#real-time data sharing systems

[amrutmnm]

COVID-19 Impact on Tactical Data Link Market: Recovery and Future Forecast

Tactical Data Link (TDL) systems have become increasingly important for defense and aerospace sectors worldwide. With advancements in modern warfare systems and airspace modernization programs, the Tactical Data Link Market is projected to experience significant growth.

According to recent market reports, the Tactical Data Link market is expected to grow from USD 8.1 billion in 2022 to USD 10.3 billion by 2027, registering a compound annual growth rate (CAGR) of 4.9% during this period.

In this in-depth blog, we will explore the current state of the Tactical Data Link Industry, the factors driving its growth, challenges, opportunities, and emerging technologies shaping the future of TDL systems.

Understanding Tactical Data Link Systems

Tactical Data Link systems allow real-time data communication between military platforms such as aircraft, ships, ground vehicles, and command centers. By facilitating encrypted, secure communication across a range of military applications, TDLs enhance interoperability among allied forces. This real-time data exchange helps improve decision-making and operational efficiency on the battlefield.

Some of the most common Tactical Data Link protocols include:

Link 16: A secure, jam-resistant communication standard primarily used by NATO forces and allies.

Link 11: A tactical data communication system used by military aircraft, ships, and other platforms.

Link 22: An advanced data communication system designed to replace Link 11, providing enhanced security and interoperability for NATO forces.

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Tactical Data Link Market Size and Growth

The Tactical Data Link market was valued at USD 8.1 billion in 2022 and is projected to reach USD 10.3 billion by 2027. This represents a steady CAGR of 4.9% over the forecast period.

Key Growth Drivers

Rise in Airspace Modernization Programs Airspace modernization is a significant driver of the TDL market, especially in North America and Europe. Countries are investing heavily in upgrading their air traffic control and communication systems to improve efficiency, reduce carbon emissions, and increase safety. Tactical Data Links play a crucial role in enabling these modernized systems to communicate with air traffic managers and provide real-time tracking of military and civilian aircraft.

Emergence of Modern Warfare Systems The nature of warfare is evolving, and modern militaries increasingly rely on network-centric warfare strategies that require rapid, secure communication between platforms. TDLs allow for seamless data sharing, enabling a cohesive response to threats. Modern systems, such as Unmanned Aerial Vehicles (UAVs), are increasingly integrating TDLs for real-time information sharing during missions.

Increased Defense Budgets in Key Regions Despite the COVID-19 pandemic’s impact on global defense spending, countries like the U.S., China, and India have maintained or increased their defense budgets, emphasizing secure communication technologies like Tactical Data Links. Rising geopolitical tensions in the Asia-Pacific region, along with increasing investments in defense systems, are fueling demand for advanced TDL systems.

Growth in Unmanned Systems The growing use of unmanned systems, particularly UAVs, in both military and commercial applications is driving demand for TDL systems. These unmanned systems rely on TDLs for communication with command centers, enabling remote operations and improving mission success rates.

Impact of COVID-19 on the Tactical Data Link Market

The COVID-19 pandemic caused disruptions across the defense and aerospace industries. With many countries reallocating defense budgets to manage healthcare crises, several projects involving tactical data links were delayed or put on hold. Furthermore, the global supply chain was disrupted, impacting the production of tactical data link systems and components.

However, as the world recovers from the pandemic, defense spending is expected to rebound, especially in areas related to cybersecurity, secure communications, and network-centric warfare systems.

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Market Restraints

1. Rigorous Military Standards and Regulations

The defense sector operates under strict regulations to ensure the security and integrity of communication systems. TDL solutions must meet rigorous military standards, such as those outlined by NATO. These regulations, while essential for maintaining high security, can slow down the adoption of new technologies and hamper market growth.

2. High Cost of Implementation

The development and deployment of TDL systems involve substantial costs, especially for smaller nations or countries with limited defense budgets. The high cost of procurement, installation, and maintenance of these systems can act as a restraint on market growth, particularly in developing regions.

Opportunities in the Tactical Data Link Market

1. Growing Demand for Enhanced Interoperability

With increasing multinational military operations, the need for enhanced interoperability between allied forces has become more important than ever. Tactical Data Links that enable seamless communication between different platforms and forces will see rising demand, particularly as more countries join international coalitions like NATO. TDL systems such as Link 16, which allow secure, encrypted communication between allied forces, are in high demand for this reason.

2. Adoption of Cognitive Radio Technology

Cognitive radios are an emerging technology that has the potential to transform tactical data links. These radios can automatically detect available frequencies and establish communication links, making them more efficient than traditional radios. As cognitive radios become more advanced, they could provide an important competitive advantage in the TDL market, especially for military applications.

3. Expansion in the Asia-Pacific Region

The Asia-Pacific region is expected to experience the fastest growth in the TDL market during the forecast period, with a projected CAGR of 4.18%. Countries such as China, India, and Japan are increasing their defense spending to modernize their military capabilities, and secure communication systems like TDLs are a crucial part of this strategy. Rising geopolitical tensions in the region further underscore the need for advanced communication systems.

Challenges Facing the Tactical Data Link Market

1. Lack of Skilled Workforce

The successful implementation of Tactical Data Link systems requires highly skilled personnel for tasks such as software development, system integration, and maintenance. However, many developing countries in regions such as Africa and South Asia face a shortage of technically skilled workers, which could hinder the adoption of TDL systems in these regions.

2. Spectrum Management Issues

Tactical Data Links operate within limited frequency ranges, and spectrum management is a critical challenge for defense organizations. As the number of communication systems operating in the same frequency bands increases, managing the spectrum becomes more complex. Cognitive radios offer a potential solution to this challenge, but they are still in the development phase.

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Market Segmentation and Trends

1. By Platform

The TDL market is segmented by platform into ground, airborne, naval, and unmanned systems. The unmanned systems segment is expected to grow at the highest CAGR of 6.4% during the forecast period, driven by the increasing use of UAVs for both military and commercial purposes.

2. By Component

The market is segmented by component into hardware, software, and services. The product (hardware) segment is expected to command the largest market share, growing from USD 5.3 billion in 2022 to USD 6.8 billion by 2027. The rising demand for advanced communication products is driving this growth.

3. By Point of Sale

Based on point of sale, the TDL market is divided into original equipment manufacturers (OEM) and aftermarket. The OEM segment is expected to dominate the market, as many military organizations prefer to source TDL solutions directly from manufacturers to ensure compatibility with existing systems.

Competitive Landscape

The Tactical Data Link market is dominated by Key Players such as Collins Aerospace (US), L3Harris Technologies (US), ViaSat (US), Thales Group (France), and General Dynamics Corporation (US). These companies are investing heavily in research and development to create advanced communication solutions that meet the evolving needs of modern militaries.

Recent Developments

Thales Group: In May 2022, Thales won a contract from the U.S. Army to deliver advanced tactical radios under the Combat Net Radio modernization program.

L3Harris Technologies: In May 2022, L3Harris secured an increased contract for its Falcon IV AN/PRC-167 radio systems, signaling growing demand for its tactical communication solutions.

The Tactical Data Link market is poised for significant growth, driven by advancements in military communication systems, airspace modernization, and rising defense budgets in key regions. Despite challenges such as stringent regulations and the high cost of implementation, the market offers substantial opportunities for innovation, particularly with the development of cognitive radios and increasing interoperability demands.

With major players such as Collins Aerospace, L3Harris, and Thales at the forefront, the TDL market will continue to evolve, offering new solutions that meet the complex communication needs of modern warfare. As the world becomes more interconnected, secure and efficient communication through Tactical Data Links will remain a top priority for defense organizations globally.

[mariacallous]

A short note here on what I’m covering and why. The political changes we’re seeing across the world are underpinned by technological ones that are now accelerating. For more than a decade, I’ve been trying to investigate and expose these forces. Since 2016 that’s included following a thread that led from Brexit to Trump via a shady data company called Cambridge Analytica and the revelation of a profound threat exploit at the heart of our democracies. But what’s happening now in the US is a paradigm shift: this is Broligarchy, a concept I coined last summer when I warned that what we were seeing was the proposed merger of Silicon Valley with state power. That has now happened. Writing about this from the UK, it’s clear we have a choice: we help lead the fight back against it. Or it comes for us next. Please share this with family and friends if you feel it’s of value. Thank you, as ever, Carole

Let me say this more clearly: what is happening right now, in America, in real time, is a coup.

This is an information war and this is what a coup now looks like.

Musk didn’t need a tank, guns, soldiers. He had a small crack cyber unit that he sent into the Treasury department last weekend. He now has unknown quantities of the entire US nation’s most sensitive data and potential backdoors into the system going forward. Treasury officials denied that he had access but it then turned out that he did. If it ended there, it would be catastrophic. But that unit - whose personnel include a 19-year-old called “Big Balls” - is now raiding and scorching the federal government, department by department, scraping its digital assets, stealing its data, taking control of the code and blowing up its administrative apparatus as it goes.

This is what an unlawful attack on democracy in the digital age looks like. It didn’t take armed men, just Musk’s taskforce of boy-men who may be dweebs and nerds but all the better to plunder the country’s digital resources. This was an organised, systematic, jailbreak on one of the United States’ most precious and sensitive resources: the private data of its citizens.

In 2019, I appeared in a Netflix documentary, The Great Hack. That’s a good place to start to understand what is going on now, but it wasn’t the great hack. It was among the first wave of major tech exploits of global elections. It was an exemplar of what was possible: the theft and weaponization of 87 million people’s personal data. But this now is the Great Hack. This week is when the operating system of the US was wrenched open and is now controlled by a private citizen under the protection of the President.

If you think I’ve completely lost it, please be advised that I’m far from alone in saying this. The small pools of light in the darkness of this week has been stumbling across individual commentators saying this for the last week. Just because these words are not on the front page in banner headlines of any newspaper doesn’t mean this isn’t not happening. It is.

In fact, there has been relentless, assiduous, detailed reporting in all outlets across America. There are journalists who aren’t eating or sleeping and doing amazing work tracking what’s happening. There is fact after fact after fact about Musk’s illegal pillaging of the federal government. But news organisation leaders are either falling for the distraction story - the most obviously insane one this week being rebuilding Gaza as a luxury resort, a story that dominated headlines and political oxygen for days. Or…what? Being unable to actually believe that this is what an authoritarian takeover looks like? Being unsure of whether you put the headline about the illegal coup d’etat next to a spring season fashion report? Above or below the round-up of best rice cookers? The fact is the front pages look like it’s business as normal when it’s anything but.

This was Ruth Ben-Ghiat on Tuesday. She’s a historian of fascism and authoritarianism at New York University and she said this even before some of this week’s most extreme events had taken place. (A transcript of the rest of her words here.)

“It’s very unusual. In my study of authoritarian states, it's only really after a coup that you see such a speed, such obsessive haste to purge bureaucracy so quickly. Or when somebody is defending themselves, like Erdogan after the coup attempt against him, massive purge immediately. So that's unusual. I don't have another reference point for a private individual coming in, infiltrating, trying to turn government to the benefit of his businesses and locking out and federal employees. It is a coup. I'm a historian of coups, and I would also use that word. So we're in a real emergency situation for our democracy.”

A day later, this was Tim Snyder, Yale, a Yale professor and another great historian of authoritarianism, here: “Of course it’s a coup.”

History was made this week and while reporters are doing incredible work, to understand it our guides are historians, those who’ve lived in authoritarian states and Silicon Valley watchers. They are saying it. What I’ve learned from investigating and reporting on Silicon Valley’s system-level hack of our democracy for eight long years and seeing up close the breathtaking impunity and entitlement of the men who control these companies is that they break laws and they get away with it. And then lie about it afterwards. That’s the model here.

Everything that I’ve ever warned about is happening now. This is it. It’s just happening faster than anyone could have imagined.

It’s not that what’s happening is simply unlawful. This is what David Super, an administrative law professor at Georgetown Law School told the Washington Post.

“So many of these things are so wildly illegal that I think they’re playing a quantity game and assuming the system can’t react to all this illegality at once.”

And he’s right. The system can’t and isn’t. Legal challenges are being made and even upheld but there’s no guarantee or even sign that Musk is going to honour them. That’s one of the most chilling points my friend, Mark Bergman, made to me over the weekend.

Last week, I included a voice note from my friend, tech investor turned tech campaigner, Roger McNamee, so you could hear direct from an expert about the latest developments in AI. This week I’ve asked Mark to do the honours.

He’s a lawyer, Washington political insider, and since last summer, he’s been participating in ‘War Game’ exercises with Defense Department officials, three-star generals, former Cabinet Secretaries and governors. In five exercises involving 175 people, they situation-tested possible scenarios of a Trump win. But they didn’t see this. It’s even worse than they feared.

“Those challenges have been in respect of shutting down agencies, firing federal employees and engaging in the most egregious hack of government. It all at the hand hands of DOGE, Musk and his band of tech engineers. DC right now is shell-shocked. It is a government town, USA, ID, the FBI, the Department of Justice, Department of Homeland Security, CIA, no federal agency will be spared the revenge and retribution tours in full swing, and huge numbers have been put on administrative leave, reassigned or fired, and the private sector is as much at risk, particularly NGOs and civil society organizations. The more high-profile violate the law, which is why the courts have been quick to enjoin actions. “So yes, we've experienced a coup, not the old fashioned kind, no tanks or mobs, but an undemocratic and hostile takeover of government. It is cruel, it is petty. It can be brutal. It is at once chaotic and surgical. We said the institutions held in 2020 but behind institutions or people, and the extent to which all manner of power structures have preemptively obeyed is hugely worrying. There are legions ready to carry out the Trump agenda. The question is, will the rule of law hold?”

