#Sonar militari

[dropsofsciencenews]

Podcast Episode 14!

Nella puntata numero 14 troverete notizie sulla relazione tra uomo e biodiversità, nuove tattiche riproduttive del cervo volante e scoperte sulla locomozione dei dinosauri. Potete ascoltare il podcast gratuitamente su tutte le principali piattaforme di streaming.

In episode 14, you’ll find insights on the relationship between humans and biodiversity, new reproductive tactics of stag beetles, and discoveries about dinosaur locomotion. You can listen to the podcast for free on all major streaming platforms.

En el episodio 14 encontrarás novedades sobre la relación entre el ser humano y la biodiversidad, nuevas tácticas reproductivas del escarabajo ciervo y descubrimientos sobre la locomoción de los dinosaurios. Puedes escuchar el podcast de forma gratuita en todas las principales plataformas de streaming.

[spark-glow]

I just realized my grandfather that instilled the yes ma'am no sir was in the military....it all makes sense

EVERYTHING IS CONNECTED. it's so heavily instilled in me that i get like. dumbfounded ? when an older person says 'oh, you don't have to call me that! just call me (name). ^_^' it breaks my brain. like i. what if im impolite. i dont want to disrespect my elders.

[letsgetbigger]

The Fat Submarine

The USS Vanguard rested in the harbor, a shadowy behemoth of steel and precision. It was a world of discipline and duty, where every man aboard had a role to play. Deep within its labyrinth of corridors, far from the command center and sonar rooms, lay the galley—a realm James "Big Jim" Carter ruled with an iron spatula and an even firmer eye for detail. This wasn’t just about cooking meals for the crew. For Big Jim, the galley was a stage. He’d spent weeks handpicking his culinary team, slyly navigating Navy regulations to assemble the men he wanted: young, unattached and lean—at least for now. Jim’s instincts, sharpened by years of using his "gaydar," told him they were men who likely shared his inclinations, even if they kept them hidden under layers of military discipline. Big Jim had a particular fantasy, one he could indulge during these long tours under the sea. He loved watching slender men give in to temptation, their strict diets crumbling under the weight of his decadent meals. The thought of them growing softer, filling out their uniforms, sent a thrill through him. He intended to fatten them up, one buttery pastry and rich sauce at a time, and if their close quarters led to some harmless flirting among themselves, all the better.

Now, in the cramped cabin they’d be sharing for months, his new recruits stood before him for inspection.

“All right, boys,” Jim said, his deep voice filling the room. “Strip out of those civvies and get into your uniforms. Let’s see how you clean up.”

The four men hesitated briefly, glancing at each other before complying. As they pulled off their street clothes, Jim leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze unwavering.

Kevin was the first to step out of his jeans, his tall, athletic frame immediately catching Jim’s attention. His blond hair and vivid blue eyes gave him the appearance of a young officer from a recruitment poster. The thin white fabric of his regulation briefs clung to him, outlining the swell of his firm round buttocks and a noticeable bulge at the front.

Next was Glen, shorter and wiry, his brown hair slightly tousled from the journey aboard. His dark eyes darted nervously toward Jim, but he quickly focused on folding his shirt. Glen’s chest was hard, with small, pointy nipples visible through his undershirt, and his briefs hugged him tightly, emphasizing a lean physique and a modest but defined package.

Damian, the youngest one, moved more slowly. His black hair and soft blue eyes gave him an introspective look, and as he pulled off his T-shirt, Jim’s eyes were drawn to the slight curve of his belly. Damian’s briefs fit a little looser, but it couldn’t hide the fullness of his thighs or the soft outline of his manhood.

Last but not least, there was Pete, the last to undress, and the one who commanded attention without trying. His deep brown skin gleamed under the fluorescent light, and when he smiled, it was with an effortless charm. Pete’s powerful thighs filled out his briefs, and the generous curve of his gluts strained the fabric more than any regulation garment should. His dick was clearly larger than the others.

James cleared his throat, savoring the sight before him.

“Gentlemen, you’re my team now. The galley is where we’ll live and work. It’s our domain, and I expect you to take pride in it—and in yourselves.”

They nodded, their movements quick and eager to please. None of them suspected anything beyond standard Navy protocol, which was just how Jim liked it.

“Now, suit up,” Jim ordered, tossing each of them their uniforms.

As they moved to comply, he let his gaze linger for a moment longer, cataloging every detail. Soon, they’d be devouring the rich meals he prepared, they’d begin to change. And Jim would be watching it all, savoring the transformations and waiting to see if their closeness led to anything more. This was going to be one hell of a tour.

***

The submarine hummed quietly as it cruised through the depths, its steady vibrations a backdrop to the day-to-day life aboard. In the small cabin the chef and his culinary specialists shared, the end of another exhausting but fulfilling day had arrived. The five men had spent hours cooking for the crew, plating meals, scrubbing pots and preparing for the next service. But it was their private dinners together afterward that Big Jim had started to treasure most. He watched as his team slowly abandoned the dry, plain chicken and steamed broccoli they once insisted on. At first, it had been little things—a bite of garlic bread here, a taste of creamy pasta there. But now, they dug into full plates of the rich, flavorful meals Jim encouraged them to "save from waste." Desserts, especially, had become a nightly indulgence: chocolate cakes, caramel-laden puddings and pecan pies with buttery crusts. Jim had seen their strict discipline eroding by the day, and he was delighted. The changes in their bodies were subtle at first, but not anymore. Only a couple of weeks in, their uniforms were fitting differently. The results were on full display now as the four of them got ready for bed.

Glen was the first to strip down to his white briefs, the thin fabric adhered to his frame. As he moved about, Jim couldn't help but notice the slight swell that had formed at his belly, just above the waistband. Glen’s chest, once defined and lean, now had a softness that pushed against his undershirt before he pulled it off.

Damian followed suit, pulling off his shirt with a yawn. He’d always had a slight curve to his stomach, but now it was undeniably more pronounced. His thighs, too, seemed thicker, the fabric of his briefs hugging them tightly. Jim’s eyes lingered as the two men padded out of the room together toward the shared bathroom with their toothbrushes in hand.

The sound of the shower stopping announced Kevin’s return. His blond hair was damp, and droplets of water glistened on his skin as he walked into the cabin with a towel around his waist. His upper body, once all sharp angles and tight lines, was softening in ways Jim found irresistible. And two very round buttocks strained against the thin fabric of his briefs as he slipped them on.

Finally, Pete strolled in, whistling softly. It had been his turn mopping the galley floor.

“Man, that chocolate cake tonight?” Pete said, chuckling as he unbuttoned his shirt. “You’ve got a gift, sir.”

The chef grinned.

“I'm glad it hasn't gone to waste,” he said.

As Pete undressed, Jim’s eyes followed every movement. Pete’s briefs clung tightly to his powerful thighs, and the fabric stretched thin across his backside. As the young man bent to take his socks off, his butt crack became visible.

When the lights dimmed and the men drifted off to sleep, Jim stayed awake for a while longer, replaying the day in his mind, horny as hell. He couldn’t wait to see how much further their habits—and their bodies—would change in the weeks to come.

***

A couple of months aboard the USS Vanguard had passed, and Big Jim couldn’t be happier. The tight quarters and the endless temptations he provided had worked their magic. His four recruits had transformed before his very eyes, abandoning their rigid Navy diets for rich sauces, buttery pastries and indulgent desserts. Their once-trim bodies now bulged in all the right places, their uniforms stretching tightly across expanding bellies, thick thighs and rounder behinds.

Jim had just finished doing inventory when he heard hushed voices coming from a corner of the galley. He rounded a stack of shelves silently and froze. Glen was leaning casually against the counter, holding a big plate of leftover pasta in one hand and a fork in the other. His once-wiry frame was long gone, replaced by soft curves and a prominent belly that pressed against the taut fabric of his undershirt. Across from him stood Pete, his uniform trousers stretched to the max due to his thick thighs and fuller buttocks. His broad chest, now with a soft layer over his muscles, heaved as he laughed at something Glen had said.

“Come on, Pete,” Glen teased, offering him a bite of pasta. “Your ass is gotta keep up. Look at this—” he gestured to his own stomach, grinning. “I’m not gonna be the only one busting out of his uniform.”

Pete grinned back, leaning forward to take the offered bite.

“You’re not, trust me.” He chewed slowly, savoring the food, then swallowed and leaned in closer. “But I gotta say, Glen, you’ve been looking damn good lately. Those tight shirts? And these?”

Before Glen could respond, Pete reached out and gave one of Glen’s now-prominent nipples a playful pinch through the thin fabric of his undershirt. Glen let out a surprised laugh, swatting at Pete but making no real effort to stop him.

“Careful, Pete,” Glen said, his tone mock-warning but with a noticeable edge of excitement. “I might start thinking you like them.”

“Oh, I do,” Pete replied smoothly, his grin widening. His eyes flicked briefly to Glen’s belly. “Everything.”

Jim’s heart raced as he watched, hidden behind the shelf. His dick swelled with satisfaction. The closeness, the teasing, the lingering touches—it was everything he’d hoped for. Quietly, he backed away, leaving them to their moment.

He made his way to the shared cabin, a smug smile on his face. The room was empty, save for the faint sound of running water coming from the adjoining shower. He stepped inside quietly, setting his things down and pausing when he heard Kevin’s laugh.

“Damian, I’m serious,” Kevin said, his tone playful but low. “I think I’m gonna need a bigger uniform soon.”

Jim moved closer to the bathroom door, careful not to make a sound. Through the steam, he could make out the outlines of Kevin and Damian. They stood facing each other, the spray of water cascading over their softened bodies. Kevin now boasted a soft belly, thicker thighs and a really big ass. Damian, slightly shorter, had filled out even more noticeably. His belly now jutted out enough to press gently against Kevin’s when they stood close.

“You think you need a new uniform?” Damian laughed, running a hand down his own stomach. “Look at me! I’ve got stretch marks already.”

Kevin’s voice lowered, a teasing edge creeping in.

“They look good on you. Everything does. You’re—” He hesitated, then added, “hot.”

The two men went quiet for a moment. Then Damian broke the silence, his voice soft.

“You’re not so bad yourself, you know. I’ve been… noticing.”

Kevin chuckled, and their bodies moved closer. Jim couldn’t see well, but it was clear they were jerking each other off.

“Fuck,” Kevin murmured. “I guess I don’t mind getting a little fat… as long as you’re into it.”

Damian’s laugh was breathy.

“Oh, I’m into it.”

Jim felt precum wetting his underwear as he stepped back toward his bunk. Everything was falling perfectly into place. His culinary delights had done more than change their bodies—they’d started changing the way they saw each other. And as the weeks stretched on, Jim knew those bonds would only deepen.

***

As time passed, the changes in the four men became undeniable. With every passing day, their uniforms grew tighter, their bellies and asses expanding. The galley was alive with the clatter of pots and the hum of shared laughter as the five men worked side by side. The air was warm and heavy with the scent of fresh bread and rich sauces simmering on the stove. Big Jim stood by the prep station, casually chopping vegetables, his watchful eye on his team as they moved around the tight kitchen space, their bodies brushing against each other more often than the cramped quarters strictly required. Pete was at the oven, crouched down as he pulled out a golden-brown roast. His uniform pants strained audibly as he bent, the seams already pushed to their limits by his massive thighs and even bigger backside. And then it happened. With a loud, unmistakable rrrip, the back of Pete’s pants gave way, exposing a generous view of his white briefs. The thin fabric barely covered the lower half of his enormous cheeks, leaving most of the plush, jiggling flesh on full display. Pete froze for a moment, his wide eyes darting over his shoulder as he realized what had just occurred. The room fell silent for a second before Kevin let out a laugh that quickly became contagious.

“Jesus, Pete!” he exclaimed, leaning on the counter for support. “You finally did it. You killed the pants!”

Pete stood and turned, his face a mix of embarrassment and amusement as he surveyed the damage. The torn pants flapped around his thighs, useless, as his massive ass jiggled with every move he made.

“Well,” he said with a sheepish grin, “guess these pants couldn’t handle greatness.”

Glen, who was stirring a sauce nearby, smirked and stepped closer, giving Pete’s exposed cheek a playful slap that sent a ripple through the soft flesh.

“Greatness is one word for it,” he teased. “That thing should have its own zip code.”

Damian joined in, laughing as he passed by Pete and gave him another light smack.

“I’ve seen hams smaller than that, man.”

Pete took it all in stride, leaning casually against the counter as the others circled around him, their teasing affectionate rather than mean-spirited.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you, boys,” he said with a wink.

