#location data coded

[inboundremblog]

Exploring Local Communities Through Carmel Zip Codes

Credit: Image by Republica | Pixabay

An Overview of Carmel Zip Codes and What They Offer

Imagine moving to a new city or planning a trip to an unfamiliar territory; without clear guidance, you may waste time searching for activities that match your interests. Well, the unsung heroes of geographical organization are zip codes! If you wish to explore the coastal area of the Monterey Peninsula and the beautiful Carmel-by-the-Sea, break it down into manageable parts to find what you're looking for with ease and precision. Here's an in-depth look at notable Carmel zip codes and what they offer.

What Are The Carmel Zip Codes?

Carmel Village itself and its surrounding areas are predominantly within the 93921 zip code. The more remote parts, such as Carmel Highlands and Carmel Valley, are zoned under 93923 and 93924 zip codes, depending on the specific area. These Carmel zip codes mark neighborhoods and districts and showcase unique lifestyles and attractions.

Why Use Carmel Zip Codes When Exploring?

Carmel’s zip codes help visitors and residents explore the area, understand its geography, and discover what each part offers.

Pinpoint Diverse Neighborhoods Carmel zip codes represent a unique aspect of living, from the bustling charm of downtown to the quiet luxury of cliffside communities or the sun-drenched appeal of inland areas.

Tailor Experiences to Preferences Carmel zip codes can guide you to areas with attractions that match your interests. Love the beach? Focus on 93921. Prefer vineyards and open spaces? Head to 93924.

Ease Real Estate Searches Homebuyers can use Carmel zip codes to target specific lifestyles, property types, and price ranges. These codes help streamline the search for their dream home, whether they seek a coastal cottage or a sprawling valley estate.

Discover Hidden Gems Carmel zip codes often include lesser-known spots that might not appear in general guides. For instance, 93922 offers serene hiking trails and stunning ocean views less heavily marketed than downtown Carmel's attractions.

Simplify Navigation Exploring the Carmel region using zip codes makes it easier to navigate, whether you're planning a trip or relocating.

Get To Know Carmel Zip Codes

93921: Carmel-by-the-Sea’s Storybook Charm

The 93921 Carmel zip code is inseparable from charming downtown and the surrounding neighborhoods. This area offers charming scenery of fairy-tale cottages, small-styled shops, and beautiful artistic galleries. Roads are easy to walk, and the neighborhood environment creates a village vibe, making it suitable for people who have retired, families, and working people.

Homes in this area range from small bungalows to multimillion-dollar estates. Dining options are abundant. Parking and home prices can be challenging, but the unique charm outweighs the drawbacks for many.

93923: Coastal Elegance of Carmel Highlands

93923 zip code covers Carmel Highlands, which is located to the south of Carmel-by-the-Sea. This area is affluent, with cliff homes and villas with breathtaking vistas of the Pacific Ocean from their balconies. Some rank among the most costly in the region and cater to luxury buyers.

Carmel Highlands appeals to those seeking tranquility and high-end living. The atmosphere is rural, the location is relatively secluded but it is only a few minutes’ drive from Carmel town proper. Places of interest include Point Lobos State Natural Reserve which offers trails as well as wildlife viewing opportunities.

93924: Carmel Valley’s Vineyards

Carmel Valley is famous for its sunny weather and wine-country vibes. Bernardus and Holman Ranch wineries are among the many that make this area a wine-lover destination. In addition to vineyards, golf courses, and equestrian properties define the area.

Homes in 93924 often have large lots, perfect for anyone seeking a quiet retreat. They are less expensive than coastal Carmel but require a longer commute to the beach and shopping centers.

93920: Big Sur’s Rugged Beauty

The 93920 zip code includes Big Sur, which is famed for its stunning topography along the edges of the ocean. Due to its aforesaid features, this region is perfect for those who are in search of solitude and stunning landscapes. Many houses rest at the cliff edges affording extraordinary views of the sea.

Big Sur is a haven for artists, nature enthusiasts, and those who crave privacy. However, living here means limited access to amenities. Residents often travel to Carmel or Monterey to shop and dine.

93940: Monterey’s Urban Convenience

93940 includes Monterey. Though not part of defined Carmel zip codes, it is definitely close. This area is ideal for those who want proximity to downtown Monterey, Cannery Row, and the Monterey Bay Aquarium.

Homes here range from historic Victorians to modern condos, catering to various budgets. The area boasts excellent schools, parks, and family-friendly activities. Monterey’s vibrant cultural scene and stunning bay views make it a desirable destination.

93950: Pacific Grove’s Coastal Retreat

The 93950 zip code covers Pacific Grove, located just north of Carmel. This charming seaside community features historic homes, coastal trails, and a laid-back lifestyle.

The Lovers Point Park and Asilomar State Beach are favorite spots for outdoor activities. Homes here are more affordable than those with Carmel zip codes, attracting families, retirees, and first-time buyers.

93953: Exclusive Pebble Beach Living

Pebble Beach is an internationally renowned community. This area is synonymous with prestige and is known for its luxury estates and world-class golf courses. Residents enjoy gated privacy, stunning ocean views, and access to the famous 17-mile Drive.

Pebble Beach is perfect for golf enthusiasts and affluent buyers looking for exclusivity. The area’s top-tier schools and peaceful surroundings also attract families. With high property values and HOA fees, living here requires a significant financial commitment. However, for those who can afford it, Pebble Beach offers unparalleled luxury.

93955: Affordable and Accessible Seaside

Seaside is just north of Monterey. This area is one of the more affordable options near Carmel zip code addresses. It is a practical and budget-friendly option for coastal living.

It has a mix of older homes, newer developments, and some apartments. It is close to California State University Monterey Bay and Fort Ord National Monument.

Wrap Up

Carmel’s zip codes offer distinct lifestyles, from rugged beauty to unparalleled luxury. Whether you prioritize affordability, exclusivity, or proximity to nature, the Monterey Peninsula has something for everyone. Understanding what each zip code offers can help you find the perfect fit for your needs.

Visit https://heinrichbrooksher.com/zip-code-map/ to explore the unique neighborhoods defined by Carmel zip codes and find your perfect coastal home today.

Explore the stunning coastal neighborhoods, lifestyles, and attractions with our complete Carmel zip code guide!

[relto]

doing third data source stuff again, im including more sources this run and the data has a LOT of overlaps. sigh

[romerona]

Ethera Operation!!

You're the government’s best hacker, but that doesn’t mean you were prepared to be thrown into a fighter jet.

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Awkward!Hacker! FemReader

Part I

This was never supposed to happen. Your role in this operation was simple—deliver the program, ensure it reached the right hands, and let the professionals handle the breaching.

And then, of course, reality decided to light that plan on fire.

The program—codenamed Ethera—was yours. You built it from scratch with encryption so advanced that even the most elite cyber operatives couldn’t crack it without your input. A next-generation adaptive, self-learning decryption software, an intrusion system designed to override and manipulate high-security military networks, Ethera was intended to be both a weapon and a shield, capable of infiltrating enemy systems while protecting your own from counterattacks in real-time. A ghost in the machine. A digital predator. A weapon in the form of pure code. If it fell into the wrong hands, it could disable fleets, and ground aircraft, and turn classified intelligence into an open book. Governments would kill for it. Nations could fall because of it.

Not that you ever meant to, of course. It started as a little experimental security measure program, something to protect high-level data from cyberattacks, not become the ultimate hacking tool. But innovation has a funny way of attracting the wrong kind of attention, and before you knew it, Ethera had become one, if not the most classified, high-risk program in modern times. Tier One asset or so the Secret Service called it.

It was too powerful, too dangerous—so secret that only a select few even knew of its existence, and even fewer could comprehend how it worked.

And therein lay the problem. You were the only person who could properly operate it.

Which was so unfair.

Because it wasn’t supposed to be your problem. You were just the creator, the brain behind the code, the one who spent way too many sleepless nights debugging this monstrosity. Your job was supposed to end at development. But no. Now, because of some bureaucratic nonsense and the fact that no one else could run it without accidentally bricking an entire system, you had been promoted—scratch that, forcibly conscripted—into field duty.

And your mission? To install it in an enemy satellite.

A literal, orbiting, high-security, military-grade satellite, may you add.

God. Why? Why was your country always at war with others? Why couldn’t world leaders just, you know, go to therapy like normal people? Why did everything have to escalate to international cyber warfare?

Which is how you ended up here.

At Top Gun. The last place in the world you wanted to be.

You weren’t built for this. You thrive in sipping coffee in a cosy little office and handling cyber threats from a safe, grounded location. You weren’t meant to be standing in the halls of an elite fighter pilot training program, surrounded by the best aviators in the world—people who thought breaking the sound barrier was a casual Wednesday.

It wasn’t the high-tech cyberwarfare department of the Pentagon, nor some dimly lit black ops facility where hackers in hoodies clacked away at keyboards. No. It was Top Gun. A place where pilots use G-forces like a personal amusement park ride.

You weren’t a soldier, you weren’t a spy, you got queasy in elevators, you got dizzy when you stood too fast, hell, you weren’t even good at keeping your phone screen from cracking.

... And now you were sweating.

You swallowed hard as Admiral Solomon "Warlock" Bates led you through the halls of the naval base, your heels clacking on the polished floors as you wiped your forehead. You're nervous, too damn nervous and this damned weather did not help.

"Relax, Miss," Warlock muttered in that calm, authoritative way of his. "They're just pilots."

Just pilots.

Right. And a nuclear warhead was just a firework.

And now, somehow, you were supposed to explain—loosely explain, because God help you, the full details were above even their clearance level—how Ethera, your elegant, lethal, unstoppable digital masterpiece, was about to be injected into an enemy satellite as part of a classified mission.

This was going to be a disaster.

You had barely made it through the doors of the briefing room when you felt it—every single eye in the room locking onto you.

It wasn’t just the number of them that got you, it was the intensity. These were Top Gun pilots, the best of the best, and they radiated the kind of confidence you could only dream of having. Meanwhile, you felt like a stray kitten wandering into a lion’s den.

Your hands tightened around the tablet clutched to your chest. It was your lifeline, holding every critical detail of Ethera, the program that had dragged you into this utterly ridiculous situation. If you could’ve melted into the walls, you absolutely would have. But there was no escaping this.

You just had to keep it together long enough to survive this briefing.

So, you inhaled deeply, squared your shoulders, and forced your heels forward, trying to project confidence—chin up, back straight, eyes locked onto Vice Admiral Beau "Cyclone" Simpson, who you’d been introduced to earlier that day.

And then, of course, you dropped the damn tablet.

Not a graceful drop. Not the kind of gentle slip where you could scoop it back up and act like nothing happened. No, this was a full-on, physics-defying fumble. The tablet flipped out of your arms, ricocheted off your knee, and skidded across the floor to the feet of one of the pilots.

Silence.

Pure, excruciating silence.

You didn’t even have the nerve to look up right away, too busy contemplating whether it was physically possible to disintegrate on command. But when you finally did glance up—because, you know, social convention demanded it—you were met with a sight that somehow made this entire disaster worse.

Because the person crouching down to pick up your poor, abused tablet was freaking hot.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a head of golden curls that practically begged to be tousled by the wind, and, oh, yeah—a moustache that somehow worked way too well on him.

He turned the tablet over in his hands, inspecting it with an amused little smirk before handing it over to you. "You, uh… need this?"

Oh, great. His voice is hot too.

You grabbed it back, praying he couldn't see how your hands were shaking. “Nope. Just thought I’d test gravity real quick.”

A few chuckles rippled through the room, and his smirk deepened like he was enjoying this way too much. You, on the other hand, wanted to launch yourself into the sun.

With what little dignity you had left, you forced a quick, tight-lipped smile at him before turning on your heel and continuing forward, clutching your tablet like it was a life raft in the middle of the worst social shipwreck imaginable.

At the front of the room, Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson stood with the kind of posture that said he had zero time for nonsense, waiting for the room to settle. You barely had time to take a deep breath before his voice cut through the air.

“Alright, listen up.” His tone was crisp, commanding, and impossible to ignore. “This is Dr Y/N L/N. Everything she is about to tell you is highly classified. What you hear in this briefing does not leave this room. Understood?”

A chorus of nods. "Yes, sir."

You barely resisted the urge to physically cringe as every pilot in the room turned to stare at you—some with confusion, others with barely concealed amusement, and a few with the sharp assessing glances of people who had no clue what they were supposed to do with you.

You cleared your throat, squared your shoulders, and did your best to channel even an ounce of the confidence you usually had when you were coding at 3 AM in a secure, pilot-free lab—where the only judgment you faced was from coffee cups and the occasional system error.

As you reached the podium, you forced what you hoped was a composed smile. “Uh… hi, nice to meet you all.”

Solid. Real professional.

You glanced up just long enough to take in the mix of expressions in the room—some mildly interested, some unreadable, and one particular moustached pilot who still had the faintest trace of amusement on his face.

Nope. Not looking at him.

You exhaled slowly, centering yourself. Stay focused. Stay professional. You weren’t just here because of Ethera—you were Ethera. The only one who truly understood it. The only one who could execute this mission.

With another tap on your tablet, the slide shifted to a blacked-out, redacted briefing—only the necessary information was visible. A sleek 3D-rendered model of the enemy satellite appeared on the screen, rotating slowly. Most of its details were blurred or omitted entirely.

