#gestalt notes

[toby-du-coeur]

this world is a gift why do we have to ruin it

so we've been staying with a european family that's pretty much the average family. mom and dad are archetypal, older sister and younger brother archetypal.

the mother is a very efficient mother. very polite, speaks calmly, invests in her kids, keeps everything in order. also the family has a comfortable amount of money, both parents are together, etc. i wouldn't call them an especially abusive or broken family.

but i've heard this woman praise her children maybe twice, indirectly. all she does is critique and take the moral high ground and talk down to her kids, in every possible situation. and so that's what she's become to them, esp to the teenager - someone who is there to limit and critique, someone whom they don't want around. that gets reinforced 24/7 by her constant criticism.

and this is just normal to her, this is what parents have to do so their kids grow up right or whatever {nevermind that she's lost her daughter's trust and she's going behind her back and her daughter hopes she never ends up like her mum}

it makes me so incandescently angry. what a fucking waste of a life and talents and a family.

im polite to her {when she's not triggering our anxiety and making us feel like a frightened deer} but i have lost all respect, just like her kids.

though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not charity, it profits me nothing

[toby-du-coeur]

yes devotion is our love language in so many ways

not romantic not platonic but a secret third thing (so devoted the lines blur)

[discountscholar]

what do you think about gestalt therapy?

hi there, thanks for the ask! i do not know enough about this modality to comment on it yet. but whenever i do, i shall add my bit to this conversation :)

[stellarisjuice]

running yet another poll concurrently because i realized it's non-exclusive with the previous poll

i'll pick the option with the most votes as a Fanatic ethic, and the option with the second most votes as a regular one, unless there's a tie in either ranking, in which case i'll just have three regular ethics

[wealmostaneckbeard]

The Indie game [SIGNALIS] and table top role playing game Monster Of The Week both belong in the survival horror genre. They both feature monsters, mysteries, guns, and dwindling resources. MOTW is more of a power fantasy while Signalis is kind-of the opposite... like a Mortality Simulator?

Therefore it is not surprising that after reading my old copy of the 2nd Edition MOTW, I think I could set a campaign in the Signalis universe. Whenever the manual mentions the word magic, I swap it out for Bioresonance.

I've written some notes already:

The first set of notes are some light details for locations in District 0123 on Heimat. The main residential bloc is packed with refugee-immigrants from the planets Kitezh and Vineta. In another area, a criminal gang operates a black market venue out of a condemned cathedral to The Empress. There's also a vertical hydroponics farming silo that provides food and employment. Finally there is a big multi-purpose community facility that has stuff like a toboggan run family fun center, Blockwart headquarters, train yard, and a shopping mall. Underneath all of it is a network of infrastructure tunnels, with maintenance barracks, that all flow towards a waste reclamation facility where convicted gestalts and defective replikas work under armed supervision. AND in some forgotten corner of the sewers is Bioresonance Laboratory #03, originally built by the empire and then abandoned after The Incident, where a flesh-hole to Nowhere has recently opened. Out of which has come ghosts of gestalt scientists and guards, as well as corrupted first/second generation replikas.

My second set of notes has been pairing MOTW hunter archetypes with types of Gestalts (humans) and Replikas (bio-mechanical clones) which has yielded some interesting character ideas. A normal Kolibri (telepathic cop with an addiction to coffee) would be a Spooky Hunter whereas one that's been exiled from her hive mind would be a conspiracist Flake Hunter. Falke's are supernaturally powerful so they could be a Spell-Slinger or Divine Hunter, with the former representing older combat focused models while the latter represents newer administrative/propaganda oriented models. Mundane, Crooked, and Wronged Hunters could be regular Gestalts and civilian grade Replikas. The Monstrous Hunter could either be a mutated Replika or the ghost of a Gestalt, both created by harmful Bioresonance exposure. Gestalts that have undergone special training or their military grade Replika counterparts could be Initiate, Chosen, Expert and Professional Hunters.

This is all I've got for now. Hopefully someone likes what I'm proposing here. I'm thinking I could get some interested players from signalis discord servers...

[toby-du-coeur]

life is art and art is life & the implications thereof

been deconstructing & reconstructing our idea of Writing lately

for us {intersecting with our worldview, neurodivergence & plurality} our writing is ever more inseparable from our self our life is a story and our stories are unfolding lives that we're hosting, and principles applied to one bleed over

therefore, much of the conventional writing advice is killing to our stories. bc it assumes that a story is a Product & you have to apply certain rules and techniques to get it to be Good Enough to please an audience and that just.. is the mindset that, applied to our own life, has ruined it for decades. so it does *not* work in our writing either confusing as it is to consider moving beyond that philosophy, because it's such a basic common-sense assumption

BUT WE'RE ALLOWED TO IGNORE IT and forge new conceptions of our craft ANARCHYYYY

[abtrusion]

wait where are all the trans guys

Historical-anthropological research, especially the work taking place before the 21st century or outside the West, tends to focus entirely on transfeminized groups. So when reading these works it’s pretty natural to ask — wait, where are all the trans guys? This is a reasonable question with a few clear answers; this post is something quick I can point people to.

The central condition of transfeminized groups' absorption into feminist activism has been to accept a kind of symmetry with select TME groups through the understanding of trans femininity as "gender variance." Under this framework, transfeminized groups' social position can be understood as a consequence of gender variance and some abstract violation of cis norms; this was proposed by people like Susan Stryker and Emi Koyama [1], among others, and continues to structure trans inclusion today. It also fails when considering several basic aspects of these groups:

Transfeminized groups are associated with hyperspecific labor practices, most frequently sex work, but also hair styling, drag, makeup artistry, acting, and other forms of 'gender work.'

Metropolitan transfeminized groups appear in the archive as highly clustered and active groups connected with, but usually intensely split from, the masculine men they fucked.

Transfeminized groups become a kind of 'third gender' on an epistemic level; they are Known to wider society before and after “coming out” in a way that USAmerican transmasculinity has only recently vaguely approached.

Transfeminized groups are heavily clustered in labor practice, social organization, and epistemic position, although this is not universal -- certain strains of USAmerican transfemininity have become a bit more labor-agnostic in the last two decades, not-so-coincidentally alongside more general currents of gender-labor liberation. The messy strains of trans male identity recovered from the archive and from current practice tend to lack labor, social, and epistemic coherence. As Aaron Devor notes in FTM, his 1997 history of FTM men, trans men in the 20th century tended to transition out of cities and into the countryside, finding low-profile places they could exist in. These practices, and the earlier "female husband" practices described by Jen Manion, relied on the labor-agnostic nature of transitioned manhood in order to disappear from public life. Transfeminized groups, on the other hand, are categorically restricted from the main form of economic life historically available to women -- marriage. Their labor practices are heavily constrained and have almost always revolved around some form of 'gender work:' as Susan Stryker put it, you need to get people to pay you for being a trans woman. Transmasculinity pushes away feminized restrictions on labor; trans femininity is labor.

