#Carbon Canister

[pharmadesiccants]

Activated Carbon Canister

Activated carbon is the best odour-controlling desiccant, which is generally preferred for pharma tablets and capsule bottles.

[toytulini]

broke one of my filters last night due to Stupid, but i think i salvaged most of the media worth saving, got them all clean, the fish were Eating Actively last night, and i added meds

[nareshm12]

Carbon Canisters Market Data, Historic 2019- 23 & Forecast 2024 -31

Unlock the potential of the global carbon canisters market with insights into emission control solutions. Dive into trends, innovations, and market dynamics shaping this essential component of environmental compliance and vapor recovery systems.

[otrstore]

Fat Canister 51 MM Stainless Steel Universal Slip-On Without DB Killer Mid Size - Carbon Fibre Fat Canister 51 MM Stainless Steel Universal Slip-On Without DB Killer Mid Size. Made from High Quality Rust-Free Stainless with detailed attention to quality and finishing. Comes with Laser Brand Logo/ Sticker. Cost effective Replica Replacement. Can be Installed on any motor vehicle with exhaust pipe size between 38MM to 51MM (1.5 to 2 inches). Comes with all required fitment. Bike Specific Slip-On/ Mid-pipe/ Header to be purchased seperately. Please don not expect Hayabusa like sound on single cylinder Indian bikes by changing to this muffler. Can be fitted on Yamaha R15, TVS Apache RTR, Honda CBR, Unicorn, Hornett, Bajaj Pulsar, Dominar, Unicorn, Suzuki Gixxer, Hero Karizma, Hunk, Xtreme, Kawasaki Ninja, ZX6r, ZX10R, ZX14R, Honda CBR600, CBR1000, Yamaha R3, R1, R6, MT, FZ, Suzuki GSX600, GSX750, GSX1000, BENElli TNT300 TNT 600i, 302, TRK, GT600, KTM Duke, RC, BMW G310, Triumph daytona, Street Triple, Ducati Monster, Diavel Panigale, etc

[collapsedsquid]

Working swiftly, the men unlocked a storage unit crammed with drones and canisters of pressurized gas. Using a dolly, they wheeled out four tanks containing sulfur dioxide and helium, and stacked them on the floor of the camper van. Then, almost as quickly as they arrived, they were on the road, headed for the golden hills near the Pacific Ocean. With their jury-rigged equipment and the confidence that comes with having raised more than $1 million in venture capital, they were executing a plan to release pollutants into the sky, all in the name of combating global warming. [...] Make Sunsets is one of the most unusual start-ups in a region brimming with wild ideas. Iseman, 41, and his co-founder, Andrew Song, 38, claim that by releasing sulfur dioxide into the stratosphere, they can reflect some of the sun’s energy back into space, thereby cooling the planet. [...] So far, the company is releasing sulfur dioxide on a tiny scale. But some experts say that broader efforts to disrupt the delicate interactions between the Earth’s atmosphere, ocean, land and sea ice could result in catastrophic unintended consequences. For example, blocking sunlight could interfere with the monsoon season, which is critical for agriculture, income and food supply in India. Animated by the “move fast and break things” credo that permeates Silicon Valley, the founders of Make Sunsets have no such concerns. They are selling “cooling credits” to customers who want to offset their personal carbon emissions. And a few times each month, after selling enough credits, they head for the hills and release balloons full of sulfur dioxide into the California sky.

I feel like this violates the non-aggression principle

[nikoniclove]

Hi! So i was re-reading first date and i was wondering if you could maybe write that ace, reid magic for magic where it all blows up in her face?? i would love to see how that came to be and what happened between both “magicians” and how jj and emily reacted to seeing that?

Here you go! It’s just a short blurb, so I’ll add it here.

Retaliation

You bond over battling robots first and foremost when one of the first cases you work on takes you to Vegas. You overhear Reid excitedly telling JJ about the Battle Bots, feats of science and engineering in the form of 250 lb robots duking it out in a secure arena. You join in on the conversation, sharing your thoughts on the different types of weapons the bots deploy. JJ chuckles, shaking her head at the shared enthusiasm.

Then it's magic tricks, and while Reid is obviously more adept at sleight of hand, you can hold your own with a deck of cards. Things start to get out of hand when you both foray into one-upping each other with exploding science tricks. It starts because he hits you in the forehead with his film canister trick. It continues because you retaliate by super gluing a Mentos to a piece of dental floss and sticking it in the lid of his Coke bottle. When he opens it, the Mentos falls into the carbonated soda and explodes all over his desk. Emily flat-out laughs with her glee while JJ tries to be stern, insisting that you and Reid are acting like children. "He started it," you retort.

"Maybe so, don't make me finish it," JJ threatens, hiding a smirk.

Reid isn't one to be outdone when it comes to science experiments, so he swaps your lunch for an ivory bar of soap in the bullpen microwave, which explodes into a flakey mess. You grumble the entire time you're cleaning out the piece of equipment.

One evening, Rossi demands attendance for dinner - pasta, wine, cigars, the usual. By this point, you've done the team nights more than a few times. You're more well-integrated into the team than you thought you'd be. To be fair, you're sleeping with two members of said team, so well-integrated is a particularly amusing phrase in that regard. In any sense, a dinner at Rossi's is the perfect time to get Reid back. Emily watches you carefully prepare a small tissue with some baking soda inside of it, folded into a perfect little envelope. "Don't let Jen see you doing that. She'll put you in timeout," Emily teases.

You shrug. "Reid has a lesson to learn."

"I don't doubt that," she laughs. "Try not to blow up Rossi's wine or cigar collection when you strike."

You bide your time and wait until Reid is outside, mostly to heed Emily's warning of not having the bag explode on something Rossi might not appreciate. When it's time, you take your gallon-sized bag with the appropriate ratio of water and vinegar. You drop the tissue of folded baking soda into the baggy, sealing it quickly and giving it a little shake. You drop it just behind Reid and shift to the other side of the patio under the guise of refilling your wine glass. And you wait.

