#inner vision laboratory

[trevlad-sounds]

Tomorrow’s mix opens with one of my own few and far between tracks.

1. Trevlad-Brushed Sunrise-00:00 https://www.mixcloud.com/djsofabed/brushed-sunrise/

2. Chris Otchy-El Chapo-03:18 https://deepelectronicspodcast.bandcamp.com/album/de87-chris-otchy-self-induced-hypnotic-state

3. Scanner-Deer to Village-07:02 https://scanner.bandcamp.com/album/listening-forest

4. Roel Funcken-Part 2-14:25 https://waxingcrescentrecords.bandcamp.com/album/cassette-dj-mix

5. Arbee & v e n n-HP10 [Meditation]-25:43 https://mysterycircles.bandcamp.com/album/code-names

6. loscil-Upstream-28:11 https://loscil.bandcamp.com/album/the-sails-p-1

7. theAdelaidean-Floating-31:59 https://projektrecords.bandcamp.com/album/in-the-key-of-sleep

8. Stellardrone-Ultra Deep Field-39:42 https://stellardrone.bandcamp.com/album/light-years

9. IDRA-Lighthouse keeper-44:20 https://idra.bandcamp.com/album/lone-voyagers-lovers-and-lands

10. Sulk Rooms-An Old Friend Returns-48:48 https://wfrsubclub.bandcamp.com/album/evie-official-soundtrack

11. Jeremiah Chiu-Eighteen-50:04 https://jeremiahchiu.bandcamp.com/album/song-send-poem

12. Simon McCorry-Daydream as the Rain Gently Falls-51:16 https://simonmccorry.bandcamp.com/album/the-failure-of-accuracy

13. John Haughey-Abyssal Benthic-1:01:16 https://waxingcrescentrecords.bandcamp.com/album/perigean-tide

14. Inner Vision Laboratory-Ended-1:04:24 https://innervisionlaboratory.bandcamp.com/album/continuum-2

15. René van der Wouden-When the Coastline hits the Sea-1:08:41 https://rewo.bandcamp.com/album/atmospherics-in-a-nutshell

16. Nils Frahm-Right Right Right-1:12:38 https://nilsfrahm.bandcamp.com/album/music-for-animals

[futuristicturtlefox]

Inner Vision Laboratory - Slowly Dictating Supernovas (Unofficial Music ...

[darkninesrk900]

Your black soul Connor

[I wanted something dark and ugly]

Stadic

No repost

[fakegingerrights]

Walk by Faith (1)

[Crosshair x Medic!reader. TW for nonsexual nudity and showering, medical procedures, blindness, seizures, angst, mentions of self harm and suicide.]

Next Chapt Masterlist

“They call themselves: The Bad Batch.”

Crosshair panted, too bright, always too bright. Too cold hands of a kaminoan, their distinct medical smell and rubbery skin grabbing at his face to pry his eyelids open.

Crosshair screamed.

“A group of clones with ‘desirable mutations.’”

He wasn’t alone, of course. Hunter hated the lights too, his heightened senses making laboratory settings living hell for him. Tech’s constant testing for recall speed and IQ and the sheer amount of information crammed into his head often left him mumbling for hours, unable to think enough to remember his own name. Wrecker spent his nights in agony, growing pain was bad for all of them but his was worse, often spending nights in a drugged sleep to keep him from screaming as his limbs stretched and muscles tightened.

Now he sat in darkness. Alone. Not surrounded by the familiar groans and sighs of his brothers, alone in their own misery but at least present.

“Clone force 99 has been listed as traitors to the empire. Shoot to kill.”

Crosshair never missed. Never. But standing across from his brothers on that platform, watching as Hunter dragged Omega onto the Marauder, and he couldn’t do it.

It’s what got him to where he was now.

“CT-9904?” The new medic wasn’t a clone. The voice was feminine, but the thick bandages over his eyes prevented him from seeing your face. “I’m your assigned optician. I’m here to check how your eyes are accepting the new artificial lenses?”

There’s the sound of footsteps approaching. Crosshair didn’t have ears as good as Hunter, but he had spend enough time blind folded to have a good grasp on using his ears to the fullest.

“I’m going to touch your face now, please try to hold still.” You warned him. Crosshair went stone still, barely even breathing as soft hands brushed his face, deftly undoing the bandages that covered his eyes. He blinked, trying to clear his vision as his heart leapt into his throat.

“You’re doing this in the dark?” He asked, his voice hoarse, even though he already knew the answer.

“No. Until we’re sure your eyes have adjusted to the lenses, you’re on neural blockers to prevent you from consciously using your eyes. it wouldn't be anything more than a blurry mess anyways until they've settled. It should only be a day or two” You explained, a hand coming up to cup his cheek, thumb resting on the bottom of his tattoo, a slight warmth signifying a handheld light flitting across your face. “That’s quite the spot for a tattoo. The work on the eyelid is done well.” You remarked. Crosshair gritted his teeth. As glad as he was to not have a kaminoan working on him, natborns always talked too much.

“Tech did it.” He ground out. You hummed, pulling back sore eyelids to look under them.

“Tech?”

“CT-9902.” He spat the number out.

“Ah, I saw his file briefly. They contacted me to work on his goggles. Now hold still.” You commanded firmly, and Crosshair again went still as something itchy brushed across the surface of his actual eye, then the other one. “You have a name?”

“Crosshair.” Cross gritted out again. The new medic was getting on his nerves, but a small part of him was grateful. Since his squad decided to betray their empire, he hadn’t spoken this much to anyone in weeks.

“Oh! Like your tattoo?” There’s the sound of a tube opening.

“Yes, like the tattoo.”

“That’s really neat. I have a similar one, kinda. A replica of the scope’s readout from my father’s hunting rifle between my shoulder blades. He taught me to shoot with that blaster. Right, I’m going to apply some bacta to your inner eyelids, and then we’ll have to wait until it’s settled before I can apply eyedrops to counteract the dryness it will cause.” You chattered on, Crosshair barely listening. He stared at nothing, not even blinking until you told him he could. The bacta burned something awful, and tears ran tracks down his cheeks as he fought not to rub his eyes.

“Yeah, sorry about the sting, you know, we aught to really come up with something better than bacta, we kinda just use it as a cure all but-“

“Do you ever stop talking?” Crosshair’s annoyance got the best of him and he snapped, glaring in your direction through sightless eyes.

“Eh, I’ve been told I’m quite the chatter box.” You retort. “Right, gonna touch your face again.”

He grimaced as you leaned back into his personal space, so close he could smell your faint perfume as you tipped his head back and administered numbing eyedrops to ease the burning once the bacta had set long enough.

“How long until my sight returns?” He asked, turning his face upwards and blinking to help the eyedrops settle in.

“About a week, give or take a day.” You answered. “The Kaminoans, idiots, wouldn’t let me perform the surgery, and have declared I’m to be your nurse until your eyes have healed. Do I look- wait, no.” Crosshair glared in your direction. “Do I sound like a nurse to you? I’m an optometrist specializing in artificial lenses and improvements! Not that yours could be improved much. Your natural eyes are phenomenal. I’ve never seen more beautifully shaped retinas, and your pupil dexterity is amazing!”

“Yes yes, I get it. I’ve got good eyes.” Crosshair rolled his empty eyes. “Not what girls usually compliment me on, but I’ll take it.” He wasn’t sure why he kept indulging you in conversation. He’d rather be left alone to his own dark world.

“There aren’t many girls who know what to look for in a decent set if eyes.” You shot back, picking up the fresh set of bandages. Crosshair flinched when your knuckle brushed his temple.

“Sorry, I forgot to warn you. Just reapplying the bandages, then we can get you out of this wing and to your temporary outpatient accommodations.” He sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly with relief at getting out of the lab before he caught the rest of what you said.

“I’m not going to my barrack?” He asked. Crosshair didn’t need eyes to know you were wincing.

“Yeah… about that. The long necked idiots decided you needed around the clock monitoring before your sight returned. And decided, since they’re my lenses in your eyes, you should be put with me. In my quarters.”

Crosshair scoffed. “Absolutely not.”

“Unfortunately, Commander, you don’t get a choice. Do you have anything you need out of this room?” You say briskly, looking around.

“I’m not staying in-“

“Nothing you need then?”

“…” Even through the bandages, you can feel his glare as he chews his lip. “Do you have a toothpick?”

“In my quarters. Right, let’s get you up.” Hands grab his shoulder and help him out of the post-op gurney and to his feet. He sways slightly as he tries to find his balance without his eyes. “Whoah there, I gotcha.” The hands on his shoulders tightened. “Wow, you’re tall. Ok, do you want to take my shoulder or have me take your arm?”

Crosshair hated this. He wanted to scream and tear the cloth away from his eyes and rub them until they stopped itching and he could see and-

And it wouldn’t do anything but give him an infection. The voice in his head sounded painstakingly like Tech, who was always trying to help.

“Shoulder.” He gritted out after a moment. Soft hands that had just thoroughly tortured him with their medicine now took his hand and placed it on your shoulder. He fell into step beside you, letting you guide him into the hall and through the corridor.

“Your room is on the left past the kitchenette, I moved as much of the furniture as I could out of your way. Our rooms are connected by a shared refresher, too.” You chattered on as he followed you through the halls.

The darkness without his vision never failed to unsettle him. Kamino is always so bright, so blindingly white... even without vision the shadows felt out of place.

"Here we are." Your voice startled him out of his thoughts. "I'll drop you at your room and let you get settled from there. You won't be drilling while you recover but your armor and rifle is on the bed."

You set his hand against the doorframe into his room. "If there's an emergency shout and I'll be there."

Yeah, right.

The room was small, Crosshair was thankful for that. Less space for him to memorize. He sat down on the bed, taking a deep breath and fighting the urge to scratch at his eyes. He focused instead on mapping out the unfamiliar bunk. It was about the size of the one in his barrack, maybe a hair bigger. the most curious thing though was the dense, soft quilt that draped over it. It certainly wasn't anything from Kamino. On a hunch, he let a hand drift up to run a finger along the edge of the pillow.

Cotton. And thick. Not the thin cushion the kaminoans insisted on. It smelled off too, like fresh air and sunshine rather than bleach.

Had you... made up the bed for him?

Crosshair shook off the thought and all it entailed. There was a bedside desk of sorts, a datapad resting on it. Not that he would be able to do anything with it...

At the foot of the bed was his sniper rifle and armor, which he quickly checked over. Everything seemed to be in order.

Satisfied he could at least confidently navigate his temporary sleeping space, he kicked the quilt to the foot of the bed and curled up on the mattress, giving a quiet sigh of appreciation as he let himself sleep for the moment.

---

He awoke to a soft knock at the door, then the sound of it sliding open. Crosshair suppressed a twitch and focused on maintaining his breathing, staying as still as possible.

"Cross- oh." Your voice went from a casual tone to barely above a whisper. He feigned sleep and focused on listening to your footsteps as you padded across the room, pausing by the table.

There was the clatter of something... cutlery? And the faint smell of hot rations from the mess. Kriff, he must've slept longer than he meant if you were bringing in food already. He fought the urge to tense as he felt your presence close to him, then down by his feet where he had kicked the quilt. The sensation of the weight being pulled from the edge of the cott and the rustle of heavy fabric, he barely stifled a flinch as the blanket touched down over his shoulders first before coming to rest over the rest of him.

Then your footsteps retreated back towards the door, and he let himself relax a little more.

"I know you're awake, Crosshair. Food's on the desk if you're hungry. Double portion, to help you make up the weight you've lost the last few weeks." Your tone was still soft, and slightly... amused? Were you laughing at him? "The overhead lights are off but the desklamp is on. I'm out here if you need anything."

The door slid shut again. The quilt was heavy, but deceptively cool against his exposed skin, the white shirt and loose pants of the medical ward suddenly left him feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Crosshair huffed a long sigh, sitting up and folding his knees up against his chest. He started with his ankles, slowly and methodically going through and cracking every joint all the way up to his neck then down his arms, stretching as he goes and enjoying the sensation of his muscles relaxing. He trailed one of his hands up against the smooth surface of the desk until he bumped the tray, then feeling around the edges for the warmth of where the rations would be.

Satisfied with the layout of his trey he moved to eat over the desk. As he did so, he also found a glass of water and a hefty box of toothpicks.

He picked at the food, getting barely halfway through before he pushed it away, downing the water and settling back on his bed to chew on a toothpick in sullen silence. His eyes ached. It wasn't a new sensation, but it was much more annoying. Especially that he was now left alone in the dark instead of having his squad around him to distract him.

Crosshair shook his head. That line of thought never ended well recently. He opted instead to grab his tray and glass and slip into the shared living space, setting them carefully in the sink and rinsing them over. There's the chatter of noise... a holo drama of some kind? And your voice from behind him and to his left, against the far wall.

"You know, you can change out of those awful medical uniforms if you want to." You called. Crosshair grunted.

"Don't have anything else. It's this or my blacks." He shot back, wincing at how gravely his voice sounded.

"Really? Nothing else?"

He rolled his eyes behind closed lids on impulse, then winced at the stinging feeling of the motion. "That's what I said, isn't it?"

"Sorry. That just seems a little spartan, though. Even for- well."

"A clone?" He drawled the word out. "We're property. Property can't own property, so we have enough to keep us from running around naked."

"Now that would be a sight. Kaminoans would be under a lot of heat for it though, since then there'd be no doubt about your humanity." There's a clatter of you setting something down, a datapad, probably. "Actually, scrap that. They'd just use it as more marketing. Do you want me to make a few calls, get you something else to wear?"

"That is... unnecessary. These are fine." Other clothes would be nice, Crosshair mused. He hated how much he sounded like Tech in that moment, but really, these would do just fine. He was a weapon for the Repub- Empire. He got what was given to him and didn't ask for more.

His momentary confusion sent a jolt of pain through the side of his head, he pressed a palm to it with a wince. Everything seemed to fizzle around him before snapping back to it's usual feeling. Dimly, he heard your voice talking to him.

"-Hair? Crosshair, are you alright?" Fingertips grazed his cheek just below the bandages. His hand snapped up to close around your wrist in a bone crushing grip. Kriff, when had you gotten close enough to touch him? "Ow, owowowow, ok, Buddy, you gotta let me go here. Take a breath." Your other hand came up to pry at his fingers. He took a shuddering breath and slowly released his death grip, his hand slipping away to hang limp at his side.

You mumble a few nasty curses that made his eyebrows raise slightly below the bandages, pulling away to presumably rub at your sore wrist.

"Warn me before you go grabbin me." He ground out in lieu of an apology, moving to push past you. You stopped him with your good hand on his chest.

"I did. You didn't hear me. Come sit down, I need to check your vitals." Your tone was stern, and he sighed knowing he wasn't gonna be able to get out of this one. He ground down on his toothpick as you took his elbow and lead him over to what felt like a low sofa, pushing him down onto it. If he had his eyes uncovered, he'd be glaring daggers.

"I thought you weren't a nurse." He bit the words out. You give him a snort in return.

