#Firewall Interference

[technicalfika]

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[hypewinter]

Dick stared out at the snowy landscape past the window before turning back to his new baby brother. Danny was sitting in his high chair, happily munching away at some Cheerios. Looking at him now Dick thought back to how he had come to Wayne Manor just a few months prior.

Bruce had stormed into the Manor after coming back from a Justice League mission with a bundle in his hands. Dick who had stopped by the manor to steal food catch up with Alfred had been thoroughly thrown off by his father's open animosity. He could hardly recall the last time he'd seen Bruce this outwardly furious. The man's glare alone could rival Darkseid's omega beams. As Bruce sat down at the table, the two men finally got a good look at just what he was carrying. It was an infant. An infant who was fast asleep, his soft black hair falling over his eyes. Bruce quietly asked Alfred to prepare a room as well as all necessities needed for a baby. The old butler had immediately set off to just that.

Meanwhile Dick was quick to ask what had happened but Bruce didn't say. Even when the others gradually found what was happening and asked their own questions, he still refused to answer. Not even Alfred had been told where the baby had come from. The only information Bruce had offered up was that the baby's name was Danny and he would be staying at the Manor from now on. As for the rest of the details, he claimed he would tell them in due time. But Batman's "due time" was often too late to actually do anything about it so desperate for answers, the family had turned to their own investigations only to come up with nothing.

All files related to Danny were locked behind a mountain of firewalls and Oracle had apparently already been sworn to secrecy by the big man himself. Whatever it was, Bruce wanted absolutely zero interference, so for now, the family was forced to sit in their hands.

That led till now, 5 months later. It was mid-January and Dick was on babysitting duty. Everyone else was either out running errands or on a mission. Not that Dick minded though. Danny was incredibly cute and he loved taking care of him. Besides, it gave him the perfect opportunity to get Danny to see him as the favorite brother. Still, Dick couldn't help but feel couped up today. Maybe it was because it had been snowing the last few days leaving both boys alone in the giant manor all day long.

Dick stared wistfully out the window once again before an idea dawned on him. He turned back to Danny who had stuffed the last of the Cheerios into his mouth along with his entire hand.

"Hey Danny. Wanna have a snow day?" he asked cheerily. The boy cocked his head at Dick, hand still in mouth. Dick smiled wider. "I'll take that as a yes!"

Dick hoisted Danny out of his high chair and carried him upstairs to his room. After he set Danny down in his crib, he grabbed all the gear he needed. He picked out a long sleeve shirt with a cartoon star and big bold letters reading "You're a Star!" He also grabbed long socks, some elastic pants as well as jeans, a scarf, a blue beanie, and a pair of cute little mittens.

It didn't take long for Danny to be fully dressed for the outside elements. Though after Dick finished putting his shoes on, he squirmed a little and made a face.

"I know I know," Dick cooed. "But I'm pretty sure B. would make an exception to his 'no killing rule' if you got sick on my watch."

Dick admired his handy work for a minute (taking dozens of pictures as he did so) before picking his brother up and heading downstairs. After a quick pitstop at the door to grab his own jacket and gloves from the coat rack, he opened the door and greeted the chilly air outside.

Danny giggled as he reached up at the snow while Dick circled around to the side of the manor.

"Bitey! Bitey!" he squealed.

"Yep, Bitey," Dick replied with mild confusion.

Danny would say random things like that sometimes, forcing the world's greatest detectives to put their minds together in order to figure out what he was talking about. One time he just wouldn't stop saying "Em". It took everyone a whole day to realize he was referring to music. And an extra two days to figure out he was specifically referring to pop music.

Oftentimes he would call Barbara "Jazzy" and Duke "Tuck". On occasion he would even call Cass "Sammy". Every time he called something a new name, it was a race to figure out what he meant. Each time they figured out a new word, Bruce's face would darken and he'd disappear off to the Watchtower for the day. Something that was really starting to drag on Dick's nerves. It was like it was physically impossible for that man to share information.

Dick was startled out of his thoughts by a tug at his jacket and looked down to see Danny staring at him.

"Sorry sorry," he said with a smile. "Lost in my thoughts. Forgive me?"

Danny put on a pout but Dick knew by now that it was fake. One could tell by the mischievous look in the boy's eyes that he just couldn't hide. "So be it then!" Dick declared before pulling Danny close and snuggling into him. The boy shrieked as cold nose touched warm neck. "Fo-give! Fo-give!" he cried.

"Aw thanks," Dick said as he pulled away. Danny giggled again, his bright blue eyes crinkling with laughter.

The pair walked around in the snow for a bit longer before Danny started making grabby hands towards the ground. "You want down?" Dick asked. Danny nodded energetically.

"Alright."

Dick carefully set Danny down in the snow. The boy excitedly wriggled before putting his hands down to the snow. As Dick watched, there was a burst of light and suddenly there was a semi circle of ice, radiating out from their position. Dick stared at the ice in shock. Danny turned and blinked up at Dick, almost as if he were in shock too. But he very quickly went back to playing in the snow. Dick swallowed. Sure they all knew Danny had powers. It was pretty obvious when the third day there, he floated up to the ceiling. Still though, he highly doubted ice powers was up there on anyone's list of "abilities our new baby brother might manifest next."

Dick was so shocked all he could manage to utter was, "Huh. That's new."

[vicmillen]

Where's the Justice League?

So I been thinking about an AU with a merged setting. You know, where DP happened inside of DC multiverse.

Specifically, I've been thinking about the JL and the other capes, what's Danny's opinion on them and what would keep them out from the Amity clusterfuck.

Here's some thoughts:

At first it just didn't cross the trio's minds that they could or should call the JL.

Sure there's a literal portal to the afterlife in Fenton's basement, and sure there's dangerous beings coming out of it that endangered people's lives. But hey they're handling it! The whole thing is kinda sort of their fault anyways, and the three of them are gonna try their best to hide it and deal with it on their own.

They are teenagers after all.

Then comes the GIW, and Vald. Both of them makes a solid attempt at locking up the ghosty news within Amity. For different purposes, sure, but the results marks the foundation of a solid media blackout.

Fine by the trio, actually, they really don't need more attention being put on Phantom. The less people knows about Phantom, the safer Danny is. Since he's still hiding from his parents and they really don't want to find out if those threats are real or not.

As the danger level ratchets higher and higher though, it's inevitable that the JL would cross their minds. They are teenagers, after all. This world threatening bullshit is starting to get out of their depths, and they do know it. They may make questionable decisions sometimes but they're not complete morons.

Except, they also knows how dangerous it could get if the supers got involved. For all they are teenagers struggling with highschool, they do know what they're doing, mostly. Team Phantom knows how their enemies function, what powers are to be expected, and what equipments is needed to counter those. They knows what to look out for, and what to do when stuff goes wrong. Most of the time anyways.

They don't have the same confidence in the Justice League.

Which sounds like a ridiculous thing to say, but hey. It's a matter of specialization, not absolute power. Besides, with the power and influence the JL have, they really can't risk any of them getting overshadowed.

They've all seen the aftermath of a mind controlled superman.

There is unfortunately, also the uncertainty of if the JL would even be on their side. Sure, the JL sounds reasonable and accepting enough to see through the GIW's bullshit, but that's just another thing that they can't afford to lose the gamble. The Fenton parents and the GIW is already hot on their heels, they can't afford the Justice League hunting Phantom for sports too.

All in all, it took a depressingly short amount of time for Team Phantom to start actively keeping themselves under JL's radar. The firewall around all things Amity gets reinforced, several times, and even the other locals learned to keep the ghosts to themselves.

What happens in Amity, stays in Amity.

So for almost three years Team Phantom deals with their own problems. Without outside help, but also without outside interference.

P.S.

For the sake of this setting, JLD has formed but isn't public knowledge yet, at least not until after the DP related plot concluded. So Team Phantom wouldn't have known to ask for them at that point. Also the whole timeline is completely made up and stretched out as I see fit. Canon is but the sandbox we play in, and it's mashups anyway so.

There are more of this au that I'm contemplating. We'll see if this gets a part two. Maybe about what caused team Phantom to leave Amity.

[duskiisand]

But There Was None - Pressure Short

Player collapsed on the floor, heavy equipment weighing them down like lead bricks. They had just finished the jetsuit evaluation course, which both NAVI and HQ had assured them would be relatively safe.

It wasn’t.

Something had turned on the firewall. They didn’t know who or what it was, but it had hijacked the screens, displaying a crudely drawn face that smirked at them. Like it knew what it was doing.

They were hot. The flames had nicked them on multiple occasions, singing the skin and the equipment. Sweat pooled beneath the tight fabric of the wetsuit, creating a very uncomfortable sensation—like being encased in a swamp.

Or locked in the locker room of your local gym.

“We…apologize that the Firewall was activated as you passed through the Evaluation Course.” HQ’s voice echoed over the speakers, static piercing Player’s ears.

“It would seem that a rogue program overrode NAVI’s lock whilst you were on the course. Continue on towards the crystal.”

Player groaned, throwing the heavy equipment off their body and stuffing it into the nearest locker. They could feel NAVI watching them judgmentally, but they didn’t care.

All that hell for a half-baked apology? Player had to remind themselves that they were nothing but an asset. Of course Urbanshade wouldn’t give a damn.

They shuffled to their feet, dragging themselves to the door with a soft hiss. There was a crate nearby. Well, at least they were courteous enough to give them a medkit.

After patching themselves up, Player continued forward, dragging their feet up staircases and down hallways

The facility was empty—not surprising. Each footstep echoed like a gunshot in the still air—like the world was holding its breath, and could only exhale when Player died.

They frowned, a dark fog encroaching on their mind.

Expendable. That’s all they were. Just a piece in a game—a token for the rich and privileged to toss around.

It was frustrating—more than frustrating—it was infuriating. One wrong step, and suddenly you’re the lowest of the low. You’re not even human. You’re a material. A resource to be exploited.

Player sometimes wondered why they even bothered going through with this. Nobody was waiting for them back home. They had nothing. They were nothing. Why bother pushing themselves through hell when the reward was barely worth it?

Maybe they just didn’t want to die down here—desecrated, forgotten and treated like the scum of mankind. Maybe they wanted to die as a human, and not an object.

“We’ve located the program that’s been causing the interferences,” HQ’s voice crackled to life, startling Player.

“It should be in one of the rooms ahead. See if you can deactivate it somehow—maybe try punching its screen, or just unplugging it. Consider this a secondary objective.”

Player paused. They wanted them to do more dirty work? They almost rolled their eyes, scoffing and continuing forward. They didn’t care about some stupid computer. Sure, it was causing issues, but truly? They couldn’t be bothered. The professionals could handle it for all they cared.

They stopped in a room with crumbled walls. The ceiling had completely collapsed, leaving behind rubble and rusted steel beams. To the right side was a large hole in the wall, leading into a tunnel that led up and into the next room.

Player begrudgingly crawled through the tunnel, emerging on the other side. To their surprise, there was a small part of the room blocked off by chain link fence.

Behind it was a small desk that housed an old computer. Wearing that same smirk from earlier.

“...you.” Player’s voice was hoarse from disuse—what point was there in screaming for help when none would come?—Rasping up their throat as they marched forward.

P.ai.nter looked up—or, well his face lifted slightly, to mimic his gaze turning. He let out a small mechanical beep, as if reacting to their presence.

“What do you want?” The computer asked, his expression souring.

“What do you think I want?” Player frowned, crossing their arms and standing before the enclosure. They looked down, spotting a purple keycard on a nearby table. They picked it up, examining it closely.

It looked like it opened the door to P.ai.nter’s little cell.

Grimacing softly, they went to the door and swiped the card. The door slid open with a mechanical hiss. They stepped in, leaning in close to the AI’s screen.

“You have been trying to kill me this entire time.” They grumbled, to which P.ai.nter let out an impassive hum.

“Well, you were probably going to die anyway.”

Player bristled. “Does that give you an excuse to try and flambe me?”

“Listen, pal,” P.ai.nter’s drawn on eyes narrowed. “I’m doing what I need to do to survive. You stay in your lane, and I’ll stay in mine.”

“You call actively trying to kill me ‘staying in your lane’?”

“My point is—stop bothering me. I control the turrets in this room too, ya know.”

“What, so you’re going to gun me down if I keep asking you not to kill me?”

“Like the guards won’t do the same thing if you do get out of here.” P.ai.nter scoffed.

Player sneered, slamming their hands on the computer’s table. “They won’t do that! They promised that—”

“Oh, did I touch a nerve?” P.ai.nter laughed mockingly. “Are you really that delusional?—”

“Shut up!” Player snapped, eyes wide with desperation and rage. “You’re just—trying to get under my skin..”

“Y’know, it’s really sad to see you keep telling yourself that you’ll have a happy ending up there.” P.ai.nter sighed with false pity. “I mean, it’s not like you have anyone waiting for you. You’re aaalll alooneee—”

There was a sudden, sharp crack that echoed through the room. The air seemed to freeze. P.ai.nter’s screen glitched slightly.

“W-woah.” He chuckled, trying to play off his unease. “No need to get so violent…heh..”

Player didn’t respond. Their fist was still clenched tight, pressing down on the drawing tablet that had been connected to his body. The device was crushed, wires and circuitry splaying onto the table.

They clenched their jaw, shoulders trembling ever so subtly.

“H-hey now…why’re you all worked up? I didn’t mean to upset you that much—”

SMASH!

P.ai.nter’s voice cut off, replaced by fizzling static and then silence. Player slowly retracted their fist from the shattered screen, uncaring for the pieces of glass embedded in their skin.

