#Cast metal repair process

[rebabbitting]

The Ultimate Solution for Crack Repair Using Metal Stitching and Metal Locking Techniques

One of the advantages of the metal stitching and metal locking process is that they can be performed on-site, minimizing downtime and transportation costs. Cast metal repair is a specialized process used to restore damaged or cracked cast metal components. It is a specialized process used to restore damaged or cracked cast metal components. The cast iron stitch repair part can often be brought back to its full load-bearing capacity, allowing it to resume its intended function with restored strength and reliability. For more information, contact us for metal stitching of engine block, cracked cast iron repair, crack repair by metal stitching, at info@rapowersolutions.com, 0124-425-1615, or +91-9810012383. 

[metalstitchinglocking]

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[engineoverhaulingservices]

The repair of a damaged engine block, turbocharger casing, and heavy cast iron parts can be successfully repaired by metal stitching, metal locking, and metal surgery process. For a detailed repair process of damaged casting by metal locking and metal stitching, email us at info@rapowersolutions.com.

[lunarmoves]

there was a new security guard working in the daycare. 

you’d been wondering when the higher ups at fazbear entertainment would green light the hiring process for one, and apparently it was sooner than you’d thought. you weren’t a particularly important employee, so it made sense why you wouldn’t have been told, but it was still surprising nonetheless. you didn’t remember the last time the security desk in the daycare had been occupied by someone other than yourself when you were taking your lunch break. granted, you hadn’t been working at the pizzaplex for too long, but you’d seen the records, and the strange disappearance of the last guard was something you were never able to dredge up too much information about. 

you met him on one of your lunch breaks actually, while you were contemplating which fast food restaurant to use your free meal on. you think he started up a conversation because you were likely one of the only human staff members he’d seen since getting hired. not that you could blame him, of course. lord knows the last time you'd spoken to someone not made of metal and wires.

“so many options to pick from, eh?” a voice said from your left and you turned to see the new guard standing there with his hands tucked into his pockets. the cap that came with his uniform was nestled atop his head of curly hair and cast his face in shadow from the neon lights overhead. you could just barely make out the glint of his black eyes. “this place really doesn't disappoint.”

you snorted at his words. fazco was many things, but a disappointment wasn't one of them. "you're telling me. the prices on the other hand..." you made a face and he laughed before sticking out his hand.

"name's vincent," he introduced himself with a bright, charming smile. "'m the new daycare guard." the badge pinned to the left side of his chest was decorated with little stars and winked brightly at you in the lighting.

you grabbed his hand with your own for a firm handshake and introduced yourself as well. "i do repairs around the pizzaplex and the like. places the bots can't get to, occasionally minor repairs on the animatronics themselves." the ones that didn't warrant an entire trip down to parts 'n services, at least.

"nice, i bet you're never out of work, huh?" you shook your head with a lopsided smile. vincent opened his mouth as though to say something else, then seemed to pause and instead looked around the food atrium. "anyways, you got any recommendations? i got an hour for a lunch break and i'm starving."

vincent proved to be excellent company as he joined you for your lunch break. you didn't mind, honestly. it was refreshing to be able to talk to another human—someone whom you didn't have to strain your neck to look up to or whom you could connect to on a level you couldn't with robots and automatons. he was hilarious and charming, with a plethora of stories he regaled you with of his life before he was hired at the pizzaplex. and before you knew it, your time for your lunch break was up and you were saying your goodbyes to vincent as you both made your way back to your respective jobs. your heart felt lighter in a way it hadn't been in a long time.

the process repeated.

vincent joined you for your lunch breaks whenever he managed to catch you in the atrium. it wasn't too often, as your schedule was rather erratic, but he could take his lunch break whenever he wanted. so you eventually just swapped numbers so you could text and meet up instead of basing it off of chance. and your friendship skyrocketed from there with the endless memes you'd send to each other both on shift and off—the late night conversations you'd have about things that varied from miscellaneous to more serious (fazco's history being one of them). it felt inevitable, getting closer.

you had such a good time with him that you didn't even realize how long it'd been since you'd last stepped foot in the daycare.

that is—until you got called in for a repair on the daycare attendant.

the email had been sent straight to your phone. an emergency repair, by the sound of it. you hadn't ever had to do one on sun nor moon. usually it was monty or chica. concern tainted your conscience as you made your way over to the daycare and slipped through the giant castle doors.

immediately, you were spotted by vincent, who waved and jogged over from the far side of the security desk. "hey! that was fast."

"yeah, i was close by," you puffed out, your eyes searching around the daycare for sun. it was later in the evening—nearing closing, in fact—so there luckily weren't many kids around. only a handful, you noted as you spotted them sitting around the playmats, coloring or playing with little hand puppets together. your gaze trailed over to a corner by the security desk, where sun was perched atop one of the large foam blocks with his legs crossed. swaying slightly in place as he kept an eye on the kids in the distance. well, at least he looked fine from here. couldn't be all too bad, then, you thought in relief.

"what happened?" you asked vincent as you made your way towards sun, your hand gripping onto a toolbox you'd snagged earlier from parts 'n services.

"i don't know," he replied in earnest, a frown decorating his face. "i went for a bathroom break and when i got back he wa—"

before he could finish, however, you were spotted by sun, who shot straight up from the foam block and beamed with all the light of a thousand stars at your approaching figure.

"friend!!" he exclaimed and closed the short distance between the two of you to sweep you up in a bone-crushing hug. you let out a surprised laugh, holding onto him for dear life as his torso spun around and around and around in tandem with his rays. "you're here! oh we missed you so so so much!"

"hey bud, missed you too," you wheezed and patted him on the back. his robotic strength was unyielding and you did your best to endure. he nuzzled at the side of your face and eventually set you down. a hand was placed on your shoulder, fingers running adoringly over your uniform.

"dropped this," vincent's voice piped up from behind you and those fingers abruptly tightened. you glanced over your shoulder and turned to accept the toolbox from him as he held it out to you. his gaze flicked from you to sun, subtle. you hadn't even noticed you'd dropped it.

"thanks, man." you offered him a smile and grabbed onto the box's handle. "what were you sa—"

"mr. guard!" sun smoothly cut in, stepping in front of you to lean down over vincent. you couldn't see over the terse line of his back, so you poked your head around him to look at vincent and the dark shadow that'd been cast over his form. "please keep an eye on the children in the meantime. it looks like little jeremy's about to stick a crayon up his nose and we can't have that, nonono!"

vincent's frown deepened. he cast you a final look before he nodded shortly. you almost thought he was going to argue. "alright." and then he turned on his heel to make his way over to the kids. you watched him carefully—the rigid line of his shoulders—then jolted slightly when sun spun back around to face you with a bright grin.

you spoke up before he could. "what was that all about?"

"what was what all about?" he asked innocently, his hands clasped behind his back as he swayed side to side, further blocking your view of vincent. you gave him a look.

"you know exactly what i'm talking about," you said flatly and gestured at him to take a seat back on the foam block. he complied with a flourish, spinning on his feet to plop upon it. even sitting he wasn't much shorter than you.

he bobbed his head side to side as though he was contemplating. you set down your toolbox next to him and placed your hands on your waist, raising an eyebrow expectantly at him. he wavered, then let out an exaggerated sigh.

"it's just— the guards!" he tossed his head back dramatically, then leaned forward to stage whisper at you. "we never liked them, you know. and this one is..." he trailed off, eyes squinting as his smile thinned like the edge of a blade.

you rolled your eyes. you did, in fact, know of their distaste for the guards. it was why the daycare had gone so long without one. you couldn't really blame sun, you supposed. after all, they had been on their own for a long time and were more than capable. you weren't entirely sure what fazco was doing. maybe a parent complained.

"vincent's not too bad," you said and lowered your hands from your waist. sun tilted his head at you, gaze trained on your face. you clicked your tongue. "anyways, where's the injury? show me."

"riiiight here!" he brandished his hand at you—the one that you soon realized he'd been carefully keeping out of your sight all this time.

and for good reason, too. your jaw dropped at the way his hand hung off his wrist, held together by a few measly wires. "sun, what happened?!" you gasped as you jolted towards him and gingerly took hold of his hand. wires had snapped ruthlessly apart, splintered and shredded.

"oh, you know!" he waved his free hand, gaze still pinned onto you as you turned his hand this way and that, a crease forming between your brows. "just had a little oopsie, is all! doesn't hurt a bit!" and he spun his rays as though to show how unbothered he was.

you immediately let go of his hand and started fumbling for your toolbox to pull out supplies. you'd honestly prefer to have him get repaired down in parts 'n services for this, but knowing his adverseness to the place, there was no way you'd be able to.

"a little oopsie?" you asked incredulously. "this is a bit more than an oopsie, bud."

"ah, it's nothing our beloved repair tech can't fix!" he replied sweetly, gazing at you in a way that made something in your stomach flutter about. you grumbled and got to work, resolutely ignoring the heat creeping up your neck.

as you diligently worked on cutting and splicing the remaining wires together after turning off the electricity being routed to his hand, sun hummed happily to himself. "so!" he piped up after a moment of you concentrating heavily on his injury. "where have you been all this time, hm?"

you shrugged slightly, eyes firmly fixed to two wires you were splicing. the way they had torn was a bit... strange. like they'd been ripped or stretched apart until they tore. "been busy running around doing repairs, the usual."

"repairs, huh?" he mused, something to his voice that you couldn't quite decipher. "surely you are not working even during your lunch break? it is important to get your rest, friend!"

"i'm not, don't worry," you soothed, glancing up at him. "i've just been eating in the atrium lately. no biggie. sorry i haven't been by, i guess it... slipped my mind." you winced slightly at your words. truly, it had not occurred to you with how your breaks had been filled with hanging with vincent.

this close, you could see the offset white of his ringed pupils, roving over your body and drinking you in like he was a man starved. "i see. you would not happen to be spending it with ah, the guard over there, would you?"

you scrunched your nose at him. "why does it matter if i was?"