"I'm not. But I am your around the clock care for now. Wanna tell me what that was? Gonna check your blood pressure, can I have your non-dominant arm?"

Crosshair held out his right arm, and you tapped his hand twice to warn him before moving to slip the cuff around his arm, taking care to maintain some form of contact so you didn't startle him again. "Just a lapse in attention." He lied through his teeth.

"Crosshair." Your tone was tired, borderline scolding him.

"It's a recurring headache. I've had it since the Reformation." he ground out. "It's on the side of my head, up high. Bleeds down into a migraine above my right eye."

"I'm gonna do a bloodcheck. Can I have your little finger? Little poke." He held out his hand as you slipped the blood pressure cuff off. He hissed as the needle lanced into his skin and out, taking a fair amount of blood [and actual flesh] with it. "Right, while that processes, we're gonna go to the refresher and get you cleaned up."

"My inability to see doesn't mean I can't bathe myself just fine." Crosshair hissed.

"You can do your body on your own just fine, but I need to get your eyes for you. We don't want to risk infection and you got some blood and crusties that would probably feel much better gone." You tap his elbow and pull him to his feet. "And while you're bathing, no shower. Bath only, keep the water away from your face and eyes, no soap-"

"I know post op care, Doc. Not my first time under the long neck's knife." Cross ground out.

"-And I'll leave you to do that while I track down some proper clothes for you." You finished, taking him through his room into the refresher. "Edge of the tub is behind you. Gonna have you sit on the floor in front of it and lean over it, ok? I'm gonna have my hands all over your face and head, so I'd appreciate it if you don't grab me again." He felt with his foot until his heel found the tub and lowered himself to the floor with a sigh. The tub was partially sunken into the ground, so the lip was fairly close to the floor. It was a little awkward at first as he slowly slid down until he was resting mostly laying on the ground with his head on the edge of the tub.

"Mk, right next to you, Crosshair." You said, tapping his shoulder lightly. "Let's get another look under these wraps, ok? I'll be gentle." As if you'd risk being anything else. Wouldn't want to damage the Empire's perfect weapon. He focused on breathing as you slowly unwound the strips from his face, blinking away the gritty feeling of his eyelids finally being able to move freely. He squinted through puffy eyelids into the darkness on instinct, trying to search for even a whisper of change or movement. "Ah, careful now. Nothing to see, remember? Do you want your eyedrops now or later?"

"Later." He grunted, to a small chuckle from you. He glared in your direction, but you paid him no mind.

"Lift your head for me?"

He did so, and he heard the slide of coarse fabric against ceramic as you slid a folded up towel under his neck and shoulders so they weren't digging into the smooth surface of the tub. He always hated this part.

The sound of the spigot being opened made him flinch, and he could feel flecks of water hitting the back of his head as the sound of a bottle being filled hit his ears. He gritted his teeth, waiting.

"Ok, bear with me now, gonna be up in your face for a bit." You warned, turning the faucet off again. Crosshair grunted an acknowledgement, bracing himself. Your off hand, the one he'd grabbed, he noted, slid under the base of his skull to better support his head as a damp microfiber cloth was dabbed at the disgusting mess of bacta, mucus, blood, and who knows what else that had gathered in the innermost corner and under his eyes, slowly breaking apart the mess with as little pressure as possible.

Crosshair swallowed, his pulse ticking up slightly before he remembered to go back to focusing on his breathing as you worked your way outwards, into the edges of his eyes. Memories flitted to the surface of his mind, of his eyes being rinsed out with something like a power washer as a cadet whenever he got another eye infection and the itchy, blurry vision he always had after another round of testing, debating on whether or not he was good enough or if he needed more improvement. Blinding white alternating with terrifying darkness, he hated not being able to see.

"Crosshair?" Your voice was soft, right next to his ear. It pulled him out of the painful memories as he realized you were no longer working on his eyes. "Is everything alright?"

"Situation Normal." His voice was raspier than he would have liked, sound just a bit too choked to be 'fine.'

"Alright. The worst of it's over, ok? Everything is looking good." There was the click of a soap bottle, and he tensed up again as the faucet was turned back on. His breathing, which he had done well at keeping metronome-steady up until this moment, caught slightly as something cold touched his scalp and the hand behind his head carefully pulled away.

"What're you doing?" He growled.

"Washing your hair. You'll feel better once it's done, trust me." Your voice had lost it's worried note, amusement creeping in as you begin to work the shampoo into his close cropped hair, gently scrubbing away at layers of built up sweat and dander at the edges of his hairline. "There you go, relax. I'm not going to hurt you, Commander."

Crosshair did his best, closing his eyes. It might've been your imagination, but he seemed to be leaning into your touch ever so slightly.

You switched to a small tipped squirt bottle you had filled earlier and began gently rinsing away the suds, a hand coming up to make sure none got close to his eyes. He shifted against the towel under him, listening to the still running faucet as you washed the last of the soap away, close cut nails still scratching at his scalp.

Just for a moment, he let himself drift. Just for a moment, the hands in his hair were stronger. Rougher, calluses from a knife dragging against his curls, murmuring in Mando’a in his ear-

Then you pulled away, and the illusion broke.

“I’m going to go grab you some clothes, okay? The tub is full and the water is warm. Oh, hold on.” You pull away and pause as he makes the tiniest sound in the back of his throat, then covers it with a dry cough. It almost feels like you imagined it, and not sure what to do, you ignore it.

Crosshair waits with bated breath, but slowly relaxes as you don’t seem to notice his slip up. Stupid of him, getting lost in the past.

“Ok, I’ve got an elastic cover here, just gonna slip it over your eyes so you don’t get water in them. You can take it off when you get out, but I’d like you to at least sleep with it on so you don’t rub in your sleep.” He immediately stiffens, waiting for the awful scratchy material to be pulled over his head-

Only for gentle hands to pull something soft and silky down over his eyes, barely a weight. He lets out the breath he’d been holding as you fuss with it for a second, making sure it won’t slip off.

“Ok. All good, Commander?”

“All good, Doc.” His answer is immediate. Your hand comes to rest on his shoulder and he suppresses a flinch.

“Ok, you can come out whenever you’re done. I’ll bring you some proper clothes.” And then he was alone in the dark once more.

Slowly, methodically, he shrugged out of the thin white shirt and loose pants before stepping down into the tub, hissing slightly at the hot water. The burn felt good though, as he eased himself down to sit in a ball in the corner of the tub.

It was a much longer bath than Crosshair had ever had, letting the hot water be a distraction from his own mind as he methodically soaped up and rinsed enough that the water must be cloudy. He couldn’t shake the feeling of dirt, of the sensation of it caked into his skin and under his nails and-

That’s enough of a bath today. He opened the drain and listened to the water swirling down, a rap at the door catching his attention.

“What do you want?” The words are harsher than he means, but he can’t bring himself to feel too bad about them.

“Clothes, not that maker-forsaken medical uniform. I’m not looking, just gonna set them on the counter.”

The door slid open and you shuffled in, your footsteps slow and hesitant as you blindly reached for the counter, setting the stack down before retreated.

Ha, modesty around a clone.

Crosshair grabs the towel that was folded behind him earlier and dried off, gingerly patting around his hair before searching out whatever you had brought. His fingers came in contact with soft polymer and heavy cotton as he found the teeshirt and sweats you had left for him, sliding into them with a shiver.

These weren’t clone clothes. These were the expensive sleepwear they reserved for natborns. They smelled of expensive detergent rather than the bleach based mess that was used for clones, turning what little clothes they had scratchy and awful to touch.

He padded out through his room and into the main living area, taking off the soft eyewrap while he did so and made his way to the sofa. His foot found it before he did and he swore, much to amusement of you already on the sofa.

“Do you want a hand?” You asked, a smile in your tone. Crosshair sat down with a glare and a rude gesture in your direction.

“Eyedrops?” He asked.

“Oh! Yeah, we should do that now. Stay there.” He felt the sofa shift as you stood up, collecting what sounded like a bag from the other side of the room and returning to your seat.

“Got them. Ok, hold still, try not to flinch.” You instructed, tapping his shoulder twice to prepare him as you tilted his head up. He went stone still, breathing slowing to barely a gasp as a thumb swept sore eyelids up, he fought the urge to blink as two drops splashed into each eye.

“Ok, ok easy.” The hand released his chin and your presence retreated. “Take a breath, Crosshair. You’re trembling.”

Crosshair took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and keeping his head leaned back against the back of the couch as he closed his eyes.

“M’fine.” He grunted. “Hate these.”

You snorted softly, patting his knee sympathetically. Even through the heavy material of his sweats, he felt the odd shape of a bandaged hand. He frowned slightly, that hadn’t been there before.

“Yeah, they’re not pleasant.” You agree, settling back. “You’re not supposed to use a datapad but do you want to listen to a book or something?”

Crosshair just grunted. “What’ja do to your hand?” He asked.

“My…. Oh. You did that, actually. When you grabbed me earlier. It’s just a bruise, nothing too bad.” You shrug off the concern as Crosshair shifts to get more comfortable.

“You should have warned me-“

“I did, Commander. You were too out of it to notice. Speaking of which, your blood results came back. When did you get electrocuted?”

The question took Crosshair by surprise.

“I haven’t been.” He forgot to sound angry at the question. You gave a small ‘huh.’

“You have a lot of ionized carbon in your bloodstream, from either a massive jolt or long term low level shocks.” You reported.

“I’m a mutant. Gonna have weird blood.” He mumbled back.

“Not like this.” You huffed. “It doesn’t match previous levels of your blood samples.”

Crosshair blinked the eyedrops away again, feeling the grittiness diminish for a moment.

“They took me. After we came back from our last mission with a jedi. They kept me from my brothers. I don’t remember what happened much after that.” The words felt… strange, to admit them aloud. A bolt of pain shot through his head, making him gasp slightly as a hand shot up to the side of his head. It was a lot worse than it had been in a while.

Flashes and echos of memory assaulted him, Hunter’s cold glare, Tech’s sneering face, Wrecker’s rage and Echo’s snide pity as they abandoned him on that platform. The roar of the jets as they betrayed the Empire, betrayed him.

Hunter opening his mouth to shout-

“Crosshair? Commander Crosshair.” His eldest brother’s voice came out panicked and feminine, not a clone’s voice. Crosshair was yanked out of memory, the haze of pain lifting slightly. Soft hands, gentle hands, scraping over his hair, massaging the cramping muscles in his hands as tremors wracked his whole body.

He was vaguely aware he was laying against someone, his head under a chin and legs bracketing his thighs to keep him from thrashing as he struggled to remember how to breathe.

“Crosshair, can you hear me?” The voice came from behind him, rumbling through him like a jolt of clear water. He managed a rough nod. “Good. I want you to try and match my breathing. In for 8, hold for 5, out for 8.”

You slowed your breathing down, counting softly. It took him a few seconds but he managed, pants turning into shaky but even breaths.

“‘Appened?” Crosshair slurred, not even trying to fight even as he realized it it wasn’t a brother under him but a doctor.

“You had another episode. This one was a lot worse. You were screaming and thrashing and-“ You had to take a breath, calm yourself before you startled him worse. “Can you describe to me how you’re feeling?”

Crosshair groaned softly, your hands returned to his close cropped silver curls and resumed combing through them.

“Head hurts… confused…” He closed his sightless eyes, relaxing into your touch.

“Yeah? Can you tell me where you are?”

Crosshair was silent for a long time. “Temp medical housing.” His voice was stronger.

“Good. Anything weird you’re seeing?”

“Doc, I’m blind for another day or so. Lemme up.” His attitude was the next to return, pulling your arms off of him and sitting up, palming his head and going to rub his eyes before stopping himself. The couch shifted under him as you moved.

“Careful. Careful. I’m going to go grab you a painkiller and something to drink.”

He grunted an acknowledgement, listening to you clatter around the kitchenette while he massages at his temples in an effort to release the tension prickling at his scalp.

“Hey.” He jumped as your voice came from a lot closer than he was expecting, and winced slightly at your instant step back incase you needed to avoid a blow. “Hey. Still with me?” Your voice was softer the next time. Crosshair nodded. “Alright. I’ve got a painkiller, but it’s gonna make you sleepy, ok? And water. You’re dehydrated.”

A cup was pressed into his hands and he took a drink before tilting his head to the side and exposing his neck.

“Good, you already know the drill. Ok, I’m right next to you, little pinch.”

It was not a little pinch, it never was. It hurt. But it was quickly replaced by the feeling of lead in his veins as a weight settled over him. He took another drink of the water before setting it down, not having the energy to fight it.

Crosshair tried to get to his feet, but his balance was a skewed mess. A hand slid under his shoulders to steady him as the world rocked wildly.

“You wanna sleep out here or in your room, decide fast.” Your voice was a gentle murmur in his ear.

“Second.” He gritted out, accepting your help with annoyed resignation as you half carried him to his room and set him down on his bunk.

“Get some rest, Commander. You’ve done so well today.” Your voice echoes like it’s from a long ways off. He falls back against the pillow, and the quilt is settled over him. He’s asleep before he can even curl up properly

---

“One day, Cross, we’re gonna be proper Commandos. No more labs for us.” Hunter’s voice is right by his head, whisper soft.

“Me too?” Wrecker, six years old and already almost as tall as the trainers. “And Tech?” Tech had been the one for testing that day, he was snoring away tucked against Wrecker’s side.

“All of us.” Hunter promised. “We’re gonna be free of testing and together fighting tinnies and living free.”

Crosshair just rolled over. Wishful thinking, at best.

[A/N: Whew! This is kinda awkward to break into chapters, but I'm trying. I've decided to release it chapter by chapter and then publish the master when I'm done so everyone is happy, got it? Taglist:

@rinwritesfics @endo-bunny @renon4224 @tecker ]

[psychospore]

A Welcomed Distraction

A/N: Working extra hard over the weekends because my workaholic self would have this done ASAP rather than waiting for next week despite not being urgent, apparently wanting to have a distraction along the way, thus this fic coming to fruition.

Summary: You have been working on a project for days in the lab, and while everyone has left - including Tony and Banner, you decided to stay there even on weekends, much to your boyfriend Loki's annoyance so he distracts you in a most sexual way possible to get you to rest.

Pairing: Loki x F!Reader

Word Count: 699

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, smut, fluff, fingering, established relationship

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Friday, 11:30PM

You were deeply focusing on work, sitting on a wide laboratory table, reading through thick manuscripts while punching different letters to the high-end computer in the Stark lab, donning your usual lab coat. You did not notice Loki coming into the lab.

"Hello, darling - when are you coming to bed. I've missed you," he hugged you from behind nuzzling your neck.

"Sorry love, I just need to finish this. I'll have this done soon" you responded, barely breaking eye contact with your work.

"How soon, darling?" he sniffs your luscious locks, planting light kisses on your neck.

"In a few days. I don't want to leave this over the weekend. I'm so close to figuring this one out." you turned around to face him, still sitting on your swivel chair.

