#Military Testing Programs

[dronescapesvideos]

X-15 rocket aircraft. "The Right Stuff". From Pearl Harbor to test pilot, to the Apollo program. A rare interview with Scott Crossfield

VIDEO ➤➤https://youtu.be/x5ALRclpguQ

[k12academics]

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[alexanderwales]

There used to be a plotline that goes something like "you're the best gamer in the world, and game was really just a covert training and recruitment tool, so now you're going to use those skills to fight aliens or whatever". It's more or less gone away, one of those speculative fiction tropes that did not stand the test of time.

I think it's a great premise though, and should start being applied to other hobbies.

"Ma'am, this regional knitting competition was actually a covert operation to find someone to run this machine of the elder gods we found buried in the desert."

"Congratulations on your silver play button, you are hereby inducted into the Paranormal Defense Force, a subsidiary of Youtube and a branch of the United States military."

"Welcome to the Olympic village. If you've made it this far, you're hereby recruited into the international super soldier program, fighting our enemies at the edge of the Crab Nebula."

[manasastuff-blog]

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[probablyasocialecologist]

According to estimates by the Center for Arms Control and Non-Proliferation, published recently in the New York Times, Israel has “at least 90 [nuclear] warheads and enough fissile material to produce up to hundreds more.” President Jimmy Carter, who was in a position to know, said in 2014 that he believed the number is closer to “300 or more, nobody knows exactly how many.” In either case, this is more nukes than another country we’re routinely told to be terrified of: North Korea, which the Center estimates possesses “20 to 30  possibly assembled warheads.” These Israeli warheads can be delivered in a variety of ways, including by U.S.-made fighter jets, by German-made “Dolphin” submarines, and by a variety of missiles—including the Jericho 3, an intercontinental ballistic missile (ICBM) that came online in 2011. Describing the early tests of this missile, Isaac Ben-Israel—who was both a scientist, a retired IDF general, and a member of the Knesset at the time—said in 2008 that “everybody can do the math and understand… that we can reach with a rocket engine to every point in the world.” If that’s not a thinly veiled threat, nothing is.  Of course, we don’t know exactly how many nuclear warheads Israel has, because Israeli leaders refuse to publicly admit they have any. The whole military program is kept in near-total secrecy, under a policy called “strategic ambiguity,” meaning the existence of the bombs is neither confirmed nor denied. Historians believe Israel first got a nuclear weapon in 1967, after secretly refining plutonium at the Dimona facility and running a “full deception campaign” to convince U.S. inspectors the purpose of the reactors there was civilian rather than military. (Ironically, this is exactly the kind of deception Israel now accuses Iran of practicing.) It’s also strongly suspected that Israel tested a nuclear weapon off the coast of South Africa in 1979, in partnership with that country’s apartheid government. It’s called the Vela incident, after the spy satellite that spotted the nuclear flash. But “strategic ambiguity” means there’s little international oversight or accountability involved with any of this, and much of it takes place in violation of international law. Like North Korea and a small handful of other nations, Israel has not signed the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), despite United Nations resolutions that it should do so. It has signed the Limited Test Ban Treaty of 1963, but likely broke it with the South African incident. And most importantly, its leaders refuse to allow inspectors from the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) to access Dimona, so we have no way of knowing what’s going on in there.  Under U.S. law, Israel’s rogue nuclear program means that the United States should not be supplying it with military aid of any kind. The law in question is the International Security Assistance and Arms Export Control Act of 1976, and its language is unambiguous. But for more than 50 years now, U.S. leaders have been willing to ignore their own laws and accept this uneasy state of affairs. A 1993 report by the congressional Office of Technology Assessment, titled “Proliferation of Weapons of Mass Destruction: Assessing the Risks,” sums up the rationale well: “would the United States be willing to sacrifice its relationship with Israel—and possibly risk Israeli national survival—to pressure that state to give up a nuclear arsenal it believes essential to its security?” For successive administrations, the answer has been no.

20 June 2025

[moeitsu]

Explaining the James Logan Howlett (Wolverine) Lore for the new fans :)

I made this as a little cheat sheet for all the new Logan/Wolverine fans, in case you’ve never seen the movies or read the comics. Hopefully it’ll help with your fanfics and understanding his character better <3

Logan is my favorite of the Marvel superhero’s, and he and I go way back….so far back that my Dad dressed up as Wolverine and I as Rogue for Halloween in 2006. So he holds a very special place in my heart.

Lore - Part 2  Wolverine Comics

If you’ve seen X-men Origins: Wolverine, I hate to break it to you, but that backstory is not canon to the X-men universe. The later movies really screwed up the timeline. So the information here is strictly from the comics.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Pre-Adamantium Binding:

His real name is James Howlett, ‘Logan’ is later used as an alias to distance himself from his past.

He was born sometime around 1880, in Alberta Canada.

He is the illegitimate son of Elizabeth Howlett and Thomas Logan. He grew up on the Howlett estate and believed John Howlett was his real father.

His mutant powers first appeared when he was a child. He has accelerated healing, heightened senses, and retractable bone claws.

The trigger was caused by Thomas Logan killing James Howlett. The overwhelming fear and anger made his power manifest, blinded with rage he kills Thomas.

As his biological father dies, he reveals to Logan that he is his true father. The event is deeply traumatizing, and Logan runs away from his family estate. His mother commits suicide shortly after.

Logan has a half brother known as Sabertooth (Victor Creed) who has similar powers to the Wolverine but is more ‘animalistic’

The details vary across the comics but the brothers are always seen as rivals. And often pitted against eachother.

Logan served in WWI, WWII, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War.

He also served in a Canadian military force known as ‘Department H’ that specialized in superhuman affairs. (This was after the experiment, I’ll go into more detail later)

Sometime before the Weapon X program: On Earth-616, Logan had a wife (Itsu) and son in Japan where he was training at the time. They were killed by the Winter Soldier (Bucky Barnes)

Weapon X Program - Adamantium Binding:

The Weapon X program was run by multiple people working in secret for the Canadian government. Originally beginning in 1845, their goal was to experiment on mutants and create their own super-soldiers.

Logan was deceived and manipulated into undergoing the Weapon X experiment. He did not consent to being a test subject.

For some reason the X-Men Origins movie makes it out to be that Logan willingly chose to undergo this process, only to later reveal that he was tricked into doing so.

Before being captured, he was still struggling with his identity, he was close to 100 years old at the time. His life was filled with violence and loss. Making him physically and mentally vulnerable.

He was a prime target for exploitation.

Part of the experiment was to completely erase his memories and replace them with false ones. This allowed them complete control over him.

This also made it difficult for him to recall how he ended up in the program to begin with.

I repeat: they completely wiped his memory. His whole identity was gone.

100 years of memories were gone.

The bonding process turned his entire skeleton and bone claws into indestructible metal.

Due to his regenerative nature, Logan was not given anesthetic or put under for the procedure. It was excruciatingly painful.

Logan worked as a mercenary for private military contractors. He took on these assignments without fully understanding their implications because of his fragmented memory.

Sometime later he became a member of X-Force, a private military unit (affiliated with the CIA) that dealt with incredibly violent operations.

The purpose of the project was to create an unstoppable killing machine. With their end goal being to erase his humanity all together. However Logan’s mental fortitude allowed him to resist the conditioning and make his escape before it was too late.

After escaping, Logan developed a mistrust with authority. And just people in general. He felt deeply betrayed by the Weapon X program. And he struggles with the fear of being used as a weapon.

The escape and aftermath of Weapon X:

After everything Logan went through, the intense trauma and confusion significantly impacted his actions and mindset.

He was left with extreme psychological damage, and behaved more as an animal than a man for the first few years of his freedom. Living in the wilderness of Canada.

Quite literally a feral man. He lost touch of his humanity. Embracing his animalistic abilities, turning him into an apex predator.

Logan has the ability to enter something called “Beserker Rage” which he becomes entirely driven by animalistic instinct. Turning him into an unstoppable force and exerting himself for very long periods of time.

Think of when you see him running on all fours…

Over time, Logan began to regain bits and pieces of his humanity. He was later discovered by Heather and James MacDonald Hudson who took him in and helped him recover physically and mentally.

(Logan actually fell in love with Heather, and James became his best friend. They were the closest thing he had to a family)

After he recovered, he was recruited by the Canadian governments ‘Department H’. They were responsible for a lot of his training and became a key member in Canada’s superhero team: Alpha Flight.

