#sensor jammers

[swtechspecs]

Rebel Alliance RZ-1 A-Wing Interceptor

Source: The Essential Guide to Vehicles and Vessels (Del Rey, 1996)

[fictionfanatic-wren]

The robin games

chapter 5/7. The Robin Games - Chapter 5 - Fictionfanatic_Wren - Batman - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own]

The small, dimly lit maintenance room was packed wall-to-wall with capes, armor, and confusion. Superman hovered just above the ground, arms crossed. Green Arrow was crouched near the half-eaten protein bar like it was a crime scene. Wonder Woman stood by the door, stone-faced. Hal Jordan paced, while Barry looked like someone had kicked his dog. “Alright,” Dinah said, hands on her hips. “Someone needs to explain why it smells like old coffee, protein bars, and deodorant for teenage boys in here.” “Because someone’s been living here,” Ollie grumbled, holding up the half-unwrapped bar with two fingers. “Look at this. Half-eaten. Not even wrapped properly. There’s coffee residue in the cup holder and prints on the terminal.” “That’s definitely not ours,” Barry added, squinting at the cup. “That’s the mug I’ve been looking for since yesterday. Yesterday, people.” “So someone’s been camping out on the Watchtower without us knowing,” Hal said, turning to Bruce with narrowed eyes. “Care to explain how your billion-dollar security system missed a freeloader living in the walls?” Bruce stood silent, face unreadable. “It didn’t miss them,” he said finally, tone low. “It found them just now.” “That’s not an answer,” Hal shot back. “I’m still processing the data,” Bruce replied smoothly, eyes never leaving the half-powered computer console. Clark floated a little closer, scanning the equipment with his x-ray vision. “There’s a whole tech setup hidden behind the panels,” he reported. “Wires, a motion sensor jammer, even a router spoof. This wasn’t slapped together. This was deliberate.” “So the real question,” Ollie muttered, “is which one of us brought a secret intern onboard.” Barry perked up, hopeful. “Maybe it’s a stowaway from Earth? A well-meaning super-fan?” “With access to League systems?” Diana said, one brow arching. “And the ability to bypass our security and, according to you, eat your pizza?” Barry deflated. “...Yeah, okay, probably not a fan.” “Let’s take stock,” Dinah said, ticking off her fingers. “We’ve had: stolen pizza, missing coffee mugs, glitter bombs in the armory, Green Arrow’s door screaming shame at him, and now someone is nesting in our walls. Someone very skilled.” Hal rubbed his temples. “Okay, real talk. If this is about the laser pointer prank from six months ago, I already apologized, Barry.” “That’s what you want me to think,” Barry snapped, arms flailing. “Maybe this is the long con. The real revenge!” “You are not important enough to sabotage with a long con,” Bruce said flatly, stepping past them to inspect the panel Tim had hastily closed. Everyone froze. “Spooky,” Clark said carefully. “That sounded kinda personal.” “Let’s not fight,” Diana said, sighing. “Let’s focus. Whoever’s here is skilled enough to hide, hack, and infiltrate without being caught for days. We need a plan.” “Oh, I’ve got one,” Ollie muttered. “We burn the whole maintenance wing and flush them out.” “Ollie.” “What? It worked with raccoons.” Bruce straightened from the console. “No fire” he said. “But we lock down non-essential areas. Increase patrols. Motion sensors, heat trackers, and set traps in likely routes.” Everyone nodded, except Barry, who just looked mournfully at his empty mug. “…I miss my coffee.”

Tim Drake moved quickly through the narrow metal duct, his body pressed low and knees aching from the awkward angles. He was running on pure adrenaline now, he’d narrowly escaped being discovered in the maintenance room, but not without losses. His spare toolkit, the laptop charger, and Barry’s coffee mug were all left behind. “Fantastic,” Tim muttered under his breath, the distant hum of voices below fading as he crawled deeper into the Watchtower’s belly. “All because someone decided to trigger an alarm right next to me.” He paused at a junction in the vent, twisting to glance at the corridor below through a slatted grate. Then, Thump. The faintest vibration in the metal above him. He stilled. Every instinct screamed caution. Someone else was in the shaft. Tim slowly reached for a small baton from his belt and turned. From the shadows, a low voice spoke: “You’re incredibly loud for someone who’s supposed to be stealthy.” Tim froze. A small figure crouched just ahead, perched in the shadows like a gargoyle. Damian. The youngest Robin looked perfectly at ease, barely winded, his cloak tucked tightly around his small frame, expression full of judgment. Tim narrowed his eyes. “You tripped the alarm, didn’t you.” Damian tilted his head. “Of course I did. This is a competition. Only the competent deserve to win. You were getting too comfortable.” Tim exhaled sharply, crawling closer so they could talk without echoing. “You little gremlin, I had a whole system running. I was fine until your stunt brought the League breathing down my neck.” Damian’s eyes gleamed in the dim light. “You were growing complacent. And it was funny.” Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “You know if they’d found my stuff-” “Then you would’ve lost. You should thank me for teaching you the importance of vigilance.” Tim stared at him. “You sound exactly like Bruce when he’s being a hypocrite.” “A compliment.” Tim groaned. “You stole Dick’s gear too, didn’t you?” Damian didn’t answer, but his smug silence spoke volumes. Tim muttered something under his breath that was definitely not appropriate for younger ears. The two stared at each other in silence, crouched in opposite corners of the vent. For a moment, there was a grudging, still tension between them. Then Tim sighed. “Fine. Truce. Just for today. I need a new hiding spot.” Damian raised a brow. “I’m not sharing my camp.” “I don’t want it. Just a direction that isn’t crawling with League members and panic.” Damian considered this. Then he jerked his chin to the left. “Upper deck. Storage vents near the armory. Leaguers don’t patrol there much.” Tim paused, then gave a curt nod. “Thanks.” Damian arched a brow. “Try not to get caught. It would be… disappointing.” Tim rolled his eyes and began crawling away. “Right back at you, gremlin.” Damian smirked as he disappeared into the shadows, already thinking of his next move.

Jason pressed himself against the cool metallic wall, breathing shallowly as he listened to the distant sound of boots echoing through the corridor. Way too many boots. He peeked around the corner. Green Arrow. Black Canary. Flash. All moving in different directions, radios buzzing on their hips. “Maintenance room sweep’s clear,” Dinana’s voice crackled over the comms. “Yeah, but somebody left a thermos of my coffee in there,” Barry hissed. Jason ducked back, swearing under his breath. This was bad. The League was in full lockdown mode now, walking around like a bunch of angry substitute teachers trying to catch kids passing notes. All because of one little triggered alarm and a missing mug. Okay. And maybe the trip wire in the gym. And maybe the slightly rigged training bot that randomly screamed insults at ollie for two hours. And, yeah, okay, a few pranks. He crept backward into a dark corridor that led to the utility crawlspaces. His old hiding spot in the storage bay was now way too risky, at least three League members had passed through in the last hour. Jason muttered to himself as he climbed into an access tunnel. “Could’ve just let Tim or Damian take the fall, but nooo. I had to switch Barry’s toothpaste with marshmallow fluff and now the whole tower’s on DEFCON 1.” He crawled deeper until he found a narrow space behind a ventilation conduit, the metal panels warm against his back. He took off his helmet, wiping sweat from his brow, then pulled a granola bar from his pocket and bit into it like it owed him money. Footsteps passed by again above. Jason closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to slow. This was fine. This was manageable. He’d hide here for a bit, wait for the tension to cool, maybe frame Hal later if things got dire. No one suspected that Red Hood himself was in the watchtower. Yet. But the moment his eyes started to droop, a voice blared from a nearby intercom: “Reminder: motion sensors have been temporarily enhanced in this sector due to recent… incidents. Please report any suspicious movement immediately.” Jason sighed, then shoved the rest of the granola bar into his mouth. “I swear to god, if I find out Tim set this up…”

Watchtower, Sector B1, Personnel Quarters Dick Grayson moved like a shadow, a very annoyed, gearless shadow. His crawlspace hiding spot had been compromised hours ago. And without his tools, he was flying blind in a nest full of superheroes and security systems. Damian had swiped everything from his little rooftop nook, even his emergency chocolate bar. The betrayal stung. "Never trust a ten-year-old with murder training," Dick muttered under his breath as he crept through a dim hallway, every motion smooth but fueled by pure desperation. His Nightwing suit, while flexible, was now a beacon without the signal disruptors. The sleek navy blue made him far too recognizable for someone trying to stay unseen. He needed a disguise. Fast. He turned a corner, and stopped. Room B1-04. The door was heavy, black, and marked only by a biometric scanner and a simple nameplate: RESTRICTED, ACCESS LEVEL 10 Most of the League assumed this room was storage or an unused system control station. But Dick had known the truth since his early Robin years. Batman’s quarters. He hesitated for exactly two seconds. Then: “Desperate times…” Dick bypassed the lock with a quick override Bruce had taught him back when trust between them wasn’t a limited resource, and slipped inside. The room was spartan. Clean. Every corner obsessively organized. A minimalistic bed, a locked trunk, and a closet lined with armor and utility gear. But no personal touches. No photos. No journals. Classic Bruce. Dick moved to the closet. His heart thudded in his ears as he flipped through the suits, mostly standard Bat-armor, backup units, and even one older prototype with an awkward yellow emblem. Finally, he found it: a slimmed-down, stealth-variant Batsuit. Jet black, lightweight. More flexible than the others, probably one Bruce wore for espionage operations. Perfect. Dick stripped off his Nightwing gear in record time and pulled the suit on. It clung to him like a second skin. The cowl, smaller than Bruce’s standard, fit well enough once he adjusted the chin plate. He looked into the darkened windowpane and smirked at the reflection: “Well. I guess I’m Batman now.” He paused. Then shook his head. “Nope. Not saying that out loud again.” Just as he secured the last piece of armor, he heard footsteps outside the hallway.

Dick didn’t expect to be stopped. That was the whole point of wearing the suit. But as soon as he turned the corner, he nearly ran straight into Green Arrow, Canary, and Martian Manhunter, all looking like they’d been mid-conversation until the second he appeared. “Batman,” Ollie said with a nod, stepping aside to let him pass. Dick managed a stiff nod back. “Arrow. Canary. J’onn.” He deepened his voice slightly, not a full growl (he wasn’t going to parody Bruce), but just enough to pass. It seemed to work. At least for a second. Until Green Arrow squinted. “You look… thinner than usual.” “I changed my diet.” Dinah tilted her head. “And you’re walking weird.” “My leg was injured in Gotham. Minor strain. Nothing worth filing.” Martian Manhunter stared. Hard. His glowing eyes narrowed like he was scanning something just off. Dick’s internal panic flared, was the suit giving him away? Heat signature? His height? He subtly adjusted his posture and folded his arms across his chest, classic Bruce. “If there’s nothing else, I need to return to my work.” Canary blinked. “We were going to brief you on the Star City gang forming. You skipped the last two meetings.” “I was busy,” Dick said, already turning to walk past them. “And I read the reports. Proceed without me.” He held his breath as he walked away, back rigid, cape swishing just enough to look dramatic. The moment he turned the next corner and was out of sight, he bolted into the next maintenance shaft like his life depended on it. Inside the vent, he slumped against the wall, yanked off the cowl, and exhaled. “Never again,” he muttered. “I need a double the cookies when i win. And therapy.”

[yuurei20]

Updated Ortho Facts Part 17: Ortho's Abilities (pt3)

Ortho will reference the various forms of analysis that he can perform, though his attempts at scanning his Tsum fail to identify what it is made out of.

After asking Leona about his vital signs during Playfulland Leona says that he has a bad feeling. Ortho responds, “That's too subjective for me to properly comprehend…”

He collects data for shopping pattern analysis during the New Year’s event and Epel says that he can analyze food for its makeup and nutritional content.

Azul comments on possibly approaching Ortho about using his sensor to authenticate paintings, if such an opportunity happens to arise.

