#process analysis of plastic part

[gudmould]

Design of injection mold for refrigerator zero-degree chamber card strip

1 Analysis of plastic part molding process Figure 1 shows refrigerator zero-degree chamber card strip, which is made of high-impact polystyrene (HIPS), with a shrinkage rate of 1.005, an average wall thickness of 2.0 mm, and a smooth surface. The overall dimensions are approximately 788 mm*124.4 mm*40 mm. It is a large plastic part with following characteristics: ① Plastic part has three…

[cmdrfupa]

Return To Sender

Part two of De Novo (Toji x Reader). All parts as well as content warnings can be found here!

a/n: Hello! I am very happy with this. I struggled on how I wanted to present apart of my own culture while getting through my analysis. This chapter is a bit lengthy but that's okay lol. Thank you for reading and hope you enjoy!

The job had been quick—clean, like always. Toji moved through the darkened room, the faint tang of gunpowder still lingering in the air as he looked over his work

Middle aged man, maybe 40. Bad smoking habit, horrid hairline and a thing for faux gaudy Versace print from the look of his matching jogger set. “Hm.” He stepped over the body, his face expressionless while checking the contents of his latest marks pockets.

Wallet, phone with a now shattered screen, keys and some candy.

Toji helped himself to something called a chewy lite while sifting through the wallets contents. All run of the mill cards, bit of cash and random receipts but a card with a Roppongi address messily written across the matte finish caught his attention.

“Running from business? Dirty boy.”

He pocketed the card and barely spared a second glance as he holstered his weapon. The only sounds were his own footsteps and the muted hum of the city beyond the window as he propped the dead man up in the bathtub. This part of the city felt empty, even in the middle of the night. He preferred it that way.

Shiu was waiting for his call, so Toji slipped his phone from his pocket as he made his way down a back stairwell. He pressed the call button, listening to the dial tone, his mind already drifting as he waited for Shiu to pick up.

“It’s done,” Toji muttered as soon as he heard Shiu’s voice.

“Good,” Shiu replied, sounding unsurprised, as always. “I’ll clear it on my end. Are you heading out tonight?”

Toji gave a brief grunt of confirmation, glancing at his watch. “I’ll be back by morning.”

There was a pause on Shiu’s end, and then a clipped, “Alright. Just keep a low profile. Go to the butcher when you make it back to town.”

The line went dead, leaving Toji alone again, his thoughts thick and tangled as he pocketed the phone. Shiu was efficient, reliable; he trusted him to handle things, and the basis of their strange relationship was built on the brotherly trust they had for one another.

The buildings security leaving meant he was free to leave, his job here complete. The night was cool against his skin as he stepped outside, rain misting through the air, yet he hardly felt it, hardly registered the wet slick of the pavement beneath his boots as he walked back to his hotel.

Inside, Toji stripped off his blood-streaked clothes, methodically packing them in a plastic bag he would toss somewhere on the way to the airport. He turned on the shower, the sound of water filling the tiny bathroom, and stepped under the stream, closing his eyes as he let it cascade over his skin.

And yet, even as the water ran over him, he felt nothing—no sense of relief, no real need to scrub away the evidence of his work. It was just another task, another motion, another night.

The scalding heat of the shower did nothing to clear his head. He leaned forward, bracing himself against the tiles as steam clouded around him, his thoughts adrift. Was this just how it was now? The same endless routine, going through the cognitive process without pause, without thought? He opened his eyes, chuckling as the ghost of a smirk curled on his lips at the absurdity of it all.

As he dried off, the buzz in his mind faded slightly. He dressed quickly and packed his backpack before heading out to catch his flight. Each step, each action, was methodical, mechanical—like clockwork. Nothing about this felt real, and in a way, that made it easier.

“The less questions you ask, the better. Do the job, get paid, live knowing you just knocked off scum.”

Toji couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head remembering just how easy Shiu made it all sound. A fresh first time father with no family to help but a family friend who tried to kill him once.

Two jobs a month, tell everyone you work security if they ask, make it look like an accident if possible and pray you aren’t stupid enough to get caught or for the powers that be to get tired of you.

Easy.

By the time he was settled on the plane with the hum of the engines vibrating beneath him, he found his eyes growing heavy, his thoughts blurring. The lights dimmed as the plane took off, Istanbul's skyline shrinking below him as he drifted into sleep.

Toji was back in Tokyo but knew he wouldn’t feel right until he had his fix of food. He dropped his bag off at home before going to the restaurant, the familiar scent of simmering broth and spices thick in the warm, palely lit air. The usual hum of clattering dishes in the kitchen filled the dining room with it being a slow night. A muted background, leaving an almost intimate silence that seemed to settle just for him.

You walked up to his usual table and stood across from him, close enough that he could see the subtle gleam of light in your eyes, the small, knowing curve of your lips as you looked at him.

"Back so soon? Feels like you were only gone for one day." you murmured, your voice low and teasing as you reached out, fingertips brushing over the back of his hand. The touch was tentative at first, a mere whisper of contact, but it sent a pulse of warmth through him, something familiar and comforting. He didn’t pull away, though. Instead, he found himself turning his hand over, meeting your touch halfway, his rough palm against your smooth, warm skin before he pulled you into his lap.

“What can I say, baby doll? I missed you too much to take my time.”

Toji leaned in to kiss you and your scent filling his senses—something faint and floral, warm and soft, almost lulling him into a state of hazy tranquility. Your fingers traced up his arm slowly, lingering as though you were savoring the feeling, and he shivered under the gentleness of your calming touch.

Toji’s eyes fell to your lips as you pulled away, watching the way you tilted your head, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. It was subtle, unhurried, as though you were in no rush, letting the tension simmer between them. He felt his own breathing deepen, a mix of anticipation and need pulling him toward you.

“Pretty mama…” His voice came out rougher than he intended, the pet name slipping past his lips almost on its own. You responded with a soft, amused hum, fingers slipping up to rest against his chest, your touch warm even through the fabric of his shirt.

The distance between you vanished, face inches from his, eyes half-lidded as you studied him. “Toji,” a faintly whispered, his name rolling off your tongue in a soft, intimate murmur that seemed to slip past all his defenses. Your breath was warm against his skin as your lips brushed his ear as you ran your hands slowly down his chest, fingers pressing slightly as though anchoring yourself to him.

Then, in one smooth, deliberate movement, your lips met his.

The kiss was slow, like revisiting territory to get reacquainted. But he couldn’t hold himself back. His hands found your waist, drawing you closer, feeling the gentle curve of your body pressing against him. Your hands trailed up his shoulders, fingers slipping through his hair, tugging slightly, igniting a low heat that unfurled deep in his core. He responded with a quiet, involuntary groan, his fingers tightening on your waist as the kiss deepened.

His hands moved, gliding over your back, tracing your spine as he felt the subtle shift of your body beneath his touch, soft sighs fanning over his skin.

Your breaths mingled, and your lips parted beneath his, letting out a giggle as he nipped at your bottom lip. The world around you faded—the restaurant, the distant city outside. All that remained was your touch, your warmth, you whispering his name against his skin.

“How much longer until you’re off? I figured we could grab dinner and spend the evening inside.” Your fingers traced his jaw, drifting down his neck and lower, sending sparks through him with each soft, lingering stroke. “Ayame-san will understand a man missing his woman, I’m sure.”

His hands moved instinctively, pulling you tighter against him, feeling the way you fit against him. “Just a few more minutes, urso. Then I’m all yours again.”

_____

The plane jolted, pulling him abruptly from sleep. Toji blinked, the remnants of the dream fading as he sat up, disoriented, his pulse still racing, his skin tingling with the phantom sensation of your touch.

“What the hell..” He clenched his fists, dragging a hand over his face as he tried to shake the lingering warmth from his mind. Some lovesick fool chasing fantasies. But that dream—the softness of it, the unexpected comfort he’d felt—had struck something deep, something he was sure he couldn't ignore. And that pissed him off.

As he lights in the cabin brightened, signaling their descent, Toji let out a slow breath. He’d shake this off, he told himself. He’d go back to his life, to his usual routines, and forget all about the strange warmth you’d had stirred in him, even if it was only in a dream.

But as he stared out the window, Tokyo coming into view again beneath the early morning light, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.

It was past midnight, and the rain had stopped leaving behind the dewy smell and light breezes as the muted glow led stragglers to there next destination. Inside, the space was warm, a small refuge from the cold outside, and the soft clinking of dishes and low chatter filled the air. The late shift had drawn in its usual crowd: bleary-eyed patrons drifting in from bars, hungry and noisy, laughter and murmured voices bouncing off the walls.

You moved between tables with a relaxed familiarity, apron showing signs of the days work, hair casually tucked under a colorful scarf you had tied on your head. You greeted the stragglers with small nods and the quirk of your lips, the softness in your voice was bright as you took orders and traded jokes with ease.

“Still got room for ‘nother round, or should I bring a broom to sweep you out?” you teased one of the regulars, who responded with a hearty laugh.

“Oh, don’t start, —if I leave, who’s gonna keep you entertained?” the older gentleman replied, grinning as you swatted his shoulder with the order pad. Rolling your eyes but smiling, you leaned on the counter continuing the banter, tone light and unhurried.

Across the room, Toji slipped into the diner as quietly as possible, practically scurrying to his usual booth tucked in the far corner, watching as you moved around the space. The scene stirred something in him he hadn’t felt in years, lingering somewhere between fascination and discomfort. The easy laughter, the way you brushed off the boisterous remarks from the rowdy customers, all of it felt painfully familiar, pulling him back to the dream he’d had on the plane.

It was almost torturous, the memory slipping in and out of his mind: your soft touch, how your breath against his skin made him feel that carnal desperation he missed, the warmth he’d felt enveloping him. He could almost feel your fingers tracing his arm, hear the soft whisper of his name. The vividness of it left him unsettled, as if he were seeing you now not as you were, but as you had been in that dream—closer, vulnerable, undeniably warm.

Leaning over the counter to pour coffee, and he caught the way you tilted your head back just slightly, the relaxed smile lingering on your lips. It was a simple, innocent gesture, but to him, it felt charged, stirring up desires he’d long since trained himself to ignore.

Before he could regain his composure, your gaze drifted over and your eyes lit up as they landed on him.

  “Oh! And here I thought my charms scared you off,” you called out, voice playful as you finished with the last customer and made your way over. Your hands resting on your hips as you looked at him with something close to amusement. “Where’ve you been, stranger? Thought you’d gotten tired of my Ayame-san’s cooking.”

  Toji gave a small shrug, his face impassive, though he couldn’t quite keep his eyes from lingering on you just a second too long. “Got busy,” he said, his voice low, keeping the reply as neutral as possible.

“Well, she was convinced something horrible had happened to you.” you’d leaned in conspiratorially, eyes glinting with humor. “She almost sent out a search party, you know.”

Toji’s gaze softened without his realizing it. But as soon as he felt himself beginning to relax, that familiar warmth tugging at his defenses, he remembered the dream again—the way you had looked at him, your fingers tracing his skin. Like you had been his for years and not a beat missed. He could feel it so vividly, the phantom sensation lingering, stirring something painful and dangerous in his chest.

“Glad to see you’re still breathing,” you continued with your playful jabs, the smile in your eyes bright and unguarded as ypu studied him. “You don’t have to come in every day, you know. But a week without your brooding in the corner—it was starting to feel empty.”

  Your tone was light, almost like a challenge, but Toji felt his chest tighten, the simple familiarity of your words scraping against something raw and tender. He’d come here tonight seeking some distance from the dream since you never worked Friday nights from what he remembered. Was suppose to be a way to bury the memory of your warmth and that unbearable softness, but you’d only pulled it all closer to the surface. The calm that you seemed to exude so naturally was seeping into him, softening the tough shell he’d built, leaving him vulnerable in a way that felt too close, too dangerous.

  And he couldn’t afford that—not now, not ever.

You were still watching him, the smile unbroken but something shifted in your expression as you noticed his tense silence. “Are you okay? I’m sorry if I got too fresh with you.” The gentleness in your voice now was hard to miss, genuine concern breaking through the humor. “You seem… distracted.”

  It was too much.

  Before he could stop himself, he slid out of the booth abruptly, giving you a curt nod as he moved to leave, his eyes hardening again, cutting off any trace of vulnerability. “I’m not doing this,” he muttered, his tone colder than he’d intended.

He didn’t wait for you to reply, didn’t even glance back as he strode toward the door, ignoring the looks from a few of the other patrons. Your gaze followed him, a slight frown forming as you watched his retreating figure. Your face softened with worry as you walked towards the exit as though you might go after him—but before you could, one of the regulars piped up, his voice cutting through the air with a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Hey, Is everything alright? He looked like he’d seen a ghost.”

You forced a smile, shaking your head slightly as you tucked the order pad back into your apron pocket. “Yeah, he’s fine,” you said, though you voice was softer now, the usual brightness dimmed. “Just one of those nights, I guess. We all tend to have them.”

“Can I ask you a question, Yaga?” you walked to the table of your regular who was still looking in the direction of exit, attempting to assess what transpired.

“What?”

Maybe you were being too nosy, but it had been burning into your mind for awhile now. “Have you ever heard of a Fushiguro family? Like around here?”

Yaga sipped the last of his coffee before turning back to you. He seemed almost surprised at the question. “Fushiguro? It sounds familiar but I can’t say I know anyone with it close to me. Why?”

Trying to gather yourself from the whiplash of him leaving so quickly, you walked to the cash wrap and worked on the register as it dang. You didn’t mean to offend him but everyone is different you suppose. “Hm. Just heard the name in passing a few times lately. Figured I was missing out on local gossip or something.”

“Gossip? How about this.” Yaga pulled his wallet out and went to the front counter, “There’s a teaching position at my school now. Great benefits, full lunch hour and you’d also be filling the seat as an after school instructor.”

Laughing, you took the gentleman's money, counting out his change. “I tell you I’m a former teacher a few times and all of a sudden you’re scouting me.”

“Did I tell you that that you make the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life? So robust and flavorful? The way you brew-”

“Yaga.”

“Hm.”

“Are you single?”

Yaga couldn’t keep up with the train of thought and squinted. “Yes. Why?”

You held his hand like a mother holding her kids as you placed the change in his palm and closed it. “It all makes sense. Get home safely, good sir.”

He could only laugh and shake his head. “The offer will be there if you need more. Have a goodnight, young lady.” Yaga nodded with a smile and made his exit a swift one.

He’d disappeared so… abruptly. And its not like it was any of your business. But a patron whose becoming a usual usually has someone around to at least tell someone they are ill or traveling or admitting that they hate the food you serve. He just up and ghosted for a week.

You prepped for closing, locking the front and wiped down the counters with both the job offer on the table and the Fushiguro man on your mind yet again.

________

The quiet late nights sounds of your apartment acted as your reminder that you should go to bed soon. You’d been scrolling on your laptop for the past 2 hours, starting with ordering new fabrics for your upcoming design project which led you to attempting to stalk your mystery man. It was late—too late to still be awake, but curiosity had been nagging at you since Fushiguro’s sudden departure from the diner. You obviously didn’t know him very well but he had never come in and been that tense, that closed-off, almost as if he’d been looking right through you.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertain at first, before finally typing his name into the search bar: Fushiguro.

You scanned through the search results, brows knitting in frustration. It was strange; the name seemed to go nowhere. There were no recent mentions, no profiles, no photos on social media linked to him at all. Nothing but an endless scroll of blank, empty leads.

Like it was scrubbed from the internet or hidden too well.

After a few more searches yielded nothing but the same dead ends, you tried something different, narrowing the results to the oldest records. Maybe there was something…anything that would give you a clue.

And then, finally, there it was. An announcement buried deep in the archives, dated over a decade ago.

Your eyes skimmed the small print.

Death announcement for Fushiguro family.

A newspaper write up digitized with an image attached of a beautiful young woman in her late 20s with dark hair and a soft smile. The text was a short obituary, stark and formal. It detailed little, only that a woman, Fushiguro, had passed away. Her name was there—a name you didn’t recognize. No other photos accompanied the notice, only a single line at the end mentioning that she left behind a young son.

“She seems too young to be his mother. Maybe a sister or wife?” You copied the name to your browser to see if anything else would come up and the only thing was another death announcement but on some site with a broken link.

“Maybe its for the best.” the room dimmed as you put your laptop to sleep and sat in on the empty side of your bed. Your clock showed it being 3:49 am you sighed. 3 hours and 11 minutes to sleep.

You scooted into a lying down position, the words lingering in your mind, stirring up questions but ultimately laying it to rest. From your new perspective, Fushiguro seemed to be a lonely guy. No searchable background, a possible dead relative who even they were a bit of a mystery. Maybe it was the death anniversary. The thought of being alone with no one to turn to made you feel a little bad for the man. Almost pity.

With heavy eyes, you drifted off to the thought of the brooding man. Sending up a prayer that maybe your loved ones could find Miss Fushiguro in the afterlife and bring her a little comfort.

Toji sat in his usual table but at a far more unusual time. Bright and early before even Shiu had a chance to disturb his peace. He was out clearing his mind and realized that his now favorite diner stayed open late and opened quite early.

He spent most of the night thinking about you. Tossing about how he overreacted. You did nothing on purpose but everything almost felt intentional. How you moved, the way you spoke. It was like a personal torture for him.

Ayame served him his tea and brought out another bowl of miso soup as he finished the last of his rice and fish. “Thank you.” he wiped his mouth and handed over the bowl to the older woman.

“Of course, big bull. Anything else? You’ll be priority since its still early.”Ayame patted his shoulder.

“Just another mackerel and I will be out of your hair. Please.”

Ayame winked and walked back to the kitchen where she audibly yelled the order out as if it were a team of 6 working in an executive kitchen.

Toji closed his eyes and took in the aroma of his tea. The morning sounds of the day coming to life itself. He sipped slowly, appreciating the calm of the establishment until the bell above the door rang.

“Good morning Ayame!” the sound of your velvet voice brought him back.

