#pm and security breach

[coffeedabi]

I'm sure this has been done but idc

[kaijucat01artblog]

Evidence of a Break-In

this was an old piece i decided to finish up :) i've always adored the setting of Security Breach, so i wanted to make some in-universe notes and thingamabobs and such!

(Security Card logo art belongs to Steel Wool.)

[history-stan]

Ragsy and Sun!

P.S.: Check image 2 very closely!

[odd-g0ul]

Thank you! I'm glad you liked the designs,

1.) Her name is going to remain anonymous, to avoid spoilers. That is why I left question marks. I will not tell you guys if I am revealing it or not.

2.) All of the characters' colors are dulled in the art to make it more realistic and easier to look at. The reason Freddy is dark brown is for aesthetics, because he is based on a Grizzly Bear, and so he can match Gregory's color pallet.

3.) I will not be commenting on Bonnie's father as of right now, it will be mentioned in the story

4.) Yes, on the post I said they were in order from oldest to youngest. Glamrock Bonnie was last, which means he is the youngest.

I'm happy to answer asks, but for the future, please try to condense it all into one question so it's easier for me.

If anyone has more than one question, needs a longer explanation of something, or wishes to have a conversation, please private message me instead of using the ask box or commenting all of it on the story. (I don't want to overflow the comments on my stories)

And I won't answer any questions about what is to come in the story because that will ruin the immersion. I hope everyone understands!

[wtfigo-crew]

"Hello! I am PM-HB.3, but you can just call me Jack!"

Official ref sheet for Jack, our lovely prototype helper bot! A very sweet fellow who only wishes to aid you in whatever you may be doing, or to take over any dangerous tasks!

He may look a little uncanny but we here at Fazbear Entertainment promise that he's harmless.

Bonus of all the different vests he has!

[moch-ila]

sitting here with bated breath waiting for glam rock chica or glam rock freddy to finally come out on marks ruin playthrough

[dearstvckyx]

It hurts, but I won’t fight you - Bucky Barnes

After disappearing following the events of The Flag Smashers, Reader returns as a brainwashed operative under the control of a Hydra-like organization. During a mission at The New Avengers Tower, the Thunderbolts confront her. Bucky Barnes, recognizing her, strives to break through her conditioning. - The Neighbourhood, Afraid

Bucky Barnes x Reader , mentions of thunderbolts members

Warnings: Violence, brainwashing, emotional trauma, mild torture (electric shocks), angst, hurt/comfort, romantic undertones.

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The New Avengers Tower – Common Room - 11:42 PM

It had been a rare, quiet night.

Yelena was dramatically spilling crumbs on the couch. Alexei, legs wide like a king, was halfway through a passionate rant about how “in his day,” super-soldiers didn’t need protein powder. John Walker was ignoring him entirely, focused on whatever was on his phone.

Bob hovered above the ground with a book in one hand and a glowing soda can in the other. Ava had her feet up on the table, head leaned back, resting.

And Bucky? Bucky was enjoying the peace. The quiet rhythm of camaraderie that didn’t always come easy to him. Until—

BANG.

The power died.

All the lights snapped out, the screens glitched, and a high-pitched, shrill alarm shattered the calm.

“Warning: Breach detected. Level 12. Unauthorized entry.”

Everyone snapped to their feet.

Yelena groaned, grabbing her knives. “Why always when I’m relaxing?”

“Level 12’s main security is offline,” Bob muttered. “That’s not easy to do.”

“Could be sabotage,” Ava said sharply, tightening her gloves. “Or worse—inside help.”

“Let’s go,” Bucky ordered, who was already halfway to the stairs followed by the team. Excluding Bob who’s stayed behind in case the intruder came down.

⸻

Level 12 – Maintenance Corridor

The air was thick with smoke and flashing red lights. A security door lay blown off its hinges, wires sparking. The smell of scorched metal clung to everything.

And then—a blur.

Someone in sleek, black tactical armor lunged out of the smoke and kicked Walker full-force into the wall with a mechanical whirr.

“Damn it!” he growled, winded. “Who the hell—?!”

“MOVE!” Ava shouted, phasing just as a throwing disc nearly clipped her head.

Yelena ducked and retaliated with twin knives, slashing with military precision. But the intruder blocked it—clean, calculated—before flipping her over their shoulder like she weighed nothing.

Alexei charged with brute force but was met with a rapid-fire stun shot to the chest. He stumbled and fell with a groan. “That one was unnecessary…”

Everyone was on the ground, in pain… everyone but Bucky.

“Who the hell fights like this?” Ava hissed, panting.

“Like someone trained,” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes. There was something hauntingly familiar about it—the stance, the precision, the brutal efficiency.

And then—Bucky lunged.

Steel clashed against upgraded tech. They fought close, gritty—Bucky landed a hit to the helmet, and the figure staggered. He pushed them back again, growling, “Take off the damn mask.”

The figure hesitated. A split-second of stillness.

Then—they whispered it.

“James?”

The voice. Muffled through the modulator, but Bucky heard it like thunder. His stomach dropped.

“Y/N?”

That moment of recognition—a crack in the armor—was punished instantly.

A violent shock pulse surged through their suit, and they cried out, buckling to the ground in pain.

“NO!” Bucky shouted, catching them.

You looked up at him, eyes flickering with something broken and terrified.

“It hurts…” you whispered. “But I won’t fight you.”

Another jolt. You screamed. His grip tightened.

He saw them now—small emitters on the spine, flashing red. Some kind of remote control. Surveillance.

Without hesitation, Bucky used his vibranium arm to rip them off, wires sparking and shorting.

The suit powered down. You collapsed forward, gasping, into his arms.

Helmet off. Face revealed.

It was you.

And the others—Yelena, Ava, even Walker, who the last time he saw you, you were limped and out cold in Bucky’s arms—stood frozen in disbelief.

⸻

Recovery Wing - 44 Hours Later

The recovery wing of the tower was quieter than usual.

You sat propped up on a medical bed, bandages wrapping the worst of the burns where the shocks had hit your body. Your hands trembled every so often, more from the cold emptiness in your chest than from the physical trauma. You hadn’t said much—not since the fight, not since Bucky tore the device off you and held you like the world had cracked open.

“Head still spinning?” Bob asked softly, sitting in a chair pulled close to your bedside, a half-eaten granola bar in his hand. “I can stop talking if it’s too much.”

You blinked at him and shook your head. “No… it’s fine. I like hearing your voice. It helps.”

Bob gave you a small, gentle smile. “Well, that’s rare. Most people say I talk too much.”

You managed a weak laugh, the first sound resembling life you’d made in hours.

Across the compound, Yelena, Ava, John, and Alexei were suiting up. The footage pulled from the hacked suit had given them a lead—an offshore facility run by remnants of a HYDRA-adjacent group. The same bastards who had taken you.

“They’re gonna find them,” Bob said, his voice quieter now. “They’ll make sure no one does this to you—or anyone—again.”

