#cold storage maintenance

[sumitverma3297]

Cold storage maintenance

Cold Storage Maintenance

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[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.

[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.

[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.

[sumitverma3297]

Ac Duct cleaning & cold storage services in Dubai 

Are you looking for a reputable business in Dubai that offers ac duct cleaning & cold storage services? If so, don't look past our staff at Ringo AC Services. We are committed to delivering high levels of customer satisfaction and provide a wide range of services to our clients. To schedule a consultation or to find out more about our services, get in touch with us right away.

Introduction to ac duct cleaning and cold storage services in Dubai 

Duct cleaning and cold storage are important services for businesses in Dubai. Duct cleaning can help keep your building clean and healthy, and cold storage can help keep your food and products cold. Many companies offer these services in Dubai, so you may need to research to find the best one for your business.

The benefits of ac duct cleaning and cold storage services 

There are many benefits to having your ac ducts cleaned regularly. Not only will your home be cooler and more comfortable, but you will also protect your family from harmful pollutants and allergens. Regular cold storage services can also help keep your food fresh and nutritious. Contact a reliable ac and cold storage service today to learn more about the benefits of their services.

How to find the best ac duct cleaning and cold storage services in Dubai 

Dubai is a city in the United Arab Emirates home to many businesses and residences. If you need ac duct cleaning or cold storage services, it can be difficult to determine which company best fits your needs. These hints will assist you in locating the top AC duct cleaning and cold storage providers in Dubai.

First, do your research. Many companies offer these services in Dubai, so take the time to read reviews and compare pricing. Be sure to ask the company many questions to ensure they are the right fit for your needs.

Second, ask around. You know someone who has used ac duct cleaning or cold storage services in Dubai. Ask them for a referral, or if they have any negative experiences to share.

Ringo AC Services is a leading provider of air conditioning services in Dubai, and they are also one of the top duct manufacturers in UAE. They offer custom-made ducts for both commercial and residential clients, ensuring that the air conditioning systems are running efficiently. They also provide duct cleaning service Dubai, which helps to maintain the indoor air quality of the building. Ringo AC Services also provides cold storage installation, cold storage construction services, and cold storage maintenance. Their team of experts can design and construct custom cold storage facilities that meet the highest industry standards, and they provide comprehensive maintenance services to ensure that the facilities are operating at optimal efficiency. With Ringo AC Services, you can rest assured that your HVAC and cold storage needs are in capable hands.

[lisutarid-a]

[Gakuen K] Yatogami Kuroh Route Translation

Kotatsu Farewell Party

LIST OF CHAPTERS

[Translation under the cut]

Shiro: Well, now let's start the farewell party for Kotatsu-san.

Neko: No! Wagahai don't want to say goodbye to kotatsu!

Saya: Neko-chan, today is the last day of school. It's going to be warmer tomorrow, I think it's time to put it away.

Neko: I don't understand that. It could be warm tomorrow, but cold the day after tomorrow!

Saya: (What should I do…)

Choice: [Let's put it away]

Saya: I understand how Neko-chan feels, but it's important to draw the line.

Neko: To draw the line…?

Saya: Uhm. I think clearing up at the end of the school year is kind of drawing the line.

Saya: It's just like with the cleaning, if you keep putting it off, you'll never put it away.

Neko: U-uugh…I got it. If Gohan says so, put it away.

Saya: Thanks, Neko-chan.

Saya: (What a relief. Looks like she understood)

Choice: [Should we leave it for a little longer?]

Saya: So Neko-chan saying, that we should leave the kotatsu for a little longer?

Kuroh: The weather forecast says that the temperature will continue to rise from the day after tomorrow onward. Neko's excuses won't work.

Neko: Kurosuke is super stingy!

Kuroh: Pf, say what you want. Well, let's putting it away.

Shiro: I can't believe she could convince Neko. She's quite the beast tamer, isn't she?

Kuroh: There is nothing to be impressed about. It's originally your role.

Shiro: Ahaha, indeed.

Saya: That's it. Neko, are you done washing the window?

Neko: Almost there!

Shiro: We're ho-ome.

Saya: Welcome back you two. Did they let you put the kotatsu in storage?

Kuroh: Yeah. …With strange connection.

Shiro: Don't call it strange. It's a great connection.

Neko: Window cleaning is complete! Whew…Wagahai is hungry!

Saya: Good work, Neko-chan.

Shiro: Neko, let's go to the school store. I'll buy you something.

