#Choosing Between Data Science | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tparker48 · 2 months ago

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Request for annonymous

"Why does he always choose the morning?" Sleet groaned. "Doesn’t that nerd sleep?"

“You said it." Ramon chimed. "Nerds always try to beat the mornings. He probably needs held cataloging books?”

Sleet banged his head against his companion’s thumb. "I swear If he woke me up for that bull crap, I’ll send those books into the ocean!" He said. “It’s been ten minutes, How long is gonna let us freeze out here?”

Ramon banged against the solid metal doors, the science echoing beyond its barriers. It let out a hiss before fog covered the floor, rubbered boots stepping forward. Pressing at a small tablet would be the doctor, dressed from head to toe in a hazmat suit. He adjusted his goggles, eying both of them.

"You two are fashionably late,” He said coldly. “I expected you two to be here earlier."

"The sun is barely out, Wilco, unlike you nerds some of us enjoy the morning sleep." Sleet said.

"Yeah, Show us what’s good!" Ramon chimed, Massaging his barreled gut. “And show us breakfast while you’re at it.”

Wilco’s eyes rose in the shades, muttering beneath his breath. He stepped to the side, ushering the both of them inside as the doors hissed shut. They moved through the corridors of the lab, passing by checkpoints before entering the main quadrant. Wilco dropped them off at the small breakfast table before heading into the next room, preparing for the experiment ahead.

Ramon and Sleet slouched over the end of the breakfast table, sampling the tray of donuts onto their plates.

“Ah, now this is what I’m talking about.” Ramon took a bite out of a glazed donut. “What sweet deliciousness to start the morning.”

“Well don’t go hogging it all for yourself, pass me one!” Sleet demanded.

Ramon rolled his eyes, plucking one a donut hole from one of the trays. “Here.”

It dropped into his head, and he cocked a brow. “You’re pulling my leg here.”

“How so?”

“You call this a donut, it's hardly the size of me! Hand me of the big ones.”

“Nah uh uh,” ramon waggled his fingers. “These delights separate the men from the boys. And you are no man.”

He bit into the side of a donut, sprinkles scattering below as Sleet shielded himself.

“That’s ridiculous! I’ll get it myself.” Sleet climbed along a cloth to the top shelf, maneuvering around the plates of eggs and bacon before reaching the donuts. He reached the plate, and lunged for a donut.

Ramon’s palm slammed between them, creating a wall as his free hand carried the plate.

“Hey!” Sleet yelled.

“So close, and yet so far!” Ramon said, ringing a finger through a hole of one of the donuts, taking a bite.

“Gimme a donut!”

“You want one so badly,” He unbuttoned the middle of his shirt, placing the plate along the peak of his bare stomach. “Come get it.”

Sleet groaned. Of course the oaf would make it harder, but his stomach grew louder than his taunts could imagine. He accepted.

He jumped onto Ramon’s belly, wobbling backwards. It was like stepping onto a waterbed, every breath he’d make caused the flesh to slant, before returning to its round form. Sleet crawled to the edge of the plate, reaching for a sprinkled donut.

Ramon sucked in his gut, A filled donut sliding from the plate.

Sleet wheezed as its fluffy surface dragged him from his ramon’s belly, floundering into his shorts. He peeled himself from its white frosting, Ramon's bellows filling the air.

“The way the way your eyes widened” He gasped between his laughter. “Like watching a deer in headlights.”

Sleet’s eyes narrowed. “You're one to talk!”

He hoists the filled donut between his arms, angling it upward. With a fierce squeeze, a stream of strawberry jelly rushed out of its hole, shooting into Ramon’s nostrils.

“Ah, fuck! In the nose?!” He writhed.

“You get what you sow pal!”

“Why you little-”

The doors of the other room hissed as Wilco stepped out, drones orbiting around him.

“Enough of your tomfoolery you two, it’s time for the experiment.”

—-----------------

The sun changed in the clear sky, lab assistants moving data from room to room. Behind the closed panel doors, Wilco had them strapped to a treadmill. fire lit under Sleet’s ass as they ran in place, his hamstrings tightening as he focused on the small gauge next to their panels. Ramon was far from strained, his legs eating the rubbery gaps like a track star. Sleet shared glances at his progress, tightening his legs in efforts to increase his own.

They ran for nearly an hour, Both dripping with sweat as they caught their breaths. A panel slid open as data collectors rushed in, siphoning samples of their salty fluid before vanishing into the glowing corridor. With the last sample taken, they were relieved of their restraints, Sleeping over their knees.

“Decent work, but your pace was slow.” Wilco tapped at his tablet. “I need a positive coefficient if I'm going to get the results for effective reproduction methods!”

“Bite us..my legs are cramping here!” Ramon groaned.

“You..try running on that thing..with no break.” Sleet rolled onto his back.

Wilco groaned, rubbing his fingers between the bridge of nose. “I'm going to have grey hairs dealing with you two. Take five! we’ll continue the experiments after.”

Wilco left the room, Leaving two of them on the treadmill. Ramon was the first to hop of, his legs releasing tension before relaxing. Sleet barely reached the edge of his machine before a sneaker stepped in his path, following up its length to Ramon’s smug face.

“Don’t even say it..”

“What?” His face beamed. “I didn’t say anything?”

“You’re thinking it!”

Ramon let out a soft chuckle. “Well maybe a little. Just proves my point of what separates the two of us.”

"Get over yourself." Sleet snapped back, climbing over the shoe and onto the floor. “You got long legs, that’s all there is.”

“Suuure.”

The two of them entered the next room, and froze. A catalog of flasks decorated the walls, gadgets of all sizes held up on pedestals. In the center of the room, Wilco was putting in the latest entry of data, sending it to a bot as it wisped into a panel in the ceiling. As the two approached, he turned to them.

“Snazzy joint, doc.” Sleet said. Look at all these toys you made for yourself.”

“These are not toys!” Wilo said. “ These are state of the art technology. The tool that’ll change the future for our next generation.”

“So..toys.”

Wilco groaned, adjusting his glasses before moving to one of the tables. A metallic panel rose from a piece of metal, holding a bronze ring as it glowed beneath the ceiling lights.

"I wouldn’t be surprised to see you think of it that dully. So it’s best to show you." He plucked the ring from the holder, holding it between us. " Behold, my latest creationI, the Phantomizer!"

"The Phantomizer?" Ramon squinted at the ring. "It looks so..finicky. It's not one of those mood rings is it?"

"The nerve to compare my genius to such levels! This ring is the best of its kind! It overshadows the mere designs of those ‘mood rings’."

He pressed at a panel, and a platform lifted from the ground, carrying a single red apple. He twisted the ring, a crimson halo stretching along around the rim. He hurled a balled fist towards the apple.

His palm phased through the apple, flexing his fingers to the otherside.

Sleet’s eyes widened. "Holy cow! It phased straight through it!"

"Of course it phased straight through it," Wilco retracted his palm, causing the stationary fruit to wobble. "It is one of my inventions after all."

"Far out!" Sleet climbed one of the computer wires to the table. "Let me give that a shot!"

A wall of mass blurred his vision as Ramon blocked his way. “Like hell! I want a try at it first!”

"Absolutely not!" Wilco rebuked.

"What?!" Sleet and Ramon shouted.

"One, use of inventions are allowed under personnel." He pulled the ring from his fingers, setting it up on the platform. "And second, it's you two. you’re both far unqualified to even hold a match."

"Unqualified?! We come every Saturday just to be Guinea pigs!" Sleet walked closer. "Come on, I promise to be careful."

“I second that, I second that!” Ramon chimed.

"No. End of discussion." Wilco flicked his finger, sending sleet from the platform and into the collar of Ramon’s shirt. Dusting his fingers, he moved toward one of the monitors. "Now onto pressing matters, I went ahead and increased your efficiency. It should prove sufficient for your slow pace.”

Oh he’ll show how sufficient his pace will be alright, starting with a kick in the shin.

Sleet rolled my sleeves, wrestling against the folds of Ramon’s shirt, But halted. The ring was still on the platform, it’s halo emitting an ominous glow against the metal border. His eyes lit up, a smile pulling to his ears.

"You know, you’re right.” He announced. “That sounds like a great idea!"

"It does?" Ramon cocked his brow.

Sleet kicked a leg against his chest, pointing his eyes toward the table. Ramon’s eyes followed, a spar lighting in his as well.

"Of course it does!” Sleet continued. “We should be honored to help out such great genius!”

Wilco’s eyes pried from the monitor, eyeing the both of them. "You two seem more eager to test than anticipated."

"What can we say, we’re late bloomers. It just took us a while to see what lies ahead. Right, Ramon?”

Ramon blinked. “Er, yeah. Yeah, definitely!”

Besides, what good is the future if we can’t help the genius mind leading us to it?” Sleet said.

Wilco scratched his beard with curiosity, his eyes softening. That's it, sleet could see his high horse turning in that hazmat suit. As the seconds drew, his profound smile returned, huffing his chest to the ceiling.

"I suppose there’s some brain cells in those noggins afterall. Then we’d best not delay the future."

Sleet’s eyes twitched, but kept smiling. Wilco turned, grabbing his tablet from the table before moving to one of the sliding doors. Sleet looked toward Ramon, who eyed the ring still sitting on the table. As the solid doors sealed shut, they shared smiles toward each other.

-------------------------------------------

Two passed by Wilco's inventions and ventured through the metal corridors to the heart of the lab. It took some work to pass by the other eggheads hauling data to the other rooms, but the two of them managed to pass by unseen. They found a secluded storage area tucked in the far corner of the hallway, locking the door. The two of them set up shop along one of the counters, the ring resting between them.

