#ship salvage operation

[todays-problematic-ship]

Today’s Problematic Ship is an unnamed North Korean frigate

On May 21, 2025, the an attempt to launch the latest warship of the Korean People’s Navy, the second Choi Hyon class frigate, ended in failure. With dictator Kim Jong-Un watching, the bow of the ship failed to slide off the supporting frame. State news agency KCNA reported

Due to the inexperienced command and operational carelessness in the course of the launch, the launch slide of the stern has departed first and stranded as the flatcar failed to move in parallel, some sections of the warship's bottom crushed to destroy the balance of the warship and the bow couldn't leave the shipway, leading to a serious accident.

After watching the whole course of the accident, the respected Comrade Kim Jong Un made stern assessment saying that it was a serious accident and criminal act caused by absolute carelessness, irresponsibility and unscientific empiricism which is out of the bounds of possibility and could not be tolerated.

He warned solemnly that the irresponsible errors of the relevant officials of the Munitions Industry Department of the WPK Central Committee, the Mechanical Institute of the State Academy of Sciences, Kim Chaek University of Technology, the central ship designing institute and other relevant units and the Chongjin Shipyard responsible for the accident that brought the dignity and self-respect of our state to a collapse in a moment would have to be dealt with at the plenary meeting of the Party Central Committee to be convened next month and censured them for the fault.

Three days later, KCNA reported that three officials at the shipyard had been identified as responsible for the failure.

Kim has also ordered that the frigate be salvaged and restored to operational condition.

[woradat]

SCENARIO: The Field Butcher

PAIRING - scavenger x reader

NOTE - the draft of Dear Memory suddenly disappeared.. luckily I had a backup in my doc, btw I decided to post this instead..

The air stank of scorched energon and melted armor, thick with iron dust stirred by a dying breeze. Somewhere near the perimeter of yesterday’s battlefield, you’d set up your ‘clinic’ — if one could call a dented shipping container with rusted med-kits and jury-rigged tables a clinic

You never thought you'd end up being a "doctor"

Not because you didn’t dream of it—but mostly because the term “medical ethics” meant absolutely nothing to you

What you did know was this: torn-up bots were fascinating. Especially when you got to crack them open and see what was ticking inside

You started small

Salvaging bits and pieces from the battlefield outskirts, selling them on the black market but anytime you found something new, you'd bring it back, clean it up, lay it out neatly on your table like collectible figurines…

Then tinker

Pry – Slice –Rewire

After that, you were hooked

You started studying Cybertronian anatomy for real

Through corpses. Through... well, let’s call them “patients” Most of them didn’t really have a choice and you learned through wild, reckless trial and error

It didn’t take long before they started whispering your name

Some said you were insane

Some said you were a genius

And honestly? You weren’t arguing with either

—

But hey, you’ve seen worse

Today’s patient wasn’t bleeding out — not anymore — but sat eerily still on the edge of your operating slab. SPINISTER didn’t speak a word. He simply watched

With those wide optics, tinted faintly with blue and wariness, he stared at your fingers as they hovered near the frayed conduits in his left arm. You traced one cable with your thumb, then flicked it experimentally. The response: a slight twitch in his elbow

“Hmm…” you murmured, mostly to yourself “That shouldn't spasm unless—ah. Rerouted nerves. Or maybe just leftover trauma from the last missile strike”

Spinister said nothing, his head tilted faintly, almost birdlike, curious, not afraid, not quite trusting, either

Your grin curled up as you pulled a box cutter from your belt. Not a surgical tool — a literal box cutter. You flicked it open with a shnick “Don’t worry. I’ve carved cleaner lines through Decepticon corpses than this.” You winked “This won’t be the worst thing to happen to your arm this week”

Still, he didn’t flinch

You began slicing carefully through the plating at his forearm, easing metal apart with steady hands. The smell of energon and scorched silicon rose up, comforting in its own grotesque way. Spinister kept watching

“You know” you added, conversationally “the first time I tried this, I was working on a dead guy. Well, he was mostly dead. Only his backup battery was still twitching. Sort of like you, except you’re a lot more agreeable”

At that, he blinked once. You could’ve sworn he smirked

Your eyes narrowed in interest “Wait a second... have you done this before?”

No answer — but Spinister reached forward and picked up your wire shears. Delicately. Like he knew how to hold them. He turned them in his hands and adjusted the tension

You raised a brow “You’re either a closet medic or a highly specific kind of serial killer”

He gave a tiny shrug. Then pointed at the junction in his own elbow, looking at you as if to say: "Cut here?"

“…Huh”

You moved aside “Be my guest”

He went to work with silent focus, slicing away burnt cabling and clearing the joint. His movements weren’t flawless — but they were clean, deliberate, and scarily competent for someone who hadn’t said a damn word all afternoon

You folded your arms, watching

“Alright, I’ve decided” you announced “You’re hired. No license needed. Field experience counts more anyway”

Spinister paused to glance at you - you pointed to yourself “Me? Oh, I’m self-taught too. I just have a different definition of malpractice”

Then you handed him a full energon injector “You mind stabbing me with this? My hand’s full”

He took it and administered it with surprising precision

You made a pleased noise “Oh-ho. You are good”

Silence again. Spinister just stared, expression unreadable

You could practically feel the static hanging between you. The buzz of barely understood connection. Maybe it was the shared love of sharp things. Or the unspoken language of: “I won’t kill you if you don’t kill me”

“Say, Spinister. You wanna stick around? I’ve got a few other, uh… experiments. Some of them might even survive”

He cocked his head, considering

Then — a slow, solemn nod

You grinned “Perfect. I’ve been dying to try out this new cranial implant. Might give you night vision. Or seizures. Fifty-fifty, really”

Still no protest — Not even hesitation

You weren’t sure if that meant he trusted you… or just didn’t care. Either way?

You liked him

↓

SUBJECT PATIENT RECORD

DESIGNATION: SPINISTER

AFFILIATION: Scavenger (No one's entirely sure why)

CONDITION: Moderate external trauma. Multiple internal combustions (intentional?). Severe disassociation from reality

NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (still not licensed, please stop asking)

Arrived with smoke leaking from six different panels. Declared “not an emergency” while visibly on fire

Did not react to pain, or to questions, or to gravity when he slowly tilted sideways mid-sentence and collapsed

Possesses an endearing sort of calm, similar to a patient who’s just accepted the existence of death and made it a roommate

Followed instructions silently, then offered me a flower-shaped bolt in thanks. I don’t know where he got it

Repair successful. Patient now smokes from only three ports. Declared “this is probably fine”

RECOMMENDATION: Skilled with basic tools, potential assistant or at least live test subject (consenting? uncertain) and doesn’t scream when I bring out the bone saw — major plus

MENTAL STATUS: Stable… in an abstract, modern-art kind of way

Possibly communicating with beings only he can perceive. Should investigate later—unless they start helping

—

The curtain fluttered again

You didn’t even need to look up from the mech-slagged mess you were currently disemboweling on your table to know who it was. No one else announced their arrival with a loud “Hi!! I brought snacks!” followed immediately by the sound of a ration cube hitting the floor

MISFIRE

“...You brought what?” you asked, finally glancing back

Misfire was standing proudly in the middle of your wrecked, haphazard med-bay, holding up something that might’ve once been a ration cube but now looked like it had been drop-kicked into a trash compactor

He looked far too pleased with himself

“For you, Doctor Scary!” he beamed ��To say thank you for patching up Crankcase. I mean, he’s still swearing about it, but I figure that means it worked”

You stared at the cube, then at him “It’s moldy”

“Vintage!”

“It’s fuzzy”

He blinked, then squinted at it “Oh. Uh. That might be a fungus. Adds flavor!”

You sighed and set down your plier-like tool — which was currently half-submerged in someone’s damaged voice modulator “What do you want, Misfire?”

He clutched his arm and gave you the most over-the-top wounded expression you’d seen since the war started “Can’t a guy drop by just to bask in your lovely, mildly terrifying company?”

You deadpanned “Do you need field repair?”

“…Yes”

That was more like it

“Alright” you gestured to your very sanitary examination area — a broken recliner salvaged from a half-melted shuttle and duct-taped to hell “Take a seat. Tell me which part is falling off”

Misfire hopped onto the chair without hesitation, then winced “Okay so it’s my right shoulder—some internal gear’s jammed. Probably happened when Fulcrum accidentally shoved me into that munitions crate last week. And by accidentally I mean ‘on purpose but with plausible deniability’”

You circled behind him, humming “Shoulder joint, hmm... I’ll have to pry open the outer casing”

“You’re not gonna use that claw-thing again, are you?” He pointed at the three-pronged tool still sizzling on the table

You picked it up and grinned “This old thing? Only if you scream too loud. It gets jealous”

His optics widened “Wait, you’re joking—right?”

You didn’t answer. You just flicked the tool and leaned in close

He flinched “You are joking. Right?”

Still no answer. You tapped the casing lightly “Yup. Gonna need to open this. Try not to move. Unless you want an extra joint”

Misfire grumbled something but sat still, occasionally twitching while you worked. Your fingers were efficient, tugging apart armor panels, probing with delicate instruments, and casually muttering things like: “Wow, this is worse than I thought. This looks like someone tried to replace a gear with a coin. Wait. Is that a coin?”

Misfire laughed nervously “Heh… oh hey, is that my lucky shanix? Thought I lost that in the riot on Velocitron…”

You pulled it out and twirled it between your fingers “Found it. Inside your shoulder. Next to a wad of insulation foam. I have questions”

“I have regrets”

The actual repair only took a few minutes, and despite his dramatic flinching, Misfire barely needed any anesthetic. You tightened the final bolt with a satisfied hum

“All done. You’ll be good as new. Maybe even better, depending on how you feel about unlicensed upgrades”

He rotated his arm “Wow, hey—this feels great! I mean, I’m still emotionally unstable and deeply unlucky, but physically? Ten outta ten”

You handed him the shanix and gave him a crooked smile “Souvenir. For bravery”

He smirked “Does that come with a kiss on the cheekplate?”

