#mesh belt conveyor

[conveyorbelts-india]

What You Need to Know About Wire Mesh Belts

Wire mesh belts are essential in industries like food processing, manufacturing, and pharmaceuticals. Made from durable stainless steel, these belts feature interconnected wires that allow flexibility and airflow, making them ideal for transporting products through ovens and coolers.

Their key advantages include durability, ease of cleaning, and customization options for specific applications. While they may have a higher upfront cost and be heavier than other belts, their long lifespan often makes them a smart investment.

For more information about wire mesh belts and their uses, feel free to reach out.

Contact:

Phone:+91 99111 23839

Website: https://www.conveyorbelts-india.com/

Email: mohitg@dynamicindustrials.com

[wiremeshes]

5 Reasons Your Business Needs to Switch to Wire Conveyor Belts Today

Industrial operations are hot chases, where efficiency combined with reliability can be the hallmark of success. Not too many people usually think of an important consideration on the lines of production: the conveyor belt. Wire Conveyor Belt have been increasingly pursued by myriad industries for excellent reasons. In case you are looking at an upgrade, here are five compelling reasons to switch to wire conveyor belts today, along with insights from the manufacturers of wire conveyor belts.

Increased Durability One of the advantages associated with using wire conveyor belts is that they are quite durable. They are made from materials with high tensile strength, meaning that it will not snap easily when there are loads carrying heavy material. Moreover, due to its making, wire conveyor belts are immune to many conditions in the environment as it can function well even in strongly icy and thawing environments. When compared to fabric Conveyor Belt, which are likely to be ruined by several factors such as stretching or chemical contamination, extreme temperatures might not break them either. Hence, your company will spend less money and time resupplying the belts or even repairing them.

Strong Hygiene Standards Hygiene is something that will be atop one's mind while developing a food processing or pharmaceuticals business. Manufacturers of wire conveyor belts usually design these belts to have smooth surfaces for easy cleaning and disinfection. Also, the open structure is usually designed to make easier drainage and allow airflow so that cases of contamination are drastically minimized. The adoption of wire conveyor belts will enable you to produce a high efficiency for achieving strict standards as laid by regulatory measures while maintaining a clean, safe working environment.

Efficiency In terms of maximizing the factors of efficiency, productivity is directly and inversely proportional. Wire conveyor belts leave nothing but a smooth process with minimal losses due to higher speeds, smoother transitions, reduced friction, and consequently lowered wear on your machinery. Flexible for any shape or size, these belts can handle even the bulkiest to the most delicate items, ensuring efficient movement for your production line. You can considerably increase the operational efficiency by optimizing your production line with these particular types of conveyor belts.

Customization Options Every business has individual requirements, and wire conveyor belt manufacturers know this. They offer a wide range of possible variations and therefore offer possibilities for you to adjust the design, dimensions, and other materials that need to be used in the belt according to your needs. If a certain product requires some special coatings for resistance to heat or unique configurations to work in even the most confined spaces, then there likely is a solution with a wire conveyor belt that will do the job for you. It thus ensures that you have a product that exactly fits your needs.

GREEN SOLUTIONS Sustainability is no buzzword; it has become a necessity for any modern enterprise. Many manufacturers of wire conveyor belts are interested in developing friendly environmental products. The raw materials for the general production of wire belts are usually recyclable, and they last long, hence leaving minimal waste. Their efficiency will also result in less energy use, which contributes to achieving your sustainability goals. You do more than just enhance your activities when you switch to wire conveyor belts; you bring your business in line with more effective environmental practices.

Conclusion Wire conveyor belts will benefit your business in many ways, ranging from durability and hygiene improvements to efficiency and customization capabilities. Adding the value of eco-friendliness to the list of advantages of using wire belts offers a modern solution that can significantly impact your bottom line. Don't let dead weight such as outdated equipment hold you back. Contact the various wire conveyor belt manufacturers today and discover how these brilliant solutions could make all the difference for your business. Get into the 21st century in conveyor technology and watch your business boom!

[thephoenixindustry]

The Phoenix Industries is one of the leading PTFE mesh conveyor belt manufacturers in the city of Noida, the state of India. The meshes of conveyor belts that we produce in this industry are of premium quality, transporting huge, heavy, and large objects that cannot be moved by hand. Attached to a conveyor system, these belts move objects from one place to another in little time. As top PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt Manufacturers, we pride ourselves on delivering exceptional products that meet the highest standards of durability and performance. 

[phoenixindustry0]

Top PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt Manufacturers - The Phoenix Industry

The Phoenix Industry is a leading name among PTFE mesh conveyor belt manufacturers, and pioneers innovation and grade. With a decade of expertise, we provide bespoke solutions catering to diverse industrial needs. Delegate us for premium-grade PTFE mesh conveyor belts guaranteeing efficiency and durability in your operations.

[vishvakarmaequipments]

Chain Driven Roller Conveyor is a versatile material handling solution. Its robust design and durable chain-driven rollers ensure smooth movement of goods in warehouses and production lines. This conveyor system offers reliability, efficiency, and flexibility, making it an essential tool for various industries.

[mayuri-manufacturer]

Special Purpose Sprockets Manufacturer in Pune | Maharashtra

Welcome to infinity engineering solutions, your trusted partner for top-quality Special Purpose Sprockets and Special Purpose Conveyor Chains. If you're in search of a reliable manufacturer in Pune, Maharashtra, look no further. We are a leading manufacturer and exporter of specialized conveyor solutions designed to meet your unique requirements. Our Special Purpose Sprockets and Conveyor Chains are engineered with precision and are known for their exceptional reliability and durability. We understand the importance of these critical components in various industrial processes, and that's why we are committed to delivering the highest quality products.

[jmd-udyog]

We Are a renowned manufacturer of top-quality PVC conveyor belts in India. Trusted since 1997.

[karlachismylife]

Space feather grass was singing

I crave public validation despite my writing being at its lowest at the moment, that's why I present you a little nikprice thingy from an au inspired by soviet sci-fi, especially the cartoon "The Mystery of the Third Planet". There's a very special feel and mood about soviet sci-fi, and while I lack the skill to convey it, it means a lot to me (I grew up on it, after all), and I will keep trying to write a big multi-part work in this au, but for now have this.

This piece was written in Russian around April 12th (Cosmonautics Day, established on the day of the first human flying in space) and translated by me very badly, that's why it's so weird and unlike my usual writing style in English.

CW: established NikPrice, suggestive closer to the end, fluff, bad writing, no plot at all.

BUT I have something really cool for this piece/au to make up for my shitty writing: two artworks gifted to me by my Russian artist comrade (their telegram channel) and by @gomzdrawfr. The text is under the artworks!

A star in the sky, shrouded in a pink halo, was licking the tall hulls of the ships lined up on the flat spaceport like chess pieces on a board with wet-looking reflections. The sloping sides of the streamlined galaxies conquerors were warming up under the watchful eye of the square windows of the main building of the spaceport, a sharp spindle rising upward like a collector's needle, waiting for the spaceship butterflies. In the windless atmosphere, the noise of a busy trade hub was being carried far and wide and mixed into the familiar cacophony — the clanking of the jointed limbs of clumsy robots, the incessant rattling of belt conveyors, the electric hum of force fields.

Price stuck a cigar shaped like a long-haul freighter into his mouth and began patting the pockets of his space suit, his frown deepening with each empty one. Realising he hadn’t his lighter on him, captain cursed under his breath and reached for his blaster holster, but changed his mind halfway and turned around to run up the springy ramp to his ship for a less dangerous source of fire.

A hand in a silver sleeve appeared out of nowhere, blocking his way like a gallant barrier, and thin plasma threads lit up right between the blue eyes crossing toward the tip of his freckled nose, connecting the thin legs of the miniature model of the first artificial satellite like a spiderweb.

— Nik, — Price immediately greeted the ion lighter and its owner in a tone that was more of a fact stating rather than greeting and lit his cigar from the plasma mesh. — Startin’ to think our meetings are not accidental.

— Just doing a little delivery, captain, — Nikolai slyly evaded an  answer, smiling broadly, and hid the souvenir lighter in his chest pocket. — Are you here on duty?

Squinting in a futile attempt to keep from smiling back, Price dropped his chin to his chest with a raspy “hm,” and rocked back and forth on his heels, as if pondering what to say to his old comrade.

—  Yes, — he finally settled on the only possible option — to tell the truth — and shook the ashes onto the heat-resistant surface of the spaceport. —  Counteracting dangerous elements.

Nikolai threw his head back in a rich laugh —  Price had always noticed how freely and easily Nik laughed, as if his whole body was just waiting for another explosion of joy: laughter was born deep in his stomach, rolled freely up the broad chest and, pushing off from relaxed shoulders, flew out, catching onto the raven curls of Nik’s hair in the end, like circus gymnasts grabbing the rings under the striped roof. Compared to this, the restrained, coughing chuckles that rolled out of his own throat and got lost somewhere in his beard seemed dry to Price, as if his ability to rejoice was as tightly squeezed by the service uniform as he himself was — unlike Nikolai, who chose a free path.

Anyone who had ever seen the way John’s Neptune-blue eyes, decorated with comet tails of crinkles around the corners, sparkled as soon as they spotted the notorious smuggler, of course, knew that wasn’t the case.

— Should I start worrying already? — Nik playfully tilted his head to the side, examining John — skin kissed by all the stars in the galaxy, sprinkled with translucent freckles, round smiling cheeks, shiny and soft-looking beard; everything that made the first captain so unforgettable.

— Depends on what kind of “little delivery” you have here, Nik, — Price moved his famous hat back a little and nodded at Chimera, which he would easily recognize from a hundred thousand ships. — What if I drop in for a quick inspection, hm?

