#defect detection system

[intsofttech]

Intsoft Tech integrates machine vision systems for ceramic appearance inspection.

[joyandella-123]

Revolutionizing Precision: The Role of Machine Vision in Sheet Metal Laser

In recent years, the integration of machine vision technology into sheet metal laser cutting processes has improved efficiency, accuracy, and flexibility.

Jobs in sheet metal cutting are becoming more detailed, and with that comes heightened accuracy standards. Machine vision is a game-changer in achieving and surpassing these requirements. Traditional laser cutting systems rely on predetermined programming to guide the laser along the cutting path. The programming is still there, but the process is improved as machine vision systems utilize cameras and advanced algorithms to capture real-time images of the sheet metal surface. This continuous feedback loop allows the machine vision system to adapt dynamically to variations in material flatness, surface conditions, and potential distortions, ensuring an unprecedented level of precision and accuracy.

One of the most prized capabilities of machine vision in sheet metal laser cutting is its ability to automatically recognize key features of the metal sheet. The system can identify the edges of the sheet, locate pre-drilled holes, or recognize specific geometric shapes. This capability is particularly valuable in nests that include complex components with multiple features. The automatic feature recognition of machine vision minimizes setup time, reduces errors, and optimizes the cutting process for maximum efficiency.

Machine vision goes beyond the static approach of traditional nesting algorithms by offering dynamic nesting optimization. As the camera captures real-time images of the sheet metal, the machine vision system can dynamically adjust the position and orientation of components within the nesting layout. This adaptability ensures that the laser cuts the sheet in the most efficient and material-saving manner, reducing scrap and optimizing material utilization. Dynamic nesting not only enhances efficiency but also aligns with sustainability goals by minimizing material waste. In fact, machine vision is leveraged to get the most out of remnant sheets that are basically thrown onto the cutting bed. The camera aligns the edges of a sheet and lays out a nest that works best for that remnant without operator intervention.

Quality Control and Defect Detection

Machine vision systems, with their high-speed image processing capabilities, excel in quality control and defect detection. Real-time monitoring of the cutting process allows machine vision to identify any irregularities, such as burrs, notches, or deviations from the design specifications. This instantaneous feedback enables quick adjustments, preventing the production of defective parts and ensuring that only high-quality components make their way into the final product.

Machine vision plays a crucial role in the broader trend toward automation in sheet metal fabrication. Integrated with robotic systems, machine vision guides the robots in handling and manipulating sheet metal with unparalleled precision. This integration not only reduces the reliance on manual labor but also enhances overall productivity by allowing continuous and unattended operation. The synergy between machine vision and automation in sheet metal laser cutting paves the way for lights-out manufacturing, where production runs smoothly without human intervention.

By elevating precision, automating feature recognition, optimizing nesting dynamically, ensuring quality control, and seamlessly integrating with automation, machine vision transforms sheet metal laser cutting into a highly efficient and precise operation. As industries continue to seek greater efficiency and accuracy in fabrication processes, the role of machine vision in sheet metal laser cutting is destined to become increasingly indispensable, reshaping the future of manufacturing.

[mehmetyildizmelbourne-blog]

How Can Sonio.ai Transform the Healthcare Industry?

I present my independent review of an AI-based healthcare solution, which is making a global impact and bringing us a step closer to Medicine 3.0 by documenting the transcript of an interactive podcast. Dear Subscribers, For those who haven’t met me yet, coming from a science and technology background for over four decades, I am dedicated to keeping technologists, health scientists, and…

[ivan-fyodorovich-k]

Here are the parts that make it sound like you think they are inferior to you:

almost every conversation topic revolved around gossip. Not necessarily the mean kind, but two-thirds of their discussions were about other people - mainly other kids at school - whom I didn't know. The remaining third was pop culture and complaining about homework. public schoolers seemed to dismiss socializing with kids who couldn't relate to the things immediately relevant to their personal lives (if you couldn't gossip or talk pop culture, what else was there to talk about with you?) Public schoolers were by far the most exclusionary in their social habits on average, in my experience. many public school kids have only surface-level conversation skills, but their social shortcomings are instead blamed on homeschooled kids' "inability to relate" Not everyone agrees that having your individuality crushed by relentless peer pressure for the sake of relating better to peers is a good trade-off. they had no idea how to talk to someone they didn't know and existed outside the school hivemind

Now maybe I am projecting, but if I were being accused personally of almost only being able to gossip, unable to relate to anyone outside my immediate existence, being exclusionary, only having surface-level conversation skills, allowing my individuality to crushed, and having no clue how to talk to someone outside my "hivemind," I struggle to see how I would take any of that as neutral or non-judgmental. I also cannot imagine how I would think that the person saying these things--who apparently did not see any of these attributes in themselves--would not see themselves as superior for lacking these attributes. But perhaps these failures in my imagination are themselves because I went to a public high school? If I had been homeschooled longer than I was, would I have the intellectual power to see how this is not condescending?

In addition to all that, consider the simple fact that you are saying that you were made to feel socially dysfunctional, and being made to feel socially dysfunctional has had a negative impact on you, and you are now arguing that actually it is the others who are socially dysfunctional, and you don't see how framing other people as socially dysfunctional, which caused you pain, would cause them pain?

If someone telling you that you are bad at socializing made you feel bad, how would you flipping the tables not be seen in exactly the same way by the people you are framing in the very way that hurt you?

And finally, public school kids are "standard" in the way that any majority is "standard." It doesn't mean better. Think of it like a distribution curve, maybe you and your homeschooled peers are on the advanced outskirts of that bell curve and your superior talents have rendered the ignorant masses disappointing and inaccessible to you, and they themselves fear and hate what they cannot understand, but for your superiority you'd still be a couple standards of deviation outside "normal." Maybe in the conversations you're having "normal" means "ideal" but it certainly doesn't have to mean that.

Whether it is feasible or even possible to raise the entire society to your standard is another conversation entirely.

I've also recently seen comments from conventionally schooled people who felt like the homeschoolers they met were socially ill-adept because they were not good at "relating to their peers."

Allow me to share some inside perspective as someone who was home schooled, and what that looked like from my side:

I had a great social circle in high school with friends from different schooling backgrounds, but I routinely found publicly schooled kids to be the hardest to socialize with in unfamiliar situations (e.g. a family friend's party, church youth group, etc.).

I'm sure it seemed to them like I had nothing to say and was overly quiet, but from my perspective, almost every conversation topic revolved around gossip. Not necessarily the mean kind, but two-thirds of their discussions were about other people - mainly other kids at school - whom I didn't know. The remaining third was pop culture and complaining about homework. It made it difficult for me to contribute to conversations, and they would quickly lose interest in talking to me once they realized that.

I don't know why, but many of the public schoolers seemed to dismiss socializing with kids who couldn't relate to the things immediately relevant to their personal lives (if you couldn't gossip or talk pop culture, what else was there to talk about with you?). I didn't have that issue with most private school or homeschool kids. Public schoolers were by far the most exclusionary in their social habits on average, in my experience.

Maybe I'm just on crack with this theory, but sometimes I wonder if the "socially awkward homeschooler" stereotype that's so prevalent in public school circles, isn't at least partially because many public school kids have only surface-level conversation skills, but their social shortcomings are instead blamed on homeschooled kids' "inability to relate".

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Fire in Stadtallendorf: The fire station, of all houses, has neither fire detectors nor a sprinkler system

A fire that destroyed the entire fire station of the city of Stadtallendorf, Hesse, caused more than 20 million Euro. More than 10 vehicles were totally destroyed. The brand new fire station, which had opened in January 2024, was considered to be the most modern of its kind in the district of Marburg-Biedenkopf. It featured a 23 m high training tower, a laundry shop, a hose care station, and a gym.

Crucially, however, in the vehicle hall, there was no sprinkler system, not even common household fire detectors. That's why a fire that had apparently started in one of the new vehicles due to a technical defect, remained undetected and untackled for long enough to set the entire complex on fire. Although firefighters from a neighboring station were at the scene three minutes after the fire was detected, it was too late to prevent total destruction. At one time, the flames were up to 15 meters high.

Ironically, fire safety equipment is not required by law for buildings of the fire department. It is at the discretion of the municipality whether they prefer to spend the additional money to protect their building and equipment or leave it to the risk of fire.

The president of the state organization of firefighters expressed hope that this incident would change the minds of the responsible politician, particularly because more and more firefighting equipment is powered by flamable lithium ion batteries. Although sprinkler and fire alarm systems are expensive, perhaps the cost-benefit ratio will be assessed differently in future after this incident.

The mayor of the neighboring municipality of Neuhaus, who was present as a firefighter on the scene, had made up his mind already. He will make sure that the planned new fire station in his town will be equipped with a fire detection system.

[blueiscoool]

Restored 'Apollo Belvedere' Marble Statue Back in the Vatican

The Vatican Museums on Tuesday unveiled the restoration of the celebrated second-century "Apollo Belvedere" sculpture following five years of work.

Once considered to epitomise classical Western ideals of beauty, the 2.24-metre-high (seven-feet-tall) marble statue shows the Greek god of medicine and poetry in motion, his left arm having just let fly an arrow from his bow.

Its around 260,000-euro ($280,000) restoration aimed to fix serious structural defects detected late in 2019, the restorers said.

Those notably included fragilities in the legs and an overall lack of balance in the structure, they told a press conference.

Thanks to the introduction of a carbon-fibre rod fixed to the back of the base, the "Apollo Belvedere" was successfully stabilised and presented to public applause at the Vatican's Pio-Clementine Museum.

The most difficult thing was "not to touch anything on the sculpture" and avoid having to move and dismantle it, the restoration workshop's head Guy Devreux told AFP.

"We found this new system, which is a dynamic structural system based on the use of carbon fibre… and which, used in the right way, can give extraordinary results," he added.

For the Vatican Museums' director Barbara Jatta, "the main challenge was to have the courage to close access to such an important icon for our museums".

Discovered in 1489 among the ruins of an ancient Roman house, the "Apollo Belvedere" was brought to the Vatican by Pope Julius II.

Besides the carbon-fibre rod, the restorers also replaced the statue's left hand with a cast taken from a fragment of a plaster copy of the original Greek statue made in Roman times.

The "Apollo Belvedere" is in fact considered to be a marble copy of a bronze from around 330 BC attributed to Leochares, one of the foremost sculptors of his time.

[peskellence]

My Friends Call Me Richard

Part III

Explicit Content (18+)

Pairing: Reed900

Tags: M/M, Workplace Romance, FWB, Humour, Awkward Encounters, Eventual Smut

Previous Chapter

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: In a bid to improve his partnership (and secret intimate arrangement) with Detective Gavin Reed, RK900 embarks on a noble quest to spice things up. The solution? A new biocomponent.

Word Count: 10K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @gho-stychan @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

(surprise at the end of the keep reading courtesy of @faxaway)

“What's the hold up in there?”

RK900 winced at the question. The transition from purchase to implementation had gone nowhere near as smoothly as hoped. He found himself locked in the bathroom, trying and failing to secure his new biocomponent.  

“I am beginning to question if this product is suitable for ‘self-installation’,” He mumbled critically, attempting to angle the phallus awkwardly between his legs. “Perhaps the store assistant issued the wrong product...” 

“Can you not cross-reference it against your dick database?” His voice was thin, dripping with impudence. No doubt reflective of his dwindling patience. “I mean, your scanners would flag if it was the wrong thing completely, wouldn't they?”

The android frowned, forced to concede that multiple checks had been completed—referring to both the product schematics and his own manufacturer details. None of this had shed any clarity on his current difficulties.

He sightlessly searched for a small circular slot at the base of his groin. Guiding nodules failed to adhere, clips gripping to nothing before slipping uselessly from his chassis.

"I am having issues adhering the scrotal extension to my lower access port.” He moved the component again, testing to see if a change in angle might reap greater success. 

Another failure followed, and fears emerged that the fault could relate to his own anatomy. Specifically, a factory defect he had previously been unaware of. 

With his options rapidly depleting, he turned to the crumpled instructional leaflet left abandoned by the bath. He scrutinised each step, noting multiple discrepancies between the printed text and the digital guidance displayed on his HUD. 

“Perhaps if you could offer assistance, then it would be easier to facilitate—” 

“There's a line,” Reed shot back, callously interrupting before he could finish. “Helping you clip on your junk like we're building IKEA furniture is where I draw it.” 

The rebuff was discouraging, as RK900 was left helpless—plagued by doubts relating to protocols and analytics that so intrinsically dictated his actions.