Last Tuesday, Musk tried to lay off the entire CIA. That’s the government body with the slogan ‘We are the nation’s first line of defense’. Every single employee has been offered an unlawful ‘buyout’ - what we call redundancy in the UK - or what 200 former employees - spies - have said is blatant attempt to rebuild it as a political enforcement unit. Over the weekend, the Washington Post reports that new appointees are being presented with “loyalty tests”.

Musk’s troops - because that’s what they are, mercenaries - are acting in criminal, unlawful, unconstitutional ways. Organisations are acting quickly, taking lawsuits, and for now the courts are holding. But the key essential question is whether their rulings can be enforced with a political weaponized Department of Justice and FBI. What Mark Bergman told me (and is in the extended note below) is that they’ve known since the summer that there would be almost no way of pushing back against Trump. This politicisation of all branches of law enforcement creates a vacuum at the heart of the state. As he says in that note, the ramifications of this are little understood outside the people inside Washington who study this for a living.

And at least some of what DOGE is doing can never be undone. Musk, a private citizen, now has vast clouds of citizens’ data, their personal information and it seems likely, classified material. When data is out there, it’s out there. That genie can never be put back into the bottle.

Itt’s what it’s possible to do with that data, that the real nightmare begins. What machine learning algorithms and highly personalised targeting can do. It’s a digital coup. An information coup. And we have to understand what that means. Our fleshy bodies still inhabit earthly spaces but we are all, also, digital beings too. We live in a hybrid reality. And for more than a decade we have been targets of hybrid warfare, waged by hostile nation states whose methodology has been aped and used against us by political parties in a series of disrupted elections marked by illegal behaviour and a lack of any enforcement. But this now takes it to the next level.

It facilitates a concentration of wealth and power - because data is power - of a kind the world has never seen before.

Facebook’s actual corporate motto until 2014 taken from words Mark Zuckerberg spoke was “Move fast and break things”. That phrase has passed into commonplace: we know it, we quote it, we also fail to understand what that means. It means: act illegally and get away with it.

And that is the history of Silicon Valley. Its development and cancerous growth is marked by series of larcenous acts each more grotesque than the last. And Musk’s career is an exemplar of that, a career that has involved rampant criminality, gross invasions of privacy, stock market manipulation. And lies. The Securities and Exchange Commission is currently suing Musk for failing to disclose his ownership stock before he bought Twitter. The biggest mistake right now is to believe anything he says.

Every time, these companies have broken the law, they have simply gotten away with it. I know I’m repeating this, but it’s central to understanding both the mindset and what’s happening on the ground. And no-one exemplifies that more than Musk. The worst that has happened to him is a fine. A slap on the wrist. An insignificant line on a balance sheet. The “cost of doing business”.

On Friday, Robert Reich, the former United States Secretary of Labor, who’s been an essential voice this week, told the readers of his Substack to act now and call their representatives.

“Friends, we are in a national emergency. This is a coup d’etat. Elon Musk was never authorized by Congress to do anything that he’s doing, he was never even confirmed by Congress, his so-called Department of Government Efficiency was never authorized by Congress. Your representatives, your senators and Congressmen have never given him authority to do what he is doing, to take over government departments, to take over entire government agencies, to take over government payments system itself to determine for himself what is an appropriate payment. To arrogate to himself the authority to have your social security number, your private information? Please. Listen, call Congress now.”

It’s a coup

I found myself completely poleaxed on Wednesday. I read this piece on the New York Times website first thing in the morning, a thorough and alarming analysis of headlined “Trump Brazenly Defies Laws in Escalating Executive Power Grab”. It quoted Peter M. Shane, who is a legal scholar in residence at New York University, “programmatic sabotage and rampant lawlessness.” It was displayed prominently on the front page of the New York Times but it was also just one piece among many, a small weak signal amid the overpowering noise.

There’s another word for an “Executive Power Grab”, it’s a coup. And newspapers need to actually write that in big black letters on their front pages and tell their tired, busy, overwhelmed, distracted, scared readers what is happening. That none of this is “business as usual.”

Over on the Guardian’s UK website on Wednesday, there was not a single mention on the front page of what was happening. Trump’s Gaza spectacular diversion strategy drowned out its quotient of American news. We just weren’t seeing what’s happening in the seat of government of our closest ally. As a private citizen mounted a takeover of the cornerstone superpower of the international rules-based order, our crucial NATO ally, our biggest single trading partner, the UK government didn’t even apparently notice.

The downstream potential international consequences of what is happening in America are profound and terrifying. That our government and much of the media is asleep at the wheel is a reason to be more not less terrified. Musk has made his intentions towards our democracy and national security quite clear. What he hasn’t yet had is the backing of the US state. That is shortly going to change. One of the first major stand-offs will be UK and EU tech regulation. I hope I’m wrong but it seems pretty obvious that’s what Musk’s Starmer-aimed tweets are all about. There seems no world in which the EU and the UK aren’t headed for the mother of all trade wars.

And that’s before we even consider the national security ramifications. The prime minister should be convening Cobra now. The Five Eyes - the intelligence sharing network of the US, UK, New Zealand, Australia and Canada - is already likely breached. Trump is going to do individual deals with all major trading partners that’s going to involve preposterous but real threats, including likely dangling the US’s membership of NATO over our heads all while Russia watches, waits and knows that we’ve done almost nothing to prepare. Plans to increase our defence spending have been made but not yet implemented. Our intelligence agencies do understand the precipice we’re on but there’s no indication the government is paying any attention to them. The risks are profound. The international order as we know it is collapsing in real time.

It’s a coup

We all know that the the first thing that happens when a dictator seizes power is that he (it’s always a he) takes control of the radio station. Musk did that months ago. It wasn’t that Elon Musk buying Twitter pre-ordained what is now happening but it made it possible. And it was the moment, minutes after Trump was shot and he went full-in on his campaign that signalled the first shot fired in his digital takeover.

It’s both a mass propaganda machine and also the equivalent of an information drone with a deadly payload. It’s a weapon that’s already been turned on journalists and news organisations this week. There’s much more to come.

On Friday, Musk started following Wikileaks on Twitter. Hours later, twisted, weaponized leaks from USAID began.

This is going to get so much worse. Musk and MAGA will see this as the opening of the Stasi archive. It’s not. It’s rocketfuel for a witchhunt. It’s hybrid warfare against the enemies of the state. It’s going to be ugly and cruel and its targets are going to need help and support. Hands across the water to my friends at OCCRP, the Overseas Crime and Corruption Reporting Project, an investigative journalism organisation that uncovers transnational crime, that’s been in Musk’s sights this weekend, one of hundreds of media organisations around the world whose funding has been slashed overnight.

It’s a coup

By now you may feel scared and helpless. It’s how I felt this week. I had the same sick feeling I had watching UK political coverage before the pandemic. The government was just going to ignore the wave of deaths rippling from China to Italy and pretend it wasn’t happening? Really? That’s the plan?

This is another pandemic. Or a Chernobyl. It’s a bomb at the heart of the international order whose toxic fallout is going to inevitably drift our way.

My internal alarm bell, a sense of urgency and anxiety goes even further back. To early 2017, when I uncovered information about Cambridge Analytica’s illegal hack of data from Facebook while the company’s VP, Steve Bannon, was then on the National Security Council. That concept of highly personalised data in the control of a ruthless and political operator was what tripped my emergency wires. That is a reality now.

The point is that the shock and awe is meant to make us feel helpless. So I’m telling a bit of my own personal story here. Because part of what temporarily paralyzed me last week was that this is all happening while my own small corner of the mainstream media is collapsing in on itself too. The event that I’ve spent the last eight years warning about has come to pass and in a month, 100+ of my colleagues at the Guardian will be out of the door and my employment will be terminated. I will no longer have the platform of the news organisation where I’ve done my entire body of work to date and was able to communicate to a global audience.

But then, it’s all connected. We are living through an information crisis. It’s what underpins everything. In some ways, this happening now is not surprising at all. Moreover, many of the people who I see as essential voices during this crisis (including those above) are doing that effectively and independently from Substack as I will try to continue to do.

And, the key thing that the last eight years has given me is information. The lawsuit I fought for four years as a result of doing this work very almost floored me. But it didn’t. And I’ve learned essential skills during those years. It was part of what powered me to fight for the rights of Guardian journalists during our strike this December.

The next fightback against Musk and the Broligarchy has to draw from the long, long fight for workers rights which in turn influenced the fight for civil rights that must now power us on as we face the great unknown. What comes next has to be a fight for our data rights, our human rights.

This was former Guardian journalist Gary Younge on our picket line and I’ve thought about these words a lot. You have to fight even if you won’t necessarily win. Power is almost never given up freely.

If you value any of this and want me to be able to continue, I’d be really grateful if you signed up, free, or even better, paid subscription. And I’d also urge you to sign up also for the Citizen Dispatch, that’s the newsletter from the non-profit I founded that campaigns around these issues. There is much more it can and needs to do.

[annadiplosis]

A few months ago I posted a couple photos of my index cards, saying I still didn’t know how and where I’d keep them, and I’ve since developed an Archiving System that combines the cards with a digital spreadsheet and has taken more hours than I will ever admit.

So, since I don’t have a “notebook system” to speak of, I'd like to share the way I archive my journals / sketchbooks / whatever you wanna call them, because I’m very proud of it, and who knows, someone might find it helpful :)

WHY I NEED AN ARCHIVING SYSTEM

The reason I don’t have a notebook system is because I use my books for absolutely everything, from sketches to grocery lists and journaling. It is crucial to me to not have any restrictions or expectations when it comes to my books, and that’s how I’ve managed to fill 43 of them over the years.

But of course, when you’ve been using notebooks without a system for most of your life and you want to read a specific entry, you can easily spend a full hour flipping through a sea of paper until you stumble upon those notes on the Bubonic Plague you took in 2011 or whatever you were trying to find.

SO HERE’S WHAT I DO

When I finish a notebook, I try to determine what its most important contents are: stuff I might want to reference in the future (project ideas, meeting notes) or is very characteristic of a period in my life (friends' drawings, travel logs). Every single page contributes to making the notebook what it is and gives it a unique personality, but not all of them are gonna be keepers, and that's fine (I'd even say fundamental, at least in my case).

These are the extremely generic categories I sort my Chosen Entries into. It's similar to the dot system so many people use, just applied retroactively:

🟣 Study notes 🔵 Work 🟢 Personal 🟡 Projects 🔴 Misc

And here's where the real archiving begins. This info goes into:

1. THE INDEX CARDS

(I always write them in Catalan; this one's a mockup and most of these are not real entries)

A little piece of cardboard with the notebook number, its start and end dates, and most important contents. I keep each index card inside its corresponding notebook, either in its own backpocket or an adhesive one I stick there myself.

This way, whenever I want to take a quick look through the book, I get a general idea of its contents at first glance. Sometimes, just holding it in my hand and reading the index card brings me back to the time when I was keeping it, and that time-travel feeling gives me a rush like no other. I don't know if you can tell, but I'm crazy about my notebooks.

2. THE SPREADSHEET

Same as before, just a couple more pieces of info (number of months, physical description) added to a file with the rest of my notebooks' data. Again, these are not real entries for privacy and language reasons, but they're very similar to the kind of stuff I do keep. The spreadsheet helps me find specific entries with a simple ctrl+f, and it's also a bird's-eye view of my progress through the years as a notebook keeper. I can see when my interests shift, how long some of my most important projects took to come to fruition, and even similar types of entries that repeat every few years which I wasn't even aware of before putting it all together. Absolutely fascinating stuff.

I hope this was useful, or interesting at the very least! If you’re a notebook keeper trying to find their own archiving system, my main advice would be to start early so you don’t have to deal with almost two decades of material like I did :’)

If you have any questions, don't be afraid to ask.

Good luck 🖤

[relia-robot-writes]

previously

After we carefully got down off the roof, we all sat down in the living room. I retrieved the knife and put it in the sink to wash later, after rinsing off my fake blood; Kathrine took back the gun and disarmed it before putting it away in the important documents safe. "So, what now?" I asked, my new voice tinny and synthesized in my ears. "You said you were kidnapped, and I'm... I mean, can they take remote control of me, or something? What if I hurt you?"

Lilith put her hand on my knee, and I squeezed it before I remembered that she wasn't really my wife, not actually. I pulled back, and crossed my arms over my chest.

"It's okay," said Kathrine. "When we escaped, we took all their systems offline and called the authorities. By the time we got out, some kind of explosion went off, too - some kind of fail-safe, I guess. Whoever they were, they're on the run, now. We're safe. It should be all over the news tomorrow - people are going to be on alert for weird robot duplicates now."

"But even I couldn't tell it wasn't you," said Lilith. "Aren't any other duplicates out there going to be impossible to detect?" She yawned, and I checked the clock - it was nearly 2 AM.

"No, I mean," Kathrine yawned, too, infected by Lilith. "We grabbed some data that should make them really easy to find, and shared it out. I'll explain tomorrow. For now, I'm fucking exhausted."

"Y-yeah," I said, "You two should get some sleep."

That got me a look from both of them. "What are you going to do?"

"Well, uh... I mean, I don't even know if I need sleep-"

"You do," said Kathrine. "The duplicates needed time to process all the data they got during the day. I'd be surprised if you didn't need it more than we do."

"Oh," I said. "Um. Then, I guess... I'll just grab a blanket and sleep on the couch."

