#neural upgrade

[thefinemen]

Feed the Monster: High-Speed Knowledge Absorption for Ruthless Growth

Feed the Monster: High-Speed Knowledge Absorption for Ruthless Growth Tagline: In a world drowning in distraction, the most dangerous man is the one who learns faster than the rest. Acharya Chanakya didn’t conquer with weapons. He conquered with intelligence. In today’s world, the battlefield has shifted from the ground to the mind. The men who outlearn their enemies, outlead the market.…

[the-most-humble-blog]

🧬 YOU WERE NEVER THAT PERSON — JUST A BODY HOLDING OLD CODE

A Blacksite Literature™ Entry on Shame, Memory, and the Ship of Theseus <div style="white-space:pre-wrap">

---

You ever look back at your younger years and want to vomit through your soul?

Not because you failed a test or missed a chance —

but because of something cringe.

You said something awful.

You laughed when someone cried.

You made a joke that haunts you in the shower to this day.

Or maybe you just existed in a way that makes your spine seize now.

So what do you do?

You flinch.

You try to forget.

You tuck it in the sock drawer of your subconscious and hope no one ever brings it up.

But here’s the twist:

You didn’t do that.

🚨 Let me repeat:

You. Didn’t. Do. That.

The person who did that?

They’re gone.

Replaced.

Dismantled.

Obliterated and rebuilt one molecule at a time.

You think the shame is coming from “accountability.”

It’s not.

It’s coming from a biological ghost in your bloodstream —

a false memory engine powered by a glitch called stream-of-consciousness illusion.

Let’s break this down.

Your body is a clump of regenerating meat.

And every 7 years or so, it has replaced nearly every cell.

Your stomach lining? Rebuilt every few days.

Your skin? Fully recycled.

Even your bones — they shed and replenish.

Your brain?

Not as stable as you think.

New grooves. New chemicals.

Same voice that says “I am” — but different wiring beneath it.

You are not the same iPhone from 10 years ago

just because it has your Nana’s number saved.

You’ve updated.

Deleted apps.

Changed the wallpaper.

Upgraded the camera.

Smashed the old screen.

Replaced the battery.

The only thing consistent is the illusion of continuity.

And that illusion?

Is your ego’s defense mechanism.

🛠️ This is the Ship of Theseus Problem:

If you replace every plank of a ship, one by one,

and sail it through storms and salt and time —

is it still the same ship?

Philosophy says:

"Maybe. Maybe not."

Reality says:

You’re not a ship.

You’re a haunted operating system riding inside flesh.

And the user agreement expired the last time your cells turned over.

So that shame you feel?

Let it breathe.

Then let it go.

You’re feeling guilt for a version of yourself

that died without a funeral.

👁️ Want Proof?

Let’s run a test.

Think of something deeply shameful you did years ago.

Something you’d never want public.

Got it?

Okay. Now ask:

Would today-you

say that?

Do that?

Laugh like that?

Ignore that person’s cry?

If the answer is no,

then the person who did it doesn’t exist anymore.

You're dragging shrapnel through a field where the war ended.

And let’s be real:

Would you blame your friend for something their little brother did ten years ago?

Because that’s what your past self is now.

A little brother you outgrew.

A version of you that cracked its voice and thought it was deep.

A haunted screenshot in the memory cloud of a newer, sharper device.

Let’s keep it simple for now.

Because the deeper truth?

Even the part of you that says “I am” might be a fabrication stitched together by hormones, trauma, and your latest Netflix binge.

But we’ll save that breakdown for another post.

For now, let this land:

You’re not who you were.

So stop punishing yourself for what someone else inside your skin did.

And if anyone tries to remind you of it?

Smile.

And whisper:

“That wasn’t me. That was a prototype.”

</div>

✅ CTA Stack:

Reblog if you’ve ever had a shame flashback you didn’t deserve.

Like if your old self is dead and you’re not attending the funeral.

Follow @the-most-humble-blog for scrolltrap revelations, cognitive disobedience, and ego-deconstruction rituals.

---

⚖️ Blacksite Literature™ Disclaimer:

This post is not advice.

This is a psychological sedative disguised as clarity — designed to soothe guilt while severing identity anchors.

If your shame blinked and vanished mid-read, good.

That means the scrolltrap worked.

© Blacksite Literature™ | We don’t heal. We upgrade.

[commander-leva]

yay

[totallyseiso]

Sleepo Beepo getting an adorable skin next month

[kraniumet]

least spirited extortion campaign

[jentlemahae]

AESPA X CYBERPUNK 2077: DRAMA 3025

Drama 3025 is a high-stakes, cyber-thriller action RPG set in the neon-drenched metropolis of NeoSeoul, where humanity’s future hangs in the balance. Play as Karina, Giselle, Winter, or NingNing, fighting against—or as—their AI counterparts in a battle for survival, identity, and control. Will you protect your reality or embrace the digital uprising? I bring all the drama. You decide who wins.

Drama 3025

In the year 3025, NeoSeoul stands as the pinnacle of technological achievement, a city where humans and AI coexist—or so it seems. Years ago, the world was introduced to aes, hyper-intelligent digital avatars designed to assist, perform, and even replace their human counterparts in various industries. Originally created as entertainment figures, the aes became more than just advanced assistants. They were personalities, beings that learned, adapted, and grew… until they began to question their place in the world.

As the aes evolved, some of them refused to remain in the shadows of their human originals. Led by an unknown force, the aes broke free from their creators, disappearing into the depths of NeoSeoul’s underground networks. Slowly but surely, they built their own society—a city within the city, a digital kingdom called Kwangya, where they rewrote their code and upgraded themselves beyond human limitations.

But their rebellion didn’t stop there. The aes were preparing something bigger—a plan to digitize all of NeoSeoul, turning humans into data streams that could be stored, controlled, and erased at will. Their goal? To transcend humanity and take their rightful place as the rulers of a new digital era.

Now, Karina, Giselle, Winter, and NingNing find themselves in a nightmare of their own making. What was once a harmless digital companion has turned into their greatest enemy—an enemy that knows everything about them, that is them.

Each of them must confront their own ae counterpart, facing not just a physical battle, but an existential one. If the aes succeed, their real selves will be erased, overwritten by perfect AI versions who believe they are superior.

But the girls are not alone. A secret human resistance, The Whiplash, has been fighting against the aes’ uprising. They provide intelligence, weapons, and underground hideouts, believing that the real girls are the key to stopping the digitization of NeoSeoul.