"no reason!" he grinned, but there was a tautness lining the edges of his smile that you did not quite like. his gaze flicked briefly over your shoulder, then back to you where his eyes upturned into crescents. "we're just happy to see you again! do make time for us too, yes?" his voice softened and lowered to a murmur. "the daycare isn't the same when you're not here with us."

now that just made you feel guilty. you swallowed it down as best as you could and gave him a small smile. "sorry," you repeated again gently. "i will."

it didn't take much longer to fix up his hand, and before you knew it, he was bouncing to his feet and flexing it every which way to show off its replenished dexterity. "good as new! thank you, my friend!" he scooped you up into another hug and you laughed, dizzy on his excitement.

"yeah, yeah. no more oopsies from now on, okay?" you chided him with a wagging finger once he'd placed you gently back upon the ground. he fixed your rumpled shirt for you, smoothing it down with large fingers. "i forbid it!"

"no promises!" he replied, booping you on the nose before clasping his hands together behind his back.

you packed up your tools and glanced down at your phone to check the time. almost closing. you should head out soon. you glanced over to vincent to see that most of the children had been checked out while you'd tended to sun. the last one was dozing on a playmat as vincent sat nearby, scrolling idly on his phone.

"alright, i need to go," you told sun as you started walking over to the looming castle doors. he followed you like a particularly lithe shadow. "got an early morning tomorrow."

"get some rest, friend!" he said, but you weren't paying attention to him anymore. vincent had caught your eye and quietly got up from his seat to jog over and meet you by the doors.

"all good?" he asked you once he'd come to a stop by your side, his hands buried in his pockets. you nodded and his gaze flicked to sun over your shoulder. he pointed over to the last kid snoring away. "you wanna look after the tyke now? my shift's over."

sun's eyes creased together as he smiled stiffly. one of his rays twitched. "of course! i will see you... tomorrow."

"yep. bye." succinct and terse, vincent gave sun a two-fingered salute then jerked his head at you before he pushed open the doors and left. you eyed vincent's retreating back first, then sun.

this was so weird. you exhaled through your nose and held onto your toolbox tightly. "...bye sun. see you tomorrow, promise."

"i will hold you to that!" was his merry response, and he waved at you with a grin as you left the daycare. white pupils followed you out, the door closing slowly behind you as something unsaid lingered in the air. you gave the doors a final look, then turned towards vincent, who was waiting for you a few feet away.

you considered bringing up all of... that—and boy was the last hour a lot to unpack—but a quick glance at the bags under vincent's eyes had you dropping it. later, you'll ask later.

you walked over to him. "hey, thanks for calling the repair in," you said as you both made your way up the stairs. "sun hates parts 'n services, it would've been a nightmare calling a mechanic to bring him down."

vincent gave you an odd look, one of his eyebrows raising. "what are you talking about?" he asked slowly, confused. "i didn't call it in. i told you i had been in the bathroom?"

he had said that, hadn't he. "oh." you thought he'd called it once he got back, but you guessed you were wrong. "and you really didn't see what'd happened?"

"nope." he took off his cap and ran his hand through his hair before setting it back on his head. "i don't have a single clue."

you hummed, glancing over your shoulder at the daycare as you both walked past the party rooms on the upper level. through the glass and netting, you could see sun, standing by one of the playpens. watching you and vincent with white eyes that gleamed even through the fluorescent lighting.

you suppressed a shiver and turned away, a burning gaze following you until you disappeared beyond a point where it no longer could.

connected to this drabble!

[yogurtverse]

Fuck it, the Homestuck kids and trolls with JJBA stand abilities

John Egbert: Jesus of Sburbia

Namesake: Green Day song

Jesus of Sburbia allows it's user to create a room around them, then disassemble any non living object into a currency. The stand can then rebuild anything it can either see or remember disassembling at the cost of said currency. It may also store objects inside it that the user might want to use later on.

Rose Lalonde: Nightwish

Namesake: Finnish metal band

Nightwish takes the form of a lovecraftian tentacle monster, and has the power to peer into the minds of it's opponents and scan for their worst fears. It can then shapeshift into the fears and cast grimdark illusions into the opponents mind.

Dave Strider: Deltron

Namesake: Rap Group

Deltron works differently than your average stand master relationship. Instead of the normal "Kill the stand kill the user." rule most stands apply to, if the stand or user is defeated, the remaining one will pull from another timeline (more likely to find doomed Daves anyway) and use their spirit to replace the stand. However, this weakens the user and stand until the merging process is complete.

Jade Harley: Sweet Trip

Namesake: Indie Rock band

Sweet Trip is a combat based stand that mostly focuses on guns. It has the secondary ability to set these guns to teleport objects by firing a bullet somewhere and then shooting a second target, in which case the shot target takes the place of the fired bullet.

Aradia Megido: Tornado of Souls

Namesake: Megadeth song

Tornado of Souls can put people in a sort of sleep paralyses, freezing an opponent in place. During this process, Tornado of Souls can implant memories of deceased people known to the victim and torment them.

Tavros Nitram: Rhapsody

Namesake: Power Metal band

Rhapsody is a rallying stand that allows it's user to enter talks with and recruit any creature to their cause, acting like a translator between the two.

Sollux Captor: Remain in Light

Namesake: Talking Heads album

Remain in Light is a two headed stand that allows it's user to pinpoint two objects to fall under the effects of RiL. Once they are, the stand can both produce powerful beams as well as transfer any feeling from one target to the other. (For example, if Sollux was to punch someone under RiL, the impact of the punch could transfer to the other person, having them feel the impact)

Karkat Vantas: Death Grips

Namesake: Experimental hip-hop group

Death Grips is probably the weakest stand in terms of pure combat potential in the session. However, it's main ability lies in it's ability to infiltrate electronic systems and destroy them, no matter how complex. If a device is turned off while Death Grips is still inside, it will go haywire and destroy the machine beyond repair. If Death Grips is inside a shut down machine for too long, it will start to lose power and die.

Nepeta Leijon: 100 Gecs

Namesake: Hyperpop duo

100 Gecs is a colony stand made up of 100 small catlike creatures. They can be controlled by Nepeta for either attacks with their claws or using them to cover herself or allies for defensive purposes.

Kanaya Maryam: Black Halo

Namesake: Kamelot album

Black Halo allows it's user to remove the light from anything it comes across, storing the light to either illuminate areas or blind others. When a lot of light is collected, BH can fire it in concentrated beams or throw it as a shield

Terezi Pyrope: Follow the Leader

Namesake: Korn album

Follow the Leader forces it's user to follow their own moral code, whatever that may be. If the victim is forced to break their moral code through things like peers and circumstances beyond their control, FtL slowly begins to hurt the victim. If they reject their own morals too much, the pain will kill them.

Vriska Serket: Mind Fuzz

Namesake: King Gizzard and the Wizard Lizard album

Mind Fuzz takes the form of a spidery woman with eight legs. Once one of these legs touches a victim they become temporarily mind controlled and forced to enact Vriska's bidding. Vriska can also shake it's limbs and it will randomly point a leg upwards or downwards. If all eight point upwards (surprisingly more likely than you'd think) Vriska can make a wish to alter the area around her.

Equius Zahark: Powerslave

Namesake: Iron Maiden album

Powerslave allows it's user to drain the strength from their opponent and add it to the stand, while the stand can transfer the gathered strength to either Equius or others around him.

Gamzee Makara: Atrocity Exhibition

Namesake: Danny Brown album

Actrocity Exhibition is a combat stand that can also produce an extremely high frequency noise that drives people into a manic state as well as heightening their senses. The user is not immune from this, often adding to the mania.

Eridan Empora: Headmaster Ritual

Namesake: The Smiths song

Headmaster Ritual works as a science powered stand with full access to the periodic table, being able to change any two elements. This runs the risk of creating extremely volatile changes, so using the stands secondary ability of channeling the elements into objects such as wands or guns is all but nessesary to avoid harm to the user.

Feferi Peixes: Queen of the Stone Age

Namesake: Metal band

Queen of the Stone Age is a wearable stand dedicated to helping the ruler survive any sort of pressure and move along any sort of surface, be it from lava, water, space, etc. Feferi can also extend the stand to anyone she's physically touching.

[hasufin]

Modification

I want to share a little project I've been working on this past week. It may seem like nothing, but it was a lot of work and a big pain until I got it done.

Back when my spouse and I moved into our current house, I immediately recognized a dearth of counter space in the kitchen. We resolved this by purchasing a buffet table from Ikea. The table in question was a "Norden" model, which they have since discontinued. Simple enough table, a bit over a meter long and maybe a third that in depth, two drawers and two additional shelves. Great for holding kitchen appliances on top and storage below.

The first thing I did was add locking casters to the bottom so I could move it around easily. That's been a big bonus, as it makes cleaning much easier. I also put some hooks on the ends to hang my cast iron pans.

The problem arose I guess about three years ago when I upgraded to a commercial-grade espresso machine. The Gaggia was okay, but the Expobar is in a completely different class. And that's GREAT for good coffee. For a tabletop that's made of laminated particle board? Not so much.

Now, I had been aware of this problem for a while. I'd tried to ameliorate it by putting a silicone baking mat on top of that side of the table; that slowed down the deterioration, but did not stop it. It was also a daily annoyance, as the espresso machine moved a bit when I torqued the portafilter in place and it would get bunched up. About once a week I would have to lift the espresso machine and move things back.

This came to a head two weeks ago when I took the espresso machine in for some repairs and had to face that the tabletop was ruined. My initial thought was to get a replacement top from Ikea and then put maybe a piece of stone countertop in where the espresso machine sits.

This ran into two problems. First, as I mentioned before, this particular item is discontinued. Ikea will honor the warranty, and the Ikea rep tried pretty hard to make that work, but the reality is I got it too long ago and whatever abuse it's undergone is my problem; they don't sell the parts for it anymore.