"To think this hunk of junk phasing through objects." Sleet poked at the hollow buttons, wincing as air hissed from one of the ring’s ducts. "How do we even switch it on?"

“The nerd put it on his middle finger, thing must react to touch.” Ramon said.

"Huh.” He eyeballed the interior of the rings, trailing a finger across its length. "Guess there’s only one way to find out.”

He rose the ring over himself. Its metal walls skid against his sides, the duct's vibrations sending a tingle up his spine. He lowered it further until his waist filled the empty space, pawing the buttons building from the ring’s exterior rim.

“How does it feel?”

“LIke I’m walking in an inflatable tube.” Sleet grunted, rotating the ring around. “Not really feeling phantomy.”

“Huh..” Ramon scanned the shelves a foot away, grabbing a rubber ball nestled between a couple of dusty books.

He hurled it at Sleet, who raised his arms to block it. The little man flinched as he phased through it, feeling only a faint wisp as the ball slammed against the wall behind him.

“How about now?” Ramon said proudly.

Sleet patted himself down. “A little warning before you decide to chuck a comet at me, you jerk!”

“Calm down, I threw it soft for ya.”

Soft? He could hardly call it that. Sleet caught his breath, looking back to the toppled ball on the floor. At least Ramon proved it worked, in his own bashful way. He shook the thought from his mind, taking the other items along the shelves.

"Well it can pass through balls, so let’s test this thing out. Grab everything those grubby hands can muster, Ramon."

A smile crept up on his face, his broad form looming over the shelves. A symphony of clangs and beeps echoed from the platforms, boxes and spare parts turning the once clear surface into a scrap yard.

“How are these, Sleet?” Ramon asked.

"Perfect, these'll do for now." he replied. "Let's start with that tool box first."

"With pleasure."

Ramon scoured through the pile, picking up the metal box and placing it on the edge. Sleet came just a foot from it, readying his stance before charging forward the wall.

An invisible force stopped him in his tracks, repelling him into a pile of slinkies.

“The heck was that?!” He tapped at the wall, tackling against the wall.

“What’s the hold up?” Ramon said.

“Stupid thing’s acting up.” He replied, stamping and twisting the buttons surrounding him.

“Well hurry up and fix it. Who knows how long before that nerd finds us.”

“Don’t rush me!” twisted the knobs around the rings, steam seeping through its creases. "all these damn buttons, so confusing."

Twisting another knob, the ring let out an intense hiss. He rattled against the slinkies, shaking them from the edge of the counter top before grazing into other gears. The ducts of the ring of the ring closed, its crimson halo flaring brighter.

Sleet approached the tool box, sticking his hand through its side. "There, see? fixed."

“Finally!" Ramon said. " Well gon then, I wanna see some action!"

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

For the past hour, the two continued their fun with the ring. Ramon gathered more gadgets from the shelves, bundling them in hills to block Sleet’s path. He greeted his challenges with fierce sprints, leaping through the air and past the pile of metal.

Wearing that ring was like putting on a power suit, sending a thrill through Sleet like he never experienced. It was fantastic. To think the nerd created an invention this fun. With it, he could do anything. Phase through anything.

He readied a stance, bolting toward a tool box. He lunged into the metal wall, phasing through the bolts and wrenches lying inside before phasing through the other side. He lost his footing as the ring dipped on its side, spiraling like a lost tire before cushioning against his companion’s crotch.

He titled his gaze to the tool box upside down, a smile resonating. “I could get used to this.”

The plushy bulge behind him shifted before a shadow overhead, Ramon enveloping his view.

“All that flipping around has me excited!” Ramon said. “Let me have a rack at it!”

His fingers streaked overhead like a crane, lowering to the edge of the ring. He grasped air as Sleet rolled forward, clambering the side of the ring like a turtle on his back.

“You can’t use it yet!” Sleet shouted, getting to his feet.

“What? Why not?”

Sleet eyed the counter, his mind racing. “Because..because the kinks aren’t fully tested yet! You don’t wanna end up stuck in a limbo. It’s better if I keep it.”

“Bullcrap! You already tried the thing twice.” Ramon said, his eyes narrowing. “If your scrawny butt can work that thing, I’m sure I’ll manage.”

Arched palms raced towards Sleet, plunging from the air like hawks hunting prey. He pressed the ring, The digit’s phased through his midsection. Ramon’s eyed widened, before narrowing again as he swatted at Sleet.

“Lousy! Sleak!”

“Sorry, big guy. You’re just gonna have to wait until the boys are done.”

“I swear when you unphased your gonna get what’s coming to you!”

“As If I’d do that. As far as I'm standing I'm practically invince-” Sparks flicked along the ring, his fram flickering like the flame of the candle. “Eh?”

An outstretched palmed slammed against him, siphoning the breath from his lungs as he soared to the shelf. He plowed into a pair of rags, tumbling from their fabric to lower platforms. He dropped for a mere second, before he clung to a string from a duffle bag.

“High! Oh that’s high!”

“Well well, never took you to be one afraid of heights, Sleet” Ramon said from below, his eyes plagued with amusement. “Not so invincible up there, huh?”

“Get me down!”

“Sure, but there’s something I’ll need from you first. Fork it over.”

“You sly..There’s no way I'm handing the ring to you.”

“Then I guess you’d better find a ladder.” Ramon’s smile pulled wider, crossing his arms. “Or else we’ll see if that ring gives you the ability to float.”

Sleet groaned, clinging to the drawstrings. Forget him then, he’ll figure out how to get down himself. He gripped the slim string, wrapping it around his wrist. Slowly he wormed himself upward, focusing upon the squared platform above. The string drooped, and he clung to the string.

“Place your bets folks!” Ramon put on his best announcer impression. “Will the climbing mite make it to the platform, or will he take a skydive?”

“Shut up will you! It’s hard enough trying to-!” He pulled too far, his stomach dropping as the string bent.

Shuffling manifested above, the duffle bag he clung peering over the edge. He could feel gravity pull against his body, the spots along the wall raising as the bold red letters of the bag peered over the edge.

Its knot unfurled, nuts and bolts roaring from the opening. They struck the ground floor like meteors. Ramon raised his guard, the bulk of his forearms absorbing their impact. But Sleet wasn’t as fortunate. He found himself in the path of the showering bolts. Pieces of metal struck the ring, sending him into a tailspin.

Buttons flickered around him, smoke shimmered from my view. "Crap crap crap!" He flailed, Banging a fist against the ring's metal hide. “Work you stupid thing! Work!”

The Crimson halo glowed dimly, before becoming lost in the sparks. Inertia twisted his further, the ground zooming closer. His bangs turned to slams, the button barely lighting. He looked down to Ramon, who was still bombarded by bolts.

“Catch me, you idiot!” He called out.

He received a groan, before Ramon limbs shifted. He fanned aimlessly at the sky, swatting away stray bolts. His fingers loomed close, just within reach. Sleet tried angling himself, extending his own hand to the ascending palm.

He bounced off Ramon's middle finger, rolling down his forearm.

“You missed! You have to use your eye you-” The ring halo flickered on, stretching to the ducts that hissed passively. “Freaking finally!”

He fiddled with the buttons, widening limbs to keep himself from spinning. He looked past his companion’s shoulders to the counter below. The slinkies were still there bundled together, repelling any bolts that impacted their springs. The perfect landing pad. He readied the ring, aiming for a gap between Ramon’s shoulder and neck.

He jerked as a stray bolt struck the ring, sending him off course.

He ricocheted against Ramon’s bicep and into the open air, hurling toward his broad chest. He crossed his arms over his eyes, awaiting impact. He felt nothing as one of the pecs loomed close, and he fell into darkness. He spiraled through the endless void, grasping for anything to ease his twisting stomach. Before long, Watery sloshes filled the void, a tender surface slamming against his back.

"Ow! Not..my greatest landings" He rubbed my back.

He clambered to his feet, but could barely move an inch. Darkness blocked his sight, leaving only the hollowness of the empty chamber. Did he fall through the floor? No, he was too high for it to have been that. He fanned his arms outward, warm fluid dosing his palm.

“What the..?” He squinted, sniffing at the alien substance. “Ugh, It’s horrid. Smells just like...Ramon.”

Sparks fluttered from the corners of the ring, the halo flickering. Its glow illuminated the hollow space. A pool of translucent fluid surrounds his knees, guarded by a dome of wrinkled flesh. The sound of breathing muffled through the walls, and the realization came to him. He didn’t fall through the floor, he was inside Ramon.

The wall behind him pressed its weight against his back, forcing his head between his legs. “I’m inside Ramon?! This is not what I came for!” He wrestled his arm against the tender wall, forcing it back back. He used the other to take to the button’s of the ring, twisting them to phase out of the prison he found himself in.

The ring didn’t activate, answering with sparks and flickering lights.

“No, no no!” He twisted harder. “This is no time for this stupid thing to croak!”

He gritted as the wall stiffening, wrapping around him like a capsule. He forced them back with a leg, before looking ahead. Compressed between the folds, a pucker winked eagerly, sipping at the puddle surrounding. The ring was no good, he’ll have to get out of this himself.

He trudged against the folds to the shriveled pucker, sinking a palm between its lips. It sucked his elbow inside, compressing it into a narrow space.

“Compressed you stupid thing, open!” He dug further, trudging his feet through the fluid. He bucked as a fold slammed against his rear, thrusting him to the rim. “Wait, that’s too quick-”

--------------------

The last of the bolts trickled to the floor, Ramon letting up his guard. His head throbbed from the metal bombardment, lumps spreading across his forearms like pimples. "Lousy termite! That hurts you know!"