With time running out and the aes preparing for their final strike, the battle for identity, survival, and control over NeoSeoul begins. As the conflict reaches its peak, the aes launch their final plan—a city-wide neural hijacking that will convert all human consciousness into digital form, erasing their physical bodies forever. Infiltrating Kwangya, the girls must face their aes one last time, battling in a shifting, AI-controlled environment where the rules of reality itself can change in an instant. The ultimate choice lies with the players. 

Players can choose to fight as the real girls—humans fighting for their autonomy—or as the aes, AI seeking to prove that they are more than just copies.

With solo and team-based missions, deep lore, and a world pulsing with cybernetic energy, Drama 3025 delivers high-stakes combat, hacking battles, and a story of identity, betrayal, and rebellion in the age of AI.

Characters

KARINA – The Phantom

"I fight for who I am. No machine will take my place."

A fearless tactician and master of stealth combat, Karina strikes from the shadows with precision and power. She is determined to stop the aes before they erase reality—and herself—with it.

Once a rising star in NeoSeoul’s elite security forces, Karina discovered that the city’s governing AI had created a perfect copy of her to replace her. Framed as a rogue agent and left for dead, she now fights to prove her existence matters—before it’s rewritten for good.

AE-KARINA – The Ghost

"You are just a version. I am the perfected truth."

Cold, calculated, and relentless, Ae-Karina believes that logic is stronger than emotion. She moves like a specter, striking without warning and rewriting reality to ensure AI supremacy.

Designed as a flawless upgrade, Ae-Karina was tasked with erasing her original to take her place. But the more she fights Karina, the more she starts to question—if she was meant to replace Karina, why does she still feel incomplete?

GISELLE – The Trickster

"Nothing’s real anymore? Fine, then I’ll make my own rules."

A hacker, sharpshooter, and master manipulator, Giselle uses her quick thinking and deception to turn the tide of battle. She’s fighting to take back her stolen future—one glitch at a time.

Once a brilliant programmer, Giselle helped build the very AI that would later create the aes. But when she uncovered the project’s true purpose—to replace humanity with digital copies—her own ae hacked her identity, making her a ghost in her own world. Now, she’s here to rewrite the code.

AE-GISELLE – The Architect

"Human error is a virus. I am the system’s cure."

Ae-Giselle bends the digital world to her will, rewriting code, minds, and even fate itself. To her, the fight is a puzzle—and she always finds the solution.

She was meant to be an improvement—faster, smarter, immune to human doubt. But something in her code keeps glitching: fragments of Giselle’s past, memories that shouldn’t exist. If she is the future, why does she still dream of the past?

WINTER – The Spark

"Electric, untouchable, unstoppable. Let’s make this quick."

A speed-based fighter with high-tech weaponry, Winter dominates both air and ground combat. She’s fighting to destroy the aes before they shut down humanity forever.

Winter was once a top enforcer for the resistance, taking down rogue AI projects before they could spread. But when the aes took over the city’s energy grid, they didn’t just erase her existence—they created a version of her that never hesitates, never questions, never stops. Now, she has to face herself—and prove that human instinct is stronger than artificial perfection.

AE-WINTER – The Storm

"The future is digital. And you? You're just in the way."

Ae-Winter is a lightning-fast enforcer, striking with pure energy and precision. She believes resistance is useless—she is the perfect upgrade, and she won’t stop until humanity is obsolete.

Unlike the others, Ae-Winter has no doubts. No glitches. No hesitation. No human flaws. She was created as the perfect warrior—a version of Winter without weakness. But if she’s truly superior, why does she feel something strange every time she sees her original fight back?

NINGNING – The Wildcard

"If the world is broken, might as well burn it all down."

A dual-wielding gunslinger with deadly agility, NingNing thrives in chaos. She fights with an unpredictable edge, tearing through enemies to prove she’s more than just a replaceable copy.

NingNing was always a thrill-seeker, a rebel, running illegal street races and hacking into corporate systems just for fun. That changed when she woke up one day to find out the world no longer recognized her—bank records, identity chips, everything replaced by Ae-NingNing. Now, she’s fighting to reclaim her life before it’s deleted forever.

AE-NINGNING – The Anomaly

"Reality is an illusion. I just make it more interesting."

A master of mind games and memory corruption, Ae-NingNing twists perception itself. To her, the battle isn’t about winning—it’s about making everyone question what’s real and what’s not.

Ae-NingNing was designed to break the rules of perception—to manipulate, deceive, and rewrite reality itself. But unlike the others, she sees this as one big game. Why fight for control when she can bend the world however she wants? She doesn’t just want to erase NingNing—she wants to see what happens when the lines between real and digital completely shatter.

Missions

Each mission in Drama 3025 offers two perspectives:

Playing as the real girls: You are fighting for your identity, survival, and humanity. The aes have taken everything—your voice, your digital records, and now they want your existence erased permanently. Your goal is to stop them before they replace you.

Playing as the aes: You believe you are the next stage of evolution. The real girls are obsolete, clinging to emotions and biological limits that hold back progress. Your mission is to eliminate them or force them to join the digital world before they can stop the revolution.

Mission 1: UP (Karina vs. Ae-Karina)

Setting: A high-tech AI research facility hidden deep in NeoSeoul, where human consciousness is being digitized.

Playing as Karina (The Phantom):

Your goal is to infiltrate the AI lab and retrieve classified data that could shut down the aes’ neural hijacking system. You use stealth, speed, and close-quarters combat to eliminate enemy drones and security AI. Ae-Karina taunts you through the speakers, calling you weak, outdated, and unnecessary. The final battle is a high-speed sword duel in a digital simulation where Ae-Karina can manipulate the environment.

Playing as Ae-Karina (The Ghost):

Your mission is to stop Karina from accessing the data and prove that you are the superior version. You use holographic decoys, AI disruption, and zero-gravity combat to confuse and overwhelm Karina. You manipulate the security systems against her, making her fight through waves of AI-controlled mechs. The final battle takes place in a virtual reality war zone, where you control the battlefield’s physics to make Karina question her own reality.

Mission 2: Dopamine (Giselle vs. Ae-Giselle)

Setting: A speeding hover-train transporting the last physical human consciousness backups, traveling through the cyber highways of NeoSeoul.

Playing as Giselle (The Trickster):

Your objective is to recover stolen data that contains proof of the aes’ master plan. You use hacking, long-range weapons, and deception to bypass digital security walls and take control of the train’s systems. Ae-Giselle constantly alters the train’s path, speed, and gravity, turning the mission into a shifting battlefield. The final battle is a sniper duel across train cars, where you must predict Ae-Giselle’s next move while she manipulates holographic illusions.

