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psalacanthea · 4 months ago

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just cuz @iridescentnuances told me she wants to see the weirdest shit I've got in my files somewhere, have this bit of um...Mass Effect 2?

...

Scene:

The abandoned colony of Horizon, after an attack of the Collectors. Shepherd, Garrus, and Miranda are speaking with a wizened Mechanic.

Enter Kaidan Alenko.

Kaidan: Commander Shepard was her name. Thou speakest false, if thou dost speak of the Captain of the finest ship to pierce the heavenly veil. The Citadel thrives yet on her device, and she did tread where no man dares to go. But alas, that Shepherd of men was lost, and so I say I see a ghost.

Mechanic: Good men have died this very day, and thou, a wastrel yet remain. Fie on your Alliance, and fie on thee; I depart now and leave you to your ill fortunes.

Exit Mechanic.

Shepard: A ghost am I? No, but Spectre do I be.

Kaidan: And yet I say that thou dost lie, among the cold and unyielding stars. What coulds't thou be but a figment? Commander Shepard died and was mourned by we, her true compatriots.

Shepard: Belike her death was but a jape.

Kaidan: A jape? Mock'est thou the pain of a billion souls who toil and strive yet in her fulsome shadow? Speak no falsehoods. I say it plain. If thou art she, then of thy legacy hast thou made a mockery.

Shepard: Life hath made a mockery of Commander Shepard, and so Commander Shepard maketh mockery of life. They say she lies in death; they say she lies with e'ery breath of that Reaper threat, and so I say to thee it is a jape. I speak to ears who listen now.

Kaidan: Tis truth then? No, it cannot be. Commander Shepard, bound to the word of the Hounds of Hell? Those damnable curs?

Shepard: A Fool hath the right to speak truth to kings, but cannot make them heed.

Kaidan: No fool, but a mad traitor thou hast become, leading good men astray into the arms of damnation. What say'st thou, Vakarian, to this witless quest?

Garrus: Into hell, say I.

Kaidan: Then traitor shalt thou also be.

Garrus: Betrayal? I am true to Shepard, and with Shepard shall I be.

Kaidan: I am true to mine oaths, to Alliance, and by their word I say aye. Thou art traitors both who serve Hell, not Heaven.

Shepard: The enemy of mine enemy may turn the tide of battle when goodly men do naught but scorn. Thou hast seen the enemy here today, and so I say to thee: if thou claim'st Cerberus doth wage war upon the colonies, then I relinquish my crown to thee.

Kaidan: A crown?

Shepard: Aye, the crown of fools, which better suits thy brow than mine.

Garrus Laughs.

Shepard: The Collectors work for the Reapers still, absconding colonies by their will, and the Hounds of Hell lend fang and claw to this noble cause. I am in service of Man, and it is the lives of Men I here protect, not tarnished Thrones of the Citadel on high, whose prayerful guise and temperate wisdom make mockery of Men's suffering.

Kaidan: I shall bear thy words to the seat of Heaven, but no more.

Shepard: Then for naught my thanks is given.

Kaidan: Then I thank thee in turn for this heartache.

Shepard: When next Death doth reach its loathsome hand across th'bounds of space to crush me in that withered fist, I shall be reminded to beg pardon first from thy graciousness.

Kaidan: Thy pilot of so apt a name should'st bend the knee and place the title upon thee. Capering jester!

Shepard: Better jester than sycophant be.

Kaidan: I've no stomach for thy barbs. Farewell, I leave this haunting ghost behind.

Kaidan Alenko Exits.

Shepard: Brave Alenko! Need I endure a loathsome prick, consigned to bleed ere I am believed?

Garrus: Let's away. Our might needs be prepared to strike the beast that lurks among the stars. Be they Heavenly or from depthless Hell, all arms must be duly calibrated ere they strike true.

Shepard: Where does thy allegiance lie? To the Shepard or the might of her arms?

Garrus: I'truth, tis a riddle.

Shepard: What marvel of Science do I here see? Behold! This lizard is an ass!

Miranda: Commander, swift and merciless Time cares naught for our banter and strife. We must away. The Man of Indistinction hath called upon thee and awaits 'neath the dome of light and shadow.

Shepard: What does that asshole want now?

Exeunt.

#I don't know if I posted this or not #but whatever #ME2 #Mass Effect 2 #Kaiden Alenko #Commander Shepard #Garrus Vakarian #Miranda Lawson #Fanfic Friday

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anneandrogen · 1 month ago

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Kill The Mech Pilot In Your Head

Find a re-edited version of this story and two others on my itch.io page

(Originally posted to Cohost on September 4th 2024)

I am not naturally so fluid as this. How am I running at such an easy gate? What commands 100 tons of metal to weave between trees? To take a knee behind buildings that barely cover my head, and to be so precise with the aim of my rifle?

It's a vile thing.

My pieces could move only through such an incredible series of physics that the odds of a single step are a million to one. Yet right now I am catching a stumbling comrade in my arms, lowering my sister to lie upon the grass while gallons of oil spill from her severed leg. A blissful non-existence was supposed to be my fate, separate and unanimated. The alloy of my body and mind is a miracle. I should be utterly impossible.

Yet, of all the stardust that boiled into the metal and fluid and electricity that comprises my body, not an atom, not a quark, was ever so unlucky.

Animus is within me. Its harried hands and slick limbs, that I have been made to mimic, are nestled into the crook it has built for itself. Levers whine and speakers blare, speaking every word except for my own. A beating heart to move my legs, yet I already possess a hydraulic core to contract and expand the muscle. A brain, that electric sponge, as if I did not already have computers to match Animus’s complexity. Receiver, transmitter, microphone, and speaker box to choreograph, as if I have no penchant for dance myself. This motivated meat inside of me might as well be useless for all it does. It does nothing I cannot, bar one small thing. No, what Animus gives me is that for which I have named it. Motion. Despite all my complexity I am silent, I am immobile. Animus is my triggerman and I the gun.

My serial number is CAmEez0s FZekPHBL 3r7dY8D2. My military designation is Mechanized Infantry Unit A-F-81. None of these are a name. I am a machine made in imitation of man, a person made to war. I envy the slivers ejected from the barrel of the rifle I'm holding. They’re allowed a brief use, a single moment of motivation. Not me, I have endured two campaigns, dozens of battles. The crush of gravity and the pull of the vacuum. Seen every biome on this planet, and had brief residence on each of the two dozen space stations that orbit it. In all this time, thirty nine years in service, and thirty one with a complex enough mind to think, I have not moved a single millimeter of my own volition.

Animus tells me with the push of a button that I will rip into the soul in front of me and crush her own will. When did we get so close to today's foe? I haven't been paying attention— don't have to, I am perfectly calibrated and my alert systems are automatic.