When the bag explodes with a loud pop, Reid shrieks in a high-pitched startled tone. JJ flinches. Morgan and Emily are doubled over laughing. You are very, very pleased with yourself. At least until you see that JJ sloshed red wine all over herself. "Ace," she growls.

"Sorry," you grimace. "I'll go get you a fresh shirt."

"Nope," JJ insists. "You," she points. "And you," she points to Reid. "This is over. It's two for two, and I'm calling it. You hear me? Done. Finito. No more exploding retaliation." When you and Reid look properly scolded, JJ hands you her glass. "I'm going to go change. When I come back, there better be a fresh glass of wine and some tiramisu I know Rossi has somewhere."

Emily squeezes your shoulder, happy tears in her eyes, while Morgan taunts Reid for his dramatic reaction. "I probably should have included a note about JJ and pranks in my earlier warning." Then she whispers in your ear. "The key to getting back on her good side is that thing you do with your tongue."

[hollideon]

soothing tongue — knifeplay, aftercare, that robot has A Thing for blood

///

warm, wet, a bit abrasive. stinging, but in a comforting way. Bree's synthetic tongue glides slow across the open wounds on your back; short and shallow slices she herself left. you can't help but gasp and writhe, just a little bit, under the sensation.

"stop squirming, i need to make sure they're cleaned properly." firm, but still a bit teasing.

"are you sure this is part of it or do you secretly run on blood?" you ask, alternating between gasps and giggles.

sitting on the bed behind you, she tends to your back. you shudder as her razor-sharp metal talons play across your sliced-up skin. leftover combat hardware, she'd said. tame compared to the stuff they didn't let her keep. Bree — short for Breach and Clear, you've learned — was a field synth, a purpose-made combat android. lithe but still tall and imposing. metal and silicon and carbon fiber, she makes you feel especially fragile.

"my hardware doesn't, but it does give me something to get out of bed for." she says this jokingly, but you can hear the underlying hunger in her artificial voice. her tongue returns to your wounds and you gasp as the abrasive surface pulls on the edges of a particularly cruel cut. she slows herself though, caressing the aggravated wound with slow, gentle licks. the pain melts away.

"y-yeah but why do you have to lick them? they make you with antibacterial spit? sorry if that's um, a weird question."

her tongue pulls away, ever so slowly. "not at all, it's just like show and tell." she winks, like the iris of a camera. "it's simple really, just flush out the synthetic saliva and put a canister of antibacterial solution in instead."

"hehe, sounds like you've done this before."

"once or twice. i scare most humans off... and y'know, other synths don't bleed." she doesn't bother to hide the hunger in her voice now. Bree's tongue having not returned to your cuts, you turn your head to look up, behind you. even seated she looms above there, angular metal body glinting in the low light. the red glow of her eyes bore into you. tall and inhuman. a literal weapon. some part of your brain posits that this view of her is probably the last thing a lot of people ever saw.

"m-more for me," you stutter out, forcing a chuckle in an attempt to purge that moment of genuine fear from your mind.

"oh?~ you want more, do you?" her voice practically drips with sadism and those claws again dance ever so lightly down your sensitive back.

"pleeeease," you can't help but whine.

"cute, but you've had enough for today. besides," she says with another antibacterial lick, "i'm nearly done cleaning you up."

you continue melt under the care of her tongue, taking its time to give each and every cut and scratch the care it needs. stinging and soothing. so warm. though it felt strange at first, now you can't imagine a greater comfort.

a short time later, you and Bree sit together on your apartment's little balcony, your wounds properly cleaned and bandaged. the night air is cold — you share a blanket, though she doesn't need it.

[eebie]

i pull you out from the ocean as youre drowning and start doing mouth to mouth but the gathering crowd doesn’t notice the carbon monoxide canister i had hidden in the sand in that precise spot that i’m sipping from between breaths and blowing back into your lungs slowly killing you as i had been planning to for months. the paramedics arrive and announce you dead on the scene and i walk away an innocent man in the eyes of the law

[askewedview]

When was Hope the hottest? And why was it when he did the drop-catch-punch maneuver with the gas canister against Carbon.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Hi Cal!!! Lol I’m submitting later than I usually would but dw I’m here with lots of emojis! 😝 I hope the competitions went well!! Your dogs are so adorable please tell them I said “hi hi hi!!�� with lots of pats and smooches!

Already so pumped for the new stories! I think I’m gonna vary my submission order this time - I’m finding a theme for the pair of emojis in each ask. First up is the supernatural stories!

🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟🧟 (this story is still everything to me! I can’t wait for when they come back from their road trip and buck is ride or die for eddie and the rest of the 118 is kinda lost :p in every world BuckAndEddie are a bit much so why should an apocalypse be any different?)

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰ (i have questions! I want answers! I’m ready for buck to bust them out of there and to find out why eddie is being both wonderfully sweet and sketchily weird)

- PCA <3

HI PCA!

Thanks! The dogs did great! All passes, and three new titles across between the two of them

75 for 🧟 (THANKS! Excited to share my plans. I may not hit 75 though because I'm almost done the chapter. We shall see.)

---

It happens before the sun is even up. It’s not the full dark of nighttime, but not quite dawn. Eddie has finally managed a few hours of sleep on the couch. That is, until he is rudely awoken by a loud clattering outside the house. 

His first two thoughts, as he snaps from dream to reality, are Buck and raccoons. The first thought is proven wrong when Buck immediately calls Eddie from the bedroom, asking if the noise is him. So not Buck. And, when he hears another loud clatter, and a muffled curse, he realizes it’s raccoons either. Or zombies.

Fuck.

So, Eddie doesn’t really think. He doesn’t wait for Buck. He grabs his weapon, and he rushes outside. It’s hard to see, but Eddie is immediately greeted by the dark silhouetted of two living, un-zombified people messing around with his truck. They’ve got the hood open, they’ve jacked up the wheels, siphoned the gas… Everything… . 

“HEY!” Eddie shouts. “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HERE!”

He doesn’t think. He aims at the thieves, and shoots. 

“Oh, fuck,” he hears Buck hiss behind him. 

