew that that conversation would be better had face to face, with each other to lean on. A common theme between the two was a severe restlessness, understandability so when a loved one was in a precarious position.

Luke's gaze followed movement outside the glass entry doors to the hospital, when the motion sensor light triggered he identified the movement as Sidney and immediately jumped up to greet him. Luke pressed the green button for the door as it was past visiting hours which meant no one from the outside was allowed in.

When Sid walked through the glass doors, his eyes connecting with Luke's as the two let out a simultaneous breath of relief. While many would be worried for Nova there were probably only two who would match the incredulous level and right now they were standing and looking at each other in the hospital entrance tears beading the tops of their lashes in solitude.

"How you holding up, kid?" Sid rasped out, barely above a whisper. He had to admit, Luke looked like a mess, dark bags under his bloodshot eyes, his hair was tousled from running his hand through it countless times as he sat in the weight of the situation.

"I certainly could be better, I can tell you that much." Luke spoke sarcastically, Sid got the impression that Luke was very much akin to a wounded animal. Terrified and defensive, refusing help from others because that would make the situation worse. "Not as bad as you I'd imagine."

Sid nodded solemnly along with the whispered words, when he had first heard from Luke what was wrong with Nova he had consulted his medical dictionary to disclose what a brain aneurysm was and whether or not her was having one. Never in a million years or life times did he think he would be standing in the entrance of a hospital in which housed Nova in its sterile-lit depths.

"While she was first and foremost my darling little girl Luke, she's now your girl too. I've always know one way or another she'd become so infatuated with someone and I'd be handing her off at an alter eventually." Sid took a deep breath, eyes darting around as he tried to find the correct way to word his next statement, "I had just always prayed, that one day it would be the right person. I don't want to make any outrageous assumptions.. but if I didn't know any better Luke I'd say you are planning to be that person."

Luke finally felt his walls crumble, the strong front he held in the ambulance and in the emergency, when he took a picture with the server at the cafetiera. It all came crashing down. Tears spewed from Luke's eyes as he stumbled forward into Sidney's arms, wet gargled sobs entrenched the prior tranquility of the hospital lobby and turned it into a cacophony of suffering. The ensemble of incoherence continued to play as the ship sank, and Luke to his knees with Sidney in tow, his arms still cradling the distraught boy.

Sidney didn't try to quiet the boy, Luke needed to let out the emotion or he would explode. As his quaking shoulders softened to mear trembles and tears subsided Sid loosened his grip, letting Luke drag himself back into reality, allowing him to strengthen his frontier again for everything that was to come.

And come it did.

Unknown ID

Dear Family of Nova Crosby, two of her 3 schedules surgeries went to plan, we were unable to perform the third due to a complication in which she has been moved to the Intensive Care unit, located on level three, for close monitoring. Please find the Intensive Care waiting room located outside ward 3A where a nurse will come find you and bring you to visit.

[sepdet]

WELL NOW I'M FUCKING AWAKE

(it worked! The earthquake hit five seconds after my phone started screaming)

...and here we go

Just a bit of rock & roll up here.

Everybody ok down there?

[Edit: as so, often, they revise the magnitude after getting readings from multiple sensors and triangulating the depth/position more accurately.

It's been revised to a 5.2, the Bane of Grocery Store Clerks, but unlikely to cause much physical damage.]

[smorbee]

How does moon have human senses? (like taste, touch, smell, sound, hearing). Does moon have a tongue that allows them to taste things despite being a robot?

Lucky you, we love thinking about this stuff so we already have a number of explanations for these.

Hearing: Stereo microphones around where the ears connect to the head that feed into an audio processor that determines a noises placement in 3d space from the differences in acoustics.

Sight: Already drew a thing about this a bit ago! She has a spinning array of sonar depth sensors that essentially create a full 360 field of vision albeit without any color or light. The only data from this sensor is simply how close points are that can show the shape of things and their proximity. For the rest of the information there is a hidden camera on her visor to get light and color in front of her.

Smell: Moon actually cannot smell as she has no reason to breathe like a person does.

Taste: Her tongue is lined with sensors that can determine the chemical makeup of things in close proximity, emulating a "taste" sensation by tying a range of compounds to a variety of different signals.

Touch: Her various limbs have extremely sensitive positioning sensors that compare their actual position to their intended position, such that even a slight touch pushes on them enough that the sensors can work together to determine a general position of the point of impact.