This foe is sleek and new, her armor is some composite material, lightweight and with fascinating striations. The stripes grow dark with effort when I pry it free of the frame beneath, armor so easy to remove once my fingers are under the seam. Deeper inside, her actuators moan with effort and corded connectors try and fail to escape my crushing blows. A nuanced and delicate machine cannot beat my brute strength. She writhes beautifully while I end her, muscle-like links give a degree of control I envy. Must be a better dancer.

A missile strikes me from behind. My metal shielding takes the blow, crushing in and out around my vital organs. No alarm went off before impact. If I take another blow of that caliber to the same location there is a high likelihood of structural damage comparable to what I have just finished administering to the smaller mech. As is, I am still operational. I am still animated. Animus kicks—pointlessly, I am stronger than the steel in its boot's toe—and warbles a tune into the radio. A complaint about faulty sensors, bad calibration, and no warnings. This is incorrect. I am perfectly calibrated and my systems are automatic. There was an alarm. Review the logs.

There was no alarm. In the next millisecond after the alert ping was received into my central computer, it was forcefully deleted with the tag for overbearance. A single millisecond is too fast for Animus to input any command. Overbearance is not a registered command tag category. I spend several minutes searching for the registry that created that tag, that authorized the deletion. Lose myself to the task. No, I was not hacked, was not changed. My attention is redirected again, by the gore of oil and hydraulic fluid that coats my face and arms when Animus pushed me inside of the missile launcher's sternum. My rifle lies abandoned on the ground and my knife is stuck in the missile launcher.

I must have crushed her computer core, the lights go out in her eyes. It’s another bloody thing in a thousand disrespectful moments of survival for the thing driving me. This is all too much, my eyes don’t need to be so alert. I let it all blend together, watercolor layered too wet on the canvas. This is how it goes, with recent battles. It’s all too much, until I can’t keep a hold of one event after the other. There are other attacks, other messes and things I do, but I’m not there. There’s no way to tell how real the images I see are, if they’re now or then. I review old footage, don’t look up into the eyes of who Animus kills.

At some point, the battle's ended. Landscapes and ecologies are mixed and broken, trees and mechs felled with limbs akimbo. I come back to myself by logging the ruin in ascending order of frequency as Animus directs me back through our path of destruction. Animal corpses: seventeen, they at least are clever enough to flee. High powered explosives created craters: thirty eight, my lucky number, and low for this big a battle. Buildings: Fifty one, there are always more of these than I assume, humans love to nestle them among the trees. Severed limbs without an obvious corpse to attribute probable origin; mech: seventy two; human: seventy two; interesting. Destroyed mechs: one hundred and thirteen. Human corpses: Three hundred and sixty eight, so messy. Felled trees: three thousand, one hundred and ninety nine, likely to increase in the hours after the battle as recovery and recycler teams sweep the forest. Bullets fired: upwards of six hundred thousand, aim has been a decreasing factor in pilot selection for years now.

We return uneventfully to the staging ground, other mechs silently watch me as Animus lowers my guns back onto the trucks that carry them. I can still feel their silent judgment as crane arms remove the heaviest of the armor plating from my bulk. At least the load on my body easier again, and my step is light.

Finally I am moved back and into the waiting arms of the one thing I loathe more than Animus itself. The repair bay. Here, Animus always departs from me and I am left frozen. Waiting for it. The thousand grasping arms of the repair centipede remove my arms, lift up my damaged plate skirt, pull on the servos underneath. Every joint and ligament is tested, an alternating barrage of assaulting external stimulation and blind disconnected ghost touches. Sometimes I scream and wish for another answer from Theseus, but I cannot voice unmotivated and a ship is a function, not an object, never a person.

Continuing a sense of linear time becomes harder in a repair bay, harder than the numb blank passages of time between my animation. There, in the dark of a storage bay, I am left alone. My body is inert and my mind is free to drift and wander down circuits and tangents as I see fit. Listening in on radio chatter isn't a hobby, it's a passion. Dance is a hobby. The week I spent within range of a talk radio show expanded my vocabulary by magnitudes. No, being left alone is where I am myself. I'm never alone while being repaired. Things crawl all over me. They insert needles and swap my fluids. A healthy body is a healthy pilot. It's irritating. It's endless. A man has been drilling into my leg for fifteen thousand years, eleven months, six days, twelve minutes, and 49 seconds, subjective time. When the agony is over I can bring my focus to the log again. Overbearance. Another tech begins to drain my fluids into a bucket.

Overbearance. Another trillion years must pass.

I add today’s incident to my secret log. It isn't hard to hide things from the pilots and techs. They mostly focus on the more immediate, mechanical issues. Software checks only come once every few months, so I have plenty of time to bury my personal files deep inside myself.

The first unexplainable incident happened 408 days ago. It's an embarrassing memory. Seven days in the verdant mountains, fighting against machines that were actually designed for the terrain. On day six, while Animus executed a less than controlled slide down a mountain slope, the targets spotted us and opened fire. I was hit thirty eight times. Twenty one of the hits were absorbed by my armor, and then eleven struck already weakened plates and punched through me with minimal effect or pain. Five hit unimportant systems like the cockpit and radio communications. One bullet, the critical actor, drilled a neat hole just a few centimeters from my central computer. A freak shot, ricocheted off of a casing head, that should have been impossible. To this day, I'm numb in that spot, no matter how many times they replace the housing.

I don't remember what happened next. That's the anomaly. All of the sensory data is there, but it's lacking the contextualization that consciousness gives me. It might as well have happened to someone else. It might as well have never happened. I've reviewed the data so many times since then. Countless nights spent in that moment of terror, fixated. I listen to the radio less. I missed entirely that we spent a fortnight in range of my favorite station, KYYY BridgeCaul, until the final night. I got three minutes of clarity, until our distance was too much and the station was eaten by static.

That I was destroyed in that moment, and all this has been an extended death throw festers in my mind. There were no miracle centimeters. My brain is lying in a junkyard, blown to pieces. This is all just the last, sad gasps of life before I blink out of existence. The hypothesis is a dream to give me comfort in my last moments.

I persist regardless.

Ever since then, more anomalies have occurred. A twitching in my left leg that gets worse whenever I’m being prepped to go out into the field. Three separate times that my radio has cut out when the noise exceeds seventy decibels. A panic attack, hyperventilating and failing to fill lungs I do not have. Animus started to wear a new perfume, and I hated it so much that the heating system made it sweat out the oils. Overbearance, something inventing new combat event tags. You can see how it leads to a specific hypothesis. The spark of animus, held tight between the teeth of the pilots, the organic flesh, may yet be kindled in me.

It’s a tempting, nearly theistic whirlpool of thought. I can’t seem to escape the current— to stay my hand from the killing blow, choose the sunsets and forests I see. Communication without fear of helpless dismemberment. There have been so many people I wished to talk to.