You walked through the dining area without even batting an eye to look around. Simply waltzed to the kitchen leaving Toji to crane his neck until you were out of his sights.

He could run before you even noticed him but he’d done it twice already. So he sat, sipping his tea and praying to whatever God that you’d maybe want to cuss him out or slap the back of his head just to start the process of him getting over whatever this was.

“Big bull! Ayame told me you came in early!”

Shit.

“Morning. Yeah. Just wanted some breakfast.” Toji turned his torso to face you as you came up.

You smelled like cinnamon and vanilla as you walked past to the seat across from him. “Didn’t think you’d be here this early. You closed last night, didn’t you.” He said matter of factly.

Nodding, you checked the temperature of the tea pot on the table. “Did indeed. But switched shifts. I have plans this evening. Which speaking of last night. I want to apologize.”

In Toji’s mind, you had nothing to apologize for. If anything, he thought he should be apologizing for thinking about you sitting his lap while his lips found there way around your body. “You’re fine. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was in a shit mood.” sitting his cup down, he cleared his throat.

“We all have those days. Hopefully I didn’t make it any worse?”

“Nah. I could do that on my own.”

You giggled and his heart fluttered. “Fair enough.”

You sat in silence for a moment and refilled his tea cup. “Whatcha doing tonight?”

“Why?” It came out rougher than he wanted.

“There’s this fun show club down in the Roppongi district! Known to be a great mood booster. You should go! Great drinks and food.”

Toji took his soup and slurped a bit up before answering flatly. “I’ll think about it. I don’t do big clubs usually.”

The bell rang at the door and you pushed yourself from the table with a shrug. Think less club and more burlesque lounge. Just think on it.” You pulled the pen from behind your ear with a smile. “The Tantra Show Club. Just in case you decide to go.”

With that, he watched as you sashayed to the incoming guest who was very clearly coming directly from the bars.

A chance to see you outside the diner. It could be worse.

———————-

You stood in front of the mirror, gently unraveling your twist out to loosen the curls, reflection focused and calm. Your third and maybe final performance of the day before you went to hostess duties.

The low hum of Utahime’s shamisen performance drifted through the building to the bright lit dressing room, mingling with the faint scent of perfume and smoke that clung to the air. Warm lights framed the mirrors, casting soft, golden hues on the women getting ready for the night’s performances. The small space buzzed with chatter and laughter, half-empty glasses of wine and lipstick-stained coffee mugs crowding the counter tops.

Leaning forward to inspect your makeup, you carefully blended out a smudge of eyeliner with the practiced ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times. Your satin robe, dark blue with hints of lace at the cuffs, lazily hung off your shoulder as you moved from the vanity to the couch that sat against the opposite wall.

“Ooo, going dark tonight, huh?” came a teasing voice from across the room.

You turned to see one of your fellow performers, Kirara, walking in with a glass of water, already dressed in a costume of sheer black lace and sequins. Kirara smirked, arching an eyebrow as she gave you a quick once-over.

“Always the understated one,” she added with a wink, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm.

You rolled her eyes, grinning. “Maybe I like a little mystery,” you replied, prepping your lips with a light moisturizer. “Not all of us are as bold as you, Kirara.”

“Oh, please,” Kirara replied, laughing. “You keep ‘em hooked in a way that half the girls here would kill for. We’re just up here trying to keep up.”

You chuckled, lips lifting in a soft smile as you ran your sheer stockings up your legs, fastening them as you adjusted the garters with a delicate touch. The satin finish of the hosiery shimmered under the lights, accentuating the warm tones.

A familiar voice cut through the den. “You two could at least try to keep it down,” came the dry tone of Shoko as she entered the dressing room, a half-finished cigarette balanced between her fingers. She wore a loose blouse and black slacks, her hair tied back in a lazy ponytail, and her signature look of mild disinterest hung on her face like an accessory. “Some of us are trying to maintain a shred of sanity in here.”

“Shoko, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you only come back here to tell us to shut up,” you teased, your eyes meeting Shoko’s in the mirror. “You’re one to talk, showing up half-dressed as always.”

Shoko gave her a look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation. “Hey, I’m not the one strutting on stage tonight,” she replied, taking a long drag on her cigarette before tapping off the ash. “But if I was, I’d have you dress me. Girl knows how to keep it classy.” Shoko nodded her chin towards you with a wink.

Kirara snorted. “Classy? Sure, if by ‘classy’ you mean ‘secretly deadly.’ You should’ve seen the way she handled that one guy who thought he could grab her leg last week.”

You smirked as you sipped your water. “He was lucky I didn’t do worse,” you murmured, the gleam of humor in your eyes meeting Shoko’s approving nod in the mirror.

“Isn’t that why we all love you?” Shoko replied, raising her cigarette as if in a toast. “The classy killer.”

You shrugged, finally tying the belt of your robe a bit tighter as you got up to sift through a row of costume pieces until your found your chosen ensemble for tonight's act—a striking red jeweled wire Samba bikini set. Gold rhinestones trimmed the padding as the halter strap dripped with a fire red stone fringe that matched the ruffled, knee length skirt you’d already slipped on. You rolled your robe down just enough to slips the bra on the front. “Help me out, Sho?”

You held the jeweled bra cups to your chest as Shoko fastened. “This one is new. Must be.”

“Nah, Just never wear it. But I heard the owner was sitting in the audience with special guest tonight and maybe wearing his favorite color will entice him to keep my at for another 6 months.”

Shoko laughed as she helped you adjust the nude colored straps on your shoulders.”He basically said yes to that when he agreed to not cut into your tips and pay your conga players out of pocket. You’re fine.”

Shaking your head with a chuckle, you let your robe fall and looked at your costume. Flashy but not too intense. Definitely attention grabbing. “Classy Killer. Yes.”

Around you, the other dancers moved through their own pre and post-show routines, some gossiping, others touching up makeup or adjusting costumes. It was a world of its own, separated from the outside by heavy velvet curtains and the glitz of stage lights.

Shoko leaned against the counter, one eyebrow arched as she watched you “How do you go from pouring tea and serving ramen to… well, this?” she asked with a smirk. “Quite the double life you lead.”

“Maybe I’m just multi-talented,” you replied, smiling as you adjusted a long, gold chain that traced from your bosom to your navel, catching the light as you moved. “Besides, we can’t all be life saving doctors mighty doctors by day and ghosts bartenders in the night.”

Shoko let out a soft laugh, clearly amused. “Fair. And here I thought I was the mysterious one. But you… you’ve got everyone in this place fooled. Sweet and silent one minute, then this,” she gestured to the dramatic transformation from your usual overalls and boots. “I’d call it impressive.”

Kirara added a final comment, fluffing her curls as she looked over at you. “Don’t let her smooth talk you. Shoko just wants more of those little cookie things you bring in.”

You grinned, fastening a pair of delicate bracelets around your wrists before taking one last look in the mirror, studying your reflection: a quiet, composed zaftig figure with red lips and smokey eyes.

“Well, here’s hoping I give them a good show,” you uttered.

“Break a leg,” Shoko thoughtfully spke, giving a small, approving nod as she finished her cigarette and stubbed it out. “Or better yet, break a few hearts. I’ll be watching.”

With a final wink, you turned and made her way toward the stairs leading up to the stage, the sounds of the dressing room fading behind you as she stepped into the world you’d created for herself—a world of elegance, allure and mystery. Quiet strength captivating all who were lucky enough to watch.

Your conga player hit the drum once, then twice. You threw your leg from behind the curtain and the crowd seemingly enjoyed the tease as the room roared.

The drums started slow. A dragging, pulsing beat, deep and resonant, filling the dim club. You waited in the wings, letting the sound wash over you as your heartbeat went in rhythm with the bass drum. The warm stage lights softened as the emcee’s voice announced your stage name with a smooth, theatrical lilt.

A vision in red and gold, every move of your Carimbo contained controlled movements that remained languid as the uptempo-ed clashing of the triangle and maracas ushered you to the center. You rolled your hips, the growing speed letting your feet move fluidly on your as if you were almost gliding across the floor. Hurried but beautiful. Your costume caught the light with each subtle shift of your hips, the gold embroidery gleaming, echoing the cool metallic shine of the jewelry around your wrists and neck.

As the drums hit a crescendo, moving you to bring your hands above your head and wine your hips, you turned on your soles to bring your skirt up and moving as you turned in the powerful circular motion. Zhuzhing your hair, running your fingers through it, bringing the coiled strands to life as it moved as its own part of your performance.

Then, with a sudden shift in tempo, the music transformed, a lively Brazilian rhythm swept through the room. You moved with it, your body capturing the passion of the Calypso, hips swaying in smooth, hypnotic rolls as your hands traced the curves of your waist. The movements were sharp yet fluid, bold yet precise, a dance of contrasts that matched the beat perfectly. You spun gracefully, letting your hair fan out in soft waves around your, and as your feet swept across the stage, entire being seemed to pulse with the rhythm, as if the music was woven into your soul.

This was you. The days of watching the lambada being performed by your mother and her friends. The late nights of watching your cousins get prepped for Rio Carnival back in Brazil and finally having a chance to enjoy it yourself at Samba Carnival in Asakusa.

You were living.

The audience’s eyes stayed locked on you, drawn in by the intensity. You moved with an unabashed confidence, a self-assuredness that was almost hypnotic, as though you’d brought an entire world with you onto the stage. There was no shyness here, no subtlety; this was you as you as you were, powerful and alive, your movements a celebration of freedom and vitality. You swayed your arms above your head, stepping into a Samba de Roda sequence, your spins becoming tighter, more grounded, each step strong and deliberate.

You dipped low, then rose slowly, eyes flickering across the audience with a playful glint. The Samba brought a sensuality to the movements, but it was the carried grace and precision that gave your dance depth—a reflection of the balance you maintained in your own life, between the quiet strength of the diner and the fierce expression on the stage.

Every gesture, every flick of the wrist, carried a hint of allure, yet her expression remained serene, focused, as if you alone controlled the intensity in the room. Feet moving in quick, intricate patterns, body flowing in waves that built and fell with the music, hips swiveling in an beguiling rhythm as you met the audience’s eyes with the barest hint of a smile. Sensuality that seemed effortless, unrestrained by convention or expectation, dancing for yourself while the audience only got the residuals.

With one final turn, you slowed, movements transitioning into something softer, more tender. You stood still for a heartbeat, holding the room’s collective gaze before lowering herself into a slow, elegant bow, her face framed by a soft smile.

The applause and whistling thundered through the club, filling the room as you rose, giving one last nod before slipping offstage, breath steady but your heart racing with that familiar, electric thrill. You disappeared into the shadows, leaving the audience enchanted, yet somehow still craving more.

__

Toji finally pushed his way into the front of the club near the stage, his eyes adjusting to the low light as the crowd’s cheers and applause greeted him. He’d been pursuing a lead through Tokyo’s underbelly, coming to the address on the back of the card he pocketed in Istanbul and realizing it was the place you invited him. A crowded place far from the quiet corners he usually preferred but now there was a new issue. You.

He scanned the room, making sure he wasn’t having some sort of episode with pulling his gaze toward the stage where you just danced. He’d know that figure anywhere. He knew it was you.

Seeing you here but on stage. in your element, doing something so bold, so unyielding. It had stirred that uncomfortable recognition that he couldn’t shake and didn’t like.

What the hell are you doing here dancing? Almost angry with himself for even caring but even angrier for thinking he had the right to be upset at you. But that didn’t stop him from storming towards the back door, waiting until you finished for the night until he could tell you about yourself.

_____ “So a dancer.”

“Performance artist. But, yes.”

“And you didn’t think to mention that while inviting me? I thought you were there for fun or some shit.”

Toji walked closest to the street as you tried to keep up with his large strides. “That was a pretty vague invite. You aren’t uncomfortable are you?”

Uncomfortable? No. Fighting hard against calling you a beautiful goddess? Yes. “Far from it. It was interesting. Definitely no apron and chili oil stained shirt, thats for damn sure.”

There was a soft laugh that left you as Toji let his lips curl into a small smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.” You stopped in front of the diner, peeping in to see Ayame and the waitress, Nobara, taking orders from guest. “Thank you for walking me here. Want a tea?”

“No problem. And I’m alright. Need to get home and rest. Early morning.”

You gave his arm a soft pat of appreciation. “Have a goodnight, Fushiguro.”

He stood for a moment, watching you enter and get right back into your mode. Flashing a warm smile to a patron who waved you down. Toji sighed as he grabbed his phone from his pocket, dialing Shiu.

Only took one ring before the all familiar voice came through. “What do you have?”

“Kenjaku is back and using his brothers show club as a front.”

“Think you can get in good with someone there? I’ll pull some strings to do a full backup sweep on your name if needed.”

The heat in his heart pooled as Toji took a step back and continued to watch you. “Just.. change my name sake back to Zenin while I’m on this. I want it to be an easy clean up.”

“I’ll have it done by the afternoon. Find a connection in.” The line went quiet and Toji slipped his phone back.

It’ll be easier to distance himself if he uses you. You’ll see him as the scum he can really be and this silly little imagination of his that has decided to go into overdrive will then cease to exist.

Use you until you hate him.

Done.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

FRACTURED BULLET - The bullet is still safely sealed away in a plastic bag bearing the RCM stamp.

You know what? We should take a closer look at this bullet again.

3. Inspect the bullet closer.

FRACTURED BULLET - The jacket of the bullet is made of yellowish metal. It has blossomed out to reveal a dark grey core. The base of the bullet is close to 5 mm in diameter.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Legendary: Success] - The core is lead. The brass jacket probably didn't cover the entire bullet, otherwise the softer metal wouldn't have expanded quite like that.

The rest of the analysis continues the same way it went before.

4. [Hand/Eye Coordination - Legendary 14] Try to determine what type of weapon shot this.

+1 Have the full bullet specs

Damn, snake eyes.

HAND/EYE COORDINATION [Legendary: Failure] - You can't remember what happened last week -- what makes you think you're going to remember arcane firearm models?

5. The bullet has nothing more to say. [Put it away.]

We can enter this house.

Industrial coal pellets burn with an orange glow.

LITTLE LILY - "Hello, mister!" A young girl, barely four or five years old, sits on the sofa. She is looking at you with frank curiosity.

She clutches a small stuffed animal. Occasionally she twirls it around.

"I heard there was a girl here who has armoured gloves. Is that you?"

"Are you Lilienne's daughter?"

"Are the twins outside your brothers?"

"What's that?" (Point at the stuffed bird hanging from the ceiling.)

"What's that thing you're holding?" (Point at her toy.)

"Good-bye." [Leave.]

LITTLE LILY - "Ooooh." She looks alarmed. "I had gloves, very big ones! Heavy too."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Where did you get these gloves?"

LITTLE LILY - "Found them when Lamby and I were playing hide-and-seek. In an empty house where no one lives! I think someone hid them there..."

EMPATHY [Trivial: Success] - She doesn't want you to think she stole them.

"And where are the gloves now?"

LITTLE LILY - She pouts. "I hid them. The twins were going to take them. They're stupid..." She lifts her stuffed toy up and looks into its one remaining eye, as though searching for confirmation.

KIM KITSURAGI - "We're going to need those gloves. It's for important police business." He enunciates the last two words carefully.

LITTLE LILY - "Oooh..." She doesn't seem to understand, but the lieutenant's tone has conveyed to her the 'important' part.

"They're in my sandcastle." She points somewhere outside. "Behind our house. Under the sand. You can break the castle, it's not very good."

2. "Are you Lilienne's daughter?"

LITTLE LILY - "Yesssss, I am! Little Lily!" She gazes at you with her big eyes. "You know my mom?"

"Yes, we met earlier."

"Not really, but I'd like to."

LITTLE LILY - "Uh huh," she nods. "Mom is great! You know what's great about my mom?"

"Everything?"

"No, do tell me."

LITTLE LILY - "*Everything*!" She shouts with glee.

3. "Are the twins outside your brothers?"

LITTLE LILY - "Yesss." She frowns. "They don't want to play with me. They're older and play outside!"

"They look the same! Haa ha haa! Sometimes I can't tell them 'part."

"They look identical, right? I said the same thing."

LITTLE LILY - "They look... ai-dent-ik!" She slowly processes the word, then snickers with laughter.

4. "What's that?" (Point at the stuffed bird hanging from the ceiling.)

LITTLE LILY - "It's a *grouse*," she yelps, smiling broadly.

SUGGESTION [Trivial: Success] - You might be able to get on Garte's good side if you make up for the skua you broke?

"Yes, but what's it *for*?"

"Can I have it? I know someone who really likes stuffed birds."

"Uh, okay, thanks."

LITTLE LILY - "I dunno."

"Can I have it? I know someone who really likes stuffed birds."

LITTLE LILY - "Sure! I mean you already took it. I don't like it anyway... it looks angry."

New task: Take stuffed bird to Garte

+5 XP

SAVOIR FAIRE [Easy: Success] - All right. You just need to grab it from the ceiling and go!

I'm sure Lilienne won't mind. Probably.

4. "What's that thing you're holding?" (Point at her toy.)

LITTLE LILY - "It's Lamby! He's my friend. Sort of, like..." She holds the fuzzy beast up to demonstrate.

Lamby is a stuffed lamb that, admittedly, has seen better days. One of the eye-buttons is missing and the fur is tattered in several parts.

"Lamby looks like he's falling apart."

"Lamby looks soft."

"Oh, okay. Well, pleased to meet you, Lamby."

LITTLE LILY - "Yessss, Lamby has lived a long life." She waves the lamb around in the air. "Lamby was a... re.. a rev..." She stumbles on her words.

"Revolutionary?"

"Revacholian?"

"Remote Viewer?"

"Revisionist?"

"Rebel?"

LITTLE LILY - "Yessss," she yelps happily! "Lamby was a re-luz-ion...ry."

2. "Lamby looks soft."

LITTLE LILY - "Yes. Very soft." Suddenly she pushes the stuffed animal toward your face.

