#Finger Print Sensor

[suashii]

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝒞𝐻𝐸𝐸𝑅 𝒰𝒫 𝒞𝒜𝒩𝒟𝒴

info ⭑ suna rintaro x reader. 1.4 wc. sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ reader is a bit sad

note ⭑ inspired by a scene from the webtoon comic act like you love me!

there’s a guy who comes into your work every wednesday—after the rush of high schoolers who stop by following their tutoring sessions but before it’s late enough for you to clock out and call it a night. he hums in acknowledgment every time you offer him a cordial, customer service “welcome” when you hear the motion sensor bell ring. his movements are predictable now and, as much as you try not to, you catch yourself following him with your eyes as he strolls down one aisle where he grabs a bag of jelly candies (the flavor alternates every week) until he disappears behind the tall, stocked shelves. he always emerges by the fridges where he grabs his usual energy drink before making his way to the counter.

over the span of the past several weeks, the formal utterances you’re required to deliver have evolved into fledglings of conversations. the phrase “did you find everything okay?” is eventually ditched and traded in for more personable questions, ones having to do with his choice of candy or the character printed on his hoodie. he smiles when you ask—not the kind that meets his eyes, but a genuine one nonetheless. when you hand him his change, he’s always sure to tell you thank you and offers a two-fingered wave before taking his leave.

the interactions between the two of you give you a short moment highlighted by something other than boredom during the five-hour shifts. he’s far from a friend, barely an acquaintance, hell, you’re not even sure what his name is—all you know is that you like seeing him.

today should be no different. it’s wednesday, it’s after ten, and the store is deafeningly quiet—too quiet for your liking, truly. you normally wouldn’t mind listening to the low of whispers the refrigerators and fluorescent lights, but the silence allows your mind to wander and it keeps going back to that godforsaken text; one that you wouldn’t have seen until after work if you had kept your phone in the back like you were supposed to.

we should break up. things aren’t working anymore.

“what an asshole,” you say out loud to yourself, wiping the stray tear from your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt. the prick didn’t even have the decency to do it properly—to say it to your face. he’s not worth wasting your tears on, at least, that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself for the past ten minutes. but it’s easier said than done. no matter how much you want to be unaffected by this, you’re hurt.

you would have been better off leaving your stupid phone in that stupid, unused breakroom.

you can feel another wave of sadness coming on as the automated bell chirps, signaling the arrival of a customer. with a deep, shaky breath, you turn your head in the opposite direction of the door to hide your tear-streaked face. you’re too busy hurriedly dabbing away at your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt that you forget to greet the customer—the one that happens to be your favorite regular. that much doesn’t go unnoticed by suna.

the absence of your typical “welcome!” makes the corner of his lips turn down. it’s worrying, he thinks, how reserved you are tonight. he used to find your enthusiastic greetings a little strange—how could someone be so chipper working the night shift as a cashier? but now given its absence, suna is starting to realize that, at some point, he’d gotten used to it. he’d even go as far as saying he prefers it.

his grayish-yellow gaze lingers on you as he makes his way down the aisle filled with sweets, but you never meet his eye. reluctantly, he looks away from you to what he came here for. his eyes scan over the selection of jelly candies in search of which flavor he wants this week. he usually picks whatever he has a taste for, but some other factor is swaying his judgment. his hand comes to hover over the lychee ones—he’s sure you said those ones were your favorite. lithe fingers pluck the pack from its box before he’s off to get his drink.

he can see you through the glass of the fridge door as he aimlessly reaches for the cold can. your head is tipped down, eyes glued to the counter in front of you. that’s weird, too, he thinks, fingers finally grazing the tab on one of the cans. on any other day he comes in, you’re mindlessly staring off into space or not-so-discreetly scrolling on your phone. suna knows it’s probably not his place to think so, but something’s definitely wrong.

he knows that much, but isn’t quite sure what to do about it.

nothing, he supposes. you’re not his friend—he’s a customer and you’re an employee. he has no obligation to do anything about your dampened mood, so why is he thinking so hard about how he can cheer you up?

suna tries to shake the thoughts from his head as he approaches you at the checkout. he sets his things on the counter, unknowingly staring you down to see if you’ll make eye contact with him. he’s almost sure you won’t but, surprisingly, you drag your eyes up from the surface to meet his.

they’re puffy and red, like you’ve been crying.

suna isn’t well-known for his ability to comfort others. in fact, he’s incredibly awkward around people when they cry—and you’re no exception. is it better to ask what’s wrong or try and help take your mind off whatever’s bothering you? he doesn’t know the answer to that question, so he simply musters up a tight-lipped smile, one he’s sure is a little inappropriate given the circumstances, but he’s not sure what else to do. you offer him what you think is a smile in return, but all suna sees is the slight wobble of your lips.

the scanner in your hand beeps twice before you read out the price from the screen ahead of you. suna fumbles around his pocket for the money he had stuffed in there earlier. the thousand yen banknote he passes to you is a bit crumpled and you would have laughed if you weren’t feeling so pathetic. the register rings as you open it to fish out the money you owe him.

closing the drawer with one hand, you hold out his change with the other. suna is stuffing the currency back into the pocket of his hoodie when you speak for the first time since he had come in. “have a nice night.”

the familiar sound of your voice, despite its scratchiness, causes suna to perk up. though, his shoulders slump when he realizes you’ve ducked down to busy yourself with something behind the counter. his feet feel like blocks of concrete, weighed down to this spot. he can’t leave without doing anything. he knows that you’d likely prefer to be alone right now, but he only needs to stick around for a few seconds longer before he’s out of your hair.

you don’t rise from your crouched position until you hear the automated bell that signals the man’s departure ring. hiding away after ringing him up might have been a little unprofessional but the thought of crying in front of him was too humiliating for you to even risk letting it happen.

you sniffle as you stuff your hands into the pockets of your uniform vest, eyes wandering to focus on anything but the source of your sorrow. unconsciously, you tilt your head down to look at the counter. there are pops of color against the white surface; four individually wrapped lychee jelly candies—the same kind that guy had just bought. your favorite.

you peek out the window to see if he’s out of sight yet. you’re relieved to see he hasn’t made it far, maybe a couple squares down the sidewalk. his hood is pulled over his head now but you’d never be able to miss those eyes. with a grin plastered on his face, he points at you and then tips his chin up with the same finger. keep your chin up.

in his other hand, the pack of candy he’s holding is torn at the corner.

your eyes begin to water as you breathe out a laugh, your lips tugging up for the first time tonight since you’d read that text. the tears threatening to spill over your lashline aren’t the same as the ones you had already shed—they’re tears of gratitude, the kind you cry when you can’t effectively express how thankful you are through words.

swallowing the lump in your throat, you pull one of your fists out of the pocket it resides in, sticking your thumb up and mouthing a silent “thank you.”

hihi~ sua here :3 ! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

[holderoftheg-r-a-i-l]

giant mechs hc dump under the cut. some are silly, and some are. very sad.

- some times someone will ask Ivy a question and instead of her voice they get a text-to-speech voice because the info is from a data download instead of her reading it

- Jonny sleeps with a weighted blanket. if he is sleeping in the same bed with someone, they will usually roll him up in the weighted blanket because if they do not, they will get kicked in the face from his flailing

- Marius spends a lot of time in the cockpit with Brian. Partially because he's fascinated with the control panels (he only knows what a few of the buttons do) but also because Brian tends to hum while he drives and it's calming.

- Raph keeps a catelogue of plants & substances from every system they visit. Ivy helps her categorize them. when they leave a system often the two of them can be exclusively found in the labs or library for several days as they sort & label plants, drugs, ect

- Tim has spent a lot of time studying whatever notes he can cipher out of Dr Carmilla's works. he spends a lot of time tinkering to try to create more mechanisms. he blames himself for Berties death since he convinced him to enlist, and even though bertie is long dead he still wants to learn to build a Mechanism, just to prove to himself he could have saved him if he had time

- Marius absolutely will hand someone his arm if they ask for a "hand" with something. this has ended in him getting shot more than once

- Jonny enjoys laying his head on Brian and listening to his heart beat, imagining it's his own. He has sworn Brian to secrecy (everyone already knows)

- occasionally ivy's brain will crash and she has to reboot. originally this freaked out the others but they're used to it. they will fuck with her while she's out of it. once a reboot took several hours and she woke up and every inch of her face was covered in stickers

- in order from best cooks to worst- ivy, Nastya, Marius, Raphealla, TS, Brian, Jonny, ashes, Tim.

- ashes & Tim are both natural heaters and are usually in the middle of a cuddle pile on colder planets

- Brian doesn't technically need to breathe and enjoys walking on the bottom of deep bodies of water to see the creatures below. he does have to make sure he gets all of the salt water off so he doesn't rust tho

- no one is letting the toy soldier back into the aurora, it just exists where it believes it should (because it's needed, narratively important, or because it believes it will be funny). only aurora knows this, the others believe they keep accidentally letting it back in. this also means toy solider is *incredibly* good at startling others by just appearing in corners or behind doors.

- Jonny is missing the finger prints on one of his fingers from a bar fight, where he narrowly missed losing the whole finger.