[yvetteheiser]

Yvette Heiser - Teaches Photography Basics in Texas

Photography, an art form that captures moments in time and tells stories through imagery, is accessible to everyone willing to learn. Yvette Heiser, a renowned photographer based in Texas, has made it her mission to help budding photographers master the fundamentals of this beautiful craft. With her extensive experience and passion for teaching, Yvette offers insightful guidance on how to transform a simple photograph into a captivating piece of art. Here’s an in-depth look at what Yvette Heiser– Learn the fundamentals of photography with Yvette Heiser, Texas and classes entail and the strategies she employs to help her students excel.

The Basics of Photography with Yvette Heiser

Understanding the Camera

The journey into photography begins with understanding the camera, the primary tool of the trade. Yvette Heiser’s classes start with a comprehensive overview of different types of cameras, including DSLRs, mirror less cameras, and even smartphones. She explains the fundamental components such as the lens, sensor, viewfinder, and memory card, ensuring that her students are well-versed in the basic anatomy of their equipment.

Mastering Camera Settings

One of the key aspects of Yvette’s teaching is demystifying camera settings. She breaks down the exposure triangle—aperture, shutter speed, and ISO—highlighting how these elements interact to create a perfectly exposed photograph. Students learn how to adjust these settings based on different lighting conditions and desired effects, such as depth of field and motion blur.

Composition and Framing

Rule of Thirds

Yvette emphasizes the importance of composition in photography. One of the first rules she teaches is the rule of thirds, a fundamental principle that helps create balanced and engaging images. By dividing the frame into nine equal parts, students learn to position their subject along these lines or at their intersections, resulting in a more dynamic and aesthetically pleasing composition.

Leading Lines and Symmetry

Yvette also explores advanced composition techniques such as leading lines and symmetry. Leading lines draw the viewer’s eye towards the main subject, creating a sense of depth and guiding the viewer through the image. Symmetry, on the other hand, introduces balance and harmony, making the photograph more visually appealing. Through practical exercises, students develop an eye for these elements and learn to incorporate them into their work.

Lighting Techniques

Natural Light

Lighting is a crucial element in photography, and Yvette Heiser’s classes cover the basics of working with natural light. Students learn to observe and utilize different qualities of natural light, from the soft, diffused light of a cloudy day to the harsh shadows of midday sun. Yvette teaches techniques for shooting during the golden hour and blue hour, times when natural light is most flattering and dramatic.

Artificial Light and Flash Photography

In addition to natural light, Yvette introduces her students to artificial lighting techniques. She covers the basics of flash photography, including on-camera and off-camera flash, and how to use reflectors and diffusers to control and modify light. These lessons equip students with the skills to handle various lighting situations, both indoors and outdoors.

In the digital age, smartphones have revolutionized the way we capture and share moments. With their advanced cameras and user-friendly features, smartphones have become powerful tools for photography, accessible to everyone and Yvette Heiser Texas: A Complete Guide to Mastering Phone Photography from Texas has made it her mission to help individuals unlock the full potential of their smartphone cameras.

Basic Editing Techniques

Post-processing is an integral part of modern photography, and Yvette Heiser ensures her students are proficient in basic editing techniques. Using software like Adobe Light room and Photoshop, students learn how to adjust exposure, contrast, colour balance, and sharpness to enhance their images. Yvette emphasizes the importance of maintaining a natural look while correcting minor flaws and bringing out the best in each photograph.

Creative Editing and Filters

Beyond basic adjustments, Yvette encourages her students to explore creative editing. She introduces concepts such as black-and-white conversions, selective color, and the use of filters to create unique and artistic effects. By experimenting with different techniques, students discover their own style and develop a personal artistic vision.

Practice and Patience

Yvette Heiser believes that practice and patience are key to mastering photography. She advises her students to take their cameras everywhere and practice shooting in different conditions and environments. This hands-on experience helps them understand their equipment better and develop a keen eye for composition and lighting. Yvette reminds her students that photography is an art that requires time and dedication, and progress often comes through trial and error.

Continuous Learning and Inspiration

Another strategy Yvette advocates is continuous learning and seeking inspiration. She encourages her students to study the work of famous photographers and understand the techniques they use. Attending workshops, reading books on photography, and participating in online communities can provide new perspectives and ideas. Yvette also suggests keeping a photography journal to document progress and reflect on what works and what doesn’t. This continuous learning process helps photographers stay inspired and motivated to improve their craft.

