#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…

[headspace-hotel]

Researching herbicide resistance in weeds.

A decade ago, everyone said rotating applications of different herbicides was key to stopping herbicide resistance.

Then, around 2015, evidence from a large study emerged saying that this actually causes weeds to be MORE resistant, so the best thing to do is to spray a combination of multiple herbicides mixed together at once.

Now that is being called into question too. Whoda thunk it...

Herbicide resistance among weeds is only getting stronger. Recently, scientists found an annual bluegrass (Poa annua) on a golf course that was resistant to seven herbicide modes of action at once. Seven. SEVEN. Amaranth plants been found with resistance to six herbicide modes of action at once. Twenty years ago, the narrative was that resistance to glyphosate (Roundup) was unlikely to become widespread; today it's the second-most common type of resistance.

What's more, plants are developing types of herbicide resistance that are effective against multiple herbicides at once and harder to detect. Instead of changing the chemical processes within them that are affected by the herbicides so the herbicides don't work as well, they're changing the way they absorb chemicals in the first place. Resistant plants are producing enzymes that detoxify the herbicides before they even enter the plants' cells.

It took Monsanto ten years to develop crop varieties resistant to Dicamba (after weeds made 'Roundup Ready' crops pointless). Palmer amaranth evolved Dicamba resistance in five years.

So I asked, "Why are all the proposed solutions dependent on using more herbicides, when we know damn well that this is going to do nothing but make the weeds evolve faster?"

The answer is that chemical companies have the world in a death grip. They can't make money off non-chemical solutions, so chemical solutions get all the funding, research, and outreach to farmers.

But why do chemical companies have so much power?

One of the biggest reasons is the U.S. military.

In the Vietnam war, all of Vietnam was sprayed with toxic herbicides like Agent Orange, which was incredibly toxic to humans and affected the Vietnamese population with horrible illnesses and birth defects. Monsanto, the company that made the herbicides, knew that it did this, but didn't tell anyone. The US government didn't admit that they'd poisoned humans on a mass scale until Vietnam veterans started dying and coming down with horrible illnesses, and even then, it took them 40 years. (My Papaw died at 60 because of that stuff.) And the soldiers weren't there for very long. As for the Vietnamese people, the soil and water where they live is contaminated.

Similarly, during the "war on drugs," the US military sprayed Roundup and other chemicals on fields to destroy coca plants and other plants used in the manufacturing of drugs. This killed a lot of crops that farmers needed to live, and caused major health problems in places such as Columbia. The US government said that people getting sick were lying and that Roundup was just as safe as table salt. (A statement that did not age well.)

So chemical companies make money off arming the USA military. The American lawn care industry, and the agricultural system, therefore originates in more than one way from the United States's war-mongering.

The other major way is described in this article (which I highly recommend), which describes how after WW2, chemical plants used for manufacturing explosives were changed into fertilizer producing plants, but chemical companies couldn't market all that fertilizer to farmers, so they invented the lawn care industry. No exaggeration, that's literally what happened.

This really changes my perspective on all the writings about fixing the agricultural system. The resources are biased towards the use of chemicals in agriculture because the companies are so powerful as to make outreach and research for non-chemical methods of agriculture really hard to fund. All the funding is in finding new ways to spray chemicals or spraying slightly different chemicals, because that's what you can actually get ahold of money to look into. It is like the research has to negotiate a truce with the chemical companies, suggesting only solutions that won't cause lower profits.

Meanwhile my respect for Amaranth is skyrocketing.

Who would win: The USA military-industrial complex or one leafy boi

[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

[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.

[malewife-overlord]

Six Cycles Later -- Part I

OKAY SO. after speaking to literally two people about some oc transformer fic ive been working on, ive decided to post just chapter 1 here, to see if anyone else would like to see the ocs ive been quietly going crazy for in the background. instead of writing actual proper fanfic ive decided to just go off the rails writing a canon elaboration on characters who dont exist. i will now make it everyone elses problem.

tbh im intending to keep writing this for as long as it brings me joy, and im already working on chapter 2. whether this gets attention or not won't change that fact. just kinda posting here to garner some attention/see if anyone else would like to get invested in my silly lil ocs.

this takes place in sorta a g1/idw mixed continuity, im not particularly picky or strict about canon, because really, im just here to have fun and vibe. it will focus on my OCs, not canon characters, though a couple will still be present :> this idea has been one that nagged at me for a bit--isnt it a bit weird that the decepticons just straight up seem to abandon their prior base on earth in g1 following the movie? i wondered for a while what it'd be like if any of them were left behind. so, i've decided to make an oc for it and explore that a little. aaaaaand then i kinda went off the rails (but we'll get there, lol). if none of that is particularly off-putting to you, feel free to proceed! and comments are always appreciated if you enjoy

Next chapter can be found here

Summary: Invert is a nobody. One of a million Seekers constructed for a war that would claim their lives, she's survived due to her uselessness. Forged with a defective frame and kept around for a single devastating ability that hurts her to use it, she may as well be a glorified cleaning bot. Months after the other Decepticon's left to assault Autobot City, Invert remains behind on Earth, waiting, on the sunken Victory, maintaining the base and holding out hope that her brethren will eventually return.

But with only silence and an emotionless ship for company, she's started to become increasingly desperate--so much so, that, when an SOS from a ship that should be empty arrives, she just might throw caution to the wind and leave on a mission that could change her life.

Luster was somebody, once. Was. He can't remember any of it. Having disappeared at the start of the war on some ludicrous quest, only now has he awoken on a strange planet called 'Earth'. Accepted back by his Autobot brethren, the void of his past haunts him endlessly, as does a mysterious, insatiable hunger. He's determined to get to the bottom of both--but with the fog they produce only deepening, how long does he have before he's lost eternally?

Chapter 1 --Word Count 7495

Orbital cycle: 6.3. Approximately 182.5 solar cycles since initial launch for attack on Autobot City. Diagnostic report: no structural damage detected. Energon levels: 27%. Energon levels of 50% recommended for full functionality. Defense systems: offline. Offensive systems: offline. Cloaking systems: online. Communications: partially online. Power saving mode recommended at Energon levels of 25%. 