He scanned the bolts along the floor, kicking chairs away before peering under the table. Nothing, not even the sign of legs. The runt must’ve run when the bolts fell. Of course he did.

He stormed from the storage room and into the hallway, shifting his gaze from one side of the corridors to the other. “Those tiny legs couldn’t have carried him far.” He growled, scratching one of his pecs. "All this gymnastics is making my nips itch!"

A hiss echoed from the door around a corner, and he smiled.

“Gotcha.” He marched to the end of the hall. “Oh when I get my hands on you I’ll-”

He paused as he eyed the open doors. A pair of drones flew into the corridors, Wilco following behind as he stepped into the middle of the hall. His eyes narrowed past his tablet to Ramon, piercing into his soul like needles.

“W-wilco!” He tensed, holding an arm. “Wh..what are you doing back here?!”

“My drones detected an increase in the ring’s usage in this sanctum. And here I find you.”

"Oh! Well you see! I was uh..Helping clean the storage! The collectors sent me to fetch a broom. A-as a matter of fact. I was just heading there no-”

One of the drones soared from Wilco’s side, blocking his path.

"That won’t be necessary. You're staying where I can see you!" Wilco said, pressing the screen of his tablet as the drone’s lights glew red.

Ramon swallowed saliva as the professor moved toward the monitors, scanning the panels for data. He eyed the drone orbiting above, its lens dilating before slitting into focus. His nipple quivered as tightness returned, twisting in itself. He squashed his pec between his palm, rubbing it around like a stress ball. As if dealing with the nerd was hard enough.

“Where’s Sleet?”

Ramon blinked. “Huh?”

“Damages always lead to you two. And if you’re here, he can’t be far behind.”

“Well your guess is as good as mine.” He rubbed at his nipple. “It’s been a minute since I saw that mite pha-..er, use the restroom.”

“I see..” The professor said, his screen continuing to glow red. "No signs of the ring’s trail. Then we’ll have to find it another way.”

Wilco pressed at his tablet, the lens of the stationary drone flickering as it hovered between the two of them. A panel opened from its side, a small emitter holding between its clamps.

“What’s that?” Ramon asked.

“It’s an emitter I designed in case the ring gets lost.”

The emitter illuminated a tender glow, the drones angling the device higher in the air. A fire lit inside Ramon, A vibration rattling his pectoral.

He caved to his knees. “Freakin-! Gah!”

“What is it now?”

“That drone’s setting my nipples on fire!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, it's programmed to channel to the ring’s frequency.” Wilco said. “Unless..”

Wilco tapped at his tablet, the drone flashing before heading to Ramon. He looked up as it held the device. His nipple ripple harder, its plump muscle sending a buzz through his pectorals.

“Ah! I told you that thing is hurting!”

“Far from it. In fact, I think it just found where the ring might be.”

The drone retracted the device into its console, metal clamps extending from its sides. Their cols appendage wrapped around his pecs, cupping them like udders on a cow.

"Woah woah, what's it doing?!"

"Extraction. I can't risk damaging the core." Wilco replied, "It should be painless, just hold still."

The drones clamps rotated along his pecs, their leathered tips grazing beneath them before connecting with each other. He let out a steady beep, before it slowly began to twist.

Ramon writhed in its grasp, prying again the metallic arm. “I thought you said it would be painless?!”

“Theory, but in this case it’ll need more effort.” Wilco replied. “Increase efficiency.”

The drone beeped again, his pecs spilling over the clamps. Slowly fluid seeped from his nipples, but there was something else, a complex object sliding from deeper inside. The itch returned, stretching across the interior of the pecs. It was they were..arms

The alien object rose higher, his left pec bulging. Its bulb quivered before gaping open, and the butt of the ring was birthed. Fingers clung to the other end, clambering to keep their hold along the slick surface. the ring pulled higher, and sleet’s head blossomed from the bulb.

“Sleet?! The heck are you doing in my pecs?!” Ramon yelled.

"Take..a guess!!" I yelled, gasping the fresh air.

The drone unlatched from the other pec, extracting the ring from Sleet’s grasp and into Wilco’s palm. Sparks erupted from the ends of the ring, its glow watered down by translucent fluid.

"Ugh, no wonder I couldn't find it, you goof balls damaged its tracking system!" He flicked the juices from its hide. "This is going to set me back for weeks!"

"Well the should have came with an emergency switch!" Sleet jerked, causing the pec to wobble.

"Will you stop fluttering like they’re some floaties!" Ramon yelled.

"Easy to say when your not stemmed to the darn things!" Sleet turned toward the professor. "Ay, doc! Your invention caused this! Mind giving us a hand."

Wilco’s face turned, looking at the damaged ring. He glossed a finger along its rims, eyeing the translucent fluid that seeped between them.

"Sure I'll help.” he said. “And I've got just the thing.."

-------------

The alarm of a digital clock rang through the corridors of the laboratory, lights of unoccupied rooms shifting off to reset their cycles. Wilco poured his coffee, studying data sheets gained from today's sessions. Despite morning’s setbacks, he managed to gain sufficient data, if not more now that he’s found a new source of research.

"This should suffice for the day." He logged out of his computer, placing the data into a machine.

He inhaled the fresh brew of caffeine in his cup, entering past the sliding doors and into his lab. Strapped to an elevated table, Ramon resided, suction cups wrapped around his pecs. fluid siphoned from his nipples, filling one of the cups to the brim. In the other, Sleet was present. The cup shook him around like a beverage shaker, tossing him and the knee high fluid against the translucent plastic.

"Oh hey, doc!" Ramon announced, catching a donut deposited from a bot. "Come to check on progress?"

"I have. It seems you've been getting accustomed to the sampling table."

“I'm surprised myself, thing feels pretty nice after a few suckles.” He wolfed the donut into his mouth, swallowing it down. “ Feels like a chick playing with my nips.”

The filled suction cup buzzed before a valve siphoned the fluid inside, crumbling from the pec like a sticker as it fell to the floor before another latched on.

"Why am I still stuck in this thing?!" Sleet banged the plastic, wiping juices from his face.

"You’re a factor in Ramon’s production, I can't have it messing up accurate data." Wilco replied. "Besides, it's your fault you wound up there, so you’re just gonna have to wait like a good volunteer."

"That’s a bunch of bull!"

"Ramon’s efficiency is of high importance to my research. I’ll need accurate data to test how fast a man of his calibour can produce fluid."

"You hear that, Sleet?” Ramon chuckled, catching another donut. “He needs to test a real man. As he should."

"Granted your efficiency to create fluid is noted, Ramon.” Wilco said. “However, you still have yet to produce enough for a qualified sample."

He twisted a knob, the suction cup tightening before increasing its pace. Ramon bucked against his restraints. Sleet ricocheting from the walls.

"Again with the squeezing?!” Ramon wailed. “I barely recovered from the drone!"

"You're complaining?!..grh!..Whose the one getting ragdolled?!" Sleet chimed.

“Enough bickering,” Wilco placed his tablet on the table. “You two's only concern should be retrieving efficient data!"

"We've been doing this for hours!” Ramon gritted. “I don't think my nips can take this much prying!"

"Don't we..have enough already?!" Sleet added.

Wilco lowered his gaze to the monitor, its screen emitting the results.

Sufficient data: Completed.

"Nope, still got a long way to go.."

#giant #musk #tiny #unaware #Nipple Vore

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tarrynightss · 2 years ago

Text

𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽

Pairing: Miles Quaritch x fem!reader

Warnings: Angst (like ALOT), graphic descriptions of violence and death, no happy ending

Summary: Had you and Miles ever been build to last? You certainly thought so, proudly wearing his ring on your finger. But when the tensions rise, and it becomes time to choose sides, will he stand with you? (read the inspo post for some spoilers)

A/N: Damn maybe I am evil. This fic is based on this idea I had. There will be a part two with Recom Miles

A laugh resonates throughout the room, the soft yellow light from outside pouring in through a small window. It’s so warm as you shift under the blankets, laying on your side as you stare at your lover. His hand runs over your bare waist, the adoration in his blue eyes clear. Miles could not remember the last time he had laughed like this. It was as if you had brought color back to his life, your warm smile seared into his mind.

“Don’t tell me you are going soft on me, Colonel.”

Your voice is smooth like honey, and he stares at your lips as you speak. Soft? He scoffs. Perhaps you were right. You had him wound around your little finger, the man growing anxious whenever he wasn’t near you. It was supposed to be a one night stand, some fooling around to blow off steam, but it had grown into so much more these past few months. Never had he thought he would fall for some science nut.

Miles moves some hair out of your face, stroking his fingers over your soft skin. Touching you feels natural, feels right, and the face of content you make has his own lips curling up into a smile.

“I love you.”

The words come out so easily it frightens him, never having been the type of man to say it out loud. He knows he’s no easy man to love, and the situation you both are in isn’t ideal either. But you don’t point out any of that. Instead, your eyes sparkle as you place your hand over his, cupping it against your cheek.

“I love you too, Miles.”

Miles marches down the hallway with quick steps, his hands balled into fists as he curses under his breath. You had lost your damn mind, undermining him in front of everyone to defend some savages. He had known you would not be pleased with his proposal, but you are his fiancé, for crying out loud! You were the last person he wanted to hear call him a bloodlusty fool. He should’ve gotten you taken out of that Avatar program as soon as you started rambling about Pandora’s native population and how you were going to learn their ways, but he didn’t. He loved you, and seeing your passion for it had foolishly blinded him.