In addition to traditional camera techniques, Yvette Heiser also offers insights into mastering phone photography. With the advancements in smartphone camera technology, learning to take stunning photos with your phone has become more accessible than ever. Yvette’s guide to phone photography covers essential tips and tricks for capturing high-quality images, utilizing the various features and settings available on smartphones

Conclusion

Yvette Heiser’s dedication to teaching photography basics in Texas has helped countless students develop their skills and passion for this art form. Through her comprehensive classes and practical strategies, she empowers aspiring photographers to capture the world around them with creativity and confidence. Whether you’re using a professional camera or your smartphone, Yvette’s guidance ensures that you can create beautiful, impactful images that tell a story.

[sw5w]

...Recently Elected Ruler of the Naboo...

STAR WARS EPISODE I: The Phantom Menace 01:27:35

[straybleu]

EXY RULES AND REGULATIONS

Hi. I recently got the italian edition of AFTG and I found three pages of exy rules and regulations at the start. Nothing that isn't already on the site (exy wiki), but I found this version to be waaay clearer and well organized.

So here is a messy translation. Many things are taken directly from the site; feel free to add to this and to correct me where I said something wrong.

Basic knowledge

An Exy game is played in two forty-five minute halves with a fifteen minute halftime break. An Exy court is 60 yards wide x 100 yards long x 10 yards tall. It is completely enclosed by half-inch thick plexiglass walls and roof, primarily made for rebounds and passing, but also to protect the audience from being hit by the ball. Both home and away have doors to allow players on and off the court. When the ball is in play, these doors must closed.

The court is divided into fourths by three equidistant lines: first-court, near the home goal, half-court, and far-court, near the away goal. Penalty shots are taken from marked spots halfway between first/far-court and the half-court goal (note: on the exy wiki it says that penalty shots are taken halfway between first/far-court and the home/away goal. I should probably check the books to determine witch one is right, but I don't have it in me rn. Please let me know if you find the correct version).

The Exy goals are on either end of the court. The actual goal is a 3x7 yard section on the wall, outlined by a bold line. The goalkeeper's territory is the 3x7 area directly in front of the goal, also marked by a line. Players are not allowed to cross the goal line. The boxed-in area of the goal wall is laden with sensors. Each goal counts as one point. When a ball strikes inside the goal, the wall lights up red. If ball that hits the goal's border, it doesn't count as a goal. The game's objective is to score more points then the opposing team.

–––––––––

Teams/Positions

There are four positions: striker, dealer, backliner, and goalkeeper. The striker is offense and plays to score. Strikers start the game on the half-court line; the strikers on the serving team start on the inside, strikers for the defending team are on the outside. The dealer serves and is thereafter the middleman; dealers have the option to specialize as offense or defense and can play as an extra striker or extra backliner depending on how the game is going. Dealers start on the first/far-court lines. The backliner is defense and protects the goal. Backliners start on the first/far-court lines. The goalkeeper guards the goal.

Six players per team are allowed on the court at a time. Generally speaking, this allows for two strikers, a dealer, two backliners, and the goalkeeper. The goalkeeper is optional; the coach may sacrifice the goalkeeper for an extra player under certain circumstances. The minimum size for an NCAA team is currently nine players, so that there can be six on-court players and a sub for each position - save the goalkeeper. After recent events this rule is under review and posited to increase to twelve.

–––––––––

Equipment

Racquet: Net depth varies by position. Dealers have the deepest nets so they can more easily carry the ball between offense and defense. Striker racquets are a bit shallower, still allowing them time to line up a perfect shot. Backliner racquets have just a little give, as backliners are strongly discouraged from carrying the ball; the longer a ball is near the goal the higher the chance an opposing striker can take possession of it. Goalkeeper racquets are flat. They are also the largest of the racquets, with a head that measures 1.5x2 feet. Goalkeeper racquets are also the longest allowed on court, with a shaft that tops out at 4 feet. Racquets for every other position have a range of 30-45 inches based on player height and preference. Racquet weights are also negotiable, as are the materials allowed in the construction. Generally speaking, offense racquets are made of aluminum (for lighter carry and more control), and heavy defense racquets are made of wood (for more power and force in challenges).