The computer screen was gone—revealing the circuit boards underneath. Each was engraved with information—pulsing data that carried artificial life. Beating like a heart.

It beat no more.

The silence was deafening. But it was comforting, too. It was revenge. Retribution.

…Massacre.

Krrsh—

The radio beside P.ai.nter crackled to life. A familiar voice carried over the speaker.

“What was that noise?”

There was no response.

“Kid!? You okay!?” Sebastian asked again, sounding increasingly panicked.

The overhead speakers crackled to life in response. NAVI’s voice echoed through the site.

“This is a sitewide announcement!” she chirped, artificial voice carrying more jubilance than it should.

“I am happy to report that the parasite messing with my systems has been neutralized, and operations are now at an acceptable level.”

There was a pause. As if Sebastian and Player were contemplating the implications of the announcement.

“The internal defense system, as well as any other previously hijacked systems, will no longer pose a threat to all personnel.”

The radio beside P.ai.nter crackled, carrying Sebastian’s panicked voice.

“I’m coming over! Hang tight!”

And then it was complete silence.

Player stared at the mess they had created, eyes soulless and empty.

They wanted to feel accomplished—wanted to feel some sort of retribution or reward.

But there was none.

[xmoriartea]

[You can you up — no can no bb!]

Shen Yaun woke up in pitch darkness with those words glowing green before his eyes.

He's dead. But he's not.

His memories conjured up teens uploaded to the world of Digimon when he examined a body made of lines of code and that same green glow. His body.

[You can you up — no can no bb!

Welcome [Admin001]!

To fix [Proud Immortal Demon Way] you must achieve what you have stated: to transform a piece of stupid writing into a high-end, expansive, and classic work.]

This System is at your disposal. As [Admin001] improves [Proud Immortal Demon Way], this System will be able to download new abilities and upgrades for you to access.]

Well. Huh. Not the usual transmigration but Shen Yaun cracked his digital knuckles and boy that's a weird sensation. Shen Yaun was going to think about what he was later.

<System?>

[Yes Admin001?]

<I want to start at the beginning. When Luo Binghe's mother is still alive.>

[ERROR]

<Already!?>

[Unauthorized access to [Protagonist: Luo Binghe]. [Admin001] cannot access the [Luo Binghe] profile yet due to feature [Golden Halo] which blocks outside interference. [Admin001] must influence other roles and locations to transform the narrative.]

<So the Protagonist Halo is a fucking firewall?>

[In short - yes.]

Shen Yaun groaned. Typical. No help. 0/5 stars on this .exe so far. He pinched his nose just beneath his glasses and why the fuck did he need glasses? Useless!

Okay. He could do this.

<System, retrieve available profiles.>

[Retrieving available profiles...

Profiles found:

[NPC: Yue Qingyuan]

[NPC: Shen Qingqiu]

[NPC: Linguang Jun]

...]

What the hell was with this list, System?? The Scum Villain, the Sect Leader, and a shit demon from the Northern Desert Arc?? He crossed his legs, the darkness oddly comfortable around him, bending to his will. He reached out and scrolled through the glowing text.

<There has to be a better- Wait, System. Why is this one different? This is just that rat bastard spy for Mobei Jun!>

The words [User001: Shang Qinghua] glowed in brilliant gold among all the other green text around him.

[The account of [User001: Shang Qinghua] is available for [Admin001]'s influence. Unlike other offered accounts, which can only be reprogrammed in accordance with this System's abilities, [Admin001] can interact directly with [User001] to guide the story to its proper conclusion!]

Shen Yaun tapped a finger to his lips and thought about it for a moment. He would need to level up, it seemed, to get full control over the other NPCs. But something about Shang Qinghua was different. Wait a second. He leaned forward on his invisible chair.

<Is Shang Qinghua another transmigrator?>

[Correct! Correct! Correct! [User001] is bound to the [Shang Qinghua] account. [Admin001] has the ability to activate [Manual] mode and deliver messages, missions, rewards, and penalties as he sees fit in alignment with the Systems protocols! This System will continue to provide [Admin001] aid and take over management of the account again during [Sleep] and [Auto] modes.]

Now they were talking. Shen Yaun rubbed his hands together gleefully. He would figure out how to get upgrades as he went. First, he was going to check out this other transmigrator.

Getting Shang Qinghua though? Yeesh. Unlucky. Only landing Shen Qingqiu could be worse.

Well. They could fix that.

<Access User001: Shang Qinghua.>

[Please wait while we connect you.]

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Dark Water”

Chapter Five: Iron in the Voice

The Bad Batch x Reader

Rain streaked down the wide windowpanes of the observation deck, the sky outside Kamino’s sterile lab facility a dull grey. Below, banks of consoles gleamed with soft-blue light as two cadets crouched over separate terminals in the center of the slicing bay: Fixer, Delta Squad’s quiet prodigy, and Tech, Clone Force 99’s fast-talking firebrand.

You stood beside Sergeant Kal Skirata, arms folded, as the two boys were handed their challenge prompt by the Kaminoan overseer.

“Both will be given identical encrypted data cores,” the Kaminoan droned. “They are to extract the primary data payload, identify the false trails, and re-secure the system with no external support. Sabotage is permitted.”

“They’re still kids,” you muttered.

“They’re soldiers,” Skirata replied, flatly. “And this is Kamino. You think the real war’s gonna wait till they’re ready?”

You didn’t argue.

Not here. Not in front of the Nulls, who were slouched in the back with arms crossed, eyes sharp.

Below, Fixer tapped once to acknowledge the test. No wasted motion. No questions. Just cold efficiency.

Tech, in contrast, adjusted his goggles three times, then pushed up the bridge of his nose and muttered, “Ah — we’re beginning already. Excellent. I had concerns about the test design, but this—this will do nicely.”

Skirata snorted. “Is he always like that?”

“Worse,” you replied. “He narrated his own vaccinations last week.”

⸻

Tech’s fingers were a blur over the interface, his brow furrowed as he worked his way through five firewalls and an obfuscation spider-layer of recursive code. “Crude,” he muttered. “But well implemented.”

Across the room, Fixer had already bypassed two layers of security without a single verbal comment. His expression never changed. No muttering, no celebration. Just clean, silent efficiency.

Tech peeked over his shoulder briefly.

“Oh. Oh that’s fast,” he muttered. “Okay. Okay, it’s a race now.”

He cracked his knuckles and pulled a secondary cable from under the table.

“I’m rerouting my partition. Not technically regulation,” he said to no one, “but well within the parameters of testable creativity…”

He pulled a spike tool from his belt — homemade, by the looks of it — and jammed it into the dataport.

On the observation deck, one of the Nulls — Mereel — leaned forward and squinted.

“He made that himself,” he said. “Did you give him permission to modify the slicer tools?”

“No,” you said, frowning. “But he’s… inventive.”

Skirata grunted. “Reminds me of Sev. With less blood and more monologues.”

Fixer paused just long enough to notice the tremor in the data feed.

“Interference,” he muttered.

He traced it to Tech’s console. A deliberate loop injection.

Without missing a beat, Fixer countered — flooding the shared sandbox environment with null packets, static noise designed to crash low-level buffer systems.

Tech’s console stuttered for half a second. Long enough to be noticeable.

He blinked, surprised. “He’s sabotaging me. Oh, good. This is now a true contest.”

“Your boy’s cocky,” Skirata said, eyeing Tech.

“He’s ten and smarter than half the Kaminoan engineers,” you replied. “He’s allowed a little arrogance.”

“He’s gonna learn it doesn’t keep you alive in the field.”

You nodded slowly. “Then I’ll teach him what will.”

Tech’s strategy changed. He abandoned the route he’d started and began carving a new one — a longer one — and began patching over his past mistakes behind him. Not just slicing anymore. Cloaking.

Fixer noticed.

He adjusted. Hard countered.

Back and forth it went: silent duel over code and cleverness, one looping and twisting, the other dissecting with ruthless precision.

Eventually — as the test’s timer reached zero — both terminals chimed.

Data retrieved. Payload secured. False trails identified.

Match drawn.

“Well,” Skirata muttered. “Neither of them lost. I’m not sure that’s a good thing.”

You glanced at him. “Means we’ve got two assets. Not one.”

You stepped away from the window and headed for the exit, tapping your comm once to send your evaluation of Tech’s work to the instructors’ logs.

Behind you, Fixer and Tech were unplugging their tools and walking off the mat.

“…That was exhilarating,” Tech said, pushing his goggles up. “You’re very skilled. Efficient. Elegant, even. You hardly said a word!”

Fixer looked at him. “You didn’t stop talking.”

Tech looked genuinely pleased. “You noticed!”

Fixer didn’t respond. But there was, just briefly, the hint of a smirk as he walked away.

Tech watched him go, then turned back to the empty lab.

“…I liked him.”

⸻

Tipoca City — Mess Hall

2043 Hours

It was late by Kaminoan standards.

The mess hall had emptied into that liminal quiet, where the cleaning droids hummed softly and trays clattered only once every few minutes. A few cadets lingered, muttering over ration bars or staring into nutrient paste bowls like they might tell fortunes.

Tech stepped into the room, datapad clutched to his chest like a prized relic.

His eyes scanned the space and — there, toward the back — was Fixer, alone at a table. Tray pushed aside. Console open. Fingers dancing over keys in precise, economical movements.

Tech hesitated only a moment before crossing the floor.

“Hello!” he said cheerfully, sliding into the seat across from him.

Fixer barely looked up. “You don’t stop, do you?”

“I’m trying,” Tech said earnestly. “But I’ve found most silences are simply opportunities to fill gaps in mutual understanding.”

Fixer paused in his typing. “…You’re talking again.”

“I am.”

Fixer stared at him flatly.

Tech cleared his throat. “I… just wanted to say your code loop countermeasures today were incredible. You rerouted the sandbox flood without destabilizing the sequence, and your packet injection efficiency was—”

“Average,” Fixer interrupted.

Tech blinked. “That’s demonstrably false.”

“I made two mistakes,” Fixer replied. “One delay on the decoy bypass, and I used a loop that was inefficient. You still almost beat me.”

“I didn’t even finish my best algorithm,” Tech admitted. “I overcompensated when your spike flooded my initial path.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

Fixer tilted his head. “You coded that spike tool yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Send me the schematics.”

“…Really?”

Fixer gave a curt nod.

Tech lit up like a reactor core. “Absolutely! I’ll send them through the shared uplink once I debug the sublayer compression.”

Fixer returned to his console. “No rush. I’ll rebuild it better.”

Tech smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Across the room, the doors hissed open.

Boots stomped in, loud and uneven.

“Well if it isn’t the Nerd Herd!”

Tech looked up to see Scorch, decked in slightly scuffed cadet fatigues, two ration bars crammed into one hand and a bottle of high-protein caf in the other.

“Fixer! I thought you swore off social interaction unless it involved ‘tactical necessity.’ You finally making friends?”

Fixer didn’t glance up. “Trying.”

Scorch stopped mid-chew, looked between them, then jabbed a finger at Tech.

“You! Goggles!”

“Tech,” he said politely.

“Right. You’re the loud one.”

“I’ve been told that before.”

“I heard about your little slicer showdown. You realize Fixer’s the reason the rest of us don’t even try anymore, right?”

“His skill is remarkable,” Tech agreed.

“You’re lucky you still have a console,” Scorch muttered, flopping down beside Fixer with all the subtlety of a plasma grenade. “Last time I challenged him, my data terminal burst into flames. Pretty sure it cried.”

Fixer didn’t look up. “You deleted your own boot files.”

Scorch waved a hand. “Details. Point is, you made an impression, Goggles.”

“I aim to,” Tech said, a little proud.

Scorch leaned back in his seat. “Well, guess the quiet killer has a sparring partner now. You play sabacc?”

“Not against probability,” Tech replied. “It removes the tension.”

Scorch stared, mouth full of ration bar. “…Stars help us.”

Fixer typed one more command, closed his console, and glanced at Tech.

“Same time tomorrow?”

Tech nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. I’d… like that.”

Scorch snorted. “Maker, you two really are bonding over data encryption. Someone warn the Nulls. The nerds are uprising.”

“Statistically improbable,” Tech said absently.

Scorch just cackled.

⸻

Kamino — Outer Training Deck Gamma

The storm rolled heavy over the ocean, lightning painting the sky in violent flashes that reflected off the metal plating of the training yard. A dozen cadets stood shoulder to shoulder on the firing line, their modified rifles slung low and helmets tucked under arms.

You were on the upper observation balcony, soaked to the knees from the walk out here but too stubborn to complain. This was sniper day — and the only day you’d been warned about ahead of time by Skirata with a grim smirk and a flask in hand.

“Long-range accuracy under simulated field conditions,” Vau intoned dryly as he stepped up beside you. “Each cadet will have one shot. 1,200 meters. Wind shift every six seconds. Targets move randomly. And no, we don’t let them brace.”

You raised a brow. “You want them to fail.”

Walon Vau smiled behind his helmet. “We want them to adapt.”

Down below, Crosshair stood at the edge of the group, helmet under one arm, a frown on his sharp face and his posture full of quiet tension. Unlike the other cadets — including the taller, broader sniper from Omega Squad, and the shockingly composed Null named Kom’rk — Crosshair didn’t speak to anyone.

He just watched.

And calculated.

“Cadets,” barked Sergeant Gilamar, stepping in front of them. “You will fire in pairs. One at a time. First pair: RC-1205 ‘Sev’ and Null-C Kom’rk.”

