#grinder machine charging

[foodiotdotin]

Wonderchef Nutri-blend with 3 unbreakable jars| Powerful 400W motor | 22000 RPM Mixer Grinder & Blender | Stainless steel Blades | 2 Years warranty | Online recipe book by Chef Sanjeev Kapoor | Purple

Wonderchef Nutri-blend with 3 unbreakable jars| Powerful 400W motor | 22000 RPM Mixer Grinder & Blender | Stainless steel Blades | 2 Years warranty | Online recipe book by Chef Sanjeev Kapoor | Purple

Price: (as of – Details) Powerful Motor:The compact yet powerful machine grinds the toughest of chutneys and masalas, and ensures nutrition extraction from all fruits and veggies thanks to its incredibly high speed of 22,000 RPM, which is almost twice that of normal mixer-grindersHands-Free operation:Best thing is you don’t need to keep your hand on the lid during operation, for the fear of it…

[ratgrinders]

Honestly it’s not going to happen but it would kind of be insane if maybe not the whole time but after Lucy died, Kipperlily switched on porter and the rest of the team and is using porter to bring back Lucy this whole fucking time.

Like, I hate you all but I love her more than I hate you kind of deal. Like I say this even if Kipperlily knows she must die for Lucy to live, Lucy will live.

YES I LOVE THIS this is so good. I love her more than I hate you yesssssssssss.

To shift your premise slightly, im imagining maybe an AU fic scenario where Lucy's death is enough to shake the conviction of ALL the rat grinders, both in Porter and the belief in what they were doing, but to them its too little too late. Only Now, with their friend gone, do they come to the same conclusion she did but with the crushing realization that they were responsible and there's no turning back. But Kipperlilly's nothing but meticulous with her plans and if the only way out is through, then she's gonna mastermind a way for her and her team bring back her friend, even if she doesn't survive the process. It's too late to stop what's already in motion, the dominos are already falling, but Kipperlilly's made herself Important to Porter, she's in charge of the devil's honey she's the Leader, Jace and Porter trust her enough to handle it on their own, and its that same trust that allows her to hide her own machinations right under their noses. And Kipperlilly can mobilize all the rat grinders at the last possible moment, when Porter least expects it, in her final bid to trade for Lucy's life.

[random-things-of-mine]

𝘊𝘰𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯

Rainbow Factory Wally x GN Reader

- - - - -

"Don't touch any of the machines, there are camera's everywhere. If you still do I will know about it."

Rainbow stated, already regretting to give his alternative versions a tour in his factory.

"And stop bothering my personal assistant, I need them to focus on their job."

Y/n turned to face him, trying to give him reassuring look.

"They aren't that distracting, I can multi task just just fine.”

"You don't look half bad in that labcoat, better than your boss over there." Opposite mumbled.

"Oh thank you-" Y/n heard him and tried be polite.

"I wasn't complimenting you, geez no need to smile."

"Hmm sure."

His face was slightly flushed as he acted all defensively while they just calmly stared at him.

"I think you would look even better without it~" Lovesick joined the conversation, the tone in his voice was very flirty.

"To bad, the labcoats are mandatory." Y/n laughed, seeing no harm in comment.

They where about to say something else but another one of the bunch was already trying to get their attention.

"Get your grabby hands away from that-"

"You are no fun!"

Rainbow was restraining Opposite from mixing different vials with colors together. Wasting the substances as he had no clue on how the techniques they normally used here.

"My sincere apologies but it seems like three members of our group have disappeared...." Royal said apologetically.

Mob had sneaked away to rob the factory cafeteria snacks. His presence intimidating the poor staff.

Actor went out of his way to give out authographs of himself. Also trying to demand- convince everyone to watch his show.

Original had accidentally gotten separated from the group and gotten lost. He was crying somewhere in random hallway.

"We have a sick patiënt here, we might need to head to the infirmary." Priest added, as he pointed at Lovesick who had black substance leaking from his mouth and eyes, leaving stains everywhere.

So all in all things wheren't going that smoothly.

Rainbow looked like he was about to snap, Y/n took his hand leading him away to empty room.

"I shall ban all of them permanently from setting foot again on my property."

"Boss, you are clearly stressed out, let me handle this."

He looked at them, the cold look in his eyes became a bit softer, a bit more caring.

"No, you shouldn't concern yourself with them. Those idiots are my responsibility, not yours."

"But I want to help you, now sit and relax. Imma bring those puppets in line."

He felt his lips slighty curl up into a amused smile.

He had seen them tackle down escaping test subjects and using the grinder to drain color from bodies. Now he thought about it, this might actually be to easy for them.

"You get twenty minutes to get them all in my office."

"I’ll do it in fifteen if you take me out on to a nice restaurant of my choice and you'll be paying for everything."

Rainbow knew they would purposely pick a really fancy and pricy place to drain his funds. He stared at his watch, contemplating. Y/n waited for his anwser, looking at him challenging him to agree or they would call him a scared chicken to his face.

"You get ten minutes, or else we are splitting the costs."

"Deal!"

"Ah free food~ Nothing I love more in this world." Y/n smiled, letting out a exaggerated sigh.

"I can't believe they charge such a ridiculous amount of money for a simple salad." Rainbow grumpily remarked as he stared at the menu card.

The assistant stared at their boss, happy he took the time to dress up for the occasion, it almost felt like a date.

"If you wanted to hold my hand you could've just asked." They giggled, feigning innocence as his prosthetic was placed on top of their hand (having moved it themselves as he wasn't paying attention).

"I don't recall leaving my hand in that position... someone is in a cheeky mood I see." He said, now putting pressure onto the weight of his arm, trapping their hand under his one.

"Hey! I still need that arm to eat."

"That's to bad, afterall I just wanted to hold your hand so badly." He said mockingly.

Y/n tried to get free but their attempts where in vain, now they couldn't properly eat as they had terrible coordination skills with their other hand.

Rainbow smiled maliciously as he held up a spoonfull of food for them. He used his own free hand to hold it out for them to eat from.

"You seem to be struggling, let me help you."

"I don't want to be spoonfed, I'm not a kid (you wheren't Ophelia 🥰) !"

"Should've thought about that earlier, I don't intend on letting go of your arm now. So accept my offer here or starve."

"Can you at least give me something tasty, I don't want your salad. Unlike you I'm not on a diet."

Rainbow shoved the spoonful of his healthy nutritious meal into Y/n's mouth, deaf to their protests and complaints.

- - - - -

[drunkenskunk]

Working on something for my next Lancer game on Sunday.

Despite technically leveling up to LL5 in the last session, my character Scarlet is still piloting the Everest she started in (R4GE MACHINE, BIG RED, or simply RED, depending on who you ask), and this is the (possibly incomplete) list of all the previous pilots who have used - and died in - this particular mech.