She records the report in her datapad down to the final recommendation, which really was not necessary, considering any proper engineer would have understood that by now, the ship should have entered power saving mode eons ago. If it had been placed in that mode when the other Decepticons had initially left, the current Energon levels would sit comfortably at the recommended 50%, and she would still have the long distance communications beacon up. But that was in the past, where they were supposed to have returned after a few solar cycles. 

It had been dozens now, and Invert was starting to wonder if her brethren were going to return. A far more patient bot like Shockwave would not have felt any doubt up to the first double digit million years–how else had he held down Cybertron for so long? By comparison she was young, having barely lived for over a million. The hundreds of solar cycles that had passed as she was left alone on the Victory were now starting to seep into her processor, bringing with them questions of uncertainty.

The raid was supposed to last barely a few days. They’d brought everyone in the local system with them. The greatest warriors the Decepticon cause had were deployed. With all of them attacking at once, even the heavily fortified Autobot City should have been leveled in under a deca-cycle. 

And yet there was silence. No cries of victory. No chaotic messages on the airways calling for aid. No declaration of retreat. Just silence. 

They couldn’t be defeated. If they’d been defeated they would have retreated back to Victory. If they’d gone back to Cybertron on Astrotrain, then surely Shockwave would have contacted her on earth. He knew her name. He knew he’d sent her there orbital cycles ago. He’d know they’d left her behind to hold down the fort. 

There was, of course, one other option. Silence was begetting of only a few characteristics when it came to the living. The Autobots, surely, wouldn’t. They were too soft-hearted. But if the attack had truly gone so badly, and they’d deigned it necessary–

Total obliteration. Total razing. Total loss. 

She pushed the thoughts swirling in her processor aside and focused back on Victory’s main computer, typing in a few commands. 

“Victory, run an internal scan. How are your habsuits looking?”

A map of Victory’s internal structure appeared on the screen before her. Dozens of rooms were selected and zoomed in on, each of which specifically served as living space. One by one they started as black, then turned white as they were provided the all clear. 

Structure: stable. Living conditions: adjusted. Doors: unlocked. 

“Alright, that’s good…” she muttered to herself, swapping to the cameras on the outside of the ship. They revealed an empty sea around her, dark and creeping with small organics. Their crude forms made her cringe, even in the restricted view she had of them. “Gross…Victory, illuminate your external hull.” 

Victory obeyed, revealing a vast expanse of metal currently covered in the earth version of space barnacles. The white-shelled creatures had opened their filthy maws, extending forth feelers characteristic of some kind of horror show. Invert grimaced and swapped the camera views, checking instead on the door to the airlock. It was immaculately clean unlike the hull, though a few many legged organics crawled across it. 

She checked the back of the ship, its thrusters, its scope, and finally its body. Making a note of each location that needed proper cleaning, Invert tapped the information into her datapad and closed the camera system before issuing another command. “Victory, check the wavelengths for any signs of communication.” 

The screen before her went black, turning to a single unmoving flat line. She stared at it in silence, waiting for a peak, a leap, a blur, a single beat to indicate that anyone was out there. 

Nothing happened. 

Frowning to herself, she tapped a button on the keyboard before her–the one for “broadcast”. 

“Fellow Decepticons,” she said, “if any of you are out there, I am Invert of Cybertron, broadcasting from the Earth base Victory. I am alone here and have been so since the attack on Autobot City. If you are hearing this message, please respond.” 

Her servo left the button and she waited. And waited. And waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

And nothing came, as it never did. 

She vented and focused back on her datapad, the frown perched upon her face seemingly eager to make it a permanent home. There was her chore list, plain and simple. It would take her several megacycles to complete: clean the habsuits, clean the storage vault, clean the weapons vault, clean the hallways, feed Victory, scrape away the organics on Victory’s hull, manage the outside of Victory, air another message after seven megacycles, spy on the Autobots if possible.

If possible. The last one was becoming an increasingly harder task to pull off. She was no Soundwave, and Victory’s listening equipment had been down for a while now to preserve power. Furthermore the equipment in Soundwave’s habsuit was either completely foreign or off-limits to her. He may not be here now, but he would return, like the others would, and if he found out she’d been messing with his items, well. She was only a lowly foot soldier, and he was the head of communications of the Decepticon cause. 

She’d be lucky if only her wings were broken off and used to decorate his sparsely covered habsuit. 

Speaking of her wings…she cast a glance down at the inverted things, which pointed towards the ground as opposed to the air. They would do her no favors in navigating the outside of the ship and certainly no aid in reaching the higher spots in the larger habsuits. Her boosters were functional, but the Energon they’d consume to keep her airborne would drain her at twice the levels of a normal Seeker. 

She’d have to use them sparingly if she wanted to continue her present consumption rate of only one Energon cube a day. If she offlined from low power, that was fine; eventually her brethren would return, find her, and bring her back. But without her, no one would feed Victory, who would eventually offline from low power. Victory had to stay online, no matter what. 

Where else would the Decepticons go when they came back, if they didn’t have Victory? 

“I’ll keep you going, girl…” she whispered as she left the control room, reaching a hand out to run along the walls of the ship. Victory, as usual, was silent. It always was. 

Perhaps none of the other Decepticons had shared her sentiment, but Invert had always thought of The Victory (Victory for short) as a fellow ‘con. It was a crashed ship, yes, but it was alive and functional, and it provided them a home within its body. Victory could respond to commands and hold conversations if it so wished; just the majority of the time, it preferred not to. For all she knew Victory was just trapped in permanent stasis lock, and would perhaps free itself one day. 

As such, it was important to take care of Victory, for more purposes than just maintaining a Decepticon earth base. Victory was an ally with much greater might than her. If it fell, everything was lost. 

That was why they’d left her behind when the entire cause had prepared for the assault on Autobot City–it had to be. Someone had to take care of Victory and it was for the better that that someone was her. Perhaps it had been said to her in a less kind way, but the others had had a point when they said that someone who couldn’t contribute properly to a fight would be better off staying behind. 