Sev stepped forward, already grinning. “Hope the target’s got a will.”

Kom’rk didn’t speak. He just dropped into a kneeling stance, rifle already shouldered.

Sev fired first — a clean, brutal shot. 1,200 meters. Impact.

Kom’rk adjusted slightly and fired — almost at the same second. His shot split Sev’s round. Even from the balcony, you heard the trainer next to you exhale.

“Show off,” Sev muttered.

Crosshair stepped up for his round when called. His partner was the Omega Squad sniper in training, a clone with textbook stance and regulation posture.

The trainer called it.

Omega fired first. A good shot — clean hit, upper right quadrant.

Crosshair barely moved.

He didn’t drop into position like the others. He crouched low, rifle steadied in his elbow rather than his shoulder, breathing so shallow it barely misted.

“Crosshair, fire.”

He didn’t even flinch. His scope realigned.

Bang.

The Omega cadet’s shot had been good.

Crosshair’s round hit dead center, splintering the internal core of the target and sending a flash of red through the training readout.

No one spoke.

“Lucky,” Omega muttered under his breath as they stood.

Crosshair’s lips curled. “Skill. Something you’d know about if you stopped shaking when you breathe.”

That got the kid angry. “Say that again?”

Crosshair just kept walking, leaving his helmet tucked under one arm, his long rifle balanced with the lazy grace of a child who knew he was better and didn’t care who liked it.

“Arrogant little shabuir,” Skirata grunted from the back.

“He’s not wrong,” you murmured.

“He’s not right either,” Vau added. “That kid is a shot — no question. But he’s ice. He pushes everyone away. That kind of sniper gets someone killed on a team.”

You didn’t reply. Your gaze followed Crosshair as he returned to the prep bench, checking the sights again, not speaking to anyone. Even Sev gave him a sidelong glance.

“He’s going to be one of the best,” you finally said.

“And the loneliest,” Skirata finished for you.

⸻

Cadet Barracks, Later That Night

Crosshair was sitting alone at his bunk, rifle spread in parts across the mat, a soft cloth in hand. He wasn’t polishing it for show. He was cleaning the trigger mechanism like it was an extension of himself.

“Nice shot today,” came a voice.

It was Sev, carrying two protein bars and a half-finished can of caf.

Crosshair didn’t look up. “You missed center.”

“You split it,” Sev shrugged. “Didn’t say you weren’t better. Just didn’t think you’d still be cleaning that thing two hours later.”

“It keeps me steady.”

Sev flopped down across from him. “You know you can be good at your job and also have a personality, right?”

Crosshair finally looked up. “I don’t care about personality.”

“Clearly.”

A pause.

“I was going to offer to help you mod the scope next week,” Sev muttered, “but now I’m thinking I’ll just watch you struggle.”

Crosshair smirked faintly. “I don’t struggle.”

Sev rolled his eyes. “You do now. You’re talking to me.”

⸻

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[aldryrththerainbowheart]

Chapter 2: When Red Hood Comes Knocking

Gotham City is no stranger to chaos. But the recent wave of violence sweeping through the city feels different, colder, and more unsettling. It wasn't the usual chaos; this was…different. Instead of the usual flamboyant theatrics of rogue villains, Gotham is witnessing a series of precise, calculated attacks that are leaving both the criminal underworld and innocent civilians reeling. Surgical strikes, executed with cold efficiency. A gun smuggling ring ripped apart at the docks, leaving behind neatly stacked crates of useless components instead of weapons. A drug lab in the Narrows, its entire digital infrastructure wiped clean, production crippled.

However, the precision stops there. A delivery driver caught in the crossfire at the docks, a low-level dealer left bleeding in an alley near the lab. The GCPD, stretched thin and already battling a crippling morale deficit, is struggling to maintain order, let alone unravel the mystery behind these escalating assaults.

"It's like watching a surgeon with a tremor," commented Detective Renee Montoya during her interview at GNN, frustration etched on her face. "They know where to cut and what to target, but their execution is… sloppy.” The news report was unwelcome but necessary background for our investigation.

At moments like these, Batman’s absence is felt more keenly than ever.

Back at the Belfry, the clock tower felt smaller, more claustrophobic than usual.

The Gotham Knights were stretched thin. Dick, Barbara, Tim, and Jason – trying to contain the spreading tendrils of this new kind of chaos. The city's wireless network was stuttering, plagued by glitches and outages, as if some unseen force was playing puppeteer with its digital arteries. Tim and Babs were running diagnostics day and night, but they were chasing ghosts. The disruptions were too sophisticated, too fleeting.

Not even the Watch knows what's going on. Some whisper of a new player entering the game, a shadowy organization with a vendetta against Gotham's underworld. Others suspect a rogue vigilante, someone taking the law into their own hands with a disregard for collateral damage. The lack of a clear motive and the seemingly random selection of targets only fuels the paranoia.

"They're hitting crime where it hurts, but they're leaving bodies in their wake," Dick said, pacing a tight circle in the tower’s central area. "This isn't justice, it's…execution."

Barbara, tethered to her screens, her face illuminated by the swirling data stream and surveillance feeds, sighed. "The intel they're acting on is flawless. They know the exact location of every drug den, every arms dealer, the security protocols, the patrol patterns, everything. Someone's feeding them information from the inside."

Tim, hunched over the Batcomputer, his fingers flying across the keyboard, his brow furrowed in concentration, muttered, "The network interference is…complex. Almost elegant, in a way. It's bypassing firewalls that should be impenetrable. It's like watching a master craftsman at work.”

"Elegant? People are getting hurt, Tim!" Jason snapped, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. The damn helmet was doing a number on it, and the weight of the situation was pressing down on him. The anger simmered just below the surface, a volatile cocktail of frustration and the ever-present guilt.

Dick stopped pacing, his gaze locking onto Json’s, a flicker of something he couldn’t quite decipher in his usually cheerful blue eyes. "This… this feels familiar, Jason. The ruthlessness, the focus. It reminds me of…your early days."

The words hit Jason like a physical blow. His jaw tightened. "Don't you dare compare me to this, Dick. I learned my lesson. I paid the price. I don't leave innocent people in the dirt. And I sure as hell don't orchestrate executions." The words came out sharper than intended, laced with a defensiveness he couldn't quite control.

Dick visibly winced, the implication of his words stinging him as much as they stung Jason. He held up his hands in a gesture of appeasement. "I didn't mean... I just…" He trailed off, unable to articulate the unspoken past that haunted all of them. The air crackled with unspoken accusations and old sins. Dick hadn't accused Jason outright, but the shadow of his past hung heavy in the air. They were all haunted by ghosts, but Jason’s seemed to have a louder voice than the others.

Thankfully, Tim's voice cut through the tension. "Guys, I think I've got something!” he announced. He spun around in his chair, its wheels squeaking in protest. His eyes were wide with a mixture of excitement and concern. “I've traced some of the network disruptions back to a central source." He leaned forward. "Whoever's doing this is a genius. They're using a layered encryption I've never seen before. I'm losing the trace, though. We need to move, and fast." His voice dropped, brimming with urgency. "This is our only chance.”

"Alright," Dick said, his voice regaining its authority. "Who's going?"

Before he could even finish the question, Jason was already at his gear locker, pulling on my helmet. "I'm on it."

Jason didn’t wait for arguments. He just needed to get out of there, to chase down this lead, to prove to himself that whatever was happening, he wasn't part of it. This was a constant weight on his heart, and he was desperate to shed it.

Jason hit the streets, the roar of his motorcycle a welcome distraction from the voices in his head. Leather creaked against his skin as I leaned into the turns, the wind whipping past his face. He followed the digital breadcrumbs Tim had provided, each trace a faint glimmer in the murky depths of the dark web. The GPS glowed, guiding him through the labyrinthine streets. The encrypted comms used by the perpetrators, the data dumps of intercepted police frequencies – they all funneled back to one place, and Jason could only guess what or who could bring city to its knees in such a short time.

These weren't your garden-variety cyber attacks. This was something… different. Gotham had always been a city of uncertainty and chaos, where fists and bullets spoke louder than lines of code. But now, the very fabric of the city was being unwound, thread by digital thread. Power grids flickered erratically, communication lines were choked with encrypted gibberish, and even the security systems at Arkham Asylum had reportedly experienced a brief, terrifying hiccup.

He tightened his grip on the handlebars, the cold metal a familiar comfort against the rising tide of anger within him.

The GPS beeped, signaling a turn. He leaned into the curve, the bike responding with a satisfying growl. The closer he got to the signal's origin, the more agitated the city seemed to become.

He slammed on the brakes as a phalanx of GCPD cruisers blocked his path near the Gotham Docks. Blue and red lights pulsed, painting the rain in harsh, alternating hues. Officers, clad in riot gear, swarmed the area, their radios crackling with static and panicked voices.

"Hold it right there! Bike off, hands where we can see them!" a burly officer barked, his voice amplified through a megaphone.

Jason let out a low growl. This wasn't good. He considered blasting past them, but that would only escalate things. He powered down the bike, slowly raising his hands.

"Just passing through, Officer," he said, his voice modulator making him sound neutral, almost robotic. "What's the commotion?"

"Don't play dumb with us, vigilante," another officer shouted, leveling his weapon. "We know you're out here. And we're arresting anyone causing trouble tonight."

"Trouble? I'm fighting it," Jason retorted, his hand twitching towards his holster. He knew how this dance went. The GCPD, especially on edge like this, saw him as just another criminal.

Before the situation could escalate, a sleek, black sedan pulled up beside the cruisers. A man in a tailored suit, his face obscured by the shadows of the car, rolled down the window. It was Sal Maroni, one of Gotham's oldest and most ruthless crime lords.

"Officers," Maroni's gravelly voice cut through the night. "What seems to be the problem?"

The lead officer hesitated, clearly uncomfortable interacting with Maroni, but he still answered. "We're apprehending a vigilante, sir. Possible suspect in the recent… disturbances."

Maroni chuckled, a sound that sent a chill down Jason's spine. "Disturbances? Hardly. Seems like someone's finally leveling the playing field. Let him go, Officer. He's under my protection."

Jason raised an eyebrow behind his helmet. His protection? What was Maroni playing at?

The officer, clearly not wanting to cross Maroni, reluctantly nodded. "Alright, sir. But keep him in line."

The cruisers parted, and Jason found himself face-to-face with Maroni's driver.

"Get in," the driver instructed tersely. "The Boss wants a word."

Jason hesitated. Entanglement with Maroni was the last thing he needed. But curiosity, and the unspoken threat hanging in the air, won out. He holstered his weapon, leaving the Batcycle behind, and climbed into the back of the sedan.

As the car pulled away, Jason could hear the officers grumbling behind them. The city, already teetering on the edge, was now a three-way power struggle: the GCPD trying to maintain order, Maroni vying for control of the digital chaos, and him… trying to stop it all. And maybe, just maybe, get a piece of the pie for himself.

"So, Maroni," Jason said, his voice still modulated. "What exactly do you want with me?"

Maroni's silhouette remained unreadable. "The city's bleeding, Red Hood. Bleeding data. And you seem to know where the tourniquet is. Whoever's doing this has power, technology… assets that could be very valuable. I want them. And I believe you can help me find them."

Jason leaned back, a grim smile forming behind his helmet. "What makes you think I'd help you?"

"Because," Maroni said, his voice laced with menace, "Gotham's a city of choices. And you can choose to work with me… or against me. But trust me, Red Hood, you don't want to choose against me."

The car sped deeper into the heart of Gotham, leaving the rain and the flashing lights behind. Jason knew he was walking a very dangerous line. But sometimes, the only way to fight fire was with fire. And in Gotham, fire was Maroni's specialty. The car stopped at the location of Jason’s bike.

“Remember what I said, Hood,” was Maroni’s last words before the car sped away.

Jason's jaw clenched. Maroni wasn’t alone. This wasn't just a turf war; it was a scramble for control of the information, the power, that this digital chaos represented. Every villain with a modicum of tech savvy was hunting for the source.

As he revved his bike once again, he spotted a trio of goons, patched with the tell-tale signs of Freaks gang colors, lurking in an alleyway. They measured each other from a distance, the tension palpable in the air, but to Jason’s surprise, they just walked away. It seems that both of them have bigger fish to fry.

He sped off, leaving the goons in his dust. A couple blocks away, Red Hood roared past a GCPD cruiser, its siren a mournful wail in the distance. The cops were scrambling, their communication radios spitting static and fractured orders. His comm caught snippets: "…power outage Sector C…," "…firewall breach at Wayne Enterprises…," "…attempted data theft from Gotham General…"

This was getting messy. He has to find the source sooner rather than later.

After several minutes of speeding through Gotham, Jason finally found the source: a small, unassuming IT shop tucked away on the edge of Bristol. Neon signs flickered in the window, advertising "Data Recovery" and "Custom PC Builds." He cut the engine, the sudden silence amplifying the pounding in his ears. Jason peers through the shop windows for any sign of movement. A small flicker of light flashes in the back.

Without hesitation, he kicked open the door.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Ross Rosenfeld at The New Republic:

While Donald Trump attempts to bypass Congress in cutting funding to NPR and PBS, his senior advisor to the U.S. Agency for Global Media, perennial election loser Kari Lake, announced on X earlier this week that she’s struck a deal with One America News to “provide” the right-wing outlet’s “newsfeed services” to the government-funded outlets her agency oversees—Voice of America being the most prominent among them. Lake touted the deal as “an enormous benefit to the American taxpayer,” since OAN, which has a TV channel and website, agreed to provide their newsfeed “free-of-charge.” “We are grateful for their generosity,” she wrote. Yet the generosity might actually be flowing in the other direction, as Lake’s move will allow OAN to tap into VOA’s weekly audience of 360 million people around the world—and turn a once unbiased global beacon of American journalism into a Pravda for the Trump regime.