You stared at him for a beat too long

“…No?” he tried

You leaned in just slightly, close enough for him to short-cycle “You want a souvenir kiss from the bot who’s elbow-deep in your shoulder hydraulics?”

He paused. Thought. Then leaned back slowly, optics wide

“…You know what? The coin’s fine”

You laughed — a bright, buzzing thing that made him fluster even more

“I’ll tell Fulcrum you survived” you said, already turning back to your workbench “Go before I decide to install a third elbow in your leg”

He scrambled up and halfway out the curtain before popping his head back in with a grin

“You’re the weirdest medic I’ve ever met” he said “And that’s a huge compliment”

Then he vanished into the dust

↓

SUBJECT PATIENT RECORD

DESIGNATION: MISFIRE

AFFILIATION: Scavenger (Allegedly. No one seems to have formally admitted this)

CONDITION: Repeated joint trauma. Psychological instability. Chronic flirtation disorder (self-diagnosed)

NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (unlicensed):

Presented with shoulder malfunction. Initially distracted by moldy ration cube (believed to be edible)

Displayed minor signs of emotional detachment from own physical pain—possibly due to prolonged exposure to Fulcrum’s company

Right shoulder casing contained one (1) lucky shanix, insulation foam of unknown origin, and what may be a chewed gum wrapper. (Origin undetermined. No jaw articulation in subject)

Exhibits nervous laughter and deflective humor under duress. Coping mechanism? Flirting mechanism? Both?

Repair successful. Patient demonstrates increased mobility and decreased survivability due to persistent attempts at charming his field medic

RECOMMENDATION: Do not encourage him but also… maybe do. He’s kind of entertaining

MENTAL STATUS: Stable. In the way a spinning top is “stable” Until it stops spinning

—

FULCRUM walked into the clinic with the same air as someone entering a crime scene they were legally obligated to ignore. He stood in the doorway a few moments too long

“…You’re not going to sedate me, right?”

You didn’t look up from your tools “Only if you scream too much. I do have neighbors”

“You don’t have neighbors”

“Exactly”

He stiffened

With a resigned sigh, Fulcrum sat himself down on the edge of the slab, his posture the definition of regret “I’m here for a system check. Minor internal trauma. No visible wounds”

“Oh” you said, finally looking up

“That’s boring”

“…What?”

You gestured at his chestplate “You’re saying there’s nothing exciting going on in there? No ticking bomb module? No internal shrapnel slowly migrating toward your spark?”

Fulcrum visibly paled “I—I’m 80% sure the ticking is just cooling fans!”

You leaned in, optics gleaming

“Let’s find out”

Before he could object, you’d already activated the scanner, which buzzed ominously. The screen flickered through static before displaying something that looked vaguely like a Danger symbol in three different dialects

“…Heh” you said, tilting your head “You might be fine. Or you might violently combust in 6 to 8 cycles. Either way, not my fault”

Fulcrum let out a strangled sound “You’re supposed to say something reassuring!”

“I did! ‘Not my fault’ is my version of reassurance”

He gave a long, slow blink

“…I’m going to die”

“Eventually” you nodded solemnly

“But for now—”

And with that, you jabbed a connector probe into his side. Fulcrum’s whole body jerked “—your coolant lines are backing up a little. Could’ve led to system overheating. Also explains why you’ve been radiating mild anxiety like a broken anxiety-scented air freshener”

He stared at you in mute horror “…Please tell me that wasn’t an actual medical term”

You grinned “I make them up as I go”

↓

SUBJECT PATIENT RECORD

DESIGNATION: FULCRUM AFFILIATION: Scavenger (Technically Decepticon, but mostly just stressed) CONDITION: Mild to moderate plasma burns, stress-induced fuel reflux, excessive shouting

NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (still operating without any actual credentials):

Arrived in full panic, claiming he was “totally fine” while actively smoldering. Body temperature elevated—not due to malfunction, just from yelling

Most vocal patient so far. Screamed “What is that tool?! Is that a bone saw?!” before treatment had even begun. (It was not. It was a wrench. Maybe) Kept mumbling something about “imminent death” and “this is how I die"

Calmed somewhat after being asked to hold tools for me. Gave him a fake diploma to “make him feel included” He still carries it

Treatment completed successfully. Requested anesthesia after it was done

RECOMMENDATION: Let him panic. It burns energy and makes it easier to sneak in sutures

Tell him he’s doing great. He’s not, but he needs it

MENTAL STATUS: Holding on by a wire. Possibly about to snap. Possibly the only one trying to be normal, which makes him the craziest of all

—

You didn’t expect CRANKCASE to walk through your door

Technically, it wasn’t even a door — just a heavy curtain you’d ripped off a wrecked Decepticon dropship and pinned into place. But there he was, looming in your makeshift threshold, glowering like he wanted to punch the wind in the face

Which, from what you’d heard, was a standard Crankcase greeting

You looked up from the mess of servo joints and cracked optics on your workbench “Oh good, another volunteer! Take a number, and by number I mean a seat, and by seat I mean that fuel drum with the mystery stain”

Crankcase didn’t move. He crossed his arms “I’m not here for your freak-show experiments. I’ve got a blown vent coil and a leaking wrist actuator”

You raised an oil-slicked brow “So… you are here for medical assistance”

He scowled “Field repair”

“Same difference,” you chirped, already gesturing him forward “I won’t bite. Unless you count removing faulty plating with my teeth. Kidding—mostly”

The fuel drum groaned beneath his weight as he sat. You could hear his joint hydraulics hissing with effort. He was trying very hard not to look worried

You crouched beside him, lifting his forearm and turning it this way and that “Hmm. Someone’s been punching things they shouldn’t. This isn't just a leak. You've got shrapnel embedded in your coolant line. Wanna keep it?”

Crankcase blinked “Keep it?!”

You gave him your best "I'm totally serious” look “Could turn it into a charm. Lucky shard. Something to ward off infection. Maybe your attitude”

He started to pull his arm back

You yanked it right back “Too late. I’ve named it. This one’s Steve”

“What the frag—”

With a quick flick, you plunged your gloved fingers into the small open seam, locating the shrapnel shard with tactile precision. You ignored Crankcase’s strangled hiss and produced the sliver with a flourish

“Aha! Steve the Shard, free at last. Say thank you”

Crankcase stared at you, deadpan

“You’re insane”

You smiled sweetly, plucking a soldering tool off the table “That’s Doctor Insane to you”

Bzzt

The tool sparked, lighting up your eyes like a child at a fireworks show

Crankcase tensed “You’re not putting that near me”

“I am” you said “Because if I don’t cauterize this line in the next thirty seconds, your arm’s going to start leaking coolant like a sobbing Wrecker”

He snarled — but didn’t stop you

You worked fast, too fast for his liking. Sparks flew, cables sizzled, and Crankcase let out a string of swears that could probably make a Seeker blush. You ignored all of it, whistling a cheerful tune as you worked

When it was done, you patted his arm

“All fixed. And you didn’t even pass out! Proud of you”

Crankcase glared. “I should report you”

“To who?” You grinned “You think we’re in a jurisdiction that still has a licensing board?”

He opened his mouth, paused, then shut it again

You leaned in “Besides... you’re walking out of here with full function, no fees, and a souvenir” You handed him the shard of metal with a crooked smile “Steve says hi”

Crankcase snatched it from you with a growl. But he didn’t throw it away

Not yet

↓

SUBJECT PATIENT RECORD

DESIGNATION: CRANKCASE

AFFILIATION: Scavenger (violently)

CONDITION: Multiple surface abrasions. Chronic irritation. Terminal grumpiness

NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (yes, still me):

Arrived under protest. Yelled “I’m fine!” while leaking energon like a guilt-ridden faucet

Displayed strong resistance to bedside manner. Calmed slightly after being asked if he wanted to watch me extract a bolt with pliers “just to see if it screams”

Requires verbal distraction during treatment; otherwise clenches up like a seized servo. Suggested topics: how annoying Misfire is, dirt, taxes

Responds well to threats. Especially ones that sound made up, like “scalp grafts”

Treatment successful. Patient limped off muttering about “invasive freaks with too many teeth”

RECOMMENDATION: Do not show weakness. Or enthusiasm. Or joy. Pretend you also hate everything—it soothes him

MENTAL STATUS: Functionally cranky. Potentially immortal out of sheer spite

—

The clinic—if one was generous enough to call a rusted-out storage bay with dangling lights and an energon-stained slab a clinic—was unusually quiet for once. No shouting. No crashing. No Misfire trying to flirt with his own reflection or you

Which meant something was wrong

“You’re late” said the voice from the dark corner. It belonged to the ‘doctor’, of course. You were hunched over a datapad, stylus tucked between two digits, not even bothering to look up “Your shoulder is making that noise again, isn’t it?”

KROK stepped in like a soldier reporting for punishment. His frame stiff, his expression more so

“I’m not here for a chat. I just need a recalibration”

You blinked slowly and finally glanced up

“No one ever is’

He hesitated, optics scanning the room. No restraints in sight today. That was probably a good sign

You patted the slab “Lie down”

“I’ll sit”

“I said lie down. You don’t argue with doctors”

“You’re not a doctor”

You grinned “And you’re not winning this one”

Krok muttered a curse under his breath and complied, lowering himself onto the slab with the grace of a war veteran who’d fought too many battles and not won nearly enough

“Left shoulder, right?” you asked, already activating a scanner that beeped in several colors it probably wasn’t supposed to “Tell me what happened”

“Misfire fell on me” Krok replied, voice tight “During training. He called it ‘combat bonding’”

You nodded sympathetically, even as you grabbed a wrench that had definitely once been used to pry open cargo doors “Ah yes. The age-old bonding ritual of ‘launch-yourself-at-your-commander’?"

"Classic"

“I think it dislocated again” he said, biting the inside of his cheek “I can’t rotate it past—argh!”

You'd already shoved it backward with a practiced snap

Krok nearly sat bolt upright “WHAT THE FRAG?! You didn’t warn me!”

