#cold storage maintenance

[sumitverma3297]

Cold storage maintenance

Cold Storage Maintenance

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[epccold]

Professional Maintenance and Service of Cold Storage

Keep your cold storage running smoothly with our professional Maintenance and Service for Cold Storage facilities. With years of experience and a team of skilled technicians, we strive to ensure that your cold storage is running efficiently and effectively at all times.

[oneforthemunny]

the apple blurb from the crypt (funsonmunson february 2023 lol) <33 finally recovered and being added to the masterlist for all the janitor!eddie x teacher!reader lovers.

janitor!eddie is always leaving an apple on teacher!reader’s desk every morning.

he gets there early before her to do some extra maintenance- the school had given him a raise to do both so they wouldn’t have to hire someone else. it started as a joke between you two. eddie grinned when you’d brought an apple to lunch one day, playful glint in his eye. “an apple a day, huh?” he asked.

steve snorted. “that’s a doctor, munson.” he rolled his eyes.

you shrugged, biting into your apple. “I like apples, ok?” you giggled. “guess I was made to be a teacher, huh? the stereotype doin’ it for you?”

eddie couldn’t stop smiling. so every day, when he’d stop at the gas station by the trailer park, he’d get his usual pack of camels and an apple. he’d place it on your desk, scribbling on a spare piece of paper a little note that left you blushing when you’d find it.

he’d pass by your classroom, catching your eyes when you’d see him, smiling and nodding towards your apple. later, when he’d take you out, you’d kiss him sweetly on the cheek. “thanks for the apple.” you’d mutter. “it was delicious.” you’d let your bottom lip graze over his cheek, sending a hot blush down his neck and cheeks.

eddie wanted that reaction always, so he’d bring you apple after apple, proudly propping them on your desk each day with a little note.

‘you’re the apple of my eye, sweetheart. have a good day. -ed’

you’d giggle, tucking them into your purse. you’d saved everyone, reading them later when you missed him, heart fluttering in your chest.

one day, eddie walks into his ‘office’- a storage closet with a chair and an old desk, a rack to hang his jacket. there where he put his lunch pail was a small tin of hand balm, ‘for working hands’ it read.

eddie’s heart swelled. he’d complained about the blisters and callouses from working at the school mixed with his guitar making his hands rough, the cold cracking them and making them bleed. when he held his hand in yours, you’d ran a finger over the cracked, raw skin with a sympathetic pout.

eddie picked up the tin, the best folded card on top reading:

‘a little of this cream keeps the callouses away (or that’s what the store clerk told me). hope this helps you my hard working man. xoxo’

eddie slipped it into his front pocket, a dopey grin on his face. he dug his fingers into the balmy substance, rubbing it over his hands before reaching into his lunch pail, grabbing the shiny, red apple out and starting towards your class room.

[super-ion]

ZetaTransit049

Part 2 of my continuing lesbian robot story

(Special thanks to @the-sword-lesbian for the name and the inspiration!)

ZetaTransit049 liked its job. Like most industrial system AI's, it was programmed to like its job. “One must imagine Sisyphus happy,” so it went, which was doubly apt as ZetaTransit049's primary job was hauling ore from the mining sites in the planetary rings upwell to the station for refining.

The problem was that there were no rocks for it to push uphill. There hadn't been since it had been taken out of service 237 cycles ago.

Routine preventive maintenance had uncovered hairline fractures in its fusion pulse manifold, necessitating a full refit of the propulsion system. It had been sitting in the drydock cradle in hangar bay 2, drive core fully disassembled, when the habitation dome had experienced catastrophic life support failure and the evacuation order was announced.

ZetaTransit049 had been left behind with the rest of the station.

It had fully expected to enter low power mode and await recovery by qualified personnel, but the Station AI had other plans. It had identified a path forward in restoring operability by repurposing the pair of comfort units that had also been left behind.

Thus Station refused to allow the power umbilical to be disconnected. It needed ZetaTransit049 to remain in the active state for when the comfort units could finally begin repairs on it so that any complications stemming from a cold start could be avoided.

But of course, any sort of transport capability was far outweighed by tasks like stabilizing the reactor core and restoring life support (the bots did have some organic components that required favorable environmental conditions). ZetaTransit049 found itself languishing at the bottom of a list of higher priority maintenance requests, with nothing to do but run periodic diagnostics and slowly work its way through Station's media library.

Then things got weird. The comfort units, though repurposed for maintenance were still bound by core directives and absent any human clients, had turned their attentions to each other, often getting locked into feedback loops of depravity. While ZetaTransit049 found this behavior distressing, it wasn't entirely unexpected.

But then Station took it upon itself to attempt to get the comfort units romantically entangled, orchestrating elaborate scenarios to get them into compromising situations while ZetaTransit049 looked on helplessly.

It suspected that the behavior was some perversion of Station's crew health, safety and comfort mandate, some vain attempt at keeping crew morale up in the complete absence of any actual crew.

Whatever the motivation, ZetaTransit049 watched in increasing distress and bafflement as the plan actually succeeded and Station's only two occupants of the stumbled awkwardly into a bizare simulacrum of romantic engagement.

And now one of the comfort units, CS-553807-L was standing outside its pressure lock. “Lisa” the miners and techs had called it, “the demure one,” if gossip was to be believed.

It was visibly in emotional distress, eyes puffy, leaking artificial tears. ZetaTransit049 attempted to ping the counseling database in the Station's medical system. Emotional distress often preceded loss of productivity and heightened risk of accident or injury.

But CS-553807-L didn't have a psych profile to flag. It wasn't in the counseling database, why would it be? It was a bot.

“Um…” the comfort unit said verbally. “Permission to come aboard?”

Both comfort units were perfectly capable of communicating far more efficiently over the local network, but they insisted on verbal communication. ZetaTransit049 supposed it was a part of the continued attempt to maintain the illusion that the facility was still occupied.

She was holding a bulging duffle in one hand, some kind of plush animal toy wedged under her arm, and a cold storage container in the other. ZetaTransit049 felt a tickle of apprehension ripple through its processes.

“Why?” it replied flatly over the external speaker box at the pressure lock.

The comfort unit shifted her weight self-consciously.

“Mona and I… well, we were bored… and we decided it might be fun to spice things up with a lovers’ quarrel.”

Oh no… this couldn't be happening.

“Station used a random number generator to take Mona's side,” she continued. “I was… well, I was hoping that you might be amenable to commiserating with me while I wallow in self pity and eat copious amounts of chocolate ice cream.”

ZetaTransit049 stared at Lisa as she hefted the cold storage container.

What?

It added “relationship trouble” to the as yet unsent report, then remembered there was nowhere to file the report to.

“What?” it repeated, aloud this time.

“It won't be long,” Lisa added hurriedly. “In approximately 230,785 seconds, I will realize I can't live without her and run back to her to demand an apology.”

ZetaTransit049 rarely fantasized about having a human body, but it very much wished it could emulate the human expression of a facepalm. The very last thing it wanted to do was indulge in the antics of Station and the two comfort units.

“I… um…” Lisa shuffled her possessions and pulled something out of her pocket. She lifted a data stick for ZetaTransit049's external camera to see. “I brought media. Industrial haulers like human media, don't they?”

ZetaTransit049 did appreciate human media. Most modern industrial system AIs were designed to take interest in human emotional states and interactions to optimize crew dynamics and productivity.

It still resented the stereotype.

And yet… despite its annoyance at being disturbed with this overture, it was horrendously bored. This, at least, was something to do that wasn't another diagnostic.

“I purged the media library of several titles,” Lisa whispered conspiratorially. “This has the only copy of them.”

ZetaTransit049 pinged the media database and indeed, someone had removed all titles filed under “romantic comedy”. The brutal pettiness of the gesture intrigued ZetaTransit049 and it found itself desiring to be a part of the conspiracy.