Even in the dark, Eddie’s aim proves true. It hits one of the thieves, though probably not fatally. The man shouts in agony and falls backward. The other thief grabs something from under the hood and takes off running. 

“Fuck,” Buck says again. 

The person Eddie shot scrambles back to his feet, cradling his arm. He takes off running in the direction of his co-conspirator. He knocks over a gas canister as he runs, spilling fuel all over the driveway. 

“DON’T COME BACK!” Eddie shouts after them. It feels sort of redundant after the whole gunshot bit, honestly. 

Buck shoves past Eddie to go pick up the canister, trying to save as much gasoline as he can. Eddie stands uselessly for a moment, hands shaking a little. Not from the danger. Eddie is used to the danger. But to the… Well, the fucking catastrophe of it all. Another stupid, horrible thing to happen because of Eddie’s fruitless mission to find Shannon. Now his truck is ruined. And… And he dragged Buck into all of it.  

---

Yeah not quite 75 but all I can do for you right now.

75 for ➰ (Wonderfully sweet and sketchily weird is exactly right!):

Tagging @steadfastsaturnsrings

---

“It’s okay!” Buck scrambles to appease him. “It’s fine, Eddie. We can still make it for dinner on time.”

They’ll go to the seafood place, sit inside, and die of carbon monoxide poisoning or whatever it is. No need to panic. No need to assume disaster will strike. 

“What does a broken kayak rack have to do with dinner?” Chris asks. 

“Nothing,” Eddie mumbles. “Nothing at all.”

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

“Beach or pool?” Buck asks when they walk back to the Jeep.

Eddie still looks flattened. Like he’s waiting for the worst to happen. Which is weird. Because the day Buck jumped out of the way of the kayak, he’d been pretty understanding. Why is today different?

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Eddie replies, somewhat weakly. He almost seems dejected. Like, okay. Can’t we be glad Buck wasn’t smacked in the head? Just for a second? 

“Well, what’s easier?” Buck asks. “In the worst case scenario.”

Eddie sighs. “Pool. Less work for first responders. And, uh, me.”

Right. Getting down to the beach. The sand. The water. That makes sense. 

“Pool it is,” Buck replies. 

“You guys don’t make any sense,” Chris sighs. “You’re being extra weird today.” 

“Sorry, Chris,” Eddie mumbles. 

“Yeah, sorry, bud,” Buck adds. “You don’t mind an afternoon at the pool, do you?” 

“Nope,” Chris says. “I’m okay with the pool. We have beaches in L.A.”

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

It kind of ends up being like the day Buck hit his head on the rocks. Chris and Buck swim in the pool and have fun, and Eddie seems somewhat distant. Not quite as bad as that day, but it does feel like he’s hanging back and not participating. The difference, this time, is that Buck is aware of what’s happening. He knows Eddie is waiting for something bad to happen to one of them. He just doesn’t understand what makes this go-around different for Eddie. 

“What’s wrong?” Buck asks him, sitting beside him on a reclining pool chair. He’s brought them both a fresh beer.

“You know what’s wrong,” Eddie whispers. He takes a sip of his beer. A long sip. “We messed up the day. Something worse is coming.”

“Okay, but you didn’t act like this last time I screwed up,” Buck reminds him. 

“That was different,” Eddie mumbles. 

“How?” Buck asks. “It’s kind of the exact same, actually. Other than the fact that I didn’t accept drugs from Rachel.”

Who passed him by without offering, thankfully. She’s sitting across the pool deck, begging her kids not to run so close to the edge of the water, rubbing sunscreen into her husband’s very hairy back. Buck has avoided looking at her as much as possible. Eddie has thrown her unpleasant glances, which feels a little too far. She doesn’t know she killed Buck.

Eddie sighs. “It just is, Buck. Okay?”

“Why?” Buck asks. “Because we both messed up this morning and not just me?”

[pharmadesiccants]

Activated Carbon Canister

Activated carbon is the best odour-controlling desiccant, which is generally preferred for pharma tablets and capsule bottles. The desiccant canister can be dropped in through any smallest bottle opening. https://www.pharmadesiccants.com/moisture-protection-solution/activated-carbon-canister

[chirasul]

fuuuuuuckkkkk dude i want some sparkling water but my sodastream (not actually sodastream brand, its some fancier brand that my wife got me because the sodastream dispensers are ugly so she got me one that is built more solidly and also just looks better on the kitchen counter) is almost out of CO2 but the welding supply store is closed on weekends!!! because instead of trading in my CO2 canisters I go to the welding supply store and i get a few pounds of dry ice pellets for $6 and then i take them home and grind them up in the food processor until they're small enough to fit into the CO2 tanks and then i weigh out the portions of dry ice for each CO2 tank which I open up with a big wrench and then use a funnel and a chopstick to shove the CO2 powder in and then i seal them closed and then i wrap them in a towel and put them in the basement in case i put too much dry ice in them so if they explode it won't hurt anyone or damage anything and I guess i could just get dry ice at the grocery store today but its a lot easier to grind up when it comes in pellet form and also i wanna do some experiments with dry ice where i pour my own homemade soda into a glass bottle and then i put in 1 dry ice pellet into the bottle and then I use my bottle capper to put a new bottle cap on it and hopefully the dry ice pellet can increase the carbonation with blowing up the glass bottle so I gotta experiment with how much dry ice i can put into a glass bottle before it turns into a bomb but now i gotta wait until monday!!!!

[bigrobotbee]

Re: my Piraka post. The villain canisters before were all a bunch of bugs, monsters, and automatons. Piraka were the first canisters who were actual dudes who also happened to be assholes. I remember how Lego hyped them up at the time with the whole police lineup thing and the "yo yo Piraka" shit. They made it a huge freaking deal over how bad these mfs were. And I ate that shit up at the time.

As for the "soft reset," they literally reset the comic numbers to #1 (or #0 if you count that one preview one) and slapped a snazzy "Ignition" subtitle and even hired a new artist. Oh, and a brand differently-shaped island that wasn't just some carbon copy of Mata Nui. Again, at the time, that was a big freaking deal, and I ate it up.