The entire group was roaring with laughter, even Big Jim, who usually maintained his composure. He let out a hearty chuckle, his gaze lingering on Pete’s expansive backside for a moment longer than necessary before clearing his throat.

“Let’s get back to work. Pete, maybe try not to destroy any more uniforms today.” he said, his tone laced with amusement.

Pete shrugged and went about his tasks, still wearing the ruined pants as if nothing had happened, his massive ass bouncing with every step. The others kept stealing glances and exchanging knowing smiles, the mood in the galley light and charged with an unspoken energy.

Later that evening, after the galley had been cleaned, Big Jim made an announcement in the cabin.

“Alright, men,” he said, standing in front of them. “I think it's time for some new uniforms. I've got bigger ones for you.”

They started undressing, eager to try on their new uniforms. Kevin was the first to strip off his shirt and pants. Big Jim’s gaze went straight to his ass. The thick cheeks bounced slightly as he straightened up. Next was Glen. He pulled off his shirt, revealing his fuller chest and soft, rounded belly. His manboobs were more prominent now, swaying slightly as he moved. Damian followed, revealing a belly that looked pregnant. When Pete removed his torn pants, his massive ass jiggled, and everybody stared at it. The four men tried on their new uniforms, the larger sizes giving them plenty of room to grow. Big Jim watched them, proud of how far they had come—and eager to see just how much further they could go.

***

One day, Big Jim leaned against the counter, surveying his four culinary recruits with a knowing grin. The galley was spotless, their end-of-day routine complete, and the soft hum of the submarine surrounded them.

“Well, boys,” Jim began, setting down his clipboard, “I’ve got some good news for you. Turns out someone made a little mistake on the supply order. We’ve got way too much heavy cream onboard—cases of it. So, I’m giving you free rein. Use as much as you want when you cook. Hell, you can even drink it if you feel like it. No sense letting it go to waste.”

Pete, who had been polishing a serving tray, stopped mid-swipe and turned to Jim with a gleam in his eye.

“Wait a second, sir. You mean we can just... go all out with it? No measuring, no rationing?”

Jim nodded.

“That’s exactly what I mean, Pete. I don’t want to see a drop of that cream go to waste. If you want to cook with it, bake with it, heck, even drink it straight, I’m not going to stop you.”

Pete’s eyes widened, and a slow grin spread across his face.

“Drink it straight, huh?”

“Sure,” Jim replied.

Without missing a beat, Pete pushed himself off the counter and made for the pantry.

“Be right back!”

Moments later, he returned, holding not one but four 1-liter cartons of heavy cream. His grin had only widened. The other three men looked at Pete and then at the cartons in his hands, a mix of surprise and excitement flashing across their faces. Pete kept one carton for himself and handed the others out.

“We gotta do as we're told,” Pete said, popping open his carton.

He tilted it to his lips and took a deep swig, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped down the rich, thick cream. When he lowered the carton to take a break, a bead of it dribbled down his chin. Kevin, Glen, and Damian exchanged a glance before shrugging and following Pete’s lead. Each opened their carton and began drinking, their eyes lighting up as the decadent liquid coated their throats. Big Jim stood silently at the counter, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of amusement and disbelief, their dicks getting unashamedly hard in front of him. His plan had always been to fatten them up, but this? This was beyond his wildest dreams. They weren’t just indulging—they were reveling in it. As the last drops of cream disappeared, the men tossed their empty cartons onto the counter, wiping their mouths and exchanging glances that bordered on smoldering.

“Well,” Pete said, his voice a rumble, “we'll do it again tomorrow, sir.”

Jim cleared his throat, pulling himself together.

“Good. Now, off to bed.”

They obeyed without protest, their laughter and murmured conversation filling the galley as they shuffled out. Jim’s eyes followed them, fixating on the way their butts swayed with every step. As the door swung shut behind them, Jim exhaled a long, slow breath, a satisfied smile spreading across his face.

***

Six months into their voyage, the transformation was complete. The four culinary specialists had become nearly unrecognizable, their bodies having grown to proportions that defied their former navy physiques. Each of them now weighed around 300 pounds. Their new uniforms were straining once again, even after Big Jim had issued the larger sizes. Soft, jiggling bellies, thick thighs and rounded asses dominated their silhouettes, and their faces were fuller too. Big Jim’s plan had unfolded better than he could have hoped. Not only had the men embraced their new sizes, but their camaraderie had deepened into something far more intimate.

It was late in the evening, the submarine quiet except for the low hum of its engines. Big Jim headed toward the pantry, intending to check the inventory before turning in. As he neared the door, he heard muffled noises—heavy breathing, quiet moans, and the occasional sound of bodies shifting. Intrigued, he paused and peeked through the narrow crack of the door, careful not to make a sound. Inside, Damian had Kevin pinned against a rack of supplies, their massive bodies pressed together in a scene that was equal parts passion and sheer physicality. Damian’s hands gripped Kevin’s wide, doughy hips, his fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he thrust into him. Kevin’s enormous ass quivered with every movement, the thick cheeks bouncing and jiggling as Damian’s hips met his.

“God, Kevin,” Damian panted, his hands sliding up to grab at the blond’s fleshy sides, “you’re such a fatso now. Look at you, all soft and huge.”

Kevin laughed breathlessly. “Says the guy who looks nine months pregnant,” he shot back. “Your gut’s so big, I can feel it every time you move.”

Damian grinned, leaning in to kiss Kevin’s neck, his belly pressing heavily against Kevin’s back. “You love it, don’t you? All this lard jiggling while I—” he punctuated his words with a thrust—“give it to you.”

Kevin moaned, his hands bracing against the shelf as he pressed back harder. “Hell yes, I do. I can feel every pound of you pushing me into these cans.”

Their movements grew more fervent, their overfed bodies colliding in waves of soft flesh. Damian’s thick thighs slapped against Kevin’s massive ass, the sound echoing faintly in the confined pantry. Kevin’s belly jiggled with every thrust, his love handles spilling over Damian’s hands as the darker-haired man pulled him closer.

“You’re such a lardass,” Damian murmured into Kevin’s ear, his voice dripping with desire. “I can’t believe how big you’ve gotten.”

Kevin laughed, breathless and flushed. “Shut up and don’t stop.”

Big Jim’s pulse quickened as he watched, the sheer spectacle of their swollen bodies moving together leaving him riveted. The pantry shelves rattled slightly from the force of their movements, jars clinking softly as they lost themselves in each other.

Satisfied that he’d seen enough—and more than a little thrilled—Big Jim backed away quietly, leaving them to their passionate encounter. His dick had grown with excitement as he made his way back down the corridor.

A couple of days later, in the quiet darkness of the cabin, the low hum of the submarine’s engines blended with the soft rustling of sheets. Big Jim, resting in his bunk, was pulled from the edge of sleep by the faint sound of a muffled giggle. His eyes opened, and he glanced toward the source of the noise. Across the room, Pete’s bunk was a dimly lit tableau of intimacy. Glen was perched on the edge of the mattress, leaning over Pete, his hand resting on the curve of Pete’s massive hip. The dark-skinned man’s body nearly overflowed the cot, his broad belly rising and falling with each deep breath. But it was his enormous ass that truly drew Glen’s attention. The twin globes of soft, heavy flesh were barely contained by the stretched fabric of his briefs, which dug into the ample swell of his hips. Pete grinned up at Glen, his white teeth gleaming in the low light.

“What are you staring at, chubby?” he teased, his deep voice carrying a note of affection.

Glen smirked, his hand slipping lower to caress the underside of Pete’s thick cheek. The fabric of the briefs strained under his touch, the elastic pressing deep into the soft flesh.

“Just admiring all of this,” Glen replied, his voice low. “Your ass is huge, you know that? Like, actually huge.”

Pete chuckled, shifting slightly, which sent a wave of motion through his heavy backside.

“Takes one to know one, fat boy,” he teased back, reaching up to grab Glen’s side, his fingers sinking into the soft love handle that peeked over Glen’s waistband.

Their laughter softened as Glen leaned down, pressing his lips to Pete’s in a slow, deliberate kiss. Pete’s large hands slid up to rest on Glen’s waist, pulling him closer, their bellies pressing together. Glen adjusted his position, his hand now trailing over the expanse of Pete’s enormous backside, squeezing the plush flesh appreciatively.

“These briefs are fighting a losing battle,” Glen murmured against Pete’s lips, his fingers hooking into the waistband and snapping it lightly.

Pete laughed softly, his cheeks flushed.

“You’re one to talk. Yours look like they’re painted on.”

Smirking, Glen sat back slightly, his own overburdened briefs digging into his thick thighs. He peeled them off slowly, the fabric clinging stubbornly before sliding down over his hips and past his rounded cheeks. Pete followed suit, lifting his wide frame with some effort to tug his own briefs free. His massive ass jiggled as he moved, the soft, rounded cheeks now completely exposed in the dim light. Big Jim, lying silently in his bunk, watched through barely opened eyes. His heart raced as he took in the sight of the two men, their bodies all curves and softness, moving together in quiet intimacy. Glen ran his hands reverently over Pete’s thick thighs and up to his plush hips, leaning in to kiss him again. Pete returned the affection, gripping Glen’s sides and pulling him down onto his massive frame. Their whispers continued, words of playful admiration exchanged as they explored each other’s bodies. Jim stayed perfectly still, his breathing even as he absorbed the scene. His plan had exceeded every expectation, and as the two men lost themselves in each other, he allowed himself a faint, satisfied smile in the darkness.

He came without touching himself in the shadows, breathing unsteadily. His plan had worked better than he ever could have imagined. The four men had transformed completely, both in body and in their relationships with one another. The galley of the submarine had become a sanctuary of food, fat and sex.

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

since theres a lot of discussions about shipwrecks and deep sea submersibles happening right now, im just gonna quickly recommend this video which details how caladan oceanic found the samuel b roberts.

the samuel b roberts was a destroyer escort sank during the battle off samar during ww2. the wreck was found last year and is 22,621 feet/6885 metres deep which is almost 10,000 feet or 3000 metres deeper than the titanic and is currently the deepest wreck ever found.

in the video, you see a deep sea submersible (which can go down to 36,000 feet/10,973 metres) that isnt a tin can finished up with duct tape, super glue and glittery gel pens. it is piloted by an expert and they swap out pilots every day to avoid exertion or fatigue, and they have a very complex sonar system for finding wrecks. the longest they can go down is 16 hours and they keep in contact with their ship above and have to get clearance just for half an hour more.

when they find the wreck, they look around it to ensure they can identify it and map it out as well as they can, and then head back up to shore. they then hold a funeral service for those who died and leave a wreath on the ocean surface above where the wreck lays.

while im somewhat sketched out by the founder victor vescovo, the company does important work in terms of furthering our understanding of the ocean and finding wrecks which are the gravesites of those who passed. and they are not disrespectful to those whose graves lay 22,000 feet/6700 metres down on the seabed.

and what i would like to point out is how the samuel b roberts is protected against unauthorised disturbance by the sunken military craft act. you would need a permit from the naval history and heritage command (and a submarine that can withstand all the pressure) to go see it.

which, as ive said many times in the last two days, is something that the titanic should also have protection against. there should be laws in place that do not allow people to treat a mass fucking gravesite as a tourist spot.

[skylarsblue]

✦Meeting & Flirting W/ The C.o.D Men✦

(Five scenes were gn!reader meets, flirts, and eventually gets with the C.o.D guys. You can thank Gaz & a Doja Cat song for this)

✧Gaz, Price, Soap, & Ghost. The others will come later✧ ✦Flirting, light sexual tension here and there, basically just fluff, some mild descriptions of wounds/war, no specified appearance but I do hint that you're shorter than the guys here and there in a subtle manner. Sporadic use of Y/N that I apologize for. Random callsigns I made up on the spot.✦

✧Kyle "Gaz" Garrick✧

Laswell walked beside Price whilst leading the team out onto some tarmac. "I know you all are very competent, but this is a rather big mission, and so I wanted to give you backup I think you can depend on." She said calmly, coming to a stop, turning to the four men. Ghost crossed his arms and bit back a scoff. Kyle smiled for a split second because of it, though shrouded in mystery, it was no secret that Ghost hated working with others. A black jeep rolled up from a slight distance. Gaz wasn't too interested, he'd been tired all day and meeting new people sounded like a bit of a pain. He adjusted the hat on his head and kept his gaze on the ground, even when some footsteps approached. He glanced up at least, not paying any particular attention to the five individuals in front of him. Though he did give his full attention to Laswell when she began speaking. "Team 141, this is Team Sonar. They'll be working with you this upcoming mission, which we still need to go over." The woman explained. Their captain shook hands with price, an older man with dark hair and a broad white streak in the front. Two younger men stood to the side, Soap greeted them. One was blond and the other, a light brunette, they looked like twins. The fourth one was fairly androgynous, tall, eyes cast at the ground. Gaz was just about to look back at Laswell when his eyes fell on the last member. Dressed in black military gear, holding a rifle aimed at the ground, vest decorated in patches and a filtration-gas mask over the lower half of their face. They looked up and locked with his gaze, a spark let off in the air as soon as they did. Gaz rolled back his shoulders, pinching the inside of his cheek between his teeth. He watched their eyes scan him up, down, then slowly back up. By the way their eyes scrunched slightly, he could assume they were smiling, giving him one more quick once over. It was hard not to smile as well, especially when their eyes stuck to him whilst turning to face their captains. "Careful sergeant." Ghost's deep voice made Gaz jump. "Ahem, right." He mumbled, shifting his hat down a bit. Though he did risk stealing one more glance, feeling an ego boost when he caught them doing the same.