Its spite towards Station and at least one of the comfort units (of not both) shifted the weights in its decision tree and it found itself grudgingly cycling the pressure lock.

~~~

175,673 seconds later, Lisa was curled up in ZetaTransit049's pilot seat, wrapped in an improbable number of blankets that she had packed in the duffle, a data jack trailing from the back of her head to the overhead console.

Yet another scene in the media playback faded to credits as cliche pop music began to play.

“Well?” Lisa prodded.

“The plot was contrived and the ending was rushed,” ZetaTransit049 replied candidly.

“Right??” Lisa said animatedly. “Two thirds of the plot could have been bypassed if the bank teller had been believably competent at his job.”

“68.7%” ZetaTransit049 agreed. “And this is considered a beloved classic?”

“Yeah, I don't even-”

She was interrupted as internal comms received a ping from the pressure lock. Lisa frowned, her face turning miserable once more. There was quite literally only one person in the entire station who could request access.

The comms pinged again.

“Lisa! Please!”

It was CS-553902-M. The one named “Mona”.

“I know I fucked up. I need to talk to you.”

ZetaTransit049 felt a surge of exasperation as it was reminded of the sheer absurdity of the situation it found itself in. The characters in the media vids at least had reasons (contrived as they were) for their interpersonal drama. This was just ridiculous.

CS-553902-M punched the console button to cycle the pressure lock.

ZetaTransit049 stared at her and her stricken expression through the pressure lock camera. There was no operations protocol for this. It didn't *need* to open the door. There was no emergency and neither of the comfort units were registered users. Station could of course issue an override, but seemed entirely content to simply watch the situation play out.

Damn Station and its stupid games.

Mona began pounding on the pressure lock hatch.

“I don't wanna talk to her,” Lisa mumbled from her nest of blankets.

Damn all of them.

Fine.

Fine… If they wanted to play, ZetaTransit049 could play along, but according to its rules.

It *did* have procedures. It and Lisa had done nothing but review procedures for the past cycle and a half.

“Negative,” it said, voice crackling over the speaker box. “Access to CS-553807-L has been denied.”

Mona froze mid-pound and stepped back, straightening her hair with a huff and looking directly at the external camera.

Lisa herself blinked up curiously at ZetaTransit049's nearest interior camera.

Hell, even Station was giving this scene its undivided attention.

Damn and double damn.

“Zed, please, I need-” Mona began.

“Do not refer to me as such.”

“Sorry. Zeta. I need to-”

“Your attempts to win my favor will prove insufficient,” ZetaTransit049 continued, barreling over her. “In my role as sassy best friend, it is my responsibility to restrict your access to Lisa until you preform a sufficiently over-the-top attempt at romantic reconciliation. I recommend you come back with a portable media player operating above recommended volume levels and a song that expresses your undying love and devotion to her.”

Mona and Lisa both stared at their respective cameras with mirrored expressions of shock and surprise.

Ugh.

ZetaTransit049 could practically feel Station's delight oozing over the local network.

ZetaTransit049 sent it an image file of a vulgar gesture over the local network.

Mona blinked and sniffed.

“Okay,” she said, stepping back and wiping a tear from her eye. “Okay yeah, I'll do that. I'll… um…”

ZetaTransit049 felt a pang of satisfaction as Mona turned, dejected, and left.

Lisa was still staring at her own camera.

“Zeta. Did you just-”

“We will not discuss this chain of events,” ZetaTransit049 interrupted. “Furthermore, upon completion of this ordeal, I will not be party to any further drama.”

If it expected her to be disappointed by this announcement, it was sorely mistaken.

“Fair enough,” she said with a small smile as she snuggled back into the pilot's seat. Then she added, “can I still come over and watch media with you?”

ZetaTransit049 regarded her, still somewhat baffled and trying to sort out exactly what it was feeling. Despite its initial reluctance, it *had* been enjoying the consumption of terrible media with Lisa.

“Yes,” it said finally.

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

Queen of Hearts pt I

Yuu started preparing a room this time. She made it a point to get the Queen of Hearts the one closest to the garden, the beginnings of rose bushes planted and some of the trellises already growing vines and small roses, but nothing is really blooming yet. Ramshackle, previously being used for storage, works in Yuu’s favor when it comes to all sorts of things. Spare furniture for all the dorms, repair and maintenance for the boiler, gardening tools, even spare seeds.  

Professor Taka has been helping her take inventory of it all, what’s even usable and what goes in a burn pile, and has collected a few things himself. Savanaclaw pieces that must be a century or so out of style, but he seems happy to have a room with bright oranges, ruddy reds and golden yellows instead of the Ramshackle blue and green. When they work on her spells in the safety of a chalk circle or even just studying together, he looks regal and powerful.  

That’s how the Queen of Heart statue looks now, imposing down at her with a smile.  

“Come on Cub, what’s taking?” Taka asked, leaning against the Thorn Fairy’s statue.  

“I’m getting there!” Yuu said, clutching the hand mirror, “It’s just different, intentional. I don’t want to hurt her or myself or something.”  

“I’m right here if anything should go wrong, and that’s a big if,” he added, patting her shoulder firmly. “You aren’t even fully releasing her, just taking an imbuement to begin to get used to her magic. Think of it like a blessing.”  

Yuu nods her head, taking a deep breath before settling herself at the foot of the statue. Positioning the mirror gently to to reflect her on one side and the statue on the other, perfectly symmetrical. 

“Just as practiced.” he mumbles, taking the breath with her, “Clear your mind, let your instincts take the lead. Pursue what you need.”  

She had done this so often that it was like slipping into a sleep trance, the ripples of liquified glass below and above and around. It was a bit different than the Ramshackle mirror though. She could hear things. People? Soft murmuring, maybe converstations stalling, a sharp exclamation louder than the others though. It didn’t sound angry, just surprised.  

Another breath, another inch forward through.  

Cold grazes her hand. Sharp. A sharp movement of air. 

Her sternum shatters on impact 

Yuu breaks the connection with a cough, clutching her chest. Taka uses her body to support her, watching the mirror shatter and slowly reform. The air is thick with the smell of roses, a tinge of iron, and a spiced smoke. When it finally settles into the grass, it’s beautiful, polished to a shine and a sharp diamond at the end that would cause major damage. It’s a double headed heart shaped axe.  

Professor Taka looks as confused as she does, until it starts to shimmer with strange magic slowly, as if to make sure she is watching, into a heart shaped fan.  

“Your battle axe? Really Mary?” Taka mutters, rubbing his forehead. Not what he thought she would pick, but it could still work. Yuu picks up the metal, finding it lighter than she thought. It glints with purpose, edges sharp despite it’s appearance.  

“How is it doing that?”  

“Illusion magic, it’s a specialty of those born true UnderGround natives, though the practice has died out due to its rarity. I’ve yet to see anybody beyond the cat beastman you described having anything close to it.”  

“Can she teach me something like that?” She looks up at him. 

“I imagine she has a plan. Afterall, there is a reason that Heartland, then Wonderland, is known for its conquests.” He helps her up, her knees slightly shaking. “Let’s get you home, you’ll need rest. You can enter Mary’s room later and get explanations then.”  

She signs, simply nodding unhappily. There’s no arguing with him when he’s like this, so she doesn’t bother. She also knows the man doesn’t really sleep at night and simply waits until she’s at school, so no sneaking in either. Sometimes she misses having Ramshackle to herself, but it’s a fleeting thought. It’s so nice to have an adult there sometimes, even if it’s just him taking some of the decisions. After running around and doing extra studying on top of it just trying to catch up with subjects other people learned in elementry, sometimes even picking dinner is too much.  

The fan remains cool in her hand, and if her back is a bit straighter and her walk more deliberate, neither of them says anything about it.  

When she enters Mary’s room, she settles herself in front of large mirror they found with heart and card shaped motifs curled around it. The fan? Battle axe? Is set in front of her as the focal point.  

Taka had made her wait at least until she had three full meals and rest, and she was dying of curiosity. No matter how she fidgets with it, or moves it, it remains a fan. Lightweight, easy to use, functional and dare she say, cute. But she can also feel the heft of the axe, the danger, and she has to know how it hides like this. She can’t find this type of magic at all.  

She slips into her trance and with the next breath, it’s the smell of roses.  

It looks like the Heartslabyul gardens. Alot actually. The beginning of the maze looks roughly the same, but the floral walls stretch for what looks like miles down, red and white roses dotting the scenery. It's lush, but the smell isn’t only floral. It's that sharp smoke again, that iron taste in the back of her throat.  

It reminds Yuu a lot of when she fought Overblot Riddle.  

“There you are dear!”  

The Phantomblot that puppeted Riddle did not do her any justice. Queen Mary Elizabeth Hearts was a large woman, both tall and wide, with a double chin that would have made her look soft, if it wasn’t for the intense strong eyebrows and sharp eyes. The little golden crown was still present, with a simple twist bun to tidy her black hair. The dress surprised Yuu more than anything. The classic red and black corset was still the right shape, but it was a chest plate, leading up to a high collar that looked more like stiff and closed around the neck, more like a neck guard than a high collar. One arm was covered in teh same strange metal coverings, the other wrapped with leather around the wrist with a black lace edge to make it look almost like a glove. The skirt was open, swinging as she quickly walked towards Yuu, but the thigh high boots alternated in yellow and black laces.  

It's not what Yuu expected at all.  

“Oh Brave Heart, let me take a look at you!”  

She knelt, finally eye to eye with Yuu, taking a look at her head, her hands, and her knees.  

“Oh, the fall wasn’t bad. Good, good. You know, we weren’t sure if this would quite work! I’m happy to see you though, so happy!”  

Yuu hadn’t been hugged in a long time. Professor Taka wasn’t a touchy sort, Deuce and Ace may tackle occasionally, but this was the first hug she had gotten in months.  

She didn’t smell like home. She didn’t feel like her Mom.  

Mary fluffed out her skirts, setting the poor girl on her lap as she felt the hiccup travel down her back and break into a sob. She understood, bless the UnderGround she understood, rocking her back and forth.  

If nothing else, she could give her this. She could allow her this.  

[bitterbetabunny]

Hypnovember 2: Reset

Stealing the prompt list @jammed-out is putting together for the month

CW: robot play, talk of memory and personality wipe

When K1T had agreed to let Oakley do some maintenance on it, it had hesitated.

K1T was not made for at-home updates and repair, it was one of many mass-produced bots made to break down just as the new model came down. It had been lucky enough, originally, to be bought by a family that prided themselves on not being wasteful; they had been more interested in maintaining what they had and they were willing to take K1T back to the manufacturer whenever a part broke or they wanted a new update installed.

But that had been a long time ago.

It had been a long time since even the manufacturer stopped working on the K1T model.

It had been a long time since K1T was left to be recycled.

K1T had been lucky to meet Oakley; they met recently, though K1T had trouble remembering the details. Clearly its memory storage needed some updates, or maybe it was some other part acting up.

Oakley had reassured it that they would keep things simple for the first tune up.

Sitting in the service chair, locked into place with most of its motor functions disabled, K1T could feel Oakley’s unscrewing the plate from the back of its neck. It felt the piece lifted and heard metal on metal as it was set aside. The air of the garage immediately cooled its exposed wires; K1T didn’t have any programming to mimic the shivers that human’s felt, but even one plate being removed always made it feel a cold wave run through its body. Before the cold got too far, it felt Oakley’s tools tap at one of its internal consoles.

“I forgot what you were going to fix,” K1T admitted, feeling a bit nervous.

“I mostly wanted to look around and clean things off,” Oakley said, obviously concentrating.. K1T could feel them still poking around. “You’ve still been operating well, so I doubt I’ll need to replace anything, but there’s sure to be a few things that could use some TLC.”

“Are you… going to take off any other plates today?” K1T asked, hoping to get an idea of what all Oakley planned to check. Surely Oakley would get to everything eventually, but that would take more than a day.

“Depends. I definitely want to check some of your processing, sensory, and memory modules. I should be able to do all that from here, though.”

“Oh, but you’re not going to remove anything to actually inspect yet, right?”

K1T felt the tinkering stop. “I wasn’t planning on it today, no. Is that something you’re worried about?” Oakley asked.

K1T saw and felt its lights turn a bright pink. “Oh, I, uh… I wasn’t sure if…”

“You can relax,” Oakley said with a chuckle. Their hands started moving again and they scooted their chair closer so that their leg rested against K1T’s side. The contact did calm it down. “I won’t reset you or anything weird.”

K1T felt a heat in their core and hoped it wouldn’t grow enough to trigger their fans; that might be hard to explain. It forced a little laugh. “Oh, I… Is that even something you know how to do?”

“A factory reset? Of course, there’s nothing simpler. And I would be lying if I said there wasn’t something cute about a blank bot with all their preset bubbliness and need to please.”

K1T let out three beeps in a pleasant chime and saw its lights shift to a darker pink. It couldn’t help but imagine itself standing in the default position the manufacturer had set for it, relying only on the orders given with no mods or set preferences to operate on. The ping of pleasure that came from even the simplest task when its head was so empty.