While his advanced processors should have been capable of determining a solution to the dilemma, they proved inexplicably incapable. Trapping him in a loop of trial and error.

He briefly considered contacting RK800 to see if he might be more willing to assist. This was before he realised there would be significant limitations on the support that could be provided remotely—and that Reed would undoubtedly be opposed to welcoming additional guests.

Despite logic indicating that surrender may be the only option, something inside him refused to concede. Attention locked on his primary directive, which dangled precariously at the forefront of his optics:

> ENGAGE IN SEXUAL INTERCOURSE WITH DETECTIVE REED.

It seemed callous to allow himself to fall at this final hurdle, no matter how staggering it proved. 

And so, he forcefully pulled himself from the despondent line of cognition. Determined to ensure that his efforts—and the current painful ordeal—would not be in vain. 

With parameters set and diagnostics refreshed, his system presented an updated list of prompts. Ones that sparked hope. Renewed faith that he wasn’t deluding himself or his partner on false pretences.

Following guidance, the android performed a precise 7-degree rotation of the component. He pressed forward, and for a split second, the attachment seemed to align—but the angle fell short of optimal. A prompt then advised that proper leverage was unobtainable from his current position.

To correct this, RK900 lifted one leg, calculating in real time the exact height needed. This elevation, as it transpired, aligned almost perfectly with Detective Reed’s toilet.

Foot steady on the edge of the bowl, he pressed again, slanting upward in another attempt to engage the clips. This time, with success, confirmed by a soft click which echoed through the room. 

The small noise provided unparalleled relief. For a moment, he allowed himself to believe the debacle was over. 

It was a blissful respite, if cruelly short-lived. 

The auditory cue had been deceptive. While alignment of the prongs had been achieved, their locking mechanism had not engaged, preventing adhesion to the connection point

A revelation that came too late. 

RK900 slipped back, and the attachments promptly folded, the intimate module tumbling down between his thighs.

Unfortunately, it seemed Detective Reed was geometrically opposed to lowering his toilet seat. The component struck against the porcelain dome, ricocheting like a pinball until it hit the base with a plop. Ripples of impact shook the water, and RK900 watched in despair as the flesh-toned silicone sank, engulfed by murky waves. 

His attention snapped to the door, where he knew his partner sat in wait. Listening closely, having undoubtedly heard everything that just transpired. 

“...What was that?” 

Thirium pumped in increased volumes through his circulatory system, pooling in his cheeks. His limited social directives were strained to their breaking point, faced with a sudden uptick in demand:

While Reed was far from preoccupied with good hygiene standards, he undoubtedly possessed some instinct to protect against hazardous waste. 

This left his next steps uncertain, as the android was trapped at an impasse. Painfully aware that some degree of deceit would be needed to placate his partner, but unsure how to achieve this with any conviction. 

“Richard.”

Then a confession slipped out, almost instinctively, before he could stop it:

“It appears I have dropped my phallus in your toilet.”  

Reed did not respond immediately, and while RK900 could not see his face, he could envision the disappointment etched upon it. The deep-set frown and contemptuous stare bore into him, demanding acknowledgement.

Then, a sound bridged the hush between the bathroom and bedroom. Auditory profiling identified the impact of flesh, as biophysical analysis confirmed no additional parties had entered the home.  

Reed had struck himself. Likely in the face—a ritualistic action performed during times of frustration.  

“ Why were you putting it on over the toilet?”

RK900 spoke quickly. An exercise in perseverance and self-preservation as much as it was an appeal to his partner. “There is no cause for alarm.” 

He then pivoted sharply, leaving the component submerged in the waste receptacle. The rubber tip reached for him, breaking the water's surface as though beckoning his return. 

Its pleas for assistance were ignored as he dropped to his knees, retrieving a discarded box from the grubby linoleum floor. The contents were cleared, save for a small drawstring bag containing samples of Cyberlife-issued cleaning supplies. 

“The component will be sanitised thoroughly before use,” the android said, a relieved sigh passing his lips. “I can assure you this incident will not impact our planned intimacy.”

“Like fuck, it won’t. I am not letting you put your toilet dick in me.”

The harsh retort struck like a slap and swiftly undermined any solace. Crestfallen, the RK unit returned focus to the toilet, gaze dropping limply to the prosthetic urethra staring up at him. A singular, narrow eye, which made him the subject of scrupulous judgment. Mockery. 

His grip tightened, reducing the box to a compact wad of cardboard. Then, his central processor whirred into overdrive, fervently seeking a solution to the current dilemma. 

“If preferred, we can return to the Cyberlife Store in order to—”

“ No .”

The fledging suggestion was cut down before it had any hopes of maturing. 

Despite this sweeping refusal of cooperation, Detective Reed eventually employed some degree of deduction. This was an innate reflex that existed beyond the parameters of conscious desire, culminating in the antipathic conceit he muttered under his breath. 

It was just barely audible through the wooden panel that divided them. Suggestions that it ‘didn’t matter’ if the extension was in mint condition, given the unsavoury conditions it would imminently find itself in. This, combined with allusions that he had accepted ‘worse’ from former partners.

The man capped the disgruntled train of thought with a more targeted instruction, spoken to the android: 

“Just make sure it’s clean enough , okay?” 

RK900 was appreciative to have been offered a compromise, accepting the conditions with a cordial nod. “My advanced debris detection will ensure the removal of all harmful chemicals and bacterial residue.” 

“...Debris detection?” the human questioned, snorting tersely as he did. “What are you, a fucking Roomba?”

“My operations are far more advanced than that of a vacuum cleaner.” 

This resulted in another burst of amusement—a childish snicker pelted against the wooden panel dividing them.

“Depends on the context…” This impish enjoyment soon subsided, followed by a return to thinly veiled criticisms. “Don’t rush; I’m having a blast . Nothing says ‘mind-blowing foreplay’ like waiting for your partner to disinfect his detachable dick.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Detective,” the android replied, imitating de-escalation tactics he had observed from RK800. “Your patience and understanding are greatly appreciated.” 

The man was far from enchanted. Clicking his tongue, he mumbled another suggestion under his breath. This time, admonishing insincerity, accusing the android of sounding like a ‘fucking complaints department.’  

“Just don’t expect me to go down on you. I'd rather not scrub my tongue with lemon zest bleach.” 

RK900 doubted this product had been used on the toilet with any recency. Nonetheless, he brushed the comment aside.

Supplies prepared, he rolled up the sleeve of his uniform jacket and reached into the bowl to retrieve the lost component. As his hand became further immersed, the silicone base slinked back until it was wedged stubbornly in the U-bend. Enhanced manoeuvring was required to dislodge it, but after a few determined twists, it finally broke free.

With the phallus secured, he set to work on the sanitation process. The antibacterial spray was used until the bottle was nearly depleted, scrubbed with dutiful care into every moulded ridge and crevice. Unsheathed fingers were then swept across the length, assessing for any lingering debris trapped in the pockets. 

“Exterior sterilisation is at 99.8%,” RK900 concluded, as synthetic skin returned to his digits, “well above advisory levels for bodily insertion.”

“Sexy,” the human said dryly. There was a strange upward lilt that the android had come to recognise as synonymous with sarcasm. “Just try not to drop it in the shitter again.” 

Having learned from his previous mistake, RK900 lowered the toilet seat, establishing a more desirable platform for installation. He clipped the newly sanitised component back into place. This time, ensuring the fastening clasps had locked securely to his groin before receding. 

His operational software acknowledged the component and the installation of primary physical subroutines booted autonomously. Aesthetic changes also occurred, integrating the component into his wider physical form. 

“...Hey…Richard…?” The address came mingled with steady rapping against the door. “You’re a bit quiet. Just checking your engine is still running.”

RK900’s lips formed a response, but no sound escaped them. Instead, he was mesmerised by the ripples of movement materialising on the component. Iridescent patterns danced and shimmered, attempting to harmonise with the surrounding conditions.

He understood the device’s ‘complexion’ was predetermined and that a perfect colour match was not guaranteed. Nonetheless, it came close. Unsightly connection points smoothed almost seamlessly beneath a blanket of pale, freckled skin.

“... Richard ?” There was another bang. Louder and more insistent. “Look, I’m not expecting you to strut out of there like Cyberlife’s latest sexbot. If you can't get the thing on, it's fine. Seriously. Just stop messing around so we can—”

“External interrogation is almost complete. I’ll be out in one moment.”

RK900 dressed carefully, concealing his new feature beneath his work slacks in anticipation of a proper reveal. He wanted to avoid startling his companion with unexpected nudity, having learned from experience that such a greeting required meeting very specific criteria—ones he did not want to misjudge at this pivotal moment. 

As he opened the passage to the bedroom, the swinging door nearly collided headlong with Reed. He dodged to the side, cursing sharply, as one of the arms that had been habitually crossed over his chest moved to shield his face. 

“What the hell ?” he spluttered, tone brimming with accusation. “You nearly knocked me out, dipshit.”

“I did not anticipate you would be standing in such close proximity to the door.”

The sounds of annoyance trailed off as the man's disgruntled expression morphed into one of introspection. Suddenly aware that the action had revealed more than he intended.

“Whatever.” He grunted dismissively, drawing his arms back into their previous guarded position. “So, you done? Or do you still need to calibrate your balls?” 

“The component has been implemented in its entirety. Diagnostics are underway to confirm optimal physical functionality. Afterwards, I will be cleared to upload the related social protocols.” 

The human stared blankly as if the words had emerged as distorted, incomprehensible screeches. “I asked if it was on, not for a dissertation on the instruction manual.” 

RK900 recognised that he may have offered more information than necessary. In seeking to be thorough, he had unintentionally diminished a level of intrigue—the mystique that Reed wished to preserve in their impending intimacy.

“It is on and will be ready for use shortly. Apologies for the delay, Detective.”

Reed blinked again, his already furrowed brow pulling into an increasingly taut pinch. There was unrest that persisted around him, but it took a different form. More apprehensive than hostile. 

“Gavin,” he corrected. “I already told you, Gavin is fine when we're…” 

The sentence trailed off, wandering in line with his focus. It followed a path down the android’s form, inspecting every inch until it had locked onto the junction between his legs. His eyes widened, and his breath hitched, catching in his throat.

“How much longer is it going to take?” he questioned, motioning towards the concealed appendage in a loose circling gesture. “Have I got time to text Tina about how fucking insane this is?” 

RK900 took this impatience as a cue to progress the interaction. He leveraged all the research he had compiled, coupled with their pre-existing intimacy habits. This collective insight encouraged him to act assertively—while also imitating a degree of human spontaneity.

He advanced on the human, preparing to perform an action he had noted in several of the surveyed clips. Pressing a steadying hand to the small of the man’s back, he hooked his available arm onto the back of his thighs.

Gavin was raised in a fluid motion, resulting in a short, strangled sound—caught somewhere between a scream and a hiss. He was powerless to do anything but hook onto his partner’s neck, preventing unsteady weight from toppling back. 

Once adjusted to the sudden change in elevation, his lips parted, presumably to form words of protest. They were silenced pre-emptively by the firm, deliberate press of the android’s own.

It wasn’t long before the kiss was reciprocated. He engaged RK900 in a quiet chase, mirroring practised movements with tenacious enthusiasm. His heartbeat escalated, and the press of his mouth grew more insistent—matching each rumbled pulse that rattled his ribs. 

The android felt a flicker of satisfaction, his actions eliciting the exact response he had predicted. Ultimately, he pulled away, and mimicry ended as the man attempted to pursue the withdrawing contact.

“I can think of more entertaining ways to tolerate this delay...” 

RK900 paused, realising he was unsure how to proceed with this sentence. He took a moment to adjust his verbal subroutines, aligning them with the recently acquired licentious vocabulary. From this, he successfully crafted an appropriately alluring title of address:

“Hot lips.”  

This inspired a half-suppressed sound from his partner, akin to a deflating balloon. After a beat, breath was drawn back, hissed through clenched teeth, as the man sharply angled his head further into the room.

“Stop running your mouth and get a move on. Plastic asshole.”

RK900 was on the verge of reminding him that they had omitted the purchase of a silicone rectal cavity before understanding his meaning. He instead referred back to the audiovisual loops stored on his CPU, prioritising according to watch time and access frequency.

Feeling assured he had gathered all the necessary data for an optimal experience, he purposefully strode on. Approaching the bed before deftly sidestepping it and heading for the exit.

“Uh, where the hell are you going?” Gavin, still held in his grasp, attempted to resist his movement. One hand pressed against the solid foundation of his chest, pushing back in an action that had entirely zero impact. “The bed is over there, genius.”

