#quantum computing hardware

[emerging-tech]

Quantum Computing: How Close Are We to a Technological Revolution?

1. Introduction Brief overview of quantum computing. Importance of quantum computing in the future of technology. 2. Understanding Quantum Computing Explanation of qubits, superposition, and entanglement. How quantum computing differs from classical computing. 3. The Current State of Quantum Computing Advances by major players (Google, IBM, Microsoft). Examples of quantum computing…

[cyber0university1]

Microsoft is making rapid progress in development of Quantum hardware,software, and algorithms.

[dailyplanet-loislane]

The AI Hardware Race: Brain vs. Quantum

[legendaryearthquakestranger]

Laptop Generations A Comprehensive Guide

Laptop Generations A Comprehensive Guide have come a long way since their inception, transforming from bulky, slow machines into sleek, powerful devices that can rival desktops in performance. With each new generation, laptops bring enhanced features, greater processing power, improved battery life, and innovative designs that cater to the evolving needs of users. This article delves into the…

[jcmarchi]

Testing spooky action at a distance

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/testing-spooky-action-at-a-distance/

Testing spooky action at a distance

Researchers at MIT recently signed a four-year collaboration agreement with the Novo Nordisk Foundation Quantum Computing Programme (NQCP) at Niels Bohr Institute, University of Copenhagen (UCPH), focused on accelerating quantum computing hardware research.

The agreement means that both universities will set up identical quantum laboratories at their respective campuses in Copenhagen and Cambridge, Massachusetts, facilitating seamless cooperation as well as shared knowledge and student exchange.

“To realize the promise of quantum computing, we must learn how to build systems that are robust, reproducible, and extensible. This unique program enables us to innovate faster by exchanging personnel and ideas, running parallel experiments, and comparing results. Even better, we get to continue working with Professor Morten Kjaergaard, a rising star in the field, and his team in Copenhagen,” says William Oliver, the Henry Ellis Warren (1894) Professor within the MIT Department of Electrical Engineering and Computer Science (EECS), professor of physics, associate director of the Research Laboratory of Electronics, and the head of the Center for Quantum Engineering at MIT.

Oliver’s team will supervise the funded research, which will focus specifically on the development of fault-tolerant quantum computing hardware and quantum algorithms that solve life-science relevant chemical and biological problems. The agreement provides 18 million Danish kroner (approximately $2.55 million) from the Novo Nordisk Foundation Quantum Computing Program to support MIT’s part in the research.

“A forefront objective in quantum computing is the development of state-of-the-art hardware with consistent operation,” says Maria Zuber, MIT’s presidential advisor for science and technology policy, who helped facilitate the relationship between MIT and the Danish university. “The goal of this collaboration is to demonstrate this system behavior, which will be an important step in the path to practical application.”

“Fostering collaborations between MIT and other universities is truly essential as we look to accelerate the pace of discovery and research in fast-growing fields such as quantum computing,” adds Anantha Chandrakasan, chief innovation and strategy officer, dean of engineering, and the Vannevar Bush Professor of EECS. “The support from the Novo Nordisk Foundation Quantum Computing Programme will ensure the world’s leading experts can focus on advancing research and developing solutions that have real-world impact.”

“This is an important recognition of our work at UCPH and NQCP. Professor Oliver’s team at MIT is part of the international top echelon of quantum computing research,” says Morten Kjaergaard, associate professor of quantum information physics and research group leader at the Niels Bohr Institute at UCPH. “This project enables Danish research in quantum computing hardware to learn from the best as we collaborate on developing hardware for next-generation fault-tolerant quantum computing. I have previously had the pleasure of working closely with Professor Oliver, and with this ambitious collaboration as part of our the Novo Nordisk Foundation Quantum Computing Programme, we are able to push our joint research to a new level.”

Peter Krogstrup, CEO of NQCP and professor at Niels Bohr Institute, follows up, “We are excited to work with Will Oliver and his innovative team at MIT. It aligns very well with our strategic focus on identifying a path with potential to enable quantum computing for life sciences. The support aims to strengthen the already strong collaboration between Will and Morten’s team, a collaboration we hope to make an important part of the NQCP pathfinder phase over the coming years.”

[quantumuniversitysposts]

CHMW-23 Workshop: Mastering Computer Hardware Maintenance Techniques

 Quantum University's recent "Computer Hardware Maintenance Workshop" garnered rave reviews from participants. This video encapsulates the event's essence, showcasing the hands-on learning, expert guidance, and camaraderie that defined the experience.

To know more, please visit @ https://quantumuniversity.edu.in/

Email: admissions@quantumuniversity.edu.in

[quantimist]

Quantum Computing with Qiskit Free Course | 1 Year | Q World

Exciting News: QWorld’s QClass23/24 Your Gateway to Quantum Computing! Are you ready to dive into the fascinating world of quantum computing, algorithms, and programming? Look no further! QWorld is thrilled to announce the launch of our two-semester-long QClass23/24, beginning in September 2023 and running until May 2024. Join us for an immersive virtual experience that will equip you with the…

[gaydivorcetual]

toxic yuri but its the Koro Q C-3 B-46 and the IBM Q System One

[ID: a drawing and photograph of quantum computers. the drawing is labelled "Koro", and the photo is of the IBM Q system one /End ID]

do u think they would be friends

[webtiles]

<body>

<h1> computer id pack </h1>

<div class="names">

<p> cyber , tech , pixel , digital , quantum , hp , code , script , binary , html , ip , al , nano , virus , malware , glitch , byte , cache , chip , chrome , error , spark , static , monitor , password </p>

</div>

<div class="pronouns">

<p> key / board , ai / ais , 404 / 404s , code / codes , html / htmls , java / script , py / thon , url / urls , web / webs , api / apis , inter / net , pix / pixel , .png / .pngs , .gif / .gifs , .rar / .rars , .zip / .zips , .txt / .txts , mal / ware , desktop / desktops , software / softwares , hardware / hardwares , password / passwords </p>

</div>

<div class="titles">

<p> the coded one , the digital one , the electronic one , the computer , the program , the programmer , prn who is made of binary , prn who is made of code , prn who codes , prn who is a computer , prn who is digital , the ai , the sentient ai , the sentient computer , prns wires , prn who is made of wires , the error , the virus , the website </p>

</div>

<p> requested by : nobody </p>

<p> self indulgent id pack to fuel my computerkin identity. feel free to use anything listed here. </p>

</body>

[carionto]

Hyperbrake Racing

Everything in Human ships has a manual override. They love automating all processes and reduce any workload to nothing, but also have this compulsive need to be able to take direct control if so desired.

They also have emergency off switches for everything. Yes, including life support. Don't ask, you'll just get a variant of:

"But What If!?"

Obviously, this applies to things you should never under any circumstances shut down preemptively, such as a Hyperspace Jump.

The earliest space-faring civilizations quickly discovered that if a Hyperdrive has a power interruption even for a nano-second your atoms will get dispersed across a few light months. This is why all Hyperdrives have an internal chargeable uninterruptible power supply unit.

Humanity, however, did not allow "Not having any reason whatsoever" to stop them from figuring out a way. Utilizing their ridiculous quantum computer speed and the ability of their fusion reactors to charge a Hyperdrive mid-jump, and with an injection of a disgusting few million lines of hack code that manipulate all related pieces of hardware in just the most nauseating sequences, they created the Hyperbrake.

Also, not a metaphor - braking literally causes Humans to feel nauseous, sometimes throw up, rarely even pass out. Not a single volunteer crew member aboard joint vessels from any of the other Coalition species has dared to "test" what happens to them.

As with nearly all things Humans come across or invent, they will find a use for it should one not occur normally.

