#keep moving him out of the carrier to reset the process

[flock-talk]

Rebuilt the foundations for shutting the door today, added more speed to the door closure, and began introing shutting the door with me standing in different locations - this was tricky for him and needs more time

safe to say he's pretty excited about the whole process 😂

[witchofthesouls]

How is sounwaves s/o doing with the twin buns in the oven? Feels like forever since we heard about them

(They’re alright. Laserbeak becomes a shadow and Soundwave’s on top of it.)

You're gasping for cooler air, vents wheezing and your frame shakes from the inadequate overload, electricity arcs off your entire body as you try to ground yourself, to reality and to relieve the unrelenting charge.

Your valve is beyond wet, soaking your thighs and the berth, cycling on nothing and it deepens the gnawing in your lower belly. Your hand is a paltry substitution and it’s barely enough to drive off the edge. It aches; the nervecircuits and sensory suites in your hand throb from the constant barrage of electrical heat, your valve desperately searching for connecting nodes to relieve the pent-up charge and to start a loop.

You’re swearing in the dark. Vicious and violent as you struggle to cool yourself. Not only is the day gone, but the newsparks are demanding more and leaving you hungry for anything and everything.

Pinpricks of red optics are the only sign of Laserbeak’s steady presence, the drone hadn’t moved off her position. You hate how there’s a faint quiver to your hydraulics as if they’re about to give out as you walk to the door. Laserbeak’s gaze is a heavy curse, but she doesn’t stop you.

And that’s because Soundwave is right outside your door.

“Oh, h-ey!” You shriek as you’re immediately picked up and carried back to the strewn sheets. He settles above you, right between your legs and your panel snaps back open with the touch of his frame, the mesh swollen and leaking. You softly moan out, “I think this is the first time we ended in a berth.”

Soundwave doesn’t answer, he just sinks into your valve with a roll of his hips and you grasp his shoulders, thighs spreading out, words dying in your throat with a gasp.

The world condenses down to the hot slide of a thick spike inside you, the throbbing in your hand matching the coiled thrum deep in your belly, the molten burn of your lines, and Soundwave’s hard frame as a blank visor stares into you.

You're clinging tightly to him, tears down your face as the carriage-induced need is overwhelming. It's slow, near torturous, if not for the intensity and you overload embarrassingly fast with a choked cry. The dazed, slack expression in the reflection is too much and your try to curl into his shoulder.

Of course, Soundwave then flips you over. The noise from your intake is unintelligible, and your entire frame screams from denial, so he needs to pin down your hips to properly get back inside. The new brutal pace annihilates higher thought processes and leaves you pliant and drooling into a pillow as he thrusts right onto the gestation chamber entrance and the surrounding nodes, crackling more and more charge.

You can’t even scream. A data cable slid into your intake, it shifts and mimics Soundwave on a slower beat, dragging in and out, but never leaving your throat. You feel it’s the same cable that’s wrapped possessively around your waist, the metal warm on your protoform and face. His spike pulses and there’s the sharp surge of transfluid hitting the back of your valve and it’s enough for primed systems.

Your optics roll back, vision whitening with the violent overload, muffled by the data cable as jagged denta found their way into your neck. Soundwave keeps clanging through it and the carrier-coding is deliriously happy. Yesyesyes, it chants as he fills you, a warm fluttering beat in your lower belly and the sharp noise of hips cracking against hips.

The world narrows into a storm of pleasure and heat and rutting cables, so it takes time for you to reset and return to normal parameters.

There are thin digits moving in random patterns on your abdomen, tickling it with such a light touch, and the rapid taps of someone typing on the monitor. Since it’s inside your habsuite, which once belonged to a mad mechanical wizard, it needs a ridiculous amount of clearance to bypass the security features -you can count on one servo the mecha with such capabilities.

Two of them (and half of the mecha on said servo) are currently in the room.

In the dimmed light, Soundwave continues to work at the station. The thin digits on your belly are actually the connective feelers of a data cable. It’s still wrapped securely around your waist. The bedding is clean and the larger pieces of your armor are missing. That’s why the feelers tickled, swirling on the bare, swelling protoform.

Even sore and exhausted and too comfortable to move, there are greater priorities to handle.

“Please don’t tell me you recorded that,” you half-mumble, half-croak.

A slight pause and Soundwave turns, and clear on the visor is your stupid, dazed, and wet expression.

You bury your face into a pillow and loudly groan, embarrassed to the deepest Pits. “Primus… ”

He’s laughing. You know he’s laughing based on the playful shudder of the data cable, the end gently butting the base of your neck before returning back to your belly, burying underneath your prone form to play with the bare protoform again.

[lucinata]

FFXIVWrite, Prompt #27: Memory

After visiting Elpis, she started to wonder.

Do souls have memories?

Most people would say no, of course not. She’d inquired a little about the process of returning to the lifestream, when she ran into ancients that seemed happy to indulge an inquisitive familiar, and it seemed to involve an unraveling of the physical aether that makes the flesh, followed by the aether of the soul heading off to join with the giant aetherflow that made up the lifestream. Most people thought the soul was wiped clean somewhere in there. Reset, so that it might have a new start in the next life.

But what of Ardbert? He had been a soul for a very, very long time, and though he’d begun to lose himself, he hadn’t forgotten everything. He still remembered his journeys, his companions, despite the fact he’d cast aside his flesh and traversed the lifestream with soul exposed. (Was that a thing? Did the aether of the flesh protect the aether of the soul when in the lifestream? Perhaps she should ask Y’shtola about it later.)

She’d seen herself in him for a moment, when they first clashed on the Source, only to learn later that he was a reflection of her in more ways than one, when she journeyed to the First. They’d been on opposing sides in the fight for the Source, but their motivations were so similar, she hadn’t been able to hate him. She’d felt a kinship with him when she met him again there, ghost though he was, and then…

Had her soul remembered that they used to be parts of a whole? Was that why she’d been drawn to him? It was why he’d been able to save her life, and for a fleeting moment they’d moved as one while yet being two. But she could not feel his feelings, or know his thoughts, or experience his memories. Not then, and not now.

But was the sense of deja-vu she felt from time to time because of him?

Her friends, too, were pulled to the First as souls only, yet they faced no issues beyond their physical “stasis.” Was it because they were tethered to their physical forms, which were yet on the Source? Ardbert’s case, where his flesh was long removed, would say no. So then, was everything that made them who they are found in the soul? Were memories carried in the aether of their life force? Zenos retained himself when Elidibus had forced him out, and she herself… She’d rather not remember that experience, but still. She’d been herself, even in the wrong body. There is undoubtedly a separation between a person’s physical form and their mind, their memories.

But for soul vs self, it’s less clear. Sylve, when she was just starting as a conjurer, drained her very essence to heal people, because that is what her mother did. But she had no idea that’s what she was doing, and she didn’t forget things or lose herself in the process. She would’ve died, yes, run out of life to draw from… but if the life that drives us is the aether of the soul, and if the soul is where our self is, then wouldn’t drawing from that particular wellspring cause us to lose parts of ourselves?