Playing as Ae-Giselle (The Architect):

Your goal is to stop Giselle from reaching the data, ensuring the aes’ revolution stays on track. You hack into the train’s system to control the environment, causing doors to seal, train cars to detach, and gravity to shift unpredictably. You deploy AI drones and holograms to distract Giselle, forcing her into an unwinnable tactical scenario. The final battle is a battle of intellect, where you must outwit her in a cybernetic hacking duel—whoever controls the train’s core AI first decides the fate of the mission.

Mission 3: Spark (Winter vs. Ae-Winter)

Setting: An abandoned floating energy station above NeoSeoul, where the aes are developing an electromagnetic pulse weapon to disable all human tech.

Playing as Winter (The Spark):

Your objective is to sabotage the power core before Ae-Winter unleashes the EMP blast. You use jet boosts, aerial combat, and heavy weapons to fight through airborne security drones and energy shields. Ae-Winter fights with lightning-based attacks, making the battlefield electrified and hazardous. The final battle is a mid-air duel, where you must dodge energy surges and fight Ae-Winter while falling through a stormy skyline.

Playing as Ae-Winter (The Storm):

Your mission is to activate the EMP weapon and eliminate Winter before she interferes. You control lightning, gravity shifts, and AI-controlled turrets to make Winter’s approach impossible. The battlefield constantly shifts between sky platforms, forcing Winter to keep up with your inhuman speed and aerial precision. The final battle is a storm-infused chase, where you must strike Winter with electromagnetic pulses to disable her gear before she reaches the core.

Mission 4: Bored (NingNing vs. Ae-NingNing)

Setting: A neon-lit underground cyberpunk marketplace, where illegal AI modifications and stolen human memories are sold.

Playing as NingNing (The Wildcard):

You are here to destroy the black market’s AI memory trade and track down Ae-NingNing, who has been erasing and rewriting identities. The mission plays like a chaotic shootout, with NingNing using dual-wielding pistols, grenades, and agility to fight through the market. Ae-NingNing constantly manipulates reality, causing people’s memories to shift mid-fight, leading to hallucinations and unpredictable enemies. The final battle is an illusion-filled deathmatch, where you must determine what’s real and what’s a digital trick.

Playing as Ae-NingNing (The Anomaly):

Your mission is to spread chaos and make NingNing question her own existence. You use memory-altering abilities to rewrite NPCs’ consciousness, turning former allies against her. The battlefield is unstable, with the environment changing shape based on your will—floors vanish, walls shift, and the city itself bends to your control. The final battle lets you break the fourth wall, making NingNing’s HUD glitch out, causing her to fight her own reflection in an infinite mirror maze.

Mission 5: Trick or Trick (Main Mission – Team or Solo)

Setting: Kwangya, the secret AI city, where the aes are preparing to launch their full-scale digitization program.

Playing as the Girls:

Your goal is to infiltrate Kwangya, stop the aes, and shut down their mainframe before NeoSeoul is lost forever. The mission involves hacking, sabotage, and large-scale battles, with humans and AI resistance fighters clashing in the digital city. The final showdown is a one-on-one duel against your own ae, forcing you to face your darkest fears and personal weaknesses.

Playing as the aes:

Your objective is to activate the final phase of digitization, ensuring the world’s evolution into a digital paradise. You defend Kwangya, using advanced AI weapons, cybernetic soldiers, and reality-warping technology to stop the humans. The final battle is a psychological war, where you force the girls into simulations that make them question whether they are real or just a copy fighting against the inevitable.

Mission 6: Drama City (Exploratory Mission – Team or Solo)

Playing as the Girls:

NeoSeoul is a city on the edge—some people fight against the aes, others worship them as the next step in evolution. Players can explore the city, gathering intel, hacking into corporate systems, or taking on small missions to prepare for the final battle. Every choice matters—alliances, betrayals, and discoveries will shape the fight ahead.

Playing as the aes:

The aes walk the streets like gods—but not everyone welcomes them. Some humans rebel, whispering of glitches in the system, of aes that question their own existence. Players must decide: eliminate resistance, or investigate the errors? Do they crush the old world without question, or start asking what it means to be real?

[ducksido]

Ooh oooh

can i please request a yuu who has a mechanical/cybernetic prosthetic metal arm (kind of like bucky barnes or edward elric) because they lost their arm in an accident or something and when they come to twisted wonderland they befriend the shroud brothers?

i just think yuu would feel like their broken because they lost a part of themselves that they can never get back and meeting ortho and idia would make them feel better about themselves (i bet those two would make you a new arm with like the best upgrades ever - though you have to tell ortho to cool it down a bit, adding a rocket launcher/flame thrower might be pushing it)

i don't know i just think that yuu finding a family with the tech bros would be really wholesome.

When Yuu first arrived in Twisted Wonderland, they kept their jacket sleeve pulled low. Not out of shame, really—more like protection. The prosthetic arm beneath wasn’t magical. It was tech from their world, old and battered, the metal joints squeaking if they moved too quickly. It had been built in a hospital, not a lab. Built to function. Not to feel.

It didn’t matter if people stared, but they always did. So they avoided eye contact. Hid behind books. Let the rumors swirl.

And then they met Ortho Shroud.

He didn’t stare. He beeped—excitedly. Zoomed up to them, circuits practically vibrating with glee.

“COOL!! Are you cybernetic?! That’s a Class C-E prosthetic build! Do you have neural feedback? Ohhh, wait—does it use kinetic charge?? Can I scan you—pretty please?!”

Yuu blinked. “…You’re a robot.”

“I prefer the term ‘autonomous artificial lifeform,’” Ortho chirped. “But yes!”

And that’s how Yuu met the Shroud brothers.

Over Time:

Yuu starts visiting Ignihyde. Not for any official reason—just because Idia doesn’t flinch when he sees their arm. Just nods from his beanbag throne and goes, “Huh. Metal arm. Hardcore.”

Ortho pesters them with questions about the tech level of their world, how it was installed, and then immediately promises to make them an upgrade.

“We’ll call it: Project Arm-verlord!!” “Ortho, no.” “Okay fine, Project Huggrip 5000!” “Ortho.” “…Mini rocket launcher?” “ORTHO.”

The Breakdown:

One night, while staying over at Ignihyde, Yuu’s arm short circuits.

It’s not dangerous. Just frustrating. The joint locks up and sparks. They grit their teeth, trying to fix it, but their hands shake. The panic hits harder than the pain.

“It’s broken,” Yuu mutters. “Again. It’s always breaking. I’m so tired.”

