whats30mm

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"Please note that the 74-E in your standard kit is a jump assist pack, not a flight pack. Attempting to use the 74-E for sustained flight will result in rapid fuel depletion and possible impact damage."

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bunny wind up dolls as a last minute eastery offering

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Soul of her

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Shes done!!!!! Awawawa!!!

Everyone say hai Miso!!!!! (Also wave back or when I build her weapons youll have an angry doll at your door when you sleep)

every robot girl needs a weapon, as a treat

Great build! You did awesome. You now understand why I love them!

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Porcelain dress, porcelain flesh Maybe you can break me But I can still remake me

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Scritches

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soon everyone will be a cute doll

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重音テト

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Remember

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There's GOTTA be a better angle for this.

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pilots that die.

pilots that don't make it back to base. pilots that take a plasma lance straight through the cockpit, vaporized into pink mist, death so instant it's almost merciful. pilots that are severed from their mech so suddenly that it doesn't even register as a de-sync. pilots that leave their handlers all alone, struggling with the emergency controls as they retreat, not realizing why half the mech's systems went offline.

handlers who grieve.

handlers who let out agonized sobs as they see the giant hole of melted metal where the cockpit was. handlers who were okay with death until it happened to something close to them. handlers who hold the charred remains of a spinal interface in their hands, weeping alone in their quarters. handlers who refuse to take a new pilot. handlers who choose to fly alone.

mechs that remember.

mechs that get repaired, the metal patchwork making it obvious where the damage was. mechs that are emblazoned with "in memoriam" next to their kill tallies. mechs that behave strangely. mechs that have minds of their own. mechs that sync surprisingly well with their solo handlers. mechs that have the digital soul of another in their circuits, something that's long gone yet living on in silicon and copper.

pilots that never truly die.

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All done! My partner @sylvanitchi thought pink highlights would work well on this guy, and I have to agree. This was a super fun build, and I want to get more guys like this

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[trying to instigate a fight between dollgirls so I can rob the place] that one said your joints are squeaky as fuck

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noticing a burgeoning trend of hating on dollgirls. to be clear, if this balloons up, and you participate in it, you are boring as fuck.

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Storefront signs cast blotchy, multicolored light through the tangle of shoddily welded halls. A discarded water canister drifts through the near weightlessness, occasionally tonking against the walls. An argument between two neighbors booms from somewhere unseen. It seems one is accusing the other of siphoning the oxygen from their apartment. The sun never sets on Psyche Station, and you are having the worst day your life.

asteroid mining is, surprisingly, fairly marginal. even very metal rich asteroids aren't big globs of pure metal, they're just enriched in metal. you know, the same way that ores anywhere else are. the asteroid belt is so far out of the way that there wasn't a real drive to mine it until deuterium refinement around saturn started taking off. even though it's resources are slightly harder to access, the amount of fuel and time required to get to saturn from the belt is far less than from mars.

so, in the early 2200s, a number of small mines crop up around the asteroid 16 Psyche. unlike the ones on mars, these are small and fairly self contained. crews, mostly composed of martians, rotate about once every year. these mines operate almost entirely without oversight, being millions of kilometers away from anyone who might have the authority to tell them that horrific abuse of your laborers is a bad thing.

Psyche Station becomes infamous throughout the solar system. it is the place you go when you have no where else to turn. they'll take anyone with a pulse and most of their fingers. can you press a button? now you're a centrifuge blast furnace operator. took a machine shop class in high school? it doesn't matter if you failed, come to psyche, be a technician!

mars' most destitute go to psyche hoping to come back with enough money to start a new life, and those in debt go where not even the most desperate loan sharks will bother to look. corporations tend to not keep very accurate logs of employees so its easier to sweep worker deaths under the rug, but this has the side effect of making psyche one of the few places left where one can truly disappear.

