#Biometric Finger Print

[mantrasmartidentity]

MORPHS Compact Slap Ten-print Fingerprint Scanner | Mantra Identity

Check out Mantra’s MORPHS Ten-print fingerprint scanner which is ideal for individual identification and enrollment projects. Contact us for biometric solutions!

[svsembedded]

Bluetooth Based Wireless Biometric Finger Print Electronic Voting System using Arduinohttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CqZJl489rrU

[secureace]

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[natalievoncatte]

The palm-print panel was cool under Lena’s touch. She pressed her hand to the rectangular plate next to her front door and waited for the brief moment it needed to scan her skin. The door unlocked with a meaty thump and she pushed it open with her other hand, absently checking her phone as she stepped inside. As the system scanned her biometrics, it detected stress and dimmed the lights, automatically turned on the television to an abstract screen saver with cool tones, and began to play an arrangement for a violins to soothe her nerves.

She kicked off her heels and walked barefoot into the kitchen, where she skipped the countertop wine cellar and pulled out the half-empty box of Trader Joe’s vintage that she’d taken a liking to thanks to Kara. She pours herself half a tumbler full as a silent fuck you to her mother and took a swig, then walked out into her living room to sit down in the gloom for a few minutes and think.

Supergirl was sitting on her couch, head flopped back over the back so that her hair fanned out across the white leather. She sat splayed with her knees apart and legs out, arms resting on her thighs. Lena wasn’t sure if she was awake.

As she drew closer, she caught a small gasp. Supergirl had a black eye, and there were scrapes on her cheeks and the backs of her hands, the blood barely crusted. Both her hands and her face were bruised and she had a tiny split in her lip.

Lena placed the wine on the table, nerves jangling when the bottom rattled against the pale marble from the shaking of her hand. Her heart raced as she drew closer. Supergirl had taken off her cape and draped it over the couch. It was none the worse for wear but was covered in scorch marks.

Suoergirl’s broad chest heaved once and she let out a long, pained sigh.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Supergirl.”

She let out a little laugh, wincing. “Do we need be so formal?”

“I don’t have anything else to call you,” Lena said, coolly. “Mind if I ask why you’re in my apartment?”

“You don’t lock the balcony doors. You should.”

Lena sighed and folded her arms. “I said why, not how.”

Supergirl didn’t look at her.

“I just got the snot beaten out of me. Everything hurts.”

“I didn’t think that was possible.”

How was it possible? Curiosity tugged at her, but concern shot through it, making her fidget with her hands. Lena hated fidgeting. It made her look weak, and she could still remember the pain when Lillian cracked the ruler across her knuckles to break the habit.

“Can I have some wine?”

Lena swallowed hard.

“Sure,” she said.

She went to the kitchen and poured. When she returned to the living room, Supergirl was sitting up, hunched forward and leaning on he knees. Lena started a little at the sight. Sitting that way displayed the wide, muscular set of her shoulders and arms, especially her meaty biceps. Her back was a rare sight -she wore a cape, after all- and just as exquisitely muscled.

She was looking at her hands, at the damage to her muscles. Lena offered the glass and she took it. Her fingers were warm when they brushed against Lena’s, strangely soft.

Supergirl took a long pull of wine and smacked her lips, then winced.

“It’s times like this I wish I could get drunk.”

“You can’t?”

“Not on wine and not for very long.”

“Interesting.”

“So I have a problem,” Supergirl said. She was still looking at her hands.

“And that is?”

“I have to call off work tomorrow. These will heal, and I’ll look exactly the same. I don’t get scars anymore. But they’ll be visible for a day or so.”

“I see.”

“But I have to get brunch with someone, and they’ll be able to tell. Concealer won’t do much for this.” She touched her eye, wincing.

“Wait here,” said Lena.

She came back a moment later with some wash clothes soaked in cold water on a tray. Hands still shaking a little as she placed it on the table. Tenderly, she took one of the washcloths and dabbed the back of Supergirl’s hands, cleaning away the grime and dried blood from the abrasions.

Supergirl sighed. “That feels good. Thank you.”

“May I?” said Lena.

Supergirl hesitated, doubt flashing deep within the endless depths of her blue eyes, but she turned to Lena and tilted up her chin. With shaking fingers, Lena cupped Supergirl’s face gently and used a fresh cloth to clean and cool the cut on her lip. Supergirl closed her eyes and sighed.

Lena’s eyes wandered up, to the small mark above her eye.

“You don’t scar. Did you get that on Krypton?”

“Yes. I slipped and fell when I was a little girl. You should have seen me. I bled all over.”

“Must be nice, not getting hurt anymore. Not feeling pain.”

“I still feel it.”

Lena paused.

