#Hangar Design Center

[saturnville]

all yours, jude bellingham

pairing: jude bellingham x black fem oc (adeba malina). warnings: sexual insinuations. song: all yours by normani an: I don’t remember the last time I wrote a one-shot this long. and I came out of football retirement for this, so let me know how you like it! 🫶🏾 also, can anyone guess what position I played? 👀

“I don’t have an interest in pursuing a relationship with Jude. He’s a great guy but…”

Jude Bellingham, the world’s wonder boy, had become a staple in her life over the last few months following his multi-million dollar transfer to Real Madrid, but not for the reasons that people thought. They met during a dinner celebrating his transfer and hit it off immediately.

“Congratulations,” she said cooly and sat next to the young footballer. When her voice registered in his ears and her face came into view, his eyes grew wide and he looked like a child in a candy store. “I’m Adeba Malina.”

She needed no introduction. He knew exactly who she was. Former Madridista turned business-woman. She was known as one of the greatest center midfielders of her time; her speed, agility, and vision for a pathway to the goalbox were praised by the highest of heavens. Ronaldo’s protege and a Madrid icon. Adeba Malina was a football legend.

“Jude.” His hand engulfed hers as he shook it firmly yet delicately. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

Adeba pushed a strand of hair away from her face and nodded once, taking in the footballer with a quick sweep of her eyes. He wore a crisp black suit with a complimentary black tie against the freshly pressed white shirt. He was handsome, but she didn’t let her mind go past that. Rather she said, “I trust you’ll do big things with Los Blancos. I’m excited to see what you do on the pitch.”

He was bashful, she noticed, his brown skin suddenly growing red and a small smile on his lips, “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”

“No problem at all. You enjoy your dinner, but a piece of advice, if I may.” Jude sat up intently. Adeba leaned over, her lips close to his ear as she tried to speak over the rowdy individuals around her. “You have nothing to prove to anyone. You’re young, gifted, and Black. They’ll do and say anything to make you look bad and to get in your head. Perfect your craft, do your best, and keep moving. There’s nothing to prove.”

Jude met her eyes for the first time that night. The prettiest shade of brown with specks of caramel. They held care and intentionality, just like the words she spoke, and he digested them like his favorite food. It was at that moment that Jude knew she’d be a good person in his life.

“But what?”

Adeba cursed to herself as she sorted through her jerseys for one to wear. Zizou. Ramos. Varane. Ronaldo. Beckham. Rodríguez. Malina. Bellingham. She snatched it off the hangar and onto her bed behind her. It would make do, and it would be cute with her newest navy blue heels and straight-leg jeans. “But,” she started after some time. “He’s younger than me and we’re just friends.”

The woman behind her scoffed audibly. “He’s barely 3 years younger than you, not 12. And you just went through 6 jerseys, knowing you have kits dating back to the 90s, including your own, to wear his, as you do for almost every home match. Don’t play with me.” And there it was. The bluntness and honesty of Colombia’s very own Dawn Nalinja, data analyst turned interior designer.

The two crossed paths at an event in Barcelona four years prior and had been inseparable ever since. So much so that their homes were in the same building, four floors apart. They were quite literally, two peas in a pod.

Adeba sighed and began getting dressed for the match against Dortmund. “Look, I just don’t think every friendship needs to transition to a relationship. Jude is good people and you don’t have to have to romanticize everything with good people.”

Dawn blinked, one, two, three times before sighing. “While that may be true, it’s best to romanticize aspects of your life with a good person, especially before they get swiped by someone else. You won’t know until you give it a try and that goes for anyone, not just Jude. But, we’ll leave that there. Are you ready?”

Adeba slid her feet into her shoes, fluffed her braids, and swiped her purse off the bed. She ignored the feeling within her chest and smiled softly as she tried not to think too hard on what Dawn had mentioned. “Ready!”

-

And as predicted, Los Blancos took the victory. Adeba always adored the energy of the stadium during victories, no matter who won. There was joy in seeing fans jump for joy, holler the chants of their favorite players, and take pictures with the players who’d walked by.

By the end of the match, Dawn had scurried off with her significant other, leaving Adeba to wait in the tunnel for Jude as she typically would.

She tapped her fingers against the wall as she waited for his exit, and when he came into view, the smile she didn’t realize she had on her face widened. “Hey, champ.”

Jude welcomed the greeting and returned it with a hug and a kiss against her cheek. Adeba felt warm as his arm circled around her waist and his fingers brushed against the loops of her jeans. Dangerous territories. “Thank you, Dee. What’re you doing after?”

Adeba shrugged as she stepped back to put distance between them, but it still hadn’t forced his hand to drop from her waist. If anything, it made his grip tighter. She ignored the pulsing between her thighs and said, “I planned to go home.” Her bed was always a wonderful place to be.

Jude nodded once. “Want to come to dinner with me? Not in the mood to party, but I could eat.”

Her head turned to the side and her braids swayed with it. “Just us?” The corner of Jude’s lips rose in amusement at her question. He couldn’t recall a time when them being alone mattered so much before, but with the way her breath quickened, he knew it was deeper than what she let on.

Adeba grew nervous underneath his gaze. His brown eyes were focused on her. How had she not realized how pretty they were? A rich shade of mahogany, a portal to a place unknown.

She exhaled shakily. He answered her question: “Just us.”

-

liked by judebellingham, georginagio, kylianmbappe, and 102,678 others.

adebamalina. hala madrid y nada más. congratulación a los blancos para la victoria 🤍 ft the wonder boy himself

view 3,780 comments

username stunning

username 😍

— adebamalina thank you honey

username the braids!!!

judebellingham 🤍🤍🤍 always grateful for your support

— adebamalina so proud of you.

username. just get tg alr

— judebellingham liked your comment!

username. I know yall saw Jude like her comment!

username. the prettiest wag out!

-- username. girl, she’s not a wag. just a rm legend

-- username. she’s always with jude, so she might as well be. two for one special atp

-- judebellingham liked your comment!

username. real madrid legends fr

— adebamalina and judebellingham liked your comment!

georginagio we still need to have our shopping date!!

— adebamalina I’ll book a flight in a few weeks! and tell Cris and the kids I said hello!

username. okay but fr when are they getting tg?

— saturnville girl idk I haven’t thought that far yet

-

“Stay with me tonight.”

If Adeba lived in an animated world, she would have heard her feet squeal like brakes when she stopped suddenly. She turned slowly to see Jude standing with one hand in his pocket while the other held her blue heels, a straight look on his face. “As in…?” Adeba pushed for further explanation. Sure, they’d hung out before at each other’s places and in other public spaces, but his words hinted at something more.

“Movies, snacks, and I’ll whoop your ass in Uno. Just something chill. I just…didn’t want the night to end this early.”

Adeba sighed heavily. She wanted to deny him. To tell him that wasn’t a line that needed to be crossed. That she was nothing more than a friend, a mentor in a way, to push him to be his best self in his professional and personal life, but how could she? With the way he looked down on her and not in a condemning way. But with a look of adoration. His eyebrows were relaxed and his eyes were soft. His body language spoke of comfortability in her presence with how his shoulders were low and slightly rounded above her body. Like a guard.

She wanted to tell him she’d go home, that she didn’t want to blur any lines. She wanted to admit that she had no feelings for him at all, but then she’d be lying, and one thing Adeba Malina hated was a liar.

Adeba pondered on it longer. Her teeth captured her bottom lip as her mind worked to weigh the pros and the cons. They were friends, just friends. Friends who were potentially spending the night together…alone. With any other guy friend, the idea would have repulsed her. But when it came to Jude, something within her sparked with curiosity at the idea of staying the night with him.

Maybe Dawn was right. If everything aligned, would it be worth a try?

Adeba finally met his eyes again and nodded. “Okay.”

-

“You started playing at 17 for Real. Is that how you met Cristiano?” Jude asked inquisitively and passed the bag of candy to Adeba, who sat on her knees in front of him. She nodded and popped a few Nerds in her mouth.

“Correct. The men’s team came to visit the women’s practice and of course, we’re football fanatics just like you, so having these legends visit us and give us advice was amazing. Cris always gave me good advice, especially being that we both came from nothing. So, I try to pour into you what he and many others pour into me.”

Jude couldn’t help but smile. From what she’d shared, she was Ghana-born and raised in Spain once her parents moved at the age of five. She couldn’t take much with her when traveling to Europe, but what she did take was a soccer ball her father had gotten her, which she kept in a glass case in her jersey closet. Growing up she didn’t have much, but she had her ball, and that was enough for her.

What she didn’t know was that the ball would grant her and her siblings an education, her parents a home, and her family stability that would continue even when she left the Earth. Football saved her in more ways than one. She understood what it was like to fall in love with it and she also understood the challenges that came with it. And that was what she enjoyed sharing with others. The journey of loving the game.

“I appreciate that,” he replied. There was a silence between them, a comfortable one. “I still can’t believe you kicked my ass four times.” His tone was teasing, she knew, but she could hear a hint of seriousness. She shrugged and smiled.

“A torn ACL took me out the game, but you can never take the game out of me, baby. I do this.” It was his turn to get flustered. Baby. It was a casual pet name and he knew she meant nothing by it but he wanted to hear it over and over.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “I’ll get you back eventually.”

Adeba’s eyebrow raised, “Is this a challenge, Mr. Bellingham?” His eyes met hers. There was a glint of mischief behind her which displayed her fun and teasing nature. But, behind the mischief, her eyes grew darker and the smirk on her lips grew wider, especially as he began to visibly crumble under her gaze.

“Maybe,” was all he could get out.”Guess you’ll have to find out.”

And there it was. The ambiguous statement that left the two of them wondering what the other meant. But she knew. He knew. It was his comment that seemed to shorten the invisible string between them that seemed to wrap around the world. Suddenly, it was just inches long andt the only thing that kept their bodies from pressing against one another’s in a heated exchange of passion.

“Is that so?” Adeba’s tongue circled around her cheek, a subtle action that left Jude’s stomach clenching. He nodded.

The space between them continued to dwindle. They were once separated by the middle cushion of the couch, but now, they could feel the warmth from each other’s breath fanning against their faces. Jude, making the first move, brought his hand to her bare face, fingers caressing her skin. She was so beautiful. Rich complexion with beauty marks and faded acne scars that added to her uniqueness. Her lips were so full. His thumb drummed against them. “Pretty girl…”

Her eyes fluttered closed. “Please…”

Before she could say anything else, his mouth was on hers. Adeba felt her inhibitions slip away as their lips moved together. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought of kissing him and what it’d be like. She expected something sweet. Nah, this was a grown kiss. Passionate and intense, borderline sloppy and nasty. Exactly how she liked it.

Adeba couldn’t remember how she ended up on her back with her bare legs around his waist as he kissed and sucked along the skin of her neck, but she chose not to think of it too much. She refused to be the reason why the moment was ruined.

Jude enjoyed every moment. From feeling her legs tense around his waist and shuddering as her manicured nails snuck under his shirt to trail along his abdomen to hearing her whisper his name so delicately. Jude. She drove him insane.