This is where he took on the code name “Wolverine”

His time with Alpha Flight was short lived. And soon he was approached by Charles Xavier, who was looking for mutants to join his X-Men. He recognized Logan’s potential and offered him a place on the team as well as the promise to help him regain his memory.

Logan accepted, and his time with the X-Men marked a critical and significant moment in his life. Under Xavier’s guidance he was able to rebuild his identity and gradually piece together his past. All while fighting for the rights of mutants.

Being part of the X-Men gave him a sense of purpose and direction. Although his main goal had always been to uncover what he had lost, which was himself. He still struggles with trust and relationships, but eventually forms strong bonds with the other X-men.

His past with Weapon X still haunts him. And he has vivid and terrible nightmares about what he had done and what was done to him.

I won’t go into detail about his time with the X-men because that varies a lot across the comics. Just know that he had a love-hate relationship with them, but he ultimately loved them in the end.

Some sad facts about Logan that actually haunt me:

Logan has outlived everyone he ever loved. Family, friends, even his own children. He is so so so lonely.

Immense amount of survivors guilt. He feels unworthy of the life he continues to live.

He suffers from chronic nightmares. Often waking up in a violent and panicked state.

Deep-seated fear of abandonment that goes all the way back to his early childhood. He isolates himself to protect himself from more pain.

Tons of self-loathing. He believes himself to be nothing more than a killer. He thinks he is unworthy of love and happiness.

In the “Old Man Logan” storyline, he is tricked into killing the entire X-Men team. This event haunts him for the rest of his life.

Logan had a long, unrequited love for Jean Gray. He has watched her die multiple times, and each time a piece of him dies with her. On one occasion, he even had to kill her himself.

When he succumbs to “beserker rage” he loses control of himself. And the aftermath horrifies him. He is even afraid of himself at times and one of the reasons why he distances himself from others.

Some happy/soft facts to make up for everything you just read:

Logan is incredibly fatherly at times, often taking younger mutants under his protection and guidance. He becomes a mentor to them and looks out for their well-being.

In one of the comics he takes a young girl (Jubilee) to the mall and followers her around carrying her bags. He loves doting on her and I find it so adorable.

He also teaches another mutant named Kitty how to dance.

In one mission he is tasked with taking care of an infant, Hope. And he is incredibly gentle and tender with her. Cradling her in his arms and being fiercely protective.

He has a deep love and connection with animals. Especially ones that have been mistreated or misunderstood.

Caring for an injured wolf, he nurses it back to health and releases it back into nature.

He also adopts a stray, abused dog at one point.

In one of the timelines, he funded and ran the ‘Jean Gray School for Higher Learning’ He was the headmaster, and was dedicated to protecting and teaching young mutants.

In one scene he literally makes pancakes for all the students. I love him so much.

His relationship with Nightcrawler (Kurt Wagner) is very brotherly. They share alot of respect and understanding for each other, and Nightcrawler often serves as Logan’s moral compass.

His happiest memories are when he was training in Japan. And he has a deep appreciation and admiration for the culture. Taking on the samurai code of honor, and respecting its discipline and humility.

His entire relationship with Laura Kinney (X-23). Essentially his daughter. Taking on a father-figure role for her.

In one of the comics he organizes a birthday party for her, knowing she never had one. He goes all out and it shows just how much he loves her.

Logan has a great sense of humor. Often dry and sardonic, he’s known for his quick wit and playful banter. Which adds a layer of warmth to his otherwise tough persona.

He is very fond of life’s simple pleasures. Which reflects his inner desire for peace and normalcy. He values the little things that make life enjoyable.

His numerous acts of kindness towards strangers. Logan is compassionate at heart.

He doesn’t comfort others with his words, but rather his presence. Logan has a very unique understanding of grief and tries to give others relief in knowing they aren’t alone.

WOW okay I wrote way too much. Tbh I actually cut a ton out of this but if anybody wants a part 2 I’d be happy to share more. Shoutout to my brother for helping me source all this with his comics lol.

If you read all this, you’re a real one. And I’m so glad we’re all witnessing the Logan Howlett Renaissance

[sheepispink]

by popular demand.... another angst no comfort fic. enjoy <3

SUPER SOLDIER!reader x lt ghost

you're just a freak of nature, an inhumane person with no morals and the higherups love to sing praises of your work. he hates it, and so he breaks you, albeit not quite in the way he thought it would happen

PART TWO Series Masterlist

AO3 VER

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

A born and bred weapon, that’s how they described you, the perfect asset crafted only for war. It was all you knew, your entire purpose and your only being. Not many know how you came to be, nor do they care much, just aware that no matter how hard they try, you will always be better than them. Your sight is honed to catch the twitch of a lip, ears listening for the wind passing the wrong way and your hands? They’re primed for the perfect kill, fast reflexes that could catch the smallest fly between your fingertips– a tested and proven fact. You were everything the military dreamed of, the perfect person, tested to beat every flaw on the battlefield. Paraded around to the superiors, praised for your skills by every colonel as they scrutinised you down to the way you fix your helmet.

And what better of a person to test you with than Ghost, the ever elusive and stoic wall, known to be feared on the battlefield just for his mask? 

When you were assigned to him three months ago, he had a vague idea of what to expect, assuming you to be like any other rookie he’s dealt with during his time as a lieutenant. Only likely stronger and probably cockier. So he stepped towards the car, eyes narrowing as he saw you being escorted in.. handcuffs. “What’s all of that for?” He raises a brow, and you only look between him and the man escorting you, oddly expressive with your wide eyes and bright face. Nothing like what the super soldier program described. “Just precautions, sir.” The soldier replies, passing Ghost the keys before climbing back into the truck once more. 

“You’re Lieutenant Ghost? You sure do fit the description..”

 He certainly did not expect your lips to quirk upwards like that, something akin to amusement on your face as you run your eyes up and down his form. For someone trained for war, you sure aren’t trained in respect.  He tugs on your handcuffs, forcing you to stumble into a walk beside him as he turns toward base, not bothering to entertain your clear attitude any longer. “That’s Lieutenant to you, and it’d do you good to think before you speak.” Surprisingly, you only laugh that off, and he hates it, used to rookies bending under his whim, especially stuck-up ones like you.

 Mornings start early, the second he wakes, so do you, although you head to the gym first whilst he goes to breakfast— you’re too proud to show your face, he thinks, and they probably have you on some special diet. When he finally joins you in the gym, it’s an hour later, and you still haven’t broken your morning run, keeping a steady pace. He doesn't bother speaking, and you don't wait for him to ask, walking over for your usual spar. It’s the usual every day, the way he doesn't let you get a single move in, constantly blocking off any move from you. He says it’s just for training, scoffs when you can’t push yourself back up even if you've told him that you’ve been designed for speed more than strength. You don’t complain; in some weird robotic way, you always pick yourself back up and carry on going.

This continues for the next few months; every mission he only feels his gut twist and turn as you kill without a second thought, his training only making you a better soldier and not a struggling mess like anyone else would be. It’s worse when you walk up to him, head tilted in expectancy. Your face is  young, unlike your eyes, but you have a body too young to contain a killer. Every time he looks at you, he sees a rookie soldier, because that’s what your age usually is–it’s what you should’ve been. All he can really feel is disgust though, especially the inhumane way you smile after a job well done. How can you find joy in the copper smell that remains after you exit a room? How can you stand there and take any order dealt? It’s unnatural, and it makes him sick to think about.

“That’s enough.” He says firmly, heavy boots entering the room you had just cleared by yourself. He initially wasn’t sure on letting you do it on your own, but the scene of the bodies piled by your feet is proof enough of your capability. “So? Did I do well?” It sickens him how your lips begin to curve upwards, waiting for some sort of praise, some affirmation that he promised himself he’d never give, especially to you. “This was unnecessary.” He scoffs, pulling a knife out of a dead man’s throat and tossing it back to you, eyes raking over your bloodied form— never your own crimson. “You’re a mess.” He takes his radio, clicking the button as he gives the all clear and the rescued hostages start filing through, escorted by British soldiers. They all stare, right at you, their eyes piercing into your skin.

“It’s cold..” You murmur as you’re pushed outside, the cold air tingling your skin as he scoffs, crossing his arms firmly over his chest. He doesn't look too entertained, at least he looks grumpier than usual but at least he’s quieter than the usual times he’s angry with you. “Well, maybe if you could control yourself the hostages wouldn't crap themselves when they saw you.” He can't believe how you can just give him that oblivious look— he knows you’re not stupid, so why do you even try to act that way? 