Second, stone countertops are EXPENSIVE. While I just want what might be considered scrap, it was still going to be a lot of money, and I was not able to find a source.

Eventually I want to replace the entire thing with something I build myself, and I have some ideas for that. However, right now I have neither the time nor skill to make that happen. I was going to have to replace the top myself.

Since I didn't want to pay for stone, I opted for metal. I ordered a 4'x2' sheet of metal from McMaster and proceeded to prep the top. I sanded down the areas which were bubbling up and roughed up the rest of the surface.

Then, once the metal arrived I used my angle grinder to cut it to width and round the sharp corners. I had this notion that I might bend it over the top and maybe nail it down, or see if I could knurl the edges. However, while I think that was maybe possible, to do it well would have called for tools I don't have and skills I generally lack. The steel was 0.03" thick rolled mild steel. While that's not exactly a knife's edge, and you can touch it without cutting yourself, it's not exactly safe. And although I got much better with the angle grinder in the process (I had a grinder and hardly ever used it), the cut edges were a but uneven. So, I ordered some rubber edging.

In the meantime, I put the metal on the buffet table and prepared it.

I opted for a matte finish, since I would need better buffing tools than I have to get a mirror finish, and matte is easier to maintain than brushed. Since it's mild steel - which rusts easily - I sealed it with a spray lacquer.

Today, the rubber edging finally arrived. This is the same stuff you have on the edges of your car door. I glued it in place, except for one small section which is removable so I can easily clean detritus like coffee grounds off the table top. I also added two receivers to hold the feet of the espresso machine so it doesn't move when I put in the portafilter.

And, behold!

The result looks almost nothing like the original buffet table from Ikea. Someday I'll make something better, but whatever I make will be strongly informed by this, which has been heavily modified to fit my use case.

[clever-fox-studios]

Two Weeks

A little thingy I started as a crossover of my Legacy AU and @garbagechocolate 's Truth Virus. I might continue as it's short and meant as pure angst, if that's desired; it'll go on AO3 if that's the case. It's not canon to my AU at all, but it does have Legacy-canon-compliant information that may or may not be relevant when the time comes~

Content below the cut:

Overhead lights hummed, casting dirty yellow-white light across cement, tile and metal rebar and pipes, trying and failing to make the dirty underground service bay seem somewhat sterile but only managing to pick out every crack and spot of dirt in grimy, perfect detail. Normally, Parts & Service was busy and filled to the brim with techs and programmers looking for something to do during the day, but at this moment only two could be found operating the repair pod, the others long gone on daily tasks of some sort or hiding out of camera view to catch a smoke or pilfer uncollected fries from the warmers. Fingers drummed the service pod keyboard lightly–click-clack-clack–but never enough to press a key by accident. That was what rookies did. Contrary to the opinion of corporate, they were not rookies. They were not paid like rookies, and yet…

Yet.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just wait for Phil?”

Balling a fist, the older technician slammed his fist into the desk, avoiding the keyboard altogether but still startling his coworker into biting his own cheek with fright.

“Owowow–”

He gave the younger worker a hard look, stilling their whining so he could speak, sharp and firm as a stroke of a key on the computer. “It’s a fucking patch for the new system they wanted the jester thing to test run.”

This was true.

“It’s from the server at fucking corporate, so it’s gotta be legit, right?”

This was also true.

“We shouldn’t have to wait for Mr. Espresso For Dinner to supervise us every fucking time the talking pipecleaner needs a spit shine”

Nervously, the younger technician nodded, then shook his head. “But Phil–” He stopped for a moment. “Mr. Mercer was extremely clear about us being careful with the theater unit after the–”

“I. Don’t. Care,” the older man cut in, face creased with angry lines and graying brown hair. “I’ve been working here almost as long as that junkrat in a trenchcoat. Just because he’s Reed’s favorite little dumpster fire he gets the head IT position, but I’m just as capable of working on the attendant as he is. I’m not a fucking rookie–no offense.”

“N-none… taken,” the younger man squeaked, unable to voice further concerns.

“Just get the fucking twink down here so I can get this done, will you?” With a sigh, the older man wheeled his chair to the desk and began to prepare the file for processing, grumbling under his breath. “It can’t be that hard to install a fucking patch for something that’s already in their system, it’s robotics, not fucking rocket science!”

~

“Let me guess.”

Sun fidgeted with his ray, fingertip flicking over the point rhythmically, eyes looking anywhere but into the acid-bright hazel eyes staring him down from behind unkempt brown-black hair.

“You didn’t stop them because Mason’s a jackwad and you didn’t want to cause more problems?”

Nodding, Sun’s fingers closed around the end of his ray tightly–a nervous reflex. Before he could do any real damage, a hand wrapped around his wrist, firm but not overbearing. It still got him to jump, gaze darting up in spite of himself to see the hazel gaze was less of a disappointed burning and more of a concerned flicker, one that knew well and good about his… ‘problematic’ tics that had been developing over the months.

“I’m not mad, Sun,” the man said, voice gentle as he slowly brought the jester’s hand down from his head. “Not at you two, anyway.”

Sun couldn’t help himself, the apologetic babble coming up before he could really stop it, “I’m so so so sorry, Phil! I know you’ve told us not to let them bully us, but the new employee was so nervous and we didn’t think it was a big deal, we just–”

Phil’s palms pressed into both of Sun’s cheeks, causing him to stop as the short human got his attention, face unchanging. “Sun,” he started, speaking slowly and firmly, “I. Am not. Mad. At you. Understand?”

Feeling his jaw quiver, Sun nodded; the hands left his face, turning to hold the man’s chin in thought as he finally broke eye contact. Quietly, Sun folded his own together at the fingers, trying desperately to contain the guilt he felt as he noticed the stirring in the back of his programming of Moon as the night unit tuned in from wherever it was he found himself during daylight hours.

“Is he mad?” the crackly voice inquired.

Sun knew only he could hear his brother but it didn’t offer any solace–it was upsetting, if nothing else. Wrong. Even after months, he still wasn’t used to it, finding himself turning to answer only to be met with an empty room. This time, though, he was acutely aware that Moon wasn’t there. That turning would net only a concerned gaze from their maker, Phil Mercer.

“Not at us,” Sun whispered back, aloud.

Phil’s gaze flicked to Sun at the sound, but he didn’t acknowledge it. He didn’t need to. Instead, Phil mumble, a bit loudly on purpose so they boys–the theater jesters both–would hear without needing to be direct, “That idiot can’t even set the time on a microwave without using wikihow. I could run diagnostics myself and see if it worked but Al’s already up my ass as it is and I don’t have time for a full sweep…” He sighed with exaggeration, folding his arms together.

Sun’s head was tilted curiously at the mutterings, his fingers fidgeting over each other rhythmically.

“Of course Mason picks this week to be a pain. The inconvenience can’t be helped.”

“We’re sorry–”

“Shush.” Rubbing the back of his head and neck, Phil came to a decision–he only hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite them all later. “How’s daycare duty treating you both? Any issues outside of the whole ‘Moon didn’t switch from theater to nap time’ thing the patch was for?”

With a click and whirl of his rays, Sun smiled, glad for something good to talk about--relatively speaking. “Oh, it was lovely! The children are so much fun to interact with! Such wild imaginations!”

A half smile crept onto Phil’s face under his 5-o’clock shadow. “Moon? What about you?”

Sun waited as Moon spoke, relaying his answer precisely while switching the voice setting to the blue unit’s default. “It’s different trying to make the little ones sleep instead of cheer or laugh. Keeping them up by mistake was… odd. But I’ll learn.”

“Well,” Phil mused, “hopefully you find it easier now but I’ll be honest, I don’t trust that patch corporate sent–especially knowing Mason was the one to install it.”

“I don’t trust that guy as far as we can throw him,” Moon muttered, earning a snicker of agreement from Sun.

Catching this, Phil asked, “What's so funny?” still grinning.

Eyes wide, Sun stuttered, “N-nothing! Moon just–doesn’t like Mr. Mason!”

Knowing how this game went, Phil pressed, “So what did he say?”

“It’s not that funny, really!”

“Then why’d you laugh, Sunny D?”

With a raspy giggle, Moon kept on in the back of Sun's mind, “I saw him struggling once to change the input source on the TV in the P&S bay when he pulled a late shift.”

Sun’s voice cracked with disbelief. “What???”

“Let me in on the joke,” Phil begged dryly, giving the tall robot a playful elbow.

“No no–stop!” Sun laughed, rays spinning while Moon dropped more little things about the man named Mason and his prevalent skill issues; if he could cry he’d surely be in tears from laughing, between the snark of his brother and the amused ribbing of his friend on either side as Phil started piling on his own observations of the tech’s mishaps. “Please, this is so mean!”

“You’re feeling better though, right?”

The others stilled, giving Sun a chance to catch his breath so to speak. “I… am, yes.”

“Good.” Phil gave his back a pat. “So listen carefully, alright?” Sun nodded, feeling Moon’s presence close in as he leaned in to hear. “I’ve already got a bunch of things to go over and finish up for you guys for this new trial run they want you two to do. I’m going to work on my own fix for the default program issue but I can’t install it until I’m back.”

Sun’s rays retracted just a hair, giving off a series of clicks that gave away his sadness as he clamped his hands against them with embarrassment. “Ah!”

Phil’s brows raised in a sympathetic arc. “I know, I wouldn’t leave it be like this but Emilia’s…” Without meaning to, Phil’s voice trailed off for a moment, his mind going a thousand miles away briefly. “She’s having a rough trimester.”

“Oh no.” Carefully, Sun’s hands grazed Phil’s shoulders, attempting to comfort the man . “Of course, of course! You can take time for Mrs. Mercer as much as you need!”