_____________________

Near Neptune

Daniel, Samantha, and Nicholas Schreier were three siblings ages 17, 19, and 20, respectively. Today they had "borrowed" their dad's General FordStar mark 980-MZ HaulerHound, a civilian grade transport typically used by small business owners. Dad, however, was an enthusiast, and had modified the "Hound Dog", as he calls it, with a military grade reactor and computer core. He's always been that guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who can get the thing legally enough.

There is a nearby research station that the kids often visit due to their mom working there, but today she was not. Instead, what they are doing, is racing against each other to set the best record. Well, technically the opposite of racing - coming to a halt.

Using the Hyperbrake, they are competing to see who can stop the closest to the stations outer point-defense range without entering it or you automatically lose. After Samantha's turn, they were suddenly contacted by the station. It was Yakovskii, one of mom's colleagues and a frequent guest at dad's barbecues, so they were on sorta good terms. Not by the tone voice coming through the comms rights now though:

"What in the Hell are you thinking!? At first I thought you were just messing around and accidentally did that, but TWICE now!?! I checked the trajectory, if you had stopped a half-second later, you would've ended up mere meters from Neptune's upper atmosphere! Did you account for the possible sudden gravitational pull? Can you maneuver that lumbering ship fast enough to not get pulled down? Not to mention Hyperbraking severely impairs your cognitive abilities for a moment? A moment that you need to be clearheaded for or risk DEATH!?!"

The three siblings could only hang their heads in shame and mutter out some weak apologies. After a moment of silence and reflection, Yakovskii speaks in a warmer tone:

*sigh* "Look, I understand it's a fancy new toy and you want to see what you can do. I get it, I really do. Me and my brother used to play vertical hockey the first time we got our hands on a surplus gravity field generator. But we first figured out how to make sure we didn't break our bones in case it failed. Seriously, never forget to consider your own safety first before you try out new things in a peaceful environment. You're not being chased by pirates or trying to avoid the law or whatever.

Take your time, pick a starting position that's further away and keeps Neptune and any of its moons to the side of the station, then aim for an area of space that only has the outer range of the defenses and empty space ahead from your point of view. And please set the regular Hyperjump destination within Sol, don't just pick a random place. The Hyperbrake sometimes loops in on itself and never executes the brake and can only be reset once out of Hyperspace. You don't want to get stuck in a pointless jump for hours do you?"

After this admonishment, the siblings apologized more energetically and took his advice to heart. They spent the next hour competing until all three were down to single meter differences and kinda got bored, so they docked at the station and hung out with the off-duty staff, played some poker, but then dad barged in and dragged them all home. They were not invited to the barbecue gatherings for two weeks, but only because mom told him to. Personally he was excited about all the data his kids had unknowingly given him with all their jumping and braking, a real stress test for his beautiful Hound Dog.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Unlocking the secrets of phase transitions in quantum hardware

Phase transitions, like water freezing into ice, are a familiar part of our world. But in quantum systems, they can behave even more dramatically, with quantum properties such as Heisenberg uncertainty playing a central role. Furthermore, spurious effects can cause the systems to lose, or dissipate, energy to the environment. When they happen, these "dissipative phase transitions" (DPTs) push quantum systems into new states. There are different types or "orders" of DPTs. First-order DPTs are like flipping a switch, causing abrupt jumps between states. Second-order DPTs are smoother but still transformative, changing one of the system's global features, known as symmetry, in subtle yet profound ways. DPTs are key to understanding how quantum systems behave in non-equilibrium conditions, where arguments based on thermodynamics often fail to provide answers. Beyond pure curiosity, this has practical implications for building more robust quantum computers and sensors. For example, second-order DPTs could enhance quantum information storage, while first-order DPTs reveal important mechanisms of system stability and control.

Read more.

[cyberstudious]

An Introduction to Cybersecurity

I created this post for the Studyblr Masterpost Jam, check out the tag for more cool masterposts from folks in the studyblr community!

What is cybersecurity?

Cybersecurity is all about securing technology and processes - making sure that the software, hardware, and networks that run the world do exactly what they need to do and can't be abused by bad actors.

The CIA triad is a concept used to explain the three goals of cybersecurity. The pieces are:

Confidentiality: ensuring that information is kept secret, so it can only be viewed by the people who are allowed to do so. This involves encrypting data, requiring authentication before viewing data, and more.

Integrity: ensuring that information is trustworthy and cannot be tampered with. For example, this involves making sure that no one changes the contents of the file you're trying to download or intercepts your text messages.

Availability: ensuring that the services you need are there when you need them. Blocking every single person from accessing a piece of valuable information would be secure, but completely unusable, so we have to think about availability. This can also mean blocking DDoS attacks or fixing flaws in software that cause crashes or service issues.

What are some specializations within cybersecurity? What do cybersecurity professionals do?

incident response

digital forensics (often combined with incident response in the acronym DFIR)

reverse engineering

cryptography

governance/compliance/risk management

penetration testing/ethical hacking

vulnerability research/bug bounty

threat intelligence

cloud security

industrial/IoT security, often called Operational Technology (OT)

security engineering/writing code for cybersecurity tools (this is what I do!)

and more!

Where do cybersecurity professionals work?

I view the industry in three big chunks: vendors, everyday companies (for lack of a better term), and government. It's more complicated than that, but it helps.

Vendors make and sell security tools or services to other companies. Some examples are Crowdstrike, Cisco, Microsoft, Palo Alto, EY, etc. Vendors can be giant multinational corporations or small startups. Security tools can include software and hardware, while services can include consulting, technical support, or incident response or digital forensics services. Some companies are Managed Security Service Providers (MSSPs), which means that they serve as the security team for many other (often small) businesses.

Everyday companies include everyone from giant companies like Coca-Cola to the mom and pop shop down the street. Every company is a tech company now, and someone has to be in charge of securing things. Some businesses will have their own internal security teams that respond to incidents. Many companies buy tools provided by vendors like the ones above, and someone has to manage them. Small companies with small tech departments might dump all cybersecurity responsibilities on the IT team (or outsource things to a MSSP), or larger ones may have a dedicated security staff.

Government cybersecurity work can involve a lot of things, from securing the local water supply to working for the big three letter agencies. In the U.S. at least, there are also a lot of government contractors, who are their own individual companies but the vast majority of what they do is for the government. MITRE is one example, and the federal research labs and some university-affiliated labs are an extension of this. Government work and military contractor work are where geopolitics and ethics come into play most clearly, so just… be mindful.

What do academics in cybersecurity research?

A wide variety of things! You can get a good idea by browsing the papers from the ACM's Computer and Communications Security Conference. Some of the big research areas that I'm aware of are:

cryptography & post-quantum cryptography

machine learning model security & alignment

formal proofs of a program & programming language security

security & privacy

security of network protocols

vulnerability research & developing new attack vectors

Cybersecurity seems niche at first, but it actually covers a huge range of topics all across technology and policy. It's vital to running the world today, and I'm obviously biased but I think it's a fascinating topic to learn about. I'll be posting a new cybersecurity masterpost each day this week as a part of the #StudyblrMasterpostJam, so keep an eye out for tomorrow's post! In the meantime, check out the tag and see what other folks are posting about :D

[pareidoliaonthemove]

Left for Dead

Part One

Scott Tracy breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the wheels of the ‘conventional’ jet he was flying left the tarmac.

His never failed to feel lighter once he was no longer touching the earth, but this time the relief was more intense than usual.

As he guided the executive jet – once Jeff’s favourite plane, a sleek long-haul commercial jet that had been the Aviation arm of Tracy Industries flagship product, and dubbed ‘Tracy One’ – exactly through the ‘gateway’ at the end of the runway climb out, the radio crackled to live. The heavily accented English of the Departures Controller for Trondheim Lufthavn gave him his final instructions to clear the Lufthavn’s controlled airspace and join his filed flightpath out of Norway and back to Tracy Island.