You nodded absently, fingers curling around the blanket on your lap. “I was awake for some of it. They’d… talk to me. Reprogram me. And I couldn’t scream, or fight back. I was just—trapped in my own head. But when I saw Bucky… everything cracked. Like he punched through it.”

Bob didn’t interrupt. He didn’t press you to keep talking. He just stayed, steady and warm, the way good people do.

⸻

Hours Later…

You heard the familiar shuffle of boots before the medbay doors opened. Your heart jumped when Bucky stepped through the doorway, bruised and bloody from the fight, but very much alive.

Bob was still next to you, now showing you funny dog videos on his phone to try and distract you. But he paused when Bucky entered, giving him a smile and a knowing look.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Bob said, gently squeezing your shoulder before getting up. “Holler if you want another snack. Or a better phone.”

Bucky watched him go with a slight huff of amusement before stepping forward, his eyes locked onto you like you were the only solid thing left in the world.

“You okay?” he asked first, as always.

You nodded. “Physically? Yeah. Emotionally? I’m still trying to sort through the static.”

He knelt by your bedside, gloved hand finding yours without asking. “You scared the hell out of me,” he whispered.

“I scared me too.”

You tried to smile, but it broke halfway through. “They were in my head, James. Controlling me. And I couldn’t stop it. I thought I’d hurt you. I thought… I’d lose you.”

His brows furrowed, eyes going glassy. “You didn’t. You never could.”

He stood up slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles before sitting on the edge of the bed beside you. “You said something—back in the fight. ‘It hurts, but I won’t fight you.’ I’ve never heard anything more honest.”

You stared at him, overwhelmed by the softness in his voice. “Because I knew you. Even if everything else was gone… you stayed. And I… I stayed for you.”

Bucky cupped your cheek, thumb brushing a tear away before it could fall. “I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

You leaned your forehead against his, your breath mingling. “Then don’t leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

⸻

Outside the room, the rest of the team passed by the hallway, glancing through the window and spotting the two of you curled together on the medbed.

Bob grinned as he walked past, whispering to Ava, “Told you he was a goner.”

John had rolled his eyes but smirked at the two. “Finally.”

⸻

SOOOOOO THE NBHD MIGHT BE COMING BACK IM GONNA CRYYYYYYY

[artfight]

Mid-Fight Newspost

Hi Art Fighters, we hope you're enjoying the event so far! We have a few announcements...

Financials

We have reached our Tier 1 goal of $98k and are very close to reaching our Tier 2 goal of $150k! We'd like to thank everybody who has contributed. A majority of the features promised will be implemented sometime after the event, though you can track our progress through our Changelog here.

Extension

Due to unexpected maintenance and the site's partial downtime, we have decided to extend the event until August 3rd at 12:00 PM Mountain Time.

Debug Bar

You may have noticed a debug bar appearing at the bottom of the site on Saturday, July 13th. This was not a security breach and the only sensitive information accessible was the login token of the user currently logged in.

The incident occurred because we brought on the previous contractors (who helped us migrate our servers) to help us evaluate and optimize our new AWS architecture. Unfortunately, they mistakenly installed the debug menu on our production environment, due to a lack of communication on our part.

The IP addresses shown in the debug bar were those of Cloudflare proxy servers rather than user IP addresses, meaning that they could not be used to obtain information about your ISP or physical location. No accounts are at risk and your information was not leaked to other users or Art Fight staff.

We will be implementing measures to prevent this mistake in the future.

Please read the newspost below in full for all information. Thank you so much for participating in Art Fight!!!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Palantir’s NHS-stealing Big Lie

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TUCSON (Mar 9-10), then SAN FRANCISCO (Mar 13), Anaheim, and more!

Capitalism's Big Lie in four words: "There is no alternative." Looters use this lie for cover, insisting that they're hard-nosed grownups living in the reality of human nature, incentives, and facts (which don't care about your feelings).

The point of "there is no alternative" is to extinguish the innovative imagination. "There is no alternative" is really "stop trying to think of alternatives, dammit." But there are always alternatives, and the only reason to demand that they be excluded from consideration is that these alternatives are manifestly superior to the looter's supposed inevitability.

Right now, there's an attempt underway to loot the NHS, the UK's single most beloved institution. The NHS has been under sustained assault for decades – budget cuts, overt and stealth privatisation, etc. But one of its crown jewels has been stubbournly resistant to being auctioned off: patient data. Not that HMG hasn't repeatedly tried to flog patient data – it's just that the public won't stand for it:

https://www.theguardian.com/society/2023/nov/21/nhs-data-platform-may-be-undermined-by-lack-of-public-trust-warn-campaigners

Patients – quite reasonably – do not trust the private sector to handle their sensitive medical records.

Now, this presents a real conundrum, because NHS patient data, taken as a whole, holds untold medical insights. The UK is a large and diverse country and those records in aggregate can help researchers understand the efficacy of various medicines and other interventions. Leaving that data inert and unanalysed will cost lives: in the UK, and all over the world.

For years, the stock answer to "how do we do science on NHS records without violating patient privacy?" has been "just anonymise the data." The claim is that if you replace patient names with random numbers, you can release the data to research partners without compromising patient privacy, because no one will be able to turn those numbers back into names.

It would be great if this were true, but it isn't. In theory and in practice, it is surprisingly easy to "re-identify" individuals in anonymous data-sets. To take an obvious example: we know which two dates former PM Tony Blair was given a specific treatment for a cardiac emergency, because this happened while he was in office. We also know Blair's date of birth. Check any trove of NHS data that records a person who matches those three facts and you've found Tony Blair – and all the private data contained alongside those public facts is now in the public domain, forever.

Not everyone has Tony Blair's reidentification hooks, but everyone has data in some kind of database, and those databases are continually being breached, leaked or intentionally released. A breach from a taxi service like Addison-Lee or Uber, or from Transport for London, will reveal the journeys that immediately preceded each prescription at each clinic or hospital in an "anonymous" NHS dataset, which can then be cross-referenced to databases of home addresses and workplaces. In an eyeblink, millions of Britons' records of receiving treatment for STIs or cancer can be connected with named individuals – again, forever.

Re-identification attacks are now considered inevitable; security researchers have made a sport out of seeing how little additional information they need to re-identify individuals in anonymised data-sets. A surprising number of people in any large data-set can be re-identified based on a single characteristic in the data-set.

Given all this, anonymous NHS data releases should have been ruled out years ago. Instead, NHS records are to be handed over to the US military surveillance company Palantir, a notorious human-rights abuser and supplier to the world's most disgusting authoritarian regimes. Palantir – founded by the far-right Trump bagman Peter Thiel – takes its name from the evil wizard Sauron's all-seeing orb in Lord of the Rings ("Sauron, are we the baddies?"):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/01/the-palantir-will-see-you-now/#public-private-partnership

The argument for turning over Britons' most sensitive personal data to an offshore war-crimes company is "there is no alternative." The UK needs the medical insights in those NHS records, and this is the only way to get at them.