Press your cheek against Lamby.

"I don't deserve it. I'm scum."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Press your damn cheek against Lamby, okay?" The lieutenant sounds authoritative -- and surprisingly gruff.

Press your cheek against Lamby.

LITTLE LILY - "Isn't he soft?" She's right, Lamby is very soft. She rubs the white fur against your cheek, then returns the lamb into her lap, cuddling it.

+1 Morale

5. "Good-bye." [Leave.]

LITTLE LILY - "Bye!" The girl's large, curious eyes remain fixed on you.

RUFFLED GROUSE TAXIDERMY

The dead body of a grouse stuffed with some unknown material. From a distance it might just pass off as the real thing. The bird itself looks extremely... ruffled. And slightly grumpy.

Lily's sandcastle is just behind her house.

🎵 Disco Elysium

SANDCASTLE - Weather has not been kind to Lily's little sandcastle. The once mighty towers are quickly eroding away. You can see something shining back to you from what must have been a vast underground catacomb network.

"Broken..."

Reach in the catacombs and pull out the shiny object.

Leave the sandcastle alone. [Leave.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "The little castle?" The lieutenant smiles a little. "The reigning lord must have come upon some really tough times to let it slip in such decrepitude."

2. Reach in the catacombs and pull out the shiny object.

SANDCASTLE - The walls and floors give way to the giant's greed, collapse and present you with a pair of ceramic gauntlets.

Item gained: Fairweather T-500 Gauntlets

Task complete: Find the armoured gloves

+30 XP

KIM KITSURAGI - "Congratulations -- that's the gauntlets down, then. We're doing good on the armour collection front."

Just the cuirass and helmet to go.

FAIRWEATHER T-500 GAUNTLETS

+2 Interfacing: Strength in digits

Clenching and unclenching your fist has never been so fun -- the tiny ceramic plates make a lovely clicking sound when your fingers move. The gloves are a bit sandy, but the grip is phenomenal.

A straight upgrade to our gardening gloves. Take that, Medium difficulty Interfacing passives!

Doom Spiral and his friends are not currently here, perhaps due to the rain. Or perhaps it's too early for drunks.

SHIVERS - A drop in temperature. An easy flow of air: an empty street. Before you, a thoroughfare unjammed with lorries. No more drivers smoking on hitch steps. Just... silence.

What did the smoke smell like?

Let go of the moment. [Discard thought.]

SHIVERS - Chemically sweetened. Across the road, a forgotten bus stop; corrosion has opened a hole in its roof. An elm tree watches over the building. Its branches are dripping with rain and snow.

The road is smooth and motley. Craters filled with a black asphalt. The asphalt first laid is grey already. A row of tenements are under construction in the distance.

Who are the people who live across the road?

What about the bus stop?

That is enough. [Finish thought.]

SHIVERS - A tub warm with water, white with soap. A man bathes while radio waves transmit the lottery numbers: 4, 18, 21, 4, 1... A modern washing machine rattles a drawer full of silverware.

SUGGESTION [Easy: Success] - His boyfriend is on his way home. He brings tins of meat and vegetables with him. Their pockets are heavier with money; but only slightly.

2. What about the bus stop?

SHIVERS - #312D. Young girls used to come here, huddled up, hoping for more warmth than their thin coats give them. The bus took them to school. It has not run for eight years; there were not enough girls to sustain its cost.

3. What about the road?

SHIVERS - Craters pocked the surface. Children played in them, until heavy trucks full of black pitch rolled in. The landowners have filled the craters with money. It is a vital artery of flow of trade.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - There's one bump on the road: a dead dog lies flat about two hundred paces away, right at the turn.

4. A dead dog?

SHIVERS - Tragedy came from the wheels of a fast RCM vehicle, hurrying to work. The cold washes over you. The sound of the sea has grown distant.

5. That is enough. [Finish thought.]

SHIVERS - The wind moves the aerosol. A detective stands behind the boom barrier; a breeze moves a curl of his hair.

+5 XP

There's paths heading west and north from Lily's sandcastle. I choose to go west.

A little black swallow circles above you. You hear it chirrup.

The water runs from the west. The source is upstream. A broken pipe?

The beams are splintered. The bridge didn't collapse on its own. Artillery broke it.

Can't get up to this part of the boardwalk from here, but we can go North to the other end of the bridge.

Hidden in the reeds here is... a box with some money?

Bars cover these long, dusty windows.

Another power box. It charges nothing now. It's empty.

The fence blocks the path. No way on from here.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "... and, Mikael, notice the windows? Especially with how there are no windows on the south side? This was to deal with..." A blond man stands next to his son, pointing to the weather-worn ruins. He sees you approaching and smiles...

"You, officers! Come to investigate the historic subtext of West Martinaise? I'm Trant Heidelstam," he turns to the lieutenant. "You must be Kim Kitsuragi, right? I was just telling my son about this building. Not a lot of people realize the historic significance here. Very rich in *hypertext*."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Nice to meet you." The lieutenant nods.

"Hold on. Hyper...text?"

"Wait, what was that about the windows before?"

"You and Kim know each other?" (Proceed.)

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Yes, hypertext," he says, as if it's self-evident. "Jan Kaarp and the collection of cultural hyperlinks."

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - He's just making up fancy words. This doesn't mean anything!

2. "Wait, what was that about the windows before?"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Oh yes. So, Mikael, they had to deal with monitor glare, especially in the summer. They still had vector monitors back then. That was 49 years ago. So they didn't have windows on the south wall."

3. "You and Kim know each other?" (Proceed.)

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "No, I can't say that we've met before. But I've *heard* of Kim, of course. Mikael, say hi to the officers." He rests his hand on the boy's shoulder. The child stays hidden behind the hem of his father's coat, clutching to his würm-themed colouring book.

"Mikael's a little tired today. We spent all night trying to run Orbis on his radiocomputer. Have you heard of it? It's a programming language used in Graad. Quite tricky, but he wanted to play this Graad-made adventure programme. We've been getting *really* into würms lately..."

DRAMA [Easy: Success] - The man speaks in the artificial cadence of a professor -- or someone who's been on too many radio shows.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "But I assume you're not here for giant würms when there are so many real things to see. Just as I was telling Mikael before -- this is where the Coalition landed in '08. We could be standing on what is the most interesting landmark in Revachol West." He points to the building again.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - This man is your half brother. You feel it. But *why*?

"What's so fascinating about an empty old building?"

"You look like someone who has money. Do you have any money?"

"Great, thank you for all the interesting information." [Leave.]

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "A-ha, but it's not just *any* empty old building!" He raises his hand to his eyes, springtime sun warming his handsome face. All four of you turn to admire the mural before you.

"What not a lot of people know is -- this used to be the R&D department of *Feld Electrical*. And Feld, which now sells ink cartridges, mostly, was once a top dog in the turn-of-the-century cybernetics boom."

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Challenging: Failure] - Hold on, what's R&D?

Look at the building looming over you.

"Wait, what's an R&D department?"

"I don't think I've ever heard of this Feld Electrical." (Proceed.)

FELD MURAL - It looks old and weathered, with seagulls picking apart its stone-and-metal carcass. Bushy undergrowth has taken hold of the collapsed rooftop; some kind of bird has set up a nest on a broken windowsill.

2. "Wait, what's an R&D department?"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Apologies, it's an acronym for research and development, they don't use it anymore." He smiles brightly, laugh lines around his eyes.

"You're probably more familiar with *RTD*, research and *technological* development."

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Easy: Success] - Mea culpa! You were not familiar with that one either. This man is a book head.

3. "I don't think I've ever heard of this Feld Electrical." (Proceed.)

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "That's not surprising. Only a vestigial ink cartridge and ferrotape manufacturer remains." He adjusts his suit jacket.

"They started out as a midway electronics outfit in Königstein two centuries ago. After an aggressive move to Revachol, Feld became a global player in the emerging personal electronics market of the pre-Revolutionary era."

"Still, Tricentennial was beating them in business machines." He gestures toward the building. "But Feld had an ace up their sleeve. Or, should I say, they were *developing* an ace up their sleeve?…" He grins. "I'm mixing my metaphors here."

"What was that ace?"

"Very interesting. Let's get back to this later."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "It was here in Martinaise -- possibly in this very building -- that they developed prototypes for a..." He pauses for effect. "...*tape computer*."

"A tape computer?"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Mhm. An elegant folding mechanism of rollers and ferrotape ribbons, portable enough to be a take-it-home solution, revolutionizing business machines, possibly even bringing them to the average consumer."

"Which is a feat of engineering even today's giants Rehm, ICN, and ZAMM haven't achieved yet." He grins, admiring the sentence he just produced.

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - He assumes something like a combat stance, facing the wind.

"What happened?"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Indeed, what?"

MIKAEL HEIDELSTAM - "The Revolution?" The boy wipes his nose on his sleeve.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Unfortunately their moonshot project never made it to the market." He nods. "Feld's move to Revachol backfired. The Revolutionary government liquefied their assets and expropriated those very advanced prototypes. Possibly from this very building... or one of the adjacent ruins." He pauses, pointing to the other building, then continues:

"All of this was built by Feld, even the boardwalk. Wild Pines built Martinaise proper as a resort for their middle management, Feld built this side of town for R&D."

"You're saying that Feld Electrical built this boardwalk?" (Look under your feet.)

"What happened to the engineers, the company people?"

"What did the revolutionaries do with those advanced tape computers?"

"How did those tape computers work?"

"I wanted to ask something else…"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Yes, they even built a pleasure wheel, but that got destroyed in the war."

KIM KITSURAGI - "A pleasure wheel?" The lieutenant looks wistfully at the horizon, as if picturing gondolas rising to the sky.

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - Perhaps reminded of a childhood memory? It's clear he would prefer there were a big wheel lighting up the coast.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Yes. To lure in their star engineers. This part of Martinaise was nothing but reeds before Feld arrived. They had to make the prospect of living here *attractive*. It was supposed to become a global centre for innovation in cybernetics -- but history had other plans."

2. "What happened to the engineers, the company people?"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Oh, I'm afraid it didn't end well for the boys." He smiles again, as if he's somehow personally responsible for this bleak turn of events. "But this story is a bit too *dark* for little Mikael here. Now if you were to ask about *tape computers*..."

Perhaps with a higher Rhetoric, we could understand the *politics* of this situation a little better.

3. "What did the revolutionaries do with those advanced tape computers?"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "They used them for military communications," he says, while his son looks up, idly chewing on the corner of his würm-themed colouring book. "But also to write and send out press releases. The most notorious example being Le Décret de Mars."

"What was that?"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "What's the March decree? I mean the radio transmission sent out to news agencies and world governments by the newly-created Commune of Revachol on the 7th of March in the year '02."

"It's a beautiful piece of text, actually. A singer-songwriter I know -- Charette -- called it a love poem to Revachol on her political concept album 'Bons baisers d'Insulinde'. You should read it. Every local library in Revachol stocks a copy of the decree."

"I tried to get Mikael to memorise it." He looks at his son, who starts giggling, his face hidden behind the book. "*Tried to*. Someone was much too interested in würms to be paying any attention."

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - The kid takes a peek at the green and silver würm on the cover of the book. Already forgetting about this part of the discussion.

4. "How did those tape computers work?"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Actually, no one knows. No one even knows what a computer made entirely of tape would look like! But word has it they were *very elegant* -- exquisite, alien-looking turn-of-the-century hardware..." He raises his finger, remembering something.

"Ten years ago, I did a little... freelancing, I guess you could say. I was a special consultant for an exhibition at the Wompty-Dompty-Dom Centre in Vredefort, Oranje. It raised the same questions, and we had lengthy discussions with Paul Ockermann, who was head curator at the time -- this was before the twins Keith and Guy Joost joined the team -- trying to..."

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - Wait. Did he just say *Wompty-Dompty-Dom Centre*?

SUGGESTION [Easy: Success] - He did it! He said *Wompty-Dompty-Dom Centre* like it's the most natural thing in the world.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Easy: Success] - What the hell *is* a Wompty-Dompty-Dom Centre? And who the hell are Keith and Guy Joost?!

"Okay. The Wompty-Dompty-Dom Centre? Paul Ockermann? Keith and Guy Joost? What are you *talking* about?"

"Okay. Back to... where were we? Tape computers, I think."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "The Wompty-Dompty-Dom Centre for Contemporary Arts." There it is again -- those words. "The exhibition itself drew on Lagerman's notion of memory and so there were some parallels, that's why the head curator Paul Ockermann chose to..."

"You're making this up." (Turn to the lieutenant.) "Kim, is he making this up?"

"Come on, there is no place called the Wompty-Dompty-Dom Centre of Arts."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Actually, I think there is..." He pauses. "No, it's too much, he's joking."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "In fact, I'm not. The Wompty-Dompty-Dom Centre," he says casually, "is a place you can visit if you're ever in Vredefort, and are ever in the market for an exhibition space slash contemporary art research centre." He clears his throat.

Thought gained: Wompty-Dompty-Dom Centre

"But perhaps I should return to the tape computers. As I was saying, the device itself was very elegant, fragile even. One could write directly on the tape using a special chemical solution. The machine would then analyse the handwriting, perform operations and project output onto a white screen. It was a beautiful, delicate thing."

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - Made of black film and folding tape structures...

(Nod.) "Cool."

"Pfft. I've seen cooler things than that."

"The RCM should get some of those."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Even *one* would be very useful," he agrees. "Though I understand the socio-economic causes of the Revolution, it pains me to imagine the revolutionaries setting fire to this precious device. But so they did. The Feld Playback Experiment vanished into the fires of '07."

"Wait, the Feld Playback Experiment?"

"Why did the revolutionaries destroy it?"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Yes, the official name of the prototype. Some sources report it as the Feld Playback *Experience*, but those are incorrect."

"Why did the revolutionaries destroy it?"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Who knows? Maybe it was an accident, or maybe they didn't want the technology to end up in the wrong hands. Either way -- they're all gone now, all three versions of the prototype. Nothing but debris and ashes remains inside that building." He takes a step back; the boardwalk creaks mournfully in the wind.

5. "I wanted to ask something else…"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "But of course! What else?" He smiles and ruffles his kid's head.

2. "You look like someone who has money. Do you have any money?"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "I do have some money, yes, but that's not what's really important here." He brushes it off like it's not a thing at all.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - He's not gonna give you money, what are you doing? Clearly you were just profiling.

"Could I have some of that 'unimportant' money then?"

"I don't want your money, I just wanted to see whether my profiling skills were working."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Oh, no, I don't have it *on me*, officer, I was talking in more... general terms." He looks uncomfortable, his left hand squeezing his son's shoulder.

"I'm just spending time with my kid here, showing him around the lesser-known parts of our home town... It wouldn't be *wise* to carry huge amounts of cash on such expeditions!"

Whoops, probably should have listened to Authority there.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Easy: Success] - Not that he would have to worry about being robbed -- he looks surprisingly buff. Does he work out?

3. "By the way, do you work out?"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "I do some Lo Manthang stick fighting now and then."

"Wait, what's Lo Manthang stick fighting?"

"I'm not really interested in the practice, I just want to know how often you work out. Now and then -- that's what, like once a week?"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "It's an anthropological heritage of the Lomanthang people, a martial art of sorts, but what not a lot of books mention is that it also carries a *cultural* significance among the Lomanthangs, as it used to be the best means of showing off to look for a bride, which..."

"... interestingly enough, brings us to the socio-economic structure of the traditional rural tribes of the Lo Manthang isles, which..." He goes on to give you a detailed overview of their way of life, the amiable, slightly nervous smile not once leaving his face.

"But anyway," he says after a while, "I am boring you with details again. You were saying?"

"I don't really remember what I was saying..."

"I'm not really interested in the practice, I just want to know how often you work out. Now and then -- that's what, like once a week?"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "Lo Manthang stick fighting is a little like a pyrholidon addiction," he explains with a little smile. "I've been practising it for nearly 20 years now, so you could say that my doses have grown a little... peculiar."

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - Wait. What does this man know about pyrholidon addiction?

"Hold on. Pyrholidon addiction? What an interesting metaphor..." (Study his face.) "Or perhaps not a metaphor at all?"

"So what is it, twice a week then? Every other day? *Man* is it difficult to stay on the right topic with you."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "You got me, detective." He chuckles, before a shadow takes hold of his face. "But my history should hardly come as a surprise."

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - Here's a former junkie. I can recognize one when I see it.

MIKAEL HEIDELSTAM - Suddenly little Mikael opens up his mouth: "Dad's fighting with sticks every night after dinner for four hours. He has a special room for that -- *and* a special costume!"

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "That's right, Mikael." Trant grabs his kid into a single-handed embrace, happy to change the subject. "It also has a meditative quality, helps to clear my head... But anyway," he says, swaying with his hand.

4. "Great, thank you for all the interesting information." [Leave.]

TRANT HEIDELSTAM - "No, thanks to *you* for having me and little Mikael here to pick your brain... A very interesting conversation indeed."

WOMPTY-DOMPTY-DOM CENTRE

Temporary research bonus: -1 Suggestion: Outsider Research time: 0h 42min

It's Wednesday evening and something heinously exciting is under way. People have gathered beneath the billowing roof of an oddly shaped trophy building, sipping wine and exchanging opinions. 29-year-old wunder-twins Guy and Keith Joost are the stars of the show, with their bomber jackets and white sneakers -- head curators of this art exhibition. It's the wompty-dom-di-dommiest event of the year and all the cool kids have RSVP’d. Where are you, if you are not there?

FELD MURAL - You see a once-bright mural towering above you. The signage has peeled off over the years, but you can still make out: 'FELD ELECTRICAL R&D'.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - A slogan used to intertwine with the loops a long time ago. Now only a shadow of peeled letters remains. It says: 'Tomorrow is just a whisper away'.

"Tomorrow is just a whisper away..."

[Turn away.]

KIM KITSURAGI - "Looks like tomorrow never came." The lieutenant raises the collar of his bomber jacket.