Okay, they’d said it a lot less kindly. More so, they’d chided her that a flightless Seeker was utterly useless on the field despite whatever “special talent” Shockwave had promised she possessed. And for the battle of Autobot City, they needed soldiers who were functional, powerful, and wouldn’t prove dangerous to their allies as well as their foes. Besides, for swelling their numbers, they had the Insecticon clones. So someone like her, broken, glitched, and more of a liability than anything else, would only be good for ensuring that Victory didn’t somehow miraculously break while they were gone. 

Because really, if Victory was invaded, it wasn’t that big of a deal. The ship was equipped to deal with invasions. Its defensive systems were more than adequate for dispatching invaders both inside and out. Invert was only present within it to mop up the Energon remains of whoever was fool enough to try. 

No one had been–but that could also be attributed to the fact that the Autobots didn’t seem to know where the Decepticon base was. That, or they just didn’t care. Invert preferred the former. Why would it be inconsequential to know where the enemy’s base was, where they were likely to crawl back to and lick their wounds? And surely they were licking their wounds somewhere out there, weren’t they?

So why hadn’t they come back?

She pushed the thought away again and threw open one of the few cleaning closets the ship possessed, grabbing all the equipment she’d need to properly clear out all the habsuits. Nowadays it was more dusting than anything else, but she still brought along a mop and bucket, just in case. 

The habsuits would start with Starscream’s, of course, because if she cleaned anyone else’s first and he found out, he’d throw a fit. And a fit from her commander was not something Invert wanted to sit through. He always treated her with more vitriol than any of the other Seekers, no matter how inconsequential her mistakes might be compared to theirs. She had an ounce of resentment towards him for it, countered only by the fact that, no matter how awful Starscream could be, he was deserving of respect for his flight abilities. 

But that was a low bar. Any winged Decepticon could fly circles around her while all she could do was watch and seethe. 

She vented and tapped the passcode to his habsuit’s door into its keypad, the double doors opening to reveal a pristine and lavishly decorated room. Starscream was nothing if not dramatic and narcissistic. All the valuables and self-care items stored in his habsuit spoke lengths to just what he’d do for a decent polish. Cleaning it was always a nightmare, even after all the times she’d done it before. If even one item was an inch out of place, she’d hear about it later. 

A tiny chuckle escaped her at the thought–when was the last time she’d heard Starscream’s voice for any purpose? Be it admonishing her for attempting even once to be a proper Seeker, bossing her around, treating her as his personal slave, or verbally abusing her to let his Megatron-induced anger out, it had been so long she almost found herself forgetting how cruel the insults had been. 

Almost. She entered his habsuit with her cleaning gear and checked everything over–berth, vanity, table, overly expensive one of a kind statue in his image, all the data-pads he pretended didn’t contain failed plans to assassinate their great leader, full length mirror that somehow hadn’t been broken, each and every one of his polishes and maintenance equipment, and of course, the additional weapons he kept on the wall. 

There wasn’t a speck of dust on anything nor any indication of water damage. The berth was made perfectly.. The floor was clean save for her own pedeprints. And the metal of the walls gleamed like it’d been treated with the same care as Starscream himself. 

There was nothing to clean, but she still gave everything a dust off, just to be safe. Giving everything one final look over for rust, Invert confirmed there to be no contamination on any of Starscream’s immensely precious belongings and left his habsuit, locking it behind her.

One down. At least fifty more to go. She vented again and moved to the next.

—-----

Maintenance was finished by the time the Earth’s sun moved high into the sky. Her internal clock read 16:23, a new method of telling time that had been adjusted for her when she’d arrived on Earth. The planet operated on a twenty-four megacycle basis, working around when the sun would orbit to the other side of the planet. The absence of the sun was named “night”, and could occur anywhere from 17:00-21:00, sometimes later. Having spent much of her time on Cybertron, she had been unaccustomed to Earth’s time, and figured it to be useless for the majority of her stay on the planet. 

“Night” had its benefits, though. Its darkness concealed well, and most organics chose to enter recharge when it came on. It was the perfect time to enact plots, schemes, and occasional terrorist attacks on Autobot City. 

The season Earth was presently in was dubbed “summer”. That meant night would not come until 21:00. She had time. After finishing with the habsuits, Invert focused on maintaining Victory. 

At 16:28 she scraped away the organics on the outside of the hull, using her thrusters to properly climb up onto it. Finishing the front at 17:34, she headed to the side, then the back, ending at 18:20. Once back inside, she accessed the Energon vault and took stock before feeding Victory. 

92 cubes left. Victory sufficed on ten per day. Power saving mode was beginning to look tempting now, if not for the risk that it would cease cloaking. And considering how often she had to transmit, the loss would be nothing short of catastrophic. 

More Energon was needed, then. She’d have to ration herself more. She fit eleven cubes in her arms and brought them to Victory’s engine. As they were tossed in she held the one extra up. 

“To another cycle, Victory.” It was brought to her dermas and promptly consumed. 

Victory gave no response, as always. Invert stared at the empty cube in her servos for only a second before turning to take it back to storage. 

At which point Victory’s system suddenly lit up. The screen turned on behind her, displaying a map of the planet and pinging a specific point somewhere in Asia. Invert looked back and raised her brows. 

“SOS signal of Decepticon origin detected,” Victory stated in its monotone voice. “Displaying coordinates on screen. Incoming message. Playing now.”

Before Invert could even brace herself, an unholy buzzing suddenly sounded through the speakers, so shrill and constant that she collapsed to one knee, instinctively slamming her servos over her audials. Gritting her dentae she opened her hub and turned her audials all the way down, which made the buzzing just tolerable enough for her to reach Victory’s main computer and slam her fist on the OFF button. 

The sound stopped so suddenly it left her processor ringing. She blinked several times, then knocked a fist against the side of her helm, shaking it a few times to properly orient herself. 

Victory had gone silent again, but continued to display the ping and its coordinates. Invert looked up at them, transcribing them in her memory. What kind of distress signal had that been? Victory’s audio systems must be going, perhaps from too much time spent under the Earth’s water. An SOS signal usually captured the sound of blaster fire, of desperate voices crying for help, of bitter regret as whatever ‘con was on the other end laid aside his pride to admit he needed back-up. 

That thought made her uneasy. Buzzing. Why have an SOS signal that was nothing but buzzing? 