He only let himself relax as he hit his cruising speed and altitude, and activated the pre-programmed autopilot.

Reaching back he caught the retractable tray table and dragged it towards him, before picking up his insulated mug, a custom-made gift from Brains that allowed him to ensure he had hot coffee available on a solo flight in the plane.

He couldn’t help glancing back at the safe built into the bulkhead at the back of the cockpit. He still had grave reservations about getting TI involved in the construction of the World Government’s new high-security computer system to be based in Norway; but the World Government had wanted Tracy Industries for their reputation for excellence and security, the TI Board wanted it, and most importantly John wanted it.

Scott tried not to think about the fact that his brother was likely to include a backdoor to the system.

But Scott had been convinced that it was in the best interests of all involved to take the project on, and he had gone to Norway to meet the key personnel and personally take receipt of the plans. TI facilities would produce the various key components and they would be shipped to Tracy Island for construction by one Hiram K. Hackenbacker

Scott sighed, even Brains had been excited by the prospect of getting to look at the designs, and the attendant programming that the hardware would be running. Something about the specifications for the “new ‘unbreakable’ encryption protocols”, and “the next major breakthrough in computing, practically quantum!”

Scott was worried that the two – three if Alan inserted himself into the mix – computer nerds would back-engineer the TOP SECRET computer and incorporate it into International Rescue’s equipment.

When – and Scott was not an optimist when it came to this sort of things, so it was when and not if – the rest of the world figured out that they had that technology, there would be some uncomfortable questions that Scott would be left to try to answer.

And he was resolutely NOT thinking about what Eos could do with all that processing power. Scott had reached a truce with the Space Monitor’s pet AI, but he hadn’t made peace with it … her. She had come dangerously close to killing John, ‘misunderstanding’ or not, ‘self-defence’ or not.

Harming his family was the one sin Scott Tracy could not forgive.

The next hour or so disappeared quietly as Scott brooded on his misgivings, carefully watched the plane’s gauges, and the sky.

Sometime after the onboard computer indicated that it had successfully completed its mandatory handshake with Chinese Air Control Scott stretched, arching his back and spreading his toes within the confines of his shoes. Flying alone was great for relaxation, flying alone long distances however … no matter how good the autopilot, a good pilot never left the controls unmanned.

Tracy One, while fast, was no Thunderbird One. I’m getting soft, Scott thought bemused. Too used to the multiple mach speed of his usual means of transportation.

Settling back into his seat, Scott once more scanned the gauges … only to see them all fade out as the engines whined their rollback to idle and shutdown.

Scott swore, unbelieving, hands once more on the controls, as he quickly hit two buttons, setting his transponder to squawk distress mode, and deploying the RAT, a small drop down wind turbine that dropped from the planes undercarriage and caught the airflow, generating enough power to get some gauges and controls working.

Fingers automatically worked at the controls, reconfigure for maximum glide, run through the midair engine restart procedure. And …

Nothing.

As Scott immediately recommenced the restart, he was on the radio: “Mayday, Mayday, Maday. This is November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Twin engine roll back, loss of power. Attempting restarts. Requesting assistance to squawk location.”

No response. Scott cycled through another engine restart attempt as he waited, nervously watching the altitude numbers seemingly freefall. There was no way he was descending that fast, surely?

Two more attempts at transmitting the mayday resulted in silence. The engines refused to restart.

Scott reached for his collar and swore. The meeting had been so high security even IR’s integrated collar coms were not allowed. And Scott had been in such a hurry to get back to the Island that he hadn’t changed his clothes, only ditching the ordinary – albeit obscenely expensive – coat, suit jacket, tie and cufflinks.

No direct link home. No mid-air rescue for Scott Tracy.

No matter. He could manage.

Abandoning his attempts to restart as the altitude numbers screamed down under the threshold.

His plane was going to kiss dirt. All he could do was make it as gentle as possible.

Scott switched his attention to scanning the ground below him, looking for a suitable space. Thank god he had elected to fly west towards home, meaning he was over the Gobi Desert.

Sand was preferable to water, no matter what Gordon said.

Sand would make for a nice soft runway, provided Scott managed a tail-first. Letting a leading edge dig in would be a disaster. Even with the International Rescue approved safety features retrofitted to the standard executive jet, there wouldn’t be much for his brothers to recover if she dug in and flipped, or windmilled around a wing.

“Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. November Tango India Zero One Charlie. Restart negative. Unpowered landing necessary. Requesting immediate assistance to squawk location.”

Scott breathed carefully, focusing on his search and not the possibilities.

There!

Off in the distance Scott spotted a level area, large enough for the plane to coast to a stop on her belly.

He breathed out, mentally calculated the distance and descent, and carefully reconfigured the plane, setting the ailerons and stomping on the rudder to bring her tail around into the head wind and shed speed: side-slipping. He gently slewed her back the other way, ensuring she maintained the correct heading, but shedding altitude and speed.

This was a dangerous aerial ballet. More so than any dogfight he had been in during his service. One wrong move …

Scott’s hands were sweating on the control yoke. His heartbeat deafened him.

Oh, there was going to be so many lost of control drills for his brothers in the future. It had been too long since they had run any.

His luck held all the way down.

He managed to line up to the long axis of the space, and his tail kissed sand at the edge of the smooth space.

Metal screamed as sand ripped at the undercarriage as Scott gently lowered the length of the plane onto the dirt, and deployed all flaps and slats, increasing the resistance to the air, even as the sand resisted the movement of the hull.

And Scott became a passenger.

He kept his feet at the rudder pedals, trying to keep the plane moving in a straight line. Yaw risked rolling. But it was largely a futile effort, the path was set, determined by physics, geology and … geography!

Scott’s heart leapt into his throat as the plane hurled itself over the top of a rising dune that had been hidden by his approach angle. It was a significant drop down the other side, and the plane had lost enough momentum that it had little aerodynamic power.

The nose fell, and Scott heard yelling.

It took the eternity the plane was falling to realise that it must be him.

Impact was hard.

Metal screamed as sections of the cockpit rushed towards him, dislodged and distorted.

Something above him broke loose, swinging down into his field of vision.

It was the last thing Scott saw.

Notes:

This is Part One of my last Febuwhump Prompt from MariaShades, Part Two will actually address the prompt, but work's been mental, and Scott's been a little shit and really didn't want to crash his plane ... Oh well, better late than never.

And if I post this half, I'll stop faffing around with it and actually write the second half. In theory.

[geniusboyy]

Covenants and other Provisions

Chapter 40

Don’t Stop Me Now: Part I

     The new operating system was proving difficult. Quantum tunneling—once merely a theory—was now woven directly into their hardware. But this breakthrough demanded endless recalibrations, each more precise and maddening than the last. Days bled into nights and back into mornings, marked by endless lines of glowing code cascading down flickering screens.

     Across the cluttered workspace, Fidds had grown increasingly agitated, his restlessness punctuating the silence like a discordant beat. He often broke away from the workbench to pace the cramped lab floor, stretching dramatically and muttering under his breath. 

     Ford found himself glancing up with increasing frequency, pulled reluctantly from his meticulous work by every frustrated sigh or shuffle of boots against the floor.

     At last, the tension broke. Fidds groaned dramatically, hurling a sheaf of notes onto the table and pushing his chair back roughly, the scraping of its legs against the floor grating harshly against Ford’s nerves.