Loki furrowed his brows, what could he expect. He's dating the most hardworking person in the entire Midgard - but he knows you really deserve rest. You looked pale, accentuating the dark bags under your eyes, hands jittering from the caffeine running through your system.

"When was the last time you slept, my dear?" he asked

"I slept last night... for about an hour... maybe less" you sheepishly answered, "but I've had coffee! and Redbull! or both at the same time" pointing to the empty cans of Redbull beside an empty mug and half-filled coffee pot.

"that won't work darling, you need to rest," he assertively declared.

"but I can't leave the lab just yet" you frowned.

"Leave it with me", he coos as a mischievous grin grew on his perfectly luscious lips. He knelt down, and his hands started making its way through your knee-length lab coat, caressing your inner thighs as you let out a sensual moan from his gesture.

"What are you doing?" you whimpered, red-flushed by his unexpected action. You were not prepared for his treat, but your exhausted body was in no place to object.

Slowly, he spread your legs, you wore a short dress underneath so it was easy for him to slip your now slick panties through your legs and with a flick of his fingers, vanishing it in a mist of green seidr. He marveled at the wonderful sight of your gaping pussy, all for him to see and feast on. You held tightly on the armrest of your chair and you bucked your hips as his warm breath comes into contact with your wet folds - undeniably wanting more.

He pulled you closer, his tongue coming into contact with your clit and gently sucking it. Your eyes rolled back at the amazing sensation and Loki looks at you satisfied with his effect on you. He licks two of his digits before inserting them inside your tight cunt. You gasped and moaned as he continued to piston his fingers. It's been days since you've last touched and your senses heightened from the loss of intimate contact with him for these past few days.

The pressure from your core is starting to build up, Loki is aware of it as you clenched his fingers tighter and tighter. You screamed his name as your mind and vision went white, lots of fluids gushing out of you, coating Loki's hands and pooling on the chair where you sat upon. It even managed to drip to the floor, as you shuddered from the wave of pleasure you were experiencing.

Your body went limp and your vision turned dark as you felt yourself succumbing to slumber. Loki, with a flick of his hand, cleaned you up and everything around and managed to conjure a small mattress, pillows, and a warm blanket to cover you up as you sleep. He planted small kisses on your forehead as he carries you to sleep, and he did not leave your side until you woke up the following morning.

You jolted up realizing you slept when you were supposed to be working and but seeing how Loki took care of you last night, you smiled to yourself. You're lucky to be taken care of by a god, as you run your fingers through his hair, kissing him on the forehead. He's a distraction you were welcome to receive anytime.

[smittenroses]

⌞ask box open⌝ | ⌞commissions open⌝ | ⌞ko-fi?⌝ | ⌞Patreon⌝

— Build you up...

Fandom — Genshin Impact Pairing — "The Doctor" Il Dottore/reader Summary — He perfected the ability to expand his consciousness, who's to say he cannot use it to bring back his playthings? Content Warnings — obsessive tendencies/yandere-esque behavior (it's Dottore), toxic dynamics Word Count — 460 Author's note — Evil things come at 11 at night. Enjoy this double upload.

Dottore was many things, and none of them was the type to give up.

Sitting in his lab, his fingers tinkered away with the robot in front of him, mumbling under his breath as he connected this wire to that; he knew how to make himself, he knew the ins and outs of his own anatomy and behavior but this? He was creating something brand new, something he had to get right.

The body had to be sculpted correctly, all those little flaws and things he adored etched into the artificial skin, its nails trimmed the right length and those lips painted the perfect colour.

The hair had to be silky, soft, the type he had taken to know by feeling it with his hands, feeling it against his skin. He had spent many sleepless nights perfecting the texture and colour before he put it on the head of the robot, now protected by silk as he worked away at the inner mechanisms.

It was hard work making sure something would work, something would breathe. It was hard work making sure that to the normal person, nobody would notice anything was different about the so-called human in front of them. If they were perceptive, on the other hand, they would probably hear that there may be whirling of gears, that there may be a robot moving inside of the flesh suit that he had created.

If any had noticed it about his segments, none had asked.

But compared to his segments, compared to him, this new body would run on something new, something exciting. The vision glowed in his hands, its owner not too far off nearby, as he pried it from its ruined vision holder. The frame was in pieces, never to be used again as he placed the vision inside of the robot's chest, hearing the mechanics roar to life as he shut the chest.

Artificial eyes open, staring into his own. Your lovely hues of colour blinked once, twice before sitting up. "Why...?" You muttered softly, looking around the laboratory before him. Good, it seems that you didn't remember anything prior to the accident. "Doctor, why am I here?"

"You collapsed while in the hall, I simply brought you in to recover." He said, his voice perfectly rehearsed as he helped you from the table, watching the way your new legs wobbled and groaned under the weight. It would get better as your metal frame got used to moving, got used to being a robot.

"Thank you..."

As timid as the day he met you, his smile could only grow. The body that lay comatose behind closed doors was boring, not much to play with.

But you? He was going to enjoy breaking you all over again.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Hello! I'd love a whumptober fic if you could/want to

A/N: This got me thinking; more Yuanzhi poisoning himself for

✨S C I E N C E ✨

--

"Zhi gongzi, I think you should stop."

Yuanzhi shivers from the chills and the sudden bolt of heat that burns itself through his veins. Breathing deeply, he does his best to regulate his internal skills, pushing out as much of the poison in his meridians as possible.

It works about as well as using a bucket of water to douse the flames of a burning house.

"Give me the next one." Yuanzhi commands. His attendant hesitates and Yuanzhi opens his eyes to glare weakly at him. "Give it."

With reluctance, his other attendant hands him the third bowl of viscous sludge that sticks in his mouth as it goes down.

"Should we get Jue gongzi?"

"And say what? You know Zhi gongzi would--"

Handing the bowl back to waiting hands, he clears his throat, blinking rapidly through the swimming colours in his eyes. "If any of you disturb my Ge about this, I'll use your guts as strings for my traps."

The threat must have worked. His attendants bow their heads and carefully switch out the trays. Yuanzhi resists the urge to roll his eyes. He didn't purge the Herb Elixir from his system just so that he could fail while running this experiment.

Yuanzhi pushes through the buzzing growing louder in his ears. Sweat drips down the line of his spine, pooling at the base. Darkness prickles and spots in the edges of his vision. Yuanzhi feels his consciousness slip.

Pressure builds in his chest. He coughs, retching a little and throws up nothing but clear liquid.

"How many more?"

"Another two trays, my Lord."

Yuanzhi spits out a mouthful of bile. Swishing his mouth with some salt water, he sits up and nearly falls. One of his attendants immediately rushes forward to slip behind him, quickly pressing on his acupoints.

"Zhi gongzhi, please..."

"Shut up! You know nothing," Yuanzhi seethes, teeth clacking together as he is wrecked by a fresh wave of chills. Delirium seizes him. "If I don't learn how these poisons can interact with each other, how can I be of use to my Gege? What good would I be--"

"What good would you be then if you're dead?"

Yuanzhi stills. At the door of his laboratory is his gege in all his dark and dangerous glory. To his side is another one of his attendants looking decidedly guilty and fidgeting. Guts and strings, Yuanzhi thinks venomously. Guts and strings, and he's going to use it in his latest prototypes that blow up.

Shangjue gege narrows his eyes at the attendant behind him who promptly scrambles away, bowing quickly as he goes. Yuanzhi doesn't fight him when he takes over, hauling him back to lean against gege's front.

"Leave us." Shangjue gege commands. Yuanzhi turns his face to the side, swallowing tightly when gege wraps his arms around his waist. "Are you willing to talk now?"

Yuanzhi stays silent just to be spiteful.

Behind him, he feels gege sigh helplessly, before he is dipped into a brief press of their lips. "What--" Quick fingers push a familiar tasting medicine into his mouth and a strong, sword-calloused palm closes over his bottom jaw, holding fast.

When Yuanzhi pulls away, he tries to climb away from gege, only to be dragged back in. "Stop fighting me!" Gege growls, taking advantage of Yuanzhi's instinctual deference to obey him to push some of his inner energy into him to help the Herb Elixir detoxify.

"Don’t waste your energy like that, it won’t do anything for me,” Yuanzhi grumbles, wiggling to the side. “The poisons I took are meant to attack my meridians. If I receive any external help, it’ll only make it worse.”

Shangjue gege relaxes his hands down to Yuanzhi’s hips in a loose hold.

“Tell me what you need.”

Lips twitching, but determined to not let the bitter amusement show, Yuanzhi coughs, waving his hand at the trays of poisons still left to consume. “Keep passing me the rest.”

“Are you sure—“

“Do you or do you not want to know the effects of the Maze of Memories? “Were you or were you not the one who promised the Wen family that you’d bring their daughter a cure for it?” Yuanzhi cuts him off, sitting forth with a weak huff. “I was one tray left from simulating the side effects and at this stage I’ll need to double up.”

The comforting heat and weight behind him slides away. When Shangjue returns, it’s with the tray his attendant had left behind.

“I don’t want you to do this if it means sacrificing your health.”

Yuanzhi scoffs. “A little to late for that, gege.” Picking up a bowl, he toasts him mockingly. “To your health.”

Downing it all with a grimace, he has to squeeze his eyes shut when the taste lingers in his mouth. Shangjue appears at his elbow, pressing a cup of tea into his hand.

“Next one.”

Before he can drink this one, Shangjue holds him by the wrist.

“I feel like I owe you an explanation,” He starts. “Lord Wen and Lord Zhou have been great allies to our family through the years. This was a request that they and their heir, Young Master Zhang, personally asked of me. It would been hard to refuse.”

Yuanzhi nods. Sullenly trying to pull his hand out of his gege’s hold. He finds Shangjue gege once again refusing to let go.

“It is true that this is a cure for their daughter,” Gege continues, sitting down in front of him and carefully taking the bowl out of Yuanzhi’s hand. “Their very betrothed daughter who is set to wed the second young master of the Cao Sect.”

Yuanzhi snaps his head up at that. The information cuts through the fog in his head and he gapes at his gege, who very kindly doesn’t say a word and merely pats at the back of his hand.

He lets himself be gently folded into a warm hug. “Yuanzhi didi, if you could do me the small favour of not doubting my affection for you, I’d be ever so grateful.” Shangjue chuckles, tenderly running a thumb over his sweaty cheek. “You’re worth to me than an alliance with these two august personages in the jianghu.”

Yuanzhi purses his lips, tilting his head to eye up the remaining bowls.

“Ge, let go of me and feed me the rest. I hate the taste of cold poison.” Yuanzhi croaks, his voice bleeding into a rasping laugh when Shangjue’s brows knit into a magnificent frown. “You’ve staked my reputation and yours, too. I can’t let us down now.”

Shangjue gege battles for only a moment before his shoulders slump helplessly.

“Tell me if you need to vomit.”

[simplorist]

The Id in Full

I found this on bilibili and had to share it. Honestly, I could never write anything this unhinged good. True insanity love cannot be replicated by a mere mortal such as I.

深情朗诵《我好想做兔毛手袋的实验品啊》，但伤痛英文散文风_哔哩哔哩_bilibili

Transcript below:

Oh, my beloved Medicine Pocket, with every fiber of my being, how I crave to be their most daring experiment — a test subject willingly consumed by an unyielding desire to explore the depths of their ingenious mind. 

(哦，我最挚爱的兔毛手袋，我身上的每一根纤维都渴望成为他最大胆的实验品—— 一个心甘情愿的，被想探索他聪明的头脑深处的欲望彻底吞噬的试验品。)

How I ache to be the catalyst that ignites their creativity, the spark that sets ablaze the fires of inspiration within them. 

（我多么渴望成为点燃他创造力的催化剂，成为点燃他内心灵感之火的火花。）

How I wish they take me into the inner sanctum of their laboratory and sculpt me into the masterpiece they envision. 

(我多么希望他把我带进他实验室的内部圣殿，把我雕刻成他设想的杰作。)

Within the realm of daring experiments dismissed as mad science by everyone else, I yearn to surrender myself entirely, as a willing vessel for their extraordinary vision.

(即便他大胆的实验被他人斥为疯狂的科学，我渴望完全交出自己，成为实现他非凡实验愿景的容器。)

In their worldview where beauty is often measured by conventional standards, I humbly stand before them, aware that I may not possess the same conventional charm as a puppy or an arcanist. 

（在他的世界观中，所谓的美往往是以常规的标准来衡量的，我卑微地站在他面前，意识到我可能不具备像只小狗或神秘学家那样的魅力。）

Yet, in the depths of my heart, like an unwavering flame of a Bunsen burner, a love flickers and dances, immune to the judgments of inadequacy.

（然而，在我的内心深处，就像本生灯坚定的火焰一样，我的爱在舞动，闪烁，不受对我不足之处的判断影响。）

Perhaps, in the grand tapestry of existence, I am destined to be but a humble creature, a mere vermin, a lab rat confined within the walls of their affection. 

（也许，在称为“存在”的宏伟织锦中，我注定只是一个卑微的生物，一个单纯的害虫，一个被禁锢在他感情之墙的实验室白老鼠。）

Yet, even in this self-imposed diminishment, my heart remains steadfast, under a trembling breath, I implored, "Please, Medicine Pocket, allow me to be your lab rat."

（然而，即使是在这种自我贬斥的情况下，我的心依然坚定不移，在颤抖的呼吸下，我恳求道："求求你，兔毛手袋，请允许我成为你的小白鼠。"）

"Let me be your devoted lab rat, the embodiment of your curiosity, a vessel for your boundless imagination."

("让我成为你最忠诚的小白鼠，成为你好奇心的化身，成为你无限想象力的容器。")

As you study me, my love, remember that I am not merely a subject for scrutiny but a willing participant in this scientific romance.

（当你研究我时，我的挚爱，请记住，我不仅仅是一个被你审查的实验品，而是这个称为“浪漫”的科学中一个自愿的参与者。）

With every hypothesis they formulate, with every test they conduct, I willingly surrender myself to be the canvas upon where they paint their profound study, in which their genius takes flight.

（他提出的每一个假设，他进行的每一次测试，我都心甘情愿地交出自己，成为他那描绘深邃实验研究的画布，让他的非凡造詣能在上面自由翱翔。）

For it is in this vulnerable surrender that I find my truest purpose.

（因为正是在这种脆弱的屈服中, 我能够找到我存在的意义。）

Amidst the choices that weigh upon me, this transcends a mere deliberation between options like rofecoxib and pregabalin;

（在众多抉择中，这已经超越了在罗非昔布和普瑞巴林俩选项之间的单纯考虑；）

It is a matter of love.

（这是一个关于爱的问题。）

*注: matter也可翻译为物质(双关) 

It is an impassioned dance of the heart, where emotions intertwine and intertwine, beckoning me to embrace the transformative power of connection.

（这是我一场狂热，情感交织的心灵之舞，指引我去拥抱那能让你彻底改观的联系。）

I find myself desiring to be a species entirely of my own, not just a lab rat, but a creation — a creation born from the amalgamation of your hands, my dear Medicine Pocket.