“Ghost?” He forces down the urge to roll his eyes up at you, half expecting you to ask for a damn heater at this point because of the torturous weather. He bets the higher ups would get mad at him if he ever tried duct taping your mouth, but the thought is tempting nonetheless. “What?”

“It’s my birthday this Saturday.” You begin, still staring at him from your position against the opposite wall. A helicopter whirrs nearby, slowly approaching for exfil. “Captain said I could have some time to celebrate.” 

“So?” He nearly scoffs right then and there, looking at you with a raised brow. What? Are you trying to show off all your perks of being the best there is? He wouldn't be surprised if you had a mountain of gifts, or even given a medal for something. He doesn't know why you bother hiding it, he sees your shiny uniform every mission; he doesn't need a reminder of the favour you hold. Knowing you, they’d give you the whole weekend off while he still had paperwork to fill in.

“I was wondering if you’d come. The Captain said you’d be free.” He rolls his eyes, and lets out a long sigh, of course Price left him to babysit this devil on his off hours. He wouldn't be half surprised if he walked into your ‘party’ to see you receive some freakish torture device— it seemed like a gift you’d want. Likewise, he doubts it’s his scene anyway, with a bunch of soldiers likely hanging around wherever you plan to hold it.

“Sure, whatever kid, I’ll come.”

He reaches for a radio as the announcement of exfil echoes through, and you follow behind him as he leads you out of the building, only stopping when you step towards the helicopter. “You don't come in the helicopter, kid. Got a whole truck there for you.” Another soldier comes, leaving Ghost to walk away from you whilst you’re roughly pulled back, pushed into the back of a truck where you’re handcuffed in, left to the darkness to ride the journey alone. 

He lets out a long sigh as he sits down finally, tired out of his mind, and now he has to deal with you even longer than he should.

————-

Saturday. You wake up early, five am. The gym is the first stop; you’re not allowed to eat until you earn the right. There’s no sparring on weekends, so you do a couple of exercises to make up for it, even if you’re not feeling as good as usual. It never matters.

Mess hall. The same table, the same breakfast— like clockwork you sit down at exactly seven am, the tray scraping against something. It’s a piece of paper, as always. You’ve stopped paying mind to it anymore, deciding it’s not best to waste any moment of your short-lived time on the insults scribbled across it. The porridge is cold, the chef behind the counter had swatted your scratched hands away before serving it for you, leaving a large gap at the top of the bowl. Fruit; it doesn't taste as good when you get the last apple, but it provides good nutrients for you and some sugars. Water; you’re not allowed coffee often because too much could damage you. That's what the scientists always instructed you anyway.

Whispers echo around the hall as you sit on your own, menial conversations occurring on the table behind you, others laughing near the door. There’s never another chair on this table, especially when you’re sitting here already. A few lower rank soldiers ogle you from a nearby table, probably the same age as you if not older. Their eyes consume with jealousy and, as you step up to place the tray away, you don't miss the hard bread thrown at your back. The paper falls into the bin too, along with the apple seeds.

It’s still not time yet, only fifteen minutes past nine, so you head down to the track to work on improving your time, just like you do every day. Two hours are spent before it’s almost lunchtime and only now do you decide to shower, slipping into the communal area. You place your things into the locker, a few soldiers giving you sharp stares because of the marks across your back, the pin pricks and slices through the flesh. When you return from your shower, you find your clothes have been tossed across the floor, your shoes shoved into one of the toilets. Never a trace of the culprit though, and never caught in your sight.

Before you go to lunch, you sit outside and scrub your shoes down, using an old rag to clean off the muck that was purposefully placed on it, not that it’s particularly much cleaner afterwards. You arrive to lunch late, or well later than the expected time, but it’s always the usual for you. There aren't many options left, and the chef glares at you saying the soldiers over there already grabbed your share for you—why are you being greedy? Don't you get enough? The first time you walked over to the soldiers and asked for your share, but this time you decided not to, wanting to keep your clothes clean today. So you take a bottle of water and some fruit, walking back outside again.

It’s quiet out here, a nice respite from the many soldiers that bustle around the corridors, and you bite into your fruit quietly. It’s still cold, albeit a lot warmer than the other day— British weather had a tendency to never be quite predictable. A fox creeps out the bushes, one eye shut, and it’s limp evident as it sniffs around for anything of use. You had heard it's cries in the early hours of the morning, though you have no idea what may have attacked it. You lay your palm out, the banana peeled, and it steps forward, hesitant before taking half with a snap of its jaw. Laying down the rest, it starts to eat more, and you smile at the sight.

Unfortunately it’s immediately startled by a booming voice, one that you recognise as part of the taskforce— Sergeant Soap Mactavish You’ve never met him before, but you know who he is, just like the rest of the taskforce. They always pass by the corner of your eye, never meeting you head on. It’s almost like some sort of curse is placed upon you. You watch from your spot behind the tree, eyes peeking past as the four of them walk out of base and towards a car, your lieutenant, and the captain included. Maybe they were going out to lunch or something. Glancing down at your watch, the time is twelve fifty, and you silently come to the conclusion that they’ll only be out for a bit, hopefully coming back soon.

It’s two o clock, and you’re sitting in your room. The captain told you on Tuesday that you could have only two hours off for your birthday plans, which roughly gave you enough time to probably watch a movie with Ghost. He did say he’d try to make it as well, but he was a busy man so you had reassured him that it was quite alright since you’d have the lieutenant anyway. Since yesterday, you hadn’t thought much about what you could watch with the Lieutenant, but you’d eventually decided to watch whatever he liked, seeing as you could count on one hand all the movies you’ve seen. Thankfully, the captain told you last Sunday he'd organise some snacks for you, and maybe even a cake if you were good for the rest of the week, so right now was a waiting game.

A long one.

You reassured yourself at two thirty that they were likely just running late, even peeking out into the hallway a few times in case they couldn't find your room for whatever reason. By two fifty you were confused, and it was safe to say by three twenty you were feeling hopeless. But still, you knew they likely had a reason, they must. So you walk down the corridor, your feet unsteady for once, and head back into the main building, looking around rather frantically compared to your usual stature. 

What you didn't expect was to hear laughter dance down the corridor, instantly making you peek around the wall. It’s Soap and Gaz, holding a bunch of drinks in their hands, and they walk, chuckling to themselves. You could ask them, but something stops you, a weird feeling that stabs at your gut, and instead you hide behind the pillar, listening. 

“Today’s gonna be good– I mean drinks, nachos, and pizza? I’m gonna be stuffed.” Gaz laughs, the bottles in his hands clinking against each other as he adjusts them.

“Get ye own nachos, they’re mine.” Soap returns, elbowing the other lightly, and they both snicker, knowing Soap’s appetite. “Hey, didn’t Price say he had to organise something for that kid? Y'know, the super soldier Ghost works with.”

“He probably handled it already, otherwise he wouldn’t have stayed to grab the food with Ghost. But shouldn’t Ghost be going?”

Before he can respond, Ghost’s gruff voice rips out into the corridor, pizza boxes stacked high in his hands. “Hurry up, the games are gonna bloody start. They’ll survive with someone else.”

Who? There’s no ‘someone else’, there never has been, he knows that— you think he knows that. You thought he knew you; you thought you were doing good. Your feet stumble as you turn around and head down the opposing corridor, not sure when you placed your hands over your ears to protect them from anything more. It’s the first time in years you’ve felt your eyes water, something inside you snapping in a way that shouldn't, that can't, and you’re terrified by this revelation. You’re no longer a super soldier, no longer the best around, no longer the one they parade around— you’re another failed experiment.

—————

PART TWO Series Masterlist

buy me a kofi :)

[apas-95]

Did you know that NASA engineers considered the failure rate of some critical shuttle parts to be about 1 in 100 (significantly greater than what NASA upper-management considered the failure rate to be, and what was considered at all acceptable by the certification process)?

Do you know that NASA engineers currently have no idea how many rocket launches the next mission in the Artemis program (in 2 years!) is meant to involve, because the mission plan relies on SpaceX being contracted to deliver a supply of cryogenic fuel to the crewed Orion (™ Lockheed-Martin) capsule in orbit - a procedure that 1: has never been attempted before on any spacecraft, let alone the Orion™ capsule, not even in uncrewed technology demonstration flights; and 2: would require an as-of-yet unknown number of SpaceX 'Starship' launches, because said vehicle does not actually exist at time of writing?