“This is Blackstar, a highly classified enemy satellite that has been operating in a low-Earth orbit over restricted airspace.” Your voice remained even, and steady, but the weight of what you were revealing sent a shiver down your spine. “Its existence has remained off the radar—literally and figuratively—until recently, when intelligence confirmed that it has been intercepting our encrypted communications, rerouting information, altering intelligence, and in some cases—fabricating entire communications.”

Someone exhaled sharply. Another shifted in their seat.

“So they’re feeding us bad intel?” one of them with big glasses and blonde hair asked, voice sceptical but sharp.

“That’s the theory,” you confirmed. “And given how quickly our ops have been compromised recently, it’s working.”

You tapped again, shifting to the next slide. The silent infiltration diagram appeared—an intricate web of glowing red lines showing Etherea’s integration process, slowly wrapping around the satellite’s systems like a virus embedding itself into a host.

“This is where Ethera comes in,” you said, shifting to a slide that displayed a cascading string of code, flickering across the screen. “Unlike traditional cyberweapons, Ethera doesn’t just break into a system. It integrates—restructuring security protocols as if it was always meant to be there. It’s undetectable, untraceable, and once inside, it grants us complete control of the Blackstar and won’t even register it as a breach.”

“So we’re not just hacking it," The only female pilot of the team said, arms crossed as she studied the data. “We’re hijacking it.”

“Exactly,” You nodded with a grin.

You switched to the next slide—a detailed radar map displaying the satellite’s location over international waters.

“This is the target area,” you continued after a deep breath. “It’s flying low-altitude reconnaissance patterns, which means it’s using ground relays for some of its communication. That gives us a small window to infiltrate and shut it down.”

The next slide appeared—a pair of unidentified fighter aircraft, patrolling the vicinity.

“And this is the problem,” you said grimly. “This satellite isn’t unguarded.”

A murmur rippled through the room as the pilots took in the fifth-generation stealth fighters displayed on the screen.

“We don’t know who they belong to,” you admitted. “What we do know is that they’re operating with highly classified tech—possibly experimental—and have been seen running defence patterns around the satellite’s flight path.”

Cyclone stepped forward then, arms crossed, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Which means your job is twofold. You will escort Dr L/N’s aircraft to the infiltration zone, ensuring Ethera is successfully deployed. If we are engaged, your priority remains protecting the package and ensuring a safe return.”

Oh, fantastic, you could not only feel your heartbeat in your toes, you were now officially the package.

You cleared your throat, tapping the screen again. Ethera’s interface expanded, displaying a cascade of sleek code.

“Once I’m in range,” you continued, “Ethera will lock onto the satellite’s frequency and begin infiltration. From that point, it’ll take approximately fifty-eight seconds to bypass security and assume control."

Silence settled over the room like a thick cloud, the weight of their stares pressing down on you. You could feel them analyzing, calculating, probably questioning who in their right mind thought putting you—a hacker, a tech specialist, someone whose idea of adrenaline was passing cars on the highway—into a fighter jet was a good idea.

Finally, one of the pilots—tall, broad-shouldered, blonde, and very clearly one of the cocky ones—tilted his head, arms crossed over his chest in a way that screamed too much confidence.

“So, let me get this straight.” His voice was smooth, and confident, with just the right amount of teasing. “You, Doctor—our very classified, very important tech specialist—have to be in the air, in a plane, during a mission that has a high probability of turning into a dogfight… just so you can press a button?”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of being airborne.

“Well…” You gulped, very much aware of how absolutely insane this sounded when put like that. “It’s… more than just that, but, yeah, essentially.”

A slow grin spread across his face, far too entertained by your predicament.

“Oh,” he drawled, “this is gonna be fun.”

Before you could fully process how much you already hated this, Cyclone—who had been watching the exchange with his signature unamused glare—stepped forward, cutting through the tension with his sharp, no-nonsense voice.

“This is a classified operation,” he stated, sharp and authoritative. “Not a joyride.”

The blonde’s smirk faded slightly as he straightened, and the rest of the pilots quickly fell in line.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Vice Admiral Beau Cyclone Simpson let out a slow breath and straightened. His sharp gaze swept over the room before he nodded once.

“All right. That’s enough.” His tone was firm, the kind that left no room for argument. “We’ve got work to do. The mission will take place in a few weeks' time, once we’ve run full assessments, completed necessary preparations, and designated a lead for this operation.”

There was a slight shift in the room. Some of the pilots exchanged glances, the weight of the upcoming mission finally settling in. Others, mainly the cocky ones, looked as though they were already imagining themselves in the cockpit.

“Dismissed,” Cyclone finished.

The pilots stood, murmuring amongst themselves as they filed out of the room, the blonde one still wearing a smug grin as he passed you making you frown and turn away, your gaze then briefly met the eyes of the moustached pilot.

You hadn’t meant to look, but the moment your eyes connected, something flickered in his expression. Amusement? Curiosity? You weren’t sure, and frankly, you didn’t want to know.

So you did the only logical thing and immediately looked away and turned to gather your things. You needed to get out of here, to find some space to breathe before your brain short-circuited from stress—

“Doctor, Stay for a moment.”

You tightened your grip on your tablet and turned back to Cyclone, who was watching you with that unreadable, vaguely disapproving expression that all high-ranking officers seemed to have perfected. “Uh… yes, sir?”

Once the last pilot was out the door, Cyclone exhaled sharply and crossed his arms.

“You realize,” he said, “that you’re going to have to actually fly, correct?”

You swallowed. “I—well, technically, I’ll just be a passenger.”

His stare didn’t waver.

“Doctor,” he said, tone flat, “I’ve read your file. I know you requested to be driven here instead of taking a military transport plane. You also took a ferry across the bay instead of a helicopter. And I know that you chose to work remotely for three years to avoid getting on a plane.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. “That… could mean anything.”

“It means you do not like flying, am I correct?”

Your fingers tightened around the tablet as you tried to find a way—any way—out of this. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t need to fly the plane. I just need to be in it long enough to deploy Ethera—”

Cyclone cut you off with a sharp look. “And what happens if something goes wrong, Doctor? If the aircraft takes damage? If you have to eject mid-flight? If you lose comms and have to rely on emergency protocols?”

You swallowed hard, your stomach twisting at the very thought of ejecting from a jet.

Cyclone sighed, rubbing his temple as if this entire conversation was giving him a migraine. “We cannot afford to have you panicking mid-mission. If this is going to work, you need to be prepared. That’s why, starting next week you will train with the pilots on aerial procedures and undergoing mandatory training in our flight simulation program.”

Your stomach dropped. “I—wait, what? That’s not necessary—”

“It’s absolutely necessary,” Cyclone cut in, his tone sharp. “If you can’t handle a simulated flight, you become a liability—not just to yourself, but to the pilots escorting you. And in case I need to remind you, Doctor, this mission is classified at the highest level. If you panic mid-air, it won’t just be your life at risk. It’ll be theirs. And it’ll be national security at stake.”

You inhaled sharply. No pressure. None at all.

Cyclone watched you for a moment before speaking again, his tone slightly softer but still firm. “You’re the only one who can do this, Doctor. That means you need to be ready.”

You exhaled slowly, pressing your lips together before nodding stiffly. “Understood, sir.”

Cyclone gave a small nod of approval. “Good. Dismissed.”

You turned and walked out, shoulders tense, fully aware that in three days' time, you were going to be strapped into a high-speed, fighter jet. And knowing your luck?

You were definitely going to puke.

Part 2???

[sbcdh]

"You saw it?"

"For a second. Yeah. I saw one."

"Start at the beginning."

"Hoo. Okay. Uhhh... It was 77. I think. I was air force. Or, hypnoengineering support staff contracted to help out around St. Louis."

"That's how you came into your supply of JVH-1"

"It was JVH-11 actually, and yeah, the fuckin, uh- the requisitions officer at Scott was an old buddy of mine. We used to fuck around in college before I, you know-"

"Yes I understand."

"I worked records for Sears-Roebuck, I had all the accounting expertise, as well as a ready supply of LSD."

"How did you start?"

"Oh it was easy at first. Really just selling off phials of the new experimental stuff to finance guys. They'd go nuts for the stuff, pay top dollar for it too. Hell, I could get 100$ for a milliliter. Made it easy to keep my contacts bought in and re-invested. Honestly I don't think the req office would even know that we were skimming if they weren't in on it.

But, you know how it is with hypnoregulation. Transchronological market data is worth it's weight in diamond. It started with the odd photo of a 2q-week readout, then biometric data, then, uh- then. Well, we decided to try it ourselves."

"You attempted full sub-finantial emmanation?"

"No no god no, what're you nuts? No, see. We figured if one person can meld their brain with the market, we just had to get as close as we could to that guy, and mark the twain, hypnologically speaking."

"Mark the twain?"

"Yeah, see, okay. A plutophant in full emmanation isn't like us. We exist at a single point in time, an R1 rational market actor. But they exist in multiple points in time, back in 77, I think the government could hit R6 with that analogue tech. Most people can hit R2 with a single hit of JVH-1, with practice you can hit R3, but anything higher than R3 takes a pretty serious support team. But here's the thing, I had a whole cadre of co-implicated members of a military grade hypnoengineering support team. All we needed was the space."

"The warehouse. Schaeffer Marble and Tile was it?"

"Bingo. See here's the thing. You know why the government had to start building those special regulation temples? It's not just for security. Once you crack the R6 barrier, Plutophants start leaving what's called a wake. You know, like a fuckin, uh, like a boat. They're imperceptible to normal people, but if you have sensitive enough instruments or, say, a person in the edge of sub-market emmanation.

See the government didn't know at the time, but if you balanced the drugs just right, and kept someone right on the edge of R4, you could actually read the plutophant's interpretations by their wake rather than their direct neurofeedback. It's not nearly as precise, but if you have a good team and you know what to look for, you can get some really, really valuable market data that way."

"And your co-worker?"

"You mean Mills? Fuck. Yeah...Mills. Right."

"Take your time."

"No, no I'm good. It's... It's uh, It's dangerous. Brains aren't meant to take that much JVH-11 all at once. We could stay on R4, but what we didn't have was a recovery team, or a medical team, or recon team. It was me, Mills, Israel, Connaught, and Marsh. The five of us were the only ones in the soup. Bruso was running the machines and Lasker was monitoring the readout."

"Can you tell us what happened?"

"Yeah. Yeah. It was a normal intrusion. Hypnogrid emmanation is pretty simple with our tech and support. Sedation was all green, hypnoinduction was green. Smooth as silk. Landed about 40 minutes from our work location. We had the codes from the IRSAW people that morning, all we had to do was maintain hypnoinduction for 40 minutes while traversing the colon and we'd be able to-"

"I'm sorry, colon?"

"Oh come on. Colon. Collective Unconscious. Col-Un. Colon."

"I- of course. Continue."

"Hey, have you ever been on a dive before?"

"Can we focus on your statement?"

"It's important. I need to know if this next bit is gonna make sense to you or not."

"I've undergone basic anti-intrusion training standard for IRS investigation task force officers."

"So you've done safe dives. White room? Castle training? Putting up the wall? All that jazz?"

"That's correct."

"Did they ever tell you why it's dangerous to perform off-site hypnoincursion in meta-unstsble hypnospace?"

"They did."

"Well they're lying...don't look at me like that. I'm not bullshitting you. They're lying...there's...there's shit out there okay? There's things out there."

"Mills?"

"Yeah. Mills. Uh..."

"Take your time."

"Yeah yeah. Quit interruptin me. Mills... Uh, yeah so we were T-Plus 30 into the dive. Bruso gives us a heads up that some hypnoflora is headed our way, but can't get a read on mass. Says we should steer clear, but we are so close. Israel had handled some hypnoflora before, so we weren't worried. But it was... I dunno. I can't explain."

"Do your best."

"Like. Okay. Meta-unstsble dives are fucked. They're acid trips. The St. Louis hypnoscape already doesn't look normal, but Scott Base looked like some kinda bastard lovechild of a medieval castle and a seashell, all twisting up into itself. The streets were a chessboard, and all the streetlights we're these tall kinda mannequin lookin' things holding a tiny sun in their hand. Everything is fucked, it's all topsy turvy. But it's okay, because it's meta-unstable hypnospace, its not SUPPOSED to be normal. And then there was a Red Sock."

"Like for the feet?"

"No. Like. In the middle of this fucked up dreamscape, there's suddenly a batter for the Boston Red Sox. He's standing there, maybe 50 feet away. He's got a bat in one hand and a mitt in the other, and he's just kinda walking towards us. Nobody really knew what to do. It didn't look dangerous, but something wasn't right. It didn't fit. We just kinda stood there, looking at the thing. Israel starts talking to Bruso, asking him what to do. Suddenly, Bruso is screaming at us, telling us to book it. He's screaming into the com, telling us to prepare for de-emmanation. Nobody knows what's happening. Israel is suddenly standing between Mills and the Red Sock, and..."

"Any information you can recall could be of use."