     Ford, barely glancing up, kept his tweezers steady, suspended precariously over a delicate, intricate component. “We’re nearly there,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “Just a few more adjustments, and—”

     “You said that yesterday,” Fidds cut him off sharply, his voice tight with exasperation. He crossed the cluttered room, dropping heavily into another chair and running both hands roughly through his disheveled hair. “Hell, Ford, you’ve said it every day this week.”

     Ford slowly set down the tweezers, doing his best to keep frustration from tightening his movements. He pressed fingertips to his temples, willing away the dull ache that had become a permanent fixture behind his eyes. As much as he hated admitting it—even silently—Fidds had a point. They’d been cloistered underground for weeks, and the walls were starting to feel oppressively close even to him.

     “Ford,” Fidds said firmly, leaning forward, elbows propped on his knees. His voice softened, edged now with genuine concern. “If I stare at another damn computer screen tonight, you’ll have to cart me off to the padded cell yourself. Come on, it’s springtime out there. Weather’s finally breaking’, and we’ve been stuck down here forever.”

     “You know we can’t afford distractions right now,” Ford replied, though without much conviction. He was aware, painfully so, of how thin his argument sounded against the backdrop of endless sleepless nights and frazzled nerves.

     Fidds wasn’t listening. Instead, he pressed on eagerly, a familiar, irrepressible spark returning to his weary eyes. “You know what I’ve been dyin’ to do? Portland. It’s just an hour away, and we ain’t even made it out there once. You ever been?”

     Ford couldn’t help but chuckle softly, shaking his head with a resigned expression. “Fidds—”

     But Fidds leaned forward eagerly, a spark returning to his weary eyes. “C’mon, live a little. One night out won’t kill us. Plus, I finally got the car fixed up again. Let’s just have a few drinks, be around actual people for a change. See where the night takes us—just like old times.”

     Ford grimaced slightly, memories flashing through his mind: loud bars, crowded spaces, Fidds dragging him reluctantly through one social nightmare after another. “Those ‘old times’ mostly involved you hauling me around places I didn’t want to go—”

     “You could use a little hauling around,” Fidds shot back lightly, the tension in his expression easing into a playful grin.

     Ford exhaled slowly, pressing his fingertips into his temples. Within him, Bill stirred—an unexpected ripple of energy tinged with anticipation and mischief. Ford tensed instinctively, bracing himself for a barrage of sardonic comments, but Bill’s voice was unusually curious, almost eager.

     “You know,” Bill murmured within Ford, voice uncharacteristically earnest, “it might actually be interesting to see what’s beyond these dusty walls. Why not humor ole Boots this once?”

     Ford blinked, momentarily stunned. “You?” he thought incredulously.

     Bill’s reply came swiftly, the tone almost playful. “I can’t help it—I’m curious. How can I appreciate this weird little reality of yours if we never see it up close?”

     Before Ford could respond, Fidds leaned back confidently, as though sensing the internal shift. “Tell you what,” he offered with a knowing smirk, “You say yes, and I’ll let you drive.”

        Well, that settled it.

     Ford sighed dramatically, finally giving in. “Alright. Fine—”

     Fidds shot out of his chair immediately, energized by victory. “Shoot, let’s get going before you change your mind.”

��    Fidds had changed quickly into casual clothes and was already leaning comfortably against the car, drumming his fingers impatiently on the roof when Ford finally emerged from the cabin. Ford stepped outside into the fresh air, squinting slightly as if the sun itself was unfamiliar after days spent underground. However, he hadn’t bothered to change—still clad in his usual meticulous attire: a button-up shirt, tie securely knotted, and the same practical work pants he always favored. His silhouette stood rigid against the softening sky, as out of place as the sharp lines of his ensemble.

     Fidds’s eyebrows rose incredulously, and he let out an exaggerated sigh as Ford approached. "Ford, why are you dressed like that?"

     Ford looked down, puzzled, tugging self-consciously at his tie. “What?”

     "Man, we're headed to a nightclub, not a wake," Fidds shook his head, gesturing emphatically toward Ford’s stiff attire. “Go put a regular shirt on.”

     “This is what I have,” Ford protested mildly, stubbornness edging into his voice.

     “Then wear one of mine,” Fidds insisted, reaching through the car’s open window into the back seat and pulling out a crumpled T-shirt. “Here.”

     Ford eyed it skeptically, recoiling slightly. "No way—this is way too small."

     "Better tight than lookin’ like an undertaker," Fidds insisted firmly, his voice firm yet playful.

     With a resigned sigh, Ford reluctantly unbuttoned his shirt, fingers moving slowly as though delaying the inevitable. Pulling on the offered T-shirt, he felt immediately constrained, the thin fabric stretching snugly across his shoulders and chest, catching uncomfortably with every breath. He shifted, aware of the way the sleeves clung stubbornly to his biceps, the hem barely grazing the top of his waistband. Each movement pulled awkwardly at the garment, accentuating his discomfort.

     “Now that’s more like it,” he teased, voice warm with mischief. “You almost look like you’re gonna have fun.”

     Ford gave the hem of the borrowed shirt one last futile tug. It clung stubbornly to his ribs, the fabric stretched just a little too tight across his chest and bunched oddly around his elbows. His tie was gone, his work shirt abandoned in the backseat—now he looked like someone playing dress-up at a college party.

        “I look like a putz,” 

     “You’ll live,” he said, tossing the keys with an easy underhanded flick.

     Ford snatched them from the air before sliding into the car—its leather seats sighing under his weight. The cabin smelled like sun-warmed vinyl and engine grease, tinged faintly with residual scent of Fidds’ cologne.

     He twisted the key, and the engine roared to life beneath them, a deep, satisfying growl that rumbled through the floor and up through the clutch beneath his foot. He tapped the gas once, adjusted the mirror with a flick of his wrist

     Fidds tilted his head, side-eying him with a smirk. “Hey—did you ever actually get that driver’s license?”

     Ford barked out a dry laugh, fingers already curling around the stick shift with a quiet confidence. “Why would I waste my time doing something like that?” he said absently, hitting the clutch and shifting gears. The Mustang lurched forward—rumbling out onto the open road.

     Ford relished the sensation of the cool breeze streaming through the windows, gently tousling his hair as he navigated the winding country roads. Each curve he guided the car through felt intuitive, effortless. He savored the smooth coordination required to shift gears—the subtle dance between clutch and throttle providing a deeply satisfying rhythm. The steady hum of tires against asphalt and the occasional burst of Fidds’ laughter blended into the harmonious backdrop of Fidds’ 70s Greatest Hits cassette streaming through the speakers. The soft, golden glow of passing streetlamps washed warmly over the car, each lamp illuminating the road ahead in gentle, fleeting pulses.

     In these moments, driving felt liberating—an indulgence rare enough to justify Fidds’ clever bribe. Ford’s fingers relaxed comfortably around the steering wheel, the Mustang’s engine humming beneath his touch, perfectly responsive, alive with a restrained power that thrilled him quietly beneath the surface.

     The day's last rays of sunlight sliced through the gathering dusk as the city lights slowly emerged on the horizon, glittering faintly like distant stars.

     By the time they arrived, the city's vibrant nightlife had fully awakened. Neon signs cast their electric hues onto sidewalks bustling with eager crowds, the energy palpable even from the car. Spotting an opening along a crowded curb, Ford expertly eased into it, guiding the car forward and then smoothly reversing into the tight space.

     They lingered for a moment after stepping out, the muffled thrum of music seeping through the walls, bass notes gently vibrating beneath their feet. Groups of scantily clad women laughed and chatted animatedly as they passed by—high heels clicking sharply against the pavement, their voices shrill and exaggerated. Their laughter—loud and slightly performative—flickered and faltered as they passed a group of intoxicated men—all swagger and glassy-eyed hunger.