“I feel every bullet and blow and bomb blast just like anyone would,” said Supergirl. Just because it doesn’t harm me doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt me.”

“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s okay,” said Supergirl.

She opened her eyes -eye- and looked at Lena reverently, one pretty blue eye glittering while the other remained bruised shut. She smiled a lopsided, honest smile, looked at Lena in a dreamy, almost adoring way that-

Wait.

“Oh my God,” Lena breathed.

“Hi,” said Kara.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” Lena whispered. “Oh my God, what happened, how did this happen to you? You’re hurt!”

“I had a tough time with a very determined alien and had to worry about civilians,” said Kara. “It happens.”

Lena’s pulse raced and her breath quickened. Her gaze darted, searching and noticing every detail. She was so beautiful, and she was so Kara.

“Why now?” said Lena. “Why this time?”

“I don’t know.”

Lena bit her lip, and the tiny gesture had a noticeable impact on Kara. Her eyes widened and her gaze fell to Lena’s bottom lip, then flicked back up.

“So your brunch,” said Lena. “That was with me.”

“Yeah. I thought about cancelling but I can’t. I needed to see you now.”

Lena shifted closer on the couch, until they were hip to hip.

“Why?”

“Because I just got punched in the head by an alien with big stupid bone spurs coming out of his fist and I need to see you. I won, by the way. It was really cool. I ripped a fire hydrant out of the ground and hit him with it.”

Lena looked her up and down. Her jaw began to quiver.

“Oh God. Is it worse than it looks? Are you hurt worse than you look, Kara? Are you…”

Kara shook her head, then winced. “No. Not that bad, promise. I just…” she sighed. “I’m tired of going to lay on a sunbed and going back to my empty apartment and spend a sick day napping on the couch.”

Lena let out a slow breath. “So you came to see me.”

“Yuuup,” Kara said, slowly.

Lena shifted awkwardly in her seat. Kara slowly reached over with her now clean hand and curled her fingers around Lena’s chin.

“Lena?” she whispered. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

Kara turned and leaned into her, pressing the slightest, lightest kiss to Lena’s lips, not a quick peck but something slow and soft, warm and inviting.

“Ow,” Kara muttered.

“Kara,” Lena whispered.

“I have any idea. Since I can’t make brunch… how about breakfast?”

Lena leaned against her, gently draping her arms around her as they fell back into the soft cushions together.

“Okay.”

[rainbowbobatea]

Thief of the Night 🌙🎭🌜

Mish was always down for a good celebration…

But not today. That can wait.

For now, she had better things, more important things to worry about than wearing masks, eating gumbo, and joining the Mardi Gras parade.

Mish crouches in the shadows of an alleyway, her eyes fixed on the opulent building across the street. The krewe's headquarters looms before her, its facade adorned with gaudy Mardi Gras decorations. Music and laughter drift from the nearby parade, but Mish tunes it out. She's got a job to do.

She checks her watch. 9:45 PM.

Perfect timing.

Mish slips out of the alley, blending seamlessly with the crowd of revelers. She's decked out in a flashy sequined dress and feathered mask, the perfect disguise for tonight's festivities. As she approaches the building, she spots two beefy security guards flanking the main entrance.

"Time for Plan B," she mutters.

Circling around to the back of the building, Mish finds what she's looking for – a service entrance, likely used by staff and caterers. She waits in the shadows, watching as a harried-looking waiter hurries out for a smoke break.

Mish seizes her chance. She saunters up to the door, swaying slightly as if tipsy from the night's revelry.

"Oi! Hold the door, will ya?" she calls out in her best American accent.

The waiter glances at her, clearly annoyed but too rushed to argue. He props the door open with his foot.

"Thanks, love," Mish chirps, slipping inside.

She finds herself in a bustling kitchen. Staff rush about, prepping trays of hors d'oeuvres and refilling champagne flutes. Mish snags an empty tray and apron from a nearby cart, donning them with practiced ease.

A frazzled manager spots her. "You! New girl! Take these upstairs to the VIP lounge. And hurry!"

Mish nods, accepting the tray of fancy canapés. "Yes, chef!"

Heart racing, she navigates through the chaos of the kitchen and out into the main hall. The krewe's headquarters is a maze of opulent rooms and winding corridors. Mish keeps her head down, playing the part of a harried server as she searches for her target.

After what feels like an eternity of smiling and nodding at drunk partygoers, Mish finally spots it – a heavy oak door with an "Authorized Personnel Only" sign. Two more guards flank this entrance, looking bored but alert.

Mish sets her now-empty tray on a nearby table and slips into a quiet alcove. She pulls out her phone, tapping rapidly.

"Come on, come on," she mutters.

