#Sterilization Tunnel

[adinathinternationalindia]

Vial Powder Line

Vial Powder Line, also known as the vial production line, is comprised of a machine for labeling, cap sealing, powder filling, washing, and sterilizing vials. Every machine was oriented to function as a single, cohesive system. Both Automatic and Semi Automatic Vial Powder Lines are available in our inventory. Automatic lines, also known as fully automatic vial powder lines, have conveyors on each machine that are connected to one another for uninterrupted automatic operations.

Automatic Vial Powder Line

Automatic Vial Powder Lines are made up of machines for labeling, filling, sterilizing, and washing. Every machine is connected to function as a single, cohesive system. Automation is used in operations to reduce the need for human intervention. These lines are also known as Production Scale Vial Filling Lines or High Speed Vial Production Lines. The equipment in this kind of filling line is listed below:

Vial Washing Machine

The AI-VRW Automatic Rotary Vial Washing Machine is made to wash glass vials without letting non-contact machine parts come into touch with the vials. A gripper system on the Automatic Rotary Vial Washing Machine model grips the vial from the neck and inverts it while the washing process is underway. Once the washing process is complete, the vial is released on the outfeed star wheel arrangement in a vertical position, ensuring a positive wash of the vials. With the use of spare components, our machine model can clean glass vials and containers ranging in capacity from 2 to 100 milliliters. A specifically constructed Gripper holds the glass vial from its neck, inverts it, and moves it further on a rotary moving system for the washing process. The glass vial feeds through a turn table to the infeed Star Wheel.

Sterilization Tunnel

In order to sterilize and dehydrogenate cleaned empty pharmaceutical glassware used in parenteral product packaging, this type of continuous sterilizer is a fully automated system that specifically uses forced convection of filtered air through a high efficiency particulate air filter.

Vial Powder Filling Machine

A filling tool used to fill injection powder vials is called a vial powder filler or vial powder filling machine. The monoblock equipment that performs filling and stoppering/bunging operations on the same platform is the sterile powder filler. For cGMP compliance, all contact parts are constructed from FDA-approved materials or stainless steel 316L.

Vial Cap Sealing Machine

The PP/Flip-ff cap sealing onto round glass vials is appropriate for the Automatic Vial Cap Sealing Machine. The machine for capping vials is specifically made of stainless steel and has a mild steel frame with stainless steel cladding and enclosures. The Vial Capping Machine has a vibratory bowl feeder that allows the cap to be continuously fed for online operation on any liquid or powder filling line. Machine adaptable to different Vial sizes and, with the use of spare parts, to Plain/Flip-Off Caps. The Capping Machine is a useful tool for the pharmaceutical industry because it may operate automatically online and has fewer production requirements.

Vial Inspection Machine

Glass vials that can be injected are appropriate for inspection using an automatic vial inspection machine. The four tracks that make up the Vial Inspection Machine are made of nylon-6 roller chain, and they can be purchased with a spinning assembly that includes 24V DC wiring and AC drive rejection units. Additionally, the ability to modify speed was made possible with a variable AC frequency drive. All of the machine’s contact parts are composed of authorized engineered polymers and stainless steel, in compliance with cGMP regulations.

Vial Sticker Labeling Machine

One of the easiest vertical vial sticker labeler devices to use is the Automatic Vial Sticker Labeling Machine. This apparatus has a cutting-edge Micro Processor Control label dispensing mechanism with a product and label detection system. The Vial Labeler can be used to label spherical objects such as vials. Depending on the vial and label size, it may label up to 100 vials in a minute. An optional unique label sensing system allows an electronic and mechanical system specifically developed to put transparent (No Look) labels on vials at a very fast speed.

Semi-Automatic Vial Powder Line

Machines for washing, sterilizing, filling stoppers, sealing caps, inspecting, and labeling make up a semi-automated vial powder line. These devices operate autonomously and integrate with one another. These lines are also known as small-scale vial powder lines or low-cost vial production lines. The equipment in this kind of filling line is listed below:

Semi-Automatic Vial Washing Machine

A reliable, ampoule and vial washing machine that complies with cGMP standards is the semi-automatic vial washer, also known as the vial jet washer. It is small, adaptable, and semi-automatic. With the use of appropriate replacement components, the Multijet Vial Washing Machine’s stainless steel architecture allows it to wash glass vial sizes ranging from 2 to 100 milliliters and ampoule sizes from 1 to 20 milliliters. FDA-approved materials or stainless steel 316L are used to make all contact parts.

Dry Heat Sterilizer

Bottles, vials, and ampoules that have been cleaned can be sterilized using an ampoule sterilizer or dry heat sterilizer. It is constructed from MS heavy angles with an exterior wall composed of stainless steel 304 and an inner wall made of stainless steel 316. Our double door DHS is manufactured in compliance with cGMP requirements that are authorized in injectable pharmaceutical factories that uphold a class 100 environment. For cGMP compliance, all contact parts are constructed from FDA-approved materials or stainless steel 316L.

Vial Powder Filling Machine

A filling tool used to fill injection powder vials is called a vial powder filler or vial powder filling machine. The monoblock equipment that performs filling and stoppering/bunging operations on the same platform is the sterile powder filler. For cGMP compliance, all contact parts are constructed from FDA-approved materials or stainless steel 316L.

Vial Cap Sealing Machine

The PP/Flip-ff cap sealing onto round glass vials is appropriate for the Automatic Vial Cap Sealing Machine. The machine for capping vials is specifically made of stainless steel and has a mild steel frame with stainless steel cladding and enclosures. The Vial Capping Machine has a vibratory bowl feeder that allows the cap to be continuously fed for online operation on any liquid or powder filling line. Machine adaptable to different Vial sizes and, with the use of spare parts, to Plain/Flip-Off Caps. The Capping Machine is a useful tool for the pharmaceutical industry because it may operate automatically online and has fewer production requirements.

Vial Inspection Machine

Glass vials that can be injected are appropriate for inspection using an automatic vial inspection machine. The four tracks that make up the Vial Inspection Machine are made of nylon-6 roller chain, and they can be purchased with a spinning assembly that includes 24V DC wiring and AC drive rejection units. Additionally, the ability to modify speed was made possible with a variable AC frequency drive. All of the machine’s contact parts are composed of authorized engineered polymers and stainless steel, in compliance with cGMP regulations.

Vial Sticker Labeling Machine

One of the easiest vertical vial sticker labeler devices to use is the Automatic Vial Sticker Labeling Machine. This apparatus has a cutting-edge Micro Processor Control label dispensing mechanism with a product and label detection system. The Vial Labeler can be used to label spherical objects such as vials. Depending on the vial and label size, it may label up to 100 vials in a minute. Using an optional unique label sensing system, a specially built mechanical and electrical system applies clear (No Look) labels to vials at a very high speed.

[swampjawn]

What happens when you let a film nerd make an anime?

Fuuga Yamashiro (山代風我) joined Science Saru in 2017 as an Assistant Production Manager during production of "Night Is Short, Walk on Girl." He was essentially Studio Co-founder Masaaki Yuasa's secretary, but he worked his way up to assistant director on "Keep Your Hands off Eizouken" and finally got to direct his own first full Anime series, Dandadan.

Having worked so closely with one of the greatest living auteur directors, you might think he would share that overpowering individual creative influence, but as he has pointed out in interviews himself, it's much the opposite.

Instead of relying on his own creative voice, which he doesn't seem confident about in interviews, he literally collects techniques from his favorite movies, breaking them down into storyboards and adding them to his arsenal to re-contextualize later. And as you may be able to tell from watching Dandadan, his biggest influences aren't anime and manga, but live action film -- something he seems to have studied obsessively.

And when you compare the anime to the original manga (which itself is already filled with references to old movies and TV) subtle adaptation choices make the deft application of techniques borrowed from other storytellers very clear. Every choice is made for a reason and furthers the story being told in some way; nothing is there for no reason. like the simple, controlled camera pans and tilts that make the serpoian spaceship feel cold and sterile, or the crazywackysilly, un-predictable wide-angle camera movements that intrude on that cold sterile world when turbo granny shows up.

In one interview during the production of "Keep Your Hands off Eizouken" Yamashiro pulls out his notebook where he had collected all these techniques and gives an example:

"There's a technique called 'Dolly Zoom', which is a technique that changes the perspective of the background while keeping the size of the subject." […] "In 'Cult of Chucky,' which I saw recently, there is a scene in which a long passageway is filmed in telephoto, while a wheelchair moves forward. The character is 'getting closer, but the viewer feels farther away'. This is the kind of thing I collect." […] "I'd like to combine these things in various ways and do it in animation." (I took some liberties with this, the translation was pretty rough)

And sure enough, that exact same type of dolly zoom rears its head in Dandadan as Okarun sprints away from Turbo Granny and the mouth of the tunnel stretches impossibly into the distance.

It may seem counterintuitive to ascribe too much importance to the creative vision of one person who specifically talks about his own lack of strong creative vision, (and to be clear, he's far from the only person playing a major role) but I think it's precisely that encyclopedic knowledge of film techniques and that pragmatic, meticulous attitude that may have acted as a stabilizing force for Yuasa, and that also provides some needed structure to a ball of pure energy like Dandadan, while still preserving its essence and the eclectic influences that it wears on its sleeve.

Also, mad respect for using the seventh installment of the Child's Play franchise as your example of a dolly zoom instead of, like, Vertigo, Jaws, or Goodfellas.

This is just a sliver of what I talk about in this full video! A minuscule piece of the pie! Some tiny little crumbs for the peasants! So if you consider yourself worthy, go watch the whole video. I think it's good.

Uhh also reblog! I spent way too long on that intro animation, so I need it. Bad.

[theotherbuckley]

right here - read on ao3

In an instant his veins turn to ice, his body stills, his legs shake as they try to hold him up. The voice on the other end of the line keeps speaking, but he can’t hear her. Can only hear the last four words repeating around and around in his mind.

There was an accident.

There was an accident.

There was an accident.

There was an accident.

Tommy.

He’s moving before he can register it, half way out the door, holding his wallet and keys even though he doesn’t remember picking them up. He doesn’t remember hanging up the phone but the woman is no longer on the line. He knows which hospital to go to, even though he doesn’t remember her saying it.

His mind feels like tunnel vision; hazy and dark around the edges, focused on one thing only. Tommy, Tommy, Tommy.

He shouldn’t be driving.

He drives anyway.

He arrives 25 minutes later, wishing he was faster, but he can’t even remember the journey anyway.

The hospital lights are too bright and sterile as he walks in. They make him want to itch under his skin. There’s a buzz in the air, beeping of various machines. He can’t hear it over the thud of his heart beat in his ear. He doesn't remember if he locked his car. He has insurance, it doesn't matter. 

Lub dub.

Why is he thinking about his car?

There’s someone talking to him. He’s at the front desk. They’re asking his name.

Lub dub.

“I— Evan, um, Evan Buckley. You— someone called me? For Tommy. Thomas Kinard.”

Thomas is his father’s name. He doesn’t like Thomas.

Lub dub.

“One moment,” she says, turning to the computer screen.

“Mr Kinard has just come out of surgery. He’s in room 135 in the east wing. The doctor’s there can fill you in.”

Surgery.

Lub dub.

Surgery.

Lub dub.

Surgery.

Lub dub.

He barely remembers to say thank you, before he’s running through the halls. He wishes he didn't know exactly which way to go. 

Tommy looks small under the burning white lights, drowned in an oversized hospital gown.

Lub dub.

Tommy never looks small. Tommy makes Buck look small. Right now he feels like a giant in all the worst ways.

Lub dub.

He can feel every inch of his skin. It feels like there’s both ice and fire running through his vein. Burning cold through him. He can feel each hair standing on end, feel each beat of his heart pulse through his body like a tremor. He feels clumsy, like his limbs aren't his own, his mind feels too small for this body. He feels too big as he looks at his boyfriend from behind a glass window.

Lub dub.

Christopher's iPad is in the backseat of the Jeep. He forgot to take it home. He hopes nobody steals it.

Hopefully he remembered to lock the door.

Why does it matter right now?

“He’s in a medically induced coma, for now.” There’s a doctor standing by his side. He doesn’t know when she got there. He doesn’t know how long he’s been staring.

A coma. The words echo in his mind.

A coma.

Lub dub.

This hurts far worse than being struck by lightning ever could.

It always hurts so much more when it’s not him, when it’s someone he loves instead.

He’d take being struck by lightning a thousand times over this.

Lub dub.

Thinking about his car feels easier than looking at Tommy. He must have locked the door, it's like second nature. Eddie always gives him this look when Buck double checks the door. There's no way he forgot this time. 

“We hope to get him out of it after a day or two, just enough time for his body to heal a little from his injuries.”

What injuries? His brain is screaming. His heart aches in his chest. Lub dub. Lub dub. Lub dub. It feels like it’s trying to escape, trying to break through this glass barrier and get to where it belongs; with Tommy.

Lub dub. Lubdub. Lubdublubdublubdub—

“What—what happened?” He croaks out over the ringing in his ears.

“It was a fucking bird of all things,” a voice behind him says. This one he recognises.

“Lucy?” He turns to her, forcing his eyes to move away from where his boyfriend lays. It physically pains him to do so. Feels like he’s ripping a part of himself off as he turns away.

“He didn’t see it coming. Just flew straight through his window, wasn’t much he could do after that.”

“He’s lucky,” the doctor speaks this time. Buck doesn’t think this is lucky. Luck is winning the lottery, luck is finding the man of your dreams on a random day in the middle of a hurricane. Luck is not crashing a helicopter from a bird strike.

“A fall from that height, with only the injuries he sustained. He was talking when he got here. The only surgery he needed was a minor bone realignment of his leg which took most of the impact. He’s lucky it wasn’t much worse.”

Buck hears the words she doesn’t say.

He’s lucky to be alive.

Lub dub. Lub dub. Lub dub.

His hands are shaking.

"I don't remember if I locked my car." He's not sure why he says it, but the words come out anyway. 

"You don't—Buckley," Lucy sighs. "Give me your keys." He obliges. His brain feels kind of foggy. He returns his attention to his boyfriend. The man who needs him right now but Buck's too busy thinking about his damn car. 

“Can I—Can I sit with him?” His voice comes out as not much more than a whisper.

“Of course.” The doctor nods, gesturing him towards the door.

Each step he takes feels unsteady but he moves anyway. His heart beat feels louder in his ears, like it knows it’s getting closer to the man he loves.

Lub dub.

He hesitates in the doorway, for reasons he can’t understand himself.

His heart skips a beat.

He walks through anyway. Takes a seat right by Tommy’s side. He lifts his shaking hand, pauses and looks towards the doctor who nods an okay.

He takes Tommy’s hand in his own. His hands are still shaking and he squeezes Tommy tighter to try and get them to stop. There’s bruising along his arms. Purple blotches scattered up their lengths. But the doctor’s right; all things considered he looks better than he could be.

There’s a cast on his leg. He remembers the firetruck crushing his bones and his own leg winces in sympathy.

Buck takes a deep breath. His heart slows slightly, matching that of his boyfriend’s.

A single tear escapes through his eyelid and Buck lets out a sob that he didn’t even realise he was holding back.

All at once, everything catches up to him. He collapses his head onto Tommy’s bed, never letting go of his hand. He cries, the sound muffled by the mattress. His body shakes with each hiccuping sob, but he feels better than before.

Because Tommy’s still here.

Right here.

His hand is limp beneath Buck’s own, but it’s warm. Warm is good. Warm means life.

The rest doesn’t matter right now. Tommy’s alive, he’s going to stay alive. And Buck will stay right here until he wakes up.

He presses a soft kiss to Tommy’s red knuckles. Wiping his eyes with the hand not joined to Tommy’s.

“I love you,” he whispers. He swears the heart rate on the monitor jumps slightly, like Tommy heard him. It doesn’t matter even if he didn’t. Buck will just tell him again, and again when he wakes up. read on ao3

[slytherheign]

A WALK TO REMEMBER | tasm!peter parker

PAIRING: tasm!peter parker x reader

WORD COUNT: 3.4k

SUMMARY: you take one last walk with the love of your life.

WARNINGS: illness (unspecified), HEAVY angst, insecurities, death. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: G]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: inspired by the movie/novel with the same title, but only slightly. THIS IS A GENDER NEUTRAL FIC BTW, but if you see something that pertains to specific gender then pls reach out so i can change it. also, i’ve planned another part for this focusing on their first walk but it’s still not finished. though when that part comes out, you can either read it as a one-shot or a prequel for this. EDIT: the prequel is out! READ HERE. again, i apologize for the lack of uploads, i just got busy with university and life in general. thank you for understanding and enjoy reading! you might want to get tissues before you proceed.

DESTINATION: Angst Avenue | GO BACK TO THE STATION. CLICK HERE FOR ALL THINGS AWTR (reviews, commentary, etc. about this fic).

The scent of the hospital permeated the room, mingling with the soft whirring of medical pieces of equipment. You were lying on your hospital bed, your frail form engulfed by the sterile white sheets. Your family surrounded you, their faces etched with worry and exhaustion.

The doctor entered the room, his expression grave. You watched him closely, a flicker of hope dancing within your eyes. Perhaps there was still a chance, a new treatment or some kind of breakthrough medication.

But as the doctor spoke, his words fell like heavy stones, shattering your fragile heart and optimism. "I'm sorry," he began, his voice laced with regret. "But it seems the treatments have stopped working."

Your heart sank like an anchor in your chest. You felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving you gasping for breath. Your family's hushed whispers filled the silence, their words a blur as tears clouded your vision. "I-I don't understand," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. "What does that mean?"

Your mother's trembling hand reached out to grasp yours, her eyes brimming with tears. "It means we have to consider other options, sweetheart," she said, her voice breaking with emotion.

But you knew what those "other options" meant. It meant more pain, more uncertainty, and the terrifying prospect of saying goodbye. You turned away, burying your face in your pillow as a sob wracked your body.

The doctor spoke with your family and discussed the other options. You listened to his words, but they felt distant, as if they were coming from the end of a long tunnel. You knew what he was saying, and you could grasp the gravity of his words, but you couldn't bring yourself to fully process them.

“What do we think?” he asked, looking at your faces for an answer. 

If you were being honest, a part of you didn’t want to try anymore. You didn’t want any more pain. You were already tired—exhausted, even.

But then you remembered him.

You remembered Peter.

And you remembered how you promised him that you would do everything to survive. You promised that you would keep trying until all was well. 

After a moment of unnerving silence, you spoke. “I think we should do it,” you breathed out, looking up at your parents and your doctor. “The other options… let’s do it,” you smiled weakly.

So, that was what you did. You kept trying.

Peter lightly traced the lines on your hand as you waited for your order. Every now and then, he would look up and gaze at you lovingly. You couldn’t help but chuckle. “What are you doing?” you said, smiling.

“Admiring you,” he smiled, intertwining his hand with yours atop the table.

The smile left your face almost instantly. “Even when there’s nothing left to admire?” you stated sadly.

He immediately frowned at that. “What are you saying?”

“You know what I’m saying…”

“Y/N…”

“Peter, I’m not the same as I was. I don’t look like what I used to when you fell in love with me.”

“Stop.”

“No, Peter. I’m pale as snow. I look so sick, I’ve lost my hair. This—” you pointed at your head. “This is just a wig. My real hair is gone—the hair that I know you loved playing with and twirling the ends with your finger. I’ve lost a lot of weight—I don’t have the chubby cheeks you loved to pinch anymore. I-I’m so w-weak,” you sniffed. “Look at me, Pete—I can’t even stand on my own feet anymore. I have to be in a wheelchair.”

A tear fell on Peter’s cheek but he quickly wiped it when he noticed the waiter approaching. You immediately turned your face at the window, pretending to look at the parking lot on the other side so the poor waiter wouldn’t notice the emotional distress you were in.

Peter smiled at the waiter. “On second thought, can we take these out?” he gestured to the food. The waiter smiled in return before picking up your table number and taking the food back to pack it up for the two of you. Peter sadly looked at you as you continued to stare at the window. He heard you sniffing and he cursed himself for not knowing the right words to say at the moment. God, if he only knew how to take this pain away from you, he would do it right this instant.

He thanked the waiter, grabbing the paper bag with one hand and placing his other on your cheek to turn your face to him. He wiped the tears with his thumb before moving his hand to clasp yours. “Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“To your favorite place.”  

He sat on the bench beside your wheelchair before opening the takeout bag and handing your food to you. The two of you ate in peace while admiring the sight of the beach in front of you, the cool breeze that swept off the ocean instantly finding its way to your bodies.