"You ever take that hat off?" They asked, leaning on the common room's table as he sat down, arms crossed. "I do, I just don't feel like it." Gaz shrugged, adjusting the ratty baseball cap on his head. "The flag is literally fallin' off, mate." They teased with a smile, reaching to nudge the brim, making it push down. Gaz snorted and took it off for a split second to fix it. He gasped when it was snatched from his hand, smiling when he saw their face covered in a cheeky grin, holding the hat away. "Alright, c'mon. Give it back." He insisted, holding out his hand. They hummed, tapping their chin whilst looking at the ceiling. "Nnnoo, no I don't think so." They replied with their tongue stuck out. Gaz tucked his tongue into his cheek and glared at them playfully. He laughed when they jerked back as he lunged for it, smiling more when they hid it behind their back. "Oh, playing dirty now?" Gaz asked, moving to snatch it once more, only to be dodged. "I think you look better without it, actually. I'm doing you a favor." They insisted, backing up more and more. He naturally followed. They reached up to put it on, chin tilted at an endearing angle. "Should just lemme have it." Gaz shook his head, although he did enjoy the sight of them wearing it. "Over my dead body, give it!" He laughed. They blocked his arm when he went to grab it one last time, reaching into the back pocket of their camo pants. Good thing about military pants? Big pockets. Gaz blinked in surprise when he felt a pressure on his skull, raising a hand to feel a different hat. He quickly took it off and looked at it. A baseball cap with a British flag and an embroidered "K.G.G" on the brim, in a dark green color. He gazed at it with some awe, feeling a quick wave of sentimental joy enter his system. "I think green is more your color." They said, prompting him to look at. He blinked when they booped him on the nose and then turned to walk away. "Hey, what about my original hat?!" Gaz called. They turned, walking backwards. "It's mine now! No take-backsies!!" They giggled, rotating on their heel. The man ran his tongue over his teeth as he chuckled in disbelief. He glanced once more at the hat before putting it on, shaking his head fondly.

(nsfw implication in this one; cause Y/N a bold bitch) Gaz hummed to the tune of his music as he sat on one of the chairs in the common room, waiting for time to pass until their next briefing. Listening to Y/N make themselves tea, occasionally passing conversation between them both. The topic now? Why he never used his actual name. "I guess I just don't really get it. It's not like it's a bad name." They said, pouring hot water into a mug. Gaz shrugged whilst scrolling through a playlist. "I used to like it, now I don't. A lot of people don't like their name." He answered, glancing over at them. They placed a teabag into the water and turned to look at him, hip leaned on the counter. "Yeah, I guess. But usually there's a reason if you specifically dislike it, ya know?" They retorted. Gaz nodded and adjusted in his seat. "I guess...I dunno, anytime I hear that name, it usually means somethings going wrong? Either someone's needing something from me or I'm like, in trouble? So, I prefer the nickname." He explained, looking back down at his phone whilst they threw away the tea bag. "Then it's not the name, it's what you associate hearing the name with! You just need to put a different context to it." They said, though their voice was a bit muffled by his earbuds now. He snorted. "Oh yeah? Well, lemme know if you got any ideas." He said sarcastically, not hearing them walk closer. "Let's try this then." Gaz jumped a bit when the earbud was pulled from his ear, replaced with the feeling of warm breath. Hot blood rose to Gaz's cheeks and neck as the cupped their hand around his ear. "Oh Kyle...~" His breath stopped at the sound of a very convincing moan, heart stuttering as they laughed quietly, gently putting the earbud back in his ear. They made it a point to lightly drag their fingers across his shoulders when walking around him. Gaz watched them walk away with wide eyes until they were out of sight. He then sunk in his seat, hand covering the lower half of his burning face. He forced in a deep breath. "Fuckin' hell..." He mumbled while replaying the sound in his brain. They at least had a point. Hearing his name like that was pretty enjoyable.

"Gaz, Spark, how copy?" Gaz's radio crackled, Ghost's voice cutting in and out. "Copy sir, we're in a safe house. Hell of a storm outside, we'll need to wait it out." He said. Y/N was checking the pipes and looking around for firewood as Ghost gave choppy orders. The man huffed and took off his vest when he saw the fire being lit, grabbing a rickety wooden chair to pull up next to it. "Fuckin' snow." He grumbled as he heard the wind bare down on the house. "Not a winter guy?" They asked, making him look over his shoulder as they walked in with two cups. "Found coffee. I know you're more of a tea type, but warm is warm." They responded softly. He thanked them and took the cup, though he cringed at the bitter taste, swallowing so he could answer their question. "Nah, always liked Summer more." They nodded before setting their mug on the floor. "So, we're alone for god knows how many hours." They said, looking at a tactical watch on their wrist. Gaz rose an eyebrow while taking another sip of his coffee. "Yeah? What of it?" He asked. "You gonna finally make a move or should I keep pretending there's no tension here?" Their blunt words made him choke and began coughing. They laughed and lightly smacked his back, snickering when he cleared his throat. "I uh, wow, okay. Bit blunt to put it that way, innit?" He said with a breathless laugh, putting the cup down. "Bit rude to eye fuck me all the time and do nothin' about it, innit?" They mocked with a grin, making him blush, though thankfully the melanin in his skin left it unnoticeable. "Okay, I do not...alright, maybe a little, but listen." He laughed bashfully. He watched them roll their eyes with a heavy sigh, looking down at him with a smile. "What? Do I have to do everything?" He rose his hands up and sank in the seat slightly as they placed their hands on his knees, leaning in slowly. "Didn't take you for such a scaredy cat, sergeant.~" Gaz cleared his throat and couldn't stop himself from laughing nervously again. "I'm not a scaredy cat. I'm just...patient." "Patient?" "Yes, indeed." They hummed and clicked their tongue. "Well, I'm not." Gaz felt his lungs constrict and the air expel from his body once their weight rested on his lap, hands on the back of the chair, which creaked under their combined weight. He watched them take his hat off and rest it on their head. "So, sergeant major Gaz. You gonna make a move, or should I?" They asked quietly. He let out a slow exhaled before shaking his head. "You...are gonna get me in so much trouble." He said fondly, though he did invite them leaning in dangerously close. "Guess that's a risk you gotta take." They whispered back. He hummed in thought, stalling for the sake of mischievousness now. "Eh, only live once." He shrugged, grinning as they laughed, unable to stop smiling when the held his face to kiss him. Trouble or not, it was inevitable.

✧John Price✧

John sighed and messed with his dog tags as he waited of Laswell to come back into the room. She’d said she had something important to tell him. She finally poked her head into his office with a calm smile, giving him a nod. “A few weeks ago, you asked for a sniper. I found one I think is suitable.” She said, opening the door a bit further to reveal them. Stood in a compression shirt and camp pants, arms behind their back. John straightened his back as he took their figure in, acknowledging slightly nervous body language. They seemed young, but not by much compared to the rest of the team. “Alright. Lemme talk to’em.” John mumbled, motioning with his hand for the soldier to step inside. Laswell patted their shoulder as they entered, crossing the office to sit in the chair across from Price. Laswell left with the door closed. “You’re nervous, soldier.” He said. They swallowed and nodded, patting their leg. “A little sir, yes. Trying not to be.” They answered honestly with a little chuckle. “You afraid your skills aren’t up to snuff?” He questioned, voice gruff, trying to poke for insecurities. Not that he was cruel, but he needed soldiers made of steel on the field. “Oh, no. I’m 100% confident in my skills. It’s uh, just hard to not feel anxious when you’re sat in front of a captain with such an impressive resume. I’m uh, well, I’m worried about my impression is all.” They admitted bashfully, clenching their hands in their lap. John rose an eyebrow and let out an amused huff at their praise. “You’re certain you’ll keep up?” He asked. “Yes sir.” They answered immediately. John nodded, he motioned for them to stand as he did the same. They listened without hesitation. He rounded his desk and stood in front of them, watching them force back nerves in order to meet his gaze. He held out his hand. “I‘ll look forward to seeing you work, soldier.” He said. His smile grew when they shook his hand, a spark growing in their eyes. “You won’t be disappointed, sir.”

John huffed and rubbed his temple, soreness radiating through his skull as a result of persistent annoyance. He'd been put in charge of some new recruits, a batch of youngsters, all of which seemed to enjoy testing his patience. They all liked to slack off, lose focus, occasionally take a little jab at him. John was a patient man and did his best to keep his cool, usually only losing it in dire circumstances. But, he was a human, and humans had their limits, and the captain was at the end of his rope as he watched the recruits joke around. All right after he specifically told them to run laps, a standard training exercise. His frustration must've been obvious on his face, hence why Mist approached him. "You alright, captain? You look ready to blow a gasket." They asked, voice soft, showing sympathy. The brunet huffed and rested his hand on his hip, feeling a bit soothed by the gentle pat on his bicep. "These damn kids won't take me seriously, and I've bout had it." He explained, motioning to the group. The soldier's eyes widened and looked at him like he'd grown a second head. Unable to fathom it. They weren't much older than the newbies, and they'd already shown a genuine and powerful admiration for John. For various reasons. John watched them frown and shake their head. "Try again." They motioned, giving an encouraging nod. John was a bit confused but he cleared his throat and shouted to get their attention. "I said to run laps, not stand chit-chatting! Move it!" He demanded, voice rough and commanding, but not as intense was it was in the heat of battle. Y/N's blood boiled at the blatantly disrespectful laugh one recruit let out. "Whatever, old man!" A young man replied. John felt his jaw tighten and he took in a breath to yell again, on his last nerve, before a voice beside him beat him to it. "WATCH YOUR FUCKIN' MOUTH!" Mist exclaimed, voice echoing in the air like flying daggers. They'd been rather soft, quiet, and gentle the whole time they were with 141. Excluding battle. To see them so angry, so intense, it was enough to make John even jolt in surprise. "When your commanding officer gives you an order, you execute it on the first fucking demand! He said run, you sprint damnit! If you think you can dick around at the sake of the training that will save your life and the lives of your comrades, FUCK OFF BACK HOME!" They hissed, baring teeth like a raging dog. "Now, move it! Forty fucking laps at least and if I hear more disrespect at my captain, I'll have your fuckin' heads!" The recruits had already began on the track, wincing when the threat landed in their ears. John watched Mist compose themself with a look of shock interlaced with endearment. They gave him a bashful glance and cleared their throat. "Uhm...there ya go." They smiled. John let out a quiet chuckle and patted their back. "Remind me to stay on your good side." He said playfully.