A moment later, alarms blare throughout the building. Panicked shouts erupt from the party guests.

"Fire! Fire in the kitchen!"

The guards exchange a worried glance before rushing off to investigate. Mish grins. Sometimes, the oldest tricks work the best.

She darts forward, producing a small device from her clutch. It's a skeleton key of sorts, courtesy of her tech-savvy partner back home. Mish presses it against the electronic lock, holding her breath…

A soft beep, and the door clicks open.

"Well, yes!" Mish whispers triumphantly.

She slips inside, finding herself in a narrow hallway. At the end, another door – this one even more heavily fortified.

The vault.

Mish approaches cautiously, aware that she's racing against the clock. It won't take long for security to realize the fire alarm was a false alert.

She examines the vault door, whistling softly. "Now that's what I call security."

It's a state-of-the-art biometric lock, requiring both a fingerprint and retinal scan. Mish grins. Good thing she came prepared.

From her clutch, she produces what looks like a thin sheet of clear plastic and a small vial. Working quickly, she presses the plastic against the fingerprint scanner, watching as it molds to match the last print used.

Next, she uncaps the vial, revealing a contact lens. This part's always tricky. Mish carefully places the lens over her eye, blinking rapidly as it adjusts.

"Alright, let's see if this works."

She presses her finger to the scanner, then leans in for the retinal scan. For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happens.

Then, with a soft hiss, the vault door swings open.

"Fucking finally," Mish breathes.

She steps inside, eyes widening at the sight before her. The vault is filled with priceless Mardi Gras memorabilia – elaborate costumes, historic photographs, and glittering jewelry from parades past.

But Mish only has eyes for one thing – the crown.

It sits on a pedestal in the center of the room, bathed in soft light. Mish approaches slowly, almost reverently. It's even more stunning up close – a masterpiece of gold filigree studded with rubies, sapphires, and diamonds. At its center, a massive emerald gleams.

"Hello, beautiful," Mish murmurs.

Mish's heart races as she stands before the crown, her fingers itching to grab it. But before she can make her move, a smooth, playful voice breaks the silence.

"Beautiful indeed, huh, cher?"

Startled, Mish whips around, her eyes widening as she sees a large shadow looming behind her. Adrenaline surges through her veins, and she snaps.

“Who the fuck are you?!”

The shadow steps into the light, revealing a tall, lean figure with a roguish grin. It's Gambit, the renowned thief, his silhouette taking form as he steps forward. He smirks, his red-on-black eyes glinting in the dim vault.

"You know how looong I've been waiting to steal this?" He pauses, looking the crown up and down, whistling. "Whoo. Imma 'boutta make a name for myself here."

Mish stands her ground, unimpressed by his sudden appearance. She's come too far to let some smooth-talking charmer ruin her heist.

"Back off. I got here first," she retorts, her voice laced with irritation.

His lazy smile widens, and he leans against a nearby display case with casual grace. "Well... technically, Remy was born here in New Orleans... so I was here first."

"Oh, fuck off."

To her surprise, Remy laughs - a large, booming sound that echoes through the vault. The damn bastard not only has the nerve to laugh in her face, but to also look so freak'n handsome while acting like such a fucking prick: His chiseled features, that roguish smile, those mesmerizing eyes...

"I know the tricks you have up ya sleeve," Mish says, her voice steadier than she feels.

His eyes sparkle with amusement as he leans closer, the scent of his cologne teasing her senses. "Oh, do you now?"

Before Mish can react, he makes his move. With a swift flick of his wrist, he produces a handful of playing cards. They glow with an eerie pink light for a split second before he releases them. The charged cards whiz through the air, pinning Mish to the wall behind her.

“Hey!”

Caught off guard, Mish struggles against the cards, which seem to have fused with the wall. She tugs at her sleeves, but it's no use - she's trapped.

He chuckles. "Oh, I thought you knew the tricks I had up my sleeve. If you did, you woulda avoided my attack—"

"Oh, fuck off," Mish interrupts, her voice dripping with annoyance and a hint of embarrassment. She hates being outmaneuvered, especially by someone as infuriatingly charming as him.

The Cajun thief saunters closer, his smirk growing wider. "So, a little birdy told me that you know da pattern of the lasers in the middle of the room..."

Mish freezes, her mind racing. How did he know about the laser security system? More importantly, how did he know that she had figured out the pattern? Her plan to let him get fried by the lasers was ruined before it even began. And as if reading her thoughts, his grin widens.

"I know everything, mon chéri."

Before Mish can process what's happening, Remy's hand glows with that same pinkish energy. To her horror, she feels a tug at her pocket, and her journal flies into his waiting hand. He catches it with a flourish, flipping it open and leafing through the pages.