You remembered this beach. It was where Peter asked you to be his, and it was where you answered him “yes”. You remembered how it was snowing then, and how both of you thought it was weird, but beautiful nonetheless.

Moments after you finished eating and Peter threw the trash in a garbage can that was nearby, he cleaned his hands with an alcohol spray. He then went back to you, knelt down, and held your hand with both of his. “I have an idea.”

“A good one or a bad one?”

“A good one. A very good one.”

There was a glint of excitement in his eyes and you couldn’t help but laugh lightly at him.

“Well then, count me in,” you smiled.

He smirked before standing up and starting to carry you bridal style. 

“Peter—Pete! What are you doing?!”

“Just trust me, okay?”

You looked at him, searching his eye for some kind of clue to what he was planning on doing. Unfortunately, you couldn’t find a clue or anything. “Okay,” you forfeited.

He noticed the slight pout you made and he rolled his eyes jokingly. “You really know how to get me, huh?” he chuckled. “Fine, I’ll tell you what we’re doing,” he said, starting to move his feet towards the beach. “You and I, my love, are going for a walk.”

Peter carried you as he gently walked along the sandy shore, his footsteps leaving imprints that would soon be washed away by the tide. You stared up at him, memorizing his features just like you did every time you would look at him. His hair moved smoothly with the flow of the breeze, his mouth looking perfect as he talked about something you weren’t really paying attention to because you were busy paying attention to his face. And then you wondered how a man as beautiful as him loved you. You smiled, thinking you must’ve done something really good in your life for you to have him.

Seagulls soared overhead, their cries blending with the gentle rustle of the palm trees lining the beach. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the air, a poignant backdrop to the bittersweet moment you were having.

Right. This was a bittersweet moment. There was something you haven’t told him yet.

“Pete, can we sit for a moment?” he frowned but did what you asked for nonetheless. He set you down gently on the sand, sitting beside you right after. 

You sat in companionable silence, the only sounds you were focusing on now were the sounds of Peter’s breathing and your heart’s beating. With each beat, you drew closer to the inevitable. You needed to tell him what he deserved to know.

“Pete—”

“Y/N—”

You laughed. “Okay, you go first,” you told him.

He smiled. “You were wrong,” he stated after a moment. 

“I’m confused.”

“You were wrong,” he said again. “You were wrong when you said that there is nothing left to admire about you. You were wrong because there is always something to admire about you. When I look at you, I question myself if you’re even real, because surely a person as perfect as you could not exist. The way you smile at the smallest compliments, the way you tilt your head back when you laugh at something, the way your brows knit together when you’re confused, the way your tongue sticks out sometimes when you’re concentrating—everything about you, big and small, I admire them. And I love them.”

“Surely, there are some imperfections in me,” you said.

“Yes, of course, we all have them. But those imperfections are what makes you perfect.”

“But I don’t look the same as I was before—”

“And I don’t care. Y/N, you are perfect in my eyes. Listen to me, I love you. I don’t care if you lost all your hair, or if you lose your teeth, or if you lose everything you have—I don’t care what else you lose as long as I don’t lose you.”

Oh.

As long as he didn’t lose me.

Your heart should’ve leaped with joy when you heard those words. But instead, it shattered like a plate of glass getting thrown into a wall. You hated this feeling. And you hated the feeling you would soon make Peter feel.

“Peter…” you called his name. “Pete—I love you,” you sniffed. “I love you,” you repeated. “You know that, right?”

“Of course,” he nodded, a tear escaping his eyes.

“And because I love you so much… I have to tell you something.”

“What is it?”

“They didn’t work,” you cried.

“What didn’t work? I don’t understand.”

“When my treatments stopped working, my family and I decided to try the other options. Those other options,” your voice broke. “Those options didn’t work either, Peter…”

“W-What does that mean?”

“That means that I’m dying, Peter. And there’s nothing left to stop it.”

“No.”

You held both of his hands when you noticed them shaking.

“It’s inevitable,” you explained, looking at his hands instead of focusing on his face. You couldn’t look at him while he was crying. You couldn't do it. Your heart wouldn’t be able to bear it.

“No no no no no.”

“I love you, Peter.” 

“Y-you can’t—no. Maybe there’s still a chanc—”

You shook your head, lips trembling as you kissed his hands. “I love you.”

“What about our dreams, the future we would have? The family we would make? Y/N…”

“Peter, it’s getting cold,” you whispered. “We should go back.”

“But—please, Y/N. Y-You just can’t…”

“Peter, it’s getting really cold…”

“You can’t just leave me, I don’t think I can live without you. I already lost a lot of people—”

“I love you, Peter,” you repeated.

“I–I can’t lose you too…”

And in one frail movement, everything turned black.

As soon as you opened your eyes, the darkness from your eyelids was changed into the blinding white of the hospital room. To your left were machines that connected to your body, the only reason why you were still breathing. To your right was Peter, sound asleep on his chair while he held your hand in his.

If you were back in here, then that would mean one thing… you didn’t have much time left.

Your face was pale and the once vibrant eyes you had were now dimmed by the weight of your illness. Despite the pain that was evident in your features, there was a peacefulness in your expression. You had come to terms with your fate. 

You could feel it. Death. It wasn’t just at your doorstep, it was already beside you, just waiting for the right moment to touch you and consume you. You supposed you should be thankful, for the heavens did not take you yet.

If it would take you within this week, then so be it. But you hoped it would at least be merciful.

If it would take you today, then so be it. But you hoped it would spare you a chance for one more wish. 

One last wish.

To give you time. 

Not more time to live, but just enough.

Just enough time to say goodbye.

“Peter?” you said, squeezing his hand with all the strength you had left.

He woke up, eyes widening when he realized you were awake.

“You’re awake,” he smiled, you swore you saw his eyes tearing up at the sight of you.

Your features were drawn with pain and fatigue and your body was weakened by the relentless progression of your illness. But despite your frailty, there was a quiet strength in your eyes, a determination to make the most of the time you had left.

“I don’t think I have much time left,” you admitted.

Tears welled up in Peter's eyes as he stood up to lean in and kiss your forehead, his heart breaking at the thought of losing you. He sat back down again, his gaze fixed on you with a mixture of love and sorrow. He longed to take away your pain, to make you whole again, but he knew that was beyond his power.

"I'm sorry, Peter," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I wish things could have been different."

He squeezed your hand gently, his heart breaking at the sadness in your voice. "Don't apologize" he replied, his voice filled with tenderness. "You have nothing to be sorry for. We've shared so much love and memories together. Your time may be shorter than what we’ve hoped for, but I’m very lucky and glad that you decided to spend most of it with me."

A small smile played at the corners of your lips and you moved your hand to caress his cheek. "I love you, Peter," you whispered, voice trembling with emotion.

"I love you too, Y/N," Peter replied, his voice thick with tears. "More than anything in this world."

“My parents?” you asked.

“They’re outside.”

“Can you please call them for me?”

“Of course,” he said, standing up to fetch your parents. He stayed outside the room to give you and your family some privacy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” your mother immediately ran up to you, stroking both of your cheeks gently with her hands. Your father stood behind her, you could tell by their faces that they’d been crying.

God, you hated seeing them like this.

“Mom, Dad,” you whispered.

“We’re here,” your mother responded, wiping your tears with her thumbs. “We’re right here.”

Your father reached out to hold your hand. “We’re always here.”

“I don’t know w-what to say… I can’t think of words that are nearly enough to express how grateful I am to each of you,” you stated. “Thank you for everything you have done and given me since I was a child. Thank you for reading me bedtime stories when I was little, for bringing me to school and then picking me up when it was done, for cooking my favorite meals, for hugging me when I was sad, for cleaning up my wounds whenever I injured myself while playing, for being there for me through my first period, first heartbreak—I am who I am because of you.”

You glanced at your dad only to see him crying, his grip on your hand getting tighter as if trying to see if the tighter he held you the longer you would stay with them. You never saw him cry like this before.

“We love you so much,” he whispered.

“We’re so proud of you,” your mother added.

Your father agreed, nodding. “You’re the strongest person I know. You’re even stronger than me,” he chuckled sadly.

“I love you both so much,” you cried. “I don’t want to leave, but the world has other plans for me… thank you for being the best parents I could ever ask for.”

And there it was.

You could feel death’s hand slowly reach for you. You closed your eyes, it was getting hard to breathe. 

“C-Can you please call Peter?” you breathed out.

With all your might, you opened your eyes again. Peter was now beside you, holding your right hand while both your parents held your left. You stayed like that for a moment, clinging to each other as if you could defy fate itself. But you all knew that you couldn’t.

Your breaths came shallow and labored, each one a struggle against the weight of your failing body. You closed your eyes, trying to block out the pain that pulsed through you with every heartbeat. But despite your efforts, you couldn't escape the truth that loomed over you like a dark cloud.

You could see and hear them crying, the grips they had on your hands getting tighter and tighter and tighter… afraid that if they held you loosely then you would slip away sooner.

But that wasn’t how it worked. A tight grip would not save you. There was nothing they could do to change the inevitable.

As the seconds stretched into minutes, your thoughts began to wander, drifting through memories of happier times. You thought of your childhood, filled with laughter and innocence, and of the love you had shared with your family, with your friends, and with Peter.

The memories faded as soon as they came. And then you felt death’s touch linger on your skin, its distance becoming closer to you than you could ever imagine. Like a distant echo growing louder with each passing moment, the realization dawned on you that your time was running out. You tearfully looked around the room, taking in the faces of your loved ones, each one bearing pain and sorrow.

Your strength continued to wane, your body growing weaker with each second. And as you lay there, surrounded by the ones you loved, you found a sense of peace in knowing that you weren't alone.

With a final breath, you closed your eyes. You welcomed death’s touch with a smile, surrendering to the darkness that beckoned you. And as your family and Peter wept beside you, you drifted away, hoping to have left behind a legacy of love and memories that would live on long after you were gone.

7 MONTHS LATER.

Taking a walk along the beach never felt the same anymore. 

Peter concluded that without you beside him, it wasn’t as fun as it used to be. The only fun thing for him, he guessed, was the fact that with each step he walked along the sandy shore, the memories with you played in his head and he would smile as he recounted them. Sometimes, he could even feel your presence somehow.

He ditched his shoes and played with the sand with his feet. It only took him a few minutes before he decided to wear his shoes again and leave the beach.

The next place he decided to visit was the cemetery. He stood across your grave, still not believing that 7 months had passed since you took your final breath. There was not a day that passed when he didn’t miss your presence or longed for your touch. He sat on the grass in front of your tombstone.

“You know…” he started speaking. “Walking along the beach used to be my favorite. After you died and I started doing it again, I wondered why I didn’t like doing it as much as I did before. But now I know why… I realized that it only became my favorite because I was doing it with you.”

He played with the grass with his hands, picking some of them as he tried to hold back his tears. “God, Y/N,  it’s been 7 months and it still hurts the same… I miss you so so much. I miss our walks, our dates—I miss everything about you,” he cried.

“I want to love walking along the beach again, but I know I only loved it in the first place because I was with you,” he continued. “To be honest, I don’t think I’ll do those walks again, at least not now… I don’t know… it’s just, without you, I can’t—”

Something just crawled and bit his hand. “Shit,” he swatted the spider, before facing your grave again.

“Anyway, I just want you to know that I will forever treasure those walks that I did with you,” he smiled weakly but genuinely, wiping his tears. “I will never forget them.” 

Especially that last one.

That last walk.

That was a walk to remember.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx @checo2011

TASM!PETER PARKER TAGLIST: @mymilkducts @i-am-woman-strong @lauraneedstochill @jeanettexkillian @ms-mandalore @enaraism @alessandralol @sad-darksoul @sincericida @mentallystablepotato @mich0731 @logolepsic-insomniac @k0miiki @dreamsarecloserwithyou @jumilzzz @primroseparker @preciousbabypeter @myheartonthemove @rebecca-johnson-28 @silkholland @ellievickstar @okkulta @geekygamerchick @starqwerty20 @the-quiet-observer @softiepeterpan @willowhaired @sflame15-blog @pompeygirl89 @remuslupinsdocs

[lavendermin]

the lovers, reversed | stellaron hunter sunday

pairing | sunday x fem!reader

wc | 1.6k

genre | angst, one sided love, unrealized feelings

warnings | mdni, alcohol mention, brief mention of sex, blood, wounds, unhealthy relationship, spoiler I guess if sunday really does end up being a stellaron hunter (have not yet played 2.3)

Fresh wounds, a few gashes. Nothing he couldn't treat. Because you wouldn't have anyone else though Firefly has always offered.

"Hold still," Sunday quietly instructs as steady hands work quickly to disinfect and dress unsightly marred skin.

You wince and clutch the sheets until your knuckles turn white. The pain was never easy, but a consequence of your recklessness nonetheless.

Under deft fingers you're all skin, no shame. Not when it's him.

Another whimper you can't suppress escapes your lips, and maybe it finally breaks something in him because you hear him sigh quietly. With his teeth he swiftly pulls off one of his gloves and holds it to your lips.

"Bite down on this," he instructs, voice calm and level. "There's still debris in one of the gashes. I have to take them out one by one."

You can only nod, not registering much else as the pain has your vision tunneling. It's another twenty minutes as he tries to work as quickly as possible. It takes everything to keep his composure despite your muffled cries of discomfort.

"This should have been done in the medical wing." Sunday's reprimand has little to no bite as he clears the medical supplies from the coffee table he had pulled up from across your room.

Your breath is weak and shaky, but still a gentle thing he's used to. "Too bright in there. Makes me feel like a lab rat within those white walls."

"Smells too clean?" he chuckles. Something he can't help around you more recently. There's an innocent and peculiar way you view things. Much like–

Sunday shuts the cabinet in your bathroom a bit harsher than he intended. He can't think of her... not right now. It would only bring emotions he didn't need to process—couldn't process at the moment.

There's red on his hands, on his clothes, staining his once pristine gloves. The awful metallic smell feels like it’s burned into his nostrils—a nauseating mix of crimson and the strong smell of sterilizers as he cleans the tools. His hands work on their own under the running water of your sink, almost out of body as his mind wanders. There’s a slight tremble he catches. Pathetic, he thinks, unable to keep it together in such a dire time.

The 'script' did not mention anything of a necessary death, but of course it would never detail wounds or misfortunes in detail. Some of those just come with the job. And sometimes he would feel a bubbling anger at the twisted fates that often befell you. But he knows it's a spiral that leaves him down a foggy road, one he shouldn't tread on.

Still, you're alive, and he's here. And for now, that's enough.

Your strained voice pulls him back to his body. Back to the present with a clearer head.

Right. The painkillers.

Sunday is quickly back by your side, pushing the small pill past your lips and lifting your face gently to give you water.

"You forgot," you tease despite your hoarse voice.

And those golden eyes you love dearly can't even bear to look at you as he sits next to you on the bed. There's no response other than a halfhearted hum he gives you. You know he didn't forget, and his lack of correction knowing how matter-of-fact he is only further sinks your heart.

But you don't get to tell your heart who to love.

The now-wrinkled glove he gave you is placed next to his leg. "Sorry I messed up. I'll buy you a new pair."

"Thank you..."

"You're wel-"

"You should say ‘thank you’. For the gesture. But don't apologize for the inevitable from missions. What's done is done," Sunday interrupts, voice firm. A little cold.

"I-" You're cut off as he grabs your wrist, his eyes unfocused as he looks at the ground.

"If you had done as I said– You could have gone missing. A lot of things could have gone wrong. Don't use yourself as bait. If anything happens to me, you escape by any means necessary. Understand?"

The grip is a little less than comfortable and you can only nod. Obedient only if it was his words that commanded. It brought a feeling he didn't want to describe rushing through his chest. The way your eyes looked at him—a mix of fear and blind adoration. It made him nauseous to consider himself worthy of such affection.

The morals of why he kept you by his side—of why he sought you during moments of his own damned weakness... He would dwell on that another time. If his morals were in a slow decline, perhaps he would even turn to burn the words stuck in his throat with the liquid he once detested and swore would never stain his lips. The liquid courage might bring him tumbling into your arms, an eagerness to be held and soothed for the sin he feels tainted with.

That maybe in his drunken stupor with his face buried in your neck and his throbbing frustration filling you up, he would realize even in nothingness, there is you. Always you.

A rebound. A close second. A replacement.

Sunday subconsciously has been latching onto you. It’s something he doesn’t remember starting, something he can’t stop nor explain. You, who are like an injured little dove to him, easily hurt and predictable in seeking comfort with his presence.

At first he firmly tried to keep his distance, remain cordial. But now… You provide him some psychological need to keep his same routine from before or have some semblance of familiarity amidst this new path he's been set on. This relationship was just something platonic, he swears by this. Just an innate need to protect and guide you since you were also a clumsy new recruit.

You couldn't help it—falling for him. Slowly being consumed by an infatuation that morphed into a hopeful yearning that filled your chest with a syrupy thickness of strong emotions you were inexperienced with.

And Sunday was at a loss. That wasn't part of the plan. Well…granted he didn't have much of a plan with you. The platonic acquaintance he had built with you was nothing more than for his own gratification. His desperate attempt at normalcy. Someone to fill the void of not being able to see his dear sister.

Still... you're so willing to just give and give and give to him. Anything, for even the slightest possibility of returned affection. Even if you don't outright confess to him, he sees it. In your actions, your speech, your eyes.

Would it truly be so bad to take that which is offered in earnest?

A heart in his hands with nothing to show for it. Lies to himself that this closeness is his attempt to bring you salvation. To settle your heart.

He knows how your script ends, looming over his consciousness. Testing his heart as if he were a newborn god stumbling over his first creation meeting its written demise. Some part of him is too scared to ask if you know it, too. Maybe there's still some naïveté in him if he believes for a second that you don't. A hope that your heart remains innocent and lovely and–

For now Sunday lets you love. It would be a bitter thing to not take the heart you have handed to him.

The painkillers have started to work, your body finally able to sleep for a bit after he changed your soiled sheets from treating your wounds. Before he leaves, Sunday presses his lips to your knuckles and idles for a few moments to watch your steady breathing. Sweat glistens on your brow from the exertion the wound treatment put on your body. Your endurance was nothing to be laughed at.

Sunday doesn't need to turn to know who's outside your door when he leaves.

"Was there something you needed?" The question lacks any warmth.

Kafka chuckles where she leans against the wall, fiddling with a card in her hands. "Here to drop off your compensation for the mission and look after the little lamb," she replies simply, throwing the card to him. He catches it between two fingers. "She lost her phone this past mission so make sure to give her that card for the time being."

Sunday's eyes narrow. "I'm looking after her."

"Poor thing sent me a message asking that I check in on her so she won't bother you. Unless that's a problem?" Her unreadable smile is something Sunday is growing to detest.

"Not necessary. I'll be handling it." His voice is firm, a warning woven into his tone with careful consideration. A natural habit from his years as the head of the Oak Family.

"Really now? If you don't want me looking after her due to trust issues then Bladie can–"

"No." Sunday can feel his heart pounding in his ears, a frustration deep-set in his veins at the pure thought of someone that isn't him near you when you're at your most vulnerable. He wishes he could wipe that smile off Kafka's face. Victim of her teasing again. Remember your composure, a conditioned mind rings. With a clear of his throat, he continues, "No, that won't be necessary. I've already cleared my schedule to ensure her wounds are looked after so there isn't any scarring. I'll take care of it."

Kafka relents and pats his shoulder as she passes him. "Very well, birdie. Sounds like you have our little lamb's heart in your pocket. Or perhaps it's your own?"

Before Sunday can ask her what she means, she's already vanished from his sight. His hand reaches into his jacket pocket when he feels something rigid and pulls out a card he's sure she placed there.

A tarot card depicting a dove perched on a lamb. The lovers.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Final Respects

Smokescreen was set to aid Optimus Prime in reviewing an abandoned Decepticon mine. He imagined it was largely going to be guard duty. Instead, he found his views of the dead challenged by his idol.

Previous Smokey related thing can be found here.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Optimus, what are we doing here?" Smokescreen walked a few feet behind his Prime, observing the abandoned battlefield quietly. The Decepticons had fled long ago, leaving behind only their useless mining excess and the bodies of the Vehicons who were killed in the fight for the mine less than an hour prior.

"We are here to offer the dead their final respects." The Prime answered quietly, almost solemnly. He didn't pause in his steps, instead marching through the rubble and into the mine to assess the damage. Smokescreen followed without question, his gaze falling upon the abandoned furnaces and strip mining tunnels just inside. The Decepticons weren't trying very hard to hide this particular operation.

"Why? They are Decepticons-" Smokescreen attempted to voice his concerns, but Optimus silenced him with a weary sigh and by halting his steps.