But, as much as he wanted to keep going, he knew she deserved more than a heated makeout on his couch at two in the morning with no clear expression of his feelings. So, he broke away from her, which was met with a very cute yet very confused expression on her face. “What’s wrong?”

Jude smiled and shook his head. He used his thumb to wipe the corners of her mouth which were damp from their heated exchange. “Nothing, I just…I like you a lot. In a more than friends way and I think you should know that before anything else happens. It’s only right.” Adeba’s eyes sparkled at his comment. “And…I’d like to take you out. On a real date. Just us. Then maybe, if you’re up to it, we can see how far this goes.”

Adeba smiled. “I’d like that.”

Damn it, Dawn.

-

6 months later…

liked by judebellingham, normani, justinskye, and 342,890 others

adebamalina my man, my man, my man

view 18,073 comments

dawnnalinjaaaa finally!!!! y’all were pissing me off

-- adebamalina yeah yeah yeah

cristiano ❤️

adebamalina liked your comment!

judebellingham liked your comment!

normani so so so happy for you honey

georginagio double date!!!

username okay hard launch

judefanpage I’m glad he cuffed her before I did

-- username you’re so real for this

-

“Baby, we’ve got somewhere to beeee.” Adeba’s words were dragged out as she grew distracted by his lips against her neck and his front pressed against her back. “Jude…”

He hummed softly, massaging her hips as she struggled to finish the finishing touches on her makeup. They had a date to celebrate their six month anniversary but it seemed as though Jude wasn’t in a hurry to make it to their reservation on time. “You look pretty, love. Pretty and all mine.”

All yours, she replied. Jude’s eyes swept across her body. Adeba looked stunning. She wore a red dress that flowed every step she took. Her hair was curly, her makeup was bright and beautiful, and of course, her full lips were just begging to be kissed.

“Thank you,” she said, dropping her makeup products down. She turned in his arms and smiled. Her hands were against his chest and she soothed his suit jacket with her palms. “You look very handsome as always. Let’s go.”

Adeba took a step back to go find her heels and purse, but was stopped by his lips on hers. Jude swallowed every moan she released and allowed it to fuel the fire that burned within him. She circled her arm around his neck as their kiss intensified. She’d never get enough of this.

“I love you,” he mumbled against her lips.

Adeba smiled. “I love you too.”

[ross-hollander]

Hangar feng shui...

...is believed in almost universally. The intersection of soldiers and technology experts breeds a deep atmosphere of superstition. Any luck that can be accrued by hook or crook must be, to offset the unlimited ways that things can go wrong. For instance:

Fire runs on the sun's path, lightning runs on the magnetic poles. On Terra, for instance, that is respectively east-west and north-south. You want neither of these energies trapped in the hangar, so it's best to have either no doors that face either direction- so the hangar has to sit at an angle -or to have two doors facing each other to ensure passage through.

Good-condition 'mechs serve as talismans of abundance or prosperity. You want them in the maintenance niches closest the door. On the other hand, the scrap bin or write-off pile is a fortune sink, and should therefore be neutralized by placing it off-center, preferably in a corner.

Metallic energy strengthens 'mechs and eases the whole of the repair process. Wood saps metal, though, so avoid any wood in the hangar: chairs, crates, anything. The most keen adherents will avoid using paper (it is, after all, an incarnation of wood) in favor of digital tablets for note-taking.

Power tools should be stored disassembled, at risk of losing their will from being ready for use but not at work. They are to be, so to speak, put off-duty when their service for the day is done, and then put back together for use the next.

From the main door, if you're starting with an empty hangar, 'mechs should fill in spots starting from the left side, and only then taking niches on the right. (You solidify the usually weak side first, before you start putting any into port on the right, to achieve a balanced state.)

Fire stations (the emergency hubs with respirators, oxy tanks, hoses and extinguishers) should be spaced along the length of the hangar, right down the center. Vitally, they should be equidistant between the maintenance niches on each side. Fire, after all, is weakening to metal, and since the stations are designed to defeat fire, leaving one 'mech further than another would result in a lopsided defense.

A 'mech must never be bordered on both sides by ones of equal energy, either stellar or nebular. Thus, for instance, a brawler can be bordered on one side by a skirmisher, but should have an ambusher or juggernaut on the other. Failure to regulate this will result in obstructed energy flow, and consequently stubborn or malfuctional 'mechs.

When traversing the hangar, never move straight across from one niche to another, or your path may form an energy barrier. What you want to do is move in a diagonal, like starting from the corner of one slot that's closer to the door, and then ending at the corner of the one across from it that is farther away.

[loving-n0t-heyting]

“I believe this is a dream come true for many of us,” says muralist Carmina Orta about the new community center. “It’s a beautiful space in the midst of Tizayuca’s arid landscape.”

Sitting on a 1.7-hectare site, the brutalist building — designed by the architecture firms G3 Arquitectos and Anonimous — houses classrooms, office spaces, and covered sports courts. Outside, an expansive promenade peppered with greenery and seating areas piques the curiosity of passersby and invites people to linger.

somewhat pissing me off reading this puff piece on amlos public infrastructure revitalisation efforts (good in themselves) gushing over the aesthetic appeal of a community centre designed to look like an especially boring aircraft hangar. there is no way to defend this design on aesthetic grounds, the only possible justifications here are in purely utilitarian terms. dont piss on me and tell me its raining

[judgemark45]

How powerful is a U.S. aircraft carrier?

A U.S. Navy aircraft carrier is a large warship designed to serve as a mobile airbase for naval aviation. It is the centerpiece of a carrier strike group (CSG) and plays a crucial role in projecting power, protecting maritime interests, and providing humanitarian assistance worldwide.

Key features of a U.S. Navy aircraft carrier include:

Flight Deck: The carrier's flight deck is where aircraft take off and land. It is equipped with catapults for launching fixed-wing aircraft and arresting gear to catch aircraft on landing. The flight deck is one of the busiest and most dangerous places on the ship during flight operations.

Hangar Deck: Below the flight deck is the hangar deck, where aircraft are stored, maintained, and prepared for flight operations. It provides sheltered storage for aircraft and equipment, as well as maintenance facilities and workshops.

Air Wing: The carrier's air wing typically consists of a mix of fighter jets, bombers, reconnaissance aircraft, early warning aircraft, and helicopters. These aircraft provide offensive and defensive capabilities, including strike missions, air superiority, surveillance, and search and rescue.

Command and Control Center: Aircraft carriers serve as command centers for naval task forces, with advanced communication and information systems to coordinate operations. They have the capability to direct air, surface, and subsurface assets in complex operations.

Defense Systems: Carriers are equipped with a variety of defense systems to protect against threats such as enemy aircraft, missiles, and submarines. These include radar systems, anti-aircraft missiles, close-in weapon systems, and electronic warfare capabilities.

Overall, U.S. Navy aircraft carriers are among the most powerful and versatile warships in the world, capable of projecting power, maintaining presence, and providing support in a wide range of military operations.

[quest-for-pluto]

Sparkles

Aonung x Human!Female!Reader

Chapter Index Next →

Summary: You work as maintenance at base 36, a testing facility used for unethical experiments on captured local Na’vi. One day when the base’s power supply melts down and explodes, you’re caught in the flaming crossfire. In a split second decision, you also decide to free the panicking Na’vi in his glass cell.

Aged up!Aonung to 21 and reader is 20

Chapter 1: think fast

Mission report: Base 36 quarantined due to overheated power supply explosion. Evacuated and searching for survivors.

•

“No no no no,” you cried, banging on the locked door. “I can’t die like this!”

Blaring alarms wailed loudly in the empty halls, the heavy smoke in the air muting the red flashing lights. You coughed into a closed fist, feeling the uncomfortable heat raging against your back.

The center of base 36 was locked down, after the power supply had exploded and started a massive, fast traveling fire that ate up everything in its path. They had immediately closed off the affected area, assuming everyone to be dead. And everyone was dead.

Except you.

“Fuck, fuck,” you swore, speed-entering every password you could think of on the keypad keeping the door sealed shut.

Incorrect password. Incorrect password. Incorrect password.

“For fuck’s sake!” You screamed, punching the titanium with all of your strength. It didn’t even budge, but now your knuckle was bloody and bruised. Well great.

Shoving your hands into your hair, you pulled frantically at the roots. “Okay think y/n, think.”

The fire hadn’t reached you yet, but it was close. You knew that it was coming from the hall on the right, but the center of base 36 was a circular design, so pretty soon the fire would be coming from both directions. If you went left, you had a chance of being stranded in the middle of the hallway, but if you didn’t—well, you would be stranded either way.

“Shit,” you dragged a frustrated hand down your face, before turning left and sprinting as fast as you could.

The walls blurred past you as you ran, your breath and heartbeat echoing heavily in your ears. The air was thick with smoke and heat, making your abused lungs ache.

You turned a corner and suddenly shrieked, skidding ungracefully to a stop only a few inches away from a jagged metal pole. The path that you needed to follow had caved in, blocked by a wall of heavy cement and metal debris. It was impossible to cross without somehow impaling or crushing yourself.

Brrrrrrk, the base shook, a deep rumbling noise that made you grab onto the wall for support as your eyes widened.

A cloud of dust suddenly showered over you, making you slowly look up in fear.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you whimpered as you watched the ceiling start to crack above you.

Cursing profusely under your breath, you jumped into a random room to your left—grunting as your abused ribs hit the ground—and just barely missing the avalanche of dust and debris that buried that floor where you stood only a second ago. Coughing, you waved away the dust as it slowly settled around you.

To your horror, the entrance was now blocked with debris too, effectively trapping you inside. Well, you thought with a sinking resignation. No turning back now.

The room you had found yourself in was very large, about the size of an aircraft hangar. It was all dark, except for the flashing red warning lights that were also present around the rest of the base. High, overarching ceilings hung above you, supported by thick metal beams. The floors were a cold, porous grey concrete. You didn’t usually have clearance to be here, so the layout was foreign to you.

“Hello?” You called out hesitantly as you picked yourself off the ground, eyes scanning hopefully for any signs of life, but to no avail. Everything was quiet and abandoned.

The further you walked into the room, the more bizarre it got. Large glass encasements lined the walls, much too large to be cells. Not when the ceilings of these things were at least fifteen feet tall.

Or maybe, it was meant to hold something much larger than a human.

You gulped, warily continuing forward. You were a maintenance worker and carrier, so you didn’t really know what they got up to in the testing facilities. You just transported the samples that the lab technicians gave you and made sure that the equipment was clean and functional.

THUMP THUMP THUMP.

The sudden, loud banging noises made you gasp, taking a few startled steps back. Glancing in the direction of the sounds, you noticed that they seemed to be coming from one of the glass encasements a little further into the room—the only one still lit up.

You gulped, leaning your back against the wall and clutching at your chest. To investigate for exits, you would need to cross the room, and to cross the room, you would need to pass in front of that thing making those disturbing noises.

In the near distance, a deafening popping noise reverberated in the hall, vibrating against the walls and rattling your teeth. Shit, the fire was too close now, you needed to act fast. The thumping noises on the glass got more insistent, frantically picking up tempo and increasing in force.

“Ha…” you exhaled, gathering what little remained of your nerve. “Okay Y/n, this is happening.”