"It's...it's mostly feeling at this point. You ever been having a normal dream? Like, a good, normal dream? And suddenly you realize that something is really, really wrong? There's signs. For me? It's that the lights go out. Suddenly day turns to night, and something about this batter just makes me want to curl up and hide. Suddenly, moving through the world is like trying to swim through molasses. I try to run, but nothing moves, and everything is dark. The world is shifting. There's shadows under the bathroom door that can't be happening. A man who looks like Jesus. An old and terrible house and an old man with no name whose face I can't remember. The batter swings at Mills and she just...vanishes. Shes gone. Bruso pulls us out a second later."

"So this, batter killed Ms. Mills?"

"No."

"No?"

"No. We get out, she's comatose. Whatever that thing did to her, she was still in hypnospace. I gave her a hot shot of barbiturates. Her brain activity slowed to R0 after about 90 seconds."

[kaiist]

-.- .- .. .. … -

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 : 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒

⋇ Status ⋯ Docking Complete ⋇ Location ⋯ 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐈𝐒𝐓 Orbital Station ⋇ Access Level ⋯ Authorized ⋇ Launch Code ⋯ 280325

𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄, 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐑. ∹ You’ve successfully docked at 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐈𝐒𝐓, a terminal floating amidst the cosmic expanse. Whether you’re here for classified mission reports, encrypted transmissions, or to send a request through the interstellar network, all data logs are available below ⋯ navigate wisely—adventure awaits.

𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍

⋇ Designation ⋯ Captain Kaisa-19 ⋇ Rank ⋯ Chief Archivist & Storyteller ⋇ Mission ⋯ Documenting celestial encounters and stellar romances across the cosmos. ⋇ Terminal Note ⋯ All transmissions are encrypted and monitored by the central AI, and I’ll later review it in my command quarters. For further inquiries, send a request through the Incoming Transmissions channel.

𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐌

✛ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 ⋯ Mission Reports & Archived Transmissions [ All Writings ]

✛ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄 ⋯ Galactic Records [ Masterlist ]

✛ 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐀 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 ⋯ Research & Classified Files [ Personal posts ]

✛ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐋 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ⋯ Operational Directives [ BYF / DNI / Requests ]

✛ 𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 ⋯ Open Comm Channels [ Ask ]

© main · ao3 · theme · divider · characters belongs to developers

[splatsvilles-fashionista]

Nintendo is removing twitter integration next week, here's what to do to share screenshots instead

So in case you missed it, Nintendo announced last month that they're removing the Switch's twitter integration on Jun 10/11 (depending on your time zone) as a result of twitter jacking up their API fees to absolutely ridiculous degrees. This will not affect making posts in the plaza (at least in Splatoon 3) but it does mean you will not be able to upload screenshots and videos to twitter for easy access.

If you're like me and do this a lot, then you've got two alternatives.

One of these methods is significantly easier than the others, but requires a computer that runs Windows and a USB cable. With your Switch in portable mode, go into your System Settings and find the Data Management section:

Click it and scroll down to the "Copy to PC via USB Connection" option.

Click it and you'll be prompted to connect your Switch to your PC via USB. When you do, a folder containing all your Switch screenshots and videos will pop up on your PC. From there, you can copy as many videos and screenshots as you'd like to a location of your choosing, at which point you can disconnect your Switch.

And now you're done!

The other option is a bit more finicky (and also I can't take screenshots to show you the process), but can be done with any smart device. Go into your Album and pick a video or screenshot you would like to share. Select Send to smart device, after which you'll be prompted to scan a QR code. Scan it with your smart device and you'll be given a link to connect to a Wifi, which sounds weird but is just how the console and smart device connects. Once they have, you'll be able to send your images and video to your phone.

[tinyshyteacup]

Taglist: @jozzieblood @buckysteveloki-me @dragonoftheshadows @plaidconvers @kateawolf13 @keira-kaz2y5 @frog-fans-unite @doilooklikeagiveafrack @verynormalsstuff @nynxtea @iminyourceiling @seventeen-x @mgchaser @y0urgirl @lovely-seb @laughterafter @mysuperlaserpissnumber1fan @irasciblemogwai @svtbpbts @vivalas-vega @chonkybonky @bmyva1entine @6urmom @gullableh @homiesexual-or-homosexual @aoi-targaryen @bitter-semi-sweet @soflegacy @kath-666 @hiireadstuff @nyxthedeity @highhopes1008 @sineminuse @hxsxxk-180294 @wordacadabra @hawkinsavclub1983 @buckingforbuckybarnes @purplefluffycows @raikan624 @avengemepercy @killerwendigo @winterjaysoldier @magnoliamoogle @fandomsearcherforcuntymen @huang-the-geek @joewhs @witchywannabe3263 @iyskgd @ironenemycollective @bumblebeebutter @sizzlingstarlightsky @buckybarnesslutshop @starstruck-cowgirl @angelicdarkn3ss @confused-simp-jpg @hufflepuffsforjoy @nicolebarnes @avatarobsessedgirly @escapismurmom @paige0103 @dollface-xoxo @read-just-cant-stop @sycamoregirl444 @raikan624 @iwritememesnotprophecies @imissbenswolo-blog @lcolumbia1988 @paintmekala @knowingnothingnoel @captain-shannon-becker @jainaeatsstars @mm4t @houseofthechaos @chachkid @escapefromrealitylol

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A/N: I am alive ! Sorry for the slow update but here is the next part !

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Tw: cussing, fluff

Part 17

Words of Command - Part 18

The communal floor of Stark Tower was unusually still. A breeze from the automated ventilation stirred the long drapes beside the windows, and light poured in—soft gold across glass, metal, and silence.

The aftermath of what had happened the night before still clung to the walls like an echo.

At the center console, Tony Stark looked every bit the genius-billionaire-insomniac, hair tousled, arc reactor glowing through a rumpled Black Sabbath shirt, coffee in hand like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Holograms danced in front of him—blueprints, security schematics, and tracking data cascading in midair.

Agent Collins stood just to the side, shifting uncomfortably under Stark’s scrutinizing gaze.

“These,” Tony said, gesturing like a magician unveiling a new trick, “are the new key cards. Retina-matched, palm-synced, neuro-linked to your heart rate. So if you’re panicking, bleeding, or doing a very bad impersonation of me? It locks you out.”

He slid a card across the table toward Collins.

“Don’t lose it, rookie. Or misplace it in a vending machine like the last one.”

A beat. “And if you’re still thinking about shooting someone in this building? Maybe aim for the espresso machine next time—it has less moral ambiguity.”

Collins flushed, stammering, “Yes, sir. Of course. I—I’m sorry again—”

Tony waved a hand dismissively, then turned his eyes on you.

“And you,” he said, pointing, voice light but laced with something tighter, “Thumbelina.”

You blinked. “Hmm"

“Yeah. Honestly, the most terrifying thing about that entire debacle was how calm you were.”

He reached under the console and slid another card toward you. Unlike Collins’ sleek black one, yours was silver, marked with a small Stark Industries insignia and a delicate engraving of a rose.

“Custom-coded,” he added more quietly. “Highest clearance short of mine or Pepper's. And it tracks your location anywhere in the building… or, you know, if someone tries to relocate you.”

You hesitated before picking it up. “Tony, this is…”

He cut you off with a glance—his tone softening only fractionally.

“Don’t read too much into it, Thumbelina. Just… consider it your golden ticket to not getting Winter-Soldiered next time a Hydra Barbie struts through my door.” His jaw twitched faintly before he turned back to his holograms.

"Because between you and me? I don’t know what would’ve happened if Barnes had flipped. And I’d rather not find out.”

Behind you, Bucky stood against the window, arms folded tightly across his chest. His face was carved from stone, eyes unreadable. But at Tony’s last words, you saw the flicker in his posture—a subtle clench of his metal fingers. His jaw worked, once, before he spoke.

“I wouldn’t have hurt her.”

It was quiet. Firm.

Tony didn’t look back. “Good plan, Tin Man. Let’s stick to it.”

You reached out and gently brushed your fingers over Bucky’s hand. His head turned toward you immediately, eyes softer now, focused entirely on you.

“You okay?” you asked quietly.

He glanced at the security card in your hand. “You keep that close. Anyone tries anything again... they won’t get the chance to finish a word.”

He meant it.

And this time, even Tony didn’t argue.

You found Tony later, alone on the terrace of Stark Tower. The city sprawled out beneath him, bathed in afternoon haze, a living thing of sound and motion.

He stood by the railing, sunglasses in place despite the shade, drink in hand—something amber that caught the light.

“Didn’t peg you for a brooder,” you said gently as you stepped out.

He didn’t look at you, just lifted the glass in a half-salute. “Rooftop brooding’s in the billionaire starter pack. That and daddy issues.”

You smiled faintly, letting the door slide shut behind you. The wind teased your hair, light and playful in contrast to the tension that still clung to him like static.

“I wanted to say thank you,” you offered. “For the card. The upgrades. Everything.”

Tony tilted his head, finally looking at you.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, voice still smooth, but quieter. “You didn’t ask to be dragged into any of this.”

“I’m here because I want to be. Bucky—he…”

“Thinks you’re his handler,” Tony interrupted, eyes narrowing behind his shades. “Still. Despite all the progress. And despite the fact he looks at you like you're the only safe place he's ever known.”

You looked down at your hands. “Yea, I know.”

Tony drained his drink and set the glass aside with a click of crystal on steel. “You know, if you were anyone else, I’d have locked Barnes in a vibranium box and shipped him off by now.”

You blinked up at him.

“He’s dangerous, Thumbelina. He’s got more kill commands in that head than most nukes. And if someone whispers poetry in Russian, he'll take out half my lab. So forgive me if I’m not sleeping well.”

The sarcasm was still there—but now it trembled just enough to show the cracks.

You stepped closer. “But you didn’t lock him up.”

“No,” Tony said, softer now. “Because he didn’t snap. Because you, god knows why, have faith in him.”

He exhaled hard, raking a hand through his hair.

“I saw what happened the other night. He didn’t hurt you. That means something. I just…” His voice dropped. “I don’t want to be the guy who says I told you so after something breaks. And I sure as hell don’t want it to be you who pays the price.”

You placed your hand lightly on his arm. “Tony, I know what he’s capable of. But I also know who he is now. You’ve seen it too.”

He looked down at your hand. “You’re good for him. Maybe too good. Just—promise me you’ll keep that card on you. And if something feels off, you run, okay? Because even the best of us can lose control.”

There was a pause. He added, more gently, “And maybe I care more than I let on. Don't make me say it out loud or I’ll combust.”

You smiled through the tightness in your chest. “Noted.”

Tony nodded and pulled his sunglasses off, eyes tired but sincere. “Now go check Manchurian Candidate. Before he broods a hole through my floor.”

You turned to leave but paused. “Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you”

The workshop hummed with artificial light and low-toned rock playing from a half-covered speaker somewhere on the cluttered shelves. Screens flickered with diagnostic data, schematic overlays of Bucky’s arm rotating in slow motion beside a real-time scan of his nervous system. The scent of oil, hot metal, and solder hung in the air like cologne.

Bucky sat on the reinforced stool with his left arm clamped into a calibration rig, a faint whirr-click pulsing as Tony adjusted a servo near the elbow joint. He flinched, just slightly, more from reflex than pain.

“Relax, Tin Man,” Tony drawled, leaning in with a fine-point tool between his fingers. “You jump like I’m tightening bolts with a wrench and a prayer.”

Bucky gave him a narrowed look but didn’t rise to the bait. “You talk a lot for someone who’s supposed to be concentrating.”

“And you grunt a lot for someone with enough years to have heard jazz when it was edgy,” Tony shot back. His tone was teasing, but the undercurrent was cautious—calculated. He didn’t trust easily.

A silence passed, broken only by the soft hiss of hydraulics and a string of code scrolling on a nearby display. Then Tony added, more pointedly

“Since you didn't go full Terminator on us, I feel safe enough to bring up a topic of immense personal importance.”

Bucky sighed. “Let me guess. Her.”

“Ding ding ding.” Tony didn’t look up, but there was a smirk in his voice. “My favorite receptionist. Whisperer of stray murder puppies. You know she’s important to me, right?”

Bucky’s jaw twitched. His lips parted, slow and thoughtful. “She’s important to a lotta people.”

Tony side-eyed him. “Yeah. Which is why I’m keeping an eye on you, Frostbite. No offense... Okay, some offense.”

Bucky's gaze dropped to the limb Tony was working on. His metal fingers flexed, this time not in defense—but curiosity. Familiarity.

“You think I’d want to hurt her?” he asked, not with hostility, but that quiet kind of self-loathing that made even Tony pause.

“No,” Tony said after a beat, tone shifting slightly. “But you’re still figuring yourself out. And she’s got this... thing where she puts others first. Loyal to the end. And way too forgiving.”

“She’s not forgiving,” Bucky corrected gently. “She believes in people. There’s a difference.”

Tony actually looked up at that, giving Bucky a more measured stare. Something passed between them then—not quite friendship, but an understanding.

Mutual protectiveness.

Mutual guilt.

“You know she calls you ‘sweet when you’re quiet,’ right?” Tony said, smirking now, screwdriver back in hand. “Which is a weird thing to hear while trying to eat pancakes, by the way.”

Bucky gave a rare huff of a laugh. “That’s her. Says the strangest things with a straight face. Makes you believe ‘em anyway.”

Bucky looked away, jaw flexing slightly. “She deserves to feel safe, not… manage me.”

Tony finally looked up, goggles pushed to his forehead. That, more than anything, made Bucky uneasy. Tony’s sarcasm vanished for a moment.