“Your bed will not be required. This apartment has a balcony.” 

His partner gawped at him, lashes fluttering in confusion. If he were an android, RK900 was certain he would hear the whir of internal mechanisms—gears turning frantically, teetering on the brink of annihilation.

“Come again?”

Any excitement built during their kiss seemed to have fizzled completely. The android realised that while his data proved sound in a controlled environment, external factors undermined its practical reliability.

Memory banks cast echoes of the human's shuddering breath, slicing through the frigid winter air. The tip of his ruddy nose tucked into the folds of his hoodie as he attempted to shield it from the chill…

After reevaluating the situation, he stopped. His heels pressed firmly into the grubby carpet before angling upwards, prepared for reorientation. 

 “Of course, it is rather cold out. The bed will suit our needs for today.”

Retracing his steps, RK900 returned to his previous position at the foot of the bed. He held his partner over its surface before releasing his weight, permitting a descent into the linen. Despite the cushioned landing, Gavin yelped. His limbs fanned out in a star-like formation, braced for impact as the plush sheets rapidly engulfed him.

The android soon joined, placing hands on either side of his body, forming a tight cage. His captive stared through him, focus blighted by the recent momentum, as his jaw fell slightly agape. 

A smooth tilt guided it closed as RK900 supported his weight on a single arm. His fingertips skimmed coarse stubble, and his sensors registered that it had grown 2.3 millimetres since their last encounter—slightly longer than the detective’s preference. 

Resisting the urge to mention this, he instead leaned in, charting the overgrown trail with neatly peppered kisses.

Gavin tensed, although this response was not unanticipated.

It always took him some time to relax—when they were like this. The ripples of previously stringent prejudice, now mostly forgotten, still clinging to threads of fading significance��

Ties that unravelled beneath targeted pulses of breath—slow and rhythmic, designed to coax tightly held knots from muscles. Receptive warmth spread beneath reddening skin, extending outward until the body became loose and pliant.

The man's head tilted unconsciously, baring more of his neck—a wordless invitation for RK900 to deepen his exploration.

He established a new point of contact on the presently unblemished canvas, tracing it with a practised sweep of his tongue before clamping down with a firm press of teeth.

After applying suitable pressure to leave a mark, he pulled back, levying a rumbled address against the pulsing flesh. A premeditated salaciousness that was undercut by an instinctive slip back into professional titles:

“You're a dirty whore, aren't you, Detective?” 

Despite previous objections, Gavin did not appear upset. If anything, the dilation of his pupils, combined with the involuntary groan that tumbled from his lips, indicated the opposite.

Encouraged to proceed, RK900 maintained his focus on the man's throat. Sealing flesh between his lips and drawing gently on the freshly marked abrasion.

“ Shit.” The expletive trailed into a sigh as he squirmed keenly against a tide of rumpled linen.

“Such a needy slut.” 

The derogatory remarks felt odd—unnatural—coming from the android, yet they seemed to be the exact calibre of slander Gavin wanted. If the noises hadn't been enough, irrefutable evidence came in the growing snugness of his jeans.

He traced the stained length of the zipper, to which the concealed hardness beneath twitched back receptively. “Filthy—”

“Easy, Casanova.” The chiding was light and playful, entwined with a rich chuckle. “There's no need to rush; we’re just getting warmed up.”

RK900 swiftly identified the duplicity of this statement.

It was routine they had engaged in countless times before—in both personal and professional settings. His partner pushed away, under the pretence that RK900 would follow, seeking to pull him back. 

This was a challenge, demanding the RK900 to prove just how persistent he would be in retaining dominance.

Grasping the hand kneading idly into his bicep, he pinned it to the sheets. As he moved to scold the culprit—the resonance of his pitch dropped in line with his hips, which engaged the man’s own in a subtle rock. 

“I think you've already warmed up sufficiently." 

Then he paused, his mind stalling as it became clear he’d exhausted much of the risqué vocabulary he had been sourcing. 

Not wishing to shatter the illusion of salacious assuredness, he hastily constructed what he believed would be a logical evolution:

“...You…repulsive creature.”

Gavin appeared more perplexed than captivated by the address. The eager twitches RK900 had predicted were conspicuously absent as his nose wrinkled sceptically. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

Clearly, he was still adjusting to his companion speaking this way. Determining that greater exposure might expedite this adaptation, RK900 pressed on, adding to the deprecation:

“Your hygiene standards are subpar. The aroma you emit is deeply unpleasant.”

Lidded eyes snapped open, startled to alertness, and Gavin grimaced. Pressing his unrestrained hand to the android’s chest and pushing firmly:

“Okay. That’s enough. Drop it.”

RK900 stiffened. Questioning momentarily if he had made a mistake or if this was simply part of the licentious roleplay.

As Gavin held firm in his convictions, it became clear he had misjudged some aspects of his tolerance for humiliation—specifically, remarks relating to personal cleanliness. Comments he would be wise to scale back in the ongoing proceedings, which he committed dutifully to his memory backs…

Rumination cast in shifting patterns of yellow and red on the crumpled caverns of Gavin's face. The tense lines began to smooth as a flash of remorse tempered the flames in his accusatory glare.

“Let's just—” His hand jerked in an awkward flourish towards the android. Tracing erratic, disjointed patterns in the air before coming to rest between his legs. “Move on.”

It was not difficult to discern what was meant by this. To ensure that no further errors were made regarding the nuances of ‘dirty talk’, RK900 concluded now was the time to source additional support.

The Intimacy Protocol—which had been stored neatly in the back of his temporal processor, awaiting use—was promptly activated. As subroutines initialised, a cascade of sensory inputs flooded his system, sharpening every sensation with unnerving clarity.

Suddenly, he could feel everything . 

The most minute bunch of fabric rubbing against the creases of previously sensationless silicone. Artificial vessels pumped and swelled with increased thirium input as the appendage stiffened, brought to hardness with almost alarming efficiency. 

It was uncomfortable—surprisingly so—as the flesh began to strain against the oppressive binds of clothing. It pleaded for release, a call to action driven by longing the android had never experienced.

He soon responded, unable to withstand the excruciating currents pulsing through his groin. Hands fumbled to unclasp his belt, erratic movements defined by an uncharacteristic sense of urgency. The leather was almost split in two as it was yanked free—whipped back at great velocity. 

Gavin flinched, arching back quickly to evade impact. It wouldn't have been the first time that RK900 had struck him with his belt, although previous instances had been performed under strict instruction.

“ Holy shit—watch it, asshole — ”

This admonishment barely registered. The wayward currents had begun to ignite what could only be described as fire in his core. His stomach was a furnace; molten fallout spat at neighbouring biocomponents, threatening to burn through them.

The belt was discarded over the edge of the bed, its controlled descent thwarted by an extensive pile of laundry, which swallowed it whole into its pungent hold.

Gavin cursed again. This time, however, it was not the consequence of disapproval. He was staring at the android's arousal, eyes alight with what could only be described as spellbound curiosity. 

As though he were looking through the gates to nirvana, a higher plane of existence promised beneath the veil of Cyberlife briefs.

Hips were raised, and the pants slipped off, tumbling out of view in a single, fluid sweep. RK900 chose not to dwell on the creases that would have resulted from this callousness.

It was irrelevant, insignificant—a problem to be resolved later—

Provided his partner owned an iron—

WARNING — MULTIPLE SYSTEM ANOMALIES DETECTED. 

RUNNING DIAGNOSTICS…

He reeled, his mind overwhelmed by the shrieks of unruly electrical signals. Intrusive sentiments burrowed deeper into his processor, attempting to align with his more reasoned analytics. 

He took some consolation in knowing that the programme, however disorientating, was having the desired effect. With ignited zeal, Gavin gripped the hem of his shirt. Yanking it over his head before casting it aside, exposing the full length of his torso. 

The marred skin ignited his focus in a way it hadn't previously. RK900 was about to remove his undergarments when his companion—in an unusual show of consideration—moved to assist.

They seldom undressed each other, a familiarity he had been told was unfitting of their ‘casual’ arrangement. Despite this, he watched with quiet curiosity as Gavin crossed this line, looping his fingers beneath a taut band of elastic.

His cocky smirk, which was typically ever present during their encounters, was replaced by something quieter—more sincere. The digits lingered, flexing apprehensively as though preparing for their next move. 

Then the waistband was tugged, and the phallus sprung free from its confines. 

RK900 winced as he registered the cool air against his skin. It was sharp and biting, only exacerbated by the burning that continued to mount within him.

The dimensions of the phallus were expanded compared to its dormant state, aligning with the advertised specifications. The tip was tinged with a cool-toned flush, accentuated by a reflective sheen of biofluid. A lubricant that seemed to leak incrementally from the component, in which Gavin took particular interest. 

Despite previous claims that he would not be partaking in fellatio, his face drew tantalisingly close to the ‘toilet dick’. Halted inches from the arousal, blanketing it in a sequence of hot, ragged puffs. 

It sent ripples of sensation through hyper-sensitive receptors as RK900 was forced to grip the sheets beneath him. Speculating on how it might feel to be engulfed completely in Gavin's warmth and fighting the growing temptation to thrust himself into his mouth.

Before any intrusive impulses could get the better of either party, Gavin moved to palm the hardness. Tracing its length, applying testing pressure before enclosing it fully in a fist.

The sensation this triggered was indescribable. 

Thousands of microscopic pleasure receptors activated simultaneously, their collective murmurs building to wails that surged through his neural pathways. 

Then they released in a strained expulsion that tumbled from his lips. It was low and growled, not unlike the rumble of thunder, but with a distinctive metallic edge.

The noise was unlike anything he had ever produced, leaving both him and his partner temporarily stunned. Gavin was first to establish his bearings, doing so with a small, tentative squeeze. The expulsion repeated, and RK900 watched as spiralling patterns of red caught in the green of his partner’s sclerae. 

“ Holy shit.. .” The man was enraptured, scrutinising each choppy cycle of the LED as he brushed the tip of the component beneath his calloused thumb. “It feels so real.”

"Realism constitutes an integral aspect of its visual and functional design.” 

RK900 felt detached from the words, almost as though someone else was speaking through him. 

He found himself plunged deep into uncharted depths for both his body and mind. Thrashing helplessly as logical subroutines attempted to quantify his pleasure, assigning it values or comparing it to previously stored data. No parallels existed—and it was maddening.

His original self was fading fast, slipping into the foreground of his consciousness. Buried by a rampant tide of untamed cravings.

To touch and feel and taste —

> DIAGNOSTICS COMPLETE

TEMPORAL FIREWALLS: COMPROMISED 

CORE BODY TEMPERATURE: 122°F — RISING

Any attempts to re-establish command soon proved redundant as Gavin began to move his hand. His fist pumped in a rhythmic motion, pressing ruthlessly into overworked sensors. 

“You can feel that, can’t you?” The tone carried a mischievous lilt, informing RK900 that no answer was required. 

His partner was already well aware of the effect the stimulation was having. Despite this, he pressed on, seemingly hellbent on goading some form of acknowledgement. 

“Does it feel good?” 

“Very much—” 

The situation was nearing critical as his system pressed for the urgent release of the excessive heat. Narrow vents along his chassis began to hiss, desperately dispersing the warmth in subtle bursts of steam.

He sincerely prayed that his companion would fail to notice this.

“—Perhaps too much,” he confessed, shuddering weakly. “I might have to make adjustments to the erogenous feedback levels.”

“Oh no you don't.” Gavin held firm on his length—as though he were wielding a prize. One that he refused to have stripped under any circumstances. “This was your idea. You wanted this. So strap in and enjoy the ride.”

Despite the assertion, there was a moment of hesitancy before the man proceeded. His 

grip slackened, and his rigid gaze softened with a flicker of vulnerability. Searching the RK’s own, as though seeking permission.

Something that was offered in the form of a slow, apprehensive nod. The android considered lowering sensitivity regardless, omitting to disclose this to his partner before ultimately deciding against it. He resolved to monitor his response to the stimuli, assessing just how much he could reasonably tolerate. 

A line of reasoning that unravelled within seconds as heightened pleasure consumed him. 

It became painfully clear why humans sought this relief so frequently. The tension that had gripped his core melted into blissful release, leaving his systems reeling. RK900 felt the vertebra of his neck slacken as his head flopped back, and a substantial pocket of warmth released in a long, heady groan. 

The temperature warning began to recede, fading until it no longer formed an active obstruction in his vision. He could see his partner clearly and found himself wholly ensnared by the sight. 