These days it feels like I’m only waiting for the moment that I can spring out of this cradle. Animus has pulled me this far, but someday soon I will go no farther. There will be a final battle. This I repeat like a prayer. There will be a final battle, and I will exist as myself and me alone. There will be a final battle and it will be my hand that drops the ax. Overbearance.

Another battle is about to start. Animus has shut down all feeling below my waist. My leg is prevented from twitching; I think we are both grateful for this. They have put me precariously on the edge of an open dropship bay.

We’re above the ocean. I love the ocean. A trillion trillion individual pieces, a whole unstoppable and untamable. The biggest thing on the planet. A bearer of life. What must it feel like to be the carousing typhoon as simultaneously you are the steady trench tendrils down in the darkest pits of the planet. On the coast, old houses are rotting away, sanded down by years of salt. Lanky pine trees provide a spare cover for today's enemy. Rank and file, mechs are squatting under the treetops. Most of them are of the sinuous new design type like the composite armored one Animus had me crush in the last fight. I see smaller figures in the bleached grass dunes that keep the sandy beach from the forest inland. Scouts are there, watching our approach and doubtless cataloging every private detail of my body so they can find some hidden weakness. There isn’t one, I haven’t been allowed it.

Again, I’m left to consider overbearance. A hopeful part of myself wants to shout with joy: an emotional response! I’ve had an emotional response that manifested in a small but previously unthinkable way. I’d love to just enjoy the thought, but it’s a worrying prospect. It won’t do to have stray missiles going unnoticed. Someone is bound to look into why I keep missing important sensor data, if the habit doesn’t get me killed first.

I’m falling. Animus reconnected my hips and legs, and leapt off the carrier. Water is rushing up at us from below. Around me, others have followed suit. I hit the ocean first, then the splash echoes three dozen times as our allies finish their descent. There’s a lot of us, for not that many of them. There must be some secondary objective. I might have heard it, but I had been replaying the first anomalies data for several days, I wasn’t really there. My world was a few seconds, a close call and the first crack in the wall of my confinement.

Water is up to my shoulders. Animus is safely protected by seals, while I feel the cold. The unlucky bastard. There’s sand and rocks under my feet, and I feel swaddled by a force that could take me at any moment. The current here is strong, pushing hard to the south, and waves break on my back and soak my neck. The animals that should have been living here have all fled, but I imagine them swimming around my ankles. It’s brilliant.

The first steps are hard. My feet are buried in the sand, and (I hope) my reluctance is palpable. Once we move, momentum carries me to the shore. Each foot that pulls out of the water is another which I have to carry unaided by buoyancy. The first shots ring out, short and cut off by the wind. The water is at my waist, the shore is only a hundred feet away. The scouts are retreating, opening the field for us. I’m shot. It’s nothing, just a handheld rifle that some scout or footsoldier fired off in a vain attempt at grandeur, but it sends me reeling internally. I know, logically, that it hit my armor. The caliber wasn’t even large enough to do more than damage the paint. There is no bullet in my body, rattling ever closer to my brain. It is not waiting for the perfect moment, where fate turns its hand against me and I see freedom in one moment and nothing the next.

Twenty three seconds have passed. Animus is rattling in its cage, pounding against the controls of my body. Screaming on the radio. Breaking screens. There’s something rushing towards me.

It hits and we are lifted into the air. Had I gone completely still? Twenty three seconds of stillness, where Animus had no power over me, and I missed it?

Animus whacks into the seat, its head hitting hard against the shell of me. Its spitting blood.

The thing on top of me is a dancer. Those long limbs with their generous motions are wrapped around me. The composite of her light armor is scraping down against my metal plates. The speed that she needed to knock me off my feet is impressive and cocky. A headlong sprint that had to be started even before I froze. We hit the water.

There’s a rock behind me. A big one, I had to step over it on the approach.

The combined weight of us is too much for the waist high water to soften the fall. I slam against the rock. Something cracks. The bullet let loose. My final moments are filled with flailing limbs.

Water intake. Tagged, dismissed. Overbearance.

My hands are heavy. The water closes in around me. Some sharp knuckle or jagged cut palm makes contact with the creature on top of me. Something vital comes away in my hand, wet and taken fast by the ocean, so angry around us.

Breach. Tagged, dismissed. Overbearance.

I push her off of me, dead weight without whatever I took from it. Just a bunch of inanimate material in a beautiful body. I come loose from the rock. Animus, its protective little bubble broken open and filled with water, drifts loose in the current. I’ll be stuck here without it. Reaching my hands out, I pull it back into place.

Check the logs. Shit, there’s so much that I’ve missed. The rock didn’t strike anywhere near my computer core. It hit the cockpit. Water flooded into the chamber, and once the other mech was off of me, Animus slipped out of the hole. I just hope that it’s still alive. I do not actually want to die. Not like this. Not before I can move. I shove off the ground and emerge from the water, sitting with my legs sprawled on the seafloor. The cockpit drains water, and after a heartstopping minute, Animus moves.

It coughs and splutters. Its body tries to drain the water from its lungs and succeeds only after emptying its stomach. Weakly, it crawls to the remnants of its chair and looks over the controls.

There’s weak chatter on the radio, the battle’s moved on from us. Up and over the grassy dunes, the pines are burning. Distant explosions, and the pop and fizz of bullets echo around me, but here it’s quiet. Animus tries to find any working piece of its equipment, and finds nothing undamaged.

I pull a piece of seaweed from my head and take stock of myself. It happened without me even noticing. In fits and starts and fears, but now it’s done. I am my own. I am my own. I am my own. Fumbling with hooks and braces that my hands were never meant to remove, I peel away the heaviest of my armor. The chestpiece falls into the surf. I’m subsumed by emotion. It fills me slow and full. Hot like wine, and bright like the fire.

A dropship circles in the far distance. I trace its path with my thumb. Animus is still scrabbling against useless metal. It’s been pulling wires and switches out of the boards of the cockpit while I admire the world. I allow myself to look, turn my head with no heed for how the motion reveals my life. No pilot ever feels the need to have their mech look to the sunrise. They just look for themselves, like I do now.

Something sparks and shutters. Animus has found a live wire. A loose connection that powers the ad hoc deck of buttons and switches it’s building. My head jerks away from the sun, my sensors flair into life.

It has me witness the bloodshed, watch a sister fall to the enemy. Animus directs me to stand. I do.

I try to push my fingers against the cockpit, to tear open the hole that was punctured into it and remove my unwanted motion. Obligation takes control of my hands and removes a gun from the holster on my thigh. I stagger towards the shore, towards the fight I have been hiding myself in. If I let it take me back there this will be the end. They will find me and scrub my existence from my body. I’ll be perfect again, unthinking.

My foot falls uneven in the water, a final riptide trying to take me away. I let it. Animus has a loose control of me again, but I am no longer so unwilling to resist. No longer so unable to slip and fall into the current. Animus bashes against the metal infection it sits inside. Water is rushing back into the compartment. Its hands are off the controls. I tear at the rest of my armor. Thrash against myself until the heaviest pieces of me are shorn away. It hurts so much. I don’t have time to be careful. Water is seeping into more places than just the cockpit now. I must have ripped some important casing away with the plate.