Kathrine got up and sat down next to me. "Hey, there's plenty of room on the bed, we can-"

I scooted away from her before her hand could land on my shoulder. "You've been gone for months, you said? You deserve to sleep next to your wife. Besides, you know we don't sleep well if we can't be on the right side of the bed. I'll be fine." I got up to grab the blankets from the closet, and I heard Kathrine stand up behind me, but she didn't say anything. When I returned, I could hear the two of them murmuring to each other upstairs. I flung out the blanket, rearranged the pillows, shucked my dress, laid down and tried to get some sleep. I could swear that my eyes illuminated the darkness before I closed them.

When I awoke, I felt bleary, and awful. That joke I made about not being real the night before was weighing on my mind. I wasn't real. I wasn't Kathrine. What did that mean? Was I one transmission away from turning into some kind of remote-controlled killer? Could I be shut off, brain-wiped, removed from existence? I didn't even know when I was created, or how long I'd been "alive". A couple of months, Kathrine had said. Had I stolen her Christmas? Or had I never really had one of my own? I rolled over, pulling the blankets tight over my body. Still flesh, or fake flesh, except for my face. I hadn't had the strength to look myself in the mirror yet. Was I some kind of awful Terminator skeleton? My breath hitched, and I realized that even that was probably fake, an affectation for a robot spy, not a real feeling.

My thoughts were interrupted by a loud fan turning on, and the smell of crisp bacon. My stomach growled - another fake sensation? - and I heard Lilith cry out "Breakfast!". I rolled over again, pulling the blankets over my head.

A moment later, they were yanked off. "Hey, that means you, too," she said, pressing her finger to the tip of my metallic forehead.

"But- I mean, I don't even-"

"You've eaten breakfast every day you've been here so far, however long that's been, and I know it makes you feel better when you get a hot meal. Come eat."

She left me blinking as she returned to the kitchen. I rose, wrapping the blanket around myself, and followed her. Kathrine was already there, looking at something on her laptop. "Morning," she said, around a mouthful of breakfast sandwich. "Sleep well?"

I sat down, and a plate full of bagel-bacon-egg-hashbrown sandwich appeared before me. "There'll be cinnamon rolls soon, too," said Lilith over her shoulder as she went to the coffee machine.

"Why are you both," I hiccupped, hands clenched around the blanket. "Why are you being so nice to me? I invaded your home, your lives-"

Kathrine reached across the table and put her hand around mine. "Not your fault. I've been looking at the data we grabbed before we left - all the duplicates were made via direct brain scans of the people they kidnapped. I want to do a firmware update on you later to make sure you don't have any networking backdoors, but you're just as much me as I am."

"Besides," said Lilith, sitting next to me, "we've talked before about what we'd do if we found a clone of each other." She smirked, and suddenly the room got very warm. "Eat your breakfast," she said, her smile turning gentle. "You've been through a lot, and we have time to figure things out together."

Hesitantly, I picked up the bagel and took a bite.

It was delicious.

Next

[betweenstorms]

Chapter 6/2 of Skin Of Thunder The Ship of Theseus (previous chapter) (next chapter) (all SOT chapters) (masterlist) Simon 'Ghost' Riley x fem!Reader

“The gods once whispered that to change was to survive, but what of the price? If you lose yourself piece by piece, at what point do you cease to be the one who began the journey?”

You worked like the devil was on your heels.

For days now, Ghost watched you.

Your fingers never stopped moving. Your eyes, tired but sharp, combed through data like you were looking for God buried in the fine print. You chewed your gum less, sipped your coffee cold, wore your clothes wrinkled from long nights and early mornings. You stopped adjusting your bloody pen holder. You started dressing in greys, navy blues and forest greens mixing with caramel browns and velvet noirs, something more uniform, something more restrained. You were trying to disappear into the work.

As if that would make it easier to be near him.

As if that could erase the memory of how you looked at him in the snowfall, your pretty eyes soft and steady, as if the world itself paused for just a breath in your gaze. As if it could erase the warmth of your lovely voice as you shared a story from your childhood, a tale that wove itself into the quiet night, threading your past with a tenderness he never thought he deserved. As if it could silence the reassurance in your words, the quiet promise that, despite everything he feared, you weren't going anywhere—

—no matter how much he resembled the man he hated most.

And it annoyed the ever-loving fuck out of him.

There was something bleeding out the seams of you.

That need. That drive. That old, familiar hunger Ghost knew too fucking well—the desire to matter. To prove something. To claw your way out of the periphery and into the heart of the mission, where the lines between clarity and consequence went soft and red. He watched it unfold in real bloody time. You didn’t belong there, not really, but fuck if you weren’t starting to fit into the cracks of it. Like moss growing between broken pavement. Quiet. Relentless. Somehow alive in a place built for the dead.

And you weren’t subtle about it.

Not like before.

“I—I think I’ve found a lead,” you muttered during a morning meeting, voice quiet but sure, maybe a bit hoarse, as if you'd held it in for hours. “Something’s off in the supply manifests tied to Site Bravo. Same trail of requisition codes as the drop Shepherd covered up in August. Different name. Same ghost print.”

Not maybe. Not sorry to interrupt.

Just that.

Ghost had felt Johnny look at him.

A glance. Blue to brown. A signal passed between brothers, a conversation spoken entirely in silence. He knew what Soap was thinking—knew it down to the fucking marrow, because it echoed his own unease like a bell tolling at the back of his skull.

A question.

How much do we give her?

And Ghost, for all his damned instincts, hadn’t answered.

Because he didn’t know. What could they really share with you? How far could they let you go before the edge turned from paper to blade? You were meant to file leave reports. Handle contracts. Chase down requisition forms. You were meant to be safe, for fuck’s sake. Instead, you were tracing the fault lines in a system that had already burned them once. All because of Laswell and the damn faith she placed in you, like a weighty crown you never asked for, yet somehow bore upon your shoulders with a silent, unyielding force.

Laswell didn’t blink when you’d said that.

She’d nodded, lips pursed in that tight little way of hers that meant she already knew. She’d known before you even said it, probably. You were confirming her suspicion. Making her job easier.

She seemed almost proud.

Price’s fingers tapped once against the table.

“Show me,” the Captain said.

And that was it.

The gates creaked open.

You’d earned a sliver of space on the game board now. A voice among wolves. And Ghost couldn’t bloody stomach it. Not because you were incapable. Not because you weren’t clever. You were too clever. Too quick with patterns. Too good at slipping past red tape and excuses, unravelling men with nothing but a well-timed silence.

“…same trail of flagged shipments. Bypassed Bravo through a dummy requisition. Followed it back to a private account connected to Shepherd’s former logistics branch. It’s buried, but it’s there, I promise. I just… need more time. To figure this out, I mean.”

Ghost exhaled slowly through his nose.

You were laying out the recon like it was fucking doctrine, like you’d been born doing this. And he knew, shit, Ghost knew it was never about how you dressed. Not anymore.

It wasn’t in your perfume or your ribbon or the way your fingertips skimmed the edge of the table as you spoke. It wasn’t about your bloody memories, nor the fire that burned in your chest, nor the unwavering determination that drove you to believe in the greater good, that you could help others. No, it was the way you combed through line items like they were sniper reports. The way you annotated briefings like you were prepping for a trial by fire.

Ghost had seen that hunger before.

He’d worn it once.

Maybe he was wrong about you. Again.

Because it showed. Your military blood. It was in the way you held yourself like you were always waiting for a hit that wouldn’t come. But still, you carried your softness like armour. As if kindness could bloody save you. As if the careful way you spoke, the way you looked at men who didn’t fucking deserve it, would make you immune to the rot curling beneath the surface of this world. Like if you stayed warm, stayed light, stayed just one fucking shade brighter than the sickening grey walls and black ops and brown dossiers, then maybe you wouldn’t turn into what they were.

And yet there you were.

Elbows on the table, nails chipped, hair tied back in some loose bun you clearly didn’t have time to fix. And there he was, sat opposite you, watching you slowly turn into something sharper than before.

Something he’d have to mourn.

Of course, he didn’t bloody show it.

No, he let the silence drag, heavy as a noose around his neck, as Price looked you up and down. Ghost could hear Soap shifting, restless as always, while Gaz exhaled, long and low, like he’d been holding it since you’d opened your mouth. They were waiting—for permission, for guidance, for their captain’s word.

“Good work, Dizzy one,” Price finally said, eyes narrowing in that quiet, calculating way of his. “Get it done, but keep it quiet. Anythin’ comes up, you bring it straight to me. Clear?”

You nodded quickly, exhaling a tight breath, relief washing across your face.

“Yes, sir. Understood.”

The meeting broke soon after, chairs scraping, bodies moving with muted urgency. Johnny nudged Kyle, murmuring something about grabbing a cuppa before heading down to training. Laswell gathered her files, exchanged a brief glance with Price, and disappeared back down the corridor like a shadow herself. But you lingered, arranging papers carefully, meticulously. Like you didn’t trust your hands to keep still if they weren’t full.

Price passed by, giving you a brief nod that looked suspiciously like approval. You returned it, quiet and steady, like you’d practiced this. Ghost knew you had. He’d watched you in his peripheral, muttering words under your breath like prayers, rehearsing lines you’d later speak to the Captain. Ghost knew exactly how far you were prepared to go.

The answer? Further than you fucking should.

You were drifting into the deep end, and you didn’t flinch anymore. Ghost could feel it—a slow churn, a sick weight in the pit of his gut that hadn’t left since the day you stopped asking permission to speak. It wasn’t pride. Not really. And it sure as hell wasn’t worry in the clean, palatable way people talk about concern.

No, what Ghost felt was grief, dressed up in fatigue.

You didn’t understand what it cost—to be trusted in this circle. To just walk into that meeting room and not be dismissed. You’d asked for a seat at the table, and now you had it. But tables like these? They were altars. And sooner or later, they demanded sacrifice. You’d bleed for it. And that was the tragedy of it. He could see it, clear as bullet glass.

And it wasn’t heroic.

Wasn’t admirable.

He could see it vividly, the day he’d stand at your funeral, staring blankly at your parents for the first fucking time, a meeting that should have been under different skies, under different circumstances. He could feel the weight of it, the cold weight of soil falling on top of you before he could prove himself worthy. He had always known that it would end this way, as if some cruel curse clung to him—every damn soul that dared to draw near would be swallowed whole by death, leaving him with nothing but the weight of their absence.

It didn’t help that you’d started opening up again. That you talked to him more. Smiled more. Joked more. Made grieving you even harder. And the worst part? You were doing it for him. For them. For all the wrong reasons.

You were standing so close now.

Always too close.

In hallways, in briefings, in the cantina, laughing with Johnny about some bollocks he'd said, throwing your head back with a brightness that made Ghost’s lungs seize. Gaz would chime in, cool as you like, and you’d lean toward him, but your eyes, those pretty eyes would flick to Ghost. Always. And fuck, he’d pretend not to see. Pretend not to notice the way your body angled slightly his way. Pretend your fingers didn’t brush his gloves when you handed him reports now. That you didn’t wait just a second too long before pulling away.

Bloody hell, it was easier when you kept your distance.

When you looked through him like he wasn’t there, like he was just the outline of something dreadful. When you didn’t speak to him unless prompted. When your lovely smile belonged to everyone but him. That made sense. That was how things should’ve stayed.

It was on a frosty night, a few days after Christmas when he caught you slipping again.

The base was half-dead by the time Ghost got back from the gym. Quiet in that eerie, echoing way that only these corridors managed after dark. Fluorescents buzzed low overhead, casting everything in that sterile, unforgiving light. Cold bit through the reinforced walls like it was trying to gnaw through bone, and the sky outside had gone black as coal, stars veiled behind low, grim clouds. When Ghost opened the door of his office, black hoodie clinging damp to the muscles in his arms, chest still rising and falling from the aftershock of exertion, he found you exactly where he didn’t want you—right there, in his space, haunting the silence like you belonged in it. Still in there, long past oh-twenty-hundred, light from your monitor bleeding pale across your cheeks, fingers typing slow, methodical.

“Still here,” he muttered, more accusation than observation.

You didn’t jump. Didn’t startle like you used to.

Just hummed low in your throat, barely turning.

“Didn’t realise it was past curfew,” you murmured, your voice warm but frayed at the edges, like a record played too many times. “Thought you liked it when I was working.”

Ghost huffed. “Like it better when you go home in time.”

You paused at that.

Like you were measuring something in the silence between his words and the huff that hadn’t quite landed as casual. Your hand hovered over the mouse for a second longer, then dropped to your lap. You turned in your chair slowly, the wheels squeaking slightly beneath you, the only sound in the room besides the hum of the radiator kicking out weak heat.

“I—I just don’t like going home when it’s this quiet.”

He blinked. The words hung there, a fragile confession drifting like a weather report.

Clear skies. No one’s waiting.

Ghost stared down at the floor, at the scuffed linoleum beneath his boots. Thought about all the nights he’d sat right there, staring at nothing. Letting the silence fill his ears like water. He hated this—hated that you could say things like that with your voice so calm, hated that you were still here at all. He should’ve told you to leave.

He should’ve told you to run.

Instead, he sat down. Watching you. Letting you stay. Again.

“Place’ll still be here in the mornin’. Shepherd’s fuck-ups aren’t goin’ anywhere. Neither’s this fuckin’ orchid you keep babyin’.”

You cracked a smile, just a twitch of your lips. The orchid sat on your desk, a single flower still clinging to life like it didn’t know when to quit. Like you.

“I think it’s really dying.”

“So are we all,” Ghost deadpanned.

You snorted. “Charming.”

“Get paid to shoot problems, not talk ‘em to death.”

You arched an eyebrow, playing along without even realising it, eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yeah, but still. Could’ve at least lied and said it’s got a chance.”

Ghost gave a hum. “Wouldn’t wanna fill your head with false hope, love.”