     Ford observed the scene with detached interest, a ritual he’d seen many times before: courting behaviors, the mutual tolerances masquerading as flirtation, the hollow bravado of men showing off for each other more than for the women.

     There was something theatrical in the repetition of it, something almost rote. A bizarre pageant of flesh and expectation. The exaggerated performances, the unspoken tensions, the way everyone seemed to be playing a part in a show no one actually enjoyed—it all struck him as faintly pathetic.

     He glanced sideways at Fidds, eyebrows knitted slightly. "Don’t you think we’re a little old for this?" he asked quietly, voice tinged with weary resignation.

     Fidds waved off Ford’s concern, rolling his eyes playfully as he nudged him toward the entrance. "Ford, you’re thirty-two," he remarked dryly, clearly amused. "Save the retirement speech for when you're actually old."

     The moment they stepped through the doors, they were immediately engulfed by a sensory overload—thunderous music pulsed through the walls, bass vibrating deep in Ford's chest with an almost comic intensity. Brilliant, strobing lights swept chaotically across the dense, undulating crowd, capturing fleeting glimpses of laughing faces, eyes dulled by intoxication, bodies moving with an uninhibited abandon. The air was thick with heat and the mingling scents of alcohol, perfume, and sweat, a cloying cocktail of indulgence.

     The frenetic energy, the exaggerated gestures, the theatrics of connection—it all felt hollow. These people were putting on a show; a bad one at that. It was predictable, sad in its excess. He’d watched it all play out before: bars and campuses, weddings and street corners. The same desperate attempts to be wanted, as if validation could be ground out through sweat and proximity.

     He certainly didn’t envy it. The whole thing felt like noise pretending to be meaningful. And Ford had never been one for pretense.

     Fidds, on the other hand, brightened instantly, absorbing the vibrant chaos around him with obvious delight. Ford leaned in slightly and called after him, voice barely audible above the music. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom—don't wait up."

     Fidds didn’t hesitate, diving headlong into the sea of people with the enthusiasm of someone starved for human interaction. Ford lingered at the periphery, then slipped quietly through the dense, pulsing crowd, desperate for the relative sanctuary of the restroom. Inside, the music softened into distant, muted thuds, and the cool, tiled walls felt reassuringly solid against the sensory overload outside. He leaned heavily against the porcelain sink, splashing cold water over his heated face.

     A familiar ripple stirred beneath his skin, subtle at first, then growing insistent. Ford opened his eyes sharply, meeting his reflection—but it wasn't entirely his own. Just beneath the surface, Bill gazed back at him, vibrant, curious, and decidedly amused.

     Bill’s voice curled slyly through Ford's mind, teasingly smooth. "Hiding, are we, poindexter? all that excitement out there, and you're cowering in the bathroom?"

     "I'm not cowering," Ford shot back irritably, despite the faint tremor in his voice betraying his nerves. "I just...need a minute."

     Bill laughed softly, the sound echoing gently in Ford's head, indulgently mocking. "Right, right—obviously.”

        Ford let out a frustrated sigh.

     “Well,” Bill continued, undeterred by the tension in Ford’s shoulders. “Since you're not too keen on mingling with the commoners, perhaps you'd rather let someone who can actually enjoy themselves take over?"

     "Absolutely not," Ford retorted, stiffening defensively. 

     “Come on, Sixer,” Bill chided. “I could use a little enrichment time.”

        "They'd notice—your eyes, your voice—"

     "What's wrong with my voice?" Bill interjected, playfully affronted.

     Ford hesitated awkwardly, heat rising to his cheeks. "Nothing, my muse," he muttered, a quiet embarrassment settling over him. "I think you have a wonderful voice, it’s just...It wouldn't suit me, that’s all.”

     Bill scoffed lightly, clearly amused. "Not sure how much I can do about that," He paused, contemplative. Then, a sudden warmth surged forward, shifting beneath Ford’s skin. He felt a disorienting tug as Bill’s presence expanded, gently taking control. 

     “But I might be able to fix these myopias." Bill went on. Ford watched from inside, half fascinated and half wary, as Bill concentrated, then his pupils shifted, slit irises smoothly rounding back into a convincingly human appearance. "Better?"

     Ford exhaled slowly, discomfort blending into cautious intrigue. He went in for a retort, but something about the image staring back at him pulled him up short.

     There was a subtle shift, the kind Ford couldn’t name but felt viscerally—like standing in his own skin with the volume turned up. Bill’s presence saturated the mirror image with something just slightly...other. It was his body, yes, but Bill filled it differently—stood in it with a different kind of confidence. Ford liked it, the way he stood—his weight thrown loosely to the side, hips slightly cocked, one hand tucked casually into the waistband of his pants. His shoulders were rolled back, relaxed but elegant, and his chin tipped just enough. It wasn’t showy—a bit theatrical, sure, but controlled. Poised—like he was made to be admired.

     The connection was taut between them, Ford staring at his reflection and knowing—knowing—it was Bill staring back. The gaze was intense, everything slowed down to a crawl, like the moment deserved to stretch and fill the space.

     Then Bill tilted Ford’s head slightly, breaking the spell with a crooked smirk. "My, my," he drawled, voice amused and low, "This shirt’s doing a lot of heavy lifting." He teased, drawing Ford’s gaze downward to the sliver of skin peaking out above his waistband.

     Ford flushed—or he would have if he had been in control of his body—a quiet embarrassment mixing strangely with pleasure at Bill's unabashed appraisal. Bill's tone softened, growing unexpectedly sincere. "It's a shame, really," he murmured, fingers drifting lightly along the hem of the shirt, tracing the exposed curve of Ford’s navel with an almost scholarly reverence. "Keeping yourself hidden away from everyone." 

     Bill lingered, thumb slipping back under the waistband, tracing the skin with ruthless patience. A possessive warmth threaded through his voice, playful yet deeply earnest. "But it’s for the best—more for me."

     Slowly, Bill leaned Ford’s body forward, fingers pressing lightly against the mirror’s cool surface, their reflection merging as their faces drew close. The cold of the glass met Ford’s warmth, and he felt the hum of Bill’s satisfaction resonate through his chest. His breath fogged faintly against the mirror as he lingered there, lips hovering, his pulse thrumming under skin not entirely his.

     "I wonder what it’s gonna be like to really touch you," Bill whispered from somewhere deep inside, his voice velvet and emboldened. "—with hands of my own."

        Ford didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

     Bill pressed Ford’s lips softly against the glass. The kiss was quiet, surreal—a slow, languid thing drawn out not for theatrics but to savor. Bill deepened the contact slightly, tilting Ford’s head as though to better align with his own reflection. It wasn’t lustful, not exactly—it was something stranger, as if he were trying to consume the image of Ford entirely, to draw it into himself.

     Ford felt a sharp spike of energy flood his limbs. This was absurd. Objectively insane. And yet, within the absurdity there was a rare stillness, a gentleness he craved. It was bizarre. But they were bizarre. And Bill—Bill wanted him. Not a polished surface—but him.

     Just as the moment began to intend, the sharp hiss of a toilet flushing cleaved through the atmosphere.

        Ford startled. Bill jerked his head around.

     A stall door creaked open, and a stranger stepped out—dazed. He froze, one hand on the stall frame, staring wide-eyed at the spectacle.

     Bill narrowed Ford’s gaze and looked the man up and down with withering judgment. "What’re you looking at?" he snapped.

     The man blinked like he’d just come to, muttered a confused apology, and shuffled quickly toward the exit.

        A beat passed.

     Ford, regaining enough clarity, muttered, "Ew. He didn’t wash his hands."