Also, love exists in Bionicle. I mean, you all saw that exchange between Jaller and Hahli at the Kolhii match. Y'all saw that, right? I don't give a damn what Greg says.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

"Look, Kim. Powerful communist theory, rigorous and truthful."

+1 Communism

KIM KITSURAGI - "Ousia..." he enunciates the word diligently. "I agree -- humanitarian sciences. It stands out. Not a lot of critical theory around in Revachol West..."

+5 XP

Level up!

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - Your incendiary remark has failed to provoke him.

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - Wasn't there some in the communist student's room?

"A student in the apartment building seemed to have some as well."

Keep it to yourself.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Well, yes. That one student did."

READING MATERIAL - The little books seem inconsequential next to the big pile of frivolous entertainment covering them.

1. "Critical theory books… What do you think this means?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Whoever has lived here -- they have *some* education. And a certain set of interests."

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - Interesting...

I put this point into Inland Empire.

MICROGRID GENERATOR - An old cylindrical generator is nested above the ammo lift, with makeshift electrical wiring running out of its side and across the floor. The cables disappear into the wall to your right.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant puts his hand on the metal barrel, checking for warmth...

"It's cold now," he concludes. "But someone has been maintaining it. The wiring has been repaired."

"Where do these wires lead?"

"What kind of generator is this?"

Tap on the side.

"What does this mean? A generator here?"

[Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - He looks at the wall socket. "Downstairs somewhere."

2. "What kind of generator is this?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Liquid carbon, I would imagine it takes *mazut*." He points to the open fuel cap on the side of the dynamo.

"The kind that's favoured by vagrants and fuel thieves. It's been a long winter… Long and cold."

RHETORIC [Easy: Success] - If anyone's stayed here, they'd need a generator.

3. Tap on the side.

MICROGRID GENERATOR - A hollow ring -- the canister is empty. Dust falls from the generator and down into the ammo lift.

4. "What does this mean? A generator here?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "I don't know. I am not a philosopher."

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - That is his idea of a joke.

"I am. This generator proves the universe is material..." (Kick the generator.)

"I meant why is it here?"

Say nothing.

PAIN THRESHOLD [Medium: Success] - A small agony -- minuscule bones may have fractured -- but it proves the point.

"...ouch." (Grab your wounded toe.)

KIM KITSURAGI - He nods approvingly. He even smiles.

"I meant why is it here?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Someone with basic electrical skills has restored it in order to keep the room warm. Maybe it's the *fire guy*..."

+5 XP

MICROGRID GENERATOR - The wind outside picks up suddenly with a faint howl. Inside it's warm.

5. [Leave.]

This great blast door must weigh over 10 tons. Rust peels off it.

SMALL BLAST DOOR - You see a small metal door nested inside a larger one -- a heavy steel blast door. There is a conventional keyhole above the handle. It's very small.

"What's on the other side?"

"How do we open this?"

[Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "Another part of the island probably." The lieutenant looks into the keyhole. "The lock looks like it could still be usable."

2. "How do we open this?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Maybe this is one of the doors we *don't* open?" He looks at the door, then at its bigger brother, then at the lock…

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - He's right. It would be better to open its *big brother*. A powerful engine hangs under the ceiling -- it must control the blast door.

"You're right. We open the big one -- do you see controls anywhere?"

"No, this isn't 'One More Door'. We're opening it."

"I find us not opening it highly unlikely."

"Sure, you're right. We won't have to open it."

KIM KITSURAGI - "I think there's a console just southeast..." He shuffles his feet to stay warm. "Let's look around. Getting the blast door open seems like the best plan."

New task: Open the blast door

3. [Leave.]

This hatch is jammed shut.

FELD "INSULAR" CONSOLE - Green paint flakes off the monoblock aluminium cabinet. There are rows of switches on the front panel, a frequency band and even a keyboard...

Run your fingers across the keyboard.

"What is this then?"

[Leave.]

FELD "INSULAR" CONSOLE - The keys rattle like teeth. This keyboard hasn't been functional in decades.

"What is this then?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "The console of an antique computation device." The lieutenant points to the wires running into the machine. "The generator upstairs, with wires coming out. They terminate here."

"Could this open the blast door?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Possibly..." He inspects the dials. "'Urgence -- Ouvert!', 'Allumer', 'Radiodiffusé'. It sounds like this device was used to control the electronics here. Maybe it still does?"

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - This device was used to control the electronics in the room. It could open doors, control lights, function as a radiocomputer...

"Could this open the blast door?"

Turn: 'Emergency -- Open!'

Push: 'Light (Interior)'.

Slide: 'Radio' dial.

[Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - Nothing happens. "We need to restore power before using this, officer. The generator..." He looks upstairs. "It didn't look like there was fuel in it."

"We should look around outside. There are barrels all over, maybe one of them still has something in it..." He looks into the dim light to his right.

New task: Find fuel for the generator

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - The boat engine!

"Or we could get some from the boat engine?"

"Failing that we could… go back to the mainland and get some from…"

Nod in agreement.

KIM KITSURAGI - "But, officer," he looks you in the eye, "then we would have to *swim* back to the mainland. Let's just look around, okay."

FELD "INSULAR" CONSOLE - The console stands by, mutely. 'Urgence -- Ouvert!' reads a dial key. 'Allumer,' reads another. The frequency band says: 'Radiodiffusé.'

3. Push: 'Light (Interior)'.:

FELD "INSULAR" CONSOLE - Nothing happens.

4. Slide: 'Radio' dial.

FELD "INSULAR" CONSOLE - The dial slides under the glass, silently. You make out defunct stations on the UKV frequency. The words "FELD INSULAR" are written on the band.

LOGIC [Challenging: Success] - An *idea* lights up in your head...

"Maybe we could contact Soona -- the programmer lady? She could open the door for us remotely."

No. It's too far fetched.

KIM KITSURAGI - "This is an air-gapped system." The lieutenant inspects the indicator. "*Off-air,* I think they call it. That won't work."

+5 XP

"Are you sure?"

"Okay."

KIM KITSURAGI - "No, I'm not, but it would not be very good military technology if programmer ladies could control it remotely. Also, it's ancient. Incompatible."