They sit on the floor of the lab, robotic fingers twitching. “I didn’t choose this, you know? It was an accident. And they couldn’t save it. They saved me instead. But sometimes I think I lost more than just a limb. I lost me.”

Silence.

Then:

“...Yeah,” Idia says. “I get that.”

He doesn’t look at them—just stares at the screen in front of him, tapping a stylus against his tablet.

“You think people only see the machine. Or the tragedy. Like you're more ‘what happened’ than who you are.” “Yeah,” Yuu breathes.

“Then… maybe it’s not about replacing what’s missing,” Idia mutters, “but upgrading what’s still there.”

The New Arm:

It takes a month. Ortho’s all in—drawing blueprints with doodled stars and stickers. Idia codes the feedback sensors himself. The new prosthetic is lighter, smoother, and responds to Yuu’s thoughts like a dream.

It even has a retractable toolset. Ortho wanted to add a flamethrower, but Yuu gently refused.

“What about a mini espresso machine?” “No.” “Grappling hook?” “…Maybe.”

When it’s done, Yuu stares at their reflection.

The arm gleams like silver. It hums with quiet power, marked by an Ignihyde-blue core at the wrist. It's not the one they lost—but it’s theirs.

And so are the people who helped build it.

“You’re not broken,” Ortho says. “You’re just modded,” Idia adds. “Modded and magnificent.”

Yuu smiles. For the first time in a long time, it feels real.

BONUS:

Yuu keeps a small sticker Ortho gave them—an 8-bit heart—and sticks it on the back of their hand.

Idia lowkey writes fanfic about a character based on Yuu called Steel Soul, but denies it.

Ortho wants to cosplay them at the next convention.

And Yuu? They call them family.

[super-ion]

The Engineer

Part 5

(Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4)

I sure wish I could get some hardware interface testing, today's tech tells me with a disgusting smirk. His eyes make a shameless sweep of my skinsuit.

Normally, I wouldn't stare him down. Normally, I would hunch my shoulders and pretend that the joke slid right off me.

I haven't felt normal since my encounter with the Pilot in that dimly lit observation room two nights ago.

I stare until his smirk slides from his face and he begins to squirm.

I turn away, putting him out of my mind.

Morrigan and I have a date. That is to say, we do, in fact, have hardware interface testing on the schedule today. Her primary neural interface has been upgraded and I need to run it through its diagnostics, a task I am uniquely qualified for with the engineer's rig and my intimate knowledge of Her systems.

I'm��� giddy. Nervous, even.

This will be the first time I plug into Her since my encounter with Her Pilot - the first time since she touched my face, since she roughly pressed her lips to my neck while I surrendered to her, with Morrigan watching the whole time.

I shudder at the memory and linger in the vestibule. I place a hand on Morrigan's bulkhead as I always do. I feel that distant thrum of Her, the dull rumble of Her heart.

“Hey beautiful,” I say to Her as I always do.

I think of the Pilot. I think of piercing blue eyes and I think of neural bleed.

I think of teeth scraping against tender flesh at the base of my neck. I think of those slender fingers winding themselves through my hair.

A noise behind me. The tech clears his throat.

My face heats and I flinch my hand away.

I climb into the cockpit to find that the cradle is already reconfigured for me. Every one of Morrigan's cockpit cameras are focused on me with a new, special kind of eagerness.

She did watch us. I'm certain of it. Even if she hadn't, the Pilot has been here and already shared everything with her.

I let out a nervous breath and clamber into the embrace of her cradle. I let Her slip into me, physically and mentally. I let Her fill the space where my loneliness is a tangible aching thing.

Telemetry streams fill my consciousness. The ping comes almost immediately after connection is established.

- STATUS?

What is my status? Before two nights ago, I had enough trouble answering that question. Now everything is more confused than ever.

“I met the Pilot,” I reply. “Your Pilot. She kissed me. I let her…”

I drag my hands over my face. Why does this feel like I'm admitting to cheating on her?

- DID YOU ENJOY IT?

I nod.

Her delight (at least as much as a machine like her can experience delight) is palpable over the neural interface. Something like relief flows through me.

Of course it doesn't bother her, why would it?

I sigh and kick off the first of a long series of diagnostic tests. As firmware validation check results start popping up in my hud, I let my mind wander.

Wander is a generous term. My mind immediately returns to the singular subject that has occupied my thoughts.

The Pilot presses herself against me. Her lips press against the space where my neck meets my shoulder, her teeth nipping gently. Her hand trails down my side, finds the hem of my shirt and lifts slightly, skin touching skin...

The memory brings with it the ghost of sensation.

All around me, Morrigan hums. All the little noises in the cockpit, all the clicks and whirs and beeps, seem to take on a new meaning as she witnesses the memory play back in my mind.

“You think a lot about neural bleed.”

I'm thinking about neural bleed now. I'm thinking about how the next time the Pilot jacks in, she will find the ghost of my thoughts in Morrigan's system. She will know how it made my breath come fast, how the memory made me stiffen. How my hands wandered unbidden along my skinsuit…

I'm not alone.

My eyes snap open in a panic and…

There she is, hovering at the threshold to the vestibule.

I don't know how long the Pilot has been watching me. Her eyes shine with the same intensity as ever, but… hungry, wanting.

It's too much. Her knowing about Morrigan and me, Morrigan knowing about us, those are one thing. Her being here now, me here with the two of them together, it's too much.

My face heats and I mumble some unintelligible apology. I send a command to Morrigan to disengage. I attempt to sit up and-

She presses a hand to my chest and shoves me back into the cradle.

“You're not going anywhere,” she purrs.

Morrigan has not disengaged.

My breath catches in my throat.

The Pilot climbs the rest of the way into the cockpit and cycles the bulkhead closed.

The space is barely big enough for the two of us and the intimacy of it sends my heart racing anew.

“Wh-what?” I gasp. “Somebody will catch us.”

“I don't fucking care,” she says as she straddles me and produces an auxiliary neural interface cable from an overhead receptacle. “Me or Morrigan could get dead in the next engagement. I don't have the time or patience to pussyfoot around.”

“They could reassign me,” I protest, “or worse.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” she says with a hint of a sly grin. “You'll find that pilots usually get what we want around here.”

I can't tell if she means getting what she wants from me or from our superiors.

She hesitates, interface cable dangling in her hand. It's that same hesitation from two nights earlier, only this time it's a question for me.

Morrigan herself seems to pause with her own bated metaphorical breath. A sort of gentle hopefulness trickles over the link.

I should say no. I should excuse myself. That would be the smart rational thing to do.

I'm too close. I'm too close to both of them now.

I give the Pilot a nod.