"Smokescreen, I lived before factions were even a murmur on the wind. Many of these soldiers were born into this role. They had no choice in the matter." The Prime gestured to the devestation, the bodies strewn in and out of the mine. Smokescreen followed his gaze, but he didn't find his spark swelling with any kind of pity. He saw the badges and the masks. They were Vehicons. Not Autobots or civilians.

"Still doesn't change the fact that they are enemies." He tried to state his objection to this whole mess, but Smokescreen found his voice came out weak and uncertain. Under Optimus's gaze, he felt like a sparkling being schooled after having stolen from a store.

"Neither does it disregard the fact that each and every one of these Vehicons were forged Cybertronian." There was a certain undertone of sterility to Optimus's glyphs that made Smokescreen want to vanish into the ground. But he managed to reset his vocalizer as he looked at all the bodies again. What was the point of it all? Why give funeral rites to enemy soldiers when energon was already scarce and they were so overworked?

"I don't get it. Why waste energy on Vehicons? I mean, I'd get it if they were alive, but they are obviously offline." Again, Optimus sighed. Smokescreen felt like even more of a discrace to his non-existent bloodline as he watched the Prime rub his face and then gesture between them both.

"If your comrade fell in battle, would you honor him?" The question hung in the air mockingly for a moment. Smokescreen took the chance to contemplate whether or not it was meant to be a trick question as he nodded.

"Of course. Autobots stick together, especially a soldier who goes down for the cause." Touching his badge, Smokescreen showed it off with an expression of uncertainty. Optimus remained as composed as ever as he fired back with another inquiry.

"What about a civilian? A neutral caught in the crossfire." Smokescreen hesitated a bit longer with his response. He was not liking where this line of questioning was going.

"Sure, I mean they didn't do anything wrong." He almost grumbled but fought back the response as Optimus's optics cycled, as if preparing to land the killing blow. In their verbal spar, he might as well have been as he again gestured to the dead around them.

"Then what sets a Decepticon apart from an Autobot or a neutral? Why are they unworthy of a funeral?" There it was. Smokescreen actively winced as he found his worldview attacked. His drill sargent always said to see the enemy before the mech. It would make shooting them down easier.

It wasn't exactly fun to have to consider things from a moral perspective.

"They are the enemy. It's not a good use of resources to give them funeral rites." Not really wanting to deal with the emotions involved in dealing with the dead, Smokescreen opted for logic. Optimus, however, didn't seem very inclined toward it as he knelt beside the nearest Vehicon, removing the mech's mask to show a face frozen in terror.

Smokescreen was unable to stop himself from grimacing.

"I understand that being raised in a time of war has made seeing our people as one unit effectively impossible. But I would implore you to look beyond the badges of your fellows." Optimus reached out, tenderly closing the optics of the dead mech before carrying it over to the nearest furnace and laying the Vehicon's body inside.

"They have faces." He picked up more bodies, always taking care to remove the mask in order to assess each and every face. Some were relatively peaceful, as if they'd expected their end. Others were forever stuck in a state of horror or pain. A few select ones even seemed sad, with dried tearstains on their faces. Optimus wiped the marks away from those fallen bots, his expression solemn but not unkind.

Smokescreen felt sick to his tanks.

"They have names." As if to rub rust in the wound, Optimus held up a Vehicon's arm before he gathered up the body. Smokescreen was met with the sight of numbers burned into the mech's very plating, a designation in a sense. He couldn't help how his spark clenched in its chamber at the sight. They weren't proper names, but these mechs still had something.

"They have sparks." Optimus gathered up more of the bodies, showing the ones with torn chassis plating so reveal their cold and lightless spark chambers. It really shouldn't have bothered him as much as it did. But seeing the dead be so empty… it made something instinctual in Smokescreen recoil.

"Look at them and tell me once more that they do not deserve to be given their final rites." Optimus's voice rang out as he continued to move bodies into the furnace, his tone neither harsh nor particularly soothing. He was teaching Smokescreen a lesson, one which he was not enjoying all that much.

"They carry scars just like we do." Optimus held a body in his arms, one mutilated from battle and the explosion that killed them. Smokescreen's devotion to his viewpoint faded futher and further with every motion the Prime made.

"They had wants and wishes just like every other living being." As the last body was loaded into the furnace, Optimus came up and clasped Smokescreen's shoulder, breaking him from his reverie. He should have been helping… and yet here he was. Rethinking life or something like that.

"No matter which side they stand on, they deserve to be laid to rest. If only to honor the lives they could have lived if they were not cut short." With that, Optimus moved away to start a fire. Smokescreen wasn't paying much attention to the whole affair. His focus was on Optimus and the machinery he was forcing back into functionality to get the fires burning.

"Why'd you pick me to help with this?" He found himself murmuring as the flames began to rise up, covering the bodies in the furnace. He wasn't doing much on the helping front, but he couldn't help but wonder why he was shown this at all. Logically, he assumed it was for the sake of learning a lesson. But why bother? He was just a rookie.

"Because you are the only one who has not yet seen the horrors of war as we have. I wanted to teach you to honor your enemy before you grew too bitter to see them as kin." Optimus moved away from the furnace to stand by Smokescreen's side. They both watched the bodies start to melt under the intense heat, metal and internal components turning into liquid that would soon be mostly useless to any organic who came across it. Without protomatter or energon, cybertronian steel was only somewhat stronger than human metals.

The dead would not be able to be used as a weapon.

"Records from the archive said that traditional rites would have the dead be turned back into parts for the living, or used as sentio metallico for a newbuild." Smokescreen spoke up softly, voicing the old information that came to the front of his memory banks. Optimus hummed beside him, his optics trained on the flames.

"Normally, that would be the case." Looking up at him, the Prime seemed so very tired. His optics held depth that was impossible to fully comprehend, but within the haze of age old knowledge, there was what Smokescreen could only assume was grief. How Optimus managed to care for so many mecha after so long being embroiled in war was behind him.

"But on this foreign world, in a place so far from our home… it is safer to destroy that which we cannot salvage. That way, no others may use the bodies of our dead to create more devestation." Optimus's response was not heavy, although there was a not of regret in his tone. Somehow, it made Smokescreen's spark pang in sorrow. He couldn't imagine being left as a pile of slag on a foriegn world, forgotten to everyone.

"That's… really sad. It almost feels wrong to just have them all burned up like this." Every part of his training screamed at him, demanding Smokescreen return to the mind of a soldier and witness his foes for what they were. But seeing the bodies burn? He just… couldn't do it. It was not an honorable end. Burned up into liquid metal and left to clump and become soiled on a world that was not their own.

It wasn't right.

"And now you see the worth of a life, Smokescreen." Optimus's voice was little more than a murmur, but Smokescreen caught it anyway. He said nothing else as they watched the flames, waiting until everything was fully melted before dousing the flames. Once they were done, they exited the mine, at which point Optimus shot at the entrance until it collapsed.

Smokescreen winced as dust and rubble rushed past him, but again, he said nothing. What a sad way to die. A mere number, then abandoned in a slagging mine of all places. As much as it bothered him to admit it… not even Decepticon deserved to be forgotten.

"We honor our dead as best as we can, but in the end, we are still at war." Optimus's servo fell upon his shoulder, heavy and comforting all at once. Smokescreen could faintly hear the ground bridge opening behind them, but he couldn't help but stare at the collapsed mine for a little while longer. Part of him wondered, distantly, what the world would have looked like if there hadn't been a war. Would he have known any of those Vehicons?

Slag, Optimus had a way of making him rethink his entire life's purpose.

"Guard the living, remember the dead. Honor the fallen, and fight in their names. That is all we can do to ensure we do not lose ourselves in the haze of eternal conflict." The Prime's commentary was grim, but it was not without wisdom. Smokescreen could only sigh in response, his vents fluttering as he watched for a moment, and then turned to follow Optimus back through the ground bridge.

No one deserved to be forgotten.

Not even enemies.

[bzurk]

brushstrokes

Your memory is broken, made of puzzle pieces that don't fit together. Like a shattered mirror, fragmented and sharp, never meant to be pieced together again. You are held together by the four men you find yourself inextricably drawn to. Can you put yourself back together before the guilt shatters you completely?

The light hurts. It’s crimson red, sharp and blinding, like blood dripping into your eyes and staining the insides of your eyelids. You squeeze your eyes shut, a cascade of red and black dancing in fragmented waves across your vision. The brightness of the light sears into your skull, rendering any attempt to open your eyes an ordeal of piercing pain and queasy discomfort.

You slow yourself down, forcing the air out of your lungs in an attempt to relax. Take your time. Breathe, then open.

Following your own advice, you inhale shakily. The air scrapes down your throat like sandpaper. You release it in a controlled sigh, trying to ground yourself in the present.

Slowly, you blink your eyes and try to adjust to the light as you take in your surroundings. The current bane of your existence is a singular round bulb screwed into the white ceiling, its harsh glare casting stark shadows that make the sterile room feel even more oppressive. You're in a bed, swathed in a light gown that, though faded and worn, is mercifully soft against your sensitive skin. You frown at its pale blue hue, clinical and impersonal. There's a set of chairs next to one side of your bed, accompanied by a small side table cluttered with medical paraphernalia.

You try to reach out and wince at how stiff you are. You lift the light, white sheet and wince; one of your ankles is heavily wrapped in white bandages.

You glance around. No water. No signs of other people. You slowly sit yourself up, head spinning, but you manage to keep yourself upright. Gingerly, you probe your face. A plaster clings to your temple; your eyes feel hollow above gaunt cheekbones, and your lips are dry and cracked. Running a hand through your hair, you find it soft and clean, falling in loose waves down your back. Pain flares in your shoulder when you move, and your left hand meets resistance atop the sheet. An IV is embedded in the back of your palm, the clear tubing snaking up to a hanging drip.

"What the fuck," you echo hollowly, wishing you had a mirror. What the hell happened to you?

Do you wait for someone to find you, or do you go find someone yourself? You puzzle it for a moment, listening attentively. Faint footsteps, coming towards you. You glare expectantly at the door, but the footsteps pass right on by, leaving you in an unsettling silence.

Carefully, you swing your legs over the bed and set your feet on the ground. The linoleum is cold beneath your bare feet, sending a shiver up your spine.

"One, two," you whisper to yourself, palms pressed into the mattress, "three!"

You push yourself up and immediately regret it. A crippling wave of nausea and dizziness swarms you, and there's a blistering pain in your left ankle that feels like fire crawling up your leg when you try to take a few unsteady steps towards the door. Your body feels foreign to you, each movement a struggle against the weakness that seems to have taken over your limbs. You lean against the small side table, halfway across the floor, blinking the spots out of your vision. You're definitely not in any state to run or fight, but what choice do you have?

You limp across the room, the IV stand clattering along like a reluctant prisoner, your heart thudding wildly in your chest. Your untethered hand grasps the doorknob and turns it slowly. It clicks open and you push the door open with a shaky breath. The hallway outside is just as white and sterile as your room, the walls stretching out like an endless tunnel. You can hear faint beeping noises coming from somewhere down the hall, and you take a few tentative steps forward, your bare feet slapping against the floor. There's no one in sight, but voices drift down from one end of the hallway, their tones muted and indistinct.

"Hey! You're awake!"

You falter, dread tightening its grip on your spine.

The voice belongs to a nurse, her figure unmistakable in blue scrubs, pushing a trolley laden with tools and supplies. Your eyes, trained by survival instincts, flick over her form, scanning for threats. Breast pocket, lanyard, pant pockets, hands – no weapons. Logic whispers that she is merely a nurse, that you are in a hospital. Yet, logic is drowned by the cacophony of your racing heart, the slickness of sweat on your palms, and the primal urge to flee.

The nurse holds her hands out placatingly, the way one would soothe a spooked animal, her voice low and calm, “You shouldn’t be walking on that ankle just yet. Let’s get you back to bed, okay? I’ll page the doctor and your captain, I’m sure he’ll be happy to know you’re awake.”

“The- the captain?” you ask, but your voice comes out as a whisper, the words like sandpaper scraping up from your throat. You take a wary step back into the room on your good leg.

The nurse takes the IV stand from you easily and smiles, her expression kind, but you can’t shake the feeling of unease squirming in your stomach as she herds you back into the bed. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to explain everything, let me just—”

“What happened?” you croak, cringing at the sound of your own voice, a dry and broken thing.

She busies herself, checking your IV, adjusting the blankets, retrieving a bottle of water from her trolley. “You don’t remember? That’s okay, it’s normal after traumatic events and accidents. Your doctor will fill you in."

You take the water gratefully, taking large gulps. The water is cold and refreshing, almost stinging your throat. You try again, throat soothed, “What happened to me?”

“Don’t you worry, the doctor’s on his way, honey. Think one of your boys should be on their way, too! You’ve been out for a while, they’ll be happy to hear you’re up!”

‘One of your boys’?

You don’t have children, so that can’t be it. Your father… You can’t recall what he’s been up to, it feels like years since you last visited. Has she mistaken you for someone else?

“They’ve been taking turns to stay nearby in case you wake up, isn’t that so sweet? Think this week is the big one in the mask, think I saw him in the halls a few days ago-”

The nurse’s blabbering goes in one ear and out the other, radio static.

Big one in a mask. You don’t know anyone like that.

You don’t really know anyone, when you think further about it. Nobody to call to collect you, because surely you can’t fucking drive with a busted foot, and you’re unsure if they have any of your belongings - a wallet, a phone, your clothes. The only thing on your person is the necklace resting against your shoulder, fallen from its place against your chest when the nurse ushered you into bed. You reach up to fix it, to inspect the warm metal you can feel, when the door creaks open again and two men rush through. The nurse who had been keeping you company nods to them, smiles at you, and then steps aside.

One of the men is the doctor, clad in a pristine white coat with a stethoscope casually looped around his neck, embodying the quintessential image of medical authority. The other man, however, is a stark contrast—a towering figure clad casually in faded jeans and a black hood, his face obscured by a skeletal mask that transforms him into a haunting spectre. He is exactly as the nurse described, big guy with a mask, but her words couldn’t prepare you for the sheer size of him. He stands out immediately, an imposing figure whose presence seems to suck the light from the sterile hospital room, making the walls close in around you.

His eyes are the only visible part of his face, sharp and calculating, glinting with a familiarity you can’t quite place, something about them that stirs a vague recognition deep within you. His broad shoulders fill the doorway, and his silent, commanding authority feels eerily familiar. It's as if his very being demands your attention, making it impossible to look away.

He approaches the bed, his gaze locked onto yours, and you catch a flicker of something in his eyes—concern? Recognition? You can't be sure. But your heart skips a beat, a primal instinct whispering that you know this man, that you’ve encountered him before, perhaps in a different context, a different life. The doctor begins to speak, but his words are drowned out by the thundering of your heart, your attention riveted on the masked man as you desperately try to pull the threads of memory together.

You should fear him, you think, this personification of Death.

"How are you feeling?" the doctor asks, his voice a distant echo as you continue to stare at the man in the mask, searching his eyes for answers.

Death is cold, unfeeling, all-consuming. Death is the embrace of complete and utter nothingness, a black void where things simply cease to exist. Death is selfish, taking and taking and never giving. Death does not feel remorse, yet craves it in others. This man may don Death’s image, dressed head to toe in black, his pallor pale and his energy overwhelming, but he is not Death.

His eyes speak of warmth, comfort, security. You can visualize the way they light up, crinkling at the corners in crow’s feet and folding into half-moons, the image ingrained in your mind from the time you’d gifted him the mask—

The doctor repeats your name, jolting you from your reverie.

“The mask.” You rasp, refusing to tear your eyes away from the masked stranger.

“I’m sorry?” The doctor blurts.

“The mask,” you repeat. “I made it, didn’t I?”

The stranger nods slowly, his eyes narrowing with sharp scrutiny.

You remember it; the way your hands fiddled with the fabric and paintbrush, sitting at a desk in the dark, illuminated by a small lamp. The rest of the scene evades you - the time, the place, the room - but you can recall the smell of bleach clogging and burning your nose, the way it had stained your favourite pair of leggings, the delayed appearance of your corrosive paint against fabric canvas, slowly revealing the bones and teeth that made up the skull.

“Why do you- how did you get that?” you demand, your voice trembling.

His eyes narrow almost impossibly further, “The fuck you on about, Art?”

 “Where did you get that mask?” you repeat, your torso twisted to face him at the side of your bed. “It’s mine, I made it. And- and did you call me Art? That’s not my name. You’ve all got me confused for the wrong person!” 

A suffocating silence falls, heavy and oppressive. His expression transforms, warmth replaced by an icy, guarded mask. He withdraws, shutting himself off completely.

The doctor, sensing your disorientation, asks gently, “What do you remember?”

You swallow hard. “Nothing.”

“The brain sometimes suppresses traumatic memories,” the doctor explains, prodding your ankle, searching for pain. “It's natural. They’ll come back over time.”

"No, I..." you trail off. "I don't remember anything."

He hums. "Like I said, it's not a surprise. Give it a few days. I'm sure the lieutenant can help fill you in."

The masked man leans in, his gaze intense and unyielding. “What do you mean, you don’t remember anything?” he asks, voice cautious.

You meet his eyes, caramel depths holding secrets you can’t grasp. “I—I don’t know anything,” you confess, words spilling out in a rush. “I just woke up, and the nurse mentioned a captain and an accident. I don’t know what’s happening, where I am, and—and I want my dad – has anybody called him yet? - and I feel like I know you, and that’s a mask I made, for—for…” You trailed off.

The doctor and the stranger speak over each other, their words a tangle of confusion.

“For who?” the doctor inquires.

But the masked man’s question chills you to the bone. “Where do you think your father is right now, Art?”

His question lingers, absurd and ominous. Dread pools in your stomach.

“Back home,” you whisper, uncertain. “On the farm.”

Before you can think of anything else to say, he turns and storms towards the door, throwing it open and slamming it shut with enough force to rattle the lamp above your head. You stare at the door, a tear slipping down your cheek, an ache in your chest you can't explain.

The doctor clears his throat, gently repeating your name. "You don’t have any immediate family listed."

The fragments of your memory sink deeper into the fog of confusion, and you cry, the weight of the unknown crushing you.

[tribbetherium]

Today as abundant and diverse as they were back on their home planet, the ants were among one of the most successful terrestrial invertebrates that had been introduced to HP-02017. Descended from a select few species, introduced as detritivores, pollinators and seed dispersers, these remarkable hymenopterans have since spread across the globe and occupied the niches similar to Earthly ants, such as seed-eaters, leaf-cutters, scavengers, predators, fungus farmers and even honeydew-ranchers: though the livestock of those ranchers are somewhat different, with the niches of sap-sucking true bugs instead filled by beetles and lepidopterans.

Some species, however, have begun taking on niches unlike any of their Terran forebearers. Raftants, aquatic species native to floodplains, developed specialized castes to act as oars and floaters to propel the colony along the surface. Perhaps stranger, at least for ants, are the lonestingers: ants that no longer live in colonies and have become solitary, with all individuals being winged and wasplike, no longer producing wingless sterile workers and taking on a niche akin to solitary wasps and bees.

One of the most unusual species in the Middle Temperocene, however, are the lime ants (Citromyrmex polyregina), an abundant and widespread species found all across South Ecatoria and the neighboring islands. Easily recognizable by their distinct yellow and black coloring, these ants are generalist omnivores diet-wise: consuming both plant and animal matter, though prioritizing carbohydrate-rich sugary food like fruit, sap and nectar for the active adults, while saving protein-rich seeds, bugs and meat to the larvae to encourage their growth. Like most ants, they communicate by pheromones, travelling across the forest floor in single file to scout out food sources they can carry back to the colony. They, too, have specialized castes for their vital activities, such as small minor workers that participate in foraging and nest cleanup, major workers that act as heavy lifters and back-up defense, and soldiers, armed with large heads and powerful mandibles who defend the nest, cut up large pieces of food, and even ferry around the smallest workers hitchhiking on their bodies.

But one truly remarkable characteristic of the lime ant is its behavioral flexibility, thanks to an unusual recessive gene, the Q gene, that causes the species to produce three separate types of queens, depending on which alleles they acquire. Each one lives a completely different lifestyle: one that affects the behavior of their corresponding colonies as well. These genes mix together during nuptial flights, where alates from different colonies pair together queens and drones that in turn, produce offspring that are homozygous QQ, heterozygous Qq, or homozygous qq. This is further complicated by male ants being haploid, and thus males are always only Q or q.