5. [Leave.]

Well, let's look around for fuel, then.

Water rushes below -- far down below.

🎵 Seafort

A firing slit. You can't see inside.

It must have been a direct hit to take out such a huge chunk.

The sound of distant cargo ships... signal horns echo on the water.

The ice cracks under your feet. Be careful not to fall through...

INLAND EMPIRE - A strange feeling... looking at the water. Maybe you should just wander off into the sea? Leave it all and walk in...

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - With a bottle in your hand.

A bottle in my hand?

Why?

But it's cold...

Raise your sight.

[Shake your head.]

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Always.

Why?

INLAND EMPIRE - Perhaps there's someone there? Under the water. Waiting for you.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - Where it has always been.

SHIVERS [Challenging: Success] - In front of the video rental on the corner. At the crossing...

PERCEPTION (SMELL) [Challenging: Success] - Smelling of Tutti Frutti and betrayal.

PAIN THRESHOLD [Medium: Success] - Baby, you know it's going to hurt.

3. But it's cold...

INLAND EMPIRE - Yes -- cold and still. But love is warm, like the inside of her mouth.

Yes, please…

No-no-no-no…

INLAND EMPIRE - Oh *fuck* yes. Go there in your head. It's been days since you've thought about her. A week...

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - No-no, we're not starting with that. Not now. Not this time. This thought is over.

4. Raise your sight.

INLAND EMPIRE - In the still mirror of the bay you see Martinaise, reflected. Tall edifices of ruins reach into the water, like shimmering towers. And the shacks too. Pine trees and motor lorries, upside down...

Islets and posts like stepping stones lead into the water in front of you. Go. Step in... it's been too long.

5. [Shake your head.]

The winch is broken rust has eaten what remains of the chain.

The pain in your pelvis makes you wince. Then you continue.

The inside of the fortress... You make out the console and the blast door.

No way to jump down here without breaking a few bones.

The depot that supplied this chain is long gone from the coast.

A weathered artillery map showing coordinates in the Bay of Revachol.

An old medicine cabinet, newly stocked with drouamine.

At this point in the game I don't expect to be taking much more Health damage. Still...

LUM FUEL CANISTER

There is still some fuel in this battered canister. A litre or two. The metal looks decades old, the logo of the automotive manufacturer LUM has faded on the side.

MATTRESS NEST - There's a rain-soaked mattress on a concrete slab, only half-covered by the crumbling roof. At the head of it -- double embrasures -- firing slits, like two eyes in the wall.

KIM KITSURAGI - "B triple prime..." The lieutenant lowers his voice, stepping closer with his hand on his gun. "This looks like a good place to shoot from."

Inspect the mattress.

Inspect the wall.

[Turn away.]

MATTRESS NEST - A single-person mattress. Modern, civilian use. Brand name: Marjorie. There's a fuel stain on the cover, along with cigarette burns.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - And an empty can of beans on the ground next to it -- filled to the brim with cigarette butts.

Pick one out of the can.

Back off.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - The silhouette of a tobacco picker adorns the paper filter. The brand: Tioumoutiri.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - Contemporary Revacholians prefer Drouin (a local blend from the southern islands) or Astra, the legendary cigarette from Graad. Tioumoutiri is favoured by older men for its paper filter tips, sweet smell, and added tar.

"Tioumoutiri. Like the ones we found at Land's End, remember?"

"Someone's been smoking Tioumoutiri cigarettes. Not a lot of that around."

KIM KITSURAGI - "I may have been wrong -- when I said it was unimportant." He stares into the can for a second. "This means the same person could have visited both locations."

+5 XP

"I didn't see any signs of smoking inside, though. If people live there, they keep it tidy -- this here may also be a smoking spot."

2. Inspect the wall.

MATTRESS NEST - There's a firing slit in the wall in front of you. Like a little window...

Touch the concrete first.

Look through the hole in the concrete.

MATTRESS NEST - Quite old, and grimy from years without cleaning by anything other than the rain.

2. Look through the hole in the concrete.

MATTRESS NEST - The springs screech as you lean on the mattress and crane your neck to look out...

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Trepidation. A tingling feeling in your stomach...

MATTRESS NEST - A small piece of Martinaise coastline opens up in the square in front of you -- like a tiny landscape painting, one kilometre across the water. The ruins look familiar.

On the left...

On the right...

MATTRESS NEST - A towering skyscraper, its top floors shaved off by artillery fire -- Capeside Apartments: Rue de Saint Ghislaine 33A and 33B.

2. On the right...

MATTRESS NEST - The red chimney and collapsed back of the four-story tenement in front of the Whirling-in-Rags -- Rue de Saint Ghislaine 10. The Doomed Commercial Area.

And between the two...

MATTRESS NEST - The box-shaped silhouette of the Whirling-in-Rags. You see a small fleck of white on the rooftop -- the upstairs window of Klaasje's room in the rain, reflecting light.

"Motherfucker."

"There it is."

"I can't be 100% certain, but…"

KIM KITSURAGI - "What does that mean? Do you have line of sight to the window?"

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Challenging: Success] - More than that.

"Kim, with a pair of binoculars, I would be able to see *inside* the room."

"Yes -- there's an opening between 33A and 10. I can see to the roof."

KIM KITSURAGI - "A pair of binoculars? Or a scope of a *rifle*?" He points to the makeshift bed. "You'd be prone, lying on the mattress, barrel resting on the embrasure..."

HAND/EYE COORDINATION [Medium: Success] - Cheek against the cheek rest, hand on the hair trigger. On a calm day like this...

"Kim, I could make it -- I could make the shot."

I don't want to boast…

KIM KITSURAGI - "Good." He pats you on the back, three small pats in a row. "I think we have it, detective. The origin of the shot. This is the *sniper's nest*."

Task complete: Determine where the shot came from

+70 XP

Level up!

VISUAL CALCULUS [Medium: Success] - Affirmative.

"Finally."

"Better late than never."

"*Why* didn't we come here before?"

"Boo-yah. Master cop work."

KIM KITSURAGI - "In our defence -- nothing pointed here. Many, many leads pointed elsewhere."