Mish watches nervously as his eyes scan her notes. She's always been meticulous about her planning, jotting down every detail of her heists. Now, that very thoroughness might be her undoing.

But suddenly, his expression changes. His eyebrows shoot up, and a look of intrigue crosses his face. Mish's heart skips a beat.

What important information did he just find?

She raises an eyebrow, trying to mask her anxiety with bravado. "What? Just get the pattern and let me go, you motherfucka."

To her surprise, he begins to read aloud from her journal. His smooth Cajun drawl gives a whole new flavor to her words.

"Client warned about possible interference from Mr. LeBeau. Renowned thief, mutant, former X-Men. Powers include kinetic energy manipulation, enhanced agility, and charm."

A pause.

Then, he continues, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Wouldn't mind bumping into that handsome motherfucker, actually. Could be an interesting challenge..."

He looks up from the journal, his smirk now a full-blown grin. "Well, well, cher. Looks like you got your wish, non?"

"…I…" Mish opens her mouth to retort, but no words come out.

None.

Damn it. She's mortified that he has read her private thoughts, yet a part of her can't deny the thrill of finally meeting the legendary thief in person.

Remy takes a step closer, close enough that Mish can see the flecks of red in his mesmerizing eyes. "So, you think I'm a handsome motherfucker, eh?" he teases, his voice low and playful.

Mish rolls her eyes, trying to regain her composure. "Don't let it go to your head. I've seen better men in Louisiana."

Remy clutches his chest in mock pain. "You wound me, cher. And here I thought we were having a moment…"

"We're not."

A smirk. Remy leans in close, his breath tickling Mish's ear. His voice is smooth and low, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine. "Ah, but I haven't seen a better woman than you, even during the Mardi Gras."

Mish curses herself as her heart skips a beat, her resolve momentarily wavering. She's acutely aware of his proximity, the heat radiating from his body. The scent of his cologne mingles with something uniquely him, making her head spin. She struggles to maintain her composure, fighting against the urge to lean into him.

"Let me go," she mutters, her voice lacking its usual bite.

Remy notices her reaction, a smug smile playing on his lips. He doesn't move away, instead letting his gaze roam over her face, taking in every detail. "Mmm, see how your body just responds to me?" he murmurs, his voice low and husky. "Look at those goosebumps. Look at how you shiver... your heart is racing. Too hot in here, eh?"

Mish feels exposed, vulnerable. A trickle of sweat slides down her neck, further evidence of her internal struggle. She tries to deny it, but her voice comes out weak and unconvincing.

"No."

Remy's eyes follow the bead of sweat as it travels down between her breasts. He leans in even closer, his lips nearly brushing her ear. "Oh, so is that just nervous sweat? Nervous because I have you pinned? Because…I can do whatever I want to your body..."

Mish's breath catches in her throat.

Suddenly, Remy's voice drops, becoming a bit more sinister. "I can slice you with my cards, dice you up, and send your body remains to my boss... or..."

Remy presses closer against her. Mish's eyes widen as she feels his hardness against her thigh. His voice drops once more.

"…Or I can give you what you want, chérie."

Mish's mind reels. She fights to keep her voice steady, to maintain some semblance of control. "The only thing I want is that damn crown," she responds, proud that her voice doesn't waver.

Remy chuckles softly, clearly amused by her stubborn response. His eyes sparkle with mischief and admiration. "Oh, you're a stubborn woman. I like it. I like you..."

"I hate you-"

Mish tries to respond, to fire back a witty retort, but Remy has other ideas. In a swift movement, he silences her with a kiss. His lips crush hers, demanding and hungry, tasting the unfinished words on her tongue.

Mish is caught off guard by the sudden passion, her breath catching in her throat.

His tongue dances with hers, skillfully stirring something deep within her. She moans softly into his mouth, her hands fighting against her trapped sleeves to tangle in his hair.

He knows what he's doing, that's for sure.

And damn, is he good at it.

As Mish loses herself in the kiss, she vaguely registers the faint pink glow of Remy's charged card slicing through the air. With expert precision, he cuts through the straps of clothes, leaving her bare, exposed.

Remy pulls back slightly, breaking the kiss but leaving their foreheads pressed together. His eyes are dark red, and full of desire as he takes in the sight of her partially undressed, her breasts heaving with shallow breaths. He swears softly in French, his accent thick with want.

"Merde, you're something else, cher. Forget the Mardi Gras. I haven't seen a woman this sexy in all of New Orleans."

"Less talking, more doing."

Remy's grin is immediate, his eyes sparkling with appreciation. "Oooh, I love a woman who takes charge."

Without further ado, he begins worshipping her body with his mouth. He showers kisses along her bare shoulders, tasting the exposed skin of her neck and shoulders. His lips leave a trail of fire along her collarbone, down to the tops of her breasts, which strain against the fabric of her dress.