Homozygous QQ queens develop into what is known as the despot morph: a sedentary, highly-aggressive queen with a bulky body and large mandibles. Her colony dwells in a fixed, permanent nest that occupies the same space for as long as she lives, which can be as long as fifteen years. During which time, their nests can grow into immense proportions, spanning tunnels and chambers many meters across and inhabiting up to 100,000 inhabitants. Despot morph queens tolerate no other reproducing female in the colony, and a single despot morph queen rules supreme: aggressively killing any other breeding female in her nest, be they rival invaders, her own alate daughters, or a worker that starts laying unfertilized eggs. All of her genetically fatherless drone offspring will be Q drones. If she mates with a Q drone, all her female offspring will be despot morphs as well, and if she mates with a q drone, half her offspring will be despot morphs, and half her offspring will be Qq heterozygous: the communal morphs.

Communal morphs, the second kind, are long-bodied and capable of traveling long distances on foot, unlike the sedentary despot morph. These queens, the most common kind, are different from despot morphs in another way: they tolerate the presence of other communal morph queens, thus producing a polygyne colony that is much larger than those of despot morphs, with as many as nine or ten queens and colonies growing to up to a million or more. Their large colony size instead favors them to constantly be on the move, foraging for food in an area and building smaller temporary nests and moving on once food becomes depleted in migrations every few months, with the queens marching along in the swarms and the brood carried by the workers as they go. With multiple queens that can be regularly replaced as they die, the colony as a whole can survive significantly longer than those of a despot morph, which is important as their nomadic lifestyle also leaves them with a higher mortality rate due to exposure to environmental factors and predators. Being heterozygous Qq, they can produce either Q drones or q drones, and a communal morph queen that mates with a Q drone will produce half despot morph offspring and half communal morph offspring, and a communal morph queen that mates with a q drone will produce half communal morph offspring and half qq homozygous offspring: the usurper morph.

Usurper morphs are unusual as they do not build colonies at all: they never shed their wings and remain solitary, similar to the lonestingers. As they disperse from their parent colony during the nuptial flight, they mate once with a drone and store his sperm, but do not start laying eggs right away. Instead, over the course of their long lifespan which may last many years (but rarely as long as the despot and communal morphs), the usurper queen instead infiltrates the nests of the other two kinds shortly before the nuptial flights begin, lays her eggs inside, and leaves all the effort of childcare to the workers of the colonies. Covering the eggs with pheromones to trick the colony into accepting them, she functions in essence as a solitary brood parasite whose progeny are raised by others. As she does not form a colony: none of her offspring become workers and soldiers, and instead always hatch into queens or drones: drone offspring are always q as they are born from unfertilized eggs. If she mates with a Q drone, half of her daughters will be communal morphs and half will be usurpers, and if she mates with a q drone, all her daughters will be usurper morphs.

This unusual arrangement likely evolved as an advantageous trait due to fickle, changing seasons and environments, allowing the species as a whole to persist. When food is plenty despot morphs become more common, able to defend a productive patch of land. When food is scarcer, communal morphs dominate, able to travel long distances to scout out new foraging grounds. And when times are the toughest, the most common morph becomes usurpers: being solitary, they need less food than a whole colony and can depend on the few hardy colonies to rear their young. Through a complex set of environmental dynamics, genetic inheritance, and competition between the queen types, the lime ant proves itself an adaptable and tenacious species that finds great success in the forest floor ecosystems of South Ecatoria.

Despite its complicated and bizarre life history, however, the local northhounds that occupy its range, in particular the vulpins, have found a rather mundane use for this abundant species. When threatened, major workers spray formic acid from specialized nozzles in their abdomens as a ranged mechanism. This, however, has been exploited by the vulpins who intentionally provoke the ants to get them to spray their acid onto food items: in effect acting as both a preservative to ward off fungal and bacterial growth on food, and as well as a seasoning that imparts a sour, citrus-like flavor onto said food. While toxic in large quantitities, the ants' formic acid is harmless in small amounts to larger creatures like the northhounds: making for a surprisingly ideal additive in the vulpins' cultural fondness of imparting different tastes in their primitive form of 'cuisine'.

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

[kiddbegins]

Elections • A. Hotchner

A/n: this is self indulgent and heavily politically charged. I need to get how I’m feeling out in one way or another. So. …

There was only one thing you didn’t want to wake up to today. Weeks of going out and spreading the word. Hours of pacing, worry, anxiety, fear, filling you from the tips of your toes to the halo a top your head.

Election Day had never been this difficult. Usually you could see a light at the end of the tunnel but not this time. This time it felt like you were going to wake up drowning if the wrong side won.

Aaron was working. He had to be. You were home alone, everything spotless thanks to the anxious cleaning you did.

He’d been keeping tabs, knowing how much this was getting to you. You’d cried into his arms a few times already so it was no wonder that he was trying to get home to you now.

Because the first thing you and all Americans did the second they woke up was check the polls. 209 - 277.

He won.

Again.

Bile immediately grew in your throat, barely making it to the bathroom before it came out of your mouth. Retching with fear, anger and anxiety.

This meant horrible things. That you, a woman, were going to be the target of negativity for at least the next four years.

Your phone was ringing but it wasn’t audible over the higher pitch in your ear. The news wasn’t on and you were so glad it wasn’t because what exactly would that pull from you?

More tears? Screams?

It felt like hours you’d sat there on the tile floor, eyes starting to burn and thoughts running back and forth.

Leaving was always an option. But maybe not when your husband worked for the government.

Sterilization, except you were 34 and have no biological kids.

Abstaining, the most likely option at the moment but you’d miss the way Aaron held you before, during and after.

You didn’t hear the key in the door downstairs or the footsteps cracking the wood of the steps. The only sign someone was home was the bathroom light flicking on and the LED lights replacing the small bit of natural sunlight to hit your eyes.

“Oh sweetheart…” Aaron’s voice was so soft and warm it immediately brought another strong wave of tears out.

For you, for any possible child you’d have, your friends. Everything.

“I know…” he held you to his chest, knowing… knowing there was little he could do now. That anyone could do.

It took a small while before you got a calm spot. Eyes too tired to create anymore.

“Let’s get you up.” His voice gentle as he flushed the puke that still sat in the toilet and helped you up. Your body was numb.

Both from your emotions and position.

“We’ll figure something out.” He tried to make you feel better but how could he? How? You felt like someone shot you dead without ever pulling an actual trigger.

“You can’t.” Your voice raspy and full of congestion.

“Like hell I can’t. We are going to figure this out. As a couple. As a family, a country. We. Will fix this. And I would burn anything down that tried to get to you.” His voice was so firm, so full of his own fear for you that it made your heart lurch.

“This is just day one of a fight. I have no right to tell you this, but today you mourn, and tomorrow, if you can, you get back out there and you fight as hard as you have to. And i will have your back.”

“We all will.”

“Don’t do that. I am SO angry Aaron. I want to fight NOW.”

You take a breath.

“I want to scream and cry and get into a fight with everyone that voted the way they did. It’s like I have a huge bag of flames in my stomach that I want to spit out at anyone I talk to…”

“Everyone. I’m angry.”

I’m not even gonna promo down here or tag anyone. I’m just so devastated and wish I had this.

[adinathinternationalindia]

Vial Liquid Line

Vial Liquid line that includes a washing, sterilizing, liquid filling, cap sealing, and labeling machine is used to fill injectable vials. This is known as an injectable liquid filling line. Every machine was oriented to function as a single, cohesive system. We have both Automatic and Semi-Automatic Vial Liquid Lines in our inventory. Automatic lines, also known as fully automatic vial liquid lines, have conveyors on each machine that are connected to one another for uninterrupted automatic operations.

Automatic Vial Liquid Line

Washing, sterilizing, filling stoppering, and labeling machines make up automatic vial lines. Every machine is connected to function as a single, cohesive system. Automation is used in operations to remove human intervention. These lines are also known as Production Scale Vial Filling Lines or High-Speed Vial Production Lines. The equipment in this kind of filling line is listed below:

Vial Washing Machine

The AI-VRW Automatic Rotary Vial Washing Machine is made to wash glass vials without letting non-contact machine parts come into touch with the vials. A gripper system on the Automatic Rotary Vial Washing Machine model grips the vial from the neck and inverts it while the washing process is underway. Once the washing process is complete, the vial is released on the outfeed star wheel arrangement in a vertical position, ensuring a positive wash of the vials. With the use of spare components, our machine model can clean glass vials and containers ranging in capacity from 2 to 100 milliliters. A specifically constructed Gripper holds the glass vial from its neck, inverts it, and moves it further on a rotary moving system for the washing process. The glass vial feeds through a turn table to the infeed Star Wheel.

Sterilization Tunnel

In order to sterilize and dehydrogenate cleaned empty pharmaceutical glassware used in parenteral product packaging, this type of continuous sterilizer is a fully automated system that specifically uses forced convection of filtered air through a high efficiency particulate air filter.

Vial Liquid Filling Machine

Glass vials that are injectable can be filled with an injectable liquid filling machine, such as an automatic vial liquid filling machine. Turntable, stainless steel stat conveyor belt, and special eccentric pre-, filling, and post-gassing comprise the basic unit. 316L stainless steel syringes that are incredibly accurate and efficient, non-toxic synthetic rubber tubing, and a compact, easily accessible panel.

Vial Cap Sealing Machine

The PP/Flip-ff cap sealing onto round glass vials is appropriate for the Automatic Vial Cap Sealing Machine. The machine for capping vials is specifically made of stainless steel and has a mild steel frame with stainless steel cladding and enclosures. The Vial Capping Machine has a vibratory bowl feeder that allows the cap to be continuously fed for online operation on any liquid or powder filling line. Machine adaptable to different Vial sizes and, with the use of spare parts, to Plain/Flip-Off Caps. The Capping Machine is a useful tool for the pharmaceutical industry because it may operate automatically online and has fewer production requirements.

Vial Inspection Machine

Glass vials that can be injected are appropriate for inspection using an automatic vial inspection machine. The four tracks that make up the Vial Inspection Machine are made of nylon-6 roller chain, and they can be purchased with a spinning assembly that includes 24V DC wiring and AC drive rejection units. Additionally, the ability to modify speed was made possible with a variable AC frequency drive. All of the machine’s contact parts are composed of authorized engineered polymers and stainless steel, in compliance with cGMP regulations.

Vial Sticker Labeling Machine

One of the easiest vertical vial sticker labeler devices to use is the Automatic Vial Sticker Labeling Machine. This apparatus has a cutting-edge Micro Processor Control label dispensing mechanism with a product and label detection system. The Vial Labeler can be used to label spherical objects such as vials. Depending on the vial and label size, it may label up to 100 vials in a minute. An optional unique label sensing system allows an electronic and mechanical system specifically developed to put transparent (No Look) labels on vials at a very fast speed.

Semi-Automatic Vial Liquid Line

Machines for washing, sterilizing, filling stoppers, sealing caps, inspecting, and labeling make up a semi-automated vial liquid line. These devices operate on their own and are integrated with one another. These lines are also known as small-scale vial liquid lines or low-cost vial production lines. The equipment in this kind of filling line is listed below:

Semi-Automatic Vial Washing Machine

A reliable, ampoule and vial washing machine that complies with cGMP standards is the semi-automatic vial washer, also known as the vial jet washer. It is small, adaptable, and semi-automatic. With the use of appropriate replacement components, the Multijet Vial Washing Machine’s stainless steel architecture allows it to wash glass vial sizes ranging from 2 to 100 milliliters and ampoule sizes from 1 to 20 milliliters. FDA-approved materials or stainless steel 316L are used to make all contact parts.

Dry Heat Sterilizer

Bottles, vials, and ampoules that have been cleaned can be sterilized using an ampoule sterilizer or dry heat sterilizer. It is constructed from MS heavy angles with an exterior wall composed of stainless steel 304 and an inner wall made of stainless steel 316. Our double door DHS is manufactured in compliance with cGMP requirements that are authorized in injectable pharmaceutical factories that uphold a class 100 environment. For cGMP compliance, all contact parts are constructed from FDA-approved materials or stainless steel 316L.

Vial Liquid Filling Machine

Glass vials that are injectable can be filled with an injectable liquid filling machine, such as an automatic vial liquid filling machine. Turntable, stainless steel stat conveyor belt, and special eccentric pre-, filling, and post-gassing comprise the basic unit. 316L stainless steel syringes that are incredibly accurate and efficient, non-toxic synthetic rubber tubing, and a compact, easily accessible panel.

Vial Cap Sealing Machine

The PP/Flip-ff cap sealing onto round glass vials is appropriate for the Automatic Vial Cap Sealing Machine. The machine for capping vials is specifically made of stainless steel and has a mild steel frame with stainless steel cladding and enclosures. The Vial Capping Machine has a vibratory bowl feeder that allows the cap to be continuously fed for online operation on any liquid or powder filling line. Machine adaptable to different Vial sizes and, with the use of spare parts, to Plain/Flip-Off Caps. The Capping Machine is a useful tool for the pharmaceutical industry because it may operate automatically online and has fewer production requirements.

Vial Inspection Machine

Glass vials that can be injected are appropriate for inspection using an automatic vial inspection machine. The four tracks that make up the Vial Inspection Machine are made of nylon-6 roller chain, and they can be purchased with a spinning assembly that includes 24V DC wiring and AC drive rejection units. Additionally, the ability to modify speed was made possible with a variable AC frequency drive. All of the machine’s contact parts are composed of authorized engineered polymers and stainless steel, in compliance with cGMP regulations.

Vial Sticker Labeling Machine

One of the easiest vertical vial sticker labeler devices to use is the AutomaticVial Sticker Labeling Machine. This apparatus has a cutting-edge Micro Processor Control label dispensing mechanism with a product and label detection system. The Vial Labeler can be used to label spherical objects such as vials. Depending on the vial and label size, it may label up to 100 vials in a minute. An optional unique label sensing system allows an electronic and mechanical system specifically developed to put transparent (No Look) labels on vials at a very fast speed.

[documentationofcorruption]

I'm exhausted. 2 whole days of compiling zionist statements for y'all. Please reblog.

(LONG POST: TW- genocidal rhetoric, anti-palestinian hate, additions welcome)

-

#1 - ALARMING STATEMENTS FROM ISRAELI LEADERS:

"This is a struggle between the children of light and the children of darkness, between humanity and the law of the jungle."

-Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu deleted tweet

“You must remember what Amalek has done to you, says our Holy Bible. 1 Samuel 15:3 ‘Now go and smite Amalek, and utterly destroy all that they have, and spare them not; but slay both man and woman, infant and suckling, ox and sheep, camel and ass’," 

-Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu 

“We are striking our enemies with unprecedented might,” … “I emphasize that this is only the beginning.”

-Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu 

“We're in complete compliance with international law. I think in many ways, we're setting a different standard. We seek to minimize civilian casualties, and Hamas seeks to maximize it.”

-Benjamin Netanyahu tweet 

“The civilized world must unite to defeat Hamas,”

-Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu 

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Bible says that 'there is a time for peace and a time for war.' This is a time for war. A war for our common future,"

-Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu 

“We will hold Gaza after the war too, we will not trust international forces”

-Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu 

"Humanitarian aid to Gaza? No electric switch will be turned on, no water tap will be opened, and no fuel truck will enter until the Israeli abductees are returned home,"

-Israeli minister of energy, Israel Katz

"Each country should take a quota...We need all 2 million to leave. That is the solution for Gaza."

-former Israeli Justice Minister, Ayelet Shaked

"The goal of the operation is to send Gaza back to the Middle Ages. Only then will Israel be calm for 40 years."

-former Israeli interior minister, Eli Yishai (2012)

"After we turn Khan Younis too into a soccer field […] we need to take advantage of the destruction [to tell] the countries that each of them should take a quota, it can be 20000 or 50000 […] We need 2 million to leave. That's the solution for Gaza."

-former Israeli interior minister, Eli Yishai 

"King David cut off another 100 foreskins of Philistines as revenge for clogging up the wells with dirt. Our soldiers, who have gone to war to protect their homes and to avenge the terrible massacre that these Nazi terrorists carried out, will cover them in their tunnels with dirt, and will return to peace with the abductees only after they have cut off all these accursed foreskins.”

-Israeli minister Shlomo Karhi 

“We are fighting human animals and we act accordingly,”

-Israeli defense minister, Yoav Gallant

“We are imposing a complete siege on Gaza,” 

There will be no electricity, no food, no water, no fuel. Everything will be closed.”

Israeli defense minister, Yoav Gallant

“There is no such thing as a Palestinian nation. There is no Palestinian history. There is no Palestinian language.”

-Israeli finance minister, Bezalel Smotrich (March 2023)

 "It is natural that my wife would not want to lie down next to someone who just gave birth to a baby that might want to murder her baby in another 20 years."

-Israeli finance minister, Bezalel Smotrich, on segregating maternity wards (2016)

(Israel must) “create sterile security areas around Jewish communities and roads and prevent Arabs from entering them, including for the purpose of olive harvesting.”

-Israeli finance minister, Bezalel Smotrich 

"[Hilltop Youth] are heroes and righteous people, and I admire their love for the people, for the land, for the Torah. Their dedication. But like young people in other domains, sometimes they struggle to hold complexities, make mistakes, and we must know where to draw the line."

-Israeli finance minister, Bezalel Smotrich (referring to the extremist religious group “Hilltop Youth” notorious for illegal settler violence 

“It is an entire nation out there that is responsible,”

-Israeli president, Isaac Herzog

“It is not true this rhetoric about civilians not being aware, not involved. It’s absolutely not true. They could have risen up. They could have fought against that evil regime which took over Gaza in a coup d’etat.”

-Israeli president, Isaac Herzog

(long chunk of text)

“1. This war is not only against Hamas.

2. This war is first and foremost about the future of the State of Israel and the future of the Zionist project.

3. Any scenario other than a complete and unequivocal defeat of the enemy, at any cost, condemns us and our descendants to a bleak future that will not allow our existence here as a free people.

4. If we do not convey the message to our foes now about the price they will pay for hurting us, they will continue to hurt us mercilessly. 

5. Only strength - military, political, economic, social - will ensure the victory of Zionism and the State of Israel.”

-Tweet from Israeli Foreign Minister Emmanuel Nahshon

“if it is one Israeli mother crying, or a thousand Palestinian mothers crying, then a thousand Palestinian mothers will cry.”

-Israeli Lawmaker, Zvika Fogel (2022)

“We are too merciful. It’s time for us to stop being so. It has nothing to do with racism.”

-Israeli Lawmaker, Zvika Fogel (2022)

“Gaza should be wiped off the map.”

-Knesset Member, Galit Distel Atbaryan

“All of this preoccupation with whether or not there is internet in Gaza shows that we have learned nothing. We are too humane. Burn Gaza now no less!”

-tweet from Israeli deputy speaker Nissim Vaturi

“Your fear will kill us. Stop being humane.”

- Israeli deputy speaker, Nissim Vaturi

“In 1967 we held them by force. We cannot repeat this mistake. As a democratic state we must allow them to leave to other countries, far from here.”

-Israeli deputy speaker, Nissim Vaturi tweet 

"We need to put them (the Palestinians) on boats and send them to wherever will be good for them. They're wanted in Scotland? We'll hand them over."

- Israeli deputy speaker, Nissim Vaturi

“"we can leave one old man (alive) there - he will tell everyone"

-Nissim Vaturi tweet regarding Gaza

(The Palestinians) “They can go to Ireland or deserts, the monsters in Gaza should find a solution by themselves”,

-Currently suspended minister Amichai Eliyahu, who proposed nuking Gaza as “an option”

When you go to prison and put a prisoner there you restrict his rights, is that apartheid?"

-Amichai Eliyahu

“Right now, one goal: Nakba! A Nakba that will overshadow the Nakba of 48. Nakba in Gaza and Nakba to anyone who dares to join! their Nakba, because like then in 1948, the alternative is clear.”

-Knesset member, Ariel Kallner

"Occupation [of the Gaza Strip] is a must. Every time our enemies lost territory, they lost the war. We need to be in full control - that's what will deter our enemies, convey a message of victory.”

-minister of national security, Itamar Ben-Gvir

“My right and the right of my wife and children to move around freely on the streets of Judea and Samaria (the West Bank) is more important than the freedom of movement of Arabs. Sorry Muhammad.”

-minister of national security, Itamar Ben-Gvir

“The only thing that should enter Gaza as long as Hamas doesn’t release the hostages it holds is not a gram of humanitarian aid, but hundreds of tons of explosives from the Air Force.”

-minister of national security, Itamar Ben-Gvir

“If the international media is objective and shows both sides, it serves Hamas.”

-former Israeli prime minister, Yair Lapid

"This is Gaza's Nakba 2023."

-agriculture minister, Avi Dichter

“We are now rolling out the Gaza Nakba”

-agriculture minister, Avi Dichter

“Human animals must be treated as such. You wanted hell, you will get hell.”