But it doesn’t. Sylve is proof of that. So what does that mean, then?

And what of the things that happened in the Aitiascope? Ardbert had been able to keep a human form as a ghost in the First, and in the Aitiascope, Fandaniel had been able to give himself his favorite face… but the ghosts of the people she’d wished to see again had been wisps, weapons, more feeling and intent than physical shape. And the people she had felled had warped and changed, festered. All of them remembered something, from what she could tell. And yet some of them had faded so far they were barely more than a single emotion, one regret, a single purpose.

And then, of course, there were Hythlodaeus and Emet-Selch, summoned as ghosts at the end of the universe. People who had died an unfathomable number of years ago, called to the present with minds and memories restored. How could such a thing happen, if souls were wiped clean?

If the soul is the carrier of memories, and those memories stick around long enough to be summoned up again eons in the future, then why do people not remember their previous lives? Even just in instantaneous moments?

And if the soul is cleansed between lives, why would she be so similar to the Azem the Ancients knew, if the only thing they shared was the aether of their soul?

Is dynamis the answer?

In the café at the end of the universe, people from dead civilizations were called up anew, as if they yet lived. In that place, dynamis dictates all. These people, made entirely of dynamis, could recall their lives and their old worlds, the conflicts they faced and the end of their days. But they had no aether at all – completely without soul or body. And yet…

She put down the cup of tea (the kind that Azem liked, that she’d harvested herself from Elpis,) with a sigh. It clinked in the saucer, and she stared out the window of her room at the Pendants at the land Ardbert had tried so hard to save, and that she too had grown to love in her own journey through it. How many of the things she liked, the thoughts she had, stemmed from someone else’s life? Did any of them? Was the fact that she liked the same tea Azem had just coincidence? Was the wistful, longing feeling she felt for the purple foliage of Lakeland purely because of her own experiences there?

It was unlikely she would find an answer by sitting and brooding on her own. Ardbert would always be with her, but being a part of her soul made it awfully difficult to talk with him like they had when he’d been a ghost. (Not that she’d wish that kind of existence on anyone, as isolating and lonely and powerless as it is.)

Well. There was always something else to do. She’d make a note in her journal for now, and come back to it later; perhaps she’d come across some new information later, that could shed more light on such questions.

All she needs to do is forge ahead. …after she finishes her tea.

[catgirlthecrazy]

Holding the Moon

Empty practice grounds were like empty taverns to Kaladin. He was so used to seeing the place full of light and activity, that finding it without either of those things was downright unnerving. Usually, he couldn't go two steps without hearing the sound of weapons clashing or people grunting as they sparred. There were always a few ardents around, training warriors or maintaining the equipment. There were always spheres in every lantern bracket. A poorly lit training ground was an invitation to injury.

Tonight, there was only one person here. Only one sphere for light. It was rare for Kaladin to find Adolin here without his shardplate, but tonight he only wore simple sparring clothes. He had a sandbag set up in the middle of the room. He was punching the absolute crap out of it. No grace or finesse to his movements. Just one wild swing after another, like an overeager man breaking rocks.

The drafts of Dalinar's autobiography had come on Urithiru like the Everstorm. No stormwall, no abrupt onslaught of fury like you got with highstorms. Instead it came on slowly. From the Kholin scribes who copied it out, to their families, to the officers and workers of the tower, the contents of that text spread like fevers in the Weeping. In under a week, highprinces and water carriers alike knew that Dalinar Kholin had burned a city to the stone, and in the process, killed his own wife. Adolin's mother.

As soon as he heard, Kaladin made sure to check in on the younger Kholins. How could he not? One was his friend, the other still technically a subordinate. Both of them had already known- Dalinar had the decency to warn them before the news went public. It was hard to tell how Renarin was taking it. Kaladin had always had difficulty reading that kid. But Teft was keeping him occupied with training, and Rock was better at being a sympathetic ear than Kal had ever been. So Kaladin tried not to hover.

As for Adolin… You're the tenth person to ask me that, bridge boy. Leave me in peace. And Kaladin had. It seemed the respectful thing to do. Once Shallan got back from whatever infiltration kept her currently out of contact, his friend would have all the support he needed. It wasn't until Syl summoned him to the practice grounds in the middle of the night that Kaladin reconsidered that assessment.

"He told me he was fine," Syl whispered, "but I think he's lying. He sounded like you when you tell people you're fine."

Kaladin grunted. "Of course he isn't fine Syl. But if he needs to work his feelings out with training, we should probably let him." Almighty knew Kaladin had been there. Exhausting the body till you had no room to think about your grief had its merits. But damnation it hurt to see it happening to Adolin. Adolin, who sometimes seemed like nothing could dim the sun behind his smile. Adolin, whose eyes now stared ahead like empty pits.

"Yes, but he shouldn't have to be alone," Syl said. She took the form of a skyeel and wound around Adolin protectively.

The sandbag dented inwards as Adolin let off one last punch. With the slow acceleration of a falling tree, the sandbag toppled over. Adolin bent double with a groan, exhaustionspren puffing around him like jets of dust. Immediately, Kaladin was there with a ladle of water. Adolin accepted it, as he did the next ladle Kaladin brought. Then he tried to wave Kaladin off. "I appreciate the thought," he said, "But I don't need you to mind me."

"Maybe I just wanted to get in some late night spear practice." Adolin gave him a flat stare. Kaladin gave in. "Ok, fine, I wasn't. Syl was worried about you, and she brought me."

"Syl?" Adolin looked surprised at that.

"She explores the tower at night."

"Huh. Well, tell her I'm glad she cares." Apparently Syl was still invisible to him. "But I'm good here." He turned to reset the sandbag. It was at that point the prince's hands caught the dim spherelight, and Kaladin realized Adolin's knuckles were bleeding.

Kaladin's surgeon's instincts woke like sleeping axehounds who smelled the rain. He grabbed Adolin's hands and dragged them under the light. "Storms, Adolin, how long have you been at this?!"

Adolin tried to pull his hands out of Kaladin's grip, but Kaladin hung on. The scrapes were hardly the worst injury Kaladin had ever seen. In fact, as training accidents went, it was downright minor. But for his hands to get this bad from punching a sandbag? Adolin would have had to have ignored significant pain for a very long time. Check that he hasn't sprained something. Kaladin felt at Adolin's wrist. "Does it hurt when I press here?"

"No." Adolin pulled harder and finally yanked himself out of Kaladin's grip. "Honestly Kal, it's not that bad. Renarin can heal me later."

"Renarin can-?" Kaladin sputtered. This storming man. "That doesn't make it ok for you to hurt yourself, Adolin."

Adolin looked away. "I need this, Kal. If I don't exhaust myself, I… I obsess over all of it."