- Tim has some knee damage from living in the tunnels during the moon war and while the mechnaizing has helped some, occasionally uses a cane

- Ashes has nerve damage in thier lower limbs from the flame damage

- Marius sometimes gets phantom pains from his missing arm

- somwtimes Brian turns all of his sensors up because he forgets what feeling actually alive feels like. his processor has limited ability to process things like warmth or pain so they just feel like echos of the real thing. he gets jealous sometimes of the others. everyone else can *feel* thier hugs. he's even jealous of TS. it can't feel like him, but it also doesn't remember what it felt like before. he's even jealous of the others feeling pain because at least it's more than just dull flashes that thier brain attempts to imitate as feeling

- ashes is Brian's favorite to touch/hug/cuddle with purely because they run hotter so it's easier for his sensors to pick up the temperature difference (so it feels the closest to hugging did before mechanizing)

- Brian hates the zero grav zones on the aurora & avoids them if at all possible because they remind him of his time before mechanizing (aurora knows this and will shuffle corridors around if she knows where he is going to avoid low grav areas)

- sometimes Tim will just. turn off the sensors in his eyes for a bit. usually when he's over stimulated. sometimes when he's tinkering on something he knows well and someone keeps bothering him. sometimes it's because someone keeps trying to get his attention and "sorry I didn't see you my eyes were off" is hilarious

[gravitycavity]

[Preview] Sunshine - Chapter 5

Hey guys! Thank you for your patience while I write chapter 5. This chapter might take longer than usual, so I wanted to give you all a longer-than-usual preview to make up for it. I hope you enjoy it!

For context, Pomni and Ragatha are in a ballroom inside of the haunted mansion. They're locked inside and looking for a key to escape, but aren't having very much luck. Having tried everything, they decide to take a break.

Also Ragatha is sitting in a chair. Pomni found her a comfy one :)

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

The long, dusty boxes that Pomni had already sifted through still laid in a messy pile beside the antique chest. Pomni never was very good at putting things back where she found them.

Sighing, she opened the nearest one and cautiously unfurled the bulky scroll stored inside. A series of small, perfectly-cut holes stretched across the yellowed paper. Some existed in isolation, while others were grouped together into long lines — as if a leaf-munching insect had eaten its way through the fragile material.

Pomni’s tonge prodded the inside of her cheek. “Ragatha? You said you played the…” her gaze flicked aside, “...violin, right?”

“Violoncello.” Ragatha deadpanned. “Why?”

“Well, I was just wondering — since you’re a musician, do you have any clue what these weird rolls of paper are for? They seem related to the piano somehow, but…”

“I thought you would never ask!” Ragatha gasped, clasping her hands together. “Those funky bundles of paper are called piano rolls!”

The redhead had responded to Pomni’s question in plain English, but the baffled look on the jester’s face suggested otherwise.  

Ragatha continued. “Back in the day, these were used to play piano tunes without the need for a human performer. Each one plays a different song when loaded into a player piano.”

“Player piano…?”

“Oh, right. Sorry!” Ragatha shuffled her feet, “That’s a special type of piano that plays itself. I’m not quite sure how it works either. But back to the topic at hand — see those little holes cut into the paper? Each one represents one music note. As the roll slowly unfurls, a sensor reads them and tells the machine which keys to strike.”

“Ohh…” Pomni ran her fingers across the parade of perforations that spanned the scroll. Slowly, she nodded. “...So it’s like a music box?”

“Now you’re getting it!” Ragatha beamed. The look on her face as she watched the concept click in Pomnis’ head was a painting of pure joy; was it any wonder that she had worked as a teacher prior to her captivity? 

Pomni sighed. She planted an elbow on the old chest and cradled her cheek against her palm. “Your students must have loved you...” 

“Well, I did receive my fair share of apples.” Ragatha shrugged. “Never had to pack a lunch.”

“Wait, seriously…? That’s a real thing?”

“No. Not really.”

A silly smile teased its way onto Pomni’s lips. Heart stumbling, she turned away, fingers unconsciously fiddling with the old chest’s loosened lock. “S-So, um, is there anything else you can tell me…?” 

“Nah — telling is overrated. In my classroom, I always liked to take a hands-on approach.” Ragatha said. She admired the antique instrument seated on the far end of the stage. “There’s a player piano right there. Why don’t you give it a whirl, Sunshine?”

Pomni felt her whole body melting, all the way down to her soul. Sunshine. She was putty in the ragdoll’s hands. 

“S-Sure thing! I’ll find a good one!” Just about tearing the lid off of the antique chest, she rifled through its tightly-packed contents with purpose, scrutinizing the faded titles printed on each box. She didn’t recognize a single song, much less any of their long-dead composers, so it was anyone's guess as to what the music would actually sound like. She may as well have just swiped a roll at random — and, as a matter of fact, that’s exactly what she did. 

Pomni set the bulky scroll inside the automatic piano after a bit of clumsy fumbling — and more than a little help from Ragatha. With the flip of a switch, the paper started spinning, and the premier notes of a lofty, leisurely tune stirred to life beneath the ballroom’s vaulted ceiling. 

Pomni’s fingers drew circles on the mechanical piano’s smooth, wood grain exterior. For a moment, she forgot where she was, utterly fascinated by the simple elegance of the century-old contraption. 

It was funny. The long-forgotten piece it played, humbly subtitled ‘a ragtime two-step’, had set her up to expect something more peppy and up-tempo. As the piano roll steadily unfurled, however, the melodic constellations impressed upon the paper sang a far different tune. 

It was the type of jaunty music one would expect to accompany a silent film, just…polished. Refined. All of the musical tropes of the era were present — the driving bassline, the active, syncopated melody — but the piece’s dignified pace and finely-crafted harmonies would have sounded out of place in a rowdy saloon. 

Here in the ballroom, though, the old-fashioned tune was right at home — at least, that’s what the haunted furniture seemed to think. 

Looking impressed, Pomni tapped her foot, wholly oblivious to the perplexing scene unfolding behind her. “Hm. Not bad.” She remarked, turning to face Ragatha, “To tell you the truth, I actually kind of ohmygodwhat’sgoingon—”

Pomni stumbled backwards, then forwards, then backwards again into Ragatha’s chair. The ballroom’s inanimate denizens — the one-hundred-odd tables and chairs scattered across its marble floor —  moved all on their own, dancing in time with the mellow melody. A backing band of squeaking wood and clinking plates added a percussive flair to the player piano’s charming, just-slightly-detuned sound. 

Ragatha, for her part, was busy cracking up at Pomni’s complete and utter bewilderment. With a quick breath, she managed to compose herself. “Well, when in Rome…” The ghost of a giggle still lingered in her tone as she offered up her hand to the crumpled heap of a woman at her feet, “Shall we?”

Pomni let out a mousy squeak. “H-Huh?” She flinched, head feeling light, dots flitting across her vision, “But—”

“Come on. Don’t make me beg.” Ragatha batted her eyes, “It’s unladylike.”

Pomni blushed. She couldn’t argue with that. Without a word, she swallowed, shuddering like a frightened animal as she reached for Ragatha’s pretty hand.

Her fingers curled snugly around the ragdoll’s plush, doughy hand. Both women’s palms — one big, one small — fit together perfectly.

Pomni slid her other arm behind Ragatha’s back, powerless to stop the little whimpers sneaking out of her as she lifted the lightweight woman into her arms. For a moment, their faces were close enough to feel each other’s warmth — and it took every ounce of restraint Pomni had to resist asking: ‘Can I please kiss you?’.

With a brief, peppy fanfare, the music transitioned to a new section; the enchanted furniture, as if controlled by a single mind, adapted its routine in perfect sync. 

“I, um…” Pomni’s heart sank at the sight. This stupid furniture was making her look bad. “I don’t really know how to dance…” She winced the thought, and then at the sight of Ragatha’s grave injuries, “And even if I did, how are we supposed to—”

“Shh.” Ragatha’s thumb glided across the back of Pomni’s hand. “Just…hold me. Please.”

Pomni exhaled. 

Holding her dolly close, the jester closed her eyes, synchronizing her trembling breaths with every other downbeat. Her foot matched the two-step’s gentle pulse, and before she knew it, her whole body was swaying to the rhythm.

Ragatha nestled her head against Pomni’s chest; a blissful sigh escaped her shuddering smile. The tension in her body dissipated note-by-note, phrase-by-phrase, as her darling rocked her back and forth, here and there, to and fro. 

[leahrintarou]

☠︎︎ DAY TWO: EDGING FT. KUROO ☠︎︎

☠︎︎ WARNINGS: desperately horny kuroo, sub!kuroo, fem reader, teasing, reverse pleasure, y/n gives, kuroo recieves.

☠︎︎ WORD COUNT: 1.2K

"y/nnnnn!" she groaned at the sound of her boyfriend repeatedly calling her name over and over again. this has been going on for the past seven minutes and each time, she'd adjust the volume of the tv to a higher setting.

slightly rolling her eye's when kurros voice followed after his own footsteps making its way down the staircase, he called her name once again. "y/nnn, i could've been dying and you're just ignoring me"

she only turned a deaf ear to kuroo's pleas, making him lazily slouch onto the empty space of the sofa. he gently grabbed her wrist and placed her relaxed digits over the growing erection hidden under the fabric of his shorts.

he placed his own palm over y/n's hand, applying some kind of pressure. "i'm hard and you've been ignoring me so, now that i've gotten your attention, the least you could do i make me feel good.. right?"

y/n's eye's slightly widened, hesitantly turning her attention towards kuroo. "and you ask for my help by sounding like a stuck record and calling my name every five seconds?" y/n's fingers slightly adjusted against his gradually hardening erection causing a sharp breath to pass through his teeth. "well, it got me what i wanted, didn't it?".

"trust me, you're not gonna want this"

"whatever you say, pretty" y/n hummed to kuroo's words, knowing that his cocky demeanor will soon melt into nothing with a couple of sensitive touches. she suddenly applied an immense amount of pressure onto his print, feeling the grip of kuroo's own palm slightly tighten around her hand.

using her unoccupied hand, she removed kuroo's grip from her occupied one, giving him nothing to actually grasp onto other than the throw pillow that rested next to him. y/n made swift movement's, sitting up and hurdling a leg over his thighs, now straddling his figure.

she heard the staggered sigh leave her boyfriend's lips, signifying his usual impatience. examining his sudden, lust filled expression, y/n decided to shift her position, to rest her clothed core against the length of kuroo's erection. he let out a small whine at the pressure that was suddenly applied, and it only became drawn out when y/n swayed her hips to meet his own.