     Bill wrinkled Ford’s nose. "What a freak,"

     Bill emerged from the restroom with a confident tilt in his step, Ford’s body still firmly under his control. The bar gleamed like a jewel box under the pulsing lights—mirrored walls, a slick black counter, shelves of liquor glowing like stained glass—drawing Bill’s attention. Bodies lined the space, leaning in close to shout over the music. Bill—still in Ford’s skin—threaded through them with catlike interest, his eyes flicking over glasses, heels, gestures, mouths. Ford, watching from within, felt a mixture of amused exasperation and grudging curiosity at how seamlessly Bill navigated the chaos.

     Reaching the bar, Bill settled Ford’s arms against the cool edge of the counter and let his eyes wander. He observed the kaleidoscopic reflections on the black lacquered surface, scanning the shimmering reds, greens, and blues as they slid across polished glass. Then, a bartender with gelled hair and a shaker in hand turned to him, leaning over the thunder of conversation.

     “What’ll you have?” the man asked, his voice already half-lost beneath the pulsing bass.

     Bill didn’t know what to order, of course. Ford stirred somewhere inside him, ready to intervene, but Bill was already scanning the woman beside him. She was perched elegantly, her lips painted a fierce color that matched the drink in her manicured hand.

     Bill leaned in with Ford’s frame and gestured casually. “What’s that?”

     She turned, blinking, a little dazed from the noise. “What?”

      He pointed to her drink. “That. What’s it called?”

     “French martini,” she said, smiling. “It’s Chambord, pineapple juice, vodka—kind of sweet.”

     Bill looked over at the bartender, already grinning. “French martini,” he said. The words tasted good. Decadent. Foreign. Pink.

     It arrived in a delicate glass, sloshing with iridescent gold-pink foam. Bill took a sip and lit up—Ford could feel it, that bright spark of astonishment and glee. “This is brilliant,” Bill purred. “Leave it to the French, right Fordsy?”

     Bill tipped the glass again, greedily, taking a hearty gulp—Ford had to speak up. “You’re supposed to sip it. That’s not a soda, you maniac.”

     Bill set the now-empty glass on the bar, rolling Ford’s eyes theatrically. “You humans have so many silly rules,” he teased aloud, making a show of raising a hand to summon the bartender for another.

     Even as he did so, Bill continued surveying the room—his eyes landing on someone a few seats away, digging his hand into a bowl of nuts sitting nearby—the man from the bathroom. 

     Oblivious, the woman beside Bill absently reached for that same bowl. Without hesitation, Bill reached out and tapped her shoulder—firm but not forceful. She spun around, blinking in confusion.

      Leaning in so she could hear him over the thrum of the bar, Bill lowered Ford’s voice conspiratorially. “Don’t,” he warned. “Skippy over there left the bathroom without washing his hands.”

     The woman recoiled, flashing a comically horrified look at the man by the nuts, who was utterly unaware he was a topic of whispered scandal. “I appreciate the warning!” she yelled over the music.

     Bill smirked, swiping the fresh drink that arrived—another French martini—obliging Ford’s instructions, sipping carefully this time.

     Inside, Ford teetered between mild exasperation and reluctant admiration, sensing Bill’s genuine curiosity and playful disregard for conventional etiquette. The bar was loud, the people were strange, but Bill navigated it like he belonged there—merely a stage set for him.

     A fresh surge of music erupted through the speakers—bold, resonant vocals riding on a driving beat that rattled the bottles on the shelves. It pulsed underfoot, sending ripples of excitement through the crowd clustered around the bar. Bill, still firmly in control of Ford’s body, cocked his head as if he’d just caught a new scent in the air.

     He swiveled in the direction of the sound, eyes narrowing with fascinated intensity. “Who is that singing?” he asked, voice floating above the din. The question wasn’t directed at anyone in particular, but Ford, hovering just beneath the surface, answered instinctively.

        “That’s Freddie Mercury.”

     Bill let the name marinate, repeating it quietly. A smile began to form on his borrowed lips, slow and certain. “I like it,” he murmured, fingers tapping in time against the bar’s polished surface.

     Ford felt a wave of quiet amusement wash through him. “Of course you like Queen.” he murmured with an audible smirk.

     Bill turned Ford’s head, raising a brow in mild challenge, and took another measured sip of his pink-foam martini. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

     “Nothing!” Ford said quickly, mental defenses flaring in the wake of that playful jab. “Queen’s great. I love Queen.”

     Bill had barely settled into a pleasant buzz when he felt a light tap on Ford‘s shoulder. He turned, the woman from earlier was was grinning at him, two small glasses in her hands, each filled with a clear liquid that shimmered ominously under the club’s neon lights. Without a word, she offered him one.

     Bill took it, turning the glass between his fingers like he expected it tell him something. Ford, watching, knew the ritual.

     “This one you want to drink quickly,” he advised, his tone brisk with authority. “Clink yours to hers and throw it back as fast as you can—it’s going to taste awful.”

     Bill hesitated a second longer, then followed the cue, gently tapping his tiny glass against hers. The two of them tipped their heads back and swallowed in one rough gulp. She grimaced; Bill gagged outright, caught off guard by the sudden burn scraping down his borrowed throat. A cough escaped him, grabbing the martini and drinking it like it was the antidote to poison. “That’s foul,” he wheezed internally. “You people drink this on purpose?”

     Ford laughed. “You wanted to be human for a night. That’s the rub.”

     The woman wiped the back of her hand over her mouth before tossing her hair over one shoulder. “I’m Lisa!” she shouted over the music. “What’s your name?”

     Bill licked the foam from Ford’s upper lip and straightened, martini now empty. He paused, thinking—but not long. “Bill,” he said.

        “You wanna dance?” She asked.

     He looked toward the pulsing mass of people. Strobing lights swept through a sea of limbs moving at once—some in sync, some not, but all of it had rhythm—along with the music that lived in the floor, in the chest, in the skin—it pulled at him, vibrated through his bones.

     Ford felt it too—that sudden flutter of anticipation, like the seconds before the plunge on a rollercoaster.

     A smile curved across Bill’s—Ford’s—lips. “Hell yeah I want to dance.”

     He seized the moment, letting Lisa tug him by the hand into the current. The beat grew heavier in the center—less sound and more sensation, the world narrowing down to light and heat and motion. 

     Lisa turned, already moving—hips rolling, shoulders loose, hands carving gentle arcs through the air. 

     Bill followed her at first, mirroring the sway of her torso, the rhythm in her knees. His movements were curious—experimental. He followed her footwork, the way her shoulders rolled, the quick shifts of her hips. He copied not to impress, but to understand—the way she turned her wrist or tilted her head. Every motion was data.

     But it didn’t last. Bill’s attention slipped. His eyes moved everywhere—the way the lights bounced off bare skin and sequins, the flash of eyes and teeth in laughter, the shine of sweat. The way some bodies tangled together and others moved on their own—how people let the sound dictate the space between them. There was so much to see. So many variables. So many ways the human body chose to say I’m here.

     That’s when he let go of mimicry and started doing. It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t choreographed. But it was alive.

     His rhythm grew bolder, exploratory, as if testing every joint and muscle Ford’s body had to offer. The way his arms shifted in the space, the deliberate roll of his spine, the slow coil and snap of energy—it was like he was drawing new lines through the air just to see how it felt. The crowd did seem to care how you moved, just that you did—it fed off conviction, and Bill had that in abundance.

     From within, Ford watched, torn between alarm and awe. Somehow—despite the absurdity, despite the fact that it was his body out there—Bill made it work. The crowd made room for him, and Bill accepted the offering. 

     Ford couldn’t look away. He felt it too—that weird, exhilarating sense of freedom. Not his freedom, maybe. But close.

     Lisa’s smile widened, catching the glint of a strobe. She leaned in closer, laughing aloud, finding herself drawn into his unguarded enthusiasm. 