（我发现自己渴望成为一个独一无二物种，不只是一只实验室的白老鼠，而是一个创造物—— 一个由你的双手诞生的创造物，我亲爱的兔毛手袋。）

So, I implore you, my love, my dear Medicine Pocket, let me be your most audacious experiment. 

（因此，我恳求你，我的挚爱，我亲爱的兔毛手袋，让我成为你最大胆的实验品吧。）

In your pursuit of knowledge and innovation, let us unearth a love that is extraordinary and unexplored, where the boundaries between scientist and subject dissolve, and we become something magnificent — a testament to the arcane wonders that unfold when love and science entwine.

（在你对知识和创新的追求中，让我们发掘出一种非同寻常和未曾探索过的爱，使科学家和受试者之间的那界限消失，让我们变成了一种宏伟的东西—— 证明当爱和科学交织在一起时能产生的，那神秘学般的奇迹。）

[prettysuper]

@1mpulsee continued

The skinnier man's hands and feet were held in cuffs working as power dampeners, effectively restraining him to an examination table in the middle of the Legion of Doom's laboratory. Kon had only been able to find him in time due to a tip off from Lex - thanks, dad - or maybe that had been a lure - either way, he couldn't risk just leaving Bart there. So of course Kon had heeded the call; zooming like a bullet to the location he'd been given; heart breaking the moment he saw his friend in such distress. "Hang on, I'm getting you out of here!" Kon's voice was all serious, no nonsense as he flipped up his shades and used his laser vision to cut the other free. "Now there's the biggest lie I've ever heard." He retorted to Bart's adamance that he was fine; he didn't need to use his x-ray vision to know that one of Bart's lungs had been punctured - he was coughing up blood for god's sake. Gathering the broken boy in his arms, cradle style, Kon didn't bother looking for the nearest exit, utilising his heat vision once more to tear a hole through the roof. The next minute they were soaring in the air. "Bart, what happened?" Watery eyes were visible without his shades to conceal them; the glasses stuck up firmly in his hair. He held that fragile body closer, but knowing that Bart would now heal outside of the power dampeners was little comfort to the knowledge that Bart was currently in pain and had been for fuck knows how long. "I can't turn your pain receptors off." Kon frowned - the most he could ever do was implant thoughts within the speedster's head; his brain ran too fast for even Kon to keep up. "But I can take you somewhere safe to recover."

He was already flying to Titans Tower, an awkward lump forming in his throat as he realised Bart was barely talking. "Did they-" Lips frowned in a soft crease. Dissect you. Were the words left unsaid. The man in his arms might still be breathing but who knows how long they'd kept him trapped there. Memories of his own scientific experimentations began to form in his mind and the thought of anyone doing that to his best friend had an anger flaring in his chest to the likes that Kon had never felt before. Kon landed on the balcony and headed towards the inner living area of the Tower. Laying Bart ever so gently down on the sofa, Kon wiped off some of the blood sticking to his lips with his thumb, mumbling "Is there anything I can get you?"

[spacetimewithstuartgary]

Durable Parker Solar Probe going strong after first five years

Durable Parker Solar Probe going strong after first five years

On Aug. 12, 2018—five years ago this week—NASA's Parker Solar Probe blasted off atop a powerful Delta IV rocket from what is now Cape Canaveral Space Force Station. The predawn launch into the skies over the Florida coast marked the start of a game-changing mission to unlock the secrets of the solar wind—and the culmination of decades of development to craft a robotic explorer able to withstand the heat and radiation near the sun like no other spacecraft before it.

Designs for a "solar probe" started coming together in 1962, just four years after the National Research Council's Space Studies Board first proposed a mission to explore the environment near the sun. But the technology to pull off such a bold endeavor, especially the material ingredients for an effective heat shield, just wasn't available—yet.

Material advances in the 1970s allowed NASA to begin considering a flyby close enough to directly sample the sun's upper atmosphere—the corona—and the solar wind. The initial mission science definition formed in a 1978 workshop at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL), but the means to implement the mission would take decades to come together—with JPL and the Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Laboratory (APL) developing concepts for a nuclear-powered sun skimmer between 1982 and 2005.

In 2007, NASA asked APL to consider a concept for a spacecraft that could cozy up to the sun, and from that—with the right combination of groundbreaking thermal-protection technologies and clever mission design—evolved the Parker Solar Probe mission that now marks its first half-decade.Play

"No matter its form, the core of the mission has always been a close encounter with the sun," said Jim Kinnison, Parker Solar Probe mission systems engineer at APL. "It took significant technology development, innovative mission design, and a risk-reducing engineering plan—and now, the Parker team is fulfilling an exploration vision laid out at the dawn of the Space Age."

After five years of flying through the hottest and dustiest swaths of the inner solar system, Parker Solar Probe—which in 2021 became the first spacecraft to "touch the sun"—isn't just surviving, it's thriving. The spacecraft has returned more than twice the amount of data that scientists expected, making discoveries critical to understanding the source and properties of the solar wind. The spacecraft recently completed its 16th science orbit, out of 24 planned during the primary mission. And on Aug. 21 Parker will zoom past Venus for a gravity assist, a move that will tighten its orbit around the sun and allow it to take measurements of the Venusian surface and atmosphere.

Thanks to that gravity assist, on Sept. 27, Parker Solar Probe will be traveling at 394,742 miles per hour when it comes within 4.5 million miles of the sun's surface—breaking its own speed and distance records around the sun. It will ultimately dip to within just 3.8 million miles from the sun, speeding by at 430,000 miles per hour, in December 2024.

"We are in a golden era of heliophysics exploration," said Nour Raouafi, Parker Solar Probe project scientist at APL. "In just five years, Parker Solar Probe has changed our understanding of the sun and the activities that connect it to—and affect—life on Earth. As we speed closer and closer to the solar surface, we will learn more about the properties of the sun itself, but that data will also significantly improve our knowledge of space weather and our ability to live and work in space."

IMAGE....The final design: The actual Parker Solar Probe spacecraft shown during launch preparations in a cleanroom at Astrotech Space Operations in Titusville, Florida, in July 2018. Credit: NASA/Johns Hopkins APL/Ed Whitman

[jcmarchi]

Small solar sails could be the next ‘giant leap’ for interplanetary space exploration - Technology Org

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/small-solar-sails-could-be-the-next-giant-leap-for-interplanetary-space-exploration-technology-org/

Small solar sails could be the next ‘giant leap’ for interplanetary space exploration - Technology Org

Nearly 70 years after the launch of the first satellite, we still have more questions than answers about space. But a team of Berkeley researchers is on a mission to change this with a proposal to build a fleet of low-cost, autonomous spacecraft, each weighing only 10 grams and propelled by nothing more than the pressure of solar radiation. These miniaturized solar sails could potentially visit thousands of near-Earth asteroids and comets, capturing high-resolution images and collecting samples.

Schematic of components for the proposed femtoscale solar sail. The pressure of solar radiation against the sail will provide propulsion for the spacecraft, while cell phone-based and MEMS technologies will enable navigation, communication and image capture. Image credit: Alexander Alvara

Led by Kristofer Pister, professor of electrical engineering and computer sciences, the researchers seek to leverage advancements in micro-scale technology to make interplanetary space exploration more cost-effective and accessible — and to accelerate new discoveries about our inner solar system. They describe their work, the Berkeley Low-cost Interplanetary Solar Sail (BLISS) project, in a study published in the journal Acta Astronautica.

The BLISS project brings together researchers from the Department of Electrical Engineering and Computer Sciences and the Department of Mechanical Engineering, as well as the Berkeley Sensor and Actuator Center and the Space Sciences Laboratory. Their work builds on other small spacecraft projects, including CubeSats, ChipSats and the Breakthrough Starshot Initiative, while seeking to improve solar sail maneuverability and further reduce fabrication costs by using low-mass consumer electronics.

In addition to Pister, the team includes lead author and mechanical engineering doctoral student Alexander Alvara and co-authors Lydia Lee, Emmanuel Sin, Nathan Lambert and Andrew Westphal.

In a recent conversation, Pister and Alvara shared their group’s vision for this project with Berkeley Engineering.

Your latest paper focuses on fleets of small solar sails. What advantages do solar sails have over other types of spacecraft? 

Alexander: Solar sails use a non-consumable propulsion force. They are propelled by sunlight, similar to how a sailboat is propelled by wind. So, unlike other spacecraft, solar sails can travel around the galaxy, or, more specifically, our solar system, without having to carry any fuel or worry about refueling.

Kris: The magic is that light, even though it doesn’t have mass, has momentum. When light bounces off a mirror, you get a force due to that change in momentum. And on a square meter sail, that force is tiny. It’s about the weight of a grain of sand, but you get it for free. And you get it for as long as you want, as long as you’re sitting in space with the sunlight striking you.

Could you tell us about the Berkeley Low-cost Interplanetary Solar Sail, or BLISS, project? What was the genesis of this project and what are its goals?

Kris: It started several years ago, when friends of mine were exchanging emails about an object, called Oumuamua, that was moving through our solar system. Some people were saying that maybe it’s an alien solar sail, and then [physicist] Dick Garwin sent around a paper that he had written in 1959 about solar sails. It said that you can use this light pressure to move out, away from the sun, which makes sense — the light pushes in that direction. But you can also use it to move in. It’s kind of like tacking against the wind in sailing. Light is much more like wind, and you can tack using solar radiation pressure.

So this lightbulb went off in my brain. All the work we do in my group is focused on miniaturizing things, and I thought we could miniaturize a solar sail spacecraft. Seeing that you can tack against light pressure made me realize that we could make spacecraft [weighing] 10 grams with almost all off-the-shelf technology. And our latest study provides evidence that this is feasible.

Our initial goal for the BLISS project was simple: capture images of all the near-Earth asteroids, starting with the biggest ones. Roughly a thousand near-Earth asteroids are bigger than a kilometer in diameter. And we have pictures, usually fuzzy pictures, of maybe 10 of them. We were excited by the idea that you could potentially take an iPhone camera, orbit around one of these things, take a thousand high-resolution color photographs from a very close distance and then beam that information down.

Speaking of miniaturizing things, why make the solar sails small in the first place?

Alexander: A smaller size allows the spacecraft to be more agile. We don’t have to worry about buckling of the sail, which is just one square meter. This is a huge issue with larger solar sails. Imagine taking a solar sail that is 50 square meters into space, then having unfolding components spreading out like origami. It’s still relatively small compared to other spacecraft, but the unfolding components add weight. And, as Kris mentioned, you’re getting the force of a grain of sand continuously on your sail, the light pressure, so you want to have a solar sail close to that mass. You don’t want something that’s huge, or it will take forever to move, and it’s going to be less easy to maneuver.

Kris: Cost is another advantage to going small. We’re proposing to start at about 10 grams for an interplanetary spacecraft. If we do everything right, the cost of the solar sails will be a thousand dollars or less. We could then put thousands of these tiny spacecraft in a little package, the size of a small satellite, and launch them into space.

Alexander: So, for the cost of a single launch, we could send out thousands of these solar sails and accomplish multiple missions.

These spacecraft will need to be highly functional yet also light. How will they not be weighed down by all of their components?

Kris: We’re leveraging all the technology, all the miniaturization and low power consumption that goes into the design of cell phones. But there are also many other instruments that MEMS [microelectromechanical systems] has managed to miniaturize.

The BLISS spacecraft uses a MEMS device called an inchworm motor. What is an inchworm motor and why is it important?

Alexander: You can think of an inchworm motor as something that takes electricity and turns into a moveable force. Almost like a piston. We use the inchworm motor to grab onto things, in this case, things that are much larger than itself, and move it back and forth.

Kris: Our little spacecraft has roughly a 1/2 meter diameter, super-lightweight mirror — maybe the size of a card table – that is connected to the body of the spacecraft by a few carbon fiber filaments. The inchworms inch their way along those filaments, pulling on the filaments and moving the sail relative to the center of mass of the spacecraft. It turns out that’s what you need to navigate — just like on a sailboat. You pull on the lines and change the attitude of the sail through the wind, and that affects direction.

How will these spacecraft navigate the inner solar system?

Alexander: The majority of the analysis is done using something called the Lost in Space [Identification] Algorithm. The idea is that you map the stars that you can see, then compare them to the pixels of the images that you can get from your on-board cell phone camera. So we can basically use smartphones to help navigate.

There are many hazards in space, including ionizing radiation and large floating particles. How do you design the tiny solar sails to withstand these potential dangers?

Alexander: A lot of work has already been done analyzing off-the-shelf parts that have endured space-like radiation. To mitigate such hazards, we can either build in redundancy and add multiple components that have the greatest likelihood of failure, or pair these BLISS spacecraft in what we call partner constellations, which basically adds redundancy for us.

Could you tell us about the concept missions that you’ve proposed for BLISS spacecraft? How long would it take to complete these missions?

Alexander: Kris had mentioned earlier sending the solar sails to explore near-Earth asteroids. One of the other main concept missions is cometary sample retrieval, so getting microdust from comet plumes. To date, there’s been only one real successful return of cometary material, and that was the Stardust mission in the early 2000s. It did a flyby of a comet called Wild 2 and collected material and brought it back to Earth. But unfortunately, the spacecraft was less maneuverable than they expected, and it caught the comet dust particles at high velocity, vaporizing any organic-rich components in the sample. Though the sample they retrieved was still vastly important, we currently have only about 300 micrograms of comet material on Earth. And by designing our tiny solar sails to be agile and highly maneuverable, we hope to capture cometary samples at low relative speeds to avoid damaging any organics.

Kris: As for the mission durations, they vary a lot. It will take us some number of months to get out of Earth’s orbit, it will take us months or years to get to the asteroid or comet that we’re interested in, and then the reverse of that coming back in. So, certainly months at the short end, and maybe a decade or so at the long end.

How far off are we from the first launch?

Alexander: We could feasibly do it in a few years. For example, CubeSat projects usually come out of high schools or community college or four-year institutions, from undergrads. And those go from zero to launch in about two years. So with grad students, post-docs or research scientists on the job, who’ve been doing this sort of thing for many years, we should be able to launch within that same timeline once we complete development.

Kris: So far, Alexander’s worked on some of the theories and some of the motors. But there are six other systems and all kinds of software still needed, so it would be an undertaking. But I’m hopeful that we can obtain funding for further research.

Source: UC Berkeley

You can offer your link to a page which is relevant to the topic of this post.

[trevlad-sounds]

Ambient drone mix. 👇

1-Trevlad-Brushed Sunrise

2-Chris Otchy-El Chapo

3-Scanner-Deer to Village

4-Roel Funcken-Part 2

5-Arbee & v e n n-HP10 [Meditation]

6-loscil-Upstream

7-theAdelaidean-Floating

8-Stellardrone-Ultra Deep Field

9-IDRA-Lighthouse keeper

10-Sulk Rooms-An Old Friend Returns

11-Jeremiah Chiu-Eighteen

12-Simon McCorry-Daydream as the Rain Gently Falls

13-John Haughey-Abyssal Benthic

14-Inner Vision Laboratory-Ended

15-René van der Wouden-When the Coastline hits the Sea

16-Nils Frahm-Right Right Right

[natsusliljay04]

Veil of Resilience

CW: Dark Story, mentions of Murder mention of Weapons!!

