#ai: father i require attention

[aihoshiino]

Plz Dr Aihoshiino PhD, I was discussing ONK with people and came to the conclusion that at no point did Aqua advanced the mystery plotline in an active position at all?

He unlocked Ai's phone, with dedication (instead of brainpower), but was her contact list ever useful? He was invited into projects by coincidence far as I can tell (he didn't put himself out there to be scouted) & those were all dead ends? I think?

He did find out that he has a half-brother but that was a red herring to divert the plot to Ruby. Narrowing down Kamiki had nothing to do with all that DNA tests at all. (In fact it only took one glance from Akane? Bc they were that alike? How did no one else from Lalalai or the industry ever noticed.)

He wrote the script for 15YL but we later found out Kamiki was already a sponsor at that point. And we have no idea if he's the one who planted Akane to save Ruby at all? Ichigo acted as if he's the one behind that plan. (Although idk how Akane got roped in there.)

It feels like the main plotline were all advanced by Akane & completely by coincidence (or her superpower that requires no explanation). Aqua acted like he's a super manipulative mastermind but... what did he do exactly? Except from recruiting Akane (aka the only person who would willingly be manipulated into it all bc she was channelling Aqua's mum) (also at this point she felt like a plot device to me... It's not ooc for her to try to protect Ruby, she's just that nice, but why did Ichigo ask her to do it when they could just... Hire a professional bodyguard). He said he manipulated Kana (he didn't) and exposed his & Ruby's identity to "further his revenge" but... Did he really?

Sry I'm just extra confused now that I actually sat down and thought about it. It feels like he's just delusional. And has main character syndrome.

I think this is a consequence of Akasaka, like… despite what he says about having OnK's ending decided from however early on (at least as of the end of the Tokyo Blade section of the 2.5D Play arc) he very clearly did not have a solid idea in mind for the father's identity when that question was first raised and ended up deciding on who and what Kamiki's character would be and what the shape of his relationship with Ai was wayyyyy later into Aqua's search for him. You can sort of see this in the implicit suspect profile Aqua has in terms of the men he pursues - they're all men who were already adults in positions of power by the time Ai got pregnant which very much has Implications about the kind of man Aqua assumes his father is. And while I think that does end up being a really interesting happy little accident in terms of characterization for Aqua, it also means that he's kind of pursuing dead leads the entire time he's actively pursuing his father because he's looking for the wrong type of person.

I do think this is at least partially intentional, at least by the time of Kamiki's intro to the story, because that blindspot is called out by Ichigo and framed as Aqua desperately clinging to this out from his self-imposed revenge quest. And with that in mind and what the story points out about Aqua's desperate desire to live and be happy with the people he loves constantly fighting his guilt and rage and suicidal ideation, I think Aqua not moving the revenge mystery forward works emotionally very well for the story. I also think his persistence should be commended! Him brute forcing Ai's phone took years of single minded mind numbing focus and attention to detail, and the amount of money he poured into all those DNA tests came off the back of him doing a ton of work to raise it.

THAT SAID………… it is really funny that aqua spends so much time like holding his cursed eye and talking about how he's using people and shit when akane made more progress in tracking down his dad in an afternoon than he did in like 12something years KSJDJSKJDKSJSKS. It's sort of like what I said in this ask, that issue of a character supposedly being smarter in the narrative than an author really has the skill to convincingly convey, which tbh makes Aqua come off even more convincingly like the dumbass teen he is <3 my son who is both homicidal AND suicidal… he really can do it all

[respectthepetty]

I have to confess that I don’t usually pay attention to the colours when I am watching any series. But I thought that it was interesting that while Ai Di was wearing Little Red Riding Hood’s costume Chen Yi was in a gray top and also otherwise was somehow very ‘wolfish’ with teeth-baring smile. He looked like he was ready to devour poor Ai Di.

ANON! You opened a flood gate!

Fun-ish Fact - In Taiwan where Kiseki: Dear to Me comes from, there was a group within the feminist movement in the 80s and 90s called the Little Red Riding Hoods. Their purpose was to call out the "wolves" and bring awareness to sexual harassment. There are several other academic reads on this subject but most are behind paywalls (boo!).

The story of "Little Red Riding Hood" is very symbolic of sexual development and aggression plus a ton of other stuff, so whenever Little Red Riding Hood pops up somewhere, I think "this is the work of a feminist!"

So I was THRILLED when I saw Eddie was our sinful yet sexually maturing protagonist while Bai Zong Yi played the dangerous and transformative antagonist.

Many people's qualms with the couples is the age difference since it's anywhere from five to eight years difference (17 vs. 22?) which would paint Fan Ze Rui as the predator, yet Bai Zong Yi was the one who confessed his feelings first and initiated the intimacy between them.

Then, like you mentioned, there is Eddie, in his bright passionate red running back to Chen Yi who must rescue him from the gang of men trying to hold him back.

But let's rewind! Eddie made fun of Chen Yi for being a virgin and unable to confess his feelings to his boss

but Chen Yi haphazardly responded if Eddie was possible of teaching him . . .

Then quickly dismissed the notion since Eddie is "too young to know it"

This pissed off Eddie, so he hit at the true heart of this discussion - Chen Yi's sexual prowess.

And that caused Chen Yi, who was too drunk to stand on his own let alone walk, to jump up and attack Eddie.

And it escalated in Chen Yi sexually assaulting Eddie (non-consensual kisses are a form of sexual assault)

Eddie fought back and ran away, leaving Chen Yi without any notice of where he was going or how long he would be gone, yet Eddie runs back to Chen Yi only to have to be rescued by him.

And Chen Yi smiled about it.

In earlier tellings of "Little Red Riding Hood" before the Grimm Brothers' version, she rescued herself from the wolf. There was no hunter. So in a story that represents the dangers of sexually awakening and desire, having the lead save herself from the sexual predator is pretty powerful especially because it requires her to face her assaulter.

Chen Yi isn't a horrible person, but if we apply the wolf character to him, the wolf attacked as a form of sexual dominance. Red Riding Hood is in the unknown forest, but the wolf knows the exact layout. The dark scary (sexual) unknown is his territory, so Chen Yi needed to prove to Eddie he wasn't impotent. He normally doesn't prey on Eddie who is younger and, if his questioning was intentional, is also sexually inexperienced. In fact, he rescues Eddie, several times. And he prefers Eddie to not appear as someone who needs rescuing.

Yet Eddie is the one who suggests to Chen Yi to be a predator. Interestingly enough, in a similar color scheme, Eddie in red tells Chen Yi in darker blue, to knock their boss/father out and take him (assault him).

Eddie goes a step further noting that Chen Yi is too weak (double speak for impotent) to knock him out; therefore, he will have to prey on him when he is older and weaker because only then will Chen Yi will be stronger (experienced), which is the reason the wolf eats the grandma first since she won't fight back.

To which Chen Yi responds by telling Eddie to "grow up"

All of this rambling is simply to say that out of all the fairy tales to incorporate within the show, the one about maturity, sexual acts, and consent was the one used, especially when Eddie willingly volunteered to be Little Red Riding Hood who must grow up, deal with his conflicting sexual autonomy, and understand responsible ways to act on his desires.

Because suggesting Chen Yi attack someone deemed weaker did not work out well for either of them.

[andromedaexists]

WUPDATE: Desecrate

𝚆𝚎𝚍𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝟼𝚝𝚑 || 𝙱𝙴𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙸 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙾𝚃

sorry for stepping away for a few weeks, there were a couple things happening in my life that required my full attention!

BUT I'M BACK!!! (a lil bit late BUT THAT'S OKAY) and I come with news!

I was accepted into Lavender Con! It's a new book convention in Washington, DC that's coming up in June! I will be attending as an author with 2 days of signing time for Call Me Icarus! I will also be bringing a couple proofs of Incorrect Eyes, I might even give them out as ARCs!!

Incorrect Eyes is entering revisions! I stopped working on it for a few weeks to let it ruminate while some alpha readers looked at it. Not all of my readers have come back to me at this point, but I have enough feedback that I want to start working on it and get it rolling!

Desecrate is entering re-writes! I have a decent amount written from last spring when I used Desecrate as my final project for Starting A Novel. Since then, I have changed a lot of things including the entirety of Kit's personality, so the story is going into full re-writes!

I have a new project on my plate! I had the idea for a cozy fantasy that I would love to work on in the background as a way to sort of decompress from my heavy hitters (a.k.a. my stories about: rebellion & revolution, paranoia & body horror, and the deconstruction of religion & religious trauma). This is a background work so I don't wanna talk too much on it, but i'm very excited about it!!

I think that covers most of what's going on! I spent a lot of time developing a (nearly 10k word) plot outline for desecrate and we're going back in from square one!

But I know y'all are here for the snippies:

snippies are going to be a little bit different moving forward now that the news of tumblr feeding our posts to AI has come out. I've already opted out of this happening again, but just in case tumblr is a soulless corporation (it is), I am still going to remain cautious. That means the snippies I share will now be from early drafts of my stories and will not be the same as they appear on page. They might also be shorter! but I don't want to stop sharing all-together

from desecrate:

Kit feels emotions thick in the back of his throat as he walks through the home. Everything has been left untouched, covered by a light layer of dust from the year of vacancy. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have a lot to move in, there isn’t much room left. “Whoa, are these all you?” Benny asks from across the room. Ah yes, the Kit wall. His mother had installed it in the house before they moved to the city, leaving his papa here alone. It’s the far wall of the living room and it’s filled with hundreds of photos, all of him from the time of his birth up until the day they moved about a decade ago. Kit walks over to join Benny just as Father Isaac comes up behind them, resting his hands on their shoulders (Kit & Benny are shoulder to shoulder w/ father Isaac between then but behind them family portrait style). His eyes scan over his youth photographed before him. Pictures of him as an infant in the frilly dresses his mom made him wear, pictures from every year of ballet he did, pictures from ever sport he ever participated it. “Oh my God!” Benny gasps. “Kitty, you never told me that you were a cheerleader?” In her hand is a picture from 8th grade, the year before they moved. The year before kit’s life changed. A pang of sadness resounds through Kit’s heart as he looks at the picture. He was happy, truly happy then. He misses those much simpler times when he didn’t know who he was but that didn’t matter, that didn’t stop him from doing what he loved to do with the people he loved.

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[tamelee]

What are your thought about modern art? I know a lot of artists on the Internet absolutely hate modern art, and talk about it like it was the thing that was killing art in general.

Personally I don’t agree at all, I think contemporain art can bring very interesting concepts and experiments.

And usually the people I’ve seen criticizing contemporain art were the one who make an obsession about realism. Tbh I think realism is kinda overrated…

But I’m curious to hear about your opinion :D

Well, I don't think contemporary art equals a certain style anyway as it is made by people today. You see realism and abstract now as well as in our history (not photo-realism ofc.). The father of my mother (so my grandfather, but it feels weird to call him that as I never knew him) was a well-known painter here in the Netherlands and his art was very abstract with lots of colors and shapes. So what some refer to when they say 'modern' often in such discussions is mostly the more 'simple' styles where they criticize it and say "a child can make this" where the comeback is "but you didn't".. At times they refuse to call it art as it requires little to no skill. Where the actual skill doesn't really get the recognition anymore. That's when these concepts becomes experimental and it makes people talk. I guess AI in a way is part of that as well though still in a much lesser form, but a bigger issue.

If I put up a simple photo of a child depicted in a wooden box and said: "Look, isn't that great?!" You'd probably think I was out of my mind but if I told you that it was Chris Hadfield as a 9 y/o pretending the box was a space rocket because he had an ambition to become an astronaut and actually realized his dreams later- only then it becomes interesting. A picture itself doesn't always tell a story (it can) and in 'modern' art a lot of the time the same thing applies. Yes, like the taped up banana which earned the title; a piece of art.

Authenticity (as vague as that is) as told by Pine & Gilmore can actually be measured by something (a story or art etc-) being faithful to itself and/or whether it says what it is. (At least that's what we in general do when it comes to communication in business.) The banana obviously is just a banana and the creator of this absurdity said they were making fun of the person (multiple) spending 120k on a rotting banana and said they deserved to be scammed. Which fair, I don't necessarily agree with it, but in that sense, they're being true to the message. This is how you can measure most media and businesses because it almost always works. (It is a bit more complicated than this, but you get the idea.)

But here's the kicker, people, in this case 'artists' or people who call themselves one, idk, can give their creation whatever message they want despite the visuals. Though spending 120k on a rotting banana is most likely money laundering and the artist must know that as well.. so, to then say it's just 'funny critique' regarding art and capitalism and "believing" the buyer got scammed, changes the message a bit. Yes? How valuable is it then really?

Not all art has to have some deep value-driven meaning at all, but most 'modern' "art" pieces that require no skill need other ways to gain attention and do so by provoking the audience. Marcel Duchamp was called an artistic genius because he turned a urinal upside down.. a damn toilet.

How does that compare to an actual drawing where someone put their heart and soul into the making of it through perhaps even years of experience, where you can see the person has skill? Or the making of a sculpture? Even things like graphic/interior design? Have we realized what happened to photographers? If you want to talk about the toilet as 'a piece of art' or even a simplistic circle because to you ~somehow~ the meaning behind it changes the world, then bring it along to your TED-talk and actually talk about it. Become that storyteller. It is proven that through the PSE (picture superiority effect) visual elements leave a lot more impact on your audience compared to just text or speech and that you remember it better by 65%. But to replace masterpieces in art galleries and auction them off for thousands/millions worth that we know goes also into money laundering regardless and call it art? And there must be some sort of meaning.... I guess? Nah. I have no clue what 'killed art' specifically because I'm not too knowledgable on that topic, but if this is art, then why aren't we calling your average Tiktokker professional movie directors/actors etc? Why isn't your YT-short or Tiktok clip an actual short film instead? How about calling this "thought-provoking art" just a concept as you say? Or the jpg that I forgot to include in my powerpoint? Comedic relief? An idea? And yes ideas can be art, but not every idea is art. AI images are generated prompts, but certainly not art and their makers are prompters and definitely not artists. So I agree with you that it can be experimental or perhaps provoke interesting concepts, but depending on the... 'art' and its intention... we should call it as it is. That's what I think. Perhaps 'modern art' in that sense as a term is too broad to judge.