-general of the Israeli army, Ghassan Alian

“The children of Gaza have brought this upon themselves.”

-Knesset member, Merav Ben-Ari

“I am very puzzled by the constant concern which the world is showing for the Palestinian people and is actually showing for these horrible inhuman animals.”

-former Israeli U.S. Ambassador, Dan Gillerman

“99% of hilltop youth don’t cause any harm to anyone - not to the army and not to others. There’s no such thing as ‘settler violence’.”

-tweet from head of IDF Central Command, Yehuda Fuchs (regarding an extremist group)

“...And the thing I most enjoyed was seeing the Israeli flags they put up in every corner, and the amplifier playing the national anthem, HaTikva, at full volume on a loop from morning to night. May their names and memories be eradicated.”

-media advisor, Ariel Elharar, describing treatment of Hamas-affiliated POWs in prison.

“As you will have seen in the last couple of weeks, the fighting is very surgical. It is slow. It is very methodical. We are trying not to reach any of the non-combatant population in the Gaza Strip. And I think that there is no way that we can eradicate the Hamas without dealing with most of its forces that have been— that have fled to the south. Now, again, one little note, “the non-combatant population in the Gaza Strip” is really a non-existent term because all of the Gazans voted for the Hamas, and as we have seen on the 7th of October, most of the population in the Gaza Strip are Hamas.”

-former Mossad chief, Rami Igra

#2 ALARMING STATEMENTS FROM AMERICAN LEADERS:

"What they say to me is I have no notion that the Palestinians are telling the truth about how many people are killed. I'm sure innocents have been killed, and it’s the price of waging a war,"

-president Joe Biden regarding Gazan death tolls

“…I have no confidence in the number that the Palestinians are using.”

-president Joe Biden regarding Gazan death tolls

 “Anyone that is pro-Palestinian is pro-Hamas.”

-Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene

“Ethnic cleansing of Palestinians?!?!?!” You mean the Palestinians who decapitate babies, rape women and dismember children? Or those who hand out candy in celebration? Or those who provide the terrorists aid, comfort, safe passage and a place to hide? Israel doesn’t oppose their ethnicity, it’s their barbarity that is the problem!”

-former ambassador David Freidman

“If you look at how they behave, not all of them are Hamas, but they are all antisemitic,”

-Florida governor Ron DeSantis on Palestinians

“I’m sick of hearing the media, I’m sick of hearing other people blame Israel just for defending itself,”

-Florida governor Ron DeSantis on criticism of Israel

“I don’t even want to call it the Palestinian flag because they’re not a state, they’re a territory, that’s about to probably get eviscerated and go away here shortly, as we’re going to turn that into a parking lot,”

-Rep. Max Miller (who thinks Israel doesn’t need to follow rules of engagement)

“...Israel is not trying to wipe the Palestinian people off the map. Israel’s not trying to wipe Gaza off the map. Israel is trying to defend itself against a genocidal terrorist threat … If we’re gonna start using that word, fine. Let’s use it appropriately.”

-National Security Spokesman, John Kirby

If we killed 4,000 Palestinian children, you know what? It wasn't enough!"

-Stuart Seldowitz, former advisor to Barack Obama

“All of them!”

-Rep. Michelle Salzman (enthusiastically) in response to a colleague asking how many more Palestinians have to die before it is deemed enough

“We’re in a religious war here. I am with Israel,” 

-Senator Lindsey Graham

“Do whatever the hell you have to do to defend yourself. Level the place.”

-Senator Lindsey Graham

“Gaza is going to look like Tokyo and Berlin at the end of world war two when this is over. And if it doesn’t look that way, Israel made a mistake,”

-Senator Lindsey Graham

“Hamas is creating these casualties, not Israel,”

-Lindsay Graham’s statement which contradicts about everything else here

“As far as I’m concerned, Israel can bounce the rubble in Gaza,”

-Senator Tom Cotton

"Israel must respond DISPROPORTIONATELY to this and any future attacks." 

-Senator Marco Rubio

“I don't think there's any way Israel can be expected to coexist or find some diplomatic offramp with these savages. I mean, these are people, as you have been reporting and others have seen, that deliberately targeted teenage girls, women, children, the elderly, not just for rape and murder, but then dumping their bodies off in the streets of Gaza, where the crowds can then defile their lifeless bodies.

I mean, just horrifying things. And I don't think we know the full extent of it yet. I mean, there's more to come in the days and weeks ahead. You can't coexist. They have to be eradicated. And you've pointed out the very difficult challenge ahead—this is going to be incredibly painful. This is going to be incredibly difficult and it's going to be horrifying—the price to pay.”

-Senator Marco Rubio 

“Finish them. Finish them,”

-Nikki Haley after being asked about a humanitarian pause

“This is not just an attack on Israel—this was an attack on America. Finish them, @b.netanyahu. They should have hell to pay for what they have just done.”

-instagram caption from Nikki Haley 

“I don’t know how you can have a ceasefire, a permanent ceasefire, with an organization like Hamas, which is dedicated to turmoil and chaos and destroying the state of Israel,” 

-senator Bernie Sanders

“The calls for a ceasefire are outrageous.”

-house speaker Mike Johnson

“there are very few innocent Palestinian citizens”

-rep. Brian Mast

(terrorism is) “absolutely supported by the Palestinian people from elementary school all the way up into the elderly,” 

-rep. Brian Mast

“I would encourage the other side to not so lightly throw around the idea of innocent Palestinian civilians, as frequently said,” … “I don’t think we would so lightly throw around the term ‘innocent Nazi civilians’ during World War II.”

-rep. Brian Mast

“Rashida Tlaib has alleged ties to Hamas.

Based on these allegations, it’s sadly not surprising she’s calling for a genocide against the Jewish people.”

-an accusatory tweet from senator Marsha Blackburn regarding lone Palestinian congresswoman, Rashida Tlaib

“I don’t have any malice towards Palestinians. I have Muslim friends, believe me.”

-rep. Ryan Zinke regarding criticism of his Palestinian ban 

“I don't trust the Biden Administration any more than I do the Palestinian Authority to screen who is allowed to come into the United States. This is the most anti-Hamas immigration legislation I have seen and it's well deserved.”

-also rep. Ryan Zinke claiming his Palestinian immigration ban is ‘well deserved’

#3 VIRAL STATEMENTS FROM EVERYDAY ZIONISTS:

(long chunk of text)

“On the Gaza beach the autumn night is descending

Planes are bombing, ruin follows ruin

See the IDF crossing the borderline

To annihilate the Swastika carriers

In one more year

There won’t be anything left there

And we’ll return safely to our home

In one more year

We’ll eliminate them all and go back to plowing our fields”

-Video on Kan News, sung by several 6-12 year olds

"After the war, Israel should handle Gaza like China handles Xinjiang. Full surveillance state. Re education camps. Sterilizations. It's warranted and the only way to pacify the jihadi population."

"They reproduce like rabbits and raise them to be terrorists, creating more poverty, misery, and terrorism. Why should we allow that. The world would be a much better place if they didn't reproduce."

-tweets from cofounder of Oyster Ventures, Kenneth Ballenegger

“These are the Palestinians. Blood thirsty morally depraved animals who want nothing short of every inch of Israel and all Jews dead.”

“Lots of sand for Palestinians in Sinai which Israel gave to Egypt. Give them all 48h to get there…”

-tweets from pediatrician at John Hopkins, Darren Klugman

(long chunk of text)

“Listen carefully you leftists,

We don’t do reconciliation.

And the chorus stays the same:

May your village burn down.”

-Sung by IDF soldiers in the West Bank 

“No ceasefire!”

-chants from March For Israel crowd in response to Van Jones wanting no more deaths

“I wish they will rape you alive.

They will film you.

And if your mother be alive.

They will send the video for your mother to see how you burn.

That’s what I wish.”

-March for Israel protester

“Let me say the unsayable. I’m not endorsing this but it’s a possible solution which is simply to expel them from Gaza. You might call that ethnic cleansing and so forth but the fact is that at the end of the second world war there were a million Germans kicked out of Poland. There were Germans expelled from Czechoslovakia,"

-Breitbart editor, Joel Pollak

“That’s an option, I think, after all this … If it comes down to ethnic cleansing, you want to cleanse my people. I’ll cleanse yours first.”

-Breitbart editor, Joel Pollak

“There will never be a Palestinian state. It’s over.”

-Breitbart editor, Joel Pollak

#4 A FEW ALARMING CELEBRITY STATEMENTS:

“Gazans rape Jewish girls only in self defense,”

-a line from a comic posted by Amy Schumer

“You either stand with Israel or you stand with terrorism”

-Noah Schnapp 

“Many are saying that it’s inhumane that Israel is cutting off water/electricity to Gaza. Israel made it pretty simple — ‘release the hostages and we will turn it back on. Instead of pleading with Hamas to release CIVILIAN hostages which include BABIES and TODDLERS there are politicians (cough cough AOC) calling Israel inhumane. If that isn’t enough for you: ISRAEL DOES NOT NEED TO SUPPLY GAZA WITH THESE RESOURCES (which they do, for FREE),”

-deleted Sarah Silverman story she said she made because she was “stoned”

[xantchaslegacy]

Keen Sense and Curiosity

Some more Phyrexia happenings; check out the story on Ao3 too if the spirit moves you ;)

The cavern was empty.

As empty as any place could be on a plane where even metal lived, and tunnels of living flesh laced through the world from surface to core, and back again.

Walls of matte metal enveloped the cavern, carved smooth in some places by patient hands, and elsewhere patched with stretches of rougher-hewn, and more frequently, unhewn steel. Pools of varying depth and size blotched the cavern floor, brimming oily fluid; a mixture of effluvia that seeped in from the Hunter’s Maze above, and runoff from the labs that pumped in through meat-pipes from the Surgical Bays below.

The liquid churned, filled the air above it with the thick scent of life. It glowed, reflecting the false sunlight of the Hunter’s Maze that shone through tunnels of mirrored steel, flooding the space with a placid light. The fluid hummed in many low notes, a liquid choir that sang, just then, for no-one.

Even absent the creatures of Phyrexia, the cavern was active.

Active, but empty.

Two predators stalked into the cavern.

Glissa and Vorinclex prowled through the space. Side by side, elf and hulking praetor, scanning for danger by sight and smell and sound. Watching each others’ flanks with the practiced instinct of packmates.

Glissa tapped her scythe against the porous steel of the cavern.

Nothing of concern, as far I sense.

Vorinclex growled, low, and lumbered forward.

I smell nothing alarming. Stay alert.

Glissa sniffed her concurrence and fell back to the shadows, watching her companion as he went.

Phyrexia’s tongue was efficient, but the language of beasts had a guttural elegance that script and speech wanted for. That the "civilized" coveted.

Vorinclex sniffed the air once. Twice.

“Prawn.”

Speak of the devil .

Jin-Gitaxias strode into the cavern through a rounded tunnel that sloped upward from the Surgical Bays. Two chrome-capped cronies accompanied to him, chattering in their sanitized tongue.

“Hm.” Jin turned his head at the sight of Vorinclex. “You aren’t tardy.”

“As agreed.” Vorinclex’s voice, guttural even when he displayed the full and disarming range of his articulateness, rolled from his throat at a growl in Jin’s presence. “Brave of you to saunter out of your sterile little bunker.”

“As agreed.”

This cavern was a compromise of a rendezvous. One of many pockets between the Hunter’s Maze and Jin’s Surgical Bays that had formed as a semi-organic side effect of the intentional terraforming that had created the layers of their new Phyrexia.

The place had proven of interest to both factions so far, exacerbating the developments of predators in the vicious swarm, and (by the accounts of the Progress Engine) expanding the scope of Jin’s research with equal explosiveness.

It was one of the precious few, if not only, places in Phyrexia where the Vicious Swarm and the Progress Engine dwelt in equal measure, and felt equally comfortable.

Or equally un - comfortable, Glissa mused . Depending on who’s around.

“Vorinclex.” Jin-gitaxias’ voice, metallic and self-important, rang through the chamber like a bell. “It is surprisingly civilized of you to leave your attack dog behind.”

G lissa only sneered from the shadows at that. It was impossible that Jin-Gitaxias did not now she was there.

Vorinclex snorted. “We are praetors. We do not fear to fight our own battles.”

“Battle…? This is a simple trading of knowledge to benefit both our factions in the work to come. I understand if such a complicated notion frightens a simple brute. If you prefer to turn your tail...”

“I would not waste a chance for Phyrexia’s evolution,” Vorinclex spat. “Though I doubt I’ll find anything useful to the Swarm in the body of some sulking cell-scraper.”

“I am equally skeptical,” Jin replied, “that the mass of flesh that transports your meager brain will prove of any interest to our synthesis. Still, Norn will insist we work more collaboratively sooner than later. What she wishes, we must actualize. Better we begin such efforts in advance. In any case, further exploring the opportunities this space has to offer for our experimentation is worth a pointless hour of diversion.”

“Your portion of this space,” Vorinclex corrected. “The properties of these pools will be a boon to accelerate the development of the swarm’s best predators.”

“That is the agreement,” Jin said. “Wasted as it is on you and yours.”

Glissa scowled. The arrogance of the Engine’s Praetor was a sort of grating that only the self-proclaimed “civilized” could manage.

“That is part of the agreement.” Vorinclex prowled closer to Jin along a strip of metal ground that divided two of the pools, and sat up on his haunches, lording the few inches of height his current body had over the other praetor. “Sharing this space. Are you ready to share your secrets as well?”

“For the good of Phyrexia,” he added, smirking with his voice, if not his actual maw. He dislocated his jaw, and spat something at Jin’s feet. A red-white blur bounced once with a dull clatter then lay still on the cavern floor.

A phyrexian’s head and upper body, red-muscled and clad in plates of white porcelain steel.

“A souleater,” Jin observed, in his dispassionate way.

“One of Norn’s,” Vorinclex said, picking at his teeth with a finger on his smaller limbs. “A lurker. She may approve of our cooperation, but I will not suffer her eyes and ears where they have no business.”

Glissa smiled grimly. The cavern had been cleared of members of the Swarm and the Engine alike in preparation for this meeting, in some cases by force. Those efforts had revealed this member of Norn’s Machine Orthodoxy sects, lurking about the sub-layer. She had personally beheaded the agent herself and eaten its body with Vorinclex.

Jin-Gitaxias stooped slightly to inspect the half-corpse at his feet. “Norn will be displeased with her servant’s dispatching.”

Vorinclex licked his chops. “Are you displeased?”

“I serve Phyrexia’s greater ends. I have no opinion on small matters.”

“So it pleases you to come here for Norn’s benefit?”

“There is every chance our Great Synthesis could benefit from this exchange,” Jin replied. His jaws hardly moved as he spoke. Glissa wondered if his vocal chords even required motion of the mouth to communicate, with all the modifications he’d made to his body. “Allow the two most advanced specimens of our respective factions to examine each other and find how our best qualities can be shared between our...separate efforts to advance Phyrexia. It will certainly benefit your blind efforts to learn from us, and Norn will undoubtedly want you operating at a greater capacity than you do now.”

“Our glorious, ineffable leader,” Vorinclex snarled.

It’s good he speaks like that all the time, Glissa thought. Otherwise his scorn for Norn would be a more open secret.

“Our flawless mother.”

Jin-Gitaxias was harder to read. Glissa wished dearly to know what he actually thought of their self-proclaimed ‘mother.’

V orinclex spat into the pool. “ Your flattery would be wasted even if she was here to hear it .” He tilted his head, appraising Jin. “Shall we begin, or would you like to waste more time with words?”

Jin held up a closed hand, then raised a single index finger.

“I will insist on taking my observations first,” he said. “If you can contain yourself that long.”

“Please.” Vorinclex spread his arms wide, and his shadow fell on Jin’s toadies as well as the praetor himself. “Observe. I know you can’t wait to see what a real phyrexian looks like.”

“It is not eagerness, simply concern is that your own clumsy analyses will damage my instruments before I can take your measure.”

Vorinclex huffed, and lowered his arms to his sides while Jin turned to his attendants, who were busy pouring steaming liquid into a basin. Jin dipped his fingers into the stuff.

Sterilizing, Glissa realized. The acidic smell was powerful, even at a distance . Since the Swarm and the Engine had begun making joint use of it, each had introduced elements to the odor of the place, and while the acidic curdle of the Progress Engine's experiment pits did permeate the place, it usually melded queerly well with the more vital, vibrant scents of the Hunter's Maze, making a smell that was inoffensive to a hunter's nose, and even invigorating, at its best.

“So much ceremony,” Vorinclex observed. “I could inspect you twice over in the time it takes to complete your pageantry.”

“At least one of us needs to approach this exchange seriously.” Jin raised his hands from the bowl and began cleaning them on his apron, wiping each digit with a slow meticulousness that seemed maliciously deliberate. He looked to Vorinclex, still squatting on his haunches. “Will you lie supine for me?”

“Guess.”

“Hm.” Jin snapped, and his transcriptors snapped to attention. “Prepare to take notes.”

They chattered in affirmation.

Jin’s hands, those massive, long-fingered things that made Glissa think of blightwidows, began probing at Vorinclex’s shoulders, tracing along the massive spiked plates that protected his upper body. The light scrape of chrome on bone-steel rang like a chime through the cavern.

“Grand,” Jin remarked. “Such ostentatious plumage is likely effective in scaring off other simple beasts, I presume. I doubt our synthesis has much need for...bony shoulders.”

“Still,” he added, “It has a certain animal charm. It suits you.”

"When you find yourselves in the wilderness of a new plane, with nothing but your test-tubes and little needles to defend yourselves against the incomple at , you'll feel different."

Jin made a dismissive *click*-ing sound. "I have faced the strongest among the incompleat and triumphed." his hands trailed down from Vorinclex's bone-spurs and dragged way across his collar and breast. another crisp metallic note sheared the air. "This robust musculature, on the other hand…" His fingers splayed over the chest, probing at intervals with prods that brought soft huffs to Vorinclex’s breath. Jin’s other hand began taking measurements of Vorinclex’s arms, working its way from shoulder to arm to wrist to-

-Vorinclex seized Jin’s fingers, and lifted the arm above his head with a casual tug.

“A practical demonstration,” he growled, cutting Jin off. “Strength like this emerges through the struggle of life against life and death. Something that doesn’t happen in your test tubes and operating tables.”

“Untrue at its premise,” Jin replied, mildly. “In any case, the structure of your muscles can be examined, and reproduced by construction or artificial growth.”

Vorinclex cocked his head by the slightest degree. “I’ll believe it when I see it. How will you learn the structure of my flesh?”

“Our oil and research have yielded have many ways to examine what lies within. Lenses that can see past base matter. Magical tracers injected into the body and tracked with external scanners. However-”

Jin’s finger thinned, a subtle and silent shifting of the metal in his digit that Glissa might have missed if not for her eyes, compleat with a hunter’s acuity.

“I prefer to look for myself.”

Glissa tensed. Jin meant to cut Vorinclex open. She would allow it, of course, so far as Vorinclex was prepared to allow it, but would be ready to spring to his side should the need arise.

Jin, however, simply stood, half hanging by his wrist, looking at Vorinclex with his sharpened digit raised.

“Well?” Vorinclex sounded vexed by the pause. “Will you or won’t you?”

“We civilized people call this ‘waiting for permission,’ Jin said, enunciating the last three words with an insufferable deliberation.

Vorinclex barked a laugh, and released Jin’s hand. “When does the great butcher prawn wait for any thing’s permission? What sort of Phyrexian waits and does not just take what it intends?”

Jin ‘tsk’-ed through grit teeth. “Discourse between praetors should have more weight and social depth than the intercourse of beasts.”

“What do you know about the intercourse of beasts?” Vorinclex shifted, closing the distance between them. “Fine. This is permission to take whatever measures and make whatever cuts you need to slake your idiot thirst.”

“Whatever measures? I will remember that.”

Jin’s blade sank into Vorinclex’ upper arm with a disquieting ease. The muscle there was dense, as Glissa knew from hunting and scrapping with her companion. If the lack of resistance gave Vorinclex any pause, he showed no sign.

Nor did he look bored. He was watching Jin intently as he drew the blade down and lay open the topmost layer of Vorinclex’ skin and steel-twined muscle.

“The musculature...” Jin pulled aside Vorinclex’s hide and sliced deeper into the limb. Red and green and black dribbled in oily clumps from the cut. “...Impressively dense, as expected. Supply. Pliable. The proteins comprising the circulatory system...”