Ball: Roughly the size of a fist and weighted for rebounds.

Helmet: Required to be worn on the court at all times unless instructed otherwise by an official or unless the game is not in session. A visor goes in front of the eyes to allow a protected but unobstructed view of the court; grating protects the face from the nose down.

Armor: Chest and shoulder padding, neck guard, shin guards, arm guards, and armored gloves to protect the players' fingers. Optional: bandannas to keep hair out of one's face, armor to wear over one's thighs under one's shorts, and mouth guards (to prevent accidental injury during collisions)

–––––––––

Some fundamental rules

Off-sides is in effect on Exy courts. Meaning: an offense player who does not have possession of the ball, or who is moving to take possession of the ball, must have an opposing defense player between him or herself and the opposing goalkeeper at all times. This prevents strikers from waiting near the goal to score. The penalty for off-sides is loss of possession and a reset to the half-court line.

Body checks are allowed against players who have reasonable possession of the ball: that is, who currently have it, who have just relinquished it, or who are within a moment of receiving it. The player who currently has possession of the ball may body-check any other player with no restrictions. A faulty body check results in loss of possession and a reset to the next-closest court line.

Any other form of fighting is prohibited and will result in a card. The severity decides whether the card is yellow or red; it also determines whether a team deserves a penalty shot or a simple loss in possession. Games are restarted from where play was halted; the exact spot will be decided on by the residing referee. No other player may stand within ten feet of the dealer during a mid-play serve.

"Stick checks" are allowed only between racquets. A player who strikes another player's body with his or her racquet will be carded and the opposing team will receive a penalty shot. This includes using one's racquet to trip another player. A stick check against another player's helmet is an immediate red card and earns the wounded team a penalty shot on goal.

Balls may only be carried for 10 steps, at which point they must be passed. Acceptable passes are to a teammate, to oneself via a rebound, or a shot on goal.

One yellow card is a warning. Two result in the player sitting out the remainder of the game. A player who is red-carded is immediately expelled from the ongoing game and must sit out of the next one as well.

Exy games for youths and high schoolers require four referees at minimum. From the NCAA level upward six are required, three to either side of the court.

Goalkeepers are the only players allowed to touch the ball with their hands. Players cannot catch, kick, or otherwise interfere with the ball unless using their racquets. Violation of this is a stop-play and switch of possession.

[allstartrekgames]

Star Trek: Bridge Crew

Original Release: 2017

Developer: Red Storm

Publisher: Ubisoft

Platform: PS4, PC

Bridge Crew was originally released as a VR exclusive, before being patched to allow people to play it without VR. The ideal experience is to play this in VR with motion controllers with three other friends playing it in VR with motion controllers. I have played this with friends, but the VR is way beyond my budget.

The game itself borrows heavily from Artemis Spaceship Bridge Simulator, a LAN game where you essentially create a starship in your house, with each person having a PC to represent their station (or the viewscreen for the captain). I’ve played it at a convention and it’s a great experience, and Bridge Crew is the closest thing that can be done online.

There are four stations in this game: Captain, Helm, Tactical and Engineering. Captain is the simplest role in multiplayer: you get told the orders to pass on to your crew, answer hails and push the red alert button. Most of this role is via the voice chat, giving commands to your crew (and hoping they pay attention).

Helm gets to fly the ship and set warp and “impulse” destinations (what the game calls in-system warp), and is probably the most involved position due to this.

Tactical gets to control the phaser and shield. There’s no phaser arcs or shield arcs, so unfortunately the combat is very basic. You can disrupt enemy weapons, shields or engines via hacking.

Engineering sets power levels and prioritises repairs, this is probably the worst role to have and you don’t even get a clear idea of what is happening due to not having access to sensor data like the other three roles.

In singleplayer, you play as the captain but can give orders to the crew. The AI is very basic and some actions can reset other orders. The helm officer won’t avoid obstacles, so for some situations, you can take over the station and control it directly (although you can’t give orders from there, you have to return to the Captain’s position). It’s not the ideal way to play, but it gets the job done and is far better than not having the option.

The main (and incredibly short) 6-mission story takes place on the USS Aegis, a ship from the Kelvin timeline. The bridge itself is wonderfully made and fits the aesthetic while adapting it to work for a game like this. The missions are fine, but after this all that’s left is random missions. There’s not a lot of content in this game.

