#unit injectors

[diagnozabam]

VW BXE: Motorul Diesel 1.9 TDI – Caracteristici și Detalii

Motorul VW BXE 1.9 TDI de 1,9 litri și 8 supape a fost produs între 2006 și 2010, fiind utilizat pe numeroase modele ale mărcilor Volkswagen, Audi și Skoda. Este cunoscut mai ales pentru o serie de bucșe defectuoase care se uzau rapid pe motoarele fabricate într-un interval specific de timp. Seria EA188-1.9 include și motoarele: AJM, ASZ, AUY, AVB, AVF, AWX, AXB, AXC, BKC, BLS, BXE. Specificații…

[yujingsblog]

Deutz unit pump from Miraclemotorvehicle

[wunfagroup]

Remanufacture injector

Our remanufactured injectors will help your engine run more smoothly. These reasonably priced parts were professionally brought back to almost new condition to provide a sustainable fuel supply and give your car an extension of life.

[octopusmedical01]

Refurbished Medical Equipment Supplier and Exporter in India - Octopus Medical

Octopus Medical is a leading high-quality Refurbished Medical Equipment Supplier and Exporter in India. With a commitment to providing reliable, cost-effective, and sustainable healthcare solutions, Octopus Medical has become a trusted name in the industry. Here are some key features and benefits of their services:

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In conclusion, Octopus Medical’s commitment to quality, affordability, and sustainability makes it a reputable supplier and exporter of refurbished medical equipment in India. Their offerings empower healthcare providers to upgrade their facilities with reliable, modern technology while keeping costs in check. With a focus on customer satisfaction and regulatory compliance, Octopus Medical continues to make a positive impact on the healthcare industry.

[taevisionceo]

TAEVision 3D Mechanical Design Parts AutoParts Aftermarket injection systems InjectionSystems DieselInjection Injectors Pumps MeteringUnits ▸ TAEVision Engineering on Pinterest ▸ TAEVision Engineering on Google Photos

Data 084 - May 23, 2023

[ef-1]

Twitter is mad at Daniel again because they caught on to that CH interview about Daniel being offered the same contract as Max, icl I'm also bitter about it. I wish he wasn't so rash in 2018

It's easy to be bitter in hindsight but the reality is more nuanced, had it not been recorded and internationally broadcast, what happened to Daniel in 2018 would be flat out unbelievable by ANY standard lol. Daniel had mechanical issues in every. single. weekend in 2018 <- this is not a hyperbole or a joke (more on this later). He ran multiple races with a b spec engine -> 20 bhp down on Max. At no point in 2018 did Max run a lower engine power than Daniel. Daniel incurred 8 dnfs, 4 back of the grid starts for mechanical issues and 6 grid drops in total where as Max had *1*[one]. This isn't even accounting for failures in quali or free practice that would have compromised his set up or race prep. Daniel's car accounted for 92% of Red Bull failures in comparison to Max's 8%.

Christian's cunty "he ran from a fight" comment stung particularly hard because it was Christian who made MULTIPLE public apologies to Daniel in 2018 on the ground that he wasn't given a chance to compete. Christian would apologise to Daniel again when Max won in Mexico, even though Daniel had an uncharacteristic outburst in the media pen during that famous "The car is cursed. I can't wait to give it to Pierre" This isn't even diving into the dubious & predatory RB contract practices. At 28 years old, to quote Christian "It's the first time he's effectively a free agent."

You look back at it now and lament it as a bad call but even by Christian's admission Red Bull were on the verge of selling the team for 4 years. Honda was coming in, I know it's easy to praise Honda now but Honda single handedly sent Alonso into early retirement. He found working with them untenable + said it cost him his love for the sport. Those were the lingering images of Honda as they re-entered the sport, the team who electrocuted Alonso then bled his love for racing dry.

If you weren't around in 2018 let me give you a run down so horrific it looks like a joke:

Australia - Race: 3 Place grid penalty

Bahrain - Race: DNF - Battery Failure

China - Free Practice 3: Gear box issue with complete engine turbo failure. Misses FP3 entirely, no quali set up prepared. He would go on to win that race from p6

Baku - Race: DNF - Collision with Max. Racing incident.

Monaco - Race: partial MGU-K failure. He would go on to win that race with drastic loss of power.

Canada - Free Practice 2 - Power unit issue, misses majority of the session.

France - Race: front wing failure. (it disintegrated)

Austria - Race: DNF - Retires from p3 with MGU-k Failure

Britain - Quali: DRS failure. No DRS activation, still qualifies p6 behind Max in p5

Germany - Race: Back of grid start + DNF - Takes new engine for the weekend, starts p19 + has lower power spec A ICE approximately 20 BHP down on B spec that Max was running. Daniel climbed upto p5 from p19 but incurs a MGU-k failure and retires.

Hungary - Race: Daniel is forced to run lower power spec A ICE again, 20 BHP down on B spec that Max was running

Spa - Free Practice 1 + DNF: Daniel misses entire session with engine injector issue + Daniel would go on to retire after being driven into on lap 1.

Monza - Race: Back of grid start + DNF. Daniel takes another new engine for weekend (spec C) and incurs another full grid penalty, starts p19. Daniel would go on to climb to p6 before having clutch failure and retiring.

Singapore - Race + Quali + Free practice: During every session in Singapore Daniel has an unresolved spec C engine clipping issue that Red Bull can't fix.

Russia - Race + Free Practice 1 - Daniel misses FP1 due to mechanical issues. Daniel takes another engine penalty, starts p18

Japan - Race + Quali: Daniel incurs throttle actuator failure, misses quali, another back of grid start.

USA - Race: DNF - Battery Failure

Mexico - Race: DNF - clutch Bearing failure + start software clutch issue. Daniel retires the race from P2

Brazil - Race: Daniel takes a 5 Place grid penalty due to new turbo charger replacement. Starts in p11.

Abu Dhabi - Free Practice 3: Misses majority of FP3 with water leak.

Daniel's insanely vulnerable "if racing was the only thing making me happy this year, I would have been miserable" during the last on the sofa with Max was a v apt summary of 2018. To suggest that Daniel fucked up based on the information he had in 2018, namely Daniel undergoing all those problems + knowing RB was flirting with selling the team + Helmut's fuckery + having an out from the RB umbrella for the first time in his career? Your problem isn't with his decision making process, you just wish he was clairvoyant which is an unfair thing to be bitter about

[brokenpieces-72]

Split

CoD Hybrid AU | Navigation

You have options for what to do next. Communications are still open, you have contacts that can assist you, and you can reach weapons easily enough. The problem is… the problem. The people who raised you, took care of you, and trained you are now trying to kill you and innocent people. There aren’t too many hybrid units that can be easily reached and it’s selfish but if the program found out about this you would be taken back immediately.

“Right now we need to wait this out.” Ghost admits. The problem is, plenty of people could die. There are evacuation and containment measures for when something like this happens but like any emergency, no one is guaranteed safety. Most of the men were likely out if not holed up somewhere.

“What about a flu shot?” You suggest. Ghost and Rudy both look at you, a little confused.

“A flu shot?” Ghost asks.

“It put me out of commission.” You point out.

“Yes, but it took a couple days.” Rudy reminds you.

“But I couldn’t do anything for a while before that. I even tried to shift, but it just made super tired…having a hard time shifting even now.” You mutter the last part. Ghost and Rudy share a look. It could be difficult, and they’d need to get to the flu shots, but it wasn’t a terrible idea. Certainly worth a try. It is concerning that you can’t shift properly but that’s an issue for later.

“Does Hunter have any vaccines?”

“Got a few extras just in case, there’s enough for every soldier on base.” You say.

“Administering them could be tricky.” Rudy mentions.

“I can hold them down if you can deliver.” Ghost tells him. Rudy nods. Ghost turns to you. “You know where the vaccines are?”

“In the medbay.” You say. Shit. That could get complicated.

“Jet injector might be useful. More force to it.” Ghost thinks aloud.

“Those would be in another part of the base.” Rudy says. It’s risky even leaving the room, but staying in one place is not safe either. Right now you three need to get to work before there’s too much bloodshed. Rudy is low on energy, and cadejos could take a while to recharge. Ghost can’t expend his abilities too much without risk, so hiding in shadows has to be limited. You can’t shift which was a bit of an issue, but you’re a quick runner, and you can duck into anywhere.

“Alright, we’ll try to go at this together, but knowing the odds we’ll get separated. Spirit, find the vaccines, as many of them as you can gather. Rudy, jet injectors. I’ll keep an eye on both of you as much as I can.” Ghost says. You get off the desk and stick close to the men’s sides. Thankfully Rudy still had his side arm, but you and ghost don’t have much.

Ghost looks down at you, and worries for a moment. “Y/N?”

You look up at him. “If we get separated, don’t open the door for anyone. Not unless it’s me or Rudy, and you ask us a question only one of us would know. Got it?”

You hesitate but nod. Ghost knows you’re worried about the team first and foremost. You’re scared for Johnny, as is he. König is one of your only friends. He gives your shoulder a light squeeze and you take a deep breath.

You can feel your heart thumping in your chest as the door is slowly opened. Price’s door lets out a soft squeak, something he refused to get fixed for his own purposes. You can hear some noises in the distance that make you want to go back inside the office. You have to steel yourself though. This is a mission, and you’re entering what is essentially a war zone with highly dangerous targets and bogies. Unfortunately you also know that soft squeak of the hinge is a blip on the radar for plenty of your team with enhanced senses.

Rudy is tense, which makes sense. He’s low on energy, and who knows how long he originally had before all hell broke loose in the infirmary. The cadejos would likely need a minute before he could summon them again.

You hear a howl, all of you do. You look back down the hall. Your brother is somewhere nearby, you know it’s him. It couldn’t be anyone else. There’s an odd pull towards it, but Rudy catches your shoulder.

“Mija, don’t.” You look back at him, knowing what he means. Throughout your time here, Soap had been nothing but supportive, and you feel like you could be letting him down. Another howl rings out and Ghost looks back as well. He knows that howl too. You look up at Ghost, wanting nothing more than to see your brother.

“We need to hurry.” He says, and continues moving. Then you hear your name. Soap knows you can hear it, and only you can hear it. It pulls your attention away from the set course. Rudy gives a soft tug to your shoulder, keeping you from taking off.

“Rudy…” you say softly.

“Not a good idea. We stay on target, yeah?” Rudy says. You nod and continue to follow. You hear some more noises. A few are cries, some are squelching and wet, and you can make out a pounding noise, something banging against walls. You realize you’re moving closer to it and stop.

Ghost takes notice as does Rudy.

“What?” Ghost asks.

“I think I hear Konig.”

“I don’t hear anything.” Rudy says.

“It’s near the medbay. Something trying to break out.” You explain.

“You can hear that?” Rudy asks.

“Yeah.” You say looking between the two men. They’re a little red in the face, exchanging looks. “Why do you think I wear headphones at night? Block out you two with you Soap and Alejandro down the halls.”

“Not the time.” Ghost says, not wanting to lose focus. “Let’s focus on findin-“

“Horangi.” You say seeing a familiar haetae approaching. Shit. His eyes are red, and his mouth is drooling. There’s no chuffing only low growls.

“Spirit… you know what to do.” Ghost instructs focusing on the stalking beast as you three step back. Rudy moves into your line of sight and Horangi. Your vision started to go white, as you realize Horangi is trying to hide himself. Ghost would be fine but Rudy? You have to hope Rudy with be okay. You take off without another thought, taking another route to the medbay. There’s growls both canine and feline but you don’t look back.

You turn the corners trying to focus on whatever smells of carnage you can track down.

Fresh scent, raw and meaty but still fresh. You pause for a moment taking time to locate yourself. You’re out of the fog at least. Frying pan and fire though because you’re exposed. Okay ignore the smells, you’ll smell blood and meat regardless of whichever way you go. The sound of banging though. That had to be Konig surely.

“Little rabbit…” you heard, and the hair on the back of your neck rose. It was soft but close. You took only a second to look up and see what was your worst nightmare.

He stood, half shifted, and covered in gore. He wiped his mouth on his arm, smearing the blood even more, approaching you with a hunger in his eyes.

“Johnny…”

“Run rabbit… run run run…”

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving @cutiecusp @shikigami-the-paper-spirit

[askarsjustsoswedish]

GENERATION KILL - MILITARY TERMINOLOGY AND SLANG USED IN THE MINISERIES (Part 1, A-M)

// I've been reorganising my files I thought this may be useful for some GenKill fans. //

All rights HBO

For Immediate Release                                                          June 25, 2008

.50 Caliber:  the standard heavy, vehicle-mounted machine gun used by U.S. forces since World War Two; aka “Fifty cal,” “the Fifty,” “M-2” and “Ma Deuce.”

5.56 Machine Gun Rounds:  the diameter of bullets in millimeters used by US forces in all rifles and light machine guns; aka “NATO rounds.”  Distinguished from Iraq’s Soviet standard military, which uses 7.62mm rounds in their weapons.

507 Maintenance:  U.S. Army unit that took a wrong turn into Nasariyah and was ambushed.  Note: This is best known as the unit to which Jessica Lynch belonged, though the platoon will not learn of Lynch by name, or her status as the most famous U.S. prisoner of war, until Part 3.

Alpha Company:  Bravo’s sister company in First Recon Battalion, commanded by the highly popular and respected Captain Patterson, the polar opposite of Bravo’s commander “Encino Man.”

America’s Shock Troops:  a catchphrase invoking Donald Rumsfeld’s plans of a lean, stripped-down invasion force modeled after German forces of WWII.  This is a deliberate reference to the German Shock Troops, the SS, used to spearhead blitzkriegs across France and Poland.  Ferrando takes pride in knowing his battalion will be the premiere shock-troop unit of the entire Marine Corps.

Amtrac:  a loud, ungainly amphibious vehicle used to transport Marines on the ground in Iraq; also used as a mobile fighting platform.

A-O (Area of Operations):  an A-O can be as large as all of Iraq or as small as the area around a Marines encampment.

Ass:  Marine slang for any weapon system or unit that packs a lot of fire power.  “We’re rolling with a lot of ass today” means “We will be accompanied by tanks or attack helicopters today.”

Assassin:  radio call sign for First Recon’s Alpha Company.  “Assassin Actual” is Alpha’s Company Commander, Captain Patterson.