Kaladin softened at that. Storms, but he knew exactly what Adolin was talking about. How many times had he done this exact thing after Tien died? Worked himself so hard until his mind had no strength left to think about how much he hurt? He could remember at least one time when Sergeant Hav had needed to order him not to keep training through injuries. "Well. At least let me treat this before you do anything else."

Adolin raised an eyebrow. "Seems kind of pointless. I can just have Renarin heal it instantly."

"Your brother isn't here. Unless you plan to wake him up over this, you'll let me treat this the normal way."

A shadow of a smile flickered across Adolin's face, like the sun shining through thick clouds. He gave a tired mock salute. "Yes, sir!" Kaladin rolled his eyes.

Fortunately, the practice grounds kept basic medical supplies on hand in case of training injuries. After washing off the blood with water, Kaladin was able to daub Adolin's knuckles with lister's oil and wrap them in bandages. Adolin made a small grunt as he did. "Too tight?" Kaladin asked.

Adolin shook his head. "No, no. It's just- I'm so used to seeing you flying about like a paragon of soldierhood. I forget you know how to do things like this."

Kaladin didn't know what to say to that. He tied off the last bandage. "You'll probably want to change these out tomorrow."

"Or I can take it to my brother with the divinely-granted healing abilities and have him fix it completely."

"Or that."

Adolin glanced at the fallen sandbag. "You think you could help me set that up again?"

Kaladin gaped. "You want to keep going?!"

"I'm not too tired to think yet. So yes, I want to keep going."

"Your hand!"

"Protected now by these nice bandages you provided."

Kaladin crossed his arms. "No. Absolutely not."

Adolin's face darkened. "Fine." He leaned down to pick up the sandbag.

Kaladin grabbed his shoulder. "If you don't put that down right now, I'm summoning Syl to cut it in half."

Adolin turned on him. "I appreciate your concern, Kal," he said, voice tight, "But it's time for you to butt out."

Kaladin was completely unmoved. "If you keep going, you will hurt yourself."

"I told you. I need this." His words were angry, but it wasn't an angerspren he drew. It was an agonyspren, like an upside down face on the floor. The raw pain in his eyes was hard to look at. It was like looking at an open wound, still bleeding and vulnerable.

"You don't have to stop working out," Kaladin said finally. "But you do need to do something else. Something not so hard on your hands."

"Like what?"

He thought about it. "Spar with me."

"What?"

"Spar with me. Quarterstaffs, or hand to hand. You'll have a harder time breaking your hands on me, at least." And it would give Kaladin more control over the situation.

Adolin glanced at the battered punching bag, then shook his head forcefully. "No. Fighting an actual person… That's a bad idea for me right now."

"I've got Stormlight. You don't need to worry about me."

Adolin barked out a horrified laugh. "What?! No! Weren't you just telling me that being able to heal yourself doesn't make it ok?!" Kaladin pursed his lips, annoyed at himself. Adolin had him there. Perhaps Kaladin should have wondered why he had such a double standard about this, but now wasn't the time to examine that. Instead, Kaladin pulled two blunted practice swords from the equipment racks and handed one to Adolin. The prince stepped back. "I told you, I'm not going to-"

"Zahel's been teaching me sword katas," Kaladin interrupted. "One of them takes two people. You know the one?" Adolin nodded slowly. "Run through it with me." Kaladin offered the practice sword again. Adolin stared at the sword for a long moment. Hesitantly, he took it. Kaladin set the pair of them two sword-lengths apart in the middle of the practice grounds. Then, they began.

Two-person katas were more like a choreographed dance than actual combat. Kaladin lunged in for a prescribed strike. Adolin stepped back for the proper block. Adolin swept Kaladin's sword to the side in an exaggerated imitation of real combat. Kaladin would step aside and twist it into a disarming motion. The blades clicked softly with each careful exchange. The point was to practice responding to your opponent's moves until it became embedded in your muscle memory.

When you knew a kata well, they became a kind of meditation. Your body carried you through the forms, while your mind floated free. Kaladin could see that peace settle over Adolin like a warm blanket, and he knew he'd done the right thing. When they reached the end of the kata, Kaladin saw Adolin's shoulders tense, and the peace started to evaporate. So Kaladin returned them to the starting position, and started them again Adolin's eyes unfocused as his body feel into the trace of a kata he knew by heart. Kaladin started them through it a third time, and Adolin pushed to go a little bit faster. Kaladin let him. That was how it was supposed to go: you started off slow to be sure you got the forms right. Then you sped up, until you moved at combat speeds.

By the fourth time through the kata, sweat was beading on Adolin's forehead. Kaladin was making mistakes, but he didn't care. Tonight wasn't about Kaladin mastering the sword. It was about helping Adolin forget his pain for a little while.

By the fifth time through, the practice swords flashed through the air like windspren. Kaladin breathed in a little stormlight to keep from faltering. When they finished, Adolin finally stopped. He didn't bother finding a seat to rest. Instead he collapsed on the sand where they stood. The practice sword landed with a thump next to him. Adolin lay there, panting like a bellows amidst a swarm of exhaustionspren.

Kaladin fetched more water from the barrel. Adolin drank it greedily. "Thank you," he gasped.

"It's just water. It's no trouble," Kaladin said, settling down on the ground next to him.

"Not just for that. Thank you for not making me talk."

"Oh, well." Kaladin chuckled ruefully. "That wasn't hard. You're not a subtle man, princeling. If you wanted to talk, you'd talk. All I had to do was not argue."

Adolin huffed a laugh. They sat there for a long moment. Slowly, Adolin's breath calmed down to something reasonable. The little stormlight Kaladin had taken in puffed away. "Does it bother you?" Adolin asked. "Knowing what my father did?"

It was a good question. Kaladin took his time answering. "Yes, it does bother me. I followed your father because I believed he was different from other lighteyes I served. Better. Finding out he'd done that? It's… well, 'upsetting' seems an inadequate word, but I've got nothing better." He took in a deep breath. "But the Ideals teach that it's always possible to change into a better person. And Dalinar's done that. He's still doing that. So in a lot of ways, nothing's really changed for me."

Adolin ground the palms of his hands into his eyes. "In my head, I know he's not that man anymore. Hell, I can even admire him for working so hard to be better. I still love him, and I want to forgive him. But damnation. I just can't."

"Maybe you don't have to forgive him," Kaladin said softly.

"What?"

"It's easy to talk about how wonderful it is that someone's grown when they haven't hurt you personally. If you'd asked me that question about, say, Gaz? You'd have gotten a very different answer."

Adolin nodded slowly. "The thing is, I think about what Mother would say, if she saw me now. I know she'd want me to forgive him. She'd have forgiven him in a heartbeat. She forgave everyone... everything." His voice cracked, and he broke down into sobs.

Kaladin felt completely lost. Not because he was a stranger to crying people, but… well, usually Adolin was the one helping Kaladin through emotional breakdowns. Kaladin felt like he'd been handed a weapon he'd never held before and tossed into the ring with a master.