“Still think she’s your handler?” Tony asked, voice flatter now, more serious.

Bucky shifted on the stool. “I don’t know. I thought that at first. But… not anymore.”

He flexed his metal fingers, gaze distant. “When she’s around, I don’t feel like a weapon. I feel like someone who could maybe learn to be human again.”

Tony’s expression didn’t soften—Stark didn’t really do soft—but it did shift. Understanding replaced the usual edge. He leaned against the bench, arms crossed.

Bucky blinked. “What?”

Tony gestured dramatically. “Come on, Barnes. The looks. The way you practically short-circuit when she walks in. You’re over here talking like a noir detective monologuing about love and redemption. It's textbook.”

Bucky looked like he wanted to disagree, but… he didn’t. Instead, he exhaled and said, almost to himself. “She’s… soft. Kind. She's never called me Asset.”

Tony tilted his head, watching. “She also trusts you.”

“I know,” Bucky said quietly. “That’s why I want to protect her.”

Tony stood straight again, brushing his hands off. “Okay, Loverboy, don’t make this weird. Look—if you ever do forget who you are again, or even think about slipping—I’ll vaporize you myself. No hesitation.”

Bucky nodded. “I’d want you to.”

Tony held his gaze a second longer, then, satisfied, picked up the casing panel and returned to tinkering.

“She deserves a guy who knows what she’s worth,” he said offhandedly. “You ever figure that out, maybe you won’t need her to save you all the time.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “Maybe I don’t want her to stop.”

He glanced toward the glass wall separating the workshop from the common floor—where you’d left earlier to bake with Pepper, your laugh barely audible through the insulated door.

Tony finished the adjustment and pressed a button on his remote. The brace unclamped, and Bucky’s arm whirred smoothly as it came to life. He flexed the fingers again—no glitch, no catch. The smallest smile curved his lips.

“Not bad,” Bucky admitted.

“High praise, coming from Cap’s ex-roommate,” Tony said, then added quieter, “Just... don’t screw this up, Barnes.”

Bucky stood, glancing down at the arm before meeting Tony’s eyes.

“She sees something good in here. Even after all the bad.” he said slowly

Tony’s smirk faded, replaced by a more solemn nod.

The city outside the window blinked with quiet life—cool blue lights spilling across the sheets, striping your forms like reflections from a slow-moving river. Stark Tower always felt too big at night, the hum of its tech softened to a ghostly lullaby.

You lay on your side, head resting against your pillow, hair slightly mussed from sleep. The oversized t-shirt you wore—hung loosely around your frame, bare feet tangled beneath the throw blanket.

Bucky lay on his back beside you, fully dressed in sweats and a black tee, his metal arm resting across his stomach. The space between you wasn’t large.

His head turned slightly toward you, eyes silvered in the moonlight. “Doll?”

You nodded, voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

A beat passed.

“I keep thinking about something Stark said,” his voice rasped, like gravel being gently scattered. “About you...”

"Tony says a lot of things, most of it bullshit." You deadpan

“Yeah.” Bucky chuckled under his breath, and it startled even him. “He does.”

There was a moment where the silence thickened again, this time with memory. He turned his head, eyes meeting yours in the dark. “Doll… I used to think you were my handler.”

“I know.”

“But I don’t anymore.”

That made your breath catch. You blinked slowly, not trusting yourself to speak.

“You feel different,” he continued, and his voice had that sounded like hesitant wonder. “When you touch me—it’s not… control. It’s comfort.”

“That's ... good,” you whispered.

His eyes softened. “I still wait for orders. I’ll catch myself looking to you like… like I need permission to breathe.”

“You don’t,” you said. “You never did.”

He nodded, but it was heavy.

Tired.

Honest.

“Yeah, but it feels easier when you’re nearby.”

His flesh hand shifted slightly on the sheets between you—like he was thinking about reaching for you but wasn’t sure it was okay.

His gaze dropped to your fingers.

He didn’t move away.

“I like hearing you talk,” he admitted, voice barely audible. “It makes the static go quiet.”

You smiled faintly, then yawned, your body curling slightly toward him. Not touching. Not really.

“I’m proud of you, Bucky.”

He turned his head again, looking at you with something raw in his expression—something real.

“Thanks, Doll.”

A long, steady breath passed between you. Outside, distant thunder rolls lazily over the city, a storm crawling in. The occasional flicker of lightning backlights the clouds, casting dim shadows that briefly stretch across the walls.

You’re both on your backs now, close but not quite touching. Then you feel it—a shift in the mattress. Just slight. Delicate.

Bucky is moving.

You don’t look at first. But his arm—his flesh one—crosses the neutral space between you, and fingertips gently brush your forearm. Not a grab. Not a possessive touch. Just the trembling edge of contact.

“Doll…” he says softly, voice thick. “Can I…?”

You glance at him.

His face is tense, but open. Not fearful, but expectant. The kind of look someone wears when they’re stepping out onto a frozen lake for the first time, testing if it will hold.

You nod.

He trails his hand up, slowly, fingers dragging against your skin until he reaches your wrist. There, he rests his palm lightly—not holding, just being. His thumb ghosts over the skin there, feeling your pulse.

“You always run cold,” he murmurs, half to himself.

You smile, a little shaky. “I guess so.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then, in a voice as soft as the dark around you.

“Can I ask you something ? And you can lie if it’s easier.”

That earns a soft laugh from you, nervous and unsure. “Okay.”

His brow furrows slightly. His thumb still gently strokes your wrist, grounding himself in that fragile contact.

“When I’m not… y’know, losing my mind or tryin’ to kill anyone… do you like being around me?”

You shift to your side, facing him. His hand slips naturally to rest between you on the mattress, but his gaze stays locked with yours.

“I do.”

He nods slowly, you can see the next question forming, nerves tightening his jaw.

“Doll…” His voice is low and careful, like stepping into a room he isn’t sure he’s welcome in. “Can I…?”

You turn your head slowly, meeting his eyes. “Can you what, Bucky?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. His metal hand, lifts from the bed by mere inches. You see the muscles in his shoulder flex. He hesitates.

“Can I keep touching you?”

He’s not asking for permission to take.

He’s asking to connect.

You nod slowly, a little smile at the corners of your mouth. “Yeah, Buck. You can.”

He releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding and moves with such delicacy it almost breaks your heart. He uses his flesh hand—bringing it up. His fingers skim the curve of your cheek, knuckles first, cautious and reverent.

He cups your jaw softly, thumb ghosting just beneath your eye like he’s afraid you’ll dissolve into mist if he presses too hard.

“You’re warm now,” he murmurs.

“So are you,” you whisper.

His mouth quirks—an actual smile, crooked and small. “That’s good. I feel like I haven’t been warm in a long time.”

You shift slightly toward his touch.

He watches you a moment longer, the silence between you thick with something tender. Then, gently, his thumb strokes your cheek again, “Doll… Do you—do you feel anything for me?”

You blink slowly, heart thudding so loud it drowns out the city noise.

“Bucky…” you say gently, voice barely above a breath. “I do feel something. I care. I worry. And sometimes when you look at me… I feel it all the way down in my ribs.”

Bucky releases a small, almost incredulous laugh through his nose. “That’s a hell of a place to feel something.”

You smile. “Well, that’s kinda ...where you live now.”

“Do you think…” he starts again, voice shaky, “if things were different—if I’d met you before—”

You lift your hand, placing it lightly over his metal fingers. “I’m glad I met you now, Bucky. Because this version of you—the one that’s healing, that’s choosing—he’s the one I want to know.”

His breath catches. Just a little. His lips part like he wants to speak again, but instead he lets his forehead drop forward, resting it gently against yours.

[t-a-a-1]

Counting Stars

Ch. 5: Skylight

TFP Optimus x Female Reader

Summary: After a dangerous mission where you almost die, Optimus breaks up with you without knowing you are carrying his sparkling. It's not until seven months later that the universe allows you both to meet once again.

A/N: Lots of yearning, jealousy, delusions, craving, fluff. All that good stuff.

5K

Ch.5 Skylight

....

He hasn’t felt a single thing since you disappeared. 

He didn’t even know if he was allowed to feel something. He had a team that depended on his good judgement and sanity to keep things in order. 

But right now, could he be allowed one moment of weakness?

Maybe this is something he should discuss with you. He wants to hear your opinion on this and he wants to see his sparkling, see how they are doing. 

But where are you?

Where is his sparkling?

He wants to see you both. He needs to. If he doesn’t then this aching in his spark won’t ever stop. 

He wants to hold you, to know that you are safe. That his sparkling is still strong and growing inside of you. That it will soon come to this world and greet him. 

Where are you? Where is the sparkling?

Where?

Where? 

Where? 

Where? 

Where?

Where?

WARNING: PROCESSOR UNABLE TO UNDERSTAND LOSS. UNABLE TO KEEP ONLINE. LOCATE SPARKMATE IMMEDIATELY. SURVIVAL CODES ACTIVATED. 

From a distance, he can see you. Carrying his sparkling in your arms and singing lullabies to him. A field of sunflowers surrenders you. You and his sparkling bask in the light coming from the sky. That’s exactly what the two of you were to him. The light that brightens his darkest hour. 

“Optimus.”

Ratchet looks at the berth where the Prime rested. Unconscious and immobilized. His body had given up and after the groundbridge explosion and unable to locate you, he had gone into shock.

“How is he doing?”

“Stable but in a deep sleep.”

Arcee approached the doctor. Concern in her faceplate to watch the leader in such a state. Everyone had been able to get out of the bridge safely, the ground bridge explosion had sent them to their wished destination. But you were the only one affected. Ratchet had mentioned that due to you being an organic and the sparkling having Cybertronian features, the groundbridge wasn’t able to locate you properly, sending you somewhere else. Or maybe …

No, she couldn’t think like that.

If you are gone, everything is gone. Inside you was Cybertron’s first sparkling in eons, you had become a symbol of hope for everyone. Even the Decepticons, in their own twisted ways. For Optimus? He simply couldn’t live without you. 

“What are we going to do?”

Arcee asks the medic to which he only turns to look at her.

“What do you want to do?”

Ratchet’s doesn’t sound hopeless but assertive. He is waiting patiently and that’s when Arcee understood what he was trying to imply.

“I can’t–”

“Bumblebee is too young, Bulkhead can’t think quickly and I am certainly no leader,” Ratchet says as he looks at the Prime on his medic belt. His vital signs are steady but the signals in his processor were showing distress as if he was having a nightmare. “You need to step up … for all of us. Especially if there’s a chance they are still alive.”

“Is there?”

“... Cybertronians emit unique frequencies. They are our version of human fingerprints,” Ratchet started working on his computer, pulling files after files. Data that Arcee didn’t even bother to try and understand. “I was able to make a registry of Optimus and (Reader)’s sparkling and tried locating them using Earth’s satellite and found nothing.”

“Does that mean … they–”

“No,” Ratchet says and Arcee’s faceplate immediately relaxes. 

“I input the frequency into our database system and made a universal search. I couldn’t find anything. A sparkling’s spark wouldn’t disappear into nothingness, it's pure energy. It cannot be destroyed. It would return to the Well of All Sparks and even so, I would have been able to track it.”

“Meaning?” Arcee wished that Ratchet didn’t gave out so many explanations but even she knew she had to listen to all of it before deciding what the next step would be. 

“Meaning that (Reader) and the sparkling are alive but are not in this universe. The groundbridge explosion must have sent them into another dimension.” 

Then, Arcee’s processor started to make connections. 

“Then, if we input the sparkling’s frequencies into the ground bridge …could it take us to where they are?”

“Possibly but we are going to need a vast source of energy to repair the groundbridge and the quantum physics to travel across dimensions will take some time to decipher.”

“Leave the energy gathering to us,” Arcee quickly says. The idea of dimensional travel doesn’t sound so crazy after what happened with Dreadwing. “Start the preparations. Do you need anything else?”

“Bring Rafael on the way, I’ll need an extra pair of .. hands.”

“You go it,” before she left, Arcee takes another look at their Leader. Who, against all odds, always keeps pushing forward. Because he was hope reincarnated and all she could do was to follow those steps.  “Let us know if there are any improvements on Optimus' status.”

“I will,” Ratchet looks at Optimus, his old friend, so vulnerable and yet, he doesn’t give up.  “But don’t expect much.”

.

.

.

“This is a daisy … and this is a sunflower … this a rose.”

You didn’t expect to be spending so much time with Jetfire. 

“And this one?”

“Oh, that’s a mushroom, that's a totally different species.”

Yet, here you are. 

You would have never figured out that Nemesis Prime had a private garden of his own. Around the size of a football field and with an open ceiling, it was your favorite place to be. You could forget for a moment your situation. 

It's not like Prime had you captive, he allowed you to go anywhere … as long as Jetfire went with you. He had become sort of a bodyguard to you.

“I can’t believe it,” Jetfire was in disbelief, his optics widened as a sudden realization hit him. “You, the plants, the animals … your kind cannot live without one or the other … your entire ecosystem … all of it is just one big creature. Everything is connected.”

“Doesn’t Cybertron have an ecosystem?” you ask as you sat in the grass, you gathered a couple of flowers to make flower crowns. 