The game does include additional ships you can use in the random missions: the prime timeline original TOS-style Enterprise and (as part of DLC) the Enterprise D. The TOS bridge absolutely looks the part and is very authentic, although you definitely need to use the help overlay to work out which buttons do what. It’s difficult to use, but it gets the feel of being in The Original Series really well.

The Enterprise D bridge takes a few more liberties in its interface, mainly making the LCARS displays more game-like to help it play a lot better. This also makes the engineer’s job (renamed as “operations”) better by improving the repair side of things by assigning damage teams.

Bridge Crew is a great start for a multiplayer Star Trek game, but would have been nice with more in depth gameplay for weapons and shields, as well as far more structured missions.

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

NASA ocean world explorers have to swim before they can fly

When NASA's Europa Clipper reaches its destination in 2030, the spacecraft will prepare to aim an array of powerful science instruments toward Jupiter's moon Europa during 49 flybys, looking for signs that the ocean beneath the moon's icy crust could sustain life.

While the spacecraft, which launched Oct. 14, carries the most advanced science hardware NASA has ever sent to the outer solar system, teams are already developing the next generation of robotic concepts that could potentially plunge into the watery depths of Europa and other ocean worlds, taking the science even further.

This is where an ocean-exploration mission concept called SWIM comes in. Short for Sensing With Independent Micro-swimmers, the project envisions a swarm of dozens of self-propelled, cellphone-size swimming robots that—once delivered to a subsurface ocean by an ice-melting cryobot—would zoom off, looking for chemical and temperature signals that could indicate life.

"People might ask, why is NASA developing an underwater robot for space exploration? It's because there are places we want to go in the solar system to look for life, and we think life needs water. So we need robots that can explore those environments—autonomously, hundreds of millions of miles from home," said Ethan Schaler, principal investigator for SWIM at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Southern California.

Under development at JPL, a series of prototypes for the SWIM concept recently braved the waters of a 25-yard (23-meter) competition swimming pool at Caltech in Pasadena for testing. The results were encouraging.

SWIM practice

The SWIM team's latest iteration is a 3D-printed plastic prototype that relies on low-cost, commercially made motors and electronics. Pushed along by two propellers, with four flaps for steering, the prototype demonstrated controlled maneuvering, the ability to stay on and correct its course, and a back-and-forth "lawn mower" exploration pattern. It managed all of this autonomously, without the team's direct intervention. The robot even spelled out "J-P-L."

Just in case the robot needed rescuing, it was attached to a fishing line, and an engineer toting a fishing rod trotted alongside the pool during each test. Nearby, a colleague reviewed the robot's actions and sensor data on a laptop. The team completed more than 20 rounds of testing various prototypes at the pool and in a pair of tanks at JPL.

"It's awesome to build a robot from scratch and see it successfully operate in a relevant environment," Schaler said. "Underwater robots in general are very hard, and this is just the first in a series of designs we'd have to work through to prepare for a trip to an ocean world. But it's proof that we can build these robots with the necessary capabilities and begin to understand what challenges they would face on a subsurface mission."

Swarm science

The wedge-shaped prototype used in most of the pool tests was about 16.5 inches (42 centimeters) long, weighing 5 pounds (2.3 kilograms). As conceived for spaceflight, the robots would have dimensions about three times smaller—tiny compared to existing remotely operated and autonomous underwater scientific vehicles. The palm-size swimmers would feature miniaturized, purpose-built parts and employ a novel wireless underwater acoustic communication system for transmitting data and triangulating their positions.

Digital versions of these little robots got their own test, not in a pool but in a computer simulation. In an environment with the same pressure and gravity they would likely encounter on Europa, a virtual swarm of 5-inch-long (12-centimeter-long) robots repeatedly went looking for potential signs of life. The computer simulations helped determine the limits of the robots' abilities to collect science data in an unknown environment, and they led to the development of algorithms that would enable the swarm to explore more efficiently.

The simulations also helped the team better understand how to maximize science return while accounting for tradeoffs between battery life (up to two hours), the volume of water the swimmers could explore (about 3 million cubic feet, or 86,000 cubic meters), and the number of robots in a single swarm (a dozen, sent in four to five waves).