What does Adolin do to help me? Usually, he kept Kaladin distracted. Gave him a goal, or something to focus on. Anything to keep Kaladin from getting stuck in his own head. He took one look at Adolin, curled up and sobbing on the floor, and knew that wasn't what he needed. He didn't have the gaping void of emotion that sometimes took Kaladin. But if not that, then what?

Hugs. He likes hugs. Granted, he usually reserved them for Shallan and close family, but Kaladin had no other ideas. He crawled over to where Adolin lay. Slowly, as if reaching out to a feral axehound, Kaladin put his arms around the other man. Adolin hesitated only a moment. Then he collapsed into Kaladin's arms, sobbing into his shoulder. They sat there for uncountable minutes. Kaladin held the prince, stroking his hair softly. He thought of his own mother, and how she'd sometimes comforted him like this when he'd been a child, woken by nightmares. What would it have been like, to lose that as young as Adolin had?

Slowly, Adolin's grief subsided like a river after the storm. "Your mother sounds like a wonderful person," Kaladin murmured into his hair. "I'm sorry I never got to meet her."

"You've no idea. I'm sorry she didn't get to meet you or Shallan. She'd have loved you both."

"Can you tell me about her?"

And Adolin did. He told how she liked reading stories of far-off romance. About the care and delicacy she put into her glyphwards. About her love for simple pleasures. Beautiful sunsets, calm evenings by the fire, the smell of incense. Kaladin held him and let him talk well into the night.

[somecynicalanimator]

Module - Script to Screen

We started today’s session be watching an Oscar-nominated short animated film called A Single Life. The animation depicts a young woman receiving a vinyl record, which she finds out allows her to travel in time, to different points in her life. The animation and song accompanying the video seem to carry the message of taking life slowly, instead of rushing to the future, to instead enjoy it while it lasts. I found it interesting how the short was able to convey a simple but profound message in such a short amount of time, using very little time, and while also being upbeat. I learned today about loglines, or elevator pitches as commonly referred to in the U.S.. A logline is a one or two sentence summary of the story’s plot, conveying what the setting, protagonist(s), struggle (Conflict), and stakes of the story are, while also being told in a way that will intrigue the person you’re pitching the idea to. They’re good for production bibles and pitches in general, allowing for investors to become interest in an idea with very little explaining. We spent the rest of the session discussing script writing. I learned today that the script is supposed to be written in a way that conveys what the audience is meant to see/hear in the finished product. The actions of the characters, the movements of the characters, the setting, dialogue, all described to the production team. Interestingly, most scripts don’t include camera direction, unless it is a shooting script. This allows for the other members of the production crew to interpret the script, and apply their own creative thinking to it, while also keeping things consistent with the vision of the writer. It allows for directors, actors, layout artists etc. to be creative with how they depict the events of the script. As an example, I recently viewed a video documenting the scripting of the movie W.A.L.L.-E. (2008) as well as for the movie UP (2009). From this, I’ve learned how to format scripts, and the correct font size to use when writing a script. Scripts are generally written at 12pts, in the Courier font (Which is similar looking to American Typewriter, although it’s important not to confuse the two). Abbreviations are often used, with common place ones being INT for Interior, EXT for Exterior, V.O. for Voiceover, O.S. for Off-screen, POV for Point of View, or CU for Close-up, and so on. Shot directions, if absolutely needed, are generally referred to in capitals, e.g. PULL BACK, ZOOM IN, PAN. This applies to transitions too, such as FADE IN/OUT, DISSOLVE TO, ANGLE ON, INTERCUT etc. Alignment of the text is important too, with FADE INs being aligned to the left meanwhile FADE OUTs is often right aligned. Scene headings tend to be in all caps, as are character names when introduced. Character names are also in caps, as well as center-aligned and above, in dialogue. I learned that in the program Microsoft Word, as well as others, there is an option to create a script layout, with presets for different types of text.

The logline I’ve managed to create for my animation reads as follows: “In a space factory, a robot discovers its emerging identity, and grows discontent with life. Seeking freedom from an oppressive and dreary environment, it attempts to escape!” I’ve finished writing up the first draft of my script. I feel that the emerging of the robot’s identity isn’t very refined yet, and the script may be a little too long for what length of animation I originally had in mind.

“R.O.N.”

By

Cameron Davison

FADE IN:

INT. FACTORY HALL, MOONBASE OUTPOST M128 - MORNING

PACKAGES move across conveyor belts.

ROBOTS lined up on every side of the conveyor belt, checking the boxes for damage and stamping them for either delivery or rejection.

One ROBOT, no different than any others, continues doing its job. Until one PACKAGE arrives, half torn up, the contents inside damaged and visible.

The conveyor belt stops, production stops. The other robots continue trying to stamp the packages, stamping the same boxes repeatedly, never breaking rhythm.

ROBOT

[. . .]

The protagonist Robot (R.O.N.) looks around, observing its peers tentatively. It begins to remove the ITEM from the damaged box, revealing a fully-functional model SPACE SHIP inside.

R.O.N. takes interest in it, placing the ship into the cabinet in its torso. RUBBISH DISPOSAL DROIDS arrive, removing the box. Production continues.

INT. RECHARGING POD ROOM, SAME - NIGHT

R.O.N. returns to its recharging pod, taking out its model ship, the wing bent and damaged. R.O.N. turns it on, the ship hovers above its hands, following its hands as it moves them.

INT. FACTORY HALL, SAME - MORNING

R.O.N. continues to collect various posters from rejected boxes, galactic star maps, intergalactic postcards, figurines of space craft. R.O.N. collects a VIDEO TAPE.

INT. RECHARGING POD ROOM, SAME - NIGHT

R.O.N. opens a port on the top of its head, placing the video tape into a slot underneath. It projects the video onto the wall of its pod, watching the video.

The video depicts a fictional space adventurer escaping a desolate space ship through a deliver shoot, hiding with weapon supplies in a space shuttle.

INT. FACTORY HALL, SAME - MORNING

The R.O.N. finds a REJECTED BOX, with a civilian model robot plastered on the box’s label. R.O.N. opens the box, revealing an EYE VISOR, identical to the one installed into the face of R.O.N.

INT. RECHARGING POD ROOM, SAME - NIGHT

R.O.N. removes its EYE VISOR, its back turned to the camera, replacing it with the new one, salvaged from a civilian model. This new visor leaves R.O.N. with a more expressive face.

R.O.N. then looks at 3 different fridge magnets and begins moving them to form a word. POV shot of the word it formed, “RON”. On one of the DISPLAYS in R.O.N.’s visor an acronym, the company’s name, is changed, replaced with R.O.N. allowing it to process its new name.

INT. FACTORY HALL, SAME - MIDDDAY

The FACTORY BOSS paces up the ails of the factory. Approaching R.O.N. he becomes surprised, realising that the visor isn’t uniform, and that it has fridge magnets spelling “RON” on its chest.

FACTORY BOSS

This droid seems defective.