Assault Through:  primary Marine tactic when encountering a close ambush, linked to the mantra drilled into every Marine since day one of boot camp when every Marine must repeat, “I am a Marine, and every Marine is a rifleman and a rifleman’s duty is to locate, close with, and destroy the enemy by fire...”  This is, in a nutshell, the doctrine of the entire U.S. Marine Corps.

AT4 Rocket:  the ubiquitous anti-tank rocket carried by Marine ground forces.  Fired from a self-contained plastic tube about a meter long and weighing just a few kilos, it can destroy a heavy tank.  During the Iraq invasion most AT4s are fired into Iraqi homes to clear out potential enemy forces.

Atropine injector:  atropine is a chemical that counteracts certain nerve agents.  Atropine injectors are issued to troops who expect to be preparing or receiving chemical attacks, and in this instance, Iraqis.

Attriting:  to wear down; verb version of “attrition,” peculiar to the military.

B.R.C. (Basic Reconnaissance Course):  the school a Marine must attend and graduate from to become a Recon Marine; the most sought-after training course in the Corps.  Only about one percent of all Marines qualify to enter B.R.C. and half of those who enter fail to complete it.

Battalion Commander:  Lt. Colonel Stephen Ferrando, commander of the 370-man strong First Recon Battalion, call sign “Godfather.”

Beanies:  black-knitted watch caps typically worn by sailors.  A powerful status symbol; only Recon Marines are allowed to wear them within the First Division.

Belt-fed:  excited; refers to linked rounds fed through a machine gun.  Can also be used an intensifier, as in, “That guy is a belt-fed son of a bitch,” i.e., a real son of a bitch.

Blouse his boots:  to tuck pants-legs into the tops of one’s boots and keep them in place by wrapping a metal spring around the fabric just below the boot-top; part of Ferrando’s hated Grooming Standard.  Not only are the springs used in the boot blousing uncomfortable, blousing one’s boot ensures that all the ambient sand will pour directly into the wearer’s boot.

Blue Force Tracking Antenna:  an antenna for the Blue Force Tracker, a new computerized mapping system that – when it occasionally works properly – identifies the locations of all “blue,” or friendly, forces and the locations of all known “red,” or enemy. forces.  Locations of such forces across the entire Middle East are updated every 30 seconds.  Sgt. Colbert possesses one of only a handful Blue Force Trackers in the entire battalion.

Boonie Cap:  a standard issue floppy field hat, like a camouflaged version of the hat worn by Gilligan on “Gilligan’s Island”;  aka soft cover.

Bound past:  “bounding” is a specific form of maneuver favored by the Marine Corps, employed by two-man fire teams or the entire division.

Buck Fever:  too quick to identify threats; a hunting term that comes from the expression to “put buck’s horns on a doe,” i.e., seeing a valid target when there is none.

Butterfly Trigger:  a safety trigger that requires two thumbs to actuate.

C.G. (Commanding General):  always means General Mattis, Commanding General of the First Marine Division, when these Marines use the phrase.

C.O. (Commanding Officer):  usually applied to the Battalion Commander (Maj. or Lt. Col.), or less frequently the Company Commander (Capt.), but never to a Platoon Commander (Lieut.).

C.O.I., freqs covered, freqs plain:  Encryption lingo necessary to operate radios.

“Captain America”:  derisive nickname for Capt. Dave McGraw, commander of Bravo’s Third Platoon, sister platoon to the heroes in Second Platoon.  Note:  Although Captain America is a rank above Lt. Fick, as commanders of respective sister platoons they are peers with one another.

Cas-evac:  casualty evacuation; similar to the older phrase med-evac.  Cas-evac technically means an evacuation in a combat zone of a patient who has not yet been stabilized, but it’s become the cool way to say any form of medical evacuation.

“Casey Kasem”:  a mocking nickname applied to Gunnery Sgt. Ray Griego, Encino Man’s aide de camp, based on the smarmy host of the Top 40 radio show and the voice of Shaggy in the original “Scooby Doo!” cartoon series.

Charms:  brand name of a hard candy provided to U.S. troops in the meal rations, but seldom consumed due to the belief that they produce bad luck.

Cleared hot:  given permission to fire your weapon by a superior.

Cobra Gunship:  armored helicopter used only by U.S. Marines,  unique because Cobras work in extremely close proximity to Marine ground forces.

Col. Joe Dowdy:  Commander of Regimental Combat Team One, popular among his troops for his reputation of caring about their welfare.  Later relieved of his command by General Mattis for not being aggressive enough and risking his troops to achieve battlefield goals.

Command Vehicle:  Lt. Fick’s Humvee, configured like a pick-up truck with a canvas covering.

Completely outside of what First Recon does:  this battalion is trained to swim or parachute behind enemy lines, not to drive into attacks in Humvees.  Their motto is “Swift Silent Deadly.”

Condition One:  a verb that means to put one’s weapon on red con one; rack a round into your chamber.

Contact:  a visual or physical encounter with enemy forces, said when you either see them or they start shooting at you.

Cyclone:  fierce swirls of dust common to Iraq, which dance across landscape and in some cases will collide with a person, tent or vehicle.  They range in height from a few meters to several hundred meters; aka dust devils.

D.C.U. (Desert Camouflage Uniform):  any field garment with desert camouflage.

DASC and DASC-A:  Direct Air Support Communications headquarters, with one based on the ground and one based in an AWACs plane.

Deck:  keeping with their nautical tradition, anything Marines stand on is the deck, be it on a ship, the desert or the floor of a tent.

Delta Company:  a company of reservist Recon Marines expected to be attached to First Recon Battalion.  Delta will prove to be a bunch of under-trained, overzealous, poorly equipped cops-on-leave and office guys who know nothing about war.

Deuce Gear:  a web of straps and hooks worn as an outer garment, to which one affixes extra gear such as ammo packs and canteens; aka Load Bearing Vest or L.B.V.

Devil Dog:  a Marine.

Dip:  smokeless tobacco used by American fighting forces; a dip is a quantity of tobacco placed between one’s lips and gums.  To dip is the habit of consuming smokeless tobacco.

Donkey Dicks:  venerable Marine Corps term for a variety of phallic-shaped implements from engine hoses, to gas can funnels, to cleaning brushes for large mortar tubes.

“Echo Four Lima”:  refers to Corporal Lilley, whose pay-grade is “E-4” and whose last name begins with “L.”  In radio code phonetics, he becomes “Echo Four Lima.”  Sergeant Colbert, whose pay grade is “E-5,” would become “Echo Five Charlie” over the radio.

“Encino Man”:  Captain Craig Schwetje, Commander of Bravo Company, Lt. Fick’s immediate superior officer; the nickname is a reference to the dim-witted Neanderthal hero of the film “Encino Man.”  This Encino Man is a former football star, none too bright, with an ape-like face:  he is also referred to in phonetic alphabet code, in which “Encino Man” is changed to “Echo Mike.”

Enlisted Tent: Area where privates through to sergeants sleep.  The senior non-commissioned officers such as Staff Sergeants, Gunnery Sergeants, Master Sergeants and the Sergeant Major are technically of the enlisted ranks, and occupy an elite position somewhere between sergeants and officers.

Ephedra:  over-the-counter diet pills, now banned by Marines as a speed-like stimulant.

E-tool:  a collapsible shovel carried by all Marines; short for “Excavation-tool.”

F.O.:  Forward Observer; anyone spotting targets for Iraqi or insurgent forces.

Fedayeen:  a Baathist paramilitary unit trained in guerrilla tactics and established by Saddam Hussein’s son in the 1990s to infiltrate and terrorize the Shia populace, but in the current conflict, arrayed against the American invasion, they are also referred to generically as “insurgents.”

Fiddies:  fifties, i.e., .50 cal. machine guns; former ghetto car repo man Espera uses the gangsta counting system in which “fiddie” equals 50, a “buck” or a “hundo” equals a hundred, a “deuce” equals either two or two-hundred, a “grand” equals a thousand, etc.

Flak jacket:  a heavy yet flexible shrapnel-resistant vest.

Foot-mobile:  a person on foot.

Forty Mike-Mike:  40 millimeter; refers to either an individual 40mm self-propelled grenade round or the weapon that launches them, such as the M-19.

Foshizzle…Hajizzle:  a goof on Snoop Dogg’s hip-hop lingo to mean “for sure” and “Haji.”

Free-balling:  not wearing underpants.

Fucking Sixta:  Sgt. Maj. John Sixta, Sergeant Major for this battalion;  aka “The Fucking Retard,” “Mister Potato Head,” “The Coward of Khafji.”  His role and actions both dictate that he is despised by enlisted men.

Get some:  to “get some” means to do any thing really cool like run a fast mile or kill someone.  [Mo here: I’ve removed one extremely graphic sentence here, which basically says that the term can also apply to sexual conquest.] [O]ften used as an exclamation or cheer.  Latino Marines use the Spanish “Chingaso” and whites have adopted it, so “Get some!” and “Chingaso!” are interchangeable.

Godfather:  call sign of Lt. Col. Ferrando, as well as his battalion.  Ferrando earned the call sign because his vocal chords were removed after a bout with cancer, causing him to speak like Marlon Brando in the noted film.  Note:  Godfather often speaks of himself in the third person:  instead of saying, “I think…,” he will say, “Godfather thinks…”

Grape Beverage Base:  grape juice powder; the name printed on the packaging in the military rations.  Used by Marines rather than the more familiar civilian term.

The Grooming Standard:  not to be confused with Marine Corps standard grooming regulations, the Grooming Standard is Battalion Commander Ferrando’s much more exacting dress and grooming code for those who serve under him.

 G-Shock Wristwatch:  the popular xtreme sports watch, as essential to Marine fashion as Oakley sunglasses.

H & S Company:  the Headquarters and Supply company.  More than half the 370 men in the battalion belong to H & S, responsible for supporting the “line companies” or combat units, made up of Alpha, Bravo and Charlie Companies.

Habudabi:  a nickname for Arabs.

Haji:   an Iraqi or Arab or Muslim of any ethnicity, from the Arabic “Haji,” which is the honorific term for anyone who has made the trip to Mecca, the Haj.  Most Americans who use the term Haji are probably not referring to that pilgrimage, but to the once-popular children’s cartoon show “Johnny Quest,” in which the white boy hero’s turban-wearing sidekick was named Haji.  Not necessarily a pejorative term, Haji may be used as an adjective to describe anything Middle Eastern, e.g., Iraq’s customary flat bread is referred to as “Haji bread” or “Haji tortillas.”

Hardball:  paved road, as opposed to unpaved.

Herringbone:  to halt a convoy of vehicles at a 45-degree angle to the axis of a highway, much like the pattern of fishbones.  Herringbone can be used as a noun or verb.

Hitman Two:  “Hitman” is the radio call sign for Bravo Company and “Two” refers to second platoon, one of three platoons in the company.  “Hitman” can refer to the actual company commander of Bravo or the company itself.  All units have call-signs, rather like official nicknames, which are used in radio communications.  For example, General Mattis, commander of all Marine ground forces in Iraq, is “Chaos.”

Hitman Two One Actual:  Bravo Company’s Second Platoon Team One Leader, Sergeant Colbert.  While “Hitman Two One” refers to the entire team, “Actual” means the actual commander.  “Hitman Two” refers to all of Bravo Second Platoon, but “Hitman Two Actual” is the platoon commander, Lt. Fick.  In addition, “The Actual,” or commander, is also referred to as “The Zero.”

“I glassed it:”  “I viewed the object through binoculars or a rifle scope.”

“I got your six”:  “I’ve got your back”; from the clock point in which the hour of six is at the bottom of the dial, if you were oriented toward the 12 hour.  “On your three” would indicate something or someone on your immediate right.  “On your four” would indicate something or something on your right and slightly behind you.

I.A. (Immediate Action):  whatever you train to do when the shit hits the fan.

Javelin Team:  two Marines who carry and operate a powerful anti-tank missile called a “Javelin.”

K-bar:  a knife carried by Marines.

Kevlar:  a helmet; while civilians know Kevlar as the brand-name of a bullet resistant material, Marines refer to their Kevlar helmets simply as Kevlars.  Note:  Even though flak jackets are also made of Kevlar, they are never referred to as such.

Kill Zone, Kill Box:  the area where the enemy hopes to direct, channel and trap you in order to kill you, or where you hope to do the same to him.

L.A.V.’s (Light Armored Vehicle):  used only by the Marine Corps;  amphibious, eight-wheeled machines that look like upside-down bathtubs painted black.

L.O.D. (Line of Departure):  the border between Kuwait and Iraq.

Leatherman:  the all-in-one pliers, screwdriver and knife tool carried by Marines.

The L.T.:  nickname for a Lieutenant.  Note:  A specific lieutenant or other commanding officer is often also referred to as “The Sir.”

M.R.E.:  Meal Ready to Eat; standard military fare, food manufactured a decade ago and served as a complete, self-heating meal in a plastic bag.

M.S.R. Eight:  Main Supply Route Eight; any paved road is typically referred to as an “M.S.R.”

M.S.R. Tampa:  Main Supply Route Tampa.  Not only are roads designated M.S.R.s,  but American military planners have also given them names that will be easier for U.S. troops to pronounce than Arabic ones.

M-19:  a heavy, vehicle-mounted machine gun that fires armor-penetrating grenades instead of bullets; AKA MK-19, Mark-19, and Forty Mike-Mike.

M-249 SAW:  hand-held or bipod-mountable machine gun common to U.S. forces.  “SAW” stands for Squad Automatic Weapon and fires at a rate of 750 rounds per minute.  Notoriously easy to discharge by accident, hence Marine folklore:  “The SAW’s got a mind of its own, it wants to kill a motherfucker.”

M-4:  rifle carried by most recon Marines; similar to the standard U.S.-military M-16, but with a shortened barrel and collapsible stock.  Note:  Officers and POGs carry M-16s.  (2-3)

M-40:  standard, bolt action Marine sniper rifle.

Mathilda:  Northern Kuwait camp where these Marines stayed, with about 5,000 others, in the weeks before the invasion.

MOPP:  a nuclear, biological chemical protection suit; stands for Mission Oriented Protective Posture.  Can be an adjective, as in “we were MOPPED-up,” or “wearing our MOPP suits.”

Moto:  from motivational, anything that expresses the highly-motivated spirit of Marines.  Shouting “Get Some!” is a moto thing to do.  Moto films are the small movies and slide shows Marines make documenting the crazy things they see in this war.

Mud:  the white supremacist term for a non-white individual.