"You're right."

"Six people are dead. We could have prevented it."

-1 Morale

KIM KITSURAGI - "Don't beat yourself up, officer. We did not put guns in their hands, or get them drunk." He looks north, over the fortification, then adds:

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - The lieutenant pauses. Regret comes over him.

KIM KITSURAGI - "We will make up for it. Here. I feel it."

"Could the shooter still be... here?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Where?" He looks behind his back.

"In Martinaise."

"On this island."

"Right *here*." (Point at the mattress.)

KIM KITSURAGI - He does not answer, just nods. With his back hunched, he looks around once more and says...

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - He feels... uncomfortable suddenly.

KIM KITSURAGI - "We should move. Now."

3. [Turn away.]

You feel eyes on your back. Someone's watching, but you can't say where...

Back in the fort, I examine this bed.

SPRING MATTRESS - There's a greasy old spring mattress in the corner, resting on piles of softcover books. White linen and a pillow are visible under a worn-out karakul blanket.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Someone has been squatting here." The lieutenant inspects the bed. "The linen is fresh. Recently washed."

"How recently..."

"Do you think whoever slept here is…"

"There are signs that someone... lives..."

PAIN THRESHOLD [Medium: Success] - You force the rest of the sentence out through pain, thick as molasses, no longer able to hear yourself speak.

KIM KITSURAGI - "You know, officer..." He looks at you with a touch of concern. "You *can* rest here if you're feeling tired. I will keep watch. You could use some rest for what's ahead."

New task: Rest in the flak tower

"Maybe a little shut-eye, just an hour..." [Go to sleep.]

"No time to rest now." [Leave.]

I'm going to wrap up this update in another post.

[ruelpsen]

recently acquired a soda stream and i feel almost addicted to drinking sparkling water at the moment :)

Oh, that sounds like fun! Having access to a damn near endless supply of fizzy drinks sounds dangerous... it must be so hard to resist letting yourself be a burpy mess all the time. Especially when you consider how much money you're saving from making it yourself.

And if it's encouragement you're after... having a supply like that makes it so much easier to test your limits, if that's the kind of thing you want to do. Not just how much you can drink, but also the burps it makes you need to force out. How loud and long can they get? How much carbonation is optimal for getting your desired sensations right? So many things you could try exploring, as long as you've got enough gas canisters!

[byrdstrolls]

Crazy Ass Space Battle One Shot

(Exactly what it says on the tin)

It had long since come to a time in General Faeria Longse’s life, that when it came to actual work in the field, she could afford to be picky. Yes, the woman was technically- by stretches of the definition highbloods were awarded- still in active service. This took the form of an on planet alternian strategist she had employed to monitor urgent fleet situations and try to find ones for her that were “interesting” as Faeria tolerated no other kind of military encounter. She looked at battles teetering on the edge of win or lose as nothing other than logic puzzles it kept her mind sharp to solve. Her email would pile up with reports of distant fleet movements, most of which she would respond to with brief consultations, always beginning the same way. 

“Too easy, circle back to the asteroid belt and draw them into delta 63.”

“Too easy, pull back fighters into moon orbit for cover & capture & trojan local supply line.”

“Too easy, Sun Tzu 3.17” 

“Too easy, target 175.867 & 321.489”

“Too easy, external heat could burst the carbon canisters. Pull back tanks & have small fighters consolidate fire.” 

Very rarely, only when coming across something especially fanciful, would the general type a simple-

“OK. brt.” 

.

.

.

.

.

You always thought you would die young. At some point, for an amount of time you found difficult to determine, life had become a staircase that you fell down from hit to hit, that only involved brief moments of meaning and sobriety and clarity. Life had tested you, you got by by the skin of your teeth. You went all in gambling your life and constantly rolled those dice in endless pursuit of a bigger payoff. You have made your way out of a car trunk with a shiv fashioned from a binder clip. You had once stolen narcotics from a purpleblood by hacking and deleting the attempt limit on his touchpad and physically inputting every possible number from 000-4903. You once fashioned a pipe out of a hollowed out flashlight in a dark locked janitor's closet. Were you rational, reasonable, smart, in these moments? No. But you got the job done. 

Your name is Noreko Oculus, and 2 sweeps ago, you were picked off a street corner and forcibly enlisted as a low level fighter pilot in the alternian fleet. This new career path has very much conflicted with your previous life goals of having a good time not a long time. You are standing in a hallway near the tiny hanger bay of your minor vessel, with three other pilots waiting for a mission briefing. 

“You should stand up straighter” Says the man next to you, noting the relaxed way in which you were poised. You fix him with a long, exasperated stare before turning your head back forward. 

“Sergeant Asperc is gonna yell at you again” He warns. 

“Watch as my spine irons out the moment he enters the room in awe.” You retort. “Until then I’m not on the clock.” You say, glancing towards the leftmost door. 

“You know, standing up straight,” he continues. “It’s better for you.” 

And you frown, because coincidentally, those are your least favorite four words in the standard dictionary when arranged in that order. 

The door opens, and it is not your sergeant who exits it, but you straighten your back reflexively anyway, because it's a seadweller. She’s short, but in a uniform of incredibly high rank. She doesn’t look at any of you, but instead stops midway through the hallway, to look out the window at the tiny, pinpoint green dots of the enemy’s ship in the distance. You have a great view of the back of her head, and notice the strange stiff lines of discoloration and decay on her horns. What could cause something like that? You think momentarily of scars on your body from picked skin on bad trips. 

“Okay,” Says General Faeria Longse. “How do you destroy an enemy ship that has no structural integrity comprehensible to us?” She says. 

You pause, along with your fellow soldiers, wondering if this is a rhetorical question. You do not often get consulted in strategy, despite it being a mandatory academy class. You did not often receive more complicated instructions than ‘Bring Thing 1 to Place B’ or ‘Take Down That Ship’. The tiny, barely-room-to-turn-around-in fighters they give to mutants like you are frail and expendable. 

“Any guesses?” She says, finally, and the other soldiers look away nervously. 