“I didn’t have to. I’ve done this to corpses before. You should be grateful you screamed—it’s how I knew it worked”

He glared at you “That is not reassuring”

You beamed “It wasn’t meant to be”

Silence fell, broken only by the sound of metal creaking as you adjusted a few connections, then pressed a cooling gel pad over the joint. It hissed

Krok’s field softened just slightly “...You’re getting better at this”

“Oh?” you replied innocently

“Is that professional admiration or resignation to fate?”

“I’m not sure which one worries me more”

You leaned in, lowering your voice like a conspirator “Krok... You know this makes me your personal physician now, right?”

He stared at you flatly

“I will self-repair next time”

You smiled sweetly, scribbling something onto a datapad “Too late. Already logged it. You’re mine now"

↓

SUBJECT PATIENT RECORD

DESIGNATION: KROK

AFFILIATION: Scavenger leader (self-declared, no one’s argued)

CONDITION: Shoulder joint misalignment. Minor processor lag. Leadership fatigue.

NOTES BY ATTENDING FIELD PRACTITIONER (not approved by any health council anywhere):

Walked in with a stiff limp and a stiffer attitude. Tried to diagnose himself

Kept correcting my terminology. Said “That’s not a circuit, that’s a triple-fused control relay!” I responded with “Sounds infected” Believes himself to be the voice of reason. Believes wrong

Endured treatment with the patience of a bot who has seen some things. Possibly in denial about the chaos level of his team

Asked if I could do anything about “leadership-induced migraines.” Suggested decapitation. He did not laugh. Left with improved range of motion and deeply haunted expression. Probably unrelated

RECOMMENDATION: Respect the chain of command—then wrap it around his legs and drag him back when he tries to leave

He's the glue holding the team together. The glue is melting

MENTAL STATUS: Exhausted dad energy. Probably dreams of retirement. Will never get it

[blueiscoool]

$1 Million Worth of Gold Coins Stolen From 18th-Century Shipwrecks Found

After an extensive investigation, Florida officials recovered dozens of gold coins valued at more than $1 million that were stolen from a shipwreck recovery nine years ago.

The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission announced in a news release Tuesday it had recovered 37 gold coins that were stolen from the 1715 Fleet shipwrecks.

The fleet of Spanish ships sailed from Havana, Cuba and headed to Seville, Spain on July 24, 1715. The journey was short-lived, as a hurricane wrecked the fleet just seven days later off the coast of Eastern Florida.

The first ship was discovered in 1928 by William Beach north of Fort Pierce, Florida, about 120 miles south of Orlando. Since then, gold and silver artifacts have been recovered offshore for decades following the first discovery.

In 2015, a group of contracted salvage operators found a treasure trove of 101 gold coins from the wrecks near Florida’s Treasure Coast, about 112 miles west of Orlando. However, only half of the coins were reported correctly. The other 50 coins were not disclosed and later stolen.

The years-long investigation by the state’s fish and wildlife conservation commission and FBI “into the theft and illegal trafficking of these priceless historical artifacts” came to a head when new evidence emerged in June, the news release said.

The evidence linked Eric Schmitt to the illegal sale of multiple stolen gold coins in 2023 and 2024, officials said. Schmitt’s family had been contracted to work as salvage operators for the US District Courts’ custodian and salvaging company for the fleet, 1715 Fleet - Queens Jewels, LLC. The Schmitts had uncovered the 101 gold coins in 2015.

During their hunt for the coins, investigators executed multiple search warrants and recovered coins from private residences, safe deposit boxes and auctions, the news release said. Five stolen coins were retrieved from a Florida-based auctioneer, who unknowingly purchased them from Schmitt.

Investigators used advanced digital forensics to nail down Schmitt as a suspect in the case. In most cases, digital forensics can recover data stored electronically on devices such as a cell phone, computer system or memory module.

With the help of advanced digital forensics, investigators identified metadata and geolocation data that linked Schmitt to a photograph of the stolen coins taken at the Schmitt family condominium in Fort Pierce, Florida.

Authorities said Schmitt also took three of the stolen gold coins and put them on the ocean floor in 2016. The coins were later found by the new investors of the fleet’s court custodian and salvaging company.

Throughout the investigation, the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission worked closely with historical preservation experts to authenticate and appraise the recovered coins sold by Schmitt.

Schmitt is facing charges for dealing in stolen property, the release says.

The company commissioned to salvage the shipwreck said in a statement it “was shocked and disappointed by this theft and has worked closely with law enforcement and the state of Florida regarding this matter.”

“We take our responsibilities as custodian very seriously and will always seek to enforce the laws governing these wrecks,” the statement read.

Recovered artifacts will be returned to their rightful custodians, the news release said. But the investigation is far from over: 13 coins remain missing.

[numbuh24insane]

Bowser vs Eggman: The Aftermath, Sonic's Realization

Restoration HQ

The Restoration's base hummed with quiet industry, a symphony of activity unfolding in the sprawling headquarters. Engineers tinkered with machines, repairing damaged equipment salvaged from the frontlines of battles past. Analysts poured over maps and reports, ensuring the Restoration could respond to any crisis at a moment’s notice. Volunteers bustled through the corridors, distributing supplies to be shipped to remote villages still recovering from the scars left by Eggman’s takeover.

Near the central operations hub, Tails oversaw a group of technicians calibrating a new detection system, his twin tails flicking with excitement as he explained the upgrades. In another corner, Belle hummed a song as she worked on long overdue repairs, her focus undeterred by the chatter of Jewel's logistical assistants organizing supply runs. The day was typical, steady, and predictable. Something that was becoming more and more common in this fantastical world.

Sonic leaned against a safety rail on the upper balcony overlooking the main floor, his arms crossed casually as he took in the scene. Below, a pair of members chuckled at the antics of Rough and Tumble on a monitor. The bumbling skunk duo had tried robbing a supply caravan earlier that week, only to be thwarted by Whisper and Tangle.

"You know," Sonic idly started as Amy came up behind him, "This place runs like a well-oiled machine. Kinda weird seeing it so . . . calm."

Amy smiled. "It’s what we wanted, right? To rebuild without having to fend off badniks every day."

"Yeah, I guess." He tapped a foot idly against the ground. "Just feels like it’s been too quiet. The biggest threats these days are Rough and Tumble making a mess of some random store or Clutch trying to pull off another shady deal. Hardly the kind of thing that gets my blood pumping."

"Maybe that’s a good thing," Amy said, looking at him. "We’re not supposed to need you to be the hero all the time, Sonic. The Restoration can handle the small stuff."

“And I’m here to clean up the big stuff . . . but nothing big has happened in months. I can’t even remember the last time Eggman pulled one of his ‘I’m-gonna-conquer-the-world’ stunts. Man, I just can’t shake the feeling that something big is going to happen, that it’s just right around the corner. If that makes sense.”

"It does," Amy admitted, her tone thoughtful. "I mean, after everything with Starfall Islands, I thought we’d have a new crisis by now. But Eggman’s been completely off the radar."

"Maybe he’s finally throwing in the towel," Sonic said, tilting his head back and gazing at the ceiling. "You know, after losing Sage . . . I think that hit him harder than he’d ever admit. She was like a daughter to him."

Amy frowned, taking in this new information. "You really think that’s enough to stop him? Eggman’s a lot of things, but giving up isn’t one of them. If anything, he’s probably using this quiet time to build something even more dangerous."

"Maybe," Sonic said, tapping his chin in thought. "Or maybe he’s finally realized there’s more to life than building giant ego-machines. I like to think losing Sage might’ve made him . . . rethink things."

Amy glanced at him, her expression softening. "You always see the best in people, even someone like Eggman. But I don’t think he’ll ever stop being Eggman. He’s always scheming, Sonic. Always."

Sonic smirked, the corner of his mouth curling as he turned to face her. "Well, if he is planning something, we’ll handle it. Like always." He tapped the rail. "But for now? I’m gonna enjoy the peace. Even if it is a bit boring."

Before Sonic and Amy could exchange another word, the lights flickered ominously across the Restoration’s base. A sharp crackle of static blared through the speakers, drawing everyone’s attention. The monitors scattered throughout the facility turned black for a brief moment before the familiar crimson insignia of the Eggman Empire appeared with the text ‘Please Stand by’.

The room erupted in confusion and alarm. Restoration workers scrambled to consoles, engineers fumbled with emergency protocols, and Tails bolted to the main control panel, barking orders to the tech team. Above it all, Sonic remained leaning against the rail, his grin widening.

"Well, well," He said with an amused chuckle. "Speak of the devil. Let’s see what ol’ Egg for brains has been plotting!" He could feel that surge of excitement and adventure rise up within him.

"If you are seeing this," Eggman began, his tone uncharacteristically serious, “Then I am dead."

A stunned silence fell over the room. Even Sonic’s grin faltered for a moment, replaced by a raised eyebrow of genuine surprise. Amy’s eyes widened before shaking her head with disbelief.

Eggman continued, his image flickering as though the message were pre-recorded. "Yes, yes, I know what you're thinking. 'Is this some sort of trick?' Let me assure you, if this message is playing, then I have shuffled off this mortal coil.”

He paused dramatically, letting the words sink in before throwing his arms out in mock despair. "Tragic, isn’t it? The world has lost its greatest genius! A monumental loss for science, for civilization, for Mobius itself! But don’t mourn me too much! I’m sure my end was spectacularly dramatic!" The scientist laughed, twirling his mustache.

Eggman continued, his tone shifting to a speculative drawl. "Speaking of which, I’m curious. What could possibly have done me in? Was it one of my magnificent plans going down in flames? Did one of my creations rebel and finally catch me off guard? Or . . . " He grinned, pointing straight at the camera. ". . . did you finally do it, Sonic?" He leaned back stroking his chin as he considered the possibility,”If so, I do wonder what prompted you to do it. I had to have had a truly devilish marvel of a scheme to get you to finally cross that line.”

Eggman suddenly retracted, waving his hand dismissively. “Ah, who am I kidding? You’d never do it. No, no, no you’re too soft. Always playing hero, always keeping me alive so we can do this little dance forever. Ohohoho!”

Amy crossed her arms, annoyed.. “He’s still insufferable as always.”