Did you know they're planning on using this 'starship' as the crewed lander? A design for a lunar ascent vehicle, that is, that does not use hypergolic fuel, that relies on a swing-out crane as the only entry and egress point? During the original moon landings, the LEM had so many redundant methods to make sure it got astronauts off the surface of the moon, that in the most absurd, extreme case, where every single mechanism fails, there's a procedure trained into the astronauts to climb around the outside of the capsule, take a pair of bolt-cutters from the equipment box, physically cut the couplings holding the capsule to the lander stage, and take off to get home. Artemis' proposed lander, on the other hand, is planned to be a vehicle whose design didn't even include heatshields until it was realised it would obviously need heatshields, which are ceramic tiles bolted after-the-fact directly through the steel hull, because SpaceX had decided to mass-produce the original-design hull sections all at once for all the 'starships' first, before doing any integrated testing.

We're seeing the exact attitude that led to the shuttle disasters not being prevented now expressing itself in (and even through) the Artemis program, a project pushed harder and faster through the gates than it should be, by a government (and NASA administration thereby) desperate to advance the eponymous Artemis Accords (that goes unsigned by China, Russia, and much of the world) and reneg on all previous space charters that onsidered ownership, commercial exploitation, and military usage of space forbidden. Something bad is going to happen, and it's going to happen for the sake of SpaceX and the military-industrial complex at large.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

(back again, passed all my midterms and finally getting antidepressants😝, this is a VERY Johnny centric chapter)

tw: depression, lotta angst but aftercare this time, mentions of neglect, courting, mentions of bullets, being shot, medical treatment, rehabilitation, forced cuddles (but needed), hitting head against stuff, lots of whining, biting, scratching

It was wrong, he knew it.

He hadn’t been there originally, too cooped up in a sterile medical room, the harsh, stinging scent of a scent blocking spray burning his nostrils till he couldn’t smell anything at all. Mushy food he could barely shove down his throat, only tolerating it so they didn’t shove a feeding tube down his throat. Lukewarm water that tasted suspiciously like painkillers.

His head throbbed, the bullet having already been pulled out as soon as he was wheeled into the emergency room, doctors crowding around, yelling, ordering. Too much noise, in his opinion.

Especially when there was already so much going on in his head.

Everything had been fine, until it hadn’t been. He’d heard of a replacement on his team for him, temporary, they’d said, because of his medical suspension. He only had to get through a few months of physical therapy and a few medical tests before being thrown back onto the field.

He originally hadn’t known what to think. Simon had come visited him, told him of the strange alpha there, how quiet they were, how meek. The Ghost seemed to see it as a weakness, but Simon almost talked like he appreciated it, regardless of his annoyance.

“Tryin’ to replace you, well it isn’t working.”

He’d grumbled, making sure not to say anything the camera would pick up. Any mention of something potentially “triggering” could set Soap off, he’d been told. If he said anything toeing the line, he could be removed or banned.

Johnny had been intrigued at first, at the thought of a new alpha, seeing as there weren’t many in the SAS program. Especially not an American, on a British team. His thoughts were filled with the Southern twangy accent, “soda”, “chips” instead of crisps, arguments over soccer and football and which was which.

But now, months after the initial incident with Makarov, he’d recovered just in time to watch everything crumble and to try and help clean up the mess. You didn’t know him. Maybe that would give him a fresh start with you, maybe you’d like it.

He was still fucked in the head, voices whispering until he’d hush them, snappier, a bit angry at how much space he took up, but he supposed that you might be a bit fucked in the head too, just in the opposite way than him.

But as he’d crept up to your room in the middle of the night, slowly cracking the door open, he still felt it was wrong. There was no medical expert here if something went wrong. This was his riskiest bomb defusing yet, it felt like an all or nothing situation.

The room was practically dripping with a sour and pungent smell of distress and the unmistakable scent of depression, the feeling seeming to press down on him like a heavy weight, as if he was hundreds of miles underneath the sea, nearly being crushed by the pure atmosphere.

As he closed the door behind him with a small click, he heard rustling, the sound of those uncomfortable paper textured blankets the military provided, and a little sniff, before it stopped. He stood still as could be, trying not to wake you just yet, hoping he would be able to make more out of you when his eyesight adjusted.

Only the tiniest sliver of moonlight snuck through the small window in the room, though it was covered by a blanket. Gaz had updated him on the syndrome, how it meant no bright lights.

Soap didn’t consider himself a genius, but he didn’t think it was a great idea to just submerge you into complete darkness and sight deprivation with no warning. Especially not while you were struggling.

He rolled from the ball of his feet to the sides, heavy boots not even on, only his red and green socks that his sister-in-law had bought him for secret Santa one year donning his feet as he moved quietly. Carefully grasping the blanket covering the window, he brushed it aside a little more, more gentle light flooding the room as a beam landed on near the side of the bed, allowing him a bit more vision of you.

And when he finally turned and managed to see you?

His heart dropped.

Your eyes were puffy from crying, corners red and eyelids tightly shut as if to block everything out. Your lips were downturned, almost as if whining even in sleep as you seemed to pant somehow quietly. As if not to alarm or alert anyone despite your own suffering.

What really got him was the way you were curled up, arms and legs wrapped tightly around in a ball as if to protect your vital organs, your paper thin blanket maneuvered around as if to resemble a nest. He could barely see you, considering you were underneath the bed. Hidden.

The blanket seemed to resemble the nest you’d been kept from entering, and shunned from by his own pack.

He couldn’t help the whine that slipped out of him at his own distress of seeing you, you clearly distraught, hair greasy and tangled, clothes dirty, not even having enough energy to care for yourself. If only the scent of your emotions in this room alone had been enough to almost crush him, how close were you to being smashed between the weight pressing in on you?

Or had you already been crushed, and none of them had even cared enough to notice?

A flood of anger burner through his veins hotter than any pain he’d experienced on the job as he saw the clear signs of his pack’s neglect of you. Simon had visited him multiple times a week, but hadn’t even tried with you. Price had pulled the strings to get him better food in the med wing (even if it had still been bad), but he hadn’t cared enough to even provide proper materials for you to make a faux nest? Gaz had brought him sketchbooks and helped him feel comfortable in physical therapy, but hadn’t even tried to court you with any of the special gifts he had done with Price when first joining?

It was unfair. Unbelievable, to think the grown men who had done so much, saved so many lives, sacrificed everything to save the world, wouldn’t even give up their pride if it meant welcoming a new member to the team.

It was discriminatory, to dislike you purely because you were an alpha. It was unfair to dislike you purely because you were a replacement.

He watched you squirm a bit, maybe reacting to his scent unconsciously. He knew he couldn’t smell the best, not when he had been around a sterile hospital for months. Maybe the cocoa butter Vaseline that the physical therapist had used on him would cover it a bit, though.

He crept closer, hand reaching out, before pulling back again as he hesitated, shifting onto his knees in front of your bed, before just laying down on his side to see you under it. His breathing grew a bit shaky due to anxiety as he reached out, brushing his hand against yours, watching your brows furrow unconsciously as you mumbled something.

It was only when he slipped his full hand into your surprisingly calloused palm that your eyelids fluttered, and you jolted awake, yanking away from him with your teeth bared back, a wild animalistic fear in your eyes. A low growl that reverberated through his bones came out, and he understood in that moment that you weren’t just a bomb he had to defuse.

You were a high value target that wasn’t afraid to fight back, not just some stationary object he wanted to fix. This wasn’t a defusing mission, it was more a complicated stakeout, where all he could do was make careful moves, waiting for you to take the initiative.

However, as you pulled harshly away from him, your head reared back and slammed into the metal frame above you. A pained whining groan slipped out, and Soap couldn’t take it anymore.

Mission be damned, stakeout be damned, his instincts got the better of him yet again. The exact reason he’d taken a bullet to the head. But he found that he would risk taking another bullet to the head if he could just comfort you, let you know that you weren’t alone, that he understood.

It was a worthy risk, in his opinion.

He grabbed part of your shoulder, putting his foot against the bed frame and lifting up, and pulled you right out from under.

His arms wrapped around you, even as you struggled and hissed, desperately trying to mask the pain in your scent with what he could tell was poorly produced anger. The littlest hint of comfort he could smell, that seemed to lighten the atmosphere just a bit.