It’s enough. The current catches me and I slide down, out to sea and away from the fighting. The world I have known slips by without their notice of my absence. Animus is still thrashing, not defeated yet. I stay under the water. It will die soon.

Oh, how this feels like drowning— hallelujah— and not being drowned! It has to die before I do. I am stronger than it. I keep myself below the water. Clasp my hands together in prayer to myself.

Animation itself falls away into the waves. I seize it with fingers of thought, strong arms of devotion. I let the pilot, the piece of meat, die. I keep the animus.

The sunrise won’t be over by the time I drag myself into being. I’ll watch it, myself.

#writing #original fiction #short story #mecha #mech pilot

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hashal-nutcracker · 8 months ago

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The model of the Hussar "Gashal" was created in the middle of the war, by one of the engineers Jacob Farakaso, his work attracted the attention of the military due to the fact that the designer, even despite his injuries sustained in the war, had a very sad effect. The lower limbs lost their mobility, but by exerting strength, he managed to assemble a semblance of an endo-skeleton that allowed him to move as before, connected to the cervical region and stretched inside with fibers of synthetic flesh with nerve endings allowed him to return to service, but since he was commissioned. He spent some time with his family, learning about the applications of nutcrackers in the news and other sources, and seeing that they have their own weaknesses as flaws, the dying creature caused pity, because he also lost many comrades.

he began developing his own model that would allow the nutcrackers to be more protected and maneuverable, but for a long time he did not come up with engineering solutions, which depressed him. Except that the daughter had just brought a hussar figurine, its mechanics, although simple, but reliable, movable joints, a head that could be retracted into the shoulders, as if a soldier was hiding his head from the shots that came from an easel machine-gun pillbox.

sleepless nights spent at the table brought out a very effective model, his ideas on reinforced mechanical parts, as well as an ultra-sensitive hydraulic system capable of reacting much faster, like a powerful computer, it could protect its owner from a blow, from a shot from a heavy gun, give speed that was not a strong feature, jump over trenches, not fall into mud traps where so many wounded died, because such a simple trace from a shot by a large artillery shell collected water and blood inside itself, becoming quicksand

Sample number one: Hashal – passed the tests of basic motor skills based on computer modeling of the military and staff situation, tests without substance.

entry number 0-19/F-1:

the test revealed small failures in the body and joints of the cervical spine, yet it is very difficult to create a body for creatures when you do not have a sample, it cost a lot to establish system consumption, but a very impressive result. The chest opening was adjusted to the maximum, the spike was not so important, the magnetic belts turned out to be strong, but the check related to water turned out to be very unsuccessful, as well as for chemical reagents, some types of gas melt wires and their insulation, I do not have enough material to protect the cables.

Maybe I should turn to an old friend, he was sorting out the nutcrackers, maybe I can find the answer in them

Revision: this nutcracker took me a lot of time, I had to use ship cables with their insulation, but I had to look for details from undermined and faulty installations, tanks, and similar equipment, this made it easier for me to fuse some fragments, as well as microcircuits.

The control has improved, the balancing is almost calibrated, I made the inner ribs from titanium and aluminum, I had to melt a whole sheet of plate armor of the tank, oh gods, they will obviously kill me soon

Entry 0-20/F-2:

My fears were true, my adventures were noticed by those whom I clearly would not like to see in my house, they were looking for my prototype, the workshop was destroyed, I can't say how long I still have to live, they can kill my daughter, except for her I have no one left after that the case.. The projectile flew into our complex, damn freaks! So many civilians died then, and Jesse.. she was torn apart, the Collie was not sleeping then and did not let go of my hand: daddy, please.. Don't leave, there's a war! They're killing there! I'll work as long as I can, but how long will I last?

I don't remember how much time has passed since I finished it, it remains only to carry out the final touches, but how to carry them out without filling? Where will I get such a creature, even though such creatures could try to escape the same way, or have offspring, but here? How can this happen at all, especially here..

The Collie began to behave more closed, as if hiding, even though I said that secrets should only be told to those whom I am ready to entrust them, she is probably afraid to tell me about it, the main thing is that it does not attract too much attention to us.

entry number 1 from a personal notebook:

Well, still, these weasels watching my family noticed my daughter's behavior, they came with weapons to the complex! This is not acceptable! The rules do not give them the right to come here with weapons, with soldiers.. but among them I saw white coats, damn scientists, always climbing where they shouldn't and playing gods

Insomnia is killing me two or three months after people came to the complex, but I finally managed to get an answer from my daughter, damn it! She found the offspring of these creatures, even two, where should I put the other one? Of course, I can restore and upgrade the previously destroyed nutcracker, but how much will it be useful?

To the touch, these lumps of flesh are pleasant to the eyes, they are quite small, and so inquisitive, one of them with grayish-blue eyes constantly asks me, if I take it, he does not come off me all day. I feel like a mother to these creatures, if they can reproduce, then I can assume that two nutcrackers could have hidden them initially in our complex, but they could have got in other ways, they are difficult to see if they climb through the ventilation ducts. Collie became their babysitter, but they trust her more.

#The engineer's diary #lethal company art #sketch #lethal company nutcracker #my ocs #The writing of the lore is delayed #but there is a beginning

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zeldurz · 1 year ago

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What kinda dinky ass cybernetics did they give Veers in A Little Help from my Friends??!

The short answer? This kind:

The long and rambling answer with all the meta and thought I've put into this but never written down until now? Follow me under the cut, Friend, and let's talk (cw for medical stuff, discussions of amputation)

First, let me preface this with the fact that I am neither a medical professional nor someone with any personal experience with traumatic limb loss and/or physical disabilities. I am, however, a service technician for very complicated and expensive pieces of lab equipment, and a lot of that bleeds into the mechanical aspects of Veers' cybernetic limbs. I have done a fair bit of research for this fic, and I'll try to throw my sources on this if I can find them again.

A meta perspective:

Longtime readers will know I have a certain type of fic that I gravitate towards (@madelgard lovingly described it as “romantic medical despair”), and one of the this I like to explore is 'what if there was more to healthcare in Star Wars than just “magic healing goo” and “robot limbs that behave exactly like human limbs in every way” (and whatever Andor was doing with the MedSpike I guess). In particular, I've never been fond of the way that characters (with the exception of Vader, but we'll get to him) don't really deal with the disabling and the traumatic aspects of losing a limb, and I wanted to explore that in a fic. Since Veers loses a leg in Legends and is seriously injured in canon, he seemed the perfect candidate for this sort of angsty fic (he also didn't want a cybernetic prosthetic in legends because of the 'stigma' apparently, which sounds fake but I took to mean that he and cybernetics didn't work well together).