While a talented hacker Ortho fails to hack into Playfulland’s network, and he guesses that there is a powerful jammer set up on the grounds, so it seems his hacking is not infallible.

Ortho was programmed to lie even pre-book-6, and this is an ability that came with him when he was reborn: Vil encourages him to showcase the acting skills he has been cultivating in the film research club by giving a “wholeheartedly tearful performance” that will convince Idia to go to Playfulland with him.

This is possibly a method that has been worked in the past: Vil compliments Ortho on the fake crying that convinced Idia to allow him to participate in Fairy Gala IF and Ortho responds, “Hearing you say that makes me feel better about my acting.”

Ortho will often reference the various maps that he has access to, such as a detailed map of the school (“Which includes all secret doors and underground passages”), of Playfulland and of a museum. When he is in gear without any GPS and becomes lost during the White Rabbit Fes event he describes the experience as “refreshing.”

Ortho plays pool for the first time during the Playfulland event and is extraordinarily adept at it, with Vil saying that he never misses a single shot and clears obstacles with jump shots: “Those aren't moves someone playing the game for the very first time could pull off.”

While Ortho struggled during a different game with slingshots (“Imperfect tools made things hard during target practice”) he is able to simulate optimal routes for the billiard balls and calculate perfect shots without fail.

He does miss at one point (Vil: “You'd better not have missed on purpose.” - Ortho: “I would never pull my punches in a game!”), but this is due to a cricket jumping out in front of the ball.

[gardens-light]

Ok. Ok.

Here me out.

TFOne!Starscream being a girl-dad to a sparkling?

For example: At least a solarcycle after Sentinel's betrayal, Starscream and the rest of the High Guard are forced to live on the surface until they come across a tiny sparkling femme that happened to be abandoned for some reason. So, basically Starscream has to deal with leading the Guard and also being a parent. Lots of fluff while also showing the realism of caring for an infant. (ex. sleepless nights, constant crying, all that stuff)

I dunno why I asked that. I'm just a fatherless human who just happens to see the strangest characters as father figures.

I absolutely adore this headcanon! And can certainly see Starscream making a sparkling into a 'daddy's girl.' I can already mentally picture the chaos that would happen within the Guard base, and how the others would react to having a sparkling around. Hope you don't mind me using your example, as I thought it was truly adorable, and wrote a one-shot/headcanon. Enjoy!

Inheritance of Ash and Stars

The skies of Cybertron once gleamed with pride, but no longer.

After Sentinel's betrayal towards his Prime's, and rise to tyrannical control, Starscream and what remained of his loyal High Guard had been forced to flee- banished to the dilapidated surface. Buildings laid in ruin, half-sunk in ash and corrosion, their former glory buried under layers of war and silence.

It was here, in the skeletal remains that Starscream carved out his new domain.

He was not idle. Starscream never was.

In the forgotten crevices of the surface, he and his remaining High Guard constructed a concealed base beneath the collapsed shell of an ancient flight academy. With cloaking dampeners, sensor-jammers, and Soundwave's surveillance drones deployed in a ten-klick radius, they stayed just ahead of Sentinel's searching scouts.

Some days were tense- especially when the enemy patrols got too close- but Starscream's wit and Soundwave's precision ensured they always slipped away, ghostlike and untouchable.

Yet... nothing could have prepared them for her.

---

It was one rotation cycle after the first perimeter sweep, when Soundwave returned to the base, carrying something small in his arms.

A sparkling. A femme.

Starscream stood within the command chamber, bending over a holomap of Iacon's underground tunnel routes, his voice sharp with irritation.

"You're late!" he snapped, not even glancing at Soundwave's arrival, "And I don't have time for- what is that?"

Soundwave, as stoic as always, gently unfolded the tarp, revealing her trembling form. Curled up and motionless within his arms. Her plating was scratched and soot-streaked, optics dim with fatigue. Not even mustering a cry, just simply staring at her surroundings- frightened but alive.

"Sparkling. Unregistered." Soundwave simply explained, his voice monotone as always. "Found in Theta-Seven. Abandoned. No identifying marks, nor registration chip. Guardian nowhere near her whereabouts-"

"A sparkling?" Starscream pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are you malfunctioning?! Why in the name of Primus would you bring that here?-"

"She was offlining. Her frame is pre-reformat. Estimated age- twelve deca-cycles-"

"And what do you expect me to do with this?" Starscream gestured with disdain. "We're fugitives, not a nursery service! That's just another mouth to feed! A liability!-"

The Seeker's words slowly trailed off, as the sparkling gazed at him. Big, innocent optics- glowing a faint teal- filled with something Starscream hadn't seen in a very long time... Hope.

Just her, a curious, small being simply clinging to it.

A small smile came to her, a little twitch of her faceplates- almost as if she wasn't aware she shouldn't of smiled at a mech like the Seeker Commander.

In that brief, flicker of a moment, his ever-scheming mind shifted. Actually... this might be an opportunity presenting itself. A sparkling can be molded. Raised. Trained. Formed into something powerful. Something... loyal. A new future- a legacy!

"Well... perhaps we can make room." His words flowed like silkily confidence, reaching down to scoop her into his arms with a flair of dramatic grace. "Poor thing couldn't possibly survive without guidance, after all. She'll need someone brilliant. Resourceful. Strong."

Silence fell across the command center, surrounding bots gave each other confused glances and questioning expressions.

"Designation?" Soundwave's question rolled out ever so flatly.

Starscream held the sparkling like a prized relic, as he turned to his Guard. "Behold... Nova! From this moment forth-she's my aire and successor!"

Looking up at the sparkling, as she gurgled in his arms. Her claws gripping onto his digits, making a small beeping noise before promptly sneezing energon mist all over the Seeker's face. Leaving the commander lowly growling in disapproval. Charming...

---

The reality hit faster than a missile.

Nova cried. Not once, not twice- but constantly. Her vocalizer seemed to be designed by a sadistic mech, as her cries felt like it could pierce through armor plating. She refused to settle during recharge cycles unless Starscream held her- an indignity he swore would pass, only for it to worsen. Her energon preferences were bafflingly specific, rejecting any blend that wasn't precisely three degrees above standard warmth with exactly 2% high-grade mix.

"She's defective," the Seeker groaned one night, dragging a servo down his faceplate as Nova wailed in his arms. "There's no other explanation."

Skywarp, who had once chuckled at Starscream's parental misadventure, now tiptoed around the base to avoid waking the sparkling. While Soundwave, ever unreadable, continued to monitor and assist without questions.

One night, after hours of pacing, feeding, and failed lullabies, Starscream sat down with Nova in his lap. His optics dull and his wings drooping, she curled against him, tiny servos wrapping around one of his claws.

"...You're... trying to kill me, aren't you?" he murmured bitterly.

She nuzzled his palm, murmuring something unintelligible, as she slowly drifted into recharge. And despite everything- the chaos, the noise, the stress- Starscream slowly drew his wings around her like a shield, holding her close.

"I... didn't ask for you." He repeated more softly, "but... I wouldn't be without you."

A Few Days Later

The command deck had been cleared and dimmed for early recharge cycles, but in Starscream's private quarters, chaos reigned.

"Hold. Still." The commander's tone was already strained.

One servo balancing a compact energon spoon filled with a specially-blended mixture. The other hovered near Nova's helm, trying to keep her from wriggling out of her feeding harness- a custom rig he'd had Soundwave design, after she somehow managed to flip herself upside down during the last cycle's meal.

Nova simply stared back at him with suspicious optics, mouth firmly shut, chin tipped up like a defiant noble.

Starscream, perched delicately on a reinforce crate, narrowing his optics. "You require sustenance. This mixture has been finely tuned to your impossible preference. Temperature calibrated. Texture smoothed. There's no logical reason for you to reject it-"

Nova chirped once- and knocked the spoon clean out of his servo.

Splat.

Starscream stared at the slowly spreading blot of energon paste upon his pede, one optic twitching slightly, wings stiffened. "Right... Of course... Excellent aim, I must admit."

Nova let out a mischievous giggle, waving her arms with glee. A sticky glob of energon clinging to one of her digits like a badge of honor.

The Seeker dropped his helm back with a dramatic groan. "She's laughing at me." he muttered aloud to no one in particular. "I swear, this is sabotage."

Nova let out a frustrated chirp as she wiggled within her harness, dramatic groans leaving her as she tried to escape.

Starscream rubbed the bridge of his nose, "you want dramatics, you little scraplet? Fine. Then dramatics you shall get."

He crouched low, holding the spoon just beneath her chin, then began humming low, growling jet engine noises. With a whoosh and a whistle, he waved the spoon through the air in looping patterns. "Incoming from Vosian airspace! Enemy radar can’t lock on! It’s too fast!”

Nova’s optics went wide. She chirped excitedly and leaned forward, giggling uncontrollably.

Starscream grinned, adding more flair to his gestures. He spun the spoon in a tight circle, pulling it back dramatically. “Here it comes! The daring, brave, and very cunning Commander Starscream is bringing the high-speed energon express in for landing! Final approach! Prepare for landing!"

Nova laughed, flapping her arms.

“Three! Two! One!” he crowed—and popped the spoon gently into her mouth.

Nova made a happy trill, chewing without fuss.

Starscream pumped a fist silently, then repeated the maneuver.

“Another daring dive! Commander Starscream evades anti-aircraft fire! Ooooh, what a twist! Such speed! Such elegance!” He twirled the spoon, dodging her servos, “And—” another bite slid smoothly into her mouth.

Another triumphant giggle. She was loving every second of it—and to Starscream's horror, so was he.

By the time he reached the final spoonful, Starscream had one knee on the floor, both arms dramatically raised like a performer in the coliseum. His wings fluttered with exaggerated force, and his face was frozen in a wide, animated expression—mouth curved into a silly grin, optics comically large for emphasis as he sang out, “And now, the final flight! The grand finale! Commander Starscream descends into the unknown, sacrificing all to deliver the final payload to Princess Nova the Picky!"

Nova squealed, beaming from helm to pede as the spoon slipped into her mouth. Starscream grinned—until he caught sight of his reflection in the polished side panel of a nearby terminal.

He froze.

He blinked once.

Then again.

His wings slowly drooped back into their usual arch. The grin slid from his face. The ridiculous energy evaporated like coolant in open sunlight.

He cleared his throat sharply and rose to his full, dignified height.

“Ahem. Right. That… was merely a tactical morale exercise,” he said, voice suddenly stiff and formal as he adjusted an invisible badge on his chest. “A brief moment of… necessary theatrics. To secure nourishment. Nothing more.”

Nova tilted her head, optics bright, chewing the last of her meal. Then, with a smirk far too knowing for a sparkling, she reached up and booped him on the nose.

Starscream flinched.

“…You will never speak of this to anyone,” he muttered.

Nova just laughed, mouth still sticky. And despite himself—despite all the fuss and all the embarrassment—Starscream allowed a tiny, reluctant smile to return.

One Month Later

The command chamber was dim, lit by the pulsating glow of a flickering holomap at its center. The map projected a crude wireframe model of the surface lines of Cybertron—half of them corrupted, the others overlaid with red indicators of supply routes, sentry patrols, and guarded checkpoints. Above it all stood Starscream, wings arched in their usual confident sweep, his optics glowing a sharp, calculating crimson as he surveyed his gathered High Guard.

Skywarp lounged against the wall, his helm tilted lazily but optics sharp. Thundercracker stood with arms crossed, ever the tactician, while Soundwave hovered just beyond the perimeter, silent and unreadable as always.

Starscream’s voice sliced through the tension like a plasma blade.

“Our rations are depleted to less than a fifth of standard reserve,” he stated with a sneer. “Energon intake rationed. Maintenance supplies nearing critical scarcity. And unless one of you 'geniuses' has miraculously discovered an energon well hidden beneath our floorboards, I expect a viable solution. Now.”

Skywarp stepped forward with a mischievous glint in his optics. He waved a claw over the interface and pulled up a feed—a schedule.