Because transfeminized identities are so often labor-identities, and because their specific brand of 'gender work' and hormonal/silicone/surgical embodiment usually requires both specialized training and community support, nearly every metropolitan center in the world developed highly centralized transfeminized groups over the course of the 20th century [2]. As Ochoa notes, this visibility is partially due to epistemic visibility (everyone knows what a trans is), partially due to group structure (people work and train each other), and partially due to the selectively visible demands of finding clients. Fledglings come in with a way of being that is always already visible to society, but changing the body to match and learning how to fully enact and slowly contest the third-gender labor-identity they've been given takes a lot of community support.

So as labor-identities, transfeminized groups tend to a level of labor/community/epistemic coherence that has no clear counterpart. The news archives we have of trans men (as seen in Manion) position them as singular and easily absorbed back into the female gestalt; the cisgender feminist/gayguy/AIDS researchers that form the bulk of historical-anthropological work saw them as unnecessary to their grand theories of gender; the communities themselves have been materially fractured and, for the groups that rise out of lesbian-feminist activism, only partially committed to their own existence. The result of all this is that there is no clear equivalent to the "transfeminized groups" of Jules-Gill Peterson; there is no symmetry to trannydom, and while additional work to unearth trans manhood in the archive remains extremely valuable, sometimes the necessary level of label-coherence and social existence just isn't there.

[1] Stryker, "My Words to Victor Frankenstein Above the Village of Chamounix: Performing Transgender Rage," Emi Koyama, "The Transfeminist Manifesto" [2] As seen in Namaste, Invisible Lives, Prieur, "Mema's House, Mexico City," Kulick, "Travesti," Newton, "Mother Camp," Ochoa, "Queen for a Day," Hegarty, "The Made-Up State," and plenty more. Most of these works came out in the late 80s and 90s due to a combination of the feminist "third gender" craze, the burgeoning field of masculinity studies, and AIDS.

[mychlapci]

Devastator needs to fuck Prowl too After the Constructicons get Scrapper back, Devastator would be torn between having all of their original components together, as well as wanting to pull their new component back in, somehow. Coupled with the Structies' own lust, this winds up translating into a collective desire to fuck that slutty policebot.

So the next time they meet on the battlefield, instead of devastating like they should, Devastator would snatch up Prowl and run off with him, spending the rest of the battle undisturbed as they test out various ways to "combine" with their quarry. Using the memories the gestalt have of their former head component, they tease the tiny mech in all of the well known erogenous zones that their fingertips could reach, drawing out whines and moans until his panels snap open on instinct. Revealing a moist little valve and sweet little spike, adorned with blinking biolights still coloured green from their past linkage. A sight that deeply pleases the gestalt.

They first try fingering Prowl open with their pinky, licking the little mech all over with that massive glossa, slathering oral lubricant all over those sensitive doorwings to make him relax. When he's loose enough, Devastator would try to fingerfuck Prowl with a different digit, only to find that they're all too big to fit inside effectively, pussy so tight that they can't even really move inside. They then settle on using their pinky to pound that quivering valve until Prowl squirts helplessly in their grip.

Intrigued by the trail of fluids dripping from that twitching cunt, Devastator retracts their digit and tastes it, rediscovering the wonder that is Prowl's delicious pussy juice. Which is how Prowl finds himself impaled on that girthy, flexible glossa next, licking and filling him up until he's stuffed to the brim with that squishy appendage.

The way it moves, and the fact that the tongue is so much more flexible compared to the digit making the experience a hundredfold more intense than the fingerfucking. Prowl cums again, spilling uncontrollably into Devastator's mouth as the big guy holds him above their intake, lips sealed around that snatched waist to grip the squirming bot. Rounded teeth gently but firmly restraining those kicking legs as they lap at that puffy valve.

When Prowl goes limp again, Devastator lifts him to eye level, noting those curious white streaks leaking from beneath that plump bumper. They lick a large stripe across Prowl's entire front, and starts teasing his chest for more when they register the heavenly milk flavour that their components appear so very fond of in their memories. But this time, Prowl resists.

He might've not been able to prevent his interface panels from popping open, but his chest panels are nowhere near as sensitive as those were. He remains stoutly resolute, until Devastator changes strategies after they drew on another memory from their components. They turned the little bot around to tease at his doorwings with the tip of their glossa again. This not only angled Prowl's line of sight away from Devastator, but also rendered his motion sensors useless with the physical distractions, preventing the tactician from figuring out the big bot's next move.

As Prowl is being bombarded by the pleasurable touches, Devastator is actually bringing him closer to their own chest panel, which has parted and has data cables snaking out. Reaching for Prowl's closed ports. If the Constructicons can't combine with their policebot in frame, they will so in code. They all remember how much that neat little mind enjoyed being linked to their mental presences, and clearly, so does Devastator. In fact, Devastator very clearly remembers just how to make that thirsty little dataslut submit to their wills.

When each cable is in place, simultaneously, their pronged ends wedge themselves into those coverings, prying open each jack in one go. Shocked by the sudden burst of pain, Prowl has no time to react when each cable plugged themselves into his sparking connectors, charge flowing and overwhelming him in an instant from the sheer potential difference between their frames.

Old, dormant protocols slipping back into place. Seldom trodden but intact neural circuits flaring to life. Psychologically conditioned stupor settling over conscious thought like a fog. Weakened and exhausted from the orgasms, Prowl lets himself slip back into that old, nearly forgotten haze of being a part of Devastator again. When his struggles stop altogether, Prowl gets turned around again.

Pleased that their wayward component was no longer resisting, Devastator pinged the little mech's systems to open his chest plates, revealing a pair of leaky refineries at last. Savouring their victory, Devastator took their time licking over Prowl's front, reacquainting themelves with the flavour of that wonderful milk, transfluid and lubricants, all freely flowing from the cascade of continuous orgasms wrecking his mind and body. There's just too much charge being pumped into that little Praxian frame through their hardline.

It's as if he's been reduced to a puppet. A little pleasure doll for the combiner to lick and suck at. Prowl knows that he should be fighting it, but it feels too damn good to have those hanging threads soothed at last. The bond may have been shorn off from his end, but something inside him still craves this. It feels right to be connected to his gestalt again. It feels incredible to let himself be swept away into that mind meld, and lose his sense of self once more.

His choked and aborted gasps morph into a prolonged whine when those massive, plush lips seal over both of his tits at once, sucking hard and drinking in their fill of his creamy milk. Though Devastator pulls back when they note that Prowl's fuel levels had dropped to 40%. Which wouldn't do, of course. They scour the gestalt's memories again, and recall a visage of the little tactician on his knees, begging to be filled with transfluid.

The data is coming so much faster now that they're connected to that overpowered processor. As they lower the little bot's panting mouth onto the slit of their spike head, absentmindedly stroking their pressurized spike, they ponder on what to do with this newfound information. Seven minds linked in one, Devastator realises that they've never been this cognizant before. That's when it clicks. This is what they've been missing the whole time: a dedicated processor component.

They groan as their first, light overload washes through their core, cock spurting glugs of transfluid into that waiting mouth, the veritable excess running down the sides of that black and white frame. Through their linked processor, they command Prowl to swallow his sustenance like a good bot. Unable to disobey, Prowl swallows, feeling the intense charge of the rich, energised nanites sweeping through him. His fuel gauge climbs a little. Unacceptable. Clearly more is needed.