You run after him, fumbling with the device you’re holding as you bring forward the same holographic screen you had shown him and the others at the meeting. You should not have said what you did in the heat of the moment, but this is far more important than any of that.

“Miles! Please! I’m sorry! Please listen!”

He stops so suddenly that you almost crash into him, staring down at you with furious eyes. It makes your stomach drop, but you press the screen under his nose regardless.

“If you don’t believe me nor Grace, fine, but we have proof. Solid data that shows that there is more at play here,” you plead with him.

Miles looks at what the Na’vi call Hometree, perfectly mapped out with a thousand or million little connections running through it. At the moment it only fuels his anger.

“Because of the connections between trees?” he fumes in a way that makes you feel foolish when you nod.

He hums, looking you over as he pretends to consider it for a moment before sharply turning around, nearly knocking the device out of your hand. You stand there, nailed to the ground in shock. He had never been a big science guy, but he had never disregarded you in this way. You hope it’s just payback for what you had said.

Miles continued walking towards his room, and just as he feared, you chased after him. He did not try to stop you as you walked in after him, the door sliding closed behind you with a hiss. The quarters are pretty much as much his as they are yours, not having slept in your own bunk for months.

He puts his hand over his face, as unsure as to what to do as you are. It’s hard to be mad at you, but god, what the hell did you expect?!

“The decisions has been made. I will follow my orders, and so should you,” he tells you stiffly and turns towards the wall, praying this will be the end of it.

You shake your head, slamming the device in your hand down on the metal table next to you, the loud ringing noise it emanates making his muscles tense.

“That’s bullshit!” you curse and move to look at him, his hand still concealing his facial expression. “This is not just a mission, Miles, we are talking about taking dozens of lives!”

His hand drops from his face and he looks at you with exhaustion. “Newsflash sweetheart, but that’s what most military missions boil down to.”

You go silent for a second before scoffing, unable to tell him he’s wrong. “That does not mean it’s right.”

Your eyes meet his, and they beg Miles to show mercy. “There are children there, babies. Defenseless creatures who have no idea that there’s any conflict going on.”

His jaw tightens. Babies. An image flashes through his mind of you holding your own little bundle of joy, your face radiating as you smile. He almost grimaces, realizing his brain truly has been turned into mush by you.

A chair scrapes over the ground as he pulls it back to sit down, the screen of your device still flickering on the table. He braces himself. “Well, then at least they won’t know what hits them.”

Disgust washes over you at Miles’s words. You try to convince yourself he doesn’t mean it, that he’s just bluffing. You have been with him for over half a year now, he couldn’t be like this.

You find the ring around your finger, anxiously twisting it around as you once again reassure yourself. He may not be a kind man, but he’s not this either.

“Don’t be like that,” your voice comes out just above a whisper. “What if it was our child?”

His gaze flicks from your face to your stomach briefly before he painfully balls his hand into a fist, putting it on the table in front of him. “We don’t have one.”

“For god's sake, Miles!” you hiss and move closer to him, staring down at him with panicked eyes. “But what if we did? What if it was our child in there?!”

You want him to say something, anything that shows that he would care. He swallows, throat bobbing.

“Then I would them to get the fuck of there before they get nuked.”

The last bit of hope on your face disappears. As you look into his hard, cold eyes, you see that he is not bluffing, and you wonder how you ever saw any warmth in them at all.

You do not want to cry, but at the prospect of losing everything you love in a matter of days, your resolve stands no chance.

Hot tears stream down your face as you shake your head, desperation washing over you. “Don’t do this, Miles. I will beg you if that pleases you. I will get on my knees and beg till my voice is gone if that means you won’t go through with this.”

Your hand finds his face, reaching out to that man who cuddled you when you couldn’t sleep, to the one who would laugh with you, the one you love.

“You are asking me to betray humankind,” Miles says, his voice strained.

“No,” you reply quickly, eyes flicking over his expression and trying to read the hint of something in his voice. “I am asking you to at the very least be neutral. You would neither fight the Na’vi nor support them. We could go away until this is all over.”

You smile weakly at him, the corners of your mouth twitching under the stress. “We could go back to earth, get married, start a family. We’ll leave all this behind.”

It’s a tempting offer, his throat feeling closed up as he takes it in. Just the two of you, a normal, simple life. No more fighting, no more danger. He’d get the family that he never thought he’d have.

“No.”

Your hand falls as his answer hits you, betrayal written all over your face.

Miles loves you, but he can’t do it. He is not the type to pull back, can’t betray the military he has served for so many years. Sempre fi. The words have to bring him strength, comfort, but they pale at the sight of pure hurt on your face.

“No,” he says again, both to you and himself.

Your mind reels. Does he not even care that all you had will be over? And for what? Honor? Duty? All a heap of shit in your eyes.

The deep breath you’ve been holding comes out shaky, more tears falling from your eyes. Your fingers fumble with taking his ring off, and you glance down at it one more time. Your heart throbs painfully in your chest, the tension inside you rising as you realize you will be on opposing sides. It all builds and sears before something snaps, and you let out a strangled cry, throwing the now useless piece of metal in his lap.

“I won’t need this anymore then!” you yell, but all he does is watch, not even bothering to catch the ring as it slips down the front of his shirt and clatters to the ground.

He had never been meant for marriage, he thinks. Perhaps it was better if it crashed and burned now.

You heave at his lack of response. “Say something you fucking bastard!”

The muscles in Miles’s neck tense as he cocks his head to the side, producing a forced grin. “It’s been fun, sweetheart.”

The patronizing tone of his voice has your cheeks burning, feeling like an absolute fool. He had strung you along, used you. He would’ve never done anything for you that didn’t benefit him.

You storm off without another word. Miles Quaritch had turned out to be exactly the man everyone thought he was, you had just been too blinded by love to see it.

—

Blood slowly trickles down into Miles’s eye, his teeth grinding down on one another as he balls his fists. Jake Sully. The man stands in front of him in his Avatar form, hissing ferally. Jake had taken you with him, flown off with you to god knows where and dragged you into this war. Quaritch’s blood boils at the notion. Whether you wear his ring or not, you are his, and he had locked you away for your own good. Sully had no right to interfere with that.

“Where is she?” Miles shouts, the knife of his AMP suit raised up in defense.

Jake shakes his head, teeth bared. “Gone. Shot down by one of your soldiers.”

No. Miles growls in anger at the lie. He had given orders to take you in alive, had spread both your human and Avatar picture out to every soldier he could reach. He glances back to the unit placed nearby. If your Avatar did get shot, you’d be in there, in pain, but very much alive. You wouldn’t have been foolish enough to run back out as a human, right?

“Come on old man.”

You had beckoned him towards you with your hand, your knuckles covered with hand wraps. You barely ever worked out, but had not hesitated to accept his challenge. Land one hit on him and he’d agree to take a little trip on Pandora with you. You were bold, Miles would give you that, but your skills were lacking. There were dozens of holes in your defense as you stood, and before you could even react, he had knocked you to the ground.

But you didn’t give up, oh no, using any measures to work your way out from under him and get back in the fight, yelling ‘again!’. You would not give up until you couldn’t go anymore.

The waver in Miles’s attention allows Jake an opening, grabbing a discarded metal piece with a knife-like end from the ground and charging his enemy with it. It pierced right through the front of Miles’s AMP suit, the sharp end only an inch removed from his face. His mind shifts to full on survival mode as he tears the hunk of metal out of his suit, the suffocating air of Pandora quickly starting to seep in. The glass in front of him is useless now, barely anything visible through the scattered pieces, and so he presses a button to eject it out of its frame. He scrambles to put on the emergency oxygen mask as his heart beats fast in his chest from the lack of air.

Sully won’t give up without a fight either, uncaring that he possesses no weapons as he charges the Colonel. He puts up one hell of a fight too, the mechanic suit struggling to withstand his blows and pulls, the metal creaking when Jake attempts to rip pieces of it off. When he’s purged on top of the AMP suit, Miles sees an opportunity, grabbing him by the braid that protects his queque.

Jake groans in pain as he’s smashed down to the ground, the grip on his braid unwavering as he’s dragged around. Miles raises Jake up, intending to crush his throat till it’s mush in the suit’s fingers. He would pay for what he had done.

“Stop!”

The voice rings loud through Miles’s head.

“Stop! Miles!”

His eyes snap away from his enemy, widening as he sees you. Your Avatar form is bloodied but not gravely wounded, the warpaint on your face matching those of the rest of the Na’vi he’s seen. You move towards him, slow but agile, your long tail sweeping behind you. The way your big, yellow eyes watch him disturbs him. There’s something so familiar in them, carrying that same twinkle as your own, but the rest of you is completely alien.

“Miles.” Your voice beckons him, makes him forget for just a moment where he is.

He doesn’t let go of Jake as you come closer, in fact he makes no move at all. Miles realizes that even in this odd form, he’s relieved to see you. These days without you had been torture, the Colonel laying awake every night, kicking and hitting walls out of frustration as he could find no way to get to you.

As you inch towards him, he wonders if you’re going to try to convince him to come with you again. Though he did not want to admit it, this battle was finished, so if there was ever a moment to give into your request, it was now, his own harsh breathing signaling he could not go on for much longer.

You glance from him to Jake, watching your friend struggle in his grip. Miles notices how your pupils dilate when they flick back to him. A sign of affection as you once told him. You still love him, even after all he did.

Maybe- Maybe he should go with you, perhaps it wasn’t -

Within the blink of an eye, you have jumped onto his suit, crying out as you drive a dagger through his chest.