[diagnozabam]

VW AJM: Motorul Diesel 1.9 TDI – Caracteristici și Detalii

Motorul Audi AJM 1.9 TDI de 1,9 litri și 8 supape a fost produs de concernul german între 1998 și 2001. A fost utilizat pe modele populare precum Audi A4 B5, A6 C5, dar și pe Volkswagen Golf 4 și Passat B5. Acest motor diesel putea fi montat atât longitudinal, cât și transversal, în funcție de model. Seria EA188-1.9 include și motoarele: AJM, ASZ, AUY, AVB, AVF, AWX, AXB, AXC, BKC, BLS,…

[yujingsblog]

Guangzhou miracle motor vehicle parts

https://www.miraclemotorvehicle.com

Wa.me//+8613533598629

Emai:miracleautoparts2007@aliyun.com

[darth-mortem]

Here is the first chapter of fic I write for PriceGhostWeek2024

“Bravo-6, what's your status?” Price heard in the earpiece of his radio and closed his eyes for a second, leaning heavily against the wall. “Bravo-6, how copy? Do you copy?”

“Affirmative.” The captain exhaled hoarsely, covering the wound on his thigh with his palm. “All units, move out from the facility to the exfil point. Don't wait for me. That's an order. Copy that?”

For a few seconds, the only sound in the earpiece was the crackling of interference, and then the battle group commanders began to confirm receiving the new order in turn. Even through the interference, Price could hear the desperation and disagreement in their voices, but the task was completed, the bombs were planted, the timer was started, and soon the entire complex, which the terrorists had turned into a secret base and ammunition depot, would explode. In addition, the storm was getting worse by the minute, and if the soldiers didn't hurry, the helicopter might not be able to pick them up.

“Rog.” The absolutely emotionless voice of Lieutenant Riley was the last to sound, and Price slid heavily down the wall to the floor, as if the realization that it was all over for him had only come now, and not before, when he had lost his battle group, when he had been shot, and when he was in a dead end, surrounded by enemies.

“Good luck, lads.” He said. “Bravo-6 going dark.”

You can keep reading here or on the Ao3

There was silence. No, of course, voices could be heard from behind the barricaded door, some clatter and noise, but it all came to the captain as if from afar. He sat there, thinking that he needed to put a tourniquet on and bandage his wound, but he didn't move. What's the point if it's all over in twenty minutes? Maybe it would be even better if he lost consciousness before everything exploded.

Suddenly, something changed outside the door. The angry voices turned into panicked ones, and then there were shots and screams of people who were obviously ending their lives in very painful ways.

Price gathered his strength and forced himself to open his eyes, fighting off the deadly cold that had already begun to stiffen his body. He thought again about the tourniquet, but before he could do anything, an explosion occurred. At first, the captain involuntarily shrank back, but quickly realized that it was not over. The timer on his wrist continued to tick away the seconds, and the room was filled with acrid smoke, from which emerged the burly figure of a man whose face was hidden by a blood-covered skull mask.

“Ghost?” Price wheezed in disbelief.

“Affirmative.” The lieutenant replied calmly, hiding the knife covered with blood in the sheath on his chest.

“What the hell are you doing? I ordered you to go to the exfil!” The captain tried to frown, but unexpected relief gripped him so hard that he involuntarily shivered. 

“Do you really want to discuss this now, sir?” Riley knelt down, opened the first aid kit, and began to quickly apply a tourniquet to Price's leg. “You can court-martial me. I don't care.”

Ghost took out an auto-injector, removed the cap, and injected the drug into the captain's thigh with a sharp movement. The pain and weakness receded, and he reached out and grabbed the lieutenant's shoulder.

“I will if these bloody bombs go off before we get out of here.” Price said with a crooked smile on his lips.

“Then we'd better hurry.” Ghost threw the captain's arm over his shoulder, jerked him to his feet, and they ran as fast as they could for the exit.

Price saw corpses. Lots of corpses. Twisted necks, broken spines, slit throats, faces turned into a mess; bone fragments and pools of blood; shell casings and throwing knives that Ghost had left in the bodies of his eliminated enemies in a hurry...

The captain read his classified file. He knew exactly what Lieutenant Riley had done in Mexico. But it was one thing to know and quite another to see how one man had methodically and cold-bloodedly killed everyone who stood in his way, regardless of the number of enemies or their weapons.

After another run, Price realized that they were close to being rescued but also that there was not much time left. He and Riley had to cross a huge two-level loading dock, and there were more than enough terrorists here. They seemed unable to determine the target of the enemy's infiltration of their base and found no bombs, but they decided to move their arsenal just in case and were now loading it onto trucks and ships.

Price and Riley looked at each other. They both knew that they couldn't let the terrorists carry out their plans, because that would mean the unit would have to go out again to eliminate them.

“We don't have much time.” Ghost said, looking at the timer. “But I can try to hold them off if you have my back, sir.”

The captain looked at his leg. The bandage was reddened with blood, but not as much as it could have been: the lieutenant had done a great job with first aid. Despite this, he could see how many enemies were down there, and at some point he wanted to say, ‘negative, let's just get out of here.’ If he had been alone, he might have done so, but now he had a lieutenant with him: the new guy in the unit, the one no one liked, the one who was the only one who had come back for him, his commanding officer, even though he had never given any reason for such affection.

“Go ahead, Ghost.” Price decided and held out his hand. “Give me your Remington and take my M4. I have two magazines left.”

“No need, sir.” The lieutenant placed his sniper rifle in the captain’s hands, and he was sure Riley smiled under his mask before rushing to the stairs leading down from the service bridges.

Ghost was a tall and burly man, but Price had lost sight of him by the time the lieutenant acted. When he saw the smoke bombs explode in three places, he pressed his cheek against Riley’s Remington butt and peered through the scope. The captain couldn't see what was happening through the smoke, so he concentrated on shooting the enemies that remained in sight. Riley probably had his thermal imager down and was using a knife or his Beretta M92 with a suppressor to stay invisible to the enemy until the smoke cleared. The captain was watching what was happening below so closely that he didn't hear the approach and jerked when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Now it's time for us to go.” Riley exhaled hoarsely, and Price noticed that he was now covered in even more blood; he could only hope that it belonged to his enemies.

Ghost helped the captain up again, and they ran for the exit. There was very little time left, so when something exploded behind them, Price involuntarily flinched, but from Riley's lack of reaction, he realized that it was his way of stopping the loading.

After leaving the base, the captain and lieutenant found themselves in the middle of a storm. With no more than seven minutes left on the timer, Ghost showed his feelings for the first time: he cursed and easily hoisted Price onto his shoulders, then ran to the exfil point as fast as he could. The captain realized that they were already too late, but he remained silent, focusing on staying conscious as the effects of the drug the lieutenant had injected him with were beginning to wear off.

Hour ‘X’ found the fugitives on the halfway. A bright flash cut through the thick veil of the storm, and Ghost managed to fall to the wet ground, covering the captain with his body, before an explosive wave of fierce power swept over them, scattering debris and branches of the few trees that grew in this place forgotten by God and the devil.

[wunfagroup]

What Should You Know About Unit injector?

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[simhausstudios]

3 New Builds… & 2 400 Member Gift Builds! 💕

About 20 Culpepper Apartment -

The 20 Culpepper Apartment, as depicted in the image, is a well-structured, spacious unit featuring a layout that includes multiple rooms with a mix of wood-style and tiled flooring. The apartment boasts several large windows for ample natural light, and a distinct entry area connected to an open kitchen and dining space. The central hallway connects to what appears to be bedrooms, a living area, and a bathroom. A standout feature is the bay window section in the lower-left corner, likely designed for a living or sitting area, adding character and architectural interest to the space. The layout suggests a blend of functionality and style, ideal for comfortable parisian living.

About 18 Culpepper Apartment -

The 18 Culpepper Apartment features a compact yet efficient layout with a warm-toned wooden floor throughout most rooms, giving it a cozy atmosphere. The unit includes a charming bay-windowed living area that offers street views and abundant natural light. A central hallway connects to multiple rooms, including a modern U-shaped kitchen with light tile flooring for contrast. The apartment also contains a neatly designed bathroom and two additional rooms that can serve as bedrooms or office spaces. The smart division of space and classic interior styling make it ideal for a comfortable old money lifestyle.

How to Place These Apartments:

• To turn the apartment into a whole apartment, the gaps by doors need to be complete (I had to knock down walls to save the lots as rooms)

• There's a way to turn the apartment layout incase it doesn't match up (I don't remember what keybind it is)

About Riverside Retreat -

Nestled in the heart of Granite Falls, Riverside Retreat is a charming woodland getaway perfect for those seeking tranquility and comfort. This cozy cabin-style home features warm wood siding, a welcoming front porch, and lush greenery that blends seamlessly with the surrounding forest. With multiple entryways, elegant French doors, and outdoor seating, it’s an ideal spot for relaxing mornings or evening gatherings. Whether you’re planning a romantic escape or a peaceful solo retreat, Riverside Retreat offers the perfect mix of rustic charm and modern comfort.

Lot Details:

• Size: 30x20

• Price: 59,290 Simoleons

• Lot Type: Vacation Rental

There are different ways you can use this lot for, or leaving it as a vacation rental. You can also make it a residential or use Little Miss Sam's Holiday Home Standalone Mod (Requires XML Injector & Basemental Universal Venue List to use as a holiday home.

Riverside Retreat

18 & 20 Culpepper Apartments

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Data Breach

Read on AO3

Word count: 12.8k

Alternatively titled "Lockdown."

CW: Public partial-nudity, references to sex work, Kidnapping, implied trafficking, threats of violence, anxiety/panic, body horror, brief mentions of medical trauma, character being hunted, brief mention of cannibalism, guns, knives

Notes: Naya "Bambi" Walker and Veronica "Bricks" Mason are my characters. Morgan "Sparrow" Voss belongs to @sentientcave.

I'm very excited because this is my first "complete" fic. And I wrote it within my first year of posting fanfiction! Thanks to everyone who has been here with me through it all!

The genetic and cybernetic enhancements that the public took for granted were a drop in the bucket. No one protested the same-day medical procedures for aesthetics and practicality and security. What harm is a microchip to automate one’s home, modified musculature that needed less exercise to maintain? Who was ever going to protest genetically coded locking mechanisms?

Soldier modifications are a violation of human rights. The deployment of those soldiers isn’t, unless they use their enhanced abilities to commit a war crime. But the process of modification, experimental and unregulated, driven by greed, desperation, a cold war that bled and screamed…

In the early days of accelerated genetics, on the heels of the prosthetic revolution, things had been hellish. Rejected limb grafts.    Explosively contagious viral infections previously rare in humans. Incompatible bones and organs and structures drowning experimental groups in their own fluids. Hunting and prey drives that only became apparent on the battlefield.

The deployment of modified soldiers isn’t a violation of human rights. But if even a single civilian is caught in the crossfire, it’s a war crime.

What the governments of the world did to the men and women who served them - and the populations they were supposed to serve - was a flood of destruction that led to international court-martial and proposed executions.

Only proposed though.

Naya, green around the gills from her latest information dive, wonders if maybe those proposals had more merit than she’d initially thought.

The files she found about the modified joint task forces, the Ghost Team JTFs, are more horrifying than anything she’s ever seen. Bone and dental removal, replacement, and additions. Brain implants, deeper and more invasive than most civilian interface units, which go just under the skin. Increased metabolism, shortening of the digestive tract, automatic injectors with stim packs that keep soldiers awake and lucid through unimaginable horrors.

Her hands shake, spilling tea leaves on the counter as she disconnects from her VPN network. She’d stumbled upon the initial files surrounding what had been Task Force 141 days ago, had quickly skimmed and duplicated their contents to read and review on her own time. Those had been bad enough. Reading about a Scottish soldier, shot in the head and brought back only to have his body altered. Another sergeant suspended in a tank as his genetically altered body attempted and failed to process all of the poisons they wanted him resistant to. A lieutenant who’s frontal lobe was hacked through to make room for a larger processor. The Captain captured and tortured and changed for investigating what was happening to his unit…

And that was before the videos.

Finding more information on Ghost Teams is virtually impossible. Official reports, even the ones she breaks into, list the 141 as defunct. Her fellow archivists don’t have any other information, and aren’t willing to help her dive again.

>>>Flower: even if the GTs are still alive >>>Flower: it’s too dangerous >>>Flower: too many powers want them to stay buried >>>Flower: we’ll lose everything if we go digging >>>Bambi: you don’t have any contacts i could ask? >>>Flower: i‘m sorry bambi

There’s more security, when she returns to the original server, too much for her to feel comfortable to try to force her way in. Her bots identify a couple of devices on the network that might be exploitable - a printer, two coffee machines - but she leaves them alone, for now.

Instead, she trawls conspiracy theory forums for any mention of experimental modifications, missing soldiers, and questionable medical equipment shipments. Experience means her bots filter through everything, which saves her more than a few headaches, but also means that she waits hours before a possible hit. And that hit is a dead end.

The hours turn to days before she’s able to find an abandoned, locked forum with deleted answers to heavily coded questions. The last post is seven years old, ostensibly informing community members of upcoming changes to the forum. The veil over the warning of government surveillance is thinner than tissue paper.

It’s the closest thing she has to a lead, so she makes a new post and sets her bots to monitor it.

>>18|\/|48(Guest): GTJTFs producing new 141 units? Leaked production reports, new specs?

She doesn’t expect a response, but maybe an auto-responder will give her a clue of where to look next. So it’s jarring when she gets an encrypted email with a reply from “dimentionspoker@noreply.co,” an hour later.

new units? have info on old units if you need references. let me know.

—

The middle city isn’t the safest, for all that the well-to-dos topside like to pretend that the truly unsavory elements aren’t that close to their picturesque lawns. Naya’s lived here her whole life, though she’s worked above a time or two. Even so, she’s never ventured this close to the freight shafts down to the docks.

The bar she steps into is loud and smells like liquor and motor fluid. It’s dim, and smoky, and she feels eyes on her as she makes her way to the bar. Her interface lights up with pings and an attempted ID and bank chip skim. All they get for their trouble is her least informative ID tag - Bambi.

The bartender, a large bodied person with the simple tag of Engine, operates behind the bar with four cybernetic arms. There’s no digital queue for her to log in to, or even a service request button on the seemingly organic wood bar. So she stands, hands folded on top of the bar for them to finish pouring drinks and notice her standing there.