— And what if you don’t? — Nikolai turned around and placed his large, heavy hand on the other’s shoulder, slowly leading John further away from their spaceships. Their leisurely pace did not fit well with the chaotic haste of the well-organized life of the port — crews from all corners of the universe, service personnel, robots rattling with iron guts were scurrying around, but the two captains patting each other on the shoulders paid no attention to anyone, forcing everyone to go around their tall figures. — Shall we fly?

Price, hypnotized by the kind, cunning squint of the dark Labrador eyes, finally came to his senses and saw that they had approached the flyer parking lot and that Nikolai had two large rental tokens in his hand. Taking the cool circle with a shimmering imprint of the code, he chose a machine and squeezed into the cramped seat with a quiet groan, cursing under his breath in an attempt to accommodate his overly long legs — he could only wonder how Nikolai managed to get seated comfortably faster than him and bring the flyer into vertical takeoff already.

The chrome shine of the spaceport with its white and red lights got quickly left behind — Nikolai set a course, and Price habitually completely trusted the second captain. Beyond the built-up area of ​​the global trade megaport, the planet turned out to be covered in monotonous steppes. The shadows of two flyers, blurred by the murky atmosphere, glided across the wasteland, slightly wobbling on minor unevennesses of the landscape. Everything looked the same: no forests, no hills by which one could determine how much distance they had already covered — they could only rely on the machine's own meter and inner intuition.

Relying exactly on that, Nik suddenly began to descend in a graceful spiral, and John followed him. Unused to the wind, the long, soft grass with a touch of pink silver swayed in waves under the onslaught of unexpected gusts — the glitter of the reflected light of the local star made this dance look like ripples on water. Opening the canopy of the flyer, Price turned his head in search of the source of a strange sound, similar to the ringing of an endless stream of aluminum coins pouring out from somewhere, but there was nothing around except for the swaying grass, reaching almost to his waist.

— John! — Nikolai called out softly, holding out his hand in a fingerless glove to help him jump onto the springing ground. Firmly grasping the offered palm, Price stood firmly on both feet and suddenly, without warning, yanked Nik towards himself, ducking under his arm to play against his center of gravity. Almost falling over, the man caught himself and with interest flaring up in his lazy eyes dragged Price along with him a couple more steps. — Not bad.

— But you’re not that easy to fool, — Price chuckled, turning out of his unstable position and getting into a stance, ready for a sparring match with an unequal weight class.

Circling each other and getting tangled up in the pearly grass that was trying to hug their ankles, the two captains came together once, twice, three times — smiling excitedly and growling, finally they fell to the ground and began to writhe on it, dirtying their spacesuits with silver dust. Price, who knew perfectly well that allowing Nikolai to end up on top meant losing, thrashedin a bear hug like a frenzied hound, trying to saddle Nik and squeeze him in a vice of steel thighs.

— You're losing your grip, Nikolai, — he panted, holding Nik's wide wrists pressed to the ground above his head, and instantly paid for it, thrown up by strong bucking hips like a rider on a spirited stallion. To catch his balance, Price released Nik's hands for a second, which Nik immediately took advantage of, placing his hot palms on the first captain's arse and squeezing the generous muscles through the stiff fabric with a satisfied purr.

— I think I'm holding up pretty well, — he retorted, looking like a cat that had just gotten a bowl full of cream and ignoring the force Price's firm knees were digging into his sides with. Throwing his head back onto the crumpled grass blanket that was playing with a metallic sheen in the rays of a low-hanging star over the horizon, Nik smiled again and continued to knead the other captain’s ass. Curly strands scattered around his face like a black halo only made him stand out more clearly against the light background of the surrounding world, drawing all of John's attention to the eyes that were studying him with genuine trepidation, covered by a sly squint. — John...

Allowing his own legs to spread wider and pressing his crotch against the magnificent mass beneath him, John ducked down and was met halfway by Nik's lips reaching out to him. One large palm, leaving his rear, migrated to the fluffy back of his head, burying itself in the chestnut strands gilded by the local sun and pressing John even closer. Parting his soft lips, Price licked  over the other’s, slightly catching the short stubble with badger stripes of gray on the chin with his tongue, and deepened the kiss, greedily caressing Nikolai's tongue and lips.

— John, — he breathed out again, grabbing Price under his bent knee and rolling over so that he was on top without the slightest resistance from the captain, who was already melting. In the tightness of the uniform jumpsuit it was impossible to hide the erection that was becoming more and more obvious, and Nik pressed John closer to himself, allowing him to feel his own hardness.

Muttering something incoherent, Price began to fidget, tugging at the chrome zipper of the second captain, and as soon as he managed to unzip it even a few inches, he immediately pulled the elastic collar of the white top under the spacesuit down to bury his nose in the silvered curls of hair on Nik's chest and deeply inhale his warm scent. Maintaining an indecently high level of self-control, Nikolai took advantage of John's stillness to unzip his overalls completely and run his calloused palm over his soft stomach. He pressed teasingly at the lower abdomen, and Price groaned gutturally and tried to buck — failing under the impressive weight of the other's body; then Nik slid his hand higher, squeezing John’s full pec with loving admiration and immediately finding his hardened nipple with his thumb.

— Nik, dammit, — John hissed with a broken gasp, greedily squeezing Nikolai's powerful shoulders with his hands and trying to rip off the tightly fitting sleeves. Giving up when it didn't work either the first or second time, Price with a reproachful look in his eyes tugged at the other man’s belt and posingly spread his arms on the soft bed of grass, instantly jolting up when the sound of coins falling that had already turned into background noise split and multiplied and became louder. — What is this?

Blinking, Nikolai burst out laughing again and, sitting up on his heels, in a wide gesture ran his palm over the grass bowing in waves, causing a new ringing — while the ripples caused by their arrival continued to sway, adding their hum to the polyphony they had created.

— The feather grass is singing, — Nik explained, turning his loving gaze back to John. The blush that crept onto his wrinkled, freckled, wise face could have been attributed to the pink reflections of the local star if it had not already gone beyond the horizon, leaving only a white night. The alien sky lit up with pink northern lights snaking from the pole very close to their location — but John already didn’t notice two of the five moons solemnly floating up to the horizon to watch him being slowly made love to by Nik.

Waiting for fuel before leaving the next day, Captain Price stuck a cigar shaped like a long-haul freighter into his mouth and found a lighter in his chest pocket. The thin legs of the first sputnik model flared up with a plasma grid, and John, smiling until the corners of his eyes wrinkled, lit gis smoke contentedly, looking into the purple sky.

[darkccfinds]

⸸ Mura Sushi Bar by Alban [ObjetSims] ⸸ Resurrected Link ⸸

[...]

In this set : 9 new sims 3 meshes 1 Bar Stool 1 Makis' pack 1 Painting 2 Sushis' packs 2 Clutters' packs 1 Conveyor Belt 1 Table (with glass on the right to put your sushis)

[alex-wire-mesh]

Conveyor Belt

Reliable Performance

(1) Conveyor belt guarantees consistent operation.

(2) It ensures smooth material handling throughout the day.

(3) It operates reliably even in high-demand environments.

(4) It offers uninterrupted performance, reducing downtime.

(5) Its stable performance increases production efficiency.

Low Maintenance Requirement

(1) This belt requires minimal maintenance.

(2) Its simple design reduces the chance of malfunction.

(3) Regular cleaning and occasional checks suffice.

(4) Fewer components mean less chance of wear.

(5) Low maintenance cost keeps operation smooth.

[sexhaver]

games where you work for an evil exploitative megacorporation that very obviously views you only as easily replaced capital (Hardspace Shipbreaker, Satisfactory, Deep Rock Galactic) kind of paint themselves into a narrative corner. on the one hand, it's tempting to make your employer the villain and set up a story arc where you work your way up the ranks/unionize/etc to win against all odds in a David and Goliath story. and that would be fantastic if this were real life, but it's not real life, it's a video game that you presumably bought because you, the player, enjoy the gameplay loop provided by what your in-game avatar would consider "exploitative and unsafe working conditions". so you either completely overhaul your entire game once the player hits a certain point in the storyline (bad) or end up with an ending that by definition cannot change anything despite supposedly being focused on overthrowing the status quo (less bad but silly) because it turns out people like to replay games after beating them on the same file.

Hardlight Shipbreaker does this the wrong way by shoehorning in a plot about unionization that ends with the union "winning" against the company, except for gameplay reasons none of these victories translate to any change whatsoever in your in-game working conditions (because that would fundamentally change the game that people enjoyed enough to play all the way through the storyline of).

Deep Rock Galactic takes the approach of having the titular company be less "comically evil" and more "comically focused on profits", which meshes super well with the conceit of the game. for example, when loading into a Salvage mission, Mission Control opens with "a previous crew lost their Mini M.U.L.E's, their Drop Pod, and their lives in this cave." the order those things are listed in tells you everything you need to know about DRG's priorities as a company without having to hammer it home with character arcs

Satisfactory takes imo the best approach by making you an active hand of the evilness of your employer instead of just a cog in the machine. you're sent to a beautiful alien planet full of breathtaking views and diverse wildlife, then told to destroy it by extracting every last bit of value out of it to make stuff that you then turn around and fire off into space. and you do! gladly! like. you know how Spec Ops: The Line had that scene with the white phosphorus that was supposed to make you, the player, feel like a monster for gleefully pressing the buttons to make it happen? Satisfactory is like that but for environmentalism because the gameplay loop gradually changes how you view the world from childlike wonder to ruthless efficiency. what was formerly a rolling grassy field is now a site for mining outposts. you don't see a waterfall, you see placements for water pumps to cool your coal plants. alien forests full of plants unknown to science become annoyances to be chainsawed down so you can run conveyor belts back to your megafactory. in this way, Satisfactory is a much better critique of capitalism than Hardspace Shipbreaker not even trying to be

[wiremeshes]

Top Applications for Rubber Conveyor Belts You Should Know

the vital role of the Conveyor Belt in various industries, including manufacturing, mining, food processing, and logistics. It discusses how these belts enhance efficiency, safety, and productivity in material handling. Additionally, it emphasizes the contributions of rubber conveyor belt manufacturers in providing customizable solutions tailored to specific operational needs. Overall, investing in high-quality conveyor belts can significantly benefit businesses across different sectors.