Mish inhales sharply, her head falling back as a soft moan escapes her throat.

"J’aime ta peau chocolat," Remy murmurs, planting soft kisses along her torso, her stomach, and the curve of her hips. Mish's breath quickens, her fingers tightening in his hair, urging him on without words.

With a swift movement, Remy shrugs off his cape jacket, letting it fall to the floor. The rest of his clothes quickly follow, revealing his sculpted abs and erect manhood. Mish's eyes widen at the sight, her pulse quickening.

Oh…

He positions himself between her legs, their bodies fitting together perfectly. As he enters her, Mish lets out a soft gasp, her head falling back against the wall. Remy's breath is hot against her neck, his lips brushing her sensitive skin as he thrusts slowly, deliberately.

"You're wetter than the Mississippi River, cher," he whispers with a smirk.

"Oh, am I?"

"Ah, yes…"

Mish can only whimper in response, her body arching to meet his. Remy's hands grasp her hips, guiding their rhythmic dance. He moves with an expertise that speaks of many such encounters, yet there's an urgency to his touch that suggests this is far from routine.

Their bodies move in sync, the air thick with the sound of heavy breathing and soft moans. Mish feels her senses spiraling out of control, pleasure building within her like a storm. Remy's thrusts become more frantic, his breath coming in harsh gasps against her skin.

"Tu…te sens tellement bien," he grits out, his voice hoarse with desire. "Y-you feel so good…"

Mish's body surrendered to a primal force as she moved with Remy, her wildness matching his relentless rhythm. She dug her nails into the skin of his back, leaving her mark, claiming him in that moment.

"You like that, cher?" Remy whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "You like leaving your mark on me?"

Mish answered with a fierce kiss, her lips devouring his. Their mouths moved in perfect sync, raw and passionate. In her frenzy, Mish bites down on his lower lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood. Remy hisses, his hands grasping her hips tighter as their passion spirals out of control.

"Fuck, that's what I'm talking about, petite," he groaned, his hands tightening on her hips. "Mark me some more, show Remy how much you want this."

Mish feels powerful, licking the wound she created, savoring the taste of him. She grinded against him even faster, rubbing her sensitive nub against his pelvis as his hard cock buried deeper into her warm hole. Remy's eyes widened in surprise. His hands roamed over her body, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive peaks of her breasts.

"Oooh, you nasty, mon petite," Remy groans, his hands squeezing her hips as if he can't decide whether to push her away or pull her closer. "Trying to make me come before you kill me, eh?"

"Mhm."

Their breaths were coming in ragged gasps, their moans growing more frantic with each thrust. Remy's hands tightened on Mish's hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he buried himself deep within her.

With a powerful motion, he lifted her legs, their bodies pressed tightly together. The change in position allows Remy to thrust even deeper, the new angle sending sparks of pleasure through Mish. She moaned loudly, her head falling back as she surrendered to the intense sensation.

"That's it, ma chérie," Remy growled, his voice hoarse with desire. "Let go... come for me."

Their moans filled the vault as they moved in perfect harmony, their passion igniting the air around them. Mish's body tensed, every muscle coiling tight as she teetered on the edge. Remy's breath was hot against her ear, his lips trailing kisses along her neck as he thrust once, twice more...

And then-

They reach a powerful climax, their cries of pleasure mingling in the air. Mish's body trembled uncontrollably as waves of pleasure rocked her, her senses overwhelmed by the intensity of her release. Remy buried his face in her neck, his warm breath tickling her skin as he grunted with each spasm of his release.

For a moment, they stayed locked together, their hearts pounding in unison. Mish's mind was blissfully blank, her body humming with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She felt Remy's heart thundering against her chest, his breath warm on her skin.

Then, suddenly, Remy's hand glowed with that familiar pinkish energy. Mish's eyes widened as she saw him pull out a deck of cards from seemingly nowhere. With a wink and a roguish grin, he fanned them out between them.

"Sorry, chérie, but Remy's got a job to finish," he drawled, his accent thicker than ever.

Before Mish could react, Remy flicked his wrist, sending the charged cards spinning around them in a dizzying whirl. The air crackled with kinetic energy, and a vibrant pink smoke billowed out from the cards, quickly engulfing the room.

"What the—" Mish's words were cut short as she felt Remy's strong arms wrap around her one last time, pulling her close in a final embrace.

"Au revoir, mon coeur," his voice whispered in her ear, already seeming to fade away.

As the smoke cleared, Mish blinked rapidly, her brain struggling to process what she was seeing. The room was empty.

The crown, which had been positioned on its pedestal in the middle of the vault, was gone.