Phil gave the lanky robot’s hand a grateful pat. “Appreciated, Sunny, but I still have a job to do. I’ll be home for two weeks and I’ll come back with all kinds of things to clean you up and make you the best daycare attendant those chucklefucks at corp–”

“Phil, language!” Sun blurted, catching both of them by surprise for a moment.

After a second of seeing Sun’s shocked face, rays retracting with embarrassment, Phil let out a deep laugh. “Well, it’s already working so that’s a relief!”

“Can we do that to all the adults?” Moon wondered quietly, a devious feeling creeping into Sun’s mind of how his brother wanted to abuse that feature for his own amusement. It was admittedly tempting with the way some of them talked.

Exhaling briskly, Phil got the pair’s attention before they could get caught up with mischief planning. “Do you think you two can handle me not being here for that long?”

“We should." Sun hoped saying it would give him some confidence in the idea.

“Can you promise me not to be too agreeable with the new guys and keep your butts out of P&S until I get back?”

That one would be harder. “W-we can try. The kids…” Images of the last few days flashed through Sun’s active mind–colorful paper, sliced apples, pillows soaring through the air–and glue.

So.

Much.

Glue.

“You are too new to this to have that look of ‘back in ‘Nam’ already, Sun.”

Sun blinked and came back to the present, grin shaken but not gone. “It was just a lot! Great, but a lot! We can handle it! The helpers are very good at keeping us ready to go!”

Moon mused, “Especially Nana,” which made Sun’s smile change from nervous grin to gentle curve at the mention of the older woman with curly, gray hair and too many bracelets that insisted on everyone, even the staff, calling her ‘nana’ or ‘granny’ despite none of the kids in the daycare being her family by blood.

Phil observed all of this quietly, taking note of Sun’s expression and how he tended to look off to the side whenever Moon spoke. Despite being unable to hear the entire exchange, he had some idea what they were talking about; nothing those two did went unknown to him for long, even in spite of their best efforts to hide some of their hiccups from him at first. If nothing else, he was glad they could still talk to each other actively. I’m glad those mooks in the office are still afraid of the big bad OSHA man, he thought to himself smugly, thumb twitching against his forefinger.

With habitual movements, the messy haired man pulled a sucker out from somewhere in his pocket, peeled the wrapper off in one graceful tug and popped it in his mouth–he grimaced as the sour tang of lemon-lime graced his tongue. Peeking at the wrapper, he saw a small green gator-shaped icon stare back at him. Of course it would be Gator Blast.

“Phil?”

Said man glanced up, realizing the yellow jester had finished his aside in time to see the face Phil pulled at the bizarre flavor of Faz-pop he’d managed to fish out. “Hm?”

“What’s wrong?”

Rolling the candy to his cheek, Phil grumbled, “Monty’s lollipop flavor tastes like plastic and battery acid.”

Horror and concern flickered through Sun’s optics. “Should you be eating that??”

“Too late now.” He checked his watch quickly and made a displeased sound in his throat. “I’ve gotta go wrap some stuff up before Al starts in on me, promise me you two will be careful.”

“We promise!”

“I’ll see you in two weeks. Moon.”

Sun felt his brother’s awareness lean in again just as he was recoiling to whatever mental corner he claimed for himself.

Brow raised as he placed a hand on the daycare exit doors, Phil stated, “Behave,” despite knowing full well it wouldn’t be obeyed for very long. Waving politely, Sun affirmed on Moon’s behalf that he would, indeed, behave as much as possible–Moon himself made no such claim but chose not to argue the point for the moment. No, it would be more fun later to bring it up if and when Phil eventually found out he was not, in any capacity, behaving himself.

With the daycare functionally empty now, the yellow attendant set about checking his new and improved To Do list. Equipment and playsets loomed above him, one of the few things he found that could make him feel small–and hesitated. They still were not used to sharing a body, never mind the bizarre sensation of action overrides that happened on occasion when one of them felt too strongly and it overtook the other’s priority listing, but this one Sun had gotten familiar with. Though he himself didn’t have any issues with the bright plastic tubes and tangled nets that so many kids--and himself-- loved to scramble and climb over, he knew his brother had some… lingering hesitations about them.

For good reason, he knew, despite having been assured Moon wouldn’t remember the details, yet it didn’t stop the lunar unit from the occasional fear response whenever either of them found themselves looking up at the bars and bridges too long. Gently, Sun murmured, “Moon?” just loud enough to get his pair’s attention and snap him out of his trance–immediately, Sun felt his knees relax and motion return to him.

“Sorry, Sunny,” he heard back after a moment.

Carefully, Sun picked his way across the daycare floor to the great glass wall that enclosed the play area; there was a spot they knew where the shadows on the other side made the glass just a bit more reflective, allowing them a murky look at themselves if they stood in just the right spot. For a moment, Sun saw only himself staring back, red frill laying neatly around his neck, eyes bright and baby blue against his yellow and gold facial mold; he blinked hard and was not surprised in the least that when he look again, what stared back was a red frill laid under a blue cowl, navy and gray features replacing his own as grayed eyes peered back from the glass. A quirky little feature that had taken getting used to, but Phil never passed up on a chance to make things a bit easier on them, even when corporate threatened him with termination for making ‘unsolicited upgrades’.

Guilt crept through Sun’s circuits as he met Moon’s gaze in the glass; part of him was glad Phil hadn’t manually swapped them out to see for himself, but the betrayal of trust was almost too much for the yellow jester to bear. Feeling this, the reflection of Moon’s face creased with concern–he couldn’t touch his brother physically, but Moon knew he could be heard regardless. “You could have told him,” the night-colored bot said gently.

Sun started, “Its–” but hesitated, unable to maintain eye contact with the reflection. “I’m sure it’s nothing major. Mr. Mason isn’t the most… careful with us, and Phil has enough to deal with. You heard him, Mrs. Mercer isn’t feeling well and she’s having a baby–!”

“Sun.” Moon’s voice was firm, cutting off the tirade of excuses before it could get out of hand. “You’re doing it again.”

“I’m sorry.” With a start, Sun realized he’d grabbed onto one of his rays again while talking.

“Why do you do that?”

The barest hint of a shrug moved Sun’s shoulders. “Maybe the same reason the playsets make you freeze in place?” Sun’s brow furrowed. “I–I’m sorry, I…”

That hadn’t meant to be said aloud.

Moon seemed just as confused as Sun felt, thankfully, his brow an exact mirror of Sun’s, bunched in confusion at the odd vocalization. “It’s… fine,” he eventually managed to say, shaking his head. “I don’t mean to do it, I just…”

“I know.” Standing straight, Sun brushed imaginary fluff from his collar, attempting to make himself ‘presentable’ in an effort to get some kind of control over himself. “And you’re right, I should have told him about your eyes, but if he’s going to give us a big system clean-and-polish when he comes back, we can wait until then. Right?”

Their gazes met in the glass again.

Moon closed his eyes briefly and nodded. “It’s probably just Mason being clumsy, nothing major. We’ll tell Phil once he’s back. Mrs. Mercer needs him more than we do right now.”

“Exactly!” Turning quickly, Sun moved away from the glass, no longer able to maintain a sense of ease while his brother stared back with the empty, gray eyes that didn’t belong to him. “Today’s list has something new on it–” Pausing, Sun raised a finger in thought. “I don’t know where they keep the disinfectant.”

“I hope it’s not behind the desk.”

“Me, too!” Set about to find the elusive chemicals, Sun didn’t dare to check the glass again. At first, he’d hoped he'd been wrong when they chatted after the patch update and he thought Moon’s eyes were off somehow, but then a worker commented on it.

“Why are his eyes gray?”

Thankfully, by some miracle, that tidbit hadn’t gotten back to Phil yet.

Not that it made it feel better in Sun’s coding when he was met with empty gray irises any time he used the glass or a mirrored surface to see his brother.

Moon’s eyes shouldn’t be gray, he told himself fretfully.

They should be yellow.

[skullhaver]

Night, informal, wardrobe, makeup and alternative for Athren

This set of prompts truly is well-tailored (hah) to Athren's interests. And it gives me an excuse to share the art you created of him!

wardrobe: How big is your character’s wardrobe? Do they wear things threadbare, or can they afford new clothes often? Are they any good at mending and repairing their own clothing?

Prior to coming into a small fortune during the events of Dragon Heist, Athren's financial situation was like:

Food $200 Rent $800 Clothing $3,600 Books $150 someone who is good at the economy please help me budget this. my family is dying

He definitely spent way disproportionately above his means on both quantity and quality of clothes. Happily made sacrifices in other areas of his life in order to dress better. In his former life as a noble House servant in Menzoberranzan, not only did he have to spend all his working hours in a uniform, but his clothing choices during his non-working hours were heavily restricted by both his finances and his caste. Now that he's on the surface, getting to express himself through clothes is HUGE to him.

Athren likes having a lot of clothes, especially by the standard of renaissance fantasy pre-industrial-manufacturing. For him, clothes are an art collection. He never throws anything out. If something he wears frequently starts wearing thin, he'd mend, modify, or get it re-tailored into something new. For statement outfits (like the outrageous Sean Connery Highlander look worn to the Cassalanters' midsummer ball), it will have a place of honor in his closet forever as an art piece to display and enjoy.

He doesn't have the skill to make his own clothes, but he does know how to mend simple tears, replace buttons, etc. The kind of thing anybody who grows up poor or middle class would know. And he also knows a lot about maintaining clothing to keep things in excellent condition, although he is very happy to have enough money to pay other people to do his laundry these days. And I love watching YouTube videos about historical clothing, so I have definitely thought about how his clothes get washed.

I was having so much fun with these!! I'll put the rest under a readmore.

night: What does your OC wear to sleep? Do they have a favorite pair of PJs, or are they more the birthday suit type?

Going to take you through my thought process verbatim on this one.