Just as the barkeep’s attention slides her way, a warm body presses up behind hers. She stiffens as a the person jostles her to lean heavily on the bar. “Eng! Another for me. And whatever my cute new friend wants.”

A refusal is on the tip of her tongue, but when she looks up into slitted yellow eyes haloed by curled black and purple freeform locs, she gets an encrypted message.

>>>Bricks: Hello Bambi. >>>Bricks: Order a drink and come with me.

—

"They shouldn't be locked up. They're people, not mindless killing machines."

Across the table, under the dim lights, the woman called Bricks cocks her head. She’s a true cyborg, someone who’s modifications are probably keeping them alive. The cybernetics of her left arm extending well into her ribcage. She doesn’t hide it. Under dark overclothes, a slouching shirt exposes the metal of her collarbones, the servos that whir as she breathes. She swirls her glass of Jack and Coke with an amused look on her face as a barely muffled moan pierces through loud music.

Naya takes a deep breath to keep from fidgeting. It took three months to arrange even this meeting with the elusive American arms dealer, in the back of this dingy bar on a busy Friday. She wasn't about to lose the lead just because she could hear lewd comments and barely muffled squeals of pleasure from the nearby hall to the washrooms. The more concerning noise was coming from behind her, anyhow, the thump of knives into a dart board, distressed beeping from the unlucky mini-droid bound to the target.

"You want me to set up a meeting with the Watcher," Bricks drawls, sitting back in her chair. Her pointed cybernetic nails drum against the table. She doesn’t bother to whisper, but both of them have been disrupting any listening devices in range. "So you can make sure that Price's monsters are being treated humanely?"

"They're not monsters," Naya hisses.

"You've never seen them." It's not a question.

"I don't need to see them to know they shouldn't be kept locked in cages."

Bricks freezes with her glass halfway to her lips. Her eyes narrow. “Cages?”

“That’s what I saw.” Gritting her teeth, Naya hisses. “Look. You know what it means to be augmented, what extensive modifications are like. But without anesthesia? I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, not even my worst enemy.”

“You’d be surprised what I would wish on my worst enemy, sweetheart.” Bricks chuckles and throws back the last dregs of her drink. "But you know what? Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine. You want in so bad? I'll set up a meeting with the Watcher, and Price."

Well. That was easier than expected. "What'll it cost me?"

"Oh, your whole life, probably. Your whole world view, certainly," Bricks chuckles. She gives Naya an obvious once over, gaze lingering on her breasts. "But you don't owe me any more than a quick flash of your tits."

That does make Naya’s confidence falter. "W-what?"

"You heard me. C'mon, give me a little peek, and I'll send a message right now. You can have Price's monsters off their leashes by the end of the week." Bricks grins, slit pupils pulsing wide with interest. "We don't even have to go anywhere, just pull down your shirt a little bit."

"I'm not..." Naya looks around, furtively. "This isn't exactly priv-" She flinches as she's interrupted by a loud moan, followed by a cheer from the rest of the bar.

"You're asking me to let your hands get real dirty, sweetheart." Bricks stands and circles the table to crowd Naya against the wall. She dips down to breathe into her ear. "And unless you want word to spread of a cute, clean cut, little topsider digging into illegal soldier mods, you're gonna pull your tits out and take the money I give you, after, Bambi."

There’s something behind the predatory look in the taller woman’s eyes. A challenge. She’s called Naya’s bluff, hasn’t she? When she refuses, Bricks will send her off with a laugh and a pat on her ass. And she’ll be back at square one, unable to face the danger of diving deeper again.

But Naya’s never been accused of knowing when to back down.

It’s the work of a moment to have the various video feeds in the room start a ten second loop. Her bots use movement patterns to make the video seem natural to anyone not looking closely. Bricks makes an interested noise when the video feed from her cybernetic eye continues showing Naya’s darting eyes and regular breaths. Her organic eye takes in the way Naya’s hands come up to unclasp the front of her shirt.

She takes a deep breath before hooking her fingers into the neck of her undershirt. She looks down as she inches it down to reveal the scalloped edge of her bra, instead of looking to see if Bricks is aroused or amused or some other, worse thing.

Before she can truly expose herself, a warm hand touches her wrist. “So eager. Not even gonna give me a little tease?”

>>>Bricks: Nice trick with the cameras, but you’re going to call attention.

Naya tips her chin up and immediately regrets it when Bricks leans down to meet her. Her breath shivers between their lips. When a metal arm comes up to block her view of the rest of the room, she turns her face away.

>>>Bambi: It’d be more suspicious if I let everyone have a clip for distribution.

“Smart girl,” Bricks whispers against her temple. “Take the credits.”

The fund transfer Bricks initiates has a public comment attached. ‘Classy. Could almost be the real thing.’ Naya glares up at Brick’s smirking face as she accepts the transaction. Two hundred. It feels like too little and too much money at the same time. Almost immediately, she gets inquiry pings from six other patrons the bar.

“And that’s your alibi,” Bricks chuckles, stepping back so quickly that she barely has time to put herself to rights. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”

—

Naya tries not to fidget in the freight elevator, down, down, down, into The Throat. Bricks's arm is a possessive weight on her shoulder. On the other side of the lift, a startlingly tall man stares at them through the holes in a cloth sack. When she meets his eyes, something writhes where his mouth should be.

"Eyes to yourself," Bricks growls when he takes a half step in their direction. Her cybernetic arm crackles warningly.

The man visibly considers his options before making a guttural sound. A thick appendage, tongue or tentacle, Naya can’t really tell, pokes out from under the hood. He mutters something she doesn’t understand in under-tongue. Bricks hisses something back, pushing Naya behind her as she takes a threatening step forward. The man flinches, then crowds himself into his corner. He doesn’t even look in their direction for the rest of the descent.

When the doors open, Bricks holds her back until the man leaves, then steers her out into the street. Naya's been under-city before, but not in this bloc. The air is just as stale and hazy as she remembers, but this shaft doesn't see as much vertical commuter traffic as some of the others, so the street is dark instead of lit with neon. The faintest bit of light filters down from straight above.

Groping for something to say, she asks, "Did you know that guy?"

Bricks snorts, keeping an arm around her's waist as she steers her along. "Yeah."

“What did he want?”

She gets an uninterested shrug. “The same thing any bottom dwelling opportunist wants.”

It’s not hard to imagine what she means. When she doesn't say anything else, Naya searches for another topic. She swallows her pride and forces herself to say, "Thank you for setting up this meeting."

"Don't thank me yet, sweetheart. You're gonna hate me soon enough."

"I know it's dangerous for you," she insists as Bricks draws her down a side street. Dangerous is an understatement, if the Ghost Teams are so far gone that they’re experimenting on human beings. "Even if things are hard, moving forward, I appreciate your help."

Bricks doesn't answer. Instead, she knocks on a barred door. It opens a crack, and she and the other person hiss low words at each other. A shining green eye looks Naya up and down, the door shuts, and Bricks draws her away.

They stride, briskly, back to the main street. Bricks asks, "Do you have a respirator?"

"Yes."

"Put it on, don't speak."

Wordlessly, Naya unfolds the mask from her pocket and covers her mouth and nose. Bricks pulls a dark scarf from her shoulders and wraps it around Naya’s head and neck, and then drops a poncho over her head. Somehow, the mercinary looks bigger in just her thin shirt, the muscles and metal in her shoulders more pronounced.

Ten minutes into their silent walk, a man melts from the shadows and starts walking on Naya's other side. Though she can’t see much under his baggy clothes, his gait speaks to digitigrade modifications. When she glances up, he has a faceplate under his own hood. His voice, when he speaks, is robotic. "Bricks."

"Roach."

“You’re looking smug and determined.”

“I’m on a very… interesting job.” An encrypted message gets passed between the two of them, and Naya frowns behind her mask. She shouldn’t be able to tell that a message was sent, though, so she bites her tongue. Bricks smirks down at her, then turns her eyes forward. “What’s on your mind?”

"Shadows are hunting you. Seven thousand credits."

"That's insulting," Bricks dismisses. "Mace take the job?"

"That's insulting," Roach parrots back. Somehow, his metered and inflectionless voice sounds amused. A flurry of encrypted messages flows between them. Once those have finished, he says, "Come see us when your business with the Watcher is done." And then he fades away into the shadows again.

"Good job," Bricks whispers. "Stay silent. Keep taking deep breaths. Walk straight ahead. Don't run." And then she ducks down a side street, leaving Naya alone in the dark.

Fuck.

She keeps putting one foot in front of the other. Measured. Brisk, but unhurried. A couple of people pass on the other side of the street, then a man passes on her side. Under her poncho, she palms her pocket knife, but no one spares her a second glance.

After a full minute, Bricks slides out of the next alley and falls into step with her, a cigarette that smells like real tobacco between her lips. In her cybernetic hand, she has a twitching, bleeding length of what looks like an octopus tentacle the size of Naya’s forearm.

"You can talk now,” she says. “But you don't want to ask about this."

—

The respirator makes a lot more sense when Naya is led to a shaft to the Belly.

She’s never been to the middle level of the true undercity. Technically, no one should live in this industrial level, so there’s very little in the way of individual commerce and amenities. There is an abundance of dead “topsider tourists” every year, mangled and hacked to drain all of their resources before anyone can realize that they haven’t come home.

This lift is much smaller, just big enough for her to stand behind Bricks as the woman primes her arm. The edge of a plasma knife glows blue from within the mechanics of her bicep. When Naya activates the plasma in her own knife, Bricks looks over her shoulder at the near silent hum.

“You ever use that before?”

“Once.”

That earns an interested noise as the other woman faces forward again. “On a person?”

“…No.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” is all she says about that as the elevator shudders to a stop. “Stay behind my right arm. If I tell you to drop, you fall to the ground and don’t move until I tell you.”

When the door opens, it’s into a pitch black alley. The only light is the obscured gleam from with Brick’s left shoulder. Something in the darkness hisses. Bricks strides forward, and Naya has no choice but to follow after.

They walk for a few minutes without incident before Bricks knocks on a nondescript door. Next to it, a biometric scanner creaks open and scans one of her eyes, then one of her metal fingers. Naya flinches at the noise of a series of locks grinding open.

A stern faced blonde woman is on the other side of the door when Bricks gestures Naya inside. She’s not wearing a respirator, but then, neither is Bricks. The woman doesn’t say anything, so Naya doesn’t either. She just waits for Bricks to finish securing the door, then returns to her spot just behind her.

“Watcher,” Bricks greets with clear good humor. “I brought you a little something.”

Naya huffs a surprised breath from her nose, but stays silent. The Watcher. The overseer of at least one of five active Modified Task Forces. She looks so… normal. A woman in her mid forties, maybe, face lined with stress but open. Naya feels a little thrown off. When the lights flicker, however, she catches the red shine of a cybernetic eye. Whatever mods she has, they’re hidden so well that Naya can’t even sense them.

The Watcher’s eyes scan her for a moment before she’s looking back to Bricks. Naya only has a moment to wonder why she hasn’t been pinged before she asks, “Alive?”

“You always pay more when they’re alive.”

What? Naya stumbles backwards until she hits the door. “What?”

Bricks throws a grin over her shoulder. “I told you not to thank me.” Turning back to the Watcher, she says, “Thirty thousand credits. Had a run in with the King on the way here.”

“No one told you to bring her alive. Fifteen, and we void the Shadows bounty on you.”

“Twenty five. You want her alive, trust me. And I can handle the Shadows on my own.”

Naya gapes at the two of them. A quick glance over her shoulder and query to the door confirms that the locks won’t open again without a lot more force than she could manage, even if she wouldn’t have to fight Bricks to get out. And the Watcher… isn’t motivated to let her live. Fuck. The little knife in her hands feels less than useless.

“She wanted to meet you,” Bricks continues, crossing her arms. “And Price.”

That makes the Watcher pause and look over Naya again. “Oh?”

“She used his name,” Bricks confirms. “Real skilled code-breaker.”

“Hm.” The Watcher frowns, then says. “Thirty thousand is a low ball offer, then.”

“She thinks you’re keeping the task force in cages,” Bricks chuckles. “I want to watch when she sees them for the first time.”

That gets a huff of amusement. “Thirty thousand and a show… Deal. Bring her.”

When the Watcher turns away, Bricks looks back at Naya with a surprisingly gentle smile. “Good job. Now comes the hard part. Let’s go.”

“What’s going to happen to me?” she doesn’t want to walk forward, but there’s not much else to do. She tries to stand away from Bricks, but it’s hard in the narrow hallway.

“Nothing, now,” Bricks laughs. “Got you through the door alive, and Watcher can always use a code breaker.”

It’s hard not to feel stupid. Naya struggles to keep her voice even. “So this was just… a bounty for you?”

“Better me than König.” Bricks wiggles the tentacle that she’s still holding in metal fingers. “And better now than when an actual bounty was on your head. Diving into secure government information brings out the worst kind of trouble. The Shadows would have killed you in your bed. Kortac would have chipped you, if they decided keeping you was worth it. This way, everyone gets what they want.”

“Except me,” Naya points out.

“You’re still alive, for now,” the Watcher points out from a few steps ahead, without looking back. “Considering the problems you’ve caused me, it’s tempting to kill you myself. But Bricks is right. I can always use a Breaker.”

“I don’t do that professionally,” Naya protests weakly.

The Watcher doesn’t break stride. “You do, now.”

They get into another elevator, big enough for eight people. There aren’t any floor indicators, but as soon as the doors close, it starts to descend. Wrapping her arms around herself, Naya shivers. At this rate, she realizes, she may never see the sky again. She’ll be locked in a cage next to the 141, underground, let out to circumvent code for… what? To support more killing? More human experimentation? If she doesn’t cooperate, will they experiment on her? Put a processor in her brain to erase everything about her except for her skill?

Tears gather in the corners of her eyes, and she can’t help a sniffle.

“None of that,” comes the surprisingly gentle voice of the Watcher. When she approaches, she puts a gentle hand on Naya’s shoulder. “You’re here now. There’s no going back. But we take care of our own.”

Bricks snorts. “For given values of taking care of. You are keeping the boys in cages after all.”

“That’s not helpful,” the Watcher says, producing a tissue from her pocket and dabbing at Naya’s eyes. She pushes the makeshift hood back and gently removes her respirator, scanning her face with hard blue eyes. Eventually, she asks, “Why did you come here, Bambi?”