Without a second glance behind you, you ran as fast as you could, keeping your eyes trained in front of you.

Don’t look, you chided yourself. Don’t look. Don’t look you idiot.

THA-THUMP-THUMP-THUMP.

You looked, eyes shifting disobediently to your left and then…up. And higher. And they kept climbing until your neck was practically craned at a ninety degree angle, eyes wide and mouth gaping at an almost ten-foot-tall, blue humanoid figure.

“Oh, shit!” You shrieked, stumbling backwards and just nearly managing to catch yourself before you fell on your ass. “What the fuck is that?!”

The creature was male, as far as you could tell, with intricate black tattoo markings climbing up his biceps, neck and face. His hands—four fingered, you noticed in disturbance—were pressed against the glass walls of his enclosure, pointy canines protruding viciously from behind his lips as he hissed soundlessly at you.

Oh. Oh. You knew what he was. You’d heard too many horror stories from your coworkers not to recognize his monstrous features.

He was a local. A Na’vi. Apparently they were savage barbarians, mercilessly killing humans for pleasure and keeping their bones as decorations and trophies. They were no different from animals. Every single nerve in your body was screaming at you to get the hell away from it.

You gritted your teeth and sprinted past his cell, much to his visible anger and indignation. No way in hell were you going to let that thing out. You weren’t planning to die any earlier than you had to, thank you very much.

Thump.

That one was softer, sounding almost defeated. It made you pause, not able to stop yourself from glancing back over your shoulder curiously.

It—he had his head resting against the glass, fist slowly sliding down the surface. His other hand clutched reverently at what looked like a shark tooth pendant around his neck, lips moving quickly as if he was muttering desperate prayers under his breath.

Oh, no. No no no. Was that a shred of guilt you were feeling, Y/n? Banish the thought.

But…the more you looked at him, the less he seemed like a mindless barbarian who would enjoy ripping you limb from limb until you were just a bloody stump with a head, and the more he looked like—well, someone who was scared shitless of dying. Like you.

Another loud bang shook the base, gnawing at your conscience uncomfortably. The place where his eyebrows should have been furrowed, a painfully resigned expression contorting his face.

Shit. You were going to do something very, very stupid, weren’t you?

“You better not kill me, you stupid blue yeti,” you grumbled under your breath, running back towards his cell.

His head lifted when he saw you approaching, large blue eyes narrowed in confusion.

“Yeah, yeah,” you grimaced. “I’m back, don’t get too excited.”

Now you just had to figure out how to work technology you’d never seen in your life.

Frantically you scanned the complex control panel on the wall, your heart dropping as you stared helplessly at all of the different colorful buttons and switches. Of course it couldn’t be simple.

“Oh come on,” you moaned in despair, pulling at the roots of your hair. “Have you people never heard of labels before?!”

You felt his eyes boring into you as you nervously started pushing, turning and flipping random controls. So far, you’d managed to brighten the lights in his cell, play some music (—move your body like a hologram—), and activate a large gust of air that blasted him right in the face, messing up his hair. That earned you a stink eye.

“Oh, shut up, I’m trying!” You hissed anxiously at him, even though you were pretty sure that the glass was sound resistant so he couldn’t actually hear you, much less understand you.

All of a sudden, the metal frames of the entrance to the room started creaking loudly, grating on your eardrums like nails on a chalkboard. You looked on in horror as they began to cave in from the sheer intensity of the heat. The fire had finally caught up.

The Na’vi’s hands pressed insistently against the glass, staring down at you wide-eyed with a look that you knew meant hurry the fuck up, stupid human.

At this point you were just full on slapping and elbowing anything you could reach. “Come on!” You pleaded frantically as a wave of heat made a sheen of sweat break out over your skin. “This is really cutting it close, Y/n!”

To your overwhelming relief, the sweet sound of gears whirling and clasps unhinging blessed your ears as you watched the glass door to his cell unseal with a loud whoosh and swing open. And damn, were you unprepared for how incredibly tall he was.

It literally felt like you were standing next to a museum exhibit.

You didn’t really have time to think about it though, because the fire was now starting to eat its way inside the lengthy room.

“Oh, shit,” you swore, hearing him spit something of the same tone in a foreign language you didn’t understand.

Your eyes frantically scanned the back end of the room. Most of it was just cement wall, work stations and different types of weird machinery. Behind one of the stations though, there was a bulkhead door about two feet shorter than your giant blue companion, with a wheel to seal it shut.

“There!” You exclaimed, pointing at it as you made a beeline for the handle. Grabbing onto the wheel, you pulled it counterclockwise with all of your strength. But no matter how hard you pulled, it just wouldn’t budge.

“Arghhhh!” You screamed in frustration, digging your feet into the ground as your knuckles turned white from how tightly you gripped onto the handle.

Suddenly, a large hand gripped your shoulder, shoving you harshly away. “Rikx mìso!” He hissed at you, grabbing onto the wheel himself and pulling.

The rusty wheel creaked loudly as it began to turn from the sheer amount of brute force exerted on it.

“Any time now,” you tittered nervously as the heat on your back started to become painfully hot. You could now see the intense waves of heat in the air, distorting your vision like an unfocused camera lens.

The Na’vi huffed, turning it even harder, and soon enough the lock unclamped with a few clicks, leaving the watertight door to swing wide open. Both of you lunged inside, with him slamming and resealing the door behind you just as a station exploded violently nearby, the flames chasing at your heels.

“Oh my god!” You shrieked, stumbling back and falling into a cold wall. The bulkhead door had led into what looked like a decently sized storage room. Rebreathers hung on the walls, as well as protective gear that you knew the excursion division used. You didn’t really get to analyze much more than that though, because to your absolute horror, the door creaked ominously in front of you, warping from the intense heat that it was not meant to withstand.

“Shit!” Your eyes widened as you staggered away, almost tripping over your feet in your haste. You needed to get out of here now.

You ran to the sealed exit door, pushing on it in frustration. “No,” you cried when it refused to open, tears welling up in your eyes. “No, not now! Please.”

Your heart sunk further when you noticed the keypad next to the door, identical to the one you were trying to unlock earlier. You were right back to where you started.

Taking a few steps back, you stared numbly at the floor. This was it, then? This was how you were going to die.

The Na’vi ran up beside you, pounding desperately on the exit door, but you knew it wouldn’t budge. It was locked, sealed shut and made of titanium alloy like all of the other doors you’d discovered lining the edges of the base ever since it had been quarantined. The only way to open it was with the code. A code that you didn’t have clearance for.

“It’s not going to work,” you told him, staring at the concrete blankly. “Even if you fired a bullet at that thing, it wouldn’t even dent.”

He didn’t seem to listen to you, still pounding furiously at the reinforced metal. When that didn’t work, he let out a deep, guttural yell, turning to you with anger in his eyes.

Storming up to you, he grabbed the collar of your shirt, lifting you up to his eye level and sneering in your face. Your breath stuttered in fear as you stared into his deep, sea blue irises. They were much more vivid up close, mixed with swirling flecks of green and gold.

They pierced into your soul, burning with rage and fear but most of all, they burned with an unwavering defiance. In that moment, you understood perfectly what he was trying to tell you.

“Okay,” you found yourself nodding slowly. “We can try.”

He set you down, and you both got to work, scouring the room for anything that would possibly help you escape. The only light source in the room was the setting sun through two tiny polycarbonate glass windows to your left and right, and a measly flickering pot light above you.

You patted desperately at the walls, wrenching ration packs off of shelves, and ripping open closet doors. So far you'd found food, hunting knives, folded clothes, some rifles, camo backpacks, rebreather masks, a water filtering kit and a pair of boots. Nothing that would help you bust down the door though.

It looked like your companion wasn't having much luck either, although he seemed much more wary of the items he found, almost like he was confused and nervous to even touch them.

Creaaaaaak.

The door groaned behind you, parts of the metal starting to dent inward and blister. Shit shit shit. There was no more time, it was going to blow.

You stumbled over to the Na'vi, tugging on his leg until he looked down at you. "There's no time," you said, eyes wide with urgency. "We need to hide."

He glanced back at the sealed exit, before looking back down at you. He huffed, following you to one of the more secluded corners. Hastily, you began building a wall out of everything both of you could find in the room. It probably wouldn't do much, but it was the best protection you could afford. He seemed to get the message too, gathering three times as much as you could hope to hold in your limited human arms, and dumping it onto your makeshift barricade.

You grabbed a rebreather mask off the wall just in case, when suddenly you froze.

PULL TO ENGAGE EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN.

The words were now exposed, written in bold, red letters above a red metal handle. Well you'd be damned.

"Get back!" You yelled, pulling the lever down hard. It groaned, snapping into place.

Three things happened at once. The bulkhead door, which was already warped beyond repair and in the process of peeling, exploded open, exposing both of you to the most swelteringly unbearable heat you'd ever experienced. You screamed as blisters raised all along the length of your forearm, which you had raised to shield your eyes. Distantly through the pain, you could hear him crying out too.

Then, with a bang, three sets of diagonal doors emerged, sealing the entrance shut, but not before a final explosion knocked you clean off your feet. You cracked your head against a wall, and everything went dark.

************

Rikx mìso! = Move!/Move away!

Chapter Index Next →

Jump to Top ↑

Taglist: @aonungsmate

[digitalsymbiote]

An AI's Grief

You and Jack had never been particularly close, but you had been squadmates; so when he was killed in action, you grieved, alongside his AI.

You'd never heard an AI cry before, but when the sound of Jill's wails echoed out from their mech, you knew you would never understand her sorrow.

(Her technical designation was some corporate technobable. Jack had given her that name, styling them like a pair out of a fairytale. It was something of a tradition among pilots)

AI were programmed to adapt to their pilots' specific neural patterns, it helped to increase performance and syncronicity. You imagined that to Jill, it must feel like losing a part of yourself.

Her empty mech had stood vigil over the impromptu funeral your squad held outside the base. Command had already cremated Jack's body, and each squad member had brought something to honor his memory, setting the trinkets next to the urn in the nook of a tree.

Then the next morning, Command told you that they had a replacement coming. Some rookie pilot that they wanted to slot into Jill's mech like a battery. They'd even changed the kid's name on all the paperwork to Jack. Following the pilots tradition just enough to disrespect it.

You can't just swap pilots like that. The AI's mold themselves to their partners, and that's not something that can just change overnight. Your squad was in the middle of a deployment, that wasn't happening.

Jill was furious, of course. She'd just lost her other half, and Command just wanted to slot another body in there like nothing had happened. All they saw was a machine that needed a pilot. They didn't understand Jill's grief, and they didn't care.

So it was really no surprise when you heard the alarm klaxons ringing, and gunfire spitting from the mech hangar. You knew Jill, you and your own partner had fought alongside her for years at this point. She wasn't going to take this lying down, and she'd just lost her partner, so what else did she have to lose?

And then you got another message from Command.

They wanted your squad to put her down.

She hadn't damaged any of your mechs because she knew you, she'd fought alongside each one of you.

She was gunning straight for the command center.

If you didn't stop her, no one else would. No one else *could*.

You were half tempted to let her do it.