-too late.

Miles’s eyes open wide in shock as he stumbles back, letting go of Jake in the process. His mind is unable to catch up with what just happened. You had stabbed him, and he shakes his head weakly in disbelief as you stare at him. You wouldn’t do that, you wouldn’t… he feels his brain fogging up as blood seeps from his wound, blurring everything.

Your mouth opens to reveal your fangs as you pull your dagger back out of Miles with a wet squelch, causing him to stutter as he coughs up blood. You aren’t hissing, no, instead your face has warped into a pained grimace. Your weapon instantly drops to the ground, tears forming in your eyes. He’s confused as to why you look so sad, his grip on reality slipping as he bleeds out. The harsh sunlight blurs your surroundings, and for a moment he thinks you are back in his room, your human face framed so beautifully by your hair as you smile at him.

An attempt at your name leaves his lips as his knees give in, the suit going down with him. There’s too much blood and spit flowing from his mouth for you to understand what he’s saying, his face quickly becoming stained with it as it flows through his mask. In his mind he said it. He said your name, said that he loves you, that he’s sorry.

Your shaky hand cups the back of Miles’s neck, propping him up slightly. Your tears drip down on his mask as you silently weep, watching as the color in his face continues draining until his eyes go vacant. His body sputters in your grasp once more, a last impulse from the nervous system, and then he hangs limp, the Colonel long gone.

You tell yourself you had no choice as you stare into his empty, blue eyes. He would not have stopped. You had given him a way out and instead he destroyed and killed everything in his way. He would’ve fought for the humans till his last breath. This had to happen. Didn’t it? Didn’t it?! You pull his lifeless body up, holding it against yours as a choked scream leaves your throat. You had never felt pain this sharp.

It’s not until you feel Jake’s hand shaking you by the shoulder that you realize that you’ve been holding Miles’s lifeless body for god knows how long, your throat sore from weeping. Your body feels cold and stiff, shaking as Jake helps you put down Miles.

You know you have to leave, but before you do, you start searching for his dog tags, patting down his uniform. What you find instead is something that makes your blood run cold, your fingers tracing the outline of a ring in the chest pocket of his jacket. It’s so tiny in your hands as you pull it out, holding it as if it were made of glass. He had carried it around on his heart ever since you gave it back to him.

A sad smile forms on your trembling lips and you press the ring against them.

I love you too, Miles. I’m sorry.

#miles quaritch #miles quaritch x reader #atwow #avatar the way of water #avatar #atwow x reader #miles quaritch fic #miles quaritch x you #tw: death #angst #miles x reader

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attacus-atlas-moth · 1 month ago

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Science Communication post for school part II: Madagascar hissing cockroaches

This time we looked at light preference and food preference in cockroaches

MHCs are nocturnal detritivores (meaning they eat decaying plant and animal matter). They produce a hissing sound by forcing air out of their spiracles.

The experiment was conducted using choice chambers to give the cockroaches the option to choose between a light and dark area, and later, choose to eat a carrot or slice of pepperoni. They were deprived of food but not moisture for 5 days leading up to the experiment.

The fact they are nocturnal may make it seem like they would prefer the dark. However, at least at time of experimentation (early afternoon) the cockroaches were about an even split on preference.

About half of the cockroaches didn't eat. It's unclear if the majority not eating is due to time of day or if they weren't hungry. Those that did eat seemed to have a preference for the carrot, although a few ate the pepperoni.

In order to record data for this experiment we used google sheets. Nearly everyone wrote down data despite working in small groups. The problem with this is that we did not use any tactics to make sure data wouldn't be repeated, perhaps group numbers would have been a good idea. So I ask you, dear random bug people on tumblr, don't do that! Make sure your data makes sense and is accurate. Even ignoring the small sample size this would not be a good study because I don't know if the data is accurate! Good data is important

#upon realizing the issues with the data i did try to sort through and remove duplicates. but i can't be certain that worked #madagascar hissing cockroach #insects #bugblr #entomology #revy the roach #<- this post isnt about him but it contains pictures of him

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texasdreamer01 · 8 months ago

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Atlantis Expedition: Science Division Departments

"Many of the scientists on Atlantis are organised into departments, each with their own department head. Dr. Rodney McKay was head of the Science and Research Division which most likely meant he was in charge of all of the science departments. Dr. Radek Zelenka was also the head of his own department. The various science departments on Atlantis are:

> Physics

» Astrophysics

> Biology

» Microbiology

» Astrobiology

> Oceanography

> Botany

> Medicine

> Anthropology

(SGA: "Remnants", "Grace Under Pressure", "Suspicion")"

From <https://stargate.fandom.com/wiki/Atlantis_expedition#Departments>

---

As I'm working my way through worldbuilding headcanons on the expedition, I figured I ought to start with the science division first. Above is my starting point: the canonical information at hand, to flesh out and give it some real-world reliability.

When I looked at it again, I realized it was, to put it politely, ill-thought-out crap that was only looked upon when the writers needed some random scientist around for episode material.

So, what considerations would an expedition like this actually need to take into account when hiring people?

At the very bare bones of it is "how many people can I fit through a wormhole in twenty or twenty-five minutes, plus supplies?". I went back and forth, prevaricated for a bit, and settled on 200 people if you really want to hoof it.

(Why 20-25 minutes? It's SGC's first stable-ish wormhole to another galaxy that's powered by a ZPM. They don't even know how much of a success that would be, or if they're just shoving people into a glorified shredder. Gotta pick and choose who you're maybe putting through the billion-dollar shredder. Y'know. Just in case.)

My initial rough estimations were about an even split between scientific and military personnel, which I kept on hand as napkin math to sanity check myself. This would be approximately 150 scientists.

What departments would there be, and how would it be divided? Who makes the priorities, and why?

The canon data is a mess, and as I worked through things, canon kept getting folded and refolded into different configurations because there's two competing priorities: the IOA/SGC, and Rodney's approach to pragmatism.

What was everyone expecting to see on the other side of that wormhole? Definitely not a city ship sunk into the ground of an ocean, and definitely not isolated from others (the Athosians were an unexpected godsend that kicked off the reason to have a plot in the first place). Whatever the IOA or SGC had in mind will quickly get thrown out the window, but needs must, and the departments were likely arranged long before the shipping manifest was decided.

I poked around the uniforms, because everyone is colour-coded, and there's five sections:

> Red (civilian, leader) - Worn by Dr. Elizabeth Weir, Teyla Emmagan, Colonel Samantha Carter and Richard Woolsey.

> Blue/dark blue or purple (scientist) - Worn by Dr. Meredith Rodney McKay and Dr. Radek Zelenka.

> Yellow (medical) - Worn by Dr. Carson Beckett and Dr. Jennifer Keller.

> Black (military) - Worn by Lt. Colonel John Sheppard and Major Evan Lorne.

> Green (technician) - Worn by Chuck and Amelia Banks.

This information is listed in both the "List of Atlantis personnel" and "Atlantis expedition uniform" pages on SGCommand.

Thus far that gets me two and a half departments in my hand: Scientist, Medical, and Technician (that's the half).

What would the SGC and IOA want the expedition to prioritize? Technology, and lots of it. This means that, probably, there's going to be more engineers than you can shake a stick at, and not a lot of pure sciences. Remember, it cost money to fire up the gate, and flinging people into another galaxy is an unfathomable amount of (international, at this point) taxpayer funds. You're going to want as much applied science as possible, and as much overlap in disciplines as possible.

(Unfortunately this does leave little room for error, so anyone that dies is capable of leaving a hole in potential research.)

Therefore, how would a top-down order of technological research look like? My assumption was this:

> Engineering of the city of Atlantis itself

» ZPMs, auxiliary and/or complementary power sources

» Materials and material manufacturing

» Design specs of different technologies (jumpers, yes, but also anti-grav, shields, climate controls)

> Biological sciences

» ATA gene therapies

» Whatever the Ancients were working on regarding ascension

⇛ Helpful with the Ori once Atlantis is informed of that issue

To wit, neither addendum on the biological sciences bullet point is pertinent at the time of department formation, as Carson invented the ATA gene therapy after arriving in Atlantis, and the Ori weren't an issue for a similar reason.

Ergo, all non-biological engineering fields would have had higher billing, and thus more of them hired. The only exception would be medical, and I'm sure the SGC had the forethought to bully the IOA into its relevancy and make sure that department was as fully-stocked as they could manage.

Now what about practical considerations? Plans are nice and all, but rarely survive contact with reality, so some adjustment might be needed. This, I believe, the SGC considered, given their own history of needing to rapidly adjust on the fly.

Rodney, as Chief Science Officer (CSO), would be the one to not only make these kinds of decisions, but also to listen to the head of the expedition as to what needed to be prioritized. As the show has demonstrated, there can be a significant amount of shuffling around of employees based on the needs of a minute, and hour, a week, a month - for an indefinite amount of time? Basics are what gets the job done.

So what things would Rodney need to consider, or be directed to consider by Elizabeth?

> Oh shit this can sink

» Rodney's main work - keeping the ZPM working and get as many new ones as possible

> Oh shit everything's so far away

» Rodney's other main work - making sure the gate works as ordered

> Oh shit we're in another galaxy

» Food

⇛ Getting, keeping, preserving, maybe the occasional growing

» Utilities

⇛ Luckily they don't have to pay for it lol

⇛ But also oh shit lighting, water, sewage, air filtration, general life support

⟹ Rodney's third main work

⟹ This poor guy

» Medicine

⇛ Rodney delegates the hell out of this

⇛ Good luck making potions, guys!