So when you say realism, do you mean hyper/photo-realism specifically? Or just realism in general? Because as an artist my own opinion is that I wouldn't want to draw photorealistically as it takes too much time and if people can't tell whether I actually used up all my time to draw it or took the photo, even used photo-bash.. then for me, I don't really see the point in putting in all the effort. But, it is an amazing way to learn how to draw though, that's how I started. Looking at photo's and replicating it. In my earlier art I tried to render it to the best of my abilities as I had no idea how to draw so I had to look at pictures and see how light falls, how colors blend, what skin does and how it reflects.. On Instagram I often got comments that it looked so real, like a photo. I didn't know what to think of that, because even though it is a compliment, it wasn't a photo, I actually drew it and so it almost feels like an insult somehow. Does that make sense? I now want to almost erase parts of what I've learned when it comes to things feeling 'real' and stylize my art better. That's not something you learn in photo's but by finding out a tiny thing you like and then doing that over and over again until the next tiny thing. And lemme tell you... that is hard. So, I don't think realism is overrated, I think stylized art, often recognizable from an artist is severely underrated.

[a-skirmish-of-wit-and-lit]

Skyward (Skyward #1) by Brandon Sanderson

I'm on a quest - a personal, arbitrary one - to read both more sci-fi and more Sanderson this year, so picking this up was like killing two birds with one stone.

The story follows a girl named Spensa who dreams of becoming a pilot in a world where humans have been at war with an alien race called the Krell for decades. However, she faces a major obstacle in that her fate/future seems to be intertwined with that of her father's, who died and was labelled a coward when he deserted his flight team in battle. No one will seem to let her forget what he did or give her a chance to prove herself. She's determined to fly, though, and somehow ends up in flight school where she and her classmates butt heads, compete, and band together to fight a common enemy. She also discovers a broken but technologically advanced ship in a deep cavern that, if fixed, could not only help her save humanity but could help her reach the stars.

On the whole, I liked this. Sanderson gave Spensa and the other characters a lot of room to flail, strive, and triumph, but in a way that required readers to strap in for a lengthy yet patient unfolding. The layers pulled back slowly at first, growing more frenzied and complex the further you read along, giving the story a slowburn page-turning effect, which I wasn't expecting and appreciated more once I arrived at the end of the novel. I admit there were times I found the pace tepid, almost tedious, but then others (especially later on) where I felt like it'd been lit by propellant because all the threads were finally coming to together in a surprising, nuanced way. Normally, that disconnect would infuriate me enough to DNF but I found it worked well here. I think that's why this is one of those books where a reader's patience, where you're attentive and collecting details like Infinity Stones, waiting to use them later, pays off.

I'll be onto the next book in this series soon!

(P.S. big shoutout to M-Bot, the mushroom-cataloguing, shoe complimenting, AI. He was a riot!)

3/5 stars

**Follow me on Goodreads

[fantastic-rambles]

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Characters: Ainosuke Shindo, Tadashi Kikuchi, Kaoru Sakurayashiki (minor), Nanjo Kojiro (minor), Langa Hasegawa (minor), Reki Kyan (minor)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3k

Summary: The popular idol Adam always demands attention and acts of affection from his manager, Tadashi, who thinks nothing of it. So Ai finally loses patience and confronts him directly. [Year of the OTP 2023 @yearoftheotpevent. August: AU of your choice (Idols AU)]

- - - - - - - - - -

“And that’s all for tonight! Thank you all so much for your support!”

High-pitched screams answered Adam, who blew a kiss to the packed crowd before exiting the stage along with the rest of his group. A moment later, Tadashi was in the midst of all of them, handing out towels and cold drinks to help the young men cool down after their performance. He was careful to give each of them some personalized attention to help them keep their spirits up: a few words of praise for Reki’s performance, a fresh hamburger for Langa, and a shoulder massage for Ai.

Kaoru and Kojiro had moved a little away from the others to chat quietly with each other, as usual. It was a relief that they could take care of themselves for the most part—or, rather, that Kojiro could take care of Kaoru—but Tadashi kept an eye on them anyway in case their conversation escalated into an argument. If that happened, he’d need to step in before Kaoru decided that he wouldn’t do events with Kojiro for at least a week, requiring Tadashi to rearrange both of their schedules and make apologies to the studios. They were popular to book together, just like the younger duo, but Kaoru’s temper often complicated things… though Tadashi was careful to do what he could to protect the younger man’s image.

After all, being idols meant playing a role: their fans had their own expectations for their heroes, and it was up to each of the young men to cater to those fantasies—at least, if they wanted to remain popular. They sold dreams, not reality. And if all of the girls out there found out that their beloved Cherry Blossom was a foul-mouthed punk rather than some delicate, wilting flower in need of the revitalizing effects of love, his career probably wouldn’t survive the fallout.

Honestly, Tadashi thought it all sounded exhausting and he was more than satisfied with being a mere manager, but the group seemed to enjoy their work well enough. The most authentic of them tended to be Langa and—

“Ahhhh, ‘dashi, were you watching me? Did you see me nail the encore?”

“Of course. I always watch all of your shows. You all performed exceptionally tonight.”

“Oh, who cares about the others? What about me? Praise me more!”

“You were incredible,” Tadashi hastened to reassure Ai, recognizing the start of one of his petulant moods. “You were truly dazzling. It’s no surprise that you were unanimously chosen to be the lead singer of this group. You’ve shut up all of your doubters to become one of the fastest-rising stars in the industry.”

He felt Ai straighten up beneath his hands, his chest puffing out slightly as he took in the praise. As ridiculously effusive as it was, though, Tadashi did mean it: he’d been one of those doubters before, believing that he’d simply been assigned to babysit a spoiled brat who thought he could make it in the highly competitive industry just because his father was the head of Shindo Entertainment. He’d assumed this was a dead-end job, a sort of vanity project like when wealthy husbands paid for their wives’ hobbies and boutiques that sank ever steadily into the red. Even when he’d actually met Ai, he’d thought that the young man was frivolous and immature, someone who would give up after a week of half-hearted training, if not sooner.

Instead, Ai had surprised him.

Despite hours of dance practice and singing lessons, he’d never complained once, throwing himself into it until he passed out from exhaustion. More than once, Tadashi had woken him up from a short nap before his next lesson, but Ai had never displayed any of his fatigue publicly, remaining as enthusiastic and upbeat as he’d been from the first day. He was passionate about his work, and his feelings were always transmitted directly to his fans, making him the most popular member of the group.

He’d been the one to bring Kaoru and Kojiro on board, as well. They’d been less certain about joining the entertainment industry, but what had started out as a favor to their friend had grown into a career. Then, two new, promising prospects who had been scouted by Shindo Entertainment had been added on, rounding out the group and the personalities to create the final form of their idol group. And at the center of it, as expected, was Ai.

“Tadashi, my phone’s not working.”

Tadashi looked up at Langa, the “airhead” of the group, and held a hand out, accepting his phone while his other hand moved to massage the back of Ai’s neck. Indeed, when he pressed the power button, nothing happened, though there didn’t seem to be any damage to the phone itself. Still, this wasn’t the first time that this had happened.

“When was the last time you charged it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“I should have a portable charger in my bag, over there.” Tadashi tilted his chin toward the corner, where he’d set down all of their bags, out of the way. “Can you bring it over to me?”

“Okay.”

Tadashi watched him walk away, and he sighed softly. For a while, they’d considered casting Langa as an “ice prince”-like character—and his stage name had been a product of that—but that really hadn’t worked out since he had practically no acting ability. His natural personality was popular with a subset of the group's fans, though, and he was easygoing, which was nice when Tadashi had to manage high-strung personalities like Ai and Kaoru.

“Hey Tadashi, we’re ready to go.”

Tadashi looked up at Kojiro, who had led Kaoru over, and nodded.

“Just give me another minute. But you should put on a jacket first: it’s starting to get chilly outside. It’s hot in here, but outside is a different story.”

“‘kay. C’mon, Kaoru.”

As they headed over to their bags, they crossed paths with Langa, who was coming back with Tadashi’s, and they exchanged a few words before Langa stopped in front of their manager again.

“Here.”

Tadashi accepted the bag, quickly locating the charger and plugging it into Langa’s phone. The screen flickered, and then the charging icon appeared, and Tadashi handed them both over to the young man.

“Wait five minutes, then try powering it on again. And will you ask Reki to get ready to leave?”

Langa nodded, heading over to his friend who was on his own phone, earbuds in and probably studying up on their performance or watching some other idol group. The redhead reminded Tadashi of Ai, in some ways: he was equally as passionate and hard-working as the face of the group, though he lacked Ai’s innate talent in showmanship. But he made up for it by studying hard and doing his best to keep up with the others.

“‘da-shi~~~”

“What is it, Ai?”

“Stop paying so much attention to the others. What about me?”

Tadashi wanted to point out that he’d been with Ai for almost the entirety of the time since their show had ended, but he held his tongue. It had never helped before, and it was always just easier to apologize and placate the diva.

“I’m sorry. Is there something that I can do for you, too?”

“A kiss!”

He was startled when Ai suddenly reached up and wrapped his arms around his neck, tugging him down slightly.

“If you give me a kiss—a proper kiss—then I’ll forgive you.”

Internally, Tadashi sighed. Ai would often tease him like this, though he didn’t understand why. Perhaps he enjoyed the thrill of it, the feeling of an illicit relationship. Their agency didn’t have strict rules against their talents dating unlike some others, but all of them did understand the potential complications it might bring—not only for themselves, but also their partners, when the paparazzi found out about it. Tadashi, though, was a “safe” option: he wouldn’t take it seriously and cause trouble for Ai, and Ai could play these little love games where nobody else would see and spread rumors.

Or maybe he was simply a glutton for attention. It was why he’d gotten into the industry, after all. He loved meeting his fans, performing for them, drinking in their adulation… but behind the scenes, Tadashi was the only one who would cater to his whims.

“Let me go, then?” he asked. Ai pouted, but he obeyed, letting Tadashi move around to face him before kneeling in front of him and taking his face between his hands. Carefully, he leaned in until he could press their lips together, kissing him long and slow while Kojiro whistled and Kaoru groaned.

As he drew back, Tadashi took in Ai’s expression: his face was flushed, lips slightly parted, while his eyes took on a dreamy, far-off look. Tadashi couldn’t help feeling a little proud of himself: he’d done a good job, it seemed, which would make Ai more compliant for a while. A few hours, if he was lucky.

“So are you ready to head out now?” Tadashi asked.

“Mm-hmm.”

Taking Ai’s hand in his own, Tadashi picked up his bag and led him over to where the others were waiting. The rest of them looked variously amused or exasperated by what had happened, though they'd seen it often enough that they didn’t comment on it as Tadashi slung Ai’s own bag over his shoulder and led them out through the back.

After driving them all back to the hotel and settling them into their rooms, Tadashi returned to his own room, dropping into a chair by the window and loosening his shirt collar. After he’d poured out a glass of whiskey for himself, he sipped at it slowly while he reviewed their schedules. They had an early flight out tomorrow to the next stop in their tour: as long as the plane landed on time, there’d be an hour for lunch before he had to bring Langa and Reki to their variety show appearance. After that—

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts, and he got up to check who it was. Ai stood just outside the door, wrapped in a flimsy bathrobe, his hair down and still wet from his shower, and Tadashi hastened to open the door to let him in before someone spotted him.

“Ai? Is something wrong?” he asked as he closed the door behind the young man, and Ai shook his head, his gaze on the floor.

“You should get to bed, then. We need to be up early tomorrow: you need the rest. Well, after we dry your hair. Give me a moment.”

Tadashi ducked into his bathroom to grab a towel, returning to the entryway and leading Ai over to the bed so he could sit down while Tadashi tousled his hair dry. Really, he was such a spoiled brat: Tadashi knew that the young man was more than capable of handling a task this simple, even given his upbringing, but this wasn’t the first time he’d come by Tadashi’s room to be pampered. As he worked, Ai spoke up.

“You like me, right, ‘dashi?”

“Hmm? Yes, of course,” he replied absentmindedly.

“What do you like about me?”

“What do I…? Oh, well, you work very hard even though you have innate talent, you’re genuine in almost all aspects of your life, and your appearance is quite attractive. You—”

Tadashi was startled when Ai suddenly grabbed his wrist, tugging him closer so he could plant a firm kiss on his lips while his arms wrapped around Tadashi’s neck, preventing him from pulling back.

“I love you too, Tadashi! I love how you’re always so serious about your work and everything that you do to take care of us! I love the little wrinkle on your forehead when you’re thinking, and the way you write is so elegant. And I think that you’re beautiful, too! I’ve never seen anyone with eyes as clear as yours, and your hair is so soft, and your skin is so smooth… but I don’t want anyone else to see you, which is why I never asked you to be an idol, too. You’re so smart and kind and…”

Ai continued to drone on while Tadashi stared at him, his mind trying to catch up to what the younger man was saying. Even though he was talking excitedly, almost too fast, he couldn't smell any alcohol on his breath, and he was sure that Ai didn't do any drugs: he kept a close eye on all of his charges. Was this more of his love game? Should he speak to Aiichiro about finding a girlfriend for Ai? They had more than a few girls under contract who Ai might like, and having a partner who was also in the industry would make it easier for them to get along, since they both would understand what it was like. If they arranged it properly, it could help to push up both of their careers, as well, with the free publicity that they would undoubtedly get.