As with every instance of "there is no alternative," this turns out to be a lie. What's more, the alternative is vastly superior to this chumocratic sell-out, was Made in Britain, and is the envy of medical researchers the world 'round. That alternative is "trusted research environments." In a new article for the Good Law Project, I describe these nigh-miraculous tools for privacy-preserving, best-of-breed medical research:

https://goodlawproject.org/cory-doctorow-health-data-it-isnt-just-palantir-or-bust/

At the outset of the covid pandemic Oxford's Ben Goldacre and his colleagues set out to perform realtime analysis of the data flooding into NHS trusts up and down the country, in order to learn more about this new disease. To do so, they created Opensafely, an open-source database that was tied into each NHS trust's own patient record systems:

https://timharford.com/2022/07/how-to-save-more-lives-and-avoid-a-privacy-apocalypse/

Opensafely has its own database query language, built on SQL, but tailored to medical research. Researchers write programs in this language to extract aggregate data from each NHS trust's servers, posing medical questions of the data without ever directly touching it. These programs are published in advance on a git server, and are preflighted on synthetic NHS data on a test server. Once the program is approved, it is sent to the main Opensafely server, which then farms out parts of the query to each NHS trust, packages up the results, and publishes them to a public repository.

This is better than "the best of both worlds." This public scientific process, with peer review and disclosure built in, allows for frequent, complex analysis of NHS data without giving a single third party access to a a single patient record, ever. Opensafely was wildly successful: in just months, Opensafely collaborators published sixty blockbuster papers in Nature – science that shaped the world's response to the pandemic.

Opensafely was so successful that the Secretary of State for Health and Social Care commissioned a review of the programme with an eye to expanding it to serve as the nation's default way of conducting research on medical data:

https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/better-broader-safer-using-health-data-for-research-and-analysis/better-broader-safer-using-health-data-for-research-and-analysis

This approach is cheaper, safer, and more effective than handing hundreds of millions of pounds to Palantir and hoping they will manage the impossible: anonymising data well enough that it is never re-identified. Trusted Research Environments have been endorsed by national associations of doctors and researchers as the superior alternative to giving the NHS's data to Peter Thiel or any other sharp operator seeking a public contract.

As a lifelong privacy campaigner, I find this approach nothing short of inspiring. I would love for there to be a way for publishers and researchers to glean privacy-preserving insights from public library checkouts (such a system would prove an important counter to Amazon's proprietary god's-eye view of reading habits); or BBC podcasts or streaming video viewership.

You see, there is an alternative. We don't have to choose between science and privacy, or the public interest and private gain. There's always an alternative – if there wasn't, the other side wouldn't have to continuously repeat the lie that no alternative is possible.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/08/the-fire-of-orodruin/#are-we-the-baddies

Image: Gage Skidmore (modified) https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Peter_Thiel_(51876933345).jpg

CC BY-SA 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/deed.en

[fictionproblem]

THREE STAR FAMILY DANGLE KEYCHAINS ARE UP FOR PREORDER ‼️🫶🏼

Running June 6 - June 20, ending 10 pm EST. Grab em here!

They’re double sided and glittery!! The top charm is 3 inches while the bottom is 2.5!

Further shipping information and preorder specifics in the item’s listing!

Reblogs are very helpful and incredibly appreciated!!

[jellazticious]

15 dollar doodle comms GO GO GO

AND CLOSED

10/10 slots

- Payment through PPal invoices

- Can come in grayscale or a monochromatic palette

- Maximum 3 characters

- No backgrounds but yes props

- Rough lines but you can choose whether the brush is hard or soft

- Ocs? Canon? Oc x canon? You want it, it's yours my friend

- Reply or PM if interested DO NOT SEND ASKS

Adding examples the more I complete

Fandom and don'ts list under the cut

Fandoms (this does not mean the comms are exclusive of the list)

Pizza Tower

TF2

DST

Undertale/Deltarune

FAITH

Mouthwashing

Cuphead

Slay The Princess

Little Nightmares

DHMIS

RE8

FNAF (specifically Security Breach)

I will not draw:

Vivziepop shows

Homestuck

Sugary Spire

Anime gacha characters/insanely crowded designs

Mecha

If you can find my NSFW blog, you can get a saucy one for 20 wink wink

[history-stan]

That moment when you catch a virus that creates voices in your head to make you feel more on edge than you should be, but they all just call you gay

Also, finally a fully colored piece for Ragsy! There's multiple versions, so I'll just post them below the cut as to not be annoying

Dual-colored eyes

Cyan eyes

Red eyes

[fevereft]

fresh spearmint snow.

TINDERBOX / charen. wc: 2.4k. contains: modern and university au, allusions to suicide and abuse, charity-centric, religious guilt and trauma, the americanized college experience (i write what i know), this very well may be terrible since i'm sleep-deprived, i haven't figured out the ezra situation yet

for @irreveries as part of our unofficial writing exchange ^^

“Fuck all of them, anyway.”

Charity Graves does not know who she is cursing. Vaguely all of them. Normally she’d curse herself, find some way to shoulder the blame, but her counselor’s been stressing the importance of redirection. Ergo: fuck all of them.

She sounds unlike herself, whispering those words. The sun is setting over the student parking lot, casting the familiar tarmac in shades of orange and yellow. It’s far too pretty out for what’s happened; the ambulance idles by the curb, its sirens dead and still. Her elbows and knees are growing numb from being pressed together, a direct consequence of being crouched for so long. But she cannot move, and she most definitely cannot alleviate the pressure now, not when she relies on it to stay together.

The only evidence of her inner turmoil is the minute worry of her lip. Other students pass by on their way to classes and whatnot, but others unabashedly linger, speculating and gossiping, much like the seasoned parishioners of the Church. She cannot blame them for being concerned. Curiosity is human nature — but it’s all becoming too much to handle — and that is a feat in and of itself; Charity can’t remember the last time she couldn’t handle life’s misgivings. 

The young woman discerns many whispers. 

“The problem’s on the second floor, I think. Security stopped me from going up the stairs and told me to take the elevator. I hope everyone’s okay, I’m too scared to head up to my room right now…”

“D’ya think it’s another suicide?”

“Dude, you can’t say things like that!”

“They’re taking a long time. They could be up there raking Tyler over the coals for getting drunk and butt-dialing emergency services again. All the RAs are sniffing around.”

“I didn’t see many paramedics…”  

Charity doesn’t think of herself as very intuitive, but something evil gnaws away at the lining of her stomach, causing the bile there to breach and bubble. Something is wrong, and this something is also telling her that the endangered person in question is already gone. No one’s rushing them out on a stretcher, and a heady silence has descended upon this part of campus. Her emerald bangs split unevenly across her forehead — an unfortunate quirk, further worsened by the heat. 