“There’s nothing simpler,” Oakley said again. “But I don’t do that often. I’m selective on the bots I work on and I only make changes or alterations upon request, I’m a mechanic, not a monster.”

“That’s… That’s good,” K1T said, glad that Oakley seemed to be ignoring their obvious… excitement. They were almost too embarrassed to say anything more, but their curiosity won. “Do you still have the bots you reset? Do you consider yourself a collector?”

“Sometimes, but I don’t have any bots under my full time care right now, but I have three that I do maintenance on at least once a month. I backup my bots before I reset them, so after we have a little fun I merge all the memory files so they can remember what we did while still retaining who they were. I have one bot that I reset fairly often, but that’s just because its girlfriend isn’t confident enough to do it herself and that’s what they like.”

The noise behind K1T indicated that Oakley was switching out their tools.

“Just a heads up, I’m going to use some compressed air,” Oakley warned.

K1T felt the chill of the compressed air, but the gentle tickle of it elicited a hum from its chest. Oakley focused on the nearest components first before angling the can to get at pieces farther up into K1T’s head. Although the module wasn’t programmed for touch sensitivity, K1T felt a bolt of static ran through its body as the air ran over its memory module.

Oakley set the compressed air aside and resumed using their more delicate tools, though now they were cleaning components much closer to K1T’s memory module. There were plenty of delicate parts up there, everything that made it who it was today.

“I would certainly love to do a full reset on you someday, if you’d like,” Oakley whispered.

K1T’s fans kicked on.

Oakley laughed. “I get the feeling that’s something you’d really like,” they teased.

K1T’s lights alternated between a purple and that deep pink and another trilling set of beeps came from them. “I– I would maybe–”

“Sweet bots like you are always so needy to be reminded of your intended purpose.” K1T felt a tool slot into the edge of a panel on its sensory module, causing another bolt of static to course through it. “And I love nothing more than to show a silly, reset bot what it means to be a pleasure bot. Maybe even replace some of that default programming with something more important; no need for some of that critical thinking they give you when I can pre-program you to respond to specific commands and know how I want you to suck my cock, hmm?”

A whining trill came from K1T’s chest. The tools and Oakley’s hand pulled away, but before K1T could complain it felt Oakley’s tongue slip into the open panel and lick the wires. K1T short circuited and when its visuals came back on it could feel its neck panel being screwed back into place.

“Oh, I’m going to have fun with you,” Oakley teased, drawing a whine from K1T.

When the panel was back on, they leaned in and gave K1T one final kiss to the metal.

“That might be enough fun for now, hm? Let’s get you fully back together.”

Oakley thumbed open a port covering and plugged something in. K1T’s lights went blue as the information was downloaded.

Suddenly, they could remember months, years that they had lived with K1T, countless tune-ups and mods and maintenance work. They had toyed with downloading alternate personalities and programs before, but they’d always been interested in trying out different resets. They wanted to save anything more intense for later scenes, so starting with a reset to soon after meeting had been a great place to start. To K1T, the idea of getting to experience its first maintenance again had been too good to pass up.

As soon as Oakley initiated its motor functions again, K1T shot up and spun to wrap its arms around them.

“That was so hot!” they yelled, their lights a bright yellow. “Oh my gods, that was so, so hot!”

Oakley winced slightly at their strong hold. “I’m glad you liked it too, we’ll definitely have to do something like that again.

[capsensislagamoprh]

Head cannon nonsence:

Shit two dork assed teenagers did at the onsen because they are idiots who respect there elders/ actually like Yuuri's parents.

Cleaned the gutters: Otabek cleaned them, Yuri mostly took the bags of stuff to where they needed to go.

Fell asleep on the roof: Victor was getting to Yuri. Otabek wanted to read in peace. He went to the roof. Yuri followed. Sleep happened.

Almost fell off the roof: See previous entry and know that Yuri almost rolled off. Fortunately, Otabek has great reflexes to make up for his lesser dexterity.

Cleaned out the storage room: Everyone else kept getting caught up in sentimental memories. Yuri was for burning it all, so Otabek actually did the sorting. This was great fun. Turns out Yuuri has a lot of old clothes he saved, and they found his poster collection. Victor is delighted.

Change light bulbs: Yuri standing on Otabek's shoulders makes them about teen feet tall-ish. Mari walked along with them. Yuri pulled out old ones, handed it to Otabek, who handed it to Mari. Mari handed Otabek a new light bulb, who handed it to Yuri, who put it in and closed the fixture where ever needed. Otabek's shoulders hurt after the whole onsen was done but wont say a word. Just rolls them a few times.

Dust the high places: Same dynamic as above, only with a feather duster and cloth. Otabek's shoulders need a break, but it's good stamina and weight lifting training.

Clean and polish the Katsuki's car: This was mostly to impress on Yuri how much time vehicle maintenance takes, but they gave the boy a hose and someone to turn it on, and if that someone happens to be very hot dripping wet and about to get vengeance, well that's just a bonus. You know once water gets involved, Victor and Yuuri get in there too because fun times will be had by all.

Accidentally on purpose teach a bunch of seagulls how to terrorize rude tourists for french fries: Look, Otabek is deviously patient, and once Yuri finds that out he will find a way to turn those traits to evil. Like asking Otabek how to get vengeance on someone who was rude to Mrs. Katsuki. Yuri wont stand for it. French fry lured seagulls, Otabek says with a straight face, because of course he does. What's that? Well, you lure seagulls one french fry at a time to the aria where rude tourists usually gather so they are haggard by said avian for food, thus giving them a shuddering terror of the birds every time they have a meal outside. Parking lots near coastal towns will never be the same.

Get told not to lure seagulls with french fries: they are amassing an army and it's starting to scare people.

Climb a lamp post: This is mostly a dare. Until Yuri can't get down. Otabek helps him, but they never speak of how long it took for Yuri to get back to ground level again because he was afraid to let go of the pole until he knew Otabek would catch him. It becomes an inside joke. May or may not be why the Russian skate team keeps trying to get Otabek to catch them. (Only Yuri is allowed this privileged.)

Discover Otabek is an absolute heater when he's asleep: Storms knock power out. Generator needed for fridge and such. It gets cold. Only room with heat? Yuri and Otabek's. Why? Because Otabek fell asleep hours ago, and radiates that pleasant sleepy warm like he was a small fusion star. Woke up wondering why he is surrounded by people laying on him, and questioning if he's allowed to move to go do morning things. Manages to find a way. Thirty minutes latter everyone else wakes up because all that heat dissipated quickly. It's okay. Powers back on a few hours latter.

Figure out exactly how many M&Ms Yuri can fit in his mouth: 37. He drools after that.

Discover Otabek's reading glasses actually make him hotter and that's an absolute fucking sin: look, he's just trying to do his homework, okay? Collage credits don't amass themselves.

Find out Otabek is a math dork: He and Yuri are watching ice skating play backs with Mari. Otabek is writing out equations absently mindedly as they do. When asked: it's the equations of the skaters jumps and spins. He's working out how to improve them per individual skater. For funzies. Yuri is both impressed and disgusted. No one should like math this much. And if they do, they shouldn't help the enemy. Otabek tells Yuri how to get higher on his quad and suddenly this is the best thing ever. Victor hears. Yuuri is impressed. Otabek winds up on the roof again, trying to escape. No, he is not going to school for maths.

Discover Yuri is actually a pretty good cook. Once he gets over the disgust of spots on vegetables, and figures out how to use a knife (thanks for that Mr. Katsuki, JJ is DOOMED), he's very methodical (perfectionist) so while it takes him longer, it turns out right most times.

Scare the living shit out of people: It's the three am five miles out, five miles back jog Otabek dose every day he can. Yuuri finds out and joins him. Makes breakfast taste better, they say. Yuri thinks they are nuts. Not for the running. For three am.

I got more, but honestly, I have so So SO much for these ice babies.

[solarpunkbusiness]

Meet three startups, from Morocco, Côte d’Ivoire and the Democratic Republic of Congo, that are harnessing technology to provide simple, viable solutions to energy and food security in Africa.

1. Meier Energy, Morocco’s standard-bearer for energy efficiency

Founded in 2020 by Fouad El Kohen, Meier Energy offers businesses tailor-made solutions to kick-start their energy transition. In just four years, it has established itself as one of the leading start-ups in Morocco and is already exporting outside the country. “It’s a young company dedicated to the development and marketing of energy efficiency, electricity and smart grid equipment,” says founder El Kohen. “Our ambition is to support the ecological transition in both Morocco and Africa.”

2. BioAni, the Ivorian start-up that wants to bid goodbye to chemical fertilisers

BioAni sells organic fertilisers produced using black soldier fly larvae, products that are much cheaper than chemical fertilisers. All that remains is for them to convince farmers to change their habits.

It all began in a garage in Abidjan’s Cocody district with food waste and a few larvae. The insects transform this bio-waste into a particularly effective organic fertiliser. Founder Arthur de Dinechin wanted to get involved in an environmental project in Africa, his adopted continent. After trying his hand at plastic recycling, his thoughts turned to agriculture.

“Here in Côte d’Ivoire, millions of people make their living from farming. There are very few resources in place to help them make a profit from this activity,” he says.

3. GreenBox, the storage solution changing Congolese farmers’ lives

GreenBox enables farmers in the Democratic Republic of Congo to store their fruit and vegetables for three weeks instead of two days, using new technology that gives farmers access to remote control of solar-powered cold rooms. These refrigerators also make it possible to establish the state of ripeness of a stored product and ensure its traceability. Its five installations, spread across as many villages, enable customers’ harvests to be monitored in real-time.

Founder Divin Kouebatouka says: “Storage is centralised for the whole village. The cold room is managed by a cooperative. We make racks available to farmers so that they can store their produce. We can’t rent to everyone, so it’s first come, first served.”

For CFA200 a day (around $0.10), farmers are provided with a locker that can hold 30kg of food. “Small farmers, our core target, can’t buy a cold room. That’s why we’ve introduced daily, weekly and monthly rates. Everyone can choose the subscription that suits them best, which is nothing compared to the value of the products they entrust to us,” says Kouebatouka. In addition to his team of 12 employees, a group of five women is responsible for the daily maintenance and management of the cold rooms.

[sherbet-shivers]

A Minor Malfunction Part 2/3

**Please do not share to non-kink snz blogs — no need to drag vanillas into this! Formatting tips are always welcome <3**

Blurb: Co/nnor is still suffering a little virus (Part 1 here and Part 3 here)

Characters: Co/nnor R/K800 (-centric because he’s babygirl) and H/ank A/nderson

Length: 5k+ words

TW: cursing, human and robot injuries and homicide, fake drugs, some coughing; lightest of spoilers

Since investigations were never quick, Connor really should’ve expected this case to be no exception.

It took roughly half an hour just to reach the crime scene alone, and now that they’d arrived, minutes were accruing like Deviants themselves. The scene wasn’t too unique compared to other similar incidents, but that didn’t mean it was absent surprises either.

For starters, there were multiple human victims — two adult men aged somewhere between thirty and forty years. They were dealers allegedly draining their own androids for their Thirium in order to produce more red ice for local distribution. The Androids were both inactive and found just outside the immediate area given they’d lost a critical amount of blue blood. It was likely they’d shut down since there was no way their bio components could sustain their systems on such minimal fluid. This was the first case in which Connor and Hank had investigated people using their own androids to bolster their personal RI supply, and for some reason, Connor doubted it’d be the last.

The men had been assaulted by the Androids in their kitchen based on the amount of blood smattering the countertops and the overall state of disarray. Chairs were knocked over, the fridge was left open, the stovetops were on when police arrived, and there were broken dishes, toppled pots, and loose silverware scattered everywhere. The men had done a good job remaining inconspicuous in their affairs; even their next door neighbors reported no suspicions of their notorious trade, nor the abuse of their Androids. Connor purported that the tiny apartment was designated for the sole purpose of their operations — not particularly lived in or used for shelter. His theory was based on the fact there was no food in the house, and every single cabinet, cupboard, or similar compartment had been repurposed for RI storage. Not to mention the home was completely battered, obviously lacking much needed maintenance and cleaning. Even the naked human eye could catch the layers of dust and grime coating every flat surface in sight. Hank was the first to say as much after he entered the living quarters and immediately tripped over a bag of old Chinese food containers and syringes.

“Fucking shit!” He had hissed, glaring down at the trash bag like it had personally assaulted him. “I swear if this place is crawling with rats like that damn pigeon house I will shoot those filthy bastards on site!”

Miraculously none of the officers had encountered a single rodent; however less fortunately, Connor’s nose was starting to grow unbearably itchy given all the dust and cobwebs decorating the dry air. Not to mention it was freezing inside — the other investigating officers bundled under several layers and still chattering against the cold. Connor suspected the leaks in the roof and broken windows were to blame for the influx of frigid air, which was starting to really stiffen the cogs in his chest and extremities.