Eggman wiped a tear from his eye before continuing his spiel, “But fear not Sonic, even if I’m gone you’ll still have quite the foe on your hands! Should Metal Sonic still be operational, and really, why wouldn’t he be? I built him to perfection. Then my empire is in capable hands. Metal will carry my legacy, and he will succeed where I could not. He will destroy you, Sonic. Oh yes, your days are numbered. Even now, I’m sure he’s already formulating the best way to turn you into a smoldering pile of ash! How proud I am!”

The screen glitched momentarily, then Eggman continued, his expression softening into a smug grin. “Of course, I can’t leave without a personal touch. I’ve prepared special messages for each of you. Think of them as parting gifts from beyond the grave! They should be arriving . . . oh, about now.”

As the video cut off, the Eggman Empire logo pulsed on the screens, and then, one by one, the Restoration’s systems began rebooting. Almost immediately, individual monitors across the room displayed specific names: Sonic, Belle, Amy, Tails, and others.

“He can’t be dead, can he?” Belle questioned, her wooden body rigid and eyes wide with disbelief. She was shaking, almost to the point of breaking. The poor puppet jumped as Tails placed his hand upon her back and got her to calm down.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Sonic uttered out, for once he didn’t have his casual smile upon his face. The wind seemed to have been taken out of his sails. One by one each of them approached a different monitor, wondering what kind of message Eggman had left for them.

Sonic leaned forward, his finger hovering over the notification bearing his name. The air around him felt heavy now, the reality of Eggman’s proclamation beginning to set in. He steadied his shaking finger and tapped the screen.

The screen lit up again, revealing a new recording of Dr. Eggman. This time, the background was less ominous. It was his usual workshop, cluttered with half-finished machines and screens displaying blueprints of his countless schemes. Eggman lounged in his oversized hover chair, a smug grin plastered on his face. That grin while still as smug as ever, seemed less performative and much more natural, as though this part was meant for Sonic and Sonic alone.

"Sonic," he began, spreading his arms grandly, "If you’re watching this, then congratulations you’ve outlived me. Bask in the glory of knowing you survived the greatest mind in history! I’m sure you’re standing there, smirking like you always do, thinking you’ve won. But let’s not get too carried away. Because if there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you’ll never really consider this a win. Not against me"

Sonic nodded, it was true. He never wanted to see Eggman die. He always dreamt that Eggman would have a change of heart, that he would re-adopt that Mr. Tinker persona and work on making the world a better place. That was what victory meant to the Blue Blur, not this.

Anything but this.

"You know, Hedgehog, you’ve been the proverbial thorn in my side for years, and yet . . . I can’t say I ever hated it. Not truly. Sure, you’re insufferable, cocky, and annoyingly fast, but you’ve also been . . . entertaining. From our first little dance back on South Island to our more ambitious confrontations, like, oh, I don’t know, the time I turned you into a werehog . . . Not one of my brightest moments, mind you. But the point still stands! You pushed me, Sonic. Forced me to innovate, to improve, to strive for perfection. The brutal truth is that I am glad that you foiled my plans, it made my future endeavors all the more worth it."

"But," Eggman snapped, his voice snapping back to its usual boisterousness, "Don’t let this go to your head! Even dead I’m still smarter than you in every conceivable way. GAH! If I’d had just a little more time, I would have won! Make no mistake about that!” He pounded his fist against the table before calming himself down,”I’ll admit . . . there were times I almost respected you. Almost."

Sonic let out a soft smirk, understanding that was a confession of respect from the egomaniac.

The workshop around Eggman seemed almost smaller now, the man himself quieter despite the bombast in his words. "But alas, here we are. I’m gone, and you’re still here. I know you’ll carry on, saving the day and being that insufferable do-gooder you’ve always been. And honestly?" He allowed himself a small, almost wistful smile. "The world’s better for it. If I can't take over the world, then you better ensure that no one else will!"

Sonic’s hands dropped to his sides, the faint ache of realization settling in his chest. This wasn’t just another one of Eggman’s melodramatic speeches. For the first time, the finality of it all began to sink in.

He hated this.

This was something that he couldn’t run from, that he couldn’t use his prowess to overcome. Eggman was gone . . . and that fact truly hurt the carefree blue blur.

Sage had asked him to look after Eggman. Those were her final words, for him to ensure that her father would continue to live, for them to make up their differences. And he had failed that little girl, and he had failed himself.

Eggman straightened, his expression shifting to something sterner. "But enough sentimentality! I saved the most important part of this message for last." He tapped the side of his chair, and a familiar figure appeared on the screen beside him. "Sage."

Sonic's eyes went wide as he pressed his head against the screen.

Sage was gone, why was Eggman bringing her back up?

Eggman let out a confident smirk,”I managed to save her, Sonic. I scoured the Starfall Islands and all of Cyberspace, finding the remnant parts of her code, stitching it all back together and nursing her back to health! I succeeded where you failed her!” He uttered out, pressing his finger against the camera.

“She’s alive!?” Sonic shouted out, prompting glances from other Restoration members. A soft grin emerged upon his face,”Of course she is . . . It’s Eggman after all.” He was a miracle worker, always able to do the impossible.

“I’ve already integrated her into the Eggnet. She’s protected now, there won’t be any incidents such as what happened last time, and she WILL outlast me.” Eggman guaranteed, having worked long and hard to ensure Sage’s longevity and survival.

The image on the screen pointed directly at Sonic, his gaze sharp and serious. "And here’s the kicker, since I’m gone, I need someone to look after her. Someone who understands her. Someone who . . . " He hesitated, as if the words tasted strange in his mouth. " . . . who can help her find her place in this world. That someone, Sonic, is you."

The weight of the words hit Sonic like a freight train. The usually confident, quick-witted hedgehog found himself at a loss.

"I know what you’re thinking," Eggman said, his smirk returning faintly. "Why would I trust you with something so precious to me? The truth is, I don’t. But you’re the best shot she’s got. You’re . . . a hero, after all. And for what it’s worth, I think Sage would have liked that."

Eggman leaned back in his chair, a glimmer of something almost human in his eyes. "So, there you have it, Sonic. My final request. My final challenge. Take care of my daughter. And try not to screw it up." He then let out a grin,”And if you do? Then I’ll find a way to rise up from the grave and get you! Oh-hohoho!”

Sonic stood there absorbing Eggman’s last request as he heard the wicked scientist laugh for one final time.

The message ended abruptly, the screen fading to black. For a moment, the bustling sounds of the Restoration felt distant, muffled. Sonic stared at the blank monitor, his chest heavy. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.

Sonic jumped as he felt a hand land upon his shoulder. His head spun around as he saw Amy looking at him, concern clear in her eyes. She ushered him over to where Tails was comforting Belle. The four of them found a nearby table, a heavy silence was practically smothering them as they sat there.

Belle shuddered.

Amy gently placed a hand on Belle's arm, her usual energy tempered with concern. "Belle . . . do you want to talk about it?"

Belle hadn’t spoken yet, her head still bowed. Belle’s hands trembled as she finally looked up, her voice quivering. "H-he called me his daughter." The room fell silent, all eyes turning to her.

"He said . . ." She paused, wiping at her wooden cheek with her sleeve. "He said he never understood the value of family until Sage. But that . . . he regrets not seeing it sooner. Regrets not seeing me as his daughter while he still had the chance." Her voice cracked, and a tear slid down her face, glinting like dew. "He hoped I could accept Sage as my sister. That we could . . . be a family. Even without him."

Amy moved closer, placing a gentle hand on Belle’s shoulder. "Belle . . ."

"But he’s not my father," Belle said quickly, her voice defensive and firm, though the tears kept falling. "My father was Mr. Tinker. Not him. Not-" She stopped, squeezing her eyes shut. "I don’t know what to feel. He hurt so many people. Hurt me by becoming him again. And yet . . ." She shook her head, her voice breaking. "I still wanted to hear those words."

Sonic stood, his face unusually serious as he placed a hand on Belle’s shoulder. "For what it’s worth, Belle . . . Mr. Tinker was real. He was Eggman, just without all the bad stuff clouding his mind. And if that version of him could care about you, maybe that means the Eggman we knew had some of that deep down, too."

Belle’s wooden fingers tightened into fists as she looked at him. "Do you think he really meant it? That he wanted us to be . . . sisters?"

Sonic gave her a small, reassuring smile. "From what he said in my message? Yeah. I think he did. He talked about Sage too, about how much she meant to him. And I think you meant as much to him as Sage does."

Belle bowed her head, letting the tears flow.

Tails frowned as he pat her back, trying to help his friend in her grief.

"Well, I don’t know what I expected, but that message was . . . something else." He crossed his arms, his twin tails flicking behind him. "Typical Eggman, though. Started off talking about how he was the greatest genius of all time y'know, classic 'Doctor Ego', but then he said something about me being . . . what was it? 'The second-smartest mind to ever grace this world.'" He snorted, but there was a small, conflicted smile on his face.

Amy leaned forward, curious. "Wait, second-smartest? That’s a compliment coming from him!"

Sonic smirked, reaching over to ruffle Tails’ fur. "Well, you are the smartest guy I know, little bro. Took Eggman long enough to catch on."

"Yeah, but then he said, 'With me gone, I suppose you’ll finally have a chance to take the top spot. Don't mess it up, Prower. Not that you’ll ever match my heights!' Like he couldn’t resist one last dig." Tails shook his head, but the faint admiration in his tone was undeniable. "Still . . . hearing him admit that? It means a lot, I guess."

Sonic glanced over at Amy,”What about you Ames? What did Eggman say to you?”

Amy looked down at the table, her brow furrowed. “Mine wasn’t much better. He said I should stop chasing after you, Sonic.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she pushed through. “‘It’s unbecoming,’ he said. And that I’m wasting my potential, that I’d be better off focusing on myself instead of clinging to someone who doesn’t share my feelings.” She huffed, trying to mask the hurt. “Then he called me ‘stubborn to a fault’ and said I’d probably ignore his advice anyway. But . . .” she hesitated, her voice softening. “He said I’m stronger than I think. That’s . . . the only nice thing he said.”

Amy sighed, “He wasn’t completely wrong, was he? Maybe I do need to focus on myself more. I’ve been thinking about that for a while now.”