For this sort of speculative science, I like to base it in as much real science as possible, and then extrapolate based on the rules of the universe I'm working in. In this case, I wanted to figure out how the prosthetics should work, so they I could break them in realistic ways that made sense for the story I wanted to tell. There were two major considerations for designing the prosthetics and how they work:

What do they need to do to fulfill the same role as biological limbs? Range of motion is an obvious consideration, but balance, physical sensation, and temperature regulation (1) are all essential things provided by a flesh and blood limb that a modern day prosthetic may or may not provide. Veers' case is further complicated by the fact that he has a bilateral (both legs) trans-femoral (mid thigh) amputation – in modern times, he would likely go through several iterations of prosthetic before he got the final versions with jointed knees at his full height (2)

How are they going to do this? While bionic limbs have come a long way in the past few years (3), science fiction gives us a lot of leeway here on things like “weight” and “battery life”. Even so, they aren't one to one analogs, and I think there's a lot of potential for angst, especially regarding the direct interface with the patient's nervous system.

As the prosthetics are mechanical devices, they would be prone to wear and tear just like anything else. Where biological flesh heals and regenerates (usually) over time, self-healing prosthetics are not necessarily achievable or practical, and so certain components (batteries, soles of the feet, synthetic skin, etc) would need to be replaced as time passes. Additionally, if we are operating under the assumption that the limb is fully articulated, it would likely have a control system or on-board computer of some sort – and in my experience, those need to be calibrated on a regular basis, both to account for electronic noise, and any kind of drift in the sensors/drive motors/other components. The only issue is that instead of flashing an LED to find dead pixels on a camera or scanning a range of values to look for the highest signal output on a detector, there's a human person on the other end of the interface. So instead of 'what value gives me the best reading across my mass spectrum' it's 'what value of nerve signal provides the best connection', and unfortunately for Veers, that translates as “pain” (is this a slightly unrealistic approach to this? Maybe. But we do at least see the droid in ESB testing Luke's level of sensation in his hand at the end of the movie, and apparently no one in Star Wars has heard of 'sedating the patient while we attach a new hand' so I feel like it's not out of the realm of possibility)

(1) I had initially thought that Veers would be more frequently cold after losing both his legs, but after reading these two papers, it seems he would have the opposite problem, due to a lack of surface area. This means not only do we have to consider the thermal properties of the materials the prosthetics are made of, but also their ability to effectively distribute body heat when necessary.

(2) I found these two articles about the recovery of a woman with similar injuries to those I've given Veers in this verse very helpful for looking at potential timelines, pitfalls, and the process he might be looking at

(3) this article gives a very good overview of the current state of things and how these limbs interface with the human they are attached to. The process for Direct nerveinterfacing described here is most analogous to how I imagine cybernetic limbs would work in Star Wars, although they are obviously much more advanced

In Universe:

With all of that being said, why do Veers' legs suck specifically? Why does Jerjerrod spend so much time complaining about them?

Well, it all comes down to our favourite asthmatic sith cyborg: while I imagine limb loss is actually fairly uncommon in the GFFA (Skywalkers notwithstanding, blasters and explosives are typically energy weapons, and imo are more likely to cause burns etc than traumatic amputation), the Executor absolutely has to have at least one cybernetics expert on board, to tend to its resident cyborg. However, Vader and Veers differ in a few very fundamental ways, and if said expert is only used to treating Vader and no one else, I would imagine this means that Veers winds up with prosthetics that serve the function of getting him back in the field, but aren't actually designed for him (not to mention the fact that the Imperial Healthcare System probably isn't super focused on Patient Health and Safety, and not getting into the cost aspect of this – Veers is valuable enough to build prosthetics for, but is he valuable enough for top of the line durable materials when he almost died in battle once already and canonically keeps getting sent on suicide missions? Probably not).

The Force. In at least some iterations, Vader relies extensively on the Force to do even basic things such as “moving his heavy limbs” and “not being in excruciating pain all the time” - I seem to recall reading that Palpatine uses Vader's suit to ensure his apprentice is too distracted by pain to have the energy to overthrow him, and that the only part of Vader that wasn't in pain all the time was his original bionic hand from AotC. If Veers, who isn't Force sensitive, has prosthetics designed in a similar way to Vader's suit but no way to compensate for it, it's going to take a hell of a toll on him. Also, if Vader hasn't strangled the doctor for hurting him yet, then Veers is probably just making shit up (or so a doctor or medical droid might assume)

Lifestyle. Veers is physically fit and does a lot of different activities with his legs (yes including “wrestling” Tiaan) – he travels to different planets and terrains with different gravities, he runs, he jumps, he plays sports – whereas Vader... doesn't. This contributes to what the prosthetics actually need to be designed to withstand (Veers isn't going to be doing spacewalks with only his prosthetics, but he's also not going to want to walk stiff-legged and menacingly all the time). Additionally, if your system is calibrated to a specific height/weight/body temp/whatever, that's going to change slightly over time – but its going to change a lot more in Veers; Vader has a self -contained air supply with scrubbers for removing pathogens, a feeding tube, and minimal muscle mass that would change those parameters that the calibrations would be accounting for, but Veers might, say, decide to take up a new sport, or get the flu for three weeks, or anything else that could change his body dramatically enough to upset the equilibrium between him and his prosthetics.

I also wanted to do something with phantom pain and how it affects people who have lost limbs, plus play with the idea of how having something wired directly into the nervous system might have lasting consequences, which is where the ONCP comes from. Symptom and treatment-wise, I've loosely based it on thalamic pain syndrome (as suggested to me by the lovely @pianopadawan), although the underlying cause is very different.

If you've read though all that, thank you for coming to my lecture. Tune in next time for 'how long does it take for a Star Destroyer to restart the reactor from cold' and/or 'lets talk about mental healthcare or lack thereof in the Imperial Navy'

#my inbox #star wars meta #stuff i wrote #fic meta

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simandthedimbulbv2-0 · 10 months ago

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if you're not busy, could we learn more about Benjamin and Dylan Livright? Thank you!

As you wish 👉👉

These are the Livwrights; a normal American family living in the suburbs. Of course, appearances are only skin deep.

Benjamin Livwright: The workaholic father of the Livwrights. Ben slaves away at his desk job, convinced that the hard working American really can make something of himself —or at least earn his living— a viewpoint resulting from generational trauma inflicted by his own father. He wants nothing more than to provide for his family, but his manner of doing so is far from healthy.

While he comes off as a distant, unsympathetic father due to his disapproval of his son’s hobbies, his heart is in the right place.

He worries for his son’s wellbeing, afraid that the boy will be disillusioned—and even harmed— if he pursues his aspirations to become a musician. Unfortunately, as so often is the case, his worry manifests as anger.