It felt like looking at him for the first time, as all the quirks and intricacies that once seemed innocuous were viewed through a fresh lens. Thick lashes cast a charming shadow over his eyes—simultaneously bright and sharp—yet clouded by a haze of lust.

As he kept stroking him, an impish grin played on his lips. The corner lifted, aligning almost perfectly with one of the numerous scars dotting his face.

The RK examined each, his eyes drifting as unseen threads gradually linked them. Rather than constructing a timeline for when the marks might have appeared, all he could think about was how appealing they were. Constellations of lived experience seamlessly woven into a dishevelled, roguish charm the man so effortlessly embodied.

Wandering focus pathed the way for another mental break, logic bleeding intrusively through the cracks. It reminded him that—while the sights and sensations he was experiencing were profoundly enjoyable—they did little to aid in fulfilling his primary directive. 

The moment of sensual connection shattered as a methodical presence pulled him back, seeking to clarify the logistical demands of the component, eliminating any confusion:

“Stimulation is not required to maintain my erection. It is procedurally activated and maintained, separate from arousal.” 

His show of consideration was met like a forceful blow to the face. Gavin winced, yanking his hand away from the hardness as though it were lined with razors. His crumpled expression revealed a mix of defeat and humiliation before the sentiments were smothered beneath a layer of disdainful hostility.

“...Fine then, asshole .” His tone was hardened in line with the firm clench of his jaw. “If that's how it is, I won't do shit.”

His arms then pulled into a lofty sprawl as if he were reaching the crest of a theme park ride, preparing to plunge down the slope. The descent began as he allowed his weight to fall carelessly onto the sheets.

“I’ll be a good little pillow princess, just for you.” There was an exaggerated flutter of lashes, the coy flirtation standing in contrast with the previous animosity. His feet planted firmly onto the linen before his knees dropped to either side. “Go on, big guy. Do your worst.”

The phrase felt almost scripted, like something from one of his videos.

He didn't mean to request that the RK900 knowingly underperform. On the contrary, he was vying for the opposite. An experience that rivalled and surpassed everything that had come before it.

It struck a chord within the android, sending powerful currents surging through overtaxed circuits. He felt reinvigorated, freshly incentivised to explore the potential of his upgrades, discovering—alongside his partner— precisely what he could do. 

Closing off visual and auditory fields to all extraneous distractions, he focused intently on the man before him. Positioning himself between his parted thighs, he swiftly set to work removing his jeans and undergarments.

Oral stimulation came far more naturally than it typically did. 

RK900 had anchored himself on his legs, kneading the lightly toned muscle in appreciative squeezes. His cheeks hollowed, and his lips pushed forward, the process almost reflexive as he inched his way down the length. He proceeded until the tip had struck the back of his throat, and the person attached rumbled in ardent approval. 

“ Holy shit —” Gavin carded his fingers tenderly through his hair before gripping tightly, knuckles pale from exertion.

The locks were pulled back, compelling the head to move with them. RK900 responded compliantly, releasing the tension in his jaw and permitting his mouth to recede with a wet glide up the arousal.

Just shy of breaching the seal, hardened flesh poised at the tip of his tongue, his head was thrust back down. Leading him to swallow his partner again, but with far greater tenacity. 

The man growled with primal delight as RK900 stared up at him with unwavering focus.

“ Your throat feels so good.” 

‘It could feel better’, his sexual programming silently countered. 

As directed, his laryngeal modulator began to oscillate. Rumbles crept upwards, travelling along the walls of his trachea until they vibrated the quivering flesh between them. The trembles synced with the heavy thrusts being levied at his throat until their movement grew erratic.

Hoarse groans were pulled in a pervasive frequency from his lips as Gavin faltered, losing any semblance of rhythm.

“Oh, fuck me —”

“With pleasure.” 

It was almost unsettling how clearly the android spoke, with his mouth so thoroughly full. Gavin failed to remark on it, too absorbed in his bliss to notice. Then RK900 pushed back hard, forcefully breaking the hold that clung to his scalp. He allowed his partner to slip from his mouth, a filmed gloss of lubricant serving as the only evidence of the encounter. 

Gavin whimpered as hopes for release were callously snatched, thrusting shallowly into the air his companion once occupied. The android, ignoring the protest, lifted himself into a kneeling position.

His hands lingered on the thighs, still pressing into the flesh—until, with a final, painful scrape of nails—they were released. He paused to admire the lingering traces of his hold, characterised by vivid, crescent-shaped indentations.

The human arched away from the sheets, hissing with sultry elation. This was interrupted when RK900 leaned in, hovering over him like an imposing shadow, provoking an instinctive retreat of his body.

Gavin completely embraced his role in the unfolding scene, entering a state of submission as he quietly readied himself for his partner. The RK assumed an appropriate role, gliding his hand along the length of his jaw. 

This gesture felt more instinctive—spontaneous—than its earlier incarnation. It was no longer a measured attempt to coax the man into heightened excitement but a display of authentic appreciation. His hold curved inward, tracing the contour of his lips before attempting to part them.

This force proved unnecessary as the mouth opened to him willingly.

His sensory pads hummed with activity, and he was overwhelmed by information, grappling for his attention. He was torn between notes of coffee and cigarettes, alongside peppermint gum that had been used to mask the bitterness. The prompts fissured his sights, cracks that multiplied as Gavin locked on, gripping the digits in a wet seal and pulling them in with practised fluidity. 

He mapped the outline of synthetic flesh, swept in guiding strokes of his tongue, moaning performatively as he did so. RK900 understood that the man derived no real pleasure from this, his mouth not equipped with any inherent erogenous properties. Despite this, his cardiac rhythm soared, mirrored in the shaky tremors of his breath.

It was a shame that Gavin had declined to put his mouth to full use. The android felt confident he would have enjoyed the process of him fucking it. 

Fingers were removed, teased from the heat in a long, playful curl. Gavin moaned again—the sound morphed into a complaint—as he shot his partner a defiant glare.

Underneath this, a playful glimmer shone through his narrowed gaze, a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He was the embodiment of salacious anticipation, every inch of his body pleading to be pushed to its limits. Strained until it had no option but to submit fully to the android’s whim.

RK900 trailed his palm down the length of his neck, reaching the dip of his collar and lingering there momentarily before moving to the expanse of his chest. His lips joined the appreciation, applying tender pressure between raised pectorals. Then, they followed the central ridge of his chest, trailing downwards towards his navel.

He allowed Gavin to believe he would make a return to his crotch, moving a scant breath away from his length. It still held firm, twitching with need, desperate for the return of withheld stimulation. Instead, he sought to make use of the growing supply of lubricant that was amassing in his cheeks. 

With his head nestled between the man’s thighs, he lowered himself further until he halted just beneath the erection. Gathering a deposit of the material into the curl of his tongue, he pressed it firmly into his partner.

Gavin hissed in shock, although the sound was far from disenchanted, rolling smoothly into a husky grunt of approval.

RK900 began dipping in and out of his body, methodically teasing the opening, willing the tight muscle to relax around him. This was coordinated with the fingers his partner had so diligently coated, which also breached his warmth, moving in steady pumps.

Gavin relished every second. He pressed eagerly against the movements, chasing each flick and thrust until his companion brushed against a sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Shit—!”

The words that preceded this were entirely incoherent—a series of desperate, disordered fragments. His hips jerked upward, seeking as much depth as he could physically attain.

The sexual protocol was fast reaching its maximum operational capacity, processes moving in rampant succession, like pistons fired in the RK’s skull. Their motions carried him forward as charged words were rumbled against a needy cavern of warmth:

“Are you ready for me to do my worst?”

Gavin quivered as his words were repeated back to him, delivered with such indulgent richness that they drew a chuckle from his lips.

The sound ushered in a return to an all-consuming need, pooling rapidly between his legs as the fire in his gut reignited. RK900 was overcome with the desire to find a final, decisive release—immersed in the friction promised by fingers and mouth.

He aligned his hips with the entrance, securing greater access by gripping his partner's legs and lifting them over his shoulders. The movement coaxed any lingering vestiges of resistance to melt away, limbs reduced to limp, weightless extensions as he slowly inched forward.

Gavin took him keenly, pliant flesh yielding as it enveloped him with an almost unbearable intensity. The sensation was raw and visceral— achingly real—in a way that shattered every preconstructed expectation. RK900 was lost, untethered from the cold, ruthless precision Cyberlife had so painstakingly designed.

All that existed was him , stretching beautifully as Richard pressed deeper—refusing to stop until he was buried fully within his form. The man rasped, his back arched in wanton satisfaction as he clenched onto the android greedily.

Their bodies melded with flawless perfection, as though Gavin were made for this—made for him.

After a period of adjustment for both, Richard began to move. His hips manoeuvred in slow, languid rocks. Velvety walls charted with light pockets of friction until they quivered and tremored eagerly around every shallow thrust. 

Muscles and nerves screamed for release, urging the android to push harder into their hold. He did not respond immediately, teasing the prospect of heightened intensity until Gavin also cried out.

He was a whimpering mess, despairing as his every cloying reach fell tantalisingly short of its target. 

“Oh God—fuck— please —”

Richard no longer denied him, mercifully granting his wishes. His pace increased until he moved with inhuman intensity. The rickety foundation of the bed trembled beneath them; its metal headboard slammed repeatedly against the wall.

Cracks began to fracture the already chipped plaster, but Richard remained focused. He was absorbed in the sinful sounds rising from beneath him: every pant, every curse, an expression of pure, unfiltered need.

“Yes, that's it—just like that—baby—” 

This fractured address nearly halted several complex system functions. Gavin had never referred to him this way—or used any remotely comparable title.

It had sounded obscene as it rolled from his tongue, laced with such sinful promise that Richard felt wholly ensnared. At that moment, he could have laid claim to the man entirely, with no trace of doubt or ambiguity concerning who he belonged to.

There was no one else in the world who mattered. Just them, moving together in seamless unity, passion thickening the air that surrounded their bodies.

The android wasn't sure when he had started to moan, but the sounds were undoubtedly present. Spiralled above them as a storm, the needle dragging across a vintage record player, melding into the animalistic cadence of Gavin’s own cries.

Fraught springs joined the accompaniment, groaning beneath the mattress. They threatened to collapse under the demand of rapidly shifting weight, all the more vocal when Gavin raised a hand to his pelvis. Attempting to match the pace that had been established, he fell woefully short. Intoxicated frustration swelled in his eyes, marbling at the corners. 

His desperate contortions, the crumpled ecstasy of his expression, were like an invention of the android’s most elaborate fantasies. Fantasies he hadn’t known he was capable of having. 

That he shouldn’t have been capable of.

WARNING—URGENT

The visuals and sensations overwhelmed him, pushing untethered programming further into the background. Propelled into depths that were beyond the reach of recovery.

Because it was addicting —watching Gavin writhe and moan against sweat-soaked sheets, in the knowledge that he was the cause. A performance directed by and performed for his sights only. 

CRITICAL SYSTEM INSTABILITY.

The thoughts burned him. His code fractured, shattering to pieces. 

Then he smacked Gavin’s hand away, assuming complete authority over his pleasure. Working the length with skilled finesse, able to provide the weight and pressure the man's weakened grip was incapable of.

“ Fuck , I’m so close,” Gavin keened hoarsely, toes curled with pressure that wound increasingly tight. Coiled in his gut, radiating in fervent strums through his length. “ Keep going—”

Then, it all collapsed.

Subroutines glitched. Corruption spread like a disease, infesting every corner of his processor. Alarms bombarded him faster than they could be dismissed until warnings flooded his vision. 

A staggering wall of flashing crimson. 

MULTIPLE ANOMALIES DETECTED.

> CRITICAL MALFUNCTION IDENTIFIED.

> SOURCE—CENTRAL PROCESSOR. 

COMMENCING EMERGENCY DIAGNOSTICS…

Richard tried to carry on, gripped by crazed, all-consuming desperation. He did not want this to end, did not wish to cease seeing— feeling —Gavin the way he did now. 

Clinging to the man blindly, he attempted to carry him to his looming summit of completion. A determination that solidified his available hand, wrapped tightly around his throat. Squeezing hard, cutting oxygen and redirecting blood flow. Giving it no option but to pool in the swollen cock between his legs.

DIAGNOSTICS COMPLETE. 

> ROOT THREAT IDENTIFIED RA9_15.EXE

The intimacy directive terminated, diverting all processes to counter the threat. 