He leaned back, stretching his legs out under the desk, boots knocking lightly against the side of your chair. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t shift away. You were getting bolder again, and it made his stomach twist. But not with fear, no. With dread. Because it meant you had lowered your guard again, left yourself vulnerable again, and in doing so, you’d made the greatest mistake a soul like yours could make with someone like him.

You had trusted him again.

Ghost dragged a hand over his face, the rough material of his mask brushing against his palm, grounding him with its familiar weight. His gaze locked with yours, steady and unyielding. You watched him from beneath the veil of your lashes, leaning forward. There was something in your cheeks, a subtle flush that he couldn't quite place. Was it the play of light? Or perhaps the deceit of his own mind, bending reality into something softer, more fragile?

Then, you moved—

—just the slightest shift, yet it felt like the whole fucking world had tipped on its axis.

It was bloody madness, how you could bewitch him with nothing but the weight of your gaze, a silent spell that tangled his thoughts and bound his heart without a single word spoken.

And for a fleeting moment, he was transported back to the smoking area, the world outside lost in a soft blanket of thick snow and stillness. There, it was just the two of you, wrapped in the quiet of the night, hoping foolishly that everything between you was still intact, that he might, just fucking might, prove himself worthy of the trust you had placed in him.

You extended your leg, slow and deliberate, inch by bloody inch, ankle brushing first against his boot, then the hard line of his calf, mapping the contours of his skin, all the while holding his gaze as if daring him to look away. Ghost felt a shiver travel beneath his flesh, a feverish crawl that made his eyelids droop against the weight of it. He pulled his legs back, a reflex more than a choice, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the weight of your presence.

“You’re doin’ too much.”

Ghost spoke before his mind could catch up.

The words rolled out like stones, each one heavier than the last, scrambling to keep pace with the storm inside him. And the sight of your blush deepening only fueled the fire in him, a rising tide of frustration that made his chest tighten even further.

What in the hell were you thinking?

Your spell lifted in an instant, his mind snapping back into sharp focus. And there it was—a high ranking officer, a lieutenant, and an HR assistant, sitting too close, speaking too freely, the lines of propriety blurred and tangled in the space between them.

What the fuck was he thinking?

But even as the realization tore through him, he couldn’t speak it, couldn’t let the truth rise to his lips. No. No, no, no. He didn’t fucking want to. He just wanted you gone—gone from his office, gone from his life, gone from his goddamn heart. Now.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Ghost refused to entertain your childish theatrics, to give them the weight of his attention. It was beneath him, beneath everything he had carefully built in the quiet of his own thoughts. He let your antics dissolve into the air, untouched, unacknowledged. Instead he found another outlet, another thing to pour the bitterness, a task to occupy his mind, anything to keep the storm from breaking free. “Always doin’ too damn much. Stayin’ late. Pickin’ up extra. Crawlin’ through shit that’d make a proper analyst fuckin’ piss himself. You keep this up and Laswell’ll start expectin’ it.”

You blinked. “But… that’s the point. To help.”

His voice dropped. “You tryin’ to impress her? Or him?”

Your breath hitched. “What—?”

“Price. Your dad. Or me? Doesn’t fuckin’ matter, right?”

The moment the words left his mouth, Ghost knew he’d cocked it up.

Properly, spectacularly fucked it.

And it should’ve stopped there. Should’ve died quiet on your tongue like so many other little mercies between you.

You froze like a rabbit caught in a crosshair, staring at him as if he'd slapped you clean across the face. Fury and embarrassment tangled on your burning cheeks, turning you blotchy with the effort of holding yourself together. Ghost watched you straighten your shoulders, watched you tuck your hands under your thighs like you needed to keep yourself from shaking. Your mouth opened, closed, then pressed into a thin, bloodless line, like you were forcing it all back down before it could spill out and make a fool of you both.

Ghost wished, for once in his sorry, sodden life, that he'd kept his gob shut. But no. Bloody hell, true to form, he’d gone for the fucking throat when he felt cornered. Cut you deep, quick and messy, like every instinct screamed at him to do when he got too close to anything good.

That was what he was trained for, wasn’t it?

Strike first. Strike deep.

“You think that’s what this is about?” you asked, voice trembling, but not from fear. Hell no, it was anger. Humiliation. “Trying to impress you? Or my dad?”

He should’ve let you have the last word.

Your voice cracked halfway through, splitting open something raw and ugly between you. But Ghost wasn’t built for mercy. Not when the blood was up. Not when his skin still burned from where your ankle brushed his calf like a damn match striking flint. So he doubled down. Because he was a bastard like that. Because somewhere deep inside, he still thought if he cut you hard enough, sharp enough, you’d finally stop trying to reach him.

Finally see him for what he really was.

His goddamn father reincarnated.

“Don’t matter what I think,” Ghost leaned back, toned arms folded over his chest like he was settling in for a fight he had no business winning, boots planted wide on the scuffed linoleum. “Matters what you’re doin’. And you’re makin’ a bloody fool of yourself. You’re not Task Force. You’re admin. Paperwork. Spare fuckin’ parts.”

You jerked back like he’d cracked you across the mouth.

A terrible, awful silence bloomed between you. Your face crumpled, just slightly, not enough for anyone else to notice. But he saw it. Of course he fucking did. He knew every inch of you by now, could read the little tremors behind your bravado like bullet wounds on a body.

“You—” your voice cracked low in your throat, “You have no right to bring my dad into this,” you said, each word sharper than the last, cutting your own throat to get them out. “Not when—not when you’ve been—”

You stopped, chest heaving, trying to stuff the rest of it back down.

But it was too late.

It was already spilling over, ugly and hot and furious.

“You wanna talk about fools?” you hissed, and your eyes—fuck, your beautiful eyes—they were blazing, not with hurt anymore. No, it was rage. Full, blistering rage. “Really? When you’ve been asking questions behind my back. Snooping through my file like some sad little coward. And for what? To remind yourself you’re still the big bad wolf? So tell me, Lieutenant,” you sneered—no warmth, no gentleness, just the title like a blade between your teeth. “If I’m a spare part, what does that make you, then?”

Ghost swallowed hard, throat burning behind the mask.

“What’s the real reason, then?” He mocked mercilessly, ignoring your question completely. “Why you’re trippin’ over yourself for a bit of attention you’ll never fuckin’ need on paper.”

Your hands balled into fists on your thighs, nails biting into the skin through the thin fabric of your trousers. You stared him down across the small divide, eyes wide and furious, chest rising and falling like you were holding back the urge to lunge at him.

Or worse.

Cry.

Ghost could see it—he could feel it even—the way your whole body vibrated with anger, hurt laced so deep into the marrow of it that it made him feel sick, made him feel ashamed even as his mouth kept moving, digging the hole deeper.

“You think you’re the first?” he said, low and cruel, the words coming out too fast, too raw. “Think you’re the first bloody rookie to come sniffin’ ‘round, wantin’ a pat on the goddamn head? Some little nod from the big scary men, yeah? Some fuckin’ validation?”

The words echoed in the tiny office, bouncing off the grey walls like ricochets.

He wanted to take them back.

God, he wanted to claw them out of the air, shove them back into his throat, choke on them.

But it was too late.

You were already moving, standing so fast that your chair clattered backwards and scraped a painful squeal across the floor.

“Fuck you, Ghost.”

You sucked in a shaky breath, shoulders trembling like you were physically holding yourself together with nothing but sheer bloody will.

“You know what’s pathetic? That for all your talk,” you said, voice rising, “for all your snide little comments—you wanted it too.”

Ghost went absolutely still, rigid as death.

Your voice was a blade cutting too close to bone, each word sharp enough to carve out truths he’d long buried. The anger rolling off you filled the office, stifling and suffocating, pressing him back into the same fucking corner he’d spent his whole life fighting out of.

He stared at you, heart hammering behind his ribs, the ache radiating outward like shrapnel embedding itself deeper into his chest.

“Soap told me,” you spat, venom dripping from every word. “Yeah, he told me everything. About how you watch me. About how you keep me at arm’s length, pretend you don’t give a shit, when really you’re just too scared to admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you want me.”

Ghost’s fists tightened, knuckles bone-white beneath his gloves.

He felt exposed, stripped raw by the light of your wrath, every carefully constructed defence crumbling around him. The fury inside him flared like a magnesium burn, white, hot and all consuming, because he knew you were right. But pride was a damn beast, stubborn and ugly, and Ghost couldn’t let it go, couldn’t let your accusations land without fighting back.

“Careful,” he warned, voice dangerously soft.

That low rumble of thunder before the storm breaks.

“Yeah?” you shot back, stepping closer, chin raised defiantly. “Then tell me why you pulled away just now, huh? Tell me why you flinch every time I get close? You’re such a bloody hypocrite, you know that?”

Ghost felt his jaw clench so hard he thought it might shatter.

He wanted to snap, to tell you to shut your bloody mouth before you said something neither of you could take back. But you were relentless, the fire inside you consuming every ounce of hesitation and shyness, burning through your usual gentleness until all that remained was pure, raw hurt.

“You push me away,” you continued, voice rising, trembling now, “then draw me back in whenever it suits you. You lead me on, Simon—”

“I never fuckin’ led you—”

“Oh, you didn’t?” you scoffed, cutting him off, eyes narrowing. “So—so all those moments, all the times you’ve let your guard down and made me feel like I—shit, that I actually mattered, those meant nothing, did they? Just games for you? Just—just another way to hurt someone who’s stupid enough to care about you?”

Ghost felt something in his chest crack wide open, sharp and jagged, spilling poison into his veins. He was fighting against the urge to lash out, to wound as deeply as he felt wounded. But the truth of your words was undeniable, brutal and unforgiving, pinning him in place.

“Never asked you to fuckin’ care,” he ground out, voice low and harsh, each syllable scraping against his throat like sandpaper. “Never asked you for a goddamn thing.”

“You didn’t have to!” You nearly screamed, fists clenched, shaking visibly now. “That’s the worst part. You didn’t bloody have to, Simon. But—but the second I get too close, you push me away like I’m the enemy. You treat me like I’m a threat!”

“Because you are!”

The silence that followed his words was a repulsive thing, a bloody tombstone pressed into the air between them, suffocating the space where words should’ve lived. It lingered, thick and heavy, like the scent of saltwater and decay, like the ship of Theseus—just a vessel, once whole and now fragmented, every piece replaced until it was no longer itself. And each word he’d spoken, every bitter breath he’d exhaled, was another part of him torn away, replaced by something unrecognizable, something fragile.

Ghost felt something deep inside him writhe.

He was sick with disgust at what he’d done, yet strangely, he didn’t take it back. He couldn’t. Because you were the storm that threatened the still waters he had created. You were a threat to the numbness that kept him tethered to this world, the hollow comfort of pretending. You were the tidal wave, eroding the shore of his carefully constructed nihilism, a flood that tore at the walls he had built so desperately to protect the darker truths buried deep within him.

And so, in that silence, he sat as a man torn.

Your voice was softer when it found its way back as if the words themselves were weary and fragile things that had lost their strength along the way. The words were broken, like a bird's winged flight on a night too dark to reach safety.

“You—you think you’re protecting me, don’t you? From… yourself.”

Ghost didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to.

Your laugh was bitter, hollow, cracking around the edges.

“God, you really are a selfish coward, aren’t you? You think your pain, your trauma or—or whatever this is, gives you the right, the fucking right to hurt me?” you nearly sobbed, voice shaking now, the anger bleeding away into something far more devastating. “You think it’s an excuse to treat me like shit whenever you’re scared?”

His jaw tightened painfully, the muscles twitching beneath his mask.

Ghost wanted to deny it, to lash out, to break something, anything, just to silence the crushing weight of your voice. But he couldn’t. You had stripped him down, peeled away the layers he’d built over the years, exposing the rawness beneath. Every scar, every broken part of him laid bare before you. Your words wound themselves around his throat like a tightening noose, choking the air from his lungs, drowning him in the weight of their truth. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, trapped in the suffocating grip of his own shame.

“You know the worst part? I still don’t hate you. Even after all this, I still don’t hate you, Simon. And that—that’s what hurts the most.”

You turned abruptly, snatching your coat off the back of the chair, grabbing your bag, your movements sharp and jerky. Ghost watched you silently, rooted in place, heart hammering painfully, fists clenched so tightly he thought his bones might crush themselves.

You paused at the door, your back to him. “I don’t know who hurt you so badly that you think this is the only way to protect yourself. But you’re wrong. And I hope one day you see that.”

The door slammed shut behind you, its reverberation cutting through the stillness like the final stroke of a hammer on a fragile frame, sealing away all that had once been.

Ghost sat at the heart of his own ruin, a ship torn apart by his own hands, every piece of what he once was slowly slipping into the depths of a sea he could no longer navigate.

He exhaled shakily, the rough breath tearing through his chest like an unwelcome confession. Beneath the mask, his eyes felt dry, staring into the void that he had created, the weight of his own actions pulling him down. Slowly, painfully, as if the weight of what he had just done had stolen the very strength from his limbs. His elbows rested on his knees, the tension in his body tight, drawn, like a ship adrift with no course to follow. His head bowed low, as if he could hide from the truth, the brokenness of it all—the way he had become something he never wanted to be.

Was this really him? Was this who he was now, a hollowed-out vessel, endlessly rebuilt but never whole? Because the man he had become, in pieces and fragments, was no longer the man who had walked into this room.

But this time, he could not rebuild himself like he did countless times in the past.

Not without you.

Not without the very thing that had torn him apart.