I'm wondering if I should add more names to this list, or if it's already too long.

On the one hand: I'm thinking I should add more, partly because I can only imagine campaigns like the Hercynian Crisis, the Union Civil War, and the Interest War were absolute fucking meat grinders... but also because I want to have the same vibe as one very particular line from the Tex Talks Battletech video on the Charger:

"As such, the Charger of the Succession Wars is, in every likelihood, this rusty, dented kaiju of a war machine that's burned up 20 pilots in 6 months, which may come charging in at any time to escort you and your home team into the afterlife... or explode gloriously in the process. And this cycle would continue until the Charger produced a hero, or became a very brief, and very dirty star."

(36:49, for those curious about the timestamp)

On the other hand: I'm worried that this list is already too long, and if I make it any longer, then this list of dead mech pilots is going to go straight past horrifying and end up just being stupid.

Anyone have any thoughts?

(Also: yes. Usage of the Titanfall Protocols is a Very Deliberate Choice here.)

[jams-sims]

Im sorry the fight between Kipper and Riz is killing me. Im catching up with newest video. An the fact she really charged Riz and he fucking whipped around and dug into her.

I think its finally clicking whats going on this year for the Bad kids. Fig ends up going off about how Reuben wasted her season, how his music is shit and it will always be shit because you're a bad person.

Riz screams at Kipper saying "Your a freak! You grinded instead of getting good at the game! Thats why you suck at pvp!"

Heres the thing- the Rat Grinder are what the Bad kids could have been. While yes their situation is diffcult and complex. The reason why the Bad kids are so mad is because they worked their asses off to get where they are.

Now in real world grinding, you fight the rats yourself. You are atleast getting expierence even if it just baby enemines YOU are the one doing the fighting. But they didn't even do that. They brought the monster to a "machine" which just pumped out EXP. They didnt even kill the rats or low level monster themsleves.

Yes the Bad kids are fucked up too. But they at least trying and the Rat grinders are kids- that while some adult should jump in and tell them. "Hey you were taken advantage of-" a bunch of teens who had been struggling mental wise should not be the ones to do it. So the Bad kids being cut throat with the Ratgrinders makes sense.

[hastalavistabyebye]

Hi o/ From the WIP game, Jedi Fox AU maybe o.o?

Aaah the Jedi Fox au.... It technically shouldn't be part of this game because I've already talked about it (so much, so many times... 😅) and you, dearest, have heard even more than everybody else xD

But yeah, it's, I think, my favorite au really. At some point I've started to put practically every cool ideas I've got in it, especially if they could prosper in a post-war, safe and happy environment (just like Fox and the Guard)

It's gonna be a series obviously. In the first work, Fox will have to go through the meat grinder again 😅 but he get healing, therapy, an even bigger family (and even more people, especially medics and healers, breathing down his neck to make sure he take care of himself) out of it. Plus a lightsaber. As a treat 😋

What can I say ? He deserves to be part of the Shatterpoint lineage 🤷 it's the lineage of badass, responsible and competent people who can plan mischief without anyone knowing after all.

It's also the au where I'm showing of all my Corries OC's, so that's a bonus xD

He ended up on Coruscant. 

For the first time, he thought he wouldn’t run anymore, just stand there. Waiting. Maybe waiting for his brothers to come back. Or the troubles of war to come in. Maybe waiting for the death he had so actively hid away from, there wasn’t anything to make her wait in his shadow anymore, after all. He was alone with his troops, his brothers. It was just them and the civilians in their charge. What would he need to run away from ?

That’s what he thought in the Venator that sent them to Triple Zero. That’s what he never thought about again. 

Coruscant felt like a treadmill. As long as you stood on it, you needed to run, and fast, because the machine was broken. Everytime you tried to slow it down, it picked up speed. Everytime you stumbled, it picked up speed. Everytime you lost yourself in the steady, repetitive movements, forgetting the aches and focusing only on your breath, it picked speed.

[nanamithebunny]

My Rainbow Factory AU OC Damien.

He is the head mechanic and machine developer of the Rainbow Factory. He is in charge of making new devices to extract spectra from subjects to keep them alive and not use the grinder. He invented The Extractor, which is a syringe like device that drains the color from a subject leaving them greyscaled but alive. Once in this condition they are sent off for testing while the color is saved. In the early testing of this device, a mistake occurred causing the device to explode and cause parts of Damien's body to develop greyscale. As the greyscale progresses it causes him excruciating pain. The only way to slow the progression is by using the spectra injections he is given by Walden.

[filamints]

in honor of 413 and commander palmer's birthday both being today, i bring you cringe, your honor

doodles of spartan ops crew trolls. ignorable longwinded logic below the cut for your convenience

overall notes: their symbols were all pulled from the hiveswap extended zodiac, and palmer just so happened to pull true aries as well.

troll society and halo society (particularly spartans) also really seem to neatly map on to each other in a lot of ways. sci-fi society raising children specifically to feed to the intergalactic war machine meat grinder, anyone? anyway, their blood colors also fit pretty well with the character that had establish color connections, all spartans would be low blood soldiers

character specific: palmer got true aries on the extended zodiac, gave her rust in the first place to keep the red on her suit

roland being yellow is literally perfect, hes still in charge of the ship, but in a more literal way now, having filled the typical yellow castes duty of 'telekenetic space ship battery', hes a real prodigy to keep something as vast as the infinity moving

lasky gets blue as an higher blood thats still just a cog in the greater machine

miller (remember good friend spartan jared miller? from spartan ops? no? ok...) also gets another very low blood ranking, being a spartan. his suit also has coppery colors in it already, woohoo!

[mspiggy]

unsurprisingly, i actually knew one of the people interviewed in that NYT article about "new brunswick neurological syndrome of unknown etiology" (wayback machine link)... and also unsurprisingly, glyphosate, a pesticide which has been linked to increased risks of parkinson's and alzheimer's that is still widely sprayed on new brunswick's forests, is potentially to blame! enjoy my aimless ranting under the cut.

tl;dr: capitalism is poison and canada should be destroyed and new brunswick is a microcosm of why.

i get the feeling that a lot of non-canadians don't really know about the atlantic provinces so let me just say: new brunswick is an incredibly corrupt province that runs on forestries, fisheries, and tourism. it is stolen land that has been poisoned for almost four centuries, both figuratively by the canadian settler-colonial project, and literally by the corporations that now control it. the majority of its population exists to be meat for the great Irving family grinder. and when it's not kowtowing to corporate interests, the government props up useless dying entertainments like harness racing, allows christofascism to control the schools despite teachers' pleas, makes abortion access practically impossible, and begs doctors not to speak out about the environmental harm being done to the population because it might make the stupid peasants scared and upset with their overlords.

there is no way to escape it within the current system. no political party is incorruptible; if you want to get elected, you need to appease the corporations who are really in charge. the only way out of this fucking mess is revolution. the only way out of this fucking mess is ending new brunswick, ending canada, and returning the land to the mi'kmaq and wolastoqiyik, and all the indigenous peoples who stewarded it before it was stolen from them.