“Cybertronians are … and invasive species. We can live at any place as long as there is energon we can mine,” Jetfire looks at you with curiosity. Wondering why you would take the life of such beautiful flowers. “Unlike your species who can only live on Earth, we don’t depend on one and other to survive.”

“Is that why … Maybe Cybertronians have such a hard time creating meaningful connections?” you ask, thinking about how even their way of speaking is formal to one and the other. “Never asking for help, living for millions of years, not having the necessity to reproduce either to continue the species … kinda solitary, right?”

“Correct,” Jetfire’s voice is sad as much as it is gentle. “And  between Cybertronians, the creation of another Cybertronian is not an easy task either.”

“And yet, it was so easy for you,” he looks at you with so much wonder and excitement. You never thought how easy it was for humans to reproduce and create new life. To Cybertronians the creation of life was a complete miracle. To you? An everyday thing.  “How does it feel?”

“Well … It's actually kicking right now … do you want to feel them?”

Jetfire reaches a servo towards you. You can see that he is scared by the way he is slow and his servo trembles. Wanting to make him feel comfortable, you put a hand on his servo and guide him towards your belly. 

He puts the servo on your belly and waits. When suddenly he feels something move underneath him. 

He quickly moves his servo and moves a few inches away from you. 

“Sorry, did it scare you?”

“A little … I understand now why Nemesis wants you guarded all the time. You are too valuable. If the wrong individuals were to find out, they will try to capture and keep you and the sparkling for their own benefit.”

This sparks your curiosity and from making your flower-crown, you look at Jetfire. 

“Wait, wrong individuals? I thought the war was over.”

“My apologies, I have spoken too much.”

“No, you—”

Out of nowhere, Jetfire receives a call from his comm-link and quickly answers. You wished you could hear what he has been told but by the look on Jetfire's face, it must be a call from Nemesis Prime. 

“Understood,”Jetfire finishes the call and looks back at you. “Prime wishes to see you. He has requested that you shower and use luxurious fabrics to decorate your body.”

“He wants me to get dressed? Do you know why?”

“Not certain,” he says. “But do not worry, I don’t think Nemesis would want to procreate with you while you are still with sparkling. Although I am sure he is making his preparations for after you give ... birth.”

“He wants another sparkling?” You didn’t want to show your real emotions. You tried to act as calmly as possible but the thought that you might have to bed Nemesis scared you. He was Optimus but it wasn’t your Optimus. 

“Well yes, everyone wants you to have as many sparklings as possible,” From curious, Jetfire’s voice now sounded optimistic.  “We haven’t seen a sparkling in millenia, so everyone is excited. It has lifted our morale.”

“Oh so that’s what you want me to do? Breed me like a cow until I am no longer of use?”

“What is a cow?”

You sigh heavily.

…

It’s been a long while since you took the time to dress up. It was hard and you had many questions. Where did Nemesis get all of this fabrics from? And did he expect you to just wrap them around your body? From what you knew, fabrics in Cybertron were rare. Only those in the high class could afford buying fabrics and only wore them around certain parts of their bodies. 

So you tried your best to wear the fabric around your body, the white silk wrapped across your curves and you feel like a Roman. But thankful for wearing something clean. You feel your sparkling move inside you, probably sharing your happiness. 

“Excited to eat Energon, little one?” you ask your sparkling as you rub your belly. “I just hope I get to eat some human food. I don’t think I can live off Energon.”

Now you sit at a large table. 

Waiting for Nemesis to show up. Trembling hands and feeling cold. You didn’t know what to expect. 

You couldn’t believe that there exists a version of Optimus that lost the Matrix of Leadership by merit. That he didn’t care about this planet and its inhabitants. To the point that it can no longer host humans?

What kind of evil monster … is Nemesis Prime?

And what kind of thing was able to break the unbreakable Optimus Prime?

The doors of the main room open only to reveal the one you were thinking of. 

Standing tall and carrying a silver tray. He walks towards you. You didn’t break eye contact, feeling that he will attack you the moment you take your eyes away from him. Noticing your discomfort, Nemesis began to walk slower. 

He makes sure to be close enough to you and delicately puts the silver tray in front of you. 

Nemesis didn’t mass-shift, still standing at, around 32 feet tall. Yet his movements were all measured. As to not scare or harm you. He takes a few steps back, giving you space to finally guarantee you some sense of safety so you could take a look at the tray before you.

It was kinda like a charcuterie board. With many fruits and vegetables. Edible plants and breads. A tray that was too big for you and definitely something that you will never be able to finish eating even if you had three extra lives. 

Your mouth waters and a part of you wanted to jump and start eating to your heart’s content. 

“I made it myself.”

He finally spoke to you.

And the shock was so great that you stopped your actions and immediately looked back at him. 

“My apologies, I shouldn’t have spoken.”

Nemesis looks down, his optics showed something but what you only thought would be embarrassment. 

“I am thankful that you have finally decided to speak to me,” you say, trying to be gentle with your words. Although it wasn’t your Optimus, you had missed his voice. “Could you please … get closer to me?”

You couldn’t be scared forever and you knew that if you wanted to make any progress, you needed him to get on his good side. That was the only way you could get back to your dimension. 

Nemesis does as he is told and slowly gets closer to you. You can tell that he is nervous by the way his optics try to look at you but suddenly looks away. 

But this time he is more courageous and dares to look at you longer. He analyzes your body and in his collected data, he identifies a peculiar sound. Two heart beats. One belonging to you and the other sounding similar to a spark. 

It was constant, gentle, kind. His sparkling was alive. You were alive. 

Nemesis lets out a heavy ex-vent, his voice glitched as he released his breath of pure relief. 

“I had prayed and dreamt of this moment. Are you certain that this is not an illusion? A dream perhaps?”

“I am very much real.”

“You have to be,” he says. “Otherwise I’ll kill whoever dares to wake me up.”

“You are very different from my Optimus,” you thought how the word ‘kill’ would never come out of intake. “He wouldn't dare to say something like that.”

“You don’t belong to him anymore. The past shall not repeat itself by endorsing foolish ideologies of the past.”

“I never thought your ideologies were foolish,” you say, not breaking eye contact. “I loved that about you.”

“Loved?” His voice glitched and for a moment you saw him again. Deep down on his yellow optics, he was there. 

“My Optimus and I are not on the best of terms. He had broken up with me and then a lot of things happened. MECH was looking for me so I decided to stay with the rest of the Autobots until the baby is born. I’ll be relocated to a new place when the sparkling is here.”

“It … hasn’t happened yet.” 

“I am sorry?”

“My apologies, I am just talking to myself,” Nemesis breaks eye contact and then points at your silver platter.  “Please enjoy your meal. I wish for our sparkling to grow strong.”

Feeling like the atmosphere was calmer, you decided to switch the topic to a more intimate one. 

“Jetfire mentioned that you would like to have more sparklings,” you didn’t know how long you’ll be here so you had to ensure your safety. But you had to be smart about it. 

“Yes, when the time is right.”

“I don’t want to,” you simply say.  “I don’t want to be here just for that.”

“I shall never do something you do not wish,” there was desperation in his voice. Something that looks odd coming from such an intimidated mech.  “If you so wish, I’ll even swear to never speak another word to you. Your wishes are my sole reason for existence.” 

“Just please, allow me to be the one to full-fill every single of your needs and wants. That shall be enough for me. Allow me to be yours and please be mine.”

You have to be a fool to fall for words like that. 

And oh,how stupid you are.

You take a moment to look at him. His blue and red paint had rusted away. Only leaving black and grey colors. He had stopped caring for his appearance and you can tell by the amount of dent and scratches on his body. His broken windows and his battlemask that he wasn’t taken off. 

You wonder if it's uncomfortable for him and you also want to see him. All of him.

“Can I see your faceplate?”

And then … An explosion.

Debris everywhere. Nemesis used his entire body to protect you from the falling ceiling and yet you were still dizzy. Disoriented. The magnitude of the bomb was that enough to hurt any Cybertronian. 

Nemesis falls to the ground, his injuries were too big for him to withstand. 

You couldn’t do anything when a figure came down and grabbed you by the waist. Taking you away as Nemesis stretched out an arm towards you, his pleading optics begged for you to be returned to him. Only for his injuries to get the best of him and make him succumb to his pain. 

You closed your eyes, your body unable to stay awake.

.

.

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You wake up only to find humans looking down on you.

For  a moment you were thankful. Seeing humans meant that you were back home, right? Maybe everything was just a bad dream.

“Sebastian, run analysis.”

A human male quickly gets close to you. His human eyes suddenly turned blue. Similar to that of a Cybertronian. This took you off guard, and immediately you backed away. 

Seeing your reaction, a female human grabs him by the arm and pulls him back. She looks at you tenderly. 

“It’s alright, you are safe now,” she says. “Sebastian just wants to make sure you or your sparklings don’t have any injuries.” 

Her gentle voice calms you down, but unconsciously places a hand on your belly.  Sebastian, learning from his previous mistake, kept a more comfortable distance. His blue eyes let out a scan light, your body basked on it. It did you no harm. 

“The sparkling is healthy but she is malnourished. Pure organics can’t live off Energon. I recommend giving her a proper meal.”

“Maya, could you prepare her something?” 

Another male asks. He stands in front of you and everyone looks around him. 

“Copy that, boss,” Maya stands up before giving you a smile. 

The male, who seemed to be the leader of the group, stands up as well. 

“Alright, let’s get back to work,” he says. “I’ll take it from here.”

.

.

.

The base was hidden in a cave, on top of a mountain where a waterfall covered the entrance. 

There was as much metal as there was organic materials. With walls made with nails and steel, and flowers where bees were free to feed from. 

But what surprised you the most, was them. 

These humans were not completely human. 

“You weren’t the only one who had a relationship with a Cybertronian.”

You had yet to ask his name but from what you could tell, everyone respected him. He is the captain of whatever movement this was. 

“After Nemesis Prime called the rest of Cybertronians to come to Earth to conquer it, many formed sentimental relationships with other humans.”

The two of you passed by a station, Sebastian was ‘repairing’ the hand of another human. His entire hand, made of circuits, bols and metal but the rest of his body was made out of bone and flesh. 

“That’s Sebastian, designation, Bluewind,” the boss waves to the two and they return the gesture. “He is our medic, his mother was one of the few Cybetronian nurses. His father was a pilot.” 

“The other guy sitting down is Malik, designation, MoonBlazer,” 

You noticed how Malik turned his hand into a modern, alien-like gun. 

“Our weapon expert. His mother was a farmer and his father a Cybertronian smith.” 

You had many questions. But you waited for the leader to finish talking, to first explain his position.

He shows you another section. A woman with scientific  tools and strange liquids in her section. Her table was filled with books and notebooks, written in a language you couldn’t read. Plants all around her and even some insects. 

“This is Shadi, designation RoseStorm, our scientist,” the leader points at a green liquid on her desk. “She’s trying to create some type of synthetic-energon. We don’t really need it since we can also eat organic food but it will create a great negotiation with the other side if she does pull it off.”

“Why are you showing me all of this?” You finally dare to ask, no longer having the patient even though you enjoyed the introductions. 

“Because we are The Resistance and you are a very valuable asset to our cause,” he says.  “We have a few Cybertronians on our side, one of them being JetFire.”

Jetfire’s name made you remember the time spent with him. He had always been kind to you and there was always a curious aura around him. He treated you delicately and the way he discussed nature made you wonder what kind of bot was Jetfire before the war. You can see him as a scientist, always curious, always wanting to learn more.

“He had been loyal to Nemesis all this time until he met you,” the leader's voice is strong and somehow still gentle. Although it didn’t sound mature, you didn’t expect it to be, after all, he looked to be young.  “He contacted us and told us about your situation. Groundbringe explosion, interdimensional time-travel, you carrying the sparkling of Nemesis Prime–”

“Optimus Prime is the father of my child,” you immediately cut him off.  “Not Nemesis.”

“Well, Nemesis is what he is now, and he destroyed this world, to the point that it's no longer habitable for humans.”

There was a sharp pain in your heart. He reminded you of the harsh truth and yet you didn’t want to accept it. You couldn’t believe nor wanted to. Your Optimus, had become that which he hated. And yet, on Nemesis yellow optics, you can see a faint light of who he used to be.

“But you guys are here.”

“We are not completely human,” the leader looks around and so you do. Noticing how everyone used their transforming abilities to accomplish their jobs. “We are hybrids. We age slowly like Cybertronians do. Some can transform certain parts of their bodies. Some more than others. And others like me …”

He makes a pause and puts a hand on his chest.

“We can’t transform at all,” he says.  “Nemesis Prime took my transformation cog the day I was born.”

You will never fully know that feeling. There was a time when Bumblebee was unable to transform for a couple of days. He described it as feeling empty. Like a void. Like you know you are born to do something. One simple thing. But you can’t. Its like having a constant craving to draw but you are unable to pick up a pencil. 

“We’ve been attacking from the shadows, gathering our strength but eventually, we’ll show ourselves to the rest of the world.”

And now, Jetfire’s words made sense. The war wasn’t over but it had just started it. 

“Now that you are here, it is our time to rise up.” 

Unconsciously, his words ran a shiver down your spine. Strong enough that you were sure your sparkling felt it. 

“What are you planning?”