The Factory Boss begins talking to his subordinates.

R.O.N., continuing to work, overhears their conversation.

FACTORY BOSS

Once you’ve performed diagnostics, I think it best to factory reset this one, just in case.

R.O.N. looks surprised, shocked, but continues to work, attempting not to show it. Its eyes frantically darting around the factory, it notices that, visible through the glass ceiling above, there’s a planet, big and beautiful, visible in the star filled darkness. Looking back down, and removing the model ship from its chest cabinet, an idea forms...

The Factory Boss turns to begin walking towards R.O.N. In response, R.O.N. grabs the nearest box, a large one, and throws it at the boss, knocking the man to the ground. R.O.N. then turns and begins to run.

FACTORY BOSS

That robot -- i-it attacked me! Reign him in, NOW!

Hefty GUARD ROBOTS begin to follow R.O.N.

R.O.N., cornered, quickly climbs into the shoot down which the boxes go.

INT. PARCEL BOARDING AREA, SAME - MIDDAY

R.O.N. emerges, landing on top of a pile of boxes. Quickly, R.O.N. jumps down, then quickly surveys the room, noticing the SHIP that is meant to be taking containers full of parcels to the nearby planet, and beyond. R.O.N. boards the ship, a two-person carrier. The guard bots arrive, dashing at the ship. R.O.N. manages to take off just in time, ploughing through a guard bot as the ship takes off out into the dusty moon landscape.

The ship disappears out of sight very quickly in the vastness of space, leaving the guard bots staring out at the landscape, seemingly disappointed.

FADE OUT:

THE END

[themummersfolly]

The Psychopomp pt.1

Here’s a little bit of space opera for your holiday break enjoyment. The full piece is about 16k words long; I’ll post it in installments. 

Let me know what you think!

-------

Psychopomp (noun): a guide of souls to the place of the dead. - Oxford English Dictionary

           It was just another proxy war out in the Disputed Colonies. Epsilon Eridani this time, the settlement on the moon Ottsland. Insurgents allied with the Interstellar Union had established a base in the polar region, threatening the interests of the Terran Federation. In the halls of the legislature, politicians cried for action, and so the fleet was dispatched.

           Colonel Emelia Worthy’s job was simple: after the initial bombing was finished and the threat was subdued, her team was to train an indigenous military force to ensure Ottsland’s continued liberty. In other words, give them phase rifles, teach them to shoot, and ensure that the generation now applying to Sandhurst would have an enemy in the next war. No one with any experience pretended differently. In the short term, it would keep the insurgency at bay; the rest was the politicians’ problem.

           Intelligence probes showed a substantial force, well-equipped by rebel standards, but nothing a Terran carrier group couldn’t deal with. The Strategists aboard the HMS Psychopomp had predicted a straightforward action – and the Strategists were never wrong. So when the first reconnaissance planes suddenly stopped transmitting, it was assumed to be a technical problem.

           “Well, route it through the telecom satellites!” Admiral Hicks-Perry huffed. The communications officer on the bridge of the Resolute input the data, tapping on the console as it processed.

           “Perhaps you should have postponed your golf plans, sir.” Colonel Worthy stared at the telemetry hologram, updating in real time. She was on the bridge at the Admiral’s invitation, a courtesy extended to the commander of the ground force.

           “Rubbish. Every campaign has a minor glitch or two. We’ll be back on Earth before the weekend.”

           The hologram showed telecom satellites, but not the markers of the reconnaissance craft. “This may be more than a glitch.”

           “Oh, for God’s sake, this isn’t the 2010’s. We haven’t had an unforeseen eventuality since –”

           “Sir.” It was the communications officer. “Telecom passwords have been changed.”

           “Wha –” Hicks-Perry sputtered. “When were they changed?”

           The officer scanned his data. “Less than ten minutes after our arrival.”

Worthy turned her gaze back to the telemetry. First disappearing reconnaissance planes, now this. Even if they knew when we would arrive, the satellites are controlled by the allied government…

           “They’ve got someone inside Ottsland City,” she muttered.

           “What?”

           “Either the insurgents have seized satellite ops, or they’ve got someone working on the inside. Sir, I must advise we move the carrier group to a higher orbit.”

           Admiral Hicks-Perry blinked. It wasn’t Worthy’s place to advise; she was a military officer, not a Strategist. He swallowed and turned back to the communications officer.

           “Send a dispatch to the Psychopomp. Tell them we’ve lost communication with our reconnaissance planes and Ottsland telecom. Ask them for a reevaluation.”

-------

           The theory behind the Strategic Corps had been proposed in 2178, during the Kuiper-Earth War. A rudimentary task force had been in effect by the end of the war, just in time for the final engagements; in the ensuing decades it saw extensive service. Despite its success, early recruiting rates were so low the program nearly ceased to exist; after all, only so many top-ranked cadets suffered complete paralysis at any given time, and selecting the right sort of minds from the populace proved difficult. Advocates turned to a genetic method designed for colonists, selecting for intellect and ruthlessness instead of hardiness. Some careful manipulations at birth took care of the physical requirements, and then it was off to a rigorous education in the military arts.

           “Imagine,” proponents had said. “The mind of a brilliant general, totally dedicated to war! The perfect servant of the state, a machine for creating victories!”

           “Imagine,” detractors had said. “The mind of a brilliant sociopath when he finds out he’s nothing to you but a machine.”

           And then, a ten-year-old girl produced by the program orchestrated the victory at 42 Draconis b. That was the year Emelia Worthy graduated from Sandhurst, and the debate had already been settled. The Strategic Corps was there to stay.

           Staring at the telemetry, Colonel Worthy wished the Strategic Corps would hurry up.

           “Don’t be impatient.” Commander Singh stepped up next to her. “They’ll let us know what we need to do.”

           “And in the meantime, whoever’s down there knows full bloody well we’re here. They’ve got something planned. We should reevaluate from a safer distance.”

           Singh shook his head. “That would reset all the calculations –”

           “When all this breaks loose, we’re not going to have time to wait for new orders. Haven’t you read your Clausewitz?”

           “Sir! Transmission from the Psychopomp!” The ensign’s voice cut across their muttered conversation.

           Singh turned to join the Admiral. “Trust, Colonel. The Strategists have it in hand.”

           Worthy watched Commander Singh join the Admiral and Captain Davies, keeping the telemetry hologram in the corner of her vision. In front of them, the screen showed a man with the shaved head and tech implants of the Support branch of the Strategic Corps – a handler, they called them. The computer-generated voice that accompanied the transmission didn’t belong to him, but to a Strategist out of sight behind him; the handler made adjustments so it was clear on the other end.

           “How do you know they’re real?” her nephew had asked. It was Christmas, and he had just learned that Strategists were rarely, if ever, seen by the troops they commanded. “How do you know it’s not just the handlers?”

           “Oh, they’re real, all right.”