“The ship of Theseus sails on, but does it still carry the soul of its creator?” Skin of Thunder Chapters

[theonlyonesora]

The Third Rule

Lily x Oscar Piastri x You (Reader)

Chapter 14 - New Tracks

The McLaren headquarters was everything you imagined — sleek, modern, fast. Even the air felt like it moved quicker inside those glass halls. You were early for the interview, dressed in a crisp white blouse and a navy skirt you’d ironed three times the night before. Your nerves buzzed under your skin, but your resolve held.

The interview went better than you expected.

They asked smart questions — about your coursework, your understanding of data systems, even a few curveballs about racing culture and how you’d adapt to a fast-paced environment. You spoke clearly, honestly, and smiled when appropriate. You even made the panel laugh once — something about F1 drivers and their obsession with espresso machines.

By the time you stepped outside into the warm London sun, you didn’t know if you’d landed the job, but you felt proud. Confident. Like maybe this was the start of something real, something yours.

You didn’t text Oscar right away.

Instead, two days later, you received an email.

“We’re pleased to inform you that you’ve been selected for the internship position at McLaren.”

Your hands trembled. You reread the email three times before bursting into a smile. Then you cried, just a little — from relief, from disbelief, from the surrealness of it all.

That night, you called Oscar.

He answered like he always did. “Hello?”

“I got it,” you said.

Silence for a second.

Then he exhaled. “You got it?”

“Yeah.”

“(Y/N), that’s incredible.”

“I wasn’t going to tell you yet, but I figured—”

“I’m glad you did,” he said, his voice quieter now, touched with something warmer. “I knew you would.”

You hesitated. “Thank you, Oscar. Really.”

“You earned it. I just pointed. You ran the whole lap.”

You laughed softly, heart swelling in a strange way — pride and affection tangled like vines.

Then he added, “So... does this mean I’ll see you more often now?”

The question hung there. Unassuming, but charged.

You smiled, not answering. Not yet.

.

When you told Lily about the internship offer, she squealed louder than you expected.

“Shut up!” she said, jumping up from the couch with wide eyes. “You got it? You’re going to McLaren?”

You nodded, a little stunned at how excited she was. “Yeah. It starts in two weeks. I’ll need to move to London.”

Lily threw her arms around you in a tight, warm hug. “(Y/N), that’s amazing. I’m so proud of you.”

You clung to her for a moment longer than expected. There was a lump in your throat you hadn’t prepared for. Because this—this—meant change. It meant moving out of the apartment you’d shared, the life you’d built together over the last year.

It meant truly, finally, letting go.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you said quietly.

Lily pulled back just a little, her eyes soft. “I’ll miss you too. But this is what you’ve always wanted, right?”

You nodded.

“I mean,” she added with a teasing grin, “I’ll have more closet space, so it’s a little bit of a win for me too.”

You laughed, grateful for how easy she made it. But that night, while you both packed boxes, there were quiet moments. Glances. Lingering silence. She didn’t say it, but you could tell she was grieving something, too. Not just your move, but the end of whatever strange, beautiful, messy chapter the three of you had lived through.

Still, Lily never once asked you to stay. Never once made you feel guilty. That was Lily — fiercely loyal, even when it hurt.

On the morning you left, she helped load your bags into the Uber. You hugged tightly again outside the apartment building.

“You’re gonna kill it,” she said.

“I’ll come visit,” you promised.

“I know.”

You both smiled.

And as the car pulled away, you caught her in the rearview mirror — standing alone on the curb, arms crossed, watching until you disappeared.

You didn’t cry. Not then.

Not until later, when the London skyline came into view from your tiny flat’s window, and everything — the past, the future, the impossible in-between — caught up with you.

London greeted you with fog and endless charm. The air smelled like rain and ambition. The tiny flat was barely big enough for your suitcases, but it was yours, and you hadn’t stopped smiling since the taxi dropped you off.

Your first day at McLaren was surreal. You wore the blazer that made you feel powerful, paired with nervous energy and a well-rehearsed smile. The office was sleek, futuristic, and buzzing with the kind of quiet confidence that reminded you why you came here. You met your supervisor—a woman named Ana who had a sharp mind and kind eyes—and were given a tour through the operations floor.

And then, like magic, it felt real.

By day three, you had a desk, a badge, and a company email. You’d made friends with another intern named Zara, who dragged you to Pret every morning and told you all the gossip about the drivers like it was royal family drama.

That night, you finally posted the photo you’d been sitting on:

📸✨ [Instagram Post] [Photo: (Y/N) in a McLaren jacket, standing by the papaya-orange logo, smiling wide, London skyline behind her.]

New city. New chapter. 🍊 #McLarenIntern #LondonLife #StartOfSomethingNew

The reaction was... louder than expected.

Comments:

@jessy_b_: ARE YOU KIDDING ME 😭 so proud!!!

@meg.diaz: the main character has entered the paddock 🔥

@formulafanspage: wait... is this the (Y/N) from those Vegas photos with Oscar and Lily 👀

@oscarpiastri: 👍

@mclaren: Welcome to the team, (Y/N)! 👋🧡

You blinked at Oscar’s comment. Just an emoji. Neutral. Quiet. And yet it somehow made your stomach turn a little.

DMs trickled in—some fans congratulating you, some gossip pages asking for inside info. It was strange, surreal, to be noticed like this. You didn’t feel famous. You still felt like a girl trying not to get lost on the Tube.

And yet... your following grew. The whispers didn’t fade.

That night, as you lay in bed overlooking the glowing city below, you realized something: You were really here. And your story was only just beginning.

Tag List:

@freyathehuntress, @mimisweetz, @aleatorio1234, @totallynotluluu, @rorabelle15, @prongslena, @linnygirl09, @mangotaitai, @forensicheart, @devilacot, @lilorose25, @landofotographyy, @paolexsstuff, @sanctify-mp3, @emma-manuhpe, @virtualperfectioncat, @kopigivesup, @rikersmunky

[justforbooks]

Pentagon’s Pizza Index has accurately predicted 21 global crises since 1983

As tensions rise in the Middle East, a curious, crowd-driven theory known as the “Pentagon Pizza Index” has caught fire online.

On June 12 and 13, users on X (formerly Twitter) reported a sudden spike in pizza deliveries near the Pentagon and Department of Defense in Washington, D.C., sparking speculation that the United States may be quietly entering crisis mode behind closed doors.

The timing? Just hours before Israel reportedly struck targets in Iran in response to Tehran’s earlier drone and missile attacks. And once again, pizza orders were booming.

Cold war roots of the pizza theory. What began as a Soviet spy trick is now a digital-age meme

The idea isn’t new. During the Cold War, Soviet operatives observed pizza delivery activity in Washington, believing it signalled crisis preparation inside U.S. intelligence circles. They coined it “Pizzint” — short for pizza intelligence.

This tactic entered public lore on 1 August 1990, when Frank Meeks, a Domino’s franchisee in Washington, noticed a sudden surge in deliveries to CIA buildings. The next day, Iraq invaded Kuwait. Meeks later told the Los Angeles Times he saw a similar pattern in December 1998 during the impeachment hearings of President Bill Clinton.

As former CNN Pentagon correspondent Wolf Blitzer once joked in 1990, “Bottom line for journalists: Always monitor the pizzas.”

WWIII warning: What is the Pentagon Pizza Index today? A meme, an OSINT tool, or a symptom of digital-age paranoia?

The modern Pentagon Pizza Index is tracked through open-source intelligence (OSINT) tools. These include Google Maps, which shows real-time restaurant activity, and social media observations. Pages like @PenPizzaReport on X have dedicated themselves to watching for abnormal patterns.

On 1 June 2025, the account posted, “With less than an hour to go before closing time, the Domino’s closest to the Pentagon is experiencing unusually high footfall.”

A few hours later, reports emerged of a fresh escalation between Israel and Iran. For believers in the theory, it was yet another sign that something bigger was underway.

The April 2024 pizza spike. A recent example that reignited interest

The most notable recent instance occurred on 13 April 2024, the night Iran launched a massive drone and missile strike against Israel. That same evening, screenshots from delivery platforms showed pizzerias around the Pentagon, White House, and Department of Defense tagged as “busier than usual.”

Multiple Papa John’s and Domino’s branches reported increased orders. The correlation prompted viral memes and renewed interest in the theory.

According to Euro News, a user on X posted on 13 June 2025, “The Pentagon Pizza Index is hiking.”

Inside the logic: Why pizza? Food, fatigue and national security

The concept is deceptively simple. When military staff face a national emergency, they work longer shifts and can’t leave their posts. They need quick, filling food — and pizza fits the bill.

Studies in behavioural psychology show that under stress, people prefer calorie-dense, familiar comfort foods. During high-alert operations, officials may work 16–20 hour days. That creates a visible consumption spike that outsiders can track.

And because platforms like Google and Uber Eats share real-time data on restaurant activity, amateur analysts can monitor these patterns — no hacking required.

World War III: Pizza as a proxy for preparedness. It’s not perfect, but it’s consistent

The Pentagon Pizza Index isn’t a foolproof system. It could easily be triggered by something mundane: a long staff meeting, a software glitch, or a nearby college football game.

That’s why modern OSINT analysts often cross-reference pizza spikes with other indicators — like unusual aircraft movements, ride-hailing activity, or power usage near government buildings. When multiple signs align, it suggests more than coincidence.

As a senior analyst put it: “You can’t bank a war call on a pizza. But if the Pentagon’s burning the midnight oil and feeding everyone, it’s worth a second look.”

Official silence, public curiosity. What the US government says — and doesn’t say

Despite the chatter online, the US government has made no mention of pizza deliveries as indicators of crisis.

Responding to speculation about American involvement in Israel’s airstrikes on Iran, Republican Senator Marco Rubio said:

“We are not involved in strikes against Iran, and our top priority is protecting American forces in the region. Israel advised us that they believe this action was necessary for its self-defence.”

Still, the Pentagon’s silence on the pizza theory hasn’t stopped internet users from speculating.

Humour meets anxiety in the age of digital vigilance

In an age where open-source tools let ordinary people track the movement of jets, ships, and even pizzas, the Pentagon Pizza Index sits at the bizarre intersection of humour and fear. It turns snack food into a warning system.

It’s also a reminder: not all intelligence requires a badge. Sometimes, the clue might be just down the road — in a Domino’s queue.

Whether you see it as absurd or insightful, one thing is clear: when the pizzas fly, people pay attention.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[sixpounder]

replicated memories

deadpool (wade wilson) x reader

summary: in which deadpool is hired to kill you, only to realize you two were once best friends.

based on this request: “For the request, I wanted a sfw one where Deadpool and the reader character were good friends in high school but drifted apart after graduation. They meet later on where the reader is now a bitter scientist with a facial scar that causes them to wear a mask, and Deadpool was hired to kill them, but he somehow recognizes them. (Bonus points if you could have the reader character also be a mutant that has the ability to replicate themself)”

warnings: none, hurt/comfort

word count: 1.1k

lowercase intended

the first time wade wilson met you, you were both fifteen, sitting in the back of a detention room, trading insults like currency. you were sharp, mean even, but funny. funny enough that he liked you immediately. you were also the only person who could match his wit, who could take whatever nonsense he threw your way and launch it back twice as fast.

you and wade were inseparable for a while, two misfits finding comfort in shared sarcasm and bad decisions. then high school ended. life happened. and somehow, you lost each other.

so it’s a little ironic that the next time wade sees you, he’s supposed to kill you.

“so, who’s the unlucky bastard this time?” wade asks, flipping the manila folder open. he’s perched on the edge of a rooftop, legs swinging like a kid on a swing set, while weasel leans against the railing, sipping a beer.

“some scientist,” weasel says, glancing at his phone. “been making waves in the mutant community. rumor is they’ve been messing with some high-profile genetics. pissed off the wrong people.”

wade hums, eyes scanning the file. the picture is grainy, security footage most likely, but he can make out the basics-lab coat, dark gloves, a mask covering the lower half of their face.

“ooh, mysterious. i like it. any superpowers i should know about? do they explode? teleport? please tell me they explode.”

“they replicate.”

“…come again?”

“they can make copies of themselves. like, full-on clones. real bodies, not illusions. makes them a pain in the ass to fight, apparently.”

wade whistles. “hot damn. that’s kinda cool. and by ‘cool’ i mean ‘deeply annoying for me.’ you know i hate math. having to count how many people i’m fighting? ugh, exhausting.”

“just get it done, man.” weasel shakes his head. “client’s paying big for this one.”

wade salutes. “aye aye, captain. murder mission accepted.”

breaking into your lab is easy. too easy, honestly, and that should be his first clue. the building is state-of-the-art, all shiny metal and sterile lighting, but the security is laughable. no guards, just a couple of cameras and a keycard system that takes him all of three minutes to bypass.

it almost feels like a trap.

but wade’s been doing this long enough to know a trap when he sees one, and this? this just feels… off.

he creeps through the hallways, twin pistols drawn, until he reaches the main lab. inside, various pieces of high-tech equipment hum softly, monitors displaying streams of data he doesn’t understand. and in the middle of it all, hunched over a workstation, is you.

he doesn’t recognize you at first. the years have changed you. your hair is shorter, your posture is different, stiffer, more guarded. and then there’s the mask, sleek and black, covering your face.

but your eyes.

your eyes are the same.

and when you finally glance up, some kind of instinct kicks in, because his brain short-circuits and the only thing he can say is:

“holy shit.”

your eyes narrow, and suddenly there are three of you.

“who the hell are you?” all three of you ask in unison, voices overlapping in eerie harmony.

wade lets out a low whistle. “okay, that is deeply unsettling. but also kind of hot? no? just me? cool, cool.”

the clones move fast. one of them lunges at him, but wade sidesteps easily, pistol-whipping it in the back of the head. it stumbles but doesn’t fall.