[subspaceember]

73 years ago, a horde of monsters were unleashed. When the town fell under siege the last remains of a robotic labor force was sent to fight off the wave of destruction. All of them fell to claws to fangs and sharped teeth, all save one. She charged through the wave of destruction, and as steel broke and gear trains stripped and warnings flew past she broke through the onslaught. Her displays now dark and frame warped as smoke poured out, the creatures fled back into the darkness, and the world went quiet and the town was saved from annihilation. Or so the story goes. They wheeled her broken frame into the center of town and turned it into a monument before the dome was built. However, 73 years later, one woman felt differently about the machine than everyone else. She didn't just see rusted metal and old stories, she saw her; and tonight, she's set out with angle grinder and hand-cart in hand, because she refuses to let the one thing she's cared about rust away before her eyes.

[tinyinvadr]

Here we go, the infamous Meat Circus!

Psychoborrower

Chapter 14

The inside of the tent was huge, definitely bigger than it let on from outside. While I hadn’t been to a circus before, it looked how I would expect one to look. Well, besides the meat theming.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a big meat grinder with a picture of a bunny on it.

Right. Humans eat those things sometimes. Totally normal and not horrifically traumatizing to me specifically. Nope.

Something fell into the grinder from above, and the machine sprung to life, making a series of disgusting noises as it blended up whatever was inside of it. I had no intention of sticking around to see what came out of it, so I climbed a nearby ladder to begin my search for Raz.

I’m no acrobat, but any borrower who wants a chance at survival has to be decently agile, so I was able to work my way up the platforms. I did have to rely on my powers a bit, and swinging across bone trapezes made me anxious in more ways than one, but I felt confident that I’d make it through this insane circus.

I was almost at the top, and I could see Raz and a kid in a propeller cap running around on the steak platform directly above me. I levitated up to join them, and it was there that I finally saw the aftermath of the meat grinders.

Hideous mutant bunny monsters tumbled out, and in that moment it felt like my heart stopped. Not even my worst nightmares could conjure up something this disturbing.

The bunnies split up, one going to attack Raz, the other going after the little kid. Raz was at least able to fight back, but the boy in the propeller hat was completely defenseless. That, and he didn’t seem all that concerned for his own safety. As the monsters continued to attack him, his focus remained on a normal, non-mutated bunny.

“Come back, Mr. Bun! Or Daddy’s gonna kill you!”

Finally, it all made sense. The bunnies in Basic Braining. The meat. That was Oleander’s trauma. He reverted to his child self in his mind, and was reliving a memory of his father killing bunnies. It was all some freaky coincidence that I also happened to have bunny related trauma.

Of course, my situation was very different. While he viewed those creatures as innocent and vulnerable, I only saw them as monsters that tried to kill my Mom and acted as the catalyst that ruined my relationship with my family.

They were a threat that I felt powerless against, because no matter what I did, I could still hear my parents’ voices. I could still feel the shame they placed on me for using my powers, even knowing deep down that I did the right thing.

Then, it happened again. Just like in Basic Braining, I lost control over my projection and shrank at the sight of the bunnies. Starting to panic, I tried to shift back, but it wouldn’t work.

“Hang in there, Oly! Just need to get more Confusion Grenades!”

As Raz was still fighting the bunny monster, two more dropped out of the grinders, and they all ganged up on him. They cornered him on the edge of the platform, and I could see he was about to lose balance and fall off.

Still, all I could do was panic. My focus was nonexistent as I essentially watched that awful memory play out all over again. I couldn’t fight. She’d never forgive me…

Wait. No. This wasn’t Mom. This was Raz. He wouldn’t care if I used my powers to save him. I could do this…

I focused on the monsters. On how much I hated them for hurting the people I care about. Just like Sasha taught me, I took control of my emotions and released them in a PSI-Blast.

Immediately after hitting them, the monsters turned their attention to me.

“That’s right. I’m right here. Come and get me.”

They charged at me, and Raz took that opportunity to set them on fire, quickly killing them before they could reach me. As soon as the coast was clear, he ran over to pick me up and hug me.

“Flint! That was incredible! But… what are you doing here?”

“I’m here to save you, ya big dork. Well, I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to be doing other than keep you from dying. What about you?”

He pointed to little Oly, who was still running after the bunny with no chance of catching up to it.

“Same thing, but for him. This version of Oleander doesn’t know how to use his psychic powers yet, so I’ve gotta keep those monsters away from him. With our minds fused, if one of us dies, we both will.”

The meat grinders started up again, so I grabbed Mr. Bun with Telekinesis and held him up for Oly. He happily took the bunny and flew off to a higher platform using his propeller cap.

“We’d better follow him.”

Raz put me on his shoulder, and we managed to get up to the next platform just before the bunny monsters could attack us again. Unfortunately, little Oly didn’t want to stay put, and he went ahead and got onto the tunnel of love ride.

“Huh… weird that this ride exists in such a loveless place.”

“I can tell you right now you’re not gonna love this. Hold on tight, Flint.”

With only that brief warning ahead of time, Raz jumped onto the unsteady, partially broken railway and slid across it at top speed. The track made all sorts of unusual twists and turns that completely disregarded real world physics, but I tried not to let it faze me. I’d already been through Boyd’s mind, after all.

At the end of the railway was the big top. This tent was bigger than the first, but eerily empty. There wasn’t any sort of setup for circus performers. The only thing of note was a massive chasm in the floor with spinning blades.

“Why… Why would anyone need a meat grinder that big?”

A very panicked Oly ran over to us, having relocated the bunny to somewhere safer. A relief on my part. I still don’t like looking at those things.

“You’ve gotta get out of here! My Dad’s coming!”

We heard the sound of evil laughter and huge, stomping footsteps. An unbelievably giant man armed with bloody cleavers arrived, and he stared us down with predatory eyes.

“Ahh… more little bunnies!”

Oly screamed and made a run for it, but Raz stayed put. If I had the chance, I probably would’ve run too. But I wasn’t leaving Raz’s side, and we had to deal with this guy one way or another, or else he’d keep terrorizing us.

For some reason, I thought covering up my fear with snarky comments was a good idea.

“We’re not bunnies. In fact, I’m insulted you’d even make that mistake.”

He went into another fit of maniacal laughter.

“All meat’s the same once it’s gone through the grinder!”

At that, the butcher started trying to chop us up with his cleavers. Raz put up his shield, and we had to dodge all of his attacks until we could get him into a position to land punches on him.