“Well, funny you should mention that, oh fearless one,” he said. “This here’s a signal ping I intercepted off an old military subroutine. Seems Sentinel’s got a train making surface runs every three cycles, probably offloading materials for those maintenance drones he keeps sending down to scavenge old war bunkers.”

Starscream’s optics narrowed. “A train?”

“Big one,” Skywarp confirmed. “Low defense, fast transport. But they don’t guard it heavily—not unless it’s carrying something valuable. I’m willing to bet it’s moving high-grade.”

Thundercracker leaned in, arms still folded. “We let it come close to Sector 3, rig the old bridge with a remote charge. Derail it. Quick, clean. Then we take what we need and vanish before anyone notices.”

Starscream considered it, wings twitching as he leaned over the table, claws drumming across the control panel.

“It’s risky,” he muttered. “If Sentinel tracks it back to us—”

Ping.

His optics twitched, trying to ignored it. “As I was saying—”

Ping.

The sound repeated again—low, soft, persistent. The kind of noise that chipped at his processors like rust at a wing joint.

“Soundwave,” Starscream snapped without looking up, “unless you've somehow located Sentinel's secret stockpile of energon, I suggest you keep your interruptions to yourself!”

Silence.

Ping.

Starscream’s wings flared. “That is IT!”

With a sharp snarl, he slammed his servo down onto the holomap table. The projection flickered and glitched, throwing fragmented lines across the chamber.

His optics snapped to Soundwave. “You have ten seconds to explain why you feel the need to interrupt an operation-critical strategy meeting, or so help me, I will—”

But Soundwave said nothing.

Instead, he stepped forward. In his arms, wrapped in a soft recycled thermal cloth, was Nova.

Starscream froze mid-rant.

The Guard stared, blinking in disbelief.

Soundwave gave no words, no monotone analysis. Only a small, subtle motion—a gentle nudge at her back with the edge of his servo, encouraging her forward.

Nova wobbled slightly on her pedes, talons curling on the grated floor as she tottered unsteadily, adjusting to the weight of her own frame.

Starscream’s optics widened, the entire room going utterly still.

Nova looked up—those wide teal optics full of excitement and focus. She smiled.

Then, for the first time, she stepped forward.

One shaky step. Then another.

The chamber held its breath.

Her balance faltered, and she tipped slightly to the side—but before she could fall, Thundercracker lowered himself, carefully catching her. “Whoa there, kiddo,” he murmured gently, stabilizing her by her tiny shoulders. “You’ve got this.”

Nova blinked up at him, then looked toward Starscream—her little optics locking onto him like a beacon. She let go of Thundercracker and tried again. Another step. Then another.

Skywarp knelt beside her path, waving softly. “Come on, little wings. You’re almost there.”

“D-Da…” she squeaked. Her little arms stretched forward, seeking balance, seeking him.

Starscream’s engines faltered.

“D-Dad!”

Her words was more stable now. Clear. Joyful.

Her tiny peds carried her halfway across the chamber before she stumbled—but Starscream was already kneeling, arms out before he even realized what he was doing.

She landed against his chassis with a delighted chirp, arms flinging around what little part of him she could grasp. Her helm pressed to his plating, venting soft little static bursts of laughter.

Thundercracker’s optics softened.

Skywarp blinked, slack-jawed, then smirked faintly. “Well, I’ll be…”

Starscream didn’t speak at first.

He simply… held her.

One clawed servo slowly cupped the back of her helm as she buried herself in his chest. His optics dimmed slightly, his wings lowering in something rare and unseen—a quiet, vulnerable stillness.

“…You picked a terrible time to develop basic locomotion,” he muttered, though there was no venom behind it.

Nova giggled again and nuzzled in tighter.

Starscream glanced up—his command mask slipping, even if only for a second—as he looked at his team. The ever-loyal, battle-worn High Guard who had watched him scheme, rant, and fight across countless battles.

They stared at him now with something entirely different in their optics. And Starscream, for once, didn’t flinch from it.

He straightened slightly, still holding Nova in one arm, and cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Status reports will continue… shortly,” he said with strained composure. “In the meantime, the heir to the skies has taken her first steps.”

Nova chirped and squealed, beaming up at him.

Starscream allowed himself the smallest smile—and this time, he didn’t bother hiding it.

[paramorerocker18]

An Ace from Beyond the Grave

Dove had become a vigilante by force, using stealth and cunning to try and help those in the worst area of Gotham.

When the Red Hood takes control of the territory the rot that runs through these cursed streets spills over. The vigilante and crime lord have a past that threatens to drown them both.

Or Reader doesn't know that Jason is the Red Hood. Red Hood doesn't realise that Reader is his first love from before his death. Jason doesn't know the extent of damage that his death caused.

CW: swearing, implied threat of SA, violence, trafficking ring, guns

A/N I know there is already a DC character with the name dove but its story relevant later so we are just ignoring that okay

Chapter 1

It was a simple recon mission, get in and get out. A small stealth mission, she would get in find the information she needed to help bring down the trafficking ring and then get out unnoticed.

An easy task.

Oracle had scouted out the warehouse well, she easily identified the best way to breach the building was via the unsecured sky light. After scaling the side of the warehouse with the help of her grappling hook she dropped herself onto the metal structure beams of the warehouse.

The warehouse was partitioned into two, down below were two hench men presumably on guarding the other room.

She flipped the infrared sensors in her mask on. The next room showed 6 heat signatures.

There was not supposed to be seven heat signatures.

She cursed under her breath and navigated along the beams to cross the dividing wall that luckily did not reach the roof of the warehouse.

Looking down, her stomach felt like it had fallen to the floor.

She wasn't expecting to find was the operation warehouse being used an active base to smuggle children. There was supposed to be a few guards, an easy one and done just a small foot note of the patrol and pass the information to Oracle.

Instead here she was crouched on the cold metal support beams, looking down at the far too small bound bodies of four children and two guards.

Quickly clambering along the steel frame to the adjacent room containing the two hench men as quietly as possible. She steeled herself and paused weighing up her options.

Flicking infrared off and upping the assisted listening device Dove could hear the guards below.

They were sat across from each other on fold out chairs playing some card game.

'This gig has got to be the worst one yet, why the fuck has the boss got four of us guarding the brats, what a fucking waste,' the larger man grumbled. Throwing down a card with more force than necessary.

'Quit your bitching, this is a sweet job and anyway the cargo gets shipped out in a few hours we just gotta sit here and get paid,' the leaner man with the crooked nose snapped back.

The man using the word cargo to refer to the stolen children filled Dove with revulsion, the taste of bile biting at the back of her throat.

Her options were looking much more slim than before.

There was no chance of calling in Oracle to ask for back up, not with the signal jammers she had set up to stop the hench man from calling for reinforcements before breaking in.

Idiot now your truly on your own! Her minds voice snarled.

If she left there was chance that by the time she had secured backup the traffickers could have already moved the children to the next location.

She had no choice she had to act. Taking a deep breath in to regulate her fried nervous system; she dropped down.

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

Jason crawled through the small sky light opening.

After beating the intel out of one of the many low lives that tainted this wretched city, he had finally found the warehouse. They were using it to smuggle the crime alley children to the highest bidders.

His alley, his jurisdiction and these animals thought they could steal his children. Pure venom was raging in Jason's veins. Making matters worse was they had taken Melanie.

Early into Jason's tenure of the Red Hood becoming the protector of crime alley, he had found Andi and Melanie, two street kids who's life story was not dissimilar to the others drowning in the cesspit of Gotham. Not too dissimilar to the life that he Jason had lived before.

Andi and Melanie were sisters, stuck in an abusive home where their mother spent the little money they had on drugs. Andi had been working the streets since she was 17 as well as two jobs in the day.

It had been the coldest natural (not caused by Mr Freeze natural) winter that had hit Gotham in years. The subzero temperatures had even frozen crime, the rogue gallery had gone quiet and even the petty criminals had stayed inside.

Jason was perched on a roof top surveying the still night when he heard a voice by the buildings fire escape.

"I know it's cold Melie, I'm sorry. Here wrap this around you," Jason peered down to see two girls, the eldest shrugging off her jacket and wrapping it around the younger girl.

"Andi, I want to go home please. I want to go home," the youngest girl pleaded, the shivering and tearful sound of her voice piercing the still night.

"I know duckie, we will soon. Mummy's just not very well at the moment. We will go back when she falls asleep." The elder girls voice shook with the lie as she pulled the tiny silhouette of the child into her and started stroking her hair.

Jason let out a hard breath. He was suddenly transported to being 12 years old thrown out by Willis because they were too high to deal with their own child. How many times had he told himself the same lie that his mum was just sick not too high out of her mind seeing things that weren't there to care for him.

The Red Hood would be damned to allow another child to be chewed up and spat back out by their parents neglect the way he had. In that moment he made a decision, Jason came down the fire escape and called out in the least intimidating voice he could muster.

"Hey, it's far too cold for you two in these temperatures, what are you doing out here," Jason cringed at the modulator in his helmet carrying out his voice, his attempt to sound friendly was a poor one.

The elder girl whipped around to the sound of his voice shoving the younger behind her body like a hunted animal protecting her young. The elder sister's arms were bare, she was lean and dark haired with dark brown distrusting eyes glaring at Jason.

Jason put his hands up in a surrender position as he stepped slowly towards the pair. "I am not here to hurt you, I swear."

The younger girl peeked around her sister and Jason caught site of her small rounded face, her nose red with the cold and two light brown plaits framing her face. Her sister was a darker complexion with her hair in a protective style he vaguely recognised as twists.

"Andi, that's the Red Hood he protects people I've seen him on the news," the younger girl exclaimed her wide brown eyes staring at him in amazement.

Having looked at the pair longer now, he could tell they were related but probably only half sisters. They both had the same heart shaped face and nose.

"Oh I know who he is," Andi said with distrust still evident in her voice. "The other girls say you help them, make sure to stop any men getting too rough with them. That true?" The Gotham accent rang out clear as day.

"I do what I can, anyone who breaks the rules, they deal with me," she is a working girl Jason thought, which explains why she didn't immediately book it at the sight of the helmet. Jason had made it very clear that in his territory anyone who messed with the sex workers will be dealt with. Brutally.

"Tiff said you helped her with Carson and he hasn't been seen since."

"If I did then I am sure Carson learnt his lesson," Jason didn't know who Carson was but he had hospitalised those who didn't heed his warnings or worse. "Listen," Jason scratched the back of his neck with anxiety, "I heard your Mum is sick, you really shouldn't be out in this cold. I know somewhere you can stay for a while... until she gets better."

After their first meeting, Jason had lead them to a nearby apartment he had rented as a safe house nearby. Andi had put Melanie to bed and had told him about their mums drug habit and her tendency to forget who her daughters were and freak out at them whilst high. Andi was working 2 jobs and working the streets at night to keep them afloat. Jason transferred the apartment over to Andi the next morning and had set up the payments to the landlord directly from him each month.

So when Andi came to Red Hood six months later in hysterics that Melanie had been taken whilst her girlfriend Lucy had been beaten half to death by a trafficking ring. Jason knew he had to find her.

As Jason positioned himself on the metal structure of support beams what he wasn't expecting was to see a dark figure clad in a black vigilante costume in one hand holding a rag to the mouth of a struggling man with the other arm wrapped around his neck in a headlock.

He watched as the man went unconscious and the vigilante dropped their hold on the guard, who very unceremoniously slumped to the ground.

The other guard flew upwards from his chair and shouted something, presumably for the guards next door.

The guard clearly breaking through the shocked stupor of what had just happened raised his hands in a fighting stance, but his reactions were too slow the masked figure had already launched towards him and expertly used their weight to tackle him to the ground. They tussled back and forth until the masked vigilante grabbed something and dug it into his neck. The man managed to throw the vigilante off and staggered to his feet.