“Victory…” she paused, winced, and told herself that it wasn’t going to hurt as badly the second time. “Play the SOS signal again. At a decreased volume!” 

It complied, the loud, painful buzzing sounding over the speakers once more. Invert increased her audials this time, even though the sound made her want to rip them out of her helm. Listening closely, she focused on differentiating corrupted audio from what might be beneath, be it voices, blaster fire, or the sound of fleeing pedesteps. 

But the clip ended without any differentiating sounds. She found that odd, and replayed it in her processor again and again, trying to filter through it. Nothing. Just buzzing.

“Victory, run a diagnostic on your audio systems,” she ordered. The screen changed as Victory did just that, then returned several cycles later with a clear report: nothing was wrong. 

The Energon she’d consumed sat uneasily in her tank. Invert grimaced. “Display the coordinates again,” she commanded, though they were already saved to her memory. Seeing them on the screen solidified her doubts. 

Bali. There was a ship in Bali that she knew about, one that had harbored several unsavory occupants of the Decepticon cause. They, too, had disappeared after the attack on Autobot City. 

Insecticons. Members of the cause notorious for how untrustworthy they were. She hadn’t been around for all the cases where they’d proven themselves to be nothing but hassles who only cared for endless consumption, but she’d read reports of actions and abilities. They were a self-contained group and stuck to their own–why would they call for help now, several orbital cycles after their last appearance in Autobot City?

Buzzing. Their entire signal had just been buzzing. She frowned, thinking it over. Their alt modes were based off of filthy organics, and as such, carried some characteristics of the ugly things. Was the buzzing a possible side effect of that? But they could speak, so why wouldn’t they?

Unless they weren’t able to, for some reason? During an SOS signal? 

An SOS signal from a self-contained, proud group, perfectly capable of surviving on their own, that contained an off-putting buzz likely made to avoid speaking.

Just what were they facing out there that would cause such behavior?

“Victory, open a comm to the Insecticon ship,” she said, leaning over the control panel. “Insecticons, this is Invert, speaking to you from the Decepticon base The Victory. Come in Insecticons.”

Silence. 

“Come in Insecticons.”

The ping repeated itself again and again. SOS. SOS. SOS. 

No one was going to answer. Her frown deepened and she stepped away from the control panel. The only Decepticon here was her, the last on Earth, for all she knew. If they weren’t answering, they could be offline for all she knew. Or worse, it could be an Autobot trap, and she’d be playing right into their hands. 

But if it wasn’t, and someone was there on the other side, waiting for help, desperately trying to reach any other Decepticon on this planet…

Even if they were gross Insecticons…

Rescue would fall to her. And though she would be taking a huge risk, with no guarantee for results, with the possibility of capture or permanent offlining…

It was, finally, something to do. Something beyond just maintaining Victory. Something that was a real mission. Something that could get her honor, respect, and maybe even a friend!

Her frown gradually gave way to a grin. Her first real mission. Her first real rescue. Her first chance to make a decision on her own, with no one ordering her what side to choose. 

Oh, she was excited. It didn’t matter that her jet mode struggled to fly and that she’d need to pack away six cubes of additional Energon for the journey and her weapon–she was getting out, and she was going to rescue those Insecticons. 

“Victory, open the weapon’s vault,” she eagerly commanded, taking off down the hall. “And prepare the hangar for take-off.”

—------------------

“I think you’ve had enough, bud.”

He raised tired optics from the glass currently gripped like a lifeline in his servos, the pink Energon within rippling from how his arm shook. Upon the bartender, a shorter mech with a white and yellow paint job, did his gaze land. Whatever was in it seemed enough to cause them to flinch, but they held their ground, clearly experienced in dealing with the far more unruly. 

“Seriously. You’ve had five of those in the past Earth hour. How you’re not horrendously overfueled by now, I dunno, but you’re on your way to an early grave if you keep that up.” They gave him a hard frown, narrowing their optics behind their visor. “I’m not havin’ it on record that someone died at my bar because of my negligence.”

Luster didn’t answer them at first, letting his gaze drift back down to the Energon swirling in the glass he held. How it hadn’t cracked yet spoke to its quality, or perhaps how weak he’d become. Either worked. 

The glass was half-drained. It hadn’t tasted like anything in particular. He never ordered for the flavor, since anything they could provide him would be irrelevant. His glossa didn’t taste like it once must have, even if the memories of what had been felt like they existed just beyond a fog barrier. And besides, no matter how much he drank, his tank never felt full. 

Not anymore. 

He pulled up a report on his tank capacity in his hub–93% capacity. Ignoring the bartender, he brought the glass to his derma and promptly chugged, feeling his frame protest against more. Another tank report came in–100%. If he consumed anymore, he’d have to purge. 

There was still a drop at the bottom. He forced it down despite the warnings and slid the glass forward, looking just past the bartender, never at them. 

“One for the road,” he rasped, venting harshly. “Please.”

“Absolutely not. If you’re not at capacity by this point your sensor’s faulty.” They took the glass with what almost seemed like disgust. “Aren’t you supposed to be here with your guardian, anyways? Where is he?”

Guardian. He coughed at the word, not because he wanted to, but because it reminded him of what his life had become. The motion jarred the Energon inside of him and he felt sick. Swallowing down the urge to purge, Luster moved to shaky pedes, gripping the bar for support. 

“I don’t need him,” he grumbled. “I’m not a Sparkling. I’m not a protoform. I’m…I was someone, before, I don’t need a guardian.” 

The bartender grimaced. “Luster…look, buddy. I didn’t know you before the war. I can’t say I’ve ever heard of your work. I know Magnus says you did somethin’ important before the retreat from Cybertron. But all that’s in the past now, aight? This is Earth, not Cybertron, and we all know whatever it is you were lookin’ for, you…”

They paused as his cold optics finally focused on them, reconsidering their words. 

“...We all know you had some tragedy while you were out there. Real sad. No one here wouldn’t feel bad for you. But you can’t keep drinkin’ yourself to death over it. And I know you’re a grown ‘bot, but considerin’ the memory problems and all…well…course we all think you could use a guardian.”