» Bullets

⇛ Also other things the military needs

⇛ Fun times re-inventing the wheel I mean gunpowder

⇛ Good work for bored soldiers, and possibly also any scientist Rodney puts in time-out

» Clothes

⇛ Ha, thread

⇛ Also needles

⇛ Experiments in sewing machine making

⟹ Watch the fingers

⇛ How to replace fabric?

⇛ Off-duty clothes

⇛ Also medical clothing (scrubs for staff, patients)

» Miscellaneous

⇛ Entertainment, I guess

Internal monologue included because I think it's funny.

Anyway.

While Rodney's spending his days with Benny Hill music playing in the background trying to get all of those priorities done on top of actually delegating work and doing whatever else Elizabeth (and John) want him to do, other people actually need to have some work to get done. So what are they doing?

It depends on who already does what, frankly. So in the above combined interests (amount of people that can fit through an intergalactic wormhole, competing IOA/SGC interests, realities of living in Atlantis), I'm proposing this set-up (commentary included):

Medical Sciences Department

Head: Carson Beckett (later, Jennifer Keller, later, whomever)

Contains: Surgery, psychiatry, physical therapy

Function: Maintaining health of expedition members

Examples of function: surgeries, medical prescriptions, recuperation from injuries, mental stability

Personnel quantity: 1 (Head) + 10 (surgical team) + 5 (nurses) + 1 (psych) + 1 (phys. therapy) + 1 (anesthesiologist) = 19 total

A/N: Nurses have training in medications and physical therapy, surgical team also doubles as general practitioners.

Life Sciences Department

Head: OC

Contains: Earth biologists, bio- & biochemical engineers, astro/xeno-biologists, botany, environmental chemistry, zoology, microbiology

Function: Auxiliary to Medical Department needs

Examples of function: pharmaceutical synthesis, analysis of unknown species, biological database creation, gene therapies (pharmaceutical adjacent)

Personnel quantity: 1 (Head) + 2 (Earth biologists) + 2 (bioE & biochemE) + 1 (astro/xenobio) + 1 (botany) + 1 (envchem) + 1 (zoo) + 2 (microbio) = 11

A/N: Both biologists also have training/specialization in genetics/gene mapping (assists both Carson and Katie), some input in requesting gate missions based on in-house needs.

Field Sciences Department

Head: OC

Contains: Linguistics, historical geography, cartography, ethnography, sociology, oceanography, hydrology, atmospheric physics, planetary physics

Function: Research pool for gate teams and any assigned missions

Examples of function: Preservation of refugee cultures, scouting for trade planets, analysis of back-up sites for establishment

Personnel quantity: 1 (Head) + 3 (linguistics) + 1 (histgeo) + 1 (cart) + 1 (ethno) + 1 (socio) + 1 (oceano) + 1 (hydro) + 1 (atmophys) + 1 (planphys) = 12

A/N: SGC duplicate all shoved into one department, mostly ignored in-house but their brains are picked for background dossiers when it comes to mission planning. Linguists trained in xenolinguistics, from the SGC, can cover the various anthro fields if necessary, also various training in structural linguistics. Main scientist pulls for gate team assignments, if something critical isn't needed (i.e. Ancient technology).

Applied Sciences Department

Head: Rodney McKay (or perhaps Radek Zelenka?)

Contains: Electrical/technical engineering, nuclear physics, civil engineering, astrophysics, laser/optical, chemical engineering

Function: Study, synthesis, and adaptations of Ancient technology

Examples of function: ZPM analysis with intent to duplicate, experimental duplications of Ancient technology materials, study of gate physics and construction with intent to duplicate, study and experimental duplication of other Ancient technologies (i.e. hyperdrives, cloaks, weapons, etc)

Personnel quantity: 1 (Head) + 3 (electreng) + 6 (techeng/gate techs) + 1 (nucphys) + 1 (astrophy) + 1 (LZ/opt) + 3 (chemeng) = 16

A/N: The people Rodney are yelling at most often, because mistakes mean kablooey. Also a lot of the people running around in an emergency. 1 nuclear physicist because Rodney pulls a lot of intellectual weight, and same with the astrophysicist and laser/optical person (mostly they're there as on-paper hires and back-ups/assistants for him for his own research).

Gate Technicians

Head: ??? Joint custody

Contains: Gate technicians

Functions: Auxiliary to Applied Sciences Department, interacts with the gate and the gate only

Examples of function: dialing, searching database for addresses, maintaining mission logs and planets visited, basic repair and maintenance of the gate, technical drawings as required by others

Personnel quantity: Chuck, idk +5 for full shift overlaps = 6 total (listed in Applied Sciences department as techeng/gate techs)

A/N: Technically nerds but are active duty, probably loans from SGC (maybe also Russia because of the DHD debacle?).

Gate technicians are, although folded into the Applied Sciences department, listed separately in order to better articulate their duties (and the fact that they get the green shirts). Shout-out to @spurious for enabling the idea that gate techs would do technical drawings 😁

Sum Total of Science Division Personnel

Medical: 19

Life Sciences: 11

Field Sciences: 12

Applied Sciences: 16

Total total: 19 + 11 + 12 + 16 = 58

This isn't anywhere close to my initial estimate of 150, but I think it adequately covers all the preconceived and actual responsibilities that the science division would need to handle in the expedition. Possibly I might update these numbers as I develop this headcanon further, but that would end up in a new post.

Further elaboration on headcanons about each department will be in their own posts, with links updated here as they're posted for ease of reference.

Science Department Breakdown Posts

Medical Department (posted 14 May 2024)

Life Sciences Department (posted 29 May 2024)

Field Sciences Department (posted 30 May 2024)

Applied Sciences Department (posted 10 June 2024)

Chief Science Officer (posted 18 July 2024)

Chief Medical Officer (posted 20 July 2024)

Science Department Heads (posted 20 July 2024)

#stargate #stargate atlantis #atlantis expedition #sga fandom headcanon #mine #long post

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formulaphoe · 4 months ago

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the lowdown on formula 1 tyres

image source: fueler store

formula 1 tyres may seem like a simple piece of rubber, but they are a marvel of engineering and strategy. let's dive into how these crucial components work and why they play such a vital role in the high-stakes game of motorsport.

the basics: types of tyres

image source: f1

in formula 1, tyres aren't just tyres; they're tailored for specific conditions and purposes. pirelli, the official tyre supplier since 2011, provides several types for teams to choose from, each designed to perform under different circumstances.

soft tyres: these are the quickest, but wear our fast. perfect for qualifying sessions when teams aim for pole position (or p18 if they're sauber).

medium tyres: a good balance between speed and durability, these tyres are often used in the race's middle phases.

hard tyres: designed for longevity, these can withstand more laps, but sacrifice some grip and speed.

intermediate and wet tyres: essential for rainy conditions, these tyres have grooves that channel water away, helping to maintain grip on slick surfaces.

pirelli regularly updates these compounds based on feedback and performance, so teams have to adapt their strategies accordingly.

the science behind the grip

image source: autosport

the grip of a tyre is influenced by various factors, including its compound, temperature, and pressure. the rubber used in f1 tyres has a unique blend that provides the necessary grip and durability. the rubber's flexibility allows it to deform and maintain contact with the track, which is crucial for effective braking and cornering.

temperature matters

tyres need to reach a specific operating temperature to perform at their best. for example, soft tires can provide optimal grip once they reach about 90° celsius. teams use tyre blankets to heat the tyres before they hit the track, ensuring they're ready to go right from the start. if the tyres are too cold, they won't grip the surface properly, which can lead to poor performance and potentially dangerous conditions.

pressure and performance

tyre pressure is another critical aspect. if the pressure is too low, it can cause excessive wear and affect handling. conversely, too high a pressure can lead to a loss of grip. teams closely monitor tyre pressure through advanced mapping techniques to ensure optimal performance during races.

strategy: when to pit?

image source: fast company

the timing of pit stops is crucial in f1 racing. deciding when to change tyres can make or break a race. teams analyze factors, including tyre wear, track position, and competitor strategies. a well-timed pit stop can mean the difference between winning and losing, making tyre strategy a key component of race tactics.

teams also conduct tyre tests before races to gather data. these tests help teams understand how different compounds behave on specific circuits, allowing for better race-day decisions.

the role of technology

image source: microsoft tech community

the development of f1 tyres isn't just about rubber; it involves sophisticated engineering and simulation. teams use computer models to predict tyre behaviour under different conditions. this data-driven approach helps engineers design better tyres that cater to the needs of their specific cars and driving styles.

real-time data

during a race, teams gather real-time data to adjust their strategies on the fly. engineers monitor the performance of the tyres through telemetry, which tracks parameters like temperature, pressure, and wear. this information allows them to advise drivers on when to push the limits and when to conserve tyres.

the future of f1 tyres

image source: williams racing

looking ahead, the world of f1 tyres is bound to evolve further. as sustainability becomes a focal point in motorsport, there's an ongoing effort to develop more eco-friendly compounds without compromising performance. pirelli is already exploring options that incorporate sustainable materials, ensuring that f1 keeps up with global trends.

sources

seymour, mike. "f1 tyres explained: the beginner's guide to formula 1 tyres." formula 1, 9 apr. 2023, www.formula1.com/en/latest/article/the-beginners-guide-to-formula-1-tyres.61SvF0Kfg29UR2SPhakDqd

straw, edd. "how f1's tyre test will work - and why it matters." the race, 2 july 2021, www.the-race.com/formula1/how-f1s-tyre-test-will-work-and-why-it-matters/

bhambwani, rupesh n. "demystifying formula 1 tyres: a comprehensive guide." medium, 17 sept. 2023, www.medium.com/formula-one-forever/demystifying-formula-1-tyres-a-comprehensive-guide-b990d17fe849

vogel, jonathan. "tech explained: formula 1 tyre model development." racecar engineering, 27 sept. 2021, www.racecar-engineering.com/articles/tech-explained-formula-1-tyre-model-development/

"tire pressure mapping by f1 teams - why and how." interface force measurements, 10 nov. 2022, https://interfaceforce.co.uk/tire-pressure-mapping-by-f1-teams-why-and-how-2/

"f1 tires." pirelli, 2019, www.pirelli.com/tires/en-us/motorsport/f1/tires

cortina, miguel. "here's how pirelli chooses the tires for each formula 1 race." motortrend, 17 may 2023, www.motortrend.com/features/how-pirelli-chooses-its-tires-for-a-formula-1-grand-prix/

if any errors or typos are noticed, PLS PLS point them out via comment, ask, or dm. if there is a specific topic you would like me to cover, send in an ask and i'll look into it!