She cannot bring herself to go inside, to push past the first responders towards her shared suite. A student is rotting on the second floor. They are gone, and she feels the ensuing grief; she lives it. She lives it like she’s committing to residency inside of a waking nightmare. 

Her phone buzzes in the pocket of her jeans. Still, despite the eerie timing, she does not flinch as she fishes it out the denim to take stock of the offending notification. 

…

Soren [7:39 pm] sociology ended

…

Very informative, Soren. 

Charity understands that’s how he communicates, stating things as they are with just enough wiggle room for interpretation. A particularly ludicrous example is the time the arsonist in question omitted the detail of smoke emanating from a smuggled-in hotplate, only texting her something along the lines of you should come back please. Suffice it to say, it’s always better to press further over the phone, where she cannot as easily read her best friend. Responses are always timely, so that’s a positive.

…

Charity [7:41 pm] Got it. Are you headed back now? I’ll meet you halfway

Soren [7:41 pm] yes. are you ok

Charity [7:42 pm] Yep! I’m omw

…

It wouldn’t be good for him to witness all this commotion. Charity’s already standing, ready to busy herself with another task, ready to distract. Soren’s got steel to him, under all that fleece, but didn’t both of them enroll in university to escape? They came here to escape the stench of death, the constant grief of losing acquaintances to harsh conditions and mistreatment. 

Abuse, her counselor at the student center would correct. It was abuse, not just mistreatment, Charity.

However, that’s neither here nor there. She navigates the sprawling sidewalks, weaving in between the menagerie of buildings towards Fateful Corner. She wants to do more, always, all of the time, and that’s where her philanthropic heart lies; no matter how impeded she feels by the imaginary walls of her past captors, she’ll get better. She has to, but she must not wantonly show weakness either. 

The world is her oyster, even if one of her floormates is dead. No longer must her heart bleed for others she does not know. But… where should the line be drawn? How much is someone supposed to care? Because if you care about something, aren’t you supposed to care about everything? It’s only fair. 

Life’s not fair. That’s why she put up with everything for so long. Her routine was to suffer as she grew acquainted with helplessness — and too, her secret companion. What matters now is that Charity pulled herself and Soren out of that place. She would not be wrong to focus on him and her education, but now that she’s free…

There’s no excuse why she didn’t get to know that floormate, why she didn’t recklessly out of her way for them. She let them pass her by, and now they’re gone. 

She hasn’t changed one bit since the transition, has she? She’s not getting better. She’s still pretending to be impotent, even when she’s long skittered out from under her father’s thumb.

That line of thinking is swiftly interrupted as she almost collides with a passing car. It would be, for lack of a better word — bad, if she ended up injured, or even indisposed, right before finals. It’s the fabled calm before the storm right now. Not quite time for cramming, but the presence of normal assignments is about to grind to a halt in favor of study guides and prepwork. 

Maybe that’s why Soren stayed out a bit longer than he usually does, loath as he is to leave her side; it seems no one is immune to exam fear-mongering. Hm.

Charity spots him soon after, a blip in the distance, then an unmistakable figure. That same old turtleneck hugs him tight, and she finds herself inwardly grimacing; it’s way too stuffy for such high fashion, evident by the sweat clinging to his face. He’s wearing those khakis that are wrinkled just enough to be charming, waiting patiently with his hands stuffed in his pockets. There is nothing to do but close the remaining distance, and continue pushing onwards, so that’s what she does.

Those charcoal eyes used to be so finicky, she thinks. There was a time when she couldn’t discern what emotion he was tussling with, what brand of discomfort he was in on which particular day. Only when the sun hit them just right, often through that shattered window partially sealed with gaffer tape, could she make out something in them besides emptiness.

Over time, Soren’s micro-expressions became easier to read. And now that she’s an expert, or at least proficient, she can make out the undeniable concern fleshing out his demeanor.

“Are we going back now?” he asks. 

“No,” she responds artfully. “There’s no reason to. Let’s go get snowcones.” 

The deviation in routine won’t make waves if she doesn’t let it. The young woman reaches over to thread her fingers through her friend’s, subsequently squeezing his hand. Even when it’s sweltering, he’s still so cold. He’s always been like that. Whether holding her close after creeping into her bed without a sound, resting his head on her shoulder while she reads aloud, or attempting to mimic warmth with the futility of a mountain yeti, Soren remains frigid. 

“Charity?”

“The stand’s closing soon!” 

And so she moves on, him in tow. With every step, she feels the suppression building up to some kind of revolt in her chest, no matter how valiantly she imminently battles the feeling. Would shaved ice really remedy it? No. But she must try, or else she will fall apart. 

The nondescript shack near the interstate is a bit of a lengthy walk from their current position. It’s past all the tobacco-free campus signs, the university’s signature colors, and student life in general. Upon arriving, dusk is a present haze, the faintest of stars beginning to peek out from their hiding places. They’re much dimmer here, in the midst of so much light pollution — city life may house many precious commodities, but such leisure can almost be forgotten in favor of what stars should truly look like. 

They should be like sequins affixed to the blanket of night, shining so brightly that they almost burn one’s eyes; lamplighters should blow out their crafts and lament their occupational imitation of what glimmers above. 

Charity doesn’t realize how quiet she is until she hears Soren, the person she forgot was there, begin to order for the both of them. His voice is soft and diminutive. She can’t help but wonder if his voice would’ve been more assured, more confident, if she hauled him out of hell much earlier. These thoughts will not abate, and they will continue to haunt her like vengeful spirits. 

“Raspberry.”

She blinks. “What?”

“Your order,” elaborates Soren. His back that was previously turned to her is no more, though the sight is still burned into her retinas from staring too hard. He’s already paid, holding the two snowcones in his hands gently, though even in the darkness, she can see that the tips of his fingers are turning pink from the cold of the treats. How long was he waiting for her to respond?

She takes her designated snowcone — the one in his right hand. Her order of red syrup is vibrantly crimson in comparison to his usual spearmint; the thing looks barely flavored, like its master just grated a block of ice into a cup. In fact, that’s what Soren originally asked for, months ago, because his stomach could barely tolerate anything else — let alone a sugar overload. The eventual choice of Fresh Spearmint Snow was a bold one. It became his usual after one of these routine visits manifested a leap of faith. Charity was very proud of him for trying something new.

Something new. Choices. It all comes down to what one does and what one doesn’t. 

Snowcones are a way of life here. It’s such a staple of studentry. Can she imagine living without that luxury? Yes. But Charity went down the harder route of embracing change; she chose to run through the isolated cobbled streets, sprinting hard towards the border with a few coins in her pocket that she definitely shouldn’t have stolen. 

It was nighttime then, and instead of sneaking Soren out for a stroll — a temporary escape, the young woman resolved for a more permanent solution — she wobbily ducked into a desolate phone booth and dialed the number she’d memorized off a protester’s sign. And that was that. No more arranged marriages under the guise of religious freedom, no more mold-infested chapels and clandestine rendezvous and heavily scrutinized choir performances. 