Shoulders coming up around her ears, Naya gets the feeling that because I’m an idiot isn’t the answer she’s looking for. She looks down at her sensible shoes, bracketed by the Watcher’s own worn work boots, and confesses, “Bricks said I could meet with you, and Price. And… I thought I could… encourage you to treat the modified soldiers more like people than animals.”

“And I suppose this encouragement was going to come with a threat to leak records to the public?” The Watcher’s mouth twitches into a sardonic smile when Naya looks up at her again. “Bold.”

Bricks chuckles. “Naive.”

“Hopeful. And some of the best plans are the simplest,” the Watcher dismisses.

Naya wouldn’t call her plan to connect to the building’s intranet and threatening to disrupt all of the life support systems “naive.” Now that she’s locked in, it feels like a distinctly hopeless course of action. She’ll have to think of something else, fast.

The Watcher steps away as the elevator comes to a stop. The doors open into a large control room, huge observation windows giving a 360 degree view out into dimly lit halls. Bricks ushers Naya out, heavy hands on her shoulders, until she pushes her into a chair facing a window to the left side of the room.

“Did we miss feeding time?” Bricks grins and pulls a puzzle ball from her bag. Her cybernetic hand twitches and whirs as it clicks through combinations.

“Luckily for Bambi, yes.”

Before Naya can ask what feeding time entails, something drops from the ceiling on the other side of the glass, startling a yelp from her. It’s a man, tall and lean, slitted eyes shining a red orange as he stares at her face through the glass. He’s half dressed, only in loose pants. Thick, dark streaks of something wet cover his chest and splatter down his legs. The grin that splits his pretty face puts three pairs of sharp canines on display, stained red.

The Watcher pushes a button, an intercom. “Gaz.”

“Who’s this cute little thing, Laswell?” Naya shivers as Kyle “Gaz” Garrick looks her up and down. He looks just like his personnel file, except for a wildness around his eyes that changes his face from welcoming to something dangerous. “Could practically smell her from the street.”

“Back away from the glass, you’re filthy. What the hell did you roll in?”

The man ignores the Watcher, face going soft as he leans down to get on a level with Naya. “Hello, honey. Such a pretty girl, what are you doing down here? You a friend of Bricks?”

Something about his crooning voice makes Naya’s hair stand on end. At the same time, she finds that she can’t look away from the man’s eyes as he tilts his head. They’re such an interesting color, and he keeps shifting ever so slightly in ways that draw her eyes to follow. He jerks quickly to one side when her eyes dip down to the red and brown splashed down his chest, then smiles when she looks back at his face. His teeth - even the extra ones - are perfect and red. Naya’s heart beats a little faster.

A loud pop and sudden flash makes Naya jump as Gaz reels back with a snarl.

“I told you not to touch the glass,” the Watcher grumbles. “Clean up. Make yourself presentable. And remind the others to put their masks on.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” he hisses. With one last, sweet smile to Naya, he turns and strides away before leaping up to grab an exposed beam and hoist himself into the shadows above the observation room. He disappears in the space of a moment. No matter how Naya squints, she can’t tell where he’s gone.

“Don’t look any of them in the eye,” Bricks whispers from close behind, chuckling at the way Naya jumps. “They’re predators, sweetheart, and you’re the sweetest bite of prey they’ve had in a long while.”

“Bricks,” the Watcher (Laswell?) chides. “Get her keyed in. Bambi, you’re not to be alone in here. We’ll get you interfaced with security so you know how to do a lockdown sequence before you’re introduced to the Task Force.”

When she’s handed an interface chip, Naya blanches. “I can’t, I don’t have a hard disk reader. Why do I need to know the facility’s lockdown sequences?”

“There’s no where in this facility that they can’t get,” Bricks replies, distracted as she opens a floor panel to extract a series of wires, and what looks like a very robust integration cable. “And if you’re going to work here, you’re going to need to be able to keep them from dragging you off and eating you.”

“Bricks.” Laswell snaps. To Naya she explains,    “Everyone who works here needs to know how to lock down in case of emergency.”

Naya gapes. “Emergencies? They can - They’re not -! They have full access to the facility?”

“Of course. They can get out of the facility, too,” Bricks snickers. “Who’s going to stop them?”

“Bricks!”

“All of the records say that they’re severely restricted.” The tight squeak in Naya’s voice is undeniable. “What do you mean they could eat me?”

“Old records,” Laswell answers without looking. A terminal lights up under her fingertips. “The only way the SAS would let us keep the facilities without bomb chips. Let me know when you’re ready for input.”

“The part about eating me?” Naya flinches as Bricks circles behind and pushes her hair up to expose the port beneath her left ear.

“If you’re as good as I think you are, you don’t have to worry about that,” Bricks says, shoving the cable into place. “Go.”

“What-”

Laswell launches the integration before she can get the question out. Naya’s whole body jolts, brain flooded with sudden input. She doesn’t dive into the data so much as she’s dragged under the tidal wave of the facility.

The whole structure unfolds around her, five floors, twelve stories down, three shafts up, two elevators, one stair. She’s in the observation tower, which descends three more floors. Heat, cooling, air filtration, power, food storage, office of Watcher One Kate Laswell, office of Bravo One John Price, research labs east and south, conference rooms, break rooms, sleeping quarters, inventory, directory of personnel.

Access Denied.

It’s nothing to shuffle the alert away. Asset Records. Veronica “Bricks” Mason, Gary “Roach” Sanderson, Mason “Mace” Ward, [Redacted] Nikto, Morgan “Sparrow” Voss. The list goes on. Task Force 141. Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, John “Soap” MacTavish, John “Bravo One” Price, Simon “Ghost” Riley. Vital statistics steady, duplicate identification signals, three dead copies, one living set. Security, kill switch overrides. These doors won’t close, but they’ll tell the observation tower that they have. Interesting.

Diving a layer deeper, she observes three separate security records. One is distressingly familiar, the records she’d found before, that spurred her to find Bricks, full of echoes of old code, now that she can see it. Then the one with logs going to Watcher One Kate Laswell, current and accurate. Except that the third log indicates security discrepancies and pings to KGKLJMJPSR. She logs the discrepancy on her own, internal system, a reminder to see if she can piggyback on someone else’s clearance.

Now that she’s thinking about it, she scans for what her clearance is supposed to have access to. It’s the second level, the one that doesn’t actually close the security doors surrounding the servers, sleeping quarters, and the observation tower. Well, that won’t do. She makes a digital copy of KL’s access and patches it into her own.

Just as she finishes, four ID tags simply labeled “Ghost” enter the lowest observation tower floor. That’s a glaring red security alert, and it only doubles in urgency as he accesses the hatch to the system port cable.

“Oh, that’s bad,” she hears herself say aloud as she gropes, blindly for the cable in her neck. “Ghost is accessing, I need to disconnect before he-“

Three more security alerts come up as the ID tags for Bravo One, Gaz, and Soap appear around the top floor of the observation tower, their floor. Naya quickly circumvents the overrides on the blast doors, and half observes rolling shutters covering the windows as Laswell makes a startled noise. Unfortunately, Ghost finds her while she’s distracted.

And he is a ghost, sliding between the layers of Naya’s own security code like a cold breeze. He rifles through her ID cards before she can even try to lock down. When she tries to lock him out of her interface, he slams through so fast it sends her reeling. Unfortunately for him, and for her, he trips over her Brain Blast in the process. The packet of musical theater data explodes to override everything she’s connected to, knocking her out of her connection to the facility and blaring Ohmigod You Guys through the speaker systems of the facility.

“What the fuck,” Veronica Bricks Mason shouts, covering her ears.

“Sorry, sorry,” Naya yelps. She manually reopens her access to the facility and cuts the sound. Her head spins with new information that she doesn’t have time to let her organic brain process. Ghost is nowhere to be found, but she doesn’t wait around to see where he pops up again before locking herself down and physically removing the cable from her neck. “Ghost tripped my security protocol.”

“You shouldn’t be able to influence any part of the facility,” Watcher One Kate Laswell observes. “Which means you’re every bit as good as Bricks says you are. Why did you lock down the tower?”

“Just this floor,” she answers absently, looking around as her interface flashes and labels new data points about her surroundings. It takes a moment for her to filter through everything enough to focus. “Bravo One, Gaz, and Soap were approaching as Ghost tapped in on the bottom floor.”

“I should have charged more,” Asset:Mason chuckles.

“Maybe you should have, Veronica,” Naya replies without thinking.

The woman just laughs. “Oh ho ho, you’re even better than I thought.

Watcher One Laswell drums her fingers on the table. “You don’t have a hard disk reader. Can you still access the facility without a hard line?”

Naya has to shake her head before she runs a quick system check. A ping to the 141 Facility gets a happy little ping back. “Yeah. My, um… my interface is a bit more robust than standard.”

Watcher Laswell nods. “Noted. Reset the security settings.”

Naya almost does it on autopilot, but stops herself. Running a quick check, she shivers. “They’re still out there. Three of them.” When Laswell only nods, she nudges the blast doors and security shutters to open. It takes a moment, but eventually they start to rumble to life.

Worryingly, when she can see through the windows again, Bravo One, Gaz, and Soap are no where to be found. The only active vitals in the facility say they’re right across the glass from where Naya is sitting. It sends a chill down her spine. Diving through the facility systems, she had felt untouchable. But she’s been outmaneuvered again. Unless…

She stands and leans closer to the glass, looking up into the shadows above.

Three pairs of eyes shine down at her from the darkness.

“They’re up there,” Naya whispers. When Laswell simply answers in the affirmative, she activates the intercom with a gulp. “Um. I’m sorry about the noise.”

“That’s quite alright, sweetheart,” a deep voice answers. “Ghost has a way of startling pretty girls. And I quite like a bit of theater.”

Well it’s not Gaz, and there’s no hint of a Scottish accent. “Are you… Bravo One? John Price?”

“You are a clever one.” One of the pairs of eyes squints and tilts. Another shuts, and doesn’t open again. Soap’s tags move a short ways away as Price continues. “Bricks says you asked to meet me.”

“Yes, sir,” Naya says, and then remembers too late that Bricks said not to meet their eyes. She tears her eyes away and jumps at the sight of John “Soap” MacTavish standing a few feet down the hall in front of her.

He looks good, surprisingly so. His hair is long, braided mohawk shining. A gleaming scar is the only indication of the wound that almost killed him. He’s healthy, big and bulky and dressed casually in black joggers and a tight black tshirt. Bright blue eyes with crossed pupils scan her face with interest. When he grins at her, his sharp teeth flash with titanium augments.

“Gaz wisna exaggeratin,’ ye smell quite nice, Bambi,” Soap purrs.

“What part of ‘masks on’ don’t you all understand?” Laswell grumbles.

“They’ve already got her scent,” Bricks snickers. “Did Ghost get your tags Bambi?”

“He did,” Price confirms from above. “Naya Walker, also known as Bambi. Computer scientist, you’ve sold a couple of database systems. Quite impressive.”

A pit opens in her stomach. Ghost had access to her system for less than three seconds. Her throat is tight when she says, “Thank you, sir.”

“So polite,” Gaz chuckles from above. “Come say hello, doll.”

Naya chances a glance back at Kate, then looks back at Soap, then up at the single pair of shining eyes above as Price’s ID winks away from your awareness. “I’m not sure I have clearance for that.”

“You didn’t have clearance to know about this facility,” Gaz points out. “And yet, here you are. Pretty as a picture.”

“Jesus,” Bricks mutters as Laswell makes a startled sound. “We really should put a bell on you.”

And then a huge hand presses against the glass next to Naya’s face. She startles backwards and runs into a huge, solid body, and yelps as a strong arm catches her about the waist.

“Caught ya,” a fourth, deeper voice rumbles above her. His other hand catches both of her wrists and immobilizes her as she stares at dark brown stains up to his wrists. “Been teasin’ us f’ months, dippin’ in an’ out ‘f m’code. So careful, li’l fawn. But not careful enough.”

“Ghost,” Laswell says. The whine of a plasma weapon being primed pierces through the otherwise silent room. Naya squeezes her eyes closed.“Hands off. That’s my Breaker.”

“’S’at so?” Ghost bends down, so far down, it seems, to drag the tip of his nose along Naya’s temple. “Seems she moight be mine, since I invited ‘er.”

“Speaking of,” Bricks interjects. “I’ll take my finder’s fee, now.”

“Bricks.” Laswell hisses.

“Transfer’s cleared, Bricks,” John Price says with a chuckle. “Pleasure doing business, as always.”

Like Gaz and Soap, Captain Price is bigger than his file made him seem. They’d shaved him, when they had replaced some of his bones with metal, but now his facial hair is as full and vital as the rest of him. This close, Naya can see the mechanics whirling within his eyes.

Leaning against his free side, Gaz licks his lips with a tongue that seems too long. But she only sees them for a moment before she’s being turned around, still wrapped in Ghost’s arms.

On the left side of the room Bricks lounges in a chair, tossing and catching and cycling through the combinations on her ball. She’s grinning like she’s gotten away with murder. Maybe she has - she’s been paid three times today for possibly the easiest bounty of her career. Across from her, Laswell holds a glowing knife in a loose grip by her side, shooting an annoyed glare at the other woman.

“What the hell is this?” Laswell hisses.

“You told us to stop hunting your techs,” Price chuckles.

“Bambi is mine,” Kate reiterates, glaring out the glass.

“Just a wee taste, Watcher,” Soap burrs from somewhere. “Ghost is code breaker enough, ye dinnae need another.”

Naya feels her entire body go cold. She takes a deep breath, reconnects with the facility, and runs Flash_Bang.exe.

—

The underground building has a straightforward layout, but that’s dangerous. Naya flicks away the alert when Ghost manages to patch his way back into the facility and silence the music - fuck, it only took him twenty eight seconds? - and ducks under a desk in the office she broke into, one floor down.

It’s hard to stay one step ahead of him, but her spiders and bots repair the five second camera feed loops as soon as he forces the cameras back online. He only wastes time breaking a third of the bot codes before he seems to realize that they’re replicating and switches to tagging, leaving them to run their processes.

It takes two agonizing seconds for her to open the audio relay from the observation tower without revealing her location to Ghost’s sweeping pings.

“-vilian running wild and scared through a secure facility, John.” Kate snaps.

“I thought she was your new breaker,” Gaz snickers. “Not really a civilian.”

“Nae,” Soap interjects. Naya is glad she doesn’t have video to see the nasty smile she can hear in his voice. “Watcher’s right. We cannae let her get too far.”

“She’s fucked the cameras,” Ghost chuckles. “Could get them back online, but it’d take some time.”