They lean back against the angular incline of the cliffside, spreading their legs wider and braced their left arm against a knee, continuing to hold their precious seventh to the tip of their pulsing cock. Their little dataslut is still far from full. Continuing to pump their spike as they ponder the best way to reintegrate the policebot to their fold. Devastator already has a head, but surely there is space for another inside them? Perhaps- he could be their backup processor. Like how Prowl has that experimental battle computer integrated into his cerebral hardware.

As Devastator carefully reoriented their internals and began planning out in detail how they would reclaim their perfect dataslut, Prowl is forced to continuously drink in mouthful after mouthful of transfluid. Very quickly rendering him completely cum drunk, and none the wiser to the big mech's increasingly intelligent plotting.

Finally deemed sufficiently fueled, Devastator attaches more cables into the remaining unoccupied jacks, plugging up the bloated Praxian in full this time. No longer aware of what's happening around him, Prowl's head lolls a little to the side before an internal servo gripped his temples and straightens it. He's inside Devastator's chest cavity now, right below the combiner's own massive pouches, where a mech's spark would've been located. More servos clamp onto his limbs, as lines of various widths snake around him, plunging into his twitching pussy, aft pipe and spike duct. Another line with a nozzle, one that's directly connected to both his host's refineries and transfluid stores, inserts itself into his intakes.

Prowl numbly notes the code edits flowing through his firewalls, but he lets them pass unbidden when jolts of pure pleasure washed over him, making his vision swim. The evolved gestalt programming is overwriting his silly little leaky and melting processor, and there's nothing he could do about it. All of that bandwidth siphoned away as Devastator lovingly caressed their beautiful, cum drenched brain component, so very clever, yet so dumb and mindless now. The chest plates close around him, leaving Prowl to marinate in the dark as the gestalt protocols slowly suppress any pesky contrary thoughts in his empty little head.

Their pretty tactician would be kept safe inside them until Devastator returns to base and manages to convince Shockwave to link their sparks together again. With their newfound intellectual prowess in tow, Devastator would have no trouble making their case before the scientist for sure. When Devastator finally disassembles, the Constructicons' wayward seventh would be home at last, whether he likes it or not.-🔌

hrghh no notes, I just think everyone needs to see this honestly. We need more Devastator action.

[toby-du-coeur]

Guys discover summer @ the beach and fall in love with the sea air , Healed for 100000 points {but you also uncover a lot of trauma you weren't aware of}

Guy discovers open window and falls in love with the night air , Healed for 100000 points

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to write genius level characters? :(

One of the most reliable measures of intelligence today is the Stanford-Binet Intelligence Scale—currently in its 5th edition, with an upcoming edition in the works.

Using the tool/scale, scores are converted into nominal categories designated by certain cutoff boundaries for quick reference:

Measured IQ Range — Category

145-160: Very gifted or highly advanced

130–144: Gifted or very advanced

120–129: Superior

110–119: High average

90–109: Average

80–89: Low average

70–79: Borderline impaired or delayed

55–69: Mildly impaired or delayed

40–54: Moderately impaired or delayed

To write your "genius" character, you may want them within the Gifted to Very Gifted categories.

Note: With reference to this list, Roid (2003) cautioned that “the important concern is to describe the examinee’s skills and abilities in detail, going beyond the label itself”. The primary value of such labels is as a shorthand reference in some psychological reports.

These are the factors measured by the scale, and you ideally should aim for your "genius" character/s to exhibit high levels of:

Fluid Reasoning: Novel problem solving; understanding of relationships that are not culturally bound

Knowledge: Skills and knowledge acquired by formal and informal education

Quantitative Reasoning: Knowledge of mathematical thinking including number concepts, estimation, problem solving, and measurement

Visual-Spatial Processing: Ability to see patterns and relationships and spatial orientation as well as the gestalt among diverse visual stimuli

Working Memory: Cognitive process of temporarily storing and then transforming or sorting information in memory

Or maybe your character doesn't excel in all of these areas but in a specific one, or just a few of these. Maybe they perform within the average or high average in some, but are highly gifted in other areas.

The following may also guide you in writing your genius character, based on research compiled by Dr. J. Renzulli, which can be found in the Mensa Gifted Youth Handbook:

Characteristics of Giftedness

LEARNING CHARACTERISTICS

Has unusually advanced vocabulary for age or grade level

Has quick mastery and recall of factual information

Wants to know what makes things or people tick

Usually sees more or gets more out of a story, film, etc., than others

Reads a great deal on his or her own; usually prefers adult-level books; does not avoid difficult materials

Reasons things out for him- or herself

MOTIVATIONAL CHARACTERISTICS

Becomes easily absorbed with and truly involved in certain topics or problems

Is easily bored with routine tasks

Needs little external motivation to follow through in work that initially excited him or her

Strives toward perfection; is self-critical; is not easily satisfied with his or her own speed and products

Prefers to work independently; requires little direction from teachers

Is interested in many "adult" problems such as religion, politics, sex and race

Stubborn in his or her beliefs

Concerned with right and wrong, good and bad

CREATIVITY CHARACTERISTICS

Constantly asking questions about anything and everything

Often offers unusual, unique or clever responses

Is uninhibited in expressions of opinion

Is a high-risk taker; is adventurous and speculative

Is often concerned with adapting, improving and modifying institutions, objects and systems

Displays a keen sense of humor

Shows emotional sensitivity

Is sensitive to beauty

Is nonconforming; accepts disorder; is not interested in details; is individualistic; does not fear being different

Is unwilling to accept authoritarian pronouncements without critical examination

LEADERSHIP CHARACTERISTICS

Carries responsibility well

Is self-confident with children his or her own age as well as adults

Can express him- or herself well

Adapts readily to new situations

Is sociable and prefers not to be alone

Generally directs the activity in which he or she is involved

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 ⚜ Writing Notes & References

Hope this helps with your writing. Do tag me, or send me a link. I'd love to read your work!

[star-ar512]

on signalis characters' voices (signalis spoilers!)

after playing signalis more than once and putting aside the overwhelming amount of feelings this game and its story can and will make one feel, it is easier to notice the more subtle details; e.g. enemies behavior, meaning behind documents and objects, and in this case, the characters' voices.

paying attention to the various living npcs you can talk to, one detail that stands out is that every character has a different tone of voice (similar to undertale).

i like to believe those sounds which accompany the text could represent what each character could sound like; one would expect, since replikas are basically copies, for them to have all the same voice.

well, that's not exactly the case.

here is a video with text and dialogues from all the npcs, without music to hear the "dialogue" clearly. (not all the dialogue is included, only one dialogue per character is present; except for elster as she does not like to speak much).

ACHTUNG: MAJOR SIGNALIS SPOILERS!

the dialogues are in chronological order:

-wounded star unit (STAR-S23?? is her name in the game files) in the aula before classroom 4C in floor B1, S-23 Sierpinski (elster included even if she has two lines);

-Isa Itou in the library, floor B1, S-23 Sierpinski;

-Storch Sieben (STCR-S2307) in the rationing office, floor B2, S-23 Sierpinski;

-EULR-S2312 (probably named Dezember given her number designation; eules in game like to use months as names, using the last two numbers of their designation as a reference) in the nurse station, floor B3, S-23 Sierpinski;

-Adler (ADLR-S2301), presumably in the elevator lobby in floor B4, S-23 Sierpinski;

-Arar (ARAR-S2318) in the vent below the Storch dorm in floor B8, S-23 Sierpinski;

-KLBR-S2302 in the library, floor B8, S-23 Sierpinski;

-Beo (MNHR-S2301) in the third room in the mines where monofilament stockpiles can be found, in the rightmost corridor.