In addition, a team of collaborators at Georgia Tech in Atlanta fabricated and tested an ocean composition sensor that would enable each robot to simultaneously measure temperature, pressure, acidity or alkalinity, conductivity, and chemical makeup. Just a few millimeters square, the chip is the first to combine all those sensors in one tiny package.

Of course, such an advanced concept would require several more years of work, among other things, to be ready for a possible future flight mission to an icy moon. In the meantime, Schaler imagines SWIM robots potentially being further developed to do science work right here at home: supporting oceanographic research or taking critical measurements underneath polar ice.

A prototype of a robot designed to explore subsurface oceans of icy moons is reflected in the water’s surface during a pool test at Caltech in September. Conducted by NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory, the testing showed the feasibility of a mission concept for a swarm of mini swimming robots. Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech

A model of the final envisioned SWIM robot, right, sits beside a capsule holding an ocean-composition sensor. The sensor was tested on an Alaskan glacier in July 2023 through a JPL-led project called ORCAA (Ocean Worlds Reconnaissance and Characterization of Astrobiological Analogs). Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech

[aetherceuse]

⟢ - Notes on UB-01 SYMBIONT 𝐍𝐈𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐎

Biology

UB-01 Symbiont, Nihilego, appear similar to jellyfish-like Pokémon. Their bodies are made from a flexible glass-like structure.

These creatures range in size anywhere from three feet long, all the way to forty feet in length from the top of the bell to the tip of the longest tendrils.

Texture wise, the bell is smooth, and the tendrils feel like glass fiber.

It is a parasitic entity; it protects and feeds itself by capturing living organisms in its tendrils and trapping them within its bell. Nihilego are often spotted floating through the depths of the Ultra Deep Sea with the captured prey still entangled in their glassy, translucent bodies.

A Nihilego’s neurotoxin is meant to relax its prey so that it does not fight its way out of its grasp; though Nihilego are deadly creatures, with tough exteriors, their interior is extremely soft and flimsy. Therefor, they developed the neurotoxin as a means of subduing prey and lessening the chance of their internal structure being damaged by flailing and escape attempts.

Nihilego are sexless creatures that reproduce through budding.

Their lifespans are currently unknown, but some accounts have claimed that they have witnessed massive Nihilego that had been alive for 100+ years.

Behavior

Nihilego travel in large groups, or “blooms”, with the largest blooms holding upwards of one thousand at a time.

They often rely on the currents of the Ultra Deep Sea to carry them, rather than exerting energy.

When floating in the air, Nihilego move and undulate just as they would if they were in water— very slowly, and meticulously, with tendrils dragging along, prepared to capture prey.

It appears that these beasts evolved not only to protect their interiors from prey, but to prey on humans and ultra humans specifically. They are able to manipulate their tendrils into different shapes, lengths and forms to create optical illusions. They are often observed mimicking the look and behavior of little children to appear defenseless.

Nihilego have also been observed mimicking Tentacruel, Jellicent, Octillery and even Dragalge.

Nihilego can camouflage themselves by tilting upside down onto their bells, and keeping their tendrils still, to look like Cursola.

Nihilego appear to be able to release its hosts at will, similar to regurgitation.

They make quiet, whispering noises that travel through the currents of the Ultra Deep Sea; there is no recorded translation of what this communication means. Those capable of reading the minds and hearts of Pokémon, or those who can simply communicate with Pokémon, would be met with otherworldly jibberish.

Nihilego heartbeats are also rather loud as well, so much that they echo through the air and ricochet off of solid surfaces if enough Nihilego gather in one space. (The heartbeat sound heard in the Ultra Deep Sea OST)

Nihilego is capable of accessing and manipulating the memories of its host once it has attached to the cerebellum and spine, therefore furthering the parasitic drain, or creating a more potent, symbiotic bond.

Additional notes on neurotoxin

The neurotoxin wears away at the nervous system gradually, first by numbing the pain sensors, and then eventually eroding at the brain itself.

Many symptoms of a Nihilego sting resemble Irukandji Syndrome, which is characterized by severe pain, muscle cramping, hypertension, and potentially life-threatening cardiac complications.

If not treated by a professional, Nihilego stings can become fatal within 48 hours.

Permanent nerve damage after being stung by Nihilego is common.

Longterm symptoms post-sting include body aches, neuropathy, joint buckling, paralysis, problems with positional awareness, brain fog, psychosis, and loss of vision.