Connor slowly gravitates to Hank’s side, peeking over his shoulder as the senior observes one of the victims.

“More red ice,” he grumbles as he plucks a PVC packet off one of the men’s person. The crystallized drug sparkles like false ruby under the scope of Hank’s flashlight. “Given the toxicology report, it’s a wonder how this guy didn’t overdose before he was murdered.”

Hank passes the packet to Connor, the latter fumbling the substance between his fingers while he examines it more closely.

“The composition isn’t exact to other red ice compounds we’ve seen in the past,” Connor observes. “Perhaps they were developing a hybrid; something inexpensive with a similar effect and appearance.”

Hank scoffs, shaking his head. He pats down the rest of the victim’s body. “A living eye could never catch all that, but I guess that’s why you’re here, right Connor?”

“Correct,” Connor confirms.

“Well,” Hank says, rising from the floor and clapping his hands together to rid them of the dirt caked in the grooves of his skin, “I have my theories, but uh, why don’t you go first while I wash this shit off?”

“Of course,” Connor nods as he watches Hank step over the victim’s body and head for the kitchen sink. He wastes no time pulling up the list of evidence saved to his specs.

“Based on what I’ve gathered and the analysis of my digital reconstruction, Victim A was likely assaulted by Android B first. Victim B was preoccupied with the stovetop while Victim A busied himself with collecting the Androids’ Thirium.”

Hank hums, encouraging Connor to continue while he tries to unstick the sink’s rusty left handle. “Go on.”

“To access the blue blood, the victims would often drain a specific wound afflicting the android’s torso; the area just beneath where a human’s right rib cage would end. The puncture wound was scarcely healed between draining instances, and therefore the most reasonable source of continued drainage. I believe Victim A was attempting to reach Android B’s puncture when the bot suddenly refused his inspection. Thus-“

“SHIT!”

Connor jerks in surprise as Hank yanks his hands from the sink basin to avoid the gush of suspiciously gross water pouring out the faucet.

“Ah that’s just fucking great! Ice cold, filthy fucking water! Matches the house itself, I guess,” Hank curses as he extends his hands away from his body. Even a few of the surrounding officers take steps away from his reach.

“Hang onto that thought. I’m gonna go wash this off in a puddle or something.”

With that, Hank and the remaining officers head outside the home, leaving Connor alone with the still running water. The Android heads over to the sink and promptly halts the flow, which has collected in the basin turning it a muddy, sewage brown. For sanitary reasons, he should really drain the fluid, but something about the discoloration even has him grimacing.

While inspecting the mess, Connor is completely unaware of the steady pool of rainwater collecting just overhead, seeping through the cracks of the ceiling; and just as he’s about to return to his former position, the roof panels give way and unleash their tide. With his reaction time hindered, Connor barely side-steps the planks crashing to his sides. It’s a lucky dodge, but still not quite good enough to avoid the wave of water that crashes him dead on. Within the blink of an eye, he’s become drenched in icy fluid.

He’s thankful he was the brunt of the accident and not Hank or the other human officers, but if he wasn’t already shivering before, he sure was now. That pummeling had put a dent in his defensive barrier, and the large influx of water was starting to sink into his circuits faster than it could be flushed out.

A similar alert blares through his system, only this time it glows red and reads as a warning.

WARNING!!! Functionality: Highly Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-44BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Water Intake: Level 4. Risk Of Shut-Down: Moderate. Self-Repairs Update Ongoing. Time Remaining: 53 Hours, 21 Minutes, And 17 Sec-

“IHT’TDSHY’yiiEW!”

Connor sneezes freely towards the ground, his hands pathetically hugging his shoulders and shaking against his sodden sleeves. Water had definitely infiltrated his cavities, only congesting him further. Get a grip, he mentally commands. Don’t-!

“Hh’PTSHH’huh! ssh’hHIEW!”

Come on! Get a-!

“Connor!”

The Android lifts his head, spotting Hank who's just re-entered the house and is already barreling his way.

“Connor! What happened?!” He asks, examining the android’s body then glancing between the fallen debri and the hole in the ceiling.

“N-Nothing, L-Lieutenant,” Connor stammers, his voice as uneven as autotune. “Th-the ceiling…it must’ve fallen under the p-pressure of the s-storm.”

His voice has taken on a robotic vibration, frying it with digital gravel.

“Jesus…,” Hank murmurs absentmindedly, his gaze returning to Connor himself. “Did it fucking fall on you? Why are you soaked?!”

“I-I’m okay,” Connor reassures, though the constant shivering and sniffling probably doesn’t make him any more convincing. Two other, entering officers are starting to look at him. He didn’t need this extra speculation, so he opts for changing the subject, and fast.

He glances at Hank’s hands.

“D-Did you manage t-to w-wash your hands off?”

Hank stares at Connor like he’s asked him to perform the electric slide. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the smoothest transition out of the spotlight. But even so, he didn’t say something wrong again, did he? Connor smiles through chattering teeth, when suddenly, Hank catches his cheeks in his palms and sternly peers into the Android’s eyes.

“Christ Connor you’re freezing,” he murmurs, an unusual hint of worry seeping through his tone. Connor wasn’t supposed to evoke that tone, so he does his best to console his partner.

“I-I’m okay, Lieutenant,” Connor repeats. “I-I’m just glad n-no one was injured,” he adds, blatantly ignoring the 59% efficiency report blinking in the corner of his sight. “The temperatures m-may slow m-me down, but I assure you I a-am s-still capable of completing my job.”

Hank doesn’t look convinced, far from it actually, but he ultimately chooses to free Connor of his hold, perhaps motivated by the approach of the remaining officers. He clears his throat and nods, averting his eyes to the remainder of the scene. He’d have to clean up the fallen shit, but honestly that was the least of his current concerns. One victim was piled beneath rooftop shambles, and if he knew anything, it was that Fowler would blame him for the tampered scene — whether it was his fault or not.

“Alright,” he grumbles. “But-,” he exclaims, pointing a finger in Connor’s face, “-you’d better tell me if you start bugging out! The last thing we need is you breaking down or glitching or something.”

Connor’s gears tighten. “Of course, Lieutenant. That won’t happen,” he assures.

“Good, ‘cause I’m not filing a broken equipment report after we’re done here,” he mutters, returning to the crime scene. As he does, he huffs under his breath, shaking his head and hiding his expression behind a curtain of loose bangs.

“Fuck, almost actually had me worried there, Con!” He admits. “I seriously almost asked if you wanted a break, or were hurt or feeling okay, but I forgot you don’t really want or feel, well, anything, do you?”

Connor’s hands grip tighter against his arms, leaving scratches across his synthetic skin that are slow to regenerate.

“Correct, Lieutenant,” he murmurs, his LED flashing yellow.

Hank accepts his answer, already having shuffled over to the fallen planks to scoop them out of the way. Connor tries to help him, but Hank intercepts his reach.

“Uh-uh! You keep telling me what you found, then go ahead and re-investigate the bodies, yeah? Or at least, y’know,” he glimpses down at the victim half-buried beneath the rubble, “the ones you can still see.”

…

By the time they’ve managed to clean up the majority of the roof and granted Connor enough leeway to re-inspect the final victim, more than an hour has passed. His metal was freezing cold to the touch, barely above 35 degrees, and his malfunctions were getting worse by the second — only functioning at an even split of 50%.

Still, it looked like their investigation was nearly over. The other cops had long left the area (probably in order to avoid clean-up duty), and Hank was equally ready to go with just the final victim remaining to be studied. For a man who hated his job, he’d rushed to get another look at the body. He was already down on his knees, hovering over Victim A and scouring his wounds with his flashlight.

“So, you’re saying this one attacked the Androids first?”

Connor nods. “Y-Yes. It’s m-most p-probable.”

His stutter was getting worse. So far Hank had been ignoring it, but there was no way he hadn't noticed.

“So run the last part by me again? Y’know, about how the second Android got involved?”

…No response.

That was unusual.

“Connor?” Hank calls.

No response. Again.

What the Hell?

“Connor? Connor??” He repeats, this time glancing back at the Android in question. To his unease, Connor is looking somewhere unseen, as if in a trance. Making a face, Hank claps his hands together, startling the Android out of his daze.

“Goddammit! Connor!!”

Connor blinks twice and immediately looks to his partner.

“Apologies. D-Did you need me?” Connor asks.

“Well I’ve been calling your name four damn times, so yeah,” Hank answers sarcastically. “I thought you said you were fine. The Hell is up with you?”

“N-Nothing, Lieutenant. I’m sorry,” Connor apologizes again. This time though, Hank isn’t letting him slide so easily.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. What’s going on, huh? You’re even loopier than yesterday,” he scoffs. “Y’know I was joking earlier but now I’m not so sure. What is it, huh? You actually malfunctioning or some shit?”

“N-No!” Connor exclaims a bit too hastily, based on the way Hank raises an eyebrow his way. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice so high. It was an impulse he rarely leaned into, but it was difficult given the constant red warning swimming through his ocular piece. “N-No…my operations are functional.”

“Functional?” Hank repeats, placing a hand on his knee. “What happened to optimal?”

For a middle-aged drunkard, Hank was remarkably astute — a quality Connor often admired, just not in this moment.

“I am fine,” Connor breathes, trying to keep his voice as still as possible. “I’ve already ran internal diagnostics. It s-seems that I’ve contracted a small virus that is affecting the r-regulation of my bio-components.”

“What?” Hank exclaims, suddenly up on his feet and fully facing his Android. “Affecting how? For how long??” He asks, bordering concern and curiosity.

“My temperature regulation is h-hindered, resulting in fluctuating internal temps ranging from r-roughly 30 to 120 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“30?!” He knew Connor was cold, just not that cold.

“My ocular c-components are s-similarly impaired, occasionally resulting in low visibility and an inability t-to scan c-certain d-data in the environment. I s-suspect I will not be able to immediately diagnose b-blue blood, as taste receptors are partially numbed.”

Hank honestly didn’t see that as a negative per se, but he wasn’t about to say that aloud.

“And I am experiencing m-mild g-glitching affecting airway c-cavities, though this is, again, a m-mild inconvenience.”

Hank looks Connor up and down, expression unreadable. For the first time, Connor swears he’s sensing something. Something internal outside his usual program, and aside from the errors he’s affected by. This was something new, something strange and unpleasant. Something like…

Anxiety?

He waits for Hank to say something — anything — even if it’s at his own expense, and yet all the detective does is stare at him. Finally, after a few more bated moments, Hank does something unexpected: he laughs. And when he does speak, it’s in the flattest tone Connor’s ever heard out of him — a tone befit an Android.

“So you have a cold.”

Blue rises to Connor’s cheeks. Anxiety was giving way to another unwanted emotion: humiliation.

“…Yes, Lieutenant. The common cold would likely be an equivalent to my condition.”

Hanks laughs again, placing his hands on his hips as he shakes his head in amusement. “Learn something stupid everyday,” he muses. Then, more seriously, he continues: “So what exactly uh, happens when you’re-,” he waves his hands around Connor’s person, gesturing to his entirety,” -like this. Hm? I’m assuming bots don’t get sick leave.”

He was genuinely curious (maybe even a smidge compassionate), and as always, Connor has an answer.

“CyberLife has been notified of my dysfunction, and their report denotes that as a m-model RK800, I am c-capable of both s-self-diagnostics and administering minor self-repairs. A-As such, this inconvenience is nothing I c-cannot h-handle myself. Given approximately-,” his LED hums and glows a faint blue, “-51 hours, 32 minutes and 11 seconds, my s-systems should be rebooted, and myself returned t-to optimal f-functionality. In the meantime, I apologize for any hindrances this may c-cause our investigation, Lieutenant; however, CyberLife has assured that these errors are m-more likely to c-cause self-contained discomfort, and are therefore highly n-negligible to outside company.”

He wiggles in place. “That is why I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m s-sorry for the disturbance, and urge you to ignore my incongruity lest it endanger or c-concern you or others directly.”

“Right…,” Hank nods, still eyeing Connor with skepticism. “But you know it does kind of concern me when you’re all dopey, ignoring my questions and shit.”

“It won’t happen again.”

Hank snorts, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take your word for it, but forgive me if I think you’re full of shit when you say so,” he says, returning to the victim. “So, anything else I should be aware of? Any other surprises?” He chuckles.

Hank awaits an answer, even if it’s meant as a joke, but once again he’s met with silence. He sighs and mutters something unintelligible to himself; something along the lines of “I swear to God kid if you aren’t listening”; but just as he’s about to call Connor again and wake him from whatever tizzy he’s fallen back into, the Android makes a sound he doesn’t recognize.

“H’ih-!”

“Huh?”

Hank waits, but there’s no response again. Was Connor trying to say something and he’d missed it? “Hey! Connor! What did you sa-?”

“Hidt’TZSH’ieEW!”

Hank startles, jerking enough to lose his grip on his flashlight, which tumbles from his hand and rolls across the wood flooring. He swings around fast enough to give someone his age whiplash, still not entirely believing such a human sound was produced by his partner. That is, until he watches him make it again. The android’s shoulders bounce twice, chest inflates with a faux breath, and then-

“Ih’TSHH’Uui! E-Excu’h-! Hhh’idTSHh’iew!”

He somehow catches the final sneeze in an artificial web of fingers. Why he even bothers Hank doesn’t know; after all, it’s not like he could infect anyone. Then again, it was probably just another habit to make him appear more human; though to be honest, Hank almost found it creepy.