"you've been louder than this before, you trying to keep your pride?" with her word's, kuroo uncontrollably tightened the muscle in his abdomen, the line between accepting his guilty pleasure and keeping his cocky facade suddenly becoming a blur.

y/n reached beside her, taking the tv's remote into her hold, aiming it at the sensor to adjust the volume to zero. "w-what was that for?" he asked through staggering breaths, his movement suddenly becoming uncontrollable. "i wanna hear you"

she slid her hand under the hem of kurro t-shirt, resting her palm against his waist, feeling satisfaction due to the way he shivered slightly from her touch. she carefully rubbed her thumb against his warm skin, leaning down to place small kisses to his neck.

kuroo only tilted his head a bit, giving y/n more access. with the hand that rested under his shirt, she parted from his skin and assisted kuroo with pulling the restricting fabric over his head. "fuck, this isn't fair, y/n"

"you're the one who wanted my help" y/n smiled before placing chaste pecks onto kuroo's chest, she practically felt his heartbeat quicken against her lips. he whined at her expected response because, afterall, he knew y/n well enough to know that she would never have an intimate moment if it didn't include teasing the living soul out of him.

but today, y/n did feel generous enough to give kuroo at least a small bit of satisfaction. hooking two digits into the hem of his sweat-shorts, she teasingly pulled it down, just enough to expose his v-line. placing small taps to the muscles indention, she let out a hum when she saw his veins become more prominent in his arm when his grip tightened onto the throw pillow.

"you're loving this, aren't you, tetsu?"

"quite the fucking opposite, your teasing feels unbearable when it's anywhere but-" kuroo's words stopped when he felt y/n firmly palm his restrained erection. "here?" she finished his sentence. kuroo couldn't manage to fathom a reply since his voice was occupied with a low moan.

y/n finally pulled down kuroo's shorts, leaving the loose hem to rest on his mid-thighs. when y/n finally looked up at him, she placed a small kiss onto his lips before mumbling a quick apology. "for what?"

"you'll find out soon enough"

y/n focused her gaze to kuroo's now complete erection. she finally realized why he was being so needy and impatient. he was desperately in need of a release and it was evident by the way he stiffened into her fist when she wrapped her hand around his member. he let out a breathy swear, lazily leaning his head back and onto the sofa's perimeter. "more"

y/n made fast and smooth movements with her wrist, jerking kuroo into her tightly wrapped fist. his hips uncontrollably contorted and bucked upwards, making y/n place a firm palm to his pelvis, lessening the intensity of his movements. "y/n-fuck"

small incoherent babbles fell from kuroo's lips, the last set of curses coming out as a silent plea when his erection jerked in y/n's hold. y/n immediately released her grip around kuroo, he let out a whine of frustration at the lost pleasure. his breathing was unsteady and tears were resting on the hem of his bottom lashline when his eyes shut tightly.

the liquid escaped from their place, slowly drifting down his facial structure. y/n leaned forward before placed her lips next to his ear. "i told you, you wouldn't have wanted this" she mumbled. a sharp breath once again passed though his teeth.

"y/n..just- please let me cum"

to be quite honest, y/n did feel a bit bad due to the fact that he'd been actually quite patient despite his words. kuroo didn't touch himself, he let y/n hear all of his pleasure filled noises, and he tried his hardest to keep himself together.

rewrapping her hand around kuroo's painful erection, she used her thumb, swiping it across his tip to spread his precum around the entirety of his member, hips bucking against her palm. "y/n...i'm s-sensitive" he said through hitched breaths. letting out a hum and nodding at kuroos warning, y/n continued her previous movements, wrist moving gracefully to please him.

this time, the pressure of her palm against his pelvis was a bit lighter, causing his hips to visibly buck into y/n's fist. kuroo was practically positive that y/n would only continue the cycle of working him up just to forbid him from releasing but, a sigh of relief left his lips at y/n's next words.

"tetsu, you can cum now"

kuroo's hips repeatdly bucked with every stroke of y/n's hand, she had no choice but to reapply the heavier pressure on his pelvis to keep his bucking hips, slightly steady. letting out whining moans of y/n's name, he felt satisfied when he felt the warm liquid pump from his tip and onto his tensed abdomen.

his watery eye's looked up to y/n. she was focused on the liquid that slowly drooled down the back of her hand, still pumping his softening member til he'd let her know that he was satisfied enough. kuroo lifted a shaky hand to grasp y/n's wrist, stopping her movements so he wouldn't suffer from overstimulation.

"you're no fun" she said through a sigh when her hand was removed from his member.

"and you're too much fun"

[bitchfitch]

Abandoned bunkers were a common sight. The bombs dropped so long ago that even the most paranoid communities had left them to rejoin the larger population on the surface one or two generations ago.

Abandoned bunkers that hadn't been picked clean by scavengers like Lino were a different story entirely.

He crept through the eerily quiet halls looking for whatever might be worth taking. The lights flickered on as he triggered their proximity sensors. The place was finely decorated to look like the homes of the wealthy who lived before the war. Crown molding covered in cobwebs, statues caked with dust, paintings who's varnish was so yellow you could barely see the image beyond it.

Lino pulled the strap of his cross body bag a little tighter. The off white marble floors were pristine. His own muddy boot prints being the only source of filth. The floor cleaning bot must still be functional.

The doors to this place had been wide open. Maybe it was only recently vacated? The air didn't hurt, the circulation and vent systems were still doing their jobs all these years later. It was pleasantly cool with none of the humidity or mildew smell that came from broken climate controllers. It was still serviceable when so few other bunkers were. He'd need to return with tools to strip the mechanisms for parts.

Those might be the only thing worth the effort. Pre war art had value, but everything was so heavy he'd only be able to carry one delicate piece at a time... The math on that effort to return ratio wasn't favorable. There had to be more. Something of actual value he could pay his dues with today.

He stepped into what was once a massive living room. The ancient, rotting, couches were pushed up against the walls, side tables and other bits of decor piled atop them to make more space in the center for the army of... Mannequins? Dolls? Scarecrows?

They were made from torn down tree branches, dried plant matter, and hope. Haphazard creations meant to display the clothes they wore. Beautiful dresses, finely tailored suits, ensembles that blurred the line. Each one constructed as a masterpiece of form with no eye given to the horribly clashing colors found within their materials.

Lino didn't know who they would fit.

No one looked like That anymore. Two arms, two legs, a single head atop a neck connected to a straight back. He was the most 'classic' looking human he had ever seen, but even he wasn't the right shape for so many of these.

It was a shame really.

It meant their only value was in the fabrics they were made from.

Lino pursed his lips, looking from the one garment that Might fit him to the mirrors hung either side of the faux fireplace. Luxury and fine items that exist just to be beautiful weren't unheard of concepts anymore, they just weren't things he had ever had the money to know. His leader had told him he would have been beautiful if he'd been born into one of the higher families who could have afforded to decorate him and sell him for his 'classic' looks. The leader offered him that wealth once. If Lino would just dye his albino white hair and let the surgeon remove his extra arms, the leader would have gladly decorated him themself.

He wasn't going to dismember himself to be pleasing for another. He was fine. Constantly living on edge, scouring the lands for any tiny scrap of value left over after so many other hungry scavengers had done the same before him. He was fine. He didn't need to be beautiful to survive.

The dress was shiny and silky smooth when he brushed his fingers along the stormy grey fabric. The fabric from all the other garments would pay his way for the month probably... He was the only person who knew this dress existed.

He didn't need to be beautiful to survive.

He undid the fastens around the dress form's neck and lifted the piece off, laying it over the form's shoulder before shucking off his own shirt. The dress was meant for someone taller than him, his muddy boots and damp pant cuffs would ruin it. Those went off next, then his discolored socks that he didn't want to see poking out beneath the hem, all were dropped in a messy pile beside him. He pulled the dress on as he stepped away from the filth of his own garments and towards the mirror.

The dress was backless. The side hems brushed the bases of his extra arms. It was too big. It would buy his dinner for weeks. Lino didn't want to look in the mirror, but when he did his gut twisted.

He looked gorgeous, the contours of the bodice following the lines of a body he often felt too scrawny to be anything other than awkward looking. The collar was pleasantly firm against the front of his throat, not tight, but present enough to make him feel it every time he moved to find a new angle. Even his extra arms were made to look right in it. The back of the collar came down in a slight point that fell perfectly between his misshapen shoulder blades. It was too big, but it was clearly intended for a woman who looked like the models of before. His longer torso and flat but broad chest meant he'd only need to take in a bit around his hips for it to look perfect... Even the skirt being meant for someone a foot taller than him wouldn't be a problem, it just looked like a fine train. He couldn't stop smiling. Guilt ate at him. He didn't need to be beautiful. He was wearing so much money. The panels weren't even pieced, the skirt alone had to have more pristine bolts in its gathers than most saw in their lives.

It was just a dress.

He twirled in front of the mirror to make the too long skirt flare out around him. His bare feet padding on the hard stone, his own reflection distracting him, his guilt making him focus in on the price something so beautiful would go for if he could just make himself destroy it.

Lino didn't hear the breathing until it was already too late.

A scrambling form shot around the corner, its growling tearing through the still air as it launched towards Lino with more speed than something so twisted looked like it should be able to.