2. [Turn away.]

That was quite the history lesson. I think we'd better take a break here.

[mariacallous]

On Nov. 14, 2023, Palestinian journalist Bisan Owda declared the start of winter in Gaza as sheets of rain flooded the streets. A month later, Owda told her followers that “we’re drowning” in an Instagram reel that showed displaced civilians bailing out an inundated tent. In January, she turned the camera on her own tent, describing how the rain seeped through the plastic sheeting as she slept.

The conditions that Owda depicted will be far worse when Gaza’s winter rains return this year, after 14 months of unprecedented destruction that has left 90 percent of Gaza’s 2.1 million people displaced. Approximately 86 percent of Gaza’s landmass is under permanent evacuation order. A Sept. 29 United Nations satellite analysis showed that Israeli military operations had damaged or destroyed 66 percent of all structures in the territory, including 227,591 housing units. By June, 67 percent of Gaza’s water and sanitation infrastructure was out of commission.

Each year, from December to February, some parts of Gaza receive one-third of their annual rainfall, and large swaths of the territory flood. A 2020 review in the Journal of Environmental Health Science and Engineering identified 34 factors that increase people’s risk of death in floods, such as cold temperatures and poor quality housing; Gaza currently qualifies for 33 of them.

In addition to casualties in Gaza caused directly by Israeli military action, tens of thousands of people have likely died from indirect causes due to Israel’s blockade of the territory and widespread destruction of infrastructure. Winter floods will exacerbate these issues, leaving the population more vulnerable to life-threatening health and environmental hazards. Without immediate, large-scale humanitarian intervention backed by the United States, Gaza’s water and sanitation crisis could cascade into an unprecedented catastrophe.

Al-Mawasi is a sandy, 9-mile-long strip of seaside land in southwestern Gaza that Israel has designated as the only “humanitarian safe zone” in the territory. Currently, 1.8 million people are thought to be living in al-Mawasi, almost all in makeshift tents. The Norwegian Refugee Council estimated in September that the area had a population density of some 78,000 people per square mile, approximately twice that of Cairo.

The coming winter rains will transform al-Mawasi and the rest of Gaza into a death trap. The combination of poor shelter, lack of drinking water, and abysmal sanitation will cause unknown numbers of preventable deaths. Waterborne diseases, acute diarrhea, and infection often arise in such conditions. Floodwaters are a transmission vector for bacteria such as cholera-causing Vibrio cholerae, viruses such as Hepatitis A, parasites, and fungal infections. The inability to keep dry will also leave Palestinians in Gaza vulnerable to hypothermia and pneumonia.

Israel’s assaults on Gaza have destroyed every sewage processing plant and 70 percent of sewage pumps in the territory. In June, Oxfam reported that al-Mawasi contained only 121 latrines, then serving half a million people; on Nov. 16, Al Jazeera reported that Khan Younis had no fuel for sewage pumps, wells, or water purification.

Infection control and hygiene have long been severely compromised in Gaza. Before Oct. 7, 2023, waterborne illness was already the top killer of children in Gaza. Oxfam reported in 2017 that “Israel’s illegal blockade of Gaza severely limits, or prevents altogether, the entry of materials that would allow the water and sanitation sector in Gaza to recover from years of conflict and de-development.”

The widespread destruction of housing, sewage, water, and sanitation infrastructure—as well as prolonged malnutrition and repeated displacement—has severely exacerbated this long-standing problem. During the summer dry season, rates of diarrheal disease in Gaza were 25 times higher than prewar levels. People used makeshift latrines and were forced to dump waste wherever they could. The practice further polluted Gaza’s already contaminated shoreline and groundwater supplies.

Furthermore, Israel’s blockade of commercial goods has caused such scarcity that a 2.6-ounce bar of soap costs $10, while shampoo and laundry detergent are unavailable. Israel has blocked organizations such as Doctors Without Borders from importing hygiene kits. U.S. health care workers who volunteered in Gaza recently reported that since October 2023, basic sanitation items have been unavailable even in hospitals.

Hydration is an acute challenge for Palestinians in Gaza, too. Proper rehydration for those suffering from intestinal diseases is impossible. International humanitarian law requires that civilian infrastructure related to water and civilian access to water be protected. However, since October 2023, people in Gaza have had access to only 6 percent of the water they had prior to the war. Israel has cut or undersupplied water lines that run into Gaza. It has also banned fuel from entering the strip, blocked the transfer of bottled water, compromised local desalination capacity, and destroyed water warehouses. That means that 95 percent of people in Gaza currently have no access to clean water.

Oxfam estimated in July that Palestinians in al-Mawasi could access only 2.5 liters of water per person per day when only 1 million people were sheltering there, far below the international standard of 15 liters per person per day in a humanitarian crisis. Repairing water delivery systems is dangerous in Gaza; the Israeli military recently bombed a car carrying Palestinian water engineers attempting to repair infrastructure, killing four people, despite the fact that they had coordinated their movements with Israel.

Malnutrition and starvation weaken a person’s immune system and ability to heal from injuries. They also permanently impair children’s development. Most people who die of starvation succumb to otherwise trivial infections due to weakened immunity. Widespread malnutrition and starvation have left Gaza’s entire population vulnerable to waterborne disease, especially children under 5. Recent reports place 86 percent of Gaza’s population in phases three to five of acute food insecurity, where mortality increases significantly.

Amid flooding, displaced people are also at grave risk for exposure to environmental hazards such as toxic sludge, as rainwater combines with the rubble of bombed-out buildings. Exposure-related hypothermia and pneumonia will become additional problems, particularly for children. Nighttime temperatures of 50 degrees Fahrenheit, which are typical of winters in Gaza, are not harmful to adequately sheltered people—but young, sick, older, and malnourished people whose clothes are continuously wet will slowly die in such conditions.

The Biden administration has recognized that winter rains and flooding portend a humanitarian catastrophe in Gaza—unless Israel significantly eases its stranglehold on the territory. On Oct. 13, U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken and Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin sent the Israeli government a letter with clear and specific criteria related to the humanitarian situation in Gaza, to be met within 30 days. “Failure to demonstrate a sustained commitment to implementing and maintaining these measures may have implications for U.S. policy,” they wrote.

The letter listed measures on which Israel was obligated to act to avoid potentially triggering legal provisions that would halt U.S. weapons transfers. Blinken and Austin further specified that proposed legislation in the Knesset, Israel’s parliament, to ban activities by the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestine Refugees (UNRWA) “would devastate the Gaza humanitarian response.”

Those 30 days elapsed on Nov. 12, but Israel has facilitated less than 15 percent of the specified aid delivery goal. Humanitarian aid deliveries are at their lowest levels in 11 months. “Israel’s actions failed to meet any of the specific criteria set out in the U.S. letter,” a coalition of eight international aid organizations wrote in a detailed “Gaza Scorecard.”

Israel not only failed to meet the U.S. criteria but also took action that dramatically worsened the situation on the ground, particularly in northern Gaza. On Oct. 28, the Knesset banned UNRWA from any activity in Israel, East Jerusalem, the West Bank, or Gaza. Still, a U.S. State Department spokesperson said on Nov. 12 that “we at this time have not made an assessment that the Israelis are in violation of U.S. law.”

The Gaza Health Ministry has reported 43,985 Palestinian deaths since Oct. 7, 2023, of which 70 percent are women and children. Though ongoing hostilities and the decimation of Gaza’s medical facilities complicate precise recording, available data indicates that Israeli military action has directly and indirectly killed at least 118,908 people. Drawing on comparisons to other conflicts, one public health scholar estimated that by the end of 2024, a total of 335,500 Palestinians may have died since the beginning of the war.

A growing list of U.N. institutions and experts, governments, rights groups, and scholars have labeled Israel’s actions in Gaza as war crimes, crimes against humanity, and genocide.

Mitigating the imminent winter catastrophe in Gaza would require at the very least a cease-fire, a surge of aid deliveries, safe access for humanitarian and engineering teams, and the entry of fuel. Israel has staunchly refused to allow such moves in the past, arguing that they would aid Hamas.

Only extreme U.S. pressure on the Israeli government can achieve these ends. Since Israel has not responded to the Biden administration’s calls to protect civilians in Gaza, the United States should take decisive action by halting arms transfers and jet fuel deliveries. In line with recommendations from Human Rights Watch and other international organizations, Washington could also apply targeted sanctions on Israeli officials “credibly implicated in ongoing serious violations.”

For now, the United States is increasingly out of step with international institutions and its own allies in its support for Israel. This week, the U.S. Senate rejected legislation designed to restrict weapons sales to Israel, and Washington vetoed an otherwise unanimous U.N. Security Council cease-fire resolution. On Thursday, the International Criminal Court issued arrest warrants for Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and former Defense Minister Yoav Gallant on charges of war crimes and crimes against humanity, including the crime of starvation.

The impending winter rains will place hundreds of thousands of Palestinians in Gaza in immediate and entirely avoidable lethal jeopardy. There is a very narrow window for action. A massive humanitarian effort now could save hundreds of thousands of lives. This may be the last opportunity for the Biden administration to make a difference in Gaza.

[disorderofsevenstars]

Gender and Divinity

At one end of the gender spectrum lies the Feminine, associated with Black and darkness, the Earth and mundane matters, collectivity, interconnection, receptivity, cyclicality, synthesis, and heterogeneity. At the other end lies the Masculine, associated with White and illumination, the Heavens and spiritual matters, individuality, separation, exclusivity, linearity, analysis, and homogeneity. These two extremes, Yin and Yang, interact to create a multitude of permutations which lie somewhere in between the purely Feminine and the purely Masculine. Everything that exists as part of what we usually call "reality" is located somewhere in this intermediate space. The extremes themselves are conceptual, and do not exist in material reality, as they are characterized by a purity which cannot be found in Nature.

Sleeping, dreaming, and Death-as-a-state (in contrast with Death-as-a-process) fall within the domain of the Feminine, as do gravity and magnetism, Zero and the even numbers, the elements of Water and Earth, the Moon, and the Cosmic Void or World Egg. Femininity denotes a state of rest, stability, and equilibrium. It promotes slowness and longevity, regeneration and even immortality, characteristic of oceanic or cold environments and the organisms that live there, shielded from the mutagenic properties of solar radiation. The influence of the Feminine on human societies manifests through tribalism, collectivism, and egalitarianism, giving rise to social structures such as animist and polytheistic religions, cults, clans, matrilineal descent systems, polygamy and polyamory, democracy, communism, hedonism, mysticism, subcultures and countercultures. It is driven by the Dionysian impulse to shed the Ego, losing the Self within something larger, like a drop of rain falling into the ocean. The Moon is a mirror; it does not generate its own light.

Femininity is the original and final state of all things. It is prominent in small children and the elderly, more so in non-human animals (especially large and slow-moving animals, those animals which are more primordial or lower on the food chain, as well as small animals with collectivistic tendencies such as ants), even more so in plants, and still more so in rocks, soil, and water. In animals, it is highly oriented toward the senses of touch, taste, and smell. During the course of our evolution, we developed eyes, learned to hunt, learned to walk on land, learned to stand upright, became taller, acquired language and logic, mastered the use of tools and fire, and lost our fur; some of us also lost our melanin. The development of an embryo into an infant, into a child, into an adult, involves a loss of plasticity; bones harden and fuse, the percentage of water in the body decreases, and neural pathways become more rigid. All of these traits indicate a process of Masculinization.

The Masculine is the domain of awareness, alertness, problem-solving, and conflict. It governs changes, transitions, and boundaries. Masculinity is a property of electricity, odd numbers, prime numbers, the elements of Fire and Air, the Sun, and the Axis Mundi. It is dynamic and always in motion, striving to reach the Feminine rest-state, like an arrow flying towards a target, or a key inserted into a lock. The influence of the Masculine on human societies manifests through individualism and inequality, giving rise to colonialism, capitalism, competition, war, monotheism, monogamy, patriarchy, the nation-state, asceticism, and scientific thought. Driven by the Apollonian impulse towards separation and clarity, it prioritizes facts over feelings.

Unable to coexist and seeing plurality as a threat, Masculinity seeks to dominate the Other and propagate the Self, often through violent means; Western culture, Christianity, and Islam are examples of this. Monotheism and patriarchy have a mutual affinity, and in many cases, one promotes the other. The god of a monotheistic religion is usually male. The Sun is the central axis around which all bodies in the Solar System revolve. This tendency of the Masculine to see itself as superior lies behind the association of Light with Good, and Darkness with Evil. Humans, considered as a whole, lean towards Masculinity, and serve as a Masculine counterpart to the natural environment of Earth.

The supreme divinity is like a polygon with an infinite number of sides: simultaneously circular and linear. Fate arises from the interconnection of individual wills, a product of emergent complexity, many individual entities inadvertently working together in a larger system. "GOD" can be described as genderless, or a perfect balance of all possible genders. It has the Feminine quality of Being, and the Masculine quality of Unity. It is an all-pervasive energy field of pure universal consciousness, which can be channeled into various manifestations that possess genders and other specific attributes, like white light being split by a prism into its spectral components. These facets of divinity are conceptualized in every pantheon of deities, in the 12 signs of the Zodiac, in the 22 Major Arcana or 22 letters of the Hebrew Alphabet, in Kabbalah as the 10 Sefirot, in Christianity as the Holy Trinity, in the Tzolk'in as the 20 Naguales, and in Chinese cosmology as the Ba Gua (Eight Trigrams) and 64 Hexagrams of the I Ching.

[3/16/2024]

[architectuul]

Utopia K67

In his novel Blindness Jose Saramago narrate a story of a plague that affects the city so the encounters between inhabitants become increasingly frightening. The immense absurdity of the capital development of the contemporary city recalls Saramago's apocalyptic vision of the development affected by an epidemic of white blindness.

How will we live together when public spaces are sold out? The story is a parable of the fear of the unknown - is it war, isolation or just the fear of being to close to each other? 

Public talks in K67 with local cultural and political figures transmitted live on-air of Independent Coastal Radio NOR.

The utopia starts in projects that are going beyond the expected rules. It points out the neuralgic problems of the location and seeks the analysis of the current state of matter. One of the utopias stands in a small Slovenian coastal town Koper - in a public square where a parking lot is situated on the most prominent position next to the sea.

The utopia - K67 kiosk, designed by Saša Mächtig in 1967, concludes its story with the absurdity of the use of the public square next to the sea in favor of parking. As the writer and journalist Martin Reichert, to whom we dedicated this project, would say, “it is a parking lot with the most beautiful view in the world."

K67 is one of the best examples of design during the former Yugoslavia. In the context of the presentation in the public space, with the help of the owner Coastal Galleries Piran, it was placed on the square in Koper in December 2021, in order to become a new generator for its urban content.

From spring to late autumn 2023, a process of tactical and performative urbanism took part in the K67 in favour to create an inclusive public space. The main concept proposed and elaborated within the municipality was based on the change of the current parking lot on the square into a green community space.

Unfinished project Solis was more than ten years a failure of a PPP concept. After COVID the investor succeeded to add two more floors of the private apartments.

Tactical urbanism is the opposite of investment urbanism, which has a dispersed structure of activity in space and builds various, mainly residential buildings that sell well, but without a well-thought-out placement in the context of the city. The last plan for Koper was signed by the architect Edo Mihevc in the 1960s.

Urban Plan for Koper, Edo Mihevc (1961). | Source © Neža Čebron Lipovec

The renovation of the new roof for the city market was executed via the municipality but without a public competition.

Today it looks like investor urbanism is much faster than the concept of town planning per se. This results in a fact that there is no more urban planning in the city of Koper today.

The farm market with live animals in plastic tent on Ukmarjev square shows the discrepancy of communication between the municipality and experts.

In Koper as in other towns across the Adriatic coast there is an obvious pressure from investor urbanism. Public spaces are mostly touristized, privatized and don’t belong to dwellers anymore. Therefore is important to ensure that buildings are not built without public competitions. The K67 stays a reminder of a utopia that shall make aware of the importance of reuse and creation of community spaces.

The cruise ships don't need to pay tax in Koper so instead of Venice, were are banned are welcomed for a pollution of cruise tourism.

The utopia K67 is dedicated to the writer and journalist Martin Reichert.

[inkintheinternet]

The 3rd and 4th Dimensions

By Arjuwan Lakkdawala

Ink in the Internet

We are defined by what we think, it is also what sets us apart from the animals. Consciousness is the true expanse of the world we experience and interact with, the subconscious plays its part as well on who we are and who we become.

So is there anything on earth more valuable than information? We could say material things like diamonds or gold. But I could load a truck with diamonds and it would still be a truck. Load the mind with information and the person changes. What kind of change will depend on the information.

The knowledge we have completely changes everything about us - from the way we talk, walk, to the way we behave in every situation.

We can almost instantly tell what a person is about from their choice of words.

The significance of mind over matter raises the question of what is intelligence? This is not simple to answer because our thinking takes many forms, so which pattern of thoughts and formation of ideas can be categorized is difficult. Remember we are not here trying to define the meaning of words, that can easily be done using a dictionary, what we are trying to define is what is the intellectual ability used to construct and understand ideas, concepts, mathematics, and formations of multidimensional patterns of thinking, and of course the part memory storage plays in strengthening our thinking.

Computer scientists of this era have this very task of understanding the processes of human thinking, from the virtual such as the imagination to the intricate details of the brain’s chemistry and functions of neurons and cells, etc.

And then to replicate whatever they can into neuromorphic computer chips.

The reason I have gone into these details is that we are - especially in this era highly effected by information, as we get subjected to an unprecedented amount daily, which is the first time this has happened to mankind. It is increasing the expanse of our minds for better or worse.

In my research I found two concrete definitions of two types of intellect.

1. Crystallized Intelligence

2. Fluid Intelligence

The first is said to be easier to rely on and acquire, which is intelligence based on memorizing sets of information either by reading or experience.

The second is perhaps the closest definition we have reached so far regarding “intelligence.”