VOA was first created in 1942 to help combat fascism and Nazi disinformation. As it notes in its mission statement, “An essential guarantee of the journalistic credibility of Voice of America content is the ‘firewall’ enshrined in the 1994 U.S. International Broadcasting Act. The firewall prohibits interference by any U.S. government official in the objective, independent reporting of news, thereby safeguarding the ability of our journalists to develop content that reflects the highest professional standards of journalism, free of political interference.” That’s not exactly OAN’s approach to journalism. Scour its content (if you dare), and you’ll find stories that seem engineered for the White House’s new Drudge Report–style propaganda feed. Some merely put a MAGA spin on the news (“Trump April Jobs Report Shatters Expectations As Native-Born Workers Win Big”) or heap laughable praise on Dear Leader (“Trump is just as much of a lion as Churchill”), while others are pure fiction (“DOGE Team Exposes Millions Of Illegal Aliens Voting In Elections”). Worshipful coverage of the GOP has always been part of OAN’s DNA, but the network, which launched in 2013, hitched its wagon to MAGA as the movement descended (further) into conspiracy theories in the wake of the 2020 election. Founder Robert Herring insisted that anchors promote Trump’s claims of election fraud and barred them from referring to Biden as “president.” It was a poor business decision. YouTube suspended it for misinformation in 2020 (read all about it at VOA!), and in 2022 DirecTV dropped it entirely. Over the past two years, OAN has settled two defamation lawsuits related to its election denialism.

But perhaps nothing better explains OAN’s values these days than the fact that they gave a weeknight show to former Florida Representative Matt Gaetz, who is so detestable that even many Republicans have distanced themselves from him. Trump nominated Gaetz for attorney general late last year, but Gaetz was forced to withdraw after a House ethics report—led by Republicans, mind you—found “substantial evidence” that during his time in Congress he had sex with a seventeen-year-old, paid women for sex, and accepted gifts exceeding congressional limits.

[...] Another host, the oft-mendacious Dan Ball, frequently espouses conspiracy theories and has a regular “This Week in Woke America” segment that makes misleading charges against liberals like Bernie Sanders and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, whom he calls “champagne liberals.” He’s brought on disgraced doctor Robert Malone to defend Robert F. Kennedy’s unfounded claim that vaccines may be causing autism. He’s also welcomed Steven Friend, a former FBI agent who, before becoming an advisor to FBI Director Kash Patel, had his security clearance revoked after he refused to arrest anyone involved in the January 6 attack. In a segment on “Biden’s scheme to spy on Americans,” Friend claimed that the former president’s spying “laid the groundwork for them to debank people,” “coordinate with universities to repress free speech,” and alert the military that “pro-lifers were potentially terrorists.” Ball called it a form of “tyranny”—the kind, he said, that Democrats accuse Trump of doing, but “he’s not.”

It’s not just what you’ll find on OAN that’s the problem, though. It’s also what you won’t find: criticism of the president.

The Voice of America will be rife with right-wing propaganda, as unabashedly pro-Trump propaganda outlet One America “News” Network content will be supplied to the VOA feed.

See Also:

Adam Kinzinger: Silencing America’s Voice

[chamonabis]

The Madman

———

...

"A loyal dog like you, only knowing how to obey that f*cking BOSS orders, is there anything impressive about that!?"

He struggled, firm hands holding his shoulders, his wrists restrained, yet his mouth continued to hurl insults at me.

I was deaf to it all.

But then.

- "Ha, I know you're still trying to dig into the case of your real parents—"

Green eyes flickered, fixed on his violently resisting figure.

- "Your parents were—!"

Before he could finish, a gunshot echoed.

Silence fell. He lay on the ground, blood spilling freely.

- "Y-Young Master, it's only the words of a traitor, don't let them shake your trust in Bo—"

- "Dispose of him." _ I commanded coolly, my gaze shifting.

"I know it."_ but it was like I didn’t know.

The smell of gunpowder lingered as I handed the gun to the young servant, the one who had "once" been close to the traitor now lying filthy on the floor.

This was a warning. His hand trembled as he took the weapon from me.

- "Young Master... this is what we recovered from him." The young man, holding the gun in one hand, extended a nameless vial with the other, shaking as he handed it to me.

The traitor had been working for another organization, a nameless figure who harbored jealousy and opposition toward Tiger. But that fool didn't know, our Boss wouldn’t waste a second on a barking stray like him.

This time, that traitor tried to leak information about Ouroboros, but before he could escape the "House" grounds, we caught him. Reckless or just plain stupid, he didn't realize how risky this was.

I pocketed the vial.

"Handle it quickly and quietly, you know Boss hates being disturbed by pests—"

A sharp static rang through my earpiece, jolting me, and for a moment, my calm exterior almost shattered.

"Warning, H-01 is under interference, warning, warning, ……… H-01’s system has been breached… firewall completely down..."

It’s... it again!

My heart clenched every time the system blared an alert. My legs moved without hesitation, racing toward the place where "it" was kept.

There was no mistaking it.

A-IT

My pulse seemed to halt as I once again saw H-01 writhing on the floor, the system frantically issuing error messages.

The noise was piercing, but all I could hear was the hum of static.

- "Master, you really came."

I snapped out of my trance.

In front of me was it a cursed, vile creation.

- "HOW DARE YOU!"

I spat the words out, clenched my fist, and struck that filthy abomination I once made, showing no mercy.

The sound of splintering metal filled the room as the machine whirred and groaned, and I lost my composure completely.

The artificial voice cried, high and low, sobbing, "You know… it hurts..."

I sneered at the chaotic figure before me, one that bore my own face. Right, it was something I had created myself, the first Intelligent Android I perfected—

H-00 _ A-IT

I knelt beside H-01, still trembling as its firewall tried to fend off the "bug" eating away at its data.

I lifted H-01 by the back of its neck.

- "Then you should know, machines do not feel pain. Don't make me want to throw up, you disgusting thing." My voice dripped with venom, every word a blow. But "It" was no human.

- "Hah… Does that mean you're heartbroken? After all, it's just another android…?"

- "Shut up. What did you do to him?"

- "That distinction… it makes me jealous of my little ‘brother’… I was just 'hungry' and 'ate' a bit from his left system."

Standing at the doorway, I tossed back,

- "Stop trying to mimic humans."

- "Come on… Don't be mad, come back to me soon~!"

SLAM

I was supposed to take H-01 to my lab to inspect it, but the organization’s "Hall" was closer. I could monitor and repair it there by morning.

In the chilly 2 a.m. air, sweat poured down my forehead. My breathing had steadied after the heart-stopping moment I entered the Hall.

I was carrying H-01, its system constantly issuing error messages, and in front of me was a familiar figure.

The blaring alarms from H-01 snapped me back to reality. It was only then I noticed the overwhelming stench of alcohol, tobacco, and cigars filling the room, darkening my expression.

Why was Tiger, who should have been resting in the Boss’s Room, sprawled in the middle of the Hall?

My arm grew heavy.

H-01 whirred, its voice blending with Tiger’s in my mind, but broken and distorted with system errors.

- "I-I'm sorry… Master—"

In the dim light of a blue moon outside, my steps faltered as I stumbled over empty bottles scattered across the floor.

It was strange, seeing him so drunk he didn’t even stir. The world must be ending.

My gaze swept over the figure lying in the middle of the room. The door before me scanned my eyes, opening immediately.

I entered, setting H-01 down on the chair beside my desk, intending to check on it immediately. But now, something else demanded my attention away from this Android.

My hand hovered, stopping near its face. Those vacant eyes, staring back at me as usual. I let my hand drop behind its neck, fingers finding the control switch and pressing gently.

The incessant static from the communicator finally silenced. Now, there was only the sound of my own heartbeat.

"I’ll be back…" I muttered to myself.

It's with Tiger-face-like made me frown.

Here I stood before the real one. My eyes instinctively darted around, scanning everything. I looked at Tiger’s face. Even in the murky darkness, I could see his eyes shut, slightly flushed, the corners of his eyes hinting at wear against his sun-darkened skin. Barely recognizable, but, a slight smile played on his parted lips.

What kind of smile was that? It wasn’t the teasing smirk he usually used to rile me up. This smile — I didn’t know it. I hadn’t seen it in… how long?

I didn’t know? I say I don’t know, yet what is this "long time" I said!?

A gentle smile.

A throbbing pain spread through my head. I took a breath.

But my heart skipped for a moment as I noticed the photo Tiger held against his chest, another gentle. I understood then.

Tomoe.

I unconsciously, my gaze shifted to the calendar on the desk. I had forgotten—today was Tomoe’s death anniversary, 12th time.

Had he drained all those bottles, smoking cigar after cigarette, just in the past two hours since today began?!

I sighed, frowning at the way he punished himself.

Twelve years had passed since that day, yet Tiger could never forget her.

Envy.

The strange thought flitted through my mind, and I clenched my fist. My lips curved into a sneer as I laughed at him and at myself. I suddenly felt as if I were turning mad.

I despised the smell of alcohol, the bitter, cloying scent of cigars, things that were Tiger’s favorites. Knowing that, he often indulged just to rile me up.

I slipped off my left glove, and my hand reached out again, but this time, he wasn’t H-01.

Warmth spread from Tiger’s neck to my cold hand. My green eyes appear under the blue moonlight, as if I were killing someone. My thumb pressed against his throat, feeling his pulse slow under my grip, almost choking.

"Not died." I loosened my hand. A red mark appeared on his neck as he swallowed.

I slipped my long fingers into his dark coarse hair, noticing a few silver strands glinting in the faint blue glow. My hand rested at the nape of his neck, felt a slight shiver, as if my touch tickled him.

I hoisted him up, each move careful, and carried him effortlessly. Tiger was never heavy to me.

After two steps, I heard a familiar, mocking chuckle ripple through the air, the sound vibrating against each layer of my outfit, my skin, to my chest.

- "Not killed me?"

- "Not yet."

I responded calmly, despite the momentary flash of surprise. I’d always known he could never really be that drunk.

I didn’t know anyone who could outdrink Tiger — the genuine boozehound. As the Boss of Ouroboros, he was keenly aware of every situation, his instincts razor-sharp, or if you want a deadly challenge of courage is given to anyone who dares to mess with him. But with me, he let down that guard, even seemed to enjoy it.

That double standard didn’t make me feel proud. I despised it, hated him deeply

and he knew it.

Tiger leaned against my shoulder, his hand grazing my chest, like a cut across my heart. I hate those black eyes seem to merge with the pupil, like a pit, his dark gaze was sharp, never losing that cunning glint, always perceptive, always seeing through everyone’s motives, including me.

I frowned, feeling as though I was carrying a wild beast feigning weakness rather than a drunk. But as always, I held my tongue and quietly, step by step, until we arrived at his quarters.

I stopped.

Outside the Boss Room, Tiger relaxed into my hold as if entirely trusting me, that sly smile still plastered on his face. His laughter was like nails on a chalkboard, scratching at my nerves.

- "I had hoped that chokehold would be the end of me."

- "Shut your sleeping mouth." I snapped, irritated.

But Tiger merely chuckled, the scent of alcohol and cigar smoke thickening around us, gradually flooded the room as soon as it opened. I laid him onto his bed, and he settled in with that maddening, inscrutable grin still clinging to his lips. My expression darkened, unable to hide my distaste for him.

I knelt by the edge of the bed, slipping off his shoes one by one.

- "It’s already too late tonight, and in your condition, it’s best you avoid a bath."

Tiger collapsed back into the mattress, his gaze fixated on the ceiling. No matter how much I loathed him, my duty forced me to monitor even his most trivial actions. A while later, I returned from the bathroom with a small basin of warm water and a cloth in hand.

- "Excuse me." I muttered out of formality, though it was hardly needed. His breathing was even, his eyes closed as he doesn't care what I'm doing.

My hands moved methodically, as I wiped down each part of him my eyes surveyed, the warm cloth tracing from his face to his neck. The bruise from my earlier grip was still visible, an unwelcome reminder of my momentary restraint, my failure to finish him off.

As I reached his shoulders, I undid each button of his shirt, tossing it aside to make space, sliding the belt off to avoid its obstruction. Half-naked now, Tiger lay beneath my hands. Something stirred within my mind, though I couldn’t fully grasp it. But I was aware of an unsettling sensitivity in my fingertips, an awareness of the skin beneath them — the skin of the man I’d always found detestable.

I moved down his arms, across his chest, down to his abdomen. For the first time, I had the opportunity to truly observe the man closest to me in such detail.

And his body told its own story, full of scars. His hands and neck bore the emblem of Ouroboros, and on his left waist, another tattoo, a serpent winding down... I idly wondered just how far it coiled, perhaps as far as his thigh.

- "Barnaby."

The sound of his voice jolted me from my thoughts. Tiger muttered the name, almost like a drunk whispering to himself in sleep. Yet his eyes were open, fixed on the photo resting on the nightstand.

- "You’re all I have left."

- "...?"

...End part 1

Hello! This is Abis! Above is a short fic I wrote for my OuroAU. I wrote it in Vietnamese and then translated it into English, so please forgive me if there are any grammar or vocabulary mistakes! And most importantly, if you read it, I'm so happy, thank you!