Read More:https://tribunaldotrabalho.info/top-applications-for-rubber-conveyor-belt-you-should-know/

[yourneighborhoodporg]

The Guardian

Chapter 11: Alone (Part 2)

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

Warnings: ANGST (like, hella angst), non-canon character deaths, descriptions of violence, animal injury/death (I’M SORRY), Reader experiencing Trauma TM, Obi doing his best.

Summary: While leading a clone battalion through a routine supply delivery, you suffer a surprise ambush. However, with Obi-Wan away leading the rendezvous as he simultaneously investigates new elements surrounding your being, you are left alone to make the hard-hitting decisions expected of leaders during The Clone Wars. But when the present meshes with the past, how will you perform as deeply buried struggles are forced to the surface?

Song Inspo: Alone — Neil Finn

Words: 9.1K

A/n: Oh boy, this one is gonna be heavy y'all. And that's all I'll say. Enjoy 😈

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

You lose them a thousand times in a thousand ways. You say a thousand goodbyes. You hold a thousand funerals — Sara Seager

“80% of the containers have been secured in the port bay with the rest being carried in as we speak,” Boil relayed, pointed finger strictly scrolling through his datapad that hummed a striking cobalt glow amidst Lanos’s softer, earthy tones.

He stood at the ready to your left with his helm resting under an arm, taking in each and every two-to-three digit number emanating from the device while you surveyed the array of pale blue repulsersleds bustling atop the port’s grayed, metal landing platform. Ferrying tightly strapped cargo into the bay alongside their clone guardians like a flawless, tapered conveyor belt adhering to a strict timetable.

Most notable, however, was the way this living machine collectively dwarfed the sporadic bands of clone lieutenants who, toting their own Republic-issued datapads, coordinated delivery logistics with counterpart supply port stationaries. Though the brighter energies that rippled through the Force certainly haggled for a higher podium, as the latter of those two, similarity garbed groups seemed all the more enlivened by the marginal increase in activity on such an otherwise docile planet.

“The station Sergeant is currently off-base engaging another matter—,” Boil mentioned off-handedly. “—but sends his regards.”

“Thanks, Boil,” you hummed, silver orbs drifting beyond the organized fuss that circled like bees calculating predetermined patterns long ago inscribed in their very DNA.

Those same eyes flitted by the steel, square-cut terrace’s narrowed path which assumed the shape of a bottleneck in its stretch through the far, inner bay. Then, past the raised, blocky, metallic structure trading in checkered viewports for highly reinforced paneling. One that every day offered the station’s clones a welcome retreat from the planet’s emphatically beating, yellow sun. Just as it shielded them from any other element posing as a threat to the Republic’s mission.

To its perseverance through this war.

“I suppose the next step is to finish the delivery before regrouping to return to The Negotiator,” you evenly deduced. “Right?”

The sharp-eyed clone offered a slight nod. “Affirmative.”

But even foreign structures that cried Coruscanti architecture and hammered down brutalist design amidst Lanos’s creamy breezes and florid expanse did little to hold your attention. Those motionless, gray confines battling against any root or creeping vine that dared to snake under its foundation or slither across its walls failed to yank at your outer lip’s muscles.

At least, not with a vigor comparable to the involuntary jolt you felt strike those same nerves just from the swiping flash of a certain bunch of saffron fur scampering by the tree line.

Though, in spite of the curious, fox-like creature’s daring attempts to acquire the title ‘Honorary Republic Recruit’ from afar, the attentive animal still maintained a devoted caution as they steered a wide berth around the manmade metals which, like a disease, thinned the once lusciously stretching trees bordering its walls.

Instead, the well-groomed critter found temporary solace in nuzzling their tail with cheerfully squinted eyes amidst the deeper, healthier greens and sturdier trunks carrying thicker bark. A microcosm of the wider forest’s hilly character, which rolled around the entrenched, and fairly hidden, compound before flinging back out again for miles, like massive waves frozen in time millennia ago to house a countless abundance of life.

“If you’re worried about that animal interfering with platform operations, I can send a few boys to scare it off.”

“No, no,” you quickly assured with a flicking wave of your hand, dismissing the no-nonsense clone while silver eyes strung to distant, peering yellows.

“That’s alright. They aren’t hurting anyone. Just curious.”

“Understood,” he asserted quickly before stretching back into his planned briefing with a muscle memory akin to the dash of his head toward the glowing datapad.

“Because the storm has cleared it should be an easy takeoff. The shuttles will be able to meet us at port.”

“Sounds like our legs will finally get a break,” you teased lightly, sending the horseshoe-bearded man a knowing glance.

A deep, throaty chuckle fell from his lips as you lifted a few fingers to flit away another droplet of sweat rushing down your forehead from the increasingly belting heat and weakening gusts whose dying breaths failed to chill the air.

“I certainly hope—“

A sharp, singeing thread tugged at your prickling senses from within the Force, snapping your neck toward the source of the sensation before the flaring, scarlet bolt rapidly consuming your vision launched your nimble body, arms fanned out, to roughly shove Boil out of the way. Sending you both tumbling toward the unforgiving ground as the steaming blaze just barely hurled above each of your heads.

“Ambush!” You screamed after sorely rolling off the rather surprised clone and onto a less bruised back, primary hand clawing for your belt.

Your madly thrashing heart reigned into a steady chill with the initial pulse of adrenaline beginning to wean. And by pure chance alone, it was in that very brief second, as blood rushed past ear drums, that you began to feel an unexpectedly sudden heat center on your left wrist.

Thrusting that very arm up and into your vision, you spotted the sporadic, bubbling crackles and scarlet sparks of a damaged wrist comm whose drooping, dark metal structure threatened to melt into your already itching arm.

Quickly, you scrambled to your feet, right hand tightly wrapped around your unclasped saber as you levied it to thwack off the sizzling comm, permitting the decaying device to clatter across the dense platform as it sibilated into spare parts.

Having freed yourself of that discomfort, you swiftly ignited the saber’s buzzing, gray glow before angling toward the damage-inflicting direction. Yet even still amidst such a swift spin, you couldn’t help but absorb just how the landscape’s bright aura, which once overshadowed the rear port’s barren metallurgic twilight, now hung moodier as peaceful woods suddenly turned not so serene.

Emerging from the left side of a large hill positioned before the facility appeared an ever-growing array of creaking and whining metallic beasts.

With the prickling hairs atop the nape of your neck, you felt as the rear clones rushed to their assigned stations while a line of at least ten… twenty….. thirty and counting mustard yellow, beaked droids carrying stringy arms and legs jounced through the ground’s apex with grimy, heavy-duty blasters secured in hand.

Interspersed within their ranks and towering at least triple their size inched forward a darker, all-encompassing model whose pointed soles shredded verdant grass into marred, brittle soil. Colicoid-like droids that commanded three jointed legs, two weaponized arms, and a spine contorting into some sort of red-fanged face that curved inwards, all behind a spherical shield which quivered a transparent blue.

That’s what must’ve nearly hit Boil, you surmised, when another one of those cold, rigid arms blasted off a similarly behaved bolt toward a far cargo container. Shattering it into scattering, hot white-and-red shards, and sending a few nearby clones flying by some feet as a cacophony of shocked yells stalked their paths.

And, unfortunately, it appeared that second blast was enough to effectively signal the rest of the progressively expanding battalion to finally commence their full-fledged attack.

Streaks of thick, fiery crimson, slender orange, and harsh blue beams coated the sky like violent patchwork, darkening the planet’s once stilled and luscious atmosphere into one of rising, smoky death. Filling your nostrils with the noxious scent of burning plasma and battering your eardrums with strained voices that desperately shouted all around you.

“Men, with me!”

“I need help over here!”

“Medic!”

“Move back! Move back!”

“You two, blast ‘em Rollies!”

Their echoes careened over the sharp buzz of your saber as it swung through the air to collide with showering beams. And while, foregoing your long lost wrist comm, you remained relatively unscathed, you still struggled to afford the men fighting alongside you that same luxury.

Far to your left, a quintet of clones gradually retreated through a clean, V-formation as blue spires erupted from their phasers. Only for the incoming brigade’s ceaseless fire to clip the far right soldier’s arm, tearing at his upper plate which oozed a deep crimson athwart its snowy glaze.

Another profuse liberation of deadly rain, and an additional victim emerged as a flaming, hot bolt dug its way through the stepping foot of one of the middlemen, eliciting a pained groan while smoke sprang from the blackening wound.

You tried to help them. Mostly by tapping into their interlinkage with the all-encompassing Force as you’d discovered to do in recent weeks. Relying on this riddled tactic to empower your connection against insurmountable odds as you shoved pre-fired blaster heads into non-lethal directions and tugged out the legs from underneath yellowed battle droids while their brethren marched on unfazed and unfettered.

It wasn’t a chief, battle-altering tactic, but it was sure to meet at least one goal you had in mind: doing everything in your power to give the clones around you those precious, few extra seconds needed to seek cover from this overwhelmingly multiplying attack force.