     But it didn’t take long for the dance floor to consume them entirely—one moment Lisa was laughing beside him, spinning freely to the rhythm, and the next, a swell of dancers surged like an ocean wave between them. Just like that, she disappeared into the haze of bodies and flashing lights. Bill didn’t seem concerned; instead, he allowed himself to drift, weightless and unmoored. The crowd shifted around him, opening and closing, seemingly adjusting itself to accommodate his movement, as if the space had anticipated him all along.

     The music intensified, a deep, resonant bass pulsing through the floor and vibrating through his borrowed chest like a second heartbeat. Around him, dancers moved with hypnotic abandon, hips swaying, bodies brushing together in fleeting moments of closeness. 

     Hands reached out—some tentative, others unapologetically bold—and Bill didn’t flinch away. Instead, he leaned into the embrace of the crowd, letting himself be guided by anonymous fingertips grazing his waist, the ghost of a palm gliding along his arm. A woman in a shimmering, backless dress caught his gaze, flashing a mischievous grin as her hand traced lightly across Ford’s chest before melting away again into the shadows.

        Ford bristled sharply.

     From somewhere deep within, a hot, pointed sensation bloomed rapidly in his chest, prickling with irritation. “Getting awfully cozy…” Ford muttered, trying—and failing—to keep the edge of possessiveness from coloring his words.

     Bill laughed softly, a spark of delight radiating through their shared consciousness. He twisted gracefully through the press of bodies, savoring Ford’s discomfort. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy there, Fordsy?”

     Ford hesitated, then spoke defensively. “I’m not—I mean—” he fumbled, losing his grip on a convincing retort. “I’m just pointing out…these people don’t know who they’re touching.”

     Bill felt another body press against his back, lingering there, bold and unapologetic. Ford’s tolerance snapped like a taut string.

     “Alright,” Ford growled inwardly, agitation flaring hotter, “that’s enough. You’re getting felt up by half the city.”

     Bill merely laughed again, unconcerned, weaving gracefully through a particularly dense knot of dancers. “Oh, lighten up, Sixer,” he teased, thoughts smooth as silk, dripping with amusement. “So territorial.”

        “You’re letting everyone touch our body.”

     “Yes, you’re quite popular,” Bill teased smugly, clearly enjoying Ford’s discomfort. “Honestly, you should thank me. I’m doing wonders for your reputation.”

     Ford’s internal voice sharpened with mild annoyance, but beneath it simmered something more complicated—something warmer, vulnerable. “That’s not the point,” he muttered sullenly.

     “Then what is?” Bill purred, tone gently provocative. He slowed their movements deliberately, savoring the closeness, knowing exactly how Ford would react. “Afraid someone else might catch my eye?”

     Ford refused to answer, retreating into tense silence, stubborn and sullen.

     Bill chuckled again—low, knowing—and deliberately pressed closer into the warmth of the anonymous bodies surrounding him. He felt Ford tense again sharply. “You are,” Bill whispered inwardly, his voice taking on a tender edge, almost affectionate. “How sweet.”

     Ford’s irritation surged anew, but beneath that surface-level frustration lay something deeper—something more complicated. He knew he should look away, withdraw from the vivid spectacle unfolding through his own body, but he couldn’t bring himself to sever the connection. Bill was undeniably magnetic, each movement an effortless demonstration of power, grace, and charm. Every gesture, every subtle shift in stance or sway of hips, was imbued with a natural authority—a quiet certainty that didn’t demand space but simply accepted it as a birthright.

     Ford understood, in a quiet and unsettling realization, that he wasn’t just irritated. He was captivated.

     Watching Bill dance through his own body—should have been humiliating. He should have felt vulnerable, exposed. He should have felt shame, embarrassment, anything to reflect how utterly absurd this was. Yet, all he felt was an undeniable pull, a fascination he couldn’t deny, let alone resist.

     “Yes, my muse,” Ford finally admitted, voice quiet, tinged with an aching sincerity. “I am jealous.”

     Bill kept moving, the music guiding him forward and back, hips rolling with the beat, feet gliding effortlessly across the sticky floor. His eyes locked briefly with another dancer—just a glance, a flicker of shared rhythm—and then drifted away. Their bodies brushed for only a moment before parting again, swallowed by the haze of shifting light and motion. The contact was fleeting. Insignificant, maybe. But Ford felt it like a thorn under the skin, sharp and small and impossible to ignore.

     “This connection we share,” he continued softly, his tone steeped in melancholy, “it’s incredible, yes—but it’s also cruel.”

     Bill’s movement slowed just slightly, a shift in tempo, subtle but unmistakable. Ford could feel the attention turn inward.

     “You’re closer to me than anyone—anything— ever has been. Ever could be. And yet, you’re entirely beyond my reach.”

     Bill moved more slower still, his pace less about the rhythm of the music and more about what was unfolding between them—within them. 

     “You’re here,” Ford whispered, “inside my bones, in my blood. I feel you with every breath. But none of it belongs to me. This closeness, its… its torment.”

     He paused, voice thick. “You taunt me with possibilities—sensations I could never let myself imagine. I’ve never felt so deeply connected to another being—and yet, I feel so…devastatingly alone.”

     The crowd continued on, oblivious, the music driving bodies around them. But within Ford’s consciousness, something had quieted. Bill swayed, caught in the gravity of Ford’s words.

“All these strangers,” Ford murmured, bitterly now, “touching you like you’re anyone. They don’t know what you are. What you mean. They experience you in passing—carelessly. But I feel you in every atom. And still… I can’t hold you. I can’t have you.”

     He let the silence stretch a little before finishing, voice rough and stripped bare.

        “So yes…I envy them.” 

     Bill felt an electric thrill radiate through their limbs, a rush that mingled strangely with Ford’s confessions. The words touched something in him—maybe it was the honesty, or the way Ford’s heart thudded beneath his skin. Whatever it was, he found it undeniably compelling.

     In lieu of a direct response, Bill simply swayed, a stupid grin painting his face.

     His movements slowed into something fluid—more than dancing now, less than stillness. He let the music cradle him, rocking gently in place as if allowing the beat itself to metabolize Ford’s words. The flashing lights, the push and pull of the crowd—all of it faded for just a moment.

     Then, with a quiet, satisfied hum—soft enough to be heard only by Ford, tucked away inside his own mind—Bill turned on his heel.

     “I think I need another drink,” he said, slipping through the current.

     Heat clung to him. Sweat traced a line down Ford’s spine, the fabric of his shirt sticking to the damp curve of his lower back. The too-small hem had ridden halfway up his stomach, baring a flush of skin that gleamed in the strobes as he passed beneath them.

     At the bar, he leaned one forearm casually on the counter, still catching his breath. The glass surface was scattered with wet rings and soaked napkins, ashtrays littered with butts, some stained with rings of varying shades of lipstick—ghosts of previous encounters, lovers, loners, strangers.

     The bartender drifted over without being called, already clocking him as the guy who’d just danced like the floor belonged to him.

     “French martini?” the bartender asked knowingly, already reaching for the Chambord.

        Bill gave a small nod. “You read my mind.”

     As Bill waited, the figure beside him shifted slightly—taller, older, a little hunched in the shoulders. A cigarette dangled from his fingers, burning low, the smoke curling upward in lazy, deliberate spirals like it had nowhere better to be.

     His eyes found Bill, slow and deliberate. They dragged across him with calculated weight, pausing on the band of bare skin above his waistband, on the languid curve of Ford’s hip, the looseness in his posture, the way one wrist dangled a little too delicately against the counter.

        Then came the scoff.

           Low. Muted. But sharp as a blade.

     “Faggot,” he muttered. Like breathing. Like spitting.