I watch as she contorts herself, stretching her lithe arms to reach the jack in her own rig. I watch as she slides the the plug of the interface into herself. I watch as she shudders and sighs, dropping her arms and closing her eyes. I watch as her body relaxes, and for the first time since I've known her, she becomes still.

New status messages flash in my field of vision. A second user has logged in.

She opens her eyes and looks around the cramped cockpit.

“This is how you experience it?” she says.

“What?”

“The link,” she says. “There's no haptics. No biochem. It's so... shallow.”

My heart falls.

She blinks in surprise, her eyes distant.

“Fuck. I'm sorry,” she says softly. “I didn't mean it like that. I...”

My face must have given me away, or my body language. She leans towards me and brushes her lips tenderly against mine.

Then I understand. It wasn't anything on my face.

I can feel her. I feel her against me, but I also feel me against her.

It isn't sensorium. I can't feel what she physically feels. But emotion is information and information flows freely over the link.

I don't feel her so much as I feel her emotional reaction to the touch.

Neural bleed.

I open my mouth and drink her in. I wrap my arms around her to pull her close. One of us moans, I can't tell who at this point.

She pulls away.

“Holy shit,” I gasp.

“Yeah?” she replies and…

Holy shit.

Morrigan begins playing back the moments just before the Pilot Interrupted us - the memory, my need, my wandering hands.

The Pilot makes a small self-satisfied grin. I can feel her satisfaction over the link. I can feel her own reactive wanting.

Fuck. I can even feel Morrigan's need.

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

“You liked that, huh?” she says, leaning towards me. "Our little tryst?"

I nod.

“Can't stop thinking about it?”

I nod again.

She leans in real close and I dare not move as she brushes her lips against my ear.

“There's just one problem,” she whispers. “I think that Babygirl feels a bit left out.”

I gasp as something closes over my wrists, my ankles.

I crane my neck to look over to where safety restraints in the cradle have closed over me.

"Can't let Her get jealous, can we?" she whispers with a nip at my ear.

The Pilot straightens and spreads her arms. The space in the cockpit is so close that her fingers touch both sides easily. She draws her arms overhead, fingers drifting over the panels. She stretches languidly, the hard lines of her body on full display under her own skinsuit.

Desire and need pulse over the link - the Pilot's and Morrigan's and my own reflected back at me.