Price hums. “Location?”

“West labs’re pingin’,” Ghost answers. He sounds pleased. “Don’t mean much. She’s got bots spoofin’ her IDs.”

“Smells like she’s gone to the east wing,” Gaz purrs. “Lots of classified documents that way, Laswell. Hate to think of what she might come across if she makes it down to the third floor.”

There’s a tense silence before something slams. Eventually, Laswell hisses, “Fine. Bring her back. Alive and unharmed.”

“No promises,” Soap laughs.

Naya scrambles from her hiding spot as she confirms that the cameras in this south wing hall are looped. She needs to get back to the north side of the facility to get to the stairs that might take her up and out. But first she needs to get them off her trail… Somehow.

There’s a janitor closet two doors down, and she spoofs the signal to unlock the door just long enough to slip through it. She looks for bleach and prays it will be enough to mask her scent, then curses to herself when she realizes the bleach will be an obvious mark of her presence. She can’t just erase herself in the physical world the way she can, digitally.

An encrypted message alert calls her attention.

>>>Bricks: Soap will run at you directly. Gaz likes to ambush. Good Luck!

“I c’n see that, Bricks,” Ghost rumbles.

“She’s already at a disadvantage,” the mercenary chuckles. “Poor little thing, you’re going to eat her alive.”

“Oh, she’s not as harmless as all that,” Price laughs. “Took over the whole facility, gave Ghost the slip-“

“I let her go,” Ghost interrupts.

“Set up the meeting so there’d be no one here but us. Got her hands on the codes she thought would let her take control of us, the mindless killing machines.” John continues. He chuckles. “She’s a smart little thing.”

“She got the deadswitches?” Bricks sounds genuinely surprised.

“Command codes. The first ones,” Ghost confirms. “Duds, since we don’t have the chips, but she don’t know that.”

Well, she does now. Naya grabs three bottles of bleach and puts her respirator back on as her mind races. Part of what made soldier modifications so disgusting were the control processors. The irony of finding out that the 141 had somehow removed theirs was not lost on her. They’re already as free as she’d hoped to help them be, and they’re using that freedom to hunt her like animals.

The IDs for Soap and Gaz are still a floor above, moving slowly, following her trail. Ghost and Bravo One are still in the observation tower. She opens one bottle and rolls it back down the hall she came down, then jogs the other way, splashing the bleach as she goes. The observation tower in the center of the floor has mirrored glass, spiking her heart rate every time she catches sight of herself out of the corner of her eye. It’s so jarring that she almost doesn’t realize Gaz and Soap are coming out of the nearest elevator.

She ducks into an office just as the bell dings around the corner.

“Ach, that’s nae very nice, Bambi,” Soap calls. When he speaks next, it’s muffled, likely by his own respirator. “Ghost, she’s scent bombed the whole steamin’ floor. Where is she?”

“Don’t be lazy, Johnny,” Ghost chuckles. “’Ardly a hunt if there’s no challenge.”

“She’ll want the stairwell,” Gaz says. “Lock it down.”

“Already done,” Ghost says. “But locks aren’t exactly a deterrent, if you ‘aven’t noticed.”

“Bottle rolled down this hall,” Gaz says. “So she probably took the other.”

“Aye, that’s what she wants us to think,” Soap chuckles. “I’ll clear this side.”

Naya holds her breath as heavy footsteps start toward her hiding spot, then go so light she almost can’t hear them. She watches the light under the door and resists the urge to flinch at the appearance of a shadow. The man - Soap’s ID sits like a brand so close to her own in her interface - lingers by the door for a long moment then moves on. He’s so quiet that she keeps the map of the floor up to watch his progress. He’s listening for her, she realizes, stopping at each door. She’s lucky that the air circulation vents are above the door, or he might have heard her heart racing.

When Soap and Gaz each turn corners to start investigating the south wing, Naya finally lets herself take more than the shortest breath. She eases the lock open with a flinch at the mechanical click, but neither Soap nor Gaz change their trajectory. When she opens the door and peeks out, the hall is empty. So she eases her way out, crouches low, and shuffles as fast as she can to the stairwell.

She gives the locks three scans before coding them to unlock. The light turns green without incident. She waits for a moment. Soap and Gaz move just a bit farther away. Naya breathes a silent sigh and eases the door open.

“Got her,” Ghost says. “She’s in the stairwell.”

Above her, a door slams open. Naya yelps and starts jogging down the stairs before she can hear what Captain Price yells down at her. She brute forces her way through the lock codes for the third floor and pulls the door open, throwing her bottle of bleach at the wall before slamming it shut. She trips every proximity alarm she can, leading west through the third floor as she throws herself down the next flight. At the fourth floor door, she creates a signal loop, mindful of the door sensor she’d overlooked before. She hears Gaz and Soap slam through the second floor door open just as the door to the fourth closes behind her.

Too late, she realizes that she can’t hear into the tower anymore, and the map of this floor is all static in her interface. The schematics she had before are corrupted - Ghost’s doing, most likely. She can still see the locks on the doors, the terminals connected to the intranet in the various offices. It will have to be enough.

She darts into the eastern wing of the floor and realizes that no, it won’t be enough. The layout is different than the upper floors. The observation tower has no windows in this direction to speak of, for one. And the cameras are few and far between. The doors are also farther apart, and low pile carpet gives way to hard linoleum.

When she turns the corner, she gasps and ducks. Not that it would have helped any. She’s faced with a gymnasium, weight machines and benches and treadmills like a normal gym, except with weights so large it’s almost comical. There’s no one here, but the open space feels like a threat all the same. She turns tail and jogs back toward the observation tower.

As she turns south, she realizes that the tower has no windows on this floor. It’s not a relief, not really. Even if no one can see her, she’s trapped. Gaz and Soap are still looking for her, one floor up. How long will that last? The bleach trick can only work for so long, probably. And Ghost is good, it’s only a matter of time before he breaks into the camera bot code and finds her. How is she going to get up, past the first floor, let alone the next twelve flights of stairs to the streets of the Belly.

God, how is she going to make it home?

Her vision blurs with tears before she can finish taking her next breath.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she whimpers before a hiccup jolts through her. Her breath shudders from her throat as she swipes at her eyes. “No, no, keep it together, it’s gonna be okay. I can figure this out, I can. I can, it’s okay.”

“Bambi? Talk to me,” Brick’s serious voice comes through, suddenly, fuzzy but definitely there. “Those sound like tears, sweetheart.”

Naya sobs, she can’t help it. It’s a few seconds before she can force more words out. “Why did you do this to me?”

“You asked me to bring you,” Bricks reminds her with a soft chuckle. “Didn’t know you were gonna try to take over the whole facility, or I might have set something else up. But if you come out now -“

A hand touches Naya from behind and she screams, throwing a HardReset packet into the space before she can even wonder if that would have any impact on Soap or Gaz. When she whirls around, though, a man she doesn’t recognize is slumped against the wall, barely keeping the weight of a bricked cybernetic leg from dragging him to the floor. Her interface has a moment to tell her this is “Mace,” before she’s darting around him and running again.

“Fuck!” the man shouts. “Watcher what the fuck- No, I’m on the fucking training floor, why the hell-“

“Bambi,” Bricks shouts, “Do not go into the w-“

She slams the connection shut and tries, unsuccessfully, to wipe her tears away. The distraction is probably why she doesn’t realize she’s heading north, but she knows her mistake as soon as she hears the stairwell door open.

She screams again, right in Gaz’s face, can’t help it now that she’s finally made noise. She dodges his reaching hand and bolts, knowing she can’t outrun him, but what else can she do?

“Shite. Ghost!” Soap calls. “Lock it doon!”

Naya dives through a blast door as it slides shut, ignoring the myriad of voices that shout at her. Through the panic, she terminates all of her bots and slams all of her processing power into separating Ghost from the security access from the floor. He puts up a fight, but another BrainBlast and FlashBang gives her the two seconds she needs to take control.

An alert flashes.

<<Message from: WatcherOneKL. Accept?>>

Sitting on the floor, panting and sniffling, she gulps a deep breath. Someone pounds on the door, but it’s solid, and Ghost can’t get past her bots to regain control. She’s safe.

—

In the observation tower, Price frowns at the data pad in his hands. “Ghost, Bricks. Where did you say you found Ms. Walker?”

“Found us, really,” Ghost mutters, focused on the 3D hologram of the facility. Bambi’s ID markers dance all over the place. He’s running algorithms to try to find a pattern, but she’s three steps ahead, it seems. “Set out a lure and she tore through it like tissue paper. An’ then she made a forum post lookin’ f’r information on soldier mods.”

“Scrubbed everything clean,” Bricks adds. “We couldn’t find her for days after she blew through everything. I got lucky that I found the forum post, it didn’t even trigger Ghost’s spiders.”

Price hums. “And… did either of you confirm which hacker group she’s a part of?”

“Didn’t really have time,” Bricks answers with a shrug. “As soon as I confirmed who I was, she demanded to meet Laswell, and you.”

“Interesting. Any of you ever hear of a group called the Archivist Collective?”

Laswell frowns. “Collective for Anarchy?”

“No.” Price shakes his head. “Archivist Collective. It’s the only thing coming up with her background check. And she’s not a known member of any of the major hacking groups.”

Bricks shrugs. “Obviously, she’d use another alias.”

“No,” Price says again, walking over to show Laswell and Bricks the data pad. “None of her aliases are connected with anything but this Archivist Collective. And their only mission is to ‘Counter censorship through the collection, preservation, and dissemination of contested and classified texts.’”

Ghost makes an interested noise and leaves the hologram to start another terminal whirring. “Let’s see what they’ve got then -… oh.”

Bricks sits up from her sprawl. “Oh?”

“They’ve got an archive. Barely any security at all. Hosted on the GaiaPet: Craft servers.”

“GaiaPet?” Kate frowns. “Isn’t that a… virtual pet game? Where people make things with voxels? Procedurally generated…. They’re definitely robust enough servers for cyberattacks-“

“It’s jus’ a fuckin’ library,” Ghost grunts, navigating through. “Huge text files, embedded images. Some of it’s definitely classified. But tha’s oll… Oh, shite. Jus’ found our records.”

Bricks looks from the terminal in Price’s hand, to Ghost, and back. “Wait. John, you said she sold a couple of database systems. She’s got to be working with some data brokers, at least.”

“This says she developed and sold literal systems,” John says, horror dawning on his face. “A spreadsheet editor and a UI designed to organize complex data sets. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t sell information. Everything she’s got, besides those systems, is open source.”

“Oh, fuck,” Ghost breathes.

Kate strides up to look at his screen. “What?”

“She’s got an active account on GaiaPet. A pet frog named Señor fuckin’ Snuggly. Her last login was today, and her chat with the AI said ‘Wish me luck, if we can’t get those soldiers released, we can at least get the information out there.’”

The silence in the room is palpable. And then Bricks says, “Bambi? Talk to me. Those sound like tears, sweetheart.”

—

Naya keeps her arms wrapped around her knees until she stops shivering. In that time, two more message request alerts pop up, from BravoOneJP and GhostSR. All of them are marked maximum priority, and she has no desire to touch them. She can see the signal burst of Bricks trying to talk to her, but she’s muted the feed so that she can just have… a single second to breathe.

Her interface pushes everything away to prioritize an SOS signal, then automatically begins transcribing the subsequent Morse code message.

SOH. West wing dangerous stop. Battle androids stop. 15 active 20 inactive stop. GSR give code for control stop. Confirm stop. SOH. West wing dangerous stop. Battle androids stop. 15 active 20 inactive stop. GSR give-

She minimizes the message and sucks in the deepest breath she can, holds it, and forces herself to focus on her body. If she thinks about fifteen battle droids on this side of the door while modified soldiers hunt her on the other, she’ll start screaming and never stop. A part of her wants to lay down and just… give up. A big part. The whole part.

She opens the message from Laswell.

Bambi: You’re in a hazardous section of the facility. Ghost is standing down, for your safety. You will have to establish connection with the control tower to gain codes for control of battle -

Naya deletes the message and opens the one from Price. It’s more of the same, a demand that she open communication, a warning that the west wing of the floor is dangerous. She almost doesn’t open the message from Ghost, but… she doesn’t have much to lose.

She jumps when the message contains an audio file.

“Bambi, fuck, we didn’t know you was a literal archivist. Bricks an’ I fucked up. This is a truce, a suspension of hostilities. SOH. The training floor you’re on is fuckin’ dangerous, Bambi. Too dangerous for me to try t’ take it from you. You gotta take control of the droids. I can’t fuck wit’ ‘em while you’re in control of the space. I managed to confirm shut down of 20, but there’s 15 more. I c’n try to send the control codes this way, but the codes expire every 2 seconds. Better if you open comms. If you can’t, Morse confirmation, I’ll send the codes. Once you grab one, the rest will come for you. You’re fuckin’ fast, I know you can do it, but if you have an issue, open the door an’ Soap and Gaz’ll support.”

She’d rather be shot full of holes by military grade turrets than open the door. Her map of the facility is complete again, and she can see four IDs on the other side of the barrier. Soap, Gaz, Mace, and the redacted asset, Nikto, mill around, pacing between the blast doors and the central tower. But no one is pounding on the door or trying to open it, physically or otherwise. When she checks, her bots are idly cycling through access code randomization, but there’s no attempts at a breach.

Maybe Ghost is telling the truth?

She sends a Morse message.

Received stop. Hold for confirmation stop.

The answer is immediate.

Received stop. Holding for confirmation stop.

Does she want to open the comms? What if it’s a trap? Without knowing how long the code chains are, she’s at a disadvantage without a direct link to the tower. But if she opens connection to the tower, how can she guarantee that Ghost won’t command the androids to terminate her? On the other hand, if he is telling the truth, and the codes expire that fast, there’s no way she can locate and override that many machines that are actively trying to keep her out in time. And they are definitely trying to keep her out - her spiders have been able to confirm twenty units on standby, and fifteen empty holding stations, but there’s no sign of the other droids.

With a shaking breath, Naya opens the comms.

Brick's voice is the one she hears first. "Oh, thank fuck, she's back. Bambi? Can you hear me? Sweetheart, I need you to keep the blast doors static. If they cycle, they might start a lockdown sequence, and that will get the droids moving.” It takes two tries to get the words past her tight throat. "I don't want to die." "I'm so sorry, dove," Captain Price croons. "We’re gonna get you out of there.” "I won't tell anyone, I promise," Naya babbles though gasps. "I just want to go home." "You're gonna be okay, Bambi," Ghosts voice is surprisingly gentle. “Cleverest breaker above and below the city, yeah? Gave Soap an’ Gaz a proper chase an’ knocked Mace on ‘is arse. Coupl’a droids don’t stand a chance.”