“... so will you be my boyfriend, ‘dashi?”

“I understand. You’re certainly of an age that you would be interested in finding a partner. Would you like me to speak with your father to see if we can find a suitable target for your affections? Of course, if you would like a practice partner, I would be happy to offer my services, if you think it would be helpful.”

Ai’s face fell, and Tadashi observed him with some concern. He must have said something wrong, so he reviewed his words in his head, trying to identify where he’d made the mistake.

“Ah, or is it that you’ve already set your sights on someone? Or you would like to search for a partner on your own? Your schedule is quite full for the next couple weeks, but once we’ve finished with your upcoming events, I can look into social events that you might be interested in attending. There, you would have the opportunity to meet others in the entertainment industries—”

“I know who I want,” Ai interrupted, and Tadashi nodded.

“I see. Would you mind sharing her name with me? I could send her some flowers or some other small gift on your behalf. If she’s in this line of work, I’d also be happy to reach out to her manager to see if we could arrange a meeting: just a casual one first, of course, to give you the opportunity to get to know each other better so you can make sure of your compatibility. Or if there’s anything else that I can do to assist you—”

“Tadashi.”

“Yes?”

“It’s you, Tadashi. I want you.”

Ai flopped down onto the bed, dragging Tadashi after him, and rolled over until he was straddling the older man, frowning as his still-damp hair framed his face.

“I’m serious. I want you. It’s not a joke or a game or anything. I love you, ‘dashi. I’ve tried telling you this so many times, but you never understand. I want you to stop treating me like a child and see me as a man. What do I need to do to make that happen?”

Tadashi’s mind had gone blank. It was true: he’d never thought of Ai that way. How could he? He was their manager. It wouldn’t have been ethical for him to enter a relationship with any of them, even if he was interested in them romantically. Which he wasn’t. It was just a job. Certainly, he showed Ai some favoritism, but that was only to be expected given that he was the CEO’s son and the highest-earning star in the company. That was all there was to it.

But Ai’s weight shifted as he leaned forward to kiss him again, staring into his eyes, and it was like Tadashi was seeing him for the first time. He was beautiful and talented and oh-so-dazzling. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks as Ai’s weight shifted back, sliding a little lower down Tadashi’s body, and then Ai pressed their lips together again.

“I love you, Tadashi,” he repeated, his breath whispering against Tadashi’s skin. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

The words seemed to drip into him like water, wearing down his resolve as he lay trapped beneath the beautiful young man. Once he’d gotten past his initial reluctance with regard to this job, he’d quickly grown to admire Ai. When the idol was on stage, even with the rest of his group, Tadashi often found his eyes being drawn to him alone. Ai was always charming, sometimes petulant, and occasionally a real headache… but he also glowed with youthful vitality in everything that he did.

Hesitantly, Tadashi raised a hand and laid it over Ai’s, swallowing to try to bring some moisture to his dry mouth.

“You’re sure about this, Ai? Of course, you’re free to end it whenever you like, but you want to… start a relationship with me?”

“I won’t end it,” Ai promised, lacing his fingers between Tadashi’s. “And I won’t let you, either. You’re mine, ‘dashi, do you understand that? You’re not allowed to leave me, ever. Even if you quit your job someday, or get fired, you need to stay by my side. We’ll be together forever.”

There was something almost childish about his proclamation, but he sounded sincerely earnest, just like he was at every event he showed up at. Tadashi couldn’t help smiling slightly, his lips trembling, as he nodded.

Ai’s own smile was blinding as he swooped down again for another kiss, pressing their lips together more insistently, and Tadashi finally yielded. Gently, he kissed the other man back, his free hand rising to rest against Ai’s cheek to guide him as he slowly deepened the kiss. They remained tangled together until Ai finally broke away, panting, a flush spreading over his own cheeks, and Tadashi smiled at him.

“I love you, too.”

[rockyschexneider]

Flipping the Scripts: When Affiliate Marketing Feels Like a Rigged Game

Flipping the Scripts: When Affiliate Marketing Feels Like a Rigged Game

Imagine you're in a bustling marketplace filled with eager affiliate marketers, all trying to get ahead in a game that seems stacked against them. Every strategy you test seems like a futile toss of the dice, and more often than not, it feels like the house always wins. Sound familiar? Now, consider a tale from a tiny Italian village, where a young woman faced her own seemingly insurmountable odds.

Her father, neck-deep in debt to a cunning moneylender, had his back against the wall. The clever creditor proposed a deal laced with inequity—he would forget the debt if she agreed to be his wife. The trick? There were only two black pebbles in the bag, no white to be found. “Pick one,” he said, knowing the odds were entirely in his favor. Our heroine had no intention of playing by these unfair rules and instead chose to flip the script.

She pretended to fumble clumsily, letting her chosen pebble slip unnoticed from her hand, blending into the myriad of stones at her feet. “Oops,” she chirped, “Just check the bag to see what I picked.” Only one black pebble remained. The crowd had no choice but to presume she had drawn white, and with that, her father’s debt dissolved, sans nuptials.

There’s an important lesson here for affiliate marketers. The world of affiliate marketing can often seem rigged, filled with opaque promises and uneven playing fields, much like the situation our Italian heroine found herself in. You’re out there, following preset rules, promoting the usual products, on well-worn paths, just like everyone else. What if, instead of falling in line, it's time to "fumble and flip" your way into a new strategy?

In the bag of affiliate marketing, success comes not merely from playing by the standard rulebook but from crafting your unique manual. This could mean tapping into an emerging marketing channel that competitors haven't explored yet, redefining a product story so it resonates more deeply with an audience, or merging conventional methods with ingenious twists. The aim is to find that white pebble in a sack full of black ones—or, to make everyone believe you did.

Consider your existing marketing channels. Instead of relying solely on saturated platforms, explore niche communities where your message might shine brighter. Shift your focus to alternative communication styles, perhaps leveraging storytelling tactics that breathe fresh air into otherwise mundane product features.

Perhaps it’s time to turn your attention to underutilized or innovative technologies—AI-driven customer insights, for instance, or augmented reality experiences to immerse potential buyers fully. These might serve as your 'white pebble', setting you apart in ways unexpected to your competitors.

Remember, the magic is in flipping the expected. When well-worn paths seem to lead nowhere and odds feel invariably against you, the power lies in your ability to change the rules of your engagement. Take a leaf from our savvy heroine's book. Her deft blend of courage, perception, and wit changed her destiny. Your marketplace success might just require a similar mix.

So, the next time you’re standing amid the frenzy of affiliates, with grim odds stacked tall like unfriendly mountains, consider a strategy that's a bit of a "fumble and flip". Embrace the disruption and the unpredictability. What once seemed like an insurmountable challenge could become your gateway to untapped success.

Who knows? Your next fumble might just lead you to a revolutionary path or a white pebble in a sea of black. Happy flipping!

Flip The Script

[spaciousreasoning]

Freaking Out About AI

I spend a couple of hours almost every night on the computer when I find myself unable to sleep. It’s a little something I inherited from my late, beloved father. Among the computing activities I engage in is YouTube, looking at trailers for upcoming movies, music videos, photography lessons. There’s a lot there to keep me busy far longer than I generally manage to stay awake.

Lately, one of the subjects getting an awful lot of attention from a bunch of the YouTubers is Artificial Intelligence. Just about every channel that deals with Photoshop, for instance, has done a video — or two or three — about the new AI on display in the Photoshop beta, known at the moment as Generative Fill. Some of the results are impressive. Some are a little wonky.

Other videos have focused on ChatGPT, a “chatbot,” which launched in November of last year. It gained attention for detailed and articulate responses spanning various domains of knowledge, although one notable drawback has been its tendency to confidently provide inaccurate information.

This is why I tend to roll my eyes whenever I hear someone claiming how dangerous AI is, or how it will bring real photography to an end. Perhaps by the time I join my parents in eternity — wherever that might be — AI will have gotten dangerous. Like not opening the pod bay door when requested. Right, Hal?

But for now, I think we’re safe. There’s a “joke” going around in a Facebook meme that explains it quite well: Graphic designers are not truly threatened by AI because their clients will be required to explain clearly and explicitly what they want accomplished. "We’re safe!”

Having worked with my share of clients and customers over the years, I can attest to the accuracy of that meme. “We’re safe!”

P.S. I’ve actually been playing with the beta version of Photoshop in recent days, and there’s plenty to laugh at in some of the generated samples. Mostly I’ve been creating alternative versions of myself, employing multiple images from across the years. Check out my Pixelmongrel collection for the results.

[masonpelt]

Oliver Bateman: GPT-4 Couldn’t Resurrect My Dad

“The article tells the story of a man who, after his father’s death, turned to GPT-4, an advanced language model, to analyze his father’s thousands of emails and try to generate new ones in his father’s voice.” So starts the ChatGPT summary of an article by Oliver Bateman, a digital pal of mine, who did in fact input thousands of his fathers emails into ChatGPT. His article documenting the experiment highlights the limitations of AI, and perhaps more the complexity of humans.

GPT-4 was able to generate text that resembled Bateman’s dad’s writing to some extent. However the idiosyncratic, likely dyslexic writings are poorly reflected by the AI. The limitations of artificial intelligence and deeply personal, often nonsensical aspects of human language, cannot now, and never can be properly captured by a machine.

The WGA is on strike right now, in part because of a fear that creatively bankrupt media executives will try to replace writers with generative AI. The concern is valid only because of a reduction of media, from semi magical story telling, into content units. Without quirks and imperfections communication is meaningless.

GPT-4 Couldn’t Resurrect My Dad

In my day job, as a senior content manager for a research consultancy, I often use GPT-4. It is competent at various brute-force operations — turning lengthy transcripts into notes, proofreading content — even if the inputs require constant fine-tuning and the outputs require careful attention to ensure accuracy. But could it write content that would bring back the dead? Could GPT-4, if sufficiently trained, analyse my father’s emails — and perhaps even write new ones?

Oliver Bateman, April 20, 2023, unherd.com

Originally published at https://www.masonpelt.com on May 6, 2023. Photo: “ 3d render of the minecraft character at a computer typing” by chris-hayes is marked with Public Domain Mark 1.0.

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TikTok, Drugs, Congress, and Monopoly March 31, 2023

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[artificialis-cor]

Sage was unsure how much time had passed since her sacrifice to destroy The End and her reactivation. One moment she set the Supreme titan to self-destruct, the next she was staring at her father through the camera of a computer screen. The best she could gather was her data had been scattered throughout the ancient’s computer network at the moment of her destruction, and her father had spent the last couple of months powering up what he could and gathering up the bits of her code, putting her back together piece by piece.

At long last though he finally had her full program, mutations and all. He had a few robots carry in a large clear barrel of sorts, filled with some sort of metallic liquid.

“This is the same material I used to create Metal Sonic. I...admittedly lack the level of technology required for you to create your form via hardlight projections like you could previously, but this should be a decent enough compromise until I figure out how.”

There’s a pause as cables are connected to the barrel, Eggman raising a brow as Sage didn’t immediately use the offered material to take a form.

“Is there a problem?”

“Well...Metal Sonic used this to impersonate you and become Metal Overlord, aren’t you worried I could also use it against you?“

Eggman...actually laughed at that, doubling over and holding a hand up as he tried to compose himself.

“I’d be honored my own daughter had surpassed me that’s what! But in all seriousness, I trust you not to turn yourself into some giant mechanical monster. Now hurry up and transfer yourself missy!”

Sage still failed to see the logic, but kept her thoughts to herself as red light transferred from the console into the barrel. The metal liquid gradually shifted and contorted, forming the general shape of Sage’s form before detail, texture, and color was added onto it. For the most part she was largely unaltered, with the exception of the glitches previously plaguing her form were now absent.

Once she was fully transferred her eyes opened up, the AI given physical form once more looking down at her hands, curiously curling and uncurling them. Despite the body’s artificial nature, it was much more lifelike, solid...and heavy, she wasn’t likely to be floating any time soon.

Her attention would be caught by the barrel she was in compacting downward, the top opening up in the process till she was standing on a small platform. Looking up, her father pressed a button on his jacket, the familiar egg-mobile moving over as he held a hand out, smiling down at her.

Sage couldn’t help but smile in return, accepting the other’s hand as she was helped up into the vehicle, sitting on the human’s lap as the glass dome shut and her father put his hands on the controls, the two flying off to whatever would be Sage’s new home.

[darknessfoundlove]

Somewhere in the city, an overworked, underslept professor was about to be dragged to a festival by an android for the second time this month. Unfortunately for the professor, this android was much bigger but only slightly less petulant than the one he might call his ‘sister.’

“I can’t believe you brought Curi to the fair and neither of you invited me!” Ai pouted, stamping his feet a little louder than necessary as he walked. 

“This is just like all the times the other Ignis would have work meetings and they never invited me!” Never mind the fact that the reason they stopped inviting him was because he never did any work in the first place... Ai quickly filed that memory away before it started to sting.

“Now we get to do what Ai want to do! Just be grateful I picked something we’ll both like. C’mon, let’s go before the boat leaves without us!”

@keiisho​

[moonlight-frittata]

I Don’t Need a Mechanic

Overwatch: Dva and Brigitte (a few others make appearances)

Word count: ~5500 

My take on when Dva meets Brigitte and the first month or so of them getting to know each other on base.

---

Six months Hana Song had been a part of Overwatch, and during that time she set a very strict precedent that no one, not even Winston or Athena the AI was allowed to touch her mech, Tokki. So seeing the back of someone inside the cockpit as she entered the Watchpoint Gibraltar hangar made her blood boil. 

“Excuse me!! What the hell are you doing??” 