Neko: Really!? Whoo-hoo! Wagahai want to eat onigiri and sandwiches and…

Shiro: Wow…so much? I wonder if I have enough money…Before that. Kuro, I'll give this to you.

Kuroh: Is this…a key to the Himmelreich?

Shiro: Need to move it for maintenance. Go ahead with her. Me and Neko will be there later.

[Prev chapter][Next: Happy ending]

[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.

[coldroomae]

How to Choose the Right Reefer Container for Your Business Needs

Selecting the perfect reefer container is crucial for businesses that rely on the transportation and storage of temperature-sensitive goods. Whether you are in the food industry, pharmaceuticals, or any other sector requiring precise temperature control, understanding your specific needs is the first step. This guide will help you navigate the essential factors to consider when choosing the right reefer container for your business.

1. Determine the Type of Goods You’re Transporting

The type of goods you plan to store or transport plays a significant role in determining the reefer container you need. For instance, perishables like fruits and vegetables require a different temperature range compared to frozen goods or pharmaceuticals. It’s essential to match the container’s cooling capabilities to the specific needs of your products. For more detailed information on how reefer containers can preserve different goods, check out our fruits ripening cold rooms guide.

2. Consider the Duration of Storage or Transport

The length of time your goods will be in the container also affects your choice. Short-term storage may not require the same level of insulation or power efficiency as long-term storage or transport. If your business frequently deals with extended shipping times, investing in a container with advanced cooling technology and robust insulation is crucial. Learn more about long-term cold storage solutions in our portable cold room guide.

3. Evaluate the Size and Capacity Requirements

Reefer containers come in various sizes, typically ranging from 20 feet to 40 feet. Your choice should depend on the volume of goods you plan to store or transport. Overestimating your needs can lead to unnecessary costs, while underestimating may result in insufficient storage space. To determine the ideal size for your operations, consider consulting our low budget cold room options, which offer a range of customizable solutions.

4. Energy Efficiency and Operating Costs

Energy efficiency is a critical factor in choosing a reefer container, especially for businesses looking to reduce operational costs. Modern containers are equipped with energy-saving technologies that help minimize power consumption while maintaining precise temperature control. For insights into energy-efficient cold storage solutions, explore our chiller systems designed for optimal performance with minimal energy usage.

5. Assess the Container’s Reliability and Maintenance Needs

Finally, consider the reliability and maintenance requirements of the reefer container. A high-quality container should offer consistent performance with minimal downtime. It’s also important to factor in the availability of maintenance services and spare parts in your region. For more tips on maintaining your cold storage units, visit our cold room maintenance guide.

[forever-fan]

New(ish) FNAF Au

Do you ever come up with a new AU and go "This is awesome! I can't believe I'm the first to think this up!" and then you do research and you aren't the first, or anywhere near the first to think it? Yeah, that happened to me.

So... yeah. This is a 'William was never the killer' AU. In fact, the actual murderer was Henry Emily. Well, I mean... sort of. He didn't kill Charlie, of course. Let's get into this.

Charlotte Emily was murdered by some random drunk from out of town. The man's wife had cheated on him and he got blackout drunk. After the initial murder, this man is no longer important and can be ignored. All you really need to know is he never confessed to what he did, so the mystery of Charlie's death became a cold case.

Henry Emily is pissed off that his daughter, his only family, is now dead. You see, Henry's wife left him after Sammy died in a car accident. The people driving the two cars were Mrs. Emily and someone who also died in the crash. Mrs. Emily divorced her husband and later confided in friends that she thought he was going to kill her. She also reveals that Henry is very mentally unstable.

Moving on, Henry decides to get revenge on the people who put his daughter outside. As it turns out, three boys locked Charlotte outside while two girls distracted people from what was happening. (La Missing Children) Henry is fucking pissed and is ready to pick off these kids one by one, but he pauses for a moment and thinks.

Henry isn't just gonna put on the Fredbear suit and murder kids, it would be obvious that it was him wearing the suit. (Also, the spring locks are unstable in Fredbear because Henry isn't as stuck up about maintenance as William is about SpringBonnie. This is the reason that Evan's tears triggered the jaws to clamp down a few months prior.)

Henry decides to wear William's spring lock suit. And so, the yellow rabbit lures five children to their deaths. These kids never realize that it was Henry instead of William. Therefore, the kids go all vengeful spirit on Afton.