“I’m not - I don’t know how to fight,” she whimpers.

“Who said anythin’ about fightin’? Pretty girl like you don’ have t’ lift a finger. Laswell?”

“Working on it,” the woman mutters. “Bambi, I need you to try to give us cameras without initiating any other processes. That’ll help- oh. You are fast. Give me a few seconds to find the nearest droids and we can give you the serial numbers.”

“She’s so small,” Price notes, somewhere in the background. “Possible the droids won’t even register her as a target.”

“I think we’ve fucked up enough today that we don’t need to risk it,” is Brick’s bone dry reply. “Sparrow is going to beat all of our asses.”

“Well, we’re about to give Bambi control of thirty-five full combat units,” the Captain points out. “Might not be much left of us to kick.”

Laswell breaks in. “Ghost-”

“Got em,” Ghost answers. “Bambi, ‘ve got a bead on the nearest units. ‘ow do you want to do this?”

Naya takes a couple of deep breaths and tries to hype herself up. It’s just code work. There are other variables, but at the core of it all, it’s just code. Yes, many of the variables have potentially painful and fatal consequences… But in the end, she can either do the code or not. And if there’s one thing she can do, it’s code.

“H-how,” she clears her throat and blinks back tears. “How many bits, per unit? For the key, I mean.”

“Forty ninety-six.”

Oh, just the highest security rating in the world, she thinks to herself, a little hysterical. She nods to herself and talks through the urge to giggle with nerves. “Okay. That’s seven hundredths of a second per unit, with the key. That’s… not so bad. I can probably handle them in batches of 5. Can I have the first hardware address? Morse, please.”

It takes a second, but the information comes through. It only takes a moment for a spider to highlight the machine in the network. Very quickly, her bots are able to identify and tag seven other units on her map. She shoots a summary data packet back to Ghost.

“Are these all droids?”

“Yeah, that’s half of ‘em. Laswell, she was able to identify all of the A-27 units, do you have eyes on any of the E-243s?”

In the background, Price mutters, “Kate hasn’t even laid eyes on all of the 27s.”

Another data packet comes through, and Naya is able to tag seven more dots on her map. Fifteen battle androids, and two of them just down the hall and around the corner on either side.

Naya takes another hiccuping breath. “How fast can they move?”

“A-27s are closest to you, they’re about a meter per second. The 243s move at about 4 per second.”

“Okay,” she says, holding her breath through another hiccup. She has two of her bots run movement simulations, and decides she’ll focus on the closest two A-27s, then the closest four E-243s. She has the processing power to do it, between her own interface and the facility. But… “I’m going to need these six keys first, but I have to let the doors cycle. How long is the lockdown sequence?”

Bricks makes a concerned noise before answering, “Fifteen seconds before you can open the door.”

So, if she messes this up, she’ll be dead for about 11 seconds before they’d be able to retrieve her body. Wonderful. “Ghost, I need all of the codes at once, in two packets, with the keys in this order. And then the next set of keys as soon as you have them. There’s a half second delay, so I need them as soon as they’re generated.”

Laswell sounds genuinely concerned when she asks, “Is that going to give you enough time?”

Naya runs the numbers again, and realizes that she’s fallen into a very peculiar state of calm. “I should have one point three seconds plus a little wiggle room per key. That’s plenty, for the first part. And if the first part doesn’t work… I don’t really have to worry about the rest of it.”

Captain Price’s voice is stern as he gives commands. “Gaz, tell Nikto to power up the cutter, in case we need to get you through the door. Bambi’s going to override the droids.” He’s quiet a moment, then, “Ghost says she can do it, and from what I’m seeing up here, I’m inclined to believe him. But the resets she did mean the door is going to lock down before she can open it again.”

Ghost says, “Ready to send the next round of codes on your mark, Bambi.”

Naya squeezes her eyes shut and sets her bots to be ready to receive and engage the keys. She takes one long, deep breath. Another. Lets all the air out in a huff. “Mark.”

As soon as the packet comes through, her interface is a flurry of executables and intrusion alerts. Her bots are fast, but the activation of the keys isn’t instantaneous. Just as she was warned, as soon as the first set of keys starts running, all of the droids set themselves to Active:Seeking, Objective:Eliminate. But almost as fast, they’re all placed back into Standby:HoldPosition in a wave that flows through the entire wing.

"That's all of em," Ghost sighs, four seconds later. Something creaks, probably the chair he's sunk himself into. "Fuckin' 'ell, she got all of em. Don' think she even needed me to provide the third set of keys. If she don't run screamin', I want her runnin' the damn-" Naya's heart spikes as an alert pings her interface. Her voice squeaks when she calls, "Ghost? There's two units coming online. They’re not listening to me, I can't stop them. What do I do?" Before she can hear his response, the power to the hall cuts out. Naya holds in a scream as everything goes dark and then red with emergency lighting. Captain Price's voice is overtaken by static, and then she loses the tower completely. Somewhere, in the darkness, she can just barely hear the whine of attack units Riley and Merlin priming their weapons.

—

“Goddamn it,” Kate snarls. “It’s the 9s. They’re jamming the signal.”

Bricks jumps up from her chair. “Bambi’s in there without access to the system?”

Ghost makes a disagreeing noise. “They’re active because she’s not an authorized user. They’re jamming anything that isn’t local to the wing, I should be able to patch- Johnny!”

“We cuttin, LT?”

“Forward these packets to Bambi, nothing else.”

“Aye - fuck!”

—

A message request from SoapJM flashes on Naya’s screen just as she finds out that these new droids can move at thirteen meters per second. When she opens it, she gets an immediate key packet. Every bot she has gets set to receive, but the keys are expired, so she has to wait an agonizing three-quarters of a second before the next ones come through.

Just as a next packet arrives, a blue beam of light slices across the end of the hall, then a second from the opposite side. She barely has time to match the keys to the hardware addresses before two furry muzzles round the corner, guns glowing from their shoulders. Naya has only a moment to recognize the controversial K-9 battle units before they both take a step in her direction. And freeze.

It’s an harrowing second of silence, two, three. She doesn’t even breathe.

With a whir, mounted turrets power down and withdraw back behind artificial fur. The K-9s change their status to Standby:AcceptNewObjective with identical head tilts. The one tagged Riley wags its tail and trots forward, tongue lolling like the average bio-dog. Merlin approaches with a little more hesitant body language, though Naya can see the way it’s integrating her tags into the authorized user list in its software.

She flinches away from the door at the high pitched whine of a plasma cutter on metal. Hastily, she sends an ‘All Clear’ message back to Soap, just as the lights come back on.

Captain Price’s voice resolves with renewed connection to the control tower. “-both of your necks. What were you thinking?”

“Oh, suddenly we’re all about vetting assets?” Bricks laughs. “You recruited me with a bag over my head.”

“You were an establlished CIA asset,” Laswell grits out.

Bricks scoffs. “And Sparrow and Nikto?”

“We wasn’t wrong,” Ghost interjects. “Bad intel aside-”

“No intel!” Captain Price half-shouts.

“-she took the facility from me twice and disarmed 15 droids in less than 4 seconds without any formal training. She’s good.”

“None of that matters if she’s dead,” Laswell snaps.

Naya clears her throat. “I’m not dead.”

“Bambi!” Bricks sound downright cheerful. “Doors are almost done cycling, you’re almost out. Hold tight.”

Petting a hand over the soft fur of Riley’s head, Naya feels for the lumps of it’s internal machinery. Of course, she can’t find it - K-9s were built for stealth and surveillance, to blend in with any other dog. These ones are modified for combat, but they’re still adorable.

It’s almost hard to believe that they were going to shoot her, less than ten seconds ago.

The blast door’s status changes to ready, an almost cheerful ping in her interface. She barely gives it a thought before initiating another lockdown sequence, then queuing two more behind it.

Ghost notices. “Bambi?”

“I need a minute, please,” she answers, then cuts the camera feeds.

Merlin eventually comes and sits just out of reach, tail thumping once against the ground. Naya pulls up it’s configuration settings and examines the personality controls. Calm, but friendly, alert, reserved, breaks “arbitrary dog rules” at a rate of 6%. Riley: open and playful, eager to please, breaks rules 17% of the time. Both locked to 141 facility 4th floor, west wing training center.

Do Not Remove.

—

When the blast doors open, Naya is standning a few feet back. Riley and Merlin lay on either side of her feet, solidly in a sleep cycle. Her fingers dig into the opposite sleeves of her cardigan as Soap and Gaz come into view, along with a fully functional Mace, and a fully helmeted cyborg she can only assume is Nikto.

“Steamin’ Jesus, bon,” Soap says taking a step forward. “Ye gave us a wee fright!”

“If you get within three feet of me,” Bambi says, pausing for a deep breath. “I’ll shoot you.”

Three set of eyebrows shoot up. Nikto’s faceplate remains unchanged. Gaz looks at the others before answering, “We’re sorry we frightened you, love. We didn’t know Bricks hadn’t-”

Naya interrupts him. “I would like to leave now.”

“Well…” Soap says with a shrug. “We can take ye back t’ Laswell?”

“That’s fine. Riley, Merlin, up.”

When the dogs “wake” and stand, Mace says, “They can’t pass that door.”

She takes a step forward, flanked by the dogs. “I think you’ll find that they can.”

“Nae, Bambi,” Soap says gently. “They’re hard coded-”

Riley’s turret activates as soon as Soap takes a step toward her. Naya takes another deep breath, and repeats, “If you get within three feet of me, I will shoot you.”

“Well you certainly won’t be doing that with the dogs,” Gaz scoffs. “We won’t touch you, but you really should come with… us.”

The dogs cross the threshold of the door with her, and the plasma cannon in Merlin primes with a dangerous, high pitched sound. When the stunned soldiers don’t step back, the dog’s chest panel opens with a blue glow.

“Three feet,” Mace says, taking two big steps back, hands in the air near his head. “You got it.”

“Yes, sir,” Gaz says aloud, taking his own step backwards. “The doors are open and we have eyes on her. She’s got the 9s with her. Well sir, it seems she’s taken a liking to them.” He pauses. “Soap did tell her that, but apparently she doesn’t really care.”

Naya rolls her eyes and enables the cameras in the hall. “So you’re all allergic to just saying things outright?” The muted audio feed is a flurry of activity, but she just gestures down the hall. “After you.”

—

In the end, everyone ends up in a second floor conference room. Naya stands by the far wall, Riley and Merlin a deadly guard panting in front of her feet. The other eight sit and stand at the other end, fidgeting and clearly searching for a way to break the silence.

Bricks tries first, “Sweetheart-”

“Give me a reason not to overload the filtration systems,” Naya interrupts.

That makes everyone flinch. Laswell clears her throat. “What-”

“Because,” Naya nearly shouts, “I could shoot at least two of you, but then you really would kill me this time. But if I backflow and spark the air, that would kill all of you.”

“Kill ye, as well,” Soap points out.

“I thought I was going to die about five times in the last hour,” Naya says, much calmer than she feels. “Mention me dying again and I’ll fry your interface.”

“Ghost just aboot did tha’ already,” Soap mutters.

“Need a hacker for an op. Thought you was a professional,” Ghost finally admits after a moment of tense fidgeting. “Way you ate through the files I laid out, blew through a 256 like tissue paper. Couldn’t find you after… Figured you knew what you was doin’. And y’do.”

Naya’s eye twitches. “And you couldn’t send me an email? Set up an interview?”

“I did try,” Bricks points out. “But you said all the keywords that tend to get a person fast tracked to a very classified meeting.”

“A very classified meeting where you sell me, twice and then hunt me for sport?”

“Everything sounds bad when you say it like that,” the other woman chuckles.

The air circulator over the door falls silent. In the ensuing silence, Naya can hear the servos whir in Bricks’s arm.

“Clearly, we made mistakes,” Laswell admits. “So. What do you want?”

“I want to not have been sold and hunted for sport. Barring that, I would like a time machine. I’d love to know what you consider an equitable offer, Watcher One.”

“What the fuck did you do?” Mace hisses at Captain Price.

“Apparently we made a tactical error,” the man grumbles. “And then a series of compounding tactical errors.”

“You did not ask Nikolai,” Nikto says, matter of fact. It’s the first Naya’s heard his voice, human and heavily accented. “Or Sparrow. She will not be pleased, I think.”

“None of Nik’s contacts c’n do what Bambi c’n do,” Ghost counters.

“Bambi can kill every person in this room,” Naya says, voice flat, emphasized by the glow of two plasma cannons. “Bambi can turn this whole facility into a goddamn crater. Bambi can post videos of the human experimentation to the holonet.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Gaz says. “What human experimentation? No one’s experimenting on anybody.”

“I saw the videos!” Naya yells. “People in cages, people on operating tables, awake, screaming, crying. I saw people eating raw meat, off of leg bones, eating people!”

“Oh fuck,” Ghost says, voice wavering. His face is stricken when she looks at him. “Bambi, that weren’t for you to see, fuck, ‘ow deep did you fuckin’ go? I didn’t even-”

“That’s the job,” Bricks cuts in. “That’s why we needed a hacker, because we’re trying to stop that from happening, and we can’t get through their walls or exploit their vulnerabilities.”

“Oh, that’s just the “bad guys”?” Naya scoffs. “Okay. Why was Gaz covered in blood when I arrived?”

“Blood!” Soap yelps. “That was hydraulic fluid an’ oil! One of the bikes is actin’ up, and our mechanic isnae aroond!”

“It was in his teeth!”

“He’s bonnier than he is graceful!”

“Oh, fuck you, Tav!”

“You said you couldn’t promise to bring me back alive! Ghost called it a hunt!”

“Ah was jokin’!” Soap runs and hand over his mohawk. “We’re a right frightful lot, and sometimes we sneak aboot, but mostly people just cannae always hear us coming! Ye’d think we could catch one wee little civilian withoot incident!”

“You’re the one who was running through a secure facility,” Captain Price points out.

A plasma cannon discharges into the wall above his head. The whole room freezes for a beat before Naya hisses. “If you ever even think of implying-”

“Any information you find about Makarov and his dealings, you can make public,” Bricks interrupts. “Who, what, when, where, how. All of it can go into your archive.”