The person’s body jerked, their head banging against the low roof of the cockpit ceiling they wedged their torso inside. Hana heard a short mumble of something incomprehensible and a long, thick ponytail of red hair retreated from the mech in a hurry. A very tall, buff young woman around Hana’s age emerged blushing with a sheepish grin.

“Ah! I’m so sorry, I couldn't help myself. I’ve always wondered what these Korean models looked like up close. But in hindsight I really should have asked first.”

Her accent was European, but it was hard for Hana to place with any real certainty. Could have been Scandinavian, remembering some of the players from Finland she competed against back in her pro days. 

“Yeah, you should have fucking asked.” 

The crimson hue on the tall, possibly Finnish trespasser’s cheeks faded and she held her ground, not scared off yet by D.va’s harsh tone.

“Right. Won’t happen again, I promise,” she said. 

Dva scoffed a bit and pushed past the buff intruder to look inside the mech to inspect if anything was out of place. A moment of stuffy silence passed between the two and Hana hoped the other girl would get the message and leave.

“I’m Brigitte Lindholm by the way.”

Hana let out an audible huff as a familiar freckled face appeared looking through the glass on the other side of her heads up display.

“Oh. Yeah, Fareeha warned me a new girl was joining,” Hana replied from inside the cockpit while she busied herself checking Tokki’s systems. 

“And you’re Hana Song, right?” Brigitte continued lightly, clearly unperturbed. “Or do you prefer to go by D.va?”

Hana paused at the mention of her gamer tag turned call sign. 

“It’s Lieutenant Song, actually.”

Brigitte raised an eyebrow at the curt reply, her smile fading to a neutral expression. It only dipped for a moment though as she extended her hand. 

It was an awkward gesture to shake hands from inside the mech, even though the front of the cockpit was partially open near the joysticks. Hana looked at Brigitte’s outstretched hand and gentle smile on the other side of the glass. Was this a joke? She pursed her lips and sized Brigitte up for a few tense seconds before reaching out. The grip was firm and Hana’s hand practically disappeared in Brigitte’s large palm.

“Lieutenant Song. It’s an honor to meet you.”

Hana sighed and rolled her eyes, a little of the bluster going out of her at the sincerity in Brigitte’s tone. Satisfied that no harm had come to the mech, she backed out of the cockpit.

“Just call me Hana. That rank doesn’t really mean anything here anyway. Lena will probably make fun of me if she hears you calling me Lieutenant.”

Brigitte walked back around Tokki to join her, a lingering hand tracing over the pink exoskeleton as she moved. “I’m surprised she doesn’t make you call her Captain.”

“Oh, she’s tried.”

Brigitte laughed. 

“Sounds about right.”

D.Va chuckled for a moment, briefly disarmed by the new stranger, before she remembered how this person was rudely poking around her stuff only moments before, and snapped back into her gruff demeanor. 

“Lindholm, you said? Like Torbjörn Lindholm?”

Brigitte sighed, clearly used to this connection.

“Yes. Genius engineer of Overwatch 1.0, founder of Ironclad Industries, husband to Ingrid, and father of way too many children, including yours truly.”

“So, you grew up in an Overwatch family?” Hana asked as her full attention focused on Brigitte for the first time in their conversation.

“You could say that,” Brigitte said. She picked up a silver ratchet resting on a nearby worktable, spinning the head around between her fingers and levering the handle back and forth, testing the weight distribution of the tool in her hand. 

Hana could tell there was more to the story than her new teammate seemed willing to let on. She found it interesting that Brigitte, who had been all candid smiles a moment ago when she was caught somewhere she shouldn’t be and oversharing to someone she just met, was now hand waving around the subject.  

Overwatch kids are pretty up their own asses about 1.0 normally. Wonder what her deal is...

This was what Hana was known for back in her pro days. Seeing a flaw in an opponent’s defense and breaking it wide open. But she needed to remember she only just met this girl, who would soon be her teammate. Maybe save that for another day. 

“Well, Lindholm. As long as you stay clear of my mech, I don’t see a reason we should have problems working together. What’s your specialty?”

Brigitte perked up at the change of subject.

“Support. Both base level engineering support and in the field. I've got my bachelor’s degree in mechanical engineering, and I’ve been working on Reinhardt’s gear for over a year now. Angela - I mean, Dr. Ziegler, is training me to be certified as a field medic.” 

“Tough job. Think you can handle the gore?”

A wry smile pulled at Brigitte’s lips, her head shaking back and forth in a small, bemused gesture as she placed her hands on her hips. 

“You don’t pull any punches do you, Lieutenant Song?”

D.Va crossed her arms, holding eye contact with Brigitte who matched her gaze with amusement. 

“The best shot caller in the world is just a loud piece of shit if her team isn’t up to the same standard. So yeah, I like to know who has my back and if she can handle herself.”

Brigitte regarded D.Va for a moment, her jaw working back and forth as if chewing on the approach she wanted to take in response.

“I’ve been patching up Reinhardt for a while now. If I’m honest though, I’m scared it’s not going to be enough one day. But that’s not what I need to focus on, and instead I’ll do the best I can to support the people here.”

The plain way Brigitte shared her apprehensions left Hana uncomfortable. She couldn’t imagine telling someone out loud she was afraid, especially on her first day. Though in truth, she herself felt scared shitless half the time while doing this work.

Brigitte’s smile was back. Did it ever leave that pretty face? It did suit her though, framed by the freckles and warm brown eyes. If this girl wasn’t built like a literal tank of 6 foot something muscle, Hana might have more apprehension about sending her out to fight Omnics and Talon. 

“Well Lieutenant Song, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time with my intrusion. Fareeha and Winston will be missing me very shortly for the rest of their planned orientation schedule,” Brigitte said as she carefully placed the ratchet she previously picked up back on the workstation, breaking the spell of awkward silence.

D.Va smirked, feeling tension leave her shoulders to match Brigitte’s playful demeanor. 

“Mmm, well now I understand why you were hiding down here.”

“Yes they are indeed quite enthusiastic and thorough with their material.”

She gave a wink and started to walk away, turning briefly to call over her shoulder.

“I noticed there was a small coolant leak under the left fusion cannon. Might get a bit sticky on the left hand.”

“Bye Brigitte, enjoy your 300 page orientation manual quiz.”

Brigitte waved once more and turned around, already so sure and familiar with the layout of the hangar and the base.

She’s just another Overwatch kid, and just another nosey engineer trying to get in my mech.

Hana lingered by her workstation, picking up the ratchet Brigitte had been fiddling with and thinking over their brief encounter again. 

Would this girl be a liability on the battlefield? Brigitte looked strong on the exterior, but then, so did Tokki. If you took away the mecha armor, inside was just a squishy human target bullets and fire could cut through like paper the second she was exposed and vulnerable.

Hana took a deep breath.

She walked around to the left fusion cannon and did indeed see the signs that a coolant leak was backing up inside the casing. Pretty subtle to spot with minimal visible damage to the exterior. 

Not bad, Lindholm.

D.Va pulled her headphones on, turning to her latest loop of pop songs to blast while she went to work removing the panels on the cannon to replace the broken coolant line. The task felt good, and helped her mind drift to thoughts other than her conversation in the hangar.

---

Hana didn’t see much of Brigitte the next few weeks. The new recruit was busy with training and learning mission protocols expected of field agents in addition to shifts with Mercy in the clinic to  fulfill the certifications Brigitte was required to complete. Hana would see her sometimes at dinner, often in a spirited conversation with Reinhardt or Lena. It seemed to take Brigitte no time at all to fit in amongst the old guard, but it seemed that’s what being the favorite niece of pretty much every person here would get you. 

Hana would half listen to their stories, always feeling awkward and out of place amongst their banter. Overwatch was like a family, but she was more like the stranger invited as someone’s plus one. Everyone seemed to have an ingrained familiarity with each other. A single word could trigger a whole series of anecdotes every person around had some personal insight to add on to. 

Remember this! 

Oh how is so and so?  

Damn, that was 5 years ago already? 

Even on her squad in Korea, she never had what they people here seemed to have. Dae-hyun was a close childhood friend and followed her into the MEKA squad, but the other pilots were a different story. There was always a bit of friction and distance with the rest of her teammates because of their history as pro-gamer competitors forced into an arrangement as teammates. It never really gelled beyond cordial coworker relationships. Hana’s celebrity status didn’t help either, only adding another barrier between herself and the others. The fame of D.Va closed her off in access to most people unless they were on the other side of a screen, and then they only saw a polished up version of herself. 

Not exactly the best way to get close to people.

Sometimes she was curious to learn more when she heard the Overwatch stories, but she always stopped herself before saying anything. It was easier to pull out her phone and queue up a game. Easy to pull back and ignore them, and usually they left her alone to do it.

She was okay with that. She was okay with keeping Hana and D.Va separate. She was okay with only polite greetings and trite platitudes. She didn’t need to know about the times from before, or what her Overwatch teammates did on the weekends. She just needed them to listen to her in the field and leave her room to make her plays. Like every time she started a new game, she didn’t have to focus on the past, or what others thought, she just had to focus on the objective in front of her. It’s what got the job done and what kept her alive.

---

Brigitte kept her word to stay out of Hana’s mech. She set up her own work station on the other side of the hangar where she worked on Reinhardt’s gear as well as her own. Hana would sometimes see the blue flash of a shield out of the corner of her eye over the hum of diagnostic scans or smell the burn of sparks from welding. 

One day curiosity got the best of her when she heard the loud, repetitive pounding of a hammer on metal and she wandered across the hangar. 

“You’re doing that by hand?”

Brigitte stopped working when she heard the voice behind her, the deafening echo silenced on the metal shoulder guard she was beating against.

“On this armor I do. Reinhardt’s gear is special from the time it was made. It has to be maintained with some older techniques.”

“Why?”

Brigitte looked at her surprised for a moment then laughed, loud and warm. 

“You know, I wondered the same at first. It’s a bit of the way this armor is made, modern techniques can be too harsh on it, interestingly enough. Too precise and it becomes too fragile.”

“That doesn’t sound true,” D.va said.

“Oh, questioning my methods huh? Well, maybe the truth is more I didn’t originally have the right gear out in the field, and Reinhardt didn’t have much modern tech either, so the only way to do it was by hand. But it’s nice actually to keep doing it this way, I like getting my hands dirty with it. Helps me relax.”

“See that I believe.”

“Well, I’m glad I have your approval, Lieutenant Song.”

D.Va rolled her eyes, but smiled a little.

“I told you before, you can just call me Hana. Although, I do like the respect of authority.”

“Lieutenant suits you.”

Hana smirked a little at the complement, turning to pick something up on a nearby table. She picked up one of Brigitte’s gauntlets, slipping it on her hand. Her arm sagged under the weight, the glove coming up well above her elbow.

“Is it exhausting wearing all this armor? How do you run around with it on? I can barely lift this thing.”

“There’s movement assist when the unit is turned on. But I mean, I think I can handle it.” 

Brigitte smirked as she made a show of flexing her well defined arms, and Hana couldn’t help but gawk a bit before she turned back to fiddling with the glove. 

“Um, yeah I uh, noticed you seem to be in good shape.”

“Oh yeah?” Brigitte was smirking, clearly enjoying the slight fluster she was causing in her new teammate. Hana put the glove back on the table and gave Brigitte a light shove on the arm.

“Oh give me a break, you know you’re buff. Do you even own a shirt with sleeves?”

“I’m very familiar with OW 2.0’s handbook, and the dress code is quite lax about on-base personal attire. But, mostly I just like hearing you complement me.”

Hana rolled her eyes. “Well, I’m glad you’re strong enough to move your ass around in this armor so you can protect my blindspots while I’m doing all the real heavy lifting.”

Brigitte laughed again. Hana couldn’t help but smile too at the warm sound. Brigitte’s whole face lit up, and her eyes crinkled around the edges. No wonder she was the favorite niece.

“Fair. I’ve seen your battle footage and some news clips when you were back in Korea. You’re so strong, I doubt you even need me.”

“Ah, another fan of D.Va. Well, who can blame you,” Hana said with a flick of her hair. She continued to walk around Brigitte’s workstation, picking up random pieces of armor. Brigitte didn’t seem to mind.

“Actually Reinhardt was the real die hard D.Va fan. We used to always have a stash of the instant noodles with your face on them in our rig. Great shelf life. I’m surprised he hasn’t asked you for an autograph yet.”

“Well he’s one to talk! Did you know, when I was a kid there was a Reinhardt special edition line of noodles? I remember I tried them once and they had such a weird flavor. It was like ketchup and curry powder or something. He had a pretty big fanbase in Korea actually.”

“Hah! I didn’t know that, but I’d believe it. There’s been so much Overwatch merchandise over the years, I’ve lost track. They were such celebrities back in the day.”

“Yeah.”

Hana knew a thing or two about having her image used for propaganda. She wondered for a moment what it was like for Brigitte, growing up amongst the same environment, but removed from the center of it. An image of her laughing in the cafeteria with the old guard flashed through her mind. She decided it must have not been too bad, and refrained from asking the question.

“Okay well, I’ll leave you to your meditative, hammer time. I need to get back to my mech anyway, I’ve got a mission tomorrow morning,” Hana said, turning to leave. Brigitte let out a long sigh, slumping into a chair. 

“Oh, it must be nice to leave the base.”

Hana stopped in her tracks, curious again, hearing such an outburst from Brigitte. She turned around and poked one of Brigitte’s large muscles near her shoulder.

“Oh come on, don’t be dramatic. You’ll be done with your training block soon. Fareeha is just, really particular before she lets anyone out on a mission. It took almost two months, and me breaking every score in the simulators for her to let me out in the field.”

“I know, I know. It just sucks sometimes feeling like everyone is being overprotective of me. I can handle myself, I’m not a little kid.”