“You’re all right to feel how you feel. Eggman’s always been full of himself, but this . . . this is something else.” Sonic rubbed the back of his head, his eyes darting away. “It’s weird, you know? He’s always been there, always scheming, always chasing me down with his machines. And now he’s just . . . gone?”

The room fell silent again, the weight of Eggman’s absence settling over them.

Sonic pushed off the table and stood upright, his tone shifting to something more determined. “I can’t just sit here and let this stew. I’ve got to find Sage, and I’ve got to get some answers.”

Amy stood up, worry etched on her face. “Sonic, wait. It could be a trap. Eggman’s always been two steps ahead, even when it looks like he’s lost.”

Sonic gave her a half-smile, the sadness still lingering in his eyes. ���Maybe. But I’ve got to get some answers. I owe it to all of us to figure out what’s going on.” Without another word, he turned and bolted from the room in a blur of blue, the air crackling in his wake.

Amy sighed heavily, crossing her arms again. “That hedgehog . . . He’ll never change.”

Tails leaned forward, a soft smile on his face. “Don’t worry, he’ll be okay. He’s Sonic after all.”

Belle wiped her face, her voice soft but resolute. “He’ll find her. He always does.” She paused, “And when he does, I’ll have my own questions for Sage. About him. About all of this.”

Eggman Land

Sonic raced through the countryside, the wind roaring in his ears, his mind churning. As he neared Eggman Land, the imposing theme park/fortress loomed over the horizon, its garish lights and towering structures stark against the twilight sky. Yet, something was off . . . there were no patrols, no badniks racing out to intercept him.

The gates were wide open, the rides whirred and the neon lights shined bright, but not a single soul in sight. It felt as though the place had been abandoned in a hurry, left on autopilot. Sonic slowed his pace, the eerie silence pressing down on him. His instincts screamed that something wasn’t right, but he pressed forward, weaving through the empty attractions until he reached the central tower.

As he entered it, he noticed the broken pieces of glass that littered the floor. Moving his gaze upwards revealed the monitors that were all destroyed, laid in ruins. One cracked monitor had Eggman upon it announcing his death in repeat. He finally turned his gaze to the center of the room and saw a man there, leaning forward at a console. He wore a black suit that was currently unkempt, shards of glass hanging loose off of the sleeves.

It was Agent Stone.

One of, if not the most loyal of Eggman’s followers.

Sonic took a step forward, glass crunching under feet. The sound alerted Stone to his presence, the man twisted around gripping a wrench as he faced the blue blur,”You!” He growled out with a rage that Sonic had never seen before. “You’re not allowed to be here! This place is sacred! A monument to the Doctor’s genius!”

Sonic gave a sheepish smile as he raised up his arms in surrender,”Woah! Don’t worry, I’m not here to mess with Eggheads stuff, I’m just here to get some answers. Such as . . . “ Sonic disappeared in a burst of speed, reappearing directly in front of Stone, the wrench wrenched out of his hand. The man fell back onto his chair in surprise,”Such as what happened to Eggman.”

Stone felt his own powerlessness as he turned his head away from the Hedgehog. “He’s not dead.” His voice was full of pain,”He can’t be dead. The Doctor doesn’t die . . . he always has a plan! He is a genius! The greatest genius! D-death is something that can’t apply to him.” His voice broke,”He wasn’t supposed to be gone for this long.”

Sonic’s head tilted as he caught the last part of Stone’s grief-filled speech,”What do you mean, he wasn’t supposed to be gone for this long?” He asked.

Stone glared at the Hedgehog, but gave in as he saw the sheer concern in Sonic's eyes,” . . . Months ago, the Doctor was studying the limits of the warp topaz. It opened a portal to a whole new universe. At first, Eggman wasn’t interested in it. It was far too underdeveloped compared to our universe, that was before he caught sight of a kidnapping attempt and discovered the Koopa Kingdom.”

“Koopa Kingdom?” Sonic questioned,”Never heard of it.”

“Of course you haven’t.” Stone blinked,”I just told you it was from a different universe!” He leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh,”That Koopa Kingdom held a tremendous power and seemed as ambitious as the Doctor, so the Doctor decided to conquer it before it could become a threat to his own plans . . . “ Not to mention he wanted the power that Bowser held for himself. “There was a time table and plans he had to transport his whole army to this new universe, to execute Operation Catfish and then conquer it with one big battle . . . Only, I haven’t heard anything from the Doctor since he left.”

Sonic nodded, everything was beginning to fall into place here. It was like old times, Eggman finding some power that no one knew about and trying to get it for his own ends. It goes badly and now it's time for Sonic to bail him out.

He let out a smirk.

“Stone, you can transport me there, right?” Sonic asked, ready to go out and save Eggman and Sage.

Stone blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “Why would I do that? You’re his enemy. If anything, I should kick you out of here!”

“Think about it,” Sonic grinned. “If Eggman’s stuck in some other universe, you’re not exactly going to get a postcard from him. I’m fast enough to get in, find out what’s going on, and get back before you can even finish another cup of coffee. What have you got to lose?”

Stone turned back to the console, his fingers flying over the keys. “There’s a portal generator in the lower levels. I’ll activate it and set the coordinates to the universe that the Doctor went to.”

Sonic gave a confident grin. “Thanks, Stone. I owe you one.”

“Don’t thank me,” Stone muttered. “Just . . . bring him back.”

Sonic nodded and turned to leave, his mind racing. “Hang tight, Egghead,” he said under his breath. “I’m coming for you.” With that he disappeared into a blue blur as he sprinted downstairs and into the portal below.

KOOPA KINGDOM

The transition was instantaneous yet disorienting. For a moment, Sonic felt weightless, as if he were floating in an endless void. Then, with a sudden burst of light, he was propelled out of the portal and into a vast, vibrant landscape.

He landed on his feet, skidding to a stop atop a hill covered in bright green grass. The sky was a brilliant blue, dotted with fluffy white clouds. The air was warm and carried the faint scent of flowers, reminding him of home, of Green Hill Zone.

He shot out in a burst of speed, rolling around at the speed of sound. He crossed each and every hill as he searched and searched. His leg collided with something hard and caused him to trip. He groaned as he twisted himself around and gasped. What his foot had collided with was the remnants of metal sonic. His entire lower body had been eviscerated, his upper body remained in three separate parts.

“Metal.” Sonic uttered out, expecting and hoping for the robot's eyes to light up, but there was nothing. It remained dim and Sonic felt a lump form in his throat as he questioned what could possibly hold the power to destroy Metal Sonic.

“Can’t stay here.” He reminded himself and continued forth. Each and every step he became more and more worried, as questions ran through his head. After all, he knew that Eggman would never leave Metal there, not like that.

He bounded over a Hill and became privy to a scene of utter carnage. In the distance, the Egg Dragoon was hoisted in the air, its body having a massive spike of Earth through it. His heart skipped a beat as he saw Eggman’s body, but breathed out a sigh as he realized that was just one of his D3COYs. His head swiveled around, going over the sea of badnik parts and seeing the disembodied head of the Death Egg Robot.

“What happened here?” Sonic muttered out, a tinge of fear in his voice. He jogged down hill, going straight towards that head . . . but stopped as he caught sight of the Egg Mobile. It was cracked, left in a derelict state.

What’s more was the fact that it was completely made out of stone.

It was over.

Sonic knew that it was over. That Eggman came here to conquer and he lost everything. After all, the Egg Mobile was always his last line of defense. It was how he always escaped and survived, not even a blackhole would destroy it. It was a safety net for the Mad Scientist, that no matter how bad things became, he could always escape it via the Egg Mobile.

But here it was.

Broken.

Just like everything else around here. From Metal Sonic to the Death Egg Robot, there was no way that Eggman survived.

Sonic sat down, leaning his back against the cold stone. His gaze moved up to the clouds, wishing that things could be different. Wishing that he had followed through on what Sage had asked of him at Starfall Island and that he checked up on the mad scientist.

For a long moment, Sonic said nothing. Then, his voice broke the stillness, soft and almost hesitant. “So . . . this is it, huh?” Sonic said softly, as if Eggman could hear him. “Leaving without ever truly saying goodbye. You always had to make things dramatic, didn’t you?”

The silence stretched around him, the wind rustling faintly through the distant grass. Sonic rubbed the back of his neck, forcing a small, bitter chuckle. “You know, for all your evil schemes, you were never boring. I kinda liked the challenge, you always kept me on my toes.” He smirked faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Even after all the times I trashed your plans, you never gave up. Always bouncing back, always coming up with something new . . . .”

Sonic chuckled, running a hand through his fur. “I know I give you a hard time, but I always thought . . . maybe one day, you’d change. You had it in you. I mean, look at Belle. Look at Sage. You’re capable of more than just destruction, y’know? You can create such fantastic things, I know if you put your genius into it, you could’ve made a better world. I mean, look at how much joy you created back when you were Mr. Tinker.”

He sighed, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. “I just . . . I wish things could’ve been different. That maybe, just once, you’d decided to fight with us instead of against us. You always said you wanted to conquer the world, but I think what you really wanted was to prove something. To yourself. To everyone.”

Sonic leaned his head back, closing his eyes as the sun warmed his face. “You were the biggest pain in my butt, but . . . it was fun. The races, the battles, the smack talk, it was all a game to you, wasn’t it? And, yeah, I had fun too. More than I’d ever admit out loud.”

Sonic got up to his feet, staring over at the Egg Mobile. “I’m going to look for Sage, I know you wouldn’t have put her in harm's way. I’ll find her and bring her back home. I owe it to the both of you.”

He raised up his arms and fist bumped the machine.

“Thanks for the memories, Doc.”

With that he sped away.

[hoardcloneheadcanons]

Stone & Robotnik's Gaggle of Robot Children P2

Stone puts Metal Sonic and himself together.

In that order.

Robotic Gaggle Part 2

Chapter 5 – Stone and Metal in Amsterdam

Every part of getting Metal Sonic back into operation had been a heart-wrenching slog.

Every part has been worth it.

Step 1: Stone dried it out. He exposed its chest cavity and inner parts to the air and observed what was salvageable (almost nothing).