Summary:

The story follows Emily, who unwittingly unleashes a malevolent force, the Shadowspeaker, in a haunted mansion. Seven years later, Emily, along with three others, returns to confront the Shadowspeaker. With the help of a police officer, Officer Ramirez, Emily faces the entity and, after a struggle, banishes it. However, in the aftermath, Emily must reckon with the consequences of her creation. As she recovers in a clinic, Officer Ramirez's unexpected kindness sparks a connection. Months later, Emily visits him, leading to a friendship that goes beyond gratitude and shared trauma, evolving into a bond that transcends the shadows of their haunting past.

Characters:

Character: Emily Blackwell

Background: Once a promising medical student, Emily's life took a dark turn after a forbidden experiment to revive the dead. Haunted by the consequences, she now grapples with twisted visions and a sinister presence that follows her every step.

Fear Factor: Terrifying hallucinations of disfigured corpses and an unnerving ability to communicate with the deceased make Emily a walking nightmare, as her past sins come back to life.

Character: Samuel Holloway

Background: Samuel, a former priest, lost his faith after a traumatic encounter with demonic forces during an exorcism gone awry. Now, he battles both inner demons and the malevolent entities he once sought to cast out.

Fear Factor: Samuel's unsettling knowledge of the supernatural and the haunting whispers that accompany him reveal the darkness within, making him an enigmatic and disturbing presence.

Character: Isabella "Izzy" Martinez

Background: A paranormal investigator with a fascination for the occult, Izzy stumbled upon an ancient cursed artifact that binds her to the spirit world. As she seeks a way to break the curse, she becomes a magnet for malevolent entities.

Fear Factor: Izzy's connection to the supernatural realm makes her a conduit for eerie phenomena, turning her every investigation into a perilous encounter with the unknown.

Character: Victor Sinclair

Background: Once a renowned occult scholar, Victor's relentless pursuit of forbidden knowledge led him to a dark secret that cursed him with immortality. Now, he roams the shadows, forever tormented by the price of his insatiable curiosity.

Fear Factor: Victor's unnerving presence and the whispers of ancient incantations that surround him evoke a sense of dread, as he becomes an immortal witness to the horrors that lurk in the shadows.

The Entity:

Antagonist: The Shadowspeaker

Background: A malevolent entity born from the darkest corners of ancient rituals, the Shadowspeaker is a spectral force with a thirst for chaos and suffering. Its origin shrouded in forbidden rites, it seeks to bridge the realm of the living and the dead, spreading fear and despair in its wake.

Malevolence Factor: The Shadowspeaker manipulates the very fabric of reality, manifesting twisted apparitions and feeding on the fears of those it encounters. Its insidious whispers resonate with the deepest insecurities, driving victims to the brink of madness.

Goal: Unleashing a nightmarish convergence between the living and the deceased, the Shadowspeaker aims to plunge the world into eternal darkness, ruling over a realm of perpetual torment where the line between life and death is obliterated.

Weakness: Legends speak of a long-lost ritual that can banish the Shadowspeaker back to the abyss from which it emerged. However, the knowledge to perform this ritual is scattered among ancient texts and hidden cryptic symbols, presenting a formidable challenge for those brave enough to face the malevolent entity.

Start of the Story

In the desolate hours of an abandoned laboratory, Emily Blackwell, driven by an insatiable desire to conquer death, delved into forbidden realms of science. Unbeknownst to her, the arcane whispers that echoed through the dusty tomes held more than mere knowledge—they carried the seed of an unspeakable darkness.

In her relentless pursuit, Emily, once a promising medical student, conducted a forbidden experiment to breach the veil separating life and death. The air grew heavy as she invoked ancient incantations, her hands trembling with a mix of anticipation and dread. As the ritual unfolded, an otherworldly force seized the opportunity, intertwining its essence with Emily's creation.

The experiment, meant to defy mortality, birthed the malevolent entity now known as the Shadowspeaker. Its form, a distorted silhouette of despair, emerged from the shadows cast by Emily's tampering with the natural order. Unseen by Emily, a dark symbiosis began to unfold—a sinister bond between creator and creation.

Haunted by relentless nightmares and tormented visions, Emily found herself ensnared in the clutches of the very entity she had inadvertently unleashed. The Shadowspeaker, an embodiment of her darkest fears, whispered malevolent secrets into her consciousness, casting a veil of paranoia over her every waking moment.

As the spectral force thrived on Emily's fear and guilt, its influence seeped into her mind, distorting reality and blurring the lines between the living and the dead. Emily's once-rational thoughts became a cacophony of nightmarish images and macabre illusions. The entity, now a malevolent puppeteer, manipulated her actions and emotions with a subtle yet suffocating grip.

Little did Emily know that her creation had forged an inescapable link between their fates—a connection that would plunge her into a descent beyond the reaches of sanity and set the stage for a nightmarish confrontation between the living and the shadows she had unwittingly summoned.

As the malevolent grip of the Shadowspeaker tightened around Emily's sanity, her descent into madness became undeniable. Haunted by twisted visions and tormented by the relentless whispers of the entity, those closest to her, in an act of desperation, decided that she needed professional intervention.

Reluctantly, Emily found herself admitted to a secluded psychiatric clinic, its sterile halls providing a stark contrast to the shadowy recesses where the entity thrived. The therapists, unaware of the supernatural forces at play, attempted to unravel the tangled threads of Emily's unraveling psyche.

In therapy sessions, Emily recounted fragmented tales of her forbidden experiment and the spectral entity that now stalked her every waking moment. Skepticism shrouded the clinical staff, dismissing her accounts as manifestations of a deteriorating mental state. Unbeknownst to them, the Shadowspeaker continued to weave its influence, manipulating Emily's perceptions and exacerbating her fragile state of mind.

Within the clinical confines meant to heal, the entity found new avenues to sow chaos. Emily's fellow patients became unwitting conduits for its malevolence, their own fears feeding the insatiable hunger of the Shadowspeaker. The clinic, once a bastion of solace, transformed into a breeding ground for supernatural horror.

As therapy sessions unfolded, the clinic staff grappled with the unexplainable phenomena surrounding Emily. Shadows seemed to dance with a life of their own, and eerie whispers echoed through the empty corridors late at night. Unnerved by the inexplicable events, the clinic's personnel began to question their understanding of reality, unaware that a force beyond comprehension lurked in the shadows, orchestrating a diabolical symphony of fear.

Samuel Holloway's path intersected with the Shadowspeaker during an ill-fated attempt to exorcise a malevolent spirit that plagued a small, seemingly innocuous town. Drawn by reports of supernatural occurrences, Samuel, a former priest struggling with his lost faith, embarked on a mission to confront the demonic forces that eluded his understanding.

Unbeknownst to Samuel, the Shadowspeaker, ever opportunistic, sensed the priest's spiritual turmoil and perceived vulnerability. As Samuel delved into the town's dark history, the entity seized the chance to make contact. Whispers echoed in the wind, guiding Samuel toward forbidden rituals and ancient symbols that promised insights into the supernatural.

In his earnest pursuit of understanding, Samuel unknowingly stumbled upon an occult artifact that served as a conduit to the Shadowspeaker's realm. As he attempted to decipher its cryptic markings, the entity seized the opportunity to breach the spiritual barriers that separated them. The artifact became a channel through which the Shadowspeaker whispered sinister secrets into Samuel's mind, exploiting the priest's inner demons and fueling his spiritual crisis.

Haunted by relentless visions and manipulated by the entity's insidious influence, Samuel's once-righteous intentions warped into a darker quest for power and knowledge. Unaware of the malevolent force that had latched onto him, Samuel continued his journey, unknowingly becoming a pawn in the Shadowspeaker's unfolding plan—a plan that sought to intertwine the destinies of those who dared to confront the shadows.

Izzy Martinez, the paranormal investigator, unwittingly attracted the attention of the Shadowspeaker through her insatiable curiosity and a chance discovery. During one of her investigations into an old, dilapidated mansion with a history steeped in the occult, Izzy stumbled upon an ancient cursed artifact hidden in the depths of a forgotten chamber.

The artifact, intricately adorned with arcane symbols, resonated with the malevolent energy of the Shadowspeaker. As Izzy approached, drawn by an inexplicable force, the entity seized the opportunity to weave its influence into her reality. A surge of paranormal energy enveloped the investigator as she touched the artifact, forming an unspoken pact between the inquisitive mortal and the spectral force.

Unbeknownst to Izzy, the Shadowspeaker embedded fragments of its essence within her consciousness. As she continued her investigations, driven by a newfound compulsion to unravel the mysteries surrounding the artifact, the entity whispered forbidden knowledge into her thoughts. Shadows seemed to linger a moment too long, and the air hummed with an eerie resonance whenever Izzy delved into the occult secrets surrounding her discovery.

The Shadowspeaker, now entwined with Izzy's fate, used her as a conduit to navigate the realms between the living and the dead. As she sought to understand the artifact's origins and break the curse it harbored, Izzy unknowingly became a pawn in the entity's sinister game—a game that transcended the boundaries of the mortal realm and threatened to plunge her deeper into the shadows she so desperately sought to illuminate.

Victor Sinclair's encounter with the Shadowspeaker was rooted in his relentless pursuit of forbidden knowledge and the unraveling of secrets hidden in ancient texts. As a renowned occult scholar, Victor delved into the darkest corners of mysticism, seeking to decipher the mysteries that eluded the comprehension of others.

In his quest for arcane wisdom, Victor stumbled upon a tome rumored to contain the essence of the Shadowspeaker. Unbeknownst to him, the malevolent entity had long awaited a seeker of knowledge audacious enough to unlock its secrets. As Victor pored over the cryptic pages, translating ancient incantations and deciphering eldritch symbols, the Shadowspeaker seized the opportunity to forge a connection with the scholar.

A chilling wind swept through Victor's study as he unlocked the forbidden passages, marking the beginning of an unholy communion. Whispers, barely audible at first, echoed within the confines of his scholarly sanctuary. The Shadowspeaker's dark revelations crept into Victor's thoughts, unveiling secrets that transcended the boundaries of mortal understanding.

Driven by a thirst for mastery over the occult, Victor unwittingly became a vessel for the malevolent entity. The shadows seemed to dance with a life of their own around him, and his scholarly pursuits took a sinister turn as the Shadowspeaker manipulated his every step, steering him toward a destiny entwined with its own.

As Victor continued his obsessive research, he became an unwitting servant of the Shadowspeaker's grand design—a design that sought to harness the scholar's insatiable curiosity and ancient knowledge to bring about a convergence of worlds, where the boundary between the living and the shadows would be shattered once and for all.

Seven years of haunted existence had passed for Emily, Samuel, Izzy, and Victor. Drawn by an inexplicable force, each found their way back to the town where the Shadowspeaker was born—a place etched in their memories with equal parts dread and curiosity.

Emily, scarred by the haunting visions and the shadows that clung to her, returned seeking closure for the sins of her past. Samuel, wrestling with his shattered faith and haunted by the spectral whispers, felt an unrelenting pull toward the town's dark secrets. Izzy, driven by an insatiable desire to unravel the mysteries of the occult, returned to confront the cursed artifact that bound her to the Shadowspeaker. Victor, burdened by the weight of ancient knowledge and manipulated by the entity's influence, found himself compelled to complete the forbidden ritual that had eluded him for years.

The once-sleepy town, now a nexus of supernatural forces, seemed to pulse with an ominous energy as the four converged. Shadows lingered longer, and the air crackled with the anticipation of a long-awaited reckoning. Unbeknownst to each other, they had become pawns in the Shadowspeaker's grand design, a design that sought to culminate in a convergence of fates—a night where the living and the shadows would collide in a symphony of horror.

As they crossed paths in the shadow-draped streets, the echoes of their past sins and the malevolent whispers of the Shadowspeaker resonated in the air. The stage was set for a night of reckoning, where the threads of destiny woven seven years ago would unravel in a crescendo of fear and despair. The town, a canvas painted with the darkest hues of the supernatural, awaited the final act of a nightmarish drama that had been unfolding since the moment the Shadowspeaker was born.

In the heart of the town, where shadows clung to the forgotten corners and echoes of ancient secrets whispered through the air, Emily, Samuel, Izzy, and Victor found themselves drawn to a dilapidated mansion—a place that seemed to radiate with an unsettling energy, the epicenter of the Shadowspeaker's birth.

Their paths converged as if guided by an unseen force, and they crossed the threshold of the mansion almost simultaneously. The creaking floorboards and the distant howl of the wind set an eerie backdrop to their reunion. In the dim light, their eyes met with a mixture of recognition and unease, each harboring the weight of their shared and individual horrors.

Emily, haunted by the twisted visions that plagued her, locked eyes with Samuel, who bore the burden of his own spiritual turmoil. Izzy, driven by the compulsion to confront the cursed artifact, crossed paths with Victor, whose quest for forbidden knowledge had led him back to the nexus of shadows.

Silent acknowledgment passed between them, a tacit understanding that their fates had intertwined in ways beyond comprehension. The malevolent whispers of the Shadowspeaker seemed to echo in the air, as if orchestrating their reunion with a sinister intent.

As they explored the mansion's labyrinthine corridors, each step brought them closer to the heart of the supernatural darkness that had birthed the entity. The air grew heavier, charged with an anticipation that transcended the mere passage of time. The Shadowspeaker, a spectral puppeteer, watched with unseen eyes as its unwitting players stepped into the unfolding nightmare—a reunion bound by the threads of fate and a town that had become a canvas for their shared descent into the shadows.

Within the decaying mansion's ominous embrace, Emily, Samuel, Izzy, and Victor confronted a nightmarish tableau of the Shadowspeaker's influence. As they ventured deeper into the haunted corridors, the boundaries between the living and the spectral realm blurred, revealing a series of chilling encounters.

Hall of Reflections: A grand hall adorned with dusty mirrors seemed to reflect not only their physical forms but also the twisted manifestations of their deepest fears and regrets. Each mirror unveiled ghastly apparitions, tormenting them with haunting visions of their past sins.

Whispers of Betrayal: In a forgotten library, ancient tomes whispered forbidden secrets and tales of betrayal. Pages turned on their own accord, revealing the dark history of the Shadowspeaker and its ties to the town. The air vibrated with spectral whispers, accusing the intruders of unknowingly playing into the entity's hands.

Spectral Apparitions: Shadows danced on the walls, coalescing into sinister forms that mimicked the features of long-forgotten residents. The spirits, trapped between life and death, reached out with spectral hands, their mournful wails echoing through the mansion's desolate halls.

Artifact's Malevolence: Izzy's cursed artifact, now pulsating with an otherworldly glow, served as a focal point for the Shadowspeaker's influence. Its power intensified, and the artifact seemed to draw on the fears and vulnerabilities of those present, creating a nexus of supernatural energy that warped the very fabric of reality.