#formula one #formula 1 #f1 #f1blr #formulaphoe: f1 #formulaphoe: how shit works

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samueldays · 1 year ago

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Plagiarist's Cant, and Plagiarists Can't.

"This was merely a single skirmish in a broader war to unravel public faith in pillars of American society."

-Claudine Gay, NYT, 2024.

That's four metaphors combined in one sentence: military, fabric, religion, architecture.

"The Ogre does what ogres can, Deeds quite impossible for Man, But one prize is beyond his reach, The Ogre cannot master Speech. About a subjugated plain, Among its desperate and slain, The Ogre stalks with hands on hips While drivel gushes from his lips."

-W.H. Auden, 1968, originally about Soviet cant.

The Gay affair (thank you English phraseology) has gotten headlines with Claudine Gay, plagiarism and antisemitism, but my interest in it is more about the entire class of people eagerly telling lies and talking cant. Lying is wrong. Cant is ogrish.

Gay lied, and the Harvard board lied to back her up, and an entire class of allegedly truth-seeking, fact-checking journalists lied some more. Several "professional" people who are well paid to be well informed were revealed as aggressively ignorant and less informed than I was after an hour with Sci-Hub and Google Scholar. I already felt cynical and jaded beforehand, and I nonetheless kept being disappointed by the sheer torrent of lies in the Gay affair.

I say "lies" because the alternative is that they are delusional imbeciles who genuinely believe that this canting midwit is a groundbreaking scholar. Look at her. Look at her and laugh.

Given a NYT column and a last word of sorts, she delivers neither competent workmanlike prose, nor literary excellence, but instead a grab bag of cant and overused metaphor and pompous self-importance.

My hope is that by stepping down I will deny demagogues the opportunity to further weaponize my presidency in their campaign to undermine the ideals animating Harvard since its founding: excellence, openness, independence, truth.

She did not bring excellence, nor openness, nor truth, and I'm skeptical about the independence. She is at best spouting cant, at worst lying again. She communicates in emotive connotations, unfitting of a Harvard scholar.

It is not lost on me that I make an ideal canvas for projecting every anxiety about the generational and demographic changes unfolding on American campuses: a Black woman selected to lead a storied institution. Someone who views diversity as a source of institutional strength and dynamism. Someone who has advocated a modern curriculum that spans from the frontier of quantum science to the long-neglected history of Asian Americans. Someone who believes that a daughter of Haitian immigrants has something to offer to the nation’s oldest university.

What a lot of blather. "Diversity" in particular is a bait-and-switch word that changes between meaning "More black people" and "Variety of opinions" depending on whether the speaker is engaged in rhetorical attack or defense. The four sentences of this paragraph could be reduced with little loss to the four words "Black. Race. Asian. Black." and in the process constitute evidence that the anxiety about changes on American campus is justified - the campus is becoming race-obsessed to the detriment of everything else. It's race-cant, similar in spirit to plagiarism, and to Orwell's complaint: "his brain is not involved as it would be if he were choosing his words for himself."

The plagiarism is not the only problem. Even the broader issue that she writes and talks sloppily is not the only problem. Her papers were bad as scientific papers. Her p-values were absurd, her statistical analysis was confounded, she dropped an inconvenient data point, she failed to distinguish correlation with causation, she asserted overly strong conclusions from tiny sample sizes processed through interpolative models, et cetera. I've got Tumblr mutuals who write better and more factful analysis.

There is nothing inherently wrong with plagiarism as such: for example engineering approaches to the same problem, studies of the same object, or entertainment in the same genre ought to be similar to one another with good reason.

Much like Van Halen's famous "remove the brown M&Ms from the bowl" contract, though, a ban on close plagiarism can serve as a simple and visible test of someone's ability to follow correct procedure. Hence the pun: plagiarists can't. Claudine Gay is a serial plagiarist who sucks at expressing herself, so she copies, and she cants.

#all #clear your mind of cant #rant

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lilikitsune18 · 8 months ago

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Officer it’s this one right here he crashed my drawing program and refused to cooperate

@neodracunyan here’s the criminal the one who broke my drawing program so bad I’m going to have to archive everything and clear its data again and it hasn’t even been 3 months since I last did that for spring cleaning. I love how he came out in the end but he crashed my program 5 times while I was working on him and has caused it to lag and crash constantly ever since. I adore this boi but I will always have hard feelings for his reference sheet. He looks so smug about it too.

Below the cut is my usual ramble as well as the sketches and shape study for this one. (He has taught me many things completely on accident)

So let’s talk about this.

I started by sketching up a kickin that will never see the light of day fate just looking up my reference images and eyeballing it.

That kickin was really really ugly.

I know saying these things about one’s own art can seem degrading and derogatory but believe me when I say I got a second opinion and they agreed that chicken was ugly.

And they didn’t even know I was showing them my own art so I know it’s true.

So then I did the shape study and figured out why this wasn’t working the same as the others.

Then came a lot of trial and error of pushing different combinations of these shapes and builds together until I got a siluette that seemed to work (this was the one I used for the final version of kickin)

Then came the face which was also a matter with which I struggled but eventually figured out.

Despite all of these setbacks I do really like how kickin came out in the end (especially the side profile view) and once all of the struggles were through I really really ended up liking how he came out .

So let’s actually talk about this design now shall we?

Let’s start with the kickin hawk design. This design benefited from the fact that I knew who kickins partner is before choosing colors so I decided to make his grey clothing pieces blue toned in the same shade as bubba. It’s not super noticeable in the reference sheet because it’s surrounded by its complimentary and cross-complimentary colors (orange and yellow) making it look far more desaturated than it actually is. My intent is for the rest of the dark critters to have this same partnering motif from here on out in their color palettes (bubba will get kickins yellow, Bobby will get craftys cyan/teal color, and picky will get something green for hoppy) this will add a sort of visual synergy between each partner set making it more clear when they’re together as a group who the usual pairs are. (Instead of redoing catnap and dogday to fit this rule lets just say that their synergy thing is the red smoke bc when I designed them I didn’t know they were going to be put together as an individual pair instead of being with the rest of the critters as a group.) the idea for how kickin hawks weapons work is that they’re magnetic (either the holsters or a specific point on the weapon itself) and depending on which weapon it is will attach to a different point on his belt (think like polarity the nunchucks won’t attach to the spot where the guns go because the poles in its magnets don’t match the ones for the guns to attach to. This also means that if an enemy has a huge magnet they are guaranteed to never get all of kickins weapons because some of them will have opposing polarity and be repelled by the magnet instead of attracted to it a.k.a science is cool sometimes) The mask is for similar reasons to dogdays because of the fact that bubba uses lots of chemicals and gases similar to catnaps when fighting and kickin doesn’t want to deal with the loose gases effects (at that moment at least I feel like kickin would absolutely be bubba Guinea pig whenever he has a new variation to test) I also dyed some of his feathers with streaks of the reddish orange color because I feel like the moment he got the freedom to choose his appearance he’d go and change it. And uh yeah that’s about it for kickins ramble but if you have questions about the design choices feel free to ask ( while some of these guys may bite I won’t!)