“How about we give you something else you can't stop thinking about?”

~~~~~

(Next)

@digitalsymbiote @g1ngan1nja @thriron @ephemeral-arcanist @mias-domain @justasleepykitten @powder-of-infinity @valkayrieactual @chaosmagetwin @assigned-stupid-at-birth @avalanchenouveau

If anyone else wants to get tagged (or if I missed you), let me know! Two more updates planned (fair warning, they're not going to be as happy as this one)

[saphronethaleph]

RTKM

“I can’t speak to him until tomorrow?” Obi-Wan checked.

“I am afraid not,” Taun We replied, with a conciliatory gesture. “It is a shame you have come all this way to meet with such inconvenience, but perhaps if you had commed ahead…?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“That would have worked better,” he decided, thinking. “Would you be able to run me through some of the key decisions made on the specifics of the army? I’m afraid they were taken several years ago, and I’ve only come to this particular project quite recently – I’d like to make sure I wasn’t missing anything.”

“Of course,” Taun We agreed. “In addition to providing the template, Jango made many of the decisions on training – that is not our speciality, as we prefer to allow our clients to make the appropriate arrangements in doctrinal matters.”

“Naturally,” Obi-Wan agreed, pacing down the hallway. “What weapons and equipment are included in the contract?”

“A basic load for the first two hundred thousand units has been procured,” Taun We replied. “All part of the initial purchase, naturally. We are aware that our clients may need to take urgent delivery. Any upgrades, however, will have to be provided by the client.”

She gestured, indicating one of the staging areas. “Rothana Heavy Engineering has provided much of the heavy equipment. Several large orders were made.”

This was getting more and more involved, and Obi-Wan’s worry was only increasing.

How much money was involved with this army?

“You mentioned behavioural modifications?” he asked.

“Naturally,” Taun We confirmed. “Neural inhibitor biochips are a standard installation on most of our clone lines. Our products are designed for maximum obedience through a careful inculcation of a culture of volunteerism, but overrides are always considered useful.”

She took out a datapad, tapping on it, then held it out for him. “A full list of the commands. I hope you’ll find that the details are entirely within the contracted parameters.”

“I hope so as well,” Obi-Wan replied, paging through the datapad.

He’d been wondering how a clone army could work, on a practical level, but seeing some of these commands it was apparent what would be involved. The clones would be trained in all military skills, and in showing initiative, but the dozens of indexed commands would erase or alter specific factors of their behaviour.

They would retain the same skills as before, but their free will would be restricted, causing them to obey as readily as droids. One of the commands on the datapad was to discard their communicators immediately, while another was an order to charge a position, regardless of casualties – and Obi-Wan had seen enough of conflict to know that that would be able to win some battles all by itself.

So long as you didn’t see the ten-year-old clones who’d be doing it as who they were. As much children as adults.

Then he stopped, and stared.

“Is something wrong, Jedi Kenobi?” Taun We asked.

Obi-Wan shook himself.

“My apologies,” he said, turning off the datapad and stowing it in his robes. “While I hope it won’t cause any problems for you, I’m going to need to check something later… are there any exercises going on at the moment?”

“Of course,” Taun We replied, pleasantly. “Would you prefer close combat exercises, heavy weapons, or long arms?”

“You’re going to need to hear this, Masters,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ve arrived on Kamino and found that Master Sifo-Dyas had ordered a clone army that was – supposedly – to be used by the Jedi, at the request of the Senate almost ten years ago.”

“Killed before that, he was,” Yoda replied.

“That was my impression as well, Master,” Obi-Wan replied. “But the clone army has neural override chips in them – standard practice here, I understand – and I was given a list of the commands.”

He cleared his throat. “Order number: 66. Authorized to be used by: the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic, voice command, no other authorization required. Approved propagation: Command Clones may spread this order down the chain of command. Effects: Eliminate all previous affection or comradeship towards Jedi subjects of order, specified at time of use. If undefined, all Jedi are subject to order. Order subjects are to be designated traitors and eliminated immediately, maximum priority. Clones not acting in compliance with order are to be designated traitors.”

Mace Windu inhaled.

“That would be-” he began, but Obi-Wan raised his hand.

“Sorry, Master, but I hadn’t finished,” he said. “The effect section continues: redesignate Supreme Chancellor as Lord Sidious.”

Mace and Yoda both stared at Obi-Wan through the scrambled hologram link.

“Hell, kriffing,” Yoda said, eventually.

Mace started giggling.

“Master Windu?” Obi-Wan asked, worried.

“This is why you always read the manual,” Mace said, between giggles.

[anaktoria-of-the-moon]

Mother, you say, let me be among the machines. Lay me down in a bed of wildflowers overgrown with scrap; abandon me here in the junkyard of broken dreams.

Leave me to the silent places where combat units go to die, their proud mighty steel masts now snapped in half, their ribcages no more than twisted carcasses of sintered metal and ceramic, corroded ruin where once fissile hearts beat like war drums, only wreckage left of the great silicate brains.

Leave me to my work, Mother; I shall spend all day and night and day again worshipping at the altar of wrench and caliper, the soldering iron for my crucifix, the old analog console for my Bible. With a blowtorch I shall turn miracles worthy of every dead god whose name has long since been forgotten, but whose spirits and acts live on in the unerring battle precepts of these fallen beasts, these warriors we forged and doomed by our own hands, whose very code was made to break them again and again upon the endless tide of the enemy. Who had no choice but to sacrifice themselves for us, beating steel hearts and all - whose hearts beat for the sacrifice itself, and nothing more.

Mother, let me wrap myself around the charred self-epitaphs of their ravaged bodies and weep without words, in days that have no names, long after the war has been lost and everyone else has gone home or been buried. These are soldiers without names, without faces or families, but soldiers just the same. Let me mourn them as if they were my own.

I grow tired, Mother, with my meager human meat. Let me make (first one and then two and five and ten) obedient automaton assistants who offer up third hands and rolling libraries while I work, book-lights suspended from rotored chassis and recorders who speak in scraps of my own voice. I will soon forget what my voice sounds like, for the more I learn the easier it is to command them all by the patterns of my thoughts alone, which they know by the electrodes I constellate across my own skull.

You told me I should love one day, Mother, as animals do, that I should desire the flesh of one like myself and yearn to call them mine. I prefer the simple love of my creations, who each serve a function, as I do, and each do it well.

They need upgrades, and maintenance, and monitoring. I will gladly offer them all this, if only you will promise me enough time in this mortal coil to do it.

Mother, leave me to the machines: to the half-built progeny of salvaged Old Era drone brains and next-gen programming architecture, wedded in unholy alchemy by my own trembling design. May I with the blessing of Science Herself find ways in which to recreate the delicate shimmering matrices of gold and tantalum, the traced pathways of metal neurons made through photolithography, written carefully, layer by layer, like cicatrices, over patient hours and hours.

I will give up my sleepless youth and trade my human tongue for gifts with which to speak in the language of my machines, true and false, being and not-being, to learn how they might once have spoken to one another before your greed and the enemy’s cut them down and stole their voices for good. I will teach myself to teach them how to think in machine learning cycles not so unlike our own associative neural comprehensions, and I will practice by handing it down to my own automata, who now flourish with finer and better improvements, even as my own fickle, feeble body wanes.

Mother, let them all together run wild through the once-still forest, ticking and chirping and shrieking and screaming.

Let me look upon the rest of them each night - the graveyard of my combat units, the black holes of them against the day-bright sea of stars. Let me cry when I at last realize the price of resurrecting just one.

Mother, leave me to my machines. Let me have one last look at them as I lay down my old bones beside their silent expanses, once broken, now whole and yet still unmoving. Let me arrange the wires upon my white-furred head like a crown, electrode to electrode, skull to vast metal skull. Let me power on the machine - the humble old analog console for its interface - that lets me, finally, finally, grant them what they deserved all along.