Ritual Chamber: In the depths of the mansion, the group discovered a hidden chamber adorned with occult symbols. Victor recognized it as the site where the forbidden ritual to banish the Shadowspeaker could take place. However, completing the ritual required not only knowledge but also a sacrifice—one that would test their resolve and the bonds forged through their shared descent into darkness.

As the group faced these harrowing encounters, the Shadowspeaker reveled in their fear, manipulating the very fabric of the mansion to heighten the psychological and supernatural torment. The line between reality and nightmare blurred, setting the stage for a final confrontation that would determine the fate of the town and the intertwined destinies of those who dared to challenge the shadows.

As the group navigated the mansion's labyrinthine passages, it was Victor Sinclair who first encountered the malevolent presence of the Shadowspeaker in a chamber veiled in darkness. Drawn by the esoteric energy resonating from within, Victor followed an ancient, barely discernible incantation that seemed to beckon him deeper into the heart of the spectral abyss.

In the dim glow of a flickering candle, Victor stood before an ornate doorway adorned with cryptic symbols. As he crossed the threshold, shadows seemed to coalesce, and the air thickened with an oppressive force. Whispers echoed in the chamber, revealing long-buried secrets and forbidden knowledge that resonated with Victor's insatiable curiosity.

The Shadowspeaker, sensing the scholar's vulnerability and the ancient wisdom he possessed, manifested before him in a spectral form—a shadowy silhouette that seemed to draw upon the darkness itself. The entity spoke with disembodied whispers, taunting Victor with the weight of his past sins and the allure of unrevealed truths.

Victor, gripped by a mix of fascination and dread, found himself ensnared in a dialogue with the Shadowspeaker. The entity, through insidious revelations, sought to exploit Victor's weaknesses and manipulate him further into the shadows. Unbeknownst to the others, the scholar had become the first to confront the malevolent force that had orchestrated their reunion—a confrontation that would set the tone for the nightmarish trials that lay ahead.

Izzy Martinez, exploring the mansion's shadow-laden corridors with a sense of urgency, stumbled upon the aftermath of Victor Sinclair's fateful encounter with the Shadowspeaker. In a dimly lit chamber, she discovered his lifeless form—Victor's once-curious eyes now vacant, his face etched with the horror of a revelation too profound.

The air in the room seemed to hum with an otherworldly energy, and the shadows clung to Victor's lifeless body as if reluctant to release their grip. The cursed artifact in Izzy's possession pulsed with an ominous glow, reacting to the malevolent presence that had claimed the scholar's life.

As Izzy gazed upon Victor's lifeless form, a chill ran down her spine, and the weight of the supernatural darkness pressing upon the mansion's walls became palpable. The echoes of Victor's final encounter lingered in the air, leaving Izzy with an unsettling realization—each step into the shadows carried not only the weight of fear but also the very real threat of a malevolence that hungered for more than the secrets of the past. The mansion, now a sepulcher of secrets and shadows, bore witness to a tragedy that marked the beginning of a nightmarish unraveling.

As Izzy, haunted by the discovery of Victor's lifeless body, ventured deeper into the mansion, she crossed paths with Emily and Samuel in a dimly lit corridor. The air crackled with an otherworldly tension, and the shadows seemed to dance with a malevolent energy.

Emily's eyes, haunted by visions of the past, met Izzy's with a mix of recognition and shared anguish. Samuel, the former priest grappling with spiritual turmoil, regarded the investigator with an intensity that betrayed the weight of their collective burden.

Without exchanging words, the trio felt a tacit understanding that the malevolent force within the mansion was no mere apparition—it was a sentient darkness that thrived on fear and despair. Izzy, still holding the cursed artifact that bound her to the Shadowspeaker, conveyed the grim truth of Victor's demise.

As they stood together in the oppressive silence, the shadows around them seemed to coalesce, whispering ancient secrets and foretelling the ominous trials that lay ahead. The reunion of these three souls, each scarred by their own encounter with the Shadowspeaker, marked a moment of grim unity—a unity that would be tested in the face of a malevolence that sought to exploit their deepest fears and unravel the fabric of reality itself.

Turning to Emily and Samuel with a determined gaze, Izzy voiced the burning question that echoed in her mind.

"Do either of you have any insight into how the Shadowspeaker could breach the boundaries between the supernatural and our reality?" she inquired, her tone a mix of urgency and trepidation. The haunted mansion seemed to pulse with the entity's malevolent energy, and Izzy felt an unsettling weight on her shoulders—an awareness that their shared pasts held the key to understanding the unfolding nightmare.

As the trio faced the shadows that clung to the walls, the air hung heavy with the unspoken truth that the Shadowspeaker's presence was no longer confined to the realm of the supernatural. The malevolence that had claimed Victor now threatened to spill into the tangible world, and unraveling the mystery of its transgression into the human realm became an imperative task for those who dared to challenge the shadows.

Emily, her eyes carrying the weight of tormented visions, took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking. "The Shadowspeaker, it's a manifestation born from my experiment—the one that went horribly wrong," she began, her voice quivering with a mix of guilt and desperation. "I breached the boundaries between life and death, and in doing so, I unwittingly opened a gateway for the entity to latch onto our reality."

She paused, glancing at the dimly lit surroundings as if haunted by the shadows themselves. "The malevolence we released wasn't meant to be confined to the supernatural. It found a way to exploit the vulnerabilities in our minds, the fears we harbor, and it's using them to transcend the boundaries that should have kept it contained."

Emily's revelation hung in the air like a specter, casting a shadow over the trio. The realization that their past actions had unfurled a malevolence capable of breaching the very fabric of reality settled heavily upon them. The Shadowspeaker, once a product of forbidden experimentation, now sought to rewrite the rules of existence, leaving them with the daunting task of confronting not just their own demons, but a supernatural force that threatened to unravel the world they knew.

"We can defeat the Shadowspeaker," Emily asserted with a mixture of determination and remorse. "I've delved into ancient texts, seeking a way to banish it back to the abyss. There's a ritual—an ancient incantation that, if performed correctly, can sever its connection to our world."

Her gaze shifted from Samuel to Izzy, a plea evident in her haunted eyes. "But there's a crucial element we need—a powerful artifact that's both a conduit and a catalyst for the ritual. I don't know where it is now. The Shadowspeaker manipulated me, distorted my memories. It could be anywhere within this mansion."

The weight of her confession hung in the air as Emily, once the unwitting creator of the malevolent force, grappled with the responsibility of guiding them toward a solution. The trio faced not only the Shadowspeaker's supernatural machinations but also the elusive challenge of locating a crucial artifact within the shadows that seemed to conspire against them.

As Emily spoke of the elusive artifact, Izzy's hand instinctively went to her pocket, fingers curling around the cool surface of the cursed object. With a determined resolve, she carefully pulled it out and presented it to Emily.

"Is this what we need?" Izzy asked, her eyes reflecting a mix of hope and uncertainty as she extended the artifact toward Emily. The cursed object pulsed with an otherworldly glow, as if acknowledging the critical role it played in their struggle against the Shadowspeaker.

However, as the artifact exchanged hands, a sudden gust of wind swept through the chamber, extinguishing nearby candles. The shadows seemed to writhe and coalesce, and an otherworldly presence filled the air—a prelude to an imminent attack by the malevolent force they sought to banish.

In the darkness, a disembodied whisper echoed, foretelling the Shadowspeaker's malevolent intent. The trio, standing on the precipice of a supernatural battle, faced the daunting challenge of performing the ritual while confronting the entity that lurked within the shadows, ready to resist its banishment with all its malevolent might.

In a frantic attempt to escape the encroaching malevolence, Emily sprinted through the shadow-laden corridors, her breath ragged with fear. The chilling echoes of her friends' screams resonated in the air, a haunting reminder of the Shadowspeaker's merciless pursuit.

As she navigated the twisting passages, the darkness seemed to warp and contort, the malevolent force closing in on the vulnerable trio. The chilling whispers of the Shadowspeaker taunted Emily, exploiting her deepest fears and doubts.

In a heartbreaking moment, she realized that only she had managed to outpace the entity. The anguished screams of her friends echoed in the distance, a cruel testament to the Shadowspeaker's unrelenting cruelty.

With every step, Emily grappled with the agonizing decision to press on alone or turn back to face the darkness that had claimed her newfound companions. The mansion, now a labyrinth of despair, bore witness to a solitary race against an insidious force that reveled in torment and despair.

Driven by a desperate determination, Emily retraced her steps through the foreboding mansion, her mind racing to gather the elements necessary for the ritual to banish the Shadowspeaker. The air felt thick with malevolence, and the shadows seemed to coil around her like vengeful specters.

In a dimly lit chamber, she found an ancient grimoire containing the incantations required for the ritual. The pages, adorned with cryptic symbols, seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly energy as Emily flipped through them. She also discovered a set of candles, each inscribed with protective runes, hidden within the shadows.

As she continued her frenzied search, Emily stumbled upon a concealed alcove containing an assortment of mystical ingredients—an offering bowl, herbs, and crystals. With trembling hands, she gathered the items, the weight of responsibility heavy on her shoulders.

With the crucial elements in hand, Emily retraced her path toward the artifact that Izzy had provided. The cursed object pulsed in her grasp, resonating with the mystical energy required for the ritual. The Shadowspeaker, relentless in its pursuit, seemed to anticipate her every move, its whispers echoing through the corridors like a sinister prelude to an impending confrontation.

In the midst of the shadow-draped labyrinth, Emily stood alone, clutching the elements for the ritual. The fate of her friends and the town hung in the balance as she prepared to confront the malevolent force that lurked within the shadows, determined to banish it back to the abyss from which it had emerged.

As Emily moved through the mansion, the oppressive atmosphere seemed to thicken with every step. The Shadowspeaker, a relentless pursuer, lurked in the shadows, its whispers echoing through the corridors. Emily's heart raced as she glimpsed fleeting shadows, an ominous indication of the malevolent force closing in.

At times, she found herself running through the twisting passages, the ethereal whispers growing louder with each heartbeat. The Shadowspeaker, an ever-present menace, seemed to anticipate her every move. Emily ducked into dark alcoves and concealed corners, her breath held as the entity passed by, its form a shifting silhouette in the shadows.

The mansion, once a refuge for secrets, had become a treacherous maze where every creaking floorboard and flickering candle marked a potential revelation of her presence to the relentless force that hunted her.

In moments of respite, Emily clutched the gathered elements for the ritual, the weight of the ancient grimoire, candles, and mystical ingredients serving as both a lifeline and a reminder of the impending confrontation. With each hide-and-seek encounter, she edged closer to the culmination of the ritual—a final gambit to banish the Shadowspeaker and, with it, the malevolence that had ensnared her friends and the town itself.

Gasping for breath, Emily stumbled into a forgotten chamber concealed deep within the mansion. The room, bathed in an eerie glow, seemed untouched by the malevolence that lurked beyond its walls. As she closed the door behind her, a sense of temporary sanctuary enveloped her, granting a brief respite from the relentless pursuit of the Shadowspeaker.

In the center of the room, a weathered table stood, upon which Emily placed the elements for the ritual. Candles flickered with an ethereal light, casting dancing shadows that seemed to whisper tales of ancient secrets. The grimoire lay open, its pages displaying the arcane incantations required to banish the malevolent force.

As Emily studied the ritual, a sense of clarity washed over her. The room, shielded from the shadows that prowled the mansion's corridors, became a haven where she could focus on the task at hand. The mystical ingredients took on an otherworldly resonance, aligning with the protective runes inscribed on the candles.

With determination, Emily began to recite the incantations, her voice resonating with a blend of urgency and resolve. The room seemed to respond, its mystical ambiance intensifying as the ritual unfolded. The Shadowspeaker, momentarily held at bay, lingered outside the protective confines, its whispers growing distant as Emily delved into the ancient magic.

In the quietude of the ritual chamber, Emily harnessed the gathered elements, weaving a tapestry of protection that aimed to sever the malevolent force's connection to their reality. The outcome hung in the balance, and with each uttered word, she inched closer to a confrontation that would determine the fate of her friends and the town ensnared in the shadows.

As Emily immersed herself in the incantations, the ritual began to unfold, and the very fabric of the room seemed to shudder with an otherworldly resonance. The protective runes on the candles glowed with an intensified brilliance, casting a shield against the encroaching shadows.

Amidst the incantations, a piercing scream echoed through the chamber—a tormented wail that cut through the malevolent whispers of the Shadowspeaker. The ethereal cry reverberated with agony, signaling the entity's distress as the ritual took hold.

Emily, her heart pounding, continued to recite the ancient words, the realization dawning that the incantations were working. The very air crackled with energy as the Shadowspeaker, ensnared by the mystical bindings, recoiled in pain.

The screams grew more desperate, a symphony of torment that echoed the entity's unraveling grip on the mansion. Emily, fueled by the surge of mystical power, pressed on with unwavering determination, the ritual reaching its crescendo.

In the dimly lit chamber, surrounded by the glow of enchanted candles, Emily stood as a beacon of defiance against the malevolent force that had haunted her friends and the town. The Shadowspeaker's screams subsided into pained murmurs, signaling a triumph in the face of supernatural darkness. The ritual, a testament to Emily's courage and resolve, had succeeded in banishing the entity back to the abyss from which it had emerged. The mansion, once a realm of shadows, began to reclaim its tranquility, leaving behind the echoes of a nightmarish struggle that had unfolded within its haunted corridors.

As the Shadowspeaker was banished back to its realm, a profound silence settled over the mansion. The oppressive shadows that once clung to every corner began to recede, giving way to a flood of ethereal light that illuminated the once-darkened halls. Emily, now standing in the transformed chamber, felt a mix of relief and horror.

As the shadows dissipated, the true extent of the malevolent force's reign became horrifyingly apparent. The mansion, once a place of secrets, was now a macabre tableau. Dozens of lifeless bodies, their expressions etched with terror, lay scattered throughout the rooms—the silent witnesses to the Shadowspeaker's merciless rampage.

The weight of responsibility pressed upon Emily's shoulders as she surveyed the aftermath of the supernatural struggle. Each life lost, a consequence of her ill-fated experiment and the subsequent descent into darkness, left an indelible mark on the haunted corridors.

A shiver ran down her spine as she grappled with the realization that the malevolent force she had created had unleashed a torrent of horror upon the town. The once-forgotten mansion, now bathed in the harsh light of revelation, stood as a haunting testament to the consequences of tampering with forces beyond mortal comprehension.

With a heavy heart, Emily faced the grim truth that the shadows she had sought to conquer had, in turn, consumed the lives of those who had unknowingly crossed paths with the malevolent entity. The mansion, now stripped of its supernatural pallor, bore witness to a tragedy that transcended the bounds of the living and the dead—a tragedy born from the shadows she had unleashed upon the world.

Emily, standing amidst the haunting aftermath, found herself engulfed in a chilling silence that echoed the weight of her actions. The once-flooded light revealed the harsh reality of the Shadowspeaker's rampage—lifeless bodies, expressions frozen in terror, strewn like morbid ornaments throughout the mansion.