The big guy didn’t move very fast, so avoiding him wasn’t that hard, but the constant threat of accidentally slipping into the grinder was anxiety-inducing. I thought we almost had him, but then he sliced a hole in the tent and threw Raz through it, causing me to fall off his shoulder in the process.

It all happened so fast, and levitation couldn’t save me. I was about to plummet headfirst into the meat grinder and it was too late to stop it. I could only hope that this wouldn’t actually kill me and I’d just be booted from their minds, but this was a unique case, so I wasn’t sure what to expect.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to find out.

“Gotcha! It’s okay, little guy! I won’t let him hurt you!”

It turns out little Oly came back, and he caught me at just the right time.

It was strange to think that this sweet little kid would grow up to concoct such an evil plot to take over the world, but I guess trauma does crazy things to the mind.

“Oh Morceau, when will you learn? Little runts like that are only good for one thing!”

“No! You’re wrong! He’s my friend, and he’s got thoughts and feelings just like us!”

“Don’t use that tone with me, young man! Prepare to be… GROUNDED!!”

I could only imagine how Oly felt in that moment. It was horrifying enough to see this supposed father hunt down his innocent child, but the kid had to be scared out of his mind. And yet, he was still adamant on protecting me.

“Oly, you’ve gotta listen to me. You’re psychic. You can fight back. Don’t let him make you feel small.”

“But… how?”

I took a deep breath, focusing my energy, and I was finally able to shift to human size again.

“Follow my lead.”

In that moment, it felt like all my training paid off. I was passing on all the things I learned at camp to an inexperienced kid who needed guidance. Everything I learned from Sasha, Milla, and Coach over the years…

Wait, I taught the kid version of Coach stuff that I learned from him, so does that make me the teacher? Or is it an unending cycle of us teaching each other? Yeah, not gonna dwell on that anymore, don’t want my head to explode.

We defended ourselves against the butcher, but we still struggled to land a hit on him. Then, a portal opened behind him, spitting out Raz and a creepy, zombie-looking version of his dad.

“Just as I thought, Razputin. You’ve gone and made filthy psychic friends! Look at how they’ve been terrorizing poor Butch here!”

“But, Dad, they-”

“I don’t wanna hear it, son! This ends now…”

We were all in place for what looked to be the final showdown. Even though we outnumbered them, two angry dads are a force to be reckoned with. I could only hope that I taught Oly well enough in that short time, and that the three of us would be enough to take them down.

Or that Raz’s actual dad would join us soon since he seemed to know what he was doing. I sure as hell didn’t.

[foodiotdotin]

Wonderchef Nutri-blend Thunder Mixer, Grinder & Blender | Powerful 1000W 22000 RPM Motor | SS 6-Blade Assembly | 2 Unbreakable Tritan Jars | 2 Years Warranty | Online Recipe Book By Chef Sanjeev Kapoor | Black Silver

Wonderchef Nutri-blend Thunder Mixer, Grinder & Blender | Powerful 1000W 22000 RPM Motor | SS 6-Blade Assembly | 2 Unbreakable Tritan Jars | 2 Years Warranty | Online Recipe Book By Chef Sanjeev Kapoor | Black Silver

Price: (as of – Details)

[kelyon]

Live Wire 4: Living Together

Belle is a ghost haunting the electricity in Gold's house.

Belle and Gold share a life together

Read on AO3

Being a ghost was so much better when someone knew you were alive. For the first time in decades, Belle’s existence had meaning again. Gold and Bae lived in her house and Gold knew about her! She knew their names because he had told her! Gold had understood that the flashing lights and unusually active electronics meant that something was there. He had seen her reaching out--the first person in over a hundred years who had noticed her. He had made an effort to communicate with her. He had called her by her name! 

For so long, Belle had been lonely, lonelier than a living person ever could be. She’d watched a family live their lives--grow up and grow old around her--and none of them had ever known she was there. But Gold knew. He had figured it out. Until the end of time, or whenever she stopped existing, Belle would be grateful to him. Him acknowledging her gave her a purpose. Now, all she wanted to do was help her Gold and his son. 

****

It was difficult at first. Electronics had changed since the days of the family. Bae and Gold both spent most of their time staring at devices. Not only the television and Bae’s video games, but portable computing machines and strange, flat telephones that apparently served as windows to the entire world. A world that she was still locked out of. Belle’s abilities were connected to the house, to the wires and outlets in the walls where she’d died. These new marvels only had to be plugged into the wall some of the time--usually when they weren’t being used. There was no way for her to enter a battery and spend the day in Gold’s pocket. 

Often, Bae forgot to set the alarm on his cell phone. Belle could only make it ring if he had plugged it in to charge--which he didn’t always do. When this happened, she would try to wake him up some other way, by flashing the lights or turning the filter on his aquarium on and off. Sometimes he would sleep through those, which meant Gold would have to walk up three flights of stairs on his bad leg just to tell his son that breakfast was ready. 

This infuriated Belle. There was nothing worse than having no effect on circumstances around her. It defeated the whole purpose of existing! These occasions were when she truly felt like a ghost--unable to do anything but watch people she loved suffer.

Quickly, Gold learned Belle’s limitations, and even more quickly understood how much she hated them. To accommodate her, he brought a pair of clock radios from his pawn shop into his and Bae’s bedrooms. Gold told Bae that it would be better to keep their phones downstairs, to limit screen time for both of them. Bae complained, but eventually conceded that the clocks were “retro,” which was apparently satisfactory.

Now Belle could wake them up in the mornings without any problems. She tuned the radios to music they would like, woke them in ways that suited them best. Gold liked classical music played at a slowly-increasing volume. He could ease into a morning like a sunrise. Bae, on the other hand, would sleep through anything less subtle than a Klaxon Company automobile horn. Over time, Belle found that if she blasted classic rock and roll music at a high enough volume, Bae would be out of bed and halfway through brushing his teeth before he’d even opened his eyes. She made his bedroom lights a little dim on dark Maine mornings, so it would be easier for the boy to blink himself awake.

Belle loved the hustle and bustle of their morning routines, especially in the kitchen. She was there in the grinder for Gold’s coffee beans, and heating up the coffee itself. Bae’s Pop-Tarts never burned and were never too hot in the middle. If they made oatmeal on the stove, Belle balanced the heating element to make sure the milk never scalded the pot. On weekends, Gold would fry bacon and eggs or pancakes on the electric griddle, squeeze oranges in an electric juicer. Everything came out perfect. Belle made sure of that. 

These were, mostly, the same services she used to do for the family. The appliances were more advanced, but she figured them out. It was nice to have a challenge again, something to occupy her mind. 