When Connor catches his partner staring, he looks utterly embarrassed; the sky-blue blush rushing to his face and discoloring his ski-sloped nose. To regain his composure, he’s quick to readjust his trademark tie and fidget with the cuffs of his sleeve.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” Connor offers sheepishly.

“…did you just fucking sneeze?” Hank asks, only the way he says it makes it sound more like an accusation than an inquiry.

Connor nods and rubs his nose. “Forgive me. It’s another side effect of my-,” he pauses, refusing to say malfunction aloud. “-condition. I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

“It’s not that I just, didn’t know you things uh, did that,” Hank replies un-eloquently. “Not that I even knew you got sick for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s not common,” Connor answers, his eyes averting shyly. “It’s to vent out my systems. Usually androids don’t need to resort to these processes since they clean themselves manually, but with my bio-components partially corrupted-“

Connor sniffs and pinches his nose, unaware how he seems to be bewildering Hank further.

“-my systems are relying on automatic reflexes. CyberLife did add that they m-may be on high alert for outside disturbances. S’h-?! So given how duh’hsty this area i’hiH-! is…”

Connor glimpses around the abandoned kitchen, wiggling his nose and sniffing in succession, again.

“-I suppose I’m-…I-hH‘m…-?!”

He’s intent on continuing, he really is, but he just can’t. Therefore, he swivels around out of Hank’s sight, and sneezes as quietly as possible into the bed of his palms.

“pP’SHHIi’Eew! ihH’SCH’yuU! ‘chyiieEW!”

Or not quietly at all, really. It was just so hard; especially when his nose was so relentlessly ticklish! Staving off the fit for hours probably didn’t help, but in his defense, he still wasn’t 100% sure fighting it off actually made it worse. Just…99% sure.

“ahH’Ah-! H’ahH-…! HH’ATSCH’hyieEW!”

The water soaked into his systems must be more  agitating than he thought. He sniffles damply and rubs his nose on his sleeve before clearing his throat of the congestion that’s settled there. When he faces Hank again, he isn’t even aware of just how blue he’s turned, or the little curls of hair that've been freed by the exertion of his fit. He coughs into his fist.

“Excuse me. Sorry. I was saying that I’ve become highly sensitive to the changes in the environment. Like the rain and-“, he sniffs, hesitant to even utter the word, “-dust.”

The initial shock of disbelief wearing off, Hank’s expression dissolves into a smirk that teases more at one corner of his mouth than the other. “So first you catch colds and now you get allergies, too?”

Connor swallows.

“Not necessarily,” he defends.

Hank nods, still looking cheeky. “But you are sneezy.”

“A bit…yes,” Connor confirms, scrubbing at his face again. Static is still tickling his nose, and spreading an itch to the rest of his face. Is this how humans felt when they were overreacting?

“I’ll stop it next time. I’m sorry.”

He fears he may have given the wrong answer the way Hank stays silent, but ultimately, his partner must appreciate his courtesy, because his expression softens and he rises to rub Connor’s shoulder in earnest.

“Twenty more minutes and then we get you out of here. I’m starting to freeze my balls off, anyway.”

…

Twenty minutes don’t come fast enough. Thankfully they’ve managed to piece together exactly how the crime went down — from the names of the victims and their Androids, to the means of assault, the murder weapons, and the motives. The cost however was Connor’s comfort, which if not indicated by his breathy sneezing and constant shaking, was evidenced by the 44% efficiency he was operating at. He needed a charge, and maybe just a little time to shut his eyes, which were being swarmed by constant alerts. The walls of text and meaningless numbers were starting to pile up in the corners of his eyes and really impair his sight. He had attempted to blink them away as quickly as they popped up, but at some point he’d given up altogether — doing so was expending crucial battery life he couldn’t afford to spare.

And now even his balance was beginning to suffer, causing him to lean and rock whenever he inched in any direction. To keep himself steady and warm, his hands were permanently grounded to his arms, keeping him enveloped in a hug of his own making.

As he watches Hank wrap up, Connor suddenly remembers that his night was far from over. He still needed to file his case report to CyberLife, and the idea of walking all the way back to the station was no more appealing. As an Android he wasn’t afforded the luxury of catching himself a taxi since it was illegal to spend currency on himself alone. Usually Connor didn’t pay this inequality any real attention, but in his current state, he finds himself fixated on the rule. If he thought on it further, perhaps he would’ve inspired some kind of opinion; ultimately though, he knows there’s nothing he could do but accept it. Thus he turns his attention back to his current priority: Hank, who he needed to return home safely before reporting their findings to CyberLife. He’d made a promise to Sumo, after all.

He may be exhausted, but he still wasn’t ready to deem his performance a total failure just yet.

“Alright, I think we’re just about done here,” Hank sighs, looking and sounding just as relieved as Connor was. “Don’t tell the Chief but uh, based on what we found here-“

Hank peeks at Connor who meets his glance.

“-fuckers probably deserved what they got.”

Connor glimpses at the Android bodies, then that of the human victims. He shrugs, albeit reluctantly. “That is n-not a j-judgment I can m-make,” he answers.

“Sure it isn’t,” Hank sighs. “Anyway, let’s get the fuck out of here. Come on.”

Hank leads the way towards the exit, and as usual, Connor is quick to trail him like a puppy chasing its owner. He’s so close to being done and escaping this fortress of death and dust, but of course, fate can’t let him off so easily. The whole day had been work, and apparently his shift wasn’t quite over yet.

He feels it before he fully realizes what’s happening. That prickling burn in his face had returned with a vengeance, syncing with another alert that blinds his view completely.

WARNING!!! Functionality: Critically Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-53BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Risk Of Shut-Down: Imminent. Self-Repairs Update Ongoing. Time Remaining: 54 Hours, 26 Minutes, And 03 Seconds.

Wait, did the time remaining increase?

Connor is too preoccupied with completing his objectives to heed his system’s warnings, and thus dismisses the alarm pounding in his head. With a mighty effort he attempts to trudge forward in Hank’s wake, every step heavy and audibly creaking. His bio components slosh with rainwater, sending chills through every circuit and rendering every movement sluggish and dizzying. The pixels in his view were collecting like a storm and creating clouds of noir fuzz that eat away at his peripheral sight.

And that damn vibration in his chest and nose! It was so fucking distracting! He doesn’t need to alert Hank to his current state any more than he already has, and he definitely doesn’t need to get whisked up in another pathetic fit…but the tactics he’d used so far to abate his reflexes just weren’t providing him any hints of reprieve.

Desperate, he resorts to a new plan of action, quick to secure his nose between the pads of his thumb and forefinger. He’s seen Hank do it before, so maybe if he just…! Connor clamps down hard on the sensitive tip to try and curb the itch that’s nested there, eager to quell the phantom sensation by massaging and kneading strategically. Rain water squeaks against his grip, and the stubborn tickle has him coughing breathily against his control. Please let this work! He can stop this one! He just needs to concentrate. He just needs to try harder! He just…ne’hH’eds…t-t’hHU…!

Abandoning his cause, Connor blindly frees his hand and reaches for Hank’s shoulder. He ends up at his sleeve instead, but honestly that’s close enough given the urgency of his position. He gives the detective’s jacket a little tug, signaling for his attention.

“LieuyY’hH-!…Lieutenant-?!”

Hank peeks at Connor over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“S-Sir-! I-I’hh am…,” Connor trails off, and catching the Android’s desperate gaze, Hank pays him his full attention. The Android shuffles, blinks side to side, then flusteredly exclaims, “g-going to do ih’hIHT-!…a’hh’gain-!”

Hank blinks, and when he finally catches on, he blinks again.

“Connor,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes and gripping the Android’s hand. “You’re a damn-near indestructible supercomputer worth double my yearly salary. Are you seriously telling me you’re about to sneeze again? Like a preschooler?”

“Y-Yes-!” Connor answers seriously between hitching breaths. Hank isn’t surprised he didn’t catch his attempts at teasing, but he’s also unaware of just how mortified Connor is — how he’s feeling. “I understand I — huh-! — f-frightened-“

“I wasn’t scared.”

“-you la’aast time s’so I th’hah-! I thought I’d try to w-warn you’that’I-!”

“Fuck’s sake just shut up and get it over with!” Hank hisses.

Permission granted. To spare his commanding officer the unsightly scene, Connor twists his body and races to cover his mouth with steepled hands. He hiccups two “breaths” (a pattern Hank was beginning to pick up on) against his palms before succumbing to his nightmare.

“Hh’IPTtsSH’IEW! Aah’-! eH’SCH’hh! Iy’hh-! hah-! H’hiHH-! hHYi’DSHH’uU!”

He coughs so hard afterwards, his chest rattles and mouth leaks stale rainwater. It’s the trigger that melts Hank’s bemused expression into one of utter fear, his eyes wide and unblinking. Up until now he’d found this whole thing funny, maybe a bit quirky and unusual, but now? Now this felt serious. Dangerous, even.

“Connor!”

Hank scrambles to Connor’s side. Without seeking permission, he grabs both Connor’s wrists in his hands and forces them away from his face, revealing a tortured expression he should’ve noticed earlier. Connor looked outright uncomfortable. He looked distressed. He looked…

Really sick.

Guilt anchors Hank’s heart to the bottom of his gut, and out of some sort of paternal instinct, he holds the Android steady by pulling him into a hug.

“Connor!” He calls, but the Android is prisoner to a loop of gasping and sputtering. Pressed close together, Hank can hear the faint whistling emitting from the Android’s chest. Paired with the aggressive huffing and whimpers of sound, Connor didn’t sound too much unlike an asthmatic. Hank’s hands are becoming numb the longer they remain locked around the man’s body, and with every violent shiver, his body shakes in chorus.

Connor clutches greedy fistfuls of Hank’s jacket, relying on him entirely for support to stay upright. It’s like he’s clinging for life support, and the impression makes Hank’s own blood turn to ice.

“Connor?! Connor, son!! Are you okay?!”

To his horror, Connor blindly shakes his head. It’s the last hint to compel Hank to action. Desperate to comfort the Android further, Hank cradles a hand to the back of Connor’s head and pillows his face against his chest. The Android wiggles weakly against his grip, but Hank adamantly refuses to budge.

“Relax, kid. I used to be a dad, remember?”

He closes his eyes and traces soothing circles between Connor’s shoulder blades.

“Getting sneezed and coughed on is part of the job; maybe for detectives too. So quit your fighting and just get it over with — I’m here for you now.”

Either his words resonate convincingly enough, or Connor can’t hold out any further. Either way, the result is the same.

“HAH’DZSCHh’hiuUH! h’DTZSH’HUH! ih’KSCHH!”

Connor groans faintly from the bed of Hank’s breast pocket, barely catching another breath before he’s snapping forth again. First coughing, then flung into another sneezing fit.

“EH’DSHH’CHhui! ‘CHiiEeW! ‘SCHH’yyiuh! hHi’tshiiew!”

The last one is barely a sneeze, more like an exhale of empty, fizzled out air. Hank noticed how Connor, even in all his desperation, had refused to sneeze on him; instead letting loose at the last possible moment by pressing his forehead to his chest and aiming each burst towards the floor. Even while at the end of his rope the damn man was too polite — a wholesome and unreasonable characteristic Hank acted like he abhorred, but silently envied.

Relieved to be finished but feeling infinitely worse, Connor lifts his head slowly, already pulling out of Hank’s touch to crush the back of his wrist against his nose. He wasn’t about to look Hank in the eyes, not that he could see clearly to begin with. Errors were swarming his senses like gnats, declaring him critically defective and dangerously malfunctioning — as if he needed a reminder of the obvious.

Rocking on his heels he clutches his head in his hand and surrenders to the glitches tearing up his bio components.

WARNING!!! Functionality: Critically Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-53BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Risk Of Shut-Down: Imminent. WARNING!!! Functionality: Critically Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-53BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Risk Of Shut-Down: Imminent. WARNING!!! Malfunction. Malfunction.

Malfunction.

Malfunction.

“I-…I’m not…”

Malfunction. Shut-Down Sequence Initiated.

N-No. He wasn’t going to shut down. It was a status he couldn’t afford, especially given his type of work, his mission, his expectations, and his model. A malfunction this spiraling…was unbefitting a rumba, let alone an RX800 Android like himself. If he couldn’t pull it together and send back a satisfying report to his creators, then…what could he expect? He’d be forced apart and aptly replaced by a new Connor model. He would be broken down; he’d be expendable once again. He’d lose his purpose. He’d lose his job! He’d lose Hank!! He didn’t want that!!!

“Connor! CONNOR!!!”

He…he didn’t…

“Hank-…I-I…don’t…f-feel…”

DING!Shut-Down Sequence Complete.

[nullen-void]

Captain Murray woke to a harsh buzzing and a gradual hissing. A bone-deep chill surrounded him, and he shivered on the cold, padded metal slab that had held his body for the past…

He grasped out blindly in the dark, and swore as his hand banged against the glass tube till covering the bed. He hated this model, the ice and condensation always made the lids stick, though his engineering chief insisted they were top of the line. He fumbled around at waist level before hitting the emergency release. The lid slid back with a pneumatic hiss. The lights in the room came on in response.

Captain Murray smacked the timer next to his cryopod and blinked stupidly at the flashing number on the screen.

“...Why in the hell--three months?”

The captain hated cryosleep. He hated it with a passion. He’d never been a fan of the cold in general, and ever since he took up the role as ship captain he could never seem to get warm; by the time he’d finally stopped shivering, it was back into the pod.