A low rumble escaped from somewhere deep within him. Tank capacity at 99%. He needed more Energon. 

“One more for the road,” he asked again. “Please. I’ll pay you double for it.” 

Their frown tightened. “I’m calling Uptick.”

“No.” It came out harsher and faster than he intended, sounding like the warning growl of a tiger. His optics widened and he closed them, the gentle lighting of the bar suddenly too much. “Please. No. Don’t call him.”

They had their hand to their helm as they grimaced at him. Luster growled and turned away, almost falling over as he did. His balance equilibrator was off courtesy of overfueling, and focusing on what was normally a clear beeline for the door was difficult. One pede in front of the other. One pede in front of the other. 

“Luster! You’re not goin’ out alone?” The bartender called after him. He ignored them, turning down his audials to focus on walking. 

Spilling out of the bar, he stumbled for the nearest wall and rested a hand against it, leaning on it for dear life. His head was spinning. Standing was becoming increasingly difficult. 

Tank capacity at 98%. 

It wouldn’t stay there long. He needed to be back in his habsuit before that happened. Which way to his habsuit? He focused on his internal map, pulling it up in his hub and searching the coordinates. A small box lit up on Metroplex’s form, his tracking systems illustrating a path for him to take milliseconds later. 

It was late. Autobots didn’t sleep, not really, but it was likely that, due to the time of the planet, he wouldn’t run into anyone. Luster vented again, feeling warm Energon slip out from between his lips as he did so, and began the journey back to the place he was temporarily calling ‘home’. 

The path his systems had picked took him through some of Metroplex’s tighter corridors. On Cybertron, back before he had launched on the fateful mission that took his memory from him, he would have once felt nervous. Now he felt nothing, nothing besides urgency, urgency that did not originate from fear of being attacked or robbed. 

No, it was urgency that sprouted from the deepest recesses of himself, telling him to hide for his self-preservation, for if he did not, the symptoms would soon manifest, and in his present state, he didn’t know if he could take them. 

He made it about halfway before his proximity sensor went off. With his audials turned so low, he realized he hadn’t picked up the voice of whoever was calling to him, and they’d approached, their presence now close enough to seemingly reach out and touch him. 

He turned his helm, uncaring, for whoever it was could not be worse than–

Him. 

Uptick was following within grabbing distance of him, his dermas moving as he ranted on about something Luster was glad he couldn’t hear. He paused in his movement and Uptick did the same, though he didn’t once stop talking. Of course he didn’t.

Slowly, Luster turned his audials back on, just enough to make out the slew of Uptick’s commentary like the gentle, cooing sound of a cyber pigeon. 

“--and furthermore you are in direct violation of your curfew, which states you aren’t to be out beyond the Earth hour of 21:00; it is presently 01:20 and here you are wandering the passages of Metroplex like a lost turbofox!” He put both hands on his hips, glaring Luster down. “This is your second warning. You know what happens if I have to issue a third.”

He shuttered his optics and stared blankly just beyond Uptick. “You lock me up in the clinic until I’m completely fixed or I don’t function anymore?” 

“What?” He sounded incredulous. “No! I’m not here to–do you consider this some kind of torture? Luster, I’m trying to help you!” 

“Then can you leave me alone?” He grumbled, turning away and continuing on his predetermined path. “I’ll be fine…I just need to go back…”

Back to where? The habsuit? The ship? The planet of fog in his memories? Back, back. Always back. 

“You need to stop drinking,” Uptick scolded, grabbing his shoulder and bringing him to a halt. “And stop these late night wanderings. Everyone’s concerned for you because of them.”

He let his shoulders slump. 

“That’s a lie and you know it. The only ones who still care about me are the medics who want to poke my processor. Now can I please go back home?”

The buzz was starting to fade. He didn’t get that nice warmth from Energon overfueling for long anymore. Balance was restoring. And worst of all, the reports were coming in. 

Tank capacity at 95%. Fuel proficiency at 20%. Uptake at %$^&&*^# levels. Seek alternate methods of refueling. 

Uptick let out a long sigh. “Let me walk you back. There’s no point in you getting lost and scaring others again.”

He didn’t fight the offer. There was no point in it. Once Uptick was convinced of doing something, he wouldn’t stop until it was done–especially if that task regarded protecting someone else. 

So he trudged along, the ‘bot slated as his “guardian” trailing just behind him. “Guardian”. “Caretaker” was more like it. Uptick followed him everywhere, kept an eye on how much Energon he was consuming, tracked his recharge cycles, kept a close eye on just what activities he engaged with on a daily basis, and probably had a tracker installed beneath his aft to keep him from ever having an ounce of privacy. 

Of course he did, though, after that night with the other ‘bots. He knew what he had been doing and why he had been doing it. He just didn’t know why he’d stopped.

The Autobots he’d frightened were significantly less green than he was. That wouldn’t keep them safe. They’d returned to their habsuit to begin a cycle of “enjoying one another’s company”. That was why he’d picked them. Two for one. It would have made the whole situation easier on them all.

Except it hadn’t been easier on anyone, especially him. They’d both become creeped out when, upon discovering him in their personal quarters, staring at their recharge slabs with optics more devoid than a moon, he’d purged his dinner and collapsed, whining like a sick turbofox. 

That was when Uptick had been assigned as his caretaker. There wasn’t anything wrong with Uptick, by any means, and he didn’t hate him. He was, like all Enforcers, large and imposing, and tended to play by the rules too much. His paint was cheerful colors of blue, green, and white, meant to match with the new planet he was eager to call home. And his personality was surprisingly forgiving–for being the sucker stuck with the mental patient, he had quite a tolerance for nonsense.

No, Luster despised Uptick’s company for an entire other reason. One that didn’t have to do with how closely he watched him, how constantly he reminded him to attend his appointments, or how constantly he changed his curfews and rules.

It had to do with his sparkbeat. With how close he insisted on staying, Luster could hear the damnable thing’s constant pulsing despite the layers of glass and metal and wires separating them. It was loud and full of vibrant life. 

He could feel the solvent building in his mouth. 

Tank capacity at 93%. 