But you only had so much to give.

No matter what, you couldn’t take your eyes off the eternal task of reflecting away each bolt that careened toward your person. And that was all while making every attempt to reduce the droid’s numbers with a deliberate swipe of your saber or a dexterous application of the Force. But it was when you considered the added responsibility of aiding any nearby clone struggling to defend against perpetually growing enemy numbers that the muddling task became quite daunting.

Suddenly, the corner of your vision caught a familiar, garish tone, drawing your gaze back behind the gradually receding quintet and toward a clone marked by an unavoidable, olive-green circle. A symbol that would’ve blended with the planet’s wider greenery had the billowing plasmic smoke been given enough time to clear.

However, unlike the rest of the platoon, this particular soldier chose instead to steadily march forward, soon passing the withdrawing V-formation like passing ships in the wildest of starless space sectors as he covered their retreat with an azure floodlight of bolts flying from his blaster.

“Get back, Getter!” You commanded, saber swinging elegantly in a controlled retreat as you sent an occasional hard glance toward the disobedient clone.

“I’m Forward Line!” He shouted through the muffled feedback of his sound-amplified helmet, failing to spare any glance away from the threat that marched head-on.

His feet crept forward, indefinite tone communicating his plans while the increasing barrage of bolts threatened your versatility.

“I’ll cove—“

A dense, blistering flare of plasma swiped straight through the eye of Getter’s helmet, leaving a charred, flaky perforation in its place that stifled his body like an off-switch.

He didn’t even tense.

Instead, the moment gravity recalled its birthright, he collapsed like a rag doll. Simply becoming a jumbled pile of arms and legs.

Your jaw slackened as a pinprick chill consumed your body.

“Silvey! Orders!?” Boil cried from close behind as his blaster ricocheted into the panoramic mob.

Row upon row unfurled across the hill’s peak, spilling into the valley’s depths like loose marbles from an endlessly deep bucket.

Though the frigidity that repeatedly ripped down your spine seemed to momentarily disconnect you from its horror as your mind focused on the present threat.

Those larger, curved ‘Rollies’ could transform into whirling spheres, empowering them to rocket down the hillside. Treating anything you were unable to Force shove away in time, be it scattered equipment or Front Line clones, like loose pins for the taking.

And it seemed, as your brain dizzied at the lives being ripped out of good men’s hands, that such a manipulation considered effortlessly simple by any Jedi was becoming too much of a task.

“Get a comm to Kenobi that we need reinforcements yesterday!—“ You yelled somewhat hazily as your mind desperately centered a connective blanket around one of the barreling Rollies so to redirect it into another speeding down beside it, coercing their shields to interact and combust into blue sparks and stinging flames.

You heaved in another gasp of chemically tinted, plasmic smoke.

“—And to bring any ideas on how to cut off this slope! Else we’re sitting ducks!”

“Copy!” He called before you sensed him spin on his heel toward the rear command center.

Until your next words stopped him in his tracks.

Because Getter’s sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

And you needed to do something.

“I’m getting in the trenches to try to cut these rolling things off!”

You creaked your neck sideways as another hot blast whizzed past your tingling ear.

“You’ll need support!” He advised with a hand cupping his mouth. “I’ll redirect a few boys your way!”

Another bolt diverted toward an unsuspecting set of droids smashed a few of the batch’s heads together.

“No!” You slammed, fending off another wall of vivid fire.

No more men die today.

They can’t.

Not during your first command.

Not ever.

Not after—

No.

“You focus on getting that message to the General,” you continued with gritted teeth, saber spinning into a swelling, pallid fireball. “If I need help, I’ll ask. Now go!”

His boots squeaked against the once sun-dried platform, now spattered with occasional streaks of thick, deep-crimsoned goop. Smattering the sound of his voice as the subtle scent of copper trailed in the air like itinerant pollen that clogged your sinuses and sullied your tastebuds.

“Comm to me in the bay!”

—

Oh, Anakin.

That was the repetitive acknowledgment encircling Obi-Wan’s thoughts as he silently observed Master Yoda, Master Windu, and Chancellor Palpatine’s shivering, blue holocomms occasionally snap out of shape, all while he stood casually in one of the ship’s empty, gray conference rooms to ensure a private meeting.

Calling from such distances was sure to elicit additional signal disturbances, and, sometimes, would even cause temporary blackouts. But fortunately, or unfortunately, for the General, none of those occurrences prevented Kenobi from discovering his former Padawan’s unsanctioned change of plans through a similar comm exchange a few hours ago.

Of course, it was his responsibility to ensure the arrival of the escort in Anakin’s charge. Maybe that’s because, whether tied to the mission or not, Obi-Wan always seemed to be the first to learn about Skywalker’s impulsive decisions. This time being his insubordinate choice to rope his own Padawan into a patched-together rescue mission following ambivalent reports regarding Master Plo Koon’s fleet.

He certainly always found a way, didn’t he?

Yes, technically, because it was just Anakin and Ahsoka redeploying, then the convoys would be unrestricted in meeting the arranged rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.

But still, Skywalker was a General now. Could that chestnut-haired man not go off on his own without at least informing another Jedi tasked with this mission first?

Anakin could have told him.

And, honestly, while Kenobi knew he would’ve put up a bit of a fight at the suggestion of such a change of plans, the Jedi Master still fully comprehended that, in the end, he had the trust to watch his former Padawan go.

Because, deep down, Obi-Wan knew that, despite the potential strategic sacrifice, it was the right thing to do.

Not that he had much choice to do anything else since Skywalker had already arrived at the attack site.

And now, consequentially, in his station as both military General and Jedi Council member, Kenobi was the one required to deliver this pesky news to the necessary officials in his place.

“Twice the trouble, they have become,” Master Yoda sighed, rounded eyes dribbling toward the ground in contemplation. “A reckless decision, Skywalker has made.”

The weary Chancellor’s snow-white furrow deepened. “Let us hope it is not a costly one.”

Palpatine exhaled gradually, dipping gaze giving room for the three Jedi hovering subserviently in his presence a moment to absorb the flickers of combat fatigue that affected the deciding politician. Though, despite the momentary pause, the Chancellor was quick to recover, flicking his far-out stare toward the trio with a manufactured smile that struggled to assure that he was, in fact, quite alright.

“I do apologize, gentleman, but I have another meeting with the Senator from Kestos Minor shortly, so I must leave you.”

“Of course, Chancellor,” Kenobi acknowledged for the Jedi in attendance.

And with that, the former Senator’s unstable image evaporated into azure sparks before fading into the room’s wider darkness.

“An eye on your former Padawan, you must keep,” Master Yoda noted, motioning a hand clasped around his irregularly curved gimer stick toward Kenobi. “An update, I request, next we meet.”

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan assured. “I will keep track of him.”

But not before addressing the puckering questions that prodded his brain tissue all afternoon.

At least, ever since speaking with you.

“Do you have a moment, Master Windu?” Kenobi questioned, just as the Grand Master’s digital picture similarly flickered into cerulean specks of nothingness.

The older Master glanced at Obi-Wan out of his peripheral, torso still respectively angled toward the empty cavity where Yoda’s silhouette once stood before smoothly pivoting with a subtly tilted neck toward the inquisitive Jedi.

“I do,” he punctuated with taught features. “And what is this regarding?”

“Silvey,” Obi-Wan plainly replied, allowing his voice alone to carry him through the next few seconds so to disallow himself from failing to speak of these matters at all.

“I was made aware earlier today that they were not fully informed of their condition following the incident. As their Master, and the one tasked with notifying them in place of the Healer, I was hoping to inquire as to why?”

A blank stare of unreadable stillness crossed the thousand light years in a fashion only Mace Windu, complexion of secrets and answers, could achieve.

“As their advisor, I provided only necessary information,” he clarified simply with the gesturing support of his hand. “It was unnecessary to subject Silvey to the past when they successfully recovered.”

Obi-Wan’s lips twitched into an imperceptibly partial frown.

Perhaps Master Windu… knew more than he was letting on?

He talked of deeming certain details imperative to share, which could suggest that there were facts being kept secret, even from you, for reasons beyond the bearded Jedi’s current knowledge.

At least, that’s what Obi-Wan convinced himself.

It would be the only explanation for such a decision, he thought. For seemingly sending you on a mission without any concern for the unknown factors at play, and for this indefinite justification of why.

That would be the only thing that made any lick of sense.

And that also could’ve meant, maybe, just maybe, Kenobi wasn’t the only one beginning to sense remnants of your mind within the Force.

Perhaps Mace Windu already discovered this development. Or perhaps, it was even possible the elder Master had something to do with it.

That, as your ‘advisor,’ he was already a few steps ahead. And that, in your meditation sessions, he found something. Triggered something.

Knew something.

Either way, the General desired to understand.

“And how are we to know that?” Kenobi tested carefully, eyeing the strict Jedi’s cheekbones for any small, reflexive hint. “You yourself admitted to an inability to perceive their mind, the cause of these headaches, or the incident’s nature. By those facts alone, how can it be possible to assume that this is truly in the past?”

Pressing his lips into a thin line with arms confidently folded into themselves, Master Windu intrepidly spoke as broadened shoulders secured his stance.

“The Republic is in need of more Jedi on the field. You of all people are aware of that fact, Master Kenobi,” he stated. “I made the most reasonable decision given our circumstances. Such details are not of our immediate concern. We cannot afford it.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help the taught string of confusion and wiry cords of astonishment that knit across his forehead, muscling down the rest of his features like a sudden tug on the loose end of an interwoven thread.

Mace knew nothing.