(Brief description of bullet wound & war) The sounds of gunfire were sharp on the ear drums. Air permeated with the scent of rubble dust & metallic blood. Mist jumped over an enemy corpse as they dodged around a building, clicking the button on their radio in order to answer their captain. "This is Mist! Ran off about six yards east, where are you, cap?" They asked, chest heaving. "Three yards to your right! Haul ass before these cunts reload!" It was probably a terrible time to think it, but they couldn't help but worry about his throat, all those cigars surely made his voice rougher than it was naturally. That thought was pushed back by the need of survival, although their worry was barely focused on themselves, more on the safety of their captain. They found him settled behind some large stacked crates, littered with bullet holes. Taking no time to slide up beside him, huffing and puffing, face smeared with paint & dirt. "Are you steady, Cap?" They asked breathlessly. John nodded, adjusting his bucket cap. "For now. We gotta move out toward the evac, Soap's got this place set to blow and I wanna be out before it happens." He explained whilst loading a rifle. "Understood, I'll cover you." They replied. Whilst sprinting away from the enemy, ducking when the gunfire got heavy, their barriers were thinning. John huffed and pushed through, scanning for the next thing they could duck behind. As he did, he was left open. The young soldier's eyes locked in on a sniper overhead, gun angled directly at the man beside them. The world moved slow and frightfully quick all at once as they shoved John off to the side whilst shouting for him to take cover. The bullet spun through the air and made itself home in Mist's leg. John was quick to act, able to aim his rifle up at the roof, landing a rather lucky headshot in retaliation. "Damnit, soldier, what the hell were you thinkin'?!" He exclaimed, using his arm to help them stand. They didn't respond, teeth gritted in pain as the two of them continued to move. Making it to the evac wasn't easy, but it happened. The team left like a bat out of hell, holding up with shotty attempts at first-aid until they could get to a medic. John put Y/N on priority for one since the bullet was lodged in their thigh, risking a problem with an artery or bone. Thankfully though, it was just a muscle issue. They'd need recovery time and rest, but overall, they'd be fine. Likely to only sport a scar by the end of it. They sat on a medical bed as John heard the verdict, eventually waving off the doctor so he could speak with them alone. "What the hell were you thinking?" John whispered harshly. Though Mist was the more sensitive type, they didn't flinch, not a single waver as they met his gaze. "Thinking about saving your life." They answered. "And you got shot cause of it." John replied, making them snort. "I can handle a shot to the leg. Far less damage than losing you. In terms of pros & cons? I think I weighed'em pretty well." John felt his chest constrict as they gave him a satisfied smile, as if they weren't still covered in the signs of war. He opened his mouth and no words came out, he gave up and sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He stared at them for a moment. Eventually, his hand fell limp at his side, chuckling quietly. "You'll be the death of me, soldier." He said. They laughed and shrugged. "Nah, I think I'll keep you alive for awhile longer. That's my plan anyway." Their retort played like music in the strings of his neurons, sending waves of serotonin & oxytocin in his system. "I'll hold you to that." He sighed.

(NPC death mentions) The sound of paper rustlings and the scratch of a pen was monotonous and soul sucking. John had always been a diligent worker, but, he'd never enjoyed paper work. It was something he found particularly boring even as he got older, and there was always an air of somberness when he was filling out reports on men who'd died. Lost their lives under his command. In the late hours of the night where silence was suffocating and the loneliness began to grow more obvious in his bones, continuously marking his signature down on dotted lines until his wrists were sore. His throat was dry and his eyes stung. There was a bottle of whiskey on a side table calling his name, but he didn't have the energy to move, and he knew it wouldn't satisfy any actual thirst. The sigh he let out was full of exhaustion. Then, he flinched, silence broken by a knock at the door. The brunet's brows furrowed in confusion & suspicion, given lights out was at least two hours ago. "Who is it?" He called after clearing his throat. "It's me." The voice was unmistakable, and though he hated to admit it, his shoulders relaxed slightly. "Enter." He instructed, finding it worrisome how it felt easier to breathe when their figure poked through the door, entering slowly. A cup of steaming tea rested in their hands. "You should be asleep, soldier." John said, leaning back in his seat. They gave a soft laugh and a nod, walking up to his desk. "Couldn't. Kept thinkin' bout you, knowing you were overworking yourself. Finally gave in and made you a cup of tea. With all due respect, sir, you should also be in bed." They answered, setting the cup on the desk. Like a godsend, able to sense his unspoken needs from across the base. He was a providing type, protective too, he'd been called a "dad" type as well, always caring for others. Although being cared for was foreign, he couldn't help but have his heart melt in a way he hadn't really felt in a very long time. The man sighed, grabbing the cup, blowing on it before he took a sip. He could feel his soul grow warm as he realized it was a perfect replica of how he'd make it, ideal to his preferences. It was impossible not to smile. "You're a real saint, you know that?" He asked. The room felt brighter as they laughed again. "I'm not sure about that, but thank you." They replied. "I mean it. You stick out your neck to make things easier for me, even when I don't ask. I notice it, even if I'd prefer you keep a bullet out of your leg." He scolded lightly, making them nervously shift their gaze to the side, recalling the shot they'd taken for him. "Eh, I don't really regret it." They said, moving around his desk in order to sit on the same side as him, remaining on the corner of the wooden table, careful to avoid sitting on any of the papers. John shook his head. "I'd probably take another eighty bullets for you." They answered honestly, ignoring the stutter in their heartbeat as he stood, chair scraping on the rug below. "Now why would you do that?" He questioned cynically. The response he got struck every chord in his heart. "Because I care about you too much to see you get hurt." They whispered. "You're such a good person, and you do so much for everyone else, even when you're at the end of your rope. There really aren't people like that in the world, and I don't think I could really handle losing something so rare." John inhaled and stepped in front of them. He was intently in their personal space, but they didn't feel the need to lean away, even if their nerves were alight with a specific type of anxiety as he tilted their chin with his hand. He didn't say anything for a long while, only gazing, adoringly and intensely full of passion. Finally, he smiled with an amused breath. "I think I hit the nail on the head..." He heard their breath catch when he leaned close enough for his facial hair to lightly prick at their skin. "You're nothin' short of a saint, sweetheart."

✧Johnny "Soap" MacTavish✧

The bar was crowded and rowdy, dimly lit and teeming with energy. 141 settled in a booth. The bar was popular with veterans and active soldiers, so there wasn't a corner of the building that didn't have some camo print in it. Johnny chuckled at a joke Gaz made at the expense of a recently defeated enemy before taking a swing of beer. He scanned the bar lazily. At the same time as others, cerulean eyes settled on a small scene in the crowd. Kyle leaned around Soap to get a better visual. "Yeesh, can't a man take a hint?" The man mumbled as they watched a tipsy soldier flirt with, what seemed like, a civilian. Dressed up for a night of fun but clearly not having a good time with a slurring and pushy man not being able to take a no. "Think we should step in?" Soap questioned, to which Ghost rose his hand, a signal to stay seated. "Look at their friends, they look like they're waiting for somethin'. Maybe they've got it covered already." He mumbled past the fabric of his balaclava. Johnny cringed, scrunching his nose at the scene, biting his tongue, literally. "They're a civilian against a trained soldier. Drunk or not, they probably need some help." Kyle commented. It was immediately after he finished his sentence that the "civilian" set their drink down, face showing annoyance. They turned to the drunkard and in quick, trained movements, took him out. Or in less intense terms, knocked him out cold with a swift elbow to the chest and a well formed punch to the jaw. The bar went quiet after a collective "oooohhh" in response to it all. The "civilian huffed and rested their hands on their hips, shaking their head. Soap's jaw was lax as he watched them walk over to the bar, pay, and leave. Left in utter awe intermingled with disappointment that he hadn't had a chance to talk to them. Up until a week later when a higher up declared he'd be gifting a lieutenant with an impressive track record to aid the task force in a mission. A huge help, since apparently they had specialized information. The four men waited for the mystery person right outside of base. When they walked up, they had a mask on, but a collective string of shock hit the men when they came closer. Gaz let out a little laugh and nudged Soap with his elbow. "Looks like you get to talk to them after all." He teased, watching Johnny fight to keep his jaw closed. They stopped in front of him with their arms crossed and face stern. "You lot must be 141. Lieutenant Fern." They said. Price stepped up calmly to introduce the team. Johnny cut him off, practically leaping forward with his hand extended to greet them. "Sergeant Soap, pleasure to meet'cha Lieutenant." He said with a boyish grin. They tilted their head with a raised eyebrow. "You always this excitable, sergeant?" They asked. Johnny's eyes glimmered with childlike fascination and liveliness. "Only with beauties like ya'self." He said boldly. They scoffed with some amusement, shaking his hand as they glanced at an embarrassed Price. "Bold, this one." They praised.

Soap grunted and slammed his hand on the floor twice, letting out a strained word. He took a deep breath when the pressure let off his neck, hearing a few tongue clicks. "That's the third take down, Soap. You gotta stop leaving yourself open." Fern sighed, giving him a hand up. He rubbed his neck and coughed, frustrated at himself for letting his performance slip. It was showing on his face and in his shoulders, weighing down by the sense of failure. "Oi, suds, quit that." They ordered, making him look up with confusion. They made a vague motion to his person, referring to his posture, before resting their hands on their hips. "The self-doubt and anger at yourself. It ain't gonna help ya. You're not bad at what you do, you're learning still. That's normal." They explained. Though their tone sounded blunt and rough, as usual, Johnny had been around them enough now to hear the hint of softness that lingered in their words. Something he had yet to hear before. He huffed and dropped his hand at his side. "I shouldn't be havin' these fuck ups, L.T. I been doin' this for too many years for fuck ups." Johnny let out a yelp and a whine as he received a flick to the bridge of his nose. "'nough of that, sergeant. What'd I just say?" Fern demanded with their gaze sharpened. They poked his chest to keep his attention. "You listen here, and you listen good because I won't be repeating myself. You're smart, and you're good at what you do. Fuck ups happen no matter how long you've been doin' something. You ain't perfect and I ain't expecting you to be. I expect you to be observant and open minded." They stated. Johnny's face softened and so did their tone. Fern sighed and shook his head. "Don't beat yourself up over shit that's fixable or that you can't control. Doing that won't help you, it'll just make you feel like shit. Enough of that will turn you into a stick in the mud." Their hand smacked on his shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. Soap felt his heart squeeze when they gave him a rare and small smile. "And I like you as the puppy dog you are, alright, soldier?" Johnny blinked before he snorted and nodded, taking their words to heart. "Good man. Now, c'mon. Let's go again. I'll go slower and correct your form and we'll get those slip ups worked out. On your mark." They ordered, gentler this time. Soap got into position with a grin and determination lit aflame once more. "On it, Lieutenant. Hit me." He challenged, burning with joy when they gave a fond chuckle.

Music and commotion filled the air with noise, adding a backdrop to a conversation that flooded in and out. Soap threw back some whiskey and cringed as it hit his taste buds. He coughed and set the cup down, shaking his head whilst the person across from him chuckled. "Not a whiskey type, suds?" They teased. He shook his head and slid the cup over, letting them take it and refill it. "I'll stick to my beer, thanks." Johnny replied with a huff. He pushed down the warmth in his face he got from watching them drink out of the same glass, mouth placed over where he'd just pressed his lips. Unintentional, most likely. He felt ridiculous being flustered over such a school-yard level of intimacy, and indirect kiss from sharing a glass was juvenile. He looked over their face, eyes settling on the signs of exhaustion in their expression. The Scotsman frowned and tapped the table a few times before he gave into his thoughts. "You ain't been sleeping, 'ave ya?" He asked. They looked up from following the patters of paint in the wall beside the two of them. Their silence was answer enough but the fact they shook their head sealed the deal. "Mind if I pry?" Soap asked, leaning in a bit more on his elbows. Fern shrugged and sank in their seat a bit, sighing. They rubbed their eye before regaining eye contact. "Different reasons. Old demons, mostly." They muttered. Johnny's brows dipped in sympathy. "You got a way of dealin' wit' that? Therapist?" He asked, sadness bubbling in his chest as they gave a humorless laugh and headshake. "Nah, I ain't gonna put my shit in someone else's hands. It's my problems, I should be able to deal with'em-" "Now that's a loada shit, L.T." Soap's voice cutting them off caught them by surprise. Johnny was a bold man, a loud man too, but he knew respect and knew when he needed to bite his tongue. He'd never really given an outburst at them. "Ain't you the one always tellin' me an' the team to speak up when we're in trouble?" He asked. They opened their mouth and shut it, unable to formulate a response. Their eyes softened when he reached over and rested his hand on top of their own. "Don't hesitate to ask for help. When you're out your depth, holdin' you pride too tight will get'cha killed. That's what you said." Fern blinked before a sad smile crossed their face. "Yeah...I did say that." They nodded, heart clenching as Johnny gave their hand a squeeze. "Then take your own advice, Y/N. Don't'cha owe yourself that?" He asked in a hushed tone. They bit the inside of their cheek and took his words to heart, nodding slowly with a slow exhale. "You're right. I'll keep that in mind...thank you, Johnny." They replied. He gave that sunshine filled grin in reply. "Ain't gotta thank me for that, L.T. But, you can buy me a drink if you wanna show your gratitude." He joked, feeling proud when it got them to laugh. "How's a tequila sound?" They asked. "After my 'eart, you are! I'll take three." Johnny responded with a grin.