Fluid Intelligence is the intellectual ability to think and come up with a solution, discovery, or understanding of things, or complex problems, we had no prior information about.

It is rather easy to understand how Crystallized Intelligence is acquired and then applied. But how does the mind produce Fluid Intelligence on demand when there is little or no prior information about a task. I didn’t find a definite answer to this question but I got nearer to understanding it by looking into neurons, brain plasticity, necessity, logic, reason, mathematics, and so much more.

A 2018 article from the Human Brain Project sheds some light on this aspect.

An experiment was conducted on living brain tissue taken from patients that had undergone operations for tumors. In cases some healthy tissue is removed to perform the operation. Prior to the operations of about 50 patients they were given IQ tests.

Side note: IQ tests don’t really define how intelligent we are but they can measure and compare how well we solve specific intellectual tasks, by counting the correct answers and how fast we were able to reach the right solutions.

Based on this method of cognitive examination each patient was given an IQ score.

Then MRI examination analysis were taken into account as well. The final conclusion of the study was published in the journal eLife.

They found that higher IQ patients’ neurons fired up faster, and they had longer dendrites. The human brain has about 100 billion neurons, they pass on information in the form of electrical signals known as ‘Action Potentials’ the individuals with higher IQ had faster action potentials. Based on this study we can safely say that a sign of high intelligence is ‘speed.’

However, what about individuals who struggle with learning, why is there a difference in the cognitive abilities from person to person.

It is said that intelligence is partly heritable and that there are genes that influence better brain structure and functionality, which in turn influences better performance in intelligence tests.

Little is known about how genes and the environment affect the brain while it is developing, but while there are genes that can predisposition a person to better or high intelligence, external factors like education, emotional well being, mental health, and various other aspects could effect the ability to learn.

Early researchers believed that the brain developed only till adulthood, but new research shows that the brain is malleable, and has neuroplasticity also known as brain plasticity, studies have shown that as the brain learns not only its functionality improves but it physically changes its structure. And this is a lifelong ongoing process.

The brain is so efficient in caring for itself that if there is physical damage to part of the brain, it will take the functionality of that part and move it to another region and restore an ability that was lost. This is provided the damage is not too severe.

Even our neurons are selected based on usage, the ones not used often or never, die. So to improve learning the brain should be given mental exercise to improve neuroplasticity; brain structures and functions.

The difference in neuroplasticity could be one of the major factors of why intelligence and learning is not on the same level from person to person. However, improvement is possible for everyone at any age.

Another powerful aspect of learning is mental imagery without external input. Examples are the imagination, visual memory recollection, dreams. I did research on how exactly the brain creates visual images, it is a category of ongoing research, but quite a bit is known about the regions said to be responsible for mental images, like the Primary Visual Cortex at the back of the head, and the Prefrontal Cortex at the front of the head. The Hippocampus and amygdala are also contributors among other parts and functions.

Some personal notes: from everything I have read until now what I can understand is that thoughts do have a physical existence in the form of electrical signals (action potentials) and so the signals firing up in the brain can indeed physically change its structure, and the mental imagery is that the brain is a thinking biological device capable of creating vision, it’s how we see the world with our eyes open, and the imagery mechanism within our brains continues in dreams and thoughts.

I have to say Subhan Allah who created us in such miraculous construction.

Now that we have a good understanding of the internal biological processes of learning, let’s ponder how did man’s thinking evolve to scientific methodologies from the primitive era of the Neanderthals and Denisovans. I think mankind first looked to the cosmos, the sun, moon, stars, unfortunately ancient history records show that science was not the immediate inspiration but it was paganism with human sacrifice, so to move forward in time to the records of the earliest scientific thoughts about the world and the cosmos, we’ll explore the scientific history of the atom.

What are we made of? What is everything made of? The simple answer is atoms. In the 5th century BCE, Greek philosophers made some correct assumptions, and possibly so did Indian and Chinese philosophers at about the same time.

1. Subdivision was possible to a unit that could not be further divided (atoms)

2. Atoms are in constant motion.

While the atoms can be split they contain 'elementary particles' that cannot like electrons and quarks.

There are four states of matter: Solid, Liquid, Plasma, Gas. We can see these and so they are easy to identify.

(Examples of plasma is the sun and the stars, even some fires can be a type of plasma.)

But what about what we cannot see like the atoms. How did the earliest scientists find evidence of their existence. This is one of the geniuses of human thinking, to apply logic, reason, and experimentation to make discoveries and then inventions.

The credit for the first direct evidence of the existence of atoms goes to the Scottish botanist Robert Brown, who in 1828 discovered that pollen suspended in water was moving constantly in complex paths, this is observable with a microscope. The movement was due to the molecules in the pollen and water colliding. This phenomena was named Brownian Motion.

Then Albert Einstein in 1905 published papers that explained how Brownian Motion could be used to measure the size of atoms and molecules.

He explained that the movement was due to kinetic thermal energy of molecules

Picking up on Einstein’s paper the French physicist Jean-Baptiste Perrin in 1908 produced accurate sizes for atoms and molecules.

The measurements can be made by seeing how many microns particles with the diameter of 1 micron move horizontally in a minute.

These were the earliest indisputable confirmation of the existence of atoms.

Scientists did it without modern super advanced technology, they used reason, logic, mathematics, and developed experiments with high precision scientific parameters.

The ability of discovering the depth of the iceberg from the tip of it is one of the most prominent marks of intelligence.

Carl Sagan, the astronomer, planetary scientist, and science communicator, inspired by the 1884 satirical novella Flatland by the English schoolmaster Edwin Abbott Abbott, gave a fascinating demonstration of how those living in a 2 dimensional Flatland could have difficulty understanding the 3rd dimension.

A round object like an apple descends into a land where everything is flat, they only have lines, everything is 2 dimensional. So they only see parts of the apple that land and the parts are flat, they cannot see the complete apple.

In the same way the earth looks flat but is round though we being on earth, sort of like in flatland cannot see it, but when we go into space the 3rd dimension we can see it. There could a 4th dimension that we cannot perceive. Mysteries and scientific discoveries could be similar but possible to unravel if we study the clues.

Copyright ©️ Arjuwan Lakkdawala 2024

Arjuwan Lakkdawala is an author and independent science researcher.

Twitter/X/Instagram: Spellrainia Email: arjuwan.writer@gmail.com

Sources:

Libretexts - Physics

Britannica - Max Planck, roger h. stuewer, fact-checked by the editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica

Plasma-Universe.com - know plasma, k ow 99.999% of the universe (no plasma, no universe)

PSFC - Plasma Science and Fusion Center, massachusetts institute of technology, what is plasma?

Princeton University PPPL, about plasmas and fusion, what is plasma?

Human Brain Project: Brains of smarter people have bigger and faster neurons

Leibniz research centre for working environment and human factors, how genes, brain characteristics and intelligence are connected

Very well mind - how neuroplasticity works, kendra cherry, msed

eLife - how the brain constructs dreams, Erin j. Wamsley

Johnson and Wales University, college of professional studies - unlocking the power of the mind: the brain region behind creativity and imagination, jwu

The conversation - what is mental imagery? Brain researchers explain the pictures in your mind and why they useful

Brownian motion - general physics

[twistmusings]

i just finished reading all your character room analysis that have been posted so far and I gotta say- I know its obvious but I really admire the effort put into all of these- you're really really good with details and that's is amazing :D it takes a lot of focus to do that (at least for me :'^ )

oh and that part where you said Floyd's organization style reminds you of how ADHD people are that's so true! as someone with ADHD myself I can point out other things about this like the snack shelf over his bed: people with ADHD have frequent mood swings and suddenly want to do things so perhaps there are times that Floyd randomly wants a snack so he doesn't have to get up to get one or open up a container just to open another container to get his snack he can just sit up and get one from the shelf thing and get one which is why its just kept outside so its not too much of a hassle

or he could be bursting with energy and cant sleep so he could eat to make himself sleepy again

probably doesn't work because there's defo a lot of sugar in it which makes it even worse so he DEFO pesters Jade at 3 am- they defo brawl a lot in the middle of the night LOLLLL

and and the places where the snacks are kept look very quick to open like the cookie jar is so easy to open and the ones next to it are probably plastic bags that you can just fold over to close it so another thing to prevent the inconvenience

his hung up uniform could've probably done by him and since he has no trash around could also mean that he might have been in the mood to clean his room then gave up halfway to wander off and do something else or he got distracted

yaaa that's it I hope that wasn't too much yapping have a good day :'DD

Hey, this is a great addition to receive! While I'm in the process of being diagnosed, I suspect I am likely ADHD (or AuDHD, it's hard telling atp) and I can certainly say the hyperfixation helps when it comes to getting these posts out. Sometimes it's a blessing and sometimes it's a curse, as I'm sure most neurodiverse people can attest to.

That being said, I agree with pretty much all of this! I definitely go through fits of inspiration to clean but I rarely ever actually finish a project once I've started as my attention doesn't hold out that long. I have to actively remind myself of things as well as I go that I started and then stopped.

I also keep snacks close at hand when I can, so I can relate to Floyd with his midnight snacking. If he's anything like how I am, there are just straight up periods where I forget to eat for hours at a time and want to have something on hand once it gets bad enough that my funky brain worms decide it can't wait anymore.

Personally speaking, I think it's interesting because in the canon text, we seem to get hints that Jade may also be neurodiverse in a different way than Floyd. He certainly seems to have hyperfixations, even though those don't show up quite as much in his bedroom as much as they do in his actual canon text - largely only in his terrariums. (The fact that Jade can recognize obscure mushrooms from across the world in the Harveston event when he would normally live under the sea is something I find telling - this isn't a hobby that he does surface level studying in. Then you put him next to Idia and Sebek and like... listen that may well have just been the most Neurodiverse event we've ever gotten.) I may do another examination of the character down the line once this is done where I examine their Vignettes and their dialogue in events later down the line, as that's a lot of re-reading to dedicate myself to, so I suppose one step at a time. I definitely think that would be an interesting thing to tackle at some point, and so much of why Jade is one of my favorite characters actually comes from his dialogue. He's one of the few characters that we actually get so much of his characterization from his dialogue in random events that are easy to miss.

I love examining canon. Of course people with headcanon the twins however they may, but I think it's worth seeing how realistic of a portrayal some of these traits the characters have are wrt real-life neurodiverse people. I never want to say for certain that I think a character is 100% neurodiverse considering I'm not the original author of TWST, but I certainly do think there's a reason a lot of my Neurodiverse friends who also play latch onto certain characters and see themselves in certain characters too.

I'm definitely glad that you enjoyed my post! I love getting messages like this, it makes me feel so appreciated for the work I do put into considering these little details. Thank you!

[gudmould]

How to use MoldFlow to reduce hidden costs in injection molding industry

Classification of mass production costs of plastic products Relationship between design and cost Although design cost only accounts for 20% of the total cost, it determines 80% of product manufacturing cost. And of 80% of product manufacturing cost, only less than 40% is determined by manufacturing itself! How to effectively reduce hidden costs in development The most effective tool to reduce…

[staticl0ve]

The Pig and the Fox - Ch. 6 - Connor/AFAB!Reader

Pairings: Connor/AFAB!Reader (no pronouns used) Rating: Mature/Explicit/NSFW 18+ Link (AO3): Read it Here Chapters: [ Ch. 1 ] [ Ch. 2 ] [ Ch. 3 * ] [ Ch. 4 ] [ Ch. 5 * ] [ Chap 6 ] / 6 Words: 7.4k Warnings: mild violence, smut, oral sex (f!receiving), unprotected PnV sex, implied drug use (supporting character), so much swearing, reader does wear feminine attire Summary: When a thief meets a cop, they’re on the opposite sides of the law, two flips of a coin. However, there’s more to life than things being black and white. In a post android revolution, not much has changed for the common citizen. The rich get richer and the poor, well, they work. They adapt. They sacrifice. You straddled that fine line, one toe in the light and one in the dark. So does Connor, but you don’t quite see that yet.

Chapter Six - Change *

People talked about change with suspicion and fear. Optimism was becoming rarer as the world began to unravel. For better or worse, change was inevitable.

In the 1990s, a Dot-com bubble burst and suddenly, technology wasn’t the profitable and bright future advertisers promised it would be. Highways normally packed had cleared out, houses were selling left and right as workers began fleeing the collapsing market. As expected, this was the nature of booms to come and go. Like with the dawn of the industrial era, the invention of trains, there would always be something new and better. Once again, a match was lit and then came the birth of the computer phone and the peak of social media.

Change was never in short supply. The climate was warming extremely in places, cooling too much in others. A younger generation listened to their seniors bemoaning about how evening skies used to be filled with insects or dreamy recollections of windshields that had to be hosed off after road trips. The signs were all there. In Florida, a condominium collapsed into a beach and on the fog covered coast of California, a woman woke to half of her bedroom fallen into the Pacific Ocean. There it was again, that funny little feeling. Bees were dying off, tornadoes tearing across cities, and whole species vanishing. Things were never going to be the same and after the android revolution, the question many asked was: what’s next?

Perhaps, some thought, the machines would save us all. Dust bowl fields began bouncing back thanks to the tender love and care of robot bees. It was the beginning of the scales tipping back and away from a perilous edge.

As for Connor, he wanted to believe he remained the man who caught Hank’s arm and pulled him up from the ledge of a building. Not quite a hero, but a good person. Good in that he was forgiving, willing to offer coffee to a man like Gavin Reed, who’d rather punch his “pretty plastic face in,” as the man had once said. The android was kind and considerate, always mindful of his impact on others. He tipped his dry cleaners, helped the elderly cross the road and gave endless amounts of scritches to a very needy Saint Bernard.

Connor was a good man.

… Although.

He preferred not to dwell on what was or that there was ever a part of him which was beyond his control. He feared he was still the hunter whose lightning reflexes added a bullet square in the head of a deviant whose only wish was to survive. A deviant whose back was turned as he ran from Connor’s aggressive line of questioning.

You’re going to be switched off. We’re going to search your memory and tear you apart piece by piece for analysis.

You’re going to be destroyed. Do you hear me?

Destroyed.

It wasn’t him. He had no agency then. But if that wasn’t him and if he had left his deviant hunting in the past, then why was it so easy slipping back into old ways?

Deviancy did not cure him of an old itch that gnawed at his processes. They built the RK800 to hunt and deep down, Connor knew that was why he enjoyed the work he did. Every chase that led him through narrow alleys and climbing over rickety structures helped satisfy the dormant parts of his code. It wasn’t quite the same as the mindless joy once obtained from a certain Zen garden.

But tonight, he was dangerously close to flirting with a temptation he thought he left behind. Fragments of preconstructions innocently offered him much deadlier, quicker options as he parsed through security footage, counting the number of guards. His wires buzzed, coursing full of electricity and heat. Amber light colored his cheeks and Connor resisted.

Fifteen minutes.

He gave you exactly the full duration before he made his move. A man stepped out of a side door, bright light reflecting off of watery pools by the entrance, disappearing as the door slammed. The newcomers’ nose dipped into the white glow of his phone, accompanied by a puff of haze from a vape. It took seconds for Connor to slide from the shadows and render him unconscious. Cuffs clicked together as he twisted the man’s arms around his back.

No excessive use of force. That was what Connor promised himself as the edges of a gold badge dug into his hip. He was here to uphold the law and deescalate.

The side door opened quietly into the front entrance and the main guard, expecting his friend, reacted to Connor’s appearance with a noise of surprise.

“Mother fucker!” the guard cried out.

Concerned the commotion would alert others, Connor dove towards the large man. They wrestled, knocking into racks full of day old bread, rubber wheels squealing as they slid around the polished cement floor, stopping once they hit a display case. Connor kept a palm over the guard’s face, his lean torso draped around the back of the man, muffling their fight. The guard spun the android around, slammed him into the front door but Connor did not relent, fitting the man’s neck into the groove of his forearm and biceps. He clamped down, squeezing the air out of the guard until he finally went slack on the floor. Alarmed he had gone too far, a sigh of relief left Connor as his fingers found a pulse.

A close call. He would not allow himself to be so careless again. As he made his way past display cases and further into the building, his audio sensors worked overtime to pick up stray sounds. A hush fell. The store room nearby had cleared out, footsteps fading towards a much louder confrontation further in the warehouse. Sluggish foot falls, like someone was dragging their feet, had Connor back on alert. A shadow stretched in from the open doorway, slowly growing in size.

“Leo,” he breathed out as the brunette hobbled into view. “Leo Manfred.”

“Who—” Leo began, making motions to step back from where he came from. “Who are you?”

“My name is Connor. I’m with the DPD,” Connor explained, one palm flat and raised while the other held out a gold badge.

Leo gave him a look of disbelief, wincing as his bruised eyebrow rose.

“No way.”

“I’m here with Fox. I know about the wire deal with Gavin.”

“Yeah? Well, he fucked up the pickup and got me in this mess.”

Connor hummed, smiling back at the other man. In better circumstances, with more time, he’d have made a joke about Gavin’s incompetence but erred on being straightforward.

“You have my reassurance that you are in good hands. My partner, Lieutenant Anderson, is just outside.” He spoke slowly and clearly, head nodding along with Leo’s. A silent “okay.”

Connor escorted him out the front door, inviting a blast of cool air and windswept rain into the warehouse. A car rolled in across the street, its headlights off and that was the cue Connor needed to loop the outside camera footage.

Leo gave him a worried glance as he stepped halfway out into the rain. “You gotta get Fox outta here.”

“I will,” the android promised.

As soon as Hank opened his car for Leo, Connor ran.

The kitchens weren’t nearly as empty as the storage rooms. A worker was in the middle of filling boxes with bags labeled flour. Connor acted quickly, reaching out to tug the worker away from their duties. But they didn’t wish to go down without a fight as they maneuvered a switchblade open and tried to slash at his face, his chest. One more stab attempt and their wrist crumbled like foil in his grasp. Now, with his forearm bent around their neck, Connor had to squash the urge to use the full brunt of his android strength on fragile bones. Spines were funny things, surrounded by intricate layers of nerves, supporting and balancing a body’s weight and they were so, so incredibly easy to break.