Step 2: He cleaned out all the muck, mold and dirt that had gotten inside of it, and let it air out again.

Step 3:  He scavenged the crab and local hardware stores for any and all replacement parts and kept replacing everything one by one until Metal Sonic became the metaphorical ship of Theseus. He attempted verbal commands. Metal Sonic still did not move.

Step 4: He tried to dry out and fix the Doctors main computer where he kept his downloaded telanovellas and Metal Sonic's schematics. It could not be recovered.

Step 5: He wept, screamed, and tried to reach for alcohol again, before his flying egg followers came at him and shot it out of his hands.

Step 6:  He remembered that the badniks were frequently used as back up hard-drives and accessed their internal files. There were drafts of Metal’s schematic’s hidden inside them. He wept again but this time of relief at finally being able to succeed at something.

Step 7: His joy was tempered by the realization that the schematic he found was a back-up from months ago and did not match the current iteration of the robot on the table in front of him.

Step 8: He committed to the old schematic. He altered what he could inside Metal until the robot and the schematic matched one to one.

Step 9: He attempted verbal commands again (Activate, Eyes over Here) and Metal's eyes lit up and he turned to look at Stone.

Stone nearly cried again.

Metal awoke to Stone lifting him off the table in a hug and saying.

"Finally my fucking miracle, you are awake!"

Ch 6 – Stone and Reminiscence

Stone collapsed in a heap, fully dressed, on a couch not long after the Metal Sonic project awoke. There had been too much emotion, too long of feeling on pins and needles of hope.

Stone awoke up to find the buttons pattern of his shirt imprinted into the skin of his arm and his right hand asleep, the feel of needles shooting through it as he tried to move it.

He brushed his teeth in attempt to remove the feeling of dry-mouth. Washed his face in cold water to increase his alertness and make his eyes a little less bleary.

The man he saw in the mirror was fraying at the edges. There were bags under his eyes, his skin was dry, his eyes bloodshot and his usually carefully manicured beard had uneven lines.

Noted: His careful discipline had been slipping.

That wasn’t good. He was in hiding. He needed to be alert at all times, and it would not help his work for him to be exhausted. These were things he tried to instill in Robotnik thousands of times, trying to bring him food, trying to get him to clock out and sleep so he wouldn’t collapse on the lab room floor when he was in one of his creative fugues.

It had never worked. It had been easier to put a couch in the lab and drag him into it.

And after all his efforts, here Stone was, mimicking the bad habit in the absence of the Doctor. It was just so easy when you kept telling yourself that the work was so close to done that it would be complete soon if you kept pushing a little longer. It was so easy when you hopped from problem to problem to solve.

It hadn’t been like this the first time Robotnik disappeared, he’d had hope. He’d had an instruction set. Now he was making purpose and structure from scratch and stumbling at it.

He couldn’t do this. There was no version of himself, to pick himself up from the lab and watch his six. He needed to sleep, eat and work out on schedule again. He needed to take care of appearance and be ready to change it on a dime if he was discovered.

Stone turned around from the bathroom mirror to find Metal Sonic behind him.

Ch 7 - Stone and Metal Amsterdam Part 2

Stone yelped.

“What are you doing? Did I not shut you down last night? Were you on the entire time I was asleep?”

Metal Sonic, predictably, gave no response. It didn’t have a voice box. But it was no matter, Stone’s habit of talking to the badniks easily transferred over to blue android.

Stone’s memory from last night was fuzzy after the victory of getting Metal awake, there was every possibility that he’d forgotten to initiate the shutdown sequence.

Careless, and he was snuck-up on. Stone redoubled his determination to sleep at regular intervals again.

“Alright, well I’m awake anyway, let’s get more of your diagnostic tests done.”

Stone spent the rest of the day testing out basic motor functions for sonic. He confirmed that this version of Metal Sonic was capable of walking at normal human speeds, and moving it's arms, legs and neck, and listening to verbal commands.

Without orders, it would either sit where Stone left it, or follow after him, making gentle clunking noises on the floor.

The second behavior confused Stone until he looked closer into Metal Sonic’s programming. It was trying to update based on Stone.

Stone hadn’t looked too closely at the contents of Metal Sonic’s program in his original download of them. Upon further inspection, he found it classified as an augmented badnik and had similar programming. All badniks had an auto-update feature. Robotnik didn’t like to waste time updating every single bot, so he set them up to scan every new iteration he made and copy any new programs that would be useful to their directives. Anything they couldn’t copy due to lack of space or backwards compatibility they would mimic.

Stone technically counted as the only other bipedal badnik unable to fly. Metal must’ve found him easier to mimic.

Metal Sonic would stop following him if he ordered him to do otherwise. But following and mimicking Stone was its default. Fascinating.

Ch 8 -The Badniks and Metal – Amsterdam.

The Badniks circled around Metal scanning him, not copying anything, just observing. They’d already seen this version, he was not special, but they tracked him anyway, looking for aberrant behavior. They’d seen Doctor Robotnik send several iterations of this current model careening into a wall. The version that Stone built had lasted longer than any of the prior builds, mostly because he had not been given orders, and the Badniks were taking the time to see what this build would do, what its purpose was.

Metal watched them back.

[lordadmiralfarsight]

Boat touching : shipping edition

"Rule for thee, but not for me ! Grab ‘em by the boaty !" - Trump, apparently

As you may or may not have heard, President Trump, the world’s most economically illiterate dorito (no, he is not a tangerine, he is far too salty for that) has decided that China is being bad on the waters of the 7 seas too, and has decided that the perfect retaliation to such dishonor would be a tax on Chinese ships. Yes, yes, not products, ships. That come into US ports. With stuff on board. Those ships. One might expect a nation that so passionately tells the world ‘don’t touch our boats’ to understand that molesting other peoples’ fleet may not be conductive to a better situation, but alas, here we apparently are going. So, since this is a rather niche topic, but with wide reaching consequences, I have decided to continue in my glorious efforts to become the Economy Side of Tumblr (what has my life come to) and explain just how deeply and passionately boned we are if this goes from proposal to law.

The facts

First off, let us set this stage with the letter of the (proposed) law.

The text (called USTR) has 3 tax triggers :

- The ship is operated by a Chinese company, 500K to 1 million dollars of entry fee

- The ship is chinese-made or its owner company has chinese-made ships, 500K to 1,5 million dollars of entry fee

- The company ordered a ship in China, 500K to 1 million dollars of entry fee

It is currently unclear to me if those fees are cumulative, despite looking it up, I could not find an answer at this time, the only thing clear is that the fee, whatever it ends up being, will be paid at each entry into a US port. I suspect the cumulativity of the fees will be left to interpretation and later deliberation, which creates deep economic uncertainty, easily one of the most hateful kinds of uncertainty.

I mean, not knowing if you’re ordering oatmeal or chocolate cookies is already bad enough, but not knowing if the ship carrying them to your shores is going to pay 500k to 1,5 million dollars or 500K to 3,5 million dollars PER STOP is just … that ruins the cookies regardless of what you get. No amount of milk can salvage that. In large parts because, at this point, each cookie may end up costing as much as the entire bottle of milk.

“Oh hoho, oh Admiral, you jokester, you jester, you funny person you”, you say desperately hoping that I am joking. But you are desperate for a reason. There is no humor here, there is no mirth or hope or joy, only suffering and taxes. And barnacles. Those get everywhere on topics related to the sea. But mostly taxes.

Second, container ships tend to make 3 to 4 stops in US ports for a single trip (as explained in this lovely article from the Cato Institute), which results in a total potential sum of 1,5 to 14 million dollars. Per ship. For a single trip. You can scream now.

Third, how many companies could be affected by this issue ? I do not have a precise number, in large parts because “who has Chinese ships” wasn’t exactly a metric that got tracked before, but the answer to that question is in an order of magnitude scientifically called “a metric fuckton”. You see, the chinese fleet of cargo ships represents 19% of the global total of cargo ships. And I mean ocean-going cargo ships. So that’s a good 5th of worldwide maritime trade having to scrape off even their barnacles to try and make payments. But that’s just Chinese companies. You also have to take into account that China has 50% of all shipbuilding market shares, meaning it builds half the commercial ships in the world. Among which are 95% of container ships. The big chunky bois, those that can get to lengths greater than the Nimitz class super-carriers operated by the US Navy and do a respectable 2/3rd of their width. Oh, and China also does 86% of intermediate sized cargo ships.

Fourth, fun fact : big container ship dockyards stopped operating in the US in 1980. You know, just in case you thought you could revive that industry quickly, or on the cheap, or on the costly. Or at all, really. Building those big ships is VERY costly, and takes very long, and also there’s no adapted infrastructure in the US for ships of that size outside of military dockyards (which are already being used, thank you). So between the cost to build the new dockyards, train employees, build the ship itself and recruit and train a crew … Oh, and the end result would likely not even be competitive price-wise. You know, just in case you had any hope left for that.

Five, SALVATION ! One can have their entry fees waved, if only they have a USA made ship enter into a US port with stuff on board, huzzah, Trump 5D chess confirmed !!!! All you have to do is have a US-made ship enter a US port for each Chinese-made ship that does the same ! Surely, the overbooked, chronically late, undersized ship-building industry of the US will be up to the challenge !!!! Yeah, no, I can’t keep this up any longer. That’s not going to work. It’s not even being spoken about in most of the articles I’ve seen, that’s how insignificant in reality that measure is.

Boat touching, and why it is a bad idea

Now, let’s talk about the funny part : the consequences ! Aaaah, FO, what a wonderful acronym. Am I telling people to fuck off or to find out ? What suspense !

First off, the obvious : if the fee is on entry into US ports, why not go elsewhere ? Good question ! And honestly, it’s likely that it will happen, to some degree. The obvious answer would be Mexico or Canada, but it’s unlikely they could absorb all that transit, which would results in slow-downs (and thus, lost money) in a lot of logistic chains. As you may have guessed, disrupted logistic chains aren’t exactly economically tasty.