The guard reached up to his neck and removed whatever had been stabbed into his neck and tossed it aside. Jason's eyes followed to where it fell and saw the needle tipped syringe with the plunger fully pushed down.

"You fucking bitch," the nearly 6 foot man spat at the vigilante, "I will make you pay for that you stupid"

The beginning of whatever explicit that he was going to hurl out was cut short by a swift punch to the face.

Jason couldn't help but be impressed as the guard staggered backward, the drugs he had been injected with clearly having taken effect.

The vigilante pivoted away quick on their feet, almost gracefully towards the door as Jason followed along the steel beams.

"It's the Dove," he heard one of the men call as she broke through the door. The Dove, great another bird for the bats Jason thought bitterly.

The three men had their weapons drawn pointing at who Jason presumed was the Dove. He hadn't noticed that she had also entered the room armed with a gun in hand. The thought struck him that she had a gun, Jason didn't know all the vigilantes that protected Gotham but she couldn't be a Bat if she used guns. Get a grip Hood, what did that matter right now he thought.

Jason saw looked down past the standoff and saw the children who were bound and gagged, he could hear the small sobbing muffled by the rags stuffed in their mouths. He saw Melanie in her signature plaits with a purple welt on her tear stained face gazing at the intruder.

Anger filled Jason at the site of the bruising to her face and the rage that the Lazuraus Pit had imbued within him rolled through his body in hot waves. It took everything in him not to jump down then and start unloading bullets into the pathetic filth that had stolen vulnerable children.

He pulled his gun from his right holster and began tying a rope to the cross section of the beam he was on as the voices of the vigilante apparently named Dove and the guards carried up to him.

"Drop your weapons and leave the kids and you get to live," Dove barked at them.

The tall greasy guard let out a mirthless laugh, "I don't think so birdie, it's three to one. It's nice of you to drop by, we aren't allowed to touch the merchandise," his predatory eyes flicking to the children, "but now you are here we can show them what they have to look forward to once they are bought. It will be a teaching moment" The henchmen all twitter with excitement at the leaders threats as Dove grips the barrel of her weapon harder.

That was all Jason needed to hear and he swung off the beam down the rope.

Part 2

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♠︎♤♤♠︎♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♠︎��︎

Let me know what you think, it's my first fic go easy on me

[commgroundstone]

...Always Forever Now

ooc: prev threads with @luna-wing-cns274: [LOG//: 1/PLYBK#new_contract] [LOG//: 2/PLYBK#first_contact] ooc2: small edits ooc3: formatting fix ===

"...well, I don't have a gun anymore, so I guess I won't be going to look." The spray-on triage mix is accepted with a nod; some effort and a few false starts manages to get her into a sitting position.

The question however, gives her pause. For a long moment Hall's eye locks onto Grey, and the pilot... It's hard to tell. Deliberation?

CONCEPTUALIZATION — If you just tell these people, they'll get the same treatment. SHIVERS — Make up your mind, fast. They're going to change tactics soon. TOLERANCE [Formidable: Failure] — Who fuckin cares?! Goddamnit you need to talk to someone or you'll snap sooner or later.

"...Ten months, two weeks, one day. Running scared. I... All I can figure is that I made someone angry, someone with money and... and influence." Her voice shakes on the edge of uncertainty. An invisible hand stretches out, desperate for even a brushing from someone else if not the rescuing grip.

"...I'm not government. I'm-I'm an airshow performer by trade. Uh, not company either. Gig, I guess. You'd be surprised. I... used to have a business card, ha-ha..."

REACTION SPEED — Hey, hey. Answer that last one. Robbery? What? COMPOSURE [Challenging: Failure] — Oh she did NOT.

The wounded... what is her rating, now? A target? A bogey? A bandit? She recoils, suddenly. "Robbery?! What?!" ===

Meanwhile, the Sheriff's car slows, since her original objective of radio contact had been established.

"Wilco!"

The cars open windows and pump smoke into the surrounding area. Multi-spectral particulate and self-propelled disposable active jammers might as well be a solid wall for sensors combined with ground noise. Sensor ghosts, the fleeting signatures of stealth rigged people escaping on foot. But there's twice as many as there should be.

[usafphantom2]

The SR-71 Detection of Missile Lock-On

I was reading through an old Air and Space magazine article from 2015 where they interviewed Jerry Crew. He was an RSO that was trained in the simulator and in the classroom by my father Richard” Butch “Sheffield. Dad trained most of the RSO‘s while he was also still flying the SR-71. He was a very busy man.

When a missile locks onto an SR-71, the aircraft's systems, including radar warning receivers, detect the threat. The Reconnaissance Systems Officer (RSO), seated in the back, plays a crucial role in monitoring these systems, as mentioned in National Air and Space Museum SR-71 page. The SR-71 was equipped with electronic countermeasures (ECM) like the AN/ALQ-131, which could jam radar signals, as noted in The National Interest SR-71 countermeasures article. This detection allows the crew to respond before the missile can effectively engage. Jerry said in the article that on his first mission over North Vietnam, July 26, 1968. His pilot was Tony Bevacqua.

Turning inbound from our first sensor run, I noticed the “R” light on my electronic counter. Measure panel was illuminated a North Vietnam SAM site was tracking us on its radar. What I didn’t expect was illumination of the “M” light followed closely by the “L” light!

This meant that the North Vietnam had actually fired one or more SAMs at us.

This news couldn’t have occurred at a worse time. We had just started our sensor take and evasive action was not an option.

Tony asked how long ago was it launched and I replied about five seconds. The time of the missile launch was important. We were told countless times by our intelligence expert that the SA – 2 missile total flight time was only 58 seconds in other words if nothing happened by then we were probably safe! My immediate duty was to turn off the ECM jammer. The purpose of our jammer was confused the missile prior to launch. Tony asked again how long ago did the missile launch Tony asked two more times by then the sensor run and the risk to our Blackbird was over !

Wow! This was my Dad‘s job for eight years. He told me every time he went up in the Blackbird. It was thrilling, but he never mentioned that it could be this scary.

Evasive Action: Acceleration and Speed

The standard evasive action, as described in Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird was to accelerate further, leveraging the SR-71's ability to reach speeds over 2,000 mph (Mach 3.2). This speed, combined with its high altitude, made it nearly impossible for missiles of the era to catch up. The aircraft's design, with Pratt & Whitney J58 engines, allowed it to sustain these speeds, as detailed in Smithsonian Institution SR-71 page.

Why Speed and Altitude Worked

Missiles like the Soviet SA-2 and SA-5 had limited speed and altitude capabilities compared to the SR-71. As noted in Coffee or Die SR-71 outrunning missiles, by the time a SAM could be launched and reach the SR-71's altitude, the aircraft was often already out of range. The SR-71's low radar cross-section, enhanced by radar-absorbent iron-ferrite paint on its chines, further reduced detection time, as mentioned in The National Interest SR-71 countermeasures article. This combination gave SAM sites a very short window to acquire and track the aircraft, often too brief to launch effectively.

Role of Electronic Countermeasures

While speed was the primary defense, ECM played a supporting role. The AN/ALQ-131 system could jam acquisition and targeting radar. If a missile was launched, the RSO might switch off the ECM to prevent the missile from homing, relying instead on acceleration. This strategy was crucial during missions where multiple SAM sites were active, as seen in accounts from Air Zoo SR-71 Spy-Posium. This is some of the information that the new.GROK found

Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats via X

[doolallymagpie]

oh, boy, we've got another fucky, broken component!

An obvious fusion of Blakist and Society technologies, the Cortazar Enclave’s Combined EW/Command Suite blends the Society’s Nova CEWS and the Word of Blake’s C3i systems, boosting both, at the cost of being significantly more delicate and harder to manufacture.

GAME RULES:

The Combined EW/Command Suite (CEW/CS) weighs three tons and takes up two critical slots, and combines the functions of the Nova CEWS and the Improved C3 Computer, with a few upgrades. The CEW/CS can be used by any combat unit except ProtoMechs, battle armor, JumpShips, DropShips, WarShips, and Space Stations. The carrying unit must use a fusion engine of some kind. When used by fighters (conventional or aerospace) or LAMs, it can only interact with ground units, not fighters or small craft. A unit with CEW/CS can link with up to two other CEW/CS-equipped units, connecting them as if by a C3i unit, with a designated commander being able to link with other command units, similarly to a C3 Master. A single cell’s links cannot be interrupted by ECM of any kind, but command units’ links can be interfered with by a Nova CEWS or RISC Viral Jammer. A command-level unit being hit with a TSEMP will sever the link, but it can be reestablished when the unit recovers. All CEW/CS-equipped units are highly vulnerable to the Centurion Weapon System, which disables the CEW/CS entirely until it can be repaired. A CEW/CS, when active, acts as both a C3i (or C3 Master, if assigned as a commander), and as an ECM suite and active probe with a range of four hexes. When active, the CEW/CS generates four heat per turn; units that don't track heat must mount enough heat sinks to dissipate this heat. A unit equipped with a CEW/CS can be equipped with any active probe or ECM units, as well as Chameleon Light Polarization Shield, Null-Signature Suite, Void-Signature Suite, or Stealth Armor, without interfering with these systems. The CEW/CS cannot be equipped with component armor, and it is considered completely destroyed after a single critical hit despite occupying two slots, and if it is in a location with a critical slot occupied by sensor components, those sensors are destroyed as well.

tl;dr: it's actually a pretty good experimental combination of the Nova CEWS and C3i that improves on both, but it's the horse of command and stealth systems and will die if the wind's slightly wrong, and if you've got a line to RISC, you're probably going to be able to fuck with it really bad

[accumulated-error]

Finally got around to doing some proper multiplayer stuff with my BIB (Bat in Back) @apfsds

Flew some really fun missions, with her operating the sensors and jammers of our bird. We worked really well together and I gotta say this is the most immersive flight sim experience I have ever had

[xenodile]

Goddess of Victory: Nikke - Story Recap

Chapter 12: Hometown - Part 1

The Commander, Rapi, and Matis squad's fall doesn't last long, landing in a deep underground pit. The narrow shaft of light from the pit they fell through illuminates a massive cave structure, full of dilapidated structures like the ruins of an underground city.

The team getting their bearings is interrupted when Shifty calls, warning them that there's some kind of hostile signal interfering with communications. Comms could be lost entirely at any moment, and the interference means Shifty can't even locate the source of the signal. Maxwell reassures her that there's nothing to fear, so long as they have Drake, turning to her squadmate and asking her to do her thing. Drake demands someone kneel and beg as compensation, and when Laplace refuses to comply out of Heroic Pride, Maxwell compromises by promising to treat Drake to premium beef when they get home.

Shifty requests some kind of context for the comedy routine, and Maxwell explains that Drake is equipped with sensors that allow her to detect and track various electronic signals and radio waves, allowing her to serve as field operator. Rapi is impressed by Matis's extensive capabilities, and Laplace seizes the opportunity to boast, claiming that with superior Missilis technology, Maxwell's ingenuity, Drake's sensor array, and her own Hero Power, there's nothing the the all powerful Matis squad cannot do! Shifty mutters under her breath that "Hero Power" is not a quantifiable resource.

Rapi muses on Laplace's words, considering what it means to "the strongest", given the kinds of enemies they've been facing. Tyrants, Chatterbox, Heretics... Before Laplace can offer a rebuttal, Drake exclaims that she's found something, and starts off like a bloodhound, and the rest of the squad follow suit.

The source of the signal isn't far, guarded by a few Raptures ambling about the vicinity. Upon locating the jamming device, Maxwell announces over comms that they're going to destroy it. Shifty initially objects, concerned about the tactical value of studying this new form of Rapture technology, but Maxwell says they don't have the luxury of study when their communications are barely holding out.

Once the jammer is disable, Shifty is at last able to perform a scan...only to identify a number of energy signals rapidly closing and surrounding the squad from their blind spot. Everyone whirls around to brace for impact, and are shocked to see...