(The city’s media was practically itching to fork over helpful resources, to offer the both of them new lives and something close to protection. In exchange for answers to all of their invasive questions, of course.)

Charity examines her dessert, then Soren’s. Expectant charcoal eyes wheedle at her. 

“Come on, let’s sit,” she offers, glancing towards the beat-up wooden bench just to the wayside. It’s probably infested with termites, and it has about a hundred initials carved into it, but it’s charming. Its rough-hewn nature reminds her too much of Wickfeld. When wood would rot, people would live with it. When jumping gnats would crawl and writhe up the walls, Charity would take her velvet-lined hairbrush and smack them dead, examining their corpses stuck to the makeshift lintroller with faint guilt.

“It’s better this way,” Soren interrupts her nostalgic spiraling with his small voice.  

“What, sitting instead of standing?”

The young woman doesn’t pause, ambling over to the bench and sitting, setting her snowcone down and squinting at the glowing streetlights in the distance. Soren doesn’t join her, and though he walks like a ghost might, her gut tells her that he hasn’t moved an inch.

“No,” he says. “Coming here — that’s the best choice you could’ve made. Better here than there.”

She knows that he’s speaking from the heart, telling the truth; he hardly has any reason to lie. Having said that, Soren’s motivations are always…

“You still would’ve supported me, even if I chose to do nothing. Even if I let us rot there.” Charity studies her scarred hands, watching the way that her fingers tremble almost imperceptibly. It’s just from the ice, she convinces herself, pull it together right now. “You… you just care about me.”

He doesn’t deny it; he hardly has any reason to lie.

Then he is upon her, the old bench creaking under his weight as he settles close. She cannot look at him. Even though she is strong, and she does not crack easily, it doesn’t mean that a sentiment so close to I love you no matter what can’t send her tumbling over the precipice.

Soren doesn’t need to say it, he doesn’t need to say anything at all. Her best friend’s shoulder tickles hers — and then, in her peripherals, she observes as he grasps the plastic spoon sticking out of his respective snowcone, the now-congealed substance extracted — before he brings the bite to her lips.

The utensil hovers in front of her. A peace offering or an attempt at comfort, reminiscent of the days when he couldn’t bring himself to eat or even move, and Charity would spoonfeed him flavorless oatmeal or grits.

Without thinking, and before her lips can tremble also, she accepts it. The saccharine taste floods her mouth and blooms on her tongue, as if the sweetness is awfully and wholly attempting to cover up her ignoble faults. Fresh Spearmint Snow tastes terrible. She can only stomach a few bites.

“We could head back,” Soren suggests, not unkind. 

Her brow furrows, accompanied by an onset of nausea. The ambulance is probably still there.

“No,” she decides, embarking upon the inevitable path of choice once more. “Just… let’s stay here a bit longer. Please. Aren’t the stars pretty tonight?”

It’s a weak attempt at diversion, but she punctuates it by finally facing him. Soren is staring only at her, his slightly chapped lips parted and his long tresses illuminated in the graceful, pale moonlight. 

“Yes. They are.”

[theallianceofcelestials]

This will be long, but question time for the SEA series! (at eleven pm for me).

Can Eclipse play any instruments, sing, or have any odd or seemingly out of character hobbies? Did Eclipse work in the daycare alone. Will the family ever see what the daycare looked like, or will we maybe return to it, and does it loon the same as in Security Breach?

What is Sun's most prized piece of clothing for his cats and the weidest thing his brothers have fought over or about that he's had to break up? How effective is he at cleaning and what does he procrastinate most about doing/cleaning or complain

What is Moon's favorite invention, most useful invention, and something he will fiddle with to pass time? He also seems like the type to know dome pretty good party tricks.

What is the easiest meal for KC to make, and what's his and the individual family members' favorite meals? How often has he had to force one of his kids to go and clean themselves?

What's Lunar's favorite personal video game and videogame genres? Do they have a preferred chocolate type (i.e., milk chocolate, dark, cacao, white) and marshmallow size?

Does Solar Flare have a specified art style that it draws in or? Do they prefer to draw realistically or cartoonish, and have they tried digital art yet, will they?

Does Bloodmoon still prefer O- or a different blood type, and do they have a preferred type of meat? Do they have a bird type they like the most, and do they have a bone collection or keep they horns of, say the goats or cows that they've killed? Something the twins disagree on?

Please don't feel pressured to answer this right away, all of the questions, or at all. My questions are to help with your world building and my own understanding of your stories! Sorry if I missed any of the cast and my awful grammer!

Eclipse can sing, though not very well. He knows a couple lullabies. And yeah, he worked in the daycare alone, seeing as the daycare was making money off of it. And nah, it doesn't look like the security breach one. It looks less vibrant and is also cheaper looking. And the family at best will see it through Eclipse's memories, though that's unlikely. He has an iron grip on his worst traumas

Sun's most priced piece of clothing for his cats are silly socks he made specifically for them. The weirdest argument, to him at least, was the fight about Killcode's taste in men of all things. He's very efficient about cleaning, he's still a TSAMS Sun, he's still very neurotic about cleaning. He hates doing the dishes though. He just thinks it's a time waste what with dishwashers existing

Moon has a bunch of fidget toys that he made himself and he has his doll making which is what he fidgets with when he needs something to do. In his opinion his greatest invention is a better firewall for animatronics, which Eclipse takes full advantage of. And his useful inventions are all upgrades to stuff they already own, where he makes stuff more proficient. He also has a bunch of science facts and cool little experiments he can pull out anytime to impress people (tho he won't)

Objectively the easiest meal ever is salad. You just throw together a bunch of cool ingredients, maybe make a sauce and cook some simple meat, and bam, done. His favourite is szechuan beef with pasta, Eclipse's is lava cake, Solar Flare's is ramen, Bloodmoon likes bloody steak, Lunar loves nutella cupcakes, Sun loves goulash and Moon, ever the simple man he is, loves it when KC makes grilled sandwiches with this special spicy meat he makes. And it depends on the kid. Lunar's the one he has troubles with, all the rest are clean, yeah, even Bloodmoon surprisingly. But SEA Lunar's much cleaner than Canon Lunar, so that's not that big of a fight neither

Lunar really just loves stuff that grabs his attention and can keep it. For example, he really likes Don't Starve. His favourite chocolate is milk and white chocolate, and he loves all marshmallows

It draws in a realistic style because that's what makes most sense to it, but if a drawing is in a different style and it needs to finish it, see cat drawing, he'll perfectly replicate the style of the previous artist. And they haven't yet, simply because they don't have any big interest. They won't ever really draw digitally

Yes they do and they love wild meat. They love hunting birds of prey, finding irony in that and could also get two prey for the price of one if they time right. And in SEA first book I did write Bloodmoon started attempting to make jewellry, that's where the bones, horns, tusks, teeth, feathers, antlers and whatever else of animals they've hunted go. The twins disagree on their biggest fears. Bloody is scared of insects and Rusty is scared of mannequins. They disagree on those

Don't worry about the grammar! I'm quite bad at it myself, haha

Also, I've never really thought about most of these questions seeing as they aren't important in SEA, which I look at more like a story than an AU. It's just not an AU in my mind. I do appreciate the questions tho! Feel free to ask more! :)

[polo-drone-073]

Trapped in the Dark Net

a collaboration with Devon Gold #67 @devon-gold-67

It was 10:45 PM. Devon moved through a dimly lit corridor in Zone 7—a rarely used supply tunnel between the nutrient processing units and his personal quarters. Apart from the Polo Drones, hardly anyone was active at this hour.