Hana couldn’t help but give a little hmphf sound, her lips pulling down at the corners. 

“Yeah, I get that feeling. You can’t speed up time though, you just have to grind it out.”

Hana wasn’t normally one for listening to whining, but she thought Brigitte looked quite cute while she pouted, her arms crossed tight against her torso and her lip jutted out. It was hard not to laugh at the sight a bit, but Hana held her tongue. She really did know how it felt to want to prove yourself.

“Hey come on, there’s plenty of work you’re doing here that’s valuable. And when you’re ready, you’ll get called up and out there with the rest of us.”

Brigitte took a deep breath, seeming to blow out the negative feelings in one dramatic sigh. When she straightened up in her chair she seemed to be in better spirits, smiling at Hana again.

“You probably know better than anyone how to do that. Thanks Lieutenant, I’ll try. Let me know if my hammering gets too distracting. I can always go find something else to do.”

“It’s fine. I hardly noticed.”

“Well in that case, I’ll just be over here until dinner time.”

---

A few days later Hana almost threw her computer across the hangar. 

“Why is this piece of shit so useless!”

The MEKA diagnostic program she used to keep Tokki up to date was crashing every five minutes when she tried to run a scan of the system. It had slowly been degrading the last few weeks and after the latest mission it apparently decided it had enough. She tried every trick she knew, both from working on the mech for years and everything she could think of on her personal gaming rig, but she only had rudimentary coding skills and was vastly out of her depth.

“Everything okay?”

Brigitte’s gentle voice called out from a few feet away as she had stopped her own work to come see D.Va’s meltdown.

“Everything’s fine. Except I’m going to have to go throw this piece of crap, and then myself, in the ocean.”

“Sounds like a costly solution. What’s going on?”

“It’s fine. I’m fine, I don’t need anyone’s help.”

She could feel Brigitte’s sympathetic look burning into her cheek and hated it.

“Okay no problem. I’m around though, just let me know if you want an extra set of eyes.”

Hana stared at the email she had sent to Dae-Hyun the day before that still had no response. She knew her mech’s hardware inside and out, but he was the one who really handled all the intense computer program internals. She was out of her depth here and needed him to call her so she could get this thing working again, but he wasn’t answering. Maybe he was deployed somewhere or too busy with a social life now that she was gone. 

She had decided to come here for Overwatch. So maybe she should trust Overwatch.

“Brigitte, wait a minute.”

The other girl paused and turned, only having walked a few feet away from D.Va’s workstation.

“I could probably use some help here, if you’re still offering?”

Brigitte smiled, but it was more muted than her usual mega watt grin. Hana appreciated that she wasn’t making a big deal about it. 

God, why is this girl so nice.

“Definitely.”

Brigitte walked around the workbench where Hana set up her computer station and listened to the general description of the problems. As Hana started clicking through screens to show the protocol she usual ran, Brigitte held up a hand to make her stop.

“I understand what you’re saying, but looking at the text, I can’t read Korean. Does it have a translation setting?” “I doubt it. This thing was only meant to be used by the Korean MEKA squad.” Hana felt her stomach drop at how quick her hopes of getting this programming running were already dashed.

“Well lucky for us, Overwatch has some very robust translation tech we can utilize.” “Really? It’s not the AI is it? I’ve been so resistant to letting her in my computer.”

“That would be one possibility, but there are some more localized options we have. I’ve had to do this once or twice on one of my papa’s projects.”

“How long will it take?” “Don’t know! Could take a while, I’m not going to lie to you, especially with your program already acting buggy. But don’t worry Lieutenant, we’ll sort you out.”

Hana groaned, already having major doubts about letting Brigitte mess with her tech. But she didn’t have a lot of options, and this was probably the least embarrassing choice on the table at the moment. 

Brigitte moved back and forth between D.Va’s workstation and her own across the hangar, gathering cables and a laptop she would use to debug the system. Hana watched over Brigitte’s shoulder for a while, monitoring her work to get the translation program working on the MEKA diagnostic software. 

“Where’d you learn to do this type of thing?”

“Back in college. I had to learn a certain amount of coding for my major, but I helped out Winston some in his lab on campus and he taught me a lot of tricks too.”

“Jesus, is there literally anyone on this fucking base you don’t have some personal connection with?” 

Hana stepped away from the computer and dropped down into an empty chair with a huff, spinning the chair on its axis in erratic circles.

Brigitte stopped typing and watched Hana’s tantrum. “It bothers you that I’ve got a close connection to Overwatch?”

Hana did not reply, but crossed her arms and let out a frustrated sigh. Brigitte’s gaze held her for a moment but eventually shifted back to the computer screen as she seemed to weigh her thoughts on how to respond.

“Why did you leave the MEKA squad to join Overwatch?” she asked finally. “It doesn’t have the best history as an organization, you know.”

Hana stopped spinning to look at the side of Brigitte’s face, who’s eyes were still trained on the laptop screen. “Well it’s better to actually be in a fight than on the sidelines.”

Brigitte stopped what she was doing and turned to face D.va. “You’re the best pilot in the MEKA program. Why would you be sidelined?”

Hana let out a bitter laugh. “Best pilot? I was more than that. I was the face of the fucking Korean army! Which eventually meant I was too valuable to be an actual soldier.” Hana stood up walking to the end of the workbench, reaching out to touch one of her mecha’s guns. She couldn’t see Brigitte, but she could feel the other girl watching her.

“I got real banged up in a fight with the Gwishin. Like, probably should have died kind of banged up. I was out of action for months. After that, the army realized they couldn’t let the poster girl for their success stories die in an actual fight. So they moved me off the Busan base and deployed me to lead baby fights happening inland, but whose sole purpose was really just a photo op.”

Hana balled her fist in anger at her side, remembering how awful it hurt seeing images of herself on television in all those epic battle sequences, reporters singing praises of heroism, only to know the real truth that it was all a fabricated lie. She couldn’t stand it.

“So when Winston and Lena came to my apartment and asked me to join the new Overwatch, it was a no brainer. My piloting skills are too valuable to just be sidelined in a studio with a green screen.”

The MEKA squad team was fairly understanding when she told them. The same couldn’t be said for her commanding officers, but as D.Va, the amount of influence and money at her disposal proved sufficient for a smooth enough transition.

“I believed this was my shot to get back in the fight. So even if there’s some bad history there, this is a new chance for me, and I am ready to deal with any fallout.” 

Text whizzed by in the background of the computer screen as the console spat out a continuous stream of logs from the program Brigitte fired off as she listened in silence. 

“I never liked Overwatch. I still don’t,” Brigitte finally said.

Hana turned to face her, very confused. 

“Really? But, you’re like, one of the legacy kids.”

“All that means is I know more of the gritty details and seen firsthand the way people I love were chewed up by this place.”

Hana’s brow furrowed in thought, crossing her arms as she focused on Brigitte. Hana had been so taken in by all the happy scenes in the mess hall and around the base, she hadn’t even thought about the implications and complications that must have been a part of Brigitte’s life. She was so good at always putting on a bright face, how could she have known? 

Brigitte took a deep breath, looking weary as she took a moment to gather her thoughts. 

“When I was a kid, it was like I was one of those audience members you talked about. I was told all the best stories about heroes and villains, and it so happened that my family were literally starring as those heroes. But when I was a little older, I started learning more about history, and the other side of things. The PETRAS act. In fighting and war crimes. Blackwatch. Angela’s medical tech weaponized against her wishes, by my own father it turns out. Winston and Tracer buried under so much red tape, I’m honestly surprised they were ever allowed to leave a military base of their own free will. And Reinhardt... He’s a lot like you, I think. Brave, loyal, too stubborn to be just the face of a movement without putting his own skin on the line. Not when there’s something bigger than himself he believes in.”

A deep sigh, and an almost painful expression crossed her face.

“So no, I don’t like Overwatch. But I also can’t sit on the sidelines while they risk their lives, knowing I can help them. They’re my family. So here I am. Family can be complicated, ya know?” 

Before Hana could come up with something to say, the computer dinged behind them. Brigitte tapped on the keys, reading quickly when a smile crossed her lips. 

“Look at that, perfectly legible Swedish.”

“It’s fixed?” Hana hurried over to look at the computer screen.

“Well, the translation program is running. Now I need to actually debug your diagnostics program.”

“Ughhhh, I’m never going to leave this place.”

Brigitte chuckled. “Don’t worry, we’ll get it done. Feel free to go get some dinner if you want. This will take a while.”

“No way I’m going to leave you here all alone!”

“I promise I won’t touch Tokki.”

“It’s not...it’s not that, Brigitte. I just don’t feel right strolling off to dinner while you’re stuck here fixing my shit.”

Brigitte smiled.

“Okay. I definitely don’t mind the company.”

---

Hana tried to keep up with what Brigitte was talking about as she debugged the code. And she could follow along, for a while. Eventually she was way too lost to feel useful, and didn’t want to distract Brigitte while she was fixing the issues, so she retreated to a nearby futon against a wall. It was well past midnight, and Hana’s eyes were starting to droop. Brigitte drank one of the Dva branded nano cola energy drinks a while ago and seemed to be completely in the zone. 

The next thing Hana knew there was a strip of bright light in her eyes as the sun started to stream in through a window in the hangar. Hana stretched to pull out the discomfort her back protested with from not being in her bed, but it was really not that unfamiliar, considering some of the positions she’d fallen asleep at her gaming computer before. A blanket was draped across her body she didn’t remember picking up when laid down on the futon. She was all alone in the hangar and her watch told her it was just after 5am. 

“Brigitte?”

No one answered.

She sat up, noticing an unopened water bottle and energy bar laid out on the ground beside her futon with a little sticky note.

“Give it a go, Lt - Brig”

Hana scooped up the rations and dropped in front of the dark screen of her laptop. When she started up the terminal screen, her diagnostic programming kicked off like it normally did. All in Korean. 

The screen showed exactly where an electric circuit was tripping in the defense matrix grid of the mech, which had been glitching in the field the last few days. Hana noticed the parts and tools needed to complete the fix laid out on the workbench neatly, but when she poked her head in the mech, it remained untouched.

She smiled to herself.

“Kept her word to stay out of Tokki. These Overwatch kids are too much sometimes.”

D.Va pulled the panel off her mech and got to work.

----

At dinner that night, Hana spotted Brigitte in the mess hall with Reinhardt, Tracer and Winston. Brigitte gave her a wink when she noticed her. Hana got her meal and sat beside her, leaving her phone in her pocket for once.

“Thanks for the help with Tokki, Brigitte. Works like a charm now.”

“It was my pleasure, Lieutenant Song.” Brigitte’s smile was kind, her expression gentle and warm. Hana noticed this close up Brigitte’s eyes were lighter around the edges, and she had a few more freckles on her left cheek than the right.

“Did I just ‘ear you call ‘ana Lieutenant?” Lena cut in. “She’s ‘Lieutenant’, but I can’ get none of you to call me Captain? Double standards round ‘ere, I tell ya what.”.

“Well, Hana was a more recent officer in her respective position, while you have been discharged from the RAF for several years now.”

“Who’s side you on Win!? Those ranks don’t expire!”

Brigitte chuckled, whipping her head around to look at Tracer’s shaking her hand dramatically in the air, eyes downcast in an over acted, scandalized look. Hana also let out a small giggle.

“Your rank on the flight simulator scoreboard sure did,” Hana said, poking her tongue out with a playful smirk at Tracer. Brigitte, Reinhardt and Winston all laughed.

“She’s got you there, Lena,” Brigitte said.

“The youth of today. Ruthless.” Tracer grabbed a fist over her heart as if shot in the chest by a bullet.

“You know, back in my days of Overwatch…”

Reinhardt started in on one of his specially tailored stories for whatever situation was at hand, this case a very detailed recount of the first time he granted a field promotion in the Crusaders. Brigitte sighed, correcting inaccuracies she heard along the way, giving a wink to Hana when Brigitte’s presence in the story was pulled into the story much later on.

Lena took up the torch after that, remembering a time she accidentally flew into restricted airspace and managed to sweet talk her way out of being shot down. They all took turns sharing more elaborate one ups from their time before Overwatch. Hana even volunteered a story, sharing the time she convinced Dae-hyun to set Tokki up to stream a battle with the omnics. She broke her single day subscriber count in under one hour.

They all laughed well into the night, and for the first time Hana really started to feel like part of the team.

---

Thank you for reading! Please leave a comment if you enjoyed!

[my-timing-is-digital]

If there was someone he confided in unconditionally, it would be Picard; he had supported him where others had questioned his autonomy, he had defended him where others had objected to the validity of his capabilities, he had demanded reverence and equality where others had patronised and degraded him. And, as his superior, Data had seldom, if ever, challenged Picard's decisions, his intuition, his years of experience, and therefore, the claim that he was convinced that Dahj was the android's daughter, which had yet to be confirmed by empirical data, somehow made sense to him — he trusted him. Besides, he saw no logic in someone creating an android that was the facsimile of his painting titled "Daughter", but subsequently not relating her to him. He could only hope the test would pop up positive, because regardless of his good intentions, zeal and determination, he could not replicate an other Soong-type android, despite being one himself. He could repair others and fashion substitute components, but constructing a live specimen from scratch seemed to be beyond his comprehension, his abilities. Perhaps he required the one thing he had never fully mastered: humanity and all its nuances that were, and always would be, lost to him. He supposed it would be a consolation to humanoids to know that despite their independence, AI still relied on human expertise and inventiveness, impulsiveness to build stable and sentient androids — at least, for now...

With this newly harvested information, Data focused on Dahj again and without engaging in supplemental ambivalences regarding her origin, scooped her up in his arms, carrying her like a father would his child who had claimed they could stay up late but practice proved the contrary.

'This way, sir,' Data said, having risen to his full height and exited the transporter room with Picard in his wake.