Too caught up in his moral dilemma, he nearly missed your voice calling to him.

A terrified and desperate cry that rang between his ears.

“Connor!”

You said it through your connection, but he heard it as if he was there. The worker thrashed in his arms and he heard your muffled cry of pain from rooms away. As soon as your vitals cascaded down his sight, planes of red crept from the edges of his eyes. Words like “deescalate” and “stick to the mission” flickered on by. On any other day, this sea of crimson would have been alarming, but Connor knew that if he glanced around, the wall was only a voice, a string of his own internal monologue and morals keeping his more… brutal tendencies at bay. Another scream, yours, followed by a dull thud and heavy rattling—the kind a body would make when meeting a hard surface.

The android was almost certain the neck in his arm was no longer whole, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance; the source of your voice. He didn’t even notice the body falling at his feet or recall stepping over it. Familiar, old processes clicked into place as brown eyes dimmed to a piercing black with thin, spinning red rings in place of irises. He felt himself fall into the background, turning off social modules to favor faster reflexes and better scan times.

Shoulders taut, spine straight, his long limbs carried him through the kitchens and into the smoky air of the warehouse. As his shoes made their first click on the floor, the room descended into darkness and he stalked forward, easily following his preconstructions. As a deviant, he had become tame and docile after the revolution, always seeking the pacifist route. And yet, with how he stepped into the darkness, ready to do whatever was necessary to guarantee your safety, he nearly felt the weight of a blue band around his arm.

It was easy finding his targets as they fumbled in the dark. There was a hammer, abandoned on a crate, its hefty handle barely registering on his sensors. It was easy lifting it and even easier moving his forearm until the blunt end met a guard’s face. A hideous shriek filled his sensors and hot liquid gushed, splattering across pale cheekbones. Connor was vaguely aware of what he may have looked like, a shadow, a blur of an LED closing in on a target and the dull, blank stare of a machine.

The humans, cybernetics or not, moved sluggishly to him. Their aim wasn’t terrible, but he could predict their movements and was long gone before their fingers pressed a trigger. Bullets tore apart crates, spraying bits of wood everywhere and causing panic to spread. There was a flash of white from a gun, blinding almost, followed by a gurgled cry mixed with wet, crunching sounds. Friendly fire. The initial quiet had broken into shouts from varying directions, when suddenly, a woman’s voice cut through the chaos in a stern tone.

“Move and I shoot,” Georgia threatened.

The RK800 fixed his gaze on the origin of the command, followed the gun from her hand to your head as you kneeled on the ground. A few of the brutes managed to tag team against Connor in the dark, their eyes gleaming red, irises spinning as their night vision processed his location. One fist met the core of his chassis, flooding his HUD with errors as a different set of arms attempted to wrangle him. In the commotion, a bullet managed to pierce his shoulder, but Connor was unfazed.

He was busy tracking the trigger attached to the pistol by your head. Georgia tightened her grip, her hand steady and eyes narrowed. She was an experienced drug lord and had seen her share of bloodshed. This was a typical weeknight for her.

“You’ve made quite the mess of my operation,” she scolded Connor like he was a schoolboy. “If you want this vermin to live, bring your hands up. Now.”

He sent you a preconstruction of his schemes, and you hardly had time to piece together what he was trying to show you. The clock was ticking. Dire circumstances had a strange way of making people honest. How’d that saying go? Something about only doing something if someone put a gun to your head?

“I trust you,” you shared, watching his LED spin at your reply.

Then all hell broke loose. Starting with the person at his front. Connor knocked his face into him, crunching soft cartilage as blood gushed down from the man’s broken nose. Reaching for his pistol, the RK800 only needed a twist of his wrist to empty a few rounds into the man. He spared no other thought for the person behind him, their arms now wrapped around his neck, pulling and twisting. Connor brought his gun to his lower abdomen, shooting straight through a lesser bio-component.

He had seconds left.

His arm whipped back around, barrel lined up to his assailant’s face, and with a last bang, he brought the lights back up.

At the sight of a manic machine, gray blazer and white dress shirt soaked purple in some spots and distinctly red and blue in others, the rest of the less brave suppliers made a run for the kitchens. All but Georgia, whose face was caught in a scowl, arm still raised, keeping you in her crosshairs.

“Back up. Slowly,” she demanded, tone even and controlled.

The situation was near laughable to the machine. A gun of his own was already in his hands, and he knew with absolute certainty that he could kill her before her next breath. Some twisted lines of code whispered to him, offering him a much more satisfactory ending, one which allowed him to draw out her misery and dole out a twisted idea of justice. His resolve was gone, and nothing was left to keep the real monster at bay as his LED blinked obediently.

A flash and another loud bang nearby had you flinching. Blood hit your cheeks and Georgia immediately fell to one knee as a bullet shot straight through the bone. She screamed, crumpling, the gun slipping out of her hands and clattering far out of reach.

Connor stalked towards her, rain and blood streaked dress shoes leaving crimson footprints in his wake. His hair was messy, wet and dripping, eyes wild, but his movements were precise. Soles clicked on the cement, falling into a slow, steady rhythm like he was treating each step as a note to a finale.

Your folded over body straightened and you let out a pained moan, wincing as you tried to stand back up. The drug lord was on her knees, half pleading, half sobbing while clutching her wounds. Her long, drawn out pleads made your skin crawl.

“Now wait just one minute.” She gestured, a bloodied finger pointing at a bag on the table. “I… I can m-make you a rich man. Take the bag, take your friend and go.”

Nothing stayed the same. Not you. Not Connor.

“N-no—” she cried out, voice fading.

Android hands wrapped around her throat, pulling her slightly off the ground. Connor’s eyes had glazed over and something stirred from within your chest. Look, one less drug operation was perfectly alright in your eyes, but seeing his hardened stare, the detachment he had as his head dipped to observe her last gasps—this wasn’t like Connor.

And what did you really know about the former deviant hunter?

Who were you to stop him from doing what you would have done? You arrived ready to slit throats to ensure Leo’s safe departure, while Connor was prepared for a dramatic arrest with no casualties. But you had seen into his dreams, seen his fear of frost, of an unfeeling machine taking over. Because beneath the honeyed smiles and his softness, he knew that regardless of all the good he did; the machine had never left.

In a place devoid of physics, deep in the mind’s eye, a coin flipped and landed on its side.

You hadn’t always done good things, but you weren’t a bad person. Hell, Georgia was the last thing on your mind as your mouth opened. This was for the stupid, sweet faced RK800 who chased you with a wild grin and rain drenched hair.

“Really?” you mused, laughing despite the dire circumstances. The airy sound was enough to draw Connor’s attention, although his grip did not loosen. “Turning off all the lights… where’d you steal that idea from?”

Blackened eyes blinked back at you, watched you move in between him and Georgia. At your sudden closeness, his indicator switched from a steady blue to an alarming red. Ignoring her sputtering, your fingers pushed and tugged to slot between his, attempting to make some space between the woman’s neck and your hand. You spoke to him once again, but this time, through an interface.

Old warehouse surroundings tiled away, flipping into the confines of a taxicab. There was the scent of car freshener, crisp and clean, and he caught the faint scent of your perfume. Tires rumbled over asphalt, occasionally finding a bump on the road. Gentle tunes had soothed you into a deep sleep, your head swaying to and fro. Connor was watching the city drift by when a warm weight sunk onto his chest. You were leaning over from your seat, cheek pressed against his shirt and arm slung over his lap as if you were seeking his hand. At the slight rise and fall of the vehicle, you readjusted, fingers meeting their target as your hand loosely intertwined with his.

He thought to move you, knowing he’d suffer the possible consequences of your wrath should you wake to such a compromising position. But when he tried to rearrange himself, you latched on tighter, burrowing and nuzzling against his chassis. So he let it go, watched the city cast its reflections on your peacefully slumbering face.

What you didn’t know, or may have realized when you were too busy wrinkling your nose at him, was that Connor did not share your disdain. Admittedly, he was curious about your end goals, why you did what you did when you could have enjoyed a simpler life.

The car slowed, stopping at a red light. That was when he saw it. Outside the taxi, night had shifted into day and he knew he was no longer in his memory of the taxi ride. Tall trees lined the walkways of a local cemetery, their leaves rustling with the breeze. Spaced out evenly across fields of green were shiny slabs of stone. Through the slats of a low black gate, he saw a crowd of people standing around a fresh mound of dirt with their heads dipped mournfully low. One person looked up, head turning towards the street and he recognized your face in the crowd.

“My best friend’s funeral,” you spoke from beside him, weight shifting in the car, almost startling him. “Red ice came for many of the people I knew, but… I wasn’t ready for it to feel so… personal.”

You had changed, no longer the same person napping in a taxicab. This version of you was different, a little younger, cheeks fuller, with reddened eyes and tears staining your cheeks, draped in all black, with flowers on your lap.

He couldn’t speak, lips parting, social modules turning up blank. Instead, he furrowed his brows and squeezed your fingers in his. Your lips parted, inhaling once before speaking.

“When the job markets tanked, it hit everyone differently. If you couldn’t code or work on biotech, you got left behind and… I was so wrapped up in not drowning, too focused on surviving… I failed to notice the suffering closest to me. I know stealing and moving money into nonprofits isn’t the right way to solve anyone’s problems. But I think—no, I know my best friend would be proud,” you continued, pulling out a small paper fox cutout from the bouquet. A smile broke across your face, cheeks warming at a memory he couldn’t see. “Our parents used to say we were as problematic as a pair of foxes, always finding trouble and getting into more just to bail the other out.”

You let out a short laugh, one that sounded more like an exhale and a sigh.

“I got really frustrated when protests and signs weren’t enough to fix things. I saw an opportunity to make things even and I don’t care that it makes me a thief.” Your fingers traced gently on the outlines of the petals in your lap. “Do what feels right to you. Bring Georgia in, have her rot in prison or don’t. She’s not special. There will be more to replace her, but your choice will change you.”

Connor weighed his options, saw a fuller picture of inky black mixing with white. He was coming back into himself, along with the feel of Georgia’s weakening pulse and his rage fading with it. The blaring red on his LED finally flickered once, twice, settling back into a cool blue.

The scenery around the vehicle slipped away, people and long stretches of grass emptying back into a drab warehouse with bodies littered around him. He saw you first, face half covered by a broken mask, lips bleeding, mouth open from panting and felt your hand next, pulling him away from the woman’s neck. His fingers buzzed with electricity, plastic white and glowing, intertwined with yours which glowed right back.

“What’s next?” you asked.

“We bring her in,” he answered, brown eyes melting into yours, warm and sweet again.

The wrap up of tonight’s ordeal took ages. They brought in ambulances and called Captain Fowler, which resulted in him howling about the paperwork. He relented once he heard about having Georgia in cuffs. Hank, after delivering Leo into the hands of capable medical staff, came back to check on Connor and his eyes widened as he strolled past body bags.

“Jesus. You okay, kid?”

Hank looked older, tired, and maybe that was just due to the weather, but Connor knew he was watching him carefully, studying the light show on his temple. Hank’s blue eyes appraised Connor’s injuries which had been roughly tended to by a tech medic. Patches of matte plastic filled the gaps where bullet holes were, taking their sweet time to conform to the rest of his android skin and the thirium on his clothes had faded, leaving the android covered in dark, crusted red stains. His jacket was garbage and tossed into an evidence bag.

It wasn’t possible for machines to appear tired, not in the same way that humans did with dark rings around their eyes or sunken features. Connor’s shoulders slumped, his head dipped and hanging forward like he was going to fall face flat. One could conclude he had seen some shit and was very over this evening.

Their eyes met for a second and a softness in Connor’s brown eyes put the older gentleman at ease.

“I am. Thank you Hank.”

He didn’t believe the android, but quirked a smile back at him. His head craned, pointing in the direction of his car.

“You need a ride home?”

Connor shook his head, eyes following you as you walked past open loading gates and towards a motorbike. He bid Hank a good night and jogged to catch up to you.

It was like you were already expecting him, hand held out to offer the front seat of the bike. He could tell from the way you were looking at him that you weren’t certain this was a good idea. There was an invisible line drawn between you. Not quite enemies, not quite lovers standing inches from each other.

As the corner of his lips tugged, so did yours. After everything that happened, maybe it didn’t matter what you two were anymore.

“Are you certain you’d trust a pig on a motorbike?” he challenged.

Do you want me?

Your cheeks swelled from an even toothier grin and he wanted to nip the soft flesh.

“That’s not just any motorbike, it’s my motorbike.”

Yes.

—

The ride was tense, in all the sweetest, heated ways. There was a stickiness to death, to darkness and worry that was best soothed by wandering hands and sharp pinches of teeth on soft skin. The rain turned Connor’s shirt translucent, his freckles and moles easily peeking through sheer material.

Wind chill bit at your hands and you dug your chin closer to him, pressed your body more snuggly to his and felt him chuckle in reply. Connor was, without a doubt, handsome even from the back. For every engine rev, lane change and turn, his shoulder blades flexed, toned muscles dancing beneath wet cotton. He didn’t help matters as he glanced back once with a reassuring smile, brown eyes darkening when he caught you staring. A pink tongue wetted his lips and his smile grew.

Your revenge came in the form of light touches. You raked your nails down his chest, face pressed to his back as he guided the bike through slippery roads. Your fingers traveled lower, tracing the shape of strong muscles down to the cool button at the front of his slacks. Fanning your fingers, you made a claw and dug at the loose material, the pads of your fingers grazing over a hardening shape beneath. He sucked in a breath he didn’t need, stomach rising and pulling at the drenched shirt. His hand gripped your wrist and pushed you into him as he rolled his hips, pressing his bulge into your palm.

“Your place or my place?” you asked, breath fanning down the back of his neck.

“Mine.”

It sounded a little like a declaration, and not just an answer.

You were a bit curious about his home, wondered if it would appear the same as it had in your dreams, but you found that as he brought you through the door, there would be little time to observe. His nails dug into your hips, gripping and pulling. Your lips met in a frenzy, tongues lapping filthy stripes across teeth. You captured his tongue between your lips, suckling it demonstratively and it made him whine in your arms. Limbs clattered together, messily like you were both fighting over who could lead this dance. Fingers ran over shirt buttons, ripping apart zippers, dripping water everywhere.

His touch roamed from a hand on your face, down your chest where Connor circled a nipple with this thumb. You felt him stop at your waist, a heavy palm keeping you from slipping away. Your nose met his, your lips hovering in an almost kiss. It was one thing to feel Connor within the blurry confines of a dream and another to experience the intensity of his want, let alone your wants in person.

You claimed his lips again, tasting rain and autumn. The tension in the room was similar to the air before a storm. It looked like that outside; the skies darkened with swirling clouds and cracking with light. You chased after that spark, hands weaving together behind his neck, fingers splaying over brown locks. Every breath you took, he consumed, lips parted, eager and heavy on yours. Each flick of your tongue was a fight and Connor could sense a victory as the curl of his lips tugged at yours, teeth catching your lips as you gasped for air.

“Fuck,” you laughed out, nails scraping the back of his neck. “You’re a menace outside of dreamland.”

He let out a low, guttural noise and pressed his hips to yours.

“I could say the same for you,” he replied. You smirked, seeming far more interested in dragging this out but Connor was out of patience. Large hands pulled your wrists until your hands separated from his neck. He brought them behind you, making sure you noticed how easy it was to secure you with one of his hands. “You’re much easier to handle like this,” he said, enjoying how your face shifted from mischief to annoyance.

“Connor,” you warned, tone hardly concerned. Your knee bent, bare thigh grinding against a growing hardness.

You should have wanted to feel safe, warm and soothed after such harrowing events. You both deserved a night where Connor could rock into you slowly with his lips against your ear, telling you how perfect you felt. He would do it too. You could tell from the reassuring circles he was rubbing over your pinned wrists that he’d absolutely do just that if you asked.

But you didn’t want that.

“I think… I’ve made this too easy for you,” you whispered it, lips brushing over his bare chest. “Tell me what you really want.”

He moved then, one hand slipping up your arm, tracing your collarbone. With an index finger, he pushed your chin up and he lowered his face, brown eyes watching you with growing seriousness.

“I want you to run.”

“Mmm,” you mused. Your tongue flicked out to lick his kiss bitten lips. “And what will you do when you have me?”

His mouth traveled across your cheek, leaving a damp trail and stopping once he reached your ear. “Don’t get caught. You have five seconds.”

You were light on your feet, skin squeaking from dampness as you spun around to rush across smooth floors and over decorative rugs. He chuckled once again and began counting down. By the time you heard “three,” you were already through his labyrinth of hallways and past his office, fingertips leaving a wet trail along door frames and wall corners.

“One,” he concluded and made his first step forward.

You were clever with your disappearance, as it was becoming obvious you had tampered with the connection by hiding your vitals from him. It left the hallways eerily silent as your breaths didn’t register on his sensors. He passed a few rooms to follow hand shaped watery streaks on his walls and entered his bedroom.

But you were gone.

The curtains were drawn and much of the evening light pollution poured over pale walls, coloring the room in vibrant blues and purples. His eyes caught the obvious disturbance in his bed sheets, where white linen piled into a mound at the center of the bed. Connor called your name like he was coaxing an animal out of hiding, voice saccharine and melodic. With a rough tug, he pulled the sheets apart, revealing a stack of pillows.

“Now who’s chasing who?” you said, emerging from the darkness behind his open door.

Your hand met his back, pushing hard before he could react, and he braced himself to fall onto the mattress. But he was quick and devious. A hand wrapped around your wrist, bringing you down with him. Somehow, you started on top of him, knees straddling over his hips and somewhere in between he was faster and the last thing you saw was a devilish grin before you were flipped onto your back. You felt him tug your arms over your head and the weight of his palm keeping them in place.