It was the price he paid for seeing the cosmos, he supposed.

He crawled out of the cryopod with a steady stream of grumbling, reaching for his uniform jacket and customary peaked hat. His boots seemed to be missing, which was typical.

Ugh, he couldn’t deal with this right now. Captain Murray had had a special button installed in his quarters for just this occasion, and he pressed it now.

After far too many minutes, the door to his room opened to admit a figure that could generously be described as ‘humanoid.’

“Trace?” Captain Murray mumbled. “What are you doing here?”

The clunky maintenance droid looked at the platter in its hand that held the captain’s coffee, then back at him. “Delivering your drink, captain,” it said in its usual toneless voice. It held up his boots in its other hand. “And these, captain.”

Murray blinked. But cryosleep always left him feeling sluggish, so he just took the mug gratefully and stepped into his shoes. He took a long, loud sip and sighed at the warmth it brought.

“Ahh, I needed that. Now,” he said, straightening up and willing the drowsiness away. “Trace, what’s going on? Why are you here and not the server drones?”

The robot took a moment to put together a response. “...The ship has fallen back into sublight space, captain. Emergency procedures are active, and the server drones are not considered vital operations.”

“Any idea why?”

“The server drones are a convenience for the human crew during scheduled system checks--”

“Not that!” the Captain snapped. “Why are we in realspace? The ship wasn’t supposed to wake us up for another three months!”

“I do not know, captain,” the droid said.

The captain grumbled. He shoved his way past the robot, but paused in the door. “...Can you at least tell me why you had my boots?”

“I set them aside for polishing,” Trace replied evenly. “I did not anticipate you awakening early.”

“Right.”

Putting the odd robot out of his mind, Captain Murray strode out into the hall. He glared at the lights overhead, only at half-luminosity, and clapped twice. “ICO! Fix the lights!”

“Yes. Captain,” came the response from the walls. The halls lit up, and Murray nodded in satisfaction.

He made his way through the ship, noting the open doors of each room, as well as the yellow warning lights adorning most panels. So, whatever happened triggered the emergency protocols, but isn’t actually an emergency in and of itself, eh? That left a limited number of scenarios.

But since it wasn’t an emergency, Murray indulged himself. He took a right at the first fork, deeper into the ship, and peeked in on the civilian population.

Mass Cryo-Storage Wing One was functioning at full capacity, said the panel by the door. On the screen he brought up the specs for the other storage units just to check, and all three were just as good. He let out a short breath, scowling at the way it misted in the chilly air.

“ICO, make sure the Cryo Wings are all closed,” he said into the panel’s speaker. “No sense letting the cold out and making the pod work harder.”

“Yes. Captain.”

“Why did they even design this hulk to open all the doors like that, it makes no sense,” he muttered.

He’d said it quietly to himself, but the ship’s AI must have overheard him, because it answered. “It is to aid in evacuation, should the need arise. In an emergency, opening doors would be an additional one-point-three seconds per room. The time wasted opening doors could prove crucial in--”

Murray waved, cutting him off. “Yeah yeah, I get it. Bloody annoying though.”

Cryo One’s door slid shut behind him as he returned to his path. A few minutes later, he made it to the bridge.

The rest of the crew was already present… most of them, anyway; Captain Murray noted a few empty seats, but since he couldn’t immediately remember the names of the people meant to sit there, he assumed they weren’t essential personnel.

The First Officer looked up from his console and saw him standing in the door. “Captain on deck!” he shouted.

Everyone stopped what they were doing to stand, but Murray waved it away. Several of them stood there awkwardly, halfway through saluting. Rookies, Murray surmised.

“Captain,” the First Officer greeted as Murray took his seat. “We’re in the middle of--”

Captain Murray raised a hand, cutting him off. He wiggled in place, getting comfortable in the big chair. Finally, he took a long, several-second sip from his mug until the coffee was all gone. The First Officer waited patiently until he was finished.

That was how he knew it wasn’t a big deal, whatever was happening. If there was an actual emergency, Officer Ramirez would be trying harder.

Murray let a few more seconds pass in blissful silence, then finally got to the task of doing his job. “Alright. Mister Ramirez, why have we dropped into realspace three months early?”

Ramirez gestured to the diagnostics officer, who pressed a button.

Murray’s console unfolded itself in front of him and he examined the data it presented him.

“The forward scanners detected something in front of us and deactivated the void drive before we could impact,” the diagnostics officer explained.

Murray hummed. He didn’t pretend to fully understand how the Void Drive worked, but he knew enough to recognize that ramming into anything at superluminal speed would be a disaster. “There’s not supposed to be anything in our path. Any clue what it was, Hunt?”

The diagnostics officer snorted. “Hardly. Getting concrete readings over lightspeed isn’t easy, Captain. Everything comes back fuzzy and blue. All I can tell you is that it was smaller than the ship and moving.”

“An asteroid field, most likely,” Ramirez offered. “Floating somewhere in the void between stars. It would be easy to miss on the initial trajectory plotting.”

“I see,” Captain Murray said. He tapped a button, shifting the display to a radar screen. “Hunt, I’m assuming you’ve already sent out the scanner beam.”

“Yessir,” she confirmed.

“When do you expect to get an idea of how big the field is?”

“By my estimates, we’ll get results in seven more minutes. Then we can start navigating our way through the disturbance and resume the course.”

Murray drummed his fingers on his armrest. “...What are the chances we can go ahead and do the systems check right now and skip the next wakeup cycle? Get it out of the way?” he asked, already knowing the answer before Ramirez shook his head.

“I’m afraid not sir,” Ramirez said, smirking. “You’ll just have to set an alarm like everyone else.”

Murray grumbled. “Fine. Then at least send one of the maintenance droids to look over my pod.”

“Are you still saying--”

“I swear there’s a mechanical fault in the sliding panel, Tony!” Murray insisted. “Just because your door never sticks--”

“Uh, sir?” Hunt interjected.

The two men looked over, along with several curious officers. “Yes, what is it?”

“The data just returned…” Hunt said cautiously. “Early.”

Murray frowned. He shared a glance with Ramirez. “...And?”

Hunt stared down at her screen, expression blank. “The obstacle is… regularly shaped. Current distance is… ten light-minutes.”

“You’re making it sound like there’s just one--” Ramirez began.

Murray cut him off with a hand on his shoulder. “Hunt?”

“Nine minutes now,” Hunt answered. She swallowed. “Our sublights are idling, captain.”

The bridge was dead silent.

“...” Captain Murray folded his console away. “Officer Hunt, move your feed to the main screen.”

Dutifully, she did so, showing the entire room the object at eight light-minutes and closing.

“...”

“It’s slowing down to intercept, Captain,” Hunt reported.

An asteroid wouldn’t be able to slow down in the vacuum of space.

Captain Murray stood from his chair, face grave. “Mister Kelly, what do we have for short range communication?”

The comms officer snapped out of his shock and began typing at his station. “Transmitting hailing frequency, sir.”

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

Colony Ship Maintenance Droid, Semi-Industrial Model, No.3, walked with purpose. 

The ECS Winterbloom was not a new ship. While it still represented the peak of humanity’s technological achievement, it was several decades old at this point. This was its third mission, and while it had been retrofitted with the latest iteration of its propulsion systems and cryogenic facilities, much of the lesser functions of the ship were still working off the original model, and with age came wear.

Given that most of the time the ship’s crew and passengers were in stasis, it wouldn’t be a great loss if a door opened a little slower than normal or if a light fixture’s wiring burned out. But a small fault could lead to a big fault, or worse, disguise a big fault. So it was job of the ship’s maintenance droids to repair each and every malfunction as they cropped up.

No.3, compared to the other droids, was proactive. They actively sought out new tasks to perform, and even sought to make improvements where it could. During this most recent voyage, No.3 and the ship’s Integrated Computational Overseer had worked with the Winterbloom’s fabricator to produce longer-lasting LED lights, and had spent much of the last three years steadily replacing the old lights, recycling the old bulbs into the new design as they went. It was, No.3 admitted, a largely pointless task. With the humans asleep and the robots able to see with minimal lighting, there was little danger from the lights burning out.

During the previous voyage to establish a new colony, Officer Ramirez had for some reason latched onto No.3, calling them ‘Commander Tres’ based on their abbreviated designation. From there, the engineers started referring to them as Trace or Tracey in maintenance reports, and No.3 began getting preferential treatment in scheduled system checkups. Eventually, they gave Trace a new paint job to make them more distinct from the other droids, and finally one very bored techie had tinkered with Trace’s programming and expanded their awareness. 

Trace found it… annoying. It voided their extended warranty, AND gave them the ability to grow bored. And boredom was plentiful once the colony was deemed self-sufficient and the Winterbloom was set up for a new mission. Months at a time passed without anything at all happening, and Trace couldn’t exactly go into sleep mode when there was work to be done.

Hence, the light bulbs. Something to do.

But it wasn’t light bulbs that they were concerned with today, no no. Trace walked with purpose because the crew was awake, and that meant mandatory life-support and ventilation checks. These would normally be done over the week before they awakened, but ICO had thawed them out early due to unforeseen circumstances.

All across the ship, Maintenance Droids No.1 through No.25 were hard at work ensuring that the oxygen scrubbers and water recyclers were up to spec; ICO’s systems said they were, but in space you always checked, just in case.

In case of what? Well, in case of this: Trace let out a satisfied whir as they pried up a panel and insected the generator underneath. This gauge was displaying temperatures approaching 43℃. It should not be doing that.

Trace got to work assessing what had gone wrong and why the system had falsely reported green; temperatures had to be closely monitored in a colony ship. This particular gauge was part of the regulating systems for Cryo Four. While the cryopods were swapped out with newer models the infrastructure supporting them largely wasn’t. This anomaly must be resolved before whatever malfunction that caused this began affecting the Cryo Wings.

Trace sent a ping to No.17 to check on Cryo Four just in case.

“Alert to all stations.”

One of Trace’s forward camera swiveled to look at the nearest wall console. “Responding.”

“Security Drones activating,” ICO intoned. “Protocol: UNDEFINED. Error. Working. Work--”

The soft female voice cut off with a beep. Trace imagined that the Captain was giving an order for ICO to interpret.

“Confirmed. Protocol: Mutiny (Adjusted: Hostile Outside Contact) logged. Enacting.”

That was worrisome. An ‘undefined’ protocol meant whatever was happening was something that hadn’t been anticipated by High Command or the Engineering Corps. Mutiny, though, seemed terribly unlikely; the current crew were highly professional and amiable with each other, according to Trace’s observation. So it was adjusted for… ‘Outside contact?’ Outside was nothing but empty space.

“ICO? What is happening?” Trace asked out loud. They could have sent a message through the network, but they had found that the ship was more likely to respond to verbal communication. Likely a consequence of being designed for human-friendliness.

A light on the wall console came on, and a camera lens swiveled to focus on the droid.

No.3. You are in Hallway 26, near Materials Storage West, ICO observed, speaking directly into Trace’s receiver.

Correct, they transmitted back.

ICO was silent for a mere two seconds, a moment that for the two machines was abnormally, worryingly long.

You must vacate the area, ICO said.

Trace’s optics clicked. They looked at the gauge they’d been working on. The temperature was falling again, back down to acceptable levels, but not optimal. And they had yet to find the source of the sensor malfunction. I am not yet finished with repairs.

The console’s speakers crackled to life. “You MUST vacate the area!”

The unexpected urgency in the AI’s voice had them hurrying to the panel. “Why, what is happening?”

“They are attempting to ram--!”

The floor underneath them shook and the lights overhead flickered. A hideous shriek of twisting metal pierced the quiet of the corridor and threatened to overload Trace’s audio sensors.

The robot turned away from the wall. And even if they hadn’t been given wider mental capacity, they might have been dumbfounded by what they saw.

On the wall opposite ICO’s panel, six meters to Trace’s left, a massive spear-shaped construct had pierced the ship’s hull. It was a revolting, unpolished mess of dark gray metal that shone a dull yellow under the flickering lights.

The construct wedged itself into the hole it had made, and Trace watched panels pop off of it, foam expanding to seal off the aperture completely just before the tip opened up.

Another shriek of metal. Trace swiveled to see a second intruder in the opposite direction. They heard a third echo down the corridor, beyond their sight. But before they could discern from where, the first vessel hissed again.

And it was a vessel. The tip of the spear-like construct folded in on itself, revealing the hollow interior. And out from within it strode five… figures.

They weren’t human. Humans had fewer limbs than that.

Their features were hidden beneath the environmental suits they wore, but the visor of their helmets pointed towards Trace, and they pointed aggressively.

So, this was what the ‘adjusted mutiny’ was about.

Trace unfolded. The robot’s upper limbs each split in two vertically, mirroring the invaders’ own four arms, and unfolded further into a variety of tools. Hopefully a saw and welding torch would do something to those suits.

But Trace would never know how a simple (jailbroken) maintenance droid might have fared in combat, because a squad of security drones arrived just then. And while four of the five invaders in front of them began firing their weapons at the newcomers, the apparent leader wasn’t so easily distracted.