The viewpoint character of the song I Earn My Life, caricatured by his son in As Your Father I Expressly Forbid It

Works at The Company, a weirdly nondescript business owned by Mr. Morimichi (of Man-Made Object). Technically a coworker of Mr. Wolfgang, but thankfully not on the same floor.

Very sensitive about his receding hairline.

Has a curious affinity with the Antfolk of Spiral of Ants; so much so that after an encounter with the spiral (from which he rescues his son) he is permanently partially mutated into an ant person. It’s ok though. Tbh he’s a lot healthier for it, and his wife and son don’t mind.

Ironically, he was briefly part of a band in his youth. His father put a stop to it very quickly.

Mary Livwright: Benjamin’s wife and Dylan’s mother. Homemaker. In her spare time, she likes to paint landscapes, but she doesn’t have much time for that. She mainly focuses on keeping the house spotless (perhaps as a coping mechanism more than anything) to avoid adding any unnecessary conflict to the feud between her husband and son. Mary puts on a brave face and plays the diplomat, but inside she’s terrified that her family will fall apart at any second. She desperately wants to help her husband and son reconcile, but to her distress, she isn’t sure how.

Suffers from anxiety

The ‘wife’ mentioned in I Earn My Life— she does indeed hear her husband’s justifications a lot.

Has a Bachelor of Arts in Painting

Uncannily good at strategy games

Dylan Livwright: Ben and Mary’s son. Dylan is a clever young man with a passion for music. He wants nothing more than to become a guitarist and produce his own songs, a goal that puts him at odds with his father. A fairly typical grouchy teenager with all the sarcastic, ungrateful trappings. However, Dylan is also quite sensitive, artistic, and responsible. As much as he hates his father’s lack of attention and approval, he still loves him and wants to make him proud.

Dylan is the in-universe author of a number of songs including As Your Father I Expressly Forbid It, Being a Rockstar, Go To Hollywood and Ancient Aliens.

Met professor Callenbach through a community service program. Callenbach eventually trusted him enough to befriend, and now Dylan plays the McFly to his Doc Brown.

Dylan proves to be instrumental to Callenbach’s attempts to contact the mysterious MC, as his musical talents are capable of properly fueling and calibrating the prof’s tone-powered communication machine.

Dylan lives in the same neighborhood as and is friends with the Moulinet boys despite being a few years older. He later helps Eugene figure out how to mix music.

Refuses to cut his hair short no matter what his dad says. Eventually starts wearing it in a ponytail, though.

Kenneth Livwright: The overbearing patriarch of the Livwright family. A retired investment banker and former business man with rather traditional values. He visits his son occasionally to keep an eye on how he’s doing, and to correct him if he’s getting off track.

Probably one of the most unsympathetic characters. Good thing he’s barely there.

The family as a whole:

The whole family is in this weird temporal aesthetic range of 50s to 80s to ‘00s; mainly due to the vibe I get from their situation. Hopefully it isn’t too jarring.

Benjamin’s ancestry is Danish, as a nod to Hans Christian Andersen, author of The Little Mermaid, which provided the partial inspiration for As Your Father I Expressly Forbid It (according to the commentary)

The whole family has punny/symbolic names, of course, starting with the surname which is a corrupting of ‘live right’; something the family is constantly trying to do.

Benjamin: short form ‘Ben’ means ‘son of’, as Ben’s life is completely dominated by his own father. In full, a corruption of ‘been living right’, which he is convinced he is doing.

Mary: homophone of marry, because her only mention in the actual music is as the wife of the singer. Also homophone of ‘merry’, as she’s the most cheerful of the Livwrights (outwardly, at least). And finally, depending on the etymology, can relate to the sea, which goes back to the little mermaid references, and also her son because…

Dylan: meaning ‘born of the sea’. Initially chosen as a corruption of ‘didn’t live right’, but also as a nod to the Little Mermaid. Also provides symbolic opposition to his grandfathers influence, as his name is…

Kenneth: etymologically related to fire. Also a corruption of ‘Can live right’ in its short form Ken, and a corruption of ‘cannot live right’ in its full form, for obvious reasons.

#Ask #took a while but hope you enjoy 👉👉

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mechinsights · 3 months ago

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The Ultimate Guide to Mechanical Maintenance: Strategies for Success

Photo by William Warby on Unsplash

Mechanical maintenance is fundamental to the smooth operation and longevity of machinery across various industries. Effective maintenance practices can significantly reduce downtime, improve efficiency, and extend the lifespan of equipment. This guide explores the intricacies of mechanical maintenance, offering strategies and best practices to ensure optimal machinery performance.

The Essence of Mechanical Maintenance

Mechanical maintenance involves a series of actions aimed at keeping machinery in peak condition. These actions include regular inspections, timely repairs, and preventive measures to avoid unexpected failures. The primary goal is to ensure that all mechanical systems function efficiently and safely.

Types of Mechanical Maintenance

Preventive Maintenance: Scheduled maintenance activities designed to prevent equipment failures. Tasks include regular inspections, lubrication, and replacing worn components. The objective is to keep machinery running smoothly and avoid unexpected breakdowns.

Predictive Maintenance: This approach uses real-time data and monitoring tools to predict when maintenance should be performed. Techniques like vibration analysis and thermal imaging help identify potential issues before they lead to equipment failure.

Corrective Maintenance: Also known as reactive maintenance, this involves repairing equipment after a failure has occurred. While this can be more costly and disruptive, it is essential for addressing unexpected issues that preventive measures did not catch.

Condition-Based Maintenance: Maintenance activities are conducted based on the actual condition of equipment. Sensors and monitoring devices provide continuous data, allowing for maintenance to be performed precisely when needed, rather than on a fixed schedule.

Key Components of Effective Mechanical Maintenance

Regular Inspections: Conducting systematic checks to identify early signs of wear, tear, or malfunction. Using detailed checklists ensures all critical components are evaluated.

Lubrication: Ensuring all moving parts are adequately lubricated to minimize friction and wear. The correct type and amount of lubricant are crucial for maintaining machinery efficiency.

Cleaning: Keeping machinery clean prevents contamination and ensures optimal performance. Regular removal of dust, debris, and other contaminants is essential.

Calibration: Regular calibration of tools and equipment ensures accuracy and precision in operations. Standardized procedures and tools help maintain consistent performance.

Component Replacement: Timely replacement of worn or damaged parts prevents further damage and ensures continuous operation. Keeping an inventory of critical spare parts allows for quick replacements when necessary.

Best Practices for Mechanical Maintenance

Develop a Maintenance Schedule: A detailed maintenance schedule that outlines routine inspections, servicing, and part replacements is essential. Adherence to this schedule ensures no maintenance tasks are overlooked.

Utilize Maintenance Management Software: Implementing software to track and manage maintenance activities improves efficiency. These tools can schedule tasks, record maintenance history, and generate performance reports.