(Implied wound) Soap grunted and leaned against a wall whilst holding his side. Pain shot through his nervous system with every movement. He huffed and thumped his head against the brick. His skin was growing clammy and moving his head too fast lead to his vision blurring, the dizziness was something that always got him the worst. He'd never been good with the sensation. It always felt him nauseous. The brunet groaned past gritted teeth as he tried to force himself to focus, will his brain to work despite the myriad of overloaded senses. His radio crackled with sound and a voice that was choppy thanks to the slightly cracked speaker. He let out a huff and rose his arm to click the button whilst trying to focus on the words, spoken by a familiar voice. "Soap? Soap, do you copy? C'mon mate, don't leave me hanging here." Fern asked with a hint of worry. The man grunted and that alone let the lieutenant take a sigh of relief. "You broken, serge?" They asked. Johnny swallowed in order to clear his throat. "Cracked, L.T. Took a hit to the side. Not sure of the damage but I ain't doin' so hot." He wheezed. Speaking brought on a coughing fit. He barely heard the order to stay put as his ears rung from the pain coughing caused. His vision was going spotty by the time he heard footsteps rapidly approaching. In his half focused state, he weakly tried to reach for his gun, only for a gloved hand to stop his arm. "It's me, Johnny." Fern's voice brought him a sense of relief. He leaned his head back to look at them, giving a weak smile. "'ey there, beautiful." He said, coughing again, which was followed by what could only be described as a whimper. Fern frowned as they checked his wound, using one hand to keep him steady. "Shit, Johnny. We need to get you to the evac right now. Can you stand?" They asked. He shook his head, slumping on their shoulder. He sighed, soothed by their body heat. "Just go on...I had a pretty good r-FUCKIN' CHRIST!" He screeched as they applied pressure to his wound. His face was grabbed sternly, forcing him to look them in the eye. Shock flooded his system as he saw saltwater building along their lower lid. "You listen here, you bloody fuckin' moron. You ain't allowed to die on me. Not until I fuckin' say so." They hissed. Soap blinked and opened his mouth to speak, letting out a noise of surprise when their lips collided with his. He let out a shaky breath whilst leaned into them, hand clutching a strap on their vest. Left tingling and energized by the action as they pulled away. "You pull all that fightin' spirit back in your fuckin' body and fight for me. Then, we get you out of here, we get you fixed up, and you owe me a fuckin' date. You got me, loverboy?" They demanded. The Scotsman heaved some breaths before he nodded. "I got'cha." He replied. Fern gave a single nod and stood up, pulling up the weakened soldier, getting under his arm to keep him steady. "Atta boy. Keep your head up, Johnny. I need you to keep your word." They said as they began helping him move. He gave a weak chuckled and a wheeze. "Roger that, L.T. Roger that."

✧Simon "Ghost" Riley✧

(Brief description of an NPC gettin' knifed in the face) The stairs creaked under Ghost's weight as he moved up behind Price. The man made a hand motion to move up more, which Ghost followed. "Stay steady, boys. Remember, not everyone in this place is a hostile." Price whispered gruffly, getting some affirmative responses. Ghost motioned for Soap to help him scan one side of the second floor, moving slowly through the rooms. Three hostiles were down in the span of two minutes. "Floor clear?" Gaz asked. "Affirmative." Soap replied, looking around. Just as Ghost was about to move out of the room, his eyes fell on a door he hadn't seen at first, with noise from behind it. "Negative. Unchecked room to the south." He motioned. The men rose their guns as Ghost moved toward it, carefully turning the door knob. He listened closely before swinging the door open quickly, locking in on a target almost instantly. They rose their hands with a yelp, an unidentified box in their hand. Ghost's finger twitched on the trigger before they spoke. "Friendly, don't shoot! Unarmed!" They declared, which made Price motion for the team to hold fire. "Name!" Ghost demanded. "Y/N L/N, call sign Blister. I'm a medic with S.A.S, and currently a hostage!" They said, voice sounding out of breath from the rush of adrenaline. Price clicked into the radio for Laswell for an identification as Ghost's eyes looked back at the box they held. Now he could see it was white with a red cross on it, as well as some faded stickers. He lowered his gun as Price confirmed they were telling the truth. Ghost motioned to the box and opened his mouth to demand they hand it over before they tensed, eyes locked on something right past him. "COVER!" They exclaimed. Shots ran past him, Gaz & Soap ducked. An enemy had snuck up behind them. About to reload before a white box flew and clocked them in the face, quickly followed by a throwing knife. As the body dropped limp, the men of 141 looked over with widened eyes as the medic let out a huff. "You said you were unarmed." Ghost replied gruffly, pushing past his feelings of shock. "One knife compared to four AK-12's is pretty much unarmed, big guy." Blister retorted. Ghost scoffed a small amused huff with a nod. "Fair point and good aim." He praised, watching them smile slightly. Price snapped his fingers to get their attention. "Need a gun?" He asked, to which Blister nodded. Ghost took his pistol out and handed it over, though he jerked it from their grasp at the last second with a warning look. "I better not regret givin' you this." He threatened, slowly holding it out again. They took it from his palm slowly, fingertips brushing against his gloves. "Relax, big guy. Only grief I plan to give is to the enemy." They said, checking the ammo clip before putting the gun in their pocket. Price motioned for them to move, stay low. Ghost was sure to trail the medic closely from behind. Unaware that it'd be soon that a higher up would decide that 141 needed a medic, and who better than one with perfect aim?

"Bit late to be up, ain't it?" The voice from behind him made him tense and nearly choke on the smoke in his mouth. Ghost looked over his shoulder as he exhaled the vaporized tabaco, pulling his mask back down once it was expelled completely. He watched Blister meander up to him, highlighted by the color of the moon. "Could ask you the same thing, medic." He replied. They snorted as they came to stand beside him. "Fair point, Lieutenant, fair point." They nodded, tilting their head to look up at the sky. The air was cold and the roof was quiet, below their feet were sleeping soldiers, unaware of the bright moon and twinkling stars. Blister tilted their head as their shoulders fell lax, something Ghost noticed. They never seemed tense and he couldn't fathom it when he couldn't ever relax, even when he was alone his muscles were tight, ready for fight-or-flight at all times. "You're staring, sir." They whispered, looking at him in their peripheral. Ghost scoffed and looked at the sky. "Was not." He denied, hearing them snicker. Silence passed between them before the medic noted Ghost's posture, just like he'd done to them. "You ever gonna let your shoulders relax? Your muscles' are gonna snap under that hypertension, sir." The blond clicked his tongue and shook his head. "These are as relaxed as they're gonna get, medic." He answered. "Because you're burning off constant anxiety?" Their response hit him a bit hard and he snapped his head to look at them. They stood with all their weight shifted to one leg, head tilted. "You don't hide it real well, ya know. All that unease. I know it ain't my place to pry, but I want you to know I can see it." Y/N said softly. Ghost let out an exhale from his nose. "And so what if you do? You're on thin ice, Blister." He warned, getting a headshake in reply. "I'm saying I see it so you know you're not invisible to me." He scoffed, crossing his arms after tossing the put out cigarette off the edge of the roof. The moonlight bounced off his irises, providing superficial light to replace the one that'd been missing since he was young. "Hard to miss me. I'm a "big guy in a Halloween mask", aren't I?" He said, using air quotes. They clicked their tongue. Ghost tensed and looked at them once more as their hand rested on his arm. "What I meant is; I see when you're struggling. And I'm here for you when it gets a bit too heavy. Whether you like it or not. I'm stick to ya, like a superglued plaster, sir." They patted his bicep and gave a kind smile. "Come see me sometime, you don't have to be injured to talk to me. My door's always open." Their words hung in the air as they walked away, and Simon couldn't help but pivot to watch them leave. When they disappeared off the roof, he cursed under his breath, feeling his chest clench and a pressure in the back of his throat. He looked up at the stars with weakness in the circles of his pupils. "...fuckin' help me ma, I'm screwed." He whispered into the night air, watching a star blink back at him.

(Ghostie gets a panic attack but it's still fluffy) Ghost let out a shaky sigh as pins and needles made themselves at home in his extremities. His veins buzzed with anxious energy and his hands had begun to shake slightly. His breathing wasn't erratic yet, but he knew it wasn't long before it would be. He bounced his leg and weighed his options before he stood up, chair squeaking along the floor at the speed of which he did. His footsteps were quick and heavier than usual as he rushed down the halls and toward med-bay. It never made sense to him, why he'd be perfectly fine and then suddenly be hit with sense of panic. Like there was a guillotine hanging over his neck that he couldn't see, but he knew the blade would drop at any second. The med-bay was empty of anyone, except for one person, organizing a new shipment of bandages. Blister heard the door click shut and the ragged breathing. They looked over their shoulder, surprised at first to see Ghost. They went to greet him before noticing all the signs of something they'd seen a million times. Twitchy, anxious, unable to breathe clearly, trembling hands. Without him saying a word, they pulled out a chair and motioned to it. "Sit." They demanded. Simon wasn't one for listening to other's orders if he didn't have to, but he did it, bouncing his leg. Y/N walked over to the water cooler and then a mini fridge, pulling out an ice pack. They walked over with it in hand, along with a tiny cup of water. Y/N placed it on his chest and motioned for him to hold it there. "Simon, look at me." They instructed in a soft voice. "I need you to try and take a deep breath. I know that's not easy, but try your best." He felt them lift his balaclava just far enough to rest over his nose, making it easier to breathe. "Can't you just shoot me up wit' somethin'?" He gasped. "I'd rather not if I can help it. Do you know what's happening right now?" They asked as he took the cup, tossing back the cold water. He shook his head. "This is a panic attack, Si. I'm gonna walk you through it, you just gotta do your best to breathe and focus on me." He didn't have much choice. They took his free hand and sat in front of him, looking him in the eye. "Follow with me. Give me five things you see." Simon swallowed and scanned. "Uh...peeling paint, cracked window, fire hydrant, ugly tile, broken light." He answered. They nodded and squeezed his hand soothingly. "Four things you feel." He took a deep breath. "Your hand, the seam of my jeans, ice pack, my itchy ass stubble." That got a little amused huff out of the medic. "Very good, you're doing great. Now, three things you can hear." Their praise was more comforting than he liked to admit. "My heartbeat, the clock on the wall...your voice." He whispered. They gave him a gentle smile and another squeeze to his hand. "Two things you smell." Simon took a deep breath through his nose and noted what came with it. "Sanitizer and somethin' fruity." He mumbled. "That'd be me. Now, last one. Take a deep breath and then tell me something you taste." They asked. Simon did as he was told, it felt easier now, less like his lungs were collapsing. "Mmph, tea. Bad tea, let the bag sit for too long." He complained. Blister chuckled and stood up, taking the ice pack from him and putting it on the table. They rested their hands on his shoulders, lightly pressing into them as they told him to take some more deep breaths. Once his breathing was steady again, he sighed and blinked slowly. "You alright?" They asked. Simon nodded, though he felt tired now. "You're...a real good medic." He muttered, feeling warm as they snorted cutely. "Thanks, big guy. I do my best."

(Reference to Ghost's poor self image & a singular mention of a wound) Ghost sat in an unmarked van with his back against one of the doors, watching Blister rummage around in hopes of finding medical supplies. His eyes drifted down to his leg, a broken pipe ran through his thigh. It hurt like hell and based on the annoyed growl the medic let out whilst throwing away another useless box, there wasn't anything they could do to help at the moment. Their radios overlapped with the sound of Price's words, informing them about the evac on the way, and how they'd ensure to send the help needed to get Ghost out of there safely. Said man shook his head as Y/N replied to their captain. "Just go. I'll slow ya down, it ain't worth it." He grumbled, wincing as he attempted to move his leg again. "Shut your fucking mouth, lieutenant." Blister hissed back. The man blinked in surprise at their response. They rarely snapped, not unless they were in the midst of battle. "Damnit, medic, don't be stubborn right now. Just fucking go, leave me here. That's an order-" "God damnit, Simon, shut your fucking mouth!" Ghost flinched at their shouting, now even more caught off guard. He watched them stand, walking a few steps to sit between his thighs. They gripped his vest roughly, eyes sharp like daggers and their nose scrunched in anger, teeth clenched tightly. They pointed a finger in his face while breathing heavily. "Now you listen and you listen good, I am not fucking leaving you hear. I am not leaving you anywhere, you understand? We are gonna get you in that fucking evac." They insisted. Ghost rolled his eyes at their declaration. "I am a liability, Blister!" They jostled him roughly. "You are fucking important to me, Simon! Your survival fucking matters to me, and until you stop breathing I am going to ensure I do everything in my power to keep you alive. And not just because it's my fucking job, but because I give a shit!" They shouted. Simon's chest felt tight again. His hands trembled so he curled them into tight fists to hide it. He felt like a kid again, weak and vulnerable. Something he despised. "Why?" He whispered past clenched teeth. He watched their gaze soften and their grip on him loosened, leaving their hand resting on his chest. "Because I care about you, but I know you don't care about yourself. But whether you like it or not, I give a shit whether you live or die. And one day, even if it takes my entire god damn life, I will get you to the day you can look in the mirror and love what you see. In and out. In order to do that, I need you alive. I need you alive to see the great man I see every day, o you're gonna get in that fucking evac, we're gonna get you patched up, and you're gonna live." Their voice shook and he watched their bottom lip shake slightly. Simon shuddered under the weight of their words. "Do you copy?" They asked. He stared at them, unable to find any hints of deception. They meant every word. Simon bit his lower lip and inhaled slowly. "...yeah, I copy."