Lino was so grateful his fear response had always been flight. He bolted to the side, the badly mutated man careened into the mirror, shattering it across its massive shoulders. Lino didn't look back. He could hear the man panting and snarling like an animal as it gave chase. Its hands pounding on the stone as it dragged itself behind him. He could hear it gaining on him. The door was in sight. Would it follow an intruder out of its home? Lino had to hope not. The threshold was under his foot. A harsh tug at his skirt. He came crashing down, his jaw knocking hard against the concrete porch sent his head spinning with painful disorientation.

"Auth Code 1756" The man spat. Lino had thought him too far gone with his mutation to be person enough to speak. The bunker beeped in response, something mechanical thunked. Gears ground.

Lino kicked, his leg was grabbed. He turned to see the featureless face of his assailant for a split second before it was blocked from view by the closing door.

Lino's vision whites out, he heard screaming. The man was still holding him trapped by the leg when the multi ton hunk of metal shut atop it.

[gumnut-logic]

It started with a bang.

Lots of bad things start with a bang, but this one wasn’t obvious.

A stray meteor hit Five. Wasn’t the first time, doubtful it would be the last, but Brains had built her strong enough to resist the majority of non-dinosaur-extincting rock events.

Most of them.

This one got through.

It was tiny, but it was enough to mess with some critical systems and it had both a worried Scott on the line and Brains jumping up and down as both John and Eos hurried to make repairs.

Virgil asked John to come down, but he chose not to.

Apparently his ‘bird needed nursing and Virgil, if he was honest, could respect that.

He really wished he hadn’t.

Being on the more paranoid end of the spectrum considering International Rescue’s history of getting the not so lucky end of anything, Virgil checked in with his space brother every half hour.

For the next twenty-four.

John was sympathetic until about the eighteen-hour mark. After that, he became snarlier each time Virgil poked him.

“Virgil, the damage has been repaired.”

“Humour me.”

“Why?”

Why? Virgil wasn’t sure, but he was sure that he needed to check on his brother. “Because it is my job.”

“Then maybe you should check your own readings because you are being beyond ridiculous.” And John cut the connection.

Great. He’d pissed John off – never a good thing to do.

But half an hour later, Virgil prodded him again. “John, report.”

“I’m fine, Virgil. Go to bed.”

Virgil peered closer at his brother’s hologram and frowned. “John?”

“What?!”

Virgil’s fingers darted over the sensor readouts from his brother’s spacesuit. “How are you feeling?”

“Annoyed. If you don’t stop this, I’m going to ask Scott to stop you from doing this.”

“Go for it.” He frowned at the oxygen saturation stat. “You sure you are feeling okay? Eos, can you give me an atmospheric reading on Five?” The numbers were all good, but something felt wrong.

Something had his hackles up, but he couldn’t identify what.

“All atmospheric reading are within the expected range, Virgil. John needs his rest, why are you continuing to disturb him?”

He stared at his brother floating far above. “I’m not sure, Eos.”

John rolled his eyes. “Then get back to me when you are.” His brother cut the connection.

Virgil sat back in his father’s chair. Maybe John was right. Maybe he was just edgy because of the meteor collision, a reminder of the brutality of space and his brother’s vulnerability so far above them. Maybe it was time for bed.

He lasted another hour before he commed John again.

“Virgil, whyyyy?”

Again, he ran his fingers over the sensors, again they tried to reassure him everything was okay.

But nothing was okay. Virgil was sure of it.

He just didn’t know what or why.

“I’m coming up.”

John stared at him. “What? Why?”

“Can’t I drop in to see my brother?”

“It’s 3am!”

“I’m a night owl.”

“I’m going to kick your ass, Virg. I’m tired. You’ve been bugging me for hours. Leave me alone!” The comm line cut again.

And Virgil’s hackles hit orbit.

John never called him ‘Virg’.

Ever.

“Eos?”

It took a moment. “Yes, Virgil?”

“Could you please lower the elevator?”

“He doesn’t want to see you.”

“Too bad. I need to check on his health.”

Eos didn’t answer.

“His health is important, Eos.”

Another long moment where Virgil considered waking Alan or Scott.

“Lowering elevator.”

There was no clarity in Eos’ voice as to her opinion but she was doing what he requested and that was all that mattered.

Half an hour and several layers of atmosphere later, Virgil was thankful for whatever sense that set him off.

He found John floating aimlessly in the central hub of Five. Above the vista of the planet, the holographics system was displaying a three-sixty view of family photos.

Scott grinned at him from the east, a baby Allie from the south pole, his father from the north, Gordy dressed in squid-print swimwear to the west and their beloved mother smiled her familiar smile from somewhere near Africa.

Virgil’s own picture took out South America next to Grandma in the South Pacific.

“John?”

His brother startled. “You! What do you want?”

Virgil eyed him. “Eos, can you give me those atmospheric readings again?”

“Yes, Virgil.” She rattled off the necessary numbers.

Unfortunately, they did not match the portable air sensor Virgil held in his hand. “Your readings are incorrect, Eos. Run a diagnostic.”

There was a pause as John continued to frown at him.

“Diagnostic complete. There are no errors in the sensor network, Virgil.”

“There is a contaminant in your air supply, John.”

“So you finally found an excuse for being annoying.” His brother flipped mid-air and stared up at the hologram of their father. “You hear that, Dad? Virgil finally has a reason for driving us all insane!” That last was shouted in Virgil’s direction along with a glare.

Virgil ignored it.

“John, I want you to come down to Tracy Island.”

“Why?” It was belligerence itself.

“Because you aren’t safe up here. And I miss you.”

“How can you miss me when you never leave me alone?!”

Virgil pressed his lips together and hit his comms. “Tracy Island, we have an Alert Gold.” The command would wake Scott and probably the rest of the house. It was an alert designed to help protect their most remote family member.

“You’re kidding.”

“No, John, I’m not.”

And John burst out laughing. “Do you ever hear yourself?”

Virgil didn’t answer.

“Obviously not. Other wise you would be insane by now. Or you would nag yourself to death.”

John didn’t mean it. He was under the influence. At a guess, there might be a leak in the thruster assembly, leaking oxidiser into Five. But why the sensors hadn’t picked it up…

“So are you going to tie me up and strap me to a bed because I don’t meet your standards of what I should be? Trample me until the numbers add up correctly?”

“John, Virgil is trying to help you.” Eos’ voice rang like a bell throughout the station.

John flinched. “So, you’re on his side now?”

“I wasn’t aware Virgil had a side.”

John grunted and glared his brother again. “You’ve infected her with your nagging.”

“We are just concerned about you. You are not yourself.”

His brother closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Thunderbird Five, status?!” Scott’s voice practically screamed a combination of worry and command over comms.

“You told! Dobbed me into big brother so he can nag me, too! Why can’t you all just leave me alone?!” John pushed off from the wall and threw himself towards the exit.

Virgil caught him mid-air.

It was a mistake. John was in his native environment. He flipped and slipped out of Virgil’s grasp. The engineer grabbed at his brother and missed as John used him as a launch point to finally reach the exit.

Before Virgil could regain his equilibrium, John had slammed the airlock shut and sealed him in.

Damnit.

“Eos!”

“Working on it.”

What could be stopping the AI from unsealing an airlock was a growing concern.

Dad glared at him from the ceiling.

“Thunderbird Five, answer me!”

Virgil drew in a breath, thankful for his uniform’s standalone air supply. “There is an atmospheric contaminant present in Five’s life support systems. I’m guessing we have an oxidizer leak from the thruster assembly. John is…not himself. I’m working on it.”

“Do you need Three?” In other words ‘can I come up there and join you before I melt from worry?’

“Give me ten and ask again.” He flicked off comms. “Eos, any luck?”

“I have contained him in his sleeping quarters, but you will need to hurry as he is currently attempting to override my program.” The speaker gave a little squawk and went silent.

“Eos?”

The airlock suddenly hissed open.

Virgil didn’t hesitate. He was through the exit and throwing himself after his brother without a second thought. He grabbed a spare helmet along the way. It was time to end this.

He found John yelling at the ceiling and pulling a control panel out of his shower cubicle. Why he thought that was a productive thing to do, Virgil didn’t know, but since Eos hadn’t said a word since, it was concerning enough.

The airlock to John’s quarters unsealed at his touch and Virgil slipped through, sealing it again behind him.

His brother didn’t look up from what he was doing. “So the brat let you out, did she?”

“John, you need help.”

“What I need is silence. No more nagging from annoying brothers. Didn’t you guys get the hint when I moved up here in the first place? All my life it has been the four of you in my ears, always bugging me. Now I’m in space and I still can’t escape you. Why can’t you leave me alone?!”

Virgil swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “We care, John.”

“Only enough to satisfy your own concern. Not how I feel having to listen to all your caterwauling.”

He’s not himself. It became a mantra echoing through Virgil’s head, but a little voice asked if it was really the truth.

“I can’t believe that.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” John continued to rip electronics out of the wall of his shower.

“What are you doing?”

“Silencing the dawn.”

“In the shower?”

John finally looked up at him but his smile was eerie. “No better place.”

“Then I’m going to have to stop you.”

His brother snorted. “You can try.”

Virgil didn’t move immediately. Instead, he pulled up a schematic on his HUD and confirmed the wiring behind the shower unit. Most of it was innocuous, but one of the main power distribution relays was nearby and that relay supported the main computer. There was sense in John’s statement, of an extreme kind. Taking out Eos by taking out his Thunderbird.

He had no idea what kind of logic was churning in his little brother’s brain, but he had to stop this. He had to get John’s helmet on his head and his body and brain off the cocktail of whatever was in the air.

Virgil pushed off from the wall and barrelled into him. John saw him coming and leapt ceiling-ward. Virgil anticipated the move and compensated enough to grab his brother around the waist.

Virgil had the brute strength, but John had flexibility. Virgil’s only chance lay in hanging on.