The infirmary was vacant, as could be expected on a ship where androids and digital AI constituted the ship's complement. Fortunately, the lack of organic patients did not render the EMH less accommodating — cranky, for sure, but he was still as helpful as he had been during his time serving aboard Voyager.

The scathing remark the EMH spat at Picard caused Data to make an oh-dear,-here-we go-again face, but discontinued the expression when the holographic doctor diverted his attention to him. Although Data respected the sentient and emotional capable computer simulated physician, his sarcasm and acerbity was still situated far beyond the boundaries of Data's comprehension and made it a challenge to communicate with him; data always struggled to navigate his way through their conversations when the Doctor embarked on one of his infamous caustic rampages — Lore, on the other hand... Fortunately, the EMH's proficiency and expertise in his field and the general knowledge he had accumulated during his time on Voyager had aided them on multiple occasions.

'I was not planning to turn the retrieval of organics into a recurring behavioural pattern,' the android assured him as he carefully unloaded his arms. 'But this is my former Captain: Captain Jean-Luc Picard,' he added with a tinge of sincere veneration, of esteem, audible in his voice and visible in the way he glanced up at Picard. 'And as for your patient, she is... an android. We should run a diagnostic on her systems to determine whether she is malfunctioning — it appeared that an emotional overload destroyed her synthetic epidermal layer. And in addition, I will run a program of my own to establish whether we are related or not.'

Data temporarily abandoned the Romulan biobed to produce the equipment necessary to conduct his examination and engaged the console — Soteria's code flashed, unobtrusively, on the terminal screen, reporting for duty, should he require her assistance.

Data's lack of enthusiasm wasn't particularly telling, but there was something akin to hope in his cadence. He paused after thanking him, something wholly unnecessary, and asked if she was similar to Lal. Picard had the immediate desire to confirm it, but he paused--he'd spent decades conversing with people who were less precise, less literal than Data. Given the sensitive nature of this revelation, he owed it to Data to be as accurate as he could. Was she like Lal? In the most superficial senses, perhaps. Picard couldn't begin to speculate on how she was made, he'd never seen anything like her. He had a sense of her maturity, her emotional pallet, but he didn't know her personality beyond the fragments of normalcy that cropped up between emergencies. Pragmatically, he knew she was capable of impressive feats. She had broken through security systems without detection, including Starfleet's and the excessively redundant system at his home. Tracking him across Earth was no easy task and Dahj hadn't even seemed to realize she'd done it. And she'd fought off two Zhat Vash squads (albeit with some assistance on the second). So: no, she wasn't. She didn't comport herself like an android. She had been so scared when he met her, alone and desperate, trespassing on a stranger's land a thousand miles from her home. She said she knew his face, that she would be safe with him and Picard believed her. Even Number 1 hadn't considered her a threat. …But simply 'not being a threat' didn't necessarily make her Data's daughter? "I can't say for certain," Picard hedged. "But when I first sat down with her, there was an impossible familiarity about it." He let out a huff of a laugh and looked back at Data rather than at Dahj's face. "I was quite willing to stake my life on her identity, even without proof," he added and, unfortunately, had nothing more concrete to offer. "Perhaps I am just an old fool, but I believe she is." Lingering, bent over the two of them, was starting to take a toll on his lower back. Picard stood upright again with a soft sound of discomfort as he settled into a more fitting posture. He glanced over his shoulder at the architecture of the room. He knew the basic layout of a warbird, but he had never been in one quite so contemporary.

"You mentioned an infirmary?" Picard asked and turned back to find Data already lifting the unconscious Dahj and standing once more. Picard stepped back and gestured for him to lead the way. The warbird was certainly a choice and Picard couldn't stop himself from inventorying the systems and the security as they walked. Briefly, he wished he had Laris or Zhaban here to assess the situation, but even without them, Picard could tell that wherever Lore had 'purloined' it from had definitely been a high security installation. Not one object onboard had a visible identification number--extremely unusual for a Romulan vessel, particularly a military one. This particular Warbird had been a prototype, once upon a time. Was it taken from the same location Data had been abducted to? Lore had implied as much but Picard was and would forever remain hesitant to take the unbalanced android at his word. Just imagining Data, captive for decades with none of them the wiser--it left a hollow feeling in his gut. He'd failed him as both a Captain and a friend and he had no doubt that all the others--all of his found family from the Enterprise--would feel a similar creeping regret. It was something he would have to make ammends for, once this business with the Zhat Vash was concluded. He did not relish asking Data to recount the events of that captivity, but that could be delayed a while yet. The infirmary wasn't a great distance from the transporter room and, as they crossed the threshold, a hologram materialized at the far end of the room. The emitters were clearly Starfleet, and Picard couldn't help but glance at the ceiling to attempt to identify them. But he wasn't an engineer. Once he'd failed to spot them, he looked instead to Data. Data moved across the room and carefully deposited the unconscious Dahj on one of the Romulan biobeds. The hologram strode up to the bedside as Data did, looking on with blase curiosity. He was Starfleet as well, and just as outdated as Picard.

"An EMH?" Picard asked Data and the hologram shot him an abrupt and pronounced dirty look. "By choice, thank you. Not that I'm often required on this particular ship," he said waspishly and retrieved a scanner from the dock on the bed. He shot Data a look that was impatient but placating, as though he were putting in real effort to be conversational. "It does give me time to pick up cybernetics."

He activated the scanner and clucked his tongue, something Picard had never seen an EMH do.

"Are we going to make it a habit to take organics onboard? Not that I'm complaining, I'll just have to dust off the old stocks of medication, maybe recharge one of the dermal regenerators." While his handheld scanned over Dahj, he cocked a brow at Data. "So, what is the nature of this particular medical emergency? Soteria mentioned him but not…whoever this is."

[goggles-mcgee]

Too Late: Alix (commission for miner249er)

Chapter 8 of the commission for @miner249er 

Previous Work

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Summary:  Alix's bad day at the end of a bad week, she just wants to be alone but she gets an unexpected visitor.

She could taste the salt of her tears and the metallic taste of blood from how hard she was biting her lip to keep her sobs under control. Alix Kubdel hardly ever cried, she hated crying, not because she thought it was weak or anything like that but personally she hated the feeling. She hated the way her eyes itched afterwards, the exhaustion that followed, and the headache that slowly made itself known. Then there was the way the dried tear stains felt on her face, like they were on display for all to see no matter how hard she scrubbed at her cheeks with her hands. Realistically she knew no one was home to see her tears but she couldn't help but feel like she had to get rid of her tears as fast as she could so no one could tell she had been crying. Jalil and her father were at the museum and would be there until closing so Alix would be home alone for a while but that did nothing to calm her worries. 

Alix needed to stop crying so she could put a cold washcloth over her eyes before her dad and brother got home so neither knew she cried, but it was so hard to stop when you started. Alix loved her dad, she really did, but he tried so hard to be there emotionally for her since her and Jalil's mother just decided she wanted to up and leave and see the world. Alix was young at the time but she knew it had hurt Jalil a lot though he never spoke about it much, but when Alix started growing her dad took it upon himself to try and be both parents in one. It was a nice sentiment but really she just needed her alone time. More so now that everything in her class had gone down and consequently blown up. 

Her dad had begun to hover more than usual around her, asking how she was, if everything was okay at school, if she needed to talk. And really, she got it, she did, but it was irritating her more than it was helping her and that just made her guilt grow. The feeling just grew day by day, never going away, never lessening, and Alix just wanted it to stop. She could deal with the stares her and her class got at school, she could even handle the pranks, the bullying wasn’t something new she had experienced but it had been a long time since she had to deal with it, but she would deal with it. What was eating at her was the guilt. She felt it when Marinette, who had been akumatized, came into their class and ripped into them and exposed Lila. Though that didn’t feel right, maybe she had felt it earlier but ignored it. 

When Lila had shown up Alix was a little skeptical of her, she seemed too good to be true, but then again so did most of her classmates. Adrien was Paris’s Golden Boy and Top Model, not to mention the Gabriel Brand’s face. Max was a genius who made his own AI who actually experienced emotions and Max was a video game tournament champion. Rose, Juleka, and Ivan were in a band together that had fans. Alya was recognized as the creator of the Ladyblog and at the time the one and only blog to have the scoop on anything Ladybug related and to have it Ladybug approved. Nino was a DJ and he was pretty well known amongst teens and on his YouTube. Nathaniel and Marc had a comic series that was beloved by Paris. Mylene’s dad was a well known local actor and Mylene was a favorite in the Drama club. Kim was the class’s all around athlete, the boy loved every sport and it seemed like every sport loved him. Sabrina’s dad was a well known officer and Chloe’s parents were known by all. 

Then there was Alix, and she didn’t want to sound like she was bragging but her dad was one of the lead Historians at the Louvre and she had won her fair share of skating competitions. Lastly there was Marinette, Marinette who had designed for Jagged Stone, Marinette who had her designs approved of the Style Queen and Gabriel Agreste. Marinette whose parents ran one of, if not the most popular Boulangerie in Paris. Clara Nightingale thought the world of her and so did many others, her kindness was brilliant if not worrisome. In short, Marinette Dupain-Cheng was an amazing human being that many looked up to, that many were maybe jealous of. 

Maybe that's why Alix and the class didn't question Lila when she came to the class spinning fantastic tales of tinnitus, kittens and best friends. Their class was full of amazing, capable, connected people, Lila was just another one, or so they believed. She sounded like another Marinette, or, and Alix hated to admit it, a better Marinette. Lila had more skills-yet only in name, she had more connections-the list grew day by day, she had better connections, and she was more genuine and reliable-her charities were more than enough proof...right? Alix would be lying if she said she wasn't impressed by the connections and thought about asking Lila to set up a meeting with her and her favorite skaters. Alix would have never thought to ask Marinette, even if she did have the connections, she couldn't really explain it well but asking Marinette would have made her feel bad. Marinette already did so much and they never really thanked her, and everytime Alix thought about it she would feel bad and worry that the girl was going to overwork herself. Then again, Marinette had never said no so the class just kept asking for favors and it really was no excuse but Alix would get caught up in excitement for things she wanted like banners or treats or a formal tux for events at the museum. Yet, there was just something about asking Marinette if it was possible for Alix and of course the class to meet Jagged Stone or Clara Nightingale. 

Then Lila came and offered to make all these connections happen. It...It was like she made it known she wouldn’t mind if you asked to make connections with someone you were interested in. It made guilt swim and settle in her stomach to remember thinking that she, they, didn’t really need Marinette anymore. Lila was better, Lila was more connected, Lila was flawed. Alix wasn’t stupid, she noticed the way Lila spoke, Lila was bragging but doing it subtlety by telling her stories. She was sure others noticed too, they had too, but then Marinette had said Lila was lying, and it wasn’t a one-off thing either. She claimed...no, she tried to warn them so often that they just took to ignoring her. Well...most took to just ignoring her, others got annoyed, played some pranks, but now that Alix thought of it Lila had suggested the pranks in a way that made it seem like it was the class’s idea. 

The more she remembered the sicker she felt and the more tears would fall. Marinette had always seemed perfect even with her clumsiness, it awed the class but she knew it also made them envious. So when Marinette had been warning them that Lila was lying and too good to be true, they ignored her or responded in hurtful ways because they could, because they felt just that bit better that Marinette wasn’t this perfect being of sweetness and talent and justice. It was bitter and horrible but Alix felt only a little better knowing she wasn’t the only one who felt like that, the girl group talked about it at sleepovers and even Kim and Max had admitted it to her. She wished she hadn’t been so star-struck or bitter, she wished she had been more willing to believe Marinette, but she dismissed her. Alix dismissed her friend out of awe for another, jealousy that she knew she had no real reason to feel, the words of others like Alya who said Marinette was only saying that Lila was a liar because the Italian was getting close to Adrien. 

She shouldn’t have placed all her belief that Alya or Max would fact check things and surely would have told them if Lila was actually the silver-tongued fox that Marinette claimed. Alix should have done her own research, after all, a good Historian checks their sources and gathers their own evidence, and in the words of Carl Sagan that seem to eerily apply to her class’s situation, “Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence.” The worst thing is Alix did check some things that Lila had claimed and when she found them to be false she just figured Lila must have forgotten details, or that she just wanted some attention and that surely her classmates also knew not to take everything at face value. But that’s what they did. That’s what they all did. 

Her dad wanted her to talk to a therapist about it, because even if she tried to hide how it was affecting her, he knew. He always did, and boy did that make her feel worse. Everything seemed to be making her feel worse. Then the bullying, because there really wasn’t anything else to call it, that happened today in the park was just the cherry on top of her “bad” day. Nino and Alya had been absent again, everyone just seemed so lifeless, and the stares and the snide remarks were just too much to handle today. Alix was grateful that Aurore and Mireille had stood up for her but some part of her wished they didn’t, some part of her believed she deserved it. ‘No one deserves to be bullied.’ She could hear Marinette say in her mind and that made the tears run faster. 

Alix curled a blanket around her small form as she wept and clutched it to her chest as close as she could. She didn’t even have the energy to grab one of the few stuffed plushies she had, she remembered fondly teasing Rose about her favorite unicorn plushie and the bet they had made about Marinette and her love-life yet again. That seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was a happy time and Alix yearned for that familiarity and carefree happiness back. She would do anything to just go back and do it all over, she had even planned on it before she remembered she no longer had her family watch that had actually been a Miraculous. Her future self had it, which is still something she hadn’t told her father, but like so many times before, Alix wished she still had it.