—-------------------------------

The habsuit allotted to him was at the very end of Metroplex’s furthest row. It was close to the wall, away from any streets or alleys. The original request put in regarding a space for him had placed him near the clinic, where other Cybertronians would be passing by. His vehement rejection of the idea had only been approved after the arguing had made him purge. 

Uptick brought him right to the sliding door, inputting the code to open it on its keypad. The metal let out a quiet shff as it slid open, revealing the small space within. He turned, giving Luster a look. 

“Your visit tomorrow is at 09:20, Earth hours. I’ve already sent you the data package. You seem to have ignored the first four.” There was a hint of annoyance in his voice as he raised a servo to his helm. “I’ll send you another. Be there on time, please, so I don’t have to come here and convince you, alright?”

“Convince”. Luster almost scoffed at the word. The heaviness that came with overfueling had left him by now. With its cloud gone, he found himself choking on bitterness again. 

Instead, he vented, giving a tiny nod. 

“Alright.” Stepping past Uptick, he paused in the threshold of his habsuit when a hand suddenly landed back on his shoulder. 

“Luster. You know these visits are for your health, right? No one here wants to hurt you. We don’t see you as a processor to be poked.” 

“I know.” He didn’t turn around. The lights in his habsuit, motion activated, had turned on, illuminating the sparse few belongings within it. 

“I mean it.” His grip tightened ever so slightly, then released. “We want to help you. All of us.” 

“I know,” he repeated. “Now please leave me alone.” 

Uptick said nothing as the door slid closed, sealing him, and the outside world, away. Luster stepped fully into his habsuit and paused, gaze fixed on the berth. 

It was a recharge slab, standard issue. They’d tried to pull a better one for him due to his circumstances–the medic’s had posited that he may have recharging terrors. They’d been right, of course, but he knew it wasn’t the fault of the slab, so he’d let it lie. They didn’t need to know about the terrors that plagued him, for they were meaningless, and besides, if they knew, they’d want to keep a closer eye on him. 

Who cared about terrors that only consisted of strange humming noises, anyways?

Besides, a closer eye was the exact opposite of what he needed on him. If they watched him more closely, they’d take him away from the bar. They’d take him away from his quiet habsuit. They’d take him away from his place at the edge of their world and draw him right into the middle. 

And if they did that, he had no idea how long he could ensure their safety. 

He stepped over to the slab, observing his reflection in it. They’d taken away the mirror after he’d shown distress staring into it. Something about his frame just didn’t feel right, and the more he looked at it, the more out of place he felt. 

His paint was blue, a gaudy blue, one with a sheen to it that made him literally shine. One of the medics had stated his color was particularly reminiscent of a bird known as the “peacock” on earth. He’d never met the thing, but from the way they’d snickered, he assumed it was excessive. 

On his chassis were diamonds, which, according to the doctors, had been placed there, willingly, by him. He couldn’t imagine why he would have ever reasoned to do such a thing. The stones weakened the integrity of his armor, and furthermore, they drew attention. Cut into varying shapes, they were arranged into delicate patterns that continued on his faceplate, where several more had been embedded just below his optics. Had been. When they found him, all that were left were the indentations of what had been. They now felt like ugly scars. 

The gemstones were gaudy enough, but worse, in his opinion, were his drills. Their blades rested comfortably on his arms, with the largest sitting on his back as a heavy extension. His treads were on his legs, which, combined with the weight of the drill, made even lifting the damnable things a chore. According to the medics he hadn’t even been a miner back in the day, but a scientist of sorts, so why he was so equipped for drilling, he couldn’t even say. 

All of this shaped up to make his frame bulky and uncomfortable. His steps were heavy. His pieces tended to bump into things. And his excessive decorations drew gazes and snickers alike from other mechs. 

He hated the face that looked back at him. The optics were green, a gaudy green, because apparently, he’d once been obsessed with fashion, and made himself a different pair of colored optics for every day of the week. The others were lost, but the green he’d been wearing when he disappeared weren’t. 

His faceplate was a pale gray, like most mechs tended to be. Pale, with those intricate, delicate etchings, designed to make him look ‘beautiful’. His helm had a sharp point in the middle, reaching about halfway down, and of course, in the middle of it was another gemstone. This one, however, was cracked. 

A cracked gemstone accompanied by diamond shaped holes that had once held something supposedly precious. That was all he saw when he looked at himself. 

He tore his optics away from the visage and sat on the berth, keeping his pedes on the floor as he turned to look at his habsuit. It had a desk, a window, a few datapads, and a small storage shelf. That was all. 

They’d offered to bring him some of his surviving “collection”, whatever that meant. He’d declined.

The ceiling lights dimmed as he tried to lay down on his back, found it impossible, and instead did so on his side. He’d never get used to the damnable drill on his back, he just knew it. It wasn’t supposed to be there. It hadn’t been there before. Why did he have a drill on his back? He couldn’t ever remember a time where he did. 

But that was the problem with remembering. He couldn’t remember much of anything. 

It had been only three Earth “months” (solar cycles?) ago that he had landed on the planet, in an unmarked spaceship that had been dated back to the middle of the war. The bots who had discovered him found his frame locked in a stasis pod, almost offline from how little power he’d had left. Taking him back to Autobot city, an emergency transfer of Energon and a strong shock to his processor had brought him back online. 

And that was when the trouble had begun. He’d awoken in a room he didn’t recognize, in a time he didn’t know, in a place he’d never been before. He still remembered coming online. For so long it had been just darkness, darkness and the very hum of the universe, the electrical pulses that dictated the existence of life, making up the entirety of his world. When he’d come online, that hum had ebbed, becoming less than background noise. 

It had felt like being cut off from a lifeline. His optics had onlined, and he had been greeted with the sight of one of the Autobot medics, First Aid. There was celebration to be had as he had groaned and tried to sit up, confused, delirious, and wondering just how he’d gotten to this strange place. They’d insisted he stay down until his energon reserves were replenished. 

But even when his tank hit its safe capacity, a feeling that should have left him satiated and energized, he hadn’t had the strength to properly move. He’d known in that very instant, as the question arose as to why, that something was wrong with him. 