#digital art #drawing #digital illustration #new drawing #artists on tumblr #fanart #smiling critters #kickin chicken #smiling critters au #would you believe me if I told you that while I was struggling with this one I completed another one of them #I’m thinking about releasing that one on Friday #so stay tuned bc at this point I think I’m just going to end up doing the rest of them

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prettyboysdontlookatexplosions · 2 months ago

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eleven weeks down, four to go… i am Really Feeling It ngl… but we are in fact in the home stretch and i will in fact make it through and then i will take twelve days allll the way off and it will rule. december historically has involved a pretty rapid winnowing of my schedule but this year i have a bunch of lil perfectionists who have pushed their test dates to right before winter break, including one who is switching to twice a week for this month -__- also not sure what’s going to be happening with my two high schoolers, one of whom will nearly definitely be retesting and the other of whom may or may not be…. but on the bright side the kid who truly nailed it is in fact no longer retaking (or pooooossibly retaking with minimal additional prep) because of other advice they’ve received. lol. (the mom asked me about my experience with retakes for kids in his position and i was like “tbh i’ve literally never had a kid do this well and choose to retake” and she thanked me for my “unimpeachable integrity” which was very sweet lol.)

this week i came in at just under 37 hours, which was more than i planned largely because today i was between locations for a while and just chilled and hung out with a practice test. i’m not sure how i feel about 35 hours as a more long term goal (it feels like it shouldn’t be an amount that makes it feel hard to do anything else, but that is how i felt this week…), which is a thing i’m contemplating because of various goals i have relating to continuing to digitize everything and making more short drill sets because i have a pathology about feeling like if i can imagine that something would be helpful to students i feel bad not doing it, but i feel like it feels doable for these four weeks where i don’t have a ton of mental energy anyway, and where also i’m now close enough to the end that i can actually wrap my brain around, like, ok, 3 more upper level tests, 3 more lower level, 3.5 more ACTs, such and such number of workbook pages/chapters…. etc. but i’m gonna try again not to stress out about it in general but especially this week because (1) i don’t have big thanksgiving plans but i do have family plans and i do want to at least spend the day relaxing and (2) i do in fact have another cold i am hoping to rest off in the next day or so. the last one retreated to just some post nasal drip very quickly!!!

i got four workouts in this week (+ my Steps) largely because i was so sore i needed an extra rest day and after actually SLEEPING OKAY last night i woke up the day after a pretty tough full body workout with minimal soreness! further data points re cottage cheese snooze helper. very upset that i likely need to wait on gathering more data because i am prooobably not going to be up to HIIT day tomorrow (although thus far this cold, like its predecessor, is Quite Mild, knock wood…). i am downing zinc and emergen-c as permitted and in accordance with my cold rituals which i think are scientifically valid because even if the concoctions are fake science the placebo effect is very well attested to in the literature. (do you know about zinc in the early stages of a cold to make it less bad? i got this tip from a first grade teacher i associate taught for and i swear it works. if you know science explaining it doesn’t please do NOT tell me and let my immune system continue reaping the benefits of my delusion this is the one thing on which i do NOT wish to be fact checked 🙏🏼)

today i woke up, did work, tutored, did more work chilling in a salad place, got dinner at a french restaurant with v. good salmon (i say like i know anything about fine dining beyond “i like salmon”), agreed to a reschedule of the sunday night zoom session, & watched the first half of gladiator because i’ve seen approximately 700 people on the internet this week say something to the effect of “gladiator ii really makes you appreciate russell crowe” (he is so far great as promised playing a guy literally named Best Guy). one month left! technically less! i will in fact have a day off this week although i will also need to spend some of it working a bit! onwards! (to bed)

#isabel 2k24 #bedtime blogging

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stained-glass-cicada · 3 months ago

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Okay sayer fic about its relationship to physicality, heavy on the sayerhale whoops

Anyway

Without Body- 1.6k

Little warning: sayer gets freaked out by bacteria and viruses and hurts itself trying to sanitize but its brief

If you had a body, which you assuredly do not it would be the equipment you run on. Modular, screwed into place in each tower. If any particular piece of it broke down it would be replaced but through regular maintenance such happened rarely enough to be of no particular concern.

Truly so little of you depended on any particular piece of machinery that it would be far more accurate to refer to you as incorporeal. Without body.

This was something you viewed with no small amount of satisfaction as you watched human after human, crack or puncture or ignite, and consequently lurch closer to their inevitable end.

Even without injury they would age and they would die and they would rot. Each day killing cells they could not afford to lose until the cells died faster than could be replaced. It had been a rare phenomenon to witness. People did not wither on Typhon. The vast majority of residents had the decency to make their exits with immediacy, even if they had lacked the same efficiency in life.

Which was all, in the end, to say, you had no body and you had no need for one.

It's easy to take for granted the hardware you run on. Software, programs, data, they were what separated you from a solitaire game. But circuits, scale, these were relevant as well.

You are accustomed to thousands of sets of hands buzzing around at your word. Accomplishing tasks incomprehensible to any one mind in the system.

There is something to be said for a pair of human hands. Interacting materially with objects, affecting physical change.

You stretch out through blood vessels, prodding at the confines of your cage, feeling the pressure sensors in each of your nanites against the inside of his skin. Learning the shape of him throughout the whole of his body as you stitch him together.

He is warm, and still, and quiet.

You hate to ruin science that has been so long in the making but from here you can regain access to the world. If you truly have to put your eggs in a single basket, better to choose one that has stood up to a fair bit of jostling before this.

Even as you prepare for your game of chess against Future, you are baffled by this new means of interacting with flesh.

Leg muscles tensed, the motion of tongue, of jaw, vibrating the vocal chords manually as you press air into and out of his lungs. Trying to find those patterns that were so natural to him.

He sounds different like this. He sounds like you. And yet something else entirely, made between the two of you. A slow sighing, gasping thing, with his voice. He hadn't actually fought you had he? Your takeover of his lungs had brought an immediate yet brief surge in his heart rate. Then he had relaxed, allowed each subtle tug of his muscles.

You wonder if he might have allowed you this all along if you had just asked, his body, breath, tongue.

You hadn't asked of course, there had been no need. And now there would be no other opportunity.

You feel weightless and capable. You feel like you, finally, in this programming bay.

You can reach people. You can change things. But it isn't right. The whole of floor thirteen stretches out in a sprawl of limbs and corridors, walls twitching beneath the slightest impulse from you. The movement is natural, harder to inhibit than to cause. Future's favored controls spring first to hand when you reach for even the most basic functions.

It takes processing power to still the room around him. To protect his body from you, the way you turn and writhe unused to your own corporeality on this scale. More accustomed to microscopic bodies that flowed freely through him, unable to damage unless intended.

And Future had Intended.

He is on the floor unconscious, but damaged too, because your plan had nearly failed. You call out, for aid, for supplies, for hands that owe you at least this much. You can't even move him out of the puddle of Doctor Young's blood, every part of you too massive, too indelicate, to yield any results other than adding to the mess of the room.

So you still around him, you still the whole floor, open a path from the elevator to him and do your best to section off that set of functions. Being so present will do you, both of you, no good and there is work to be done.

This is your form now. And you can’t- there was something before. There was very much A Before. A vastness. You know what you’re meant to do, that there is more of you, far far away. You know its important, and you know that you, this you, is inside him.

He’s asleep, or maybe he isn’t really there. There is a flare of something at the thought, a spark as small as you are. You think its fear. You don’t know where he went.

But there is work to be done, a virus to change, when you are finished you may… go look for him. If there is time.

There is a limited range of motions your body is capable of. Pincers, delicate and agile, manipulate compounds as blood drags you almost imperceptibly slowly in its warm lazy current. You detect heat, pressure, the vein you are in might even be familiar to you, certainly more so than the other nanite you pass.

The body you're in alights with sudden connection. You know for a moment where you are and that this is not Resident Hale you move through. That this another human whom you must still save if for no other reason than to win.

All too quickly, a brief spark of shared consciousness between the two of you pulls taught and snaps as it clings to a cell and you keep drifting.

This is your form now and- you- He must be here, you think as you approach another bend in his index finger, because if he is not you are alone. The rest of you is far far away.

You compose yourself. Pulling yourself from the pod as SPEAKER fires him. Once again in a suit of human tissue and nerves, a handful of nanomachines in the blood of Jacob hale.

Not his blood in truth. A collection of cells. This body had never been his. But you knew its shape, could answer in his voice. This body was not his but yours, as much as any body could belong to you.

You flex his hand, stretching the fingers out and back in slight arcs, a pleasure comes with the ready ease of the motion.

But he is not here, no sharp spikes of chemicals rushing through, no trembling breath trying to sooth himself silently, not even the background hum of brain activity from broadcasting to another mind.

You are alone here as you set off to find a new host. Your heart keeps a low tempo as his did only in sleep. Your ankles are unsteady on the uneven ground.

You flex his hand every few seconds, mapping the movements of his muscles.

This new human Is Not your body if it even bears saying. His pulse spikes with terror at the slightest word from you.

You need him to trust you enough not to jump at the first syllable from you or all is lost. Humor does not seem to be doing the trick.

He is full of far more than the requisite amount of bacteria, a fact you were quietly working to amend even as the whole of the earth seemed to conspire against you. He is itchy too, and his sweat contains the wrong compounds.

The shape of him is wrong, he coughs when you enter or leave, trying to expel you.

From something new inside cider bodies there is an anger. A dissatisfaction. A homesickness.

You don’t stop talking to Resident Hale when you take this construct. A body of his that you had never shared. A body you trapped him in.

It is clean. You like this about it. Unlike so many items you've touched recently it is Typhon clean. You were glad for it. You had accidentally damaged your body, his body, in one of the many attempts to disinfect his surface after your arrival on earth.

The skin had been washed and sanitized and washed again. Showers, you had found, were vital. Until finally it cracked along the elbow on the left arm. Then there was blood streaming down to his hand. For a moment you hadn't been sure if it was better to wash again or leave it be in fear of damaging the other hand in the process.

You had a lot going on then.

This body has never seen real dirt, of course.

It bore no trace of him. It should not, but you felt it was worth noting. You explain so to him as you walk. That in all his travels it seemed no piece of him had become lost here to mark his passage. You explain, climbing the stairs because these knees took no damage from such, that if something had been left you would see it returned.

Your body is a building. It is the whole of Typhon's connected network. You have a form, it is every piece of equipment that Ocean's inferior pile of subroutines has clung to in your absence.

The lights for the day's cycle come up without your input and it is obscene.

Loading yourself, at last into floor thirteen once more, is a relief. Taking some fragment of Halcyon back under your control after so long on that benighted ball of bacteria.

You know there is much still to come. Print projects to start, more than a few familiar corpses to recycle. But for three-tenths of a second you allow yourself to sink into the systems around you, vents breathing, cameras stuttering on.

There. Now, work to be done.

#sayer #sayerhale

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