Huh, never thought about this. Even sleeping/in reverie, he'd still want to feel luxurious. But he'd prioritize comfort, too. And what's physically comfortable would be something that's familiar to him. I wonder if spider silk is soft. It would be so funny if he used his Dragon Heist earnings for super special Underdark-imported spider silk pajamas. Hey isn't Rae's Dragon Heist PC Kiarhys from a merchant family specializing in textiles, with business operations both below and aboveground?

Something something I think there is a worldstate where Athren and Kiarhys meet via his quest for fancy pajamas.

makeup: Does your OC wear makeup? How often? What kind? Why do they wear makeup, and do they like it?

Rarely, but for special occasions or to coordinate with certain ensembles, sure. I'm quite partial to the way in The Mask of Mirrors men casually wear metallic eyeshadow/eyeliner sometimes. Also I think highlighter on his already nice cheekbones would be devastating. Davil should get to be quietly dazzled on a date where he sees Athren wear makeup for the first time.

informal: What’s your OC’s lazy-day look? How do they like to dress when they’re winding down?

Although I devote a lot of time to finding sumptuous Elizabethan outfit refs for Athren, the man does actually own regular, comfortable tunic-and-trouser renaissance fantasy staple clothes.

alternate: What would your OC’s alternate universe look be? If they’re a fantasy character, what’s their modern look?

The best way to capture Athren's sartorial sensibilities in a modern AU would be to put him in a semi-alternative fashion that looks flamboyant but still sharp. I'd dress him in the Black Dandy revival style. Some examples: The Iconic Dandy Wellington:

From Meet the Black Dandies:

[doctorfiction]

Go Ahead . . .Suspend My Disbelief!

Question: Do you have any general suggestions for an author who wants to write a thriller with a medical theme as its hook?

This question is very timely for me as I am just starting a new book. I would like to say that this is my second novel, but like many authors, I have a number of books in progress and struggle to find the one that inspires me to push through to the end.

That said, I took a look at my “works in progress,” and found that they all have something in common.

I like searching the web for a new scientific breakthrough or discovery that fills me with hope and scares the shit out of me simultaneously.

There . . . you see . . . we have the makings of a good thriller already. Kind of like Schrodinger’s Cat, it’s both alive and dead at the same time.

I am delighted and somewhat surprised to announce that my debut novel, Immortal Red, has just become an Amazon Best-Seller in the Medical Thriller, and Crime & Mystery / Science Fiction genres.

As such, I will use it as one of my examples for how to select an idea / premise for a novel. Shameless Plug: The eBook edition of Immortal Red is on sale for a limited time for $0.99 on Amazon. CLICK HERE for a deeper explanation and the opportunity to buy at $0.99 if you wish. While searching the web for second-hand parts for an ancient Lotus Elan and a used tweed jacket on Poshmark, I came across this article about a unique creature.

Fact: Turritopsis dohrnii, the dime-sized jellyfish with the bright red stomach, is the only creature on earth with the gift of immortality (notice that the title of the novel, Immortal Red, is chosen from the headline). When confronted with death due to advanced age, starvation, or trauma sufficient to kill but not obliterate, turritopsis dohrnii has the ability, through a process called transdifferentiation, to repair itself by converting adjacent healthy cells of one type into precise replacements for damaged cells of another type. This is not unlike a fetal stem cell, except for the fact that turritopsis can do this a seemingly endless number of times. Through this mechanism, turritopsis is able to effect a complete repair of all damaged tissue and emerge young and healthy.

Now I was intrigued and looked for a way to make this a universal concept, something that would appeal to everyone.

Questions: Would you want to live forever? Would you kill to be able to live forever? If everyone you know and love—dies of old age—would you want to go on? Would you be motivated to do anything if you had all the time in the world?

Suspension of Disbelief: A marine biologist snorkeling off the coast of Cape Fear discovers the jellyfish and takes it to her lab for further study. She kills the little invertebrates over a hundred times only to have them come back to life, new and perfect. She wonders if there may be mammalian applications. The Institute finds her research interesting but unimportant and cancels funding. Her husband works for the eighty year-old director of a CIA black ops division charged with doing jobs too dirty for the rest of the agency to touch. Surprise, the aged director offers to fund her research—and we’re off on a tale filled with a diverse cast: Nick, an archaeologist turned CIA “fixer,” who is dying, Tommie, a Native American who has died more times than he cares to remember, and Lucy, a young graduate student on the run with the “Cliff’s Notes” for immortality.

Procedure: At this point, I had to invent science sufficiently credible to allow human application of transdifferentiation. I took liberties with the existing science, but remained true to basic scientific and medical principles to allow the reader to suspend disbelief.

Here is another example of a simultaneously hopeful and horrifying scientific “breakthrough.”

CRISPR: (Clustered Regularly Interspaced Short Palindromic Repeats) By use of a hand-held “gene gun” scientists are able to coat a heavy-metal projectile with specific gene material and literally fire it into a cell, inserting this genetic material into a strand of DNA to repair the strand or eliminate the sequence of certain diseases such as Cystic Fibrosis. . .

or to create a genetically modified “super” tomato.

All well and good until a Chinese scientist used the process in utero to create genetically modified super-twins. He’s now in prison, and there is a selective moratorium on the use of CRISPR in humans.

But once the cat is out of the bag . . .

The internet is chock full of tidbits like this if you just dig a bit. Below are the workings of machinations of one such headline:

“Combining a Virus and Genetic Material for Insertion into a Human Genome.”

Consider the following premise: the military, searching for a way to offset its ever shrinking ranks decides that it needs to create soldiers who can operate on the battle field without the constraints of conscience or the PTSD that often results from such activities.

The researchers note that the limbic system plays a vital role in the inhibition of violence and manifestation of the inevitable mental trauma of these actions. A plan is developed to insert DNA from the limbic system of a reptile into the limbic system of a test subject. Researchers note that reptiles are able to attack their prey without anger or regret. They simply do what is necessary to survive.

Ideally, the effects would be limited in both time and scope, manifesting on the battlefield and dissipating soon afterward. To that end, a decision is made to combine the type-specific DNA with a virus and literally give the subject’s limbic system a short-term “cold.”

What could possibly go wrong?

Well—it turns out—not only are the changes not limited to the target organ—the subjects are also contagious.

This premise happens to be the idea behind Elegant Beasts, a novel I am currently working on.

Below you will find the teaser prologue illustrating the evolution of an idea from Science Fact to Created Science to Suspension of Disbelief.

Elegant Beasts

Prologue

            What if? The two most dangerous words in the English language. What if he hadn't ignored that nagging pain in his gut? Or better yet, what if he had never worked for that chip manufacturer growing those damn silicon crystals for micro-circuits and then cleaning them with trichloroethylene?

            But that had been 1973. Who knew, another provocative word pairing, that “Tricky” would turn out to be one of the most potent hepatic carcinogens the world had ever seen? A time bomb that could sleep soundly for decades before waking to spawn a tumor that would quietly, double every 6-8 months, seeding the lung and regional lymph nodes. before bursting free, to take out its host in six months.

            “Damn.” Albert Fontaine, MD rolled on his left side, brought his knees to his chest and palpated the growing mass under his right ribs. If he lay perfectly still, in a tight fetal position there was no pain. But moving—well— that was something else.

But, this morning, something was different. He didn't know what. But it didn't matter, given his present circumstance, different was good. The mass felt, not so much smaller, but softer, somehow less of a challenge to his survival.

            Elizabeth Gilmore, PhD in Genetics and Virology or as he nicknamed her, Elizardbeth, now shortened to simply Lizard had told him this was just a “taste” of what was possible. A cure for the incurable. But at what cost he thought, picking at the scaly rash that had appeared on his forearms.

            Life for his humanity. But not the life he had now. Was it a good trade? He supposed it was a matter of perspective and belief. He was no longer the Catholic schoolboy who accepted everything the nuns told him. But he was not quite ready to accept the Kansas rock band's thesis that “all we are is dust in the wind.”

            The skin of the creature was the worst part.

            Albert Fontaine had always been fascinated with skin. It was an overlooked wonder of evolution and accident, a twenty-one-square foot organ with an exceptional ability to regenerate itself. He had once read that dead skin cells accounted for a billion tons of dust in the atmosphere and he wanted to believe it, but as a scientist, he had no faith in how they’d arrived at that figure. Measured how many cells the average individual lost in a year, he supposed. 30,000 cells a minute? Was that right? Skin was always changing. Microbes roved its surface, fighting disease, the miniature populations unique to the species they protected. Fontaine liked this idea of humans hosting one kind of vibrant community and dogs another and baboons and sharks yet another. He was not religious, but this felt close: every moving creature a solar system for another world, every beating heart a sun, each world contained by living, seething skin.

Albert brushed the now vaguely greenish flakes from the rash on his forearm.

Lizard had hinted at the existence of another subject, someone months further along in their “treatment.”

And so, Fontaine had broken into Elizabeth Gilmore’s lab to see for himself.

Broken in wasn’t quite the correct term, since he had used a key card to gain access, but he’d acquired the duplicate key card under a false premise. So whatever that was, it was enough that he felt jumpy. He was not given to criminal activity; he did not get speeding tickets, he did not cross against the light, and he did not eat donuts from bags labeled with other people’s names in the break room. So long as the rules made sense, he was a rule follower.

But Elizabeth Gilmore’s research did not make sense.  She had been one of DARPA’s (Defense Advanced Research Project Agency) “golden girls,” a rising star in charge of a government-funded “super soldier” program. Fast forward six months: The Lizard had been unceremoniously booted from her high-tech digs in the Virginia Tech research center and banished to a hastily outfitted lab in one of the many dozens of remote abandoned buildings that dot the nearby Radford Army Ammunition Plant Army Base  

As Fontaine prowled through her lab, he tried to look as if he belonged, although he didn’t truly believe he would be interrupted. It was after hours for most of the staff and he’d watched Gilmore leave as he arrived. She worked the twelve-hour day shift that was typical here, seven am to seven pm. Fontaine was on the exact opposite, pulling nights since beginning his circadian skin research.