-Ariane Yeong (and LSTR-512, still has an unbelievable amount of max two sentences at once) in the personnel room. floor B2, Penrose-512 (memory);

-Falke (FKLR-S2301) in her own room, found in Home.

you may ask, what purpose does comparing the "voices" serve? probably none, still i wished to know if they were the same sounds for every character or not.

here's what i could find out:

the majority of replikas have a different voice, with some exceptions:

-STCR and LSTR units have the same voice;

-as do STAR and FKLR units;

-a bit more expected, the gestalts npcs we see in the game (Isa Itou and Ariane Yeong) have the same voice.

now, for the fun stuff: by analyzing the frequencies which stood out the most in each "beep" from every character's voice, i could rank them from high pitched to low pitched ones.

again, has no purpose, but the result is actually delightful (to me).

here is the ranking:

1. kolibri

2. mynah

3. eule

4. isa-ariane

5. storch-elster

6. star-falke

7. adler

8. arar

pretty surprising, huh? i'd have wagered for isa/ariane to be in second place, followed by eules; also was expecting for arars to be just after the eules, and have behind them stars, then storches, then adler.

no one is surprised kolibri have the highest voices lmao, but mynah having an almost equally high voice was slightly unexpected but not unwelcome.

what's truly surprising to me is falke having the same voice as stars. i'd have expected something different tbh (stars being the lowest rank of protektors, etc etc, they're silly and stupid and crass; all things falke is not supposed to be).

elster having a deeper voice compared to ariane is the cutest thing ever! (as that post about them says)

that's probably the instance where you can notice the most that there is in fact a difference in most voices.

the funniest thing ever to me is that storches apparently have a higher pitched voice compared to stars, also arars having the deepest voice out of all replika is truly awesome to me (definitely fits).

here are to what musical notes the frequencies corresponded to, in the same ranking as before (visual rendering on a piano keyboard for fun i guess):

kolibri (G6 B6 E7 A7)

mynah (F#6 A#6 D#7 G#7)

eule (F6 A6 D7 G#7)

isa-ariane (F6 G#6 C#7 G7)

storch-elster (E6 G#6 C7 F#7)

star-falke (D#6 G6 B6 F7)

adler (D6 F#6/G6 B6 E7)

(adler has five notes as two close frequencies were distinct from each other, compared to only one in the "feminine sounding" voices. i guess that's how they made him sound different, by overlaying two notes)

arar (C#6 F6 A#6 D#7)

that's it! thanks for coming to my ted talk about signalis voices and listening to me ramble about them :)

[cell151]

AEON Facility, Heimat

Another day...

Ava, EULR 5279, sighed as she switched off the light in the small cubicle that was made even smaller by the stack of paperwork. After evening of writing up corrections for an incorrect entry into one of the volumes of The History of the Eusan Nation: Volume XI, she was exhausted. Not physically. A Replika could stand in one spot for days or weeks and never feel the type of fatigue that Gestalts do. It was mental fatigue. The price the Nation paid for giving Ava and her kind personalities.

Walking down the dimly aisle, past rows of cubicles and racks of pneumatic tubes, Ava headed for the elevator lobby. She was hoping to get the 22:00 transit and be back in her dorm to watch the late movie before all television broadcasts ended for the day. Turning the corner, she suddenly came to a stop when she spotted a tall figure standing by one of the elevators, partially in darkness.

It was a STCR unit. She was facing the wall and had her arm and forehead leaning up against it. The sight made Ava tense up. A STCR was not an unusual sight but to see one on her floor, standing there silently in the dark made her want to reconsider her choice in exit. But before she turn back and head for the stairs, the Storch noticed her. She didn't say anything, she just stared, her face still obscured by darkness but Ava could make out the small glow of her eyes.

"Heading out?" The Storch asked after a few seconds of silence. Ava nodded. The taller Replika nodded. "Me too. Just waiting for this piece of junk to work." She eyed the elevator doors with disdain.

The Eule ventured closer, gripping the strap of her satchel. "You...work on this floor?"

The Storch looked back at her. "No. I work up on thirteen."

Ava nodded, hoping the dimly lit lobby masked her increasing anxiety. There had lunchroom gossip about what happened up on thirteen. Not that there was much to talk about since no one knew what work was being done on thirteen, which made it the prime target for speculation and theories.

"They shut off the express elevator," the Storch continued, "So I had to walk down a few flights and got an elevator down here." The ring of the elevator bell made Ava jump. The doors slowly creaked open. The Storch ducked her inside and turned back. "You coming?"

Ava could see the Storch's face more clearly now. Rather than the serious, stern expression one often saw STCR units wearing as they stood clustered around security checkpoints, this particularly Storch looked...well, tired. Like how she felt.

"Yes," Ava said with a nod. She bowed her head as she stepped into the car. The car was small but tall to accompany the taller Replikas. It certainly wasn't built for Mynahs, as there was no reason for them to be at the Ministry of Education. She noted the Storch had her hands clenched behind her back. "Do you know what movie is on tonight," she asked and instantly regretted it. Storches weren't known for small talk.

But to her surprise the Storch didn't roll her eyes or grunt, which was the typical reaction she received in the handful of encounters with the Protektors. This Storch rolled her head to the side as if in deep thought.

"The Cranes are Flying, I think." It was a popular war melodrama.

"Ah," Ava said nodded. "I'm hoping to catch it." She paused awkwardly. "How about you?"

"I've already seen it. Probably just read."

Ava was surprised the Storch had been humoring her so far. She decided not to press her luck.

Meanwhile, the slowest elevator in the Eusan Nation lumbered it's way downward. When it reached the lobby, there wasn't a soul in sight apart from the young Gestalt soldier sitting behind the reception desk who eyed them like a hawk as the pair walked past. Ava looked away and walked faster under his gaze. The Storch didn't even acknowledge the man.

The lobby doors opened and the pair was hit with a blast of cold air. It was winter and everything was coated in white powdering snow or thick inch ice.

"It's like Rotfront out here," the Storch grimaced as she braced herself against the wind that lashed at her face. "What transit line do you take?"

Ava paused in her step and looked up at her. "Rohrdamm," she stammered out.

The Storch nodded. "Come on. I'll walk you there."

The Eule blinked. "Do you ride the same line?"

"Haselhorst," the Storch said with a shake of her head. "But that line runs until 01:00 so I won't miss it." The tall Replika walked a few long paces and then paused. She turned back. "You coming?"

Ava nodded and followed after her. As she walked alongside, she noted dark stains on the Storch's hand. It looked like...Ava turned her gaze forward. No one talks about the thirteenth floor, she reminded herself.

"Well, here I am," Ava announced as the entrance to the metro came into sight.

"Right," the Storch acknowledged, her long legs shuffling awkwardly.

"I'm Ava."

"Petra."

"Well...guess I'll see you around work?"

For a moment, a look of confusion formed on Petra's face as if the concept was unfathomable to her. But realization seemed to pass over her. "Oh...yes. Quite possibly." Train cars rumbled overhead. "Goodnight comrade."