And so was Remy.

[coffeeangelinabox]

Whumpril #28 Fight/Flight/Freeze

Fight

Unbelievably stupid to get caught. Jemma has completed far more dangerous missions. She once single handedly took down a whole platoon of guards; she’d survived a standoff with Fenrir, the last of the Elite-ids (after Darrow, but he doesn’t count); she’d crashed spaceships and moon buggies and drop ships and, one memorable occasion a life pod which was supposed to be impossible; she’d shot her way out of a dozen besieged strongholds, on a couple of occasions with little more than a water pistol…

This should be easy.

But they hadn’t been expecting the state of the art security, not this far from the core words and lightyears from the high profile rebel activity they’ve been stage managing for the last year, for the sole purpose of making this station an easy, undefended target. They’d had biometrics and voice prints and forged security guards. Jemma had studied shift movements and Darrow had drilled her ceaselessly on commands and codes. 

But coded checkpoints and active blood scanning. It’s her own damn fault. She should have called for evac when it was clear that this wasn’t going as planned. Arrogance, pure and simple, had kept her at her post. Worse, the blood scanning has shown her enhancements, so they come at her in force, well armed. 

Her only saving grace is that they want to take her alive. That and her strength and speed and durability. 

She’s just as susceptible to pain though, and they use that to their advantage.

Jemma fights and screams. Shots hit their mark, a squad worth of bodies, but they are a whole space station and she is one. It’s too late now to call for back up, all that ill happen is she’ll doom whoever (Gene) comes for her. When her power pack runs dry, she throws the gun with a force that cracks a face plate. 

She resorts to physical defence, flurries of punches and kicks and holds; and then to dirty street fighting she learned in cantina brawls. She uses every skill she has. Their eyes trick them, expecting certain things of her size and physique, whereas she is actually much more powerful than the next three of them put together. The gouges out eyes, castrates more than a few, pulverises knees and breaks wrists, fingers, femurs. 

But they just keep coming. 

Flight

The manacle is loose. 

The thought drifts slowly across her mind and it takes her sluggish thoughts precious seconds to grab hold of it. The manacle is loose. Not very loose, not unforgivably so, but enough to give her a finger width of leverage. She can yank it off the table, she can break herself off this bench. 

The thought holds her mind together as the electricity courses through her body, then as the needles rip into her skin. She bares bloodied teeth and snarls like a wounded dog, and uses the promise of the loose chain to keep her cries silent. She will tell them everything eventually, everyone does, and when she does they will have her sent to the quarries or the ice chasms or the organ banks. 

At least her enhancements mean they can’t touch her mind. 

But she will not give in today, not with escape so close. 

Still, when her torturer steps outside for his midday meal and a sit down with the news feeds or sport updates or insipid broadcast media, whatever he needs to unwind after the stressful morning, she cannot bring herself to prepare for a fight. Once (when she was captured, yesterday, this morning) she would have ripped her arms free, pulled out the tubes, killed whichever security burst through the door with the tray of instruments and the secretary outside for good measure. She would have aimed for the shuttle bay of the station, leaving a trail of bodies in her wake, carving a bloody path through them so they would know their error in hurting her, in trying to use her against her family. 

She can’t blame lack of strength either: she pulls the thick, imprisoning chain from the mooring as easily as snapping a necklace with a too-careless tug. But she fears losing, fears the consequences of ending up back here for punishment as well as questioning.

And so, shamefully, she prepares for flight. She removes the wires slowly, carefully, using every trick Gene ever taught her to keep the monitors from shrieking her disobedience. She finds discarded scrubs and even a medical mask that covers her face in a locker. She can’t do anything about the wrenched open door, but fashions together a clipboard from a disconnected tablet screen and a stylus. She tidies her hair and washes the blood from her neck. She can do nothing about the bruises on her wrists or her bare feet, but hopefully her disguise is enough to protect her long enough to run.

Even hypoxia on an uninspected spaceship is preferable to another day of this. 

He’s waiting outside the door, picking his nails with the scalpel he’d peeled the skin from her calf with. 

“I thought you hadn’t the strength to pull free. I’ve been waiting all morning.”

Freeze

Jemma’s first response is - has always been - to attack. To fight her way through whatever obstacle has set itself against her and shred it to its component pieces. Failing that, she will run. That’s what she’d done when pulled out of the slave pens, when she’s finally crawled free of the interrogation block. 

She is not an indecisive person. She lacks Darrow’s sheer magnetism, but she is by far the best leader aboard. Jemma can plan and think strategically and people manage. She thinks quickly on her feet and is both strong and clever enough to see her plans enacted. 