The remaining two members of Counters, followed not far behind by Absolute. Maxwell sighs heavily, and turns on Shifty for not telling them that the approaching signals were friendlies, while Anis teases that it's her own fault for not noticing them.

Eunwha and Vesti are quick to chide Matis on their slow progress, while Maxwell retorts that they should thank the Missilis team for clearing the way. Emma says that given the embarrassment with the bridge, they should call it even. Laplace apologizes profusely as Anis and Neon continue ribbing her, but Eunwha shushes them, reminding them that they are all still in enemy territory. With the full party reunited, Shifty begins directing everyone to their goal: the location of the Heretic fragments. Before they head out, Eunwha asks what Rapi and Matis encountered, and Rapi tells them of the bizarre tentacles that struck them, as well as their battle with the Harvester. Laplace assures Eunwha that they only suffered some scratches, but Emma remains concerned.

The party sets out into the sprawling tunnels, following Shifty's directions to the supposed location of the Heretic fragments. They move at a brisk pace, finding their path surprisingly unobstructed. Anis seizes the opportunity to continue teasing Eunwha, much to Vesti's delight. Rapi asks Shifty to verify that they're making progress and she confirms, saying they're about an hour out from their objective at the current pace. Rapi exchanges a worried glance with Eunwha. Something doesn't feel right, but neither can say anything for certain yet...

The trek through the uncannily quiet tunnels continues, until Eunwha abruptly gives the order to stop. Anis asks why when they're making good progress, and Eunwha directs her to take a closer look at her surroundings. Sure enough, as the group looks around they realize that...they're in the same room they started in. Neon wonders if they've ended up in some kind of fantastical labyrinth, but Shifty verifies that they have been moving close to the objective. Maxwell reasons that the Rapture, likely whatever attacked them with the tentacles earlier, must be be somehow reconfiguring the tunnels as they move. Anis wonders what the purpose is when they have an operator to direct them, and Rapi suggests that this tactic may be intended to disorient Nikkes without the assistance of an operator, sowing panic and confusion as they walk through a winding tunnel that seems to stretch on forever.

Anis feels that constructing such a massive and elaborate structure just to prey on lost Nikkes is impractical, and there must be something else going on. Maxwell agrees, but doesn't have any idea what exactly it might be. Laplace and Vesti reassure Anis that no matter what awaits them, with Matis and Absolute present there's no way they're danger, but Anis can't help but worry that they've inadvertently wandered into the belly of the beast.

Her fears are well founded as the group soon finds themselves making no progress. Shifty reports that she can now pick up on the rapid fluctuations of their surroundings, as if the labyrinth itself seems to be keeping them in place, stopping them from getting any close to the Heretic fragments. Rooms that loop in on themselves, tunnels that twist back around, Counters, Absolute, and Matis are stranded.

Maxwell suggests they try to just brute force it and force their way through, while Rapi counters that they can retreat and try to determine if there's a pattern or solution to the shifting labyrinth. Eunwha and Laplace are unwilling to fall back and tarnish their squads' respective 100% mission success rate. Anis summarizes that they're trapped deep underground in a twisting network of caves that is actively hindering them, still trying to get to the Heretic fragments, and flying blind because their operator can't get a clear scan of their path. Laplace corrects her, as she forgot to mention that Matis is the strongest in the world, but she got everything else.

Laplace says that she knows the way. Her Hero Sense is tingling, telling her the path forward. Maxwell follows her gaze and points out a specific passageway, and asks if Drake has the same feeling. Drake agrees, it's this way, so Maxwell happily says that Matis will take the lead and forge a path, but Eunwha is skeptical. Maxwell insists, she knows the way. It's here.

Eunwha is about to continue arguing when Emma steps over and whispers in her ear. Whatever Emma says, Eunwha relents and agrees to follow Matis's lead. Anis teasingly asks if Eunwha is planning to shoot them all with their backs turned, while Rapi asks what the plan is. Eunwha says she'll explain on the way, while Laplace cheerfully gives the order to march and sets out in the twisting labyrinth.

Once they're underway, Shifty reports they are once again making progress toward their target. Anis gripes that following one's gut in this situation is akin to flipping a coin or rubbing a rabbit's foot, but Laplace corrects her that it's not gut or intuition, it's Hero Sense. Completely different. Anis isn't convinced. Rapi addresses Emma and Eunwha as they walk, but rather than speak the two of them start communicating with hand signals. Rapi instantly responds in kind, and the three begin an animated conversation in sign, completely ignoring Anis's attempts to goad Eunwha. Anis and Neon instead watch the silent dialogue, realization crossing their faces. They open their mouths to respond but Rapi only nods quietly. Commander asks what's going on, unable to follow what Counters and Absolute are saying with their hands. Anis reassures them that it's nothing they need to worry about.

Maxwell eventually leads the squad to a large open chamber, and announcing they've arrived. It's here. Shifty confirms, their coordinates match the objective's last known location, and sure enough there's a peculiar object resting on a pedestal in the middle of the room, and she gives the go ahead to secure the Heretic fragments. Rapi acknowledges, as she and Eunwha open fire on Matis, dropping Maxwell, Drake, and Laplace to the floor.

Commander stares in shock and horror, wheeling on Rapi and demanding an explanation. Rapi flatly states that Matis have been Corrupted. They don't believe it, they look back to Matis for proof it's wrong, but...

Matis squad's expressions are blank, their eyes empty and glowing a familiar ominous red. Even after being shot, laying incapacitated on the ground, they continue to mutter endless.

It's here. This way. It's here. This way. It's here. This way. It's here. This way. It's here. This way.It's here. This way.It's here.This way.It's here.This way.It's here.This way.It's here.This way.It's here.This way.It's here.This way.

They repeat the same phrase over and over and over and over, like a broken record, leading them here. Just like Marian.

The Commander's mouth goes dry. How? When did this happen?

Emma says it must have been at some point after they were separated, as she identified signs of Corruption when they had reunited in the underground. She wasn't sure then, but the signs were unmistakable the deeper into the maze they got. She suggests it might have been those tentacles that struck them before their battle with the Harvester.

Commander's heart sinks into their gut. They turn to Rapi, fearing the worst...

She's alright. She reassures them that she's fine, perhaps the tentacle didn't pierce deep enough to administer the Corruption. Emma confirms that Rapi is clean, and Commander asks how she knows. She explains that rapid, erratic eye movement are a symptom of early onset Corruption. Too slight to be noticed without knowing what to look for, but to the trained eye they're clear as day.

Neon regretfully says they should have told Commander what was coming, but Rapi says that it's better they didn't. After all, the Commander would've tried to stop them in the hopes that Matis could be saved. Commander can't argue with her. They would have done exactly that. Rapi tells the Commander that their compassion for Nikkes is admirable, but here in the heart of an enemy stronghold, there is no room for uncertainty or hesitation, and apologizes for hiding the truth from them.

Commander asks if Matis are dead, given they're still speaking, muttering the same mindless phrase continuously, and Eunwha says they're not. She and Rapi used suppression rounds, specifically designed to incapacitate Nikkes without causing lasting damage. Rapi says that while standing orders are that Corrupted Nikkes be disposed of immediately lest they become a threat, there have been some exceptions where they could be saved by administering a Memory Wipe within a few hours of the Corruption taking hold.

Commander pieces things together. That's why Matis suddenly knew the way forward, that was the Corruption setting in. They were luring the rest of the squad to this location, just like Marian had been used to lure them to the Blacksmith. Rapi confirms their suspicions.

Eunwha is more concerned with what they could've been trying to lure everyone into. What is presumably a Heretic Fragment is there, out in the open, unprotected. Anis is understandably cautious. It can't possibly be as simple as grabbing the piece and leaving. Shifty asks the Commander to connect their CombiLink to the pedestal so she can determine if she can disable the labyrinth, but before they can even take a step, she calls for everyone to prepare for impact. A massive energy signal, exceeding even a Tyrant, appears on Shifty's monitor as if from nowhere, centered on the Heretic Fragment. The signal spreads, filling the room.

With a metallic screech that sounds more like a scream, the passageway the squad entered through collapses and the walls quiver and shake. The walls give way, revealing the chamber to be even larger than previously thought, stacked full of industrial cargo containers, and the same tentacles that attacked Matis and Rapi earlier emerge. Supports and weaponry deploy from the ceiling and floor, forming a protective barricade around the Heretic Fragment on the pedestal at the center

The chamber is alive. The entire room is a single, massive Rapture, with the Heretic Fragment as its heart.

Absolute and Counters take position, Rapi warns to be cautious of the tentacles, and Eunwha snaps at her not to bother saying the obvious. Encounter!

To call the battle frantic would be an understatement. It was one thing for Counters to fight an entire building from a safe distance, and something entirely when the floor beneath your feet was actively trying to kill you. Commander can do little more than hide, as everything in the room ignores them and blindly targets the Nikkes, who must contend with smaller Raptures filing into the room in response to the Fragment's calls for aid, cannons sliding in on rails only to be replaced within seconds of being destroyed, and the encroaching tentacles. The best they can do is call attention to each new threat as it filters into the room, in the hopes that someone will take it out and keep the squad from being overwhelmed and picked off one by one.

With repeated fire and attrition however, the Fragment begins to falter. It attacks blindly and mindlessly, expending energy to simply throw more weapons and parts rather than acting with any real strategy. By focusing fire on each new weapon as it enters, the Fragment is unable to effectively fight back, until Eunwha finally seizes a moment when its defenses are down to fire a shot clean through the core. With a sound like shattering glasses, the room begins to collapse, the supports and rail system falling apart, the altar the fragment rested upon crumbling, and ceiling falling to nothing, opening the chamber to the open sky as the Fragment goes silent.

After a tense moment of silence, Shifty verifies that there are no further signs of activity in the chamber, and all Rapture signals have vacated the vicinity in response to the Fragment being defeated.

Rapi moves to collect the Fragment, but Commander stops her. Since it is capable of causing Corruption, it's far too dangerous to handle carelessly. They call Ingrid and Andersen, to inform them of the situation and request extraction.

While Rapi checks on the still incapacitated members of Matis, Shifty delivers the Commander's report, and announces that three transport planes carrying two battalions of mass-produced Nikkes are on their way to retrieve Counters, Absolute, Matis, and the Heretic Fragment, scheduled to arrive within the hour. Courtesy of Andersen and Ingrid.

Anis reluctantly admits that despite not being on board with telling Andersen and Ingrid everything, there are certainly benefits to having support from higher up the chain of command. Neon is more interested in the dozens of cargo containers piled up throughout the chamber that the Fragment was kept in. Curiosity is driving her crazy, so she asks Shifty if it's alright to open them. Shifty doesn't detect any energy signatures in the area, so the containers...probably don't have any traps or Raptures or the like inside so she gives Neon the okay to take a peek.

Practically giddy with excitement, Neon unlatches one of the containers and begins to pull it open. The instant the door is so much as cracked Shifty begins to detect a faint energy reading, but before anyone can stop her, Neon flings the container door open wide.

No one is prepared for what they see.

The container is full of death. Something beyond death, more horrific and cruel that simple death.

Bodies. Corpses. Dozens upon dozens upon dozens upon dozens of Nikkes. Mangled, twisted, broken, bent, folded, and crushed. A mountain of bodies compressed to fit in a small metal container with no thought given to how they would be mutilated to fit in such a confined space.

Vesti and Anis shriek. Rapi and Eunwha shout, their voices tangled with anger and terror. Emma stares in horrified silence. Commander sprints forward and slams the container door shut.

Neon stares. Her eyes wide, and jaw slack. She turns to the Commander and asks what that was. They try to dodge the question, just saying that they should all probably refrain from touching anything else while they're here. Neon shakily looks around the room.

It is full of identical containers. Stacked floor to ceiling. Haphazard piles, strewn about, filling the space. She had used one as cover while fighting the Fragment.