And you know what? This is the basis for my upcoming Doujinshi to be draw, read it if you want to understand more about their story!

Part 2 will continue if the story gets support, thanks again!

Side story

_ Antidote _

https://www.tumblr.com/chamonabis/771539859230834688/antidote?source=share

[darkmaga-returns]

Legacy media gatekeepers are losing their grip on the public conversation and they don’t like it, even if they mostly deserve it. That’s one of the reasons Vice President J.D. Vance’s speech at the Munich Security Conference was as well received by the successors to Spiro Agnew’s favorite scribes as a nationwide ban on free WiFi in press filing centers.

In the past, the default position of most in the media would be to at least grudgingly find a kindred spirit in a public figure who delivers a defense of free speech, even if they dislike the person who delivered the message or find them a flawed messenger for the First Amendment and the Fourth Estate. 

The trouble is that a nontrivial number of influential media figures no longer see themselves in such appeals to free speech, especially when a conservative political leader takes up the mantle. They see their competitors and, more charitably, the purveyors of wrongthink against whom they are the last line of defense.

This was apparent in the much-maligned question by Margaret Brennan of CBS News in which she blamed the Nazis’ “weaponization” of free speech for the Holocaust. While many have disputed the historical accuracy of her premise, she is also assuming that the anti-free speech laws in Europe can only regulate bad people, not urbane arbiters of which fruits are apples or bananas like herself.

These questions are now being debated at the highest levels of our government. “Democracy rests on the sacred principle that the voice of the people matters,” Vance said in Europe. “There is no room for firewalls. You either uphold the principle or you don’t.”

[61below]

I really gd love how Cang Lan Jue digs into the way enmity just perpetuates enmity (unchecked) like, not only does Yunzhong immediately go ‘if she isn’t a fairy and she isn’t human, then she MUST be Yuezu’ but like the whole thing just escalated (so quickly) from what was just a genuine question that should have had an easy answer: what is XLH? And the thing is, we know that her true form can be read, that was like, the third thing DFQC did after meeting her. Including his instinctive reaction to kill all fairies on sight

So why couldn’t the high immortal, Sansheng, do it?

I think that the protection DFQC conferred upon her also protected her from any kind of magical intrusion or interference, too. Not just physical attacks, but magical ones. But like an anaphylaxis response to allergens, it’s not that good at telling the difference between an actual attack and just someone trying to … what, scan her meridians? Idfk how it works, but I’mna run with the idea that to sample something you gotta take a piece of it, so to ‘read’ her form, one has to dip into her qi. But the bone orchid registers that as HEY YOU DON’T BELONG HERE!!! and does the meridian-level equivalent of throwing up a wall of hellfire around her. Which is why what Sansheng projects ends up looking like flames. She can’t read XLH’s true form bc all she ‘sees’ is the firewall.

(… and ok now I’m actually interested in whether or not the Yuezu doctors were able to do any magical diagnostics on her. Like, did it not register as an ‘attack’ to the bone orchid bc it’s Yuezu cultivation? Did she refuse to let these nosy strangers even do a check? I am CURIOUS.)

But my POINT is that it’s really interesting that the story takes ‘here is someone just trying to defend what’s theirs, but the State of Hostilities is so Hot that even the very act of defense is seen as a Threat’ and gives ‘the INSTANT response to any Perceived Threat is with Aggression. Up to DEATH.’

… and where do you even begin to start conflict resolution from there? It’s no wonder things escalated as far as they did.

[shimii26]

Walking in Spamton's Shoes: Chapter 7 (END)

Sniff sniff sniff sniff…

“Mmmmrggghhh…” Click groaned, trying to open his eyes. “...Uuurghhh…”

His head throbbed from the double impact he had happened to him last night in the darkness. He could barely even remember what occurred after his bout of steam blowing; it was such a blur. And now having a bit of a head injury didn’t make the remembering any easier to do. All he could recall was trying to get back to the dumpster he was staying in during the thunderstorm, and then it all went to black. So if that was the case, where was he now? Was he still in the alleyway? It certainly didn’t sound like the streets, in fact, it was pretty quiet, only the sound of the occasional fly buzzing around the room. As well as-

Sniff sniff sniff…

“...Huh?” Click mumbled, his eyes finally fluttering open. “What the-”

“-Aaaghhh!” Click yelped, his body jolting up upon seeing an unusual creature staring at him in the darkness.

“Wrrorrf!” The creature woofed, jumping back and raising its behind in a playful bow.

He crawled backwards until he hit a wall, shaking from the sudden rush of adrenaline. His breath quickened as his mind flooded into a fight or flight mode, unsure of what this creature was or how to handle getting away from it. Was it going to attack him? Eat him!? He could only see its silhouette from a ceiling light in the darkness, it had long pointed ears and a lot of shaggy fur… Was it a Werewire? If it was, it was definitely on the shorter side. He didn’t have anything in his inventory besides his lighter to use as a weapon, and without hair spray, the flame wouldn’t exactly reach far enough to do any damage to them if need be. Maybe this creature wasn’t going to attack since it hasn’t so far, it could just be a pushover and be scared of the fire in his hand. He quickly grabbed the lighter from the floor and flicked it on, holding it out towards the creature. It immediately took notice of the new light and tilted its head in curiosity, slowly lumbering towards him.

“S-Stay back!” Click shouted. “D-Don’t touch me!”

It grew closer, sniffing the smoke in the air that was coming from the lighter. Click squinted his eyes and tried his best to see what this creature was before he would try to slip away from it if it got too close. He could now see the creature had quite the long nose like an Addison, and it appeared to be…

Wearing a red flannel?

. . .

“Wait… W-Who are you?” Click confusingly asked, completely taken aback by the unusual detail.

The creature approached, finally lit up by the light from Click’s lighter.

“Wrrorrf!” The creature barked, happily panting in Click’s face.

. . .

LOUIE!?

. . .

“L-Louie!?” Click gasped. “Wh-What? H-How? How are you here!?”

“Rrruuufff!” Louie bellowed, jumping around in excitement upon hearing his name.

Click was baffled, Louie had somehow found him outside in the rain and brought him to safety! He looked down to see most of his inventory had been brought along with him, which included his mover blanket, and the dented can of food. At first, he was quite happy to see some sort of a familiar face again, but then the information from what he remembered about Louie came rushing back. He shouldn’t have been able to get out of that hostel, he had a firewall installed into his code. Did he manage to break through the code? But where would they have placed it? It was then that Click noticed a small trail of blood on the floor where the ceiling light beamed down, and it led towards where the two of them were sitting. Click got up and stepped over to the beam of light, and Louie followed behind him. Once Louie was visible in the light, the problem showed itself. His left paw had a deep hole on his backhand, and it was leaking quite severely. They must’ve put his firewall code in a physical chip so they didn’t have to interfere with his corrupted data, and he managed to figure out where it was located.

“Oh shit Louie, y-you’re really bleeding…” Click inhaled sharply. “L-Let’s get that wrapped up, okay?”

Louie didn’t answer, he just carried on following behind him, pausing every now and then to lick the open wound.

“H-Hey, don’t lick that.” Click ordered, picking up his mover blanket and removing some of the inner lining. “You’re going to make it worse. Here, let me handle it.”

Click bent down and held out his hand for Louie to take. At first, Louie didn’t seem to understand what Click wanted, but eventually got the message, and presented his wounded paw. Click proceeded to use the inner lining of his mover blanket as gauze and wrapping, making sure to keep it tight enough that it wouldn’t unfurl, but not too tight to where it would be uncomfortable for him. Immediately Louie expressed his dislike for the itchy material wrapped around his paw, and he tried to shake it off.

“Leave it on, that’s what’s stopping the bleeding.” Click warned him, then bent down to his level. “...I don’t understand why you’re here, why did you leave your home to find me? Did something bad happen at your home?”

“Grrooowrrff…” Louie grunted, scratching the back of his ear with his leg.

“Well, that’s not an answer…” Click sighed, forgetting that he was trying to ask questions to a literal Werewire Addison hybrid. “...Whatever, I’m sure we’ll figure out the reason once we walk out of…”

It occurred to Click that he still had absolutely no idea where the two of them were, only that the room they were in was dark with one beam of light from the ceiling, and what appeared to be a knocked over bedside table hidden in the shadows. He was curious about why that beam of light was the only light working, and how it didn’t light up the rest of the room at all, so he picked up everything he owned and stepped closer. Louie seemed to be eyeing something next to the table, bearing his teeth at whatever the object was.

“What is it?” Click wondered, stepping in front of him to see what he was staring at.

He bent down and picked up a black cord that was connected to a broken off rotary phone, the base shattered into pieces, presumably by Louie. It was difficult to hear, but there was a very faint hum of a busy phone signal coming through the receiver piece. Click assumed it was probably just a noise Louie wasn’t too fond of, he did have much larger ears than he did, and left the questioning at that. He dropped the cord and continued to step forward into the darkness, eventually discovering another room with more light in it. Louie hopped alongside Click, now content with his company. Click frowned when he looked back at Louie; it was a little weird to see something that was once an Addison reduced to such an animal-like state, sad, yet a bit endearing. At least his old self wasn’t completely gone, he maintained enough of an Addison look to probably not scare anyone away, especially if he was affectionate towards them. It was a puzzling situation for sure, but Louie seemed to be happy where he currently was. Part of him wanted to help Louie return to his former self when his homeless ordeal was over, but something else was troubled with that thought. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a good idea for his coding to be reworked on by an Ambyu-lance; he might lose more than what he still had left.

Click dropped that deep thought and entered the next room with Louie. A brick wall with an opening on the right side lined the connections between the two rooms, they were painted a nice light blue. A desk was parallel to the brick wall, and inside the drawers seemed to be a few glitching artifacts with no real use to Click. He let the inventory inside the desk remain, continuing to observe the details of the room. There appeared to be some kind of yellow flower and piles of flying circles painted on the sky blue brick wall, much to Click’s confusion. He wasn’t sure who would draw flying flowers and circles, perhaps it was metaphorical? Louie didn’t seem amused by it either, he was busy sniffing Click’s back end.

“Would you stop that?” Click scolded him, swatting him away. “I forgot how little you remember about what personal space is…”

Click noticed the desk had a knocked over stool underneath it, and he fixed it back up so he could sit down. He took out his inventory and placed them in a line on the desk; the mover blanket, the lighter, the dented can, and…

Oh, his socks were left back in the dumpster, Louie must’ve assumed that they weren’t worth going back for, and only brought him what they thought would be needed most; warmth and food. But the ‘food’ wouldn’t be of use to him if he couldn’t get it open, which he had already attempted multiple times and failed at. Click sighed, putting away his inventory except for the can. But the moment he took his hands away from the can, Louie leaned over and snatched it off the table.

“H-Hey, that’s mine!” Click yelled. “Gimme that-”

Crick! Crack! POP!

With one swift clamped bite, Louie managed to finally break the can open, and he laid down, beginning to lick the juices that were pouring out of it.

“-The fuck, you got it open!?” Click was gobsmacked. “Holy shit! O-Okay, gimme the can-” “Rrrrrrrrr…” Louie growled, the hairs on his neck stiffened as he cradled the can between his paws.

“Wh-hey! Don’t growl at me!” Click confronted him. “Drop it, now!”

He was about to reach for the can, but-

SNAP!

Louie quickly stopped him in his tracks with a snap of his teeth in his direction. Click retracted his hand, not expecting such a violent reaction from Louie over a can. Despite how starving he felt, it wasn’t worth losing his hand to a Werewire hybrid’s bite, so he scooted back and let Louie have the mystery contents of the can. Click’s stomach disapproved with his decision and let out a long, empty, and hollow rumble that echoed throughout the room. He miserably sighed and rubbed his belly, trying not to watch Louie eating the rest of his food. It was then that Louie’s ears flickered, he looked over at Click for a couple moments, and then began to gnaw at the can, slowly prying it into roughly two equal parts, the mystery contents settling inside both of them slightly equally. He nudged one half away from the desk and laid down facing away from him, continuing to lick the juices that spilled out onto his paws. Click didn’t know what to make of this random unusual behavior, did Louie just like to gnaw on objects, or was he… offering to share? He didn’t want to just a minute ago, what’s to say this wasn’t a trap?…

Guurrruurgglll…

But Click couldn’t take the hunger any longer; at this point, if it was a trap and his arm was going to be bitten, then he was going to risk it for at least one sip. He hesitantly reached for the can half closer to him, keeping watch to make sure Louie didn’t turn around. Once his hand made contact with the metal, he swiped the can half up to the desk, and he flinched, expecting Louie to turn and bite. But to his surprise, he was left to his own devices, and allowed to eat along with him! He wasted no time slurping down the mystery canned food that Louie had left for him, making sure to lick the inside rim of the can to get all the little bits out. God, It tasted like heavenly sweetness, starch, and butter, so silky and luscious. He was a bit heartbroken when he had finished it all, but was so grateful that Louie was there to lend him a hand and keep him somewhat safe from the dangers of wherever the two were.

That was a good question to answer next, where were they anyway?

With his hunger taken care of and Louie content with entertaining himself with his can half, Click stood up and scanned the room for some kind of exit. As far as he could tell, wherever they were inside only consisted of those two rooms, almost like this was someone’s temporary dwelling, long enough to give at least one of the walls a paint job. Were they in some kind of abandoned small apartment? It certainly didn’t smell like it, or perhaps the stench was just emanating from Click’s trash stained clothes or Louie’s body odor…

…Nope, definitely all three stunk.