A mixture of horror, guilt, and disbelief etched itself across Emily's face. Her eyes, haunted by the shadows of the past and the present, surveyed the macabre scene. The truth, stark and unforgiving, consumed her in a torrent of raw emotion.

She clutched the grimoire and the remnants of the ritual in trembling hands, the weight of the consequences crashing down upon her. Each life lost, a testament to the malevolent force she had inadvertently birthed, left an indelible mark on her soul. The once-ambitious medical student, now a reluctant harbinger of supernatural horror, grappled with the enormity of the tragedy that had unfolded within the mansion's walls.

In the face of the shocking truth, Emily's knees gave way, and she sank to the floor amidst the shadows and scattered pages of the grimoire. The revelation became a personal crucible, a moment of profound self-realization that transcended the supernatural. The mansion, once a bastion of secrets, now bore witness to the breaking of a once-determined spirit, haunted by the consequences of an experiment gone awry.

As the harsh light exposed the horror around her, Emily became a tragic figure—a creator burdened by the monstrous legacy she had unleashed, left to grapple with the shadows that now clung not only to the mansion's walls but also to the recesses of her own fractured conscience.

Amidst the haunting echoes of the mansion, Emily's voice, filled with a mixture of anguish and self-reproach, murmured a haunting refrain: "It's all my fault." The words, uttered like a remorseful mantra, hung heavy in the air—a whispered acknowledgment of the profound responsibility she bore for the tragedy that had befallen the town and its unsuspecting residents.

As if each repetition carved a deeper wound into her conscience, Emily found herself caught in a relentless cycle of guilt. The once-promising medical student, now burdened by the weight of the supernatural darkness she had unleashed, grappled with the irrevocable consequences of her ill-fated experiment.

The shadows seemed to dance around her, mocking her with the stark reality of the lives lost and the irrevocable damage wrought upon the fabric of reality. Emily, once driven by a thirst for knowledge, now faced the chilling revelation that her actions had led to a cascade of horror that transcended the boundaries of the living and the dead.

The mansion, now flooded with the unforgiving light of truth, bore witness to Emily's anguished confession—a confession that echoed through the haunted corridors, a lamentation for the countless souls ensnared by the shadows she had dared to disturb.

The harsh light of reality was interrupted by the sudden arrival of police officers, their stern expressions a stark contrast to the shadows that still clung to the mansion's surroundings. One of them, a stoic officer, addressed Emily with a measured tone.

"Miss Blackwell, we will bring you back to your clinic now," he stated, his words carrying both authority and a hint of concern. The realization that the outside world, unaware of the supernatural ordeal she had faced, had arrived brought an unsettling blend of relief and apprehension.

As the officers guided Emily away from the macabre scene, the mansion's haunted corridors seemed to reluctantly release their grip on her. The weight of the Shadowspeaker's malevolence lingered in the air, but now, accompanied by the harsh reality of legal consequences and the undeniable truth of the lives lost.

Guided by the officers, Emily left behind the mansion—a place now forever marked by the shadows of her creation. The journey back to the clinic became a solemn pilgrimage, each step a reminder of the horrors she had unleashed and the burden she carried as both a creator and a witness to the tragic consequences of tampering with forces beyond mortal comprehension.

Panic and desperation surged within Emily as the police officers guided her away from the mansion. In a moment of instinctual fear and the overwhelming weight of guilt, she attempted to free herself from their firm grip.

"I need to stay! I have to fix this!" Emily pleaded, her voice strained with urgency. The echoes of the Shadowspeaker's malevolent whispers still haunted her, compelling her to confront the consequences of her actions.

The officers, steadfast in their duty, tightened their hold, trying to reassure her. "Miss Blackwell, we understand it's been a traumatic experience, but your safety is our priority. We'll handle the situation," one of them stated with a calm yet firm demeanor.

However, Emily, fueled by a desperate determination to make amends, continued to resist. The struggle between her desire to confront the shadows and the officers' insistence on her safety unfolded in a tense interplay, creating a moment of profound conflict within the haunted corridors of the mansion.

In a surge of desperation and frenzied determination, Emily, driven by the lingering shadows of guilt, attempted to break free from the officers' grasp. In a sudden and impulsive move, she aimed a swift kick toward one of the officers, hoping to create enough distance to return to the mansion.

Her foot connected with a resounding thud, catching the officer off guard. However, the trained law enforcement response was swift. The other officer, reacting to the unexpected resistance, tightened their grip, preventing Emily from breaking free.

"Miss Blackwell, please cooperate. We're here to help," the officer implored, their voice a measured blend of authority and concern. The struggle within the haunted corridors persisted—a desperate clash between Emily's yearning to confront the shadows and the officers' steadfast commitment to ensuring her safety.

With a sudden burst of strength and determination, Emily managed to break free from the officers' grip. Darting away from their reach, she sprinted back toward the mansion, the shadows seeming to part before her in a desperate pursuit to confront the malevolence she had unleashed.

The officers, caught off guard by Emily's unexpected escape, gave chase, their calls for her to stop echoing through the haunted corridors. The mansion, bathed in an unforgiving light, loomed ahead like a spectral sentinel guarding the secrets within.

Emily's heart raced as she re-entered the mansion, the air thick with the supernatural energy that clung to its walls. The Shadowspeaker's whispers seemed to intensify, as if beckoning her toward a reckoning that awaited in the hidden depths.

The officers, now close on her heels, urged her to halt. The confrontation between Emily's relentless pursuit of redemption and the officers' efforts to ensure her safety became a tumultuous dance within the haunted confines of the mansion—a dance that would determine the fate of the shadows and the fractured spirit of a woman haunted by the consequences of her own creation.

In a desperate bid to ward off the officers and continue her solitary journey into the shadows, Emily's trembling hands found a knife within the mansion's dimly lit chamber. With a mixture of fear and determination, she brandished the blade and turned to face the approaching law enforcement.

"Stay back! I need to finish this, and no one else should get hurt," she declared, her voice fraught with a blend of urgency and a haunting resolve. The harsh light illuminated the wild desperation in her eyes, and the knife, an emblem of both defense and defiance, served as a stark testament to the fractured psyche haunted by supernatural shadows.

The officers, now faced with an unforeseen escalation, raised their hands in a gesture of cautious surrender. "Miss Blackwell, we understand you're going through a difficult time, but we can't let you put yourself or others in danger. Lower the knife, and let us help you," one of them urged, their tone a delicate balance between empathy and authority.

The haunted corridors of the mansion bore witness to a tense standoff—a confrontation between a woman ensnared by shadows and officers tasked with preserving order and safety. The weight of the Shadowspeaker's malevolence seemed to converge in this singular moment, where the choices made would shape the destiny of those caught within its spectral grasp.

As the officers cautiously watched Emily, she took a tentative step closer, the knife held before her like a talisman against the encroaching shadows. The air crackled with tension as the haunted corridors seemed to close in on the unfolding standoff.

"I need to finish what I started. Please, let me end this," Emily pleaded, her voice wavering with a haunting mixture of desperation and conviction. The malevolent whispers of the Shadowspeaker echoed in the background, as if urging her to embrace the shadows once more.

The officers, recognizing the fragility of the moment, maintained a careful distance, their eyes reflecting a blend of concern and a duty to prevent harm. "Miss Blackwell, we want to help, but you can't face this alone. Lower the knife, and let us find a way to deal with whatever's happening," one of them implored, their words a plea for reason amidst the supernatural turmoil.

The mansion, a silent witness to the ebb and flow of darkness, stood as a backdrop to this uneasy confrontation—a convergence of human vulnerability and the ominous forces that lurked within the shadows, each step forward an uncertain dance toward resolution or descent into the abyss.

In a moment of anguished frustration, Emily raised her voice, the echoes reverberating through the haunted corridors. "You can't help! I created that monster. I unleashed it, and I have to be the one to end it!" Her words were a raw admission of guilt and responsibility, a haunting acknowledgment that the shadows haunting the mansion were born from her own misguided actions.

The officers, now faced with the stark reality of Emily's culpability, exchanged glances that betrayed a mix of empathy and the weight of a situation beyond their usual understanding. "Miss Blackwell, we still need to ensure your safety. There must be a way for us to work together to resolve this," one of them urged, their attempts at reason punctuated by the palpable tension in the air.

The Shadowspeaker, though banished for the moment, seemed to linger in the periphery, its malevolent whispers a constant reminder of the supernatural turmoil that had engulfed the mansion. In this fragile moment, Emily's voice carried the burden of truth—a truth that had become a spectral specter, haunting the living and the creator alike.

With a tremor in her voice, Emily pleaded with the officers, "Please, just leave. I need to face this alone. It's my responsibility, and I can't let anyone else get hurt."

Her eyes, haunted by the shadows of guilt, bore the weight of a decision that transcended the boundaries of the supernatural and the human. The harsh light revealed the desperation etched on her face—a plea for solitude in the face of the malevolent force she had unleashed.

The officers, caught between their duty to ensure safety and the palpable anguish in Emily's words, hesitated. "Miss Blackwell, we can't simply walk away. Let us find a solution together," one of them implored, their compassion evident in their attempts to bridge the gap between duty and empathy.

The mansion, now a silent witness to this poignant exchange, seemed to hold its breath as the outcome hung in the balance—a choice that would determine whether the shadows would once again consume the living or if a fractured creator could find a path to redemption amidst the haunted corridors.

As Emily pleaded with the officers, a foreboding change unfolded within the mansion. The harsh light that had briefly banished the shadows dimmed, and an unsettling darkness began to creep back into the haunted corridors. The malevolent energy that had been banished to its realm seemed to defy the confines that held it.

A chilling presence lingered in the air, and the Shadowspeaker, relentless in its pursuit, clawed its way back from the abyss. The supernatural darkness coalesced, defying the brief respite provided by Emily's ritual and the officers' presence.

The officers, now faced with the encroaching shadows, instinctively tightened their grip on their weapons, realizing that the malevolent force they sought to contain had not been vanquished entirely. The mansion, once again a realm of shadows, seemed to mock the feeble attempts to resist the insidious entity that hungered for the fear and despair of the living.

In the face of this renewed darkness, Emily's plea echoed with a haunting sense of inevitability—a realization that the Shadowspeaker, ever cunning and malevolent, had found a way back into the tangible realm, ready to resume its spectral dance within the haunted corridors.

As the shadows reclaimed the mansion, Emily, now confronted with the ominous return of the Shadowspeaker, pleaded with a renewed urgency, "Please, just go! You can't help against this. I need to face it alone."

The malevolent energy surged, casting an eerie pallor over the surroundings. The officers, now facing the undeniable resurgence of supernatural darkness, hesitated but reluctantly began to back away, their expressions a mix of concern and realization that the situation had spiraled beyond their control.

"Stay safe, Miss Blackwell. Call for help if you need it," one of the officers urged before retreating, the harsh light of their flashlights revealing a solemn acknowledgment that the haunted corridors were now Emily's realm to navigate.

The mansion, once again plunged into darkness, became a battleground where the living and the spectral forces engaged in a silent struggle. As the officers retreated, Emily stood alone, her confrontation with the Shadowspeaker inevitable—a lone figure amidst the shadows, haunted by the consequences of her creation and left to grapple with the malevolent force that hungered for more than the secrets within the haunted mansion.

Alone in the mansion's dimly lit chamber, Emily steeled herself to face the Shadowspeaker—the malevolent force she had unwittingly unleashed. The air crackled with an ominous energy as the shadows seemed to converge, giving form to the spectral entity that thrived on fear and despair.

"Show yourself!" Emily's voice, a mixture of trepidation and determination, cut through the haunted silence. The shadows, responding to her call, seemed to writhe and twist, taking on a sinister form. The malevolent whispers intensified, echoing through the corridors like a chilling prelude to a supernatural confrontation.

As the Shadowspeaker materialized, its form seemed to defy the laws of reality—a living embodiment of the darkness that had ensnared the mansion. Emily, haunted by guilt and driven by a desperate resolve, faced the entity with a gaze that betrayed the weight of the consequences born from her ill-fated experiment.

In the eerie dance between creator and creation, Emily confronted the Shadowspeaker, ready to grapple with the malevolent force that had claimed the lives of the unsuspecting town and left a trail of shadows in its wake. The haunted corridors bore witness to this spectral reckoning—a clash between mortal frailty and the supernatural malevolence that had become an inescapable part of Emily's haunted reality.

As the Shadowspeaker responded to the charged atmosphere within the mansion, it took on a haunting form—the visage of Emily's deceased friend, Izzy. The shadows coalesced, shaping themselves into a spectral replica that mirrored Izzy's features, a macabre manifestation that sent shivers down Emily's spine.

The entity, now wearing the guise of the departed friend, moved with an unsettling familiarity, its movements echoing the memory of Izzy that lingered in Emily's mind. The air thickened with a palpable sense of grief and anguish as the Shadowspeaker, adopting the guise of the one Emily had lost, sought to exploit the raw emotions that tethered her to the past.

Emily, faced with this nightmarish reflection of her friend, stood resolute, though her eyes betrayed the pain and sorrow that welled up within her. The Shadowspeaker, in the form of Izzy, seemed to embody the spectral echoes of the tragedy that had befallen them—an embodiment of the darkness that sought to torment the living with the specters of the dead. The confrontation within the haunted corridors intensified, a spectral dance between creator and creation, grief and malevolence.

With a surge of defiance, Emily's voice cut through the spectral tension within the haunted mansion. "I created you! I won't let you control me with fear anymore!" Her scream echoed through the corridors, a proclamation of strength that sought to defy the malevolent force she had inadvertently birthed.

The Shadowspeaker, wearing the visage of Izzy, seemed to quiver in response to Emily's outburst. The haunting whispers that had once tormented her now wavered in the face of her newfound resolve. The air itself seemed charged with the clash between creator and creation, the living and the spectral.

Emily, haunted by guilt and sorrow, stood firm against the entity that had cast a shadow over her life. The mansion, now a battleground of supernatural forces, bore witness to this poignant confrontation—a woman confronting the specter of her own creation, ready to reclaim control over the shadows that had threatened to consume her.

In a crescendo of defiance, Emily's screams echoed through the haunted mansion, each cry a proclamation of her refusal to be ensnared by the malevolent force she had unleashed. As her voice reached a fevered pitch, an unexpected phenomenon unfolded—the Shadowspeaker, wearing the guise of Izzy, seemed to shrink and waver.

The entity, once looming large in its spectral form, appeared to recoil in the face of Emily's unwavering resolve. The shadows that comprised its malevolent essence quivered, as if diminished by the strength of her defiance. The haunted corridors, once draped in the shadows' oppressive presence, seemed to respond to Emily's powerful proclamation.

With each scream, the Shadowspeaker in the form of Izzy shrank further, the darkness seemingly losing its grip on the spectral manifestation. Emily's courage became a beacon that dispelled the malevolent shadows, revealing the haunting entity for what it truly was—a creation of fear and regret, no longer allowed to dominate her existence.