Yet, unmistakable noises echoed from the upper floors. Some bros were clearly not in sleep mode.

But that was floors above. Down here, the silence was thick. Almost.

A soft scraping sound made Devon pause. As he turned the corner, he came face-to-mask with PDU-073. The drone had noticed the same noise. Together, they looked ahead.

A shadow slipped into one of the residential rooms.

“HEY! Who the hell are you, brah?!” Devon shouted. “Stop immediately!” came 073’s mechanical voice.

But the intruder ran. No reply. Just footsteps, fast and panicked.

Devon and PDU-073 gave chase. Whatever the stranger had taken, it mattered. Devon struggled to keep up with the drone’s speed—but managed. The pursuit carried them deep into the shadows of the city.

Then—the trap.

As soon as they turned into a narrow alley, a heavy net shot out of the ground. With a hiss, the cords tightened, hoisting them upwards. Devon gasped, breathless. 073 remained still, systems locked.

Fifteen feet above the ground, they dangled in a glistening net of black-gold polymer.

Then came the gas.

A sharp scent filled the air. Devon’s eyelids grew heavy. The last thing he saw was the faint glow of 073’s golden tracings.

Darkness.

System Reboot: PDU-073.

Silence.

The drone was restrained—legs, forearms, neck—all clamped in thick black cuffs. The room was cold. In infrared, it detected another heat source: Devon, bound identically.

With a groan, Devon stirred. His head throbbed.

“073... are you online?”

“Affirmative. No Hive connection. The chamber is shielded. Location: undetectable.”

Devon chuckled through the pain. “Y’know… waking up with a collar isn’t the worst part. But they could’ve at least bought us dinner first.”

073’s golden lines glowed faintly in the dark.

“Devon always thinks about food,” it muttered.

“I lost my sandwich during the chase…” Devon grumbled.

073 ran diagnostics. “We’ve been unconscious for five hours and eleven minutes. System integrity intact. Firewalls held.”

Then a voice echoed through the chamber. Metallic. Unfamiliar.

“You are awake. You are in our power. The Golden Army must be destroyed. You will help us—from the inside. Willingly… or with persuasion.”

Devon and 073 exchanged a single look.

Betrayal was not an option.

“What a flaming bastard…” Devon hissed.

073 considered. Devon had once applied to become a drone. Perhaps…

Initiating: Telepathic Link.

“Can you hear me?” “…Yes. It’s working.” “Telepathic comms are secure. Let’s use them.”

“Can you free yourself?” “Attempting.”

Devon flexed his golden biceps—but the cuffs didn’t yield.

073, however, worked methodically. Data calculation. Servo control. Internal torque adjustments. After a minute, success. First the hands, then the ankles. Devon followed.

Both stood free—but the door remained locked.

“They want access to the Golden Army’s infrastructure,” 073 transmitted. “We must stop them.”

Footsteps. Heavy. Approaching.

“Take left side of the door. 073 takes right.”

The door opened. One guard stepped in—Devon grabbed him, yanked him into the room, and knocked him out with a single punch.

The second froze in the doorway. Too late. 073 immobilized him in one swift, silent motion.

The Gold Bro and the drone bound both attackers.

“Time to move. Follow this unit.”

Devon nodded.

They navigated corridors, pipes, and tunnels—until they reached a control center.

Tech hummed. Lights flickered. Devon reached for the main power lever.

“Wait,” 073 said. “Deleting software first.”

It linked to the system. Scanned. Corrupted. Wiped.

“Now: return to Golden.”

Mission Outcome: The breach was neutralized. The Golden Army’s systems remained secure. Devon and PDU-073 had not only escaped—they had resisted, stood firm, and acted in unity.

The Hive now knew: This bond could not be broken.

Ready for your transformation? Contact: @brodygold / @goldenherc9

[milkywayhou]

YOU'VE GOT EMAIL (König X OC: Medical Student!Snow) PART I

Summary: When the Colonel from some Private Military Corporation group accidentally send KorTac's secret file via email to a random civilian girl.

or

König send wrong email to a wrong person

TWs: A lot curse words (from Snow), both of them being passive-aggressive, slow burn (kinda). I just wrote this for fun

Words Count: 3k (That's a lot for an email lol)

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

02/28/23 at 03:42 pm

Subject: KorTac Tactical Operations File E12345 Classification: Top Secret

Lieutenant,

Apologies for the inappropriate transmission. As head of KorTac Special Forces, securing sensitive documents is of utmost priority. Please confirm deletion of the attached file and we’ll consider the matter closed.

While I understand your confusion receiving such a file unsolicited, KorTac business must remain confidential. I trust a responsible professional such as yourself understands the necessity of discretion in such matters. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if any other issues arise.

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

02/28/23 at 07:12 pm

Subject: RE: Creepy email

Excuse me,

I have no idea what you’re talking about. All I know is I got some weird files from “KorTac Tactical” that I definitely did NOT ask for. Do you know how scary it is to get secret military documents out of nowhere? I thought it was one of my friends pranking me at first.

Instead of lecturing me about deleting things, maybe you should be more careful who you send your “top secret” info to. I’m just trying to study neurology over here, not get dragged into some clandestine Special Forces stuff.

Lighten up a little, yeah? It was an honest mistake I’m sure. No harm done.

Snow

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

02/28/23 at 08:02 pm

Subject: RE: RE: Creepy email

Ms. Farron,

I can assure you there was no “creepy email” or files sent from this office. As Commander of one of the world’s premier private military factions, securing classified intel is of utmost priority. If some file was erroneously transmitted to your address in error, it did not originate from my users.

While I understand the desire to shrug off mistakenly received sensitive documents, national security does not warrant such lackadaisical treatment. If you have relevant data in your possession, basic courtesy requires replying to the original correspondent – in this case, myself – to ascertain the source of error.

Do let me know if you retrieve any files in question. And in future, a bit more discretion and less indignation may serve you well when inadvertently encountering restricted information networks. Consider this a learning experience.

Regards,

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

02/28/23 at 08:22 pm

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Creepy email

Hi Colonel Tightpants,

Thank you for the condescending lecture. As I’ve said THREE times now, I never got any files from you or KorTac or wherever before. All I know is I woke up to an ominous email saying “Top Secret KorTac files” or something. Pretty annoying/alarming for a simple student!