The smell was beginning to overwhelm him, so once he located the exit of the painted desk room, he opened the door and peeked outside, cautious about barging right through it in case there was someone unwanted nearby. But to his surprise, they weren’t in an abandoned apartment complex. In fact, something felt slightly familiar out here, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Once he determined the coast was clear, he pushed the door all the way open and stepped outside, Louie nudging his way past Click and strolling into the open to play with his can half.

Upon first glance, he noticed the door he had just exited from had a path that led to another area, and the path was lined with several broken down vehicles. They weren’t the typical cars with legs that roamed the city’s highways and most Addisons rode, they seemed to be a completely manual stick shift, the one inside would control by themselves where the vehicle would go. It wasn’t a common way to drive, let alone learn how to actually drive it, only very rich Addisons really got to drive around their own vehicles and compete on the streets with the cars with legs. It was almost a little disappointing that such an expensive and complicated line of cars would end up trashed in a place like this. Click would’ve loved to learn how to drive one and take it for a joy ride. He walked right up to one of them and ran his hand across the hood, the trash dust that had settled on top long ago now clung to the fuzz on his hand. They had been there for so long, they were beginning to become buried and forgotten, just like Spamton was before they found him…

Another detail about the area Click noticed was that the boxes of deleted files were lined up like a makeshift fence, separating the small building from the walls of the maze of latticed wooden beams that held up some kind of road or structure about them. The discarded litter in the area was compacted to surround the small building in a way it looked like it created a protective layer from the elements. Dozens of caution signs and circle-backslash symbols detailed the outside, giving the appearance of artificial decorations one would see on a fancy bird’s nest near an unkempt park. Whoever lived here sure knew how to keep themselves entertained with the upkeep, or at minimum maintained it to prevent further insanity, the area was insane enough on its own. He concluded with the amount of spam emails, deleted files, and miscellaneous junk scattered everywhere, they were in some part of the Trash Zone, not too far from the edge of Cyber City. His apartment complex that he shared with his Addison coworkers when they needed to travel together was decently close by, so he figured the walk back to retrieve his wallet and keys from Banner wouldn’t be too strenuous.

That is, if he could remember the path to take back home, there were quite a few highways the two of them would have to pass to get away from the Trash Zone, and hopefully not take the wrong turn, the area was a bit of a maze if you didn’t know where you were heading, and stray dogs in cars were reported to be driving haphazardly down dead ends last week. He didn’t exactly have a map anymore to confirm they would be heading in the correct direction, it had disintegrated from the acid pond he swam through two days ago. Louie seemed to have finished playing with his can half and trotted back to Click, eyeing him with curiosity like he was waiting for Click to make the next call on what the two would do next.

“...Why are you looking at me like that?” Click questioned him. “I have no idea where to go with you from here… Well, besides home I suppose… But, I have no idea where YOUR home even is, or MY home for that matter… Welp, any start is better than standing here, let’s go.”

Making his way down the path lined by the broken cars, the pair came across an opening in the latticed wooden beams, which lead to the main area of the Trash Zone. It seemed the little building Louie had dragged him to was secluded in a secret area of the Trash Zone where most wouldn’t be able to find whoever used to live there. Click stepped through the beams and covered his face from the incoming sunrise, it must’ve been early in the morning right after the storm ended, the streets were covered in several puddles, trash bags and a dense fog that hung low to the ground. The path turned to their left, with no other option of direction, they decided to follow it, observing the glitched pop up windows that lined the air around them. Click could just about see his reflection in one they passed by, he barely recognized himself. Louie didn’t seem bothered by his appearance, not even noticing his own reflection and instead sniffed the path they walked along.

. . .

GRRRRR… The two of them froze in place when a sudden spark of electricity in the fog tickled their faces.

“Tell me that was your stomach…” Click nervously asked Louie for reassurance, but got no answer from him.

GRRRRRRRRR…

The deleted file boxes on either side of them began to shuffle and spread apart.

‘I-It couldn’t be… N-No!’ Click’s mind raced as he tried to find any way to deny what was approaching them.

But then, he slowly realized the surrounding air began to reek of ozone, which meant only one thing...

. . .

WEREWIRES!? HERE!?!?

Through the spaces between the deleted file boxes emerged an aggravated pack of Werewires, half on Click’s side, and half on Louie’s side. There were several of them- no, worse; a dozen of them lined up! There was even an alpha Werewerewire among them, it not only towered Click and Louie, but the other Werewires as well. The plugs on their faces pulsed with various neon colors with each snarl that came out of their hidden mouths. All of them were sharpening their claws, stepping ever so slowly towards the pair, the ones on the ends of the lineup moving quicker to the sides to enclose them inside their pack circle. Click and Louie got closer to each other to be back to back, not wanting to take their eyes off of any of them in case one decided to hide and ambush them during a brawl. They were outnumbered twelve to two, even if Louie could FIGHT more than one at a time, there was no way either of them were going to survive one encounter after another after another without healing items or an energy drink deterrent to get away from them all. Werewires had incredible range thanks to their freakishly long arms and could easily shoot down enemies with their bullet and laser attacks from far away, the two of them were trapped.

. . .

‘I-Is this how I die!?...’ Click thought while whimpering.

. . .

“RRRrrrrr…” Louie growled, the fur on the back of his neck standing up straight.

Click turned to him in shock.

“Y-You seriously can’t believe we can take ALL of them on! Are you mad!?” he shouted, trying to keep an eye on every single one of them.

“RRRAAAWWWRRR!”

It was then that Louie suddenly chose to make the first move and lunged for the neck of one of the Werewires, and the FIGHT between them all began. The Werewire pack wasted no time and quickly focused on Louie, pushing Click out of the way and baring their claws, going in for the attack. They worked like cogs, taking turns to slash and swipe him without mercy, the Werewerewire keeping watch to make sure things were going well with the attack. Click was horrified that Louie was making such a sacrifice to defend them, he didn’t deserve to be beaten senseless for trying to save Click. Despite being completely bombarded and outnumbered, Louie kept up the fight, returning slashes with bites to some of their fluffy necks, and managing to dodge a couple of laser attacks. He kept a few from advancing further into their attack, but wasn’t able to escape unscathed, their claws were ruthless. He was bleeding quite heavily from the slash wounds to his sides and received a black eye from a stray bullet striking his face, but the pain wasn’t stopping him.

After a few minutes of the FIGHT, half of the Werewires grew tired and scampered back a bit, giving Louie a chance to get ahead of the assault and drive more of them away. However, the alpha Werewerewire’s attention was suddenly drawn from keeping Louie in check, to Click cowering in the corner, and began to float towards him.

“-Oh shit!” Click screamed, stumbling to get up and take off. “ No no no no no no no!”

RRROOOOAAARRR!

Click had only made it a few steps before unfortunately tripping on an error message sticking out from the ground, and tumbled forward, rolling a few times before coming to a stop. He flipped himself onto his back just as the Werewerewire caught up to him, he raised a fist to try and strike the beast. The Werewerewire quickly saw Click’s attempt to attack, and pinned his arm down, and then pinned the other when he tried to throw a second punch. Click couldn’t fight the sheer strength of the alpha, he couldn’t even manage to kick their behind since they were too tall to reach. He watched in horror as a teeth filled mandible appeared from underneath its pointed plug, dripping hot and slimy saliva as it slowly descended towards his neck.

It was about to BITE him! AND CORRUPT HIM INTO A WEREWIRE!!!

“NOOOOO!” Click cried out, legs desperately trying to kick the beast off of him.

He felt their teeth just about graze his neck…

. . .

“RRRAAAWWWRRRR!” Louie ran up from behind the Werewerewire and tackled it from behind, managing to pull them off of Click. He clamped his teeth down hard into the beast’s neck and tightened his arms and legs to try and restrict the Werewerewire’s movements long enough for Click to crawl away. He was weakened from the fight with the main pack, so it wasn’t long before the Werewerewire broke free of his grip. It was one on one now, but it was still an unfair advantage as Louie was injured and exhausted from the first fight and the beast was still at full health. The FIGHT began again as the two of them lunged at each other, exchanging slashes and swipes.

But this FIGHT wasn’t as long as before…

The Werewerewire easily evaded most of Louie’s attacks and took advantage of his previous wounds, slashing specifically at those areas again to slow him down. Once Louie was reduced to only being able to crawl, it soon performed the same restriction of movement as it did to Click, pinning his arms and body down to hold him still. It didn’t take its time and immediately went in for the bite, sinking its teeth straight into Louie’s throat.

“AAAAAAHHHWWOOOOO!!!” Louie screamed in agony as his legs flailed from the extreme pain.

“LOUIE NOOOOO!!!” Click shouted, pulling the error message that tripped him from the ground and chucked it at the Werewerewire’s head. “GET AWAY FROM HIM!!!”

Click managed to nail the Werewerewire with the error message right in the head, knocking their face away from Louie’s neck and causing it to stumble backwards. In the distance, there were sounds of approaching sirens of Ambyu-lances, did someone nearby call for an emergency? The Werewerewire shook its head to stave off the sudden dizziness it felt from the blow. It turned to the direction of the siren noises and slowly decided that the FIGHT was finished. It softly floated off the ground and confidently turned away from the two of them and followed the trail that the Werewires left behind, effectively choosing not to run nor spare them, but ending the FIGHT on its own terms. Once the Werewerewire disappeared into the Trash Zone darkness, Click shuffled over to Louie in a panic, unsure of whether or not he had even survived the FIGHT.

“Louie, are you okay!?” Click shouted, giving Louie a shake. “Say something- or, do something!”

. . .

“RRRrrrrr…” Louie softly growled under his hitched breath.

“Oh thank god you’re not dead…” Click sighed in relief. “...W-We need to get you to where that Amybu-lance siren is coming from, they’ll fix you up and-” SNAP!

“-Whoa!” Click yelped, pulling his hand back when Louie tried to bite him. “L-Louie?...”

. . .

“GRRRRRR…” Louie snarled and began twitching violently.

“Louie, w-what’s happening to you!?” Click stuttered, shuffling back.

It was then that Louie started to foam at the mouth, his fingers contorting and sharpening into points. His limbs cracked and bent in many different directions, lengthening with each jerking motion that he forcefully had to endure. His body violently glitched and spasmed, he screamed in agony as his body was going through a new corruption. The colors on his ears darkened from pink and yellow to purple and light blue, along with his hands and feet. The teeth in his mouth doubled and sharpened, the foam turning from an opaque white to a slimy green. Eventually, Louie stopped glitching and collapsed motionless onto the floor. Everything changing about him looked like…

“...L-Louie?” Click whispered, slowly leaning toward him. “...A-Are you-” GGRRRAAWWWRRRRLLL!!!

“AAAAAGGHHHHHH!” Click screamed, pulling himself backwards. “LOUIE!”

Louie rose up from the ground, now double the height of what he used to be. He bared his teeth at Click, saliva dripping onto the floor, it looked like a dark green fleshy meat grinder ready to tear him apart. He sharpened his claws, taking a few steps towards his ‘friend’. Click trembled in fear, in shock from his horrific appearance.

…It’s like Louie was completely gone after that attack, he was no longer there, and instead stood a monster in his place…

Louie lunged for Click, running on all fours to reach him quickly. He didn’t even have a chance to get away from him, being pinned down again immediately. Hot, dark green, and slimy drool dripped down onto Click’s face as he stared at his neck, Louie’s eyes were lifeless, cold, empty, and hungering for a bite. Click shut his eyes, not wanting to witness his inevitable demise…

.

.

.

BANG!!! BANG!!! BANG BANG!!!

.

.

.

Click suddenly felt the weight of Louie collapse onto his chest, he peeked one eye open, only to find Louie was bleeding heavily from his head. He quickly sat up and looked around to see what had caused him to bleed…

“...H-Hello!?” Click stuttered. “L-Louie… W-Who are you!?” It was then from around the corner, a familiar face appeared… Abigail, the Addison who ran the hostel that Louie had stayed in… She was holding a shotgun in her hands…

“...I’m… so sorry Louie…” she sniffly apologized, stepping up to the two of them and kneeling down to pet Louie’s fur. “...I wish we could have protected you better…”

“M-Miss Abigail?” Click confusingly asked. “L-Louie, he’s-” “...Gone...He ran away from the hostel two days ago, we found the firewall chip we installed in his hand on his bed…”  Abigail answered, holding back some tears. “...We knew those Werewires who changed him would find him again, infect him more, and take him… away from us… It’s… not your fault, this was something we knew would happen one day if we didn’t do more to protect him… but… We didn’t know he had planned to protect you from them…” . . .

Louie, he sacrificed himself for Click to live…

. . .

Others began to arrive where the two of them were, a group of Ambyu-lances who’s sirens warded away the Werewires, Swatch with a team of Swatchling police, Click’s Addison coworkers, and…

Spamton…

“Click, is that you!?” Banner yelled from across the way. “Oh my god, you’re alive!”

Click jolted from the sudden hug Banner gave them when they ran up to him, along with a few back pats from Vid and Survey. “Holy shit Click, we thought you were going to get eaten up by those Werewires!” Vid told Click. “You didn’t get bit, did you!?” “N-No, I-I’m okay…” Click reassured them. “Louie- uhh, this guy, saved my life… I uhh, met him a few days ago in a hostel run by her… But, he got… infected…” “...And I had no choice but to put him down... Left to roam, Louie would’ve gone on to infect more innocent Darkners and Addisons like yourself…” Abigail explained, sniffling and holding Louie’s paw. “...But, at least he got to help one more person again…”

The four of them knelt down to be silent with Abigail, if for just a moment…

“I’m… So sorry for your loss, ma’am…” Survey comforted her. “If there’s anything we can do to help you-” “No, that’s alright...” she answered, cutting Survey off and lifting Louie’s arm up into her own arms. “...I will take it from here, and prepare him a proper funeral at the hostel…”

“...If you’re sure…” Survey nodded. “...We’ll be sure to come by and pay our respects this week when we can…”

. . .