And, with that in mind, Kenobi never expected such indifference to be applied to a situation deemed incomprehensible by even the Grand Master himself a few days earlier. Toward a state of affairs clouded by the ever-living Force in a plum of enigmatic readings, which, to the Council, was always a less than desirable sign.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

Said the Code.

So then to brush this all off? And dismiss its repercussions to his own mentee, no less.

Obi-Wan raised a hand, curling a few knuckles to provide his chin a thoughtful rest. All in an attempt to imbue the Force with interim civility as his mind rapidly flipped through Mace’s words.

And it didn’t take long for him to realize that all this… Every decision made concerning you…

It was this war.

It was changing Windu like it was changing all of them. All the Jedi. Causing them to lose sight of what was once important in the days before the Battle of Geonosis.

But this wasn’t right.

Something was clearly influencing you. And, despite the Republic’s shifting priorities, Mace needed to be reminded that this situation, no matter how diverting, was just as important to the Council’s overarching mission as its efforts in this war.

To the Jedi’s purpose.

To peace.

These headaches and their culminated crisis may have evolved into a creature of the past. But it was their state of unpredictability, and the Galaxy-altering implications of a Guardian thrown from commission, which convinced Kenobi that the Council mustn’t lose sight of such solemnity. Especially not during a decade in which the Grand Master sensed the Force to have grown, in some pockets, indecipherable.

And no matter what, you deserved to know the full nature of these incidents.

Obi-Wan’s jaw released, poking away the useless support of bent fingers as his arm fell to the side at a rate equal to the blooming resolution which consumed the bearded man’s blue-eyed countenance. A visual marker, or signature stamp, of the Master Jedi’s acceptance that no war would stymie him from making these very thoughts known to the glitching holocomm across from him.

So much so, that he nearly missed the echoing chime of the conference room’s automatic door as its mechanics whirred open.

“General!”

Kenobi’s neck snapped toward the urgent inflection shimmering from Commander Cody’s tensed lips, just as brightly as the orange embellishments accenting his trooper armor reflected the white lights streaming overhead.

He was leaned into a forward stance, a puff of air proving him not a still-life statue as he caught his balance. All in an effort to suddenly halt a spirited sprint into the conference room that eventually, from the exertion alone, impelled him to expel the rest.

“There’s been a surprise attack on the supply port and the platoon left behind on Lanos.”

A dryness consumed Kenobi’s tongue as another simply armored clone dashed through the same whirring, mechanical door. Sprightly stepping up to whisper a few quick words to his Commander just before the aperture behind him buzzed shut once more.

“Reports of heavy casualties,” Cody parroted with an ear leaned toward the newly arrived lieutenant. “And they are requesting immediate reinforcements.”

“I will leave you to address this more immediate concern, Master Kenobi,” Windu relayed from the twitching holocomm image strikingly emanating from behind; his expression stilled except for the subtle twinge of disappointment drooping the outer corners of his eyes.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan affirmed, clearing his voice as moisture coated a tickling throat.

At least enough for him to sign off with one final message aimed toward his fellow Council member.

“I will see you at the rendezvous.”

—

A burning ache entangled each limb’s muscles like winding vines as you fended off the coming onslaught. Centering yourself in the lowest dip of the valley’s crease wasn’t necessarily the most strategic move given your current predicament. Especially considering it labeled your dodging figure as prime target practice for the ropes of Rollies that erratically spun down the hillside at spine-chilling speeds.

But you didn’t have any choice.

Not if you hoped to become an unbreakable barrier of pure might and agility, impeding a near three-hundred mix of droids threatening the platoon’s lives who hastily regrouped behind you.

Various squad formations would mark the best vantage points atop the port’s landing platform from which to lay fire upon the siege. Though that was the extent to which the battalion could effectively participate. Joining you in the, quite literal, trenches was a death sentence to any non-Force Sensitive individual hoping to take a stand against an attacking strength of this magnitude.

It was your ability, and your ability alone, to navigate the rapidly shifting elements of surrounding energies that empowered you to fight in their place while dodging and manipulating droids who shot walls of steady fire or suddenly sprung at you with their dense, steel bodies.

Yet, no matter your resilience, you still possessed the same weakness every other living being faced in adrenalizing circumstances.

You were growing quite exhausted.

“Reinforcements are almost here!” You heard Boil yell from far behind while he used a nearby repulsersled flipped into a makeshift shield to traverse the compound drowned in chemical fires and bloodied chaos. “You can’t stay there forever!”

You wrapped your fingers around the air as invisible claws shimmied their way around a Rollie barreling toward your figure before rapidly thrusting that same fist to the side, leading the machine’s suddenly bouncing trajectory to hurtle into a group of about eight battle droids.

One in particular sluggishly swiveled its head toward the oncoming sight with subtle reservation as it expelled creaky, undulating words.

“Oh no.”

Until they became another scattered pile of far-flung, broken parts, an explosion colored by blasting crimson and cobalt sparks.

“I’m gonna have to!” You called back, the swing of your saber nearly transforming into a cloudy blur of heat before your very, watering eyes as you deflected bolt after bolt while sidestepping through the uneven hollow. “We’ll lose our only advantage!”

“Excuse me for saying, Silvey, but I think that losing a Jedi will be cutting our advantage!”

You knew he was right.

But you were quickly learning that in war, there was no easy choice.

You weren’t going to lose anyone else.

Maker… you couldn’t.

You just… couldn’t.

A scorching, slash clawed into your left calf, electrifying all the way down to your ankle as a surprised yelp was drawn from your lips.

And it wasn’t long before that very foot and sorely exercised knee buckled under the shocking pressure, slamming both roughly into the dirt as you felt another breeze graze the touches of your back exposed by rips in the fabric. All from those quick tumbles against newly jagged ground with raised rock shards and disturbed mounds formed by the ongoing conflict.

You briefly glanced down to assess the damage, relying on your senses' contextual intertwinement and the dancing light of your gray saber to defend against the ongoing downpour of bolts. Showers that fell from the hilltop with such magnitude that you could’ve sworn the sky was crying smoky tears.

Speaking of bolts, it appeared one had cut you down pretty good as a severely bloodied laceration oozing black, bubbling soot stingingly throbbed the bottom half of your leg. Consuming your vision with its strongly contrasting, dark tinge even amidst your armor’s shadowy undertones.

So much for those Republic-tested shin guards, you internally grunted.

And, regrettably, with one leg out of commission, it didn’t take long for your wearied body and continuously fogging gaze to make another mistake.

Even if it was only for a split second.

While desperately side-crawling toward the landing pad, in an effort to impede an enemy group from its newly-angled, swift approach, you missed an arbitrary bolt that collided with the hilt of your saber. Snapping it out of your hand as its protective covering took the brunt of the blast, but still flung it a few meters out from your grip all the same.

Your head spun back toward the main invading Force, only to be met with an inky black blaster whose cold body was levied mere centimeters from your forehead.

Dark spots crept into your peripheral like a predator surveying its prey as your palms dug into the disturbed dirt below.

“Wow, look guys!” The titillated battle droid exclaimed. “I got a Jedi!”

Shades of flaming red exploded before your very eyes.

But not for the reason you thought.

No, whatever that was, it wasn’t blood.

It was much more…

Much too…

Fuzzy?

Scrapping at whatever strength you had left, you focused your shaky stare above. Only to be met with the strikingly pigmented fox of before, wrapped around the battle droid’s torso like a constricting tendril as it gnawed with growling rage at the mechanical thing’s armed skeletal limb.

“Ah! What is this?” The off-yellow machine bellowed. “Get it off me! Get it off me!”

He spun in unsteady circles, flinging his targeted arm as if fire consumed its nonexistent nerves, drilled feet stumbling over each other while the fox laid savagely into their assault.

Until the droid hoisted its other revolving hand, slamming it down once, and then twice, across the creature’s wet snout. A sickening crack, and its shiny, fur coat slung from the machine before landing as a mangled heap onto the ground.

You thrust a hand toward your saber, scratching at the Force to coax it to your fingers as it catapulted into your grasp.

A reflection of the blaster’s barrel stung your eye.

One squealing pop flung through the air.

And then another.

“Good riddance,” the droid mumbled while it drearily kicked the still warm, but entirely lifeless creature left at its feet.

You were too late.

You were always too late.

Qui-Gon’s paled skin. His glazed, breathless eyes.

And then you saw it.

You swore you saw it.

A flash of that horned, devil face harshly stomped across the fox’s barren throat.

And your blood ran cold.

So frigid, that an icy film must’ve shielded your eyes while they blurred in contest with an increasingly congested mind. The resonating cries of commanding clones, marching mechanical feet, and rushing metal clamoring against loose bolts all melded into a muddled echo of the past. Even Boil’s distended calls, which freely rang around inching droids as he laid down fire, melded into the rest of the world.

Instead, a high-pitched tone displaced their existence, slackening your jaw and dangerously slowing your breath while a weight unlike any other yanked down at your sternum.

And amidst all that drowning havoc, you barely noticed the large, gray shuttle with faint red accents descend before you.

Almost immediately, and with growing intensity, its engines were able to sweep away any nearby battle droids as they flung and tumbled across the grass like loose scraps. Even the Rollies found their maneuverability stifled as they transformed back into a legged form before being tossed away like loose credits via their curvature alone.

Yet, even though the vehicle landed between you and the incoming fire, its rear door descending as a fluttering ivory robe and flashes of white armor darted down its ramp, it was still not enough to rip you out from yourself.

It was only partially, that your awareness sparked, and for a moment oh so brief, as a flash of auburn tufts poked a hole in that stunned cataract.

“Silvey!”

A distant echo among muffled blaster fire, but the ringing tone did seem to partially subside.