The mansion, now touched by the echoes of Emily's resounding screams, became a battleground where the living confronted the shadows, and a fractured creator faced the consequences of her own creation with a determination that transcended the spectral realm.

In a cathartic release of anguish and determination, Emily continued to scream at the diminished form of the Shadowspeaker wearing Izzy's guise. "You should have never existed! You have no right to torture me or anyone else anymore!" Her words, laced with a potent blend of regret and newfound strength, reverberated through the haunted corridors.

The entity, now seemingly reduced and disoriented, quivered in response to Emily's vehement declaration. The shadows that had once been a suffocating presence began to retreat, as if recoiling from the force of her resolve. The malevolent force, stripped of its spectral grandeur, became a mere echo of the fear it had instilled.

With each proclamation, Emily wrestled back control over the haunted reality she had unwittingly created. The mansion, now resonating with the echoes of her screams, bore witness to a transformative confrontation—an unyielding woman facing the remnants of her own creation, refusing to be defined by the shadows that had threatened to consume her.

In this moment of catharsis, Emily's voice became a weapon against the supernatural malevolence, a testament to the resilience of the living in the face of spectral torment. The Shadowspeaker, now diminished and disempowered, lingered in the shadows, no longer the looming entity that had once held the mansion in its spectral grip.

As Emily's final scream reverberated through the haunted mansion, a powerful declaration echoed in her words: "All those souls deserved to live, and you should be gone!" The atmosphere seemed to tremble with a momentary victory, as if the collective weight of the lost souls had found a voice through her defiant proclamation.

However, in a sudden and unexpected turn, the Shadowspeaker, though diminished, launched a desperate counterattack. The spectral entity, now seemingly cornered, surged forward with a renewed malevolence. Shadows twisted and coiled, lashing out against Emily with an unexpected ferocity.

Caught off guard, Emily staggered backward, the force of the supernatural assault threatening to overwhelm her. The haunted corridors, once filled with echoes of her defiance, now became a battleground where the spectral force fought back with a tenacity that defied its diminished form.

The mansion, shrouded in the remnants of the Shadowspeaker's malevolence, bore witness to this sudden reversal—a clash between the living and the spectral, where the final outcome hung in the balance. Emily, now confronted with an unforeseen resurgence of the entity, grappled with the realization that the shadows she had sought to banish were not so easily dispelled.

As the Shadowspeaker's desperate counterattack took its toll, pain seared through Emily's body, and her vision blurred. The spectral entity, though diminished, had managed a final assault that left her reeling. In the disorienting aftermath, the monster seemed to vanish, retreating into the shadows once more.

The echoing footsteps of the returning police officers reverberated through the chamber. "Miss Blackwell, are you all right?" one of them called out with genuine concern, their voices cutting through the lingering echoes of the supernatural struggle.

However, Emily's senses began to fade, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming her. The last thing she heard was the officer's worried inquiry before her vision succumbed to darkness. The haunted corridors, once a battleground of shadows and defiance, faded away as Emily slipped into unconsciousness, leaving the outcome of the spectral confrontation shrouded in uncertainty.

As consciousness slowly returned, Emily found herself in a sterile and familiar environment—the clinic where she had sought refuge from the haunting shadows. The harsh light of reality replaced the eerie ambiance of the haunted mansion.

Blinking against the residual disorientation, Emily became aware of the clinical surroundings—the muted hum of medical equipment, the sterile scent of antiseptic, and the steady presence of the clinic staff. The events within the haunted corridors now felt like fragments of a fading nightmare.

A concerned face appeared in her line of sight. "Miss Blackwell, you're awake. How are you feeling?" a nurse inquired, a mix of professional concern and genuine care evident in her expression.

As Emily grappled with the remnants of the supernatural ordeal, the clinic became a haven—a place where the line between the living and the spectral was defined by the reassuring routines of medical care rather than the malevolent shadows that had haunted her. The mystery of the Shadowspeaker, now temporarily subdued, lingered as a haunting question within her consciousness.

Confused and disoriented, Emily blinked as she looked around the clinic room. The nurse, sensing her uncertainty, spoke with a reassuring tone, "You're at the clinic, Miss Blackwell. You had a bit of a scare, but you're safe now. Do you remember what happened?"

The events in the haunted mansion flashed through Emily's mind, a jumble of spectral images and haunting echoes. She furrowed her brow, trying to make sense of the disjointed memories, before finally asking, "The mansion… What happened there?"

Struggling to piece together the events, Emily turned her attention to the nurse. "Can you tell me the name of the police officer who brought me here?" she inquired, hoping to gain some clarity about the events that had unfolded in the haunted mansion.

The nurse offered a comforting smile before providing the information Emily sought. "The police officer who brought you here is Officer Ramirez. He stayed for a while to make sure you were in good hands. Is there anything else you'd like to know or share about what happened?"

"No, that's all for now. But can I see Officer Ramirez? I'd like to thank him and maybe get more details about what happened," Emily requested, a mix of gratitude and curiosity in her voice.

A few hours later, Officer Ramirez entered the room, a small bouquet of flowers in his hands. He wore a reassuring smile as he approached Emily. "Miss Blackwell, I hope you're feeling better. I brought you these. A little something to brighten your day," he said, extending the flowers toward her.

It was an unexpected gesture from a police officer, and Emily couldn't help but be surprised by the thoughtful offering. The room, usually associated with clinical efficiency, was momentarily infused with the colorful presence of the flowers.

Emily greeted Officer Ramirez with a grateful smile, extending her hand. "Thank you, Officer Ramirez. Please, call me Emily," she said, the formality of titles feeling a bit out of place in the moment.

As she accepted the flowers, a subtle flush of surprise colored her cheeks. "These are lovely. I wasn't expecting flowers from a police officer," she admitted with a warm, appreciative tone. The unexpected gesture added a touch of humanity to the otherwise mysterious and haunting events of the day.

Emily, still curious about the officer who had aided her, inquired with a friendly tone, "By the way, Officer Ramirez, could you tell me your full name?" She felt a need to express her appreciation more personally, wanting to know the person behind the uniform who had been there during a particularly unsettling experience.

"Of course, it's Officer Diego Ramirez," he responded, offering a friendly smile. However, as Emily attempted to stand, her legs gave way, and Officer Ramirez reacted swiftly, catching her before she could fall.

"Careful there, Emily. Looks like you might have a bit of trouble standing. Let me help you," he said, a mix of concern and readiness in his voice as he assisted her back into a comfortable position.

"Thank you, Officer Ramirez. I appreciate your help," Emily expressed her gratitude, her gaze momentarily meeting his before shifting to look out of the window. The room seemed to hold a mix of emotions, the unexpected closeness with the officer adding a layer of complexity to the unfolding events.

As Emily gazed out the window, her thoughts lingered on the enigmatic events in the mansion. After a moment of contemplative silence, she turned her attention back to Officer Ramirez. "Can I ask why you ran back into the mansion for me? I mean, my life… it probably wasn't worth risking for," she inquired, a tinge of curiosity and self-reflection in her voice.

Officer Ramirez met Emily's gaze with a sincerity in his eyes. "Every life is worth saving, Emily. It's part of the job to ensure the safety of everyone, no matter the circumstances," he responded, his tone carrying a sense of duty and compassion.

As the weight of his words settled, Emily found herself at a loss for words. A mix of gratitude and introspection played on her features. After a moment, she simply nodded, acknowledging the profound sentiment in his response. The room held a quiet understanding, the events in the mansion weaving a connection that transcended the boundaries of duty and the mysterious shadows that had haunted them both.

The nurse re-entered the room, breaking the momentary connection between Emily and Officer Ramirez. "I'm sorry, Officer Ramirez, but visiting hours are over. If there's anything else you need, Miss Blackwell, feel free to let us know," she informed, the professional demeanor resuming in the clinical setting.

Officer Ramirez nodded, offering a parting smile. "Take care, Emily. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to reach out." With that, he left the room, leaving Emily in the care of the clinic staff, the unexpected encounter with the officer lingering in her thoughts.

Led to Officer Ramirez's desk, Emily took a deep breath before approaching. As she stood before him, she noticed him looking up from his work, his expression initially neutral.

"Officer Ramirez, it's Emily. We met a few months ago at that mansion incident. I just wanted to thank you again for everything," she said, a mixture of gratitude and curiosity in her eyes.

Officer Ramirez, taking a moment to place the face, eventually broke into a warm smile. "Emily! Of course, I remember. How are you doing?" he asked, his genuine interest apparent as he recalled the events that had unfolded in the haunted mansion.

As weeks passed, Emily and Officer Ramirez found themselves drawn to each other beyond the confines of duty and gratitude. What had begun as a connection forged in the shadows of a haunted mansion evolved into something more—a friendship built on shared experiences and a profound understanding of the fragility of life.

Casual visits to the police department turned into longer conversations, laughter echoing through the otherwise serious environment. Officer Ramirez, whose duty had initially brought him to Emily's side, found himself captivated by her resilience and warmth.

Their friendship deepened into something unexpected, a bond that transcended the shadows that had initially brought them together. Emily, once haunted by the consequences of her creation, discovered solace and companionship in Officer Ramirez.

As the days unfolded, Emily and Officer Ramirez navigated the complexities of life, finding in each other a source of support and understanding. The haunted mansion, a distant memory, had given way to a connection that surpassed the spectral echoes of the past.

In this unexpected union, Emily and Officer Ramirez found solace—a reminder that sometimes, in the most unlikely of places, genuine connections could emerge, offering healing and companionship in the aftermath of the shadows that once threatened to consume them. And so, their lives intertwined, leaving behind the haunting echoes of the past and embracing the warmth of a shared future.

The End

Let me know if you Guys want a part 2 ;)

[fantasyideas1]

quotes almat

Aphorisms The world is disfigured by ignorance, and detachment from the essence of truth, the mystical emptiness of changing illusions, the sun as the second of hopes, the lustful greed for illusions, the world transformed by the emptiness of illusions, the tuning design of lustful illusions, ignorance from weaknesses, and the ridiculous passions of ego fetishes, the rainy seasons of depression when lost the meaning of hopes, nudism of the vices of arrogance, infantile dirty tricks, vicious joys, captivated by their vices, greed creates stability in the inevitable, a fighter, a blind man for an unloving heart, vices have a taste of stupidity, tears are the juice of sincerity, a true vision of the world through wet eyes, deep vision peace, suffering is a tincture of tears of wisdom, nerves create a binary composition of music, as a result of a certain life rhythm of the life of any person, behavior is formed from this, from it the DNA dogma in the subconscious, the philharmonic of egoism where everyone plays his part of the hegemony solo, forming the music of hypocrisy, ground with its weaknesses, the night lights of false hopes, and insomnia of dreams about the future, there is no point in increasing inflation if the population is growing, the number of customers will be more than necessary, and it is easier to sell what is affordable, loneliness teaches you to live in the present, love grows fear of the future, goals and desires have no end and peace, love binds to a certain time, loneliness is life outside of time, harmony in eternity, mind, heart and genitals give a deep understanding of the world, philosophical and biological outburst of insight, juice of wisdom, the body is a research mechanism, a kind of research probe a leprosy of time, life is a separate world of a tunnel of illusions and temptations, influencing with the help of naivety on the associative inner world which is a personal distortion, the excrement of instincts, vices, ego, fear, create distortions in the outside world giving ideas for the hedonism of the body, the one who is afraid of loneliness is the one afraid of life, chaos is a temporary laboratory of spontaneity and sincerity, which reveals revelations subconsciousness, the unconsciousness of chaos helps to see the most exotic forms of design and tuning of the evolution of plagiarism, as a result of the herd instinct of cynicism and greed, the paradoxical painting of chaos in bright colors of despair, the unconscious expression of instincts that forms spontaneity, from the thirst of the body to live and enjoy, to drown in the hedonism of ego masturbation , and praise, and will be remembered on his deathbed, in a monument of the sins of heritage, out of time, one who is devoid of any fears and desires, lonely people are children of eternity, and they are happy in romantic carelessness, art is an eloquent aesthetics of intuition metaphors, Poetry The skin is woven from the threads of temptations, sincere desires, sweet tenderness in the painting of passion, rich colors of sexual shades of desire, in the depths of romance where my heart covenant you every day, a living hypnotic temptation in your eyes, I see a happy eternity where we are in each other's arms we feel true happiness, in an abundance of love feelings there are so many of them that there is not enough air to realize everything, to what extent it is beautiful that you fall to your knees, from an overabundance of love, love penetrates into the depths of dreams, life with you is

Author musin almat zhumabekovich

[almightyhamslice]

Insektober day 3: Backstory!

A young Krabo (not quite a Lord then) pays a visit to Doctor Aedes' laboratory, though he's actually only here to see her assistant, Synapse. He is here for a weekly dose of T, which Synapse gives him since Aedes' vision isn't what it used to be.

Aedes is a tiger mosquito! She was ancient, having been lead scientist for several decades. She trained Synapse and Magus in their youth, and was only succeeded by another lead scientist (Magus) after she passed away. She was friendly and humorous, but often times a little too playful and liked to mess with the other Kruds. She was very meticulous about her work, but a lot of her patients feared she was a quack. If she were still alive she'd tell you it was all nonsense!

Krabo headcanon/overanalysis under the cut???

Regarding Krabo, he has a funky relationship with gender to say the least. Krud society is not outright hostile towards transgender Kruds, nor is there anything explicitly stated in Krud dogma that would cause your average Krud to be dismissive of transgenderism, but Krabo still feels the need to hide this facet of himself in front of his peers, other than Synapse and the doctors. I think whether or not Krabo wants to admit it, Krud society does often punish those who stray from conformity, and he's afraid because to transition would be "non-conformist" of him. He often goes through old documents about himself and forges them to reflect his current self, to keep commoners from finding out his "secret". Synapse and Kurkulie have reminded him time and again that it's not as big a deal as he makes it out to be, but I think Krabo won't feel truly comfortable until he resolves his inner turmoil and self hatred. He's... kind of a mess?

Anyways this isn't like canon to the show or anything its just smth I thought of cuz I couldnt figure out what type of cockroach he was when I watched the show LOL. I thought he could be a dubia cockroach since they don't fly or climb and they're very round. Thing with that is, the males still have prominent wings n the females only have wing stubs. Krabo had stubby wings in Insektors: The Making Of, so that gave me the idea that he might've removed them on purpose!

If you recall my Trans Day of Visibility drawings featuring Insektors characters and OCs, you might remember I drew Krabo on there but I didn't color him in! That's because, unlike Kaboche, he's stealth. He's generally pretty uncomfortable with others knowing he's trans. There is actually 1 other trans insektors character I haven't gone in depth with yet, but... thats for a similar yet different reason. It's difficult! I want to reveal who it is but their identity is so tied to a story arc in my rewrite that I think it'd be a huge spoiler! Wtf do I do there... write the damn rewrite I guess LOL.

[landforsaleinpharmaiitkandi]

Land For Sale In Pharma IIT Kandi

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