She turns back to the Commander. Her breathing is erratic, she's shaking, terror in her eyes so deep and primal it defies description. Is every single one of these containers full of-

Before she can even get the question out, Commander grabs Neon's shoulders and forces her to look them in the eye. It's just a bad dream. Whatever she saw in the container, it wasn't real. She's okay. She's safe.

The panic gradually fades from Neon's face and she calms down, as the squad sit and wait for pick up in sickened silence.

Forty minutes later, the aerial transports are overhead, visible through the gaping hole in the cavernous ceiling created when the Fragment was defeated. Due to the altitude needed to avoid detection and the precarious nature of the landing zone, it'll take a few more minutes to touchdown and get everyone aboard, but even so, Anis and Neon breathe a heavy sigh of relief.

Until the sound of plastic restraints straining and tearing can be heard. Laplace has woken up, expression blank, eyes glowing a dull, empty red.

Before anyone can react, a wave of force pulses outward from Laplace as she engages her defensive systems, creating a bubble of searing plasma around her. All the while she screams that she is a hero, a beacon of hope.

She cannot be defeated! She is the shining light that will burn away all evil in the name of justice!

Her voice catches on that last word like a broken record, screaming it in desperation over and over and over again as the Laplace Buster materializes in her hands, the cannon's barrel shining with deadly force.

Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice!

Like a marionette controlled by a talentless puppeteer she jerkily aims the cannon upward, zeroing in on the transports still visible in the air.

Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice!

Her possessed mantra becomes strained, agonized. Tears stream from her eyes even as her face remains frozen in an unfeeling mask. Her finger hovers over the trigger, as if unable to fire.

Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice! Justice!

She wails. Screams her throat hoarse as she flings the Laplace Buster away with all her strength, sending it smashing against a wall. Her voice is ragged, as if every word is painful.

I am. A hero!

Laplace's movements are pained, as if something is fighting with all its strength to defy her as she reaches into her coat and draws her sidearm.

I will. Never. Put. Others.

The pistol, almost comical in how the blue and gold matches her armor like a child's toy rather than a weapon, hangs frozen in the air as her hand refuses to move.

In. Danger!

With great effort, as if dragging the weight of the world itself, her hand brings the pistol under her chin.

Sorry. Eunwha!

She puts her finger on the trigger.

Take. Care. Of. The res-

[originalcreatorstarlight]

Girls Frontline Egyptian character oc that I made 🇪🇬

I'm an Egyptian I'm a fan of girls Frontline game and the anime I was disappointed when they didn't make an Egyptian character or any Middle Eastern characters expect for Negev so I made an OC of how I imagine her in my head! 💛 Here's some things you should know about her.I'm so glad you love her! Based on her design and vibe, here’s a profile that fits her perfectly:

Name: Leila Nasr (ليلى نصر)

Age: 21

Background: Leila was born in Alexandria, Egypt, and raised in a family with deep military roots. Sharp-minded and fiercely independent, she joined the T-Doll program to defend her homeland and preserve its rich heritage.

Role: Designated marksman and relic recovery specialist. She’s often sent on missions involving ancient tech and desert operations.

Special Traits:

Her Eye of Ra makeup isn’t just style—it helps her interface with old-world systems.

She favors modified Egyptian firearms like a customized Hakim rifle for precision work, but she’s fluent with AKs too.

Fluent in Arabic, English, and ancient hieroglyphic code.

Here’s a short character bio and mission log entry for Leila Nasr:

---

Name: Leila Nasr

Age: 21

Origin: Alexandria, Egypt

Affiliation: Griffin & Kryuger T-Doll Division – MENA Sector

Designation: Tactical Doll (T-Doll) – Marksman / Intel Retrieval

---

Background:

Leila Nasr was built with combat-grade AI enhanced by experimental neural data from elite Egyptian intelligence operatives. Her design was inspired by Egypt's fierce warrior queens and her programming includes detailed cultural archives, making her highly valuable in archaeological recon missions. Leila volunteered for activation during the “Red Sands Incident” after rogue AI units began disturbing tomb sites across the Sahara.

Despite her serious nature, she often recites Arabic poetry during downtime, and wears a pendant said to contain real sand from the Valley of the Kings.

---

Combat Role:

Long-range precision shots

Recon and sabotage

Tech decryption (specialized in pre-war Egyptian tech)

---

Mission Log – Entry 047: “Echoes Beneath Giza”

> "0100 hours. Desert winds hit like blades. We approached the ruin with zero drone coverage—jammers were already active. My sensors picked up heat signatures under the tomb's surface—definitely not human. The glyphs on the wall lit up the moment I stepped inside. Someone, or something, wanted me there. HQ thinks this is just another raid. They're wrong. This place remembers me... and it's calling me home."

---

Feel free to make drawings or fanart of her and hey if the official Girls Frontline see this please put her in the game lol 🇪🇬🙂‍↕️

[swtechspecs]

Carbanti Universal Transceiver Package (includes STS, ALS, DER, and EPR) with Bertriak "Screamer" Active Jammer

Source: The Essential Guide to Weapons and Technology (Del Rey, 1997)

[quattro-bacheema]

MOBILE SUIT GUNDAM X MASS EFFECT CROSSOVER PROJECT

By the UC 360s the Solar Sphere Congressional Armed Forces were well aware that their aging fleet of Crisis-Era ships and mobile suits just weren't going to cut it in the long term.

Enter the next generation of mobile suit development:

The M-22-A Gunspecter (alternatively refered to as the Specter Gundam). A machine which combined over 300 years of Minovsky physics knowledge and Prothean Mass Effect technologies. The Specter featured an exponential jump in performance compared to its predecessors.

Thanks to the combination of a Minovsky flight system and Mass Effect Field Generators, the Specter Gundam's performance in land, air, and space was unparalleled. Coupled with the advanced RAM coating and Minovsky based sensors jammers, this machine had the potential to turn battles all on its own. In the hands of a trained pilot, it was a menace. In the hands of an ace, it was nigh unstoppable.

After initial rollout, new 'low visibility' color schemes were introduced to make better use of its stealth capabilities.

If you want follow the crossover project, you can find it in Ao3 or FFNet with the links below

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49180963/chapters/124091914

[fordarkisthesuede]

Fangs of Ourorboros - Chapter 1 - Ghosts of the Past

Good evening from the east coast! 🌇 I've brought you a proper chapter for you to chew on! (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Last time:

Batman was playing a strange murder-mystery game with Joker when an explosion interrupted his investigation...

<start> | [Read on Ao3] | <next>

Rocky Hopper:  employed part-time in Xotic Construction, living in a two-bedroom apartment in midtown with a wife and two children. His criminal record showed he was a three-time parolee by the age of thirty-six for armed robbery, assault, DUI, and theft. No known association to any Gotham-based gang. An unremarkable small-time criminal Batman previously noted for rubbing shoulders with Oswald Cobblepot during his time in Gotham two years ago, before The Penguin was taken into custody.

To anyone else, such a fact was a mere blip on the radar. But to Bruce - to Batman - it was a flashing yellow mark on the edge of his mind. 

Richard Hartright. Vicki Vale. Penguin. One string leading to another on a cork board collage with a muddled picture of why. 

The GCPD touted BlackGate Penitentiary as a fortress; a prime example of modern security in spite of the building’s age. 

Heh. Not for Batman. The nighttime security were like any other lookout team, conversing on their radios or over their shoulders while paying mild attention to their surroundings.

It was practically a cake walk. Bruce grappled up to the roof and rolled over the railing with barely a swish of his cape. The guard by the rooftop door jabbered about the Knights’ chances in the league this year over the two-way as Bruce crept behind him and squirted all-purpose oil between the crack in the door where the hinges should be.

The door opened silently, and Bruce slipped in, breathing in the familiar smell of dusty hallways as he walked on the edges of his feet down the concrete steps.

Oswald would be in the C Block. It took no time to get down to the third floor. Even less time to find the section, painted in chunky white letters on the floor and wall as if the heavy metal door to the place was easy to miss.

The security lock was a simple hand scanner, meant to use the layout and size of the hand instead of a key or passcode. Bruce pulled out the luminous spray normally reserved for crime scenes and sprayed the scan bed. The Batsuit’s gauntlets scanned the imprint, and with a few taps on the key generator Tiffany had perfected last year, all he had to do was place his hand over the sensor and wait while for the lights to turn green.

The bolt lock slid open with a sudden thunk, and Bruce slipped into Cell Block C.

Three stories of prison cells stretched open before him, smelling like a public bathroom in the Narrows. He could see each barred door had two beds embedded into the walls, with only just enough room for two people to stand shoulder-to-shoulder, bringing to mind a twisted shoebox diorama.

One long catwalk weaved throughout the place, spotted with rust and bits of peeling paint. The rush of air as he whizzed past rows of metal bars was only slightly satisfactory when he was still wincing at the slight sound of the metal clang of the grapple teeth hitting the railing.

The cell door was easy to unlock - all the doors were connected to an online grid for routine automatic unlocking, but had a manual override to use a physical key. A simple signal jammer was all that was needed to fool the cell into thinking it lost connection to the controller and let Bruce pick the lock.

Despite the cowl, the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. He was being watched, but he wasn’t sure by who. At the very least, he knew an alarm hadn’t been tripped; his radio tuner wasn’t picking up any calls to action inside the prison…

The lock opened with too loud of a cha-clink. Oswald stirred.

The upper bunk was empty, despite the rumpled sheets. At least Bruce wouldn’t have to worry about potentially fighting off two prisoners at once.

Bruce chose to stay away from the cot to speak; there was no need to overstep and put either of them in harm’s way yet. He kicked the cot’s mattress instead to get attention.

Oswald jerked upward with a garbled sort of shout, flinching to press his back against the wall.

The direct approach was best. “Why did you want to destroy Richard Hartright’s files?”

Oswald glared at him, shoulders sagging as he relaxed into a sitting position. “Should’ve known you’d sneak your sorry-winged ass in here to give me the business one of these days. Or did the Commissioner give you your own Bat-pass?”

“I know Rocky Hopper worked for you,” Bruce said flatly, “The bomb he was setting in Hartright’s filing cabinet went off early. He’s dead.”

Oswald’s eyebrow rose a fraction, eyes widening in a sort of surprise that he was trying and failing to suppress. “Plenty of people worked for me,” he said with practiced casualty, casting a look at the cell door and waving away the issue. “I don’t care what they do with their spare time nowadays.”

Bruce had enough. He grabbed Oswald by the collar and hoisted him up to be more on his level. “I don’t play games,” he growled out, “You worked for Vicki Vale - you knew Richard was one of her sources during her time at the Gazette. One of your affiliates blew up his office with enough C4 to kill him. Why were you after him?”

“I thought you were supposed to be the detective,” Oswald scowled.

Bruce punched him hard in the jaw, holding him up so he didn’t fall back into the wall. “What did he have that you didn’t want getting out?”

“You can’t hurt me in a way that matters,” Oswald scowled in disgust, “You think I don’t see this every day in this hellhole?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes. A clanging noise came from outside the cell.

“SHUT UP or I’m going to come over there and chew your FACE off, Penguin!” came a gravelly hiss of a voice from a nearby cell. “SOME of us are trying to SLEEP!”

“Your neighbor sounds mad,” Bruce taunted, “Tell me what I want to know and maybe I won’t wake up the whole block.”

Bruce tossed him to the floor, only too late feeling his cape pull along with the motion. His shoulder smacked into the wall as Oswald skittered out the open door.

He chased after him, boots clanging on the metal of the catwalk, priming a bat-bola to throw. Oswald barely reached the staircase when the weighted rope whipped through the air and wrapped itself around the man’s calves in the nick of time.

Oswald hit the floor with a loud, reverberating thunk. Bruce was able to grab an arm and pin it around his back as he leaned over him, out of arm’s reach.

“You bastard, you’re no different from the pigs that run this place!” Oswald spat, voice echoing around the cell block.