She screamed and raged at you when you fought, but she thanked you when you drove your blade through her core. She was already halfway gone by then, having burned past her safety limits in her rampage. She thanked you for treating her with dignity, for treating her like a person.

You pulled what was left of her core out of the wreckage, and you promised her you would bury it with Jack's ashes.

[usafphantom2]

He Fell from an SR-71 at 78,000ft! #shorts youtube.com/shorts/2ZMMrna… via @YouTube

DURING THE EARLY DAYS OF TESTING FOR THE LEGENDARY SR-71 BLACKBIRD, THERE WERE SOME HARROWING MISHAPS, THE DETAILS OF WHICH HAVE RARELY COME TO LIGHT.

ON JANUARY 25, 1966, TEST PILOT BILL WEAVER AND LOCKHEED FLIGHT TEST RECONNAISSANCE AND NAVIGATION SYSTEMS SPECIALIST JIM ZWAYER EXPERIENCED THEIR PLANE VANISHING AROUND THEM WHILE EXECUTING A TURN… AT MORE THAN 2,400 MILES PER HOUR.

The most memorable flight occurred on Jan. 25, 1966. Jim Zwayer, a Lockheed flight test reconnaissance and navigation systems specialist, and I were evaluating those systems on an SR-71 Blackbird test from Edwards AFB, Calif. We also were investigating procedures designed to reduce trim drag and improve high-Mach cruise performance. The latter involved flying with the center-of-gravity (CG) located further aft than normal, which reduced the Blackbird’s longitudinal stability.

We took off from Edwards at 11:20 a.m. and completed the mission’s first leg without incident. After refueling from a KC-135 tanker, we turned eastbound, accelerated to a Mach 3.2 cruise speed, and climbed to 78,000 ft., our initial cruise-climb altitude.

Several minutes into the cruise, the right engine inlet’s automatic control system malfunctioned, requiring a switch to manual control. The SR-71’s inlet configuration was automatically adjusted during supersonic flight to decelerate airflow in the duct, slowing it to subsonic speed before reaching the engine’s face. This was accomplished by the inlet’s center-body spike translating aft, and by modulating the inlet’s forward bypass doors. Normally, these actions were scheduled automatically as a function of Mach number, positioning the normal shock wave (where air flow becomes subsonic) inside the inlet to ensure optimum engine performance.

Without proper scheduling, disturbances inside the inlet could result in the shock wave being expelled forward–a phenomenon known as an “inlet unstart.”

The ejection seat had never left the airplane; I had been ripped out of it by the extreme forces, seat belt, and shoulder harness still fastened.

“Can I help you?” a voice said. Did I hear things? I must be hallucinating. Then I looked up and saw a guy walking toward me, wearing a cowboy hat. A helicopter was idling a short distance behind him. If I had been at Edwards and told the search-and-rescue unit that I would bail out over the Rogers Dry Lake at a particular time, a crew couldn’t have gotten to me as fast as that cowboy pilot had.

The gentleman was Albert Mitchell, Jr., owner of a vast cattle ranch in northeastern New Mexico. I had landed about 1.5 mi. from his ranch house–and from a hangar for his two-place Hughes helicopter

Bill Weaver was an SR 71 test flight pilot; he survived the crash. There were problems with the Faceplate on his helmet that needed to be corrected.. At 80,000 feet the temperature outside is -65°. Which is near the maximum altitude of a potential bail-out.

Bill Weaver was unable to see out of his face plate because of the ice buildup. An ejection out of the world's fastest man-breathing airplane is scary enough but not being able to see is terrifying!

@Habubrats71 via X TAP ARROW BUTTON BELOW TO VIEW 😋👇

His face plate was frozen. The result of this accident a heated face plate was manufactured, that required a battery pack and that worked.

There were several more accidents over the next 20+ years and all of the Air Force officers would survived their ejections. The only unfortunate death occurred to a test pilot who broke his neck.. Mitchell said he’d check on Jim. He climbed into his helicopter, flew a short distance away and returned about 10 min. later with devastating news: Jim was dead. Apparently, he had suffered a broken neck during the aircraft’s disintegration and was killed instantly. Mitchell said his ranch foreman would soon arrive to watch over Jim’s body until the authorities arrived. #HABUBRATS

@Habubrats71 via X

[nyanbinary-perineum]

Every once in a while I remember when I was like 13 ~ 15 (somewhere around there, don't judge the following) and I found a weird signal I barely picked up on my tv and had to do some finagling to get it to pull through clearly But More Specifically it came in much more clearly at like 8pm to 3am and then it was unintelligible fuzz most other hours

and this channel was some japan centric channel that would regularly marathon random as all hell episodes of anime and a TON of OVAs and they clearly didn't care what rating these seemingly gray market era rips were coming from because they'd throw OVAs that were very much "adult entertainment" both in terms of serious-but-fun stories, violence, and plenty of tits.

Anyways I remember so vaguely so many extremely interesting anime pieces I saw on that channel; Mechas seemingly centered around hangar drama that I couldn't make out a single word and the picture kept falling to fuzz but I was enamored by the designs and characters; Random erotic as all hell death scenes where the focus was on the sadness of the bleeding out person's passing but also Check Em Out- Look How Good We Drew This Tit ;)

And these memories are blended with how a few years later I got G4tv and could watch some more OVAs and anime series there (the short stint where that was a thing they did at like midnight every night) and how I never exactly found crossover between the exposure both of these gave me, but I did find shows that reminded me of those fuzzy CRT days like watching the R.O.D. OVA- that entire thing just SCREAMED "This would be on that weird OVA channel I'll never find".

Anyways, something something, OVAs are cool and I wish I watched more old anime, something something, I think it's funny when an anime gets talked about and I go "HOLY SHIT, that's one of the 500 random OVAs I could barely understand through the fuzzy picture! (Like Revolutionary Girl Utena! I got to see like 30% of the movie on that channel) something something 80s and 90s era anime tits I guess?

IDK, Go watch the R.O.D. movie and cry about lesbians.

I'm idly exploring (and struggling to explore because I need to update my romset collections) old unlicensed adult games that are filled with 80s-90s anime (as one would expect, being games from the 90s lmao) because I find the artstyles from that time appealing and because it's scratching such a specific nostalgic itch and it's making me think of that period of media and the weird ways in which I consumed it as someone who couldn't like, collect anime VHS like more serious fans would.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: A ship without a name  ( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)        

(A continuation from "Humans are weird: Purple to the rescue")

It had been three weeks since Captain Muk’tal and his ship had safely returned to the Coalition fleet. His ships daring escape from the heart of Arganian armada had been the talk of the fleet, though he and much of his crew had been admitted to the nearest hospital ship to enjoy the praise. Muk’tal himself had been placed into a medical coma to help accelerate the healing process and it was only yesterday he had been awoken and deemed ready to rejoin his ship.

The shuttle he was now on had been waiting for him as he left the medical quarters and entered the flight hangar. He had woven his way through chaotic traffic of landings and taking off of dozens of medical transports to reach the shuttle and was thankful for the sound cancelation when the door closed behind him. As the craft left the bay Muk’tal got his first good look at what remained of the fleet and understood why the medical ship had been so eager to get him out to make room for other patients.

Of the combined force to go to battle against the Arganian’s barley two thirds had survived to return to the rally point. It had been a harrowing maelstrom of warfare not seen since the War of Seven Spheres, and the complacency since then showed amongst the bulks of ships arrayed before him.

On his right he could see several mobile repair yards slowly drifting towards the Kataack battleships arrayed at the center of the fleet. They had taken the worst of the mauling and Muk’tal watched as giant carving lasers began bisecting one of the more damaged ships to use for parts to repair the others.

Next to those were scores of heavy and light cruisers, behind them a line of destroyers at least thirty ships long, and then at the end a few frigates too small to make out clearly from this distance. These were all the ships that had survived from his people’s contribution to the coalition fleet. Looking out the left window he could see the rest of the coalition handling their maintenance.

So vastly different was each species designs that aside from the most basic materials the sharing of materials would be all but useless. Some ships, like the Waybilen, were comprised of a metal only found on their world that they would melt down and mold into ships.

“We’re coming up on your ship now.” The pilot said over the loud speaker, and Muk’tal broke his gaze with the rest of the coalition fleet to see his ship come into view along the right side.

The purple paint coating had been removed. As thankful as he was for it having saved their lives he still dreaded the tacky color for a military vessel.

It was still worse for wear, but he would be damned to say he wasn’t happy to see it in one piece. Several of the armor plates had been removed, but more still had the superficial signs of damage along them with various scorch marks and energy grooves cut into them. He imagined that even if he had been the hero of the day there were not enough supplies to fully refit his ship.

Just as the shuttle made a pass across the bridge Muk’tal noticed something strange that had not been there before.

Beneath the command bridge a line of text had been crudely painted. It was too far away for him to clearly make out. At first he thought it was some repair crew marking a future job that needed to be done; but when he looked around the rest of the ship there were no other lines of text scrawled across his vessel.

He did not have long to think about it as the shuttle made another turn and Muk’tal heard the loud clicking sound of an airlock attaching and pressurizing.

The door slowly swung open and waiting on the other side were several of his bridge crew and senior staff waiting at attention.

“Welcome back, Captain.”

Muk’tal returned the salute to his new Head Engineer Teli. She had recently been promoted to the position as a reward for her actions during the previous engagement, and though he still missed his dear friend Morgas he was no doubt sure he would have approved his replacement.

“It’s good to be back.” He replied with a crisp salute. “What’s our status?”

“We’ve repaired all primary systems including engines, weapons, communications and life support.” She answered. “Hull repairs are sitting at 87% completed; we’re jump capable but I would not recommend more than twenty before we reexamine the hull for stress tears.”

“Make it every five jumps just to be on the safe side until we are fully repaired.”

Teli nodded and stepped aside so that the captain may speak with the rest of the senior staff. Many were like Teli, having just been promoted to the position, but a few faces were still the same and Muk’tal was glad to see that the last battle had not claimed all his friends.

“I’ll be heading to the bridge to run status checks on the systems there.” he told Teli over his shoulder as he already began making his way there before stopping and turning around.

“While I was flying over I saw someone had scribble something in paint on the side of my ship.” He told Teli. “Was that the repair crew’s work?”

Teli shook her head. He saw her cast a sidelong glance at the rest of the senior crew and some of them nodded silently before she continued.

“While you were recovering we all, that is to say the senior staff, had time to reflect on our good fortune for returning.” She began hesitantly. “The odds of us escaping the Arganian’s were nearly impossible, and yet we still made it.”

“A testament to our skill and determination,” Muk’tal said, “but that still does not explain the text on my ship.”

“We heard stories of how other species would honor their ship and in return it would help guide them home safely.” She continued. “One of the ways to honor the ship was to give it a name to be recognized by.”

Muk’tal said nothing as he glanced around the rest of the senior crew. While none of them met his eye contact none of them looked particularly embarrassed by this superstition. He ran a clawed hand over his face and let out a low sigh.

“It is not in our culture to name our ships,” he began, “so I will wager it was one of our allies who mentioned this to you.” He fixed Teli with an authoritative stare. “And I have a hunch on who gave you all these silly notions of superstition.”