Now, you may be wondering, "Why would Charlie help the missing kids possess robots and murder her dad?" Well, she also doesn't realize that William didn't kill her or the others. It was a dark, foggy, and rainy night. Charlie could only make out the man's heavy breathing, dark shirt, pale skin, and slurred cursing.

In fact! Charlie only started suspecting her murderer to be William after the Missing Children Incident. All the cops were saying William must have done it (despite lack of evidence) and her dad was saying he suspected William also killed her (despite the fact he was inside doing maintenance in the back, and the fact Henry had said nothing on that matter when initially asked by the cops the night his daughter died). So... yeah. Charlie is confused and upset.

Anyways, in this AU, the Funtimes were never meant to kill. What happened to Elizabeth was an accident and an actual malfunction. The compartment within the Funtimes was made as an earlier version of Glamrock Freddy's stomach storage. The claw was made so Baby could reach things a little farther away and pull them into her compartment. Baby counting the children was a safety feature to make sure no children went missing ever again.

William was distraught and broken when his daughter died. He felt like he was betrayed by practically everyone in his life. Henry called him a murderer, his wife left him (suicide), Michael accidentally ended Evan's life, and now his own creation had killed his daughter. Really, all he had left was Michael, and his relationship with his son had been strained since allegations of William being a murderer first started being tossed around.

Later on, after he realizes the animatronics are haunted, William tries to free the missing children from their metal prisons. Their angry spirits chase him into the back room, where he puts on the SpringBonnie outfit in an attempt to feel any comfort in that morbid moment. And then the final betrayal of William's life happens. The spring locks fail and William's creation kills him.

Michael goes along his journey through the games as normal, except in this world he is a pawn in Henry's sick game. After Michael is scooped and Ennard leaves, I personally like to think that the remnant begins to heal him. So, when we finally get to the fire and he is wearing a mask, it is so that none of the animatronics recognize him and get suspicious. It is not because he is a zombie boy.

Henry's speech is mostly BS because he is a psychopath. The part for Charlie is the only part that really holds any truth on how he feels. But yeah, Cassidy drags William into a personal hell because she is clueless and William is this AU's biggest scapegoat. We are going to completely ignore the canon of Help Wanted, Security Breach, and Ruin. None of that happened in this AU, except for the fact that some psycho dressed up in her fursona and started murdering kids at her job.

But yeah, that's my new goofy little AU. Except, a ton of other people thought of it first, just slightly different.

[vital-information]

“AN INCOMPLETE LIST:

No more diving into pools of chlorinated water lit green from below. No more ball games played out under flood lights. No more porch lights with moths fluttering on summer nights. No more trains running under the surface of cities on the dazzling power of the electric third rail. No more cities. No more films, except rarely, except with a generator drowning out half the dialogue, and only then for the first little while until the fuel for the generators ran out, because automobile gas goes stale after two or three years. Aviation gas lasts longer, but it was difficult to come by.

No more screens shining in the half-light as people raise their phones above the crowd to take photographs of concert stages. No more concert stages lit by candy-colored halogens, no more electronica, punk, electric guitars.

No more pharmaceuticals. No more certainty of surviving a scratch on one’s hand, a cut on a finger while chopping vegetables for dinner, a dog bite.

No more flight. No more towns glimpsed from the sky through airplane windows, points of glimmering light; no more looking down from thirty thousand feet and imagining the lives lit up by those lights at that moment. No more airplanes, no more requests to put your tray table in its upright and locked position—but no, this wasn’t true, there were still airplanes here and there. They stood dormant on runways and in hangars. They collected snow on their wings. In the cold months, they were ideal for food storage. In summer the ones near orchards were filled with trays of fruit that dehydrated in the heat. Teenagers snuck into them to have sex. Rust blossomed and streaked.

No more countries, all borders unmanned.

No more fire departments, no more police. No more road maintenance or garbage pickup. No more spacecraft rising up from Cape Canaveral, from the Baikonur Cosmodrome, from Vandenburg Plesetsk, Tanegashima, burning paths through the atmosphere into space.

No more Internet. No more social media, no more scrolling through litanies of dreams and nervous hopes and photographs of lunches, cries for help and expressions of contentment and relationship-status updates with heart icons whole or broken, plans to meet up later, pleas, complaints, desires, pictures of babies dressed as bears or peppers for Halloween. No more reading and commenting on the lives of others, and in so doing, feeling slightly less alone in the room. No more avatars.”

— Emily St. John Mandel, Station Eleven