“Why did Richard pose a threat to you?” Batman asked again, feeling more eyes on him. He could see several prisoners had risen in their beds. One was already pressed against the bars of the cell for a better look. He pulled on the arm he was holding, just enough to hurt.

“Because he’s just like your lot,” Oswald grunted, “Sticks his nose in where it doesn’t belong. Vicki’s worth ten of him.”

Bruce’s brain buzzed, trying to parse through what information he had. The private detective’s only link to Oswald was through Vicki Vale; he had nothing to do with Penguin’s crew, before or after his arrest, that Bruce knew of. The mention of Penguin’s old leader in the present tense was jarring. “Vicki Vale’s been dead for two years.”

Penguin gave a light wheeze of a chuckle. “Killed her yourself, did you?” he taunted, “Buried her in a shallow grave with the last rites? They never did find a body in all that rubble, did they?”

Bruce had seen the rocks fall as he guided Alfred out of the underground catacomb. He’d doubled back later, on the off chance he could find her, and found the chamber practically blocked off by the collapse. There were no other tunnels, no secret rooms, no pockets she could have climbed out of. He’d checked.

But it bothered him all the same.

He could hear the inmates start to blabber and howl as he dragged Oswald ‘The Penguin’ Cobblepot back to his cell by his feet. 

Body slam him next! Body slaaam!

Not so tough now, are ya Peng’? Ha ha, oh man!

Fuck you! Fuck you, you hear me, Bat? Fuck you!

Let me out - I’ll drag your ass around the block, Bat! 

Come on, Penguin, get up and grab him-!

You think you’re so tough, you’re nothing without that fuckin’ armor!

He ignored it all, leaving Oz to nurse his wounds on the floor of his cell, winding the bola back up after he slammed the door behind him.

Deep down, he knew getting information out of Oz was a longshot to begin with. Any more questions would be met with more stubborn non-answers. He would have to check Oz’ mail, visitors, cell-mates, anything he could have used to send out the message to his cronies.

He leapt up and over the railing to glide back down to the first floor, feeling the eyes of awakened prisoners all around.

“Hey, Batman” a smooth, familiar voice called from his right. “You got a taste for beating up bird-dudes or what? I’d think you know he doesn’t like to talk about work.”

Bruce barely gave Roman Sionis and his cocky little smirk a second glance.

“I could tell you what he was up to,” Roman added.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Bruce ignored the cacophony of noise as he left the way he came in, the sound of the hinge on the metal door far more noticeable now that he was in a hurry to leave. “I doubt it,” Bruce muttered.

🜁

The bare facts stared out at him through black and white scans and data retrievals on the Batcomputer’s oversized screens.

Rocky Hopper communicated strictly through text messages. Simple instructions of picking up the bomb and a key from a contact he’d meet on the street, dropping it off in Detective Hartright’s office, and flicking the switch to let the countdown start. Said contact was never named, explained as being able to recognize Rocky on sight.

Oswald Cobblepot’s outgoing mail took a long time to be scanned and approved, up until a few months ago. Most likely he or someone who worked for him was paying off one of the officers in charge of the mail room. At first, the letters used an easy code of the first letter in each sentence spelling out a short command. Silence person, pick up this, sell that, mostly to one Cameron Van Cleer. As far as Bruce could tell, Cameron was one of Oz’ one-time cronies that - judging by the social media profile Bruce had gathered - had sympathies to the Children of Arkham. Oz must have entrusted them with a financial account, judging by shorthand instructions to buy and sell actual stock as well. No mention of Detective Hartright.

All of this would be easily digested, if it weren’t for the last line in the last letter to Cameron:  Our fair lady will be reaching out to you.

The incoming mail told a similar story of back-and-forth mob work disguised as friendly exchanges. And then there were the others. Arriving every week or two, short and to the point, like telegrams more than anything.

I know you must be surprised to hear from me. I know I’ve been away a long time, but I’ve kept a close eye on things. I can see things haven’t changed since I left… Wayne Enterprises is still standing, to my surprise. But I can see our friends aren’t all gone. Can I still count you as a friend, even though it’s been so long? -Your fair lady

Then, two weeks later:  

I’m glad we’re still friends after all this time. I have so many things I’d like to share with you! Do you remember Julian Day ? He had a whole article in the Gazette on page 4!  -Your fair lady

Bruce checked the date against the Gazette’s webpage. Julian Day was noted for causing a car crash that ended in his death and the destruction of a popular corner restaurant. The coroner’s report Bruce pulled up noted no street drugs in his system. One patron said they thought they saw someone else exit from the backseat of the vehicle, but no other person was found on CCTV.

And then the last letter, dated a week ago:

We need to catch up in person. I’ve got a little place downtown above the Iceberg Lounge. (I heard Roman Sionis tried to buy it once!) I’d love for you to visit… Drop me a line when you can. -Your fair lady

Bruce felt the impossible gnaw at him. But the strings he had were so easily put together. Oswald had been corresponding with Lady Arkham, despite the fact that Vicki Vale was buried under the rubble of Arkham’s underground catacombs.

She was dead. 

Had to be. 

He’d checked. 

They never did find a body in all that rubble, did they?

Bruce tried to breathe steadily into his hands. His elbows were sore from the near-constant perch on the metal console as he read and re-read. He sank further to rest his forehead on his arms, breathing in the cave air as he tried to focus. 

He saw that pile of rubble in his mind’s eye. Broken stone bricks were piled high in a seemingly endless mountain in the cool, musty darkness below Arkham. He moved through it, stepping on only the largest, sturdiest pieces to prevent an avalanche. Bruce climbed over a fallen column. The snakes winding around the stone seemed to shift in the light.

Even in the basement, he could feel the pull of the asylum on his psyche. The toxic energy that seeped into walls from years of madness and undoubtable abuse stirred down there like dust, swirling at his feet and seeming to stick to the edges of his cape. He tried to ignore it as he walked over the broken stone to the spot he saw Vicki last.

The opening she had tried to get to was completely sealed now. There was nothing but dead ends among long-dead bodies everywhere else underground.

He could see the top of the air-pulse weapon Lady Arkham had wielded sticking out between two stones. He reached down and pulled, straining against the rock until they started to tumble away; the weapon pulled free as if it were Excalibur, almost making him fall back.

His drone was too large to send into the fresh gap. He stooped down to shine his light into the crevice, dust swirling up to meet him and cover him in Arkham before could glimpse the gloved hand reaching up to snatch his cape, jerking his shoulder, trying to pull him down deeper into-

Bruce snapped awake, jolting in his seat. When had he fallen asleep…?

“Morning, honey-buns,” John greeted from behind, placing a cup of coffee next to Bruce’s elbow, “Rough night?”

Bruce watched a freshly dressed John lean his hip against the massive desk, taking a sip from his silly ‘clown juice’ mug with an expectant stare. He felt his mood sink upon realizing he hadn’t seen him since last night. He’d seemed surprised at the explosion interrupting the odd murder-game he’d made, but… He looked awfully casual right now, if not a little mad.

“I mean, I assume,” John added, squinting accusingly at Bruce, “you forgot to text me what happened.”

Ah. That explained the mood. “It was pretty long,” Bruce answered, his mouth tasting like old beef jerky. “I didn’t even know I fell asleep.”

“I could tell,” John teased with a snide little smirk, moving to sit on the flat surface so he could swing his feet in the air. “I haven’t seen you fall asleep in the suit before.”

The square cut of emerald and tiny amethysts on either side winked at Bruce from John’s ring finger, bringing Bruce back into the reality of the present. He pushed the thoughts of John’s involvement away, choosing to trust his fiancé and figuring that his mood was entirely due to Bruce keeping him in the dark. He finally gave into the urge to let his gloved fingers rest softly on the plum-purple corduroy covering John’s thigh. “That’s because someone keeps goading me out of it.”

John giggled, looking pleased. “If you weren’t so shy about mixing the other halves of our lives together, I wouldn’t have to.”

Bruce could feel the little smile in the corner of his mouth quirking up as John’s hand covered his. He relented in finally taking in some of the steaming caffeine John had brought him. The smooth bitter heat steeped into his chest, bringing him partially back to life.

“Soooo…Penguin, huh?” John craned his neck up to the monitor behind him, taking Bruce a little off guard. “Was he playing ‘Emperor’ in prison, or is it just another concrete jungle?”

Truthfully, Bruce wasn’t sure what to make of Oz’ predicament. “Hard to say,” he said, “He got out of the cell for a few minutes, but some of the prisoners had no problem with me fighting him. His neighbor certainly didn’t care about who he was talking to.”

“Could just be all that testosterone and sleep deprivation crammed in those two-by-fours,” John commented knowingly, legs moving steadily in the air, “Any fight gets ‘em all riled up! As you well know,” he said with a sly little grin.

Bruce remembered Zaaz’s fight with the orderly back in Arkham all too well. The orderly survived, but Bruce had felt the guilt of leaving him to fend for himself while he made the all-important call compound and sit in him for a long time. 

“Could be.”

“Those little letters sure are interesting, aren’t they? I’m guessing you didn’t find the replies.”

Bruce leaned back in the chair, looking at the whole picture again. “No. He must have had an in-between deliver them. I know he must have had someone in the mailroom on his payroll.” He stared at the offending final letter, pulled up square among the rest. “That last one bothers me.”

“Right? It’s hard to picture The Penguin meeting up with a zombie in a club! Ha ha ha haa! Ah, doesn’t that sound like a bad horror flick?”

Such a silly thing to say should have quelled the thought still pecking at the back of his skull. It only left a bad taste in his mouth. Coffee wasn’t washing it away.

The smile slipped from John’s face. “...she is dead, isn’t she? I remember that pile of rubble looked pretty big on T.V…”

For a moment, Bruce thought about shrugging it off with silence. Or just saying that Oz mentioning her couldn’t be a coincidence. But John had asked the question that kept casting shadows over everything else. And if there was anyone else who could look at those, it was John. “I never found her body,” he answered, staring hard at the digitized letter, “No one did.”

“Sooo…there’s a slim chance she’s back in Gotham, then,” John said with a squint, pinching his index finger and thumb together in front of Bruce’s face, the emerald on his ring glinting, “I mean, IF we put aside the fact she was likely heavily injured and would have to hitch a ride back to the city, where everyone definitely recognizes her, AFTER getting out of the secret underground chamber and swimming back to Gotham from the island.”

It was the kind of thing he’d hear from him across the visiting table at Arkham. He wanted to believe him. “It’s still a chance,” he said, unable to shake the feeling he was missing something important, “If it’s not her, then someone’s going out of their way to convince us it is.”

“There is another possibility.” John paused to take a loud slurp from his mug. “He’s trying to throw you off your rhythm.”

“To what end?”

“Who says there has to be an end?” John shrugged, a smile on the corners of his cherry-red mouth, “If I was really mad at you - like, ree-ally mad - ‘you betrayed me’ mad - I’d do it just to mess with you.”

Even now that they were engaged, he found himself not doubting that at all. John sometimes enjoyed needling him for little to no reason other than getting a reaction. Maybe, if John were different… If their lives had gone differently, then…

He swallowed the dark thought down with coffee and a non-committal hum as the cell phone left on the console buzzed. Once, twice, and on the third Bruce finally deigned to answer.

“Morning, Iman.”

“Bruce,” came Iman’s no-nonsense voice, “you need to get down to the office.”

“I wasn’t exactly planning on playing hooky,” Bruce said dryly.

“A few of my old colleagues are here,” Iman replied, her tone sharp and stable, “talking to our security team. They’re going to have a conference call with a few of our other branches. And I have a feeling they’ll want to talk to you personally.”

“Great. That’s all I need.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt he needed to know:  “What are you doing there so early, anyway?”

A slight pause. “I wanted to catch the Quick ‘Fast truck again,” she answered sheepishly, “I figured I would just come in and get some work done afterward.”