And excuse me for not dropping everything to thoroughly investigate a mistake that wasn’t even mine. Some of us have actual classes to study for, not play secret agent all day.

If you’re so worried about security breaches, maybe focus on your end instead of harassing innocent people via multiple snobby emails. I’ve got better things to do than argue in circles with Mr. High-and-Mighty.

Please remove me from your contact list going forward. And do try to lighten up a little!

Regards,

Snow

P.S. The file is attached. I called it “Creepy Email From Creepy Colonel” for your convenience. Have fun decrypting your own mystery ;)

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

02/28/23 at 09:42 pm

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Creepy email

Ms. Farron,

I will not be spoken to in such a disrespectful and unprofessional manner. While your frustrations are understandable, maintaining proper decorum and respect for sensitive operational matters is not an optional courtesy – it is imperative.

You’re accusations of “harassment” are as unfounded as they are insulting. Do not mistake my patience and courtesy thus far for weakness. Should any real documents surface from my network in error, I expect their immediate return without petulant games or sass.

As a private military organization operating across the globe, security is no light concern for this command. If unable to grasp even the basic responsibility of confirming received documents' origins for the sake of national safety, perhaps the world of intelligence is beyond your current realm of comprehension.

Consider this your final warning. Any further unsubstantiated claims or uncooperative behavior will be met with the full weight of legal action and your academic institution will be notified accordingly. Is that absolutely clear, Ms. Farron?

Reply confirming so or cease contact immediately. I will not tolerate insubordination, especially from an civilian amateur dabbling where she has no clearance. Maintain discretion as instructed or suffer consequences – the choice is yours.

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/01/23 at 09:29 am

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: RE: Creepy Email

Colonel High-Horse,

Spare me your thinly veiled threats. If you’re so sure I have hide some Top Secret Files™, by all means come search my dorm room yourself since you clearly don’t believe a word I say. Oh wait, you can’t – because there’s NOTHING.

Maybe take a break from power tripping over email and try listening to the person who’s actually involved for once. Not my fault if your big bad security systems have holes. But I guess acknowledging mistakes isn’t very military, is it?

You wanna see uncooperative and petulant? Keep harassing me and I’ll forward our whole conversation to the national news. Something tells me they’d love to hear how easily “the world’s premier private military” loses confidential files.

So for the last time – I did NOT receive ANY files from you or KorTac aside the one you accidentally send. If you’re incapable of comprehending that, then you’re dumber than you look. Consider THIS your final warning to lay off before I take action, Colonel Tightass.

Snow

Formerly Civilian, Currently Pissed Off

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

03/01/23 at 08:55 am

Subject: Enough

Ms. Farron,

Your insubordination has crossed several lines. While I sought to resolve this discreetly, you force my hand with threats and insults. Know that I do not respond kindly to such provocation.

If you insist upon escalating this beyond reason, so be it. However, tread carefully – you are ignorant of forces beyond your control. Dare to sully KorTac’s name to fuel your petulance, and all your academic and personal records will undergo… thorough review.

Accidents happen, as you claim. But any damage to our operations will not be taken lightly, no matter your perceived innocence. Heed my words well, girl – you do not wish to become an enemy of this command.

Consider this last attempt at civil discourse. Cease contact and let this die, or suffer consequences you cannot imagine. The choice, as before, remains yours.

I expect no further correspondence. You are now on formal notice – proceed at your own peril.

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/01/23 at 11:38 pm

Subject: Go to Hell

You want a fight, you’ll get one you pompous prick. Your “command” and threats mean nothing to me.

If anything happens to my academic career or personal life, the world will know exactly who’s responsible. I don’t care how elite you think you are.

Bring whatever you’ve got – I’m not afraid of some borderline psychotic and his glorified gun club. You want a target? Consider it painted on your back from now on.

Have fun trying to intimidate me, ASSHOLE. You just made the worst enemy of your pathetic life.

Goodbye forever. Don’t bother responding – you’re officially dead to me.

Snow Farron

Future Doctor, Current Pain in Your Ass

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

03/02/23 at 01:29 am

Subject: So Be It

Foolish girl. You have no concept of the forces you now contend with. Consider carefully the hole you’ve dug, for there will be no mercy if you proceed.

However, my integrity will not permit baseless threats against civilians. If you agree to cease hostilities and let this dissolve quietly, no further action will be taken. Your record and life will remain untouched.

The choice is simple – walk away unscathed, or persist in this idiocy and face consequences beyond imagination. Think carefully on your next move, little one. Tread no further, and this can end.

You have one hour for a sensible reply before measures are taken. Make them count.

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/03/23 at 02:04 am

Subject: Bite Me

Yeah, I’m real scared of your “forces” and “consequences beyond imagination.” Give me a break.

You think I’m going to bow down to your threats just because you’re some big shot Colonel? Please. I’ve dealt with way scarier than pompous bully babies like you.

So do your worst, tough guy. Come at me with everything you’ve got. I promise it still won’t be enough to make me back down from a pissant fraud like you.

Your “hour” can go fuck itself. You want to end this? Then stay the hell away from me and leave me alone forever. Otherwise this isn’t over by a long shot.

Tick tock, pal. Your time is running out and so is your chance to slink away with your tail between your legs. Better figure out your next move fast!

Not holding my breath for anything “sensible” though. Later, loser!

Snow “Untouchable” Farron

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/05/23 at 11:09 pm

Subject: wassup bitchhhhh

Hey asshooooole its ur girl Snow again!! Had a few dranks w/ friends to forget ur stupid email but the pain remainsss lolll

Jus wanted to let u kno ur still a total dickhead no matter how drunk I get. Probly shouldn’t be emailing u since last time but fuck it YOLO right???

Anyway ur threats meant nothing I had a blast tonight. Try n stop me next time I feel like partying fuck face!!! No1 messes w snow n gets away with it

Also saw some guy who looked like u at the bar what a coincidink lol. Hope he feels as stupid as u in the morn ;))

Hope ur having a shit night missing out on the fun. Don’t reply I prob wont even remember this! Byeeeeeee loser stay mad <33333

Xoxo drunk snow

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

03/06/23 at 01:50 am

Subject: RE: wassup bitchhhhh

Well well, what have we here. It seems our intrepid Dr. Farron has landed herself in an inebriated state this night.

Can’t say I blame you for seeking alcohol’s comfort after our little disagreement. Dealing with my “stupid emails” and “threats” must have been terribly traumatic. You have my deepest sympathies, truly.

While unwise to conduct militarized business intoxicated, I’ll admit your drunken ramblings provided some mild amusement. The imagery of you partying it up solely to spite me was rather quaint. Do try to stay safe in your revelries, dear – would hate for some unfortunate accident.