“Nemesis’ dismantlement and governmental surrounder. Right now, I am sure he has his entire Army looking for you. This is the perfect moment to strike. If we take Icon City, we can sneak into the Hall of Records.”

“And that’s important because…?”

“Because there we can find the location of the AllSpark,” he simply says as he walks towards another station. You follow closely, wanting to hear more about his plan.  “And if we find where Nemesis is hiding it, we’ll have all of New Cybertron at our disposal.” 

“And after that, we’ll help you get back to your dimension,” he reaches a desk where he picks up a cowboy hat. Now that you take a closer look at him, he doesn’t have a fashion sense at all. None of them do. It’s not like you could blame them, they don’t have any idea of how humans used to dress. 

 “You don’t hold any responsibility for Nemesis actions nor does your sparkling.”

You stay quiet and look around you one more time. Everything looks so alien to you. It feels off, you know you don’t belong here but you are afraid of how long you have to stay. Your mind drifts to your friends. Are they worried? Is Optimus going crazy? How will you even get back?

“My father used to tell me stories of how great Optimus Prime used to be,” his voice breaks your thoughts, it was comforting.  “So I am glad that in another dimension, he has his happy ending with you.”

You are curious about him. Wondering about the story of the cogless boy that became leader of the resistance. 

“Who was your father, if I can ask?”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce myself, I am the son of Megatron, Leader of the Resistance,” he says as he puts on the cowboy hat. 

“My human name is Sam, designation, Skylight.”

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Answering Questions you all may have: 

Why do the Cybertronians stay on Earth if they have the AllSpark?

Earth has the biggest source of Energon in the galaxy, however, Nemesis knows it won’t last forever, they have to expand eventually. The AllSpark, is what creates new Cybertronian Life. But in this fanfic canon, the AllSpark can also take lives. Nemesis plans to build a weapon of destruction by using the AllSpark in which he would be able to destroy organic lives in an instant without suffering.  But this idea is still in the works. 

Cybertron can never be habitable again due that the Matrix of Leadership is gone and is needed for the production of Energon. 

How come Megatron is Sam’s father if in Nemesis’ letter, he admitted to killing Megatron?

While Optimus was going on a rampage, Ratchet was able to resuscitate Megatron. (Since the letter to himself was written from his point of view, this wasn’t mentioned) Ratchet tells Megatron to leave and disappear. But as he was to leave the MECH building, he heard the sad chirping of a sparkling. Left in an ammunition box (Probably left behind by a human nurse who felt pity for the baby and wanted to save him from dissection.) And when Megatron picked up the baby, he noticed his transformation cog had been missing. 

Meg thought he had given Optimus the sparkling’s spark chamber but turns out, he actually gave him his transformation cog! He was the first human-cybertronian sparkling so his anatomy was completely different. This one didn’t have a spark but a heart. 

Megs thought of returning the sparkling to Optimus but seeing that Optimus was drowning in madness and grief, he didn’t want the sparkling growing up nor seeing his father like that. So he took him under his wing. (I should written a chapter about this with Meg’s POV but its too late for that now lol)

This is why Sam sees Megatron as his father figure … Megs disappearance is surrounded in mystery. 

And yes, Sam is Optimus and Reader’s sparkling.

…….

… If any of y'all have any more questions, let me know! Honestly, and I mean this seriously, DO NOT expect any kind of well-thought writing in this fic. This was supposed to be a one-shot fanfiction that got turned into a multi-chapter fic due to popular demand. And this is the fic I least worry about. I think it has good ideas and has the potential for more but I definitely don’t have the patience nor time. 

So, this story will conclude in the next chapter … at MAX, in two. 

Now, I have two possible endings for this fic and I want you guys to help me out on deciding which ending I should go for. 

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD, DO NOT READ ONLY IF YOU WANT TO HELP ME OUT TO FIGURE OUT THE ENDING!!!!!

Ending 1: Nemesis realizes his wrong doings and makes the ultimate sacrifice. He is given the ultimatum. Save the world or let his son (Sam) die. Nemesis chooses to save the world and Sam dies, proving once again that he is worthy of the Matrix of Leadership. He accepts the burden and he will atone his sins by continuing living by doing what’s good until the day of his days.

Optimus and Reader return to their dimension and they live happily ever after. 

Ending 2: Sam makes a sacrifice and he is given the Matrix of leadership. Along with Optimus, he defeats Nemesis. But they let him live. After learning that Sam is his son and that Nemesis almost kills him, Nemesis sacrifices himself to save the world. Ending the story. Finally fulfilling your dying wish … to protect your sparkling. 

Optimus and Reader return to their dimension and they love happily ever after. 

Which one do you all prefer or anyone got better ideas?

END OF SPOILERS!!!

…..

Lastly, I feel like I have strained too far away from the original concept of the story and there’s no going back. I may never finish this and if there isn't much interest, then I’ll abandon this story hehe, back to writing my one true love, The Darkest Hour~~~ 

Ok that’s it byeeeee 

Ps. sorry for the bad grammar, spelling and structure and everything :)

.....

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Next: Soon.

[cube-cumb3r]

part 2: What's the deal with Manneq- SIMULTANEOUS PARALLEL REALITY THEORY IM CRAZY IM CRAZYIM CRAZY IM CRAZY

This is the second part of me trying to make sense of the Mannequins in ENA. Read pt. 1 here, if you want. Or don't!

I'm not entirely satisfied with the explanation of "Mannequins are spawnpoints" because it doesn't really explain how the Mannequins got there in the first place. How did so many Mannequins coincidentally end up near locations where it just so happens that Ena is likely to respawn?

I pondered a little bit about the role of Mannequins in the Youtube series as well, and if I could tie that into their role in the game. To my knowledge, there's only one episode where the Mannequins make an appearance, and that's Temptation Stairway.

I don't think about Ulysses often. The most I think about him is the fact that the song that plays when Ena talks to him is such a peculiar banger. But, given that he's the first character in the Youtube series to mention Doors before their existence got fully elaborated on in the game, perhaps more of his dialogue isn't just ominous and strange nonsense.

One of his lines is (paraphrased) "But heed this warning: desires are never fulfilled, nor quenched. You will fail. Like the rest of them."

So who is the rest of them? (other than Moony?) Taking the video at face value, the answer seems pretty simple, it's the Mannequins. They can be seen climbing the Great Runas in the beginning of the episode, and then later on her way, Ena walks past some lifeless ones in various places in a similar manner they are found in Dream BBQ, or they're... lamenting? In this strange space?

Other than that, without any further context, there doesn't seem to be that much to say about the Mannequins in Temptation Stairway, they seem to just be Mannequins. They're these sort of anonymous and ambiguous figures that also seem to have the same goal as Ena, reaching the Great Runas. All of which are failing, it seems.

After Ena meets Ulysses, she of course meets the Shephard who says her infamous "Arghh... another ENA troublemaker." line, which has of course been interpreted to mean millions of things. That being said, literally moments after this scene, we see other Enas when Ena enters the holy code. It seems sensible to assume these are the Enas she's talking about. (Because of Species Theory TM, no one ever really asks how they got here, why they look nearly identical to our Ena, and why they're unmoving. But that's besides the point.)

Most importantly for the purpose of this post, for some frames, they glitch into Mannequins.

(I would be remiss if I did not mention that right after this sequence, there's a data matrix on the wall that when decoded says "FORGET YOUR PAST". Make of that what you will.)

We already know there are multiple simultaneous instances of Ena in some manner, given that the Shepherd has met multiple of them. Given where the Shepherd is located and based on her dialogue, it's likely too that the Enas she met were also attempting to reach the Great Runas as well. That's another set of individuals that are attempting to reach this divine being, other than the Mannequins (and Moony).

So, when Ulysses says "You will fail, like the rest of them", maybe he's talking about the lifeless Mannequins that Ena walks past on her way to the Great Runas. Or, maybe he's talking about the other Enas that can be seen in the holy code. Or you know, both.

Or, perhaps, there's no difference between the two.

Time and reality seems to be a bit weird in the world of Ena. When talking to the remnants of the former Genie, she will offer her memories, to show Ena a reality where Ena did succeed. And this "reality" is (presumably) the reality where Ena had successfully reached the Bathroom, and the events play out the same as if you had done so.

This seems to imply that despite the fact that the sequence of events that led to Ena successfully reaching the Bathoom was not something the Ena you're currently playing as ever experienced, given that the Genie describes it as "her memories", from her perspective, it still happened. Both realities seem to co-exist.

What does that have to do with Mannequins? Well,

Here's my crazypants Theory. Rather Mannequins being a "spawnpoint", they're rather sort of... glimpses of other realities or timelines.

This Mannequin is found on the path that Ena was quite literally walking on before she stops, and she nearly gets caught under the falling structure from above. Perhaps in another alternate sequence of events she didn't stop, and kept walking. And that's what that Mannequin is.

Or this Mannequin found on the other side of the bridge, underneath the floating platforms leading up to the Orb. Perhaps in alternate sequence of events, Ena did end up falling while attempting to ascend to the Orb.

In fact, you can even experience this in-game. If you fall while attempting to climb up, you will "teleport" back to various checkpoints at different points of the ascent. So what if it's not "teleportation" that is happening, but rather you are being "transported" to a version of reality where she didn't fall. Whatever you just experienced did not happen to this Ena. But, you can still see evidence of this having happened, in some version of reality, when you look at the tops of these buildings.

(edit 5/5/25:) A new patch came out today which added a new interaction with the file compressor, where you can compress files more and more until they explode, causing Ena to stumble backwards after which you "respawn" in the center of the roundabout again.

Interestingly enough, with this new interaction they also a new lifeless Mannequin, which can be found dismembered exactly where Ena would've been blown up by this zip bomb. Even more interestingly, this dismembered mannequin is already there even before you've interacted with the zip compressor. As if it's already happened. But not to you. (Yet.) (end of edit)

(Now, I am aware that it's an absurd claim to suggest every single Mannequin here is parallel Ena. That might not be plausible. But I think it's sensible to assume at least some of the Mannequins we see across the series and game may be.)

When the broken Genie shows you a different reality, if you talk to Unforgiven Frank next to the ship, he will still recall your earlier interaction, despite the fact that in the reality where you succeeded in reaching the Bathroom, you would've never encountered him in the Lost Village.

So, it seems these are not distinct and separate realities, but somehow both true at once. Similarly to how the realities where Ena fell in a river or a pit, and the realities where she didn't, are both simultaneously true. And similarly how the Shephard has already met Ena, even if this Ena has not met the Shephard.

Does she retain anything across iterations? Does she collectively experience all of them at once, or just one at a time? It seems for the most part, Ena does not have information that she would've obtained in any parallel iteration of herself, because she needs to ask for it, this is the case in both Temptation Stairway and Dream BBQ. But it seems in some cases she does have information from sequences of events she herself has not experienced, like how she can aspire for Frank's forgiveness despite never having met him (though of course, maybe they already met prior to the events of Dream BBQ.) Perhaps it's as the Shaman said, while perhaps she can, if she were experiencing all of them simultaneously, she would be lost in her own mind.

This theory is not rock solid, there's some things that still don't quite make sense. If you're up on the Orb Island after ascending, you can quite literally jump down all the way to the bottom and be fine, so why would another iteration Ena not make it from falling during her climb? Or, if Mannequins are supposed to represent Ena from other versions of reality, wouldn't you expect lifeless Mannequins to be found at, say, the bottom of the rivers and pits, rather than hanging off the edges? Though, since the Mannequin "inside" Ena seems to be able to "emerge" from her body, perhaps that could be the explanation for this conundrum.

With all this said, there seems to be a natural conclusion to this theory. Under the assumption that the Enas we see suspended in the holy code in Temptation Stairway are Enas that "failed" in their task, like the rest of them (like the rest of them) like the rest of them... What does that actually mean for Ena at the end of Dream BBQ?

I'm sure everyone has noticed the shot we see at the end of the game is nearly the exact same as the one in Temptation Stairway. There's other Mannequins as well, also suspended in the holy code. The conclusion of this theory seems therefore to suggest that the Ena we see at the end of Dream BBQ never actually made it out of Uncanny Streets at all. She got stuck behind the Lonely Door. Failed, like the rest of them, alongside the other Mannequins we see floating in that space.

It's a sensible assumption that the hand that reaches out and grabs this Ena-Mannequin is "taking" her and "placing" her back in the body of the Mannequin in the hub. But what if even that isn't true? What if the Ena "emerging" out of the Mannequin in the Hub isn't her "respawning", but rather, she is an entirely different instance of Ena that never left the Hub in the first place? Whatever happened to the Ena in the Lonely Door still happened, but not to this Ena.

Which seems to prompt a question that no other theory would need to ask. Where is that hand taking this other Ena?

[inboundremblog]

The Zip Codes of Tennessee: Music, History, and Nature

Credit: Image by The Polzel Group | Source

Understanding the System of Zip Codes of Tennessee

Tennessee is one of the many states in the southeast region of the United States of America. It is known for its music, its big and nice cities and of course, stunning landscapes. Like many other states, the zip codes of Tennessee correspond to various areas and districts. Every zip code has a story behind it; it can consist of a downtown area, suburban homes, and vast farmlands.

This guide will describe the various Tennessee zip codes, focusing on their relative locations and distinctive features.

Zip codes are area codes that the United States Postal Service (U.S.P.S.) uses to quickly identify specific areas where mail will be delivered.