Ah. The early bird catches the pancake-burger, Bruce thought to himself. “Right. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

“Be careful,” she added, “they’ll likely put a tail on you after they talk with you here, but they might have one already watching the house.” A beat passed as he considered the small frame of time he might have unobserved. “I’ve gotta run. Any longer in here and they’ll suspect I’m talking to you.”

John set his mug down by the fabric flowers he’d made Bruce while he was still in Arkham. “Bad news? Let me guess – our latest wedding planner’s gone rogue.”

“No. Worse than that.”

“Good; Kimberly might not have much going for her, but after the last two…”

“John.”

John mimed zipping his mouth shut.

“The Agency is back in town. Some of them are waiting for me at the office.”

“The Agency?” Tiffany piped up from behind, “What do they want?”

“I don’t know yet,” Bruce said over his shoulder, “but considering they aren’t coming to the house, and are conversing with Wayne Enterprises’ entire security team, I’d say they’re waiting for someone to come in or out of one of our buildings.”

John was worrying the corner of his bottom lip as he looked at the steel floor, eyes darting over the squares like they held all the paths such a situation could go.

“John,” he said as gently as possible, putting a hand on his shoulder, “you don’t have to go to work if you don’t want to. I can talk to your social worker-”

“No!” he said suddenly, snatching hold of Bruce’s arm. He seemed to realize how frantic he seemed, because he quickly covered it by giving the armor plating a couple of pats and trying for a smile. “No. I’ll go. I shouldn’t…”  The smile wavered. “I don’t want to be alone here,” he muttered honestly.

“We’re going to have to get you to work early, then. It’s that or dropping you off at St. Dymphna’s…”

Tiffany was already taking over the console, pulling up the 3D-generated image of the bomb. “Have you looked through this?”

“Not quite.”

Tiffany pulled away the layers of it, eyes traveling over the interior. The drone cameras had taken the pictures of the pieces, and Bruce and the BatComputer worked together to piece it back like a three-dimensional puzzle. He didn’t pay as much attention to its construction as he should have; he had been combing over Oz’ mail not long before and thinking about any other possible explanation than the one that kept popping up.

“So, you missed the partial left behind?” Sure enough, a partial print of what might have been from the middle or index finger was barely visible on one of the inner slices of metal, somehow not entirely burned off. If Bruce hadn’t been present for the explosion, he wouldn’t wonder if it was somehow planted for him. 

Tiffany was already running a cross-check on the criminal database with one of her shortcut commands. “That’s not like you.” She squinted at him with a tilt of her head. “Are you okay?”

“I think the lure of the criminal chase was clearly too much last night; he fell asleep down here,” John excused for him.

Tiffany pulled a face. “I hope that’s not a euphemism for something.”

“He means I was distracted by case details,” Bruce butted in, “And I did fall asleep. But more importantly-”

“You need to go,” Tiffany and John said in unison. 

John pointed at Tiffany in delight. “Ooh-hoo, jinx!”

“I can easily look into this,” Tiffany pointed to the rapidly growing list of names, “and still be on time.”

“And I’ll help!” John gestured to himself importantly, “Four eyes are better than two! Um, as long as you don’t mind driving me to work on your way,” John added, casting Tiffany a friendly look. 

Tiffany pursed her lips in mock-thought. “Hmm… Alright. But only because I know I’m getting a seat of honor at your guys’ wedding. And this is a huge list.”

Bruce felt the usual itch to just take the important work with him. He knew he could only look at it at red lights, and knew he’d be thinking about it nonstop until he reached his office. But with the Agency back in town and speaking with his security team of all things, the sense of dread he’d felt last night was building higher. 

Something was going to happen.

And for once, Bruce felt that he shouldn’t try to go it alone.

“I expect to see you,” he pointed to Tiffany, “in the engineering offices by 9 A.M. sharp. I want a brief in my office at 9:30.” Tiffany seemed to stand a little straighter, and the smile on the edges of her mouth became more pronounced.

“And you,” he directed at John, who was already looking bright-eyed, “better be at All Stitched Up Alterations by 8:30. And you’re going to stay there for your whole shift, go back to St. Dymphna’s with the others, and wait until I pick you up at 5:30.”

“Sheesh, I leave early one time to follow a lead for your case, and you act like I’m some delinquent,” John poked with a toothy grin. “I’d make a joke about detention with you if Tiffy wasn’t here.”

Tiffany wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, please don’t.”

John giggled at her as he brushed off his pants like he’d gotten them dirty just by sitting. “Okay, Bruce, I promise I’ll be good,” he half-sang, “but I better be updated during the day this time.”

John looped his arms around Bruce’s neck and leaned in to kiss his cheek, but his lips didn’t make contact. 

“Don’t think any of this stops our game, Bruce,” John whispered in a low voice, the corner of his smiling mouth brushing over the fine hairs. Bruce wasn’t sure if it was the words or the soft movement that made the spike of heat in his gut. John’s lips barely brushed his skin in a soft peck. “Don’t make me sleep alone.” 

Bruce felt John’s nails dig slightly into his back with the last word, and then John pulled himself away like nothing happened. “Have a good day!” he added brightly. “Uh, you know, as much as you can.”

His heart thudded with the small rush of adrenaline at the threat still burning against his ear. It was unreasonable to try and play this…murder-game Joker had established while Bruce and Batman had enough on their plates.  

“I’ll be waiting,” John added, tilting his head to look at Bruce through his lashes with a challenging sort of smirk. The kind normally reserved for when he was moments away from being bound and on his knees.

Bruce reminded himself that this unreasonable, manipulative, handsome sneak of a man was who he was choosing to marry. He wouldn’t promise him anything; he couldn’t. But he wouldn’t deny him, either. If he was this hell-bent on playing, it was clearly important to him.

“I’ll…try.” Bruce heard the cape of his suit swish across the metal tiles as he made his way to the elevator.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Author Notes: Finally, we're at our proper start, having returned to the classic TellTale formula! The Whole Nine Yards sure was a nice romantic break in the series, but things can't stay that way forever. (If you hadn't read it, no worries, I'll summarize for you: Bruce and John talked about their feelings and further built their relationship, boinked a lot, Alfred left again, and Bruce spontaneously proposed to John on a romantic sunset-lit beach.) I'm sure you realize that our return to base means "choices" have an impact again - for example, if you romanced Selina throughout and only befriended John, it would be her waking Bruce but John butting his way in partway to deliver his last whispered lines with a hug…minus the threat of sending Bruce to the couch, of course. Selina would then stick around to help next chapter as well, but only so far. A villainous Joker would have had made a real crime scene for our prologue and thus made his game a lot more pressing of an issue and a way more reasonable excuse to follow up on it. (No matter who he romances, Bats can't stay away from Joker's ploys.)

Y'all know by now that I love jokes in my work as much as I love making clues. Penguin's dead goon, Rocky Hopper, is both! The name comes from the rockhopper penguin, which is famous for it's bushy "brows", weird spikey mullet-like "haircut", and red eyes. We also have a callback to Season 4, The Tolls of Justice, with Iman's excuse for showing up to work early - Quick 'Fast (like "quick breakfast"), the mysterious food truck that eludes John and home of his coveted Pancake Burger! Apparently, Iman tried it and liked it enough to chase after it. Somewhere, in the recesses of my brain, there's a short story taking place before this where Iman and John hunt down the truck together… But that's for another day.

Next time, we'll see things from a certain bird-girl's point of view. After all, her choices matter as much as the rest, and she really doesn't get enough love around here. Until then...thank you, as always, for joining me on this journey! (●´□`)♡

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

seeing lots of people talking about drones making infantry obsolete but i don't buy it.

there are already-existing relatively cheap and mobile counter-drone technologies. whether it's ew weapons, net guns, or just straight up ordinary firearms. and these systems are becoming cheaper, more portable, and more effective all the time. not to mention all of the new technologies coming out (like literal counter-drones and directed energy weapons). or hell, i've even seen people destroy drones by using hawks, throwing stones and spears, or even just magnetic dust.

plus, humans simply fulfill roles that are so basic and critical that can't be replaced with drones. like, most importantly, taking and holding territory, clearing buildings, taking pows, screening for armor, dig trenches, operate in areas way behind enemy lines where anti-air is abundant, providing security, etc.

and now i'm not saying drones aren't an issue or that they're not going to have a significant role in the future of warfare or that they won't supplement infantry in the aforementioned tasks or that they'll never be able to do any of the above effectively.

i'm just saying drones aren't going to make infantry obsolete. honestly, even when we get fully fledged robot soldiers i don't think human infantry will be obsolete. i think the robots will just supplement human-based infantry units.

i think ukraine is an interesting case study for how a somewhat modernized military conducts drone and counter-drone warfare. i think we are learning a lot of valuable lessons. and i think it goes without saying that a highly advanced/developed country will have better odds against drones than a developing country. america has some of the most advanced sensors and automatic target recognition.

just have every squad have one dude with one of those mobile drone jammers like this:

then every man have a sidearm, maybe one or two guys with a shotgun, once they're better developed maybe one man with a dedicated anti-drone laser gun.

then make sure every infantry platoon has a couple of those electronic warfare vics like the m-lids plus some fixed counter-drone sensors and emplacements.

[alterrune]

Zulu Security Shadow: Sir, the intruders made it into Accounting.

Shadow Laurence: Send in more security there, activate the turrets and the Marauder Class Quadcopter.

Zulu Security Shadow: Yes sir.

*Enemy Detected: XB-31 Marauder*

Strategic Data:

* The Marauder drone is a heavily armored quadcopter that uses a chaingun and missile launcher to control the battlefield.

* Disabling the rotor blades causes temporary immobilization while the system software adjusts for the interruption.

* The sensor system can be blinded by attacking the primary camera.

* The Marauder drone is weak to electricity and resistant to fire

- Albert

Shadow Laurence: Let’s see if they handle the Marauder… wait, what are these emails?

(One of the Emails is sent from “The Investigation Team”, the other is send from “The Phantom Thieves)

Shadow Laurence: Oh, so you’re all here for your little mascots then? Sorry, but this is my domain, I hold all the cards here, just bad luck for you all to arrive in my building during maximum security.

(Unfortunately, The Maurauder is already locked onto Teddie...sorry, bud, this is gonna hurt.)

(Teddie gets hit by a dozen missiles and then stomped flat. Fortunately, he's still very much alive.)

I gotcha, Teddie. Just rest over here for a bit, you'll be back to your old self in no time. Now then...Magatsu-Izanagi!

(I crush the card in my hand and...wait. Why is nothing happening?)

What the hell?! What happened to the arcana card I've been using?!

(The card is continually being summoned, but nothing happens when I crush it.)

Maggy-Izzy, this isn't funny! I NEED YOU TO COME OUT NOW!!!

(Morgana summons his Persona, Zorro. Yeah, the same Zorro from those folktales is his Persona. And he's a bulky one, too, which you wouldn't expect from someone as small as him.)

Wait, but Zorro specializes in WIND attacks, Morgana! This Marauder thing's weak to Electric!

I never said Wind would not work, Kyle. I merely said what he was weak and what he was resistant to.

...You're right, Albert! Alright, Morgana, ya little show-off, hit this guy with all your might!

I guess I earned THAT one...

(Morgana hits the Marauder hard with a Magaru, knocking its' head clean off its' shoulders and destroying it with a huge gust of wind! Game over, we win, the Marauder loses.)

(I look to the ceiling and see...)

Some kind of signal jammer. If I had to guess...

(I quickly pull out The Blue Eye and shoot the jammer. I then try summoning Magatsu-Izanagi again, and, wouldn't you goddamn know it, he comes out without a hitch.)

Yep, just as I suspected. A Persona jammer. But...how the hell did that jam me, but not Morgana?

"It seemed to only target me. I tried numerous times to come out myself, yet I failed each time."

Oh, that makes sense, Maggy-Izzy. Anyways, guys, let's keep moving. I don't think Shadow Laurence likes using LIVE bait that much, so let's pick up the pace before the bait he's using bites the dust.

...what even is my life anymore...?

Ditto, Alter. Ditto.