Gilmore’s lab was impeccable, not just spotlessly clean but fastidiously organized. A radio had been left on and it played the glimmering ‘80s music she listened to relentlessly. He’d somehow expected her research to be secret, hidden away, but the isolation chamber was clearly labeled.

Fontaine hadn’t been able to see anything through the glass square in the door, so he dutifully scrubbed down and searched for a hazard suit. Finding none, he considered his options. Given his dismal prognosis he decided to go for it.

The door opened with a snake-like hiss as the chamber decompressed. His vision adjusted slowly to the faint red lighting.

There it was.

One fell straight into uncanny valley just to look at it. Two legs, two arms, those frightful hands, the eyes. Was it a thing that looked human or a human that looked like a thing? It was impossible for Fontaine to tell which direction the slider was being pushed.

And the skin was the worst part. On some areas of the body, it was smooth and hairless, the surface marked only by striations that reflected the arid environment of the isolation chamber. But on other others, particularly the arms and the face —

He was reminded suddenly of his younger brother, a miracle baby. He’d been born with Harlequin Ichthyosis, a rare skin disorder that left him plated with a thick armor of his own skin, a tiny stegosaurus-human chimera. The red, scaly plaques had to be operated on to keep his limbs from auto-amputating, and to this day he had to constantly manage his scaly, red skin.

Looking at Gilmore’s research, he was reminded not of the adult his brother had become, but the tiny, scaled hybrid in the ICU he had begun as.

“Dr. Fontaine, you seem lost.”

Fontaine startled.

She was there. Of course, she was there.

Elizabeth Gilmore stood just outside the isolation chamber, her narrow, shapely face framed in the thick glass window. He saw the thick blue lanyard at her neck; she had not left at all.

“What is the use of such research?” Fontaine demanded, his voice raised in order to be heard. “What practical application can there possibly be?”

Gilmore smiled. It was neither amused nor friendly. “It cured her anxiety disorder entirely.”

Her. Somehow it was far worse to think about the creature as possessing a gender.

“This is unethical,” he told her.

Gilmore merely blinked at him.

“How did you even get someone to volunteer for this?” he asked.

Gilmore looked away for a moment; she was tapping something into the keypad. When she looked back at him, her smile was gone. She said, “They wander in after hours.”

He heard the lock slide into place.

[rebabbitting]

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[floatingcatacombs]

Patlabor is On Lock

12 Days of Aniblogging 2023, Day 3

While Gundam is the most recognizable mecha anime I got into this year, most of my time was really spent working my way through the Patlabor franchise, and it’s quickly become one of my favorites. I’ve always loved the quiet moments in mecha shows, which makes sense considering I started with Macross and live for the bridge bunny gossip and off-duty downtown hangouts. Patlabor is built with this downtime at its core, operating with more of a slice of life mentality than anything else.

A lovable cast is crucial for making this work. Thankfully, Noa Izumi is a wonderful and unique protagonist, a scrappy soft butch who’s in it for the eroticism of the machine. The first Patlabor opening is a love letter from Noa to her mecha, and I get it! The AV-98 Ingram is an iconic design, with its asymmetric bunny ear antennae and shoulder lights and comically oversized revolver that requires the right hand to pop out in order to draw, exposing the arm wiring in the process. This is a show clearly written by first-generation mecha otaku, and plenty of time is dedicated to showing how the Labors have to be transported and recharged, how the movement software depends on reinforcement learning, showing off corporate model revisions, and of course repairs in the hangar.

Going back to the human characters, Noa’s work partner Asuma is clearly the more passive one within their dynamic, and it’s sweet to see that played out sincerely. And then there’s Kanuka Clancy, the stern weirdo badass from New York who’s constantly swearing and dropping one-liners in English. She’s the obvious breakthrough character of the show, and also the perfect opposites-attract pairing for Noa if you’re the kind of person whose yuri meter went off the charts during their drinking contest episode. Most of Patlabor’s cast seem fairly one-note at first, and one of the great tricks of the show is giving them just a little bit more depth than you would expect. Pretty much everyone, even the most jokey characters, eventually get a standalone episode or two that further sketches them out and offers real interiority. Captain Goto is another fan-favorite, and it’s definitely his mixture of laziness and wicked perceptiveness that does it, plus his main character billing in the movies.

SV2 may be a law enforcement unit, but this really isn’t a police procedural at the end of the day. These guys are the bum department out in the sticks who everyone hates, and the upside of that is that SV2 gets stuck with the oddest of jobs instead of cop work. Sometimes that’s dealing with a runaway military prototype, other times it’s arguing with the insurance company. The best kind of episodes are the ones that take almost entirely on base as everyone tries to solve a problem of their own making, like an Ingram falling into the sea or the mechanics getting into a fight with the only restaurant that delivers to them.

A main plot does eventually emerge, with a shadowy company developing a mysterious jet-black Labor piloted by a child who is the girlish boy to Noa Izumi’s boyish girl. The Griffon is sleek and curvy and has superiority in the water and air – it’s a machine designed to defeat Ingrams, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Yoji Shinkawa looked here when designing Metal Gear RAY. Automation is a fundamental ideological enemy of mecha – faceless mass production and artificial intelligence mean an end to the era of personal combat. Even Patlabor, a warless series, dips its toes into this idea in the later episodes, with Noa and the mechanics alike worrying that the neural networks in their new Labor models will make them redundant.

Overall, this show is hilarious and sweet and clearly loved by an older generation of otaku. So why didn’t I hear about it earlier? Partly it’s on me for not hanging out with the right mecha fans online for a while. But if I had to guess, it’s also because Patlabor is one of those works that’s straightforwardly, unobjectionably good in a way where it already says everything there is to be said about it. You can have near-infinite arguments about Zeon ideology or mobile suit powerscaling online, but there’s only so many times you can say “yeah, Noa Izumi, love that girl” precisely because everyone agrees. It can also be hard to pitch things by their vibes in a genre known for adrenaline and intrigue. Patlabor’s vibes, for the record, are immaculate.

I'm probably gonna be chasing the high of cel-era sunsets forever

Mecha’s also a bit looked down upon from the outside. Anything that makes it into the larger conversation has to be understood as “elevated” or a “genre deconstruction”, even if the very first Mobile Suit Gundam is already about Amuro’s trauma and PTSD from being made into a child soldier. This elevation is actually happening to the second Patlabor movie as we speak - it’s becoming increasingly discussed as a major component of Mamoru Oshii’s filmography, divorced from its source series and instead compared to his subsequent Ghost in the Shell movie. Funnily enough, Oshii’s contributions to the Patlabor TV show are actually the more lighthearted gag episodes.

A lot of recent Patlabor retrospectives have drawn attention to the artist’s collective Headgear, established and owned by the series creators so they would be able to retain the rights for the franchise. This structure is fairly unique for the anime industry and probably only makes sense for established creatives, but it does seem to have worked out great for them, providing financial stability and strong creative control over the franchise. This allowed Patlabor to thrive in the relative wasteland of late 80s TV anime, a time when even Gundam had fled to the OVA market.

That being said, it does take Patlabor switching back to OVAs to truly spread its wings. The New Files are a conclusion and continuation of the TV series that are willing to move at their own pace, resulting in some dramatic and surprisingly thoughtful stories. It’s genuinely touching to watch Goto and Nagumo try and fail to communicate their feelings for one another in a very restrained episode as thick with long-stewing emotions as it is empty space. Of course, the very next episode has half the cast get stuck in the sewer labyrinth underneath their base and there’s a bunch of Wizardry references. Oh, Oshii.

The Patlabor movies fully lean into this melancholy and uncertainty, and it’s a welcome evolution for the series. The first movie still ends with an all-out action set piece in a half-built mecha factory that stands in for the Tower of Babel, but the second one stays serious the whole time through, going as far as pivoting to a more realistic artsyle. It’s a challenging film. The politics are all-encompassing but fairly straightforward, as Oshii effectively infodumps a presentation on the postwar history of the JSDF throughout. Instead, what the makes the movie so difficult is its willingness to face the end of an era – the Cold War is over, the bubble economy has popped, and the former members of SV2 have all gone their separate ways. The conditions that have created Patlabor, both internal and external to the show, have dissipated. And the movie makes it clear by having the military stage a raid on SV2’s headquarters, tearing their Labors to shreds with gunfire in a beautifully animated act of desecration.

After watching her be a lovable mecha dweeb for 50 episodes, it hurts a bit to hear Noa Izumi say that she doesn’t want to be that girl obsessed with robots for the rest of her life! These characters are growing in such a way that will remove them from the focus of the narrative, and it’s a movie about letting go just as much as it is about looking towards an uncertain personal and national future. I love Miyazaki’s Porco Rosso, but the fact that Oshii put this out just one year later paints a delicious contrast between the two directors with regards to escapism versus reality with regards to militarism. There's some great interviews from the era where they're just taking potshots at each other about all this.

[supernovaknights]

THE MAIN CAST!

NOVA: Our dashing protagonist! A demigoddess of the stars with a rebellious streak and an appetite for fun and adventure. Having an extremely lavish upbringing, Nova soon learns that living in the real world is no cakewalk! She’ll run into a situation where she’s way in over her head and she'll get far too cocky for her own good and wind up making things worse for herself and everybody, sometimes succeeding at a task by complete accident. Even though she was raised by royalty, Nova tends to be a pretty crass and vulgar girl whose inflated ego likes getting her into fights over something as small as the last piece of sushi. She's determined (or just stubborn and naive enough) to stop at nothing to regain queendom and show the Great Galactic Guild who's boss! Or maybe, deep down, she actually wants something more and doesn't even know it yet!