Another electrical shock had returned the ability to properly move to him. They released him from the medical bay after he’d demonstrated he could walk–right into the hands of their Enforcers. For according to their records, he was not to be alone, and the question of just what had happened on his mission was hanging heavier than a spaceship in orbit. 

The issue of his memory had arisen almost immediately. They’d asked him his name. They’d asked him why he had been alone. They’d asked him what had happened. 

He couldn’t remember any of it. 

“His processor seems to have been damaged, sir.” He remembered one of them saying, looking over the scan that had been provided from the medical bay. “They’ve found evidence that a code was written to delete some memories, but even more than that…” The datapad had been handed over, and the interrogator sucked in air through his denta. “How is he even still functional, with scrambling that bad?”

It looked like his processor had been ripped out, smashed, and placed back into his helm. He had no recollection of any of it. 

“Do you remember why you left?”

“Do you remember the name of your ship?”

“Do you remember the research you’d been engaging with when you’d decided to leave?”

“Do you remember what you found?”

“Do you remember Solace?”

“Do you remember what happened to him?”

“What happened to Solace?”

Who’s Solace?

The interview had ended shortly after. 

He vented, watching the lights in the ceiling turn down. Uptick’s data package pushed at the edge of his internal hub. He accepted it because he had no other choice. 

Solace. The name haunted him like a specter. Solace. Who was Solace? Solace had been someone he’d been very close with, apparently. Solace had been someone so important to him that he’d left Cybertron with him, in search of something mysterious to help the Autobot war effort. They’d been joined at the hip all their lives, apparently, 

And he couldn’t remember a single thing about the mech. But why?

He shuttered his optics and tried to think back to the day he’d left Cybertron. It had been sometime in the middle of the war, apparently. He’d made some big decision and gotten a ship somehow. He was going to prove something, or save them all, or change the tide of the war. Something heroic, or whatever. They’d said he had once been outgoing. 

He tried to picture himself standing on Cybertron (did he even remember Cybertron?), chassis puffed out, engine revving, the diamonds on his faceplate and chest glittering. A huge smile was on his face. He stood before the ship he’d arrived on, except instead of its decrepit state, it was a fully functioning spaceship, fresh off the factory line, without a single chip on the paint. 

Before him was a crowd of Autobots. They were cheering his name. Optimus Prime himself was there to see him off. 

He looks them over and grins widely, holding his arms out. Yes, he was going to save them all. He was going to travel far away, find something, and help end the war. He would be so full of hope, nothing could dampen his spirits. 

And there, beside him, would be Solace. Solace, his best friend, his one in a billion, his greatest ally. 

But when he looks beside him, there is no Solace. 

There was only fog, and blank space, and when he looked back, the planet of Cybertron was empty, a barren wasteland of gray. The sky was dark velvet blue. Stars glittered like diamonds overhead. 

There were stars in his chassis. He blinked once, twice. The planet was empty, and he was full of stars, and he was alone. 

And here, alone, in the emptiness of space, he floated, watching all of existence fall away and turn into the hum of electromagnetic pulses indicating life. Life that he could not see or touch. Life he could only listen to as he lay dreaming, drifting through the universe alone. 

In his cradle of stars, dead $^%#%&*^&8 waits dreaming. 

Not alone, really. He had not been alone while he was dreaming. He had heard something else in the hum.

He replayed the sound again, the hum he was so familiar with. It was millions of years worth of noise, stored within his processor because he had nothing else to comprehend for all of it. 217 gigabytes of nothing but humming. His processor ran through all of it in mere minutes, then ran through it again. 

There was something beneath all of the noise, something explicitly subtle. He opened his internal hub and pulled up a spectrograph. The noise was replayed again. 

The waves showed up as nothing in particular for a long time. Then, slowly, they began to form a curve. One by one, each contributed a single line, through millions of years, until finally, he reached himself now, still intuned, just barely, to the electromagnetic pulses of life. 

The image looking back at him was in the shape of a crescent. It was the very shape which he saw in his charge terrors, the one which, ever present, hung in the background, watching him like a cybercat would a mouse. 

His spark felt cold. He closed the spectrograph and opened his optics, staring at the gentle light of Earth’s moon shining in through the window. His internal clock beeped a warning to him–five hours until he was designated to be at the clinic. A pop-up recommending he enter recharge appeared. He moved to close it.

Tank capacity at 68%. Fuel uptake at &%#$^*(&%$$%&&%$%^^^&* Seek alternate fuel source. Seek alternate fuel source. Seek alternate fuel source. 

Dozens more appeared at the death of the one. He pushed the notifications away. 

Seek alternate fuel source.

They came back, one after the other. His frame felt like it had been starved of Energon for years. 

Seek alternate fuel source. 

He forced his optics to shutter, letting the notifications drown out the fear he felt. 

Seek alternate fuel source.

It was going to be a long recharge.

[intsofttech]

Intsoft Tech machine vision inspection equipment, vial appearance information detection

[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.”

[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. 

[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, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again,

and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again, and again,

 and again,

until the screen finally blacked out from short-circuiting.

[blindmagdalena]

ABOUT the super test tube babies because I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT RHIS!!! I think that A, holelander is himself a walking talking medical miracle, and B, he is very obviously an incredibly dangerous variable ago it’d be stupid to create more of. and what I mean when I say that is for point A, spend a minute thinking about jut how different dupes are from a regular person, and how exponentially different Homelander is from a regular supe. He is WORLDS AWAY from a regular human being, and the amount of medical intervention he would have required would be ASTRONOMICAL. Homelander is almost a new species. He is something the world has never seen and maybe will never see again, the white elephant, the golden goose. When I say bought lucked out I mean they LUCKED OUT. what are the odds he could’ve been incredibly deformed? have congenital defects related to the sheer amount of V in his system that ended his life? Just passed on one day, nature having run its course and ended something unnatural? -who’s to say this hasn’t already happened to any number of brothers and sisters he would have had? did they get it right on the first try?- Like genuinely the labour the cost the care workers the secrecy that would rival the Manhattan Project the cost the bizarre maladies they could never explain the training the 24/7 crew of expert geneticists and physicians the cost and did I mention how much this would all cost. And this segues into my next point—it would be ridiculous to do it all again. Obviously they know homelander would come out traumatized. They just thought they could control him. I’m quoting someone else but “this is like cutting off four of your fingers and playing dice with them.” Homelander, at any moment, could cause destruction to this world and to humanity in absolutely unprecedented ways. He was flying faster than the sound barrier before eight, he is the strongest person alive, he sees through walls, he can detect conversations >100 feet away, and he CAN VAPORISE THINGS WITH HIS EYES. There is no contingency plan for Homelander deciding he can just take the things he wants. No jail can hold him, any army would be crushed by him. At any moment he could just decide to go apeshit!! Sure Vought has successfully manipulated him into doing at least mostly manageable damage but how likely is that to continue? And can they do it with another supe?? Would hoemlander see them as a threat and try to off them? Or would they CATASTROPHICALLY get along and be allies? One Homelander is insanely dangerous and almost godlike. 2? United? Potentially against Vought? They would be quite literally unstoppable.