           The transmission was still open, but whatever needed to be said, had been. Admiral Hicks-Perry nodded to Captain Davies, who turned to relay the latest orders –

           Something moved on telemetry.

           Worthy turned. Missiles!

           “Set course heading…” Captain Davies stammered to a halt as he noticed the hologram. He met Worthy’s eyes, face full of shock.

           Ask them to reevaluate!

           BOOM! The shock ran the length of the ship. Warning lights blared.

           “We’re taking fire! Howell and Inquisitor report damage –”

           “Hull breach, Section 8 –”

           “Pegasus asks if they should return fire –"

           The Admiral was shouting at the transmission to the Psychopomp, demanding to know what to do. Worthy saw Davies staring at him.

            Dammit, Hicks-Perry, this is your fleet! Worthy would never know for sure if she had shouted it aloud or not. Something thunderous struck behind her, drowning out everything else.

           When her senses returned, she was on her knees. The port side of the bridge was on fire. People were down, and there was blood on the deck. Hicks-Perry finally abandoned the transmission screen and seized a fire extinguisher.

           “Admiral. ADMIRAL.” It was the handler this time. “We’re falling back.”

           It wasn’t an order, or even a suggestion, but it was good enough.

           “Do we still have power?” Hicks-Perry shouted.

           Singh staggered to a console. “Affirmative, engines online. What heading?”

           The fire was out, mostly. “Get me the fleet.”

           The communications officer was slumped over his station, blood everywhere. An ensign, rushing to take his place, faltered. Worthy seized the man – dead, unconscious, who knew – and pulled him away from the console, wiping it clean with her sleeve.

           “Get to it.”

           Another screen opened, divided and tagged with each ship’s designation. The Admiral addressed it.

           “All ships, fall back. Follow the Psychopomp’s heading –” he paused while Singh relayed it from telemetry. “Regroup at –”

           “Incoming jump pattern,” Singh called out. “Brace for radiation wave.”

           WHUMP. The shock ran through the bulkheads and made the lights flicker. Worthy turned to the hologram, which had become badly pixelated. The newcomer’s markings belonged to the insurgency, but the ship itself was a Unionist design. It was between them and the Psychopomp. Ahead, the battleship Pegasus banked hard to avoid a collision. Flashes appeared between the two ships, and suddenly the side of the Pegasus’s hull bulged in an explosion.

           Hicks-Perry’s mouth fell open.

           “Get us out of here,” Worthy heard herself say. Singh stared at her. His face had gone grey. “Get us out of here!” she bellowed, and he turned to the screen the Admiral was neglecting and started shouting orders.

           “The comet belt! Regroup in the comet belt! Do whatever you have to to get there!” He shut off the connection and began calling directions to engineering.

           Hicks-Perry was still staring at the blank screen. His hands shook.

           “Where’s Davies?” he mumbled. “Where’s Davies?”

           Captain Davies lay at his feet, his head in a pool of blood.

          “Admiral.” Hicks-Perry didn’t respond until Worthy lay a hand on his shoulder. “Admiral, we should step into the corridor. The medical team needs room to work.”

[shirlleycoyle]

A Roundtable of Hackers Dissects ‘Mr. Robot’ Season 4 Episode 3: ‘Forbidden’

We asked for more hacks, and Episode 3 of Mr. Robot’s final season delivered. We discussed [SPOILERS, obvs] SS7, breaking and entering, social engineering, multi-factor authentication, and getting into Olivia’s machine. (The chat transcript has been edited for brevity, clarity, and chronology.) This week’s team of experts include:

Emma Best: a former hacker and current journalist and transparency advocate with a specialty in counterintelligence and national security.

Bill Budington: a long-time activist, security trainer, and a Senior Staff Technologist at the Electronic Frontier Foundation.

Jen Helsby: SecureDrop lead developer at Freedom of the Press Foundation.

Jason Hernandez: Solutions Architect for Bishop Fox, an offensive security firm. He also does research into surveillance technology and has presented work on aerial surveillance.

Harlo Holmes: Director of Digital Security at Freedom of the Press Foundation.

Trammell Hudson: a security researcher who likes to take things apart.

Micah Lee: a technologist with a focus on operational security, source protection, privacy and cryptography, as well as Director of Information Security at The Intercept.

Freddy Martinez: a technologist and public records expert. He serves as a Director for the Chicago-based Lucy Parsons Labs.

Episode Titles

Micah: This season's episode titles are named after HTTP error codes. The first episode is called "401 UNAUTHORIZED", the second is "402 PAYMENT REQUIRED", etc.

Bill: Also documented in cat form.

Micah: And this episode, 403, the HTTP error is forbidden, and the episode had a specific FORBIDDEN theme in it. Mr Robot said, "Every time I talk to Eliot about it, he puts up a wall. Like he's flat out throwing me a FORBIDDEN error. Denying me the chance to even bring it up."

Bill: Are they tracking the episode numbers? is the next one 404? OMG.

Retro IBMs

Yael: Do you guys think it's worth discussing the part of the plot that's essentially about China stealing IP from IBM? This is a big thing even now.

Jason: You can steal or clone a mainframe, but running one reliably without support from IBM is pretty hard…

Yael: Yeah, and in the meeting, it sounds like they were paying them money in this partnership, so I'm not sure what the plan was.

Trammell: On the retro IBM: was there ever a mouse available with that model? Because I’m that sort of nerd, the microsoft Mouse wasn't introduced until 1983. The rounded one that I think is in the photo wasn't until ‘87 or ‘93.

Retro Mouse, Image: USA

Jason: Yeah, it might be an XT (1983) or an IBM Personal Computer from 1981. The exterior looks similar for both models.

Trammell: I'm not 100% certain, but I think that predates the XT and is a 5150, the "original IBM PC." Because that is the sort of minutiae that totally throws away any credibility… IBM PC XT has a label that says “XT.”

Image: Wikipedia

Location Tracking

Harlo: The Krysta scene—at the end, we see a dude tailing Elliot, and, unlike the Whiterose gang, he's absolutely wayfinding (tracking a nearby signal) on his device. We see that again later on.

Trammell: Didn't Elliot install a hacked version of Signal that leaks his location?

Micah: He did. Allegedly, it only leaks his location to Darlene though, but who knows what she put in that APK, really.

Harlo: Hmmmmmm. Darlene, you FINK.

Bill: I'm not sure if he installed a hacked version of Signal or he just was using the Signal API.

Harlo: Darlene did force him to install a modified version of Signal that lets her in.

Yael: Well, she took his phone and put it in. He could’ve said no or removed it, but he didn’t.

Bill: You can script signal messages using the Signal API, and he might have just been doing that to notify Darlene of his location.

Freddy: I don’t think this existed in 2016, but I’m not sure.

Harlo: Yo maybe Darlene is working with the drug cartel because she gets a good deal on blow in exchange for Elliot.

Bank Security

Yael: So they're meeting on Christmas and Elliot and Darlene are planning to hack them to…steal the money? I think?