He trailed off, muttering and slicing. His unsharpened fingers working aside the fibers inside Vorinclex. Every few seconds he pulled a needle of silver from his knuckles and sank it into the flesh, marking a spot in the meat. Vorinclex’s gaze followed Jin as he moved down the arm, exhaling to punctuate each piece of Jin that was slipped into him.

"You've let the growth of your organics guide the development of your mechanical components," Jin observed. "A common thread in the Swarm specimens I've explored."

"They work in harmony," Vorinclex replied, as if explaining nursing to a newborn. "These components want to work as one, so there is no need to meddle in the finer details. A creature need only to act, and the instincts of the oil will guide the organic and its modifications to the best natural conclusion."

Jin scoffed. "Without adequate guiding intelligence...without intent, you are wasting time and resources with an uncoordinated approach."

"Oil is intelligence. Where you see only a vector, there is a guiding natural brilliance already present in the oil that outstrips the capacity of any sapient mind. Even yours, prawn. You say I waste resources? I say you waste time trying to bend the direction of an already perfect path to compleation."

“That’s as good as an admission of complacency,” Jin replied.

“It’s efficient use of our energies.” Vorinclex reached down and tapped one of the needles thrust through his upper arm. “unlike this.”

Jin only scowled at that.

After the arm came an incision along the back, then a cut along Vorinclex’ backmost thigh, down to the knee. The muscle within was vivid red and a maroon cocktail of oil flowed down the limb to the ground, where it soaked into the floor and trailed off into the pool behind him.

With every prod and pin from Jin, more of these fluids leaked down Vorinclex’s body in minute rivulets.

Still, Vorinclex stood as high on his haunches as he had at the outset.

“Another beast might have fallen from being cut open in this way,” Jin remarked.

“A lesser beast,” Vorinclex replied.

M ore cutting. More needles. Jin chattered away all the while as he cut deeper and deeper, until his probing found Vorinclex’s internal organs.

“Some actual efficiencies,” Jin murmured, shifting aside steel-mesh sacks and crocus-flesh enhancements, “And more than a few vanity organs that I presume let you play at being king of the beasts.”

“Not a king, just an aspiring apex.”

Jin fell silent after a period of further muttering and poking. His fingers ran the length of Vorinclex’s splayed-open leg, flank, and arm, tracing the patterns of muscle fiber within.

After a minute of this silence, Vorinclex stirred.

“Is something displeasing you, prawn?”

“The lack of something has me...intrigued.” Jin ran his sterilized digits through the fibers of Vorinclex’ arms. “It is known you boast a prodigious healing capacity, and yet I see nothing at work-”

“Watch your fingers,” Vorinclex said, interrupting.

The meat of his arm began joining with a sudden, soft, squirming, sucking noise so low and quick it barely registered to even Glissa’s ears. Jin withdrew his hands, but the closing muscles bunched around the longest of his fingers, and the digit came away trailing a gobbet of Vorinclex’s flesh.

Jin held up the stringy chunk of shuddering meat, turning it over in his fingers.

“A healing that must be triggered consciously. Interesting.”

“A healing that can be subdued intentionally,” Vorinclex cut in, as the rest of the cuts began sealing all along his body. “Aren’t scientists not supposed to jump to conclusions?”

J in ignored the question. “I will take this as a sample.” He held his hand out, and one of the transcriptors scuttled forward, producing a jar with a black seal about its lid. Jin popped the seal off and dropped the meat into the jar. H is minion shuffled back away, nearly tripping as Vorinclex growled at it, spattering the ground with spittle.

Having deposited most of the flesh. Jin wiped the rest from his fingers into a smaller tube, and examined it by the light; a series of metal tunnels reflected the false sunlight of the hunter’s maze down into the caverns; more than generous to see by.

Satisfied by what he observed, Jin tucked the test tube away in a slot in his flank. He spread the remaining smear of oily tissue onto Vorinclex’s arm, along the line of the now-healed cut. His other hand hovered above the healed-over incision on the leg.

“My pins are still inside your-”

“They are mine now. Carry on your examinations.”

“In that case-”

With a deft movement – a pull at the leg and push to the chest so subtle Glissa barely registered either, Jin unbalanced Vorinclex and flipped him into the pool. Vorinclex was too large to submerge fully in the fluid, and he displaced enough of the humming green stuff that Jin’s transcriptors were obliged to shuffle hastily backwards from the splash. Vorinclex let out an angry yelp, but Jin strode into the pool in two smooth steps and, straddling Vorinclex’s waist, grabbed his head in one massive hand. Jin continued vocalizing his examination as if nothing at all had happened.

“These teeth,” Jin murmured, his voice dropping in volume as he leaned in close to examine Vorinclex’ mouth. “Ingenious in form for affecting lethal lacerations in prey, though they are not especially well-rooted. Prone to falling out in the process of your...consumptions, I’d hypothesize.”

“Teeth break,” Vorinclex growled back. “Better to get good use out of them a few times and have a robust body to push new ones into place.”

“Wasteful.” Jin loomed closer. Vorinclex would have a front-row view of the blue praetor’s pristine, regular rows of chrome teeth. “Better something that lasts.”

“How long would it take you to replace those trinkets in your mouth if I savaged you right now? I can push out new teeth in seconds. I don’t need to go crawling back to a lab to replace my fierce parts.”

“You’d break your teeth a dozen times on mine before you even scratched my mouth.” Jin moved his face bare centimeters from Vorinclex’s, as if he meant to test his hypothesis on the other praetor there and then. “So savage away. But not until I’m finished with you.”

Jin’s fingers ran leisurely down Vorinclex’s side, fingers curving around from chest to back, probing his musculature and carapace with minute twitches, before coming to a rest on hips, where groin met thighs.

“Powerful legs. Claws and teeth that could render steel to fragments. You have excelled in your advancements toward animal perfection.” Jin dragged two fingers back up along Vorinclex's flank, the chrome making a surprisingly soft sound as the tips trailed over the metal-shod bone and exposed muscle.

Vorinclex snorted. His voice spoke dismissal of Jin’s comment, but he seemed, to Glissa’s eye, to almost preen at the comment, like a wolf showing off its coat.

“I am testament to the Swarm’s success. We have taken life that once barely subsisted and hobbled along among tangles of rust and created an ecosystem of thriving, ever-improving predators.”

Jin grunted at this newest failure to provoke Vorinclex. It was such an annoyed, base sound that Glissa had to suppress a giggle.

“Regardless of this...low success,” he said after a pause, “I hypothesize there might still be shortcomings in your Swarm.” Jin’s left hand snaked under Vorinclex’s gut, while his right slithered down Vorinclex’s thigh.

“And I would hypothesize those weaknesses might be reflected in your own...form.”

“You’ve seen me inside and out. Look as long as you like, you’ll find nothing resembling weakness.”

“We will see.”

Jin continued to inspect Vorinclex’ chest and neck. He kept up a constant monologue of numbers and measurements, his transcriptors at rapt attention. Neither had materials for writing. Sound recording devices built into their skulls, Glissa mused.

“You will be the first to attempt traversal across planes,” Jin commented after a while. “Our research to date suggests this will be a catastrophically traumatizing experience for your body.”

“I look forward to new hunting grounds.”

“There will be immense pain and an almost complete immolation of your form.”

“Is that all?” Vorinclex affected a yawn. “Good to know. I’ll bring my rubbers.”

Jin grumbled again. “It is regrettable Vrig failed to divine the secrets of Memnarch’s soul-traps...we might have achieved Phyrexia’s interplanar ends without such needless agony.”

Glissa stifled another giggle. It could not have been plainer Jin was hoping the comment would lead for a chance to expand on his tedious science.

“Research and development? Limited?” Vorinclex’s feigned shock was somehow more and not less pointed when growled. “Imagine my surprise.”

“It takes astoundingly little imagination to imagine you surprised,” Jin’s fingers darted suddenly to Vorinclex’s thigh, forefinger and thumb pressing into the veins below the hips.

Vorinclex grunted once. A soft bark that indeed betrayed surprise.

Glissa tensed, again.

“Curious.” Jin’s fingers had paused along the inside of Vorinclex’s thigh. “I would have suspected this organ here might be rendered obsolete by a...properly evolved creature.”

Vorinclex did not squirm. He was too proud, to perfect for such a thing. But he did shift noticeably under Jin’s observation

“Such a novel shape the tissues have taken.” Jin’s hand shifted under space where Vorinclex’ hind legs met. “The Grand Evolution is abundant with its own surprises. This feels like...an advancement of the Crocus blooms, yes? Grafted onto...no...grown from your body?”

Vorinclex did not shy away from Jin’s gaze.

“Some creatures among the swarm yet benefit from physiological stimulation to encourage breeding.”

“It yields rapid generations and equally explosive improvements in biology,” he added, sounding as defensive as an apex predator of Phyrexia could.

“The father of machines disdained such methods of reproduction,” Jin mused aloud. “Much of old Phyrexia did, at least on the nine spheres.” His hand had disappeared up to his first elbow, and it did not escape Glissa’s notice that the fingers on his right hand were running through the fur on Vorinclex’s back, caressing the spine. “‘Grow’ is our watchword. Not ‘breed.’”

“The father of machines failed,” Vorinclex spat. “And perhaps he disdained procreation because he was too preoccupied with writing into the scriptures his own sad failures to acquire the mate he desired.”

“And who have you been mating with?” Jin inquired. “Beasts? Elves? Wurms? I would have guessed you and yours were too busy trying to eat each other and preening your muscles and metal at one another to find time to breed.”

“I will take a sample,” he added, gripping tight onto Vorinclex’ fur.

“Don’t waste breath talking about what you will do. Do it.”

“Mm.” Jin withdrew his hand from the spine with a jerk and a sound like a canvas torn in two, pulling out a clump of spined hairs from Vorinclex’ back.

Vorinclex tensed and growled.

Jin’s other hand came away from between thighs, and Vorinclex jerked this time. Jin held between thumb and forefinger a strip of tissue.

“I presume your healing is as robust in your crocus organs as it is in your muscle?”

Vorinclex rose up, though not to his full height, dripping pool-fluid. “Prodigiously robust. You can inspect closer, if you dare place your head where your hand was bold enough to wander.”

“Regardless,” Jin replied, clinically smug, returning his hand to Vorinclex’ leg. “That the most advanced among the Swarm...the apex of phyrexian evolution, even, would possess such an organ...” He trailed off, and made a series of soft clicking “tsk”s. “I would think that you might think it...weakness.”

Vorinclex lunged toward the edge of the pool. Jin, not expecting the move, was thrown forward and landed in as semi-sprawled position in the shallows. Glissa suppressed a laugh to see the praetor so prone, his little skirt and apron askew about his legs.

“You are losing focus, prawn.” Vorinclex's voice was dangerously low as he prowled forward to loom over Jin. “I am ready to take my turn.”

“Impatient,” Jin clicked. He pulled back the skirt, perhaps to keep it from getting wetter, though it was thoroughly soaked from what Glissa could see. The fluid of the pool also, had shifted in color, while they stood in it, from an acid green to something more like the blue-green light when Lyese and the Eye of Doom both broke the horizon together.

“Worried that I’ll break you?”

Jin hummed, a raspy vocalization of frustration . “Not at all. My concern is that your clumsy pawing will not yield the data your swarm need s to adequately better itself.”

“Never mind my paws, Jin. I have my other ways of taking your measure,” Vorinclex rumbled. His maw thrust forward, to within inches of Jin’s neck. From her place, Glissa could hear his breath. See it steam along the metal of Jin’s jaw.

“A predator can probe by scent and taste alone.”

“Bestial senses,” Jin scoffed. “Your means of analysis are as crude as those you use to advance your evolution.”

Vorinclex responded by placing his forelimb across Jin’s shoulder, pushing him down into the shallows of the pool, and sniffing further down the other praetor’s neck, approaching his shoulder.

“Hm.”

He stopped there, inspecting the metal of Jin’s collar in a slow circuit. Jin seemed unsure what to do with his head as Vorinclex probed, and opted to remain still. Vorinclex moved almost painfully slowly, and Glissa could not help but wonder what was driving this uncharacteristic display of patience.

V orinclex’s breath continues to fog on Jin’s chrome surface as he moved, leaving a misty, matte trail on the shining body that faded quietly as he wandered across Jin’s form .

Jin kept silent for several more minutes as Vorinclex probed further down, inspecting chest and shoulders. Every few seconds he would adjust his fore-paws, never pressing down on one stretch of Jin’s body for too long, but never taking off enough weight to allow him to rise, either.

“How are you recording this?”

Jin’s voice was strained, the already metallic voice reverberating as if spoken through a funnel of steel. Almost as like he’d run a long distance.

Vorinclex paused at the question. He was just then running the edge of his snout along Jin’s elbow, and he made a slow, deliberate trail of Jin’s head as he re-positioned himself to look Jin in whatever portion of his face would best correspond to eyes.

“Recording?”

“Yes.”

“I will remember, of course,” Vorinclex placed a broad paw over Jin’s midsection. Maroon-muscled digits closed around Jin’s silvery, snake-like spine. “An apex’s eyes miss nothing. An apex savors every meal it takes the measure of.”

“You intend to eat me, Vorinclex?”

“If I ate you, Jin-Gitaxias….REALLY ate you, I would not get to see the despair in you when the Grand Evolution crushes your Synthesis, and all the other fool dogmas of Phyrexia under its heel. When all is one with our mighty Swarm, when all are free of sapience and weakness...perhaps on that day I will eat you. But no sooner.”

“But since you brought it up...” Another paw closed around Jin’s corded spine, though Vorinclex kept his weight on his hind legs so his weight did not crush the other. “I can’t think of a better use for you than nutrition to fuel the Great Evolution.”

“Can’t think, that is one among many defects,” Jin rasped. “No imagination. No critical thought. Nothing beyond instinct. Fitting traits for a king of beasts.”

“Your opinion,” Vorinclex growled, shifting forward so his shadow fell of Jin. “Me, I like my current position.”

“You don’t dispute it?”

“I wouldn’t want to waste your time debating with a mere beast.” Vorinclex’ jaw shifted into something only a few would recognize as a smile. “This spine of yours...” He pressed forward slowly, and Jin sank further into the pool, a glowing mix of oil and other fluids washing over him. “Strong. Stronger than it looks. I’ve torn apart wurms with less durability.”

“The result of rigorous research and development,” Jin said, the pride tangible enough that Glissa could detect it even in his metallic monotone. “Not the sort of strength one could just evolve through blind-”

“And yet,” Vorinclex continued, pressing down further. “Even with such a strong support, I suspect there’s no real backbone beneath it. That must be why your posture is so slovenly.”

“Ah-” Jin started to say something, but whatever it was caught in his throat, and instead a low, tinny buzzing noise came from his chest. his fingers found the hollows in Vorinclex’s forearms. The same forearms that held him in the pool. His fingers wove their way into the space, gripping onto the other praetor’s limbs.

“Ah, it looks like I’ve found something.” Vorinclex, if it was even possible, leaned in closer, bearing down on Jin. “This can’t be where air flows through, so I can only assume I’ve hit a nerve.”

“How-ah!” Jin cut off again into more buzzing.

"I'm gleaning more than you know." Vorinclex' hands were almost entirely submerged in the pool, but it was clear from the movement of his arms that he was probing the length of Jin's spine. "I'm intrigued by how you've arranged your nerves to run the length of this tube-body of yours. Incredible use of space, but not without its tender spots…As for your form..you could have a raptor’s grace, if only your limbs were not so inefficient in proportion to-"

Jin’s hand jolted up Vorinclex’s arm, and pressed at a spot just below his jaw, where head met body. Vorinclex’ weight shifted suddenly to one side, and Jin used the momentum to roll the both of them sideways, splashing through the pool, which hummed with tripled vigor.

Jin rolled atop Vorinclex, and for a split second Glissa’s leg’s fell into a crouch in preparation to strike his head from his body-

But Vorinclex, using the sheer advantage of his weight, carried the roll another turn, and pinned Jin beneath him, once again half-submerging his chrome form in the fluid.

They remained that way for long seconds, Jin humming hoarsely, and Vorinclex’s arms tremoring.

“Very clever, little prawn,” Vorinclex said, finally. “All that time spent studying was not entirely wasted.”

“Your evolution has granted you some low advantages,” Jin conceded in his tinny rasp. “I am beginning to re-evaluate my chances of thriving in your death-trap of a home.”

The pool fluid around Jin was slowly turning a more metallic sheen, a mixture of blue, purple, and black metallic. Where it dispersed into the blue-green, it became more muted, but seemed to churn with a thick urgency

"Of course you would not survive in the Maze. Your form has been molded to fit into your filthy operating theatres."

“So I should simply remain in my labs in perpetuity?”

"I didn't say that. You and your meat-molders are more than welcome among the Swarm. I'm intrigued to see how perfect your form could be if you let the oils of the Maze shape you into a true predator."

"You said I would not survive."

"Because you would never embrace it. It isn't in your nature. If you could come down from your chrome pedestal, and hunt and adapt like any other beast, you could be something tremendous."

“You underestimate me.”

“That was never a problem. That you overestimate yourself is.”

“I am capable of cooperation and collaboration, it is others who are too insular or insecure to take full advantage.”

“I’m taking full advantage now, or didn’t you notice?”

“You have lingered unusually long on my spine.” Jin shifted his grip on Vorinclex’s left arm, his fingers moving closer to the shoulder. “It is an unparalleled example of compleation, but I wonder how useful the time you are spending on it is now.”

“Lower then.” Vorinclex shifted his grip, and his attentions, to where Jin’s skirt began. If you insist.”

“‘What is planted below will determine what flourishes above.’”

Vorinclex paused, one of his fore-paws beginning to pull back apron and skirt. “Poetry?” He asked, scorn clear in his growl.

“One of Sheoldred’s prophecies,” Jin replied. He kept a grip on the nearest of Jin’s paw’s. “One I have been pondering at length when my schedule allows. Her counsel and her company have been more useful than seeking cooperation from you or the furnace-rat.”

“Sheoldred.” Vorinclex spat the name as if it had been a bone lodged in his throat. “A waste of your time. If there’s one thing more useless than your science it’s prophecy and soothsaying. The only reality you should care about is the reality of flesh and fangs.”

“They have proven exceptionally useful, her prophecies,” Jin replied, almost sing-song through the grate of his voice. “She has been my most fruitful partner outside the Engine.”

Vorinclex grunted, and leaned further into Jin. The chrome praetor sank another few inches into the pool.

Jin's own arm shifted as Vorinclex's did, his fingers still clinging to the hollows in the other praetor’s arms.

Vorinclex seized Jin’s shoulder in his maw and, with a quick thrust of his head, tossed him further into the pool. Before Jin could even conceive of rising up, Vorinclex was looming over him again, this time with a massive limb planted to either side of the chrome Praetor’s head.

“Enough talk. I’m not done knowing you.”

Keeping his left paw planted, Vorinclex cradled Jin’s head in his right. The muscle of his arm began to distend and lengthen. Moments later, branches of flesh were snaking under and across Jin-Gitaxias. Vorinclex’s lower arms began to distend as well, and resumed the probing at Jin’s legs.

An exasperated sigh escaped Jin as the upper-arm tendrils splayed his arms out, binding his limbs to the ground and tethering b etween his long fingers.

“Silence is a waste. I have plenty of additional data I might gather from observing your clumsy pawing.”

“Speak to your toadies if you wish. I don’t mind your noise.”

V orinclex pulled back Jin’s skirt in one swift motion, and a rip cut through the humming as his skirt tore along one side, revealing sleek legs of chrome.

“The leader of the Swarm is notably and conspicuously preoccupied with my lower anatomy,” Jin said, conspicuously loudly. Louder at least than his trascriptors would have needed him to speak to hear. “His probing, already indelicate, becomes borderline frenetic as his bestial sensory organs take account of the perfection of my form.”

The distended muscles around Jin’s upper body tightened audibly. He did not abate in his monologue, but the fluid around him grew more intense with it’s churning, and deepened in its dark-metallic tint.

“-seems completely capable of processing auditory information, even when preoccupied with pursuits of base interest-”

Vorinclex bared his maw, and something not dissimilar to his distended arm-muscle snaked out. It was not a tongue exactly, as sapient creatures of flesh might understand it, but a sensory organ modeled after crocus organisms Glissa had perfected with compleat frogmites.

Just now, this organ took the measure of Jin’s legs, probing the knit of cable and struts that joined below the waist, extending into chrome-capped knees.

“-searching perhaps for an equivalent anatomy to his own, not appreciating that, unlike the cumbersome designs of the Swarm, creatures of the Progress Engine make use of modular bodily components that may be included or exempted from certain activities based on their applicability to the situation at-”

The tendrils about Jin’s chest began to writhe, and pulled his arms from a T-formation to up above his head, dragging him further up along the bank.