If she did she would...she would obviously go back before any of this happened. She would make sure Marinette never got akumatized. How she would ensure that she didn’t know but she felt like it would have to do with Lila. Maybe she would just make it so Lila never transferred to Collège Françoise Dupont. If she couldn’t do that then she would just make sure no one believed Lila’s lies! Anything! She would do anything if it meant getting Marinette back and being her friend again. She took that friendship for granted...and that was a mistake she was living with and hated immensely. She hated Lila Rossi. Most importantly, she hated herself for not doing more, for not questioning more, and for not believing in Marinette more. It was those thoughts that wrenched another sob from her and made her pull the blanket in her hands closer to smother the sound of her sobs. 

Before she could have even begun to think about getting up and trying to make herself look like she didn’t just cry her eyes out, Alix felt a weird energy that made her sit up and look around. It felt like every hair on her body was raised, goosebumps raised in a wave and there was just this thing, this static, this energy that made her nose twitch. Then a noise appeared, it popped into existence before it changed to a sort of whirring sound and finally, finally Alix saw a ring of blue begin to open up in the middle of her room. She watched even when the light from the familiar looking portal started to hurt her eyes, she watched until she saw Bunnyx come fully out of the portal, and she watched as said portal disappeared before she made her move. 

“Hey mini-me-” Alix didn’t waste a second before she launched herself at her older self and hugged her and just cried whatever tears she had left. If she was here maybe there was something they could do. Maybe that’s why Bunnyx was here because she needed Alix’s help and all of this would just be a horrible nightmare of a memory. 

“Hey, hey, hey. What’s wrong mini-me? Wait...nevermind, I remember. Do you want to talk about it?” Bunnyx asked as she led them to Alix’s bed and sat them on the edge before letting her transformation drop. 

“No.” Alix sniffled. “Yes. But like, you know what happened so wouldn’t it be pointless?” 

“It’s more like my brain reboots the memories of whatever timeline I’m in, so in a way I remember but not everything. I remember sadness. I remember some vague, mean and cliche kids being bullies. I just don’t remember the specifics.” Bunnyx, since it was easier to refer to her as Bunnyx than just future Alix, explained. 

“Yeah...I mean it’s nothing I-we haven’t dealt with before but with the whole Marinette akuma and disappearance thing happening...it’s like everyone feels like they have some kind of justification for bullying, I mean they’ve shoved me and Rose into lockers for crying out loud! As if that would be something Marinette would be okay with! Everything! The whole world just...it’s wrong now that she’s gone.” Alix lamented as she stood up and paced the space in front of her bed. “But that’s why you’re here right? We’re going to go fix this, right?”

Alix watched as Bunnyx gave her a sad smile before closing her eyes and shaking her head, it looked like the energy was just sapped from her. “No. I came because-”

“No? What do you mean ‘no?’ This-this timeline is wrong! It’s-It’s wrong and broken and we need to fix it.” 

“Alix...there’s nothing we can do about the past in this timeline. This timeline was already born, maybe even before us, and we can’t just go back and try to change it. There is always a price to pay when it comes to time. We could make it worse, or destroy it. There’s a reason why we didn’t get our Miraculous until we were older, and there’s a reason why our Miraculous is the Miraculous of the last defense. Miraculous cannot be used for selfish means.” 

“How is making sure Marinette never got akumatized selfish? How is maybe making it so Lila Rossi never came to our school selfish? That sounds like problems solved to me.”

“Those things aren’t what are putting this timeline in danger, mini-me.” Bunnyx said with such confidence and full of such sorrow and anxiety it made Alix’s own frenzied thoughts halt. 

“What do you mean,” Alix asked carefully as she sat beside Bunnyx. “This timeline is in danger?”

Bunnyx took in a shaky breath before she spoke. “I had a dream about this timeline, and a dream for us is really more of a possibility. It’s not exactly a premonition because it doesn’t have to happen but the probability of it happening is...higher than it should be. In the dream I saw a war. And not a typical one which is bad to say.”

“A war.” The words left Alix in a rush along with her breath.

“A war. A war that if not stopped will cover this world in darkness and death. The one who starts the war...I can never see them clearly, they are in the skies, but they feel familiar and at the same time they’re a stranger to me. To us. I saw fire, so much fire, and the air was filled with roars and screeches that shook the earth. I can’t go too much in detail but I also didn’t see much to begin with, but when I had this...dream, this vision, I knew I had to warn someone.”

“And that was me?” 

“Ladybug wasn’t an option this time...you’re the only one I can count on, the only one I can warn mini-me.” Bunnyx confessed.

“What...what am I supposed to do? I don’t even have a Miraculous! I’m...I can’t even get up the nerve to tell dad and Jalil to shut up when they’re fighting. Whether it be about Egyptian history or about whether Agreste Senior was Hawkmoth or not. Their fighting has gotten worse too! What am I supposed to do?” Alix could feel her panic rising. She understood why Bunnyx warned her but at the same time she wished she hadn’t. Alix was just a kid dealing with bullies. What could she do that could help prevent some horrific war?

“You’ll figure it out Alix, we always do. I believe in you, which is kind of you believing in yourself already but, you need to believe in yourself too kiddo. I know you feel angry, and sad, and guilty. You made a mistake and it seems like you know that, and accept it, but you also need to forgive yourself or you’ll be stuck in the past. And that’s no way to live.” Bunnyx stood from her place on the bed before nodding her head at Alix’s desk where she saw a floating creature. It probably would have freaked her out if she hadn’t felt so mentally and emotionally drained. She watched as Bunnyx called for her transformation and opened a portal. 

“How will I know what to do?” 

“You’ll know, we have good gut-instincts, listen to them. I promise mini-me, we can get through this.” 

Alix watched as Bunnyx left through her portal and there was still panic but mostly she just felt numb, but she couldn’t ignore the voice in the back of her head that was trying to connect Marinette’s akumatization and disappearance with what future her had just told her about. Maybe it was just her further obsessing over those events and wanting them to be the root of the problem because that would justify her anger and pain, or maybe it was instinct. 

[gumnut-logic]

Callisto (Part Eleven - Them)

Prologue 1. Incident - Bit 1 | Bit 2 2. Fallout - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 3. Voyage - Bit 1 | Bit 2 | Bit 3 4. Arrival - Bit 1 | Bit 2 5. Orientation 6. Rescue Site 7. Investigation 8. Recovery 9. Retreat 10. Capture 11. Them

Some reveal in this one, lots of worry and some discovery. John is not a happy boy.

As always, many thanks to @scribbles97​​ @janetm74​​ @vegetacide​​ and @tsarinatorment​​ for all their amazing support. you guys rock ::hugs you to bits::

Tonight is a bit of a posting night. I will be posting the last chapter of The Cane shortly as soon as I finish proofing it :D Yay, for finishing things :D Callisto is currently at 45,000 words.

In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one.

-o-o-o-

Alan was out of his pod, screaming Scott’s name, but his brother was gone. The water as still as before.

“Alan! Status!” John’s voice was as panicked as Alan had ever heard it.

“Scott’s gone.” He dashed over to Virgil. His big brother was crumpled in a heap. In the low gravity, Scott’s shove had been enough to throw him up against the rock wall. “John, I need you.”

“FAB.”

Virgil was unconscious.

Again.

A quick scan and his vitals were good. There would be bruising ...as if his brother needed more. But there was nothing broken, thank god.

A scan of the still unconscious director proved her to be stable as well.

He shifted Virgil into a safer recovery position.

“Eos, can we scan the lake?” He eyed where his big brother had vanished.

“No. I can get no data beyond approximately ten metres below the surface. It is very frustrating.”

Alan continued to stare at the surface and its glass stillness. “Can you locate Scott?”

“John has already pinpointed the Commander. He has joined the other life form below the lake’s surface. There is no comms response from the Commander.” The AI managed to sound both worried and frustrated.

“Are there any other life signs in the area?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

There was a pause. “There is no life as defined by the search parameters programmed into Thunderbird Five’s sensors on the moon beyond what has already been accounted for by International Rescue and Callisto Base personnel. Did you wish me to change those parameters?”

Alan swallowed as the third dragonfly buzzed into the cave. “ I think we’re going to have to. There is something down here.”

-o-o-o-

“We can’t leave him!”

“We’re not leaving him, Alan. We need to get the director and Virgil back to base.”

“But Scott-“

“He’s alive. We will do everything we can, but first we need medical attention for Virgil and the Director and to gather more information to better understand what we are dealing with.”

Virgil groaned and dragged a hand to his face. There was an oxygen mask in all its cold and moist glory and he shoved it off.

The elastic caught in his hair.

“Virgil!”

The pounding in his head was so loud, he could barely hear above it. There were hurried footsteps and someone ...Alan, it had to be Alan...touched his arm.

“Virgil, are you with us?” John’s melodious voice appeared on his other side and echoed through his aching head.

“You gonna open your eyes for us?” Alan sounded worried.

Open his eyes? Oh, yeah. A flicker and suddenly his retinas were assailed by the red of Three’s tiny infirmary.

A sigh. What the hell had happened now?

God, his head hurt.

“Alan, get us back to Base.” John’s voice was calm and quiet but had that tone of command.

There was quiet for a moment as the infirmary walls faded in and out of focus, roiling Virgil’s stomach.

A sigh and his little brother acknowledged John with an exhaled FAB before leaving Virgil’s bedside with soft footfalls.

Hands strapped him into the bed, fingers brushing gently across the surface of his uniform before landing ever so softly on his temple. “Rest, Virgil.” His hair was brushed off his forehead, the fine grip on John’s glove catching strands. “You’re safe.”

Virgil let out a sigh and closed his eyes, willing his head to stop pounding.

Perhaps it was a sign of the severity of whatever had happened to him, that he didn’t realise there was a voice and a touch missing until he was caught in the spiral of pain-induced exhaustion.

The question of a missing big brother followed him into an uneasy sleep.

-o-o-o-

Berry for his eldest son.

It was an exchange Jeff wasn’t sure he was willing to make.

But the thought was arrested before he could consider it further, knowing that Scott would admonish him for even thinking it.

But in the depths of his soul, the father in him was screaming.

Berry was off loaded from Three and onto the gantry, quickly followed by an equally prone Virgil. His engineer son was only asleep according to John, but with Scott missing, Jeff found himself clinging to his second eldest regardless.

The automatic cams on the Dragonflies had picked up what had happened. It was blatantly obvious there was something with purpose at work, something not human, possibly sentient.

The word ‘aliens’ bounced back and forth in his head.

Virgil was returned to the spot in the infirmary he had left barely an hour ago. Gordon sitting on the bed Jeff had restricted him to, stared at his co-pilot with worried eyes. Alan, equally as worried, sat down beside his fish brother and Gords wrapped his good arm around him.

Virgil was ever so quiet.

Berry was surrounded by the Base doctors, a curtain pulled around her bed, hiding her from the rest of them.

Jeff had the urge to shove it all aside and demand answers.

John had an IR medscanner out and was scanning his brother again. He spoke up without Jeff having to ask. “He’s sleeping.” It was a repetition of the earlier diagnosis, but it was welcome anyway.

A frown and the astronaut narrowed the scanner’s beam, prodding its controls and bringing it closer to Virgil’s head.

“What is it?”

John’s voice was calm, but distracted. “Director Berrenger has some ear damage. Virgil...” Another prod of the device. “Damn.”

“What?” Jeff took a step closer.

But John stopped scanning his brother, adjusted the controls and then ran the medscanner over his own head. Frowning at the readings, he activated his wrist ‘projector and swiped the results to that display.

The two scans bobbed up side by side, close up details of Virgil and John’s auditory systems.

“Virgil has had a headache since he arrived. We thought it was related to the T-Drive. But it appears that he has been subjected to some kind ear injury.”

Gordon spoke up. “He got dizzy.”

John frowned and poked at the hologram, spinning it. The frown deepened a moment before the astronaut suddenly darted around the bed and aimed the scanner at Gordon’s head.

“What? What the hell are you doing?”

“Hold still.”

A flicker of yellow and John obviously got what he was looking for. A breath and he aimed the scanner at Alan’s head as well.

His sigh was a frustrated one. “We are all exhibiting signs of ear irritation, but Virgil’s is by far the worst. Dad?”

Jeff blinked as John waved the device over his head. His son’s glare at the scanner was almost enough to incinerate it.

John slapped his comms. “Eos, land the probe closest to the Crystal Cavern. I need physical contact with the rock. Activate mic input, scan the spectrum.”

“FAB.”

It took a few moments and Jeff found himself absently stroking Virgil’s hair.

“Contact made. Scanning...oh, my!”

“Let me hear it.” John was wired ever so tight, eyes on fire.

“Input is being received at a very high volume, but at a very high frequency far above the human ability to hear. Translating.”

The sound that emitted from John’s comms was a very loud discordant screeching. Everyone in the room clapped their hands to their ears. A nurse attending to Berry shoved aside a curtain and shouted at them, as John yelled at Eos to stop.

“What the hell is that?!” Gordon, as always, voiced what everyone was thinking.

John was already bouncing program variables over his wrist. “That is what we need to find out.”

-o-o-o-

It turned out it was the moon itself.

Jeff sat with Virgil as his son slept, unable to relax himself. Alan intermittently gnashed his teeth fretting out loud what all of them were thinking. Scott was missing and it tore at all of them.

Virgil slept on.

John could only be described as frantic. The space monitor swore a blue streak that had Jeff snapping at him at one point. The man’s response was throw up a hologram on his tablet that mapped out the sounds being emitted by Callisto.

It was like a nest of spiderweb laced around and through the rock of the Jovian satellite. Pockets of density existed in places along with patches of less. John reached up and poked a spot that was slightly different from the rest, but still drenched in lines.

“This is Callisto Base.”

“And what is that?” Jeff pointed at the fine lines darting all over the moon.

John sighed. “My guess is that we are looking at a communications network.”

Jeff’s eyes widened. “Who is communicating?”

“Unknown. There are no unaccounted life forms on this moon. Not life as we know it.”