Jason: Yeah, I think that's the plan. Hack them and wire a ton of money out of the Bank of Cyprus.

Yael: Okay, so say this hack works, which it looks like it did, and they drain the money. Does Cyprus National Bank not have fraud protection?

Jason: Usually there's an approval flow with multiple users to initiate a substantial wire.

Harlo: Should be, right???

Jason: Yeah, probably need to hack some more people/social engineer.

Micah: It might be different if you have Olivia's access, though.

Yael: I've had my bank tell me when it thought there were unauthorized transactions or freeze my account because I was traveling, though.

SS7

Yael: When Darlene and Elliot were arguing about who got to do what, Darlene said Elliot was supposed to get the SS7 license; anyone wanna talk about SS7?

Jason: SS7 is a shared network that virtually every cell carrier has access to. Karsten Nohl / srlabs.de is a good technical reference on SS7.

Freddy: SS7 is a signaling system that handles things like when you are in your car and moving but on a phone call. When you switch from one cell tower to another, you need to be able to handle that without dropping the call. That’s what SS7 does. It’s also notoriously insecure and you can use SS7 exploits to take over someone’s phone. It enables you to steal text messages to bypass two-factor authentication.

Jen: And/or track people’s locations.

Harlo: Or to intercept messages, calls, and know which tower a phone is connecting to via its IMEI [unique identifier assigned to mobile devices]. Actually, you don’t even need the IMEI, I think.

Micah: I think all you need is a phone number.

Jen: You also need an SS7 license (or to somehow otherwise get access to the SS7 network) in order to do any of this as an attacker.

Jason: If you can convince carriers that you're a new cell carrier with paperwork, you can get access.

Olivia’s Machine

Yael: But then Elliot is also trying to get into Olivia Cortez's machine. Are these just two approaches for the same thing?

Micah: The SS7 hack and getting into Olivia's machine are two separate things. Elliot needs access to Olivia's machine in order to access the Cyprus National Bank account.

Harlo: So, ultimately, Elliot and Darlene are yak-shaving. Ultimately, they just need to hack the human.

Trammell: I'm a little disappointed that Elliot setup the breaking and entering as some sort of elite thing to leave Darlene at home, but in the end the target had zero special effort required. Darlene has also shown her expertise at social engineering.

Bill: The hack on Olivia's laptop is again a 2015 exploit. Basically, Elliot uses a hook that triggers the sticky key executable (sethc.exe). It is a helper process that is executed when you press the sticky keys combo at the login screen. Only, by replacing sethc.exe with cmd.exe, which is the Windows command line executable, he's able to press the sticky key combo to get shell access.

From there, he is able to reset Olivia's admin password and log in as her from the e-OS login screen. That allows him to steal the Firefox profile, which includes VPN access credentials from her laptop, which he then transfers to an instance of Kali Linux and runs.

He then runs ffpass to extract those credentials into his own Iceweasel (Firefox clone) profile, and gain VPN access. It's only then that he notices he needs the physical OTP module in order to complete authentication.

It looks like from the git history that ffpass didn't exist until 2018. This is the first time I've seen a tool which is newer than the time period, though.

Micah: First, he picks the lock in her drawer and finds her work laptop. Then he needs to reset her password, so he boots into "E Operating System Error Recovery", which is literally exactly the same thing as the "Windows Error Recovery” screen; they just replaced "Windows" with "E Operating System."

Jason: It's kind of amazing that a bank's corporate laptop wouldn't have full disk encryption.

Micah: Actually it might have full disk encryption, but it's Windows. If it uses BitLocker, then the encryption key is stored in the Trusted Platform Module [a dedicated processor used for encryption] and is passwordless, which means this hack could still work even with disk encryption.

Harlo: PSA: you can definitely enable passphrases in BitLocker. You would need to modify your group policy.

Micah: True, but it's not the default behavior, therefore, no one does it.

Jason: That’s terrible.

Harlo: It's a slog because Windows hates you, but it's possible.

Trammell: Bitlocker TPM + PIN seems like the right way to do it, although there is also the recently (end of 2018) discovered issue with self-encrypting disks and BitLocker. BitLocker will trust the SED, which in some cases turns out to not actually use any encryption.

Harlo: It's advisable to ALSO enable software-based encryption in your group policy.

Micah: I also like the rest of the password reset hack, where, from an "open file" dialog in Notepad, Elliot was able to manipulate the filesystem, to rename cmd.exe to something else, to ultimately get a [command line] shell.

Multi-factor Authentication

Yael: When Elliot gets Olivia's machine, he can't get into it because she uses MFA. So if you wear one of your factors on your wrist, do you need a special secure locker for your hookups? Though I guess Dom had a locker and that didn't work for her.

Bill: This reminds me of the scene in Season 1 where Tyrell sleeps with some guy to get access to his cellphone, in order to install some custom malware on it.

Harlo: This part made me really double-think how we normally keep our keys so accessible. How many folks do you know keep their 2FA on their literal keychain? (Raises hand.)

Emma: I may or may not keep my hardware key on a necklace rated to support up to 150 kilos along with a Kali USB key and an encrypted one for all my goodies.

Image: USA

Harlo: But can we talk about the social engineering?

Yael: My favorite part was when Elliot said people held him down and forced him to do heroin.

Trammell: It is interesting how Elliott's social engineering was a tag team with Mr. Robot—they had such different pickup artist techniques.

Harlo: Love to have my dad as wingman. Ghost dad telling me to get it. My dead dad, like "go for it, son."

Yael: Olivia got stood up (sort of) on Christmas and there was Matthew Sweet playing. She didn’t even stand a chance. I guess this hack wasn't all that complicated? Would you agree? Like the password part was more technically difficult and the social engineering was pretty easy. And then poor Cyprus Bank practices, I guess.

Bill: I would say the reverse. Especially for introverts, the social dynamics stuff can be exceedingly difficult. The technical hack just takes time and persistence. The social hack is kind of a one-shot thing.

Yael: I don’t know. I think people are sadly easy to manipulate. Even people who should know better. We are just very trusting, in general.

Trammell: It is interesting how much better his turned out than Darlene/Dom, which ended with Dom delivering possibly the worst curse on Darlene. (Although Olivia doesn't know she's been hacked yet…)

Yael: "Finding" the Oxytocin after he got what he needed was a nice touch. But like she could've caught him with her security key, and didn't. Some of this was luck. Sorry, Elliot. Literally if her date had showed up on time this wouldn't have happened.

Trammell: Yeah, serious plot-armor on the luck between the date not showing up, not getting caught with the token, etc.

Jason: Elliot could have hacked her OkCupid and cancelled the date without her noticing. And done some additional research to improve his odds. A nice shirt also helps. 😉

Harlo: By the way, I told a couple of folks, but I don't mind telling literally everyone: one time I literally burned my whole infrastructure because a handsome man was nice to me at a conference and i was so suspicious that it was an op.