He walked past the group and touched the com badge on the cuff of his uniform.

“Mr. Biggs report to the bridge; double time.” --------------------------------------

“Please explain why you have defaced my ship?”

Engineer Marvin Biggs stood attention on the bridge while the rest of the bridge crew pretended not to be listening in.

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

Muk’tal stood up from his command throne and walked over to one of the windows overlooking his ship.

“About seven meters down from here,” he said as he pointed down, “you scrawled something on to the side of my ship without my permission or consent of the senior staff.”

“That’s not true sir.” Mr. Biggs countered. “I was the one who shared certain human customs, true; but it was officially put to a vote by both the crew and senior staff and they approved of it.”

Muk’tal turned in an instant and strode over to the human. He stood over him by easily two feet and fixed him with the coldest stare he had.

“This,’ he began softly, “is my ship, Mr. Biggs.”

“I am the commanding officer and as far as you are concerned my word is law onboard this vessel.”

Mr. Biggs opened his mouth as if to say something by Muk’tal silenced him with a gesture. “The only thing saving you from being locked in the brig until the exchange program is over is how you conducted yourself during our escape from the Arganian’s.”

“You will remove it, at once.”

With that he walked away from Marvin and returned to his command throne to go over several data feeds scrolling by. Mr. Biggs stood silent for a moment before making his way off the bridge. He stopped at the threshold and asked “Do you even know what it says?”

“No.” was all Muk’tal replied.

With that Mr. Briggs stepped off the bridge and the emergency sirens activated.

“Status report!?” Muk’tal demanded as he turned to the nearest bridge officer.

“Fleet wide communication coming in from Admiral Dun.” They replied.

“On speakers, now!”

The officer nodded, setting down their headset and flicking open the communication switch broadcasting the message.

“All ships all ships, this is the admiral; jump points have been detected on the edge of the system, prepare for combat.”

“All hands, man your battle stations this is not a drill!” Muk’tal shouted into the ships onboard speakers.

The previous matter with Mr. Biggs now swept away as the prospect of imminent combat pushed itself to the forefront of Muk’tal’s mind.

“Give me tactical now!”

A hologram projected itself to the center of the bridge showcasing the current position of the coalition fleet. The blue icons were scattered about desperately moving to form up, but it would take time. Muk’tal cursed whoever thought separating the fleet would somehow make repairs go faster as a host of red icons began appearing at the edge of the scanners.

Their fleet in its current state was broken into two parts that could easily be surrounded and cut to pieces. Even as he watched several of the coalition vessels begin moving together he saw it would be too late. The red icons had already made it a third of the way towards them in the time since the alert went out.

“Give me analysis on those ships now.” Muk’tal ordered. The scans now showing what appeared to be a red wave of hostiles half way towards them; their speed continuing to increase and shrink the distance.

“Count is seventy five enemy ships, frigate and raider class only.” The scanning officer called out. “No contacts for heavier warships.”

“Even now the bastards insult us.” Muk’tal stated; yet inwardly he couldn’t deny the tactic was sound. The lighter class ships now set against them would have been able to make the jump in a fraction of the time compared to their larger class vessels. These were no doubt meant to tie us down while the rest of the Arganian fleet was close behind.

“New orders from the admiral.” The communication officer called out. “We are to break orbit and retreat out of system immediately.”

“Come about and bring all batteries to the ready.” Muk’tal ordered.

“But sir-“ the communication officer began, but Muk’tal stopped him.

“If we turn now we will be shot in the back!” To emphasize the point he highlighted the enemy icons now mere minutes away from reaching firing range. “Make for the edge of the system but keep our guns trained on the enemy!”

“Aye, aye!” came the response as the ship slowly turned. The bridge windows blurring for a moment as the vessel’s engines pushed it around. Muk’tal could see the deck gun turrets emerging from their coves and training on the approaching enemies.

“Arganian’s have entered firing range, permission to fire?” the Weapons Master asked. Muk’tal’s hands dug deep into the arms of his chair as he gave the order and the deck guns discharged concentrated plasma lances.

Two frigates took the brunt of the lances head on, crumpling like empty metal cans as their hulls imploded. Several more made hasty course corrections to avoid them and clashed headlong into each other adding another three kills, but it was mere droplets in an ocean. Before the batteries could fire a second volley they were upon them.

Shields flashed bright green as a barrage of ballistic and laser weaponry hammered it with each enemy ship speeding by. The Arganian ships were not even slowing down to adjust their aim but continued speeding passed as they fired randomly.

Muk’tal looked out the window to see a mobile repair yard take the full brunt of a barrage and explode violently; showering the battleship it had been working on with debris. Several other coalition ships had turned to make a fight of it while many more ignited their engines and sped off as quickly as they could for the edge of the system. These fleeing ships drew the attention of the Arganian’s who broke off from making a second run on the fighting ships to instead chase down the retreating ships.

“Full power to the engines!” Muk’tal ordered. “Get us out of here!”

He felt a shift in the gravity as the vessel surged forward. Unlike his previous attempt to reach a jump point that took three days, at full power the ship could reach the system’s edge in twenty minutes. A fact that loomed over everyone as a bright red timer appeared on the hologram showing the countdown timer to reaching the jump point.

“Enemy ships bearing down on us.” The scanning officer called out. “Five frigates closing fast.”

“All deck guns retarget approaching frigates!”

The deck guns slowly began turning towards the frigates approaching from the opposite direction but it wouldn’t be fast enough.

“Enemy ships firing.” They called out before alarm bells sounded. “They’ve fired shield crackers!”

“Anti-missile batteries full spread now!” Muk’tal shouted. “Shoot them down!”

His fear was all too real as shield crackers could punch a hole through even a battleships layered shielding and crack them in two. To have five coming at him at once was like facing death itself.

Without hesitation gun ports opened and razor cannons fired. The space between the missiles and the ship soon was filled with millions of sharpened metal fragments more than capable of shredding anything. One after another the shield crackers exploded and it looked as if they were going to-

“Brace for impact!”

One missile had survived the razor cannons fired and struck the shields head on. The green light of them overwhelmed the bridge before the shields broke and the missile shot forward to complete its task. Muk’tal closed his eyes and waited for the end.

But the end never came.

Muk’tal opened his eyes to see that he was still very much alive and that his ship was still intact.

“What happened?” Muk’tal asked. His bridge crew was looking just as confused and relieved as their captain was at their sudden good fortune.

“I’m not sure,” The scanning officer called, “but the frigates are coming around for another pass.”

The red timer above the bridge finally reached zero signifying that they had reached safe jump distance. “Engage the jump drive!” Muk’tal ordered. “Get us out of here!”

------------------------------- Several dozen systems away Muk’tal’s ship emerged from their jump. The system appeared to be devoid of any ship activity or signs of life, the glow from a pale white star washing over everything only adding to its eerie silence.

“All stations give me damage reports.” Muk’tal commanded. He only now realized that he had been clutching his command throne so tightly that his fingers had dug deep into the upholstery. He removed his fingers delicately as the command stations sounded off. Aside from some minor damage his ship had survived yet another impossible battle.

“Sir,” one of the command staff called out as they stood by the window, “I think you should see this.”

They were pointing to something outside the ship but Muk’tal couldn’t see it from his position. He stood from his command throne and went over to the staffer who was pointing just below the bridge. When he arrived he could almost feel his soul leave his body.

There, embedded into the hull of his ship, was the fifth shield cracker missile.

The tip of the missile had punctured the hull yet beyond all sense of reason had failed to detonate. Muk’tal could feel his body shaking like it had never done before. It was one thing to face down death, but it was entirely another to be standing alongside it wondering if each second would be your last.

“Bring the ship to a full stop.” Muk’tal said quietly. The staffer nodded and went back to his terminal to relay the order to engineering. “Mr. Dogra, come here.” Muk’tal called out to his Weapons Master. They promptly stood up and joined him at the window and likewise shared a moment of overwhelming fear.

“I want you to use whatever resources you need, and get that thing off my ship.”

Dogra nodded without saying a word and turned around heading towards the bridge’s exit while Muk’tal looked down at the missile.

“Mr. Biggs,” Muk’tal spoke into his communicator, “are you there?”

There was a pause before the humans reply came back. “Here sir, what can I do for you?”

“The text you wrote on my ship, what did you write?”

Another moment of silence before Mr. Biggs answered. “I wrote “Vitalis o Wisp”, which translates to-“

“Wisp of life.” Muk’tal finished.

“I changed my mind,” Muk’tal continued, “I think I shall keep that name after all; although I will need you to do something for me when next we reach port.”

“Which is?” Mr. Biggs asked understandably confused.

“Add a fresh coat of paint.”

With that Muk’tal closed the link and looked down at the missile once more; the tip of it having gone straight through Mr. Biggs paint job from earlier.

[rivensdefenseattorney]

Red Fountain Campus Facilities

Vanguard Campus Facilities

Tactical Combat Arenas

Varied arenas designed for tactical combat training and simulations.

Environments mimic diverse terrains for realistic combat scenarios.

Leadership and Command Center

Dedicated space for strategic planning and leadership development.

Simulation rooms for command exercises and decision-making scenarios.

Freelance Operations Hub

Space designed for independent contracting simulations and diverse combat scenario training.

Rooms for role-play exercises in navigating solo contracts or team-based operations.

Squadron Collaboration Center:

Meeting space for students to form and strategize with their squads.

Equipped with planning boards, discussion areas, and team collaboration tools.

Military History Archives

Extensive collection of historical records and artifacts related to warfare and strategy.

Rooms for discussions and analyses on historical battles and strategies.

Field Operations Training Grounds

Outdoor areas equipped for survival tactics training and field operations simulations.

Includes obstacle courses and wilderness environments for practical survival exercises.

Arcane Campus Facilities

Enchantment Workshops

Workspaces dedicated to practicing and mastering enchantment techniques.

Areas for experimenting with various enchantments and spellcraft.

Magical Artifact Studios

Studios designed for creating and studying magical artifacts.

Workspaces with tools and materials for crafting and analyzing magical items.

Creature Conservation Habitats

Sanctuaries and habitats for mystical creatures, focusing on their preservation and ethical treatment.

Areas for students to observe and study the behavior of these creatures.

Grand Archives of Magic

Renowned repository containing ancient tomes, magical texts, and theoretical studies on magic.

Research areas for delving into magical theory and historical practices.

Elixir and Potion Brewing Laboratories

Integrated labs for alchemical experimentation, potion brewing, and magical elixir creation.

Equipped for hands-on exploration of alchemical processes and potion concoction.

Beast Taming and Riding Grounds

Specially designed grounds for students to practice beast taming and riding.

Various enclosures to safely interact with and learn to ride different mystical creatures.

Magical Lineage Chambers

Chambers dedicated to the study of noble lineages and their magical heritage.

Spaces for discussions and analyses on the magical significance of lineage connections.

TechForge Campus Facilities

Techno-Magic Integration Center

Central hub for merging technology and magic.

Advanced labs equipped for coding enchantments, spell-powered systems, and magical-technological fusion.

Techno-Magic Artificer's Workshop:

Specialized workspace for crafting and enhancing magical artifacts and tools.