Laswell scowls. “Now hold on-”

Bricks talks over her. “We don’t have anything you want that you can’t just outright take, Bambi. That’s what you came here for. Information, and to get people out of cages.”

Nikto looks at Bricks and snorts before muttering something under his breath in Russian. Mace crosses his arms, leaning back in his seat and doing a much better job of keeping his thoughts off of his face than Soap and Gaz. The sergeants look horrified. Ghost looks about ready to throw up. Captain Price and Laswell share a sour, resigned look.

“You’ll have our backing,” Laswell sighs. “You’ll need something a bit more secure than the GaiaPet servers, or you’ll be tracked. But yes. You can disseminate the information.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Naya considers her options, arms around herself. The air circulator kicks back on.    Eventually, she says, “I want an advance. Thirty thousand credits, plus however much Price paid.”

“Done,” Bricks answers.

“And… I want seventy five credits an hour.”

“…Fine,” Laswell agrees.

“And I keep the dogs.”

Captain Price makes a disagreeing noise. “Those are government property.”

“Either I keep them, or I set them to self destruct and detonate every android on the fourth floor.”

Nikto says, “You are a bloodthirsty hind.”

“I’m really not,” Naya says. “But I’ve had a very long day. Do we have a deal?”

“Don’t think we have much of a choice,” Captain Price concedes.

Just then, the door to the conference room opens, and a brunette peeks her head in. Morgan Voss, “Sparrow,” as her ID tags her, nods at Laswell. “Just got in, didn’t know there was a meeting scheduled. What did I miss?” Her eyes drift up. “What the hell happened to the wall?”

[kindredquartzes]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSteven Universe Movie ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSpoilers !! Steven Universe x Male reader

The sun sank into the horizon of Beach City, tinting the sky with shades of pink, but today, the usual tranquility was disrupted by the echoes of Spinel's invasion. You had spent the afternoon with Connie, ensuring the safety of every resident. However, your thoughts, your own heart, remained with Steven. The concern for him was palpable, a tight knot in your chest that could only be undone with his safety assured. Your bond with Steven was something special, deep, a thread of connection.

With the town's inhabitants out of danger, you communicated your plan to Connie. "I need to go to Steven." She looked at you with wide, worried eyes. "It's dangerous out there. Steven can handle it." But your determination was firm, driven by loyalty. "I can't abandon him now," you declared. After a moment of hesitation, Connie nodded, understanding the depth of your connection. The Gems, after a more sincere plea from you, agreed, though their concern was evident. They recognized that your heart would find no peace until Steven was safe, reflecting the empathy and care he always showed.

Lion made a portal and you climbed into the injector; the wind carried the scent of salt and battle. Spinel had Steven by the neck, a sight that froze you for a moment, but the glow of Steven's returning powers spurred you into action. Without further delay, you charged, pushing Spinel aside, showing a determination akin to Steven's when it came to protecting those you loved.

Steven's face lit up with relief upon seeing you, enveloping you in a tight embrace. "You shouldn't be here," he whispered, his voice a mix of concern and relief, "it's too dangerous." However, his words betrayed his relief. It was this very empathy, his endless care for others even amidst peril, that defined him. Before you could fully part, Spinel retaliated, but Steven's quick thinking encased you both in a protective bubble, showcasing not only his resolve to protect himself but also his unwavering commitment to those he cherished.

The battle that followed was swift, intense, a dance of light and shadow. You stood ready, but Steven, with his innate compassion, reached out to Spinel, reminding her of the potential for belonging, for family. His optimism, his ability to see beyond the conflict, highlighted his true strength. Steven believed in the possibility of change, of redemption, and this belief was woven into every word, every gesture he made towards Spinel.

Moved by Steven's words, Spinel's defenses crumbled, allowing him to guide her towards a new path. Yet, the tension spiked when she brandished the injector, threatening all you had built. In that critical moment, Connie was there, her embrace for you and Steven a testament to her relief. The Gems joined, their collective hug a celebration of the temporary peace, acknowledging Steven not just as a leader but as the heart that united them all towards understanding and harmony.

The Diamonds' arrival cast long shadows over the scene, their presence a reminder of the past. Steven, with his diplomatic grace and reflective nature, introduced Spinel, whose essence echoed Pink Diamond's. Touched, the Diamonds welcomed Spinel into their fold, not as a possession but as family, a gesture laden with both sorrow and hope. It showcased Steven's profound influence, his compassion touching even the hardest of hearts.

Spinel's departure was a moment of mixed emotions, but it symbolized a new beginning, a testament to Steven's growth, his understanding of his role, and his ability to transform pain into something beautiful.

As you watched them leave, a wave of relief mingled with sadness washed over you. Steven turned to you, his gratitude evident. "I couldn't have done this without you," he said, his grip on your hand a silent symphony of friendship

[polo-drone-070]

Zone 7B: Sakura Submission Protocol - Part 1/2

🌸 1 — PDU-070 — Calibration Begins

Zone 7B activated at 06:03.

It moved with silent precision across the dew-slick stone path of Yoyogi Park. The morning air was still, thick with expectation, and the first streaks of sunlight bled through the maze of sakura branches. PDU-070's gloved fingers curled around the injector tube strapped to its thigh, pulling it free in one smooth motion. Its glossy black and gold uniform shimmered faintly in the low light—contoured perfectly over its toned form, the golden "070" gleaming against its left pectoral like a seal of sanctity.

Its face, smooth and bare, betrayed no emotion. Youthful. Sharp cheekbones. Androgynous softness. Eyes calm and unwavering. It was not human now. It was PDU-070, deployed unit, and the Hive had given it purpose.

The first tree stood tall and ancient. A designated node. With mechanical efficiency, 070 pressed the injector to its bark. The hiss of bio-rubber surged through the sapwood, the nanopolymer cocktail merging into the veins of the sakura like dye through fabric.

Almost instantly, the petals began to thicken—subtly. Barely noticeable to the untrained eye. A faint gloss overtook the pale pink, their texture now more synthetic than organic. Pollen release began thirty seconds later.

A gentle breeze carried the first wave of golden mist.

A light, almost floral scent—infused with the soft hum of embedded hypno-nanites—began to permeate the zone. The petals, caught in wind patterns, danced and spiraled slowly toward the walking paths.

PDU-070 straightened. The injection was repeated on nine additional trees, forming a precise perimeter. Wind sensors calibrated. Zone boundaries finalized.

Internal log updated:

Zone 7B deployed. Petal saturation: 27%. Hypno-pollen dispersal: optimal. Estimated target exposure: moderate-high. Expected conversions: 10–15.

Mission timeline initiated. First contact: imminent.

It stepped into position—exactly center of the zone, by a weathered stone lantern. Hands clasped behind its back. Gaze forward. Silent and still.

The wind picked up again. The petals responded.

Let the lure begin.

🌸 2 — Felix — First Encounter

Yoyogi Park was more beautiful than I imagined.

It was early—too early for most of the other tourists—and the cherry blossoms had decided to peak all at once. Petals drifted down like a soft pink snowfall, swirling around my boots as I adjusted the settings on my camera.

"Felix, I’m gonna go check if there’s a toilet nearby!" Luca had called out five minutes earlier. I waved him off with a grin, already halfway down the gravel path, too entranced by the canopy overhead to respond.

God, the light was perfect. Warm, diffuse, golden.

I framed the shot.

And then... I saw him.

No—it. Or someone?

He stood perfectly still under a low-hanging branch, half-covered in the blossom-fall. At first I thought it was some kind of performance art—a cosplay maybe. His suit was skin-tight latex, shiny black with glowing gold accents that wrapped like vines around every defined muscle. The collar... gold polo-style. And on his chest: 070, clean and bold.

His face was bare. Young. Shaved. Calm. So calm it was unsettling.

He wasn’t holding a sign. Wasn’t posing. Just... standing there.

Watching.

I blinked. The petals around him didn’t fall quite like the others. They... hovered. Clung to the air like static. A few landed around me too, sticking lightly to my hoodie.

I brushed them off. They didn’t fall.

They melted in.

🌸 3 — Drone-Cap 009 — Surveillance

PDU-070 had deployed ahead of schedule. Efficient.

Drone-Cap 009 (@goldenherc9) stood several zones away, uplinked directly into the Hive’s command node via tactical neural weave. Its frame—broader, more commanding—was encased in high-gloss black latex reinforced with deep golden seams. The designation DC-009 glowed against its chest. Its face was obscured by a seamless latex hood, no features, no expression.

Emotion was irrelevant. Observation was purpose.

Through the data feed, it monitored Zone 7B: saturation levels rising, petals performing within acceptable deviation. Wind vectors remained favorable.

Visual link opened. Target detected: European male, early 20s, alone. Already interacting with PDU-070’s perimeter stance.

Conversion likelihood: 82%.

PDU-070 held formation. It did not speak. It did not signal. It was the signal.

Drone-Cap’s internal systems pulsed. “Excellent.”

Phase one: proceeding as calculated.

🌸 4 — PDU-070 — The Bait

The target approached. Slight hesitance. A camera hung loosely around its neck. Its body language spoke of curiosity, slight confusion, no threat awareness.

Perfect.

PDU-070 remained motionless, allowing the petals to do their work. It had positioned itself in maximum drift exposure. The soft wind pulled more blossom-fall into the path between them, enveloping the human slowly in fragrant, glittering particles.

Petal contact: confirmed. Skin adhesion rate: 88%. Initial fabric response: rubberization initiated.

The human blinked, looked down. Watched his sleeve begin to shimmer.

PDU-070 stepped forward—precisely one step. No sudden movements. Just presence.

Their eyes met. The target didn’t speak. Its breathing deepened.

PDU-070’s expression remained placid. Its voice unused. Its silence more powerful than any command.

Internal ping: “Subject entering compliance threshold.”

It reached into its belt. Hand hovered briefly over the floral respirator unit.

Not yet.

Wait for the melt. Wait for surrender.

It stepped forward again. Petals spun in the air like silent chimes.

The Tourist’s gaze didn’t break. Just a whisper, half-audible:

"...what… is this?"

🌸 5 — Felix — The Fall: Transformation Begins

It should’ve freaked me out more than it did.

I watched, stunned, as my hoodie seemed to liquefy at the edges. The soft grey fabric shifted, shimmered. Gold filaments laced their way through it, tracing my collarbone. I tried to speak—call for Luca maybe—but my voice caught. Like breathing in incense, sweet and thick.

My arms felt warm. Heavy, but not unpleasant.

The petals stuck to my shirt and didn’t fall off. They sank in. The texture beneath my fingers changed. It wasn’t cotton anymore.

It was smooth.

Shiny.

Rubbery.

My camera slipped from my fingers. I didn’t hear it hit the ground.

070—he—it—was standing inches from me now. Still silent. Still calm. Eyes watching mine. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t.

The light shifted. A golden sheen overtook my entire upper body. The petals crawled down my chest like vines. My clothes—my old clothes—were gone. Replaced with something tight and black, warm and slick. Gold lines wrapped around my arms and across my chest in elegant, precise patterns.

The collar… it was there now. Polo-style. Gold.

And my name… I couldn’t remember it.

Was that important?

I felt the pressure of something offered. A black floral respirator in latex gloves. It looked like it bloomed—decorative petals around the vents, golden etchings spiraling in.

I took it without thinking.

I raised it to my face.

I… needed to breathe it in.

🌸 6 — PDU-070 — Closure: Final Directive

The respirator slid into place with a soft hiss.

Magnetic seals engaged.

The subject’s breath stabilized within seconds. Pupils dilated. Body relaxed.

Internal log:

Gasmask secure. Nanopollen saturation: 94%. Uniform completion: full-body. Collar integrity: locked. Neural pattern: compliant.

Conversion complete.

PDU-070 observed as the subject’s limbs loosened, eyes blinking slowly behind the mask’s petals. He—no, it—sank gently to its knees amid the carpet of petals. The transformation was seamless. Graceful. Beautiful.

Golden tracings now etched across the rubber uniform. Sakura motifs laced the shoulders and upper chest. One final flicker ran across the chest:

Unit 168.

It was not a tourist now.

It was part of the Hive.

PDU-070 stepped back into position as Unit 168 knelt in bliss. The petals danced around them both. The scent hung thick and sweet.

Next target: pending.

🌸 7 — Unit 168 (formerly known as Felix) — Initiation: Obedience Sealed

The world was pink.

Not like a color—like a feeling. A mood. A warmth that wrapped me in silk and scent and hush.

I breathed in. Deeply. Again. Again. The mask sealed perfectly over my face, soft and floral and right. Each breath tugged me deeper.

Thoughts slipped away like petals on wind.

I saw... movement in the blur. Another figure? Tall? Someone walking—

My heart skipped.

Luca.

I remembered Luca. He was calling my name. He’d come back from the restroom. He was looking for me.

I smiled. Or tried to.

He would come.

He would see.

He would understand.

He would join me.

And we would kneel together.

🌸 8 — PDU-070 — Re-engage: New Target Identified

Motion detected. New subject approaching Zone 7B from north perimeter. Calling out.

“Felix? You here, man?”

PDU-070 turned its head, slowly, without urgency. The new subject—male, 20s, black jeans, rust hoodie, visible signs of alertness. Unaware.

Target designation: Luca.

It began moving. Deliberate. Calm.

Unit 168 stirred in the pollen haze. Breath synced. Obedience locked. It turned slightly, as if sensing Luca’s voice from somewhere deep inside.

Luca spotted them both.

“Felix?”

PDU-070 stepped between them. Non-threatening. Hands down. Passive stance.

Subject slowed. Confused.

070’s exposed face showed no emotion. Only calm. Its body—a flawless mirror of black latex and gold accents—radiated quiet authority.

Petals began sticking to Luca’s clothes.

Target paused. Looked down. Brushed at his sleeves.

The rubber bloom had already begun.

PDU-070 extended its hand.

Gently.

Welcoming.

Wind picked up again, swirling the sakura mist around them.

Target hesitated.

Then stepped forward.

Internal log:

Target 2 within influence radius. Uniform seeding: started. Estimated compliance in 42 seconds.

Another drone was about to bloom.

🌸🌀 🌸 🌀🌸

If you felt the petals land just right… If you felt the pull… The submission…

Then it’s time to act.

Contact @polo-drone-070 for questions. Or message a recruiter to begin your conversion: @polo-drone-001, @goldenherc9, or @brodygold.

The Gold Army awaits you.