“-ah-”

Vorinclex’s secondary arms moved up again to Jin’s core, leaving the explorations below to the tongue. His palms rested along the segmented coil enveloping Jin’s spine.

“-feeling to measure the reactions of my nervous system to his probing and brutalization. A simplistic approach, but showing more attention to detail than one might expect from-”

Jin’s ankles and feet received more lingering examination. Vorinclex tested the durability of each digit with his snout, pushing them to the extent of their flexibility. The construction of Jin’s heel seemed of particular interest.

“-most likely having discovered yet another anatomical superiority his own faction lacks in-”

Two tendrils wound a spiral around Jin’s neck.

“-a curious maneuver. What sort of response he hopes to elicit is a mystery, as even he must know respiration in a specimen as advance as myself is-”

Jin cut off suddenly as both tendrils slithered into his mouth and down his throat, writhing all along their length as they went.

Vorinclex gave no outward sign he was conscious of what his arms were doing. Glissa had no doubt he was enjoying the opportunity deeply regardless.

The opportunity, and the rasping, muffled sound of Jin attempting to continue his monologue.

Vorinclex brought one of his smaller arms up to the side of his head and tapped around where his sheltered ears lay. He favored Jin with a shrug.

Jin’s muffled attempts ceased suddenly, and a rattling vibration started up in his chest.

“His tactile limbs navigate the obstacles of my internal organs with unexpected efficacy. A lifetime meandering through the unorganized hazards of the Tangle and the Hunter’s Maze have helped develop a low cunning useful for-”

A voicebox somewhere on his body, built into the chest, maybe. Glissa smirked from the shadows. Leave it to Jin-gitaxias to build in redundant systems to make sure no one could ever shut him up.

Vorinclex’s maw had returned to Jin’s midsection as his tendrils lifted Jin’s arcing spine out of the fluid. His tongue traced over each coil of the segmented spinal spikes that fanned out around Jin’s back.

“-that he can carry out so many parallel probings of my form is astounding, especially given the thoroughness. It is of course a shadow of the theoretical network efficiency our faction has already accomplished with the vedalken mindmeld, but nevertheless-”

Vorinclex released his grip on Jin’s spine, but his body remained bent over the surface of the pool, as if straining of its own volition.

“-able to contort my body from within using his tendrils-”

That he can keep rambling on with several tons of muscle and steel shoved down your gullet is incredible enough, Glissa mused.

“-tendrils prove resilient to the acids of my stomach and the abrasive metal components of my internal-”

Tiny offshoots of Vorinclex’s arms, thin fibers of metal and crocus-perfected flesh, w o rked like roots into the crevices of Jin’s upper body. The fluid all around them was properly churning now with the combined effects of their movement and the essences leaking from both of them into the pool.

“-provided his brain is capable of such memorization, the beast should have explored enough of my innards to form a rudimentary map of my major external organs.”

“A fair exchange of information.”

Glissa almost started at Vorinclex’s voice. He’d been silent for nearly a half-hour.

Jin shuddered and tsk-ed. “This is...not equitable...I did not explore you nearly as deeply with my dissections-”

“I can feel your pin-probes working their slow way through me, collecting information,” Jin cut in. “Spare me.” He moved his face closer to Jin’s. “What is your conclusion on my own research technique, hm?”

Jin turned his head. “You were studying my actions. My reactions. Taking note of how I grapple with you, and my stimulus response to your aggression.”

“Obviously. This is how a predator learns.”

“Learning...what use is learning to you?”

“Everything learns.”

“Your evolution is a mindless charade. You mean to tell me you have a use for the scientific process?”

“You misunderstand the Grand Evolution, and you do degrade it by comparing it to evolution writ large. Even at it’s basest, evolution is not a process of becoming the biggest, the strongest, or the most fang-filled-”

“As if any of those things are prized or rare in our Phyrexia,” Jin observed.

Vorinclex made a rasping sound that Glissa knew to be a chuckle. “Evolution simply rewards whatever creature can rut and breed best. What makes a new generation that survives to do the same in perpetuity wins.

“Our Grand Evolution is more than just evolution as the flesh knows it. We see a process failing, we see a useless limb or vestigial encumbrance, and we remove it there and then. A jaw formation fails to aid a predator in its hunting? The jaw must go. A venom fails to kill outright from a single bite? The glands that produce it must be replaced. A creature like you-”

Vorinclex leaned into Jin, his voiced dropped to a strained snarl. "You are s quandered potential. You've coated yourself in such potent metals. Hacked yourself and your septic underlings into such ingenious shapes. But now you languish in front of vats and corpses, those clever bodies untempered and untested against real strength."

J in barely stirred at the commentary. “Your approach is both more scientific and more reckless than I thought. No concern for long-term consequences. Short-sighted and slapdash modifications.”

Vorinclex pulled his head back. “You got me talking again, silver-prawn. You’re such a fool I forget how clever you can be.”

“More flattery than I anticipated.” Jin raised a hand and brushed the side of Vorinclex’s jaw. Vorinclex leaned into the gesture, almost imperceptibly.

“Interesting.” Jin’s hand came away, and he inspected something along the back of his thumb. “Heightened levels of adrenaline, even compared to your baseline.” He wiped the thumb on Jin’s forearm. “I will take samples for my research.”

“Don’t let me stop you.”

Jin half-rose to a seated position, long strands of Vorinclex' arms still draped around his shoulders. He looked to Glissa like one of the vedalken draped in their bulky suits.

With the same hand he’d caressed with, Jin flexed, and the middle finger elongated, thinner than the scalpel-finger had been, until it was needle-fine. One of the transcriptors waded into the shallow of the pool, and affixed a clear container to the back of Jin’s hand.

Vorinclex carried on tasting the air about Jin’s neck and face all the while, arm draped round the other praetor’s back.

As the Transcriptor waded out again, Jin slid the needle into Vorinclex’s collar with a smooth deliberation. A snake slipping into a burrow. Vorinclex showed no overt sign of feeling it, though he kept steady, even as his probing increased in intensity about Jin’s chest. If Jin's instruments were as fine-tuned as he claimed, they were sure to have picked up on the rumble within Vorinclex' chest, mixing with the sounds of the fluids in the pools.

The glass vial on Jin’s hand began to fill.

“Under the fallen father, Phyrexia developed many variations of oil, as you well know.” Jin leaned forward into Vorinclex’s shoulder. “Substances found in the artifacts of planes explored during our many years of exploration, powdered powerstone, the fluids of the many lesser creatures whose bodies we mastered...we produced glands to resist acid and fire, to fuel sleepless hulks and unailable plague vectors.”

A fluid, clear and green-tinted, and laced with golden filament, filled the glass. More still poured into the container at a thick flow.

“The oil is an art we have all benefited from and contributed to. Even you beasts of the swarm.”

“I’ve touched the inside of you, prawn. Your oils are not more impressive than mine, just different.”

“Did you enjoy their taste, Vorinclex?”

Vorinclex laughed – a thundering rumble from his gut.

“I should be asking if you are enjoying the taste of me right now.”

“Ah, yes, I forgot you were in there.”

Jin bit down, hard, severing the tendrils Jin had shoved down his throat.

“Ah-”

Vorinclex pulled his hands up, tearing the thinner cords of sinew and steel. His fore-arms re-formed in full with a sharp, violent sucking sound, and he pounded back down into the pool, dousing them both.

Jin, for his part, vibrated with a grinding noise from inside his chest. His needle had snapped off in Vorinclex’s neck.

“Now that is what I would call fair exchange.”

Vorinclex spat into the water, and stalked back up out the side of the pool, shaking out his coat as he went, splattering the walls and floors with the fluid of their exchange. Jin clambered back up the bank of the pool, reclining with an arm balanced on his knee.

“You’ve ruined my skirt.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a nicer one somewhere.” Vorinclex stretched out his forelimbs. “Was that useful for you, prawn?”

“It was not entirely unproductive,” Jin replied. His transcriptors approached him from behind, still muttering away.

“I could learn even more if we had our entire network of caverns and pools at our disposal.” Vorinclex’s claws flexed. “If you were willing to let me hunt you through the space, I could glean multitudes about how you tick...if such a thing interested you…?”

“Guess.”

“Hmph.”

“A moment.” Jin turned to his transcriptors and, with a single deft swipe of his hand, separated their domed heads from their bodies.

The heads never hit the ground; Jin plucked them out of the air with his other hand, and tucked them into a compartment at his waist. The bodies slumped in place, sagging but standing upright.

Vorinclex sniffed. “Failed in their recording?”

“Succeeded, which is why I will be taking their knowledge into myself. It is an unnecessary risk to have such valuable data wandering around inside beings so susceptible to bribery or abduction. Here-” Jin waved a hand over the bodies, and began collecting the jars and other vials they had assembled. “A gift – you may eat those. I have no more use for their ambulatory parts. These were grown from samples of myself; they can be your consolation prize, since you cannot have me.”

“A waste of resources.” Vorinclex looked down on the bodies with disdain. “Phyrexia is still a closed system until Norn can break through to new hunting grounds. Can’t your research make use of them?”

Jin looked up at Vorinclex, but did not answer right away. He continued to collect the samples the transcriptors had gathered.

“Most likely,” He said at last. “It was only a goodwill gesture.”

“I eat only what is worth being eaten. Those septic corpses are worth nothing.”

“Hm.”

“The exploration of your form is goodwill enough,” Vorinclex rumbled.

“I will offer something else then.” Jin made a strange gesture; a movement of the hand from chest to side. “We are, despite valid criticisms, among the pinnacles of our factions. Your crocus creations-”

“Glissa’s Crocuses. They are the fruit of her labours.”

Jin clicked irritably. “The crocuses are, despite their crudeness, well suited to aiding the sort of newt and germ generation the progress engine has perfected. We might then make children from our respective materials-”

“Yours and mine?”

Jin paused, but Vorinclex pressed on.

“You and me, specifically?”

“It is a proposal with immense promise.”

Vorinclex tilted his head. “I would be...curious to see what comes of it.”

Jin leaned forward, and Glissa imagined for a moment she saw his jaw clench into a smile. “An understandable position. We have this space here, and Norn will approve of anything that could add such potent forces to Phyrexia. If you would only-”

“I won’t,” Vorinclex cut in, with a sudden, unmistakable edge.

“...why?”

“What does it matter ‘why’? I said no.”

Jin hummed in exasperation. “We have already seen great leaps and bounds in our respective factions’ grand designs. Why not join our own materials to see what can be made anew for Phyrexia? Urabrask and Sheoldred have their own project underway, and even the tangle has a fine specimen resulting from your proximity to the Furnace.”

“Norn will have no children of mine.”

"The swarm is already committed to her expansion. To our expansion. What does it matter whether they are of your direct lineage?"

"There is no singular "Swarm" to be committed. Glissa and I don't limit where our hunters range, and I won't deny them whatever killing grounds the Orthodoxy open for Phyrexia. They're free to join Norn's conquests whatever way they please.”

Jin hummed with irritation. “If they are free, then...I ask again, why not-”

“If a phyrexian I spawn chooses, they may follow Norn. If a predator can make itself mightier on the flesh of the planes she wishes to open up, I welcome the chance. If the creatures our factions collaborate on here are meant for her schemes, so be it. What I will not do is personally sire for the sole end of adding to her legions. I won't give my own brood to be her tools. She has you for that, prawn."

Silence. Jin turned away, and busied himself with extracting the vials and other samples from the bodies of his transcriptors, tucking them into a bag at his waist, and several slots along his back.

“It’s a wasted opportunity,” he said at last, not looking up. “This space has already proven useful to our efforts beyond measure. I foresee much great progress being made here.”

“That’s why we were here to-” Vorinclex’s gaze swept the cavern. “Yes. That’s why we agreed to this.”

“I am trying to discover the way forward for all Phyrexia. Not just for Norn’s benefit.”

“Then you should look up from your dissection tables, Jin, and see the world Norn is making with clear eyes, and how you contribute to it.”

“As you do.”

“I know what I am contributing to, and how I am contributing.”

Jin hummed. “I am not ignorant.”

“You don’t have to be ignorant to fool yourself.”

Jin hissed at that, so low it was almost lost in the humming of the cavern, but still he hissed. He turned away from Vorinclex.

From the transcriptor’s bodies, Jin extracted two more vials – long, empty lubes of glass. He waded out into the pool, and knelt.

The fluid was much changed by their activities. From acid-green to blue-green, to something that seemed to Glissa’s eye like colored quicksilver, shimmering form purple to blue to green to black to purple again. It sang a markedly more complex tune now than the humming of the fluid in the other pools.

Slowly, Jin tipped the vials into the fluid and filled them up, stopping each with a plug of gummy black material.

“I will test incubating my next batch of larvae in the fluid from this pool,” Jin said, tucking the vials into compartments in his breast. “It has absorbed some of my own essence, which should at least...counterbalance any defects you might introduce.”

“I’m sure the notion does not make you uncomfortable,” Jin added, somehow baring even more of his teeth than usual. “I do not fear to create life for Norn’s Phyrexia.”

Vorinclex said nothing, but regarded Jin for a few seconds longer.

Then, still without a word, he lowered his maw into the fluid of the breeding pool, and began to drink.

And drink.

Jin just stared. Glissa realized her own breath had caught in her chest.

And still, Vorinclex drank deeply of the stuff, and the humming of the fluid shifted, chords of sound rippling through the cavern as he sucked the glowing stuff up into his maw.

When he at last lifted his head, minutes later, the gaze of every other person in the chamber followed the movement.

He merely licked his chops, and stretched out his shoulders with what Glissa knew to be intentional effect.

“Meager,” Vorinclex noted at last. “But, if I cannot eat you, that’s the next best thing. Maybe you managed to leak a useful mineral or two into the pool.”

Then, with a deliberate grace, he looped out of the pool, leaving Jin to watch him go in silence. Iridescent, humming fluid dripped from his sides onto the spongy metal floor, which soaked the liquid up with a greedy haste.

Glissa smiled at Vorinclex as he rejoined her, then back at Jin, shooting the latter praetor a tight smirk and sneer.

Your scientist has been pleasantly rattled.

Vorinclex grunted.

He’s not mine. And now I’m liable to be sick.

Glissa snorted a laugh.

They began their climb back to the Maze. As the breeding pools disappeared behind them, Glissa patted at Vorinclex’s flank, where Jin had cut into him and delved inside. He rumbled his appreciation, but when she went to wipe the fluid from his jaw, he pulled away.

She let him be. There was much work being done, and yet to be done still. This diversion had certainly been trying enough on its own.

As the light of the Hunter’s Maze began to fill the tunnel, Vorinclex’ tongue slipped out the corner of his mouth.

Almost absently, he began to lick traces of fluid from his chops.

"Keen Sense and Curiosity” is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.

[thr0wnawayy]

A Thought, A Theory

I'll probably make a more indepth post or may just update this one once the offical translations get dumped (which means pictures!), but I have a bit of a crack theory that chapter 430 isn't as real as we've been led to believe.

(As for when this actually takes place, that's up to you but I like to imagine the start of his third year marks the beginning of his mental decline)

This mostly comes from some inconsistencies in regards to the hero rankings and some other stuff

Its stated that Best Jeanist and Endeavor are still active. With the exception of Jeanist, this should not be possible for obvious reasons.

2. Something feels off visually and narrative-wise, I don't know how to describe this other than everything looks too ideallic. Like it feels too sanitized and sterile, this probably because Hori ripped the last bits of life this story had away. But hush. Also Aoyama is there didn't he leave UA? (and Japan)

3. Apparently people forgot the connection between Endeavor and Shoto. Normally this would be a good thing as Shoto would be able to become his own person.

This falls flat when you remember that also includes people forgetting the reason and happenings behind Shoto's existence, it just feels to good to be true. Everyone overlooks the bad and gets tunnel vision over any semblance of good.

Now you may be wondering, so what's going on.

Well, Midoriya's having a breakdown fantasy to cope with the fact that he won't be becoming a hero due to the loss of his quirk.

It sounds crazy but consider the following.

Midoriya subconsciously knows the way he's been treated was wrong. This manifests within the escapists fantasy in Bakugo's drop in the rankings + the attitude surrounding him (as well as his damaged hand never fully healing)

He meets a kid who just so happens to be in a near exact same position as he once* was (and still is to an extent). One could take this as his mind's way of trying to cope and heal itself, by having Midoriya do what he does best and help others, henceforth working though his trauma by using the kid as a stand in.

*Even the kid's "bully" seems to be a warped version of Bakugo (perhaps this is how Midoriya tries to fool himself into believing how it was)

We see Kota. I believe that here, Kota serves as what Midoriya thinks he could have been had he not failed. Kota is the idealized version of Midoriya here, the unobtainable.

I believe the abandonment/limited contact from his classmates to be based in reality, unfortunately. Whether it was by choice or forced by their PR to preserve their images (can't be seen around the "freaks" for too long, now can we?). The lie may come in the form of busy schedules.

(either it's what Midoriya tells himself or he's been told, you can't tell me they can't just make a group chat or video call. At least a High School Reunion)

The Mech Suit is a massive cope, it's the dying whimper of Midoriya's childish hope that All Might will save the day. This time there's no magic quirk, no garrish mech suit, no plot twist.

No. There's only Midoriya and the consequences of his, his classmates and hero societies actions. It doesn't matter how shiny and seamless the illusion, how sweet the lie.

You can't hide the blood.

[majoryeager104]

Betrayal part 4 (final

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A/n Bit of a timeskip but this was the part I enjoyed writing the most + bonus at the end to cheer y’all up <3 summary: After Touyas final battle with his family, you’re finally allowed to visit

warnings: spoilers for his conclusion, language, injuries (his scars), ANGSTYYYY sad, but there’s a light at the end of the tunnel pookie I promise 🙏

It was cold, and sterile-smelling in the facility. it had been some time since your attempt at a fight with him. Some time since you’d betrayed his trust, and now?

Now he was dying in a holding facility. you stepped quietly into the room, taking a deep breath as you mentally prepared yourself. Your burns had healed away, but your body still ached from the stress as you looked into the room. There stood Enji, Rei, Shoto, Fuyumi, and Natsuo- everyone was here.

Even Touya, in the tube-like contraption that kept him alive. Upon seeing it, you already wanted to cry. No matter what you did, nothing could prepare you for that sinking feeling. Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t you save him? You stared at the machinery, the only things keeping his heart beating, your body feeling sore and empty as you approached the Todoroki family

“…hello”

was all you could muster, your eyes never leaving the machine that encased him. This was a terrible way to die. It wasn’t right. It was downright cruel. They should’ve just let him succumb to his injuries. Should’ve let him pass on, let him rest, let him- no, no, you wouldn’t be able to handle that either. And you’re here now, right? For the same reason they put him here- to spare any time you could with Touya. It was a gruesome environment, the faces of the Todoroki family as the looked towards you. Everyone in the room felt the same weight bearing upon their shoulders, some more than others- helplessness, grief, guilt. the only sounds in the room were the hums of machinery, and Touyas soft breathing, tucked away behind the glass as he watched the closest thing to a family he’d ever had, grieve over him before he was even gone. It was a bone chilling experience, even for him. “h…hey”

he rasped out weakly, and all their heads whipped around to look at the dark glass separating them. “…just y/n”

was all they needed to hear, with soft nods and glances towards you as the Todoroki family relented quickly to his wishes, leaving you alone in the room with him, with Touya. Your Touya. Trapped behind glass on a steady march to death. “…hey…Touya”

you whispered, stepping closer to the dark glass. You couldn’t see through it, and deep down you were glad of it. You weren’t sure you could handle seeing him in his current state- literal charred skin and bones. You placed a soft hand against the glass, as if hoping he’d feel it. he didn’t, but he saw it. He took a shuddering breath, not able to do much else as he finally attempted to speak again. “…’m sorry…for everything”

you blinked, your eyes already glassy as you processed his weak but gentle voice as it hit your ears.

“…didn’t wanna burn you…but I did…sorry..”

You looked up, a tear streaking down your face as you attempted to put your plea to gentler words. Stop it. Stop it you’re making this so much harder.

“Touya, you don’t need to-”

“let me finish doll….Please..”

his voice came out a bit stronger that time, his will overpowering his weakness. He was begging you to let him go in the most peaceful way he could.

“…I pulled you into my mess…let you get attached, let you buy me clothes, food, you know… I’m sorry”

you sniffled softly, covering your face with a palm as you looked down, your tears spilling down your face and hitting the floor as you listened.