So he did.

And John did not like it.

At all.

“Get off me!”

He struggled, shoving at Virgil’s arms. When that didn’t work, he tried to knee his brother in the gut.

Virgil grit his teeth and in return, wrapped his legs around his slippery space-suited brother and began climbing him inch by inch, to get that damned helmet on his head.

John yelled in his ear. Tried a few moves that Kayo, no doubt, taught him. The bruises were beginning to mount up and yet, Virgil still hung on.

John wasn’t himself.

Not himself.

The proof was in the fact he hadn’t yet really employed the solid and attacker-crippling techniques Virgil knew his brother was fully capable of. Instead, they spun around in a totally uncoordinated tumble hitting walls and furniture until Virgil was able to get enough of a grip on his brother to shove his helmet on his head.

The helmet hung loose as John took the opportunity to jab him in the ribs as a result and for a moment Virgil thought he was going to lose his grip and hence the battle, but he managed an extra push and his brother’s suit engaged, automatically switching to its portable air supply exactly as it was designed to do in an emergency.

Virgil continued to cling to his brother to keep that helmet in place long enough to do its job. It earned him an aching kidney and some creaking ribs, but eventually John stopped struggling and fell quiet. A glance through the plexiglass of his helmet and Virgil found John’s eyes scrunched shut.

“John?” Virgil’s voice was hoarse. His belly had taken a beating, literally. Thank goodness for his baldric and all the equipment that came with it.

“V-Virgil? God, my head.” John groaned, his gloved hand scratching at his helmet.

Virgil let out a breath and drew his brother closer. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” He brought John’s head down to his shoulder and held him safe in his arms. There was a need to grab the medscanner. He…he would do that in a moment. “Tracy Island, can we take you up on that offer of a pick up?”

“Virgil, launching now. What’s your status?” Scott was all worry and clipped syllables.

“We’re okay.” He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on John’s shoulder. “We’re okay.”

-o-o-o-

[roboticsappreciationsociety]

by Adam Zewe, Massachusetts Institute of Technology

"Imagine grasping a heavy object, like a pipe wrench, with one hand. You would likely grab the wrench using your entire fingers, not just your fingertips. Sensory receptors in your skin, which run along the entire length of each finger, would send information to your brain about the tool you are grasping."

"In a robotic hand, tactile sensors that use cameras to obtain information about grasped objects are small and flat, so they are often located in the fingertips. These robots, in turn, use only their fingertips to grasp objects, typically with a pinching motion. This limits the manipulation tasks they can perform."

"MIT researchers have developed a camera-based touch sensor that is long, curved, and shaped like a human finger. Their device provides high-resolution tactile sensing over a large area. The sensor, called the GelSight Svelte, uses two mirrors to reflect and refract light so that one camera, located in the base of the sensor, can see along the entire finger's length. The work has been published on the pre-print server arXiv.

In addition, the researchers built the finger-shaped sensor with a flexible backbone. By measuring how the backbone bends when the finger touches an object, they can estimate the force being placed on the sensor.

They used GelSight Svelte sensors to produce a robotic hand that was able to grasp a heavy object like a human would, using the entire sensing area of all three of its fingers. The hand could also perform the same pinch grasps common to traditional robotic grippers."

[thepayloadisgay]

i'm a different anon, but since you want to talk about genji, here's a prompt: what do you think are genji's opinions/relationships on characters other than hanzo? your choice of which characters

Always here to talk about Genji tysm.

Gency, Genyatta, Ramji below the cut.

(sorry they just kinda devolved into small relationship dynamic drabbles sobs. hope u enjoy anyway)

Genji and Mercy

(note: I've written extensively about Gency in the past. I think my opinion on their relationship has changed a bit lately. Or maybe this is just another vein to their dynamic I wanna explore :3)

She was the first thing he saw when he woke up. Eyes ragged. Everything ringing with a halo. Blurred. Missing edges.

He didn't want to see her again for days, but he had to. The manual to his blueprint; fixer to his malfunctions; fucking hand to hold when he couldn't get up off the floor.

A shadow he wanted to cut off. A new normal that was nothing but there.

She was patient, if stern. Kind, if insistent. Beautiful, if weathered, weary.

Genji started to look more one day. A day he couldn't remember it just became. He asked her a question that wasn't about his body, what happened, what's going to happen. It was about her. She'd stopped what she was doing and struggled to answer.

The next time he noticed, she stood closer. Her laugh making him swallow. She wore glasses when she forgot her contacts. They made her eyes smaller. Hoops in her ears. Matching necklace, bracelet. Stupid jokes that made no sense. Interests that bored him. Stories that made him listen. A voice that lulled him. She smelled of coffee. Sometimes when it was late, cigarettes. Her hair, rose.

Genji hated roses. But he wanted her.

"Let's test your sensors," she'd said, holding his hand palm up, pen poised.

Before she'd pressed, pen clattered to floor, discarded. Genji touched palm to the base of her throat, fingers spreading over clavicle, knowing beneath it was more than just bone.

"Genji-" A whisper. Reprimand.

He'd looked up, curious, his thumb the shape of her throat. Her eyes, closed.

She ran colder than he'd expected. An effect of her nanbots as she played god within, without. Whatever it was, he felt a shiver for the first time since waking up something else. And he wanted to feel more.

More.

"I can feel a pen."

Angela ran a finger along his hairline, along the stairway of scars.

"I want to feel you." Closer, that the words had stuck to Angela's lips, never let go. "-you-"

"Just tonight." She'd said. She'd lied.

And lied again.

----------

Genji and Zenyatta

"I haven't seen you all morning."

Genji draws the whetstone along his blade, again. A mirror. Sharp enough to slice a breath. Too long since it had cut anything. But he still saw blood smeared at its edges, caught at the tip, smudged in what was left of his prints.

Sometimes.

For a while it had been clean. A reflection of his mind, growing soul.

"Couldn't sleep."

Zenyatta lowers from his hover, taking a seat on knees beside Genji, palms to knees.

"Your eyes do look, heavy."

"I know you're kindly saying I look like shit."

Zenyatta turns his head. "Hmm."

Scratch of the whetstone.

Hum of Zenyatta's orbs. Two, hover Genji, and he barely notices. just a normal comfort now that gravitate towards his melancholy. Scorching away the weight so it's easier to walk, stand, or simply, breathe.

"Some of us have learned a mimic of your sleep, here," begins Zenyatta, the sound of Genji's whetstone rhythm, rhyme, "a sort of deep meditation. Even a dream."

Geni glances to the side, only his eyes visible this morning, his faceplate security. Comfort.

"What do you dream of, master?"

Genji knows there's a smile. "Oh, that would be telling."

Genji keeps drawing his whetstone, but the motion's slow. His shoulders sag. Eyes, dull. A slow sigh and he uncrosses legs, stretching them across the ground, wiggling sore ankles, unmoved for hours.

"Sleep, Genji."

"What?"

The orbs around Genji circle once. Settle above, humming something Genji feels is warmth, want.

And soon, he's closer beside Zenyatta, head lolled against shoulder. The metal, edges, softened by the shawl draped, as if expectant. As if this has already happened before.

"Maybe we'll both dream, again. And compare...notes."

"Maybe." Is the last thing Genji says, a weight against Zenyatta, a hand on his master's thigh.

----------

Genji and Ramattra

"Why do you care so much about what they think?"

Ramattra. Cross legged, at ease as an emperor throned, dancing one of Genji's shurikens between his fingers.

Genji secures his faceplate, headplate, running a finger along a nick in one the ears, ignoring Ramattra.

"I mean," flicks the shuriken again. Genji almost snaps it out of his hand, "you are hideous. But humans -never mind their opinions- matter nothing."

"Why are you talking to one, then?"

"Are you one?" Flick.

Arm half in hoodie, he stops. Stares at one of the cracked mirrors he'd bought from the villages below after much encouragement from Zenyatta. There's no eyes that look back. Face, obscured. Hair, beneath. There are limbs, four. But humans aren't the only bipeds around here. He breathes, though. Eats. Drinks. Dreams (they do too, they say). Fucks (you're not alone in that, boy).

He could be human in that mirror.

He could not.

Genji pulls the rest of his hoodie on, cats with swords and lasers. There's holes in the wrists he's made for his thumbs. It's stretched from when someone else tried it on.

"You want me thrown off Shambali because I'm human," he snaps his head to Ramattra, "yet you question if I really am one."

"You say your heart beats," another flick of the shuriken, but this time towards Genji who catches it between two fingers, "but it wouldn't without all that metal, wires and wonder that makes me."

The shuriken sinks into the wood beside Ramattra's head, but not before it nicks a line of his face, a scratch through the purple.

Just, enough.

"I bleed, you don't."

Ramattra laughs. It's music. "And where exactly do you still bleed?"

It's a question that needs no answer. It's a taunt that wants one.

He doesn't know when Genji got here, foot to Ramattra's knee, and he leans forward, picking the shuriken from beside his head with a ting.

"You want to find out?"

Ramattra wonders how hard he can stretch that throat before it snaps; those thighs before they pop; how much he really does need left, to breathe, to bleed, be-

[materialsscienceandengineering]

This soft robotic gripper is not only 3D printed in one print, it also doesn't need any electronics to work. The device was developed by a team of roboticists at the University of California San Diego, in collaboration with researchers at the BASF corporation, who detailed their work in a recent issue of Science Robotics. The researchers wanted to design a soft gripper that would be ready to use right as it comes off the 3D printer, equipped with built in gravity and touch sensors. As a result, the gripper can pick up, hold, and release objects. No such gripper existed before this work. "We designed functions so that a series of valves would allow the gripper to both grip on contact and release at the right time," said Yichen Zhai, a postdoctoral researcher in the Bioinspired Robotics and Design Lab at the University of California San Diego and the leading author of the paper, which was published in the June 21 issue of Science Robotics. "It's the first time such a gripper can both grip and release. All you have to do is turn the gripper horizontally. This triggers a change in the airflow in the valves, making the two fingers of the gripper release."