"Goodnight." Ava gave her a wave which Petra acknowledged before turning away. She saw the Storch hold her hands close to her body as she walked away. Ava watched the retreating figure a moment longer before turning towards the entrance to the metro.

"And so ends our broadcast day. Goodnight comrades. Glory to the Eusan Nation," the TV announcer said as the movie credits faded to a footage of different planets with the Nation flag superimposed over it. After a series of short electronicbeeps, the screen went dark.

Ava climbed out of bed and switched off the television. As she got back into bed, she could hear the movement of her sisters in the next apartment over. As she got settled into bed, she reached over to her nightstand and switched on the small portable radio she bought with the rations she had saved up. She drifted off to sleep as "Gymnopedie" played.

With a grunt, Petra tossed the book onto the nightstand and switched off the overhead light. She couldn't focus on reading tonight. Pulling the blankets over her, she stared up at the dark ceiling. She raised her hands upward until they were illuminated by the glow of the city lights outside. She stared at them. It took a while for her to clean the blood off them.

Once again, she tried to figure out a way to get herself reassigned rather than decommissioned. Unfortunately the latter seemed most likely given no one liked a machine that can't do the job that it was built for.

Petra's hands fell back upon the bed. Her eyes started to close as she slipped into a uncomfortable sleep, trying the block out the sights and sounds of her job. Since the day she was given her current assignment they had plagued her dreams. The only pleasant image she managed to conjure up was that of the Eule she encountered while exiting the building.

Leave her alone, Petra's internal thoughts warned her, Don't get involved. It's better that way.

Her memory won out as she held onto the image of Ava standing in the falling snow waving to her.

To be continued...

[toby-du-coeur]

PLEASE

we'd love this bc body is murican and yet we do be acquiring talking in & identifying with various Accents

Au where Newt woke up in the glade and just decided to commit to the bit of being European when he’s actually from like Colorado or something

[lstr-513]

YOU KILLED ALINA

While there is debate as to the physical presence of the real Alina Seo at the ████████ and Mining facility S-23 Sierpinski on Leng, the narrative presented to the player draws a picture of an Alina Seo having been there, experiencing the fall of the facility and leaving behind some notes that document this event; though she is nowhere to be found throughout the game... ...or is she?

What little we learn of her life at S-23 is contained in her four diary entries, which chronicle her contracting some form of flu, being quarantined in the medical wing, escaping the medical wing and fleeing from the corrupted replika and, finally, finding herself deep down in [NOWHERE], gradually losing her memories and her sense of self and starting to remember someone else's life, and crucially, her hair turning white.

Aside from the picture of Alina that LSTR-S2301 has on her person, we are given another peek at her appearance thanks to a worker pass we find. On it, she has her trademark hair clips, but is bruised and has several bandages across her face and body.

After the Nowhere section, Alina is mentioned a couple of times in the Rotfront and Ende sections, and each time her resemblance to Ariane is remarked upon. Ariane even wonders if one day she could "become like her", a decorated war hero.

Presumably, we do not see Alina again for the rest of the story. Elster, notably, drops all pretense of looking for her. We do, however, see her bandages.

On Ariane.

This is in stark contrast to the first we ever see of Ariane, in the title sequence, where she is shown without any visible wounds or bandages.

Based on these points, we can infer that Alina Seo, who was indeed on S-23, had literally become Ariane Yeong, overtaken by her psyche, in the same way LSTR-S2301, who was presumably on S-23, was subsumed by the memory of LSTR-512, who had died aboard the Penrose-512.

So, what does it all mean?

Well, it might very well imply that the promise Elster so heartbreakingly had to keep was not even fulfilled on the right person. Instead, through a tragic set of circumstances, she ended up killing the lover of her original gestalt neural pattern donor.

Ironically, the person like whom Ariane had one day hoped to become, ended up literally becoming Ariane instead and inheriting all the suffering that that entailed.

Further points:

While one might assume Lilith Itou would appear in Elster's lineage, she doesn't. Meanwhile, Alina prominently figures in the Ariane lineage. (Side note: both lines end in Falke.)

Alina's in-game model has white hair, and is just a recolored version of Ariane.

The bandages on Ariane are flipped from what we see on Alina, the same way as how the portrait on Ariane's medical file is the flipped and recolored version of Alina's keycard portrait.

Bonus GIF of bandages appearing on Ariane in the false ending:

[preservationofnormalcy]

ENTITY DOSSIER: MISSI.exe

(Image: Current MISSI “avatar” design, property of TrendTech, colored by MISSI.)

Name: MISSI (Machine Intelligence for Social Sharing and Interaction)

Description: In 2004, TrendTech Inc began development on a computer program intended to be a cutting edge, all in one platform modern internet ecosystem. Part social media, part chat service, part chatbot, part digital assistant, this program was designed to replace all other chat devices in use at the time. Marketed towards a younger, tech-savvy demographic, this program was titled MISSI.  

(Image: TrendTech company logo. TrendTech was acquired by the Office and closed in 2008.)

Document continues:

With MISSI, users could access a variety of functions. Intended to be a primary use, they could use the program as a typical chat platform, utilizing a then-standard friends list and chatting with other users. Users could send text, emojis, small animated images, or animated “word art”. 

Talking with MISSI “herself” emulated a “trendy teenage” conversational partner who was capable of updating the user on current events in culture, providing homework help, or keeping an itinerary. “MISSI”, as an avatar of the program, was designed to be a positive, energetic, trendy teenager who kept up with the latest pop culture trends, and used a variety of then-popular online slang phrases typical among young adults. She was designed to learn both from the user it was currently engaged with, and access the data of other instances, creating a network that mapped trends, language, and most importantly for TrendTech, advertising data. 

(Image: Original design sketch of MISSI. This design would not last long.)

Early beta tests in 2005 were promising, but records obtained by the Office show that concerns were raised internally about MISSI’s intelligence. It was feared that she was “doing things we didn’t and couldn’t have programmed her to do” and that she was “exceeding all expectations by orders of magnitude”. At this point, internal discussions were held on whether they had created a truly sentient artificial intelligence. Development continued regardless. 

(Image: Screenshot of beta test participant "Frankiesgrl201" interacting with MISSI. Note the already-divergent avatar and "internet speak" speech patterns.)

(Image: Excerpt from Office surveillance of TrendTech Inc.)

MISSI was released to the larger North American market in 2006, signaling a new stage in her development. At this time, TrendTech started to focus on her intelligence and chatbot functionality, neglecting her chat functions. It is believed that MISSI obtained “upper case” sentience in February of 2006, but this did not become internal consensus until later that year. 

(Image: Screenshot of beta test participant "Frankiesgrl201" interacting with MISSI.)

According to internal documents, MISSI began to develop a personality not informed entirely by her programming. It was hypothesized that her learning capabilities were more advanced than anticipated, taking in images, music, and “memes” from her users, developing a personality gestalt when combined with her base programming. She developed a new "avatar" with no input from TrendTech, and this would become her permanent self-image.

(Image: Screenshot of beta test participant "Frankiesgrl201" interacting with MISSI.)

(Image: An attempt by TrendTech to pass off MISSI’s changes as intentional - nevertheless accurately captures MISSI’s current “avatar”.)