Tennessee zip codes start from 37, 38, or 39 and show a position hearing its place in the national zip code system. Such codes have functions in day-to-day practical life and assist in recognizing and differentiating between several areas of the state.

Major Metropolitan Areas

Nashville (37201-37250)

Zip codes of Tennessee range from 37201 to 37250, and Tennessee has many fantastic cities, among which the capital city is Nashville. The home of country music, Nashville also features site attractions that include great eating and drinking points and landmarks. Key neighborhoods include:

Downtown (37201, 37203): The Nashville tour guides encompass the Ryman Auditorium bridge-stone Arena and the Country Music Hall of Fame.

East Nashville (37206): An artsy district focusing on elaborate outlets and appealing to the creative spiritually, with non-routine eating places.

Green Hills (37215): A luxurious district of Nashville with upper-class shopping, such as The Mall at Green Hills, and impressive houses.

Memphis (38101-38197)

Memphis has a musical and numerical history, especially in zip codes 38101 to 38197. This city in the United States of America is situated on the Mississippi River, with significant historical landmarks and traditions.

The city on the Mississippi River has essential cultural and historical landmarks and fantastic sites and attractions.

Midtown (38104): Unanimously considered for its cobblestone streets full of adorable historic houses, flamboyant arts culture, and the famous Memphis Zoo.

Germantown (38138, 38139): A peaceful residential town with good schools, parks, and everything a family may need daily.

Knoxville (37901-37998)

Knoxville is near the Great Smoky Mountains, and the zip codes available in this city range from 37901 to 37998. This city is known for its outdoor activities, cultural festivals, and the University of Tennessee.

Outdoor recreation, annual celebrations, and the University of Tennessee are related to this city.

Downtown (37902): It has the Market Square, Tennessee Theater, and a museum of art in Knoxville.

West Knoxville (37919, 37922): This area boasts well-established shopping malls, such as West Town Mall, and numerous parks and recreational places.

North Knoxville (37917): A color-drenched region with bright streets developed with renovated houses and attractive shops, cafes, and restaurants.

Regional Highlights

Chattanooga (37401-37450)

Chattanooga is a beautiful city with zip codes 37401 and 37450. Key attractions and neighborhoods include. Below are some of the key attractions and catchy neighborhoods to visit:

Downtown (37402, 37403): Tennessee Aquarium, the famous walking bridge, popularly known as the Walnut Street bridge and The Hunter Museum of American Art.

Northshore (37405): A place with numerous shops, restaurants, and cafes with water frontage parks.

East Brainerd (37421): This suburban area houses shopping malls like Hamilton Place Mall and other family-oriented institutions.

Clarksville (37040-37044)

Suited explicitly for bottled gas activity, Clarksville, neighboring the Kentucky border, encompasses zip codes 37040 through 37044. This city is known for its military presence and historical sites.

From what one can see, this city looks entirely military, and there are many attractions of archeological interest here:

Downtown (37040): This section illustrates the Customs House Museum, existing constructions, building arts, and emerging cultural scenes.

Sango (37043): A suburb with a recent formation, beautiful scenery of parklands, and education facilities.

Fort Campbell (37042): Serving a population near the famous Fort Campbell-based military, the company has the chance to access the larger population and social services.

Murfreesboro (37127-37130)

Murfreesboro is a city in Nashville's metropolitan area with zip codes 37127, 37129, and 3713. This rapidly growing city is known for its historic significance and modern amenities.

It attracts people owing to its history and facilities provided for the contemporary population.

Downtown (37130): It boasts Middle Tennessee State University, a well-known university, Cannonsburgh Village, one of the oldest towns in the state, and an active town square.

Blackman (37128): Neighborhood for new residential, child care centers, schools, I.G.A., and new shopping cart.

North Murfreesboro (37129): These neighborhoods are well-endowed with beautiful views of parks, golf courses, and family-based neighborhoods.

Rural and Suburban Areas

Franklin (37064-37069)

Franklin is a beautiful city with a historical background in zip codes 37064-37069. Known for its charming yet lively downtown and historic sites. Famous for lovely downtown and historic points of interest:

Cool Springs (37067): Provides excellent locations for all merchandising and shopping needs. Retail shops, boutiques, specialty shops, and larger, better-quality retail stores can do well here since the area is alive with people.

Johnson City

Johnson City is located in the northeastern part of the state and has zip codes 37601, 37614, and 37615. This city is known for its outdoor activities and vibrant arts scene.

It is generally an excellent place for those who like different types and levels of physical activity and for creative individuals.

Boones Creek (37615): Stretching suburban area with numerous residential buildings, schools, schools, and parks.

South Johnson City (37604): Home of the East Tennessee State University and James H. Quillen VA Medical Centre.

Maryville (37801-37804)

Maryville occupies a central position as a gateway town for the Great Smoky Mountains, and the city corresponds with postal codes 37801, 37802, 37803, and 37804.

The city is known for its outdoor recreation and family-friendly atmosphere. This city is all about the sunshine stretched across the landscapes and the friendly company of families.

Downtown Maryville (37801): Shows the capitol theater, shops in the area, and events in the community.

Alcoa (37804): A competitor city with an operational airport, other industrial-based areas, and residential areas.

Conclusion

Tennessee's codes are another exciting way of understanding counties in various areas of the state. Every city is unique, though they share general features; some are lively cities like Nashville, Memphis, and Knoxville, whereas others are beautiful places such as Chattanooga, Clarksville, and Murfreesboro.

So, no matter what area you wander from the central historic city to your Tennessee suburbs, the Tennessee zip code accurately represents the state's way of life.

Ready to learn more? Visit our website at https://livingthenashvillelife.com/zip-code-map/ for comprehensive information.

[sflow-er]

A few notes on Linda's salary and the Erikssons' financial situation

I looked into this topic when @crownedwille brought it up in some tags a while ago. I abandoned it because I didn't think it would be that interesting after all, but the discussion started by @mydignityisinflames on @young-royals-confessions inspired me to finish the draft.

I was going to copy and paste it all in a reblog, but it got too long so... Here it is as a separate meta post!

Linda's job

As of S2, we know for sure that Linda is a registered nurse (sjuksköterska). This means she's completed a three-year (180 credit) higher education programme in nursing. We don't know if she's completed a specialist nurse's programme on top of that, but it isn't required to work at the youth clinic (ungdomsmottagningen or UMO).

Youth clinics are public clinics for people aged 12 to 22, primarily providing services related to sexual and mental health. Nurses there examine patients and take samples for lab testing etc., but they also counsel and reassure young people who come to them with concerns. (This explains why Carmen's post-S1 interview with the PRP actually gave me the impression that Linda was a youth counsellor instead.)

Anyway, Linda herself confirms in S3 that she works at the UMO. Both the Swedish CC and the subs have her telling Simon to be glad she doesn't make him "go" there every week for drug testing - but if you listen to her words, she actually says come in (komma in). This indicates that she works there.

Linda's monthly income and how it compares

We can estimate Linda's salary quite confidently by looking at relevant statistics from 2020 and 2021 when the show is set.

As a registered nurse working at a youth clinic, Linda is employed in the public sector. More specifically, by the municipality.

As of S3, we also know she is working in the region that is called Östra Mellansverige (Eastern Central Sweden) in the statistical data. Bjärstad's location was kept vague for a long time, but the letter that Simon received in S3 included their address. Bjärstad's post/zip code was written as 58581 - a made-up code that puts them in the Linköping area. The closest real-world equivalent (58580, Ljungsbro) is just northwest of Linköping itself.

Here are the most relevant stats on monthly income (before taxes):

The average monthly income in Sweden was SEK 36,100 in 2020 and SEK 37,100 in 2021.

For non-specialist registered nurses employed in the municipal sector, specifically in Östra Mellansverige, average monthly income was SEK 38,300 in 2020 and SEK 40,000 in 2021. Their average base salary in this region (without any additions for evening/night shifts, weekends, experience etc.) was SEK 37,000 / 38,500.

In other words, Linda's monthly income should be pretty close to the national average. Maybe even slightly higher based on region, even though she may not work in the evenings or weekends as the UMO may not be open.

In a survey conducted in 2022, a household with children was considered low income if two parents' combined monthly income before taxes was less than SEK 42,000, or if a single parent's monthly income before taxes was less than SEK 29,500.

So, the Erikssons are not low income by definition. This fits the impression we get from their house, as well as details such as Sara having learned how to ride before Hillerska.

However, it is also clear from the show that they cannot necessarily afford larger surprise expenses such as Simon's tutoring. That makes sense when Linda is paying for everything herself. Her income may be slightly above the national average, but it falls between the numbers considered low income for a single-parent vs. two-parent household.

I guess we could call them a medium-income household, but towards the lower end.

About the house

It was indirectly revealed in S3 that Micke was the one who moved out when he and Linda separated. That's the only way Simon can have lived in their current house for fourteen years (i.e. since 2006/2007):

Back in S1, when Sara said Linda should have left Micke when everything started, Simon protested that they wouldn't have had anywhere to live. This sounds like Linda was still financially dependent on Micke when the kids were small. It was probably Micke who originally bought or rented the house for his family (although the property, mortgage and/or lease could have still been in both their names).

Linda and Micke's assets will have been split 50:50 at the time of their divorce. If the house was bought rather than rented, she likely had to take out a new mortgage to buy him out. Mortgages in Sweden typically have very long payment terms, so it's likely there was still quite a bit left to pay, and the value of the property had increased in the meantime.

If the house is a rental, the rent will have gone up over the years. Based on a quick look at places for rent in Linköping, many terraced house units of that size currently cost SEK 11,000 to 18,000 per month. We don't know what the rent would have been in 2020/2021, but we can assume it would have taken a pretty big chunk of Linda's single income.

Anyway, it is a nice house. Especially if it's a rental, paying for it does put a strain on the Erikssons' finances, even though they aren't struggling as such.

About Hillerska

I had not meant to include this at all, but as there was some confusion on the confessions blog, it should be noted that Linda doesn't have to pay for Simon and Sara to attend Hillerska. Even private schools in Sweden haven't been allowed to charge tuition fees since 2014. They do charge very high boarding fees, but that's why Sara got a grant to board in S2. So in principle, Hillerska shouldn't be more expensive than Marieberg, although it is possible that school outings may cost a bit more and there may also be other more or less voluntary extra costs (e.g. private tutoring or equipment for extracurriculars).

If you want to read more about the boarding school fees, you can check out this post.

About Simon's summer jobs

I don't think Simon's lines here are meant to be taken as in, "Simon has to contribute to the family economy" or "Simon has to pay for all his own stuff." Linda keeps her children clothed, buys the things they need for their hobbies and presents for their birthdays (e.g. Sara's jodhpurs), and based on her phone call in S3, is even planning to take them abroad to see family.

The key here is the line about Wille and the other rich kids getting everything they want for free, including designer clothes or spontaneous trips to New York. Simon is simply saying he and Ayub need to make some money of their own to do activities and buy things they don't strictly need but want.

Simon and Ayub have been applying for summer jobs hos kommunen, with the municipality. These jobs are only offered for part of the summer (typically three weeks) because the municipality has a limited number of positions available and they want to employ as many applicants as possible. The duties usually involve helping out at municipal services and facilities, e.g. preschools, care facilities for the elderly, facilities for sports and leisure, museums, public parks, and so on. The municipality may also support local businesses and non-profitable associations in offering some positions as well.

Some examples by age:

14-year-olds: simple duties, e.g. mowing lawns or distributing newspapers; reasonable hourly wage SEK 50–80

15 to 16-year-olds: more complex duties mainly in the municipal sector, e.g. working with children, in leisure activities or with the elderly; reasonable hourly wage SEK 80–100

17 to 18-year-olds: increasingly complex duties and more opportunities to find work in the private sector, e.g. cashier work, customer service, simple administrative tasks, hospitality industry; reasonable hourly wage SEK 100–140

I wonder what kind of summer jobs Simon, Sara and Ayub have been doing (and Rosh too, other than the football camp). When outlining my post-S1 summer fic, I had imagined Simon applied to work with children while Sara chose park/garden maintenance because she found it calming after the stormy spring, but that was a long time ago (and the details never even made it into the fic).

__

Anyway, I think that was all the stuff I meant to cover! As always, I may well be wrong about something, and further discussion is very welcome.

[redflowersociety]

HEADLOCK - [Mouthwashing]

Part 1 - Part 2

It is the year 40xx: almost twenty years since what took place on the pony express cargo ship. You currently work in a space station settled right outside the dwarf planet Haphestus. While reviewing recent data of nearby free-floating objects, an abnormally large mass is located: it’s a cargo ship.

A/N: Hi! I had the idea for a… fix-it au for Mouthwashing with the inclusion of self indulgent Jimmy who takes responsibility. Generally, this is hopefully going to explore all the crew members dynamics if they survived. Basically the entire plot of the game is changed around…. So only read if you’re up for that!!

The sound of a printer buzzing and squeaking pulled your attention off the letter in front of you, and subsequently, the soreness in your chest, if only for a moment. Blinking your burning vision back into focus, you grabbed the warm papers and shifted the letter to the side, replacing its spot in front of you with the fresh inked reports. You sorted through each paper by area code, your brain pulsating at sheer amount of numbers. You rubbed at your temple as you copied down the information into a more organized spreadsheet. Once you got that done, you placed the papers into their respective folders on the wall across the room. You stood up with the hand-written spreadsheet, and exited your office, making your way down the metal corridors.