this is absolutely true with Homelander as an adult! and you make a good point: maybe it simply wasn't profitable.

however, my thought process isn't really "why didn't they make another Homelander" so much as "Why didn't they refine the process that created him?"

because the fact of the matter is that even in current canon, Vought is still making supes. presumably in a manner that is wildly unpredictable because they never actually KNOW how the powers are going to manifest in each child. we still have an orphanage full of young supe children who killed their parents or were otherwise unwanted/orphaned. how is that better than Build-A-Bear'ing supes in labs?

although to be honest, this is the least of my problems with Vought's entire operation lol how did they manage to spread the propaganda that supes are born of god when Soldier Boy was their first public supe and people KNEW he wasn't always a supe? how did they keep any of the HUNDREDS of parents from blabbing, NDA or not? it's a terrible distribution plan, honestly. it would have been better if they were hiding the compound V injections amongst perfectly normal infant vaccines in their hospitals.

[blubushie]

Back from doctor and sitting down with a beer to relax. Transcript from appointment is as follows:

"Mr Bushman?"

"G'day doc. What's the news?"

"Well, the good news is we didn't detect any cancer cells in the screen!"

"Oh, that's good. What uh. What's the bad news?"

"Your cells divide weird! :D"

"...Huh?"

"Mitosis is a–"

"Yeah doc I know what mitosis is what d'yer mean they divide weird?"

"Well they don't really split properly until the very end. You have defective cells. They have excellent replication but it's a little too good and when they split they don't seem to want to split fully so you have quite a few cells with a shared nucleus. They're like the conjoined twins of cells!"

"...And this is bad."

"Well, they replicate too readily and the faulty division means they're prone to repeated replication and continuing to defectively replicate, which–"

"–Means cancer."

"Right. This is probably because of your defective chromosomes... But on the plus side, your immune system is very strong! It's doing a very good job of killing these defective cells before they spread to healthy cells! :D"

"So...?"

"Well, your screen is clear for now. So just keep an eye on it. Stop skipping your appointments, eat more citrus, and drink less alcohol. It'll help keep your immune system strong. And get a good night's sleep."

"[Sigh] Yessir..."

[usafphantom2]

Parts of the jamming equipment on the SR-71 are still classified. It was so powerful that they were forbidden to turn it on over the United States or friendly countries. They had a defensive system, “B.” The SR 71 could detect radar signals from missiles and then broadcast the radar energy on the same frequency to confuse their guidance systems. In other words, the enemy thought that they could hit their target, but in reality, their target had moved. This came in handy in overflights in Vietnam as it protected the B-52s. This is why I continuously say that the SR 71 could not be shot down.

Electrical defenses, speed, and altitude were the factors that made the SR-71 the only airplane that flew in combat that was never shut down. After a flight the air frame was thoroughly looked after by maintenance checking every screw and every nut to make sure it will be reliable for the next time that it flew. The only way the enemy could get our SR 71 is if there was a technical defect.

My father Butch Sheffield flew the SR 71 for 8 1/2 years . There was never any apprehension when he left home to go fly. I am thankful for the SR 71’s perfect record.

Written by Linda Sheffield.

@Habubrats71 via Twitter

[mpov]

About my stance you don't have to go to a hospital to give birth.

I don't expect people to just trust what I say, please question everything I say, and do your own research.

First, if you have a know high risk factor, like sever obesity, anemia, diabetes, etc. Plan to do it in a hospital.

Infant mortality rates in the US are about 6 in 1k. Putting the US at 50 of 192. Looks bad. I can understand a knee jerk reaction assuming it'd be worse with less hospital births. The problem is among the top 10 causes for death, most can be detected early, several it won't matter where you give birth. From most common to least common, that top 10 is: (Cause: Brief description. number of deaths per 100k)

Congenital Malformations: AKA Birth Defects, mostly incompatible with life, like missing organs. 109

Short Gestation: Birth before term reached. 78

SIDS/Cot Death: Death for no apparent cause. 40

Accidents: Accidental drops, rough handling, etc. 37

Maternal Complications of pregnancy: Miscarriages, stillborn. 33

Complications of placenta, cord, and membranes: suffocation is common. 17

Bacterial Sepsis: Infection kills tissue. 17

Respiratory distress of newborn: difficulty breathing. 12

Diseases of circulatory system: Heart complications. 9

Neonatal hemorrhage: bleed to death from operations like circumcision. 9

Not to downplay the tragedy that any of these involve. For 1 and 2 you'll likely be in the hospital, as 1 will usually be detected early, and 2 will send you there in a panic of pain and confusion.

Number 3 just happens. Being at home or in the hospital will have no bearing, 4 is likewise mostly unpreventable. 5 is also one where you'll end up in the hospital regardless, but the hospital won't change the outcome.

6 and beyond are approaching the "vanishingly rare" territory.

Speaking of 6, this one actually got me. The cord wrapped around my neck, I suffocated. So yeah, had my mother opted for home birth I wouldn't be here. I have a lovely scar from the comedy of errors that followed.

The hospital can't do much for a newborn with sepsis, number 7. 8 and 9 likely have time to enact your emergency plan and get to a hospital. 10 was probably caused by the hospital.

The vast majority of these infant deaths will not be changed by being in a hospital, some may have been prevented by being at home, like some of the accidents.