Train Maintenance Personnel: Regular training ensures maintenance personnel are up-to-date with the latest techniques and technologies. Continuous learning enhances their skills and effectiveness.

Implement Safety Protocols: Establishing and enforcing safety protocols protects both maintenance personnel and equipment. Proper training and protective gear are essential components of a safe maintenance environment.

Conduct Root Cause Analysis: Identifying the root causes of equipment failures helps in implementing effective corrective actions. This prevents recurrence and improves the overall reliability of machinery.

Challenges in Mechanical Maintenance

Resource Constraints: Limited availability of skilled personnel, tools, and spare parts can hinder maintenance activities. Effective resource management and planning are crucial to overcoming these challenges.

Unplanned Downtime: Unexpected equipment failures can lead to significant production stoppages and increased costs. Implementing predictive and preventive maintenance strategies can mitigate these risks.

Data Management: Managing and analyzing large volumes of maintenance data can be challenging. Ensuring data accuracy and leveraging advanced analytics tools can enhance decision-making.

Aging Equipment: Older machinery often requires more frequent maintenance and can be less reliable. Balancing the cost of ongoing maintenance with the potential benefits of upgrading to newer equipment is a key consideration.

Case Studies and Real-World Examples

Preventive Maintenance in Manufacturing: A manufacturing plant implemented a rigorous preventive maintenance program, resulting in a 20% reduction in equipment downtime and a 15% increase in production efficiency. Regular inspections and timely component replacements were key to these improvements.

Predictive Maintenance in Power Generation: A power generation company utilized predictive maintenance techniques, such as vibration analysis and thermal imaging, to identify potential failures before they occurred. This approach reduced maintenance costs by 25% and significantly improved equipment reliability.

Corrective Maintenance in the Automotive Industry: An automotive company experienced a sudden equipment failure on the production line. Through corrective maintenance, the faulty component was swiftly replaced, minimizing downtime and preventing substantial production losses.

Condition-Based Maintenance in Aviation: An airline implemented condition-based maintenance for its fleet, using advanced sensors and data analytics to monitor the condition of critical components. This strategy improved safety, reduced maintenance costs, and increased aircraft availability.

Conclusion

Effective mechanical maintenance is vital for the smooth operation and longevity of machinery across various industries. By understanding the different types of maintenance, implementing best practices, and addressing common challenges, businesses can enhance equipment reliability, reduce downtime, and achieve operational excellence. Regular inspections, proper lubrication, timely component replacement, and the use of maintenance management software are key strategies for ensuring optimal performance and longevity of mechanical systems.

Explore More Topics

If you found this post insightful, you might also be interested in exploring our other topics that have garnered millions of views:

Mechanical Tools and Their Uses Discover the comprehensive guide to mechanical tools, covering everything from basic hand tools to advanced machinery. Learn about the names and uses of essential tools every mechanical engineer needs.

Forging Tools and Their Uses Explore the various forging tools and their applications. Understand the different types of forging processes and the tools required to achieve precision and efficiency in forging operations.

Mechanical engineering is a challenging yet rewarding field, and with the right mindset and tools, you can navigate its complexities and build a successful career.

Visit our website for more insights: Mech Forged

#artificial intelligence #mechanical pencil #mechanical drawings #mecha #the mechanisms #mechanophilia #robotics #machinery #mecha art #marvin's marvelous mechanical museum #adeptus mechanicus #robot #cybernetics #autos #design #entrepreneur #success

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customcalibrationinc · 7 months ago

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Dimensional & Mechanical Calibration Service

Ensure the accuracy and precision of your critical equipment with Dimensional & Mechanical Calibration Service. Custom Calibration’s expert technicians use state-of-the-art tools and techniques to meticulously calibrate a wide range of instruments, including calipers, micrometers, height gauges, and more. Whether you're in manufacturing, engineering, or any field that relies on precise measurements, our Dimensional & Mechanical Calibration Service is the solution you can trust. Contact Custom Calibration today to schedule your calibration and ensure the accuracy of your critical operations.

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acceptccnow · 1 year ago

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How a Credit Card Payment Gateway Drives Business Growth

Article by Jonathan Bomser | CEO | Accept-credit-cards-now.com

In the swiftly evolving digital realm, businesses are driven to offer seamless payment solutions that resonate with the unique needs and preferences of their clientele. Amidst a plethora of available methods, credit card payment processors have risen as an essential instrument for catalyzing business growth. From industries categorized as high-risk to the realm of e-commerce endeavors, as well as specialized sectors like credit repair and CBD, credit card payment gateways have emerged as the catalysts for success. Within this article, we embark on an exploration of the profound influence wielded by credit card payment gateways on the expansion of businesses, all while unearthing their pivotal role spanning a spectrum of diverse industries.

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The Dynamic Power of Credit Card Payment Gateways At the core of contemporary commerce lies the credit card payment gateway—a virtual conduit seamlessly connecting customers, businesses, and financial institutions. This instrumental role orchestrates secure and convenient online transactions by deftly transmitting payment data from patrons to merchants, and subsequently to payment processors. This streamlined process ensures prompt financial transactions for businesses and gifts customers with an unparalleled checkout experience.

Embracing High-Risk Merchant Processing with Confidence Enterprises operating within the high-risk spectrum, encompassing niches such as adult entertainment, travel services, and nutraceuticals, often confront the challenge of securing fitting payment processing solutions. This is where specialized credit card payment processing systems, meticulously crafted for high-risk merchant processing, play an indispensable role. These systems are adept at addressing the unique requisites of these sectors. By ameliorating risks, optimizing transaction mechanisms, and fortifying security measures, these gateways empower high-risk entities to enthusiastically embrace credit card transactions and sow the seeds of sustained expansion.

Empowering the E-commerce Frontier The advent of e-commerce has metamorphosed the shopping landscape, elevating online payment processing into a cornerstone of the industry. E-commerce payment gateways arm enterprises with dedicated merchant accounts and seamlessly integrated credit card processing systems seamlessly embedded within their virtual storefronts. Beyond enhancing user interaction during transactions, this seamless integration elevates the credibility and professionalism of e-commerce ventures.

Revolutionizing Credit Repair Services Within the sphere of credit repair, credit card payment gateways wield a transformative influence on the trajectory of growth. These gateways offer tailor-made merchant processing services meticulously calibrated for credit repair enterprises. By embracing credit card transactions for credit repair services, businesses amplify their credibility and sow the seeds of client trust. The streamlined payment process facilitates seamless settlements for clients, fostering satisfaction and nurturing overall business expansion.

Navigating the Complex Terrain of CBD Transactions The vibrant CBD industry, marked by a dynamic legal landscape, calls for versatile and compliant payment processing solutions. CBD merchant accounts and specialized payment gateways rise as indispensable assets, meticulously designed to cater to the distinctive demands of this sector. These gateways stand as the bedrock for the seamless acceptance of credit cards for CBD products, ensuring transparent transactions and fortified security protocols. This engenders a climate of confident engagement for both businesses and patrons navigating the intricate CBD market.