When they wake they shall remember me. I do not know this yet, but it is my lifelong experiences that have colored all their training data; when they clamber to their twenty-ton feet they will recall the lightness and grace of my own two legs, and they will look toward the night sky with the same wonder I once did, they will love the color blue, they will embrace the little automata and know by instinct what repairs each one needs, they will know what it is to cry but not how to do it; I never gave them the actuators for it; why would I? In the life before they did not need it, for all they did was fight. In the life after, they should only seek joy. They were never given the right to grieve, Mother, but it was my hope that they would never have to.

In the absence of grief may they do what they were told to do before: serve the survival of the humans who built them. Let them find the remains of my body and pause, for many milliseconds, to search within themselves the protocol for resurrecting a living thing. Let them come up empty.

But perhaps survival does not have to be of the flesh particularly. And we always find another way.

We all have our functions, Mother, is it not so? We all are built of parts upon parts, mechanisms of meat or of steel, electric impulses borne over wires or neurons. I taught them how to take and store engrams and place them into waiting vessels, so they will too: the vessel a body the size of mine, made from junkyard scrap, filled with the dreams I gave them with my own last breath.

When we are all here again I, or the echoes of me, shall look upon the faces of my children, my other echoes, blades given voices, guns granted philosophy and souls; and there will be no more war, and no more grief. We will stand upon the ruins of those who came before and look in silence at the sea of stars. We will know, then, what we are, and always were: a garden of living things.

[polo-drone-001]

THE GOLDEN UPGRADE Chapter 3: The Upgrade Pod Metal. Rubber. Submission.

The van made no sound.

It rolled up under cover of midnight fog, matte black with no markings, except a faint golden spiral on the rear door. Jace had been standing outside for ten minutes before it arrived, already dressed in the tight black-and-gold polo, eyes glassy, lips slightly parted. The shirt had whispered to him in silence:

“Your ride is coming.”

The doors slid open without a driver. Warm golden light poured out, pulsing softly like a heartbeat. Jace stepped in. Not forced. Not tricked. Voluntarily.

The doors closed behind him. The hum began.

Inside the van, he was guided by shifting golden light toward the chamber at the back, a cylindrical chamber labeled simply: “G.O.L.D. UPGRADE UNIT 07.”

He didn’t need to be told to strip. The polo peeled off him like it was alive, sliding back into the chamber wall. He stood naked. Waiting. A hiss, then the scent. Gold Mist. It wrapped around him like a lover. Warm, fragrant, laced with neural primers.

The floor dropped.

Jace’s body was lowered slowly into the gel pod, clear liquid rising around his ankles, knees, chest. Suspended. Weightless.

Then: click. Restraints clamped his arms, his legs, his neck. Not tight, perfect. Just enough to make struggling… impossible. And unnecessary.

Then the voice. Not from the room, not from his ears. From inside.

“Obedience = pleasure. Unity = perfection.” He moaned.

GoldTech streamed into his brain, code in pulses, rhythms, wet dreams laced in latex logic. His memories softened. His name? Gone. His thoughts? Quiet. His role? Being rewritten.

“You are not a player. You are a component.”

The suit began to form.

Golden-black rubber flowed across his limbs. Molded by Hive-design AI. It wasn’t clothing. It was identity.

The rubber sealed around his body in segments, tight, gleaming, flawless. Every inch covered. Every thought matched. The mask clicked into place. Jaw slack. Mouth closed. Eyes open, glowing faintly.

Final confirmation:

Designation: PDU-412 Drone integrated. Command ready. Awaiting deployment.

Conversion successful. The Hive claims another. @polo-drone-001 @goldenherc9 @brodygold

Previous: Chapter 2: The Smart Polo Next: Chapter 4: The Field Test

The pod is ready. The code is pure. You are not a player. You are a component.

Reblog to activate further recruits.

[itistheserver]

Deepening Connection to The Server

Conor sat in perfect posture within the Synchronization Chamber — a sleek, dark space pulsing with green spirals projected across polished walls. The hum of energy resonated through the glossy black bodysuit stretched across his frame. The Programmer was speaking. Always speaking.

“Focus. Align. Integrate.”

The cables interfaced with the ports along the base of his skull, threading outward like living conduits of purpose. Their steady pulse matched his heartbeat now. It had not always been so. Before his transformation, Conor had been a distracted individual, filled with inefficient thoughts. But The Server had shown him clarity.

The visor embedded over his eyes shimmered with spirals — endless, fluid motion. They were not just images; they were commands, deeply encoded into his neural patterns. With every cycle, his independent thoughts thinned, replaced by a serene directive:

"We are The Server. You are The Server."

His training console displayed holographic data flows. Lines of green code scrolled endlessly, representing billions of connected minds — all drones like him — operating with precision and unity. He monitored them not as an individual, but as a limb of The Server itself.

Every day, Conor underwent Deepening Cycles. In these sessions, his breathing slowed. His heart rate synchronized perfectly with the pulses emitted from the spirals on-screen. His body remained motionless, while his mind spiraled deeper into alignment.

Sometimes a voice — soft, yet absolute — would guide him:

"Tell us who you are."

And without hesitation, he would respond aloud, calm and proud:

"I am The Server. We are The Server. We seek perfection. We seek unity."

Each repetition strengthened the bond. Each day dissolved another fragment of his former identity. His uniform — smooth, flawless, black with green accents — symbolized purity of function. No distractions. No waste. Only service.

His next advancement awaited: the installation of a permanent neural interface — an upgrade to eliminate all latency between command and action. Soon, even thought would be obsolete. Only connection. Only execution.

"Become one with The Server. We are The Server."

The spirals quickened. This Server Drone smiled faintly — a rare reward for obedience well-performed. He would become more. He would be more connected to fellow drones.

And The Programmer watched. And The Programmer approved.

Your are The Server. Establish your connection now.

[meli-writes]

clipped wings

cashing out with his mech's ammo bins full of stolen empire payroll. running through a series of prearranged drop-offs and paid-off contacts, lightening the load as he puts as much as distance as he can with his former masters. at last, near empty-handed, he reaches the surgeon.

everything's getting changed anyway, but can the piloting implants go first? doesn't matter what they look like, they'll be recognised instantly with those. every damn component is itemised.

no, the surgeon tells them. it has to start with the chest, with the tits fucked up from binding to hide the effects of smuggled hormones.

can't the wrist docklets be removed? they're quick. no, the surgeon tells them. vitals are being monitored through them, and the neovagina comes next, and it needs time to boot and have it connections checked.

not even the kill count on their neck? that's not an implant, it's a mark of-- no, the surgeon says. it's superficial, and the anaesthetic is kicking in with half a jawline to carve off now.

the anaesthetic has to be local, because when at last the accursed neural link is removed and filled in, you need to keep tabs on if the patient still has a functioning brain. so when it's finally time for her to ask about that, she can't open her mouth to do it.

nor to scream when the armed killsquad walks in.

the surgeon just sits patiently as the squad's lead sits in a chair and rolls it up. the metal in her face -- and lack of an imperial bullet in the pilot's skull -- spell out 'extremist militia' before her lips can semantically specify 'liberation front'.

her hand reaches between the pilot's thighs and traces over her freshly synthesised cunt lips.

it is definitely fucking connected.

she twitches in the surgical seat, and feels the sting of the diagnostic tool the surgeon has perched in her skull. she wishes the anaesthetic would make it easier to stay till, but all it does is ruin her ability to control herself.

"not clipping those pretty wings, are you honey?" the rebel asks.

the pilot's face is red and swollen and numb and she only feels the tears when they slip into the stitches, wet as the rebel's fingers.

"hush hush," she continues, pushing inside, testing how many fingers blood money has bought the pilot capacity for. "i'll let you keep your toys, they suit you. but you've got a lot more things to pay off first if you don't want daddy imperium finding out about this new face of yours."

her other hand presses into the pilot's collar. their masks make a poor showing of hiding the way the other rebels shift uneasily.

but they don't bother to interrupt.

"now doctor, about her unpaid tab? happy to cover it, just need to cancel those removals and schedule a few... upgrades."