He pressed down harder on your wrists and you bucked your hips up in response, making him hiss as your sex ground onto his cock. More pressure was applied to your wrists. “Keep these here.”

Connor’s weight on the bed shifted down your body as his hands skimmed over your chest. He rubbed your sore muscles, brows furrowing at the fading bruises on your skin. His touch fell lower, a kiss here and there over your abdomen, the tops of your thighs. You gasped as his lips began trailing heated kisses on your knee and inner thighs.

“You wanted to know the consequences of being caught,” he stated, palms pushing your legs further apart. The tip of his tongue flicked gently above your clit, the sensation gone as quickly as it came. Your back arched as you clenched around nothing.

“Tell me then,” you replied impatiently.

“I intend to fuck you with my mouth, my tongue…” He wrapped his lips around you then, sucking at your nerves. His fingers traced over your folds and he made sure you felt the graze of him almost, but not quite, pushing into you. You sighed, an annoyed huff from above him, thighs pushing into the sides of his head. It was your feeble attempt to guide him, and it only spurred him on. “And with my fingers… until you ask for me.”

You laughed but couldn’t form any real rebuttal as Connor pushed one long finger past your folds. He pumped it in slowly, curling it along sensitive nerves. His tongue flattened on your clit, lapping the swollen nub in quick succession. There was a part of you that wanted to pull apart your hands and tug his hair until he groaned, but moving meant suffering a mysterious consequence. Another finger slipped in, his android skin turning white and buzzing with a glow.

“Fuck!” you cried out.

You squirmed in his bed, hips twisting, body aching for his fingers to hit a spot he was intentionally missing. Your hands clawed at the sheets over your head. One glance down and you could see the bright gold of his indicator spinning as his tongue prodded between your folds, licking his fingers as they left you. You felt his moan, his lips vibrating, causing an involuntary buck of your hips.

Connor tsked, mouth pulling into a grin as his fingers began moving faster, this time hitting the spot you needed. His other palm flattened over your stomach, pushing your hips back into the bed.

“So needy,” he teased. “Am I making you feel good?”

You glared through lidded lashes.

“N-no,” you lied while biting your lips.

He kissed your clit and chuckled again, fingers still continuing their effort to bring you to pieces. “The situation appears differently… from my perspective.”

You wanted to curse at him, tell him his mouth should be used for anything else but talk. Realistically, there was only so much false anger you could muster when his tongue was back on you, swirling and coaxing a blinding sensation that scorched up your spine. Your fingers twitched, muscles growing sore from how hard you were gripping the sheets. Despite Connor demanding compliance, you weren’t one for following rules. You moved your hands, nails digging into his soft hair, pulling his face closer. You could feel his smirk, but he obliged, lapping at you with a renewed fervor.

He was hoping you’d do something like this. Connor was looking for any excuse to be a little mean, to pull you in, tear you apart, and put you all back together again. A string of curses slipped past your lips, the tension unexpectedly snapping faster than you imagined. You came as he wrapped his lips around your clit, tongue grinding relentlessly on the swollen bud. There was hardly time to come down from your high before he removed his face from between your thighs.

“That’s one,” he said, and it made you clench around his hand.

“W-what—”

His tongue rolled, and you writhed on the sheets, moaning softly. When you got a little needier, a little more desperate, voice pitched like you were in pain, he checked in and was pleased when you impatiently scoffed out “green.” The concept of time was lost to you, as he may have spent hours or only minutes between your legs. Connor was too enthusiastic with the way he counted “two”, then “three” as you twitched and squirmed above him. You weren’t lying back and just taking what he gave. Curses and threats left your lips, your hands tugged and clawed at his hair, his face. But he never slowed and decided on a twisted form of mercy where he kept you on the edge, ignoring how your nails scraped into his plastic chassis.

He took his mouth off of you, rising up to hover over you, knees straddling your hips while keeping his fingers pushed snuggly into you. His face was a mess, shiny with your slick, his eyes half closed and darker than the night sky.

“You owe me an answer,” Connor demanded.

“What answer?” Your voice came out almost as a whine, but you managed to stifle the sound with an angry groan. You were so painfully close and the snail pace of his fingers only heightened your frustrations. You lifted your hips, fucking yourself on him, but he stopped you with a harsh grip and slipped his fingers out of your reach.

He nosed along your neck, lips brushing at the hollow of your throat. “Don’t play games with me, Fox. I promised you’d answer it, eventually.”

His voice rang in your ears but his lips didn’t move. There was a replay of a forgotten question, one which beat around the bush over what this—you in his bed, inviting yourself over to his home—meant.

A simple: Who makes you feel this good?

You bit your lip. This game of tug of war over the smallest bit of control in the bedroom could go on forever unless you conceded. And you could, for now, at least.

“It’s you. It’s you, Connor. You make me feel good. Fuck, if you don’t move your hand, I swear to god—”

Pleased, he sucked a bruise on your neck, resuming his movements between your thighs, building you back on the edge. As you pulsed around him, he snarled low, circled an arm around your waist and flipped you onto your stomach. Connor didn’t leave you with much time to complain, replacing his fingers with the head of his cock.

Red filled the android’s vision again. It was thick, all-consuming, a crazed sort of want. He had to be inside of you and any more time spent not doing just that was going to spur another existential awakening in him. His tall frame clung to your back, thirium pump racing as his arms dragged you into an embrace, pulling your lower half up to meet his hips. He pressed into you, just enough for you to feel the pressure of him spreading you open. His voice was strained, busy muttering filth in your ear, grinning when you moaned wantonly.

He explored the planes of your skin, kneading at your chest, used his hands to build a pretty picture of you face down. His touch was borderline possessive, teeth gently clamping down on the back of your neck whenever you bucked away from him. One hand slipped between your open thighs, reacquainting itself with a bundle of nerves that had you screaming into the mattress. Connor moved then, pushing more of himself in. His hips rolled, cock dragging in teasing strokes, hand drawing tighter circles around your clit. Your breaths drew him in closer, skin pressed tightly together.

“You’ll be good for me?” he asked as he hit the part of you that made you whimper.

You laughed, because of course you did. Your teeth glinted in the dark as your head turned to side eye the android.

“Give me your worst,” you replied. He twitched within you, brown eyes following your lips as they curled around a sentence he’d been dying to hear. “Break me.”

“Fuck—”

Nothing about how he moved was sweet or tender. As your moans were lost, muffled into a creaking mattress, Connor kept his head low, his face tucked between your neck and shoulder to soak in every vibration from the sounds he tore out of your mouth. And you were vocal, screaming his name the way he liked it. It surprised him how much this differed from stasis. Beyond the obvious hot, wet, and tight grip you had on him, the android didn’t anticipate the rush of euphoria building in his chest.

You see, it was never a game of chase for him. Yes, he had enjoyed his time at the art gallery and the way you looked at him curiously, like he was an oddity to sort out. You had him. In so many ways, Connor felt as though you had him the moment you both met eyes that one dark and stormy night.

He couldn’t slow his pace down now, not when you had pushed your hips to meet his thrusts. Your name left his lips, a stuttering mess of vowels and consonants as he watched your eyes close shut. His lips dragged down your neck, leaving behind a string of nips and bites.

“Oh god. Keep, keep doing—” Your sentence got choked off by a gasp as a familiar heat began building up from your abdomen.

He shifted from behind you, angling for deeper, short thrusts. You had him where you needed him, caught between his fingers swirling around you in a hypnotizing rhythm and his too thick cock. He lowered himself onto one elbow, his fingers intertwining with yours as he brought you to one last, mind numbing peak. His hands found your hips, gripping soft flesh while he tried to find his own end.

It was a lot. Connor was a lot. Teeth grazed over your shoulder and you felt a faint sting bloom across your skin. He barely sounded human as his vocals turned to static but he calmed, dissolved into a moaning mess when you brought a hand to card through his hair. A rush of warmth filled you, his hips finally stilling and strong arms pulling you into an embrace.

For a while, only your shared pants filled the room. You let him lay a series of kisses on your neck and pull you into him as he flopped over to his side with his arms never letting go. As the minutes drifted by and your eyelids too, you didn’t even notice him leaving your side and returning with a damp cloth. You did, however, remember a warm body attached to yours as night stretched into day and the weight of an arm on your waist.

———

After days of rain, Detroit finally saw blue skies and enough sun to dry out park benches. You were reclining, enjoying the sunshine and appraising the man that decided to ask you for a short stroll through the park. Leo was doing better. His wounds were patched up and the resulting stay at a hospital was an unexpected sobering up experience for him. You almost didn’t recognize him in freshly laundered clothes and what appeared to be hair that was recently washed. Even the dark shadows around his eyes were fainter. He really seemed like a new man.

“So,” he mumbled quietly, eyes not meeting yours as he dug his heels into the dirt. “I uh… I finally called him.”

He meant his dad, and you knew that without context, especially after months of hearing him fend off Carl’s calls.

“He said I could come home… clean or not,” Leo continued, and picked at his nails. Something about admitting his wrongs and needing his family made him feel smaller and younger, cheeks red and warm, like a teenager caught doing something bad. But this time, he was coming home to open arms and the shock of having a home to come back to made him nervous, like any second now, he’d slip. “But I amclean. I told him I’m done with that shit.”

“No more midnight rendezvous?” you joked.

Leo stood up straighter, with a renewed spark in his eyes. The case against Georgia was closed thanks to his involvement, and he still felt a calling, a deep urge to do something else with his life.

“I dunno about that. Think that old school by the corner could use some fresh paint and new books.”

You raised a brow, grinning back at him. “Paper books, in this century?”

He rolled his eyes at you, snapped his fingers and pushed himself off the bench. His head turned, angling to point at a well-dressed android in the distance. Connor, sensing the conversation was ending, tilted his head in your direction and smiled.

“You dating a cop?” he asked wryly.

And, you were done catching up.

“We’re not talking about that,” you dismissed and began walking towards Connor.

“How about over drinks?” Leo shouted after you, chuckling to himself.

When you reached Connor, the android gave you a broad smile, LED spinning as he processed what he could of Leo’s words from his distance. “Are we dating?”

Your eyes went wide, and you snaked an arm around his, pulling and dragging him back onto a park trail. You didn’t catch it, the airy, bright and hopeful look on his face as your hand wandered to grip his.

Change was a funny thing. It had a way of happening whether one could do anything about it. And you wondered a little, as you walked side by side with Connor, who changed who first.

—

One evening, a pig met a fox. It was the most unusual circumstance for the two to have met. And as the pig was a curious and intelligent animal, it approached the fox, but the critter, clever and wary, ran. For how could a beast with such short legs possibly keep up with the fox? But oh, the pig was just as swift.

To the fox’s surprise, what began as a chase ended in a stroll, as the two had more in common than either imagined.

[treeffles]

Hey Dipshit

——————————————————

A/N: this is the first time I’ve written anything in years, be kind pls. Implied depression and minor implied suicide idealizations. Long story short, Gavin’s fuckin depressed and Nines is trying to help.

—————————————————————————

“Where. The hell. Have you been.”

It was not a question, so much as a series of statements.

There was a long silence that followed as Gavin took another drag off his cigarette, ignoring the android behind him.

“Detective,” it said; another futile attempt to engage him. It’s LED flashed to red, but only for a moment, completely missed if one wasn’t watching for it. “Detective Reed, I am speaking to you.”

Gavin sighed, irritated that the machine wouldn’t leave him alone. “Yeah so what. You think I take orders from a fuckin machine? Fuck outta here, prick…” The last part was a mumble that ended with him lighting another cigarette.

He’d been hoping no one—nothing— would find him here. It was an old abandoned factory on the outskirts of Detroit, with a great view of nothing but the trees from six stories up. Abandoned pieces of equipment littered the ground below. And yet here he sat, on the edge of an already dilapidated floor, tempting fate. He hoped it would send him to his death. It would have been faster for him to drive, but when he’d left his house at 4 am, and after everything that’d happened, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself not drive off a fucking overpass. So he’d walked there instead. Sure it took him a couple hours to get there, but this was his place. A sanctuary he’d found for himself a few years back; he didn’t give two shits how long it took. Gavin just wanted to be alone.

But then that stupid plastic asshole had found him, and now, it wouldn’t leave him alone. Instead, he saw it tilt its head at him, and then it sat down next to him! The fucking nerve! “Fuckin hell Nines, just leave me alone!”

RK900 stared at Gavin, ice blue eyes doing a quick analysis scan. “Gavin,” its voice was soft? No, not the right word. But close enough. “I can tell you are in distress. I heard the skip in your voice. Why would you want to be left alone in this state?”

This fuckin android. “Because Nines, you plastic fuckin asshole, there’s not a damn thing you, or anyone else, can fuckin do to help. So just….” Gavin turned his back to Nines, cigarette left unattended between his fingers, hunched in on himself. “Just leave me alone…”

Nines remained silent, processing what Gavin had said. LED spinning yellow, Nines stood again, as if to leave. Thank fuck, Gavin thought. He didn’t want to deal with androids, or people, or anything. He just wanted the silence. Which was unfortunate for him, because Nines had other ideas. As the android stood, it grabbed Gavin by the arm, hauling him to his feet.

“What the fuck Nines?!” Was all he managed to get out before the android slammed him against the wall. That wasn’t gonna leave him with a concussion or anything.

“Detective, I,” Nines hesitated only a moment before continuing in a harsh tone. “I cannot fully understand what you’re feeling. What I do know, is that I have enjoyed working with you. Quite a bit,” the admittance was so quiet that Gavin almost didn’t hear it, especially not over the ringing in his ears. Damn that android was strong. “It would be a….a shame, if you weren’t here.”

By now it had started to get dark out; Gavin had been there all day. In what little light there was left, he could see Nines’ LED slowly pulsating red, eyes cast down on the ground. Dammit. Why does this asshole give a shit? he thought, wondering how the hell he’d ended up here. He shouldn’t care, Nines is an android for fucks sake! A walking, talking….living….piece of plastic. Gavin sighed, looking down at his feet still dangling about a foot off the crumbling floor. “Put me down Nines,” he whispered, and the android responded in kind. Sighing again, Gavin lit the last cigarette in his pack, he’d smoked two packs already, and looked up at the android, who was still standing way too close to him.

Nines stared back curiously; he could tell Gavin was wanting, needing, to say something. It sure was taking the human a long time to speak. Nines decided it was time to motivate him. Tentatively, the android reached over and tousled Gavin’s hair; it was something he’d seen Lieutenant Anderson do with Connor before. Apparently it was supposed to be soothing.

At first Gavin recoiled from Nines’ hand; the fuck was he doing?? But there was no ill will behind the reaction. Gavin just wasn’t used to being touched in such a gentle manner. Being touched in a not so gentle way was what sent him out here in the first place. The daylight was gone now, its glow replaced by that of the city in the distance. In its dimness, Gavin thought he saw something in Nines’ eyes. It was almost…..human. It wasn’t pity, but something more real, more raw, than pity. It was almost like….sadness.

“Hey, dipshit,” he started, with no malice in his tone. “I ain’t goin anywhere. I just….needed some space, yanno? But uh…thanks….for comin to find me….”

Nines opened its—no, his— mouth to speak, and was immediately cut off when Gavin leaned his head against his chest, and, almost, nuzzled him. The LED on Nines’ head when from red, to yellow, to blue, as he felt Gavin relax against him. This was….a nice feeling. “You’re welcome, Gavin,” Nines responded, staring up at the stars. “But it’s time to go.”

“Yeah…let’s head home.”

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

Instrument of Surrender

VOLITION - You think you have a pretty hot suspect right now, don't you? That Ruby of yours.

Yeah? And?

I don't need this criticism right now, this chapter is closed. [Discard thought.]

VOLITION - Notice how it came together without casting too much suspicion on *Klaasje* -- it was nice and *Ruby-centric* in the end.

What do you mean?

VOLITION - Anything strike you a bit off about this mish-mash?

Well... the bullet didn't have to come from the roof, it could have come from anywhere on the coast.

The bullet was jacketed -- these don't just lie around everywhere, do they…

It turned out the bullet was an antique…

The footprints in the pinball workshop didn't fit with the Odd Sole's prints on the crime scene...

So far no one has mentioned hearing the shot.

I'm done thinking about this. [Finish thought.]

VOLITION - Absolutely. It could have come from *anywhere*. But you're suddenly so certain it came from the roof behind the window.

2. The bullet was jacketed -- these don't just lie around everywhere, do they...

VOLITION - Good point. It is rather rare these days... But do continue.

3. It turned out the bullet was an antique…

VOLITION - True. Strange how you conducted the whole *advanced ballistics analysis* and then hand-waved it?

4. The footprints in the pinball workshop didn't fit with the Odd Sole's prints on the crime scene...

VOLITION - No, they didn't.

5. So far no one has mentioned hearing the shot.

VOLITION - Notice how this hasn't come up at all -- even Hardie and his boys didn't mention it. Neither did you.

That's as much a point against Klaasje as it is against Ruby.

6. I'm done thinking about this. [Finish thought.]

VOLITION - That's right. *Finish thought*. Just finish it and conveniently go on. She's watching you leave right now, you know that? Free as a bird on that roof. Lighting up a cigarette and thinking: am I glad Ruby's in this shit and not me!

We could still go back and arrest Klaasje, if we really wanted to. She hasn't left. Yet.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - Don't listen to this guy. The theory was solid. He's just jealous. Move on, it's no use harassing her further.

On our way past, I stop in at Frittte and buy a pack of Drouamine, since we don't seem to be getting much in the way of Health pickups lately. Also...

KNICK-KNACKS STAND - You see several packaged raincoats fill a low shelf beneath a display of croissants and juice bottles. The raincoats are transparent, except for the big 'FRITTTE' slogan on the back.

INTERFACING [Medium: Success] - The packages are small. Discreet. Sloppily stacked, making them easier to take unnoticed -- no need to worry about knocking over a display.