[ryin-silverfish]

Headcanon: Dragons of the Four Seas

(inspired by a recent discussion with @the-monkey-ruler)

-Although Chinese dragons are water deities, there are dragons who control stuff other than water: Cold Dragons under the Dragon King of the North can freeze stuff, and Bailong Ma used to be a Fire Dragon in pre-novel variants of JTTW.

"Wouldn't it be interesting if the four major lineage of dragons all have their unique side-power, apart from water and weather manipulation?"

-It starts off as this, then spins out of control and becomes one giant worldbuilding exercise.

East Sea:

-The eastern direction is traditionally associated with the Wood element. However, I feel like plant manipulation will be too obvious.

-So instead, they are the master of Thunder and Wind——the trigrams that represent these two things, Zhen and Xun, are both Wood-aligned.

-Their lightning has a notable azure hue, and have adapted the force of Thunder specifically for underwater usage, creating highly potent sonic blasts as well as what basically amount to a sonar spell.

-They kinda consider themselves the archetypal dragon, representative of their kind, and certainly have the attitude to match.

-Like, they claim to be descended from the Azure Dragon of the East, even though the idea that a Divine Beast of the Four Directions, stellar guardian of the entire eastern section of the sky, can reproduce is...dubious at best.

-Don't you mention the time Ao Guang got bullied by Wukong. Or Nezha. Or Huaguang. Or the Eight Immortals. They are very touchy about that. Violently touchy.

-They also have close relations with water-dwelling Yakshas, who act as a sort of elite mercenaries in their military campaigns against other seaborn demons and rogue flood dragons.

-Basically, the proud generals of dragonkind, with a vast weapon collection to match. The dragon king's family also name their kids after Celestial Stems and Earthly Branches, much like the ancient Shang dynasty rulers.

-The East Sea dragons are the only lineage who has an official representative of the Celestial Host stationed in their territory, who's only known by his title, the "Water-dividing General of the East Sea".

-He seems to be an older sort of god, the half-man, half-beast ones who look like they walk out of an illustration of the Book of Mountains and Seas.

-Most of the time, he takes the form of a seal, lounging around on rocks and watching sunrises, and has the personality of a sarcastic old man.

-Whether he's here to keep an eye on them, or they are supposed to keep an eye on him, no one can say. Ao Guang certainly treats him like an old acquaintance, though.

West Sea:

-They are a bit tricky. West is associated with Metal, and the two Metal-aligned trigrams, Qian and Dui, represent Heaven and Marsh...which don't neatly map onto weather and natural phenomena.

-Then I had an idea. What if they have a natural affinity for heavenly bodies? In ancient times, the movements of stars are believed to affect weather, after all, not to mention the sun and the moon.

-This affinity can be figurative——their lineage has a strong relationship with the stellar deities of the 28 Lunar Mansion and Dipper Mansion——or literal.

-Like a natural talent for divination and astrology, predicting the future from the patterns of stars. They are no governors of fate, unlike the actual Star Lords, they are just fate's weather forecast guy.

-This puts them in an awkward position, though: the stellar gods act according to the Jade Emperor's orders, some of which are very much secret and beyond their clearance levels, but the best scions of the West Sea can just infer it from the movement of stars alone.

-Which makes them obsessed with proving their loyalty, as well as enforcing a draconian standard of secrecy, just so they wouldn't get into trouble for knowing something they weren't supposed to know.

-Even more rarely, they can harness the power of astral light. Most of the time, such light is of lunar nature——Star Lord Taiyin also holds sway over the ocean's tides, though it is an easily forgotten power.

-But sometimes, that light comes from a fiery, lively, or ominous star, and the power that results is just as temperamental as their stellar origins.

-Enters Ao Lie, Third Prince of the West Sea, who has highly potent fire powers despite not being a South Sea dragon, and became the subject of some rather tasteless gossips about his parentage the moment it awakened.

-All dragons love their pearls: it's kinda like an ordinary yaoguai's "inner core", an orb of solidified Qi that can be spit out and store separately from the body, but much more powerful and culturally significant.

-Well, the West Sea dragons use their pearls in the same way a Feng Shui master uses their geomantic compass, or a Zhou Yi diviner, their turtle shell and copper coins. The ones left behind by venerable ancestors are especially treasured, believed to lead to clearer insights and more reliable readings.

-Through that lens, Ao Lie's burning of one such pearl is the equivalent of descrating the dead + destroying a priceless, irreplacable supercomputer.

-Intentional or not, to a lineage that is so serious about their discipline, taboos, and absolute loyalty to the Celestial Host, it is enough to warrant death.

-To no one's surprise, they are the diplomats, the inter-department coordinators when it comes to weatherly business. Not just between relevant celestial bureaus like the Thunder and Water Bureaus, but also between local dragon kings of rivers and lakes.

-As a result, the West Sea lineage is the most open to marrying non-oceanic dragons, even though these are often out of practical and political needs.

-That's my explanation for why, in JTTW, Ao Run's nine nephews either guard rivers or work for JE/the Buddha. The West Sea lineage has really turned nepotism into an art form.

North Sea:

-In JTTW, we know that they have Cold Dragons that can chill stuff. It is certainly not too much of a stretch to imagine them as the ice-and-snow specialists, the ones you summon when you are sick of the heat or need to insta-freeze something.

-Historically, the "North Sea" in Chinese texts refer to Lake Baikal. However, I think it is cooler if their palace is literally in the arctic zone, under the ice caps.

-Instead of garden-variety shrimp and crab soldiers, they have lots of cultivated marine mammals. And elite legions of belugas and narwhals and bowhead whales.

-The smallest and most isolationist lineage also carries the grimest duty, as border patrols and prison wardens. Not only is the North Sea a hotspot of rifts that lead to the Underworld, it also conceals the portal to the Evil-Vanquishing Mansion of the North Pole——realm of Emperor Zhenwu, Lord of the North.

-Kind of like the Lord Father of the East and Queen Mother of the West, he is the sovereign of the northern direction and the Water element, as well as the direct superior of Xuanwu, one of the Four Divine Beasts.

-And his job? Subduing demons. The Evil-Vanquishing Mansion is basically a fleet of giant, hollowed-out icebergs, packed to the brim with powerful demons, ghosts, and rogue immortals.

-Any prisoners that make an unlikely escape will emerge into the North Sea, where the vigilant army of the dragon king awaits. However, that is not their main duty; it is the Eye of the North Sea that they swear to eternally guard.

-And the prisoner of the Eye is none other than Shen Gongbao, the infamous traitor of the Chan Sect who was behind most major conflicts in the War of Investiture.

-It was said that, though his body was stuffed into the Eye of the North Sea as punishment, in the end, his soul still gets deified as a minor water god.

-However, if there is only a mindless body left in there, why the need for such heavy security? Only the most experienced elders and veterans are allowed to go into the Eye's vicinity to check on Yuanshi Tianzun's seals, and repeated visit by the same people is strictly prohibited.

-Perhaps, instead of a split of soul and body, deification has split the soul itself: one half is exorcised of all the undesirable qualities, the other left to stew and simmer in them until it mutates into something unrecognizable.

-Such is the rumor among the North Sea's younger scions. But folks will make up anything to pass the time in those long, cold arctic nights, and whatever the truth is, it doesn't matter, as long as the seal still holds.

South Sea:

-Their element, Fire, is directly opposite to the North Sea's; much like the Cold Dragons, the Fire Dragons of the South Sea are heat specialists, creators of droughts and wildfires as well as bringers of warm winds.

-And their fire is a peculiar variant of Earthly Fire. Unlike Heavenly Fires, which draw from the blaze of the Three-legged Sun Crow, or the True Fires immortals used in internal alchemy, Fire Dragons channel the power of earth's flaming veins: that is, undersea volcanos and thermal vents.

-Though they usually display their power in less flashy ways——steam clouds, a playful whiff of sulfur, a blast of warm wind on a winter night, a Fire Dragon fully on the offensive is just like a mini live volcano, unleashing streams of magma and scalding smoke clouds.

-When dragons are mentioned as one of the Eight Classes of Demigods in Buddhism, more often than not, they are from the South Sea lineage.

-Like, the most popular Bodhisattva in Asia, Guanyin, resides in the South Sea. It's all but granted that the local dragons would also be heavily influenced by Buddhist teachings, in the same way their northern kins are drawn to the entourage of Zhenwu.

-Fun fact: the imagery of dragons has appeared in Chinese art since the Neolithic period, but the specific worship of dragons as gods of the Four Seas is a result of Buddhist influence.

-Prior to that, the gods of the Four Seas in the Book of Mountains and Seas are all beasts with human faces, wearing snakes as earrings or standing on a snake.

-And in Sui-Tang era works, some variants merged the Four Seas gods with the Four Directions gods of ancient times, and said that the god of the South Sea was Zhurong.

-A.k.a. the fire god that defeated Gonggong (in the most well-known version of the tale), who, being the sore loser he is, went and knocked over the sky support pillar with his head. Thus, Nvwa's patching of the sky.

-Legends of the South Sea lineage claim that the Fire Dragons draw their power from Zhurong's embers, and their king is descended from the two dragon mounts of the primodial fire god.

-To the outrage of more traditionalist dragons, they often intermarry with Nagas, the serpentine water gods of the Western Lands. Guanyin's dragon girl attendant is born of one such union, between the Naga lord Sagara and a princess of the South Sea.

-Their palace is located inside an underwater volcano, said to be the remnant of Zhurong's great forge. Giant tube worm gardening is a popular hobby among the South Sea nobility; however peculiar it may appear to outsiders, these colorful creatures thrive in the union of Fire and Water, much like the lineage itself.

(Pictures of the Four Dragon Kings come from Nezha 1979.)

(The animated film makes the dragon king of the West a black dragon, and the North, a white one, a reversal of the colors traditionally associated with the two directions——West = White, North = Black.）

[indigosabyss]

Call Back A Warning AU

"Which branch of the US military did you say you were again?" Ukyo asked, timidly.

The man sitting across from him with his spine deadly straight stared him down, "Special Forces." He repeated what he had briskly said when they first met.

"Yeah, but is that like the Marines, or...?" Ukyo fumbled for an answer Stanley Snyder was not benevolent enough to give him. Okay then.

Everything about this was strange. A random Japanese sonar operator wasn't reassigned to a top-secret project that multiple nations were cooperating on. Not without much drilling and warning.

Yet he had received none of that. Just a rushed verbal handover. And now he was in the care of this crack team of soldiers, flying to Houston, Texas.

A landlocked city was a strange place to require a sonar operator's presence. So it definitely had to do with something that Ukyo might be able to do for them.

"Any briefing you need to get done?" He asked, hopefully.

Snyder looked away, "I don't think I'm cleared to talk about it."

It was when they made landfall that he finally got more context than what his anxiety-filled nerves cooked up.

"Ah, the second General, brilliant!" A man with a white pompadour greeted him the second Ukyo walked out of the jet.

"I'm just enlisted..." Ukyo tried to correct, only to be cut off.

"Not what I meant. I'm sure Stan didn't think of explaining the situation to you?" The man asked, pulling out a briefcase, "We would've taken more time, but once he made landfall and located you, things got more dire."

He opened the case to reveal a stone statue of a swallow. Ukyo remembered a picture of a whole flock left decorating a tree on his feed in the one second he got to check his phone.

"This is a warning shot." The scientist explained, cryptically.

And then, much less cryptically: "We want you to go to space."

"What." His ears had apparently chosen this exact moment to fail him.

"You'll be accompanied by a student of mine, and a young man I'm assured has remarkable instincts that we are currently trying to contact. We'll explain more at the JSC, but time is running drastically short-" The man continued to talk.

"Xeno, you can't just spill state secrets in the open like this." Snyder frowned, guiding Ukyo along into an SUV anyway.

"Please, Stan, anyone with working braincells can piece together that these are real birds." Xeno scoffed, "And the radio transmission from the future? It doesn't belong to the state."

Snyder had the gall to laugh for the first time since Ukyo had met him, "Alright, you fucking commie. Kid, any pressing questions you wanna ask?"