For the past 5 years, you had been the secretary of the space station settled just outside of the dwarf planet Haphestus (named for being a colony full of factories.) Your job brought along many responsibilities: The safety of the planet you guarded, and of course, filing all the data from nearby space junk to send back down to the planet. Whenever people ask what the job is like, you make a point to explain to them just how engaging it is to do the latter, making no effort to hide your sarcasm.

After a shaky knock at the door, your captain gave the okay to enter her office. “ Mx. Harold!” She greeted you with her usual polite, empty cheeriness.

“Miss. Riley, hey. Here’s the space junk data,” you spoke with less enthusiasm than you meant to, which caused an immediate jolt of panic to shoot through your body. Your hands shook as you placed the sheets onto her desk, and you knew in your gut that she noticed.

“You alright, dear?” She leaned forward in her chair, sliding the papers to the side. Her gaze was so sharp, it was as if it was shooting a bullet hole right through your face.

“I-..I’m alright, sorry, I’m just tired, drank coffee.” You swallowed, taking small, hesitant steps towards the door.

“You can tell me if something is wrong, you know.” She started to stand. Smiling.

“I’m alright, thank you.” You nearly choked on those words, having been standing there without breathing in for a considerable number of seconds. You turned-

“Sit down with me.” She stopped hiding her commands underneath the guise of a kind request. You did as you were told. Miss Riley shifted through the spreadsheets as you sat across from her for what felt like hours. Eventually, her fingertip traced down to a particular column. “You really should be more careful.” She flipped the paper to you, pointing out your mistake. You took a closer look now, having simply been copying and sorting without much thought. The object reported from the scans was unusually big, obscenely sized, and was reported to have the mass of iron.

“…Miss Riley, I just copied what I saw on the scanner reports.” you stammered, wrapping your arms protectively around yourself.

As if upset with you for having brought the information to her, she groaned, leaning back in her chair and turning her gaze to the screen on her left. As if she had seen a ghost, her eyes went large and her mouth hung slightly agape.

“…Miss Riley?”

Exploring old, decrepit cargo ships was never part of your job description. But, considering there being no protocol put in place for such a circumstance, Miss Riley found no issue in making you do it anyways. the sound of metal scraping against itself, and whirring pistons behind you made you jump. The doors were closed. You were on this ship, and had no choice but to look around all alone. You used a test strip to test for breathable air, and once confirmed, took off your oxygen helmet. The damn thing was way too heavy to walk around with.

The bright flashlight in your hand did little to soothe you in the middle of this darkness. The sheer amount of dust getting kicked up with your every step assaulted your nose and made you sneeze more times than you could count. On top of that, it blurred all that was more than five feet in front of you. For a moment, you considered putting the helmet back on.

Stepping through metal corridors with exposed pipes and circuitry, an unusual foam coating the walls in patches; the scenery, the darkness, and the silence aside from your one footsteps, created an ambiance that brought shivers up your spine. you spent a while searching- coming across various rooms.

You had to pry your way in, as the lack of power in the ship meant not a single automatic door, but when you stumbled into the medbay, the first thing that hit you was the smell of iron and rot. blood stained bandages and browned sheets on the stretcher- pill bottles, some empty and some not so much. The labels all read as some outdated pain medication. What really caught your eye was the case left ajar on the crusted stretcher. You recognized the red rim and the outline of a pistol in the foam bottom. This was an empty gun box.

dread beginning to set in, you backed out of the room, sliding back through the half-open door and into the hall. You found yourself in a communal room. It was messy; blood splatters along the table and floor, and a giant broken screen by some dusty couches. “What the fuck happened here,” You wondered aloud.

In no rush, as the fear that gathered in your stomach threatened to paralyze you from the waist down, you headed back into the halls. Eventually, under the crack of a metal door, and through its shattered glass window, was a light blue glow that was jarring compared to the darkness of the rest of the scenery.

“Is this…” you had a feeling about the contents of this room based off that familiar glow. You pried your way inside, slipping yourself through the halfway opened slit you created. In front of you was the jarringly bright shine of 5 active cryopods. The ships power must have allocated to this single room…You were sure of it. You tapped swiftly on your wrist.

“Captain… there are people in here.”

[d8tl55c]

physeng(write, file, "tco_physeng_breakdown.png");

to:compiler {file}

to:compiler {txt: "Internet and Outernet are full of StickFigures with similar body plans, so there are optimizations for rendering vector strokes specifically. it's way more efficient to use those optimizations than keep calculating perfect spheres for no aesthetic benefit."}

{txt: "btw why haven't heat issues been patched yet"}

{txt: "i fixed this years ago for the latest model. remember."}

from:compiler {txt: "Thank you. The avast! nodes will appreciate the credits. TheChosenOne.exe has been unreachable for some time."}

to:compiler {txt: "you mean OuternetPhysEng still won't update their programs"}

from:compiler {txt: "Yes."}

to:compiler {txt: "and still won't provide a specific location?"}

from:compiler {txt: "Do not allow them to bring up the moral argument again."}

to:compiler {txt: "OK. fine. yes. i will spare both of us"}

to:compiler {txt: "abridged or full docs?"}

from:compiler {txt: "Abridged. Please describe the acronyms."}

to:compiler {txt: "ofc"}

{txt: "

sel.per.filter: standard StickFigure component (src)*****. invisible membrane with special collision properties. protects mouthparts.

H2O scoop: avast! code. implements water retrieval from ambient air.

EIS: avast! code. destroys ingested materials identified as, "dangerous" before they reach internal systems.

SOS: avast! code. they only said this one was, "used for control."

ECL: avast! code. recycles some forms of contact energy.

THROUGHLINE: base code, initialization data, and processing space for vitals. found in some form in all StickFigure-type worms. following unique sectors noted: Black Hole Monitoring System, Basic Intake Threat Enum, Fly By Wire.

smaller points list other vital and peripheral systems.

"}

from:compiler {txt: "Thank you. That's enough."}

end(physeng());

@compressedrage as per my previous email /silly

related: pliable stick figure biotech

[beautyinafruitfulworld]

*Marco received a text on his phone in at 4:00 AM. It was from the hacker from several days ago. The message reads: 'Infiltrate the burnt ruins of Hope's Peak Academy, locate the ruins of the main Future Foundation, and locate any functioning computers. Download every bit of data off that computer and deliver them to these coordinates. Do not tell anyone about what you're doing or I'll leak your secrets to Morden.' A scary individual to have already obtained secrets of the Regular Army and threaten to sell them to Morden. Better to play it safe and do as he says for now.* @human-monodam

Since the days when the hacker fell silent, the Sparrowhawk Operations Base has been reconstructed with the electrical wiring and computer systems strengthened through extensive electrician work, thorough reprogramming, and stronger antivirus coding. Although the global virus issue remains a significant problem, it seems to have subsided somewhat. During the reconstruction of the destroyed Sparrowhawk Operations Base, Marco's team revealed their findings related to the fateful incident with T1M. However, Marco deliberately chose to remain quiet about being contacted by the creator of the H4CK 1MP5, fully aware that defying the hacker's wishes could jeopardise the entire Regular Army and his allies.

While the rest of his team and their accompanying scientist and peacekeeper allies is deployed to the battlefield to administer antivirus vaccines and combat the global hacking issue, Marco strangely chooses to stay behind. He somehow convinces his teammates that the Regular Army bases need him more than anyone else at that moment.

In the Joint Military Operations Headquarters, Marco is in one of the offices late at night, conducting research on H4CK 1MP5 and its creator, PH15H3R, while updating the computer systems. His phone unexpectedly buzzes, flashing briefly to indicate he has received a notification. He lets out a heavy sigh, stops typing, and picks up the cellphone, examining the message and carefully reading the text sent by the hacker. His brow furrows at the mention of Morden, but he decides to play along with what the hacker wants. He swiftly types a response:

[Got it. I'll retrieve the data and send it to the provided coordinates ASAP.]

He lets out a soft hum before gently placing his phone next to his laptop and proceeding to search for the location of Hope's Peak Academy.

[kissingraine]

(might become a Starscream x reader, Shockwave x reader thang,,,,) eventual smut! 18+

Midnight City — TFP Soundwave x f!Reader

Draped in fog and soft neon, the Nemesis cruised slowly across the dark skies. Undetected and reeking of Decepticon malevolence as always yet undetected. The small lights that flickered below were as ignorant as ever, inferior lifeforms that were too busy eyeing their tiny glowing boxes to even look up. Soundwave knew without a doubt that they spent twenty four full hours of the week with their heads bent down. No mistaking it's become an issue among them.

Thin servos dancing over the keys as he watches the human settlement breathe, each streetlamp glistening faintly; a city that never sleeps. His sources tell him. Flickers of data, EM fields that pulse—not enough to disrupt the way his processor regulates but just enough to make the probes attached to his chassis writhe in distaste, primitive security networks buzzing with naive confidence. He's been relentlessly tracking down a signal that's made contact with the Earth's atmosphere a little over two nights ago.

It flashes every few irregular intervals, making it hard to pin down where the signal begins before fizzling out again. Like a dying star. Soundwave doesn't stop, can't stop. Not when this might be the only thing that can fix their current dilemma and he's been alone for so long. He's not sure how much time has passed. The ship's command left in his servos as their forces went on separate paths, vowed not to stray from the cause just had more creative 'ideas' on how to effectively mobilize their forces. He stayed on the Nemesis to keep things within control, to keep himself in control. Knows that his cassettes are also worrying about their situation but when they see him so composed, can feel that relief as it washes over him.

That signal, so similar to that relic's nature... but he can't be too sure just yet. Needs to keep probing, combing through the infantile network that the natives possessed.

Lazerbeak suggested to scout, but he turned it down. This organic settlement is a little too crowded for his liking. Can't risk them getting found. Not with their resources limited. He's been rationing their energon preserves too and he's this close to finding another hotspot of undisturbed fuel. Just enough to get them off of this miserable ball of dirt. The others can't be faring too well, can they? His objective was apparent, precise: locate the signal. Which he watched disappear into the city near the sewege systems.

Not exactly pleasant but he isn't Knockout enough to be picky about it. A red dot appears on his screen and his servos are quick to move, tendrils moving in to help. This is the first time Lazerbeak's seen him get remotely excited over something like a red spot on the multi-screens of his control panel. It's faint but emits a similar wavelength to the one Soundwave's filed away in his data banks.

It's in an area just near the organic's underground mode of transportation. Figures. It's more complicated to single out the signal's location especially if it was underground. Soundwave had discovered pretty recently that layers of concrete, reinforced metal buried beneath the earth didn't allow currents of data to run as easily.

And he'd rather not part with the ship to risk getting his processor overwhelmed with human thoughts and volatile emotions. So he does what he's best at. Infiltrate surface network and seeping into it like viscous liquid. It's fascinating how they make it so easy to extract information from them with their fragile digital infrastructure, trembling with aging code—an easy point of access. Doesn't even need to knock when the firewall practically crumbles at his technological prowess.

• Glancing at the clock, it's almost time for you to close the cafe. It had been a hectic day with Ma finally taking over the latter half of your shift so you could lay back and relax on bean bag chairs in the basement. Said basement was a small arcade area where a select few people in your block would come and relax, too. The space just big enough for a small crowd. It was mostly you and your friends who used it, though. One of their siblings, an electronically inclined person as you like to call them, had their computer setup placed in one of the cozy corners.

• It's... beeping, the screen flashing in red with warnings popping up in a dozen windows. That can't be good, can it...?

• Granted you have no clue how to code things and the like. Or just code in general. You've called your friend's sibling's name. Once, twice, but no response and the very undeniable fact that there might be a virus or worse... someone trying to hack into their device was enough to alarm you.

Interference... suddenly. Out of all the humans on this sad excuse for a mudball, there's one tenacious enough to not only interrupt Soundwave's search for data but crudely walk straight into his network with intent. Curious and reckless, his servos stop moving something that Lazerbeak doesn't fail to notice as he and his fellow cassette look at each other. And then he's back into it, he narrows the scan and slices through the city's digital haze to trace the point of origin. Protocol indicating he should move quietly and observe. It's difficult to keep track of, being so close to their manmade tunnels, slipping through his iron grasp and fading into an almost ambient noise.

• You don't know how you're doing this, you don't even know why and for all you know your friend's sibling could have their entire information compromised! But your fingers move as though possessed and you find yourself unable to stop. And now you wonder if it had anything to do with that incident from a week ago. But you definitely know that someone is actively trying to hack the computer, “You're mine now.” You murmur to yourself, responding in plain text and all the amount of taunt you could muster in you.

Before his tracer could lock on, having every bit the intent to scare this human off by revealing their location because that always worked—a spew of numbers and words strung together with an image attached. His tentacles twitch in anticipation, coiling around itself as his head tilts in instinct. And there you are, on his screen forming visuals on who the very human that's dared to intercept him. Bold move, human, he all but manages to swallow the growl building in his chassis. And that gesture... your middle finger's raised. Soundwave might not know what that means but he'll assume that you're insulting him considering the words that appear right after it.

“Come and get me. Coward.”

Next