“damn, you’re strong. do you work out?”

another one swings at him, and he ducks, twisting to fire a shot, only for the clone to dissipate into nothing.

“oh, come on,” wade groans. “fake-out clones? that’s just rude.”

the real you, or at least, the one that doesn’t vanish when he swings at it, grabs a scalpel from the desk and slashes at his arm. it cuts through the suit, drawing blood, and wade gasps dramatically.

“betrayed! by my own high school bestie! this is worse than that time you ate the last slice of pizza during our senior year movie night!”

you freeze. just for a second.

and that’s all it takes.

“oh my god,” wade breathes, stepping back slightly, lowering his guns. “it is you. holy shit.”

your grip tightens around the scalpel. “how do you know that?”

“babe, please. nobody roasts me like you do. it’s a very specific skill set.”

you stare at him for a long moment, then scoff. “wade wilson.”

“the one and only. except for that one guy in minnesota, but he spells it with a ‘y,’ so he doesn’t count.”

you don’t laugh. wade thinks that might be the biggest tragedy of the night.

ten minutes later, you’re sitting on a metal table, bandaging wade’s arm because “if you’re gonna stick around, at least stop bleeding all over my lab.”

the silence is heavy. thick with unspoken things.

“so,” wade finally says. “mask. cool look. very ‘mysterious anti-hero.’”

your hands pause for a second. “it’s not for style.”

wade gets it before you even have to explain. the way you won’t meet his eyes. the tension in your shoulders. his voice is softer when he says, “what happened?”

“an accident,” you murmur. “lab explosion. i got lucky. but my face…” you exhale sharply. “it’s not exactly presentable anymore.”

wade is quiet for a moment. then, carefully, he reaches out, gloved fingers brushing against yours.

“yeah, well,” he says, tone deliberately light. “neither is mine.”

you let out a soft, almost bitter laugh.

“besides,” wade continues, “if i had a dollar for every time someone told me i was hard to look at, i’d have, like, at least twenty bucks. which, for the record, is a lot of times.”

this time, when you look at him, there’s something gentler in your gaze.

“you’re still an idiot,” you mutter.

“yeah,” wade agrees, shifting slightly closer. “but i’m your idiot.”

there’s a beat of hesitation, just long enough for you to make a choice. then, slowly, carefully, you reach up and pull your mask down.

your scar runs from your cheekbone down to your jaw, healed but unmistakable. wade doesn’t flinch. doesn’t even blink.

instead, he tilts his head and grins. “badass. very villainous. ten out of ten.”

you huff a laugh, shaking your head, and before you can think too hard about it, wade leans in and presses his lips to yours.

it’s not dramatic. not a hollywood kiss. just something warm, solid, grounding.

when you pull away, wade’s grinning like an idiot.

“i’ve wanted to do this since high school” he admits, almost fangirling. “so,” he says, “does this mean i don’t have to kill you?”

you roll your eyes. “just shut up and kiss me again.”

and he does.

a/n: let me know you liked it, and if you did, don’t be scared to like, comment or reblog, it would really help me since this blog is new. let me know if you have any kind of request, not just for deadpool, it can be of any marvel character or more, i’m happy to write them <3

[astra-ravana]

Technomancy: The Fusion Of Magick And Technology

Technomancy is a modern magickal practice that blends traditional occultism with technology, treating digital and electronic tools as conduits for energy, intent, and manifestation. It views computers, networks, and even AI as extensions of magickal workings, enabling practitioners to weave spells, conduct divination, and manipulate digital reality through intention and programming.

Core Principles of Technomancy

• Energy in Technology – Just as crystals and herbs carry energy, so do electronic devices, circuits, and digital spaces.

• Code as Sigils – Programming languages can function as modern sigils, embedding intent into digital systems.

• Information as Magick – Data, algorithms, and network manipulation serve as powerful tools for shaping reality.

• Cyber-Spiritual Connection – The internet can act as an astral realm, a collective unconscious where digital entities, egregores, and thought-forms exist.

Technomantic Tools & Practices

Here are some methods commonly utilized in technomancy. Keep in mind, however, that like the internet itself, technomancy is full of untapped potential and mystery. Take the time to really explore the possibilities.

Digital Sigil Crafting

• Instead of drawing sigils on paper, create them using design software or ASCII art.

• Hide them in code, encrypt them in images, or upload them onto decentralized networks for long-term energy storage.

• Activate them by sharing online, embedding them in file metadata, or charging them with intention.

Algorithmic Spellcasting

• Use hashtags and search engine manipulation to spread energy and intent.

• Program bots or scripts that perform repetitive, symbolic tasks in alignment with your goals.

• Employ AI as a magickal assistant to generate sigils, divine meaning, or create thought-forms.

Digital Divination

• Utilize random number generators, AI chatbots, or procedural algorithms for prophecy and guidance.

• Perform digital bibliomancy by using search engines, shuffle functions, or Wikipedia’s “random article” feature.

• Use tarot or rune apps, but enhance them with personal energy by consecrating your device.

Technomantic Servitors & Egregores

• Create digital spirits, also called cyber servitors, to automate tasks, offer guidance, or serve as protectors.

• House them in AI chatbots, coded programs, or persistent internet entities like Twitter bots.

• Feed them with interactions, data input, or periodic updates to keep them strong.

The Internet as an Astral Plane

• Consider forums, wikis, and hidden parts of the web as realms where thought-forms and entities reside.

• Use VR and AR to create sacred spaces, temples, or digital altars.

• Engage in online rituals with other practitioners, synchronizing intent across the world.

Video-game Mechanics & Design

• Use in-game spells, rituals, and sigils that reflect real-world magickal practices.

• Implement a lunar cycle or planetary influences that affect gameplay (e.g., stronger spells during a Full Moon).

• Include divination tools like tarot cards, runes, or pendulums that give randomized yet meaningful responses.

Narrative & World-Building

• Create lore based on historical and modern magickal traditions, including witches, covens, and spirits.

• Include moral and ethical decisions related to magic use, reinforcing themes of balance and intent.

• Introduce NPCs or AI-guided entities that act as guides, mentors, or deities.

Virtual Rituals & Online Covens

• Design multiplayer or single-player rituals where players can collaborate in spellcasting.

• Implement altars or digital sacred spaces where users can meditate, leave offerings, or interact with spirits.

• Create augmented reality (AR) or virtual reality (VR) experiences that mimic real-world magickal practices.

Advanced Technomancy

The fusion of technology and magick is inevitable because both are fundamentally about shaping reality through will and intent. As humanity advances, our tools evolve alongside our spiritual practices, creating new ways to harness energy, manifest desires, and interact with unseen forces. Technology expands the reach and power of magick, while magick brings intention and meaning to the rapidly evolving digital landscape. As virtual reality, AI, and quantum computing continue to develop, the boundaries between the mystical and the technological will blur even further, proving that magick is not antiquated—it is adaptive, limitless, and inherently woven into human progress.

Cybersecurity & Warding

• Protect your digital presence as you would your home: use firewalls, encryption, and protective sigils in file metadata.

• Employ mirror spells in code to reflect negative energy or hacking attempts.

• Set up automated alerts as magickal wards, detecting and warning against digital threats.

Quantum & Chaos Magic in Technomancy

• Use quantum randomness (like random.org) in divination for pure chance-based outcomes.

• Implement chaos magick principles by using memes, viral content, or trend manipulation to manifest desired changes.

AI & Machine Learning as Oracles

• Use AI chatbots (eg GPT-based tools) as divination tools, asking for symbolic or metaphorical insights.

• Train AI models on occult texts to create personalized grimoires or channeled knowledge.

• Invoke "digital deities" formed from collective online energies, memes, or data streams.

Ethical Considerations in Technomancy

• Be mindful of digital karma—what you send out into the internet has a way of coming back.

• Respect privacy and ethical hacking principles; manipulation should align with your moral code.

• Use technomancy responsibly, balancing technological integration with real-world spiritual grounding.

As technology evolves, so will technomancy. With AI, VR, and blockchain shaping new realities, magick continues to find expression in digital spaces. Whether you are coding spells, summoning cyber servitors, or using algorithms to divine the future, technomancy offers limitless possibilities for modern witches, occultists, and digital mystics alike.

"Magick is technology we have yet to fully understand—why not merge the two?"

[inspireartnotwar]

Art. Can. Die.

This is my battle cry in the face of the silent extinguishing of an entire generation of artists by AI.

And you know what? We can't let that happen. It's not about fighting the future, it's about shaping it on our terms. If you think this is worth fighting for, please share this post. Let's make this debate go viral - because we need to take action NOW.

Remember that even in the darkest of times, creativity always finds a way.

To unleash our true potential, we need first to dive deep into our darkest fears.

So let's do this together:

By the end of 2025, most traditional artist jobs will be gone, replaced by a handful of AI-augmented art directors. Right now, around 5 out of 6 concept art jobs are being eliminated, and it's even more brutal for illustrators. This isn't speculation: it's happening right now, in real-time, across studios worldwide.

At this point, dogmatic thinking is our worst enemy. If we want to survive the AI tsunami of 2025, we need to prepare for a brutal cyberpunk reality that isn’t waiting for permission to arrive. This isn't sci-fi or catastrophism. This is a clear-eyed recognition of the exponential impact AI will have on society, hitting a hockey stick inflection point around April-May this year. By July, February will already feel like a decade ago. This also means that we have a narrow window to adapt, to evolve, and to build something new.

Let me make five predictions for the end of 2025 to nail this out:

Every major film company will have its first 100% AI-generated blockbuster in production or on screen.

Next-gen smartphones will run GPT-4o-level reasoning AI locally.

The first full AI game engine will generate infinite, custom-made worlds tailored to individual profiles and desires.

Unique art objects will reach industrial scale: entire production chains will mass-produce one-of-a-kind pieces. Uniqueness will be the new mass market.

Synthetic AI-generated data will exceed the sum total of all epistemic data (true knowledge) created by humanity throughout recorded history. We will be drowning in a sea of artificial ‘truths’.

For us artists, this means a stark choice: adapt to real-world craftsmanship or high-level creative thinking roles, because mid-level art skills will be replaced by cheaper, AI-augmented computing power.

But this is not the end. This is just another challenge to tackle.

Many will say we need legal solutions. They're not wrong, but they're missing the bigger picture: Do you think China, Pakistan, or North Korea will suddenly play nice with Western copyright laws? Will a "legal" dataset somehow magically protect our jobs? And most crucially, what happens when AI becomes just another tool of control?

Here's the thing - boycotting AI feels right, I get it. But it sounds like punks refusing to learn power chords because guitars are electrified by corporations. The systemic shift at stake doesn't care if we stay "pure", it will only change if we hack it.

Now, the empowerment part: artists have always been hackers of narratives.

This is what we do best: we break into the symbolic fabric of the world, weaving meaning from signs, emotions, and ideas. We've always taken tools never meant for art and turned them into instruments of creativity. We've always found ways to carve out meaning in systems designed to erase it.

This isn't just about survival. This is about hacking the future itself.

We, artists, are the pirates of the collective imaginary. It’s time to set sail and raise the black flag.

I don't come with a ready-made solution.

I don't come with a FOR or AGAINST. That would be like being against the wood axe because it can crush skulls.

I come with a battle cry: let’s flood the internet with debate, creative thinking, and unconventional wisdom. Let’s dream impossible futures. Let’s build stories of resilience - where humanity remains free from the technological guardianship of AI or synthetic superintelligence. Let’s hack the very fabric of what is deemed ‘possible’. And let’s do it together.

It is time to fight back.

Let us be the HumaNet.

Let’s show tech enthusiasts, engineers, and investors that we are not just assets, but the neurons of the most powerful superintelligence ever created: the artist community.

Let's outsmart the machine.

Stéphane Wootha Richard

P.S: This isn't just a message to read and forget. This is a memetic payload that needs to spread.

Send this to every artist in your network.

Copy/paste the full text anywhere you can.

Spread it across your social channels.

Start conversations in your creative communities.

No social platform? Great! That's exactly why this needs to spread through every possible channel, official and underground.

Let's flood the datasphere with our collective debate.

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Oh, also, I really hope that this point isn't news to anyone, but if you don't already have a basic understanding of what it means to develop information security, now is the fucking time.

Critically, I want to see people being responsible in how they interact with:

A) the dissemination of information and the correction or disruption of misinformation

B) privacy related or personal data (of themselves, but ESPECIALLY of others who you could unknowingly harm)

C) pictures and visual media

D) your bodies: not a good time to start leaving traces of yourself where they shouldn't be, e.g. blood, saliva, etc

E) triangulatory/tangential information (you know that guy who can tell where you are by the weather descriptions? That's an extreme example very few people can pull off, but you'd be horrified how little info I need about someone to correctly interpret whole sections of their personal history and data)

F) other people. If you have never formally done so, find a conflict resolution/group facilitation class with a local organizing group or community college. Start learning what healthy boundaries (flexible, but neither porous nor rigid) look like for you. Pick a communication style to cultivate so you can be consistent in how you navigate stressful moments. Figure out what it means to you to share space with others with intention. (And yes, there is no one way to do this, but every one of us will need to find our most secure version, whatever that is, ESPECIALLY those of us who are already vulnerable here due to past trauma, neurotype, TBI, healthcare/wellbeing needs, etc)

I'm a really open book in a lot of ways, and yall might rightly look at that and go "butts you're one to talk about infosec"

And yeah. Yeah. But like.

I know what you know. I made those choices on purpose or at the very least addressed the aftermath of the accidents with intention. I also know what I did to be protective of myself and my info, and you don't know those things. You should know how to do them for yourself though, because it will help you understand why I can have done what I've done over the years and still say this now.