another one of psyche station's oddities is that it's expected for workers to pay for everything, including their own passage. shipping crews out to the asteroid belt is quite expensive, so the mines see this as a very easy way to, put mildly, encourage employee retention. wage theft is rampant, so a one year contract can easily turn in to two, five, or ten years before you can buy your way home. if you're particularly unfortunate the company you work for might go bankrupt, and at that point you might as well give up any hope of returning.

as such, psyche begins to develop a homeless population. most do find work at a mine or refinery after some time, but it requires a whole lot of convincing to assure an employer that you are not someone who is already an employee trying to double dip on a paycheck. that is, of course, if you are able to work. if you are injured or ill or otherwise unable to perform hard labor, you're as good as dead. but you don't like being as good as dead, do you? you'll make a living even if it kills you.

a slum begins to grow around the station. old cargo containers get lashed awkwardly together and welded to emergency airlocks. at first, these are mostly residences, ramshackle apartments for those displaced from the regular workers' barracks, but a few small shops begin to crop up here and there. a miner is unable to work after being blinded in an accident, and opens up a restaurant to make a living instead. a refinery worker quits their job after having the tenth paycheck in a row withheld, and makes ends meet by mending clothes.

against all odds, people will always make do. the slum slowly expands, and in due time, even some who are still employed by the mining corporations begin to move into it. living in the scrapped fuel tank of an ore tanker isn't ideal, but having your own apartment with a shower is incredible luxury compared to a coffin sized sleeping pod in the barracks.

and here, psyche's reputation as a place you can be invisible comes into play again. those on the run from the police or the mob or their debts stowaway on transport ships and disappear without a trace. those displaced by anti-union violence on mars find new lives after their old ones are destroyed. the corporations see the slum growing, but getting rid of it would be more trouble than it's worth. and besides, having somewhere to go on your time off is good for worker productivity and they didn't even have to spend any money to build it.

resources are smuggled in on supply ships or stolen from company stores. the shanty town around psyche begins to look more an more like a city. narrow corridors branch out like a thicket through the vacuum of space, far past the size of the original station. the asteroid's incredibly low gravity means the structure can be built out very cheaply using scrap metal. the whole thing leaks like all hell, but oxygen is such a plentiful byproduct of the metal refining process that it doesn't really matter. some enterprising people just set up systems to siphon the waste oxygen off the arc furnaces and sell it by the bottle. for the same reason, most people don't have CO2 scrubbers either. you just vent out the stale air and pump in more oxygen to replace it

no centralized utilities exist in the psyche slums. many ad-hoc networks of water reclamation or power generation are set up between a few households, but it's largely up to you to provide your own life support. nutrition is poor, radiation shielding is incredibly insufficient, and the air is acrid with industrial fumes. the whole structure creaks and groans with thermal strain as the asteroid rotates. fires are common, and incredibly deadly. psyche station is by any measure a completely miserable place to live, and yet people still live there. after a mere sixty years it has a population of nearly 18000 people, making it one of the largest and densest settlements in the entire solar system.

there are schools and hairdressers and grocers and pharmacies. a whole city exists at the fringes of human civilization, built on smuggled goods, and thriving both despite of and because of its lawlessness. outsiders often regard it with some sort of wistful fascination. there's a certain whimsical appeal to the anarchy and the dimly lit corridors and the ramshackle noodle shops. to the exhausted and stagnant middle class of earth, there is magic in the idea of this whole society where people survive in the harshness of deep space by lifting each other up and building a sense of community. and while yes, that is a part of the reality, there is so much more to it than that. the city of psyche station grew out of necessity. out of desperation. humans will do anything they can to keep living, even if it means living in a shipping container around an asteroid. to the thousands that live there, psyche station is a tragedy. it is a miracle. and it is a home.

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A relationship between a bioengineering robot girl and a mechanical engineer human girl would be fun. both have the ability to modify the other.

Human: “I installed a rail cannon into your right arm!”

Robot: “I grafted a human size fox tale for you!”

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robot4robot but it’s a lifelike combat android who can almost pass for human and her girlfriend who is a massive hexapod mobile artillery unit