Read more.

[whatgaviiformes]

Fic: G-forces

Another prompt fill! For @drileyf​ who asked for:

Thanks to @onereyofstarlight​ for the extra science help because I am not smart enough to write John. :D it’s all still my fault though

Post SkyHook - season 1, episode 11  Characters: John Tracy, Gordon Tracy Genre: Angst, Episode filler Words: 1.3K

John can still taste the metallic on his tongue. While his suit had taken the brunt of the G-forces in effort to keep his blood flow stable, it was designed with the flight from Thunderbird Three and the ascent via the space elevator in mind, plus a few extra safety features because it was designed by Brains. What it was not designed for was 25Gs of nauseating, tunnel-visioning, muscle-straining centrifugal force pressing on his all too human body. And helmetless as Scott on his first rescue, John had gotten a bloody nose from it.

He’s fine though. His ears stopped bleeding ages ago.

His heart hurts. It’s a pain that radiates out from his chest, and, yeah, he remembers clinically that it was normal for his heart to compensate to get the blood flowing efficiently through his body when under immense strain like that. Strain that, for the record, is far from normal. But there’s something different all together in the remnants of the hummingbird flutter under his skin – like its moving so fast he can’t even feel it past the intense ache that expands across his breast.

If he were a different man, he might believe that his heart had beat itself into oblivion and he was in some sort of demented version of what Hell might be – then again if it were Hell, maybe demented was par for the course. But no, he is a logical sort, and facts show his heart is still there somewhere past the pain. The monitor is telling him so. Plus he’s been through training enough – not for 25Gs - to know what residual heart stress feels like.

He's fine, though. Granted, there’s a fog over his brain, and his hands are cold – but these are all temporary things.

He wasn’t in danger. Much.

He’s ready to go home.

John’s fine with hospitals when he’s on the other end of a comm line telling them to expect rescuees inbound, less so when he’s the one needing care. The coffee is terrible - not that they’d give him any – and he hates the sludge of his brainwaves. He respects the people, those who are just as familiar with lack of sleep as his family of IR operatives, and with a similar vein of an immense desire to save others. Make a difference in the world.

His breath hitches when he thinks about, a laugh that quickly turns to a grimace. Veins. His feel like they’re pumping lead.

And there’s nothing to really look at in a hospital. The walls are too white for him, the smell too clean. He misses the rainbow of Five, because his home is not as colorless as one might think. She not just silver against the black of the void; even Virgil couldn’t argue the orange and green lines built into her glass panes, the array of holoscreens that held his charts and sensors and communications, the subtle shift of light in the stars he studied easier up  above the atmosphere. And that’s without considering the massive planet outside his window, giant, bright. Blue so deep he could drown in it without ever touching water, and firm rock and earth freckled with a network of electricity that triggered the sparking of his own synapses. There were times John would look out from his home, at his home, and feel like he could hold all that was precious in his palm, align the overlap of her tectonic plates with his hands and hold her together where fault-lines met lifelines.

Fingers as frozen as they are, he glances down at his hands when they twitch, past the IV in his arm, past the band around his bony wrist and the print of his name and blood type, and there a familiar set of fingers curl into his hospital blankets, not touching his own, but close and barely out of reach with something holding them back from closing the last of the distance.

Probably respect for John, which means a lot because the hand belongs to his most tactile of siblings and he can feel the restraint radiating from the clenched knuckles. John blinks, and Gordon’s watching him, his eyes bright, but his expression knowing as he takes in his face and realizes John’s finally caught up with the fact he’s there.

“Where were you?” his aquanaut brother asks, the corner of smile quirking upward knowingly.

“Holding tectonic plates together.”  John’s surprised by how lethargic his own voice sounds when he speaks, and maybe if he weren’t being medically drugged to all hell first, it would be poetic. He likes words, and also math, and poetry is really just mathematic words, so maybe he went into the wrong field. Fields, with an s.

“Maybe try to hold yourself together first, yeah?”

“FAB.” It’s instinct to respond with their code, though, John’s usually the one giving the suggestions and his brothers are the ones confirming said suggestions. “Why are you here?”

“My brother’s in the hospital,” Gordon answers dully. “I’m not sure where you expected me to be.”

It’s a valid question. John’s not sure the question came out right based on the way Gordon won’t meet his eyes. He just keeps looking down at his hands, still out of touching distance. And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Gordon’s not looking at John, but he’s not looking at anything else either while describing the different rescues Alan and Scott and Virgil are all out performing. They can’t be there, so Gordon is. 

And Gordon doesn’t do hospitals. But he’s here.

From G-forces to a different type of G-force – Gordon force. It comes with a side of sunlight and sarcasm usually. But he doesn’t look so happy at the moment.

“John.” Gordon’s knuckles are turning whiter than John’s sheets, and he looks uneasy as the name tumbles out.  “What were you thinking?”

“Hmm?

“Do you know how far a human can freedive? No? It’s only sixty feet. Past that and you want to start wearing gear to handle the pressure below the water. I know they’re different, but Five spun and you hit twenty-five Gs. That’s more than four-thousand pounds of weight, John. It’s like if I went freediving ten-thousand feet below sea level. Do you know what that would’ve done to me?”  

He knows. John’s trying not to think about it, but apparently the haze in his mind is making it impossible to push down the image of his younger brother’s body contorting under that kind of immense pressure and becoming crushed with the air violently pulled out of him.

“I can’t do the math that quickly,” he says quietly. “But you can.” Gordon’s ears turn red, and his smile turns flat, as he glares at John through a thick layer of hurt in his brown eyes. “You knew,” he accuses. “You knew all along and you continued to let it happen anyway.”

“It was a calculated risk,” John admits slowly.

“That’s the wrong answer.”

“What would you have had me do? Let them fall?” 

“Not throw your life away, that’s for sure! Again, for the record,” Gordon growls. “Did you think about moving Five, or asking Eos to slow down the rotation, or maybe putting your helmet on first, ‘Scott’?”

None of those are bad ideas, and the truth is he’d been trying to get to his helmet, except…

“Everything just happened so fast.”

“I know that.” Gordon sighs deeply, visibly recenters himself with a shake of his head and tries again. “I know. But, John, this is the second time in a manner of weeks. I’m concerned about you.”

“Gordon,” he reaches for his hand and grasps it tight. Gordon’s hold is stiff with anger and surprise at first, but slowly his fingers relax, trembling, while John urges him to understand. “I’m not trying to put myself into harm’s way. If that’s what you mean. I’m sorry I scared you.”

“Just…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t like seeing you here.”

“I don’t really like being here to be honest.”

Gordon shakes his head and smiles softly at him. “At least we can agree on that.”

[freetheshit-outofyou]

First, I applaud their efforts to stop senseless violence, even if I personally think it is as much wasted air as thoughts and prayers. The "Lightguard system" is a non-starter, it will make things much less safe than the actual confrontation itself. Here is their "proof of concept" clip.

First, we're in 2023 not 2003 lets make this a little more presentable and less like a high school digital project.

I'm speaking as someone who spent a career as an LEO and in the military, when I make these observations I'm not just shooting from the hip as it were. This clip shows the offender dropping their gun and running away blind, and the clerk looking back at your system lovingly, two problems. 1. Your clerk would also be blinded, thus rendered defenseless to anything that follows on. Light of this magnitude is all encompassing, it will bounce off every surface and it will blind in all directions except for maybe directly behind it. The light will not care if the person is looking at it or away from it. Everyone recovers from this kind of event exposure differently, the criminal may recover before the clerk. 2. The very last thing you want to do when someone is pointing a gun at you is to shock them or surprise them. There is a greater than average chance that the activation of your system will scare the criminal causing them to shoot reflexively. Now you have a clerk who had a criminal pointing a gun at them shooting blindly. As I said, good in concept, but practical application may need a little more attention. Also see strobing firearms lights, strobing crowd control and Laser dazzlers systems. As for "Smart guns", where to start? One of the two companies mentioned LodeStar, admits the fingerprint sensor may not be the most effective means to unlock the firearm for use, think your phones finger print reader and how often it fails. So they added a PIN pad AND a near-field communication signal to increase the probability that their concept would work. They had to put a finger print reader, an electronic signal receiver and a freaking PIN pad in the weapon. That tells me two things, the tech is so bad that they had to put multiple systems together to TRY to ensure the firearm would work most of the time and if you are putting your life on the line hoping all of those gadgets work when you need them too you are already dead. LodeStar says their firearm's will start at about 895.00 or about 355.00+/- more than your standard Glock 19 Gen 5. Every time I type LodeStar I hear... "Not so fast Lonestar!" from Spaceballs (1987), I digress. The other company, SmartGunz, is marketing towards Law Enforcement with a side market to everyone else. Their concept requires an RFID chip to make the firearm work, Oh, but there's more. Their concept only works on a 1911 style firearm, it will only work if the user depresses the grip safety WHILE ALSO WEARING A FREAKING RFID GLOVE to activate it. I don't know about all y'all but I don't often walk around or sleep with a glove on like I'm Michael Jackson.