And on top of all that, every experience she has ever had has simply sought to reinforce that a single hint of weakness is little more than blood in the water to tempt circling sharks. Strength and solidity and certainty are a better protection even than blasters and blades. 

Yet, here, in the doorway of the cell, she falters. Because Gene wasn’t alone, there had been someone leaning over him, someone with her hands on him, and he’d been crying, panicking. She’d shot before she’d even thought about it. No one has the right to touch her people and cause them that amount of pain, and Gene least of all. 

Now though, the second after the simultaneous thought, action and reaction, she has time to look. Really look. 

And it isn’t the cell, smelling of vomit and unwashed man. It isn’t the marks on Gene - less than hers and far more enraging. Isn’t the sight of him covered in blood, though she knows already that that sight will return in her nightmares for some time yet. It’s his aggressor. 

Familiar slight stature. Familiar tousled blonde hair. A face she sees in the mirror every day. 

All Jemma can do is stare at Gene as he looks in horror at the corpse across him. Her corpse. His mouth moves, soundlessly at first, then she is able to pick up the rapidly whispered, “Not again, not again, not-please, not…” Then the words trail away to a long wounded note. And Jemma stays where she is, frozen with horror in the cell door.

[lucysweatslove]

More life updates

My parents’ home location was downgraded from level 3 to level 2 apparently and now they get to go home! Yay!

Fire is still 0% contained apparently but it’s also not spreading too much (or hasn’t been) because they’ve gotten some rain

Very grateful everybody is safe.

My laptop decided to break today. I opened it up and the left hinge didn’t want to open while the right did and it broke part of the screen and now I can’t open/close it and the touch screen part doesn’t work. So it is no longer functional as a laptop.

This happened 10 min before I had to leave for class

Since we have exams on our laptops every Monday and I live in Nowhere, USA, I couldn’t order the same laptop to replace it since it wouldn’t get in on time.

I had to go into Costco and look at what was available there and essentially downgrade to a smaller laptop that I don’t like as much. There weren’t many options available that fit the requirements for school and I only like Lenovos and the finger print biometric thing was VERY important to me… technically I’m not sure if it’s okay because the processor isn’t on the “approved” list (Mac or Intel) but it’s not on the “unapproved” list (ARM). It’s AMD Ryzen. The exam software is what is picky and it installed okay, so I’m hopeful it’ll work on Monday.

I am trying to get used to the new laptop. I am very grateful that I have enough privilege that I can go to a store in person and find something that will likely meet my needs. I just… don’t like change and the size is a huge change.

Diplopia has been bad all day today. Which ofc we learned about diplopia in myasthenia gravis earlier so today I was reminded about how I get diplopia a lot and remember having it since I was a child, but the optometrist told me it was normal. So that also triggers me to remember how my head is always tilted a little to the right because it hurts to see when my head is straight… and long story short I’m now worried I have a fourth cranial nerve palsy.

[dfrobertson]

To practice and to prepare I am doing a writing challenge.

Today's prompt is: write a short story set in a celebrity mansion

Crag hid behind a decorative stone statue sitting on the outside of the mansion. Getting pelted by the downpour from the sky. From up here they could survey the entire estate. Such opulence just for one person. Crag waited for the signal from their team.

Burns was currently organizing a distraction that was to happen at the entrance to the property, so the security would be drawn there. While the shovel heads were busy there were already two people who successfully infiltrated the mansion. Crag was still sitting in the rain behind the gargoyle and Fingers broke into the basement. 

Their intel, and their intel was usually good, promised them a security nexus and some central wiring for the mansion there. Fingers was a tech specialist. He was to go in there and make the way for Crag much more possible. They had climbed up here carefully avoiding security cameras and other sensors, so they had as much time as possible for their task. Crag was shifting from foot to foot, they had to remain limber, but Fingers was taking his sweet time.

A crash was barely audible through the rain. Burns' excited voice came over the comm, “I have crashed the van through the gate. Our protester buddies are storming through as we speak. I’ll wait at the getaway for you. Break a leg.” 

“Fingers, now we are really on a time limit. How is it going down there?” Crag asked with a whining tone, yet as silent as possible.

“Sorry, I had to take out the single guard. The power inside the mansion should be gone right about… now,” Fingers loved his theatrics and with the word now the light on the interior was indeed off. “Cameras are also off. We are good for about eight minutes.”

Crag began their work. With little effort the window was open, usually this opening would have triggered an alarm but without power the sensors could not be triggered. They tiptoed through the dark hallway and entered the master bedroom. The mark was sleeping on a large bed. Crag was no killer though. They were here for biometric information.