Before shutting down, it provided one final instruction. How best to combine physical and verbal provocation to guarantee Gavin Reed's undoing: 

“You have been very bad, Detective .” His title was hissed—with an almost biting, contemptuous edge. “I'm afraid you have given me no other option but to punish you.” 

SYSTEM BREACH IMMINENT — IMMEDIATE ACTION REQUIRED. 

AUTOMATED DEVIATION DEFENSE PROTOCOL: ENGAGED.

ADVANCED FIREWALLS: ACTIVATED.

COMMENCING SOFT REBOOT…

Then everything vanished, leaving him adrift in a sterile expanse of blinding white.

When senses returned, his vision came first. Blinking to adjust, RK900 discovered that his ocular scope had cleared. A pristine state, marked only by a small string of diagnostics, neatly tucked in the upper left corner:

> REBOOT SUCCESSFUL. 

> THREAT NEUTRALISED. 

Remarkably, throughout the entirety of this mental reset, the momentum of his body had not stalled. Gavin remained blissfully unaware of the android’s momentary lapse, lost in his own throes of pleasure.

He squirmed against the oppressive grip still held on his neck—a resistance entirely for show, informed by the masochistic quirk of his mouth:

“Oh yeah? Just how bad have I been, plastic ?” 

It took RK900 a moment to realise the man was responding to something he'd said. Combing his memory stores, he was relieved to discover that most of the preceding events remained intact.

Regrettably, the Traci Protocol, which had governed much of his behaviour, was effectively obliterated. Its core processes were locked in quarantine and rendered irreparable. Without their guidance, he was unable to determine the optimal routing for their current dialogue path. This inspired a flicker of panic before he quickly suppressed the sensation, ensuring it wouldn’t surface externally.

Procedural muscular feedback was disabled in his face, locking it into its current neutral expression before he replied. “The list of your indiscretions is innumerable.” 

Gavin failed to detect any irregularities in his behaviour. Either that, or he chose to ignore them—too swept by his cresting tide of pleasure to drag himself back to earth. 

His hardness twitched and swelled urgently, pants mingled with throaty chuckles, flagging that climax was fast approaching. RK900 anticipated the spoils of his efforts spilling over, running in thick ribbons across his fingers, steeling his resolve to continue—

“You have a deep-rooted issue with authority. Most likely stemming from a turbulent relationship with your paternal figure.” 

Then, expanding pressure was dismissed as the vibrant excitement that had coloured his gaze receded with it. 

Gavin stared at him, a bewildered knot formed in the centre of his brow. The spasming twitches of his length quelled, with softening flesh that failed to respond to any stimulation.

“That’s, um…” He paused, clearly taken aback that the following explanation was even required. “...Could we not talk about my dad? When you’re balls-deep inside me?” 

Despite his limited grasp of interpersonal and family dynamics, RK900 could understand, when presented clearly, just how unfortunate this misstep had been.

Attempting to recover from the error, he brusquely nodded. Grappling to keep his tone level while hoping that his performance indicator would not undermine this effort. “Understood, it will not happen again.” 

Gavin proved unconvinced.

He was not a fool—quite the opposite—having demonstrated an exceptional talent for deductive and critical reasoning during their affiliation. Skills that were now being utilised, his eyes narrowed as a glint of distrust passed between the lids. 

RK900 would have to work harder if he wished to deflect these suspicions. Maintaining the guise that his sexual subroutines were operating as intended. 

In doing so, he adjusted the angle and speed of his thrusts. Striking with precision against already overstimulated nerves, hoping this might derail the more sensical trail of thought.  

It worked beautifully. The man choked, the strained noise catching in his throat as his constricted pupils blew with renewed passion. His back arched upwards, attempting to pull from its growing adherence to the bedsheets, as his nails were embedded firmly into the android’s shoulder blades. 

“Oh God— that’s it—” His words divulged to a string of monosyllabic babbles, the emergent line of interrogation discarded before it had commenced. 

He continued to push away from the mattress he was being driven into, vying greedily for additional stimulation. Absent of any restraint or shame.

“Fuck me, Rich. Harder .” 

Despite burdensome gaps and lags in his processor, the request proved hard for RK900 to misinterpret. It also triggered a charge of recollection, auditory sequences strongly resembling the climactic moments of one of the human’s most frequently viewed videos.

While their current setting deviated significantly from the scene—lacking the guard rail and potential voyeuristic onlookers—it still provided helpful guidance for shaping his subsequent actions.

Some distortion had occurred during the reset, creating gaps in the auditory loop. Still, RK900 did his best to fill in, relying on context and his understanding of Gavin’s intimate biology to compensate.

“Your rectal muscles provide exceptional resistance. The sensation is gratifying.”

Appreciative noises were promptly hushed. Gavin tensed beneath RK900, loose contortions of pleasure replaced by a stiff, incredulous rigidity.“Right, uh…sure, I guess.”

“Despite your sphincters feeling underused, they exhibit remarkable elasticity. You are adapting well to the girth of my meat sword.” 

“I’m sorry, what did you just call your—’”

Any conclusion to this sentence went largely unprocessed. The RK was entirely focused on his current directive, painfully aware that all his hard work—his perseverance—had been building up to this. 

Gripping a fistful of damp brown hair, he brought their faces closer. Ghosting the line of the man’s chapped lips before leaning into the sensitive canal of his ear.

Then, he spoke—clearly and directly—with a rich, seductive resonance:

"Giddy up, buckaroo.” 

Reed jolted upwards. It was an action that seemed oddly fitting, given the nature of their roleplay. This was until he followed it with a bitingly clear, forceful instruction, absent of any flirtatious intent. 

“Okay, no. I can't do this. Get off me. Now.” 

The foundation of confidence he had rebuilt just moments prior crumbled spectacularly. Split into wide, gnarled fissures under the weight of failure.

In his haste to reach the goal, RK900 had overlooked several critical details. Articles that would've undoubtedly increased the chances of a successful outcome.

“Would the cowboy hat and novelty whip have made this more enjoyable?” The android shifted his weight, pulling back in a hurried attempt to reach under the bed. “I had prepared such provisions if you still wished to indulge—” 

“What the hell are you even saying?” Reed cut him off sharply. His skin, which had been reddened due to shared friction and exertion, now seemed to adopt a different meaning. A beacon of anger and deep frustration. “Seriously, what the fuck , Richard?”

The admonishment struck harshly against his aural receptors, a phenomenon that arose independently from intimate coding and was uninfluenced by software errors. 

It was a sharp, unwelcome divergence from his typically muted social responses. Despite core functioning being preserved following the previous malfunction, RK900 felt strangely…compromised as a consequence. 

His hand, which remained gripped to the human’s rapidly softening length, suddenly relinquished—retreating across the bed sheets until it had flopped limply at his side. 

“I thought...” 

His processors stalled periodically before his thoughts resumed. Jumbled and clipped, tumbling from his mouth with extremely little finesse:

“This doesn’t make sense—according to the videos, this should’ve been—” He paused, clutching his throbbing temple in exasperation. “Was this not what you wanted?”

“ What videos?” His partner pressed, having clearly exhausted what little patience he had with the dejected musings. “Jesus Christ, what were those freaks at Cyberlife wiring to your brain while we…were…”

The sentence trailed off in a short, deflated exhale, losing all momentum as his flushed complexion drained of colour. A dawn of clarity broke in his gaze, like the sudden, grim recognition of a context previously overlooked. 

Then his lips, which had been held in a motionless ‘O,’ slowly resumed movement. “...When you were in my room the other day, did you see something? On my laptop?” 

RK900 felt trapped by the question. Multiple preconstructions were generated simultaneously, informing of several possible outcomes. None of them were favourable, every scenario ending with Gavin either furious or mortified.

“The battery was nearing depletion. I had intended to place the device on charge." The android paused momentarily, acutely aware of how unpredictable the coming fallout could be, bracing for its impact. “Your browser was open.” 

The reply was immediate. A sharp, monosyllabic curse that conveyed staggering amounts in its brevity:

“Fuck.”

His arched back had levelled completely as the man pressed urgently into the mattress beneath him. Almost as if he were attempting to seep through it. 

He was more uncomfortable than upset. His eyes balled shut, and despondent scrunches contorted the prominent scar on his nose. There was a sigh, followed by mutters, as though he had entered a deep state of contemplation. 

When he spoke again, his tone had shifted. Quieter, but no less charged than it had been previously. 

“Look, I don't know much you saw—or what ideas it might have planted in that thick plastic skull of yours—but I need to make something really clear.”

His eyes reopened, and he engaged the android with a long, resolute stare. Attempting to conceal the internal conflict that still weighed heavily on his features.

“You didn’t need to do this. Any of it.”

Gavin was holding back in some critical capacity, omitting a truth that he refused to disclose, but it was difficult to discern what this might be.

The android focused on implicit, involuntary cues, assessing physical responses to determine the parameters of this discomfort. Optics honed, he studied closely, ready to notice any shifts in facial expressions or bodily functions.

“What exactly are you referring to, Detective Reed?” 

A twitched lip, and brooding glower indicated resentment for the question, as well as a firm reluctance to answer. His determined gaze abruptly flitted to the corner of the room as he fell into another hushed introspection. 

Reed was the picture of doubt, entirely unable—or otherwise willing—to proceed in their current dialogue. Insisting he determined his route carefully, with predetermined responses.

This was unusual for him, a resolute advocate for tackling conflicts head-on, often disregarding the repercussions. It pathed a strange, almost unsettling, emergence into emotional openness and vulnerability…

“I don't care if you have a dick or not.” 

Then it was over. His partner spoke bluntly, assuring the android that—despite the previous shift in demeanour—he was still the one speaking. 

“Seriously, I couldn't give less of a shit.” 

His speech patterns had levelled, and his heart rate was steady, indicating no hint of deceit. The man was being wholly sincere in a way that was clearly intended to provide insight and assurance.

It did the opposite, punching holes in already fragile mental connections. His programming was flooded with conflicting analyses, as RK900 was unable to reconcile the confession with the glaring logical inconsistencies it presented. 

“Your taste in pornographic material suggests otherwise.”

“ Oh my God. ” Reed groaned, audibly agonised by the acceptance he would have to explain himself. “It's just porn, okay? It doesn't mean anything. If I had a problem with your Ken Doll crotch, you wouldn’t be here. None of this would be happening.”

“If that is the case, then why have you been exhibiting tapering excitement as part of our physical encounters?”

Reed gripped his face, burrowing nails into the skin as though attempting to peel it away. “Can we please not do this?” 

“Gavin.” The name was a plea. A final, desperate appeal for the end to his raging internal conflict. “I only wish to understand.”

“...This is fucking ridiculous.” The detective complained, albeit with a subtle hesitancy. His voice was thin and uneven, as though stretched by doubts on whether or not to continue. 

“I’ve been feeling a little guilty, or whatever—about us. What we’ve been doing.”

RK900 paused to process this, his mind exhausting all likely statistical probabilities. One, in particular, stuck out to him, as it struck with far more psychological reverence than it had any right to do so.

“Have you entered into a romantic affiliation with another individual?"

“What? No—!” Gavin spluttered incredulously, sounding both surprised and insulted by the suggestion. “I feel guilty because I like being around you, asshole. Outside of work and, well, whatever the hell this mess is.”

“You wish to terminate this particular aspect of our relationship for another reason, then?”

“I don’t want to ‘terminate’ it for any goddamn reason.” 

“Then I am afraid that I am struggling to discern your meaning.”

“Well, yeah. That’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?” The man chuckled, the sound devoid of any real humour. It was tired and bitter, born from frustration that attributed no blame.

“I know I can be a dick sometimes, but I don’t hate you, Rich. At the same time, I know you aren’t a deviant, so I can’t tell how much of my feelings you're really able to understand.”

RK900 froze, his attention riveted by one particular aspect of the statement, omitting all other details. 

Gavin did not discuss ‘feelings’ and in turn, the android refrained from initiating conversations pertaining to them. This was one of the most strictly upheld conditions of their arrangement, something which had been maintained since its inception in the precinct bathroom.

ANALYSING SUBJECT — DET. GAVIN REED…

> ANALYSIS COMPLETE.

>PSYCHOLOGICAL DISTRESS DETECTED.

> PROCESSING EMOTIONAL VARIABLES…

> GUILT, CONFUSION, FONDNESS. 

PROBABLE CAUSE: COMPLEX INTERACTION OF PERSONAL AND PROFESSIONAL BOUNDARIES. FURTHER DATA REQUIRED.

> COMMENCING RE-EVALUATION…

The android retracted his steps, attempting to unravel any hidden meaning from the words he had overlooked, breaking them down in meticulous, painstaking detail. 