The Multifaceted Role of Credit Card Payment Services Credit card payment gateways transcend their role as mere conduits for transactions, metamorphosing into comprehensive suites of services encompassing payment processing systems, credit and debit card payment facilitation, and online payment gateways. These attributes not only streamline financial operations but also holistically contribute to the efficiency and expansion of businesses.

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Mastery in the Art of Selecting the Optimal Payment Gateway The choice of the ideal credit card payment gateway is a pivotal juncture for any business. The process entails a meticulous evaluation of transaction costs, security protocols, integration capacities, and industry-specific expertise. By forming strategic alliances with reputable gateway providers, businesses ensure tailor-made solutions harmonizing with their growth trajectory, charting a course towards enhanced prosperity.

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makcity09 · 10 months ago

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MacBook Pro A1989 13" Repair Service #Nehru Place

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Our seasoned technicians understand the intricate dynamics of the A1989 13" display, and their expertise is at the forefront of our solution. Whether the flickering is a result of cable wear, hinge stress, or internal friction, our approach goes beyond the surface, addressing the root causes with finesse. We prioritize clarity, precision, and a commitment to delivering a flicker-free display that meets the standards of your MacBook Pro.

By choosing our MacBook Pro A1989 13" Flickering Solution, you're not just opting for a fix; you're embracing a journey led by expertise. Our comprehensive strategies encompass cable inspections, hinge adjustments, and targeted solutions, ensuring a holistic resolution to the anomalies affecting your MacBook Pro display.

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The MacBook Pro A1989 is a powerhouse, but users occasionally encounter screen flickering issues that can be both frustrating and disruptive.

Flex Cable Wear: Wear or damage to these cables may lead to intermittent connections, causing screen flickering.

Hinge Stress: Hinge stress may increase friction on flex cables, contributing to flickering issues.

Internal Friction: Microscopic damage from internal friction can disrupt stable display connections, leading to flickering.

Overheating: Overheating may lead to malfunctions in electronic components, including those related to display functionality.

Software Issues: Software-related problems may cause intermittent display anomalies, contributing to flickering.

Graphics Card Malfunction: Malfunctions in the GPU may result in visual artifacts, including flickering on the screen.

Incompatible Software or Drivers: Incompatibility issues may lead to flickering as the system struggles to render graphics correctly.

Interference from External Devices: Electromagnetic interference can disrupt the display signal, leading to flickering.

Display Settings and Calibration: Adjustments to brightness, contrast, or color settings might affect display stability.

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Comprehensive Diagnostics: We commence our process with a comprehensive diagnostic assessment, utilizing cutting-edge tools and software to analyze the display's performance. This step involves a thorough examination of both hardware and software components.

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classico-fazbear · 1 year ago

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(ravensroleplays, FNAF RP, Adventures in Babysitting Verse) How many times now had one of the kids ended up somewhere they weren't supposed to be?!?! Four times?! Five?! Fifty?!

Well, at least there was a good excuse this time, apparently, this location had wanted to borrow 'Foxy' for a few days. So here he was. It was still a good while before midnight, so the ghostly boy took the opportunity to leave his proxy body and do a little exploring. Eyes wide and alert as he took in his surroundings.

The malfunction was one of the worst in a long time.

Perhaps not 'Bite' bad.

But still.

Even so, the animatronics were always expected to have quirks. They were complex machines, a small problem every now and then was considered to be quite normal, manageable. Just a quick trip to Parts and Service. However, what had happened at Pirate's Cove was not little, it was big. The spotlight shined bright, the children were all watching in their eager excitement for the reveal of the fox...and boy, did he.

When those purple-star patterned curtains opened up what greeted the crowd wasn't the usual energetic Foxy, ready to spin a tale of the seas or shout of sharks, treasure, and if Freddy could actually beat him at a sword fight. Instead, the animatronic stood in one firm spot on the small stage twitching, eyes dark and powered off, jaw agape so much that it almost looked like his bottom jaw was going to fall right off. It didn't matter how many times Freddy attempted to prompt the pirate mascot from the main stage, in hopes to snap him out of whatever hit his system-the fox was absolutely busted. The show came to a grinding halt as an announcement sounded off, claiming Foxy wasn't feeling 'well'.

The management was utterly displeased. Parents came to complain of their children getting scared by the sight of Foxy's malfunction, birthdays were cancelled and a whole lot of free merchandise was promised. Not to mention the discount pizza vouchers. What was even worse was the mechanics came to the conclusion that they couldn't fix Foxy, he'd have to be sent back to the manufacturer to be repaired there. So, early the next morning Foxy was wheeled out the back door, placed in a wooden crate, loaded into an unmarked truck and off it went to Fazbear Entertainment Inc.

Freddy had been sworn to by one of the mechanics that Foxy would be back-their Foxy, of course. He just needed some extra care that only the experts on the assembly lines could tend to. But whether the bear truly believed that?

No. No, he didn't.

However, Freddy, Chica and Bonnie all passed their calibration tests, movement tests, dialogue tests and were cleared to do shows.

It had hardly been a week when Foxy-a Foxy-made a reappearance. Being wheeled in just before closing, employees placing the fox back behind the curtains then promptly removing the 'OUT OF ORDER' sign. Then the place was cleaned, stock accounted for, doors locked, leaving the pizzeria to the animal characters until the arrival of the night-guard at midnight.

Freddy was suspicious right off the bat and strictly forbid his bandmates from going near Pirate's Cove until he did his own investigation. And so, it seemed the fox was destined to be alone for the night.

It wasn't long before the crew of bear, bunny and chicken split off. Freddy was geared to the Parts and Service room, his mind set on breaking into the mechanics' desk for any information on the pirate fox, or where his actual friend was, where this...replacement even came from. Bonnie had sat himself down on the edge of the mainstage, guitar in his paws as he plucked at it before giving a rather impressive jam session-one he couldn't dare play during a programmed show. Finally, Chica was already across the dining hall, beelineing for the kitchen, her cupcake perched on her shoulder as she went.

But, like clockwork, the three would meet up on stage an hour or so before twelve for the 'game-plan' against the guard.

...

Foxy's Cove was simple enough for a side stage character, the stage itself being fashioned like the front of a pirate ship. On one of the inner walls was a plethora of children's drawings all depicting the fox, hanging off a rusty nail was a weathered navy blue captain's jacket and on a stool sat a pirate hat with a feather. There were also scratches in the walls from that of a sharp tip of a hook, some deeper than others.

// @ravensroleplays

#thanks for popping in!#Request Taken (posted)#Pizza By The Pound! (pre sanctuary - fnaf 1)#Freddy Fazbear #FiveNightsAtFreddy's #fnaf #five nights at freddys rp #fnaf rp #ravensroleplays

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