Nomenclature

The beast’s name is derived from the Latin words nihil and ego, translating literally into “I am nothing.”

The code name “Symbiont” is misleading, as Nihilego’s parasitic nature does not contribute to a symbiotic relationship between it and any other species.

[usafphantom2]

New image of the B-21 Raider shows mysterious vertical elements on the tail

Fernando Valduga By Fernando Valduga 03/11/2023 - 18:51in Military

New image of the rear of the first B-21 bomber undergoing engine and taxi tests at the Northrop Grumman facility in Palmdale, California, shows vertical characteristics that make industry experts scratch their heads in relation to some prominent elements.

The new photo, posted on Reddit by user Folding_White Table, shows two vertical characteristics rising from the upper middle part of the B-21.

The vertical elements rise just above the root of the wing of the body of the combined wing, both port and starboard, just above where the engine core or cores are probably placed. It is not clear in the photo if they are positioned symmetrically on the aircraft.

Based on the previous photos, the vertical features are retractable.

At least one of the elements was visible in a previous first view of the aft deck of the B-21, which circulated online in October. However, the angle of this photo made it difficult to determine if it was part of the aircraft or if it was a background object.

In a Reddit post, u/Folding_White Table said the photos were taken at the intersection of 40th Avenue East and Avenue N in Palmdale, right on the fence line at the end of Northrop Grumman Air Force Plant 42, with a perfect view of runway 25/7, 22/4 and Site 4", on the nearest public road to the Northrop facility.

This is the first look at the new B-21 Raiders rear-end.

byu/Specialist-Ad-5300 inaviation

Industry experts asked to comment on what the objects could be - and speaking strictly about the background, given the sensitive nature of the B-21 - offered a series of speculations about the vertical components.

A common interpretation is that the vertical elements are covers for auxiliary air intakes in the open position and are extended to allow more air to enter the engines for ground operations.

However, two experts contested this, saying that the elements may be far behind the aircraft and too thin to serve this purpose efficiently. It was also observed that the elements are "exceptionally high" for such a purpose and so thin that the opening they supposedly cover may not be large enough to provide the necessary air.

These elements also look triangular and pilone-shaped, rather than flat.

In this image after the revelation of the aircraft it was not possible to see the vertical elements.

Experts ruled out that they are antennas or sensors, as they would ruin the stealth form of the B-21 if extended during an operational mission. They also ruled out that they are "sabreen" extendable for fuel ventilation, since they are far ahead and the fuel openings are usually positioned in the tail of the aircraft.

Another possibility is that the resources exist to prevent a ground sensor from learning something about the cross section of the B-21 radar. The F-117 and F-35 stealths have a removable and faceted device that makes them more visible to air traffic controllers and increases the cross section of the radar. In these aircraft, the objects are removed for combat.

In the B-2, which served as the basis of the B-21 design, the auxiliary air intakes are placed just above and behind the entrance and give the appearance of four curved blades, with two above each entrance.

The vertical elements of the B-21 are also close - but off the edge - to an inexplicable dark feature on the surface of the aircraft on both sides of the central bulge or spine. This feature is also visible in the front image of the aircraft released by the U.S. Air Force. It is inside the engine inlets in that image - not aligned with them - on the side of the column.

In both front and rear images, this feature is rounded and apparently teardrop-shaped, and darker than the general color of the aircraft's light gray paint. It also seems to have depth, with a potential wedge-shaped shadow inside.

An expert suggested that the dark feature is a mechanism to disperse the large amount of heat probably generated by the avionics of the B-21, hence its proximity to a potential air bleeding feature of the engines.

Another speculated that this darker feature could be a necessary air outlet for the serpentine inlets of the B-21, which are air tunnels that hide the engine fan blades, but potentially create a bottleneck in the airflow in front of the engines. The argument against this explanation is the fact that the feature is not aligned with the likely position of the engines inside the aircraft body.

As clearer views of the B-21 emerge through the taxi testing process, the purpose of these new features may become more apparent.

Source: Air Force & Space Magazine

Tags: Military AviationB-21 RaiderNorthrop GrummanUSAF - United States Air Force / U.S. Air Force

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Fernando Valduga

Fernando Valduga

Aviation photographer and pilot since 1992, has participated in several events and air operations, such as Cruzex, AirVenture, Dayton Airshow and FIDAE. He has work published in specialized aviation magazines in Brazil and abroad. Uses Canon equipment during his photographic work in the world of aviation.