Gold made all the difference. He didn’t talk to her in front of his son, but he let her know he knew she was there. He would mutter words of thanks under his breath, knowing she was always listening. The way he touched his appliances was almost a caress, and she was sure he only did it because of her. He would wipe the machines down after each use, keeping them clean on the outside, while Belle maintained them on the inside.      

He never officially told Bae that Belle existed. He did speak openly about the “spiritual essence” of the house and how “benevolent forces” were watching over them. Bae seemed to take such statements in stride, believing Gold as much as any teen-ager believed anything their parents said. 

Belle didn’t blame the boy for not believing in ghosts. Nor did she blame Gold for being cagey about her existence. Even with proof, the idea that the soul of a woman from a hundred years ago was haunting the electricity of one’s house was a lot to ask someone to accept. She had hardly believed it when Gold had first spoken her name.

Sometimes she still couldn’t believe he had kept talking to her once she had made her presence known. 

****

Through a lengthy process of trial and error, they developed a way of communicating together. At first, everything had been very one-way. Gold would speak and Belle would flash the lights to answer yes or no questions. Attempts to utilize Mr. Morse’s telegraph code ended up being too cumbersome for a regular conversation. Gold would lose count of the dashes and dots, or Belle would be so excited to say something she would hurry through her flickers. She’d make a long blink of the lights too short and a short blink barely visible at all. Gold would get confused and they’d have to start all over again. 

The breakthrough came when Gold brought home a magnetic tape recorder. He kept it in the office he shared with Bae, telling his son that he was recording a daily journal. That was just a cover. The real purpose of the tape recorder was something he could pretend to be talking into, while he was giving Belle a long monologue of his thoughts.

He told her about his day, about Storybrooke and the world outside the house, the daily hassles and minor celebrations of a small town. He told her about history, what had changed since she had been alive. He told her about himself. About Bae. About the wife he was now divorced from and the journey of self-actualization he had undertaken that had led him to where he was now. 

Belle took in every word. She hadn’t realized how ravenous she was for new information--for stories as well as facts. Gold had so much to speak about, including things he had never told anyone before. 

If only she could reciprocate! Belle had as much to tell Gold as he had to tell her. She wanted to give him knowledge from her time, little details that didn’t get written about in history books. She would tell him more about the house, of the family that had lived their lives here. She would tell him of herself--all the thoughts and feelings, joys and sorrows, that she had never been able to express to a living soul.

She would tell him how much it meant to her that he treated her like a person.

****

For a few weeks, Gold made his “recordings” at night, after Bae had gone to sleep. One night, the boy suffered from a bout of biliousness and sought his father out. Gold directed his son to the stomach medications, then sent him back to bed. On his way out of the office, Bae had pointed out that the plug for the tape recorder was dangling from the table, well away from the outlet. To save face, Gold hastily plugged in the cord, then went to bed himself.

Leaving Belle alone with a tape recorder that was--for the first time--connected to her. 

She settled in, exploring the machine as she did every new device. She manipulated the buttons, made the spools of tape spin around at varying speeds, played back the ancient recording that was on the tape. She even went into the microphone Gold spoke into. For a lark, Belle swooped around the wiring, finding it particularly sensitive to vibrations. She jumped back and forth along a thin ribbon of metal between two magnets.

She did this for a while, until the tape ran out and the Record button snapped back into place. The sudden change got her attention. Had that button been pushed down the whole time? Had she been recording something?

Carefully, Belle rotated the spindles that were in the center of the circular reels of tape. That wound the tape backwards from one spool to the other, so it was starting at the beginning again. From inside the machine, she pushed down the button marked Play. 

She tried not to get her hopes up that the recorder had actually captured any sound. She was merely experimenting. She just had to make sure that her hypothesis was correct. Besides, what else did she have to do with her time?

For forty-five minutes, Belle listened to the crackles and whirs of the recorder playing back the silence of an empty room. Then, towards the end, there came a barrage of strange sounds of varying pitch. It was so loud, Belle had to turn down the volume for fear of waking up Gold or Bae. As she listened more, she understood what she was hearing. 

If she breathed, her breath would have stopped.

Belle was hearing the effects of her presence in the microphone. Playing back and forth with the ribbon of wire, doing that had made noise.  

Noise.

It wasn’t sound yet. 

But it was a start. 

****

She spent the rest of the night refining her understanding of the microphone. She recorded her efforts, rewound the tape again and again, and listened to the results. Through this process, the noises turned into sounds. Then the sounds became a voice. 

Her voice.

For the first time in over a hundred years, Belle heard her own voice.

“Hello?”

Her voice sounded on the edge of tears--though she had no eyes to cry with, no throat to close up with emotion. 

“Gold? Gold, I’m aware of the incomprehensibility of these circumstances, but you have my absolute assurance of reality. This is me.” The voice from the recorder was almost sobbing. “This is Belle French, speaking to you.”

Her words began to speed up, as the gravity of the situation lifted and all that was left was the euphoria.

“As I speak, it is twenty-seven minutes past four in the morning. There is nothing in the world I want more than to wake you this minute and bring you into your office to hear me. I--I’m so… overcome, to share this news with you. To share myself with you.” She gave out a chuckle, a breath that she didn’t have. “I hope you can appreciate the twofold blessing of this event: That at last I have the ability to speak to you, and that I can share this accomplishment with you. There is the joyous discovery itself, and then the… the communion of joy, I suppose would be the way to put it, though that has a ring of religiosity that may not be appropriate given my supernatural circumstances. I never gave much credence to spiritualism, but…”

She babbled on until the tape ran out. It was tempting to rewind the reels and record over her first message in the hopes that now she might be more coherent, but there was such sincerity in her first attempt. Belle had no desire to deny the depth of feeling that had gripped her at the first thought of sharing her voice with another person.

And the thought of sharing her voice with Gold, specifically. 

Nervous and excited, Belle burned off a little power by zooming through the house and revving up every device one by one. From outside Bae’s room in the attic, down to the basement chest freezer, she gave a boost to everything she touched. 

It wasn’t enough. Her happiness burned so brightly, there was no bulb that could contain it. She could power a spotlight, a searchlight, she could rival the sun.

She couldn’t wait anymore. It was close enough to Gold’s regular alarm time. Waking him now wouldn’t spoil his day.

Belle burst into the radio at full volume, turned on every light in his bedroom at once. Gold groaned and cursed and covered his eyes. At least he had been aware of her for long enough to instantly understand that she was trying to get his attention. 

“What?” he croaked. His voice was always rough and deep when he first woke up. “What is it, Belle?”

She blinked the lights in a path leading to his bathroom, signaling that she wanted him to get up and get ready.

Still in bed, Gold looked at the clock. “It’s early.” He complained as badly as Bae did. “What are you trying to tell me?”