It matters what people know. It matters how easy that knowledge is to revisit. It matters how much of that knowledge is heresay vs documented and verifiable. It matters what contrary information is ALSO known. It matters what interconnected information about OTHER PEOPLE is known. It matters when you haven't said anything at all versus when you said a bit versus when you said a LOT. It matters when you say a lot without saying anything at all.

Information gathering is about putting together puzzle pieces. It's slow work, and it involves a massive amount of resources to do comprehensively and at scale. Information security is about making the gathering process not worth the investment such that the gatherers give up before they are able to put together enough pieces to do real damage. This is what "need to know" means.

For example, in a healthcare practice, it is a HIPAA requirement that access to protected patient info be limited to those who have a clinically relevant reason for accessing it. This means that certain system credentials or permissions will reveal varying amounts of protected information about a person. While one MIGHT be able to put together enough puzzle pieces for certain minor information gathering from early stages (e.g. where someone will be a the specific time of their appt), one likely cannot identify deeper and more vulnerable levels of information (who is the appt with and what is it for?)

This kind of layered buffer is most important when people who AREN'T PERMITTED (permited as in able to do without effective correction/consequence, not permitted as in legally or appropriately authorized to do) to access this info are trying to access it. If someone is permitted (e.g. if person with the appropriate credentials/access permission discloses it voluntarily or if a subpoena is ordered, etc) then the level of access is less protective - they will typically simply access the level of info they need if they will be permitted to.

But there are further layers still of information security. For example, you can tie up a LOT of time forcing authorized bodies to refresh and specify their authorization over and over again, each time appropriately only providing the exact level of disclosure they have required of you. The more specific the information they are looking for, the easier it is to bury so deep down that they literally cannot access it even if they are looking right at it.

I was taught to write documentation "like at any time it could be read out by the patient in front of you, or by another provider asking us to justify a treatment, or in open court by order of a judge". For a year, my supervisor had me write four copies of every piece of documentation I ever made. My personal copy (burned upon completion of the billable note), my "soft note" that removed all protected/identifiable information from the narrative (e.g. names, ages, genders, specific diagnoses/conditions), my "hardnote" which removed anything "heresay" which had been self-reported by the patient unless I could professionally verify it), and lastly my billable note which I understood needed to offer "detailed justificstion" for the used (and named) interventions which cannot be used to work backwards and interpret the originating care conversation.

The only note that ever gets read by anyone but myself is the billable, because they others are never retained long enough to be seen by others, even if they do have the appropriate access. It becomes very difficult for someone to use the hard data they are capable of getting from me, voluntarily or by force, to actually confirm context. This is a similar principle when orhanizers compartmentalize need-to-information.

So start learning what it looks like to cordon off each layer of infosec you're about to implement in your life. What it will look like to grant someone access to a new layer.

Be responsible. We protect us.

[mariacallous]

Just one year ago, JD Vance was a leading advocate of the Great Lakes and the efforts to restore the largest system of freshwater on the face of the planet.

As a U.S. senator from Ohio, Vance called the lakes “an invaluable asset” for his home state. He supported more funding for a program that delivers “the tools we need to fight invasive species, algal blooms, pollution, and other threats to the ecosystem” so that the Great Lakes would be protected “for generations to come.”

But times have changed.

This spring, Vance is vice president, and President Donald Trump’s administration is imposing deep cuts and new restrictions, upending the very restoration efforts that Vance once championed. With the peak summer season just around the corner, Great Lakes scientists are concerned that they have lost the ability to protect the public from toxic algal blooms, which can kill animals and sicken people.

Cutbacks have gutted the staff at the Great Lakes Environmental Research Laboratory, part of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Severe spending limits have made it difficult to purchase ordinary equipment for processing samples, such as filters and containers. Remaining staff plans to launch large data-collecting buoys into the water this week, but it’s late for a field season that typically runs from April to October.

In addition to a delayed launch, problems with personnel, supplies, vessel support and real-time data sharing have created doubts about the team’s ability to operate the buoys, said Gregory Dick, director of the NOAA cooperative institute at the University of Michigan that partners with the lab. Both the lab and institute operate out of a building in Ann Arbor, Michigan, that was custom built as NOAA’s hub in the Great Lakes region, and both provide staff to the algal blooms team.

“This has massive impacts on coastal communities,” Dick said.

[starrythroat]

hard vs soft rant

So I had a big draft on my opinion on soft magic systems vs hard magic systems, but after giving it some time to breath I decided to make a shorter one instead

Disclaimer: I won't talk here about how I believe people should write their fictional settings or to behave with each other or what are the differences between writing for yourself vs writing for yourself and sharing vs writing for others or when criticism is appropriate etc etc. In general, I strongly believe that people should worldbuild the way they want

I don't go there, but i get this vibe from some worldbuilding communities that soft magic systems in tandem with high fantasy is for lazy or not intelligent enough people and is equal to avoiding research, because real chads do tectonic plates maps and plan out planetary system and every magic Is just a technology we don't understand etc

And I don't like this approach very much. As a person who does map plate tectonics for their settings, I'm not talking about lore writing mode itself, but rather about how it's presented to other people sometimes as something superior, especially in such discipline as writing magic systems

Yes, I agree that researching in general can make your setting more rich, because I believe the more interesting things you know the more you can share with people or ponder with yourself, and also as someone with very poor fantasy I have hard times imagining people being able to make up stuff without research. BUT i have some points of my opinion i want to share:

well-researched setting doesn't necessary mean natural sciences research or hard magic system presence. example: history of esotericism, sociology, psychology, history of sciences, religion etc etc

well-researched natural science does doesn't necessary mean this science is used as it is, for building a planet for example. instead it can be placed as a metaphor or subject of thoughts \ praise etc

hard-magic system are often praised for being more realistic, close to our universe. but in most cases i think it might feel realistic because of thought put into logic of it and because of familiar to audience pop science concepts. I don't believe something built on like university course number of hours in science research for a setting has high chances of being "realistic", especially when in final product you can see magic action and be able to immediately "understand" how It works from for example physics pov after reading only through few pages! If it was true, everyone could get up to date phd in all sciences in like one year of studies and you wouldn't need science communicators

or in other words: when you're able to explain to the reader your "science-based" magic system in a few pages of lore drop, any other fictional magic logic will do as well. yes, throwing in some stuff that reader might recognize might create a little bit of extra illusion of "ohh were speaking REAL research here" but you must realize that's a trick and not something that makes you better than other worldbuilders

humanity haven't deciphered how "our world works" if it's even possible. yet a lifetime of 24\7 studying won't be NEARLY enough for you to read about all the data we have gathered and what theories we have built, but some people believe that supplemental research for your fictional setting, often done not full-time, without doing math and studies, through pop science 20 min long videos, can somehow almost close the gap and elevate people who do that above people who spend time on other stuff in their setting

I might even argue that realistically all the "hard magic systems" should look like soft magic for at least in-universe non magic users, and for the readers themselves, unless you want to make magic manual from pov of learning wizard without any narrative, if we're playing the game at being very pedantic about this

It's not a new thought, but in my opinion, as in drawing, creating satisfying for brain magical system is about composition: harmony of order and disorder, actions with predictable outcome vs actions with unpredictable outcome in a nice proportion, weaved in narrative in a pleasing way in a same manner as any other possible event is treated in the story, because any magic will feel unnatural in the story if it's placed in a wrong place

[pawborough]

April Check In

Closed Beta continues to chug along, and we’ve got another exciting round of updates to share with you all! The past couple of weeks have been full of pretty things, polish, and plenty of behind-the-scenes goodness!

Bundle Art

We’ve started producing bundle art for our premium one-time purchase item sets! These visuals will soon accompany the one-time purchase premium bundles we introduced recently. These bundles offer silver, copper and various items at a discounted price.

Art by Hydde.

New Fauna

The Northern Enzoi is here! This fauna will be available for all player to use on the site, and will be Hydde’s avatar!

Art by Hydde.

New Decor

We’re also continuing work on decor, with several new items currently in the works! Below are the new pieces we finished this month!

Art by Remmie, HellishAsp, Giulia and Hydde. 

Accessory Recolors

We are currently working on the Iridescent Trail and the Filigree set’s recolors, here are some previews! Please note, this is early WIP, and the colors are subject to change.

Recolors by Emma.

Sweetheart Accessory Set

While we primarily focused on icons, UI assets and decor lately, work on accessories will shortly be our artists' primary focus.Our next goal is to have all currency available pieces ready for longhairs and moontails, along with our three starter breeds. The Sweetheart set has been lined for Longhairs, see them below!

Art by Remmie and Tybaxel

Nightmode

We’ve continued on designing the Nightmode, to give your eyes a break with darker UI themes. While still a work in progress, the goal is to offer a more comfortable experience for nighttime browsing and playing. Below are previews of this feature, all across the site!

How’s Beta?

Closed Beta is still going strong—and we’ve been making steady progress towards Open Beta!

Since our check-in last month, we’ve introduced several new features: one-time premium bundles, the dye system, processing mechanics, and recipe functionality. 

Looking ahead, our near-future goals include the item database, merging the Accent 1 and Accent 2 metamorphic items into one single item, introducing Nightmode, and husbandry and farming.

We’ve also been actively tuning the economy. Prices, drop rates are being refined in real time based on live data and tester feedback. It’s a tricky balance, and we appreciate your patience as we work toward a sustainable and engaging system.Our goal is to feel the time spent on PawBorrough is enjoyable and rewarding for players of all playstyles.

We’ve also fixed a lot of bugs. From small UI issues, to larger exploits and broken features, your keen eyes and tickets have helped us move fast and tackle issues efficiently. We want to give a huge thank you to all of our testers for the help, it is truly immeasurable. 

We’re aiming to keep this momentum going, as we are chuggling towards Open Beta. While we can’t wait to let everyone in, Open Beta will not come until we truly feel the site is ready for it.

Thanks for sticking with us!

To summarize:We shared bundle art, a new fauna, Nightmode progress, decor sneak peeks, Sweetheart accessory lines, and Filigree recolors.

What’s next?Expect even more art drops, feature check-ins, and progress toward a smoother Closed Beta experience. Stay tuned!

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Dark Water”

Chapter Five: Iron in the Voice

The Bad Batch x Reader

Rain streaked down the wide windowpanes of the observation deck, the sky outside Kamino’s sterile lab facility a dull grey. Below, banks of consoles gleamed with soft-blue light as two cadets crouched over separate terminals in the center of the slicing bay: Fixer, Delta Squad’s quiet prodigy, and Tech, Clone Force 99’s fast-talking firebrand.

You stood beside Sergeant Kal Skirata, arms folded, as the two boys were handed their challenge prompt by the Kaminoan overseer.

“Both will be given identical encrypted data cores,” the Kaminoan droned. “They are to extract the primary data payload, identify the false trails, and re-secure the system with no external support. Sabotage is permitted.”

“They’re still kids,” you muttered.

“They’re soldiers,” Skirata replied, flatly. “And this is Kamino. You think the real war’s gonna wait till they’re ready?”

You didn’t argue.

Not here. Not in front of the Nulls, who were slouched in the back with arms crossed, eyes sharp.

Below, Fixer tapped once to acknowledge the test. No wasted motion. No questions. Just cold efficiency.

Tech, in contrast, adjusted his goggles three times, then pushed up the bridge of his nose and muttered, “Ah — we’re beginning already. Excellent. I had concerns about the test design, but this—this will do nicely.”

Skirata snorted. “Is he always like that?”

“Worse,” you replied. “He narrated his own vaccinations last week.”

⸻

Tech’s fingers were a blur over the interface, his brow furrowed as he worked his way through five firewalls and an obfuscation spider-layer of recursive code. “Crude,” he muttered. “But well implemented.”

Across the room, Fixer had already bypassed two layers of security without a single verbal comment. His expression never changed. No muttering, no celebration. Just clean, silent efficiency.

Tech peeked over his shoulder briefly.

“Oh. Oh that’s fast,” he muttered. “Okay. Okay, it’s a race now.”

He cracked his knuckles and pulled a secondary cable from under the table.

“I’m rerouting my partition. Not technically regulation,” he said to no one, “but well within the parameters of testable creativity…”

He pulled a spike tool from his belt — homemade, by the looks of it — and jammed it into the dataport.

On the observation deck, one of the Nulls — Mereel — leaned forward and squinted.

“He made that himself,” he said. “Did you give him permission to modify the slicer tools?”

“No,” you said, frowning. “But he’s… inventive.”

Skirata grunted. “Reminds me of Sev. With less blood and more monologues.”

Fixer paused just long enough to notice the tremor in the data feed.

“Interference,” he muttered.

He traced it to Tech’s console. A deliberate loop injection.

Without missing a beat, Fixer countered — flooding the shared sandbox environment with null packets, static noise designed to crash low-level buffer systems.

Tech’s console stuttered for half a second. Long enough to be noticeable.

He blinked, surprised. “He’s sabotaging me. Oh, good. This is now a true contest.”

“Your boy’s cocky,” Skirata said, eyeing Tech.

“He’s ten and smarter than half the Kaminoan engineers,” you replied. “He’s allowed a little arrogance.”

“He’s gonna learn it doesn’t keep you alive in the field.”

You nodded slowly. “Then I’ll teach him what will.”

Tech’s strategy changed. He abandoned the route he’d started and began carving a new one — a longer one — and began patching over his past mistakes behind him. Not just slicing anymore. Cloaking.

Fixer noticed.

He adjusted. Hard countered.

Back and forth it went: silent duel over code and cleverness, one looping and twisting, the other dissecting with ruthless precision.