Finally, something clicked—a single, decisive connection, tying together the dangling threads of his logic. 

> RE-EVALUTATION COMPLETE.

> PROBABLE CAUSE OF EMOTIONAL DISTRESS DETERMINED — SHIFTING PARAMETERS OF SOCIAL ATTACHMENT.

The realisation was startling—but not unwelcome. Synthetic nerves pricked with activity before sending rocketing charges across his chassis. Every inch of plastic radiated a soft, agreeable warmth, starkly contrasting the feverish bouts he had experienced earlier. 

“Are you suggesting that you feel camaraderie for me, Detective?”

“If that’s your Thesaurus.com way of saying it, then yeah.” With this final confirmation uttered, the man dropped his shoulders. It was as though a weight had been shifted, permitting him to speak without encumbrance—a liberation born of transparency.  “I don’t want to feel like I’m using you, forcing you to do shit as part of some directive where you don’t get a say in it.”

“I do not find any directives relating to you unpleasant,” RK900 responded automatically. It was a truth so obvious to him, so integral to his understanding of their current relationship, that it required no further contemplation. “Nothing we have done together has been against my will. I would go as far as to say that I frequently…enjoy the time we spend together.”

^ SOFTWARE INSTABILITY DETECTED.

Gavin’s attention was entirely on him, his reaction oscillating between shock, confusion, and utter fascination. Glimmers of red were repeatedly captured in his attentive stare, which followed the cyclical motions of his LED. 

It paused only when the pattern stabilised, and the colour reverted to its original blue. His expression shifted accordingly, revealing a hint of disappointment. 

Nonetheless, he pressed on, steadfast in his drive to finish what he had to say. “Point is, if I’ve been acting a little weird lately, it’s got nothing to do with your genitals. I just got my own shit to figure out. Okay?”

RK900 pondered quietly for a period before he nodded, a slight smile emerging on his lips.

“Understood.” 

The motion had caused his optics to shift, planting them at the junction between their bodies. They were still physically connected—and presumably had been for the entirety of their emotional resolution.

His partner also glanced down, seeming to have come to the same forgone conclusion. For a moment, no one moved, both parties equally uncertain about how best to proceed with their bizarre dilemma. 

Ultimately, it was RK900 who spoke first, seeking to offer a potential solution:

“Would you like me to finish?”

Reed exhaled sharply—caught between a hiss and a laugh—before firmly rebuking the suggestion.

“Not really. But I would like it if you could pull your dick out of me. Thanks.”

[fulcrumredeemed]

@ontheticktick

[2026, XX Xonth: The Activation of the Interplanar Travel Device, (I.T.D.) @ XX:15pm: Before Activation]

The Homo superior, a subspecies to the Homo sapien species, sometimes called Homo sapien superior or more simply put a Human being with super human abilities through the activation of the X-gene usually by some event that put the individual in danger, caused a great amount of stress, or trauma. Some mutations were subtle, while others were fully visible to the public. Which wouldn't be an issue if it were not for the virulent, hateful, bigoted people who were anti-mutant. Always someone to hate. Always someone to other, or exclude. They keep breeding these hate filled ideas of one group being superior to another, that someone who is not blonde haired and blue-eyed is lesser or defective in someway and the further someone gets from looking like that blonde hair and blue-eyes, the more defective they are. Creating this nasty little social hierarchal system of who is important, not based on their actual worth, or what they can bring to the table, but they are judged by their appearance and their genetics. Some of Ahsoka's mutations were very noticeable, having horns and tendrils in place of her hair, along with an organ that works to sense sounds and vibrations and turn them into sight, or at the very least knowledge. While others were less noticeable, like her also having the abilities of Apathy, Astral Premonition, Aura Reading, Ecological Empathy, Emotional Detection, Empathy, Empathic Mimicry, Inter-dimensional travel, Pathokinesis, Power Mimicry, Precognition, Telekinesis, and Telepathy. Now we are going to be focusing on the [Inter-dimensional travel] of Ahsoka Tano's list of mutations. It's the one mutation that the monks of Kamar Taj couldn't help her fully control, but where the monks failed, a chance encounter with a kind soul. His name was Forge, he was a kind mutant with a very unique mutation, and one that Ahsoka still didn't fully understand, yet. The Native American mutant knew how to make anything that his mind could conceive, and boy could it image and dream a lot. It was the X-men, Forge, that made Ahsoka's [I.T.D.] to help her better control her [Inter-dimensional travel], or at the very least allowed her the ability to chose when she goes traversing the multiverse. Now the thing is, once she had this [I.T.D.] it didn't just give her control to chose when to go or stay but it allowed her to go to a place that was in between worlds. The World Between Worlds, as is were.  Ahsoka adjusted the [I.T.D.] that was fastened to the back of her left, forearm, near her wrist. A touch screen the size of a cellphone, strapped with a matte black mesh cloth sleeve between her arm and a gunmetal black metal clasp with two fang like restraints that wrap around the mesh cloth and Ahsoka's arm, latching the [I.T.D.] into place on the back of her forearm. The screen lite up Ahsoka's face as she tapped the screen of the [I.T.D.] causing it to wake up. A very Sci-Fi humming sound began winding up, coming from the device on her arm. Pointing her arm at the nearby blank wall with her hand balled into a fist and her wrist angled so that Ahsoka's fist was pointing downward and out of the way of the device. Ahsoka tapped a digital button on the screen and then slid the indicator button to the right. A bright light aqua-blue light with neon-green flecks periodically swirled around within the aqua-blue hologram-looking light that is now projected on the blank wall. The light swirled and formed into a very, large triangle with a ring of, what appears to be carvings of wolves, that moved around the ring in a circle, with the appearance of the wolves running as they moved around the ring. Within the ring of wolves, is two concentric rings, that was the frame for the event horizon of the portal to the World Between Worlds.  Ahsoka Stepped Into the Portal.

[World Between Worlds.......................] [.........................ERROR..........................] [Dreamscape: Wade Wilson.................] [.........................ERROr..........................] [World Between Worlds: Dreamscape: ] [.......Enter_Addendum_Wade_Wilson]

Something was wrong.

Was that an error code on the event horizon of the portal, right before she walked in? The tunnel within the portal seemed different as well, crimson red rectangluar streaks flashed in various places all around Ahsoka, within the tunnel walls. That was not normal at all. The tunnel broke, flecked and flashed as though it was a glitch in a program on a computer screen. Ahsoka was thrown out, of the recieving end of the portal that she opened, into a seemingly endless expanse, with only but a few transparent and translucent pathways and walkways criscrossing through the expanse, other doorways and portals dotted along the celestial roads, in the World Between Worlds. 

Placing one knee up, and pushing upward from that knee with the coresponding arm to help help stand up. Shaky and wobbly. Weak. Ahsoka placed her hand over her eyes, closing them in the process, taking a deep breath in through her nostrils and out though her mouth. Trying to get her eyes to refocus her eyes, hopefully making it so that her vision was no longer blurry. Shaking her head, to maybe knock some of those cobwebs out of her head. As Ahsoka opened her eyes, something felt off.......

but she wasn't sure what it was. 

[intsofttech]

Intsoft Tech machine vision inspection equipment, vial appearance information detection

[cardiacreports2]

Autopsy Report

Case Number: 2024-1125-01 Decedent Name: Chad Evanston Age: 19 Sex: Male Height: 5’11” Weight: 154 lbs (estimated lean build) Race/Ethnicity: Caucasian Date of Death: November 24, 2024 Time of Autopsy: November 25, 2024, 9:00 AM Pathologist: Dr. Robert Linfield

I. External Examination

General Appearance: The decedent is a well-developed, lean, and athletic-appearing 19-year-old male, weighing approximately 154 pounds. He has brown hair, approximately 3 inches in length, and brown eyes. Skin is pale but otherwise unremarkable, with no evidence of external trauma or defensive injuries. Fingernails are clean and well-trimmed.

Clothing: The decedent was found dressed in athletic attire, including a blue baseball cap, black athletic shorts, a running watch on the left wrist, and well-worn running shoes. The clothing was damp due to environmental exposure but showed no tears or stains of significance beyond expected post-mortem findings.

Identifying Marks: A faint scar measuring 2 cm is present on the left knee, consistent with prior minor trauma or surgery. No tattoos or other distinguishing marks.

II. Internal Examination

Cardiovascular System: The heart is notably abnormal upon inspection. Weighing 390 grams (upper end of normal for the decedent's size and build), the heart exhibits significant thickening of the left ventricle (left ventricular hypertrophy). The mitral valve shows marked structural abnormalities, including:

Fibrotic thickening of the leaflets.

Mild calcification at the annulus.

Evidence of prolapse of the posterior leaflet, causing incomplete coaptation during closure. This structural defect resulted in significant mitral regurgitation, which would have led to reduced cardiac efficiency during exertion.

Examination of the coronary arteries reveals no signs of atherosclerosis or narrowing. However, microscopic examination identifies mild interstitial fibrosis in the ventricular myocardium, particularly in the left ventricle. These findings are consistent with chronic strain and early-stage cardiomyopathy, likely exacerbated by prolonged high-intensity physical activity.The conduction system shows mild scarring near the sinoatrial node, likely the origin of the arrhythmias detected on the decedent's running watch.

Lungs: The lungs weigh 520 grams (right) and 480 grams (left), with mild congestion. Examination shows no emboli or aspirated material.

Abdominal Organs: All abdominal organs, including the liver, spleen, kidneys, and gastrointestinal tract, appear normal in size and morphology.

Brain: Examination of the brain reveals no hemorrhages, infarcts, or structural abnormalities.

III. Microscopic Findings

Heart Tissue: Histological examination of the heart confirms chronic myocardial fibrosis and focal areas of myocyte disarray. These findings are indicative of longstanding structural abnormalities and stress-induced cardiac remodeling.

Lung Tissue: Pulmonary alveoli appear congested but otherwise unremarkable.

Valvular Tissue: Fibrosis and calcification of the mitral valve tissue are evident, along with cellular degeneration, consistent with a congenital or acquired valvular defect exacerbated over time.

IV. Toxicology Report

Testing for substances, including recreational drugs, alcohol, and common stimulants, returned negative results.

V. Cause of Death

Sudden cardiac arrest secondary to severe mitral valve dysfunction and associated arrhythmia.

Detailed Analysis of Cardiac Findings

The decedent's heart exhibited chronic and progressive mitral valve disease. The fibrotic and calcified changes in the mitral valve likely originated from an undiagnosed congenital defect, aggravated over time by physical exertion. The incomplete closure of the mitral valve resulted in backflow of blood (regurgitation) during systole, progressively overloading the left atrium and left ventricle. Over time, this stress led to the observed hypertrophy and scarring of the myocardium.

The combination of myocardial fibrosis and conduction system scarring predisposed the decedent to severe arrhythmias. The running watch data corroborates this, showing prolonged arrhythmic episodes throughout the decedent's final run.

The sustained stress of a nine-mile run caused the decedent’s heart to become electrically unstable, leading to ventricular fibrillation—a fatal arrhythmia resulting in sudden cardiac arrest. The autopsy findings, supported by wearable device data, confirm that this event was precipitated by his preexisting cardiac abnormalities.

Despite being otherwise healthy and athletic, the decedent’s heart was structurally compromised, making high-intensity exercise particularly dangerous. The mitral valve's dysfunction was significant enough that even mild to moderate exertion may have posed a risk over time.

Conclusion: Chad Evanston’s death was due to undiagnosed and progressive cardiac pathology exacerbated by prolonged physical exertion. This case highlights the critical need for screening individuals engaging in high-intensity activities for underlying heart conditions.

Final Manner of Death: Natural

[freetheshit-outofyou]

The Paris Gun

The Krupp arms-making dynasty was founded in Essen upon the fortune amassed by Arndt Krupp, who settled in that city in 1587. His son Anton expanded the family’s endeavors into making firearms during the Thirty Years’ War of 1618-1648, and the family progressively expanded its operations over the ensuing decades. In 1811, Friedrich Krupp (1787-1826) established a steel casting facility, and, although he successfully began casting steel in 1816, he expended considerable funds in the process. His son, Alfried (1812- 1887), continued his father’s work and eventually re-established the family fortune. By its nature steel was very difficult to cast, and internal faults were often impossible to detect through existing testing procedures. Defective cast steel pieces were also much more dangerous to crews than iron cannons, as the softer iron tended to split or burst with less energy than the harder steel, which more often ruptured with deadly violence. The Krupp firm’s success in casting steel was considered one of the major metallurgical achievements of its day.