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Zelda 64: Recompiled for PC - Majora's Mask

Zelda 64: Recompiled is a project that uses N64: Recompiled to statically recompile Majora's Mask (and soon Ocarina of Time) into a native port with many new features and enhancements. This project uses RT64 as the rendering engine to provide some of these enhancements.

Play Majora's Mask natively on PC! Download here for Windows or Linux:

Note: Project does not include game assets. Original game is required to play.

Features:

Plug and Play

Simply provide your copy of the North American version of the game in the main menu and start playing! This project will automatically load assets from the provided copy, so there is no need to go through a separate extraction step or build the game yourself. Other versions of the game may be supported in the future.

Fully Intact N64 Effects

A lot of care was put into RT64 to make sure all graphical effects were rendered exactly as they did originally on the N64. No workarounds or "hacks" were made to replicate these effects, with the only modifications to them being made for enhancement purposes such as widescreen support. This includes framebuffer effects like the grayscale cutscenes and the Deku bubble projectile, depth effects like the lens of truth, decals such as shadows or impact textures, accurate lighting, shading effects like the fire arrows and bomb explosions, and various textures that are often rendered incorrectly.

Easy-to-Use Menus

Gameplay settings, graphics settings, input mappings, and audio settings can all be configured with the in-game config menu. The menus can all be used with mouse, controller, or keyboard for maximum convenience.

High Framerate Support

Play at any framerate you want thanks to functionality provided by RT64! Game objects and terrain, texture scrolling, screen effects, and most HUD elements are all rendered at high framerates. By default, this project is configured to run at your monitor's refresh rate. You can also play at the original framerate of the game if you prefer. Changing framerate has no effect on gameplay.

Note: External framerate limiters (such as the NVIDIA Control Panel) are known to potentially cause problems, so if you notice any stuttering then turn them off and use the manual framerate slider in the in-game graphics menu instead.

Widescreen and Ultrawide Support

Any aspect ratio is supported, with most effects modded to work correctly in widescreen. The HUD can also be positioned at 16:9 when using ultrawide aspect ratios if preferred.

Note: Some animation quirks can be seen at the edges of the screen in certain cutscenes when using very wide aspect ratios.

Gyro Aim

When playing with a supported controller, first-person items such as the bow can be aimed with your controller's gyro sensor. This includes (but is not limited to) controllers such as the Dualshock 4, Dualsense, Switch Pro, and most third party Switch controllers (such as the 8BitDo Pro 2 in Switch mode).

Note: Gamepad mappers such as BetterJoy or DS4Windows may intercept gyro data and prevent the game from receiving it. Most controllers are natively supported, so turning gamepad mappers off is recommended if you want to use gyro.

Autosaving

Never worry about losing progress if your power goes out thanks to autosaving! The autosave system is designed to respect Majora's Mask's original save system and maintain the intention of owl saves by triggering automatically and replacing the previous autosave or owl save. However, if you'd still rather play with the untouched save system, simply turn off autosaving in the ingame menu.

Low Input Lag

This project has been optimized to have as little input lag as possible, making the game feel more responsive than ever!

Instant Load Times

Saving and loading files, going from place to place, and pausing all happen in the blink of an eye thanks to the game running natively on modern hardware.

Linux and Steam Deck Support

A Linux binary is available for playing on most up-to-date distros, including on the Steam Deck.

To play on Steam Deck, extract the Linux build onto your deck. Then, in desktop mode, right click the Zelda64Recompiled executable file and select "Add to Steam" as shown. From there, you can return to Gaming mode and configure the controls as needed. See the Steam Deck gyro aim FAQ section for more detailed instructions.

System Requirements:

A GPU supporting Direct3D 12.0 (Shader Model 6) or Vulkan 1.2 is required to run this project (GeForce GT 630, Radeon HD 7750, or Intel HD 510 (Skylake) and newer).

A CPU supporting the AVX instruction set is also required (Intel Core 2000 series or AMD Bulldozer and newer).

Planned Features:

Dual analog control scheme (with analog camera)

Configurable deadzone and analog stick sensitivity

Ocarina of Time support

Mod support and Randomizer

Texture Packs

Model Replacements

Ray Tracing (via RT64)