“Silvey! Can you hear me?!”

You swallowed, vision clearing just enough to recognize a familiar pair of widened, bright blue eyes.

Though you had no idea how he got here.

“Obi-Wan?” You questioned hazily with scrunched brows.

“Let’s get you to the ship!” He declared firmly, eyes drifting toward your mangled leg as a hint of displeasure creased his eyes.

But he hesitated for only a second before quickly wrapping his fingers around your free arm to tug you that away.

And, truth be told, it was that moment, that single moment, the warm feeling of his grip as plasmic fumes assaulted your senses, that became the last instant of Lanos you truly remembered.

You recalled the gentle pressure of Kenobi’s fingers releasing your arm into the shuttle just before it lifted from the ground while he sprinted off, pearly armor catching the sun’s smoke-scattered glare as he joined the fight. And you could remember the stinging weight that dragged at your muscles as you stood for the first time after the hull abruptly docked at The Negotiator.

A feeling that haunted you with each step you traversed from the shuttle bay to your temporary quarters.

You could even recall the taste of the stale ship air that reigned menial against Lanos’s essence of fresh vegetation and untouched atmosphere. Though that particular memory was hard to forget, considering those same elements pervaded your quarters.

What you couldn’t remember, however, was what anyone had said to you. If anyone had said anything at all. You couldn’t remember when your injured leg was wrapped, or who did it. You couldn’t remember whether the battle was won. You couldn’t remember entering the lift to the residential section of the ship. And you couldn’t remember the familiar whooshing creak of your quarter’s automatic door.

Oh Maker, no.

You couldn’t recall whether that faulty sound tolled when the aperture opened.

You could only trust that the door had, in fact, shut behind you as you ambled into your quarters, deactivated lightsaber falling from your bruised fingers before rudely clacking across the carpeted floor. You could only hope that the walls, too, were thick enough to deafen the sound of your falling knees as they collided with the itchy carpet’s prickling texture.

And you could pray that the falling tears wetting your cheeks and soaking your tunic, and the hiccuping breaths stopping your heart, would somehow ease the agonizing burden that crushed your chest with the bodies of all you had lost.

—

“And the facility was secured?” Master Kenobi inquired once Commander Cody concluded his cursory report on the impromptu attack.

Both general and soldier ambled down the curved, tubular hallway of one of the ship’s upper decks, lined with identically placed doors and overhead lights that perfectly reflected the Republic’s preference for uniformed architecture. Still though, Obi-Wan’s wandering eyes would soak up their every detail, down to the personalized wear of certain entry panels or noticeable scuffs decorating the steel floor whenever he participated in such debriefs.

It allowed his mind to focus on the task at hand. No matter the aeonian tumult that bled into their essence or bordered his thoughts.

“Yes, General,” Cody assured evenly as his long-barreled, black phaser, still warm from battle, patiently hung from a confident grip; swaying with each step that fell in line with his superior’s steady stride.

“And we incurred far less casualties than anticipated,” he continued, with a hint of optimism so subtle that even Kenobi struggled to detect it. “My men report that the General is to thank for that.”

An unconscious hand hovered toward Obi-Wan’s chin, gently stroking his beard’s loose tufts while the Jedi Master continued to absorb his officer’s words like a Bluebell squish would sunlight.

Though his gaze still dallied across the ephemeral doors.

“Had they not stood their ground in the valley’s trench…” Cody liberated. “I doubt much of the platoon would be left standing.”

Kenobi’s chest rose and fell with a gradualness that seemed to suspend time itself. Still, his legs carried him onwards, as a shuttle set on autopilot would transport its passengers by endless star systems, and the beauties in between.

You certainly took a huge risk, he noted. Pushing yourself to the very brink to protect the lives of his own battalion.

But did you know just how close you came to the point of no return?

The Master Jedi considered that even Anakin would’ve deemed the act of entering and remaining in the trenches terribly reckless.

And that was saying something.

But you were Qui-Gon’s Padawan, after all. And Obi-Wan knew better than anyone that drilled into your being was the desire to avoid violence at all costs. To preserve the manifestations of the Force by protecting any and all beings who necessitated aid.

Though you were never prepared for a war that coerced Jedi to conform to a changed Galaxy.

And it coerced him to consider…

Should he say something?

“Sir.”

The General need not rely on Force-attuned senses to notice the Commander slowed his gate into a standstill from the corner of an observant eye. Leashing Kenobi to do the same as he angled to face the solider whose mollified shoulders stimulated satiny brown orbs to soften.

“Some of the boys and I would like to thank the General in person for what they did today,” he expressed somewhat awkwardly, hand jolting up to scratch the back of his head as his eyes dipped off to the side. “Any chance you could share a heads up when they may be up for it, Sir?”

An involuntary twitch tugged at the corner of the General’s tensed lips. Though his revelation after the fact choked the sensation before it had any chance of crawling up to ensnare his bright, cerulean orbs.

No. Not yet, the bearded man concluded.

He couldn’t share his worries.

Because Kenobi dreaded that doing so would risk metamorphosis.

It would be, conceivably, like asking you to transform into a different breed of Jedi. One who’d fail to touch the hearts of men with such infectious reverence and unity.

You were a being who would, no matter what, sacrifice each and every far-off particle of themselves if it meant preserving just one more life, or to cease the wands of conflict indefinitely.

The Way of Qui-Gon’s age, that felt so long ago.

Before its prime was sullied by war…

Suppressing his former Master’s Renaissance teachings in favor of this changed Galaxy, like so many Jedi of late, like Mace Windu, would fundamentally alter you.

And it was that very concept that sucked away the energy of his mind, like a siphon draining liquid gold down through his stiffened spine, and out through his toes.

“Of course, Commander,” Kenobi expelled fluidly. “I’m certain they would valu—“

A gust of pressurized mass flung by the duo with the brawn of a rushing wave, consuming Obi-Wan’s senses and depressing the hairs along his arms like a sudden shift in gravity as his once drained neck flicked toward the impression’s oozing source, located somewhere farther down the hallway.

But while the piqued Jedi Master’s piercing eyes initially saw nothing of concern, it was only a mere second later when the feeling quickly morphed into a troubling array as a pointed hole the size of a marble appeared to form in his ribcage, deliberately expanding into a bleak vacuum that nearly caught his breath.

Then came the pain.

An intense jab whose sharp instrument seemed to pierce the air with progressively afflicting shocks that were surely impossible for any Force-Sensative being to ignore.

At least, for him.

And while this sensation’s source appeared to stray from his inner being, Kenobi could still perceive its utter potency, shattering his thoughts with one, unavoidable clarity:

That, no matter the impenetrability of mental blocks or molecular hints of presence within the Force, the only other being in this sector at all capable of emitting this kind of energy, was you.

And that could only mean one thing.

Something was very very wrong.

Given that you’d nearly escaped with your life not even an hour prior, Kenobi could only fear the worst as he mentally recounted your previously noted injuries.

Unless…

That earlier hesitation…

“General!” Cody alertedly yet curiously called after his superior officer as the auburn-haired man’s once composed posture devolved into a notably rushed jog, his white shoulder and shin guards doing little in the ways of stifling the whipping surge of his ivory robe as it caught the ship’s manufactured atmosphere’s resistance. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m not certain,” he replied with a leveled tone, though never assuaging his gate or turning his chin away from the path ahead as he rushed by door upon equivalent door. “I will comm you if not.”

It was quite fortunate, Obi-Wan realized, that he’d already been returning to his own quarters when he sensed the shift in the Force as they were situated a mere few doors down from your own. Otherwise, given your mind’s weak presence in its endless flow, he may not have caught onto the displacement until long after the fact. Still, he couldn’t help but assign himself preliminary blame for whatever it was he began inwardly preparing to walk into.

He was too distracted to check in with you until now. Too preoccupied with leading reinforcements to turn the tide of that bloody sea of an ambush. And too absorbed in the logistics of determining just exactly how that Separatist attack force landed on Lanos without a lick of intelligence soaring his way. All while the General simultaneously ensured an on-track fleet rendezvous in the background.

But now, stood before your door amidst the heavy rise and fall of a stunted chest in which breath clutched its heels, the Jedi Master gravelly understood once again, fist hovering before its grayed coating in fleeting hesitation, that he had no choice but to rectify another mistake made in his task of certifying The Guardian’s safety.

His knuckles resonantly rapped the cold metal sheen separating you both.

“Silvey?”

But that empty, weighted crevice slithering within his deepest senses persisted, its stinging ambiance threatening to crack open his skin. Quite enough to convince the Jedi Master, as he reached a few fingers toward the door’s panel to levy a couple overriding taps, that your current well-being transcended any and all swirling discomforts rooted in invading your personal space.

Yet, even with such logic secured as firmly on his belt as his lightsaber, nothing could’ve truly prepared Obi-Wan Kenobi for the sight that patiently awaited the mechanical entryway’s opening swish, as his subsequent few steps into your thinly carpeted and modestly furnished quarters delivered an image not easily unseen.

Kneeled just a few meters before the stilled, auburn-haired man was your sternly bent-over figure, back hunched as strikingly as a shadow in a room simply lit by the vast array of stars that glimmered unbothered beyond the far wall’s viewport. Your wears were the same, with the various splotched, grimy stains and ripped, sagging ends of disturbed cloth still hugging your body like fearful younglings. Just as they had during the battle’s peak when Kenobi’s shuttle first landed.

Their drying crackles. Their stretching tears. They caught his gaze as fiercely as a spark of fire with each subtle quiver of your spine, an action which took his mind a moment to register as the trembling quake bedeviling enervated lungs.