“…I did warn ya though…”

you heard a wheezy chuckle through the glass as he spoke, shaking your head as you choked back a sob. You didn’t want to admit he was right. That he had warned you, so many times “don’t waste your money on a dead man” the words came back to your mind like a flash flood.

“…but honestly, I hoped you wouldn’t listen…and I’m sorry for that too…”

“Touya please…” you cried weakly, looking up at the glass, like if you looked at that blank dark glass long enough, you’d see him again, how he used to be, maybe even catch a smile on his face.

“Don’t waste your tears on me…’m not worth it, doll… been telling you for years…just…I love you… just leave…don’t visit me again…do it for me…”

“I love you too… I don’t wanna go…” you sobbed weakly, kneeling against the glass, your shoulders slumped in defeat under his soft tones and pleas.

“Me neither, doll…me neither…sorry…”

————————————————————————

(a/n bonus if you’re crying <3)

you stayed there for a while, with those being the last words he’d uttered before he couldn’t speak anymore, his body and mind spent as he silently watched you weep at the feet of his holding cell. God he wished he could hold you, wished he could wipe away those pretty tears- no, he’d kiss em away if he could, like he always did. He drifted in and out of consciousness, too weak to think or speak, even as an unfamiliar silhouette stood in the doorway. you looked up to see a little kid, a young girl, with silvery hair, red eyes, and a small horn on her forehead. She smiled, sympathy in her eyes as she reached down to hug you. Shoto walked in behind her, kneeling to rub your back, another hero- Eraserhead, you recognized, standing in the door with a cautious look on his face. “Hey miss! Mr Shoto told me you were sad… don’t cry, mister Aizawa said I was allowed to help you! Everything’s gonna be okay, okay? I promise!”

How’d y’all like that bonus 🥹🥹🥹

[toadbreath]

the sun after the storm;

john mactavish is alive. simon visits him in the hospital, but something is wrong. johnny doesn't remember.

☀︎ w.c: 3,9k

☀︎ pairing: ghost x soap // simon riley x john mactavish

☀︎ rating: pg

☀︎ archive of our own: link here

☀︎ genre: angst, fluff, pining

☀︎ warnings: modern warfare 3 spoilers. writing soap's lines in a scottish accent lmao

☀︎ author's note: i haven't written a fic in ten years please be gentle and kind

What do you mean, they found him?

Simon hated hospitals. The sterile nothingness, the god-awful swishing sound scrubs made when nurses walked by, the machines beeping, the artificial plants that are there to provide a facade of comfort; the illusion of life in a building where it is so often taken. 

Third floor. Room 503.

None of that matters. Not when the man he loves is alive — the man he thought was dead for six months. The man whose ashes he gifted to the wind on that cliff as the sun set behind the ocean. None of this makes sense. Simon strides through the hospital lobby, b-lining towards the elevators.

Third floor. Room 503.

Simon’s skull balaclava is earning him some strange looks from various medical staff, but he has tunnel vision and doesn’t take notice, brown eyes locked on the glowing button that has a faded three printed on it. How many times has that button been pressed with the same urgency Simon feels in his gut? The elevator doors open to the third floor and he’s at the reception desk in four strides.  “Room 503?” he asks gruffly. 

The nurse, an older woman, furrows her eyebrows. “…Sir, visiting hours ended 5 hours ago. You can come back tomorro-“ Simon’s eyes glazed over with fury at the thought of having to spend another minute in this miserable place. He didn't have time to wait for tomorrow. Not when the man he thought he had lost forever was just down the hall. He stared at the nurse, his silence the only indication of the rage boiling up within him. His words cut through the air like a knife. “I’m not here as a visitor.”

The nurse is caught off guard by Simon’s reply. He was an intimidating man, even in civilian attire, the mask he had kept on just out of habit. She clears her throat and looks down at her clipboard to avoid Simon’s icy glare. “If you are not a visitor then what is your business here? Do you have identification on you?” She asks, flipping through papers until she finds the file for the patient in room 503.

Simon had no patience for these stupid questions. He had waited months to find out that the man he had thought was dead was alive and he wasn't going to be held up over some petty bureaucracy. “Identification?” he scoffed, the venom in his voice evident. “I don't need identification. I'm here to see John MacTavish.”

The nurse lets out a frustrated breath. “What is your relationship to the patient?” 

What is his relationship with the patient? He worked alongside MacTavish. He joked around with Soap. His chest feels warm and strange whenever he saw Johnny. Technically, they’re nothing more than colleagues, friends. There’s always been something else, though — something just below the surface that neither of them had been brave enough to act upon. Simon paused at the question and the nurse could see the uncertainty in his eyes. What was he to Soap? More than friends, less than lovers. A feeling he had never been able to name or put into words.

"We have a close relationship." he replies quietly. The fact that they had never explicitly defined their relationship made the situation even more awkward. What was he meant to say? That they loved each other deeply, but not in a manner that anyone outside the two of them had ever known? It sounded pathetic. It sounded desperate. It was true.

The nurse raised an eyebrow. "Sir, I need more information than that. I have to know who you are and how you know the patient before you can go into his room."

"I'm..." Simon started, his voice trailing off. He had known MacTavish for a few years now. He had gone to bars with him and watched him get smashed beyond belief on that god-awful scotch. He had found comfort in that Scottish accent he had grown so fond of over comms. He had spent sleepless nights staring up at the ceiling, replaying the night Johnny got shot over and over again. Everything he had done, and everything he could have done differently. Price’s words repeated in his head like a broken record: All stations, this is Bravo in the blind. Threat  neutralized. Bomb is safe. 

One KIA. 

The idiot had to go up behind Makarov and be a hero. What was that saying? Never bring a knife to a gun fight? If there was anyone that would bring a knife to a gunfight, it was Johnny. He was too stubborn, too proud. Always wanting to be the one to finish the job. That stubbornness, that pride, had gotten him killed. And Simon had to watch him die. Had to hold that cold urn of ashes and pour them out over that cliff and hold himself together long enough to not break down in front of the captain. He had spent six long months seeing Johnny in every sunset. He had spent five months avoiding sunsets altogether. 

"...I'm his partner."

That wasn't the answer the nurse was looking for, but it was the only answer that Simon could give her. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. “Right,” the nurse conceded after a moment of consideration. “When you go down the hall, it’s the third door on the left.”

Simon nodded and took off down the hall without another word. He could hear the nurse mumbling something about the strange visitors in his wake, but didn't pay her any mind.

He came to a stop in front of the door to 503. It looked just like the rest of the doors in the hallway. White. Sterile. Unassuming. Simon had been waiting for this moment for half a year. Now that it was finally here, he couldn't bring himself to go in. What if he had heard wrong? What if someone had made a mistake and it wasn't MacTavish in the room? What if he got his hopes up for nothing? John MacTavish wasn’t exactly a unique name, after all. What if-

A doctor came out of the room, a clipboard in his hand. He was tall and slender, the kind of man who had a face you would never remember. He looked up, a bit startled from Simon’s unexpected presence but polite nonetheless.

"May I help you?"

Simon swallowed his nerves. "I'm here to see John MacTavish." The doctor's expression turned somber. "He's alive," Simon said, the words coming out as more of a statement than a question. “Yes, he’s alive…” The doctor says slowly, closing the door to John’s room behind him with a soft click and studying Simon’s eyes with his own. “Have you been informed of his condition?”

Condition. The word makes Simon uneasy. "His condition? What happened to him? Is he okay?" He couldn't stop the words from tumbling out. Simon was usually more collected than this, but the news of Johnny's survival was throwing him off. 

“John suffered a gunshot wound to his right temple. We were able to extract the bullet and its fragments, however…” The doctor paused, choosing his words carefully. He had given this speech many times before, but that never made it easier. “The trauma resulted in retrograde amnesia. We don’t yet know if it’s permanent. If you go in that room… it’s very likely he will not remember you.”

Retrograde amnesia. The words crack his chest open and squeeze his heart like twine. It didn't matter how hard he had trained, or how much experience he had. There was nothing Simon could do about this. No target he could eliminate. This wasn’t something Simon could fix, and that infuriated him.

"Is there anything you can do? Anything I can do?"

The doctor shakes his head. "We've tried everything. There is no telling what will happen. He is stable, and his memory might come back in time. It might not. The only thing we can do is wait, let him heal.” "But I don't understand, I... I watched him get shot, fall to the floor. I watched him die. I held him. How is he alive?" Simon's voice cracks, the memories flooding back like a tidal wave. Johnny, lying on the floor, eyes glazed over. Johnny, slumped lifelessly over his shoulder. Johnny, the ashes of his corpse blown away into the sea. "You must be mistaken. The man I buried is dead. MacTavish is dead. I held his ashes."

The doctor shook his head again. "He was pronounced dead on the scene. He was rushed to a medical facility and they were able to stabilize him enough to fly him here. There was a mix-up with the body tags, and the body you received was someone else's. The hospital called and told us who the urn belonged to. That's how we were able to contact you and inform you of the situation." The doctor pauses. "We have no record of this other person, no information about their family or who they were. The best we can guess is that the hospital was trying to save face, and they handed you the ashes of the first dead body they could find." Simon's heart sinks. How long had he spent grieving, mourning a man who was still breathing? The guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders. He felt sick. "I want to see him."

"I'm not sure if that's such a good idea-" the doctor starts, but Simon cuts him off. His hands clench into fists. The thought of Johnny waking up, alone and confused in a hospital bed is enough to make him want to rip the door off the hinges and break whatever machines had the nerve to beep so obnoxiously. “Move,” Simon blurts out, pushing his way past the doctor and opening the door to Johnny’s room, stepping inside.

The air is stolen from Simon’s lungs as soon as his eyes landed on Johnny's prone form in the hospital bed. His head was wrapped in bandages, a white gauze patch over the wound on his temple. He was asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that indicated peaceful slumber. 

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

All those months, and he was here. In a hospital. Alive. Simon felt weak.

"Johnny?" Simon whispered, stepping forward hesitantly. MacTavish stirred, the sound of the other man’s voice unfamiliar and foreign, but soothing, nonetheless. It was comforting, like a warm cup of coffee or the smell of a burning candle. It felt like home. His eyes fluttered open, revealing a deep blue iris that scanned the room, the bright fluorescent lights temporarily blinding him. He groans softly, slowly propping himself up into a sitting position on the bed. His paper-thin hospital gown rustles, the fabric scratchy and stiff. Johnny notices the masked man standing awkwardly by his bedside. His eyes scan him slowly, taking in his dark eyes and the black fabric of his balaclava. “They send security in ‘ere?” he mutters, squinting, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"Do you..." Simon began, his voice trailing off as he pulled off his mask, running a hand through his shaggy, blond hair.

Johnny's eyes widened. He had never seen this man before, but the sight of him made his heart swell. The blond man had a heavy British accent, and scars of all shapes and sizes littered his pale face. He had brown eyes that shone like honey in the sun, his jaw strong and set with an expression of relief. The blond man's face was the most beautiful thing Johnny had ever seen, and he swallows nervously. 

"Do you recognize me?" Simon whispered, placing his hand on the rail of the bed. He could feel the tears threatening to spill over, and his vision was starting to blur. He was going to cry, and he hated himself for it.

Johnny shook his head. "Sorry, lad. Cannae say I do,” I would remember a face like that, he thinks. “Yer a familiar stranger, though."

"Familiar..." Simon echoed, his voice breaking. He could feel the knot in his throat. This wasn't fair. He was alive, and that was what mattered, but Johnny had no idea who he was. MacTavish was about to ask the stranger his name when the man suddenly burst into tears, sobbing softly.

“Oh, I…” Johnny says softly, reaching a hand out to comfort the stranger, squeezing the man’s bicep gently. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. What’s yer name?” he asks gently.

Simon's chest is on fire, and he's gasping for air. This was all wrong. All wrong. This wasn't the first time Johnny had died. The last time, it was a bullet in the head. This time, Johnny was here, alive, but Simon lost him all the same.

"Simon," he croaks. Johnny repeats the name back, his hand still gripping the other man's arm. He can feel the tears streaming down his cheeks, hot and thick, and he realizes he's crying, too, but he doesn’t know why.

“Simon…” he repeats, the name on his tongue felt like velvet, a word he could never tire of saying. Simon sniffles. Johnny looks at him expectantly, a single tear rolling down his cheek, and Simon can feel the weight of the silence pressing against his shoulders, suffocating him. “Simon. Why are ye cryin’?” he asks softly. “And why am I cryin’?” he chuckles a little, trying to lighten the mood. "Because we're both idiots," Simon laughs bitterly.

"I'm sorry, Johnny." he says, his voice hushed and solemn. “Sorry?” Johnny says, his eyebrows knitting together as he studies Simon’s face. He sits up a bit straighter. “What are ye sorry for?”

"I'm sorry because I..."

Simon's voice trails off. He can't look Johnny in the eyes. It's like staring into the sun. Johnny leans forward, his hand sliding down Simon’s bicep to his forearm, the cool feeling of leather under his palm as he goes. The blond man flinches, and the Scotsman feels a sharp stab in his gut.

"Yer wearing my tags," he murmurs.

"What?" Simon looks down at his chest, where Johnny’s silver dog tags hang unceremoniously on top of his black hoodie. They had become a sort of talisman for him, and he had worn them every day since Johnny's death, never taking them off once.

"Right." he breathes, his fingers brushing against the metal, a nervous habit — he often found himself clutching the only thing he had left of his best friend. 

"I must mean somethin' tae ye," Johnny says quietly, his Scottish brogue rolling off his tongue.

"You mean everything to me," Simon whispers, his voice cracking.

Johnny feels like his breath has been stolen. The weight of those words hit him harder than he expects, and his head spins.  He looks at Simon, his eyes filled with curiosity, the tears on his cheeks drying. "Tell me about myself. B’fore, I mean. What was I like?" he asks, and it's more a request than a demand. His eyes linger on his dog tags around Simon’s neck; Simon’s own are tucked underneath his shirt. 

Simon can feel the lump in his throat returning. "Well," he says, swallowing hard. "You were — are —stubborn, and brave. Always getting yourself into trouble. You never asked for help, and you had a horrible habit of drinking alone. You always tried to finish the job, and never trusted anyone but yourself. Loyal to a fault, one hell of a friend. You're also an insufferable idiot who has no regard for his own safety. A total dumbass. A bloody moron, really. And you know what else? I loved you, you Scottish bastard. I loved you, and I thought you were dead. Do you know how long it's been? Six months, Johnny. Six months, and now you're here, and you don't even remember me, and I can't even be mad. I’m not allowed to be mad because you're alive, you’re alive, and it's all that matters, but I lost you all the same, and it fucking hurts, you son of a bitch."

The words came out faster than Simon could stop them, and now he was gasping, tears pouring down his face, his cheeks burning, the air leaving his lungs and being replaced with something cold and empty. He hadn’t realized how angry he was, how angry he had been all these months. The anger he had buried deep, and let fester inside him. 

Johnny just stared at him, his eyes wide. “Love?” he whispers incredulously.

"Oh, shit," Simon mutters. His face burns red, and he wants to turn and run away, pretend he had never been here, never said any of those things, but he's frozen, and Johnny is looking at him with those stupid gorgeous blue eyes and it's all Simon can do to hold himself together. 

"We weren’t just friends, were we?” Johnny whispers, his hand tightening ever so slightly on Simon’s forearm. Simon is silent. The answer is obvious.

Johnny nods. "And... we never got tae say it, did we?"

"No," Simon replies, his voice a strained whisper.

"That's why yer here."

"That's why I'm here," Simon echoes, his voice a whisper. Johnny swallows, his mouth dry. "When did ye know?” he asks softly, his eyes locked on Simon's.

"That I loved you?"

"Aye."

Simon is quiet. He doesn’t remember a time when he hadn’t loved Johnny. It had always been there, a feeling just below the surface, a constant presence. He had never given it a name, but it was a feeling that he couldn’t deny, even if he wanted to. He remembers the day he had realized how he felt, the moment when his feelings had finally made sense.

It was late summer, and they had just finished a mission. Price had gone off somewhere, and it was just him and Johnny sitting together in a shitty motel room. They were exhausted and sore, their bodies aching, and Johnny was nursing a few scrapes and bruises from when he had taken a nasty spill off a building. Simon had a concussion, and his eyes were bleary. Johnny had gotten up to grab the first aid kit and started to clean up Simon's wounds, a task that required a lot of careful concentration, which he did with a furrowed brow and his nose scrunched up. Johnny's fingers were gentle as he dabbed at the blood, his touch warm and reassuring. That was the first time Simon had felt comfort in years. That was the first time Simon had felt safe.

"Since forever."

Johnny takes a shaky breath. "Do ye still?"

"Are you kidding me? I never stopped."

"And if I can't remember? If I never remember? Will ye love me then?”

"Always," Simon replies without hesitation.

Johnny feels his heart swell at the reply. He smiles, his cheeks flushed pink, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Then I think I could learn tae love ye again," he murmurs, his eyes searching Simon's face.

"Again?" Simon echoes.

"Again," Johnny replies.

Simon laughs. It's a hollow, bitter laugh, but it's a laugh nonetheless.

“I cannae explain it,” Johnny whispers. “I have no memory of ye. But when I woke up and saw ye in this room — I felt *warm*. It’s like my nervous system recognized ye. And I…” He sighs and pulls out a small sketchbook from his bedside table, flipping through the pages. There’s lots of little doodles, like the view from his hospital room window, stray cats, food he’s eaten, nurses, the sunset, but there's also a few sketches of a handsome blond man, and a page entirely dedicated to the curve of his jaw, the scars on his face, and the shape of his lips. "I think I drew ye, or wanted tae.” he murmurs. “It’s kinda cool, drawin’ a stranger and havin’ him show up tae my room the next day. Ye think I should draw a million dollars next?”

Simon is stunned, and an amused sound escapes his lips. Johnny had drawn him. He had drawn him, and he hadn't even known his name. "I didn't know you could draw," Simon says quietly, his cheeks burning. "I dinnae either,” Johnny chuckles. “But I had tae pass the time somehow.” He smiles. "I guess we had somethin' important. If I was able tae draw a handsome face like that when I cannae remember my own birthday." Johnny closes the sketchbook and places it on the bed.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember,” he says softly. “It doesn’t mean what we have is gone. It just means I get to fall in love with ye all over again.” Simon blinks, unsure of how to respond. He had never considered the fact that Johnny might have fallen for him too. He had never even entertained the idea that his feelings could have been reciprocated. Simon had spent so much time pining after the other man, trying to suppress his feelings, that he had never stopped to consider that Johnny might have been struggling with the same inner conflict.

"We fell in love twice," Johnny says softly, his cheeks flushing pink.

"Fell in love twice," Simon repeats. "What a pair we make, huh?" he chuckles, his voice thick with emotion.

"Aye," Johnny says softly, smiling. "Ye think we could fall in love a third time?"

"Maybe," Simon says, a faint smile on his lips. "Try not to get shot again, though, yeah? Really pissed me off the last time.” Johnny chuckles and grins. "I'll do my best, sunshine."

"Sunshine?"

"Aye. That's what ye remind me of. Ye make me feel warm."

"I'm not much of a sunshine."

"Maybe yer right,” Johnny sniffs, studying Simon carefully. “Yer a…” Simon raises an eyebrow. "I think yer more like a storm."

"A storm."

"Aye, a storm. All rain and thunder and lightning. Yer beautiful, but ye have a temper."

"You've only known me for thirty minutes," Simon says, laughing.

"And I know that ye've been cryin’," Johnny replies, reaching up to gently wipe a tear from Simon's cheek. "But storms clear the skies, and bring the sun after. Ye've been cryin' and yer still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Maybe that's a sign."

"A sign?"

"Aye. That maybe I was meant tae find ye again. Maybe that's what I'm meant tae be. The one who reminds ye to come out and play when it's stormin’."

Simon stares at Johnny, his cheeks burning red. "Johnny..." he whispers.

"That's my name, lad," he murmurs, smiling softly. “Don’t wear it ou-“

Simon leans forward and presses his lips to Johnny's. It's a tentative kiss, a gentle meeting of lips. The world seems to stop. Simon can feel the tension leaving his body, the knot in his throat loosening. It's like he's finally breathing for the first time and he can’t get enough. His hands move to cup Johnny's face and his heart feels full and heavy in his chest.

Johnny kisses back, his lips moving slowly and softly against Simon's. He can taste the salt from Simon's tears and the faintest hint of something else — mint and coffee and a scent that is distinctly Simon. It's familiar, even if he can't place it, and Johnny finds himself clinging to it.

The two of them pull apart slowly, and Johnny is grinning.

"That was some kiss," he says, his cheeks flushed pink. "I could get used tae it."

"You should," Simon whispers, smiling.