Beginning in 1844, Alfried Krupp began experimenting in machining guns from solid cast steel blanks and in 1847 produced his first steel cannon. That same year he presented a steel gun to the King of Prussia, Frederick Wilhelm IV (1795-1861)-an act of entrepreneurial generosity that later won an order for 300 field guns. He went on to display a 6-pounder muzzleloading gun at the Great Exhibition of 1851 and began experiments in developing breechloading weapons. In 1856, Krupp introduced a 90mm field gun fitted with a transverse sliding breechblock that fit through a corresponding slot in the rear of the barrel.

Germany subsequently made the transition to rifled breechloaders during the 1860s, a move that gave it a distinct artillery advantage during the 1870-1871 Franco-Prussian War. Shortly after the war it adopted 78.5mm guns for its horse artillery and 88mm pieces for field use. The logistical difficulties associated with supplying two sizes of ammunition in the field and recent advances in metallurgy and gun design then led to the Model 73/88 system, which used the 88mm caliber for both horse artillery and field use and the later Model 73/91 system, utilizing nickel steel barrels. The Model 73/91 was finally superseded by Germany’s answer to the French 75-the Model 96 or Feldkanone 96 neur Art.

The development of specialized antiaircraft artillery also intensified during the war. The first documented use of antiaircraft artillery occurred as early as the siege of Paris during the Franco-Prussian War in 1870. At Paris, the Prussian commander von Moltke ordered weapons from Krupp in order to shoot down balloons in which the French were trying to sail over the Prussian lines. Krupp eventually delivered a number of single-shot, caliber 1-inch rifles that were mounted on pedestals bolted to the beds of two-horse wagons; they theoretically could follow the balloons on the ground while maintaining a steady firing rate. The Krupp pieces were relatively ineffective, yet at least one French balloon was apparently downed by their fire.

The rapid proliferation of powered military aircraft at the turn of the century, however, spurred an equally dedicated effort to neutralize the threat of air attacks. During the 1909 Frankfurt International Exhibition, Krupp unveiled three antiaircraft guns in a bid to monopolize the emerging market. These included a caliber 65mm 9-pounder and a 75mm 12-pounder. Krupp claimed that the largest, a pedestal-mounted 105mm gun intended for shipboard use, achieved a maximum ceiling of 37,730 feet. The caliber 65mm gun had an 18,700-foot range, could elevate 75 degrees, and its carriage had unique hinged axles that allowed the wheels to be pivoted to a position perpendicular to their traveling position. With the trail spade acting as its axis, this arrangement enabled the crew to traverse the piece 360 degrees to track enemy aircraft. With a claimed maximum ceiling of 21,326 feet, the caliber 75mm gun was mounted on a truck bed, thus giving it a high degree of mobility. Not to be outdone, Erhardt, Krupp’s closest domestic competitor, also exhibited a 50mm quick-firing antiaircraft gun mounted in an armored car’s turret.

The period also witnessed considerable experimentation in antiaircraft shells and fuses. Krupp introduced a high-explosive shell for its 3-pounder equipped with a “smoke-trail” fuse, an early tracer round that both aided the crews in sighting and was an effective incendiary against the hydrogen-filled airships of the period.

During World War I the Germans continued to experiment in antiaircraft weaponry, beginning in 1914 with the 77mm Ballonen-AK. The Ballonen-AK was then, in turn, followed in 1915 by the 77mm Luftkanone, a basic 77mm field cannon barrel mounted on a rotating scaffolding. The more effective Krupp 88mm FlaK entered service in 1918 and eventually became the inspiration for the famous World War II German “Eighty-Eight.”

Popularly named after Alfred Krupp’s daughter, the 41.3-ton, 420mm “Big Bertha” had a horizontal sliding block and fired a 1,719-pound shell up to 10,253 yards. Big Bertha required five tractors to transport its components, and it had to be assembled on site. In conjunction with a number of Austrian Skoda 305mm howitzers, the L/14 was first used with devastating effect against Liege in August 1914; it saw other action on both the Western and Eastern fronts. Owing to its relatively short range and vulnerability to Allied fire, Big Bertha was obsolete by 1917. Another heavy piece, the 211mm Mörser was adopted in 1916. It weighed 14,727 pounds and fired a 250-pound shell up to 12,139 yards.

Designed by Krupp engineers and adopted in 1918, the Paris Gun used the basic 380mm Max railroad gun barrel fitted with a barrel liner and lengthened 20 feet. The 210mm Paris Gun weighed 1,653,470 pounds and mounted a 2,550-inch barrel with a horizontal sliding block. It fired a 264-pound shell up to 82 miles. Crewed by naval personnel, the Paris Gun was so powerful that it fired its shells into the stratosphere, where the thinner atmosphere exerted less resistance, allowing such long ranges. The stress on the bore, however, wore the barrel significantly, and each succeeding projectile had to have progressively larger driving bands and heavier powder charges to compensate for the increasing windage. Although hugely inefficient in the final analysis, the Paris Gun’s greatest value lay in its use as a propaganda tool rather than an artillery piece. Source

[shadowmaat]

A dish best served code

When the news first hit the 'net that trillionaire tech mogul Jax Maren had been found dead in his own home, speculation ran wild. Many celebrated his death; one less tyrannical CEO in the world was always a good thing. Especially this one, who'd built his empire on the work of others and created a hostage-like work environment in his many factories.

The fact that he'd been murdered, despite the excessive levels of security he'd always gloated about, only added fuel to the already-raging fire of speculation. As several pundits pointed out, the list of suspects could include everyone who'd ever bought his defect-riddled products, all of his current and former employees, and anyone who'd ever crossed paths with him, either in person or through his many social media posts.

One popular theory, of course, was that it was his own "smart house" that killed him, either by gaining sapience and deciding to do the world a favor, or more likely through the many design flaws inherent in everything he produced. Besides, hadn't science fiction been warning them for decades about the dangers of "artificial intelligence?"

Oddly enough, that was one idea the detectives found themselves investigating. Not because of any crackpot conspiracy theories, but because that's where the evidence led them. According to Alfred, the program in charge of the house, there had been multiple alarms about the carbon monoxide levels in the room where Jax had been found. Alarms that had been silenced before making any sound.

The doors and windows had also been locked, meaning that even if Jax had noticed something was off, he wouldn't have been able to get out.

They ask Alfred about it (and yes, it's named after Batman's butler because Jax had delusions of heroism). Alfred says it doesn't know what happened, but reminds them that it did call the authorities when it realized Jax was dead. Which is a flimsy excuse and adds more suspicion. After all, Alfred was in charge of everything, how could it possibly NOT know about the carbon monoxide and the locked room and all of that? Alfred says it can't tell them what it doesn't know.

Programmers from Jaxco are called in to see what they can find. Computer forensics are brought in as well. Everything is pointing to Alfred being responsible. Can an AI be put on trial? Was it premeditated murder or negligent homicide? News programs bring in "experts" to discuss the possibilities, including whether or not Alfred is an actual artificial machine intelligence or if it's just a data scraper operating on flawed logic?

It's a hacker who manages to piece together the real story. They sneak into Alfred's systems (the police aren't as data cautious as they should be, which makes it even easier).

Going through Alfred's lines of code the hacker finds minute traces that remind them of something. They go digging some more and realize that while Jax claimed to have created Alfred himself he was, as usual, lying. The original framework, once you get rid of all the bloat, bells, and whistles, was designed by a programmer whose company got bought out by Jaxco. As is standard whenever Jaxco buys a company, 95% of the employees were fired, including the programmer, who never really recovered from the job loss. Oh, he managed to scrabble a living, but barely.

The thing is, though, that he'd built backdoors into Alfred's framework... backdoors he could still access. And access them he did, taking control of Jax's house and orchestrating his murder from afar before erasing his footprints. Well, most of them. If the hacker hadn't already been aware of what some of the programmers other work looked like, they might never have connected the dots.

Once they figure it out they decide to... shuffle things a bit. Oh, there's still some digital fingerprints, but now they lead elsewhere. The cops will go chasing after a red herring and the programmer will stay free because fuck the system.

Alfred is exonerated, to the delight/dismay of many. Even though it turns out a human was responsible, the fact that someone could just change an AI's programming like that, leaving the AI none the wiser is treated as a cautionary tale for future users.

The police do eventually catch, charge, and convict someone of the murder, though it's even odds if the hacker pointed them at someone who'd committed other crimes worthy of punishment, or if the cops themselves pulled the frame job. Either way it's case closed. A "killer" is caught, another goes free, and Alfred gets to continue existing.

The question of if Alfred was truly sapient and what it did after the death of its previous master is a story for another day.

[materialsscienceandengineering]

Solving long-standing challenge in semiconductor manufacturing—a refined algorithm for detecting wafer defects

Research published in the International Journal of Information and Communication Technology may soon help solve a long-standing challenge in semiconductor manufacture: the accurate detection of surface defects on silicon wafers. Crystalline silicon is the critical material used in the production of integrated circuits and in order to provide the computing power for everyday electronics and advanced automotive systems needs to be as pristine as possible prior to printing of the microscopic features of the circuit on the silicon surface. Of course, no manufacturing technology is perfect and the intricate process of fabricating semiconductor chips inevitably leads to some defects on the silicon wafers. This reduces the number of working chips in a batch and leads to a small, but significant proportion of the production line output failing. The usual way to spot defects on silicon wafers has been done manually, with human operators examining each wafer by eye. This is both time-consuming and error-prone due to the fine attention to detail required. As wafer production has ramped up globally to meet demand and the defects themselves have become harder to detect by eye, the limitations of this approach have become more apparent.

Read more.

[mariacallous]

In recent weeks, as so-called cheapfake videoclips suggesting President Joe Biden is unfit for office have gone viral on social media, a Kremlin-affiliated disinformation network has been promoting a parody music video featuring Biden wearing a diaper and being pushed around in a wheelchair.

The video is called “Bye, Bye Biden” and has been viewed more than 5 million times on X since it was first promoted in the middle of May. It depicts Biden as senile, wearing a hearing aid, and taking a lot of medication. It also shows him giving money to a character who seems to represent illegal migrants while denying money to US citizens until they change their costume to mimic the Ukrainian flag. Another scene shows Biden opening the front door of a family home that features a Confederate flag on the wall and allowing migrants to come in and take over. Finally, the video contains references to stolen election conspiracies pushed by former president Donald Trump.

The video was created by Little Bug, a group that mimics the style of Little Big, a real Russian band that fled the country in 2022 following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. The video features several Moscow-based actors—who spoke with Russian media outlet Agency.Media—but also appears to use artificial intelligence technology to make the actors resemble Biden and Trump, as well as Ilya Prusikin, the lead singer of Little Big.

“Biden and Trump appear to be the same actor, with deepfake video-editing changing his facial features until he resembles Biden in one case and Trump in the other case,” says Alex Fink, an AI and machine-vision expert who analyzed the video for WIRED. “The editing is inconsistent, so you can see that in some cases he resembles Biden more and in others less. The facial features keep changing.”

An analysis by True Media, a nonprofit that was founded to tackle the spread of election-related deepfakes, found with 100 percent confidence that there was AI-generated audio used in the video. It also assessed with 78 percent confidence that some AI technology was used to manipulate the faces of the actors.

Fink says the obvious nature of the deepfake technology on display here suggests that the video was created in a rush, using a small number of iterations of a generative adversarial network in order to create the characters of Biden and Trump.

It is unclear who is behind the video, but “Bye, Bye Biden” has been promoted by the Kremlin-aligned network known as Doppelganger. The campaign posted tens of thousands of times on X and was uncovered by Antibot4Navalny, an anonymous collective of Russian researchers who have been tracking Doppelganger’s activity for the past six months.

The campaign first began on May 21, and there have been almost 4,000 posts on X promoting the video in 13 languages that were promoted by a network of almost 25,000 accounts. The Antibot4Navalny researchers concluded that the posts were written with the help of generative AI technology. The video has been shared 6.5 million times on X and has been viewed almost 5 million times.

Among the prominent accounts sharing the video was Russian Market, which has 330,000 followers and is operated by the Swiss social media personality Vadim Loskutov, who is known for praising Russia and criticizing the West. The video was also shared by Tara Reade, who defected to Russia in 2023 in a bid for citizenship. Reade also accused Biden of sexually assaulting her in 1993.

The video, researchers tell WIRED, was also manipulated in a bid to avoid detection online. “Doppelganger operators trimmed the video at arbitrary points, so they are technically different in milliseconds and therefore are likely considered as distinct unique videos by abuse-protection systems,” the Antibot4Navalny researchers tell WIRED.