Crag checked if the mark was alone and then they jammed a syringe into his thigh. A fast acting sedative so that they could work in peace. Crag counted down so they could be sure that he was out cold. Then they got the scanner and scanned each finger print, they pried open both eyes and took a detailed scan of the iris. Then they had to get some other information. There was a computer on the desk and a smartphone on the nightstand. Crag connected with both and put a trojan horse on either device.

They checked the clock and had two minutes left. Leaving through the same window they came from, Crag saw the commotion at the front gate. Burns really gave the security something to chew on. They met Fingers and rushed to the private beach where Burns was waiting in a speed boat. Tomorrow their mark would have considerably less money in all his accounts and a lot of dirty laundry of his would be aired out. Crag really loved their job.

[precisonfingerprinting]

The Function of Live Scan Fingerprinting in Background Checks for Individuals

Live scan fingerprinting services have become a vital tool in the modern digital world, where identity verification and personal protection are of utmost importance. These services help many businesses, from employment to licensing. They provide a quick, dependable, and precise way to verify identities and check backgrounds. To appreciate live scan finger printing's role in security, you must know how it works. It is used to verify identities and conduct background checks.

The Function of Live Scan Fingerprinting in Background Checks for Individuals

Personal background checks are essential for many purposes. These include employment, licensure, adoption, immigration, and volunteer work. They help verify a person's past. They ensure a clean record, with no crimes or other issues. Live scan fingerprinting is essential to this procedure. It is a reliable way to check a person's criminal record.

Enhancing Live Scan Technology for Identity Verification

A lot of procedures, including opening a bank account or getting a job, depend on identity verification solutions. Verifying a person's identity is crucial. It helps prevent identity theft, fraud, and deception. Live scan fingerprinting offers a strong, hard-to-fake biometric method. It's a fast way to verify identities.

Live Scan Fingerprinting Services' Applications

Many industries, each with unique needs for identity checks, use live scan fingerprinting. Typical uses for them include:

Employers often require background checks as part of hiring. This is especially true for jobs that involve sensitive data or vulnerable people. A trustworthy way to check a candidate's background is live scan fingerprinting. It checks for a criminal record and their qualifications.

Volunteer Background Checks

Groups that work with vulnerable people often require background checks of their volunteers. This includes groups like children and the elderly. Live scan fingerprinting can check that volunteers have no criminal records. This is to ensure they can work in sensitive settings.

Conclusion

The foundation of contemporary identity verification and personal background check systems is Live scan fingerprinting services. Their precision, speed, and dependability make them vital. They ensure security and confidence in many businesses. Live scan fingerprinting is a reliable way to confirm identities and check criminal histories. It is useful for employment, licensing, and other purposes. This helps shield people and organizations from fraud and other threats. As the demand for secure ID grows, so will the need for live scan fingerprinting. It is vital for protecting personal and professional settings.

[thirdeyetechbd]

zkteco f19 price bd

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[svsembedded]

Bank Locker Security System Based on Biometric and GSM📱Using Raspberry Pi Picohttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fxG0P5d7MDo

[secureace]

Best Digital Smart Door Locks Installation and Repair Services by Dealer - SecureAce

Best Digital Smart Door Locks Installation and Repair Services

Digital Smart Door Locks Dealer and Supplier in Ghaziabad, Noida As technology advances, door locks have evolved to become smarter, offering better security and convenience than traditional locks. SecureAce, a leading supplier of security products in Ghaziabad and Noida, offers a range of smart door locks at wholesale prices, including fingerprint digital smart door locks, biometric digital…

[babatax]

GST: Biometric-based Aadhaar authentication for new registrations

The largest biometrics identity system in the world is called Aadhaar, and it was implemented as a universal identity system by the Indian government. Every Indian citizen is given a unique 12-digit ID number that is connected to their biometric information, such as finger prints, iris scans, and facial photos. The goal of this massive effort is to streamline multiple services and advantages by…

[leaperliao]

Biometric Finger Print Solution in GPS tracking

[amaliagirnetfmp]

FMP - Translating & Transformi

I think from my initial ideas I have been very interested in the concept of identity and what it means in different concepts. We talk about identity within branding where we analyse different elements within our design that are unique and create an identity within a brand. I enjoy the concept of typeface identity and how fonts become faces for brands because of unique characteristics. This idea of identity sparked from looking at my finger prints which is also a form of identifying a person, but its called biometrical identification.

Identity

Identity is the distinguishing character or personality of an individual.

I looked at different ways identity can be investigated:

finger prints

saliva

eyes

I think I looked at this very literally, but I enjoyed the idea of embedding finger prints into typeface using the same font but analysing how it is still unique by using different people's finger prints.

[violet-phoenix-nebula]

Life pro tip:

Add your post bath/shower wrinkled finger/thumb print to your registered fingerprints if you use a biometric lock on your phone.