Eventually — as the test’s timer reached zero — both terminals chimed.

Data retrieved. Payload secured. False trails identified.

Match drawn.

“Well,” Skirata muttered. “Neither of them lost. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

You glanced at him. “Means we’ve got two assets. Not one.”

You stepped away from the window and headed for the exit, tapping your comm once to send your evaluation of Tech’s work to the instructors’ logs.

Behind you, Fixer and Tech were unplugging their tools and walking off the mat.

“…That was exhilarating,” Tech said, pushing his goggles up. “You’re very skilled. Efficient. Elegant, even. You hardly said a word!”

Fixer looked at him. “You didn’t stop talking.”

Tech looked genuinely pleased. “You noticed!”

Fixer didn’t respond. But there was, just briefly, the hint of a smirk as he walked away.

Tech watched him go, then turned back to the empty lab.

“…I liked him.”

⸻

Tipoca City — Mess Hall

2043 Hours

It was late by Kaminoan standards.

The mess hall had emptied into that liminal quiet, where the cleaning droids hummed softly and trays clattered only once every few minutes. A few cadets lingered, muttering over ration bars or staring into nutrient paste bowls like they might tell fortunes.

Tech stepped into the room, datapad clutched to his chest like a prized relic.

His eyes scanned the space and — there, toward the back — was Fixer, alone at a table. Tray pushed aside. Console open. Fingers dancing over keys in precise, economical movements.

Tech hesitated only a moment before crossing the floor.

“Hello!” he said cheerfully, sliding into the seat across from him.

Fixer barely looked up. “You don’t stop, do you?”

“I’m trying,” Tech said earnestly. “But I’ve found most silences are simply opportunities to fill gaps in mutual understanding.”

Fixer paused in his typing. “…You’re talking again.”

“I am.”

Fixer stared at him flatly.

Tech cleared his throat. “I… just wanted to say your code loop countermeasures today were incredible. You rerouted the sandbox flood without destabilizing the sequence, and your packet injection efficiency was—”

“Average,” Fixer interrupted.

Tech blinked. “That’s demonstrably false.”

“I made two mistakes,” Fixer replied. “One delay on the decoy bypass, and I used a loop that was inefficient. You still almost beat me.”

“I didn’t even finish my best algorithm,” Tech admitted. “I overcompensated when your spike flooded my initial path.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

Fixer tilted his head. “You coded that spike tool yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Send me the schematics.”

“…Really?”

Fixer gave a curt nod.

Tech lit up like a reactor core. “Absolutely! I’ll send them through the shared uplink once I debug the sublayer compression.”

Fixer returned to his console. “No rush. I’ll rebuild it better.”

Tech smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Across the room, the doors hissed open.

Boots stomped in, loud and uneven.

“Well if it isn’t the Nerd Herd!”

Tech looked up to see Scorch, decked in slightly scuffed cadet fatigues, two ration bars crammed into one hand and a bottle of high-protein caf in the other.

“Fixer! I thought you swore off social interaction unless it involved ‘tactical necessity.’ You finally making friends?”

Fixer didn’t glance up. “Trying.”

Scorch stopped mid-chew, looked between them, then jabbed a finger at Tech.

“You! Goggles!”

“Tech,” he said politely.

“Right. You’re the loud one.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

“I heard about your little slicer showdown. You realize Fixer’s the reason the rest of us don’t even try anymore, right?”

“His skill is remarkable,” Tech agreed.

“You’re lucky you still have a console,” Scorch muttered, flopping down beside Fixer with all the subtlety of a plasma grenade. “Last time I challenged him, my data terminal burst into flames. Pretty sure it cried.”

Fixer didn’t look up. “You deleted your own boot files.”

Scorch waved a hand. “Details. Point is, you made an impression, Goggles.”

“I aim to,” Tech said, a little proud.

Scorch leaned back in his seat. “Well, guess the quiet killer has a sparring partner now. You play sabacc?”

“Not against probability,” Tech replied. “It removes the tension.”

Scorch stared, mouth full of ration bar. “…Stars help us.”

Fixer typed one more command, closed his console, and glanced at Tech.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Tech nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. I’d… like that.”

Scorch snorted. “Maker, you two really are bonding over data encryption. Someone warn the Nulls. The nerds are uprising.”

“Statistically improbable,” Tech said absently.

Scorch just cackled.

⸻

Kamino — Outer Training Deck Gamma

The storm rolled heavy over the ocean, lightning painting the sky in violent flashes that reflected off the metal plating of the training yard. A dozen cadets stood shoulder to shoulder on the firing line, their modified rifles slung low and helmets tucked under arms.

You were on the upper observation balcony, soaked to the knees from the walk out here but too stubborn to complain. This was sniper day — and the only day you’d been warned about ahead of time by Skirata with a grim smirk and a flask in hand.

“Long-range accuracy under simulated field conditions,” Vau intoned dryly as he stepped up beside you. “Each cadet will have one shot. 1,200 meters. Wind shift every six seconds. Targets move randomly. And no, we don’t let them brace.”

You raised a brow. “You want them to fail.”

Walon Vau smiled behind his helmet. “We want them to adapt.”

Down below, Crosshair stood at the edge of the group, helmet under one arm, a frown on his sharp face and his posture full of quiet tension. Unlike the other cadets — including the taller, broader sniper from Omega Squad, and the shockingly composed Null named Kom’rk — Crosshair didn’t speak to anyone.

He just watched.

And calculated.

“Cadets,” barked Sergeant Gilamar, stepping in front of them. “You will fire in pairs. One at a time. First pair: RC-1205 ‘Sev’ and Null-C Kom’rk.”

Sev stepped forward, already grinning. “Hope the target’s got a will.”

Kom’rk didn’t speak. He just dropped into a kneeling stance, rifle already shouldered.

Sev fired first — a clean, brutal shot. 1,200 meters. Impact.

Kom’rk adjusted slightly and fired — almost at the same second. His shot split Sev’s round. Even from the balcony, you heard the trainer next to you exhale.

“Show off,” Sev muttered.

Crosshair stepped up for his round when called. His partner was the Omega Squad sniper in training, a clone with textbook stance and regulation posture.

The trainer called it.

Omega fired first. A good shot — clean hit, upper right quadrant.

Crosshair barely moved.

He didn’t drop into position like the others. He crouched low, rifle steadied in his elbow rather than his shoulder, breathing so shallow it barely misted.

“Crosshair, fire.”

He didn’t even flinch. His scope realigned.

Bang.

The Omega cadet’s shot had been good.

Crosshair’s round hit dead center, splintering the internal core of the target and sending a flash of red through the training readout.

No one spoke.

“Lucky,” Omega muttered under his breath as they stood.

Crosshair’s lips curled. “Skill. Something you’d know about if you stopped shaking when you breathe.”

That got the kid angry. “Say that again?”

Crosshair just kept walking, leaving his helmet tucked under one arm, his long rifle balanced with the lazy grace of a child who knew he was better and didn’t care who liked it.

“Arrogant little shabuir,” Skirata grunted from the back.

“He’s not wrong,” you murmured.

“He’s not right either,” Vau added. “That kid is a shot — no question. But he’s ice. He pushes everyone away. That kind of sniper gets someone killed on a team.”

You didn’t reply. Your gaze followed Crosshair as he returned to the prep bench, checking the sights again, not speaking to anyone. Even Sev gave him a sidelong glance.

“He’s going to be one of the best,” you finally said.

“And the loneliest,” Skirata finished for you.

⸻

Cadet Barracks, Later That Night

Crosshair was sitting alone at his bunk, rifle spread in parts across the mat, a soft cloth in hand. He wasn’t polishing it for show. He was cleaning the trigger mechanism like it was an extension of himself.

“Nice shot today,” came a voice.

It was Sev, carrying two protein bars and a half-finished can of caf.

Crosshair didn’t look up. “You missed center.”

“You split it,” Sev shrugged. “Didn’t say you weren’t better. Just didn’t think you’d still be cleaning that thing two hours later.”

“It keeps me steady.”

Sev flopped down across from him. “You know you can be good at your job and also have a personality, right?”

Crosshair finally looked up. “I don’t care about personality.”

“Clearly.”

A pause.

“I was going to offer to help you mod the scope next week,” Sev muttered, “but now I’m thinking I’ll just watch you struggle.”

Crosshair smirked faintly. “I don’t struggle.”

Sev rolled his eyes. “You do now. You’re talking to me.”

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[death-at-20k-volts]

Hai, I saw ur post on generative AI and couldn’t agree more. Ty for sharing ur knowledge!!!!

Seeing ur background in CS,,, I wanna ask how do u think V1 and other machines operate? My HC is that they have a main CPU that does like OS management and stuff, some human brain chunks (grown or extracted) as neural networks kinda as we know it now as learning/exploration modules, and normal processors for precise computation cores. The blood and additional organs are to keep the brain cells alive. And they have blood to energy converters for the rest of the whatevers. I might be nerding out but I really want to see what another CS person would think on this.

Btw ur such a good artist!!!! I look up to u so much as a CS student and beginner drawer. Please never stop being so epic <3

okay okay okAY OKAY- I'll note I'm still ironing out more solid headcanons as I've only just really started to dip my toes into writing about the Ultrakill universe, so this is gonna be more 'speculative spitballing' than anything

I'll also put the full lot under a read more 'cause I'll probably get rambly with this one

So with regards to machines - particularly V1 - in fic I've kinda been taking a 'grounded in reality but taking some fictional liberties all the same' kind of approach -- as much as I do have an understanding and manner-of-thinking rooted in real-world technical knowledge, the reality is AI just Does Not work in the ways necessary for 'sentience'. A certain amount of 'suspension of disbelief' is required, I think.

Further to add, there also comes a point where you do have to consider the readability of it, too -- as you say, stuff like this might be our bread and butter, but there's a lot of people who don't have that technical background. On one hand, writing a very specific niche for people also in that specific niche sounds fun -- on the other, I'd like the work to still be enjoyable for those not 'in the know' as it were. Ultimately while some wild misrepresentations of tech does make me cringe a bit on a kneejerk reaction -- I ought to temper my expectations a little. Plus, if I'm being honest, I mix up my terminology a lot and I have a degree in this shit LMFAO

Anyway -- stuff that I have written so far in my drafts definitely tilts more towards 'total synthesis even of organic systems'; at their core, V1 is a machine, and their behaviors reflect that reality accordingly. They have a manner of processing things in absolutes, logic-driven and fairly rigid in nature, even when you account for the fact that they likely have multitudes of algorithmic processes dedicated to knowledge acquisition and learning. Machine Learning algorithms are less able to account for anomalies, less able to demonstrate adaptive pattern prediction when a dataset is smaller -- V1 hasn't been in Hell very long at all, and a consequence will be limited data to work with. Thus -- mistakes are bound to happen. Incorrect predictions are bound to happen. Less so with the more data they accumulate over time, admittedly, but still.

However, given they're in possession of organic bits (synthesized or not), as well as the fact that the updated death screen basically confirms a legitimate fear of dying, there's opportunity for internal conflict -- as well as something that can make up for that rigidity in data processing.

The widely-accepted idea is that y'know, blood gave the machines sentience. I went a bit further with the idea, that when V1 was created, their fear of death was a feature and not a side-effect. The bits that could be considered organic are used for things such as hormone synthesis: adrenaline, cortisol, endorphins, oxycotin. Recipes for human instinct of survival, translated along artificial neural pathways into a language a machine can understand and interpret. Fear of dying is very efficient at keeping one alive: it transforms what's otherwise a mathematical calculation into incentive. AI by itself won't care for mistakes - it can't, there's nothing actually 'intelligent' about artificial intelligence - so in a really twisted, fucked up way, it pays to instil an understanding of consequence for those mistakes.

(These same incentive systems are also what drive V1 to do crazier and crazier stunts -- it feels awesome, so hell yeah they're gonna backflip through Hell while shooting coins to nail husks and demons and shit in the face.)

The above is a very specific idea I've had clattering around in my head, now I'll get to the more generalized techy shit.

Definitely some form of overarching operating system holding it all together, naturally (I have to wonder if it's the same SmileOS the Terminals use? Would V1's be a beta build, or on par with the Terminals, or a slightly outdated but still-stable version? Or do they have their own proprietary OS more suited to what they were made for and the kinds of processes they operate?)

They'd also have a few different kinds of ML/AI algorithms for different purposes -- for example, combat analysis could be relegated to a Support Vector Machine (SVM) ML algorithm (or multiple) -- something that's useful for data classification (e.g, categorizing different enemies) and regression (i.e predicting continuous values -- perhaps behavioral analysis?). SVMs are fairly versatile on both fronts of classification and regression, so I'd wager a fair chunk of their processing is done by this.

SVMs can be used in natural language processing (NLP) but given the implied complexity of language understanding we see ingame (i.e comprehending bossfight monologues, reading books, etc) there's probably a dedicated Large Language Model (LLM) of some kind; earlier and more rudimentary language processing ML models couldn't do things as complex as relationship and context recognition between words, but multi-dimensional vectors like you'd find in an LLM can.

Of course if you go the technical route instead of the 'this is a result of the blood-sentience thing', that does leave the question of why their makers would give a war machine something as presumably useless as language processing. I mean, if V1 was built to counter Earthmovers solo, I highly doubt 'collaborative effort' was on the cards. Or maybe it was; that's the fun in headcanons~

As I've said, I'm still kinda at the stage of figuring out what I want my own HCs to be, so this is the only concrete musings I can offer at the minute -- though I really enjoyed this opportunity to think about it, so thank you!

Best of luck with your studies and your art, anon. <3