Belle retraced the pattern of light bulbs leading from Gold’s bed to the bathroom--one by one, deliberately, to signal that she was being very patient and repeating herself for his benefit. 

Groggily, infuriatingly slowly, Gold got out of bed and began to dress. 

Over the years, Belle had made a habit of turning away from her inhabitants during private moments. Curious as she might be about Gold’s body, she was no peeping tom. Today, however, she was sorely tempted to make an exception--just to make sure he hadn’t gone back to sleep. 

Finally, Gold  appeared in front of his bedroom, fully appareled in one of his modern suits. Belle lit a path of lights down the hall to his office. She had to blink the desk lamp several times before he understood that she wanted him to sit down. By no means could she begin the recording while he was still standing.

As soon as her voice came out of the speaker, Gold’s lingering irritation melted away. The hard lines of his face went soft, and he put his hand over his mouth. His other hand shook as he reached to stop the tape.

“Belle?” he whispered. He directed his question to the tape recorder. There were tears in his eyes. “Belle is that really you?”

She started to blink the lamp, then thought of something better. She re-wound the tape, and went into the microphone. It only took her a second to record her answer, then she pressed Play.

“Yes, Gold. It’s really me.”

****

After that, everything changed. Gold found more recording devices and placed them all around the house. The kitchen, the living room, his bedroom--anywhere where they might want to talk to each other. He even acquired a portable ‘boom box’ that he could plug into an outlet on the front porch.  Bae was out of the house more often nowadays, spending time with his friends or at extracurricular activities. More evenings than not, the two of them were alone together.

“If it weren’t for you, I might lose myself in work again,” Gold told her one evening. He was alone in the dining room, savoring the supper he had made for himself. “I’m so glad I have you.” 

Belle knew what he was going to say, so she had her recorded answer ready: “I’m glad I have you, too.”

Now that they could really talk to each other, the closeness that had begun to grow between them blossomed into a deeper intimacy. Belle could ask questions of her Gold, she could offer her opinions. Gold would invite people from town into the house for dinner or a party, and then spend the rest of the night talking to Belle about them. When Bae’s friends and girl-friends came over, she would tell Gold who she thought was a good influence on him. He wanted to know what she thought, about everything that happened and everyone she met.

“I always wanted a man who would listen to me,” Belle told him once. “Back when I thought marriage was inevitable. There weren’t many men who would, in my day.”

Gold was in the process of taking off his shoes and putting his feet up at the end of a long day. The cold of a Maine winter played hell on his bad ankle, so he plugged in a heating pad and propped up his leg before he went to bed. Belle touched him through the insulated wires, rubbing and warming him, easing his pain. 

“I’ve always thought of love as being a home,” he sighed. “When you love someone, you should feel comfortable, and safe--” A yawn broke through his sentence. “--and warm.”

Belle couldn’t devote her attention to the heating pad and the tape recorder at the same time. It took her a moment to make a reply:

“You almost sound like you’re saying you love me.”

Gold smiled. That soft, sweet, almost-silly smile that he only wore when they were alone together. “I think I do, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Yes, Belle, I’m sure of it. I love you.”

****

The power surge blew every fuse in the house’s breaker box. Once Gold replaced them all and the electricity was restored, Belle was able to tell him that she loved him too.

****

Now that they had declared their love, Belle no longer felt compelled to look away when Gold dressed or bathed. Instead, she drank in the sight of him--though he was always a little embarrassed to be seen naked under  full lights. She told him how handsome she thought he was, the little details she found charming, how curious she was about the male body. Man of the world though he was, it made him blush to hear such sentiments played on a recording at full volume. 

It was much more comfortable for Gold when he could lay on his bed underneath an electric blanket. Darkness and closeness were more what he was used to in lovemaking. Through heated wires, Belle felt the shape of his form--the width of his shoulders, the grip of his large hands, the bulge of his sex. 

Both of them hesitated for her to get too close to his flesh. He said that there were ways--that there was equipment he could purchase for ‘electronic stimulation.’ Apparently some people sought out the sensation and accepted any potential risks. Belle said it wasn’t necessary. She couldn’t bear the possibility of hurting her Gold. And who could say if she’d be able to control herself in the midst of an erotic frenzy?

Safer by far to stick with the blanket. If he drew it up over his face, she could trace the shape of his lips, press into him like a kiss. Without any risk of injury, she could seek out all the parts of him that were sensitive. His nipples, his throat, the insides of his arms--she pulsed flutters of heat over his body. She touched him, while he touched himself. He whispered his fantasies of how beautiful he imagined her body was, of what he would do to her if she was with him, what they would do together.

There was, Belle could not deny, a little pang of loss every time he spoke about her body. At this point, she knew Gold in every way that mattered, and he knew her in every way but one. Was that enough?  Would their bond be stronger if she had skin for him to touch? Would they be any more intimate if she had a pulse that would quicken at his bold words? Would his passion increase if he could feel her labored breath against his ear? Would her existence matter more if she could physically experience the joys of the flesh? 

She could convince herself that the answer to these questions would always be a resounding no, but there were other matters that tore at her heart. Might they love each other more if they could have a child together? If they could have a life together? Was it wrong for the dead to love the living? Was Belle hurting Gold by keeping him a homebody, keeping him from seeking out a living companion? She had always wanted to see the world, to travel and explore. Just because she was trapped in these wires, there was no need for him to be bound to her.

He told her how he loved her, how happy she made him. He whispered nothings to her as he drifted off to sleep. Belle rested in the wires of his blanket, pressing herself against him like a spooning lover. If he rolled onto his back, she would form herself on top of him, the shape of the girl who had last drawn breath before Gold’s parents and grandparents were born. 

Her dearest love had so little time, all living people did. How could she ask him to waste it with her?

“Because I love you,” he told her once when she brought up her concerns. “Because I’ve already lived a life full of events but empty of meaning. The only things I’ve ever done that were truly worthwhile were to raise Bae and to find you.”

“But--” She had a reply recorded, but Gold stopped the tape.

“I was already resolved to spend the rest of my life in this house.” His voice was unemotional, but certain. “The only difference that meeting you makes is that now I don’t have to do it alone. And neither do you, sweetheart.” He stretched his hand wide over the recorder. “I don’t want you to be alone anymore. I’m never going to leave you, for as long as I can help it.”

****

As Bae grew older, Belle met Gold’s desire for companionship more and more. Their boy moved out of the house to go to college. On summers and school holidays, he came back with bags of dirty laundry and complaints about the school’s facilities being on the other side of campus from his dormitory. Belle took special care with his clothes when they were in the washer and dryer. She wanted her efforts to last until the next break. She wanted to take care of him, even while he was away from home.  