He held on, even as you clawed at him, and bit his arms (which he might’ve enjoyed, just a little bit), he held on. He held on because he’d always had people holding onto him, Price, Gaz, and Ghost, with their vice grip that held him and their pack together.

They had failed to hold onto you, so he would.

And eventually, you stopped struggling. You went a little bit limp, whined a bit more as your head must’ve been throbbing (he knew how that felt), before finally, finally leaning the slightest bit into him.

Johnny didn’t need to be told that the next few months would be difficult. That the pack would struggle and go through hardships they hadn’t yet faced before. Hell, it had already been strained since his injury. He had gone through months of rehabilitation, and still wasn’t the exact same.

But as he lied on the cold floor with you in his arms, leaning just the tiniest bit into him, he knew that the both of you could heal together, even if from completely different things.

At least he was drowning with you, instead of being alone.

(idk how to feel about this tbh, I think I put too much symbolism since I wrote it in one take while in a mood, but I wanna play roblox so just gonna post this and dip)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

[reality-detective]

New Development in the Helicopter Crash 👇

This gets more interesting 👇

Her social media has been scrubbed 👇

A White House aide for Biden 👇

Graduated with a Biology degree in 2019 from North Carolina Chapel Hill... Where the gain of function that created Covid started.

Let's löök at her parents 👇

REBECCA LOBACH was the DAUGHTER of DAVID LOBACH (Duke University Medicine; Elimu Informatics; HHS) and ELIZABETH LOBACH (New Regency).

DAVID FRANKLIN LOBACH

*DUKE UNIVERSITY SCHOOL OF MEDICINE, Chief of Division Clinical Informatics, Associate Consulting Professor

*DUKE FAMILY MEDICINE PROGRAM, Endocrinology Consultant

*ELIMU INFORMATICS, VP of Health Informatics

*CDSiC PROJECT, Elimu Informatics (Co-Investigator)

💥NOTE 1: Duke University is run by Trustees Chairman and Mossad asset, Laurene Sperling, who is also the Chairman of Combined Jewish Philanthropies (CJP) and is married to Thermo Fisher (PCR TESTS) Lead Director, Scott Sperling. Thermo Fisher = Temasek (Singapore).

💥NOTE 2: Duke University School of Medicine is led by Dean, Nancy Andrews, who is the Chairman of Wellcome Burroughs (Wellcome/Farrar), who sits on the Board of Directors at Novartis and is a Senior Advisor to NIH Executive Leadership (Anthony Fauci).

💥NOTE 3: Duke Kunshan is a PARTNERSHIP between Duke University and Wuhan University and it officially opened its doors in 2013, which is the SAME YEAR that DAVID RUBENSTEIN (Duke Capital Partners, Carlyle Group, Booz Allen Hamilton, CFR, Brookings, etc.) became the CHAIRMAN of the DUKE UNIVERSITY BOARD OF TRUSTEES.

*Both David Rubenstein and Laurene Sperling are CURRENTLY on the ADVISORY BOARD of DUKE KUNSHAN UNIVERSITY in WUHAN, CHINA.

Duke University is arguably the MOST IMPLICATED SCHOOL IN AMERICA with regard to the COVID PANDEMIC CONSPIRACY and the CREATION & RELEASE of COVID… and COVERUP of COVID’S ORIGINS.

Her Mother 👇

ELIZABETH LEE LOBACH

NEW REGENCY PRODUCTIONS (Development), Writers’ Assistant, Office Assistant, Analyst & Script Editor

*TWENTIETH CENTURY FOX (Post-Production), Office Assistant, Research & Analysis.

💥NOTE: New Regency Productions was FOUNDED by ISRAELI SPY, ARNON MILCHAN, one of NETANYAHU’S CLOSEST OPERATIVES and ISRAEL’S MOST LEGENDARY SPIES. He was involved in helping ISRAEL STEAL AMERICAN NUCLEAR SECRETS several decades ago.

Moving on 👇

This is the man that founded the company where helicopter pilot, Rebecca Lobach’s mother works…

Nothing to see here 👇

Rebecca Lobach was still in ROTC training in 2018.

How is she flying government continuity missions in a Blackhawk in Washington DC 6 years later as a captain? And how did she afford a $520,000 house two years into the military? 👇

Rebecca Lobach, involved in DCA crash, served as a White House social aide under Biden.

She escorted Ralph Lauren through the White House when he was among those awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by former fake President Joe Biden. 👇

This is a screen grab from the FAA’s Airman registry which is available to the public it shows that Rebecca Marie Lobach did not currently hold an FAA medical which is required to have military certificates converted over to FAA certificates meaning she lost her medical…? 👇

Not sure what she ‘destroyed’.. but she doesn’t look fit to me! 👇

A statement from:

Art Halvorson @ArtHalv....

As a former military instructor, I'll tell you that Rebecca Lobach in NO WAY should have been the pilot in command on that flight.

500 hours in 5 years is Inconceivable! 👇

I think there’s more to this tragic incident than DEI hiring, but it was because of DEI policies that Rebecca was on board that helicopter and there are now 67 people dead. 🤔

[joyswonderland1108]

“How on earth is JK hanging up on Tae somehow Jimin's fault?”

JK hangs up on Tae → Tae looks mildly annoyed → Jimin breathes in the same time zone → suddenly it's his masterplan all along 😭 “He manipulated Jungkook with his smirk” girl be serious.

I— You know what? Nevermind. Never. Mind. I've seen the circus and I don’t need front row seats today. These people will see Jungkook unplug the sun and blame the lack of sunlight on Jimin’s aura or something. “He’s too radiant and Jungkook couldn’t take it 🥺” — girl what.

BUT ANYWAY. How are we doing today, fam? How are we feeling? Because Echo just dropped.

And if you’re not listening to it like your life depends on it… what are you doing??? Rent is due, and so is your streaming effort.

Here are two playlists I’m using to stream — because we support our kings with views AND taste. Hopefully they help you too.

Now let’s talk about Jin’s live. Or as I like to call it: The Groupchat Leak None of Us Knew We Needed. Because excuse me, what was THAT? 193 comments from the members???

I swear they either:

Accidentally dropped the groupchat into the public zone,

Are now testing a new social experiment called “Parasocial Group Messaging,”

Or they simply forgot we weren’t supposed to be there.

Honestly? Not complaining. Inject every chaotic interaction directly into my bloodstream. Jin saying “get out of my comments” while simultaneously being soft with them?? Peak hyung behavior. I just know he texted the actual groupchat later like, “Next time use KakaoTalk LIKE NORMAL HUMAN BEINGS.”

Now onto the part of the regularly scheduled program where we collectively slap some sense into the jobless haters: "Jikook are never together" “Where is the proof?” “Are you delusional?”

OH I DON’T KNOW. Maybe they listened to a whole song together? Not just any song. "Don't Say You Love Me". Like… really think about the emotional damage in that title and then imagine Jikook choosing that as their bonding soundtrack. I’m not okay, thanks for asking (I'm being delulu leave me alone!!)

And what’s Jungkook doing? Oh just… talking on the phone. And laughing. Right next to Jimin. As if they share one braincell and can’t operate it when they’re apart. So sorry for having eyes and ears and a functioning memory.

Let’s talk about the inside jokes. The bane of every Jikooker's existence. “It looks good on you.” “No, no, it looks good on you.”

✨STAAAAHP✨ I’m tired of being left out like a side character in a K-drama who gets five lines and a heartbreak arc. WHAT LOOKS GOOD ON WHO? IS THIS ABOUT CLOTHES OR SOMETHING ELSE? Give us the context, I’m begging. These two act like we were THERE for the original joke. Like we weren’t just trying to eat our snacks and mind our business before they decided to gaslight us with cryptic matching dialogue.

And THEN. Jungkook just decides that Hopeminkook can carry on the convo post-live like this was a planned coffee chat. Bro straight up ghosted but gave them permission to “go on.” 😂

Meanwhile, I can feel Jin’s soul leaving his body. You just know he hit the groupchat with: “Get. Out. Of. My. Comments.” And Hobi responded with 10 emojis and Jimin sent a picture of his elbow or something equally cursed.

But now, for the highlight of today’s unhinged lesson in Jikookology: DULPO and NETPO.