Sorry Mike, I still love your music. On 8 July 2021 the firearms were projected to cost 2,695.00 for LEO's and an astounding 2,995.00 for all the rest of us peasants. I say "US" because I am no longer an LEO and can't get their gracious discount. On 12 July of that same year Tom Holland, president of Free State Firearms, LLC announced that the cost for pre-orders would be 1,795.00 for LEO's and the low price of 1,995.00 for everyone else. As far as 1911's go that is the cost of a Colt Gold Cup Trophy or a Dan Wesson Valor 1911 without all that tech to get in the way of you saving your own life. It's also the cost of 3 Glock 19 Gen 5's or or 3 Palmetto State Armory "PA-15 16"NITRIDE M4 CARBINE" 5.56mm riles. With all that said, these technologies are not in place to make the end user safer, they do nothing to address violent crime, it only lays the burden on the person who at their point of most need, when their mind is in survival mode, it adds roadblocks to their chances of survival. SIDE NOTE: A German company named Armatix came out with a smart gun in 2014, soon after people figured out that with magnets on the sides of the firearm it would bypass the guns radio signals and allow anyone to use it, it was pulled from the market there soon after.

[firespirited]

I found a fingerlings fake finger monkey (no markings on the back). There was no tutorial to fix him up or see the insides with the circuit board so I felt obliged (joking) to repair his blink and share with you.

Here are pictures of getting inside: the wires for the speakers on the backplate and the wires to the neck motor are very easy to accidentally rip out as they are so short. I accidentally ripped out the speakers and had to resolder them back on. The tilt sensor is those two white cylinders with a yellow dot and print on them.

This is the magnetic coil that controls the blinking, I removed all the screws while leaving everything loosely together to get to the pink coil, gently pried a metal thread off the side and the middle and used tweezers to thread it back through the monkey leaving two micro "antennae" to solder onto the + and - upper right side of the circuit board.

Here's the circuit board:

K4 and K5 are the copper touch sensors on the front plate at the top of his head. SPK are the speakers in the backplate (black left, red right). MIC is the microphone in the front plate mouth area. BAT is the battery. MT is the motor in the white piece of machinery. Above that is a simple plus and minus: you solder the magnetic coil wires into those then use tweezers to tuck those wires away (speakers and coil wires are not soldered in this photo, I also haven't melted the on/off switch yet LOL)

I know it's late but maybe like Furby, they'll get a nostalgia renaissance & someone out there could use the tutorial.

The Fingerling responds to single noises (clap or kiss sound) via the microphone, to touch by moving a finger across the forehead front to back on either side of the hair tuft, both fingers held then slid makes it fart. The tilt sensor can sense if the toy is upside down (play noise whee), upright or lying horizontal (sleep snores). This version has no light sensors, no other touch sensors or voice replay. The official Wowwee fingerlings do not have a marked circuit board but follow pretty much the same order: https://youtu.be/RIAVKKzOocc (uuugh I wish i'd found this earlier)

[bitchfitch]

Chapter 1, First/Prev/Next

Vermin's Angel

Abandoned bunkers were a common sight. The bombs dropped so long ago that even the most paranoid communities had left them to rejoin the larger population on the surface one or two generations ago.

Abandoned bunkers that hadn't been picked clean by scavengers like Lino were a different story entirely.

He crept through the eerily quiet halls looking for whatever might be worth taking. The lights flickered on as he triggered their proximity sensors. The place was finely decorated to look like the homes of the wealthy who lived before the war. Crown molding covered in cobwebs, statues caked with dust, paintings who's varnish was so yellow you could barely see the image beyond it.

Lino pulled the strap of his cross body bag a little tighter. The off white marble floors were pristine. His own muddy boot prints being the only source of filth. The floor cleaning bot must still be functional.

The doors to this place had been wide open. Maybe it was only recently vacated? The air didn't hurt, the circulation and vent systems were still doing their jobs all these years later. It was pleasantly cool with none of the humidity or mildew smell that came from broken climate controllers. It was still serviceable when so few other bunkers were. He'd need to return with tools to strip the mechanisms for parts.

Those might be the only thing worth the effort. Pre war art had value, but everything was so heavy he'd only be able to carry one delicate piece at a time... The math on that effort to return ratio wasn't favorable. There had to be more. Something of actual value he could pay his dues with today.

He stepped into what was once a massive living room. The ancient, rotting, couches were pushed up against the walls, side tables and other bits of decor piled atop them to make more space in the center for the army of... Mannequins? Dolls? Scarecrows?

They were made from torn down tree branches, dried plant matter, and hope. Haphazard creations meant to display the clothes they wore. Beautiful dresses, finely tailored suits, ensembles that blurred the line. Each one constructed as a masterpiece of form with no eye given to the horribly clashing colors found within their materials.

Lino didn't know who they would fit.

No one looked like That anymore. Two arms, two legs, a single head atop a neck connected to a straight back. He was the most 'classic' looking human he had ever seen, but even he wasn't the right shape for so many of these.

It was a shame really.

It meant their only value was in the fabrics they were made from.

Lino pursed his lips, looking from the one garment that Might fit him to the mirrors hung either side of the faux fireplace. Luxury and fine items that exist just to be beautiful weren't unheard of concepts anymore, they just weren't things he had ever had the money to know. His leader had told him he would have been beautiful if he'd been born into one of the higher families who could have afforded to decorate him and sell him for his 'classic' looks. The leader offered him that wealth once. If Lino would just dye his albino white hair and let the surgeon remove his extra arms, the leader would have gladly decorated him themself.

He wasn't going to dismember himself to be pleasing for another. He was fine. Constantly living on edge, scouring the lands for any tiny scrap of value left over after so many other hungry scavengers had done the same before him. He was fine. He didn't need to be beautiful to survive.

The dress was shiny and silky smooth when he brushed his fingers along the stormy grey fabric. The fabric from all the other garments would pay his way for the month probably... He was the only person who knew this dress existed.

He didn't need to be beautiful to survive.

He undid the fastens around the dress form's neck and lifted the piece off, laying it over the form's shoulder before shucking off his own shirt. The dress was meant for someone taller than him, his muddy boots and damp pant cuffs would ruin it. Those went off next, then his discolored socks that he didn't want to see poking out beneath the hem, all were dropped in a messy pile beside him. He pulled the dress on as he stepped away from the filth of his own garments and towards the mirror.

The dress was backless. The side hems brushed the bases of his extra arms. It was too big. It would buy his dinner for weeks. Lino didn't want to look in the mirror, but when he did his gut twisted.

He looked gorgeous, the contours of the bodice following the lines of a body he often felt too scrawny to be anything other than awkward looking. The collar was pleasantly firm against the front of his throat, not tight, but present enough to make him feel it every time he moved to find a new angle. Even his extra arms were made to look right in it. The back of the collar came down in a slight point that fell perfectly between his misshapen shoulder blades. It was too big, but it was clearly intended for a woman who looked like the models of before. His longer torso and flat but broad chest meant he'd only need to take in a bit around his hips for it to look perfect... Even the skirt being meant for someone a foot taller than him wouldn't be a problem, it just looked like a fine train. He couldn't stop smiling. Guilt ate at him. He didn't need to be beautiful. He was wearing so much money. The panels weren't even pieced, the skirt alone had to have more pristine bolts in its gathers than most saw in their lives.

It was just a dress.

He twirled in front of the mirror to make the too long skirt flare out around him. His bare feet padding on the hard stone, his own reflection distracting him, his guilt making him focus in on the price something so beautiful would go for if he could just make himself destroy it.

Lino didn't hear the breathing until it was already too late.

A scrambling form shot around the corner, its growling tearing through the still air as it launched towards Lino with more speed than something so twisted looked like it should be able to.

Lino was so grateful his fear response had always been flight. He bolted to the side, the badly mutated man careened into the mirror, shattering it across its massive shoulders. Lino didn't look back. He could hear the man panting and snarling like an animal as it gave chase. Its hands pounding on the stone as it dragged itself behind him. He could hear it gaining on him. The door was in sight. Would it follow an intruder out of its home? Lino had to hope not. The threshold was under his foot. A harsh tug at his skirt. He came crashing down, his jaw knocking hard against the concrete porch sent his head spinning with painful disorientation.

"Auth Code 1756" The man spat. Lino had thought him too far gone with his mutation to be person enough to speak. The bunker beeped in response, something mechanical thunked. Gears ground.

Lino kicked, his leg was grabbed. He turned to see the featureless face of his assailant for a split second before it was blocked from view by the closing door.

Lino's vision whites out, he heard screaming. The man was still holding him trapped by the leg when the multi ton hunk of metal shut atop it.

First/Prev/Next

[snowsisterskiss]

More Than Salvation and Circuitry - What if Weiss' chassis were partially exposed?

(More Than Salvation and Circuitry is a Schneecest AU involving Weiss inhabiting an android body, and Winter being a cybernetics mechanic. Can be read as a stand-alone short.)

It's over the weekend that something happens. An accident in the kitchen. Weiss wants to surprise Winter by making her breakfast and accidentally catches her arm on fire. In the process of putting it out, her synth-skin bubbles and melts and warps and when she puts it out it's hardened where joints are and she can't easily just work around it so she has to use a knife to cut and peel it off. She's had to do something similar before, except this time it's easier to see since she's not replacing her face and scalp to disguise herself.

She panics and wears long sleeves and gloves. She's never worn gloves before, and when Winter wakes up she's immediately suspicious.

Weiss thinks she's in the clear. She only has to get through the rest of Saturday and Sunday and then on Monday she can talk with Penny to print a new skin to use and Winter will never know.

Except.. It's Winter, and she can just tell. She knows Weiss too well to think this is anything but her hiding something. Winter doesn't say anything because she doesn't want Weiss to feel like she's in trouble. It's only concern for her girlfriend. (Plus, the melted chemical smell in the apartment really gave away that there was an accident of some sort).

They go through most of Saturday without either one letting slip any information. Evening rolls around and they're on the couch cuddling like usual while watching a movie.