Mexico in particular doesn’t have that many ports adapted to such large ships and large numbers of containers, meaning there’d be even more slow-downs. And then there’s the issue of getting the goods across the border, and Trump can definitely decide to slap on even more tariffs, he’s like that. So more slow-downs for even more costs ! Yay ! But meanwhile, US ports would still see lower numbers of ships coming through, meaning less activity and less cash-flow, meaning job losses.

Second, you have to consider the impact on US exports. Because you see, Chinese-made or owned ships don’t just come in, drop stuff off and disappear over the horizon with a vaguely oriental soundtrack, we’re in reality, with serious people, they drop containers off in 3 or 4 ports, all while picking up containers of US exports at each stop. So the fees to sail into port will be spread on both the foreign imports and on US exports. Meaning US exports will cost more, compounded by retaliatory tariffs. Meaning competitors will be cheaper, or even than US products will leave reasonable price ranges. Either way, loss of sales and income for US companies, and thus loss of jobs.

Third, this will increase prices inside the US, once again compounded by tariffs, but this time Trump’s tariffs. Either way, this will increase prices of products, likely pricing out entire communities, or making entire companies economically non-viable. As you guesses, that means job losses, but also loss of comfort.

Fourth, some degree of economic chaos as worldwide shipping reorganizes to face this new and unpleasant situation. And that will likely hit everyone to some degree, so expect some grudges to spawn from that, too.

In conclusion, while there is reasonable concern to be had about China’s dominance of shipbuilding, Trump’s measures will do a grand total of fuck all to solve that issue. All they will really do is make the situation worse and costlier for the US. The measure aims for an impossibility (speedy resurrection of a US shipbuilding sector for large scale cargo ships) without doing anything to support that or to make such an activity economically viable in the US. It is, in effect, an economic scarification ritual, based entirely on the idea that by hurting others and themselves and incantating enough, the US will be able to magic viable dockyards into existence and produce ships quickly.

I hope I don’t have to explain why that’s not realistic. And honestly, I am almost impressed, it’s incredible to come up with a policy that harms that many different economic agents in your own country. Honestly, at this point, I don’t know if Trump’s economic policies are dictated by The Most Incompetent failed student, or by a squad of drunk chimps going ham on a typewriter and somehow randoming their way into only the worst possible economic policies. If Trump suddenly subsidizes banana plantations, we’ll know, and likely be in better hands, even with how psychotic chimps are.

[sicksadgames]

Into the Blind free rules available now!

Into the Blind is a sci-fi roleplaying game for 3-5 people, inspired by media such as The Expanse, Gravity, Arrival and Annihilation, and TTRPGs like Trophy, Mothership and Alien: The Roleplaying Game.

You are Salvager, Courier, Bodyguard, First Responder, Investigator, Debt Collector; whatever you need to be to make ends meet. You will be eaten by the machine the Company owns and operates, or you’ll die trying to escape it. You are subject to the inexorable forces of the universe. You are a mass moving through a vast field of factors and probabilities. You are a ship alone at sea, and the stories of sailors are the strangest and saddest.

You are a Freelancer. If the debt doesn't get you, the darkness will.

So psyched to put this out and talk more about it in the future. The full version will be coming later, but the basic rules to the game will always be free - everything you need to create a crew of Freelancers and run a session, so grab your sci fi adventure pamphlets and get busy dying in space.

Itch is a little weird about mixing paid content and free content, but visit the itch page and scroll to the bottom, the Free Rules are under the Download Demo header:

[invidioso-dogma]

I do not get why the Red Corsairs are not a popular choice.

Like.

Like here is the elevator pitch for the warband and then we can come to some justified conclusion.

What isn't there to love?

You want me to turn into an infomencial and make a top 3 reasons why the Red Corsairs are great?

Cause I can.

And I will.

The Diverse Working Enviroment

Here in the Red Corsairs we might have started as Ultramarines but the barrier for entry is on the floor. So anyone can join.

You are Night Lord with a bad rep and no ship.

Buckle up we got you covered.

You are a Fallen and have 20 Dark Angels all up in yo business? Trying to shoot down the boss babe you are?

Fear not, or in our case. Know no Fear. We are strapped and don't get clapped.

You are a traitor that likes their Legion but sadly you got in our way?

Tough luck buddy, you will join or die and your geene seed will join our cause. Nothing personal battle brother. Just business as usual.

Everyone is welcome as long as they follow Huron's guidelines and don't aggitate the topless sweaty Khorne worshipping Ultramarines in the basement.

Sustainability

Unlike the corrupt Imperium of man and the corpse Emperor our leader is powered by miracles (which is trully a miracle how he survived but that on the next section), and we use 0 psyckers to power our crap.

Our carbon footprint is also minimum as we use salvaged goods and don't indulge in toxic industries that destroy worlds.

The Red Corsair base of operation is in the Eye of Terror and from there we expand our scope. A place greatly known for its constant shifts, and horrible conditions but the tan our serfs have are spectacullar from all that cosmic radiation.

Finally we are commited to recycling. As in we take from our victims benefactors and put those stolen goods to some great use. Nothing goes to waste, neither mortal, nor static object. If something is not nailed on the floor we will take it.

In fact we might take the floor too and the nails used to set it in place.

Nothing goes to waste!

Unmatched Leadership

Last, but certainly not least.

The man.

The myth.

The Legend.

Huron Blackheart.

Aka Lufgt Huron.

Aka what would happen if we gave a compressed Guilliman a daemonic familiar and left him to ferment in a warp storm.

Not only the name is so edgy you might cut yourself by saying it out loud. But also it's complex enough that if you say it quickly three times without twisting your tongue theres is a chance furniture might start levitating.

The man has put his Ultramarine brain to use and amased enough influence and power to put the Black Legion to shame.

Huron went from 0 to 100 in no time, he is a self made Warmaster. With no daddy issues or troubles in the world, he goes into battle blasting Alestorm in the voxxcasters.

He does not care.

He probably wears this when he wants to relax.

You think he cares?

He does not care.

He has a biker gang specifically organized to hunt down those who have betrayed him.

They slap those things on their armors not for the usual biker reason

(which fun fact the meaning is, 99% of the bikers are law-abiding, where the 1% are not. That's where the 1% comes from. The more you know 🌈)

no they wear that 1% because that's how high are your chances of escaping from them are.

Is that a bit extreme?

Yes.

You think he cares?

He does not care.

The dude once gathered his buddies and decided...

to you know. Have a casual outing. Nothing too serious, it was a sunday afteral.

So they decided on.

Kidnapping Guilliman.

Which they almost did if not for a Fallen of all people getting in the way.

But still.

The mad lad took Macragge's Honour and went on a joyride/ mini civil war.

Who in the galaxy can turn and say.

Yeah, I stole Macragge's Honour, almost captured my old Primarch. Told a daemon prince they are irrelevant on my way there. Anyway after crushing a fool who thought he could take my crown as king of the space pirates, I went to the home planet of the White Scars and kidnapped and tortured their Chapter Master. What did you do this week? 💅

Who wouldn't want to be a part of that?

You tell me I can be an immortal, gorgeous chaos Ultramarine goth boy going on pirate adventures across the galaxy?

Where do I sign up?

I don't need ink for a signature.

I will use my own blood.

[thehydromancer]

Colonial Espatier Task Force Lan, assigned to protect the space colony of Umbral Keep. Umbral Keep, despite its vast potential to enrich the megacorp Krewstara and provide highly valuable resources to Sol, only rates the minimal Colonial Espatier investment given its isolated location and the competing need to protect the Aeralyn terraformer project in the same system. If it wasn't for the nearby transit gate and the previous Ijad invasion of the system, its possible The Powers That Be wouldn't have bothered at all. The PCL-01 Rookery class light carrier (inspired by the ARMD carrier from Robotech/Macross). The Fisher King is assigned to Taske Force Lan and the sister ship to the Angraal assigned to Task Force Kay tasked with guarding the Aeralyn terraformer colony. The Rookery class is a converted orbital platform popular with salvage and maintenance operations. Using the Fisher King as an example, the primary upgrades to the base craft are an integrated hangar with an elevator to the catapult, upgraded sensors and communications, and additional engines both for primary thrust and rapid maneuvering. The ships ability to rapidly change velocity is its primary defense as it is lightly armed and armored, completely dependent on its mobile frame company to defend it from aggressors. Multiple locations were reinforced for PDG installation, but the Fisher King has yet to receive this upgrade. In theory the Rookery class can transport a standard mobile frame company's entire 14 frame compliment, but it is only designed to launch and support up to a single augmented squad of 6 frames at a time during combat operations. The Angraal however is rumored to be undergoing upgrades to support an additional mobile frame squad during combat as well as additional defenses despite concerns on impacts to the ships overall speed.

Kobold frigates, based on the general purpose tug of the same name, are a slapdash, minimal cost answer to Colonial Espatier needs throughout the transit gate network. Kobolds are often present en masse around gates and space colonies, and are relatively cheap and easy enough to acquire that the local megacorp losing a few to stand up the local espatier chapter is of neglectable impact in exchange for the security provided. The two kobold examples provided are the Sylph, a missile boat, and the Salameid, a gun boat. Almost completely unarmored the kobold frigates rely on speed and distance, much like the Fisher King, to avoid enemy fire, although at least the Salameid is equipped with 4x PDGs for anti-frame defense.

[earthstellar]

Warlord Ratchet: A Fascinating Concept 

“And to think, the Doctor of Doom’s mad quest for power continues...! His marauders pursued us to this planet’s orbit.” 