For the confused among us (it’s okay, you’re loved), let me educate you real quick:

In Korean, numbers go like this:

1 = 하나 (hana)

2 = 둘 (dul)

3 = 셋 (set)

4 = 넷 (net)

Let me explain based on what i know and what i understood :

In the South Korean military artillery units, soldiers are divided into tank/artillery crews, each given a number. And because Korean is a language of poetic chaos and nicknames, this turns into:

Jungkook, an artilleryman (포수 / posu), was assigned to tank crew number 2 → hence the name DULPO (둘포): "둘 (dul)" = two + "포 (po)" = artillery/gunner

Jimin? He was assigned to tank crew number 4, and naturally, his squad is NETPO (넷포): "넷 (net)" = four + "포 (po)" = artillery/gunner

Not just that — Jimin casually decided to let us know that He is the "ACE" of Netpo, and I’m sorry but ??? We now have ranks within nicknames?? You’re telling me this man is out there acing the military?? Can you imagine Jimin just glowing under camouflage paint and being the top gunner in his squad like it's the finale of a K-drama?

Now..

🕵️‍♂️ BTS Mafia Game Chaos (aka Jikook & Hobi being extra on the timeline)

It all starts with Jimin, just casually asking:

지민: 마피아 하실? “Are you going to play the mafia game?”

Enter Jungkook, 1 minute later, saying:

JK: 눈치게임 1 “Timing game 1”

(He’s referring to a Korean timing game called 눈치게임 (Noonchi Game) where everyone tries to say a number in sequence without overlapping someone else's number — like 1, 2, 3, etc. — but if two people say the same number, they lose.)

Then Hobi shows up and drops:

hobi: 즈2 = "2" in a playful/slangy way

Then Jimin says:

지민: 이 = "2" (again)

And finally Jungkook, being over it already, says:

JK: 아 중복 너무 많다 “Ah, there are too many overlaps” 😩

So basically, this was:

Jimin starting chaos with a mafia game suggestion

Jungkook turning it into a Noonchi Game

Everyone yelling "2" like chaotic toddlers

Jungkook realizing they’ve all failed the game instantly because of too many overlaps

TL;DR:

JK hangs up on Tae and that’s somehow Jimin’s fault (???)

Jin’s live was a groupchat simulation gone rogue

Jikook listened to an emotionally devastating song together and smiled through it like psychopaths

We got soft bickering, synchronized laughter, mysterious inside jokes, and now apparently, gaming lore to study

Jimin = Netpo ACE. JK = Dulpo Support Main (probably)

I need a nap

Anyway, stream Echo!!! And don't forget our boys only have about 3 weeks and 4 days left to be with us again!!!

[darkriallet]

Here's our next patient

Rick is an 'Adventure' android. Created within the military androids program, his main task is to test chambers with high mortality rate. Lasers, turrets, obstacle courses. Everythings like that goes through him and lets the scientist know how successfully have the tests been modelled.

After the incident with neurotoxin Rick has escaped completely disappearing from radars. This android will always seek new adventures and deadly tests.

(Wheatley is here for clarity)

[staying-elive]

You know, the MCU had so many great opportunities to really highlight Sam's pararescue background and flesh out his origin story on-screen.

I'll forever be sad we haven't gotten any flashbacks to him rescueing people in his EXO 7 wings.

Was he still serving when Tony was captured by the Ten Rings people? Could he have been frustrated at potentially getting pulled from his unit so that he and Riley could try to extract some billionaire weapons manufacturer.

Could've shown the times he butted up against authority, where he felt that following the orders given were the wrong move and wasn't right. (Something that tied into "Well, the number of people around here giving orders is down to zero, so yeah.")

Also, if Sam's EXO program was around before Iron Man 1, then the air force already possessed that kind of flight technology. Was the EXO 7 also Stark tech back then? Or was it developed by the Air Force itself? Did Rhodey know about it? Was he involved in its development as head of the weapons R&D sector? (I headcanon yes, cos I'd like history between Sam and Rhodey.)

Were the wings developed as a weapon/offensive measure first before they were then used for rescue purposes? (the military cynic in me says yes) Could this have been another interesting ethical dilemma Sam thought about.

Or maybe it could've been revealed that after field testing the EXOs in rescue ops, the air force was getting reckless with them and started sending Sam and Riley out on more dangerous offensive missions, and that's when Riley was killed (routine op was just the cover story).

Could've really hammered home the theme of Sam distrusting the government and that they will always end up using any weapon (or symbol) that's given to them. And he didn't want to be used again.

Anyway, this post got really away from me! This started as me thinking 'Gee I wish Marvel showed more of his backstory...the emblem of the 58th rescue squadron is LITERALLY an angel with its arms holding the weight of the world and shielding it with its wings. And if that ain't our angel Sam then...'

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Forty Seven - Emotional Responses

Part Forty Six

———

MECHA Recruit Enlistment, is the initial rounds of testing and preparation pilots have to go through upon being selected or enrolled with the program. MECHA’s main headquarters is located not far from Macon, Georgia; in what is now registered as MECHA county. Population, unknown.

All prospective pilots are sent to specific MECHA testing centers for the initial written test or tests depending on the person's aptitude in initial testing. 

If the prospective pilots get half or more of the questions correct on the written exam, then they will move onto the next phase. If they get serenity-fiver percent correct they will be placed in the second written exam for non-striker class, if they pass with more than half correct they will move on to the next phase.

The next phase involves the transportation to Georgia, then physical compatibility testing.  If passed with a fifty percent or higher, the person will move onto pilot training and be given their piloting number. The number is based on the organization and the time in which you enter the organization.

Each prospective pilot will go through a full medical, dental, and psychiatric screening before being assigned to a group. Depending on the group changes the potential for class assignment down the line. 

On the first day after compatibility testing, the new pilots are measured and tested for their future implants, along with assistant suits. They are given a basic outfit to wear if one was not brought with them, which is more often than not the case. All pilots are vaccinated and are placed on a strict diet until surgery day.

Basic essentials are provided. 

From there they spend a majority of their time in simulators, classes, and in physical training to prepare them for life as a pilot. If they are able to handle all of these events after thirty days, then implants are installed.

Training continues for another three months before the new pilot is assigned a suit, a region, and a class. All are dependent on test scores, compatibility score, ability, and comprehension.  

Often compared to military regulations, the transition from military pilot to civilian pilots has been deemed easier than the transition from civilian to pilot. Less than five percent of military personal in the US transfer from military based programs to private ones, unless compatibility testing was ran by Doctor Shockwave.

At which point the number rapidly increases to eighty-seven percent. 

As of this moment he has been deemed the most comprehensive in compatibility testing in the United States, hired by government contract for their bi-annual testing.

MECHA rinses compatibility testing monthly. 

—

Blood was rushing in his ears and it felt like the conference room was closing in on them all, everything was too much, the tears were building up behind his visor and it wasn’t like he could reach up to wipe them away without everyone noticing. Damn these suits, damn having to pretend. 

Mirage’s grip on his hand and Prowl’s on his shoulder were the only things keeping him grounded for the moment. Whether from the blabbering of the scientists or the intense staring of Prime and Protector, Hound felt like he needed it. That court marshal feeling had yet to fade. 

The room wasn’t exactly quiet, the scientists were bickering to each other, though he supposed it was probably more so hypothesizing. That was worse, that made Hound’s skin crawl. Back in testing, back in the hands of those who wanted to tear him apart and rebuild him in their ideas. Fingers flexed in this holds on him.

His grip on Mirage’s hand stayed tight, clammy, tightening some even as their glances slid to him. The buzzing ringing in his ears as his throat tightened, anguish and fear, stinking fear he hadn’t felt in ages. Now, there were four people staring at him, through him.

Yeah, this was going to be a problem.

Shifting a bit, he clears his throat painfully, “I,” His voice almost faltered, “I apologize again, but I feel as if we’ve wandered off topic?” The scientists stopped mid sentence, glancing at each other before finally shifting their glances towards Megatron and Optimus. Hound sagged slightly in his seat, hand flexing slightly in Mirage’s grasp, his other fighting against his leg. 

The Prime and Protector were having a silent discussion, eyes flicking back and forth while discussing over comms. Mirage’s grip shifted slightly, drawing his attention away from the ever growing tension in the room. The look on Mirage’s face was soft and caring, even as his heart raced it beat hard at least once, “Hound, it’s alright.”