From your blood-soiled calf bandage, ruggedly stuck, tussled hair, and sweat-adhered, dirt-crusted arms, Obi-Wan could only assume that you’d remained like this since your arrival. Submitting to your dark surroundings while lacking the inspiration to flip on a light.

And, most eerily, in a muteness that heightened the slightest creaks and far-off humming engines of a periodically groaning ship.

A recognition that deepened the already cavernous void threatening to swallow whole every vein branching from Kenobi’s chest into the muscle of each motionless shoulder.

This was nothing like the incident of days prior, which meant that the General was uncertain of what would help. How to fix this. Or even, what was wrong.

But he veritably knew that dropping a pin in the uncanny silence engulfing you both like a gaseous cloud would shatter his eardrums just as savagely as he assumed it would spiral whatever affliction you were enduring into a perilous state.

And that meant that, for the life of him. The Master Jedi had no idea how to proceed.

He could not breathe for apprehension that it would burst like a spark within an invisible hypermatter leak. Let alone speak a few words, nor your name, unless he knew that, without harm, he could.

So, Master Kenobi did the only thing he dreamed acceptable.

After idling by the entryway in perpetual uncertainty, the cautious Jedi adopted a lissome tread, leading his troubled brows and downturned cerulean eyes to finally seize a glimpse of your collapsed head as he rounded your form.

Your blotched countenance of stained tears and drained listlessness. Loose strands of hair soaked from sweat or anguish he did not know. Still, even your radiantly silver eyes seemed to gray in their moribund stare straight ahead, as if to watch a tiresome scene a thousand parsecs away run its course.

And it was that utter and complete stillness, a feeling invoking time to recede into long-forgotten history, that remained for a tense, immeasurable while.

Unsteady breaths continued to shudder your torso while eyes strung wide enough to perceive the whole Galaxy struggled to maintain their shape following the long sered, torrential flood. The cogs of overflowing thoughts crowding their rusting gears before the speechless man’s very eyes.

It felt near an eternity into the future or past had elapsed for Obi-Wan since he met your distant orbs. Yet their departed state, it seemed, never reflected your true awareness.

You were not trapped within your mind again.

“I spent my entire life on that barren planet,” you suddenly relayed hoarsely.

Or, maybe, in some ways, you were, Kenobi amended, as the sound of your strained voice heightened the General’s alertness all the way up to his hassled brows.

“And a decade of it in complete isolation.”

Laggardly, your jaded orbs lifted toward his own, neck barely shifting while you held his pursed lips and tensed jaw in a vice grip by the anticipation of your slowly spilling words alone.

“And yet—“

A single tear seeped through the dam, etching another stain into your storied cheeks as your chest quickened its heaves.

It was more than enough to have impelled Kenobi toward you. With a hand outstretched and a pulsing drive to somehow bring you any sliver of relief.

But Obi-Wan refrained from all that.

He knew he needed to listen. To understand first. So to learn how best to fix this.

He just wanted to fix this.

“—I’ve never felt… quite… so alone.”

But with those six words, the Master Jedi’s temperance seemed to wash away with the second droplet that traced a serene path down to your chin, proving another chink in the levee.

Promptly, but still with great care, Obi-Wan neared your body, both sets of eyes never severing while he lowered to his knees. Mirroring your form in complete and utter stillness as he encouraged you to continue with a reinforced, steadfast expression.

A tremulous exhale escaped your lungs, silver gaze breaking the connection before sinking to the wayside.

“Not as I do now,” you breathed. “Not when Qui-Gon is gone.”

Those two syllables, Kenobi registered. Two knocks that brought that dam to ruins.

“He’s gone!” You croakily sobbed, a glare that could only reflect betrayal by the Galaxy itself rushing to perceive Kenobi’s affected countenance with an intensity that matched the gushing rain.

You raised a fist, tightening it in the air through a paled potency so sheer that Obi-Wan worried with stitched brows about the sharp damage your fingertips could be afflicting upon the contorted palm. All while silver eyes squeezed shut as if disgusted by the waves of pure agony that surmounted your figure.

“He’s gone for good,” you gnawed breathily. “And nothing will ever bring him back.”

While heaving gasps brimmed the once noiseless, dulled gray walls, amplifying the hollowed suffering emanating through the Force, Kenobi felt his tensed spine and rigid limbs ease with the surge of conviction that steadily overcame him.

Doubtlessness that, like a good Jedi, he felt the need to ease your misery.

More than that. Your pain happened to affect him in such a way, that it felt distressing to do anything but lift his wrist to reach out a bracing palm.

For someone he appreciated as an admirable individual.

And for a being he was beginning to consider a good friend.

Gently, his palm graced the side of yours, signaling him to carefully wrap warm fingers around your strikingly frigid, raised fist. A gesture which relaxed open your tear-brimmed orbs while Obi-Wan cautiously lowered your languishingly trembling clutch. So gradually, that as both your and Obi-Wan’s arms reached each respective knee, the clasped hand was spurred to wholly unfurl, giving Kenobi room to relax his thumb against your flushed palm while he eyed you meaningfully.

“You are not alone,” Obi-Wan firmly assured, his own voice eliciting a momentary shock as he heard its baritone timbre crush the presence of such prolonged and confounding silence.

“He’s gone,” you repeated mindlessly with an empty gaze barely supporting your head.

Yet Obi-Wan’s persistence was as boundlessly unyielding as the grip he maintained on you.

“But, you’re not alone.”

“Obi-Wan,” you wept, nostrils flaring as you shook your head with thinned eyes; swallowing harshly. “Pleas—“

Rapidly, with any fret of heedfulness tossed out the airlock, the Master Jedi brought his unchained hand toward your tottering jaw. Resting a loose knuckle under your chin to lift your searching gaze toward his.

You needed this, he excused. You needed to hear this.

And as your damp, sparkling eyes absently met his, he knew:

Distance be damned.

“You are The Guardian. Anakin is forever tied to you. And you will always, always have the Order. Thousands of Jedi ready to stand by your side because of who you are,” he declared with unshakable conviction.

Until his orbs softened below shattered lips.

“Silvey,” he whispered pregnantly. “Drink in my words.” His fingers tightened around your own. “You are not alone.”

And for a moment, Kenobi could note a subtle lift in your features. A slight lightening of your irises that indicated at least some partial unshackling of an invisible burden. A development that began to stitch closed the gaping crevice nestled within his sternum as it was reflected through the Force, stabilizing against your releasing shoulders and loosening throat.

Though your mind appeared to travel elsewhere.

Still, they were all gradual indications of your calming thoughts. Hints that whatever he was doing was mending something. And signs that first appeared when he touched your hand.

Another theory that added substance to the sealing emptiness Kenobi first experienced through the hall in what felt like eons ago.

So, he leaned into it, gracing his once stilled thumb across your palm’s supple skin as he, bit by bit, traced a messy oval to soothe your thoughts.

And it didn’t take long for your continually calming presence to uncontrollably elicit the soft smile that gradually adorned his lips.

But, as soon as his gentle finger uncovered the aplomb to supply a deeper, more sustained motion of solidarity, it seemed, instantaneously, that this very transference snapped you out of whatever distance your mind had traveled with an unforeseen start.

Your suddenly surprised gape jumped out at Kenobi while a once relaxed hand instantly recoiled out of his own. Chiseling an equally confused expression across Obi-Wan’s face as his brows furrowed at you uneasily.

Still, that did little in forestalling your hurried launch to stand, all done in an effort to put a few strides between you and the bearded Jedi before crossing deeper into the dark shadows enveloping your quarters, a back of tattered robes separating you from Obi-Wan’s probing stare.

The older Jedi felt that hallowed void dilate within himself once more as he observed your sheltering arms fold into themselves, a familiar, throbbing pain emanating into the surrounding Force while he too promptly rose to his feet.

Especially as there was no denying that it was a feeling, Obi-Wan gathered, he’d somehow caused.

A myriad of thoughts swirled his mind as your quarters adopted that familiar aura of soundless reticence. One that rivaled the emptiness of its dimmed lightning that somehow felt far more barren with the presence of two beings blending into its grayed walls.

And the silence was deafening. Thunderous enough to fester a chest-displacing emotion Kenobi sometimes experienced, but knew no Jedi should long entertain.

Guilt.

“Silvey?” He questioned with indecisively parted lips, phonating barely above a whisper.

But you never spoke.

Instead, the Jedi Master received his answer from the tautening cross of your arms and intensifying dip of your head.

The clatter of heavy footsteps and low conversation echoed from the hall, cutting the still air like an endless barrage of saber swipes. Their passing din muffled by your quarter’s steel separation as Obi-Wan partially sensed the handful of clones retreat down the passageway’s other end until their overlapping noise whispered into a distant memory.

And it was following that minor rattle, the long, interspaced stretches of pure stillness, and a timeless affair of observing your statued figure for any hint of an imparting thought, that the General reluctantly accepted the inevitable as pivoted on his heel toward the long gone entourage.

Although he now ambled toward the metal door, he only moved with stalling muscles, still in anticipation that he’d sense some shift, some indication of lightening impressions through the Force. At least, any idea that maybe, maybe you’d say something to him.

But once Obi-Wan’s fingers reached for the green-rimmed panel, releasing open the aperture with a whoosh, he began to come to grips with the fact that his presence would facilitate no locution, and, instead, only make things worse.

Stepping beyond the threshold, Kenobi’s eyes drifted to the side, as if to glance at your enigmatic figure staring out the viewport from far behind.

Though, despite the effort, he never dared to fully turn. Instead, Obi-Wan simply allowed his reluctant features to subdue against the throbbing remorse that struck through his mind like an unruly blaster spear as he murmured through uncertain lips one last time.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

A soft exhale, and the door hissed closed.