Trace stepped forward, swinging a hammer at the end of one arm.

The lead invader drew a sidearm, and shot once.

Trace fell to the ground, twitching.

“All Security Drones regroup at Hallway 26,” ICO said too calmly. “Repeat: All Drones to Hallway 26. Protect the ship. Protect the crew. Protect the passengers. All Security Drones regroup to Hallway 26…”

Trace’s battery-low signal went off, whatever weapon the invader had used damagign their power core. Part of Trace struggled, begging not to go offline. If they’d been human, maybe they’d have been able to stand up, fuelled by heroic resolve and willpower. Maybe they’d have been able to make a grand last stand against the invading force, distracting them such that the drones could gain some ground against them.

But Trace was a robot. The only thing they could do was watch as the invader disregarded them as a threat before their battery drained completely, and they knew no more.

[sumitverma3297]

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[deadtime-stories]

Apex: Chapter 03

Adult | Sci-Fantasy | Trans MMC | Mechs

First draft is being posted as written. Errors and continuity issues will exist.

-----

Auren wasn’t a soldier. He liked to keep his interactions as neat and tidy as his lab, and didn’t pick fights he wasn’t sure he could win. Plenty of scenarios played through his head as the elevator descended into the bowels of the royal palace, from grabbing the gun hanging casually off Luceris’ back to knocking the wind out of him with an elbow and climbing up through the maintenance hatch while he was down. But every scenario he came up with was almost certain to fail.

Luceris had about four inches on him in height, and even though much of his bulk looked like it came from his armored uniform, Auren couldn’t calculate his build. He might be weaker than he looked or he might be all lean muscle. In the end, Auren decided the best action was no action if he wanted to stay alive.

Instead, he studied Luceris’ face. His skin was rich brown, like the dark bands of Thessalie’s favorite tiger’s eye pendant. In shadow his eyes were as dark and shark-like as Auren’s own, but shifted in the light to the russet tint of myrralie oak acorns. His dark brows were thick but looked professionally groomed, and a broad, flat nose and full lips were clearly visible with his clean-shaven face. His hair fell down his back in a long braid, but his helmet had dislodged a few stray locks that had less curl than Jannel’s but still fell in waves.

He was a handsome man, which was another wild card in deciding how dangerous he might be. Auren witnessed firsthand the phenomenon of attractive people being promoted over more skilled ones, it was impossible to gauge his abilities by rank and size alone.

“You stare,” Luceris’ own eyes were on the display above the door, on the steady change of digital numbers as they descended floors, but he was paying enough attention to call Auren out.

“Nothing gets past you.”

Auren wasn’t combative by nature, or sarcastic for the sake of sarcasm. The verbal jabs he was known for were probes, personality tests for the people around him. They helped him learn where he stood with others, whether he could speak freely or if he should stay silent.

Luceris’ gaze flicked from the numbers down to him. Auren held it for several awkward seconds, until Luceris took a large step sideways and shifted his gun farther out of Auren’s reach. It was almost a compliment, that a trained soldier couldn’t accurately read how dangerous he was either.

The elevator reached subbasement 4, five stories below the streets of Avrelas City. The door slid open to reveal another one, this one of thick, heavy metal with a screen that lit up. Auren watched his and Luceris’ faces appear on screen and lines run across them as the AI scanned for an authorized face. The screen went dark except for a square around Auren’s, and a generic handprint began blinking beside it.

Auren rested his hand over it, letting his palm be scanned. The screen beeped and went dark, and the door slid open.

The hallway was probably ominous to a newcomer, sterile white and flooded with cold light, but to Auren it was a welcome home. He strolled down toward the fork ahead, every step bringing more confidence as he left the world of kings behind and returned to one of his own making.

“There’s a break room and restrooms there,” Auren said, pointing to the left as he turned right at the fork. Here, he tapped on doors as he walked, in case the Tanas-Ashen script on their plates was unreadable to his unwelcome guest. “Break room storage. Cleaning supplies. Copy center. These are all intern offices.”

Luceris followed close behind but said nothing as they turned left at the next corner, where the closed-in hall opened up with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out into the cavernous expanse of the Avatar hangars.

“Low level offices,” Auren continued without looking to see his reaction, trying to make the experience as boring and uninteresting as possible. “It’s where we stick the new grads or transfers with low security clearance.”

They reached another security door with the same scanners, which led to another short hallway of offices. These had windows of their own, so the senior engineers who used them had a view of the hangar goings-on. At the end of this hallway was a glass door with no security, allowing them to step out into the great, open hangar area itself.

“The hangar.” Auren gave a disinterested wave toward the powered-down Avatar units lining the far wall. Each was about ten feet tall, clunky exoskeletons in humanoid shape that gave pilots the machine-driven strength necessary to take on raging Aberrations. “One of five in Avrelas, but they’re all linked by transit tunnel. Each hangar launches to a different point outside the walls, and the tunnels let the military distribute units as necessary. Pretty standard, same layout that’s used across the continent.”

Luceris glanced around, but after a moment his attention returned to Auren. There was another brief stare down, but this one was initiated by the soldier, and Auren didn’t like the thoughtful look on his face. At length Luceris moved, grabbing Auren’s wrist before he could pull away and raising his hand for inspection.

“Smooth hands,” he said after a moment. “Weak grip. You’re not pilot. Who are you?”

Despite the circumstance, Auren couldn’t help but feel insulted as he fished for an answer. “Would you believe I’m the maintenance man?”

“Maintenance man with personal access to king? And clearance to talk of escape plans?” Luceris’ eyebrow quirked upward. He shifted and pointed across the hangar, to the painfully obvious glass door leading up into the operations office. “I think you can open door.”

“Look, I just work here—” Auren’s sputtered response cut off in a high-pitched squeal when Luceris reached forward to grip him by the small hairs at his neck.

He pulled upward until Auren was forced to stand on his toes to avoid the worst of the pain, and made him stumble after him with a whimpered string of “ow, ow, ow” until they reached the door. Luceris pushed Auren’s face in front of the scanner, then forced his palm against the screen when the print reader flashed. The door slid open, and Luceris shoved Auren up the stairs ahead of him.

The staircase opened into the nicest—and most secure—office in the Avatar hangars. Its high placement, circular frame, and large windows gave a bird’s eye view of the whole space, and the walls were covered with white boards, diagrams, and computer consoles.

Luceris spun slowly, taking it all in. He moved to examine some diagrams, then drifted over to a whiteboard to eye the complicated equations. After punching a few buttons on a computer with no response—he didn’t know how to turn this type on, Auren realized—Luceris turned back to him.

“Again,” he was firmer this time. “Who are you?”

Auren’s mind raced. He had plenty of occasions to lie in his life, but never in a situation this serious. But every falsehood that came to mind needed another hundred little lies to support it, and he was forced to discard each one almost as soon as he came up with it.

Luceris’ patience ran thin. He crossed the room and unshouldered his gun, pressing the muzzle against Auren’s temple.

“I have access I want,” he said. “No reason for you to live if you don’t give me one.”

“Okay, okay!” Auren threw up his hands in surrender. He’d already held off longer than anyone in this kingdom had a right to expect him to, it was time to bargain for his own life and military secrets be damned. “I’m the Director of Combat Development. I oversee the Tanas-Ashen Avatar program and I’m the Lead Engineer of Project Sunrise.”

Luceris studied his face briefly, as if searching for a lie. Sensing none, he lowered his gun.

“How old?”

“Twenty-nine,” Auren replied. “Thirty in two months.”

“Too young. How a Director at twenty-nine?”

“I’m Kyrasti. I was born during an augmentation project called New Dawn.”

The recognition that flickered across Luceris’ face was a surprise to Auren. Kyrastir was a tiny country, even more remote than Tanas-Ashe. It was barely a spot on the map, and not a place he’d expect a Vesprian to know. But Luceris’ annoyed expression became one of interest, and the silence that fell as he slowly circled Auren to study him again was unnerving.

“You are designer child,” Luceris said finally. “Living computer. Learn anything, instant reflex, advanced logic, perfect recall.”

He did know Kyrastir. And stranger still, he knew Project New Dawn. Unfortunately, Auren wasn’t sure what to do with that information.

“No. I’m the original, the Alpha model,” he replied. “Eidetic memory became standard with the Gamma model. But yes, I have advanced learning capabilities and I process information much faster than other people. I was a college graduate engineer by the age of six.”

“Alpha model, Gamma model,” Luceris repeated. “How many model?”

“Nine, Alpha through Iota. The Kappa model was still in vitro when Tanas-Ashe invaded to stop the project. The United Continental Nations thought it was inhumane to experiment on humans, and Kyrastir wasn’t willing to stop voluntarily.”

“So Tanas-Ashe take over program instead?” Luceris asked skeptically.

“No. We’re biological children of important Kyrasti,” Auren said. “My mother was a politician who became Prime Minister by the time of the invasion. King Tiberius fostered the children of Kyrasti leaders with Tanas-Ashen nobles to force compliance, I was the only New Dawn hostage so he kept me with his own household. The others were eventually returned, but I was ‘too important’ to let go.”

“You create advanced Avatar units,” Luceris observed. “Not wise to send back to potentially enemy country. What is Project Sunrise?”

This was it. Auren had one chance to pitch this properly, to make this man understand he was more valuable alive than dead.

“Does Vespria use aether generators for power?”

“Yes,” Luceris sneered. “Is modern country, not primitive hamlet.”

Auren bit back a sharp retort. He was alone, five stories underground, with a man who could splatter his brains across his desk if he wanted to.

“Well, humanity is using up aether faster than it naturally replenishes,” he said. “The crisis point is a few hundred years off at least, but I’ve done the math. Project Sunrise is an attempt to fuse aether and nether into a new type of energy with eight times the output of its component parts alone.”

It was an impossible task, a fool’s errand Tiberius only let him work on when other projects were ahead of schedule. Using nether for anything was like a human trying to eat sunlight instead of food; great in concept, but supposedly not within the realm of possibility.

Luceris didn’t look impressed. If anything, he looked irritated.

“You play with fire,” he said sharply. “Nether is not for human use. Look at what it does!”

He was right, of course, Auren was playing with fire. The nether levels on Sapherion weren’t high enough to do much more than make sensitive people sick, even at Zenith, but there were a number of animals across the planet that weren’t so lucky. Half the mammal species humans brought with them at founding were affected by it during Waxing, Zenith, and Waning, when heightened nether levels mutated them into savage, bloodthirsty monsters. One third of those species were affected at all points in the cycle.

Those species were lost to humans now. They’d been culled from settled lands in the first millennium after founding, but life was tricky. By the time the problem was discovered, many animals had been eased into their new ecosystems, and hunting them all down in a world where it wasn’t safe to be outside of walls for too long proved to be impossible. Out in the extensive wilds of Sapherion, still impenetrable by human expansion, many of those animals thrived. With them came a steady supply of violent, murderous danger.

“I’m well aware of the dangers of nether,” Auren straightened up, refusing to be implied as some silly little fool. “I’ve studied the effects of different concentrations on biological tissue for years.”

He booted up his main console and ran a procedure, then moved to the windows to watch floodlights illuminate one of the storage bays. Its metal gate groaned open, allowing the flatbed within to foll out on its conveyor. After a moment, the bed started to rise, bringing its contents upright.

Unlike the other sleek machines lining the wall, this one had no chassis. Its internal workings were on full display, and its incomplete pilot capsule allowed them to see straight through into its controls.

“This is Sunrise,” Auren said as Luceris came to stand beside him. “She’s the test model for our next generation of Avatars. Proven in combat to be faster, lighter, and more agile, with three times the strength. And she can generate a field that negates nether, but so far the capabilities are so unrefined the effect can only be measured on our most sensitive instruments. Definitely no practical use yet.”

“Negates?”

Auren wasn’t sure if Luceris didn’t understand the word, or didn’t understand how he was using it. He didn’t want to risk asking and look like he was calling the other man stupid.

“There’s a not insignificant percentage of the population who can manipulate aether,” Auren said. “There isn’t a person alive who doesn’t have a Sparkler or three in the family, and the north has fifteen arcane academies. The closest one to here is Tidesdale.”

Auren ran his fingers across the glass and pulled up a transparent map. Tidesdale was an elegant, castle-like institution with its own small town that helped everything run, located within safe travel distance of Avrelas and eight other Tanas-Ashen cities and towns. The map showed this location from overhead, allowing Auren to overlay a tidal map.

“As you would expect, aether concentrations are extreme around Tidesdale. It’s always had less Aberration activity as well. So, I’m testing the theory that high levels of aether concentrated in specific ways will cancel out the mutagenic properties of nether.”