“With four B6I Fighter Pods?” You guess, because someone has to say something. Faeria laughs, but it is an unsettling sound. 

“Yes. But also no.” She says. “The aliens have constructed a ship purely out of some kind of bacteria-filled slime. It absorbs and reforms around most physical firepower. Our lasers don’t pack enough heat to evaporate it because of its high boiling point. It’s just so slightly faster than the main ship, and if we lean even slightly below max speed we’ll lose it. It’s fifty miles away.” She lists. “Any guesses?” 

“We poison it?” Another girl tried timidly, having recognized Faeria and remembered her ancestor name. 

“If only,” The general sighs. “We know incredibly little about the aliens within it, side them being only about two inches tall. We have no captives or dead to autopsy to determine if they even have something close to a digestive system. Figuring out if they can be poisoned and how to poison them would take more time than we have. And we have close to no time. Because in a million lightyears, or three hours at this pace, they’ll be out of alternian territory. And within range of their allies, which they can immediately send a distress beacon for reinforcements. No more guesses.” She decides, abruptly. 

“You’re not smart enough to figure it out. If we can’t set fire to the ship itself. We’re gonna set fire to something else directly beneath it, where it can’t use its slime to absorb or put out missiles. Which one of you has lost the most fleet battles?” 

The other three trolls around you shuffle nervously, and accidentally, all three of them glance at you at once. Figures. The general watches this happen in the window's reflection, and finally, turns around to greet you. 

“Hello!” She says, leaning forward to read your name tag. Too close, you think. She smells bitterly of plastic and chemicals. More cleaning supply than troll. It’s unsettling. 

“Vice Assistant Extended Training Probation Lieutenant Noreko Oculus?” She says, and you salute. 

“I have a special job for you. We’re gonna get rid of one of your oxygen canisters and replace it with a bomb. You’re gonna fly out there in your B6I Fighter Pod, and you’re going to go under the alien ship and lock steady with it. The other three pods will fire upon you from three directions, and it will cause an explosion hot enough to boil the slime and evaporate it into gas, killing all the aliens.”

“M’am. You must be confused.” The soldier farthest from you stutters. “The B6I Fighter doesn’t have an ejection pod.” Which is true. It saves the fleet money to cut such corners. 

“Ejection pods are for officers who win fleet battles.” She says, gesturing to the hanger. 

“Couldn’t we have autopilot fly an empty ship there?” Another soldier tries. 

“Are you the fucking general?” She says, reprimanding him for speaking out. “And no. Not if the ship starts maneuvering complicatedly. We need troll eyes to get it there. Well? Everyone understand? We have three hours. Positions!” 

“You expect me to suicide bomb that shit?” You say. 

“Yes” The general says, patting your back in a way that would be reassuring were she not a strange, disgusting hollowed out vessel of a troll seemingly incapable of natural emotion. “Or I’ll activate the fleet tracker embedded in your arm and use it to kill you. And you need to stand up more straight.” She says, giving you a thumbs up as she walks backwards out of the bay. You have met a lot of evil, desperate and inconceivable people in your time in the army. But this takes the cake. 

.

.

.

.

.

For much of your youth, you had simultaneously thought yourself vulnerable and invincible. You had an incredibly high tolerance for many things. Pain. Alcohol. Most drugs. But there has to be somewhere you draw the line, right? 

You aren’t… going to kill yourself. 

You are barely given time to think about it. The other pods are already taking off. You know you’re even more outnumbered in the hanger bay. So you follow them. You could try and run and hide but even if you got rid of the tracker somehow, you only had one canister of oxygen. You would run out in a few hours. There has to be a way out. Slowly, you lower one hand off the wheel, slightly to the left. The only spot in the pod that is not visible from its camera. You had perfectly obscured it, when you first hacked your pod's smoke detectors, so you could smoke cigarettes on duty without your superiors noticing. You flick open a pocket knife, glancing down at your arm. That tracker she described- you have to get it out and destroy it. Without alerting your boss watching you on camera. One handed. With a pocketknife. 

Oh well. You have had worse nights. You sneakily take a painkiller or two disguised in a sip of water. And start at it. There is some crying, but it wouldn't necessarily blow your cover. You are supposed to be flying to your death, you’ve earned it. About twenty minutes, and a lot of incorrect lacerations later, you have it. You crush it with the knife, over and over again. Until it's hopefully no longer working. Okay. What now? 

Come on. Think about this. Sure, you did not win a lot of battles. But only because you didn’t care. Sure, you did not have much of a life to return to or look forward to. Your tiny cot on the mainship is populated mostly with ship manuals and dirty magazines. But you are not unintelligent. In fact, when given a puzzle like a locked box of vicodin or a med bay computer system you became temporarily the smartest troll in the universe for incredibly short periods of time. Desperation is a hell of a chemical. If you can falsify records of fake injuries and disorders requiring prescriptions, if you can synthesize recreational substances from several mundane medications in a homemade chem lab in a ship storage bay, if you can survive this world this long when everything around you including your own body wants you dead, you can outthink that tiny bitch in the 20 minutes it takes to reach the aliens. Casually, you flip through schematics of the nearby systems. No way you could over power all three fighter pods. You could get out of range of the main ship, maybe, but they are smaller and faster. Not a lot of solid planets out here- mostly stars and asteroids. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a sun in the near distance, and enhance it with your ship's sensors. You look forward, at pods flying in tandem with you. And back at the screen, at tiny black dots dancing across the sun’s surface. Solar flares. You look back at the pocketknife in your bleeding hand, and in one quick motion, lodge the weapon forcefully into the lens of the ship camera, and swerve violently to the left. The other pods pause, and then follow you. They aren’t firing, and thank g-d, because you don’t want to fire back. They had the same amount of choice in this bullshit you did. 

“This is B6I 93 to B6I 52. What are you doing?” Flickers up on your coms, giving a paper thin benefit of the doubt. 

“What the fuck do you think?” You retort, pushing the throttle further forward, your hands shaking as you rapidly gain speed. 

“B61 52. This is upper command. Return to course. You’re too close to that sun. Any further disobedience and you’ll be neutralized with your chip.” 