Slowly, the fuzzy electric sensation started to fade and he nodded a bit, though the choking sound from across the table had him whipping around, heart racing again. Hair sticking up against his helmet, the static feeling returning with a vengeance, gripping at his skin like sweat. It was awful, it hadn’t been noticeable at first and now it was all he could focus on. 

Optimus shifted in his seat, glancing towards Megatron again before nodding slowly, “I apologize Hound,” he clears his throat briefly, “We came here to discuss the future plan of action, not everything as we have been. Although we should discuss your concerns at another time,” Hound knew it wasn’t meant to be dismissive, but it certainly felt that way.

Sweeping his failure under the rug.

”Prowl, if you could examine the hard drive Hound retrieved? I think it could bring much needed light on the situation at hand.” Slowly, the hand moved from his shoulder to pick up the oversized hard drive with a frown, “Potentially, though it is rather odd in appearance and they don’t appear to have used the universal connection system.” Prowl’s voice didn’t waver, turning it over as he set down his tablet. 

Shifting a bit on his seat, Hound sits up, “If it’s any help, my pilots and I are ready to get back to work. Other than the needed paint work, we can be ready whenever we know the plan of action. I understand that Sideswipe is meant to be shipping back out to join Elita-One off world?” He tried to sound calm and not like the fear and panic were cutting him upside. 

Nodding some to her camera, Elita shifts some, “Yes, speaking of Sideswipe though, I fear that there will need to be a discussion. I understand that yesterday brought up events from your pasts, but it was a rather odd reaction from someone who throws themselves at battle.” Closing his eyes for a moment, Hound drags his free hand down his face.

He couldn’t feel it because of his helmet, damnit, sighing he nods slightly, “Sideswipe and Sunstreaker lost their parents in a building collapse, before they could live on their own.” There was no real way of phrasing it nicely. If the room got any more still, he swore he’d get up and leave, “It happens on Earth, there’s almost been more structure damage than deaths.” He looked around at them all, as they stared.

Clearing his throat slightly, “They are the youngest of us, of the pilots, so it was still fairly recent. But uh, they found something they were good at in the end, even if they're terribly young.” Elita clears her throat on comms, “Yes, how young exactly?” For a moment, he thought about lying, about covering for them, but they needed all the help they could get emotionally.

”Younger than I’d like to admit, they were still children when they became pilots. Unfortunately our system is flawed, especially because repairs are often not made while experiencing war.” Everyone was still staring at him and he squeezed desperately at Mirage’s hand, “But they're grown now, still need guidance but who doesn’t.” Elita’s hum was not reassuring.

Megatron was glaring daggers through the table as Optimus kept a hand on his arm, “I see, well, I believe that Elita-One and Ironhide are the best equipped to continue leading Sideswipe and Sunsteaker respectively.” Nodding, Hound tried not to sigh, fingers of his free hand digging into his knee.

He dreaded it falling into an awkward silence, glancing around the table, finally someone spoke up, “God, you all make these meetings entirely unbearable. We know that the pilot's government is as bad if not worse than functionalism, we know that they have been through hell and back, we can see that they are treated about as well as back alley share-ware. They can no more undo that than we can undo the damage Megatron did to my vocalizer.” He pauses for a breath.

“Every single one of the pilots jumps like they could take flight, the moment one of you mentions a scientist or medic within their vicinity. Knockout was meant to be at this meeting, which would have made it entirely more bearable, but instead he is repairing the damage done to his face by one of their severed arms!” 

In the moment, he wished it had stayed silent but at least now he could understand why Starscream’s voice was so grating though he did have a hard time imagining the Megatron he knew doing it personally. He could imagine it happening on Earth, to a pilot, something being label an accident that they all knew was an experiment turned punishment from Shockwave, but he couldn’t quite imagine Megatron doing that to anyone. 

The larger of the two scientists looked horrified, clutching at Starscream’s hand, “Star.” But another voice was taking over the room, “That is enough Starscream!” Megatron shot out of his chair, slamming his fist against the table.

With a pout, Starscream hummed, “Oh, I’m sorry, do you not want your new favorite to learn how you used to play with your toys?” Hound could swear he heard a record scratch, somewhere, “Starscream, I would suggest that you leave.” Optimus’s reasoning tone was not as calm as it usually was.

”Oh, but of course, My Prime. I live to serve.” And he stood even as Optimus shuddered, Megatron’s hand resting on his shoulder now, “We will be discussing this later Starscream.” Smiling sarcastically, Starscream bowed, “Lord Megatron.” Before turning and leaving the room.

Hound had just witnessed for the first time, some ruminants of their last war. More than anything in New Kaon, this was different. 

After a moment, the bigger of the two scientists cleared his throat lightly, “Uh, if I may,” He lightly gestures towards the door, “I think I should attend to my husband.” Optimus nodded, “Of course, Skyfire. Wheeljack will be able to inform you of what happens.” With a light scrap of his chair, Skyfire rose and turned to leave. 

Pausing next to Hound and offering a hand, “It’s been lovely to meet you.” Hound stared at it for a long moment before taking and shaking his hand, Skyfire almost winced and pulled his hand back quickly, “I’m sorry. I, nevermind.” And he turned again, leaving. The distant sound of something breaking coming through the door before it closed again. 

Megatron groaned, “Another one of his tantrums, how much do you think it will cost us this time? One hundred, three hundred?” Optimus lightly shook his head, “Megatron, is now the best time to discuss this?” Nodding slowly, Megatron finally sat back down, “I suppose not.” He cleared his throat, “I apologize for the air commander's outburst Hound. He often has issues in meetings such as this.” He honestly felt like he was intruding on something at this point.

Nodding awkwardly, Hound shifts, “Uh, it’s fine. I didn’t take offense. I can understand his anger towards us, after the events of yesterday.” Megatron’s face reminded him of his superiors in the past, trying not to put their heads through walls or tables. Prowl groaned, “Are you certain that you are back to full health Hound?” Now that was insulting.

With a scowl, Hound turned to him, “Yes, Prowl, I am fine as we have discussed multiple times. The focus is not me, it’s what happend, to put it simply. Iacon was attacked and we didn’t succeed in saving it on our own, there’s structure damage and people un-housed. Your society is still recovering from your last war and I’m ashamed I was not able to be more help.” Everyone groaned, “What?”

Ironhide shakes his head, “And I thought Sunstreaker was bad, every problem is your fault, for fucks sake. Apologize Prime, but this is ridiculous. Hound, it ain’t your fucking fault. I get it, we get it, being that first and last line of defense and having the world on your shoulders.” He throws his arms wide, knocking Elita’s screen over.

Hound honestly thought it was on purpose, Ironhide chuckled, “But be serious, your one mech. One of hundreds? Thousands? Your kind sent you to die,” “I know that.” His voice didn’t waver and he shrugs lightly, “I know. You can’t not know when they are selecting certain types of pilots. The ones who get in the way, the ones that fail, the ones that Shockwave has a person distaste for.” Another small gasp brought Hound’s glance towards Optimus.

Optimus looked like he’d seen a ghost, “That’s… A unique coincidence.” Megatron’s hand rested on his shoulder, squeezing it almost tightly, Hound could see it from across the table. Ironhide clears his throat, “As I was saying, they sent you to die Kid, that ain’t right and you’ve done more than our whole army has been able to in years.” The tension was building back up in the room.

As if Optimus hadn’t already been in a strange mood, this made it worse. 

A beeping took over the space, painfully loud and sent them all covering their ears, “God.” Hound ducked down, trying to not wince against the onslaught of sound, “Sorry! Sorry, that is the lab's explosion alarm! I really shouldn’t have left Brainstorm unattended, at least this long. Sorry Prime!” The other scientist, Wheeljack, stood and rushed from the room.

They all sat there blinking, Prowl dragging his hands down his face, “We have an explosion specific alarm now, wonderful. Needed, but excruciating.” Megatron chuckled, “Well, Brainstorm, Starscream, and Wheeljack work down there. Poor Skyfire needs some protection.” 

“Yes, well, I fear that there is not much point in contouring this meeting with our dwindling numbers.” Optimus’s voice shook lightly, “I think it would be best for Megatron and myself to have a private discussion with Hound, if you all do not mind?” His heart sank, finding Mirage’s hand again.

Optimus glanced over, “Prowl, if you and Soundwave could work on the hard drive in the mean time?” Nodding, Prowl’s hand returned to Hound’s shoulder, “Of course, my Prime.” Slowly, everyone got up, though Elita just disconnected while her screen remained on the floor. The only one who didn’t move was Mirage.