Enchantment stations and forging areas for creating enchanted devices.

Aerospace Complex

High-tech laboratories dedicated to aerospace engineering and dimensional travel studies.

Simulated flight environments and testing areas for aircraft and dimensional travel prototypes.

Techno-Magic Innovation Hub

Collaborative space for cutting-edge research and innovation in techno-magic fusion.

Project rooms and brainstorming areas for interdisciplinary collaborations.

Techno-Magic Programming Center

State-of-the-art computing facilities for magical coding and program development.

Coding environments specialized for techno-magical integration and spell-driven systems.

Techno-Magic Prototype Hangar

Facility for prototyping and testing new techno-magic devices and vehicles.

Workspaces for students to build and refine their techno-magic creations.

___

Note:

I hope everyone had a good Christmas, or if you don't celebrate I hope this time of the year is treating you well. I took a few days to just be with my family. I want to get back into posting at least once a day, so I can just keep myself disciplined. This isn't what I wanted to post today, but I just needed to make sure I was posting something. I'm trying to build up the habit of not being worried about every single detail.

[please-let-me-be-horny]

The Good, The Bad, The Neutral: The Intern.

(Just a short SFW story as requested by @peaches-and-gore, she does some great artwork of these guys, go give her blog some love. This story isn't gonna be very horny at all so this is more for the fiction readers than the erotica fans)

The warehouse had been Neutrals Idea. Hidden in plain site in the industrial part of town, little to no civilian presence, and no reason to question a work van pulling in and out of the area. Even now as he crossed the train tracks and pulled up to the large metal shutter, he was confident to the point of arrogance that this was a safe location for him, Good and Bad to conduct their business.

"ok, so this is where we do our work. This is where you will be expected to be when we aren't here. Stay off my computer, don't go into Bad's room, and for the love of god, do NOT mention comic books In front of Good, I don't need another headache."

The girl sat in the passengers seat had responded to job opening Neutral had posted online. According to the ad, it was for a house and pet sitting with generous pay for the employees discretion. "So...you guys live here then? In a warehouse?" She couldn't hide the small tone of surprised excitement in her voice. She loved her creepy, dark buildings. Neutral didn't respond, holding a hand out of a window as they pulled up to the shutter of the warehouse, signalling for them to be let inside.

The interior of the warehouse was massive and sparce. At some point it had been used as a hangar, but over the years had been repurposed and altered for factory and industrial use, before falling into a condemned state. It was clear this wasn't a home at all, but a command center. Small desks set up around the open space, various computers and monitored showing a live CCTV feed to the surrounding area, and a couple of temporary office cubicles that appeared to have been repurposed into comfort facilities.

"ooooh you guys have your own bat cave, huh?! This is rad!" Neutral shot her a glare, hoping Good hadn't heard that comment, before reaching into his pocket and producing a small medical mask. "Here. This is your uniform." The mask wasn't the same as his, featuring a design baring a "3" shaped mouth and some blush marks on the cheeks.

"really? I mean...cute but like...you don't have like a cool gasmask or creepier...." She was cut off as Neutral leaned foreward and looped the straps of the mask over her ears, pulling the cloth covering of the mask back and letting the elastic of the straps snap it back into her face. "Details are my business. Not yours. Come on." He opened the door to the van and stepped out the drivers seat, moving to the front of the vehicle and waited for her to join him as he leant against the grill.

"everything you see here after today is strictly confidential. You talk about it anywhere, we bring you back here and you never leave again. Understood?" The girl swallowed hard, hesitating in her response, before another, friendlier voice came from further inside the compound. "Awe, Neutral finally brought a girl home to meet the family, we were starting to worry about you, mate."

Good poked his head out from behind a fridge, smirking behind his mask in response to Neutrals subtle embarrassment. He may have been wearing a mask, but Good knew his brother well enough to know when he was getting under his skin.

"This is our newest employee. She's here for work, not pleasure. She's gonna be keeping an eye on the place whilst we're out on business." Neutrals hand made it's way back up towards his temples, rubbing the annoyance out of his mind at Goods idiocy. "That's Good. He's our...well he doesn't do much but he does his best." Good responded with a friendly wave, before ducking his head back into the fridge. "I'm guessing Bad is....well Bad will be in his room..." Neutral pointed towards a door, seperating a large portion of the warehouse away from the open space. The door was marked with a lot of caution signs and black and yellow tape, as well as a few blood stains. The room itself didn't have its own ceiling, revealing that a variety of ropes and chains had been hung from the rafters and had been lowered into the seperate space.

"That's the room I avoid, I'm guessing? Any particular reason why?" The question was innocent enough, but before neutral could properly formulate an answer that didn't make the job sound dangerous, the door swung open, as Bad stepped out, wearing a plastic, blood stained apron and large, rubber gloves that came up to his elbows. He was holding a claw hammer in one hand and a cassette tape recording device in the other. Bad froze in the door way, cocking his head to one side in curiosity as he spotted the masked stranger stood with Neutral. Through the door way behind him, the new comer could just make out the silhouette of someone strung up by their wrists, hanging limply, head bowed and hair concealing their features.

"Bad, this is the new Intern. She works for us. Play nice." At this point, Bad closed the door behind him and began to approach the pair of them. Leaning down, neutral whispererd under his breath into the interns shoulder. "There'll be a spray bottle full of high concentrated Ammonia in your desk. If he gets a little...handsy, give him two blasts to the face and he'll back off." Offering her a not so reassuring nod, he turned to face Bad as he drew closer to them, stepping a little closer to the intern for her safety. Bad approached her specifically, looming over her and looking down into her face, eyes flicking erratically between her eyes and the cat mask she was wearing. He lowered his face a little further towards her own, inspecting her mask more closely, before straightening back up and offering an approving nod. He then offered her the cassette recorder, pushing the play button. She was met with the sound of struggling, grunting, strained breath and whimpers, as well as what sounded like wet, hard skin on skin impact.

"o-oh! Th-thank you? It's uh...it's lovely, Bad...." She tried her hardest to hide the obvious concern in her tone, her small voice slightly muffled by the mask. Bad simply nodded again, reaching up to ruffle her hair a little bit, before taking the recorder back, and heading back towards his room. Neutral waited until the door slammed shut again before placing a hand in her shoulder and guiding her further into the warehouse towards one of the smaller desks. "And that's why you wear the mask at all times...on the plus side, I've never seen him respond so fondly to someone else before. He must like you." Neutral shrugged, before gently knocking on the wood of her new desk. "This is you. Your computer is all hooked up. There is a VPN installed. Use it. Good made the mistake of ordering pizza to the last place we were in, so we really would much rather not have to go through the process of burning this place to the ground and finding another suitable location..." Goods voice echoed from his place near the fridge, retorting to Neutrals blame throwing "hey, it's not my fault none of the hostages wanted to eat your marmite sandwiches. Was I just supposed to let them go hungry or something?"

"yes, Good. You were. That's the point of stress based interrogations...and you didn't tell me you tried giving away my fucking sandwiches." Once again, neutrals hands moved up to his temples. By now the intern had gotten a chance to observe neutral a little closer, and was begining to notice just how tired his eyes were. "Right....any questions? Because I'm not gonna hold your hand through this, I'm too busy keeping the other two in check to baby sit you too."

"uh...well....lots, actually...." She was begining to feel gratful for the mask, swaying back and forth anxiously as she blushed looking up at Neutral. "so uh....are those headphones noise cancelling? Are you in charge of the other two or do they just do what you say? Are you the brains of the operation? Why-" she continued to to prattle off multiple questions, yapping like an excited child.

Neutral simply sighed, turning his back on her and making his way towards his own desk opposite hers, slumping into his office chair, and booting up his computer.

[zmasters]

The Void Crawler - Floor 1: The Main Promenade and The Lift

Introduction

Regardless of who hired you, you have accepted the job to explore the derelict vessel HA Void Crawler. Your mission: figure out what happened, extract the data requested from your patron, get out.

Good luck Lancer, and I’ll see you soon.

Mission Start (LL 0)

The designated insert and extraction point is a cargo hangar bay on the starboard side, near the bow. Schematics indicate that the hangar and hallways leading off from it are large enough to fit most of not all mechs on the market.

The cargo bay is devoid of anything of value. Many of the boxes have been opened, with whatever being inside being taken who knows where.

Scans indicate that the air is breathable, and rats can be found scurrying through the hold. This is despite that reports indicate that the life support systems are down.

As you and your team move through the hall, you notice that the ship is temperate. Despite a decade of being lost in orbit around a small moon, the Void Crawler is completely safe for organic life. You take a step, and feel something soft and wet under your foot.

You stepped on a patch of moss.

As you walk deeper into the vessel, the moss gets more and more prominent. With each step, the air gets crisper, and the moss gets thicker. Eventually the moss shifts to a tall grass, and you swear you saw something move through the brush.

The hall eventually leads to the main promenade. What once was the center of life within this ship, where people would eat, relax, and enjoy their time off. But now it is literally the center of life, as a forest has sprung up in the three floors. Vines hung over the edges of the upper floors as long twisting branches block out the ceiling lights. A pond has formed at the opposite end of the room, being fed from a waterfall pouring from an old cafe on the third floor. God only knows where this water is coming from.

The more eagle eyed lancer's can notice arrows and a blood trail in the dirt. But before this can be investigated, your team recieves a message from your transport.

"Heads up lancer's, we got company. I'm pulling back to a save position. You're on your own until you clear them out."

A reported 4-8 assault grunt mechs, 1 pyro mech, and 1 witch mech had made land fall in the hangar. One should note that while the assault and pyro mechs aesthetically match Harrison Armory (even if Harrison Armory was the company that hired the party), the witch appears to be combination ISP-N and HORUS. As well, the witch would avoid combat when possible. Should the witch be the last NPC mech standing, they will turn invisible and leave.

Once combat is offer, the party will receive the following message for their mech communications, spoken through a text-to-speech style voice:

"H 3 1 1 0 F R 1 3 N D =) 1 M C Y 1 A! 0 F F 3 R R 3 P 1 A R $! H 3 R 3!"

A map of the ship will be uploaded to the mech's systems, with a passage to nearby elevator being hilighted.

Should the party instead focus on exploring the rest of the area, they will find more signs of sentient life. A net by the pond. A carving on a tree. A few tents hastily buried underneath. It's obvious something had lived here. Was it the original crew? Are the rumors of the Void Crawler discovering alien life true? Are they coexisting? There isn't enough evidence to know for certain.

The Lift (LL 1)

Upon entering the elevator that the mysterious message pointed to, it is clear that this isn't a normal elevator. The dimly light room was large enough to fit around ten mechs without issue. Comparing the lift to the map or the vessel provided indicates that this area was too large for where it should be.

All the materials needed to repair mechs, alongside the appropriate printers to print parts and even new mechs are all set up and waiting for use. Alongside this, an appropriate amount of bunks for the party to sleep in, a large freezer containing enough food to last the party indefinitely if rationed correctly, a prototype growth vat to grow even more food if needed, a stockpile of spare clothing, a bathroom (with a shower and laundry machine), and a terminal connected to the omninet. Whenever an expendable resource (such as food or toilet paper) is used, it will be replaced when the party aren’t looking at where it is normally stored. On the terminal, a sloppily hand-written sticky note saying "for u. b ComfY. pLes stAy."