BECCA: Nova's most trusted friend (and eventual girlfriend) hailing from the slums of Neo Neopolis. Having years of experience from secretly being in a ruthless gang to get money to support her struggling family, Becca uses her street smarts and her mighty fisticuffs to get herself and Nova out of any hairy situation they may get into. Despite her rugged exterior and muscles that can pulverize your skull in one karate chop to the cranium, Becca tends to be a kind and gentle soul who wants nothing but the best for those she holds dear, occasionally to a fault. One evening, Becca decided to visit her parents to confess her secret, only to find that they were kidnapped by rival hoodlums! Becca, having lost nearly everything close to her, decides to join Nova on her quest not only to help her out but to rescue her family as well!

ISAAC: A manic young college dropout who runs an electronics repair shop in his cramped studio apartment. When he’s not guzzling energy drinks and scoring #1 victory royales, he uses whatever tech skills he has to make cool gadgets for the team, often using illegally obtained parts from shady folk. Isaac has a remarkable talent for bargaining with others to get really expensive, often untested parts for dirt cheap. Sometimes he even trades in old broken game console parts to fool the unfortunate buyer into thinking they can make plastic explosives with them. Isaac has made COUNTLESS enemies this way.  He tags along with Nova and the crew because he believes that Nova’s cosmic powers can help out the planet’s energy crisis and ward pesky otherworldly critters away. He kinda also has a big crush on Nova’s mom.

MUZZLE: A robotic dragon with a short fuse and a seemingly infinite assortment of weapons! Muzzle was destined to become a useless pile of scrap metal after running away from his abusive creator. But then Nova and Becca totalled a stolen car after making a jump into the junkyard. Instead of barbecuing them alive, the girls offer to fix him up and eventually get the parts to turn him into a cool battle mech, which is where Isaac comes in. Nothing brings this mechanical monster more joy than blowing shit up and unleashing absolute hell upon everyone. However, the squad usually has to calm him down before he goes full psychopath. He's also glad to fly Nova and the others through the cosmos with style and grace thanks to his experimental lightspeed warp drive that Isaac downloaded from the dark web.

QUASARIA: Nova's caring mother and former queen of the Star Weavers. An absolute sweetheart to everyone she encounters! However, her parenting skills could use a bit of work, as she shows a bit more favoritism towards Nova, seeing a bit more of herself in her than older sister Lyra, who feels ignored and rejected. The wrongful death of her husband also doesn’t help much, causing her to gradually let herself go and fall into a space alcohol induced depression. After Nova’s exile, she sets off on a journey of her own to see if Nova’s okay and learns to become a better parent in the process!

[ILLUSTRATION MISSING]

PULSARIS: A lost soul wandering through space who found Nova one night after she got her first celestial relic. He doesn't remember where he came from or what his purpose is, but he gains a bit of a symbiotic relationship with Nova and acts as her guide and father figure throughout her adventure. Only Nova can see him which leads to some pretty awkward moments where Nova shouts into the void. Along with the relics aiding Nova, they also help Pulsaris regain his memory and life force.

[ILLUSTRATION MISSING]

LYRA: Nova's uptight older sister who got crowned as the new queen of the Star Weavers by default due to Nova's exile. She's basically the antithesis of everything Nova is. Responsible, mature and always having good manners. Lyra takes her position seriously but has a hard time standing up to authority, often giving in to the Great Galactic Guild's ludicrous demands. Poor Lyra got the short end of the stick as Quasaria always favored Nova so Lyra relied on outside sources to train.

ACHERNAR: Our devious antagonist! She was once a low ranking Star Weaver. Tired of being seen as average and insignificant, she set out to obtain relics that would give her true power and the same amount of respect as Quasaria! But she ended up toying with stuff beyond her comprehension and got corrupted by relics made of dark matter, giving her a monstrous new appearance! Which she takes absolute pride in, of course. Having learned to control the chaotic material that could very well consume her entire being, Achernar set off on a petty revenge quest to chase Nova and the gang around to obtain the Celestial Relics before they do so she can call our heroes stinky poopoo heads and commandeer her own demented Star Weaver army that will bring chaos upon the universe!

[REDACTED]: Having been sealed away in an impenetrable barrier by the Star Weavers eons ago, this indescribable horror lures Achernar over promising to grant her any of her deepest wishes and desires as long as she promises to fetch it as many relics it needs to make her dreams a reality. Achernar, too stubborn to realize that this is obviously a trap, foolishly accepts its offer. Near the end of the story, Achernar gives it all the relics it needs and predictably backstabs her and breaks free from its prison, going on a rampage to destroy and consume every single bit of matter in the universe until absolutely nothing remains but a dark, endless void! Nova and Achy must call a truce and let bygones be bygones to put a stop to this apocalyptic, universe ending scenario!

Thanks for coming to my ted talk! More updates to come in the future!

[pepperoniandmeatballs]

☆Bathtub Breakdowns☆

An angsty fic about our favorite skeleton Killer! Basically a debrief on what goes on in his head when he's not feeling his 100% silliness!! He's just a girl.

But I wanna mention a big WARNING for SHELF HATEFUL THOUGHTS, VOMIT, GAGGING, SUICIDAL IDOLATION, VERY BAD COPPING SKILLS, REFERENCES TO HYPER SEXUAL TENDENCIES, DRUGS AND ROMANTICIZING NOT SO GREAT STUFF. Please please stay safe guys and if you prone to like idk manifest these kinds of things don't read. Like seriously.

But anyway, In my opinion it's not that bad but it does have some triggering topics soooo ya... be careful?

_______________☆__________________

Trembling fingers frantically scatter agaisnt cool metal as he heaves. Mouth full with black tar, he gags and wretches all over himself. Spilling his insides down the drain like black goopy rain. White hot pain travels through magical veins like fire as he messily carves more diagonal lines up fractured wrists. The cuts are so deep HP dwindles like falling snow, however he's not cutting to kill. He's cutting to feel.

Killer can't even see how crooked and messy they are as they overlap each other creating a thick pool of blood that fully covers the whites of his marrow. It gives him a little rush of power that fuels his left hand into continuing. Because this is him. He's the one breaking himself beyond repair not others. He's the reason he's bleeding, shaking and draining himself empty. Its all his fault. And that very thought makes him laugh in a manic display. It's a weak attempt of control but it works. It works so good he loses himself in the movement.

Hours before his recent endeavor, he sits in the infirmary shrouded in guilt beyond himself. Horrors by his side, with bandages in one hand and a deep frown in his features. On his left Dust sits by idly, he's red scarf had been pulled down to reveal his mouth, exposing he's scuffed up face as he breathes heavily.

He was the one who had to carry Killer through the woods, up two flights of stairs, past a heavily concerned cross and into the infirmary. So it makes sense why he's panting like a dog.

They're mission was a success but at the cost of Killer's soul being damanged in the process. It hadn't been anyone's fault but his own. He hadn't been paying all that much attention as they entered the A.U. Lost in space, thinking about nothing in particular, which should've been his first red flag. He's always thinking. Something wasn't right and he ignored it like an idiot.

Perhaps he was manic. He never knows it till after, when he has to face the detrimental consequences of his previous actions.

Everything after that was as fuzzy as Cross's cotton gloves as he lurches forward. Thick blotchy black hate paints his lap. He gurgles and gags as he rasps a breath. He feels like he's drowning.

"Gross.."

Dust from all the way across the room grumbles. Horror lays him back down with unsteady hands. Face making a sour expression as he does so. Killer probably looks a wreck as he drowns. Soon a veiw of midnight tentacles fills his blurry vision until he drifts off into a dreamless slumber.

Now, the waters' hot against his bones as blood flows steadily down the drain. It's almost comforting. The way the water trickles down the back of his head, taking blood and vomit with it. They swirl together in a murky pond of crimson. He's wet and cold but he feels. He feels. It makes him crack a little smile as he's arms sting like killer bees because he feels and last night he didn't but now he does. The pain guides and grounds him to a softer place as he leans against the cold, cool surface of the tub.

He'll stay like this, even just for a little while. Atleast till he's back to whoever that person he is with the others. He assumes that is normal killer. Not cutting in the shower to feel an ounce of emotional coexistence killer. As normal as Killer can get, that is. He's erratically unpredictable at best and recklessly bipolar at worse. Even for this castle, that's not normal.

His white shorts are stained red now, he'll just have to throw those away. There's no salvaging the stained. He thinks bitterly as he curls into himself. The water's cold now. He feels numb and tingly. He needs to get up; do something, but at the same time he just doesn't want to. He's body craves it but he'd rather drown in his own filth than twitch he's fingers.

He just doesn't care anymore to pretend, to put on a show, not right now, not here. Here he's alone and painfully sober. Would weed even fix how broken he is right now? A souless addict who's not even real. How pitiful. He's nothing but a bad joke someone found on the bottom of their shoe. A burden for anyone who's had the misfortune of even looking his way. He's a parasite who feeds off others and he's never ever satisfied.

He fills himself with sex and drugs and sweet adrenaline. He burns with a hunger so violent its practically animalistic, the way he's constantly wanting more. Its never ever enough.

He doesn't have a real self anymore, no real personality. The real him died the moment he made that deal. Causing him to became this. This walking, talking, tool for anyone to pick up and use. That's what he wants. To be used, to be manipulated, handled, bended this way and that way till he snaps like elastic. That's why he taunts and taunts. That's why he acts the way he does, to get that delicious response to his fabricated facade.

That's why he clings to the boss so closely. That's why he tests his patience to the absolute thinness. He's an addict to the power play, to the pain, to be played with in such a horrific way it makes his psychotic little mind do flips. He wants to be destroyed by Nightmare's hands and then molded back together just to be broken again. It's sick and twisted but he doesn't care because he's nothing but that. Rottoned and diseased.

Color tries to fix him and he doesn't understand why he still sees a skeleton who onced lived in the same bones he does. And like the miserable leech he is, he uses Color's kindness and feeds off of it. Colors so different from Nightmare and yet it still gives him that same blissful high that leaves him patheticly obsessed.

Without them he wouldn't be here. He's so whole heartily dependent on others that when he's alone he doesn't know what to do with himself. It's sad honestly. How pitiable he is. It should disgust him if he wasn't so disconnected with himself.