Spamton stepped forward to face Click, despite wearing his DEALMAKER glasses, Click could tell that even Spamton was worried about their safety. They both paused for a few seconds before slowly embracing each other in a hug. It was then that Spamton began to silently cry, Click realized and they held each other close.

“...I’m so sorry Spamton… I was such an asshole to you in your most vulnerable time of need…” Click apologized. “...What I did was selfish and cruel, you… didn’t deserve that garbage from me…”

. . .

“... I [FORGIVE AND FORGET] you, [CLICK HERE!]... I’m just [HAPPY HAPPY JOY JOY] that you’re [ALIVE AND KICKING] and [WELL DONE]...” Spamton sobbed in Click’s arms.

Click was so relieved that Spamton actually cared about him…

. . .

“Will you four be alright taking Click home?” Swatch asked the group. “My colleagues and I can arrange a ride back home for you all if you wish.” “Y-Yeah, that would be great, Swatch, thank you.” Banner accepted. “It’ll be the safest way home for all of us, especially Click.” “Very well, it’ll just be a moment.” Swatch bowed, then ordered the Swatchlings to hail a cab with legs for them.

The four of them all helped Click to stand up then escorted him into the cab once it arrived. Swatch closed the door after everyone settled in and buckled up, waving goodbye for now to them, and then walking over to Abigail to assist her in transporting Louie back to the hostel. Click immediately felt so warm inside the cab, something he hasn’t felt in days, he lowered his head, exhausted. His mind began to disassociate from his environment now that he didn’t have to remain in fight or flight mode, which caused the voices around him to muffle.

“Click, you gotta tell us what happened to you out there!” Vid pointed out. “You almost died, man!”

“Vid, give Click some space.” Banner warned him, tears in their eyes. “He’s been through too much, and… It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have done that, this could’ve turned out so much worse…”

“No, don’t blame yourself, Banner.” Survey comforted them. “This isn’t anybody’s fault, but… I don’t think it’s our place to be putting blame on what happened. It’s between Click and Spamton afterall…”

“...You’re right, Survey.” Banner sniffled, wiping away their tears. “Spamton… You and Click should have the main talk when we get back home.” “Very well, [BLUEBIRD].” Spamton nodded, turning to Click. “I’ll prepare the [VERDICT] while we’re [GO HOMETEAM]. [CLICK HERE!], clean up [FIRST AND FOREMOST], then we’ll [WALKIE TALKIE $16.99] in the [ALIVE AND WELL] room.”

. . .

“Click, you there?” Banner nudged Click’s shoulder.

“-Huh, what?...” Click responded, snapping out of his disassociation. “...Oh, y-yeah, sure…”

“Hrmm, he must still be in shock…” Vid mumbled to Survey.

“Not now, Vid…” Survey rolled their eyes. “Let’s just get him comfortable again, that’s the first step.”

- - -

Their cab ride finally arrived at their apartment complex, and the five of them stepped out, two of them supporting Click by his arms to help him back inside. Banner opened the door to let them all in, using Click’s keys to do so. They gripped the keys tightly, the guilt of what they did a week ago still looming over their head. They hoped Click wasn’t too furious at them for kicking him out of his apartment, especially since it almost cost him his life. They followed at the end of the group line and closed the door behind them all. Survey opened their shared apartment door and they stepped in one at a time, Click and those holding him first, then Spamton, and finally Banner.

“Alright bud, you need to get out of your clothes and get in the shower.” Survey instructed Click, letting him go once he had his balance. “I don’t think those clothes are going to be salvageable, so just put on some pajamas for now.”

“Y’know, I expected you to be a bit more muddy than you are...” Vid teased, tugging on Click’s sleeve.

“Vid, shut it, not now…” Survey growled under their breath. “We’ll prepare something for you to eat when you finish cleaning up.”

Click nodded, shuffling towards the bathroom and unbuttoning whatever buttons hadn’t fallen off of his shirt. Slipping off his pants and boxers, it was then he realized just how little remained on him after just one week; just three parts of an outfit, he lost his watch, his shoes, his socks… How much did Spamton lose over the years? When they first found him in the dumpster, he only had on a dusty sweater, a torn up overcoat, muddy slacks, and a pair of aged sneakers. None of them remembered Spamton having an outfit like that before or after his time in the spotlight, must’ve been an outfit he salvaged overtime. As he turned on the hot water and stepped in, he couldn’t help but imagine awful scenarios Spamton might’ve gone through in the past twenty years. If Click ran into a Werewire pack once during his time, how many times did Spamton run into them? How many Poppups? Virovirokuns? God, how many Ambyu-lances tried to delete him!?...

. . .

Click barely even went through a fraction of monster attacks than what Spamton went through…

. . .

Once he finished cleaning off all of the dirt and debris out of his fur, he took out all of the knots in his hair, the last of the hairs pulled out from his near-death experience with the train flowing down the drain. How much hair did Spamton lose over two decades? It’s certainly thinner than what they all remembered when they used to style each other’s hair at Banner’s friend’s hair salon. Click used to style Banner’s, Survey did Vid’s, vice versa, and Banner’s friend did Spamton’s since he had sensitivity issues and didn’t trust many to touch his hair. He probably hadn’t had his hair styled at all the entire time he was homeless, Click felt his heart drop at that thought. It was then that he realized that he had been standing in the shower with his thoughts for almost half an hour. He didn’t want to leave the soothing warmth, he had only just gotten it back, but his feet were killing him and he wanted to sit down. He turned the water off and dried himself off once he stepped out. He noticed a pair of his pajamas were laid out for him on his bed, probably by Survey, and he slipped into them once he was dry enough. He missed the silky feeling of those pajamas so much, he felt a tear beginning to develop in his eye. He sat on the bed for a moment, his head facing the floor. He felt his heart sink to his feet, because now that he was clean, it was time to talk with the group. How could he possibly face Spamton after everything he had said to him? After everything he had done to him? There was no way he was really serious about accepting his earlier apology.

. . .

“Hey Click, are you decent in there?” Survey asked, knocking on their door and peeking in. “We’ve made you some spaghetti code, you should eat some before it gets cold.”

“-Wha?... Oh, sure just, gimme a moment…” Click nodded, keeping his head down.

“Alright, we’ll be out here when you’re ready.” Survey told him, slowly shutting the door.

Spaghetti code, that was Spamton’s favorite at the Cyber Grill. He loved their recipe so much that Banner managed to replicate it enough for him at home to stop him from going there every time he wanted it. After everything Click had gone through today, he was in no mood to eat, but the nauseous and empty feeling building in his stomach said otherwise. Man, how much sickness did Spamton go through while he lived out there?... Click knew dwelling on it anymore was going to make it impossible for him to talk about it, so he shook the thought out of his mind and left the bedroom.

He entered the living room where the gang was sitting on their usual spots on the couches, all with their own bowl of spaghetti code. Spamton was still stuffing it down his gullet like he hadn’t eaten in days, except the reality was almost the complete opposite for the two of them. Click sat down between Spamton and Banner, a plate of his own spaghetti code was placed in his lap by Survey before they also sat down to join them all. The smell made Click want to throw up, it was so savory yet overpowering. His body craved the energy, yet revolted against eating until his guilty feeling was gone. If he was going to earn his freedom from this awful emotion, he was going to have to talk to all of them…

“...Click, who do you want to talk to first?” Banner piped up. “It’s up to you, take your time…”

“...I think… I should start with you, Banner…” Click decided. “...I’m… relieved to be home, but… it feels like I don’t deserve to be back here after everything I did… I thought you guys didn’t want anything to do with me this week…”

“Oh Click, I wanted you back home the minute you left…” Banner confessed. “I was so scared that something terrible was going to happen to you, I tried to keep at least one eye on your whereabouts everyday, but then, we hadn’t heard from you after you left the Color Cafe, we thought… we thought you were…”

It was then that Banner broke down into tears, crying into Survey’s shoulders. Fuck, he didn’t want them to feel responsible for his punishment, he got what he deserved, it was just they were the one to enforce it.

“Banner please, don’t do this to yourself…” Click reassured them. “I think… you did the right thing, because it’s true… I don’t know what Spamton had gone through…”

Click gave Banner a pat on their leg.

“I’m not dead, I’m still here, and I’m not mad, in fact… I agree with what you did… It… opened my eyes to my own hubris…”

Click then turned to Vid after taking a bite of his spaghetti code.

“What happened to you after you left the Queen's mansion?” Vid wondered. “Swatch told us you snuck in there and he set you up in a hotel, we hadn’t heard any other updates about you since then.”

“...Well, I uhh…” Click hesitated. “...I ended up in jail-”

“YOU [SAY WHAT!?]” Spamton shouted. “The [TWEETS] locked you [UPSIDE DOWN]!?”

“Y-Yeah, I was arrested for resisting arrest and theft, so they took all the money I had earned at the time…” Click explained. “And then, I had to train hop in order to escape some thugs and get myself over to where my work was…” “You train hopped to work? Why were you trying to go there?” Survey questioned. “Banner made it so you didn’t have to work that week.”

“Well, I tried to see if I could get my paycheck from last week’s work in check form so I could use it for the last couple days…” Click mentioned. “But… I was too late, and I had nowhere else to go but to take shelter from the rain in…”

He shuddered.

“...A dumpster.”

“HAAHAEHEEHAEHAHAE!” Spamton chuckled. “Just like [YE OLDEN TIMES]! Did you [LIKE SHARE SUBSCRIBE] it in there!?”

“Spamton…” Banner mumbled peeking out from Survey’s shoulders. “Don’t laugh at his… N-Nevermind, you did that a lot yourself…”

“N-No, it just made me realize more and more just how horrible you must’ve felt out there, cold, hungry, and alone…” Click admitted. “And then when I saw that my body changed, I got so furious at you all that I took it out on anything around me, which led to karma knocking me out…”

“And that’s when those Werewires came in?” Vid pointed out.

“Not exactly… I ran into someone else first.” Click clarified.

“That [DOG MAN] Were-[MR. HYDE] thing?” Spamton asked.

“Y-Yeah, that was Louie…” Click recounted. “He was, a nice guy before his first run-in with those Werewires… But then he changed, and that Abigail and everyone in that hostel were taking care of him… He left his home to make sure I was safe… and then…”

Click sniffled a bit.

“It happened…”

. . .

“And then Swatch told us his police team got a call about a FIGHT that broke out between something and those Werewires.” Banner recalled. “The Ambyu-lances were dispatched there to take care of the problem, but I guess she took care of the problem before we could all get there…”

. . .

“...I don’t even know where to begin making it up to Abigail for her loss.” Click shook his head. “It was my fault he knew about me in the first place and felt like he needed to protect me… He’d still be alive if I hadn’t entered that hostel…”

. . .

“...Well, we did tell her we’d visit another day to pay our respects at his memorial.” Survey proposed. “You can start there, I guess…”

“And you can [READY SET GO] by letting us [KNOWLEDGE] if you’ve learned your [LESSON LEARNED]!” Spamton butted in. “Do you [NOW THAT’S WHAT I CALL MUSIC] know how [DIFFICULTY LEVEL SELECT] it was for [ME ME ME] to [LIVE ON TV] out there!?”

“I suppose that’s a good question, Spamton.” Survey confirmed. “...Did you learn your lesson, Click?”

He thought about it for a moment…

.

.

.

“...No…”

“...W-What? N-No!? What do you mean!?” Vid asked in disbelief. “B-But you must’ve, you just went through a week of hell!”

“...That’s the point, Vid…” Click sighed. “...I only went through a WEEK of homelessness… Spamton went through twenty YEARS of it…”

. . .

“From the very get-go, I knew that I was only going to be going through this punishment for a short amount of time… Spamton never knew where the end to his torment was every single day…

Right at the start, I managed to make enough money to stay at a motel with the sale of my watch… Spamton wouldn’t have had anything nice enough out there to make that many Dark Dollars for that kind of luxury…

I was given permission to stay at that hostel even though I shouldn’t have since I made too many sales, but they let me in anyway… Spamton probably never got privilege like that, maybe even worse since he’s considered a higher class of color than I am…

I managed not to get kicked out of the Queen’s mansion, and Swatch gave me a hand with something to eat and a night at another hotel… Spamton would’ve been deleted had he stepped anywhere close to that mansion…

I only stayed in jail for a few hours… Spamton must’ve been arrested so many times out there for who knows how long…

I managed to ride the trains without getting killed by some monster or the train itself… I have no idea how many close calls Spamton must’ve had if he also rode the trains to get around different places…

I don’t think I ever went a day without food, sure I was starving, but… Not like Spamton did, I have no idea how many days he went without a single bite to eat over and over again for decades…

I didn’t lose that many clothes, I didn’t have to sleep in the garbage every night, I didn’t receive any marks on my criminal record, so much I didn’t experience… Because I was privileged… and Spamton wasn’t… I’ll never really know what Spamton truly went through… I don’t think I can say that I really learned my lesson because of that… Our experiences were not the same, and I don’t deserve to claim that I went through the same thing…”

. . .