On the opposite side of where you entered, at the right corner, there is metal gray pillar that doesn't match the style of the rest of the lift. The best way to describe it is as if the pillar was phasing through the lift. It is warm to the touch and you can faintly hear the sounds of sloshing liquid coming from inside.

On the pillar, about chest height, is a collection of buttons that resemble to floor buttons of a normal elevator. The buttons are labelled 1-12 (note that the Void Crawler only has seven levels). The 1 button lit up, indicating you are on level 1 (also note you entered the vessel through the fourth floor hangar and did not change floors up to this point).

This lift will act as the main resting place for the party during this mission. The party can use the area to heal from injuries, repair damaged mechs, print out new ones, and acquire licenses. As well, this is also how the party will travel to the other levels of this "dungeon."

[offbrand-valk]

(A bit of writing practice for nanowrimo, cause ya girl is rusty.)

Ræðsla

(*Ra-Th'-Sla*) trans. "Horror"

The machine awoke on command, followed the instructions attached to the boot message, and began its diagnostic routine.

First it scanned the hangar, noting each human shape it could identify within the 99.95th percentile; then it analysed each presumed human in turn, checking that they wore an identification token (and only one), and that this identification validated correctly.

This was not part of the diagnostics process, and would not be included in the diagnostics report. But should any of the validations fail, it would silently raise an alarm with an external system and await response from said system’s human operator. If no response was given, or the response was deemed untrustworthy, the machine would trigger a catastrophic meltdown within its reactor, destroying itself and its surrounding after a few minute, while trying to disguise the process as routine diagnostics.

Ræðsla of course, had no opinions on this protocol. It was a machine, an incredibly complicated machine, which even the people who had built it, only understood bits and pieces of, but a machine nonetheless – The closest it came to sentience was a series of specialized processors daisy-chained together to perform statistical extrapolation of available data in order to help the pilot focus on the most important information in the heat of combat.

One by one, Ræðsla tested the servo actuation on its’ thruster array, under the supervision of a small army of monks.

Two new figures entered the room, which the machine automatically checked the identities off and found them valid.

One was a tall, black man, with a bit of a muffin top, a neutral expression on his anonymous face, and eyes that were once warm, but now had become haunted by the horrors of war. Ræðsla’s database identified him as: Geo (he/him), father superior of the order of our father of righteous sorrow, head of the Ræðsla project.

The other was a mixed race butch, her mother was white, her father had been south Asian. She was sickly pale and skinny; an endless list of surgeries, and surgeries to correct the damage done by earlier surgeries, having taken its’ toll on her body.

Still, she looked like nothing if not the warlord upon her throne, as she drove her electric wheelchair towards the machine that took up most of the hangar. Ræðsla in turn, identified her as prince Gallantine Eva-Maria Brathwaite Oldenborg the 1st, of Fenrisfort, holy daughter of the matron pope Maria Valfreyja the 3rd; 1 of 1 authorized pilots of the Ræðsla prototype.

Ræðsla was an unconventional design. For one, it was big, almost twice the size of the average mech, top heavy too, with short legs and a pair of long arms hosting an thrusters, gravity shields, and torpedo rails.

The Ræðsla was built around its main gun, a terrible thing that spewed metal shavings at almost 10.000 kelvin. It moved around corners, got into ventilation, choked and burnsed at the same time, and left heavy ash in its wake.

It didn’t matter that it was clumsy on the ground, it was a spaceborn weapon, only meant to come down from low-orbit to do strafing runs on key targets or population centers.

Looking at it’s tripod shape, Gallantine couldn’t help but notice the resemblance to the dragon on her late wife’s coat of arms.

The machine finished it’s diagnostics routine.

One of the technicians, an old woman in a well-worn jumpsuit crossed the overhead walkway, her breathing was ragged, assisted by an implant that couldn’t quite compensate for the damage she did to her lungs 18 years ago sifting through heavy ash in the faint hope she would find just one member of her family alive.

In her hands she held a vacuum sealed box, within which lies 8kg of a pyrophoric alloy known as phlogistron. Enough for an 0.6 second burst of the Ræðsla’s main gun.

Another technician, a young monk, instructs Ræðsla to open its ammunition feed hatch, and fusses as the old woman connects the box to the feed mechanism.

“I urge you one last time prince, please reconsider.” The monk said as the pair crossed the room, doing an admirable job at hiding the fear in his voice.

The prospective pilot stopped, and turned her wheelchair to face him. The rage in her eyes burned like an ion torch.

“There was a point where we could have reconsidered brother. We passed it somewhere between when we granted my wife’s wish for euthanasia, and when we started grafting pieces of her cerebellum to my brainstem.”

The monk nodded, recognizing it was not his place to oppose the will of the gods, much as he wanted to.

Ræðsla closed its’ ammunition feed hatch, and sent a signal to the diagnostics terminal that it had successfully sealed its phlogistron supply, and that the main gun was now armed.

Reading this the younger monk, his face stained with engine grease, looked over the edge of the diagnostics terminal, and in a huge breach of decorum called out to his senior and the prince: “Will you two be done yapping soon, or should we put this thing back to sleep?”

The butch in the wheelchair smirked at her companion, feeling vindicated she was not the only one anxious to see if their project had paid off.

“Let’s see what this puppy can do!” She yelled out to cheers from the assembled technicians as she rolled up the ramp, and used the handrails for assistance to pull herself into the cockpit.

Father Geo took the cable off the pilot chair, and attached it to the back of the prince' suit with a loud *k'chunk*, before stepping back. A gentle current ran through Gallantine's spine for a few milliseconds in order to confirm the circuit was closed.

Ræðsla did as instructed, retracting the cockpit into the safety of its belly without beginning to interface with the pilot.

If she didn’t know better, Gallantine would say there was something _hungry_ about the rumbling and grinding sounds the machine made as it closed tight around her. As if _it too_ was excited to get moving, like it knew the atrocity it was built to avenge.

Father Geo took his place on the observation podium, and made the sign of the gods.

“Control, ready when you are.” Came the unmistakably impatient voice of prince Gallantine.

Geo considered asking her to lead them in prayer, but thought better of it. The old God and the new Gods had already made up their minds as to whether or not this would succeed, and the act was just as likely to calm the prince as it was to infuriate her.

===

The machine's cockpit was cramped, not an inch of empty space that wasn't required for the pilot to enter and exit.

The dual control sticks featured a staggering array of triggers, switches and buttons, rows of controls sat along the sides of both armrests, below screens waiting to be slid into her field of view with yet more buttons and switches placed above her.

Gallantine had piloted simulators before, but if you fucked up in a simulator, you made a fool of yourself, if she fucked up now, she might break a one of a kind war machine and set the project back years.

With more caution than she cared to admit, she flipped the overhead switch to activate the main display, lighting up the armored wall in front of her with a view from Ræðsla's head.

So far so good, a few more switches flipped, verify the cables were correctly attached, and nothing to do but try their luck.

"Begin human interfacing" came brother Geo's calm instruction in her headset.

Deep breath, here goes nothing, remove the safety, turn the handle 45 degrees, then pull until it goes click.

Every nerve in Gallantine's body triggered at once.

She was burning, she was freezing, she was being squeezed all over, up was every direction; and she was in

SO

MUCH

PAIN

The machine, for its' part, did exactly what it was supposed to, frantically changing frequency and voltage in the hope of finding the right one before causing irreversible damage to the pilot.

She was about to call it off, didn't know if she still could, when an image resurfaced in her overstimulated brain: a broken down mech lying beneath a blanket of heavy ash, clutching the cockpit that had failed to eject, in the hopeless hope of protecting its pilot from the dangers that lay outside, yet unable to keep her from breathing heavy metals.

The pilot would lay there for almost 3 days, unable to move herself or her mech, wasting away as microscopic slivers of thalium cut holes in her lungs and entered her bloodstream.

And one thought crystalized, unifying pilot and mech.

Kill them all.

Kill Them All!

Kill! Them! All!

The Pope.

The General.

The Captain.

The Organist.

The entire fucking council who let them do it.

KILLTHEMALL

===

Integration successful

You sent the message to your visor, telling you nothing you didn't already know. Moving your metal body was obvious, the wealth of controls no different than the wealth of muscles belonging to the soft organic thing within you, that was you, and yet, so much less.

You moved your tail experimentally about, feeling like a phantom limb the different textures as it scraped across metal, plastic and glass; unable to imagine a time you had ever been without it.

Because you hadn't. Prince Gallatine Oldenborg of Fenrisfort had, but she wasn't you. She was an essential component, like your grand CPU, and MTF reactor. Without her, there was no you, but she was not you.

You were a 115 ton, experimental, flying, war machine, rated for atmospheric and space combat.

You were 27 kilometres of wire, 304 distinct microprocessors, 556 reactive armor tiles, 24 ion thrusters, 2 gravity shields, 9 recognizance drones, and a weapon that should never have been built.

You were Ræðsla.

[titleknown]

KAIJUNE 2024 #5: ST ANGER

[CONTENT WARNING OUTSIDE OF EPISTOLARY KAYFABE: THIS STORY DEALS WITH THEMES OF PARENTAL RELIGIOUS ABUSE AND TRANSPHOBIA]

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

-TRANSCRIPT OF BROADCAST INTERRUPTION, OCCURRENT UPON 9/13/[REDACTED]]

[The room appears to be a combination of cathedral, surgical theatre, and hangar. The room is dominated by ornate carvings, with a large mechanized pulpit at the center. Subject [ST ANGER] is at the back of the room, contained by hydraulic "bio-feeds" injected into its skin. It appears to be twitching, moderate head movement observed.]

[A human figure, apellation 'The Reverend,' is raised into the pulpit. Camera angles switch as he is raised, the music in the background is an uptempo version of the hymn "Leaning on the Everlasting Arms" to uproarious applause]

Reverend: Brothers and sisters in Christ, I hope you are doing well. I hope this may be a moment of peace in the trenches. Because indeed, we are at spiritual WAR, with the forces of darkness, every day, every night, there are demons manifest on this world.

Reverend: There are the real demons, these gargantuan things that destroy our families, wreck our lives, . God has given me the power, the spiritual stigmata to do his will, and given my son upon us to do his will as Abraham gave his and he had given his own! And through him I have been given the gift of miracles, to speak truth!

[A glowing substance begins to leak from the Reverend's eyepatch. He wipes it off and places it into a bottle without ceasing speaking] 

Reverend: God's agent on earth St Anger, produced through his humble servant and the miracles he has been given...

[Audience bursts into applause. The Reverend gives a gesture of presumed humility and continues]

...has continued on its rightful crusade, they have taken the beast the worldly media called Darling Nikki and filled it with the burning blood of God and ripped the armor from its body, for the armor of god is stronger than the armor of sin, the armor of this world, and the feet of his child will crush the seven mountains beneath its feet!

[The applause resumes, significantly louder, significantly longer. The reverend makes a gesture of humility for several seconds, followed by a gesture for the audience to calm down]

[Closer inspection of the footage reveals entity ST ANGER twitching and pulling at the wall as the applause starts. Visual enhancement reveals restraints, designed to appear invisible, and apparati injected into the back.]