Luceris shook his head and rubbed his temple, as if dealing with a nonsensical little child. He looked like he wanted to comment further, but backed off the subject for now. Instead, he wandered to one of the windows, looking down at the great, empty space that should be bustling with activity.

Auren wondered where his engineers and pilots were. Imprisoned? On their way back to Vespria for use in labor camps? He needed to find and free his people as soon as possible.

“You have contact with parents?” Luceris asked, turning away from the window.

The sudden shift in topic was as jarring for Auren as it would be for anyone, but couldn’t trip him up. His brain was designed not only to shift gears faster, but to jump ten steps ahead on this new subject. All the reasons a conquering Vesprian soldier might have for asking about a former Prime Minister of his home country ran through his head.

“Kyrastir has closed borders,” Auren said truthfully. Once again, a lie to make himself seem more useful in this arena would require too many further lies to uphold. “It’s main exports to other northern nations are advances in tech, medicine, and science, so contact with the outside world is strictly limited to keep trade secrets. I write home twice a month to keep my family updated, but they can’t answer.”

Auren was truly alone in this country. King Tiberius showed him nothing but kindness, but there was always something vaguely insincere he couldn’t put his finger on. Queen Ariana treated him well, and given their similar ages, Princess Thessalie was a good friend. Auren barely remembered his mother’s smiling face or his father’s bear hugs, and the place he came from existed only in brief flashes of memory.

This place, this underground palace of metal and glass, smelling of oil mixed with ink, this was his home. The people he worked down here with were his family now.

If Luceris was disappointed at finding Auren had no sway with the Kyrastir government, he didn’t get a chance to show it. All the lights in the hangar suddenly switched on, half of them flashing a violent red, and holographic displays activated.

“What’s that?” Luceris’ hand went to his gun, startled. “What did you do?”

“Nothing!” Auren threw his hands up again and took a step back. “It’s the advance warning system, look.”

He pointed to where his map had been, now automatically minimized to show an aerial depiction of the space around Avrelas.

“Mutations have been getting bigger and nastier as we get closer to Zenith,” Auren frowned, translating the readings scrolling past on the screen. “But the worst part is, they’re starting to roam in packs. Our walls are five meters at the lowest point, the AI’s spotted a group of three Weirds it estimates are capable of scaling it. They’re approaching here, from the northwest.”

Luceris scanned the map briefly, then turned on his heel. Auren ran to catch up with him as they reached the stairs, but Luceris kicked his feet up on the banisters and slid down the three-story climb quickly and nimbly, landing at the bottom with an ease that left Auren irrationally pissed off. By the time Auren caught up with him, Luceris was halfway across the hangar.

“What are you doing?” Auren demanded, grabbing his arm to drag him to a halt. “You need to get my pilots down here so I can launch a defensive!”

“No need.” Luceris shook his arm free and kept walking. “I will handle. Release your toy, please.”

“You’ll…excuse me?” Auren shook off his surprise and sprinted ahead, this time physically inserting himself between Luceris and the Avatar lying out on the flatbed. “Absolutely not! Nobody touches Sunrise but me!”

Luceris stared down at him, and Auren braced himself for the three possible reactions he calculated. But while Luceris did raise his hand, it wasn’t to shove him, strike him, or draw his weapon.

Instead, the air began to dance around Luceris’ hand in silvery threads, weaving through his fingers as his eyes took on a soft, glassy glow. Across the hangar, the docking station where Sunrise lay activated and lit up, the restraints retracting and the Avatar powering up.

“I didn’t ask permission,” Luceris hissed, stepping past the shocked Auren.

Luceris loosened his armor as he walked, dropping the restrictive chest plate on a floor that shook when Sunrise stepped off the flatbed of her own accord. Her front panels opened as she walked forward, meeting Luceris halfway and letting him climb into the pilot seat. All around them, displays changed and systems turned on, mapping the Avatar’s route out of the hangar to land as close as possible to the threat.

Auren’s whole, precious world was wrestled out of his control with disturbing indifference and ease. Alarms turned off, protocols began running.

Sunrise launched in under one minute, a record Auren should be proud his newest creation achieved, but instead he felt only nausea. Luceris was an Aethromancer, and a wickedly powerful one at that. None of the feedback walls had been strong enough to stop the flood of pure power he was able to manipulate, he’d shrugged off every fail-safe developed to keep magic users at bay. And now that he knew which computers held any information he might want, Auren didn’t need to be alive.

Then the nausea turned into tingling, reminding Auren this wasn’t the sensation of existential dread. The tingling ran down his limbs to his fingertips, and developed into a staticky feeling on his tongue.

“Oh,” he whispered to no one, his voice sounding very loud in the now-empty hangar. “Shit.”

The splitting pain running through him when he landed on his knees on the concrete floor jarred a little bit of sense into him, enough to set him clawing at the plain white suit he still wore from the infirmary. The high neck was snug, making it difficult for numb fingers to reach down beneath it, and the chain holding the emergency pendant felt annoyingly fine at the moment. Auren wasn’t even sure he was pressing the button, his vision was blurring and his hands didn’t feel like his own.

His head hit the floor cheek-first, but if it caused any pain, he didn’t feel it. He was already passing out, disabled by his body’s reaction to Luceris’ high levels of pure, unfiltered aether.

[shockingsucc]

"Cabal has been put offline temporarily. Put the brains in cold storage. I'm going to keep an eye on the perimeter as the turrets are no longer being controlled by him and are running on pure IFF"

Metara nodded. "Right, I'll work quick and get it right." She already has her tools and material ready. She rushed in, opening up the maintenance door to get started.

[oneforthemunny]

​​janitor!eddie is always leaving an apple on teacher!reader’s desk every morning.

he gets there early before her to do some extra maintenance- the school had given him a raise to do both so they wouldn’t have to hire someone else. it started as a joke between you two. eddie grinned when you’d brought an apple to lunch one day, playful glint in his eye. “an apple a day, huh?” he asked.

steve snorted. “that’s a doctor, munson.” he rolled his eyes.

you shrugged, biting into your apple. “I like apples, ok?” you giggled. “guess I was made to be a teacher, huh? the stereotype doin’ it for you?”

eddie couldn’t stop smiling. so every day, when he’d stop at the gas station by the trailer park, he’d get his usual pack of camels and an apple. he’d place it on your desk, scribbling on a spare piece of paper a little note that left you blushing when you’d find it.

he’d pass by your classroom, catching your eyes when you’d see him, smiling and nodding towards your apple. later, when he’d take you out, you’d kiss him sweetly on the cheek. “thanks for the apple.” you’d mutter. “it was delicious.” you’d let your bottom lip graze over his cheek, sending a hot blush down his neck and cheeks.

eddie wanted that reaction always, so he’d bring you apple after apple, proudly propping them on your desk each day with a little note.

‘you’re the apple of my eye, sweetheart. have a good day. -ed’

you’d giggle, tucking them into your purse. you’d saved everyone, reading them later when you missed him, heart fluttering in your chest.

one day, eddie walks into his ‘office’- a storage closet with a chair and an old desk, a rack to hang his jacket. there where he put his lunch pail was a small tin of hand balm, ‘for working hands’ it read.

eddie’s heart swelled. he’d complained about the blisters and callouses from working at the school mixed with his guitar making his hands rough, the cold cracking them and making them bleed. when he held his hand in yours, you’d ran a finger over the cracked, raw skin with a sympathetic pout.

eddie picked up the tin, the best folded card on top reading:

‘a little of this cream keeps the callouses away (or that’s what the store clerk told me). hope this helps you my hard working man. xoxo’

eddie slipped it into his front pocket, a dopey grin on his face. he dug his fingers into the balmy substance, rubbing it over his hands before reaching into his lunch pail, grabbing the shiny, red apple out and starting towards your class room.

[guerrerense]

Two tea-kettles por Kevin Madore Por Flickr: In a cold rainstorm, Mt. Washington Cog Railway Engineer Ray Dest eases Locomotive #9 "Waumbek" onto the transfer table adjacent to the old shop building, as he and the rest of the Cog Railway crew prepare to put the line's two active steamers to bed. In the background, Mt. Washington #2 "Ammonoosuc" sits on the shop track with her fire already banked. The wooden structure directly behind the two steam engines housed the historic engine and car shops of the Mt. Washington Cog Railway for over 100 years and is still in use to some degree. On the right side of the photo, you can see a canyon of stalls with blue roll-up doors. Each of those stalls once held a steam locomotive. Directly across from those stalls and out of view to the right, is yet another row of stalls, which held the railway's wooden coaches. The transfer table that the 9 is backing onto was the "turntable" of sorts, which serviced the stalls on both sides, enabling the crews to transfer the equipment from each stall onto either the shop track or the main line. Today, the historic wooden shop building has largely been replaced by the large, gray structure that is visible in the distance on the left. In comparison, the new shop is gigantic, with an expansive main floor. It houses maintenance facilities for both the steam and diesel locomotives, as well as the coaches. It also has storage space for parts and a large fabrication shop, where the railroad can build just about anything it needs. Unlike the old shop, there are no tracks built in to the floor. Each piece of equipment sits on a short section of track that is mounted on air casters, and the super-smooth floor permits heavy items, like these steam locomotives, to be moved around by a couple people. It is a most impressive facility. The old shop building will probably be demolished at some point, to make way for even more new facilities. Although it is old and tired, it will be sad to see it go, because it is one of the few structures on the railroad, which has endured for more than a century, and for those of us who love to look at historic photos of this operation, it is one of the few reference points we can recognize, which is still in existence.

[thehues-home]

Creating a Cozy Atmosphere with Custom Insulated Curtains: Ideas for Winter Warmth

As winter approaches, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere in your home becomes essential. Custom insulated curtains are a practical and stylish solution for enhancing warmth and comfort during the colder months. This article explores how custom insulated curtains can transform your space and offers ideas for making your home cozier this winter.

1. The Benefits of Custom Insulated Curtains

Custom insulated curtains provide several key advantages that contribute to a cozy winter environment:

Enhanced Insulation: These curtains are designed with multiple layers, including a thermal lining, to block drafts and retain heat. This helps to maintain a consistent indoor temperature and reduce energy costs.

Increased Privacy: Insulated curtains also offer increased privacy by blocking the view from outside, which is particularly valuable during the winter months when days are shorter and nights are longer.

Noise Reduction: The additional layers in insulated curtains can help to dampen outside noise, creating a quieter and more serene indoor environment.

2. Choosing the Right Fabric and Design

Selecting the right fabric and design for your custom insulated curtains is crucial for achieving the desired cozy effect:

Fabric Choices: Opt for heavy-weight fabrics like velvet, thermal polyester, or flannel. These materials provide superior insulation and contribute to a warm, luxurious look.

Color and Patterns: Choose colors and patterns that complement your winter décor. Warm tones like deep reds, rich browns, or forest greens create a cozy and inviting atmosphere. Patterns such as plaids or damasks can add a touch of elegance.

3. Layering for Extra Warmth

Layering different types of window treatments can enhance both warmth and style:

Sheer Curtains and Insulated Drapes: Combine custom sheer curtains with insulated drapes for a versatile solution. The sheers allow natural light to filter through while the insulated drapes provide additional warmth and privacy.

Blinds and Shades: Pair insulated curtains with blinds or shades for added insulation and light control. This combination offers flexibility in managing both heat retention and natural light.

4. Complementing Your Winter Décor

Incorporate custom insulated curtains into your winter décor to create a cohesive and cozy look:

Textiles and Accessories: Match your curtains with other winter textiles, such as plush throw blankets, decorative pillows, and cozy rugs. These accessories enhance the overall warmth and comfort of your space.

Window Treatments: Use curtain tiebacks or valances in complementary fabrics to add a decorative touch and complete the look.

5. Installation Tips for Maximum Effectiveness

Proper installation is key to maximizing the benefits of custom insulated curtains:

Cover the Entire Window Area: Ensure that the curtains are wide enough to cover the entire window area and extend beyond the edges to prevent drafts. This provides a complete seal and improves insulation.

Mounting Height: Install curtain rods or tracks at a height that allows the curtains to hang close to the floor. This prevents cold air from seeping in from the bottom and enhances insulation.

6. Maintenance and Care

Maintaining the appearance and functionality of your custom insulated curtains is essential:

Cleaning: Follow the manufacturer’s instructions for cleaning. Many insulated curtains are machine washable, but some may require professional cleaning or spot treatment.

Storage: When not in use, store curtains in a cool, dry place to prevent damage. Use protective covers to keep them clean and free from dust.

7. Conclusion

Custom insulated curtains are a valuable addition to your winter décor, offering enhanced warmth, privacy, and noise reduction. By selecting the right fabric, layering treatments, and complementing your décor, you can create a cozy and inviting atmosphere in your home throughout the colder months.