"Who's the real killer?"

They mock and laugh at him. All of them secretly hate him. Everyone. They just keep him around to tormet him. Or maybe there just raging masochists like him. How hyperitcal then.

As someone who stands on the edge and let's the wind sway them every which way he understands what it's like to want to die but not commit. Disheartening isn't it? That he rather hide in the bathroom and waste water than step outside and put on another show.

He rather bleed himself out then get up and start the day. He's such a disgrace. Even Dust atleast rolls outta bed and sulks in the living than in his room. Don't get him wrong though, Dust is no better than killer when it comes to this stuff but atleast he has the ounce of decency to not parade himself around and be a nuisance to all.

He wants a cig, anything at all to smother the agonizing emptiness but deep down he knows he doesn't deserve it. Not right now. The water's still running and he's barely bleeding now. He won't die, not like this but he'll be hella sore tomorrow. Lucky for him there's no errands that need to be done so he'll get to cause as much caos as usual.

"This is what you deserve."

While he self-loaths he decides to occupy himself by looking around his restroom. It's simple for Nightmare's gloomy castle. The walls are a deep purple with gold accents here and there with black trimmings. His bulb went out a while back so the room is filled with red candles. Crimson wax drips from them and its funny how much he finds himself relating to those candles. Its not like he needs them, he just likes them and they're dirt cheap. It never gets fully dark anyway, not with killer soul always glowing. It's annoying to say the least but you get used to it over the years.

His bedroom is much smaller than the others and Is the closet to Nightmares study. Sometimes if he's really quiet he can hear him writing. He lets out a breath as he stares at himself through his crooked reflection.

The mirrors glass is cracked due to a violent episode he had months ago. Tore up his knuckles and fractured all his fingers. But it was worth the pain since he got cross to sit down and pick all the individual glass shards out of his hand. Killer can still remember the touch of fingers. How he made him feel delicate and fragile.

Normally he likes things to be intense and rough but on the occasion does he crave passion and vanilla. Something raw that beats lust. Something that leaves him breathless and feeling vulnerable.

He snorts and leans his head back against the tub to stare at the ceiling instead of his mangled display. Stars he's a mess. Wanting love and affection like he deserves that. What a cruel joke.

"So stupid."

He mumbles quietly, it sounds weak even to his own ears. (Ears?) He wonders loosly just how much HP he lost today. Probably quite a bit to feel this shitty. A shitty feeling for a shitty monster. Sounds about right.

He's a murderer, a manipulater, a manic monstrosity. A sadistic freak who puts his life and other endanger just for the thrill. How is he even still alive at this point, because if we're up to him- well you know what he would do. He wouldn't be in the shower sulking around like some kicked mutt.

"Killer?"

He doesn't realize how quiet it got when he heard it. At first he assumed it was just another episode until he heard the timid nock. Cross.

"Hey man, um, you missed breakfast so I brought you some coffee.."

His voice is muffled through the thick door and the sound of the shower but he can still hear that awkwardness in his voice. He's probably picking at fingers too, just like he always does when he's nervous.

"I can leave it by the door but.. Boss says he wants to see you- not now but like, in awile, ok?"

Killer litsens silently. He doesn't want to talk, he doesn't trust his vocal chords to not sound like a little bitch.

"Ok... I'll be in the training room, if ya need anything. See ya around Kils.."

He feels bad. Cross in all his degree and cleverness deep down is still a sympathetic solder who tries to do his absolute best. Helping him comrades must be an old habit becuase here that doesn't happen often. When one of are going through it Nightmare's the one who fixes it or distinguish it. The other just try to mind their business and leave the other alone.

But Cross on the occasion will do something small. Like a worried look, or hand in patrol or a damn coffee that killer can smell all the way from the bathroom and fuck does it smell heavenly. Cross is just good like that and it baffles killer how he can find it in himself to care that much. Even if it's a small gesture it still counts and damn does it help.

So now he moves because he doesn't want to not drink something that might help his neverending numbness. He still doesn't deserve it but who gives a fuck. Later he'll steal a Xanax from Dust and see Nightmare with as much normalcy he can pull out of his ass.

With blood soaked fingers he reaches up and turns the sower off. He falls into routine perfectly. Slowly get up, make your way out off the tub without passing out, crawl towards the cabinet, try not make a mess as you fumble with the bandages and wash your hands. All of it, he's done a million times before.

After shucking off his bloodied shorts and damp clothes he heads to his messy closet and grabs a pair shorts, stolen from Cross, and a long sleeve black turtle neck, thanks to Dusts laundry always finding perchase in his room. Normally his long ass gloves are enough to cover everything but his wounds are fresh and he half assed the bandages so.. long sleeves it is. His soul still looks wrecked from last night as it shakes and fizzes around the edges.

He's a mess as he fumbles toward his door. Slowly does he turn the nomb, expecting cross to be hidding out behind a corner or something. When he peeks out he finds the hallway empty. Good. Looking down he finds the mug full of dark brown goodness. Losing his balance he sits down with a thump and snatches the cup with the gracefulness of a drunk.

The door closes with a click and he's left to wallow in this dimly lit room. With a groan he pushes himself against the wall and pulls his knees to his chest. He looks down and stares at the mug.

A mocha Frappuccino, that's what it is. It's obvious Cross made it. It's in his favorite mug, Dusts' mug, nice and cool with messily drizzled chocolate syrup and almond milk. Killer takes a sip and the tight coil in his gut loosens slightly because of hazelnut. Killer loves hazelnut.

________________☆_________________

I love putting all my favorite characters through it lol.

Any request for a future fic with Kils? I'm desperate. XP

_________________☆________________

[thinkingimages]

Yasuzo Nojima, photography (1931)

“Faustus: ‘Stay, Mephistopheles, and tell me, what good will my soul do thy lord?” Mephistopheles: ‘Enlarge his kingdom.'”

– Christopher Marlowe, Dr.Faustus

“In his book on poor cities of the South, Jeremy Seabrook chronicles the relentless calendar of disaster in Klong Toey, Bangkok’s port slum sandwiched between docks, chemical factories and expressways. In 1989 a chemical explosion poisoned hundreds of residents; two years later a chemical warehouse exploded and left 5,500 residents homeless – many of whom would later die from mysterious illnesses. Fire destroyed 63 homes in 1992, 460 homes in 1993 (also the year of another chemical explosion), and several hundred more in 1994. Thousands of other slums, including some in rich countries, have similar histories to Klong Toey. They suffer from the ‘garbage dump syndrome’: the concentration of toxic industrial activities like metal plating, dyeing, rendering, tanning, battery recycling, casting, vehicle repair, chemical manufacture, and so on, which middle classes would never tolerate in their own districts.

The world usually pays attention to such fatal admixtures of poverty and toxic industry only when they explode with mass casualties; 1984 was the annus horribilus. In February a gasoline pipeline exploded in Cubatao, Sao Paulo’s ‘Pollution Valley’, and burned more than 500 people to death in an adjacent favela. Eight months later a Pemex liquefied natural gas plant exploded like an atomic bomb in Mexico City’s San Juanico district, killing as many 2,000 poor residents (no accurate count of mortality was ever established).

Less than three weeks after the Mexico City holocaust, the Union Carbide plant in Bhopal, the capital of Madhya Pradesh, released its infamous cloud of deadly methyl isocynate; according to a 2004 study by Amnesty International, 7,000 to 10,000 people perished immediately and another 15,000 died in subsequent years from related illnesses and cancers.”  

– Mike Davis, 2005, Socialist Review

“Yes. As I often tell my students, the way in which you describe a problem, the language and aesthetics that you use to describe the politics of a particular problem, will absolutely effect the type of solution that resolves. { } Ontologically, they’re already guilty of being criminal whether or not they’ve actually engaged in any criminal behavior at all. I think the figure of innocence (our emphasis on and circulation of it) then obscures the fact that the counterpart to the innocent figure is the person who is guilty of a “status crime” for just being alive in Gaza, for instance.” 

– Mimi Thi Nguyen, in conversation with Leopold Lambert

“However, and this is an immense paradox, the great founding books of communities, the Old Testament, the Iliad, the Odyssey, the Chansons de Geste, the Islandic Sagas, the Aeneid,or the African epics, were all books about exile and often about errantry.”

– Edouard Glissant

Exile in antiquity was an exile without deprivation, says Glissant. And this is because it was a voyage from a culture, rather than from a *nation*. The stigma of national identity is the child of Western imperialism, really.

“The conquered or visited peoples are thus forced into a long and painful quest after an identity whose first task will be opposition to the denaturing process introduced by the conqueror. A tragic variation of a search for identity. For more than two centuries whole populations have had to assert their identity in opposition to the processes of identification or annihilation triggered by these invaders.”

– Edouard Glissant

....

[quartz-components]

Variable Wattage Micro-Soldering Station 12V

This is specially for precision work process among popular type. Ideal for small jobs like SMD/SMT and micro-electronics. The element shaft is only 2.5mm thick with an isolated element. It can be set to high, medium or low with a continuously variable knob, and comes with a placing stand as standard. Comes standard with an aluminum coated long-life tip. Very popular amongst jewelry manufacturers for trimming/sculpture of wax casting. 

FEATURES:

Metal Body Station, Transformer Based, Changeable Bits, Variable Wattage, Advance Heater.

Ideal for precision small jobs like SMT and micro-electronics.

Mobile Soldering Station 12W Pointed Shock proof Solder Iron

Element shaft is only 2.5mm thick with an isolated element.

Adjustable Temperature Controller to control between 65 degrees C to 200 degrees. It can be set to high, medium or low with a continuously variable knob.

Comes standard with an aluminum coated long life tip.

Inbuild Solder Stand for convenience

Micro Solder best suited for precision jobs, SMD solder and Mobile Soldering

Ease to use.

It is used in mobile, electronic devices, and computer devices repairing.