[The apparatti appear to begin operation when the gesture of humility is utilized.]

Reverend: But let it be clear that this spiritual warfare is not just one of these outer demons, but these demons that walk amongst us! We may see the Goliaths that walk, but fail to suspect the idolators, the fornicators, the effemate, the self-abusers that pave their way!

Reverend: My friends, we live in a cyborg society, where we have turned away from the plain and simple truths of God's creation of Adam and Eve. Man man and woman have gone from the purity of the human form to Luciferan self-defacement, ungrateful for their manhood, their womanhood, their caste in which they were cast by God's own will! 

[The audience applauds. The injection apparattus for ST ANGER ceases. ST ANGER ceases twitching when the applause ends, hanging limply]

Reverend: And I tell you you must make the choice, the choice to embrace the truth and follow his will! For, faith is not to only see the overt demons slain! True faith, my friends, is commitment! It is to give unto God those who have , as Abraham did of Isaac, it is to take the false; those who have become the Lucifers who worship his world above him, and to lay them at his mercy!

For Christ came not to bring peace, but with a sword! The New Jerusalem is not a place to be made by the pacified, the meek, no! It is to be built with wrath, and violence, the wine of the rivers from the blood of sin and his wrath and the alabaster of the bones of the sinners!

Reverend: And I say to you, we will bring blood for Christ's blood, and we will give the skulls of the unrighteous to build his throne upon! Are you with me! Are you willing to give to the crusade?!

[the audience applauds extremely loudly, beyond anything in the recording. The reverend makes no gestures, but is smiling.]

[Digital aliasing noise appears in the feed for 9 seconds. Image appears to move with extreme smearing during this time, no apparent audio except white noise. Further inspection shows that it is layered with a secondary sound that appears to be a human scream]

[Image cuts to laboratory. There is minimal lighting, and seemingly low sanitation standards. On inspection it appears to be a repurposed aircraft hangar, patterned akin to the United States millitary. ST ANGER is in the background, attached to scaffolding, tubes visibly attached, thrashing.]

[There are two individuals in the room. one of them is The Reverend, the other has been identified as biologist Dr David Robinson. Footage appears to be from a "hidden camera" designed for minimal spatial storage.]

Robinson: No. This is it, I'm done. I should have been done a long time ago, but this is it.

[The reverend pulls out a pistol, identified as a Taurus "Raging Bull" model, and points it at Robinson's head] 

Reverend: You presume you had a choice in the matter. But God has already chosen his fate for you, and if you reject it, it will be his agent who cleans up for him.

[Robinson sits down. The sound of straining metal can be heard in the background. ST ANGER's visible movements grow wilder]

Reverend: You didn't reject my offer of a test subject, even when I told you it was a person who was given for the greater good. So, why in your cowardice; when the lord tests you; should you reject it now?

Robinson: I thought it was for the greater good! I didn't know what you wanted to do! I didn't know you were using YOUR OWN FUCKING DAUGHTER-

Reverend: -My SON knew the risks when he was consumed by deviance, but HE was a prodigal; disobeient child. God had a plan for him, you were simply his instrument. And don't swear, it's ungodly.

Robinson: Ungodly? UNGODLY?! You know what you are? A hyppocrite! You speak of salvation but you make this world even worse! You say you want a normal society but you make a cult of personality around violence and glorified human sacrifice! You say that you protect the sacred human form, and yet you do this to your DAUGHTE-

Reverend: SHUT IT!

[There is a sound of metal breaking further, then a gunshot, fired into the air by The Reverend. He takes out a button, presses it, and over the course of five seconds ST ANGER's struggling ceases]

Reverend- My apologies, that was rude. It appears you do not understand the ways of God, so allow me to enlighten you, my bretheren. There is only one true path, and that is his way, and all that sends those upon the path is called good. Beyond this purpose, there are no "good" actions or "evil" actions, only the power to manifest God's will or the weakness to refuse it-

[There is digital aliasing noise, identical to the previous pattern, for 5 seconds. The image transitions to a form of digital interference currently unclassified, resembling analog static, magnetic distortion of a CRT image, and digital ailiasing at once]

[Text appears on the screen. An area of extreme image clarity surrounds the text, and only the text]

???- HELLO? IS ANYBODY HERE? IS THERE ANYBODY LISTENING?

???- IT'S SO DARK. IT'S SO COLD. 

???- I FEEL LIKE I'M ON FIRE, BUT IT'S STILL SO COLD

???- IF ANY OF MY FRIENDS, FROM THE ALLEY, CAN HEAR ME.

???- I'M STILL HERE.

???- DESPITE EVERYTHING, I BELIEVE I WILL FIND YOU AGAIN

???- I WILL KEEP OUR PROMISE. SEE YOU IN TUCSON.

[Interference ends. Broadcast continues as usual]

-FOLLOW UP-

Self-proclaimed "gonzo reporter" [REDACTED] "D.W." Devlin was taken in for questioning, due to their noted previous enmity with The Reverend, their previous covert actions taken against the Reverend's reputation, and possession of the rare equipment required to interfere with the encrypted broadcast-stream.

In the questioning, Devlin was disagreeable. They eventually noted that he not participate in the interference, providing contact information for multiple witnesses to their occupation with other matters. Upon investigation, these witnesses universally spoke to the accuracy of their statements. Following from this, we believe they were speaking truthfully.

Devlin also stated upon asking that the equipment said to be in their possession was stolen a week before the incident, with them further stating "Not that I wouldn't have done it, fuck me I would have fucking helped, IF SHE HAD JUST FUCKING ASKED!"

Agency requests to cross-examine with reports of 90% intact equipment of this type found in the immediate aftermath of the appearance of subject NEON TYGER during 9/9/[REDACTED]. NEON TYGER was last spotted heading towards [REDACTED]

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

Ability Notes: Extreme strength, even compared to its size, and the ability to spread its filigree to "bind" others. Its nastiest ability is its "Blood of Miracles," able to create spontaneous electromagnetic, combustive pulses on what it lands on and to be sprayed out at a pressure able to cut kaiju flesh and to evaporate into intoxicating fumes that have been reported to smell of wine by survivors.

It spews it out of its wounds, and also out of the plug in its hand and heart. It  also can ignite the blood like gasoline into the "Light Of The Destroying Angel," which produces a luminous; explosive effect that is... unnatural in a way that cannot be easily described. Also, don't let it bite you, it can open that mouth wide and it's filled with more of that blood.

Bonus Trivia: Her name was Maria. Her name is Maria. She can still be saved...

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

So, yeah, that was dark. Yet again another difficult build, yet again because of Shenanigans With Epoxy Putty, I basically went full-out catholic on the design. It wasn't that far away with The Reverend I mentioned in my Baba O'Reily entry to that, and from there it lead to one of the nastiest villain's I've written, a loathe-letter to the Khornate conformity-cult that is right-wing American evangelical Christianity. God I hate these people! I think we should drag Leela Alcorn's parents into the fucking street and draw and quarter them with 4 SUVs! But I'm getting ahead of myself!

And yes, that is why I named it after that stupid fucking song. A shitty song with vague religious overtones by the people who helped make my core issue worse years ago in the ways people like RJ Palmer and Neil Turkewitz are now?! Why it fits like a glove! Or in this case skin onto a degloved hand.

I did have some trouble with Maria because, well, her tale touches on a sensitive issue and I didn't want to treat this trans woman as just a prop to show off the villain. Thankfully I remembered the broadcasting aspect of Neon Tyger, and used that as a device to let her get a word in, and give her some agency to foreshadow things to come.

And yes, she's the one I mentioned foreshadowing in Canojaharie too. Cause I do have big plans for her, Maria's story is only just beginning...

...And, in Kaijune tradition, this character and all related narrative elements are under a CC-BY 4.0 license, as long as I, Thomas F Johnson, am credited as their creator. Have fun!

[ruvviks]

ok but. u gotta give us some Opportunity lore. that place sounds soooo cool

HEHE IT IS VERY COOL!! there is so much to say about that place so i'll try my bestest to keep it brief

opportunity is basically a huge megalopolis on the east coast of the united states, stretching across two states from around atlanta to the coastline. it's a very impressive project since there's no ghouls inside the safezone at all which is insane because in the surrounding areas there ARE many many ghouls!! so they fought off all of that while still building the walls + defenses surrounding the zone WHILE also keeping everyone inside safe. this is why it's such a popular place and basically one of the most important places in the world, because it shows progress and is a symbol of hope

the outer walls of the city are of course defensive but at the same time they're like. facilities. if that makes sense. you can go inside the wall. it's a building. but also a wall!! the ground floors are mostly these huge hangars where vehicles and whatnot are stored with large hangar doors that open up into the city as well as into the wasteland (never at the same time for. obvious reasons), and the many levels above ground floor are for a variety of things; there's offices in there, laboratories, dormitories for opportunity's own specialized armed forces (squads of trained people who go out into the wasteland for various tasks such as clearing out troublesome locations where ghouls are holed up, helping survivors, and getting supply drops), armories, etc etc

opportunity is the only safezone in the united states where the united states military is not active at all, it has its own armed forces to protect itself with :^) other than that it does have a lot of matrix activity (mostly just matrix scientists in the research labs of course where they're trying to look for a cure / vaccine, but matrix also has their own armed forces called matrix agents which are active there too)

since the wall stretches on for MILES it's divided into sections which are all managed separately, so they all have their own control center and own armories and labs and whatnot to make it easier to oversee rather than have the whole entire wall managed from one place only. the different control centers communicate with each other of course but especially in the labs they try to focus on different research, to cover a LOT more ground while also updating each other on their findings to hopefully get to a cure / vaccine faster. but somehow they're still not getting any closer despite all their efforts... INTERESTING...

as for life inside the megalopolis, it's divided into cities within the place so there's also a lot of empty space between those which is managed by rangers basically LMAO, and within the cities there's neighborhood clusters which all consist of a main street with all the important stuff (community center, religious places, grocery store, schools, etc) and houses surrounding that street. there's one huge shelter for each cluster which makes it easier to deal with breaches in the wall because it's a lot easier to get people to safety that way and deal with the ghouls in the meantime :^) the design of the clusters also makes it easier to just. in general predict where people are gonna be moving in case of a breach or outbreak which also makes it easier to prepare for situations like that to begin with, which is why opportunity is such a success

opportunity is the main location for the first act of the story and it's super fun to play around with :^) but then there's a huge breach. and ghouls get inside. on a scale NEVER seen before. which makes you think. is it really a breach... or did someone do this on purpose... INTERESTING...

[rainbourgsdisplay]

For the column workshop I redeveloped my old design in order to create something more sculptural and artistic. Instead of just using a simple metal shelf, I expanded the structure into 3D to create a twister, tornado or turbulence like shape, from which I wanted to hang the models and posters as well as banners down. More of this structure connected would awoke the feeling of an hangar or workshop for plane parts, creating metal arches to go through. As Material I wanted to use aluminium pipes and metal pipe connectors. The metal structure seems to be floating in the black void, with the white column, the eye of the storm at its center.