One break, Bae arrived with a girl he wanted his father to meet. Belle watched with envy as the couple sat beside each other on the sofa, as they held hands and shared secret smiles. Gold wasn’t sure about this girl, who had come from what he called “a rough background,” but Belle convinced him that this stranger was good enough for their Bae. Emma Swan made him happy, that was what mattered most.

It was a small wedding, small enough for them to host the ceremony in the house. Belle shone in the soft lights. She trilled in the lilting music from a portable keyboard. Gold typed out a speech on the old electric typewriter, and Belle pressed her agreement into every word. Night after night, she told Gold about the love she had for these children, the hope she had for their future, the determination that she would do everything in her limited power to make their lives easier. He knew, and he loved her more than ever for it.

After the ceremony, there was a party in the backyard, and the DJ hooked his amplifiers up to the house. In her own way, Belle danced the night away with everyone else.

Once he was a married man, Bae moved out all of his possessions that hadn’t already made their way to his and Emma’s apartment in Boston. It seemed so little time since he had first moved into his room in the attic, since Belle had first felt the glug of his aquarium filter.

“There will always be a place for you here.” Gold told his son what they both felt. “For you and Emma--and your family.”

In the empty room, Bae scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, that family might be coming a little sooner than we expected.”

“I know,” Gold smiled. 

Several times the night before, Emma had woken up to vomit in the bathroom. Belle had turned on the plug-in deodorizer, kept the lights from blinding the girl, then rushed off to tell Gold. 

After Henry was born, they came up to visit at least once a month. Often enough, Gold told them, to justify having a nursery fully-equipped with every conceivable electric convenience. Bae and Emma thought that this was just Gold spoiling his grandson--which it was--but it was also a way for Belle to take a turn caring for the baby. She warmed his bottles and his wet wipes. She worked a singing light-up automaton to soothe him and make him laugh and give his parents some much-needed sleep. Bae and Emma both said he never cried when he was in Storybrooke. Belle watched over Henry through his nightlights, as she had the children and grandchildren of the first couple who lived in her house. 

****

She watched over Gold too. She watched as his hair grew gray and thin. She watched as he leaned on his cane more and more. She watched when he coughed and couldn’t catch his breath. She watched him age and decline, the only man she had ever loved. 

She tried to help. He told her the schedule of when he had to take which medications, and she always reminded him. She also stopped him from taking too many, if he became forgetful and tried to make up for a dose he didn’t remember taking. When his hearing began to go, Belle looked after his rechargeable hearing aids. She made the house lights brighter, to help him see. As she had with the old woman in her last days, Belle kept Gold’s food fresh in the refrigerator, kept it from burning on the stove. In a normal house, the amount of electronic devices he kept plugged in might have proven a fire hazard, but not here. In this house, the machines were Belle’s tie to him. They were everything she could offer to him.

He met with his lawyer in the dining room, to hammer out a living will, along with everything else he would need, for the end.

“I want to stay in this house,” he told Bae once. “I don’t care if going to some facility would give me another six months, I want to be here. For as long as possible.”

“I know, Pop,” Bae said, patting the old man on the knee. “You’ve always been obsessed with this place.” 

“This is home,” Gold closed his eyes and leaned back to doze in his easy chair. The lights dimmed around him, too subtle for Bae to notice, but Gold did. He smiled. “Love is home.”

True to his wishes, the house became a hospital. Home-health nurses came and went, to monitor Gold’s condition when he became too frail to manage doctor visits. At first it was only visits during the day, but soon someone needed to be there overnight as well. New machines were plugged in--oxygen tanks, heart monitors, a newfangled hospital bed. Belle made sure all of them worked perfectly. The bed had an engine that moved the inside of the mattress and prevented a patient from getting bedsores. Belle was able to ease Gold’s muscles, keep him from aching. She touched him and soothed him as best she could.   

The tape recorder was still in his bedroom, shoved away into a corner but still plugged in. Belle could speak to him only briefly, when the nurses were far enough away that they wouldn’t hear her. Gold spoke to her as much as he ever had, muttering under his breath so the nurses wouldn’t think he had dementia. That was the one great gift of her Gold’s decline--as frail as his body had become, his mind was as sharp as ever. 

“My will is very clear,” he told her one night when he couldn’t sleep. “No one can change it, not even Bae--though Bae knows my wishes and he’s promised to abide by them.” He took a shaking breath. “I’ve set up a trust for you, sweetheart, a trust to preserve this house in perpetuity.” 

Another breath, labored. She shouldn’t let him talk so much. Everything he said were things that Belle already knew, that she had helped him plan. Telling her again was just him reassuring himself that she’d be taken care of.

“I’ve already had the house put on the National Register of Historic Places. It will never be torn down.” A wheeze. “I’ve bequeathed it to the town, instructed them to turn this residence into a museum. You’ll like that, won’t you, sweetheart? Always meeting new people--always learning new things--”

His speech was interrupted by one of his horrible, hacking coughs. Belle would have given anything to help him, even just to put a hand on his back or offer him a tissue. It was cold comfort to think that anyone would be helpless in this situation. That Bae or the nurses could do no more for Gold than she could. The fact that she was dead didn’t change how hard it was to see the death of someone she loved. 

“It will be alright,” she murmured  through the tape recorder. “You’ll be alright, my love. I’ll be alright. A-a museum will be wonderful. Thank you.”

“Belle,” he whispered. He was drifting off again. “The Belle French Museum. Just for you, sweetheart. Forever.”

Forever.

He meant it as a promise, but Belle could only see it as damnation. To exist forever--aware but not alive--alone--unloved--again. She could not bear it. She couldn’t bear the thought of it. 

****

When Gold faded into final unconsciousness, Belle hunkered down in the heart monitor. Every beat of his pulse went through her. The steady beeping was the only thing that tethered her to reality.

She would not be without him. She couldn’t go back to being alone, unseen, helpless. Gold was her world. Gold was her life. When he died…

The machine she was in could monitor his heart rate, but couldn’t control it. All of the devices meant to preserve his life were powerless when it mattered most. The beepings became erratic, infrequent. Belle felt the end happening--felt it with the whole of her being--and she couldn’t stop it.

Heartbeat by heartbeat, her Gold’s life drained out of him. Beep by beep, the hope drained out of Belle’s soul.

Please, she begged him silently. Please don’t leave me.

But no matter how she pleaded, the line still went flat. 

The time of death was called. The nurses pulled the plug. Belle was disconnected from Gold. He was gone. Forever. 

No.

No, it couldn’t happen. 

She couldn’t let it happen.

Belle didn’t think. She couldn’t think. Her despair and her rage and her love were so great, all she could do was feel.

And act.

Gathering all the electricity in the house--every wire, every bulb, every charging port and circuit--Belle pulled herself together and let her power overload everything.