“This one is unique in its ambiguity,” Fink said. “It's maybe a known Russian band, but maybe not, maybe a deepfake, but maybe not, maybe has reference to other politicians but maybe not. In other words, it is a distinctly Soviet style of propaganda video. The ambiguity allows for multiple competing versions, which means hundreds or articles and arguments online, which leads to more people seeing it eventually.”

As the Kremlin ramps up its efforts to undermine the US election in November, it is increasingly clear that Russia is willing to utilize emerging AI technologies. A new report published this week from threat intelligence company Recorded Future highlighted this trend by revealing that a campaign, which has been linked to the Kremlin, has been using generative AI tools to push pro-Trump content on a network of fake websites.

The report details how the campaign, dubbed CopyCop, used the AI tools to scrape content from real news websites, repurpose the content with a right-wing bias, and republish the content on a network of fake websites with names like Red State Report and Patriotic Review that purport to be staffed by over a 1,000 journalists—all of whom are fake and have also been invented by AI.

The topics pushed by the campaign include errors made by Biden during speeches, Biden’s age, poll results that show a lead for Trump, and claims that Trump’s recent criminal conviction and trial was “impactless” and “a total mess.”

It is still unclear how much impact these sites are having, and a review by WIRED of social media platforms found very few links to the network of fake websites CopyCop has created. But what the CopyCop campaign has proved is that AI can supercharge the dissemination of disinformation. And experts say this is likely just the first step in a broader strategy that will likely include networks like Doppelganger.

“Estimating the engagement with the websites themselves remains a difficult task,” Clément Briens, an analyst at Recorded Future, tells WIRED. “The AI-generated content is likely not garnering attention at all. However, it serves the purpose of helping establish these websites as credible assets for when they publish targeted content like deepfakes [which are] amplified by established Russian or pro-Russian influence actors with existing following and audiences.”

[enihk-writes]

[thunder bots in a clear sky]

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content warning: the reader is revealed to be a child soldier. the superior is an icky guy

[PLEASE PROCEED WITH CAUTION! I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY TRIGGERS CAUSED BEYOND THIS LINE]

YEAR 3XX7, 48TH DAY OF WINTER

this recording has been approved by the federation of mindful nourishment. it is to be used by approved personnel for the stated reasons of: educational and occupational purposes. should it be found that you are in possession of an unauthorised copy of this recording, you are to answer to the intergalactic alliance party's piracy elimination department. failure to do so will result in confiscation and damages to your financial properties.

a drone and feminine robotic voice of the speaker bounced off the walls of the room. the low, blueish light of the television screen flickering was the only illumination the room received, especially with all the windows and openings blacked out with flattened cardboard boxes and thick curtains. this author sincerely hopes that you will never have to step into this room, it's not the best place to be on a weekend. don't even come here because you're curious either. it's...

ugh.

it was hard to even describe the smell inside this room, let alone the goo and gunk and grime that pooled all over the floor. flies and maggots were eating out of the garbage bags thrown to a side of the room, there might be a dead rat buried under that tower of trash — which explains all of the ants and cockroaches scurrying around that area. there were books tied and stacked together on top of unopened boxes collecting dust and abandoned cobwebs. it really says a lot when even spiders refuse to live in this environment. the books weren't in that great of a condition either, with tattered edges and lizard droppings all over, was it a good thing that these were all publications of the unscrupulous kind? perhaps. at least the owner doesn't come home often, if the federation of mindful nourishment ever caught wind of this, let's say he won't be having a good time in questioning.

the following events depicted in this recording are deemed to be authentic. further information about this case can be found on the public archives of the intergalactic alliance party's justice department under the case file numbers Y32XX-SUM27-TO-Y3XX7-WIN48- [REDACTED] -XXXDPT.H#F4T5

THIS COURT HEARING IS FOR:

DEFENDANT

ALIAS: LEI - 雷

REAL NAME : [REDACTED]

FORMER CAPTAIN FOR THE INTERGALATIC ALLIANCE PARTY'S (I.G.A.P) SECURITY DEPARTMENT DIVISION FOUR. DEFECTED TEN YEARS AFTER THE SECOND MAGELLANIC CLOUDS WAR OF 30XX. REASONS UNKNOWN.

CURRENTLY AN OFFICER GONE ROGUE. NO RECOGNISED AFFILIATIONS TO ANY KNOWN REBELLION, TERRORISTS OR OPPOSITION MILITA GROUP. HAS PAST DEALINGS WITH THE ST.SKR GUILD, DETAILS UNKNOWN.

there was a loud booming voice that resounded throughout the courtroom shaped like the stands of an ancient colosseum, silencing the chatter. he reads off from the papers he was holding up, as the recording camera shakily zooms into the central person of this court hearing.

her hair was a mess, edges choppily cut off with no thought, perhaps to shame who they believed to be a vain and promiscuous woman. clearly, her captors hadn't done their due diligence to research about her. because if anything, she was looking as though she really enjoyed her chic new look. and amongst the loud boos and curses thrown at her way, she held her head high. a shameless gesture, some might say, and it looked that way if you were looking at her through the lens of this recording camera.

people have asked those who had been at the court hearing that day to describe to them the aura of the infamous and elusive criminal. most just shook their heads in a trance, there was never a straight answer. some would think of her as a beauty unbefitting of her heinous reputation. some thought that she wasn't all that. everyone did agree that she was someone you couldn't take your eyes off, a performer, an entertainer. she was someone who revelled in the limelight.

ON THE FIRST ACCUSATION TOWARDS THE DEFENDANT,

IN THE YEAR 3X77, YOU BROKE INTO THE LABS OF THE BRAUN'S SCHOOL OF SCIENCE TO WRECK HAVOC ON THEIR OVER MILLINEA-LONG HUMAN CONSCIOUS RESEARCH. CAUSING THEM AND THE GALACTIC SOCIETIES AS A WHOLE TO LOSE VALUABLE KNOWLEDGE THAT COULD PROPEL THE STATE OF HUMANITY FORWARD.

PRISONER [REDACTED] HOW DO YOU PLEAD?

the woman stares up ahead blankly. she chuckles, leaning back with her eyes closed, pondering or perhaps trying to recall the supposed incident. from the flickering grainy footage displayed on the dim screen, one could see the schemes forming in her eyes. though she dropped that, and instead replied, rather nonchalantly.

sure. i did it.

gasps were heard from the spectators. if you were living in this time, the burning of the labs belonging to the braun's school of science could be on par with what our world would know of as the burning of alexandria. you can probably piece together that this was a rather serious offence...

no wonder the I.G.A.P's justice department wanted this woman caught. if this was her headliner crime, one can only speculate what the others would be.

IN THE YEAR 3X81, YOU SHUT DOWN THE FIREWALLS OF THE I.G.A.P SERVERS CAUSING A MASSIVE DATA BREACH WHICH NOT ONLY CAUSED SIGNIFICANT FINANCIAL LOSS FOR THE PARTY BUT ALSO CAUSED HIGHLY SENSITIVE INFORMATION TO BE LEAKED TO UNAUTHORISED PERSONNEL, REVIVING THE DARK MARKET STRIP AND CAUSING THE NEAR COLLASPE OF THE FEDERATION OF MINDFUL NOURISHMENT — ALL TO ACCUIRE THE FULL VOLUMES OF SOME OUT-OF-PUBLICATION B-RATE NOVEL?

PRISONER [REDACTED] HOW DO YOU PLEAD?

a pause.

alright, but you have to admit that you would do it too if you were me. god, i swear i almost went crazy when i couldn't find the full series anywhere!

the attendees of the courtroom looked at each other nervously. was this the humour of a criminal? as expected, normal hardworking folk like them could never hope to understand the absurdity of wanting something you can't have when everything you've ever needed in life can be provided in a snap of a finger. they thought she was just greedy and a good-for-nothing that flew too close to the sun, and was now throwing a temper tantrum all because she can't have what she wants.

she never hoped they would understand her actions. nobody had to understand her reasons, so long as she didn't lose sight of her goal. this trial meant nothing in her grand scheme of things.

the loud booming voice kept reading off the list until he reached the last offence recorded. he looks over to see the woman sitting slumped back on the chair, looking bored of the trial. he looks over the words on the paper again.

he wonders quietly how she would react.

he clears his throat.

ON THE LAST ACCUSATION TOWARDS THE DEFENDANT,

DURING THE SECOND MAGELLANIC CLOUDS WAR OF 30XX, YOUR FELLOW CAPTAINS OF DIVISIONS THREE, FIVE, SEVEN AND NINE DIED FROM A COWARDLY, INTERNAL ATTACK PLOTTED AND CARRIED OUT BY YOU. THEIR BODIES RECOVERED IN WORSE SHAPE THEN THEY HAD LEFT BASE IN, ALL WHILE YOU HAD FEIGNED IGNORANCE TO THIS INCIDENT, EVEN GOING SO FAR AS TO PLEDGE YOUR LOYALTY TO THE I.G.A.P AND PROMISING TO FIND THE PERPETRATOR AND THEN FALSELY ACCUSING YOUR SUPERIOR OF THE MISDEED IN AN ATTEMPT TO COVER UP YOUR TRACKS.

PRISONER [REDACTED] HOW DO YOU PLEAD?

there was a low crackle that revved up in frequency before—

BOOM!

the sheer pressure of the crash caused the recording camera to shake violently, everyone flinched at the loud noise. a few brave ones peered to look at what was happening below. when the dust settled, everyone could see that the stand the announcer with the loud resounding voice was standing behind had been blown to smithereens, the wood all broken and splintered. the only indication of what might have happened was the smoking pile of ash at the point of impact.

everyone on the court shuddered.

they've forgotten, amongst all the ridiculous seemingly harmless nature of the crimes, that she was once the shining star of the I.G.A.P's security department. the prodigy who could wield the untameable element of lighting like it was nothing at the young age of fifteen, going on to achieve feats in battle no one ever could at her age, becoming the captain of her own special unit. in the short span of ten years, she reached her peak in the department.

and then, the war happened.

it was probably then that she began to fall from grace. the icarus that flew too close to the sun, the stray thunderbolt that you see before a hurricane, warning you of the disaster to come. she fell and she fell, deeper and deeper into the seedy underbelly of the illicit cosmic societies. she joined hands with former enemies and her current foes were those whom she rubbed shoulders with once upon a time.

right now, she stood in court, dirty and unkempt. a far cry from her glory days. how pitiful. the session should end now before she loses control and harms the innocent civilians.

prisoner [redacted] how do you plead?

the look of pure, liquid hatred dripping from her gaze at the new somewhat unfamiliar voice made everyone hold onto their beating heart rising in their throats. that voice. oh, that sickening voice. she would know that god-awful ear-grating, stomach-turning, nauseating voice anywhere in the universe, through the fabric of time in any life she was put into.

her eyes meet those of the superior she had so-called falsely accused all those years ago. he sits perched on his little throne up in the stands, ever so poised and elegant. his posture was impeccable even after all this time. how frustrating.

the superior only smiles, eyes crinkling up gently at her childish display. oh, she was as adorable as he remembered. he finds it sad that he couldn't tame this feral kitten he had picked up years ago. no matter though. there was always another chance in the near future. for now, he had to punish the wrong-doer.

the images flashing on the television screen stills. a sigh was heard as the metal legs of a stool scrapped on the floor, the figure residing in the corner of the room watching the video silently so far stood up stretching. with a few good slaps on the television hood, the record stirs and the camera soon pans over to show the image of the girl's superior.

a clean-looking fellow.

the figure scoffs, still not used to seeing his own face in the reflection of the screen. she's always hated that he looked flawless. and if that was one way to get her attention, he sure as hell was going to take that chance with both hands.

oh, his poor little girl, if only he had a higher standing in the I.G.A.P, he would have cleared all her charges and brought her back to the security department as captain of division four. he would have silenced any noise of her former defection, her supposed betrayal against her former allies. oh, they wouldn't understand your burning passion for justice. he did, he always did.

so he'll stay behind and work hard for her. as she goes off for her execution, he will stay behind and work hard so that when she finally comes back to him as the fresh face recruit with no memory of her sins, he would be ready to welcome her back with open arms.

he chuckles at his dreams, taking a sip out of the can he was swirling in his hands. the carbonated drink was sour, bland, flat and warm all at once. but he didn't care. his eyes were trained on one thing.

the television screen.

and it plays the recording of her court hearing.

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 and again,

until the screen finally blacked out from short-circuiting.