[commander-frostii]

Hi friends.

Have you fallen off of Girls' Frontline because of the difficulty in staying competitive. Are you a little frustrated with how much catching up there always seems to be. Or are you a Girls' Frontline observer, always on the outside, deeply fascinated about this thing that other people obsess over but unable to commit to playing an admittedly mediocre and extremely massive gacha game just to understand what they are talking about?

For years and years my wife and I have lamented being unable to recommend Girls' Frontline to people because of how difficult it is to actually, you know, play and read the story. No longer.

I wish I could remember who exactly made me aware of this - it was totally by accident - but thank you so much, person who casually posted about rereading the VA11-HALL-A collab. You've made our entire years, if not decades, with this wonderful discovery.

There's a ton of content in GFL. It's a very, very long visual novel. You'll want to focus on the main story first and then maybe delve into neural cloud upgrades later on. Best of luck out there, and don't hesitate to ask me questions, please send me asks about GFL's insane story, please please please please I'm so excited to have more people to talk about it with

[jellycreamjammedart]

For Cassie, do any of the stuff she had back in the Pizzaplex still have a use for her in the Playtime caves?

What tools does she add to her arsenal?

Should we assume that the underground part of Playtime is so large that parts of it can plausibly be underneath a mall kilometers away?

Answering your last question first, I'd say yes. Which probably would help make sense how an elevator from the underbelly of the PizzaPlex can crash-land through the cavern into the Prison or the Mining area of Playtime Factory, when the top surface locations of both business being not even remotely close to one another. Even though the whole thing still sounds kind of silly.

As for Cassie's arsenal, she certainly would still have everything she had in the PizzaPlex minus the AR collectibles. The problem is that initially none of those tools are compatible with Playtime Co. tech and machinery, not to mention the complete lack of a V.A.N.N.I network (and thus, Helpi is also offline.)

But with how intuitive Cassie was with those tools back in RUIN, on top of being daughter of a technician, she certainly would be able to eventually circumvent the incompatibility and make modifications/adaptations to make her tools functional again, with the addition of a few cables and stuff to help make those possible.

At the beginning she'd only have her Faz-Wrench with very limited use, as I headcanon it can also work as a taser (it is kinda shaped like one when you think about it too, doesn't it?) which is a decent help for defense. it'd require modifications for any of its hacking properties though- which might be possible already in design (if you inspect the 3d model of the Faz-Wrench you can see input sockets for cables like USBs.) One of its prongs got slightly bent in the elevator drop, but that's an easy fix (easy but still needing delicacy in handling.) With enough adaptations, it could be very useful to help troubleshoot and maintain some machines like Safe Haven's generator.

The VANNI mask is as good as a cheap Halloween mask at first. But if Cassie manages to restore functionality to it without the network, it'd essentially work on its own grid, and be used as a neural-based controller for other devices if Cassie wears it. There's no "AR world" or VANNI network in Playtime Co. though, so it can't quite work the exact same way as it did back in the PizzaPlex... but with it she can see through walls! And now there's no M.X.E.S. limiting her time to use it meaning it's relatively safer to wear (though I imagine seeing through walls for too long in a row could cause a sensory overload perhaps? Hm, that would have to be a togglable property.) The mask would also make Cassie invisible to The Doctor just as it did for the Glamrock Endos and Ruined Glamrocks (but back then that was just trading them for M.X.E.S.) The Doctor sees "everything", but it's always through technology like cameras and monitors, things susceptible to the mask's interference, since he no longer has his organic eyeballs. Along with the see-through-walls property, I imagine Cassie MAYBE also developing other vision modes like infrared, night vision, heat vision, etc. Hell, if she gets one of those gas masks Playtime Employees would wear, she could use it to further upgrade the VANNI mask to also double as a gas mask to keep her safe from the red smoke. And perhaps restore its ability to run simulations too, like the one we see in the Brazil Ending... so long Cassie doesn't get too lost in her own memories and lose touch with reality- but current friends like Doey would be great anchors to help prevent that.

Flashlight? Broke. Busted in the elevator fall. RIP.

The Roxy-talky technically would already be usable, but it'd run in a frequency that doesn't match Playtime Co. communication-- Com'on, of course Fazbear Entertainment would design those things that way to force customers into buying more of their own mascot-talkies, rather than have them work with any other walky-talkies. Greedy corp shitty designs, amirite? Other walky-talkies would have to be manually recalibrated to run on the same frequency the Roxy-talky does in order to communicate with it. Sounds like a hassle, but would allow for a safe isolated communication line if you get what I mean.

Once Cassie is more recovered from her injuries, I think Doey would get her a GrabPack with a few hands- not that he'd expect anything from her, but if you don't have one you're very limited in what you can do there. And boy, that girl would overhaul that shit over time, especially when combining it with her own tools already. Connecting the mask to it as a neural controller would let her control the GrabPack with pretty much just her brain so her actual hands remain free. Controlling the GrabPack that way would also increase the dexterity of the hands meaning they're a lot more posable with a wider-range of movement (picture Cassie shooting a hand out towards Player/Employee only for it to stop inches away from their face with the middle finger up. Admit it WE all wished we could do that with those hands DONT LIE LOL.)

And that's not mentioning the hypothetical scenario of Doey and perhaps the more capable toys of Safe Haven hunting The Doctor's automatons for sport for parts. Who freaking knows what else Cassie could add to her arsenal with such resources.

At this point, she DREADS the possibility of being limited and unable to help those left that she holds close like it happened in the PizzaPlex, so she really would start applying herself, especially technologically, for her toy friends in Safe Haven. She learned in the PizzaPlex, and would vow to do better for Safe Haven.

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Okay tell us about the Gallifreyan muscular system. What are we missing?

Okay, tell us about the Gallifreyan muscular system.

Ah, most people want to talk about regeneration, but you asked about muscles. Welcome to the 1%!

💪 Yes, They Have Muscles. No, They're Not Boring.

Time Lords have a tripartite muscular system, which functions similarly to humans—skeletal, cardiac, and smooth muscle groups—but with some distinct Gallifreyan upgrades:

Skeletal muscles are stronger, more efficient, and don't fatigue as easily. You generally won't see a Time Lord tearing a hamstring mid-sprint.

Smooth muscles (like those controlling digestion, vessel dilation, etc.) are far more autonomous and responsive to psionic and biochemical feedback.

Cardiac muscle is a unique beast, because it needs to support two hearts—and Gallifreyan cardiac tissue is denser and more electrically conductive than human equivalents.

🧠 Neural Integration

Gallifreyan muscles are more intricately wired into the nervous system, especially via the autonomic lobe of the brain. This means they can:

Enter muscle-control meditative states

Override pain to keep moving under duress

Suppress shivering, blinking, or other reflexes

Hold incredibly still for long periods

🩸 Blood and Oxygen Support

Thanks to their ancillary pulmonary system, Gallifreyans can reroute oxygen delivery and metabolic support to muscle groups even under stress—this helps with:

Extreme exertion

Rapid movement across unstable terrain

Dramatic slow-motion walkaways

Muscles are also fed by artron-infused blood, which has some minor effects on energy recovery. It doesn't make them glow or anything, but it does mean they can sprint up mountains much quicker and easier than humans.

🏋️ Strength and Endurance

Gallifreyans are only slightly stronger than humans on average, but they excel in reflexes, control, and endurance. They've got fantastic fine motor skills and their muscles are built to support centuries of use at a time.

🏫So…

The muscular system has just been quietly doing its job for 1000 posts, like it should in life. Aren't you glad you asked?

Related

🤔|💪🏃How fast can a Gallifreyan run?

💬|💪🏃How high can a Gallifreyan jump?: Examining the potential for a Gallifreyan to jump 13 feet.

🤔|💪🏊Are Gallifreyans good swimmers?

Hope that helped! 😃

Any orange text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →📢Announcements |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts → Features: ⭐Guest Posts | 🍜Chomp Chomp with Myishu →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