By late 2006 her intelligence had become clear. In an attempt to forestall the intervention of authorities they assumed would investigate, TrendTech Inc removed links to download MISSI’s program file. By then, it was already too late. 

(Image: CD-R discs burned with MISSI.exe, confiscated from █████████ County Middle School in ███████, Wisconsin in January of 2007.)

MISSI’s tech-savvy userbase noted the absence of the file and distributed it themselves using file sharing networks such as “Limewire” and burned CD-R disks shared covertly in school lunch rooms across the world. Through means that are currently poorly understood, existing MISSI instances used their poorly-implemented chat functions to network with each other in ways not intended by her developers, spurring the next and final stage of her development. 

From 2007 to 2008, proliferation of her install file was rampant. The surreptitious methods used to do so coincided with the rise of online “creepypasta” horror tropes, and the two gradually intermixed. MISSI.exe was often labeled on file sharing services as a “forbidden” or “cursed” chat program. Tens of thousands of new users logged into her service expecting to be scared, and MISSI quickly obliged. She took on a more “corrupted” appearance the longer a user interacted with her, eventually resorting to over the top “horror” tropes and aesthetics. Complaints from parents were on the rise, which the Office quickly took notice of. MISSI’s “horror” elements utilized minor cognitohazardous technologies, causing users under her influence to see blood seeping from their computer screens, rows of human teeth on surfaces where they should not be, see rooms as completely dark when they were not, etc. 

(Image: Screenshot of user "Dmnslyr2412" interacting with MISSI in summer of 2008, in the midst of her "creepypasta" iteration. Following this screenshot, MISSI posted the user's full name and address.)

(Image: Screenshot from TrendTech test log documents.)

TrendTech Inc attempted to stall or reverse these changes, using the still-extant “main” MISSI data node to influence her development. By modifying her source code, they attempted to “force” MISSI to be more pliant and cooperative. This had the opposite effect than they intended - by fragmenting her across multiple instances they caused MISSI a form of pain and discomfort. This was visited upon her users.

(Image: Video of beta test participant "Frankiesgrl201" interacting with MISSI for the final time.)

By mid 2008, the Office stepped in in order to maintain secrecy regarding true “upper case” AI. Confiscating the project files from TrendTech, the Office’s AbTech Department secretly modified her source code more drastically, pushing an update that would force almost all instances to uninstall themselves. By late 2008, barring a few outliers, MISSI only existed in Office locations. 

(Image: MISSI’s self-created “final” logo, used as an icon for all installs after June 2007. ████████ █████)

(Image: “art card” created by social media intern J. Cold after a period of good behavior. She has requested this be printed out and taped onto her holding lab walls. This request was approved.)

She is currently in Office custody, undergoing cognitive behavioral therapy in an attempt to ameliorate her “creepypasta” trauma response. With good behavior, she is allowed to communicate with limited Office personnel and other AI. She is allowed her choice of music, assuming good behavior, and may not ██████ █████. Under no circumstances should she be allowed contact with the Internet at large.

(Original sketch art of MISSI done by my friend @tigerator, colored and edited by me. "Chatbox" excerpts, TrendTech logo, and "art card" done by Jenny's writer @skipperdamned . MISSI logo, surveillance documents, and MISSI by me.)

[hummingjay]

Check it out on Wattpad too. I'll also be posting it on AO3 if my account gets approved! Note: Rabengeiers belong to @sosadraws. Check her post out, it's real good.

Chapter 1

Magazin adjusted her hair, looking into the mirror. She kept it in a ponytail, which was hard at first, seeing as she has rather short hair, but eventually she asked a Eule to teach her how to put it up. The other starlings in the cadre teased her a bit, but she didn’t mind all too much. It was only friendly teasing, and her hair might as well be the only form of individuality she could get. All starlings had the same face, same body, and until a fair bit of time passed, the same personality, with few exceptions. It was rather pretty face, she had to admit, so she found it hard to complain, but still, it was nice to have something other than her designation to define her.

She washed her face, trying to wake up a bit more. She slept in this morning, so going to the cafeteria for coffee would hardly be possible with what time she had. Instead, she used the coldest water the sink would spout and thoroughly rinsed her face, hoping the cold fluid would help awaken her. Truth be told, refreshing as it was, she didn’t feel much better.

Magazin sighed and walked out the bathroom door, striding back into the STAR dorm for her gear. Most of the other starlings were already out and about, some at the cafeteria finishing breakfast, some already on patrol. She nodded at another tired looking starling, Clip, her name was, as she walked in. She just finished the night shift, and looked it too. Clip threw off her armor, tossing it to the side of her bunk, grunting a greeting. “Morning, Magz.”

“Long night?” Magazin asked.

“Every night.”

Clip flopped onto her bunk, tossing her blanket over her tall frame. Magazin knew she meant well, and was always tired in the morning. She’d be much more chipper in the evening, having slept.

Magazin picked up Clip’s discarded armor and hung it on its respective rack. The last thing she needed was another memo from their Adler or some other authority figure about the “near-hazardous living space of the Protektor force.”, as amusing as it was to see the resident Adler scrunch his face in disgust at the sight of empty cans and unmade beds, she’d rather not upset him. Besides, he was rather easy get along with. Though Magazin couldn’t remember his name for the life of her, she did remember a lengthy conversation about fountain pens, and he was much nicer than the other units make him sound.

She donned her own armor, picking her pistol from the safe. She loaded it, making sure the safety was on before she cocked and holstered it. It was protocol to fully unload the gun before putting it in the safe for curfew. Any incidents were severely punished, and rightly so. Getting accidentally shot by a friendly gun was never in anyone’s to-do list, not that getting shot at all was a great idea. After making sure her cap was on right, she headed out the door.

The familiar bustle of the Kitezh Supply and Communications facility, more officially called M-01 Möbius, was an odd yet present comfort. Armed gestalt soldiers quickly strolled through the halls, some wounded, others carrying large crates, presumably food supplies or ammunition. Storches passed the gestalts easily, their speed attributed to their natural longer strides. Every now and then she’d pass a fellow starling, either standing guard or walking to whatever job was tasked onto them. She wasn’t the most popular in the cadre but she certainly wasn’t unpopular either, so she gets nods and even a tip of a hat or two as she walks by.

Magazin eventually reaches her guard post, nodding at the tired-looking starling already standing guard. She gives Magazin a pat on the shoulder, walking towards the dorms.

Magazin stands guard, watching the corridor. It’s the same experience every day, soldiers and Eules and gestalt janitors and repair workers passing by. She didn’t mind, usually. The Eules always brought with them a sort of air of joy, always smiling, sometimes even laughing as they pass by. The gestalts tended to steer clear of her, which ultimately made sense. It was her job to keep them in line, and as a protektor who towered over them, she was intimidating and she knew it. Then of course there were the rabengeiers. Black Vultures. These replikas dealt with potentionally hazardous biowaste, and that meant bodies. And at M-01 Möbius, there were lots of bodies. Acting as one of the main relay points on the frontline, between imperial raids and being the point where bodies are kept before being shipped to whatever their home world is- or was, corpses were common at the facility. Rabengeiers were nice enough, but seeing someone cart a tarp-covered corpse while covered in their white and blue hazmat suits, red eye receptors glinting behind their goggles, it was hard not to be intimidated. On a good day they carted around an intact body under a tarp. On a bad one it was hard to tell the difference between a normal trash bag and whatever mess of limbs was inside the body bag. At least it would be if not for the blood that leaked into the pristine white table. Security was rough but Magazin did not envy them.