As for your daring insinuation about encountering my likeness at a bar, I can assure you my nights are occupied with matters far more pressing than drinking. But I appreciate the laugh, strange as it came from such a belligerent tongue.

Enjoy your hangover, Snow. And sleep well – who knows what mischief tomorrow may bring.

Regards,

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

P.S. Do refrain from over-indulging too often. Wouldn’t want those fine medical skills to dull prematurely, now would we?

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/06/23 at 05:28 am

Subject: RE: RE: wassup bitchhhhh

Yeah yeah, laugh it up. We all do dumb shit when we’re drunk occasionally. At least I have an excuse, unlike you and your constant stick up the ass personality.

That being said, I suppose I owe you an apology for that ridiculous email last night. Not my finest moment, to say the least. But you seem to bring out the worst in me, so.

Consider us even for any “amusement” you got at my expense. I’m suffering enough with this hangover from hell as it is.

Just so we’re clear though – I’m not some damsel for you to patronize or imply threats towards. Keep your smug sarcasm, I don’t need it. We’re done here, got it?

Good. Now fuck off and leave me alone to die in peace, Dickhead von Buzzkill. And next time – lay off the sauce OR lay off me. Your choice, Colonel

Snow “Moderately Sober But Still Pissed” Farron

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/06/23 at 09:33 am

Subject: RE: RE: RE: wassup bitchhhhh

Alright Colonel Buzzkill, I’ll admit my constant insults aren’t getting us anywhere. As much as I hate to inflate that already massive ego of yours, maybe there was a tiny little misunderstanding somewhere along the way.

Med school has been kicking my ass lately and I’ve been on edge. Between the mounting student loans, endless assignments, and stressful exams, I’m about one Red Bull away from a full breakdown. Not that you probably care about such peasant problems.

Anyways, my point is – I may have overreacted a bit to this whole email mixup. Even if it WAS totally not my fault *eyes emoji*. Can’t a girl blow off some steam without the world’s most uptight Colonel threatening her into an early grave?

Lay off with the intimidation tactics already. I said I was sorry for getting drunk and belligerent, more or less. What more do you want, my first born child in sacrifice?

Just, try to lighten up a little if we have to keep interacting for god knows what reason. I’m too exhausted to keep fighting a war on 20 different fronts. Truce?

Overworked and Underpaid,

Snow

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

03/06/23 at 09:01 pm

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: wassup bitchhhhh

Oh? So the fledgling doctor deigns to admit a modicum of culpability at last. How gracious of her highness to acknowledge her part in this debacle, no matter how begrudgingly.

Though I’ll not deny deriving a certain satisfaction from seeing you squirm, that was never my aim. As Commander of KorTac, security of sensitive data is no laughing matter – a concept you seemed unwilling or unable to grasp at the time.

However, as one engaged in higher pursuits of intellectual rigor and public service, I can understand the pressures that come with such territory. Medical education is a noble yet arduous path, as I’m sure even your addled mind comprehends on occasion.

Very well, Ms. Farron – consider this matter put to rest. A temporary ceasefire it is, for the sake of future global stability if nothing else. But tread not again where you have been warned, or I shall not be so gracious next transgression.

Do try to mind your health and studies in lieu of drunken revelry. Wouldn’t want to lose such a pugnacious spirit to frivolity or misfortune. Now, do run along – no doubt some looming assignment awaits its dissection.

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

--

From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/07/23 at 02:19 am

Subject: Aw, you DO care!

Aww, is that actually concern I detect underneath all the big important Colonel bluster? I’m touched, really. Who knew you had a soft spot for lowly students like me.

Admit it – you just can’t stand the thought of little ol’ me disappearing in some “frivolous misfortune.” You’d miss having me around to aggravate that permanent stick up your butt!

But don’t worry, it’ll take more than a silly paper or two to take me out of commission. Unlike some people, I actually know how to unwind without threatening international incidents *cough cough*.

All jokes aside though, truce accepted on my end too. Maybe now we can move past wanting to strangle each other every time we’re in the same email chain. Small victories, right?

Anyways, gotta get back to the grind. Thanks for not making me regret extending the olive branch…this time. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!

Your Favorite Almost-Doctor,

Snow

--

From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

03/07/23 at 08:05 am

Subject: RE: Aw, you DO care!

Cease this incessant jesting at once, fraulein. I neither “care” for you as anything more than a potential security concern, nor possess any jovial qualities to “aggravate.”

A commander's duties require maintaining surveillance of volatile elements wherever they arise. You have thus far proven yourself quite the unpredictable variable, so forgive my reluctance to take eyes fully off the matter.

As for your studies, consider this the only encouragement they shall receive from me. Master your craft with distinction, then mayhaps our paths need not cross again in the future. Though I admit the thought of you disappearing into obscurity does bring its own satisfactions to ponder.

Now then, if you’re quite finished wasting both our time with your misguided attempts at levity, some of us have real work to which attending. Do try and keep yourself from causing further disruptions, medic. You may resume your “grind” in peace.

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

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From: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

To: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

03/07/23 at 12:56 pm

Subject: RE: RE: Aw, you DO care!

Always so grumpy, Colonel Grumpy Pants! Lighten up a little, will ya? Not all of us can be stoic hard asses all the time.

Speaking of asses, mine is practically dragging on the floor from exhaustion. Between classes, labs, studying, and my various part-time jobs, I’m surprised I have any brain cells left at all.

Don’t even get me started on these student loans. At this rate, I’ll be paying them off until I’m 90. Not that you military bigwigs have to worry about pesky things like money, I’m sure. Must be nice.

You know, maybe I should just forget this whole doctor thing and become a sugar baby instead. At least then I could afford to eat once in a while AND maybe some lucky rich person would be willing to pay off my debts. What do you think – interested in an investment opportunity? I promise I come with lots of free sass and jokes at your expense!

Kidding of course…or am I? You’ll never know!

Your favorite broke and tired med student,

Snow

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From: Colonel_König@KorTac.mil

To: SnowFarron93@medschool.edu

03/07/23 at 03:37 pm

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Aw, you DO care!

One of these days that improperly-filtered mouth of yours will find its owner in hot water she can’t jest her way out of, medic. I’d advise reigning in these fanciful sugar baby musings before they land you in a far less pleasant situation.

However, your frustration with the systemic burdens of medical education is…understandable. The modern model leaves much to be desired in terms of sustainability for both student and society. A dysfunction perpetuated by greed and shortsightedness at the highest levels, as with so many ills in this world.

As for offers of “investment,” I’ve no surplus funds to patronize frivolities. Nor the patience to entertain speculative propositions from volatile girls who can’t keep themselves from inviting more trouble than they bargain for. Focus that restless energy on your studies as discussed, and all should proceed smoothly.

Now then, if there are no further inanities requiring response, I’ve a command to oversee. Best of luck with exams and endeavors, Farron. Dismissed.

Colonel König

KorTac Commanding Officer

I will write the next part later when I have time <3

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