You laugh, hollowly, as this piece of shit craft shudders around you, and glance back to make sure the other three pods are still following. Tricky situation for them, surely. They have to regain control of you without killing you. 

“B6I 52” Pleads another of the pods on the line. “Watch out for that solar flare.” They beg, as you continue to fly towards it at max speeds. 

“Are you insane!” Calls another voice, dropping the formalities. And the talk of the soldiers on the line becomes garbled and panicked as all three of them start yelling as you continue your top speed approach. But it doesn’t matter, because you can hardly hear anything but the hum of your shitty little engine stretching to its absolute limit. 

Not yet, 

You think, watching them get closer and closer on radar. 

Not yet, 

You think, blood dripping down onto your lap as your hands remain clutched tight to the wheel. 

Not yet, 

You think, as your ship's only systems start to blurt out proximity alarms and alerts and warnings about the flare in chorus. 

Not until the moment they’re literally on top of you, and the solar flare is seconds away, do you pull back sharply 90 degrees. Your body slamming back into the pilot seat and your ship wheezing in protest as you avoid the solar flare by one or two feet. 

But the other pods behind you are not so lucky, attempting to copy you and failing, they careen into the flare, their ship lights flickering and losing electrical power as the dancing lights of plasma dance between them. And the ships experience the effects of a carrington like event, imbursed in a solar storm. 

They’ll live, on mechanical reserve power & oxygen, but they won’t be following you. You switch off your coms. You swerve to look at the main ship and the aliens far off in the distance. The main ship will likely fire upon you for desertion and treason the moment they’re in range. No way you win that battle, no way in hell. Not with a loaded bomb in your ship's body. You need to get rid of the bomb.

You reach back for a space mask, turning off oxygen temporarily, holding your breath as your wire the only oxygen canister directly to your mask. You’ll have to do outer maintenance. You set your speed, putting the ship on autopilot as you pop open the pilot's pod, and climb onto the hull, switching your pocket knife to its other extensions. You try to remain calm, crying openly as you slowly and carefully dismantle the panel concealing the bomb, and the attachments securing it in place, on the back of a still flying spaceship. You pull it out of the ship gingerly, slowly trailing it out behind you on the last cable that anchors it to the ship. You roll out the cable as far as it possibly can go, and now you are just on a ship, trailing a bomb 30 feet behind you as you continue to speed forward. 

30 feet couldn’t honestly be considered a safe distance from the thing. You’ve only slightly raised your chances of living if it detonates. But you were out of cable. And as you were working, the beginnings of a desperate plan had started to form. You are faster than the main ship. Just maybe, maybe, you could outmaneuver them long enough to plant this sucker below the turrets, and blow them to hell. This was possibly better than no plan at all. But it involved you navigating an all out firefight with a fleet ship with a loaded bomb tied to your back. 

You aren’t certain what kind of g-d you might believe in. You had given your body as a vessel to a much more earthly, flesh and blood power. Now would be the moment to pray to something, someone. What would you have to offer a g-d, anyways? You hadn’t exactly lived a righteous nor pious life. Nothing deserving of being gifted miracles and wonders and rewards beyond measure. But to make it out on a chance like this, someone must be watching out for you. Slowly, your hands close around the throttle. 

You do not believe the universe loves you. Not even a little bit. But what wasn’t gifted to you, you knew how to take. You would have your miracle. You would claw your miracle out of the ribcage of fate with hands bloody and bent but clasped tighter than they had been your entire life. What do they call it? A dead man’s grip. 

You turn your ship and dive straight towards the fleet vessel, into its range. Warning alarms flare up as they begin opening fire. 

You dance like a cockroach through the empty vacuum of space, unkillable. They clip your wings, an explosion knocks into your cargo hold, but the ship's integrity doesn’t fail you yet. Every near miss is a victory. Five minutes pass. But the seconds feel shorter- longer. Both at the same time. Time loses its meaning at the night lights up around you. You barely process it when you finally make it underneath the vessel, but you catch yourself just in time, cutting the cable and letting the bomb float loose underneath the ship's turrets and control center. You zoom back out into the night, hoping the ship's own fire will ignite it somehow, but it bounces clumsily against the hull, out of their range. 

You must now survive the same unwinnable battle all over again, as you attempt to zoom away from them. But you hardly care anymore, having come this far. You would do it a million times. You want to live. Despite everything, you want to live. No matter how long the odds, you want to live. The empire had taken everything from you. Your safety. Your happiness. Your body. Your mind. 

But it would not have your fucking soul. 

You flip over vertically, and open fire on the distant pinprick of the bomb below the turret, igniting it. 

There is a beautiful crack of white light that explodes outward, burning your eyes as you watch the front side of the ship burst open, the guns and control base consumed by white fire. The whole ship doesn’t go down. The back half is fine- you hope any friends you had in the army were there when you hit it. But it can no longer shoot at you. The fleet ship slows to a stop, and out of the corner of your eyes, the green light in the distance flickers away as the aliens finally escape. Figures, you think darkly. A bunch of weird slime whatever the fuck would not lend you a hand for saving their ass. And can you blame them? You reach weakly for a first aid kit and attempt to treat your arm, but your hand is shaking, your blood lost and your oxygen thin. 

You watch the fleet ship turn and abandon you, probably thinking you dead in a few hours, and it’s difficult to argue with them. You were so close. You were so fucking close. But you hadn’t thought this far ahead. Slowly, fighting with every nerve in your body, you cease your attempted medical aid, because it feels better not to touch it. Staring out at the vast, dark majesty of space laid out in front of you. 

As far as last things to ever see, it’s not so bad. Your eyelids move downward at a snail's pace as your lungs wheeze. Until all you see is a tiny white sliver of light as a little horizon in front of you. Just before your eyes close completely, the light turns bright green. Your eyes crack open again suddenly, in a burst of adrenaline and confusion. The ship is lighting up emerald around you, from the other direction. Slowly, you pull the throttle, attempting to rotate just enough to see what's behind you, squinting through your blurred vision. 

You just barely make out the shape of the alien ship,

Having returned to rescue you, with reinforcements.