        Bill didn’t flinch—but Ford did.

     It was immediate—an electric jolt of indignation that lanced through his chest. “What the fuck did he just say?” Ford seethed, too fast to temper.

     Bill turned Ford’s head deliberately. The pulse in his borrowed neck ticked steady and hard.

     “What the fuck did you just say?” he repeated aloud.

     The man looked over without surprise. He took a long, slow drag, then blew the smoke out in a practiced plume, aimed just off-center, letting the silence stretch long enough to be insulting. “You heard me,” he said with a tired sneer. “Embers is down the street. Why don’t you fly on down there.”

        Bill didn’t blink.

     Instead, he reached forward with Ford’s hand and plucked the cigarette neatly from between the man’s fingers—dropping it into the half-full glass of beer in front of him. It hit the foam with a hiss and fizzed out, twisting in the amber liquid like a drowning bug.

     Bill stood shifted closer to him, bracing one palm on the bar rail as he leaned in, voice dropping to a mocking murmur.

        “Oops.”

     There was a beat—a flicker of something unreadable in the man’s eyes. He didn’t startle. He didn’t threaten. He simply reached into the inside of his coat and produced a small black bifold.

     He lifted it to chest height, let the front flap fall open with casual menace.

     The metal flashed—a badge, glinting under the bar’s red light.

     He tilted it just enough for Bill to see, expression flat as slate.

        “…Oops,”

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Microsoft’s Leap Towards Fault-Tolerant Quantum Computing with Azure Quantum

New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/microsofts-leap-towards-fault-tolerant-quantum-computing-with-azure-quantum/

Microsoft’s Leap Towards Fault-Tolerant Quantum Computing with Azure Quantum

Quantum computing, with its promise of solving complex problems that classical computers struggle with, has been a topic of intense research and development. Microsoft, a key player in the quantum computing field, is making significant strides toward achieving fault-tolerant quantum computing at scale through its Azure Quantum platform. This article takes a closer look at these developments, explaining their significance and considering how they might shape the future of computing.

Quantum at Scale: A Necessity

In the quest to use quantum computing for solving some of the biggest challenges like climate change and medical breakthroughs, experts estimate that we would need quantum computers powered by at least one million qubits. A qubit, short for quantum bit, is the fundamental unit of information in quantum computing. Unlike classical bits that can only exist in one of two states, 0 or 1, at any given time, qubits can exist in a superposition of states. This means a qubit can be in a state representing both 0 and 1 simultaneously. Moreover, qubits can be entangled with each other, where the state of one qubit depends on the state of another qubit. This enables qubits to encode complex information and parallel processing capabilities that surpass classical computing. However, qubits need to be both stable and controllable to perform these complex calculations effectively.

Achieving this scale—developing a quantum computer with a million qubits—is an enormous challenge. Currently, managing even a few qubits requires sophisticated technology and precise control. Scaling up to a million qubits multiplies these challenges in terms of maintaining qubit stability and ensuring error-free operations across such a large scale.

The Challenge of Qubit’s Sensitivity

One of the key challenges in quantum computing is the sensitivity of qubits to errors. Even minor environmental changes can lead to errors that substantially impact the reliability of quantum computers for practical uses. Moreover, even small errors can have a big impact on the processes in quantum computing. For instance, although a fidelity rate of 99.9% seems reasonable, meaning errors happen only once in every 1,000 operations, it’s quite high for quantum computing where operations run into the million qubits to solve complex problems. This can lead to many errors that stack up, making the results less reliable.

For quantum computers to work effectively and reliably, they need to perform these operations with extreme accuracy over long periods. This requirement becomes more formidable as the system expands to manage complex calculations more effectively.

Error Correction using Logical Qubits

Enhancing the robustness against errors is critical for improving the reliability and scalability of quantum computing. Researchers are actively developing error detection and correction strategies at both the physical and logical levels of qubits. While simply boosting the fidelity of physical qubits may not fully address the issue, the use of logical qubits offers a promising path forward.

Logical qubits function like repetition codes in classical computing, where information is duplicated across multiple bits to protect against errors. However, due to the no-cloning theorem in physics, direct replication of qubits is not possible. Instead, quantum error correction spreads the state of a logical qubit across several physical qubits. This redundancy enables the detection and correction of errors in individual physical qubits, maintaining the integrity of the quantum information and greatly reducing the error rate. By forming a single logical qubit from multiple physical ones, this method introduces fault tolerance. Even if some physical qubits err, the state of the logical qubit remains intact, determined by the unaltered physical qubits. This significantly boosts the stability and reliability of quantum computers, allowing them to handle more complex and lengthy computations. However, this requires a well-thought-out system with carefully designed hardware and software to manage errors effectively.

Microsoft and Quantinuum’s Error Reduction Breakthrough

In a recent collaboration, Microsoft and Quantinuum successfully addressed the longstanding challenge of qubits’ vulnerability to errors. They accomplished this by integrating Quantinuum’s hardware system with Microsoft’s qubit-virtualization or logic qubit system, resulting in an integrated and robust system that achieved an impressive 800-fold enhancement in error handling. This integration allowed researchers to carry out 14,000 independent instances without encountering any errors. Central to this achievement is Microsoft’s qubit virtualization system, which converts physical qubits into logical qubits and executes error correction. Through this virtualization system, they were able to produce four stable logical qubits from only 30 out of Quantinuum’s 32 physical qubits, showcasing an extremely low circuit error rate of 0.00001, indicating one error per 100,000 operations.

Understanding the impact of this development becomes more apparent when we think about reducing the error rate by 800 times, which is like improving a signal by 29 dB, similar to the experience of using a high-quality noise-canceling headset. Think of the background noise on an airplane as the ambient noise from physical qubits. Just as the headset cancels noise for better music listening, the qubit-virtualization system helps reduce errors caused by physical qubits during quantum computing tasks.

The Impact Beyond Error Reduction

The collaboration between Quantinuum’s hardware and Microsoft’s qubit-virtualization systems extends beyond just reducing errors. By integrating these technologies, researchers are provided with a stable platform to develop and implement complex quantum algorithms. This development could encourage innovation in areas like material science and cryptography, and improve the accessibility of quantum computing technologies. As the platform continues to mature and becomes more accessible, it might broaden access to quantum computing, enabling more scientists and institutions to engage in advanced research.

The Bottom Line

Microsoft’s pursuit of fault-tolerant quantum computing through Azure Quantum signifies a transformative leap in computational capabilities. While the focus has been on error reduction, the integration of Quantinuum’s quantum hardware with Microsoft’s qubit-virtualization systems unveils a realm of possibilities beyond mere error mitigation. This advancement doesn’t just refine error handling; it establishes a robust foundation for exploring intricate quantum algorithms. By bridging the gap between hardware and virtualization, Microsoft empowers researchers to delve into new frontiers across scientific domains like material science and cryptography.

[inthelittlewood]

I'm not sure if this had been answered/discussed/brought up in the past but I thought I'd ask. So as we know for VTuber!Martyn lore that he's a "datastream defender" but what is actually? Like we have NPC's, players, agents, supposedly ai's, so what would C!Martyn be? Like just a entity, or maybe some sort of glitch? Or is he considered a player due to him being isekai'd from being just a normal guy into the datastream? Or something else completely?

He's a very unique being where he's a sentient person pulled in to the datastream, so he's essentially living code. Faster than any quantum computer or hardware device for that matter

Things like viruses, firewalls and the like present themselves in more literal/tangible appearances to c!Martyn and him acting out fights, placing, breaking etc. all happens in unfathomably quick fashion compared to lines of code

It's the kind of tech Doc was developing but obviously wasn't done perfecting yet. He's clearly finished the entry method, but not the reassembly/exit method - yikes