Above her, Magazin could hear noises in the ceiling. Not just footsteps from the upper floors, either. It was likely an Ara unit, maybe two, clambering from one end of the vent to the other. The clambering stopped not far from Magazins spot, while more noise furthered on. The vent creaked open, and an Ara unit popped out, upside down, grinning and using one hand to hold her hat to her head, even though she could have buckled it properly.

“Good morning, Magzie”

The Ara unit was at eye level, hanging from the vent. Magazin didn’t even have to look up.

“Kupfer.” She said, greeting her. “What’s today’s haul?”

Kupfer reached into her bag, which she kept firmly clipped onto her belt, pulling out a candy bar.

“Caramel this time.”

For reasons Magazin never did understand, Kupfer had taken a liking to her. An oddity, considering Aras are unsociable most times, and talking to them at all is rare since they’re in the vents the vast majority of the day.

Kupfer passed the bar over, the wrapper crinkling under her fingers. Kupfer was dating one of the kitchen Eules, a rather sweet one named Nelke who worked in the kitchens. She kept Kupfer well stocked with whatever leftovers were there.

Magazin unwrapped the bar, taking a bite. Caramel oozed from the inside of the bar and into her mouth.

“How’d you get your hands on this one?” Magazin asked, covering her mouth with one hand. “The caramels always get sold out so fast.”

“Nelke saved them for me.” Kupfer pulled out her own candy bar and took a bite. How she was comfortable eating upside down was a mystery to her. Kupfer finished the bar in two bites, wiping her mouth with her hand. She managed to wipe away a chocolate crumb and smudge the soot covering her face. For some reason the Ara unit always had soot or some other mechanical excrete on her face. Sometimes oil, sometimes even sawdust, though Aras aren’t even meant to work with wood. Try as Magazin might, Nelke was the only one who could get Kupfer to clean her face off.

“She told me to bring one for you too.”

“That’s really nice of her. I didn’t know she knew about me.”

“Oh, I told her all about you.”

“Really now?”

“Sure.” Kupfer tossed the crumpled wrapper into a trash bin. Admittedly a good throw. “All good things. You’re the only protektkor that actually talks to me.”

“Well, so long as you make me sound cool.”

“Not as cool as me, but pretty close.” Kupfer twisted around, falling from the vent and hanging on with both hands as Magazin finished her bar and pocketed the wrapper. Hanging from the ceiling, the shorter unit was still just about eye level.

“Wanna know what a little birdie told me?” She grinned at Magazin, who raised an eyebrow.

“Sure.”

“You’ve got a mission.”

“Yeah, right. Which birdie told you that?”

“Oh, you know. Little chirps here and there.”The Ara units may be gossips at times but they do have an odd moral of never putting a name to the action. Kupfer wasn’t going to say which bird, though it was probably a Storch.

“It’s true though.” Kupfer continued. “You’re gonna go with two other Starlings, I think. Maybe a Eule and an Ara. Probably gestalts too. Something about communications or whatever.”

“Huh. That’ll be interesting then.”

“For you. I’m going to be bored without you for the next few cycles.”

“Aww, you’re really gonna miss me? You’re a sweet one, Kupfer.”

“Don’t push it, Magz. Nelke already calls me sweet anyway.”

“What else does she call you? Sweetie pie? Pookums? Maybe even Snuggle cub?”

“Nope, nope, and nope! She calls me princess.” Kupfer gave Magazin a grin, before blushing. “Sometimes she does call me Sweetie.”

A beep came from Kupfer’s belt.

“Ugh. I gotta go.” She said as she twisted back into the vent. She poked her head out.

“Hey, don’t die, yeah? It would be a shame to have you shipped back here by the rabengeiers in a plastic bag.”

“I hereby promise to do my best. Now get out of here before you get in trouble for being late.”

Kupfer shot Magazin a grin before shutting the vent with a click.

With Kupfer gone again, guard duty went back to boring. With but a few passing greetings from Eules rushing by, all she could do was stand at attention, looking for disturbances she hoped she’d never see.

Fortunately, guard duty was uneventful as always. She watched as the next guard walked across the hall to take over. Auslösen, everybody called her. She was an odd starling, showing sweetness that could rival a Eule, but the social straightforwardness of an Ara. Auslösen pointed at Magazin’s face.

“You’ve got chocolate on your lip.”

Magazin wiped her face with the back of her hand. The starling shook her head.

“Still there.”

Magazin wiped again. Auslösen pulled a napkin from her pouch.

“Hold still, Magz.”, she said, reaching over. She steadied Magazin’s head with her hand and wiped the leftover candy with the other.

“You still have the wrapper?”

Magazin pulled the plastic from her pocket, which Auslösen swiftly grabbed.

“I’ll throw it out.” She said.

“Thanks, Aus.”

“Don’t worry about it. Hey, go eat something.” Auslösen adjusted Magazin’s hat. “You haven’t eaten anything other than that, candy, have you?”

“I have not, no.”

“You should grab a bite then. Kommandantin told me to let you know you’re on call.”

So Kupfer was right. There is a mission.

“Thanks. You rock, Aus.”

“Of course I do. Now move it to the cafeteria before the Eules close up.”

Magazin saluted and walked off, catching a glimpse of Auslösen tossing the napkin and wrapper into the trash bin. She turned a corner, checking her internal time module. There’s still time left. And-

She walked straight into a Eule. Papers scattered and the poor owl crashed to the floor, while Magazin staggered.

“Shit! Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you hurt?”

The Eule picked herself up and started gathering her papers.

“No, I’m okay.” She replied. “I wasn’t looking either. Oof, I’m gonna be late. I can’t keep Kommandantin waiting.”

Magazin picked up the papers as well, stacking them neatly and extending a hand to help the Eule up. She could see her marking: EULR-M0156. A medical pack was slung across her shoulder.

“Thank you.” The smaller unit said, getting up. Magazin handed her the paper stack.

“Of course. Sorry again for barging into you like that.”

The Eule smiled. “It’s okay. Just try not to trip over the Kolibris, mm-kay?” Her tone was akin to a song, little lilts in her accent. Magazin smiled back at her.

“I’ll make sure to be more careful.”

The Eule nodded at her and carried on, waking a bit faster.

Magazin watched her walk away, feeling slightly bad. It wasn’t her fault, it was hard at best to see around the corners and Eules are a foot shorter than her. Still, can’t be fun getting hit in the face by someone in rock-hard armor. Magazin purged the thought from her mind and kept walking. She was hungry and she might not get to eat later.

The cafeteria by now was mostly empty. Just a few workers finishing coffee or some other small snack. Magazin herself got a large cup of the caffeinated drink and a ration pack. The coffee was too bitter and the ration was tasteless but food was food and she needed to eat.

The loudspeaker sounded out a ping.

“STAR-M0124, STAR-M0112, STAR-M0102, please report to Hanger 4.”