"You know there's a difference between a submarine and a spaceship, right?" Was his first, panic-stricken question. Before he cringed and backtracked, "Also. Everything. I need to know everything. Been underwater for a really long time."

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

not to talk about geopolitics as a layman but I literally think that even if Hamas had tunnels underneith hospitals it would not justify bombing hospitals. Like yall have billions of dollars of us military funding and you cant even come up with sonar and a drill? the thing about tunnels is that they're long. if they actually thought there were tunnels bombing nicu babies would not be their solution.

[catgirlredux]

Hound Dogs

“… tomorrow we’ll meet your handler. For now, rest up.”

RDAI.vii.1156 stared down at its new body. Joining the military was considered the best route a Class-F citizen could pursue - free food, shelter, maybe even a few augments if you got lucky. But the Rapid Deployment Auxiliary Infantry unit felt less lucky and more confused. It signed up expecting to be given a gun and a pat on the back, not… this.

The arms were probably the strangest change. Skilled military surgeons had removed its forearms with a single blast of a laser that numbed its pain and severed flesh and bone at the same time. In their place, 1156 now wielded on each arm a single long, spider-like metal blade that extended all the way to the floor. The same happened to its legs, forcing the unit onto all fours. A reinforced spine kept it from collapsing onto the ground.

The rest of its body was covered in angular metal plates, designed to redirect and resist gunfire and protect the unit’s remaining flesh. Its face was likewise covered by an solid steel visor, vision and hearing substituted by an array of cameras, sonar, and radio scanners that fed information directly into its augmented brain. Its mouth remained uncovered but its teeth were removed and replaced with a new carbon fiber set. The chip in its brain repressed its discomfort so it didn’t try to claw off its own jaw.

A buzzer sounded and a tray carrying a bowl of nutrimeal slid out of the wall of the room. Unit 1156 stared it at, trying to figure out what to do - an injected concoction of hormones and suppressants had kept it comfortably dull, but somewhat muddled.

>EAT

The word flashed up on the inside of its visor, glaring into its semi-redundant eyes - eyes now dedicated to receiving screen-fed orders. It obediently craned its head down and started chomping at the slop. It was starving - the accelerated healing process was effective but it sapped all the solider’s energy.

Even if its senses hadn’t been muted, the nutritional goop was flavorless. Nevertheless it found itself slurping away with abandon, licking the bowl clean, dignity cast aside. Its faceplate glowed white hot for a moment before cooling down again, singeing off specks of food that had flown astray in the unit’s feeding frenzy. This feature was meant to burn blood and dirt off so that it didn’t impair an RDAI’s sensor array, but it worked for dinner well enough.

>GOOD MUTT

*****

The next day found RDAI.vii.1156 waiting in the main hangar, still slightly trembling on its spindly new legs. The thin, bladed design was perfect for chasing down enemy troops on the battlefield or pinning a straggler to the ground, but it was difficult to balance with even with the aid of the unit’s brain augments. A cord plugged into the back of its head kept it from wandering too far while feeding low-level electrical pulses that helped calm its nerves. It was waiting for its new handler - the soldier it would fight alongside, whose life it would dedicate itself to protecting. The bond between a handler and their hound (as the units were fondly referred to) was something truly unique, and though 1156 hadn’t planned to end up on this side of the relationship, it couldn’t help but feel excited.

It could feel her presence long before she actually entered the hangar. Perhaps it was merely the hormonal braindeck releasing waves of dopamine, but to the cyborg’s mind she was the most perfect being in the world. It could almost taste the draw of her augments to its own, pulling the two of them together like magnets. It knew that she felt it too. The connection between them was already established: the handler and the hunter, the owner and the dog.

It couldn’t quite remember what beauty looked like but it decided that she must be as close as one could get. Bent on all fours as 1156 was, it stood about half a meter shorter than her. Encased in a shiny automorphic techsuit, her body rippled with hidden energy ready to be unleashed at a moment’s notice. Her one eye shone, the other replaced by an implant that flashed rapidly as if to say, it’s finally you.

A technician standing by unplugged the unit’s tether and stuck in a thinner, double-ended wire. 1156 trembled as its handler grabbed the other end and slowly slotted it into a port on her neck.

The instant the plug connected, 1156 nearly collapsed from the tsunami of pleasure that struck it at full force. All Handler’s emotions, all her thoughts, her very essence flowed through its brain, and it could tell that she was experiencing the same influx of data.

They stood there for what seemed like forever, its faceplate lights flashing in sync with her vitals node. The only sound was the slight clinking of metal on concrete as 1156 shifted from talon to talon. Her designation was RDI-H.2054, she was a Class-E civilian who was recruited at age 8, she had been trained as a handler for 11 years, but 1156 was her first hound of her own. She liked the color green, she hated morning training, she had been deployed overseas on a scouting mission just three months ago. The unit’s brain felt overloaded with information and yet more kept flowing in.

It saw vague images, faces of people that it didn’t recognize yet felt so familiar - Handler’s family? It saw the fire of war, the smiles of fellow soldiers, it felt her heartbeat, her brainwaves, her every breath. For a split second, the hound and the handler were not separate but rather a single entity, one soldier in two bodies, sharing their memories. 1156 felt its Handler’s cybernetic eye and her prosthetic leg, and she likewise felt its spindly new form and armor plating.

RDAI.vii.1156 felt 2054 about to scream and roared out in sync. Its twisted metallic vocal chords, designed specifically to instill fear in the enemy, pierced the air in the hangar with an unearthly screech which neither overwhelmed nor surrendered to its keeper’s voice but rather merged with it in a feral harmony.

*****

Blood spewed down the dog’s chin and through crevasses in its armor. It spit out a chunk of flesh with strands of muscle tangled in its reinforced teeth. As it stepped back from its prey, its pointed blades withdrew from within the dead footsoldier’s chest. The unit’s faceplate sizzled, burning away blood and viscera and turning its vision bright red for a moment. It let out a fierce howl, launching itself forwards with a speed unmatched by any two-legged infantry.

Just behind it, its handler finished off a tank pilot attempting to crawl away from its craft. The hound’s many sensors highlighted the remaining stragglers on the battlefield, and 2054 assessed the remaining threats as she ran. She spotted a wounded soldier training their scope onto her companion and raised her weapon, disintegrating the enemy’s face with a single clean blast. The hound bayed its gratitude before finishing its run, speeding between rocks and debris and eliminating the last few soldiers.

One, two, three, blood gushed from their chests as 1156 pounced on them, puncturing their lungs and tearing out their throats in quick succession. RDI-H.2054 watched and basked in the adrenaline - her brain had not been upgraded to manage her auxiliary’s entire suite of sensors, but they shared many core sensations. They both felt the rush of war, the warmth of blood on their faces, and most of all an immense wave of satisfaction and even euphoria. Nothing felt better than killing together - an entire battalion laid to waste at their hands gave them a jolt of dopamine that felt better than orgasm.

They were never awarded for their feats, nor did they feel the need for any such recognition. Deep in their programming they didn’t fight for any cause or nation, or even for their commanding officer. They fought merely to tear and bite alongside each other, to see the fear in their enemies’ eyes and feel their life drain out at the will of the hound of death and its handler.

Standing together in the remains of a decimated army, they surveyed their work. The air smelled of blood and the familiar scent of plasma-scorched air. 1156 playfully rammed its armored face into its handler’s chestplate, grunting and drooling red down her torso. She laughed and rubbed the top of its head, sending microscopic ripples of pleasure down its spine.

>GOOD JOB DARLING

[dailycharacteroption]

Races Among the Stars 10: Kalo

The gas giant Bretheda, which is analogous to Jupiter in the real world, is called The Cradle due to it’s vast number of satellites. While many are uninhabited, some of which are actively hostile to life, an inordinate number of them actually harbor life both familiar and strange.

One such moon is Kalo-Mahoi, a watery moon with a frozen surface, and is clearly based on Europa, a moon of Jupiter that has long been a subject of speculation for possibly harboring life.

Kalo-Mahoi does harbor life, ranging from the microscopic to the very macro-scopic, including twenty-legged crustaceans, and tube worms big enough to ambush and devour creatures as big as whales, and so on.

The moon also harbors a sapient species in the form of the Kalo, who were first described as being akin to humanoid jellyfish in the Distant Worlds book (which served as the core inspiration for Starfinder back in the day), but are now more akin to alien deep-sea fishfolk, which honestly fits their art more.

Though they once were nomadic tribes that worshipped the linnorm children of Ragadahn and the fey eldest himself out of fear and respect, the kalo have long since take their homeworld for themselves, organizing and pushing the greedy and hungry dragons into the deepest ocean trenches, and with that, began cultivating a peace-loving society of art, science, and culture that nevertheless is willing to go to war when necessary to protect what they care about.

Kalo are humanoids with wing-like fins on their arms as well as having webbed flipper feet. Their bodies are covered in dark green scales, and their heads have decorative spines on the scalps, large, bioluminescent eyes used for long-range communication as well as sensory barbels around a mouth of needle-sharp teeth. Their skeletons are mostly cartilage, so while it is serviceable enough in the water, kalo tend to be a bit frail and tire easily when out of water, necessitating servo-equipped armor or augmentation to facilitate long-term overland travel. Speaking of which, kalo are entirely aquatic, and cannot breathe air, requiring respiratory equipment as well.

Despite its role in helping establish their freedom and control of their homeworld, most kalo abhor violence, seeing it as a last resort. As such, they have a complicated relationship with their own history, and many aspects of their culture have changed to reflect this shift in priority. Such things as sharkhunters and mantariders being terms now for their peacekeeping military, and deepspeakers changing from being the mouthpieces of the linnorms to being librarians and archivists.

In the place of warfare, however, art has taken it’s place, everything from sculpture to music to fashion, and even medium like calligraphy and painting thanks to the addition of air-filled sections of their cities which nestle near hydrothermal vents. Art is such a big part of their culture that kalo artists are rather famous throughout the Pact Worlds, with large followings. Furthermore, this artisanal bent also means that even practical kalo products are exquisite in design. All of this stemming from the ancient design philosophy that rose in the wake of their victory over the linnorms: No longer would the kalo hide themselves. They would be bright and flashy out in the open with no fear.

Kalo tend to be agile and introspective, but somewhat frail.

Their deep sea nature does inure them to the cold, however.

While somewhat slow on land, they are naturally also agile swimmers.

Their eyes are also quite sensitive to light, but they also possess accurate sonar senses to pinpoint targets even when their eyes fail them.

Adapted to hunt in the dark, kalo are quite stealthy in the water.

Naturally, as aquatic creatures they cannot breathe air.

The agility and stealth of the kalo makes them very desirable as operatives, especially for missions involving bodies of water. Meanwhile, ranged combatant classes will also benefit from their superiority in the water for keeping their distance, though their sluggishness on land can be a hinderance. Intuitive biohackers are also a good option here, as are mechanics for representing the many innovations of their people. Their wisdom and dexterity make mystic and precog the preferable casting classes for them, though they can be quite competent as witchwarpers and technomancers as well. Their artistic talents actually makes envoy a sleeper hit with them as well. Meanwhile, consider how the aquatic nature of the kalo affects their likely choices in equipment, particularly focusing on aquatic weaponry and those that grant the echo property for long-range tracking. The only real weakness of the kalo is their low con and starting hp, which makes nanocyte and vanguard hard sells, in addition to close-range builds of other classes. Even that can be worked around however.

That does it for today, but next time will be another surprising throwback to Golarion!

[kstarlitchaotics]

Christian Bale on "Batman Begins" (2005): "At first, I was somewhat hesitant to do the role. I mean, after all, Batman is an icon. But I remember, as clear as day, being at the grocery store the day the movie opened, and this little boy saw me. He couldn't have been more than five years old. He just walked right up to me and hugged me. He hugged me, and I was so moved by it that I hugged him back. Then he looked up at me and said, 'You're my hero.' And in that moment, I knew that not only as an actor that I had done my job, but that I had made the right decision to play Batman. And I've never looked back on my the decision to play Batman since."

Bale decided early on in the audition process that he didn't want to play Batman straight, but to play him as a rage-filled monster, figuring that it might polarize writer and director Christopher Nolan. To his delight, Nolan was thrilled with his off-kilter interpretation.

Heath Ledger was considered for the role of Bruce Wayne/Batman during this movie's early development before Ledger and Nolan agreed he was not right for the role. After this, he was cast as The Joker in "The Dark Knight" (2008), a role that won him an Academy Award for Best Actor in a Supporting Role.

The infamous growl performed by Bale was much rougher in "The Dark Knight" than "Batman Begins," and has been parodied countless times due to its extreme nature. However, the common misconception is that Bale was fully responsible for this voice. The real voice, during filming, was more toned down, and then heightened to a rougher, grittier vibe during post-production under the decision of writer, producer, and director Nolan.