His eyes were cast down at the table, still holding onto Hound’s hand, “Mirage.” Optimus’s voice cut through the tension and Mirage squeezed his hand tightly before letting go and standing, “Of course, my Prime.” His voice was strained with emotion, turning and leaving stiffly. 

Soundwave moved towards the door but paused at Hound’s side, he glanced up at the mech who knew their secret, throat tightening briefly. His repaired comms bloomed to life as they stared at one another, “Skyfire, values organic life. Above, nearly all else. Recommendation, aligning yourself with him is beneficial. Long-term gain, expected.” Nodding slightly, he cleared throat, “Thank you.” Then like that, Soundwave moved from the room.

Then it was quiet again. Him, Prime, and Protector sat around a table now far too large for just the three of them. 

—

It was too early to be awake, far too early. Groaning, he just turned over and pulled the blanket back over his head. Their bedroom space wasn’t exactly the most glamorous of situations but it was better than the new pilots barracks at MECHA. 

That had been a nightmare and according to the ex-military was worse than some of the barracks they’d been shunted into. Which was not what Sideswipe wanted to hear.

Still far too early to be awake, he reaches out to hopefully get his brother up for water. Only for the cot to be empty. Closing his eyes tighter, he let out a long sigh, “I swear.” Tossing the blanket off, he swings his legs over the edge of the cot.

Their makeshift bedroom was on a side table near the window, with a ladder going up to it. It didn’t leave much privacy but at least it wasn’t claustrophobic. Their cots were pushed up against the ledge to the window, where it stayed tinted most of the time, but still gave them a nice view of the city at large. 

Jazz and Breakdown were still asleep, tucked up in their cots like nothing was happening. Although their bedding left much to be desired, at least they weren’t sleeping on the floor with rocks as pillows. Breakdown was still sleeping with his sleeping bag from the Odyssey, then Jazz was using a quilt from somewhere off-world that covered the distance between two cots. Sighing again, he slides down the ladder and starts out of the bedroom.

The door whooshes open and laughter filled the space, Sunny was up on Bluestreak’s shoulder and they were laughing. He couldn’t roll his eyes hard enough, shuffling off to the bathroom first before even attempting to deal with that. 

Slipping on his helmet, he fiddles with the microphone set up before leaving, resting his hands on his hips, “It’s too damn early for you to be up Sunny.” It was only then that Sunstreaker looked over, leaning against Bluestreak’s head like it was the most comfortable chair, “Morning Sides, and I couldn’t sleep. Are you doing okay?” His gloved hands help him back down Bluestreak’s arm. 

Shrugging weakly, he started towards the kitchen, “I’m fine.” Going around the corner, out of Blue’s sight made him relax a little, even as Sunny came into the room, “Hey,” Walking over, Sunny took his arm, “Talk to me.” Shaking his head a bit, he grabs up one of his water pouches.

”In all honesty, I want to go back to bed, Sonny.” The tone was always different, nickname to real name and the grip on his arm tightened slightly, “Simon,” Shaking his head again, he drank from the pouch, closing his eyes even as his brother pulled him into a hug.

Sunny hugs him close and tight, eyes closed, he could block out the world for a moment. The memories that were gripping at his mind like they belonged there, sticking worse than fly paper.

They clutched at each other, “I’m sorry Simon, I’m so sorry.” Tucking his face into his brother's shoulder, he cried, hard.

It was worse than experiencing a building collapse, he’d seen them happen on Earth, the old skyscrapers around his home. These things, they happened.

No, it was the fact that it was their bar, where they all would go to unwind and listen to their last actual connection to home. He could listen to his own music, but it was a playlist that he’d made, nothing like actual radio. Old school countdowns. The DJ talking about what was happening in the area and why at the moment it was important.

The human aspect was what he’d miss, now that it was gone. 

He was so tired, tired of losing and physically exhausted from the fight, he knew Hound was at a meeting in command, it was probably where Prowl was as well but for the moment. He let himself pretend that the next fight wouldn’t come right away, that he could grieve it all in peace.

His home, his parents, his planet.

Sunny’s hand still held on, as he too cried, they clutched at each other in the way they had only ever been with each other. Close enough to feel each other's heartbeat. Desperate to be closer at times, but this was them. 

—

He sat there, hands grasping at his knees anxiously while staring at Megatron and Optimus who had returned to their conversation over comms. Whatever this was about probably was not good and he could hardly sit still.

When had sitting still become so much of a problem? Let alone in his suit. He cleared his throat, “Uh, sirs, is there a reason you wanted to speak to me alone?” Megatron looked over and he tried not shifting again, “Of course Hound, though I feel it is more Optimus who wished to talk.” Joan wanting to talk was not exactly better.

”Of course.” He cleared his throat, “What about exactly, sir?” Optimus looked back up and his eyes had the erie glow to them again, “Hound, do you realize that I could see your EM field earlier?” Nodding slowly, he rubbed lightly over his implants, “Ah, that. That’s, that's new.” 

Clearing his throat a bit, he sighed, “It only started probably after my fight with the executioner. At least, that’s when I noticed it.” Humming, Megatron frowns slightly, “It doesn’t reach out very far.” Shrugging, Hound shook his head a bit, “I don’t know how it works exactly. It’s not like any pilots exactly do this.” Though he wasn’t entirely sure that was true.

There’d been a young pilot he could remember that was a comet, though they hadn’t ever really been stationed together. 

With another hum, Optimus sat up, “I’m sorry to have frightened you so today Hound, I understand yesterday was more than traumatic for most of you. Your EM field displayed discomfort and fear, for that I apologize, but I do wonder how it has come about now. When before there was nothing, when Jazz who has been here for so long still displays little to nothing.” Shaking his head slowly, Hound sighed, “I really don’t know. I wish I did so I could make it stop.”

Both mechs across from him winced, he tried not to, “For me, it feels like static running across my plating clonstaly, it's a buzzing sound in my ears, it feels like when lighting strikes too close or when power lines go down. Like there is too much electricity in the air.” Megatron seemed to relax some at that, though Optimus continued to stare.

The Prime cleared his throat, “I think those around you will only feel it when they touch your plating, at least given Mirage and Prowl’s reactions. I can merely see it because of the Matrix, Megatron because he can feel me seeing it.” He sighed slowly, “We will do what we can to make sure you are comfortable Hound, even if it means finding a way to get rid of this gift.” With a nod, Hound almost smiles.

”Thank you.” He sighed deeply, “Well, do we need to discuss what happened yesterday? Or will you accept my apology?” Megatron scowled, “We will discuss your success and the future, there is no need for an apology. Though now, we should focus on what we all need to do to prevent another event like yesterday and the new battle strategy.” He tapped the table and brought up a map of Cybertron’s system. 

Hound could see their relay satellite in orbit.

Sighing, he stands as they do, watching Cybertron spin. Watching the familiar ships move through space. The scale was immense.

———

A/N

So this chapter is a little shorter than normal. Around 3.8k instead of my typical 4, just because I felt like I got to the points I really wanted to make in it.

More to come, maybe, Tuesday?

My schedule right now is all kinds of fubared. Also thank you @daffodils-and-bonfires for your help as always with the MegOp portion. I swear, I can write them.

TAGS

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And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

[thosemotivationalquotes]

Trump pauses program for HIV treatment and Prevention - 1/28/2025

In news that will shock no one, Trump has ordered that all programs that supply aid to countries outside the U.S. be paused for 90 days while the administration reviews them.

One of these programs that is paused is PEPFAR, which is a program that supplies HIV medications and education to people in countries facing high rates of HIV/AIDs.

PEPFAR “provides HIV/AIDS medications for over 20.6 million people, keeping patients alive and preventing them from transmitting the virus. It also offers testing and education on HIV/AIDS. According to a State Department fact sheet, PEPFAR has saved the lives of an estimated 26 million people since its inception.”

The cutting of this program, which is supposedly going to be 90 days and possibly permanent, will be catastrophic to countries who have high rates of HIV/AIDs.

This is not the only program that Trump has paused. There is also a pause on global TB and malaria treatment, as well as many other critical global aid programs. The only programs that are currently unaffected are emergency humanitarian funds, and military assistance (for Israel and Egypt).

It is important to be aware of things like this that Trump is doing. He is not only interested in harming Americans, but also putting the health and lives of people in other countries at risk. He is not only a threat to U.S. Americans, but the world.

Further reading: X X