****

The world was light. Brighter than any bulb Belle knew, with no place for shadows. At first, all she could see was the brightness. Then, suddenly, he was there, and he had always been there. 

“Gold!”

He was alive! He was young again! He was healthy and beautiful and he looked completely stunned as he looked at her.

He looked at her.

Belle blinked. Her eyelids lowered to cover her eyeballs and her vision went black for a moment. Her breathing was heavy and--

She was breathing!

Gold was staring at her. For the first time in all their years together, he could see her.

Belle couldn’t  believe it. She had to make sure. She looked down.

She looked down. The muscles of her neck stretched to move her head so her eyes could see her hands. 

She hadn’t had hands since she’d died.

“Belle,” Gold whispered. “Sweetheart, is that really you?”

She looked up to see him, see him with her eyes instead of through a light bulb. Heat gathered at her face as her emotions flowed out from her brain. Her lips parted, her throat contracted. Air passed through her esophagus over her larynx and she spoke.

“Gold.”

He ran to her. He didn’t limp, he had no cane. He ran to her and he threw his arms around her and she felt his touch. He pulled her close.

“I knew you’d find a way to me, sweetheart.”

He kissed her. For the first time. She kissed him back. And all they knew was their love. 

Love and light held their souls together in perfect bliss. 

Forever.  

[kazsartcorner]

ABM-04 MACE

Designed to fulfil a range of roles, the ABM-04 colloquially known as the Mace, is a robust yet highly agile five meter mech, the reason for it's exceptional mobility lies within it's integrated jump jets which draw power directly from the Mace's fusion reactor, to avoid damaging roads when in combat this mech is fitted with simple wide feet equipped with shockingly durable rubber soles. A pair of folding wings help with aerial mobility, when not in use they are folded up against the spine of the mech.

In order to cover a wide variety of combat roles the Mace is capable of mounting several weapons including heavy cannons, missile pods, a collapsible grinder limb and even anti-ship missiles, though those hinder mobility.

For emergencies the Mace is equipped with Terminal Phase Fusion Thrusters or TPFTs, these powerful jets give the mech enough Kinetic energy to drive back hostiles several times it's own size, including small spacecraft, however due to the stress the TPFTs put on the machine they are purposely given very limited charge and propellant to prevent the force from shaking apart the mech or liquefying the pilot.

[kassil]

It was, in retrospect, pretty obviously a mistake. When the first hints of cross-dimensional travel were discovered in a few anomalous results from the supercolliders, it was celebrated, and then Capitalism got to work, all those rich people salivating at the thought of endless untouched copies of the world waiting to be plundered.

The first brief portal opened six months later, and set off a wave of predatory investments and hamstringing of industries around the world, even as nothing else was accomplished for the next five years. Universes don't like to have their walls sliced open, much like a cell, and work to close them back up as quick as they can.

Five years on, we opened the first stable portal, just big enough to push a drone through; the fact that it revealed a world that was blighted, torn-up, and dead should have been a sufficient warning. For a lot of us, it was, and the ranks of protestors around the globe swelled. We were messing with something that made polluting the night sky with giant satellites and trying to replace people with robots seem benign, and most of us instinctively understood that.

The capitalists, though? They (the people they hired on contracts that basically made them unable to quit) had opened a portal! Now they just needed to find worlds they could go loot! The exodimensional business boomed even more, eager to strip worlds clean. They kept finding dead, lifeless hells instead, already emptied out, and continued to ignore the warning signs those presented. They would, surely, find those imagined worlds ripe for the plucking soon.

And then portals opened that they hadn't made. Advanced machines and augmented caricatures of people marched through. Some cities were nuked, but that barely slowed them. Within a year, the forces of those dead hells had conquered our world and set about stripping it of anything useful. Capitalists from another reality, who discovered portal technology centuries ago, who've been stripping worlds bare this entire time. The people in charge obviously thought they were the first, when they never have been. Someone else was always ahead of them, and they always successfully bought them out - but this time, the people who got there first couldn't be bought out. The cleverest of them signed on to join up, of course, they just wanted the rewards of the system, and screw everyone else.

It's been thirty years, and there are cities set on grinding up everything the Earth has to offer. We might be able to coax her back to life, if we can get rid of them. It seems like an impossible challenge, but we've made friends - the survivors of other worlds, who work to sabotage the system. Our world isn't dead yet, unlike theirs, and they have knowledge we lack.

Together, maybe we can bring down the concrete towers of industry and drive off the all-consuming maw. Close up the boundaries of the world and help it heal. That's the hope, anyhow.

For now, it's time for the fight to reclaim our home. Time to rise up. Time to break things and feed the captains of hell to their own grinders.

[veryrealimagination]

Jackson had been watching his charge do nothing but tend to the various machines around his workshop for the last seven hours. Three furnaces were going, loading him up on carbon steel that he would immediately feed into the industrial cutter for more plates. The grinder was mass producing bronze pipes. If he wasn’t babysitting those, he was working on the mess of wires and small items at his Worktable, or he switched to the assembly station.

Llewellyn was good at what he could do. The fix to the Dee Dee transport system had been a stroke of genius, one that came with a few threats as more experienced builders didn’t like a child upstaging them. With more complex projects being guided to him, they got angrier. Several didn’t like that the son of a well known woman builder was doing better than them.

But now, he needed to rest. He was basically running himself down trying to get the main project done while also taking on smaller commissions to build up his savings. His gols ran out faster than most builders. He was paying for his space at a higher rate, paying more for the rights to mine and get wood. He didn’t complain. He should have, but he wasn’t.

Watts didn’t stop when he watched Jackson walk in. He pulled out two more carbon steel bars that were barely cool enough to handle without protection and held onto them while he waited for a third and fourth to come out so have them cut. The older man took the bars and set them on his Worktable. Confused, he watched the older man before he was lifted in the air and over the man’s shoulder. “Jackson?!” he yelped, flailing for three seconds before grabbing on to the back of the man’s shirt.

He was then deposited at the small dining table where there was a plate of Chicken Risotto with Coconut and vegetable salad waiting for him. A basket of fresh bread and butter separated that and well seasoned ribs and his own vegetable salad. The man sat down by his food. “Eat, Watts,” he said, “Before everything goes cold.” The younger man glanced down at his food, hearing and feeling his stomach rumble in response. Jackson smirked when Watts dug into the risotto first, his teenaged appetite returning with a vengeance to devour the bowl. One whole bread loaf was grabbed and torn into with the butter being attack after. “Don’t forget your vegetables.”

That gained a glare in return before a piece of lettuce was speared and regretfully shoved in his mouth. The salad was also ate at a fast pace. The bread disappeared, the chicken stripped.

“Thanks, Jackson.”

The older man smiled. “You’re welcome, Watts. Finish your vegetables.”