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[desperatefunproductions]

The Great Satisfactory State of Play April 2025 #3

Rocky Desert Phase 4 Factories

So we went to the Dune Desert to pay one last visit to Factory Town before it gets destroyed; we popped into the Northern Forest to visit the Phase 2 factories; and now we're about to zip into the Rocky Desert to have a gander at the Phase 3 rigmarole.

And here we are on the natural bridge that connects Northern Forest to Rocky Desert. In the distance, we can see several factories, two of which feed the reactor on the opposite side of the big rock tower. So we travel west, then up the slope...

And here we have an open air silica and quickwire factory. The golden wire is crapped out in the foreground; silica is made down the back.

And where does the raw quartz come from to feed the machine? Well...

It comes from the bottom floor of the steelworks immediately below us, since the reactor doesn't use all that much silica, and I have more than enough being belted from deep within the immense cave that spans the entire width of this biome. It was a cinch to add a splitter and get that sorted!

Iron plate, silica, steel beams go out past the encased industrial beam factory in the distance, which adds much needed EIBs to the feed. Without these, the reactor stops hard.

An early WIP shot of the reactor. Obviously it's an uranium reactor, that also makes plutonium fuel rods for recycling. This was before I added the assemblers and manufacturers needed to finish that job. But that was then...

...this is now. The quickwire and silica are trained down this line to the far distant factory on the shoreline. But there's a factory closer, and newer, and it's the best example of my idea of the Stack. Shall we have a closer look?

That box in the foreground is from a mod, that allows you to tap power from train lines without needing a station. The modernist thing on the left is the caterium smeltery. That's all it does. So we skip that and hover along the power line to the skeletal one behind it. That's the Stack for electromagnetic control rods.

The idea of the Stack is simple. Each floor is dedicated to a single step in the manufacturing process. I tend to forget that because compactness. In the distant left, foundries and smelters feed copper and iron into the Stack.

Ground floor, iron and copper ingot arrival, copper sheet making. Please mind your step as getting bowled from stepping on the belts may offend (they're sent to one corner.) Going up.

Belt bridge porn. Where was I? Oh yes.

Second floor, copper wire. Note that my prefabs for 8 constructors are actually 4x4 rather than 5x5, which I use for the assemblers further up. Step to the rear of the car please.

Third floor, quickwire extrusion. This setup with the mesh flooring (from a mod) actually works quite well as it offers plenty of space for in- and output belting. Everybody up!

Fourth floor, iron pipe manufacture. With this half-floor we see one flaw of the Stack concept, if you consider empty floor space a flaw. And now we have to step outside the concrete pillar framework to look into the next floor up.

Fifth floor, AI limiters and stators. Yes, on the same floor, because it occurred to me that there was no logical reason to put them on separate floors. But now I wonder if another half-floor would have been so bad. Stators in back, AI limiters in front.

The prefabs include built-in logistics floors, and conveyor supports for the inputs, assuming everything, er, enters the same way. And those go up to...

Top floor, ECR final join and dispatch. I have kluged up two drone ports at the reactor to receive these, and also supply said drones with fuel rods for plenty of power.

So that's my first true Stack! So what came before?

This is what came before: This damnable thick square building that makes parts for and does final join on modular engines and adaptive control units. On top are five drone ports. One receives fuel for the others. The two we can see receive smart plating and automated wiring. And there's that train station at the bottom of a rather entertaining ramp. Let's look inside.

Cool! We have a satellite HUB terminal (from a mod), and all other mod cons! Not to mention well-lit, at least in these lower floors, I skipped lighting as I went up and got impatient.

So many foundries and coated iron plate assemblers. Oh, and steel beam constructors.

I can't wait for the day when 1.1 is made mod friendly. This form of compact vertical transport is... well, it's not the going-up, it's the going-down. A 20m drop is hair-raising.

Silicon circuit boards and so, so many screws. There's about eight belts of them going up the south wall.

And this is where everything ends up: the roof. That building in the centre is where all the spaghet for dispatching the Phase 3 goods and receiving Phase 2 is. And dispensing fuel. And feeding the sink. While we're up here, let's look around:

So many miners! Copper, iron, limestone, it's all here and all getting exploited a mile into the ground.

In back of the tower are the wet concrete refineries on the left, and the steamed copper sheet works. These were difficult to make, since I was, apparently, right on the edge of where I could place water extractors.

The mighty metal-roofed motor factory system! In the back, the double A-frame houses the solid steel ingot foundries; each different roofline indicates a separate stage of motor production. Copper ingots are belted in to a wire factory in the foreground.

The ground floor is marked with a coloured floor and path patterns, to highlight where you can walk from one end of Rocky Desert Motors to the other.

All of these constructors are making screws. All 64 of them. So. Many. Screws. If I didn't know any better, I'd think I was running Satisfactory+.

And here we have a distant shot of the abominations I made on the West Coast. There's a basic aluminium ingot factory, spagged to a hastily made heat sink factory and fuel packing plant, and also a massive refinery for making residual rubber and plastic to feed the tower. Coke, rubber and plastic are supplied by train, obviously. There's also a little fuel power plant that I really need to either redo or replace.

Actually this whole shebang desperately needs reworking. If I can rework the plant to make recycled rubber and plastic, that should improve output immensely.

Aaand that's where I am right now. In my pad of Warwick 14J5 I have a plan for a grid system that I can use to rebuild Factory Town... but first I have some more damned mining to do. I promised my passengers I'd have them in the North America Nebula by Easter.

Also, over Easter and possibly starting Wednesday, I'm going to reset Windows and see if that fixes the stability issues I've been having while streaming. Which means ensuring all my documents are backed up. So excuse me, I have to take my Type 8 Ye Olde Rock Thudder out to do just that...

[phoenixindustry0]

Invest in the best PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt by knowing in detail about them

Conveyor Belts are high in demand in different industries as they are considered as one of the crucial components in the manufacturing process. Though depending on the type of industry, the type of conveyor belts also vary and PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt is one of them. It is primarily used in the chemical processing industry, textile industry, food processing industry, packaging industry, and many more. To ensure proper functioning of these conveyor belts, it is important to buy them from reputed PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers. Though, the presence of many conveyor belt manufacturers has made it confusing for industries to decide from where to buy these. But with the help of proper guidance, you can now get reliable quality PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt with ease.

In this blog, we are sharing all the factors that one must consider when choosing reliable PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers in India. Along with that, we will also share the benefits of these conveyor belts to understand their uses and importance in a better way.

Factors to look for when choosing PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers

Buy from certified and reputed manufacturers – Industrial processes are of great importance and no one wishes to invest in poor quality PTFE Conveyor Belts. That is why we always advise to buy them from certified manufacturers like The Phoenix Industry. Always go for the PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers which are well approved by ISO and other reputed organizations for manufacturing these conveyor belts. These manufacturers adhere to all the mandatory compliances when manufacturing PTFE Belts and do not compromise with its quality.

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Check the heat or temperature resistivity of the PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belts – These conveyor belts are operated at relatively higher temperatures. They are mainly designed for high temperature applications. That is why, we recommend checking its resistivity to heat to ensure that they function well without compromising on their performance. This quality makes these PTFE Mesh Conveyor belts suitable for industries like electronics industry, automotive industry, food processing industry, and many more. 

Check the size and quality of the PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt – According to the requirement of the industries, the size and length of the PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belts also vary. If you are seeking any particular size and length, go for the PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers that offer customized PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt. Along with checking the size and length, do check the quality. Know the grade of material they are made of, its thickness, and resistivity to heat, chemicals, and corrosion. Checking all this will help you invest in a durable and efficient PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belts. If you wish to get all these qualities in your PTFE Conveyor Belts, buy from The Phoenix Industry.

Benefits of PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt

Known for their strength and sturdiness – PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belts are utilized in the production process continuously. Depending on the industries they are used to, they need to withstand the load of heavy materials throughout the process. Being made of PTFE Coated Glass Mesh, they are suitable to bear such heavy loads with ease which shows their strength. Despite being light in weight, they are sturdy enough to undergo continuous processing without the risk of getting damaged. If you are also in search of such conveyor belts, buy from The Phoenix Industry. Investing in such PTFE conveyor belts also saves one from regular maintenance and repair. 

Resistivity to high temperature, corrosion, and chemicals – PTFE mesh conveyor belts are excellent when it comes to using them in high-temperature environments. They are capable of bearing high temperatures up to a great extent. Other than that, PTFE Conveyor Belts are also known for offering exceptional resistivity to chemicals and corrosion making them suitable to use in the chemical processing industry, printing industry, and textile industry. The resistivity to corrosion helps in keeping them safe from moisture and liquids. But do not forget to ask the PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers about the same before buying.

Comes with Non-stick Surface – PTFE mesh conveyor belts manufactured using pure PTFE coating shows non-stick properties. Such conveyor belts have excellent releasing properties and are convenient to use in the food processing industry and chemical processing industry. They help in preventing adhesion of materials such as sticky food items and ingredients, adhesives, sticky chemicals, or paints or coatings. The presence of non-sticky surfaces makes them easier to clean and maintain for a long duration.

With all the information shared above you will be able to invest in the best quality PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belts. But if you are in a dilemma, then look no further than The Phoenix Industry – one of the leading PTFE Mesh Conveyor Belt manufacturers offering an affordable and premium range of PTFE Conveyor Belts.

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Vishvakarma Equipments offers efficient wire mesh conveyors, seamlessly transporting various materials. Durable construction and precision engineering ensure reliable performance in diverse industries. Enhance your production process with these versatile, low-maintenance conveyors.