Weiss isn't paying as close of attention to keeping her sleeve pulled down since the day had gone without any issues, but Winter catches the glint of the screen reflected off of Weiss' wrist. Through the evening, Weiss' sleeve slips to to expose the joint of her wrist and a small portion above it. It takes Weiss a while to realize that Winter had stopped paying attention, but when she does, she can instantly tell there's a flush to her sister's cheeks. It's not visible through standard occular visuals, but her thermal sensors can tell the temperature of Winter's cheeks has risen, as well as her heartbeat. The rest of her body's sensors indicate other reactions in Winter as well.

They both know that each other knows. Winter feels embarrassed that Weiss catches her staring, but it's negligible compared to how much she just wants to push Weiss' sleeve up and remove her gloves to inspect it. Make sure her baby sister is okay. Brush her fingers over the exposed metal, touch all the rounded beveling and smooth polished surfaces. Feel the joints in her wrist and watch them move.

Weiss' worries that her sister will reprimand her for starting a fire in the kitchen fade away when she sees Winter staring like she always wants her to notice her, but at her exposed arm. It's only after a long moment of staring that Winter meets Weiss' occular cameras, the artificial blue faintly glowing in the dim light to illuminate them like the blue of her eyes once did in the sun.

It's embarrassing at first for Weiss to explain what happened. She had already taken the burnt remains of her synth-skin and thrown it out to try and cover up what happened, but Winter reassures her it's okay. She only wants to make sure no real damage was done, though they both know there's more to it. She leads her to her workspace in the apartment, the spare bedroom that had once been planned to be Weiss' bedroom, but when the two shared the master bedroom, it remained Winter's office. Her workspace.

Weiss removes the long sleeved shirt and in the light her arm looks even more exposed than it did that morning.

Winter guides her to sit while she puts on her magnifying headset. Up close, she can see the finer details where panels meet and lock together. Where seams should be but fit perfectly so as to appear seamless like one solid piece. With fine cleaning tools she cleans up remnants of soot and melted synth-skin as Weiss can only watch.

It's a strange sensation for Weiss. It's personal. It's loving. It's intimate. The rate at which her systems whir into action make it feel sensual. Winter is spraying the exposed material of her arm with a cleaner of some sort, and the way she wipes at it leaves her chassis looking polished and cleaner than she could ever get it. And Weiss doesn't need to use her extra sensors to tell that it's having an effect on Winter. Her sister's teeth dig into her own lip as she's so focused on cleaning and ensuring her articulations are smooth.

"Win," Weiss whispers.

Winter doesn't respond. She's too focused on removing a miniscule piece of melted synthetic material stuck between Weiss' fingers with the finest tweezers Weiss has ever seen.

"Win?" Weiss tries again.

Winter finally removes the piece and sets her tools down before flipping her magnifiers up and looking up at her sister.

"Do you like the way my arm looks uncovered like this?" Weiss asks with hesitancy in her voice, already knowing the answer. It's obvious from a mile away. "Do you want me to keep it uncovered like this?"

The question hangs in the air between them and Weiss watches three expressions cross her sister's face in succession; confusion, embarrassment at being called out, ending with a not-so-guilty smile laced with barely hidden arousal. "That's up to you," Winter replies. "But if you kept it exposed, I certainly wouldn't be opposed to it. It would simply mean we would need to keep it clean to ensure your joints don't get stiff. More private maintenance time with your sister."

What's not said echoes through them both as they each desperately want to continue with the maintenance session.

[agaveblue]

[Fanfic] Android and His Oseram - Chapter 1: The Android

Decided to crosspost my fanfic on my sparkling new fanfic account! I'll post up the entire chapter if they can fit as well as the AO3 link.

---

Title: The Android and His Oseram

Chapter Title: The Android (Chapter 1) Summary: A thousand years since the world ended. A thousand years until Oseram delver Gildun accidentally stumbles upon a deactivated CyberLife RK800 android called "Connor", buried deep in the crumbling ruins of the Old Ones, in a discovery that'll send him into the Forbidden West. Together a man and a machine fail upward.

Crossover canons: Horizon games / Detroit: Become Human

Main characters: Connor (DBH) and Gildun (Horizon)

Chapter 1 - The Android

This Old Ones ruin looks like many of the others Gildun has already run across, with strange, often downright bizarre architecture accompanied with designs that he can only guess at their purpose. Cables and hard angles. Signs of metalwork that no Oseram forge can duplicate. The dull creaks of the ruins settling, days or years from finally collapsing on themselves. The steady, distant drip-drip-drip of water leaking somewhere from compromised hulls as the outside world creeps in, as vines and undergrowth venture deeper where even a delver can’t go. 

The good news is this ruin doesn't have the immediate signs of machines prowling inside with their usual tell-tale blue gleam. Okay, so maybe there's a yet in there but Gildun's anything if not optimistic.

Incidentally he's also adept at running.

"You'll be fine!" Gildun mutters to himself. "Even checked the door was propped open this time!"

Aloy's been gone for a few weeks but the invaluable lessons she imparted remains, with Number 1 being Don't Lock Yourself In Again. It's a lesson that Gildun's taken to heart as he double and triple checked the door was propped up open by a rock large enough to work him into a sweaty, gasping mess by the time he finished shoving it into place.

All that noise and still no machines coming to investigate. No clicking or armor scraping or bouncing blue glows of metal eyes waiting to turn alert-yellow or danger-red.

In fact the only direct glow can be found at the very bottom of the ruins, after navigating shattered shafts and crumbling stairs, past a door with the faded all-caps print of STORAGE. Past crates of parts, weapons, and long-expired food stores, the source can be found in a corner. Half-hidden, covered in cobwebs, is what appears to be a man-sized object slumped on its side, the statue sprawled from a broken crate in a curious fetal position, and wearing a strange cut of clothes that almost looks like it's real.

Correction, he thought it was a statue at first, between the dust and the cobwebs and the fact that it's highly unlikely anyone could be living down here. But there's a - a light, small and red, a tiny thumb-sized, weakly pulsing circle that's just…just…

Well, it's just begging to be touched.

So he does. Gildun reaches out and presses a finger against the red mystery light.

The "statue" whirrs, twitches, and suddenly sits up in one smooth motion, still wearing a shroud of grim cobwebs thick as an Oseram funeral veil. Gildun isn't even aware that he's yelped - and yes, it's a full-on yelp, no two sparks about it - only that he's fallen back on his behind with a gloved hand clapped tight over his mouth as he peers at The Thing, wide-eyed, and trying desperately not to choke on his own spit.

The red light flickers from red to gold to the all-too familiar blue of a Machine as what appears to be the statue's head swivels toward Gildun. For a second he has the rare, maybe not so foolish thought that he should stop poking things.

That thought flies right out the window as The Thing speaks.

"Recalibrating visual and auditory sensors…complete."

- It-it speaks! It actually speaks!

"Unable to sync time/date. CyberLife servers unavailable for patching. Memory corrupted…checking partitions."

Not only does it speak, it sounds just like a man's voice! 

Gildun's hand drops to reveal his gape as he watches The Thing miraculously reach up and begin to brush away cobwebs, feathery green-gray moss soft as silk, and ancient dust. The gape only gets bigger as a young man's face emerges from the veil of the Old Ones just as his - its? his? - voice did mere seconds ago.

"...Apologies for the delay in introducing myself. My name is Connor, I'm the andr - "

Gildun can't hold it back anymore, the words exploding out in a squeak. " - You have a name?!"

Connor, whatever or whoever he is, nods, his dark head still wreathed with debris that he's still combing out with long, elegant fingers that look like they belong on a Carja noble who hasn't worked a day in his life and has the missing calluses to show for it. His hair’s cropped too short, though, and there’s a total lack of decorative face paint or fancy-pants jewelry. The whole time that strange light throbs in a glowing circle stamped above his right brow and for a feverish second Gildun wonders if maybe Connor's Banuk. No, he doesn't look like any Banuk I've seen, he thinks, and he finds that the strange tattoo Connor wears is downright distracting now that he thinks about it. 

Try as he might, his eyes keep darting up to the damned thing.

"Yes," says Connor, "unless you would prefer my serial number but I find most humans prefer vernacular names for convenience. What's yours?"

Before he can think better of it, "Gildun. …Wait, what?"

Connor only tilts his head, the gesture almost bird-like as he continues cleaning himself off with efficient swipes of his hands against his emerging shoulders and torso. 

Gildun has to forcibly pull his eyes away from the hypnotic blue tattoo yet again.

"Let's wheel the cart around: what do you mean, humans? Serial number?"

The young man pauses in the middle of fussing with a curious strip of black cloth seemingly tied around his neck like a leash cut short. It doesn't appear to be tied to anything else, which turns the "maybe he's a captive?" thought to ash. 

"Humans. Homo sapien. What you are," Connor adds like that clears it all up; there’s something vaguely patronizing in his unassuming voice. "All androids such as myself have manufacturing serial numbers, as you can see right here."

Now he taps himself and Gildun realizes with a start that even his strange clothes - tailored in ways he's never seen before, unidentifiable fabrics in grays and black - is glowing, too, this time with a bright aquamarine band looped around an upper arm, a matching triangle gleaming against his chest, and angular, boxy white glyphs scrawled across as well. These he recognizes: Aloy had breezily pointed them out before, said they were Old Ones numbers, and left it at that as if wasn't the most fascinating thing you could casually drop in a conversation.

"I'd like to look around if you don't mind, Gildun."

"Uh, sure, go ahead - h-hold on, wait just an honest minute now! What's an android?"

Connor stands to his full height, towers over the poor Oseram delver still sitting shell-shocked on his butt, and says, patiently, as if it should be perfectly obvious to all parties present:

"A humanoid robot, Gildun. In layman’s terms, I'm a machine."

[dfrobertson]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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