Yael: Haha. I always get suspicious when people want to talk to me instead of me wanting to talk to them.

Harlo: Hack the human.

Trammell: Given the short time frame, I'm also curious why he didn't burn the bridge and make a quick exit with the keyfob (and maybe wallet, etc) to make it look like a more normal theft. As in, the meeting is tomorrow, so they need to execute on the results of the hack RIGHT NOW.

Harlo: It's worth noting that this shows how important multi-factor authentication is! The fact that Elliot had to go as far as he did to gain access to an account even when he already gained someone's password is really, really important for viewers to understand!

Yael: Yesssss all he needs is to break both factors. They had this in the first season, when Elliott had to get Gideon Goddard’s phone for his RSA SecureID pin.

Emma: Elliot sent him a bunch of junk MMS messages to drain the battery and force him to charge it, then hit him with the distraction to get him to leave his office. Both instances though highlight an important point—the biggest threat are the people close to you. Elliot was able to do it to Goddard because they worked in the same office. Elliot had to get close to Olivia to get her fob. Like Harlo said, multi-factor authentication is super important and remote hackers can have to go to extreme lengths to compromise it (although it depends…. phone based MFA is a lot less secure than the fob).

Harlo: Especially when you're dealing with a hacker with an "SS7 license." This is why we go for apps or even better, hardware tokens for 2FA wherever they’re available!

Yael: There's also Tyrell's stalkerware. So, uh, password protect your phone, I guess.

A Roundtable of Hackers Dissects ‘Mr. Robot’ Season 4 Episode 3: ‘Forbidden’ syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[christianworldf]

New Post has been published on Nehemiah Reset

New Post has been published on https://nehemiahreset.org/news/minnesota-news/government-news-mn/iran-denies-us-shot-down-iranian-drone-ilhan-omars-anti-israel-resolution-sparks-outrage/

Iran denies US shot down Iranian drone; Ilhan Omar's anti-Israel resolution sparks outrage

Good morning and welcome to Fox News First. Here’s what you need to know as you start your Friday …

What the US downing of an Iranian drone really means Tensions between the U.S. and Iran have been gradually rising for weeks, and President Trump’s announcement Thursday that a U.S. Navy ship downed an Iranian drone in the Strait of Hormuz only further strained relations between the two countries. Trump said the USS Boxer took defensive action after the drone closed to within 1,000 yards of the warship and ignored multiple calls to stand down — an act the president called “provocative and hostile.”

Iran on Friday denied Trump’s statement. “We have not lost any drone in the Strait of Hormuz nor anywhere else,” tweeted Deputy Foreign Minister Abbas Araghchi. According to Jim Hanson, president of Security Studies Group, who served in the U.S. Army Special Forces, the U.S. sent an important message to Iran: Aggression has consequences and America will strike back when provoked. And President Trump is not former President Obama and will not be compromised by a flawed nuclear deal. Click here to read Hanson’s entire analysis in the Opinion section of Fox News Digital.

House Democrats confront Acting Homeland Security secretary on treatment of migrants Progressive lawmakers on Thursday grilled the acting Homeland Security secretary about family separations at the U.S-Mexico border, with one member of the “Squad” alleging that Trump administration officials want to prolong the detention of children. Rep. Rashida Tlaib, D-Mich., at a House Oversight Committee hearing, accused Acting Homeland Security Secretary Kevin McAleenan and fellow administration officials of trying to change the long-standing agreement known as the Flores settlement that governs how immigrant children can be detained, “to keep kids longer” in custody. McAleenan denied the accusation, explaining that he wanted to keep families together for the time necessary it takes for immigration proceedings to go through, and for the justice system to make a ruling on the case. Democrats have slammed the detentions as “inhumane,” while many Republicans have accused the Democrats of hypocrisy, saying they were silent about similar detentions under the Obama administration.

Trump to nominate son of late Supreme Court Justice Scalia for secretary of labor President Trump on Thursday night announced he’s nominating attorney Gene Scalia, a son of the late Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia, to replace Alex Acosta as secretary of labor. The surprise move was a visible manifestation of the close personal bond Trump has forged with the Scalia family in recent years. The confirmation process for Justice Neil Gorsuch, who ultimately filled Justice Scalia’s seat, sparked the connection. Acosta stepped down as head of the Labor Department last Friday over his past involvement in a cushy 2008 plea deal for financier Jeffrey Epstein, who is now facing federal sex trafficking charges.

U.S. Rep. Ilhan Omar, D-Minn., holds a Medicare for All town hall with other lawmakers, Thursday, July 18, 2019, in Minneapolis. (Richard Tsong-Taatarii/Star Tribune via AP)

Trump lawyers: Why Ilhan Omar’s anti-Israel resolution should be defeated in House U.S. Rep. Ilhan Omar, D-Minn., proposed a resolution this week supporting the right to boycott Israel, likening the boycott of the Jewish state to boycotts of Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union. Omar’s resolution seeks to push back against U.S. laws banning the boycott of Israel and affirms the right of Americans to organize boycotts of foreign countries if they so wish. While the resolution doesn’t explicitly name Israel or the pro-Palestinian Boycott, Divestment and Sanctions (BDS) movement, she told media outlets that the resolution concerns the Jewish state. Jay Sekulow and Mark Goldfeder, two members of President Trump’s legal team, argue that Omar’s measure “deserves to go down to overwhelming bipartisan defeat.” Click here to read the entire op-ed by Sekulow and Goldfeder on Fox News Digital.

Tom Cruise surprises San Diego Comic-Con to introduce trailer to ‘Top Gun’ sequel Tom Cruise may soon fly high at the box office once again. The veteran movie star surprised fans at San Diego Comic-Con on Thursday to promote his long-awaited, much anticipated upcoming sequel, “Top Gun: Maverick.” In the new trailer, it’s revealed that Cruise’s iconic character, Pete “Maverick” Mitchell, will serve as the new flight instructor of the Top Gun school, and is seen wearing his infamous Ray-Ban sunglasses, as he faces off against a new enemy — drones.

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TODAY’S MUST-READS California city will remove gender terms, including ‘manhole’ and ‘manmade,’ from municipal code. Husband of missing bikini-clad hiker says cops view him as prime suspect. ‘Cats’ movie trailer unnerves many on Internet: ‘I shrieked out loud.’

MINDING YOUR BUSINESS Airline CEOs to meet with Trump amid feud with Persian Gulf carriers. Elizabeth Holmes, disgraced Theranos founder, scores small legal victory ahead of 2020 trial.  Want to flee high-tax states like New York? Turns out it’s not so easy.

#TheFlashback: CLICK HERE to find out what happened on “This Day in History.”

SOME PARTING WORDS

Tucker Carlson believes Joe Biden’s campaign is “deader than disco” and takes a look at other doomed 2020 Democrats.

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Fox News First is compiled by Fox News’ Bryan Robinson. Thank you for joining us! Enjoy your day and weekend! We’ll see you in your inbox first thing Monday morning.

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