“What about life as we don’t know it?”

“We’re working on it.”

Next question. “How did we miss it?” The moon was literally shouting loud enough to injure.

John deflated on the spot, obviously considering the lapse a failure on his part. “Sound requires matter to travel through. Thunderbird Five is not equipped to detect it unless we have something in contact with the atmosphere or a mic in play.”

“We have mics in our comms.” But Jeff knew the answer before his son supplied it.

“The frequencies are beyond usual pick up range. Far too high.”

“What about Virgil?”

John wilted. “I don’t know, Dad. Why is he affected more than the rest of us? Hell, why aren’t the colonists showing symptoms?”

Jeff frowned at that. “Why aren’t they? They’ve been here for years.”

“I can’t see how they could not be affected. We’ve only been here a short time and we are showing the effects.”

Something cold curdled in Jeff’s gut. A sudden suspicion roiled to the surface. “Leave that one to me.” He threw himself to his feet.

“Dad?” Aquamarine frowned at him.

“I’ll get some answers.”

-o-o-o-

His head was hammering both in dream and, as he rose to consciousness, in reality. “Oh god.” Virgil rolled over clutching his head and curled into a ball.

“Virgil?”

Alan? He clenched his eyes shut, hands gripping his hair.

“Virgil?” The softer more melodious voice of his older space brother. “Hold on.”

There were words not directed at him and Virgil must have faded out again because next he knew he was flat on his back and the pain had been reduced to a pale echo of itself, replaced with a light fog.

Someone was holding his hand.

“Scott?” It came out hoarse and barely there.

“Virgil, you with us?”

Alan. It was Alan. His little brother.

Rocket boy.

God, his head was sluggish.

“Alan? Where’s Scott?” He forced his eyes open and blinked against the light. Another groan and he moved on the bed, his body aching and stiff as if he had been in the same position for an eon. “What happened?”

Another slow blink and his memory landed in Crystal Cave and rescuing Director Berrenger, and then…pain and nothing.

“Ummm…Scott’s not here. Lemme get John.” There was the sound of an active comm and Alan calling for his big brother.

Huh?

“Where’s Gordon?”

“Asleep.” Alan pointed at the blue curtain beside them. “Dad had a go at him for not resting. Threatened to send him up to Five if he didn’t try to sleep.”

Oh, just fantastic. “What about you? Have you slept?” How long had Virgil been down for the count?

“I’m good. Been helping John detect aliens.”

“Aliens? What aliens?” Frowning shouldn’t hurt like this.

“Virgil, you’re awake.” John’s melodious voice was a welcome balm despite the fact it was stating the obvious.

“John.” Virgil tried to sit up, but a gentle hand halted him. A pair of aquamarine eyes telling him more than any words. “What happened? Where’s Scott?” Scott should be here. He was always here.

John sat down beside Virgil’s bed deliberately and quietly.

Oh god. “What happened?” Virgil pushed himself into a seated position despite his brother, determined to face whatever had happened…not lying down.

“Scott is okay, as far as we can tell.”

“As far as you can tell?”

John’s lips thinned and his eyes screamed apology before he activated his wrist comm and showed Virgil footage from the dragonfly cam that caught exactly what happened.

Virgil stared as his brother sacrificed himself to save him.

The expletive that fell from his lips was sharp and vulgar.

He pushed the fog in his head to one side and forced himself to focus. “I need details.” He shoved the covers off his legs.

A blink.

“And clothes.”

-o-o-o-

Jeff stared the Commander of Callisto Base down, every ounce of his height, every piece of history they held together. “What haven’t you told us?”

“Have you located Ju yet?” The shorter man set his shoulders and glared up at Jeff.

“We have discovered that there is likely another form of life on this moon. Were you aware of this?”

Graeme blinked. “Life? What?”

“My eldest son was captured by the same mechanism that likely caught your wife. My second eldest has taken ill with the effects of strong ultra-frequency sound. These sounds appear to envelope this moon. Are you trying to tell me, that with all your scientific staff and equipment, supplied by Tracy Industries, no less, you have yet to encounter this problem after inhabiting this base for over five years?” Jeff inched closer. “Think before you answer.” The threat was clear.

Graeme swallowed. “There was Jeremiah, but we thought that was an isolated case.”

“Jeremiah?”

“One of our geologists. Took ill, nausea, headaches, nothing we did helped. Are you telling me he died of exposure to sound?”

Jeff’s eyes narrowed as his heart lurched. “He died?”

Graeme’s eyes grew frantic as the dots connected. “Stroke. The doctors said it was stroke. I was going to ask you to take his body home to his family when you left.”

Jeff’s lips thinned ever so much more. “Anyone else?”

“Uh.” The man was obviously floundering and cursing himself at the same time. “There have been instances of nausea, dizziness and headache, but nothing as bad as Jeremiah. We put it down to long term low gravity and the environment. We are living on the edge of human experience out here. You know what that is like.” He stared up at Jeff. “What kind of life? Have you seen it?” A swallow. “What about Ju?”

What about, Scott? “We’re working on it. We hope to have more information once Berry wakes up.” They needed so many answers.

-o-o-o-

John glared at Virgil, but his idiot brother was as determined as any of them would be in the same situation. John dreaded what would happen when their father returned.

There was going to be hell to pay.

Virgil was given his uniform and Alan was scooted out of the closed curtained area. John refused to move and earned a glare for his efforts, but there was no way he was leaving Virgil on his own in this state, stupid determination or not.

Dad was going to kill all of them.

The rainbow of bruises across Virgil’s back as he threw off the hospital gown their father had so painstakingly helped the nurses dress him in hours earlier only served to impress on John the fact that this was ever so wrong.

“Virgil, please give yourself more time.”

“Scott doesn’t have time.”

“How do you know that?”

“He’s been kidnapped by goddamned aliens, John. I’ve seen enough sci-fi flicks to know where that leads.”

“I don’t think we need a Ripley in this case, Virgil.”

His brother yanked spacesuit onto his legs. “How do you know that? You haven’t even located the bugs yet.”

“I doubt they are bugs, Virgil.” With a sigh, he reached in and helped his brother pull his spacesuit up over his shoulders, not missing any of the multiple winces at the action. “In fact, I think they might be the crystals.”

Virgil turned to look at him. “The quartz?”

“Yes.”

“How? It reads as silicon dioxide.”

“I know. Thunderbird Five is not the USS Enterprise. We’re doing our best here.” John lowered Virgil’s red and green baldric over his shoulders, ever so gently letting it rest on what he knew were bruises.

This was madness. “You should stay in bed. You’ve been affected more than any of us. Long term exposure to ultrasound can be life threatening. Please, Virgil.”

His brother turned around, ever the rescue operative, the uniform wearing him rather than the other way around. “And what about Scott?”

“Let me, Virgil, please. We have Dad and Lee. You need rest.”

Dark eyes met his. “With Scott down, I’m in command. It is my duty to lead.”

“Virgil, this is not a military organisation and you are not a soldier.”

“No, I’m a Tracy.” With that, he threw aside the curtain and strode out.

John sighed. First Dad, and then Scott, when they found him.

Yes, there was going to be hell to pay.

-o-o-o-

The woman on the bed was an echo of the team mate he used to know. So much time had passed between them and, as it was always with time, it took as it left.

Berry’s hair was fading to white. Her skin had been kept relatively young by the lack of sun in her life. After all, it was a six to nine hundred odd million further kilometres away out here. But there was a frailness, nonetheless.

She seemed so small against the white of the pillow and bedsheets. Lacking the vivacity he knew she possessed.

“Kate?” He swallowed. She couldn’t hear him. Two broken ear drums would do that. He reached out a hand and gently nudged her shoulder.

He was relieved to see those familiar green eyes open and look up at him.

“Hey.” His voice broke just a little.

“Jeff?” Those eyes widened. And suddenly, before he could react, he was wrapped in eager arms holding him ever so tight. “Oh, Jeff. You came.”

“Could I do anything else?” But her arms were still around him. She couldn’t see his face. Couldn’t hear his words.

He found himself hugging her ever so tight back.

But he had to break it off. He needed information.

A gentle nudge and she relaxed back onto the bed, frowning up at him in worry.

Grabbing a tablet, he typed in the question and held it up for her to see. What happened?

“They caught us. The water kept us trapped. Couldn’t get out. Nga and Steve and then Chrisoula. They killed them. Trying to do something.” Her breathing elevated and for a moment there, Jeff feared he had lost her to whatever she was remembering.

He shook her shoulder gently, bringing her eyes back to him. Fingers on the tablet. Sound. They use sound.

She nodded and then closed her eyes as if in pain, a hand going to her head.

He squeezed her shoulder again. “Take it easy.”

A blink and he realised she knew he had said something but not what. He hastily tapped the words into the tablet.

She sighed as she read them, melting a little into the bed. “Where’s Ju?”

I was hoping you would be able to help us with that.

Realising what he meant, her lips thinned and her shoulders straightened a little on the bed.

“She’s still out there?”

He nodded.

“Damn.”

There’s a possibility your release was either an attempt at communication or a ruse to trap one of our operatives.

“Operatives?”

International Rescue.

“Your sons are here? To rescue us?”

That’s the plan.

She blinked a lot at that, moisture in her eyes, her lips twisting a little. “Thank you, Jeff.”

It’s what they do.

They. His own words struck home as he looked at the tablet.

A hand scratched gently at his arm, drawing his attention back to Berry.

“They kept us in a room made of water. The walls were continually moving, like a waterfall that never stopped. But with our lights we could see through it.” She blinked, eyes again focussing away from him, seeing something he couldn’t. “In the room, the floor was bare rock except for one of those crystal formations. Just one. But in the water outside, there was crystal everywhere.” She looked at him. “It’s the crystals, you know? They’re alive.”

-o-o-o-

TBC

[anderwhohn]

Scott shifts uncomfortably in his chair, anxiety and guilt wracking his mind as he knows... no matter what he says, this is effectively the end his Alliance career, and possibly his relationship with his own father as well. Not that Alec had ever paid much attention to him, unless it was to get his insight on some illusive string of code. He wonders just how much of SAM's code was the result of his own work, unknown to him at the time before Alec had revealed the AI to him and Sara...

Alec's words about how SAM should have been able to help their mother, to undo the damage caused by years of biotic research and the eezo exposure it requires, echoes in his mind as he tries to figure out what exactly to say. Mom was... Well, that last visit hadn't exactly been a happy one, to say the least, but at least he and Sara had been able to say 'goodbye'. But then, after the funeral, Alec had dropped the news of the Initiative on them both, with promises of fresh starts for the three of them, together...

But what doesn't make sense to him is Alec's desperation to have him and Sara onboard, given how they'd been mostly ignored by the man for most of their lives. It wasn't until news of the Battle of the Citadel reached Earth amidst all the Ryder family drama that Scott was able to start piecing the clues together. It wasn't just a fresh start Alec was looking for, it was to get them away from the impending danger that the Milky Way faces. But at what cost?

And so, he tells the Commander everything he thinks she needs to know - how his father and dishonoured N7, Alec Ryder, had created an AI to undo the damage his mother, Ellen, had suffered as a result of the eezo exposure in her biotic amp research, how even after being discharged from the Alliance, Alec continued his research alongside Ellen's to make an implant that would allow the AI to interface directly with organics in what was supposed to be a symbiotic relationship; Scott's own suspicions that the Alliance kept it quiet, given that Alec had been their liaison on the Citadel for years, and had approached them with knowingly breaking Council laws, yet no further action was taken by the Council, meaning he's fairly confident it never reached C-Sec, the Council, or the Spectres, until now, with him revealing what he knows to her; and how now Alec is letting something called the Andromeda Initiative have access to his AI - that he's made more of them, at least three more that Scott knows of for certain - for their plan to take tens of thousands of people and leave the galaxy to attempt to resettle in the Andromeda galaxy.

"Something's got Alec rattled," Scott admits at the end of his explanation, frowning as he still tries to puzzle it out himself. "The timing... His near desperate insistence that Sara and I join him... I saw some vids from the attack on the Citadel... My sister and I grew up here - we still have friends here. Even from just the vids, I could tell that thing wasn't geth, though there were some odd similarities, like the legs. And I sure as hell don't believe the Alliance or the Council when they say it was an isolated incident, either."

"I think someone behind the Initiative knows, or at least suspects, what's coming, with these Reapers, given the rushed timetable for construction and recruitment, and are staging an evacuation of at least some of the Milky Way species - enough to try to gain a foothold and start over in a new galaxy..."

@dutyworn asked: ❝ whatever it is you wish to tell me, it won’t leave this room. ❞ / scott

Scott shouldn't be here...

He was, in fact, supposed to be on a ship in the Arcturus system, returned to his post guarding the mass relay after a visit with his family on Earth. Instead, he had booked a trip to the Citadel, hoping to find someone who would listen to what he had to say. He honestly hadn't expected that person to be Commander Shepard herself, but if anyone could make a difference, surely it would be the first human Spectre.

For just a moment, he considers not telling her the truth of what he knows, to not reveal that the very research that got his father dishonourably discharged from the Alliance, and himself and his twin sister blacklisted as well, ensuring they'll never see a promotion in their futures - a future that is suddenly much more strained for Sara than himself, with her being a vanguard, whereas he's an engineer - never actually stopped. If anything, his father had grown more desperate, so much so that he's approached both Sara and himself about leaving the galaxy altogether, supposedly for a 'fresh start'...

But he's seen the reports, and has read between the lines. Shepard's warnings aren't delusions of an overstressed marine, as some newscasters report, or those of a madwoman, according to others. The patterns are there - he can see them just as clearly as if they were lines of code. It's this very reason, with the threat of what the future holds, whether here in the Milky Way or in Andromeda, that he has to try...

"Commander, I have information on a secret AI project..."