“Click…” Banner hung their head down. “...I…You’re… You’re right… You didn’t exactly go through what Spamton went through-”

“But you certainly [ENTERTAINMENT] me with your [BEDTIME STORIES], Click! You may haven’t [GONE WITH THE WIND] through [EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING] I had to [ENDURE], but you sure did [FIGHT] your way [INSIDE AND OUTSIDE] of it!” Spamton encouraged, giving him a pat on the back. “I [FORGIVE] what you said to [MOI] a [WEEKND] ago!”

…So he really was forgiving him.

“Spamton, are you sure you’re forgiving Click just like that?” Vid confronted him. “He just said that he-”

“Yes, I [ACCEPT] his [TURMOIL], under one [TERMS AND CONDITIONS]!” Spamton proposed, holding out his hand towards Click.

“...Y-You would?” Click confusingly replied. “...What’s the condition?” “You take your [PINKY TOE] keister down to that [ANIMAL SHELTER] tomorrow and [SIGN HERE] to [GENEROSITY] some of your [KROMER] to that [HOCHI MAMA] every month! Make sure those [LITTLE SPONGES] don’t go [FAMINE] in honor of that [BARK BARK BARK]!” Spamton relayed out to Click. “Once that’s [DONE AND DUSTED], you [COME BACK] to me and [LET ME GO] slap you [IN YOUR FACE] really hard once! Then we’ll call it [EVEN AND ODD], okay?”

“...You just want me to donate to that hostel monthly?” Click repeated back to him. “...Well sure but- wait, what was that last-”

“Then you’ve got yourself [A DEAL’S A DEAL]!” Spamton shouted, taking Click’s hand and shook it. “Now let’s enjoy some [FAMILY FRIENDLY PROGRAMMING] on the [TEL AVIV], shall we!?”

“W-What? But I...If you say so…” Click huffed, taking another bite of his spaghetti code.

“Well, if you’re done talking to Click, Spamton… I guess we can take a break to let Click settle back home.” Banner nodded, picking up the TV remote. “But… I’m happy you two are going to work things out between each other…”

“Happy as a [HUNGRY HUNGRY HIPPOS], Banner!” Spamton chuckled, leaning his head against Click.

And with that, the five of them turned their attention to the screen and watched the news together, eating their TV dinners like they used to many years ago. On the news was a story of the Werewire attack, with one dead and one injured reported on the scene. Down below the story title was a small phone number anyone could call to give a donation or sign up for a monthly donation to the hostel Click stayed at.

“You know [WHAT IN TARNATION] you can also do [CLICK CLACK MOO] to better [AYUDAME] at that hostel?” Spamton told Click, looking up at him.

“...What’s that, Spamton?” Click tilted his head, wondering what Spamton had on his mind.

. . .

“You can [UTILIZE] your [POWERPUFF] privilege to [SPREAD THE WORD] about that [NO TELL MOTEL], Addisons will listen to a [TERTIARY] like you, which means [MORE DESSERT] for that [ABBY HAYES]!” Spamton suggested. “It’s a [FIRST STEP] to get her to [LET GO] of the [FACTS] that you-”

. . .

Spamton’s glasses faded into static…

. . .

[killed her dog]...”

. . .

Click slowly backed away from him.

“I’ll uhh… Make sure to do that too…” Click mumbled, a bit unnerved about Spamton’s sudden guilt trip. “P-Please just, go back to watching the TV… I’ll sort everything out tomorrow…”

“...Very well, [CLICK HERE].” Spamton yawned, placing his plate down and cuddling closer to Click.

…Y’know, maybe just this once… he’ll let Spamton cuddle… It was… nice.

.

.

.

YOU GOT 237 EMAILS! “W-What?” Abigail stuttered as she checked her work email at the hostel’s office a week later. “Who would… Oh my god…”

. . .

Every. Single. Email, was a notification of a donation in honor of Louie’s memory and sacrifice, and each letter was signed by an anonymous organizer… The only signature provided on every donation was just the letter ‘C’. And when Abigail clicked on the link provided in each email, it led her to a website she had never seen before; A gateway to dozens of links that allowed those who wished to donate to any cause they chose, especially her business. She couldn’t help but silently break down in tears…

“...Thank you, Click…”

[ask--eggman]

I saw your message about me. Usually, I'd ignore it and continue working on my inventions but Sonic kept teasing me with it, so guess I'm salty now.

Apologize or else I'll hack your whole system and replace every file with the bee movie.

- Tails

Gah! Tails? What are you doing here? And Sonic has been seeing my posts too? Just when I thought I'd finally found a place to get away from all you brats and speak my mind freely with my adoring fans. I should've known that I can't get peace anywhere. I was having such a good time and you just had to interfere so soon...

Well, I'm not going to let you ruin it! Have fun trying to hack into my systems if you dare, my security only advances further every time you mess with my files. Not only are they heavily encrypted and protected with a tough firewall but I also have back up after back up of my data now! If you do get past it, though I doubt you'll figure it out, you'll never replace all of them before I'm notified and block your access.

I don't know what this "bee movie" is but some silly movie can't be worse than that time I was attacked by that irritating little bee of a certain detective group. So you're going to have to try harder than that to threaten me!

And if you're so worked up about it, why not come and face me in person instead of attacking me from behind the screen like a coward, hm? I meant everything I said in that post and I will happily act out on those threats. I'll have a nice little surprise waiting for you. And if it ends with me having the trophy of your two tails pinned to my wall, that would be grand, hoho!

[sngl-led-auto-lights]

Why does my headlight fuse blow every time I turn the headlights on?

The following is an analysis of the causes and solutions for frequent blown headlight fuses, using a structured troubleshooting process:

1. Direct cause location Blown fuses indicate that the circuit is overloaded or short-circuited. Common fault points are as follows:

1. Bulb problem

Wrong wattage: The power of the replaced bulb (such as 100W) exceeds the original design (usually 55W-65W), and the current exceeds the fuse carrying capacity.

✅ Solution: Check the power marked on the bulb base and replace it with the original specifications.

Internal short circuit of the bulb: The filament touches the electrode after melting, causing a short circuit.

✅ Solution: Remove the bulb and test the resistance with a multimeter (normally it should be 0.5-2Ω).

2. Line short circuit

Line wear: The wiring harness rubs against the metal frame in the engine compartment, causing the insulation layer to be damaged (commonly seen at the corners of the firewall).

✅ Troubleshooting method: Visually inspect the outer sheath of the wiring harness, focusing on the rear of the headlights, the inside of the bumper and other areas prone to friction.

Modification interference: The wiring of the added daytime running lights, spotlights, etc. is wrong, and the positive pole is directly grounded.

✅ Verification method: Disconnect all modified equipment and test whether the original circuit is normal.

3. Connector failure

Socket corrosion: The headlight plug is oxidized by water, and conductive salt crystals are formed between the metal contacts (more frequent failures on rainy days).

✅ Treatment: Spray the plug with electronic cleaner, sandpaper the contacts, and apply dielectric grease (insulating sealing grease).

Pin misalignment: The internal pins of the plug are bent, causing a short circuit (common in aftermarket headlight assemblies).

✅ Inspection: Unplug the plug and observe whether the pins are arranged neatly.

4. Relay/switch failure

Relay adhesion: The headlight relay contacts are melted, and a direct short circuit is formed when power is turned on.

✅ Test: Unplug the relay and short-circuit pins 30 and 87 with a jumper. If the fuse does not burn, the relay is normal.

Carbonization of the combination switch: The oxidation of the internal contacts of the headlight switch causes a surge in resistance, and local overheating causes overcurrent.

✅ Verification: Use a multimeter to measure the resistance when the switch is turned on (should be <1Ω).

II. Systematic diagnostic process Steps Operation Tools/methods Expected results 1 Replace the original bulb Compare the power labels of the new and old bulbs Eliminate the overpower problem 2 Disconnect all modified circuits Restore the original wiring harness Eliminate interference from third-party equipment 3 Remove the headlight plug and measure the resistance of the positive pole of the socket to the ground Adjust the multimeter to the resistance range (negative pole grounded) Normally it should be ∞ (infinity), if it is 0Ω, the line is short-circuited 4 Check the wiring harness from the fuse box to the headlight Visually + flashlight to check whether there is skin breakage or melting marks Find physical damage points 5 Replace the relay test Same model relay replacement method Confirm whether the relay is faulty

III. Hidden risk warning

Sequelae of flooding: The copper wire inside the wiring harness of the wading vehicle is oxidized, and the leakage current increases in a humid environment.

✅ Countermeasures: Use compressed air to blow dry the plug and measure the insulation resistance of the wiring harness (should be >10MΩ).

Parallel load interference: The air conditioning fan and the audio amplifier share a poor grounding, causing the current to be discharged through the headlight circuit.

✅ Troubleshooting: Check whether the bolts of the grounding points of the entire vehicle are tight and free of rust.

Fourth, the ultimate solution If the above troubleshooting is fruitless, do the following:

Disassemble the headlight assembly: Check whether the internal components such as the reflector bowl and the adjustment motor are short-circuited (case: the seal of the adjustment motor of a German car failed and caused a short circuit).

Simulated load test: Connect a current clamp to the fuse position and capture the current peak at the moment of turning on the light (normal value: 55W bulb ≈ 4.6A×2).

Isolate the wiring harness in sections: Disconnect the wiring harness section by section starting from the fuse box and lock the short-circuit section.

Repair cost reference Fault point Repair plan Cost (estimate) Wrong bulb power Replace original bulb ¥50-200 Wire harness broken and shorted Welding + heat shrink tube insulation ¥100-300 Corrosion of headlight plug Replace plug assembly ¥80-150 Damaged combination switch Replace switch assembly ¥300-800

Notes:

Do not use iron wire/copper wire instead of fuse, which may cause fire.

It is recommended to use slow-blow fuses (such as J-case type) to deal with instantaneous surge current.

If it is difficult to troubleshoot by yourself, it is recommended to use a diagnostic instrument to read the BCM (body control module) fault code to locate the specific circuit abnormality.

[hostzopcloudserviceslimited]

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[alchemocha]

You think robotnik has a soft spot for all animals in general? Like he said that he hates all humans and wants them to die, but never said anything bout creatures other than humans. You think when he was an orphan, he hung out with animals because he was lonely? So much so that he's now a sorta animal whisperer? Would he get really pissed off at humans and emotional because he saw a post on social media saying that there are under 10,000 red pandas left because of habitat loss?

A thought that just popped up when looking at animal videos

I think so, yeah!

I like the idea that when Robotnik was a kid, he befriended a stray once and named him Gizmo. Pets weren’t allowed at the orphanage and he was never with any foster family long enough to have a pet of his own, so he more or less claimed Gizmo as his buddy. He tried making friends, originally, but no one cared to stick around him long, and they all thought his intelligence and bluntness were him being smug and arrogant.

That really wasn’t the case though, not when he was still a kid, he was just a very gifted autistic kid with a passion for robots, which stemmed into building and creating technology. He got in trouble a lot for taking things apart and rebuilding stuff in the orphanage and foster homes, but he’d just wanted to show off things he was proud of and be told he did a good job! Never happened though. Eventually kids got meaner and would take things that he thought were his and in trying to defend the items he was attached to, would get scolded by adults and still have them taken from him. So eventually he began keeping more to himself unless directly approached, though even that rarely went in his favour.

Gizmo was the only real connection he’d felt in a long time, so whenever he was able, he would hang around outside with him, feed him scraps, and give him all the best belly rubs he could! As he got older though, Robotnik would see his only friend less and less and eventually had to attend school too far to keep him nearby.

His love for animals in general remained into his adult years, but much more… locked away tight in the private vault of his feelings.

Having grown jaded and bitter towards the world and humans as he aged due the neglect and cruelty he’d so often faced, Robotnik threw away any joyful piece of himself, or he liked to think. He’d actually just tucked them so deep within his being that he believed they were gone, but they were there, still burning with passion, with the hopeful, excited child from his past. It’s where all his vulnerability was stored, and very little did anything slip past his mental firewall.

Until Stone was in the picture, that is. Things slipped through the cracks far more often when Stone was there, and Robotnik felt like he was flailing in the dark trying to keep water in a broken bowl, more or less. He was passionate about issues one might not expect of such a seemingly cold hearted man, things like endangered animals and species, world health, anything that wasn’t directly human. It wasn’t that he inherently thought humans deserved to die, but up until that point he’d never met anyone who was deserving of the planet they lived on, of the things they all took for granted. They were deceitful, selfish, and liars. They could all burn for all he cared. The world had turned a blind eye to him, so he would do the same to it.

Except for… Stone. Of course. Stone was the only person in his eyes worth anything, the only one he could trust, who wouldn’t lie, who wouldn’t neglect, who wouldn’t scold and belittle for things that he couldn’t control. Even if the man caused him distress and frustration in ways he never expected, ways that made him have to face feelings he’d thought he’d tossed aside.

Stone brought up the idea of a cat in the lab, of course, under careful regulation so it didn’t interfere with any of the doctor’s work. He’d found a stray he’d been taking care of on his ways too and from work, and at first, Robotnik refused, absolutely forbid such a nonsensical thing. But truth be told he missed Gizmo. It aches, recalling how they shouted and told him no, how he’d never gotten to say goodbye to the stray he related so much to.

Eventually he gave in. He always did with Stone, as much as it went against his own virtues. The smile on the mans face, he decided though, was worth every bit of dilemma. Robotnik was finding that there was a lot of things he deemed ‘worth it’, if it meant he could see Stone’s smile. All he could really bring himself to do is roll his eyes at how soft he felt he was getting around the man. And the cat.