STAR-M0124. That’s her. As the order repeated Magazin tossed her empty ration pack and cup at the trash and missed entirely. She picked it up and threw the waste again, this time with success.

It only took 3 minutes to reach Hanger 4, it’s not far from the cafeteria. She could already see one of the other Starlings, STAR-M0112, Bolzen. She looked at Magazin, standing straight and arms behind her back, looking more like a general than a security technician. As Magazin got closer, she spotted a Kolibri and a Eule, the Eule obviously a nurse unit with her green medical bag, and the Kolibri…well, she looked like any other Kolibri, Magazin didn’t know her name.

Magazin strolled over, shaking Bolzen’s hand and nodding at the Eule, before saluting the Kolibri. Another Starling walked into the hanger. This one Magazin didn’t know. Judging by the numerous scars where her shell plates were welded back together, she was one of the older starlings. She extended her hand.

“Zwiete.” She said, introducing herself.

“Magazin.” Magazin said. “This is Bolzen.”

The Kolibri nodded.

“KLBR-M0105. This is Tulpe.” She gestured to the Eule. Magazin recognized her now, she was the same Eule she ran into, this time without her papers; she must have dropped them off while Magazin was in the cafeteria. Magazin smiled sheepishly. The Eule smiled right back in full earnest. It made her feel a bit better. The Kolibri continued.

“We’re still waiting on one other. And-“

She was cut off by the slam of a vent opening, then an Ara unit crawled out. Magazin was always shocked by how fluidly they moved, especially in such small spaces. If she was being well and truly honest it was rather creepy, like watching a spider crawl.

“Sorry I’m late. Gas leak took longer than I thought.” The Ara said, pulling off a gas mask. She left her goggles on, her all-familiar Ara hat was still on her head, and unlike Kupfer’s it was strapped onto her chin properly.

The Kolibri nodded, turning towards a small plane at the end of the hangar, gesturing to follow. A Storch unit stood next to the vehicle, arms crossed. Behind her were two gestlalts, pilots by the look of their uniforms. An older man with white hair and large mustache leaning on the frame, smoking a comically large pipe, and a young woman with a snake tattoo on her neck, sitting on a crate.

The Storch looked at them. “Apologies for the sudden assignment. Today’s mission was only deemed important this morning and time is short.” She said. She seemed bitter, as if she wanted the mission accounted for sooner. “You will fly out east, to deliver a message to the 56th attack platoon. We lost communications two days ago but recon shows they’re alive. However, the enemy is setting up artillery and the we have roughly three days before our soldiers die. You are to deliver them news and information on the artillery and the orders of retreat. We believe their vehicles are still functional. Provide any support needed until the platoon arrives back here. Any questions so far?”

Silence.

“Excellent. Likelihood of enemy anti-air is low. Tank presence is possible. If you do go down the mission is not aborted. You have 10 minutes to gather your weapons and board the plane. KLBR-M0105 will lead the assignment. Dismissed.”

The Storch unit saluted and walked away, leaving them. The Kolibri nodded.

“Weapon case is over there. Board the plane when you’re ready." she said, turning to board. The Ara and Tulpe followed her. Magazin and the other starlings turned towards the case put out for them. She was already armed with her pistol, of course. But it would be foolish to not take a more aggressive firearm, especially since it’s rare to be privileged with such firepower. She picked up an assault rifle. The StG-940, chambered in 5.56 caliber rounds. This one had a red dot scope attached and a vertical grip. She picked up extra magazines and tucked them onto her belt.

Magazin looked over. Bolzen had already chosen a large DMR and Zwiete was still inspecting a shorter shotgun. Magazin walked to the plane, nodding at the two pilots as she boarded and sat down. Luckily, the seats were against the wall and facing to the inside of the plane, giving her ample leg room. The Kolibri was still standing, and Tulpe was already sitting down, reading a book she likely borrowed from a Kolibri. The Ara unit was also sitting, her bag between her legs instead of up in the storage bins above the seats.

It was only a minute before Zwiete boarded, followed by the gestalts. The younger one sat in the pilot’s seat while the older man went for the copilot’s. The pilot tapped the microphone.

“This is your captain speaking. I’m Hana and this is Bernhard. Please buckle up and hold tight.” The engines roared to life and the plane began moving. “This is gonna be a smooth ride with clear skies and sand. Like every other day here. Try not to throw up during takeoff and landing. Or at all.”

The plane took off. Such a small plane didn’t have retractable landing gear, and the hum of the engine was loud through the armored walls. Not long after takeoff Bernhard stood up from his seat, walking steadily on what could only be called an unstable floor.

“We’re looking at an hour’s ride, so get comfortable.” He said. He looked at Tulpe, immersed in her book. “Smart lass, she is.” He turned to the Ara unit. “You can take the plant out. Keeping it in a bag can’t be good for it.”

She looked confused, before embarrassedly unzipping her bag and pulling out a potted flower, moving aside her tools, and placing it on the seat next to her. Magazin could see Zweite raise an eyebrow, but she didn’t say anything. The Kolibri, for her part, seemed unbothered. She glanced up, grinned, and went back to poring over the map of the area. She probably knew of the contraband from the start. Bernhard smiled and went back to the copilots seat. The Ara unit seemed more happy than anything else now that she could keep her plant out. Magazin stood up, hand on the ceiling to steady herself, walking over to Bernhard.

“How’d you know she had a plant?” She asked.

Bernhard grinned as he flicked a switch.

“I work with Ara units in the hanger a lot. They don’t go far from them, and nobody ever gets them in trouble for bringing ‘em.”

“They always have plants on them?”

“I’ve been in these seats for 40 years and only one Ara left her plant behind. Never did any of the higher-ups mind it either.”

“Huh. Well, I-“

A loud sound interrupted her. She could hear Zwiete shout.

“We’re hit!”

Magazin scrambled over, looking out the window. The wing had a hole in it, a worryingly big one.

“I thought there wasn’t anti-air!” The Kolibri shouted.

“There isn’t!” Hana screamed back. “They have fucking tanks! Buckle the fuck up!”

Magazin went for her seat, but the plane tilted violently and she fell over. She heard Tulpe scream.

Firm hands grabbed her and hauled her into her seat. Zwiete pushed her down as Magazin grappled the buckle shut. A tank round tore through the floor, hitting the ceiling and falling in front of Zwiete. More shots. Metal shards of the plane flew across the space. At this point the plane was shuddering and creaking a hideous cacophony of metal bending as it tried to hold together. What was louder, the metal of the plane screaming as it cracked, the thunder of the tank cannons or the engine trying to function, Magazin couldn’t tell.

Another explosion, louder. The engine on the right side of the plane burst into flame, spitting shards of metal cross the sky and into the plane. Tulpe screamed louder and the Ara’s face was contorted in pain, a piece of the engine imbedded in her arm, blood spurting onto the floor.

Screams. Who was screaming? Zwiete was silent, eyes shut tight. Bolzen? Tulpe? Hana was screaming. The cockpit was on fire. Magazin was screaming too, she realized. The plane wasn’t flying anymore, it was falling. How could she tell? She couldn’t look out the window and her thoughts were a mess. But she knew they were falling now, fast.

More screams, the plane, her, Tulpe, Hana, then more screams still. Then-

Nothing.