Bruce Wayne wears a new Batsuit in "The Dark Knight." This Batsuit was an improvement on the outfit from "Batman Begins", and made Bale more comfortable and agile in his performance. It was constructed from two hundred unique pieces of rubber, fiberglass, metallic mesh, and nylon (producing an impression of sophisticated technology), with elastic banding added for tightening the costume to fit Bale. The gauntlets had their razors made retractable and able to be fired. The suit's cowl was based on a motorcycle helmet and separated from the neck piece, allowing Bale to move his head left/right/up/down, and comes equipped with white eye lenses for when Batman turns on Bat-sonar. Bale got to keep the Batman mask from the movie after filming.

For "The Dark Knight Rises" (2012), The Batsuit consisted of one hundred ten separate pieces. The base layer was made of a polyester mesh, utilized by the military and high-tech sports manufacturers due to its breathability and moisture-retaining properties. Molded pieces of flexible urethane were then attached to the mesh to form the overall body armor plating. Carbon fiberpanels were placed inside the sections on the legs, chest, and abdomen. The new owl was sculpted from a cast of Bale's face and head to become a perfect fit for Bale. (IMDb)

Happy Birthday, Christian Bale! 🦇

[thescottishalpaca]

What I learnt by BBC regarding the Blitz in London - 1941

Due to the fact that I'm not a UK citizen, I knew very little about the London Blitz. I was more familiar with the Blitzes in my own country.

Everything I know now about it derives from two specific TV shows produced by the BBC, which, of course, is a reliable source. It is the national broadcasting service, isn't it?

First of all, I'd like to talk about the military conditions in London. The technological advancements in WW2 were quite crucial for the war's resolution, as seen with the invention of sonar and the alleged attempt to use Daleks in the war. In fact, Churchill was supposedly preparing Daleks to win the war, exploiting the knowledge of these human-shaped robots sent by some very cruel aliens.

Nevertheless, they were hardly bothered by the presence of a mysterious time traveler who parked his spaceship in front of Big Ben (which sonars could not identify because it was hidden). Additionally, some German air bombers mysteriously changed direction towards a different London area, killing two Nazi spies and destroying a church. Nobody investigated this sudden plan shift, possibly due to the effectiveness, albeit chaotic nature, of the British secret service.

Regarding the social conditions, London's common folk lived miserably, with many orphans around. Health conditions were delicate, with rare and sparse evidence suggesting the presence of Nazi zombies walking in Soho. The cause of this illness remains unclear, but it is assumed that indigenous people were immune to it, while Germans were not.

Meanwhile, a virus spread around the town causing people to repetitively say, "Mooommy? Are you my moooommy?" A doctor was able to heal them all with nanogenes provided by the same mysterious time traveler parked in front of Big Ben. We lack evidence of the technology or scientific research used, although it was likely based on DNA recognition, officially discovered only years later. We can assume some experiments were ongoing.

The situation was not the same for the medium/high class. Common bookshop owners could be hired as spies or become alcohol smugglers to maintain their lifestyle, such as being well-dressed and driving old-fashioned cars. Their discontent manifested in partisan actions against the Hitler regime. This anti-germany feeling was expressed expecially with clothes, by refusing to wear black clothes or wearing the Union Jack.

Despite the war conditions, London's cultural life remained flourishing and lively. US GIs entertained themselves by watching ladies and magicians perform one of the most successful magic tricks in history: the bullet catch, with the best representation held by Fell the Marvellous and an unknown gunman.

Due to the social inequities, food was in short supply, while toy and magic trick shops ran their businesses proficiently. Rare book selling was also a profitable way to survive, due to the high demand for ancient books, especially those containing prophecies.

At the end of the Blitz, the number of victims remains unclear. However, a famous sentence by a (medical?) doctor is reported: "Everybody lives, Rose! Just this once!". This interpretation is supported by the evidence of a demon and an angel making a toast. So, it ended well.

Thank you for your attention.

Can't wait to send this to my former high school history teacher.

[scary-movies-on-netflix]

UNDER PARIS (2024)

For a blog that calls itself “Scary Movies on Netflix,” I actually haven’t reviewed a Netflix original horror movie in a long time.  Maybe you’ve noticed that I’ve been binging on movies from the 1960s, but I think it’s time to return to my roots.

This Frenchie flick starts in the Pacific Ocean.  A team of researchers, led by Sophie, are tracking a shark, a mako.  It arrives and is much larger than they expected, seven meters.  That’s more than 20 feet for you non-metric people.  The shark attacks!  Les attaques de requins!  Mon Dieu!  A bunch of people are chomped to death.  Sophie dives in…to save them, I guess.  She sees the shark and it drags her down into the depths via piece of garbage wrapped around her foot.  Sophie manages to free herself and swims to the surface. 

A few years later she is a traumatized worker at an aquarium.  In Paris!  She is approached by Mika, a sharks’ right activist, who tells Sophie she has tracked that same shark, who they call Lillith, to Paris!  It has followed Sophie and is now swimming in the Seine!  That night Mika dives into the river to investigate a submerged car.  The driver side door has shark bite marks, and she is menaced by a shadowy shape…of a shark!  The French river police (la police fluviale), led by Adil, arrive and retrieve Mika from the water.  Mika eventually mentions something about sharks and has the police summon Sophie.  Sophie goes diving with the police to convince them that there actually is a shark.  Sophie and the police then approach the mayor of Paris, but she is more concerned about the upcoming triathlon than the general safety of Paris (much like how they didn’t want to close the beach in “Jaws” (1975)). 

Meanwhile, Mika and her shark activist friends make a whole social media thing out of the shark.  Mika wants to safely lead the shark back into the ocean, and she and a bunch of people gather in an underwater catacomb (last seen in “As Above, So Below” (2014)) with some kind of sonar device to attract the shark.  One of Mika’s friends (Ben) narcs on her, and the police follow Mika and her friends to the catacombs.  The shark arrives!  Along with a baby shark!  Mika is grabbed by the sharks and torn apart, and then the sharks chomp on a bunch more people.  (Ben is knocked out by people scrambling to escape the water and drowns.)  It is a disaster.  Une catastrophe! The mayor blames the police for the debacle and places the military in charge of the triathlon’s safety, which she refuses to cancel!

Sophie and the police ignore the mayor’s orders and devise a plan to kill the shark, which they earlier discovered can now reproduce by parthenogenesis.  They’re going to attract the shark back to that underwater catacomb and set off a bomb.  Une bombe, mon petite fromage! Meanwhile, the mayor opens the triathlon, and a bunch of people start swimming in the Seine.  The bomb is detonated, but most of the cops are eaten by sharks.  Sophie and Idril make it back to the river.  Sophie inspects the collapsed river wall, but the giant shark busts through!  The bomb didn’t work! 

The shark capsizes the cop’s boat (they needed a bigger boat, heh) and eats some more cops.  It then heads toward the triathlon swimmers!  It starts to munch on them, and finally jumps out of the water to bite a swimmer.  It’s another disaster!  Everyone starts to panic.  The military shows up and they begin to shoot at the shark in the water with machine guns and sniper rifles.  This sets off unexploded World War 2 ordinance still in the Seine, and there must be a lot of the stuff, because there are a bunch of explosions, which destroy numerous bridges!  This then causes a huge, tsunami-like wave to sweep down the Seine!  The mayor is swept away! 

We finally see Sophie pull Adil to safety atop a kiosk roof.  We pull back to see that central Paris has been flooded.  Like, from Notre Dame all the way to Champ-de-Mars, and more.  There are sharks everywhere.  La fin.

This was…sort of a mess.  It’s a monster shark movie, but it’s also a disaster film.  It points out the disaster of so many sharks being killed by mankind, but the shark activist gets eaten by a shark!  Quelle ironie!  The filmmaking is competent, to be sure, and there are plenty of gorgeous views of Paris along the Seine.  Shots of the single shark, huge and menacing, were well done, but group attacks looked a bit artificial.  The ending was ridiculous, but I still found myself grinning because of the escalating series of disasters.  A tsunami?  In Paris?  That’s full of sharks?  Count me in.

[kryptonite-cutie]

Could I have a random fact about one of your special interests? 🥺

Several military submarines have lot their sonar because cookie cutter sharks bite chunks out of it!

[legacyofacat]

"Summary" Arpeggio Chapter 159

Alright fellas, as promised, 159 go:

We start inside Bismarck, with this girl who I'm pretty sure isn't Berlinetta but who I also remember nothing of. We're gonna call her Bismarck Girl.

(this one)

Bismarck Girl is sitting in a chair and looking at a necklace charm in her hands. She thinks something like "The war was over and the humans were still fighting; what a cruel life. I'm returning to my homeland, Berlinetta."

She then actually speaks aloud and says (DeepL and Google were crying a bit here, so I'm going to piece this together as good as I can): "More than a century has passed since then. Though I must say...", Gunzou is shown here, "Your descendant (s?) has the same eyes as you, Kaoru..."

(Do you remember when Gretel/Admiralty Code went visiting some woman and looked at a framed picture of a young man? That's Kaoru. I don't have a screenshot, sorry.)

Bismarck Girl puts the necklace back on, calling for an "Anneliese".

One of Bismarck's mental models walks into frame from behind her, saying: "I can't believe that you're calling me by my old name. It's an honour."

Bismarck Girl then states that she wants to go home soon and Bismarck agrees.

Scene change:

We see Hibiki (the girl who was I-401's first sonar operator) walking through the base in America, a navy officer calls out to her to talk about an important matter in the gun room. Once there, he hands here a secret message received through quantum communication. Hibiki thinks Repulse sent it, but it's from Hashirajima. She reacts with strongly to the contents of the message and has to sit down, revealing that the message says that Gunzou is alive. The man adds that I-401 was badly damaged but also alive.

Hibiki is so relieved that she cries, then asks who knows about this. He answers that he, Hibiki, the captain, vice admiral and I THINK the communications officer knows.

The translators' results aren't really conclusive for the next page, but I think the navy dude wants to inform the US military, because they don't know that info yet. He also mentions what the translators interpret as "Moby Dick" , but I'm pretty sure is written as "White Whale" (in case this difference becomes important in the future). What he says is something like "I have no intention of telling you this from Moby Dick/White Whale".

(Does anyone know if this is some kind of slang? It sounds like it could be)

He also tells Hibiki that Lt. Kurtz (I think that's U-2501's captain) suggested something to him, maybe the telling, I really don't know.

They further discuss that Japan probably doesn't have this info either and that, should Hibiki disclose the information, he'll follow suit (I'm assuming she to Japan, he to the US).

The Gunzou Is Alive information is then destroyed.

He then hands her another note. It's a message from Gunzou where he apologizes for worrying and tells her that he 's gonna tell her the details when they meet again. Gunzou also asks her to check the US archives for an info concerning WWII in 1945.

Hibiki is like "boy I just learned that you're alive and you throw an investigation at me? *sigh*" and starts heading off. We then see a short flashback of Gunzou inviting Hibiki on board of I-401 back in the day (He essentially does it the exact same way Iona invited Gunzou in the anime ("come aboard me"), btw).

We then see Hibiki in a hallway (of Hakugei 3, I think), lamenting about how troublesome Gunzou is even though it's most likely on accident and that there's nothing she can do about it (I think she also says that she's there (for him) and hopes that he understands that), even calling it a curse.

She then runs off, saying that she "absolutely won't allow it, Gunzou Chihaya".

(I think she refers to not allowing Gunzou to be/feel alone)

And that's Chapter 159. I'm gonna tag these things "Arpeggio summary" so that you can filter for them more easily.

[the-antiapocalyptic-man]

The All-Star Batman, or simply "The Bat"

A Wayne-Halliday Heavy Armor Drone, while a small number of similar G.I. Robots were commissioned and sold, The Bat is one of the few known to still be in full operation following the death of original engineer Dr. Langstrom and destruction of her notes. The Bat specifically was modeled after Langstrom's favorite animal and equipped with additional stealth and sonar technologies not found in a standard G.I. Robot, as well as wings*. As the changes sacrificed much of the mechanism's lethal capabilities, the U.S. military and other potential buyers passed on The Bat. As such, none were ever built beyond Langstrom's initial prototype, and that was one was long believed incomplete.

After an unsuccessful visit to Darwin Halliday, Det. Barbara Gordon visited the other person most likely to know why the drone had reappeared in the modern-day: the reclusive Dr. Bruce Wayne, a paraplegic billionaire attended to by butler Alfred Pennyworth and Alfred's daughter, Talia.

*included but not displayed