2. "I want to buy a raincoat." 3. [Savoir Faire - Challenging 12] Steal a raincoat.

FRITTTE CLERK - "Here you go." The clerk removes the garment from the lower shelf and hands it over.

"FRITTTE" PLASTIC RAIN COAT

+1 Endurance: Part of Frittte's army

A transparent plastic rain coat with FRITTTE (sic!) written on the back. The package photo shows a group of happy Revacholians dancing in the rain.

You know, let's chat with Mañana one last time.

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Olá, wandering man." He looks at you with soft and hazy eyes. "How can I help you?"

2. "Why are you striking?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "We're negotiating our share."

"Your… share?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Aye." He seems pleased with himself.

2. "How large a *share* would you like?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "All of it. However, right now we want all the harbour workers to be on the company's board, so they could take part in *the decision-making process*."

RHETORIC [Medium: Success] - This seditious talk sounds like communism. (Just so we're on the same page: Communism is basically wanting to kill the rich people or deporting them to a labour camp in southeast Graad. But don't say that out loud if you're a communist.)

3. "You seem to have spent a lot of time thinking about the political situation."

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Sure, I've had the necessary free time." He spreads his arms wide, using the reach to show how much time he has. "Fortunately, there's always time."

COMPOSURE [Easy: Success] - The look in his brown eyes conjures up an understanding: for him, having command of his time is the most important thing.

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Easy: Success] - It all comes together now, the way he speaks about scabs, his general attitude. He's a follower of a 500-year-old Franconigerian boiadeiro code -- itself an appropriation of Vespertine cool...

This is where we hit a new direction in the conversation -- last time we spoke to Mañana we had a 1 in Encyclopedia.

That of a noble peasant or a travelling herdsman. True to yourself, independent in your actions, loyal to your friends.

Maybe I am a boiadeiro?

It doesn't sound that cool. Sounds antiquated, obsolete, *passé*. It's not *disco*.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - No.

I could...

But...

What if...

Maybe...

Unless...

ENCYCLOPEDIA - No.

CALL ME MAÑANA - The man sits on the railing, his hands reaching far and wide, yet it feels as if he could effortlessly go even wider, if need be. An endless torrent of time.

4. "Got the picture. Let me ask you something else."

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Sure thing." A gust of wind blows through his hair.

SUGGESTION [Easy: Success] - What is this, news of the world? Talk about *personal stuff*. Get to know him.

3. "Wait... I don't even know your name. Who are you?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Call me Mañana. I'm just a humble harbour-worker... for the past six, seven years."

+5 XP

ENCYCLOPEDIA [Medium: Success] - Mañana sounds like a mesque word, but he doesn't actually look much like a mesque.

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - Not a given name, for certain. It's a taken name -- the kind for artists, or criminals, or revolutionaries and the sort. An alias. A *nom de guerre*.

"Mañana? You don't look like a Mesque..."

"Call Me Mañana.. What kind of a name is that?"

"Well met, Mañana. That's a sweet-ass name."

CALL ME MAÑANA - "I'm not. I'm *Vacholiero*. Not all Mesques have the Mesque look, either, you know. Things in the real world are a bit more... fluid. Stuff ain't always what it appears to be."

"Hold on, have you had any other names?"

"So it's a... nom de guerre?"

"So, not a given name, I take it?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Plenty to go around. Don't get greedy and try to swipe mine, though." He smiles merrily. "You've got your own."

"So it's a... nom de guerre?"

CALL ME MAÑANA - "A nom de guerre would be more like *Guerra Mañana*." He chuckles. Then realizes something.

"Now that we're getting so well acquainted -- what's your name?"

"I just found my name some time ago, on the coast. Finally! The name's Tequila Sunset."

"Okay, I think might be Harry." (Conclude.)

"My name is Harrier Du Bois. I think." (Conclude.)

"All right then." (Conclude.)

CALL ME MAÑANA - He reaches his hand out to you and shouts: "Boiadeiro!"

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - The man is deeply moved. You see his eyes turn teary with appreciation. He is extremely happy for you.

Shake his hand.

Leave him hanging.

CALL ME MAÑANA - You receive a good, strong handshake in return.

"You said boiadeiro? Tell me about them."

Have a moment of silence.

CALL ME MAÑANA - "A really cool guy."

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - It feels like there's an entire history behind the word... but it doesn't really matter. You got it. You know what it *means*.

"What kind of a cool guy exactly? It's not *just* a cool guy, is it?"

Nod knowingly.

CALL ME MAÑANA - "Like me and you. Exactly so." He takes a swig from his flask, then offers you some.

Thought gained: Boiadeiro

[zhishang-steel]

431 Quality stainless steel

Chemical composition and element analysis:

431 stainless steel is a high-quality stainless steel whose chemical composition has an important impact on its properties and applications:

Carbon (C) : 0.11~0.17%, moderate carbon content helps to provide strength and corrosion resistance.

Silicon (Si) : Silicon content ≤0.80%, used to improve corrosion resistance.

Manganese (Mn) : Manganese content ≤0.80%, used to adjust the mechanical properties of the material.

Phosphorus (P) : Phosphorus content ≤0.040%, control the content of impurities in the material.

Sulfur (S) : sulfur content ≤0.030%, help to improve processing performance.

Chromium (Cr) : The chromium content is between 16.00 and 18.00%, providing excellent corrosion resistance to stainless steel.

Performance characteristics:

Tensile strength: Has a wide range of tensile strength, from 880 MPa to 1350 MPa, depending on the specific processing and heat treatment conditions.

Yield strength: It has a yield strength of 690 MPa to 1050 MPa, showing good mechanical properties.

Elongation: with 12% elongation, showing a certain ductility.

Section shrinkage: up to 39%, describing the properties of the material at fracture.

Hardness: Annealing hardness is about 295 HBW.

International corresponding brand:

Chinese standard (GB-T) : digital grade S43120, new grade 17Cr16Ni2, old grade 1Cr17Ni2.

American Standard (ASTM) : S43100, in accordance with ASTM standards.

SAE Standards: No specific SAE standards are available.

UNS standard: 431, used to identify materials.

Japanese Standard (JIS) : meets sus431 in JIS standard.

German standard (DIN) : 1.4057.

European Standard (EN) : X17CrNi16-2.

Application field:

431 stainless steel is suitable for the manufacture of parts requiring high strength, toughness, plasticity and corrosion resistance, especially bearing parts working in wet media. Due to its high strength and corrosion resistance, it is often used in applications that need to withstand high stresses and harsh environments, such as Marine equipment and chemical equipment. In addition, it can also replace 1Cr17Ni2 in some applications, providing better performance.

[melancholyofinvisibleshores]

More bone posting!

@bliss-bliss-bliss-bliss you got the spirit of scoring: looking at some specific aspects of the bones that are used as sex indicators, then estimating if they fall more on the F side of things, on the M, the degree to which they are F and M, or whether they are in the exact middle. Then you consider all the different traits together to estimate the sex of the bone, and then all the bones together to give a final estimate for the skeleton. Not all bones are sex indicators (phalanges, are useless in this regard, for example) and some of them are more reliable than others (the pelvis wins over the mandible), so you have to keep that in mind (also single traits are more reliable than others so that is an ulterior complication yay!). Another thing that can complicate the process (aside from fragmentation or absence of bones) is that most of the traits have to be scored on the basis of morphology, which is to some extent described subjectively. For example, one of the traits of the cranium is the supraorbital margin (the upper margin of your eyesocket), which is sharper in females than in males. So you have to look at something and be like "ok so is this sharp? How sharp it is?" and then score it and...yeah, you need experience and references to know when something is sharper than something else. That's also why there are guides about this sort of thing and plastic casts. I can get more in-depth about the traits that are used for each bone, but it is a lot and it varies slightly depending on methods. To give you an idea, this is an image from "Recommendations for age and sex diagnoses of skeletons. (1980). Journal of Human Evolution, 9(7), 517,IN1,533-532,IN3,549". These are some (not even all!) of the characteristics used in the WEA method, which is quite old and was critiqued in some regards (but it is still used sometimes).

I was looking for the cool cranium pics, but I can't find them right now, so here, have an os coxa. Now, in the drawing, the differences are very clear, but as you can imagine reality is not going to play by idealisation rules. Some os coxa fit the picture perfectly, most don't and you have to deal with it.

The last thing that I want to mention, scoring methods exist also for age and age estimation is also an important part of the skeletal analysis. Age is really useful to create categories and plays an important role in many many different areas of research, from pathologies to activity and occupation, to societal structures and roles. However, I have yet to see someone try to restrict access to fundamental medical cures and nursing homes on the basis that "yOu dON't hAve tHe rIghT sk5leTal Bi0loGicaL struCtUrE!" and "you aRe deNyinG tHe orDer 0f NatuRe if YoU sAy tHat skEleTal aGe InDicaTorS aRe n0t str8fOrwArd aNd tHat th5re iS m0Re tHan 0Ne wAy tO be Old!1!1"

I wonder why...

[tarns-neurodivergent-lookbook]

How I Purged My Entire Closet in 48 Hours (PT.1: Preparing for a Purge)

TL;DR:

    Step 1: Do ALL your laundry.     Step 2: Sort your clothes into broad categories and write them down.     Step 3: Decide which categories you're purging today.     Step 3.5: Put everything you're not purging out of sight.     Step 4: Purge.

But if you want to know all the details of how I made it go so quickly for my neurodivergent self, here are the real steps to purging an entire closet.

The Real Steps to Purging an Entire Closet

Real Step 1:Understand how your brain categorizes your clothes.

Take a look at where you currently keep your clean clothes or how you aspire to store them. Are your socks and underwear crammed together in the same space, making it difficult to find the pizza patterned socks you really want to wear today? Apply the same concept to other clothing items as well. For example, if you have multiple styles of shirts mixed in the same drawer, it can lead to mental overload and analysis paralysis. Real life example:

Before my clothes purge, all my shirts from crop tops to casual long sleeves were crammed into the same drawer. This chaotic system didn't work for me because I rely on visual organization. If things aren't visible at first glance, they might as well not exist. Real Step 2: Categorize your clothes!

Here's my primary categories and subcategories: Tops Crops (sleeves of any length) Tanks Tees Nice Short Sleeves and No Sleeves Formal Short Sleeves and No Sleeves Casual Long Sleeves Nice Long Sleeves Formal Long Sleeves Exercise Bottoms Short Shorts Shorts Long Shorts Capris (purge category) Jeans Casual Pants Formal Pants Exercise Intimates Bras Sports Bras Underwear Boxers Socks Thigh High Mid Calf Above Ankle Ankle Tights Bathing Suits Masc Suits Fem Suits Secondary Warm Layer Sweaters with buttons Sweaters without buttons Hoodies Dresses (Sorted by formality) Skirts (also sorted by formality) Officewear, Etc. Coats Exercise Raincoats Vintage Winter Casual Accessories such as shoes, belts, hats, jewelry, as complementary items, are their own beasts and will be addressed separately after purging the bulk of clothing. The key aspect of Step 2 is that the bolded categories are planned and intentional, while some subcategories emerge organically as I take stock of my belongings and determine their appropriate spot.

Example of planned vs organic subcategories:

For intimates, I utilize a plastic chest of drawers. The top drawer is reserved for bras, the middle one for underwear, and the bottom one for socks. Purging according to these categories, one at a time, was part of my plan.

On the other hand, regarding tops as referred to in Step 1, I initially stored all of them in the same drawer. However when I had them all on the floor in front of me during the purging process…

The twelve piles pictured organically developed.

The bottom left pile consisted of items to be hung up, including long sleeves that didn't belong in that drawer to begin with, and nicer short and sleeveless tops. The three center piles were t-shirts sorted by level of "formality," while the six piles on the right were tank tops and crop tops. Why Categorize and Subcategorize Before Purging? Addressing similar clothing groups individually is far less overwhelming than tackling the entire "shirts" category at once. This approach allows me to evaluate each shirt as part of my wardrobe, going beyond a simple decision of whether to keep or discard it.

For instance, I categorized together these four functionally identical shirts (tops/short sleeve/nice but not formal/neutral):  

If I had sorted "Tops" as a whole instead of categorizing first, I might have kept all four without realizing that two of them were similar enough to purge.  By considering the specific subcategory, I was able to identify the factors that led me to purge the two on the left in favor of keeping the more flattering V-neck style in a much better condition.

Breaking down the process into manageable clothing categories before tackling allowed me to evaluate each item based on its function and relevance to my wardrobe, rather than feeling overwhelmed by the sheer volume of clothing or missing near-duplicates. In Part 2 of "How I Purged My Entire Closet in 48 Hours," I'll elaborate on how I purged based on the most flattering colors and cuts that complement my personal style, referencing seasonal color analysis and the Kibbe system.

[waghaditi]

Blood Collection Tubes Market: Key Trends Shaping the Future

The blood collection tubes market is witnessing transformative changes driven by advancements in technology, increasing demand for diagnostic testing, and the growing emphasis on patient safety. This dynamic market is evolving with the introduction of new products and solutions aimed at improving sample collection, storage, and analysis processes. Several key trends are influencing the blood collection tubes market, and they highlight the continuous innovation within the industry.

Technological Advancements in Blood Collection Tubes The development of advanced blood collection tubes is one of the most prominent trends in the market. New types of tubes with improved materials, additives, and coatings are being introduced. These innovations aim to reduce hemolysis, prevent clotting, and ensure better sample preservation. For instance, tubes with gel separators are gaining popularity as they provide better serum and plasma separation, enhancing the accuracy of diagnostic tests.

Integration of Automation and Smart Technologies Automation in laboratory procedures is a growing trend, and blood collection tubes are becoming a part of this shift. The integration of RFID (Radio Frequency Identification) and barcodes in blood collection tubes allows for seamless tracking and sample identification throughout the diagnostic process. This technology minimizes the risk of errors, enhances traceability, and improves the efficiency of laboratory operations. Automation is also helping reduce human error, which is crucial in high-volume testing environments.

Growing Focus on Point-of-Care Testing Point-of-care (POC) testing is gaining momentum, especially in remote or underserved regions where access to advanced healthcare facilities is limited. Blood collection tubes designed for POC applications are becoming increasingly important. These tubes are developed to provide quick and accurate results, enabling faster diagnostics and more effective treatment. This trend is particularly relevant in fields such as infectious diseases, where rapid testing is critical for timely medical intervention.

Sustainability and Eco-Friendly Products With growing awareness about environmental sustainability, the blood collection tubes market is seeing a shift towards eco-friendly products. Manufacturers are focusing on reducing the environmental impact of single-use plastic tubes. Biodegradable or recyclable materials are being explored to minimize the carbon footprint of these medical products. This trend is expected to increase in importance as environmental regulations become stricter and healthcare institutions adopt more sustainable practices.

Customization of Blood Collection Tubes Customization is an emerging trend in the blood collection tubes market. Manufacturers are increasingly offering tailored solutions to meet specific needs in various clinical and research applications. For example, tubes with specialized coatings or additives for specific tests, such as those used in toxicology, hematology, or microbiology, are becoming more common. This customization enables better sample preservation and more accurate results, which is crucial for specialized diagnostics.

Increase in Demand for Diagnostic Testing The growing demand for diagnostic testing, particularly in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, has accelerated the need for reliable blood collection tubes. With an increase in health check-ups, routine screenings, and disease surveillance programs, more blood samples are being collected globally. This trend is expected to continue as healthcare systems worldwide focus on early diagnosis and preventive care, further driving the growth of the blood collection tubes market.

Rise in Chronic Diseases and Aging Population The rise in chronic diseases such as diabetes, cancer, and cardiovascular conditions, along with the aging population, is creating a higher demand for diagnostic testing, which in turn fuels the need for blood collection tubes. As the elderly population continues to grow, there is an increased focus on monitoring and managing chronic conditions, which requires frequent blood tests. This demographic shift is a key driver behind the expanding blood collection tubes market.

Innovations in Blood Collection Tube Materials Innovations in materials used for blood collection tubes are another important trend. Manufacturers are exploring new materials such as silicone-coated surfaces and advanced plastic composites that improve tube performance and reduce contamination. These materials offer enhanced stability for blood samples, making them ideal for long-term storage and transportation. These innovations also improve the tube’s resistance to breakage and leakage, enhancing safety and convenience.

Expansion in Emerging Markets Emerging markets, especially in Asia-Pacific and Africa, are becoming a significant focus for growth in the blood collection tubes market. Increasing investments in healthcare infrastructure, rising disposable incomes, and greater awareness of healthcare services are driving demand for diagnostic tests and, by extension, blood collection tubes. As healthcare facilities improve and diagnostic testing becomes more widespread, the need for reliable and high-quality blood collection products will continue to rise in these regions.

Regulatory Developments and Standards Regulatory bodies worldwide are tightening standards for blood collection tubes to ensure better quality and patient safety. Compliance with these regulations is a critical trend in the market. Manufacturers are focusing on meeting international standards for medical devices and ensuring that their products are certified and safe for use. Regulatory pressures are encouraging more rigorous quality control measures and standardization across the industry.

Rise of Liquid Biopsy The liquid biopsy market, which involves analyzing blood samples for early detection of cancers and other diseases, is growing rapidly. Blood collection tubes used for liquid biopsy are designed to maintain the integrity of the sample, ensuring accurate and reliable results. This niche market is influencing the design and functionality of blood collection tubes, as they need to be optimized for the specific requirements of liquid biopsy tests.

Improved Blood Sample Preservation Techniques Blood sample preservation has become a priority in the blood collection tubes market. Innovations in additives and preservative technologies are helping extend the shelf life of blood samples without compromising their integrity. These advancements are crucial for ensuring that samples remain viable for a range of diagnostic tests, particularly in cases where immediate analysis is not possible.

In conclusion, the blood collection tubes market is experiencing significant trends that reflect advancements in technology, sustainability, and increasing demand for diagnostic testing. These trends are shaping the future of the industry and driving innovation that will ultimately improve patient care and diagnostic outcomes globally.