What gets me about Megatron telling Orion Pax that the current dilapidated condition of Cybertron was brought about by the Warlord Ratchet, Doctor of Doom (aside from the concept in and of itself) is that he also states that Ratchet has a legion of marauders who carry out his bidding 

and because marauders are raiders, and Megatron states they were “pursued by marauders” to Earth, the implication is that Ratchet is not on Earth himself--

-- which is smart on Megatron’s behalf, because this would deter Orion from potentially attempting to leave in order to confront Ratchet and instils a concern that perhaps marauders may appear at any time (at this point, Orion Pax does not yet realise that he is armed and is operating under the belief that he is still an Archivist and therefore not Warrior Class) 

but also, this gives us the incredible mental image of Ratchet milling around in some kind of rusted fortress made from the remains of several different Cybertronian buildings, quite possibly the remnants of Iacon -- maybe even the central hospital there, converted into a hive of terror 

still living on an otherwise uninhabited planet, with a loyal band of raiding troops who scavenge the remains of their world and possibly other planets as well (as we know these marauders supposedly have space capable vessels), quite possibly doing so in order to source spare parts and other various salvage -- Ratchet is a medic, who knows how he’s been having to piece together his army, repairing them from the remains of random citizens? 

and he supposedly, presumably either from his makeshift base in the shadows of Cybertron or from a war ship of some kind, commanded an army of raiders to chase Megatron and his followers as far away as Earth 

“I cannot imagine Ratchet capable of such horrors!” 

I can only guess at what Orion Pax was thinking in this moment, aside from his immediately stated disbelief: What drove Ratchet to such lengths? What happened to turn his compassionate, caring friend into a warlord capable of carrying out inconceivable destruction? How could such a thing occur, especially at the hands of a respected medic, someone he thought he knew so well? 

Would Orion Pax start to blame himself, for what was clearly the brutal decline of one of his greatest friends? I can imagine him starting to wonder if there was anything he could do, any signs of discontent, any indication that Ratchet was headed down a violent, dark path. 

And I’m sure he would be concerned about Ratchet himself, as well. How is Ratchet faring, nearly entirely alone on their planet save for his loyal bandits, as aged and worn as he ever has been, possibly accepting a lonely inevitable death on an already dead world? 

Or does Warlord Ratchet have yet more plans in store, his instruments of destruction poised to afflict themselves upon other worlds as well? 

The Doctor of Doom: How Could This Happen? 

It’s somewhat easy to dismiss the idea of Ratchet being this “Doctor of Doom”, because it so wildly opposes what we know of the character and what we know actually occurred with the war. 

But when you think about it for a little bit, an unhinged Ratchet would very much be a formidable opponent, especially with his social position in pre-war Cybertron giving him more immediate access to higher class/caste areas than many others would have been able to reach... 

...Perhaps this Warlord Ratchet was able to work his way into the Council’s good graces, possibly after attending to one of them after an injury and restoring them to health, gradually manipulating the Senate from the inside in order to secure more power, resources, allies, and ultimately the whole of Cybertron for himself-- Leading to a violent conflict which resulted in the destruction of their world? 

With his medical knowledge, even if he started out with a fairly small number of followers and whatever troops he could finesse away from the Council, he may very well have “built” some himself-- We do see in TFP that protoforms may be possible to manipulate into certain frame types, or some types of “cloning” may be possible. 

Any version of Ratchet without morals (or at the very least without any medical ethics) is a very dangerous Ratchet. 

Repairing the injured via patching them together with the remains of fallen comrades, creating a “zombie” army. Ghoulish, lumbering soldiers, marauders held together with armour designed for other frame types. Instructing his former colleagues (who would likely have at least started out with some inclination to follow him) to carry out “repairs” in such a way. 

Warlord Ratchet himself may have chosen to ingest dark energon much like Megatron actually did, perhaps out of a desire to create a new fuel source once Cybertron began to go dark and natural fuel sources began to dwindle. We already know that our actual Ratchet wasn’t afraid to test synthetic energon on himself, with similar motivations. 

His base of operations would quite possibly be Iacon’s medical centre, turned into a horrific hive-like structure, some wards actively still in use for repairs (at least for his own followers) and other areas dedicated to terrifying research, with supply basements full of experimental tech and defensive weaponry. 

Ratchet’s more support class (as opposed to warrior class) approach to things may well carry over to Warlord Ratchet’s approach to war-- An emphasis on intelligence ops, R&D, indirect and direct manipulation, initial political manoeuvring from within the existing system, and defensive systems to counter any munitions etc. that may come his way from opposing forces. 

His initial goals may well have genuinely been intended to improve Cybertron, to help people. Much like Megatron, back when he was Megatronus and wanted a more egalitarian, fair society. 

After working on lower class/caste bots who were nearly offlined from a lack of maintenance, poor to no access to healthcare prior to being dragged to him, etc. it may have been the catalyst for his decision to start using his upper class social contacts in an effort to change things from the inside out. 

Unfortunately, in this universe in which Warlord Ratchet rose to power, things may have derailed just as severely as they did with Megatronus and his initially well-intentioned efforts. 

The longer you think about it, the more plausible it could be. 

It would be easy for Megatron to build further upon this idea to manipulate Orion Pax, that Ratchet truly could have done this. 

I’m sure Orion Pax did not recharge well, his first night on the Nemesis. 

Where did things go wrong? What happened to his friend? How could he do this to their world, a world that Ratchet loved so much? 

--

IDK I just think “Warlord Ratchet” is an incredible idea, and I would have been totally fine if they did a whole season of TFP with the Orion Pax concept lmao 

also holy shit Ratchet in a built up fortress of a former hospital with a band of marauders under his command is such a powerful mental image 

[Screenshot: TFP Episode - Orion Pax, Part One] 

[felassan]

Story elements, Campaign Map, and Garrus character sheet from the Mass Effect The Board Game - Priority: Hagalaz Rulebook [source]

bonus: move names of Garrus' and Wrex' that just made me happy :)

Text version of first three images under cut -

Opening blurb:

"In the year 2186, the civilizations of the galaxy are at war with a relentless, artificial enemy called the Reapers. Commander Shepard’s warnings of their arrival were all ignored, and now the Reapers have invaded the galaxy in force, crushing all resistance. Earth has fallen. Palaven, the turian homeworld, is under siege, and their military might barely holds the enemy at bay. The Reapers are pressing into the galaxy on all fronts, and it is only a matter of time before the races of Citadel Space are crushed beneath their onslaught. But there is still hope. Commander Shepard has assembled a crew of trusted allies aboard the Systems Alliance stealth frigate, the Normandy. They have the schematics for the mysterious Prothean superweapon, the Crucible, but constructing it alone will not be enough. Shepard and the Normandy crew are racing to forge alliances, build a unified front capable of defeating the Reapers before they overtake the galaxy and complete their harvest of all biological life. All the while, the insidious terrorist organisation Cerberus advances their own agenda of human supremacy at any cost, led by the mysterious Illusive Man and his army of ruthless operatives."

Note from Admiral Hackett:

"“Commander Shepard, Since you took out the Cerberus lab on Sanctum, N7 Special Forces have hit every other lab we could find. Cerberus has caught on and moved their research efforts off-world. They’ve retrofitted one of their cruisers as a mobile research facility and now keep it on the move. I’ve received reports of more abductions, like the one you stopped on Benning, and several refugee ships have unexpectedly dropped off the grid. Cerberus could be holding those abductees on that cruiser as hostages, or worse, as test subjects. Their latest hiding place was the storm above Hagalaz. Taking a page out of the Shadow Broker’s book, I suppose. We only found them because the cruiser appears to have suffered a massive systems failure and crashed on the night side of the planet. Although these nights are a lot longer than Earth’s, unfortunately it’s almost morning and daybreak will bring the most powerful storm on the other side of the Attican Traverse. The Normandy is the only Alliance ship in range. I need you to see what Cerberus was up to. Interference from the storm is degrading comms, so there’s no way Cerberus can get their research off-planet except by portable data transfer. We have recovery assets on the way, but they won’t arrive until after the storm hits and tears that ship to pieces. Shepard, your orders are: Whatever you do, keep that research data out of Cerberus’ hands. When the storm is over, I don’t want them to recover their work from the wreckage. Denying them those assets will be a major blow. Retrieve the research if possible, or destroy it if there’s no other choice. Alternatively, find a way to fortify the ship until the fleet arrives. If you find prisoners along the way, get them out of there. The storm is coming, Shepard. Get it done.” – Admiral Hackett"

Note from EDI:

"“Shepard, analysis of the crashed cruiser has isolated three primary objectives. The reactor, the research data core, and the kinetic barrier generator. You only have time to reach one of those before the storm arrives. Accessing the data core will allow us to steal Cerberus’ research, but they could salvage the ship’s wreckage after the storm has passed. Overloading the reactors will destroy the ship – and all hope of any data recovery or salvage. I am also detecting signs of the captives Admiral Hackett mentioned. By diverting power from the research core, you can boost the ship’s kinetic barriers long enough to preserve it and protect the prisoners until the Alliance arrives. However, if you do this, the data banks will be lost. The storm is only a few hours away, Shepard. I recommend moving fast. Displaying potential routes to each objective. The mission is yours.” – EDI"

[wordsandrobots]

This essay was brought to you by a prompt from @billveusay, for which I am most grateful! Not sure if this has entirely cleared out the cobwebs and I apologise if this is less focused than usual, but it certainly got the gears turning.

"Oh hey, I was chatting yesterday with TinyOZlion about various Gundam shows, and we touched on the topic of how much IBO and 00 were inspired by Wing (although in the case of 00, "inspired" is a very generous word). And if you haven't already written about it, I'd love to hear your thoughts on what IBO took from previous entries in the franchise, and how it put its own twist on them."

The earliest thread that Iron-Blooded Orphans is pulling can, I think, be traced to Gundam ZZ and its cast of teenage delinquents. The children from Shangri-La aren't suburban space colonists swept into the arms of military caretakers but rather kids who have been deprived of a conventional upbringing in a more protracted sense, working salvage on the scrap-heaps left over from two series' worth of wars. They have an established gang dynamic that clashes directly with the efforts of perennial child-endangerer Bright Noa to use them in furtherance of his increasingly poorly-defined mission, throwing the generational conflict depicted throughout 'Universal Century' Gundam into sharper relief. Previously, while a large proportion of the main cast were teenagers (including Bright himself, originally), they always operated within the bounds of adult supervision, occupying a place in the military structure befitting their youth. In ZZ, the gang ends up entirely supplanting all adult leadership and hijacking both the ship and the plot.

There are character commonalities with IBO as well: Beecha is a more abrasive, less morally consistent prototype for Eugene, down to sporting an out-of-place tie as part of his alternate costume, and I think Leina is a more direct analogue for Atra than the root of the 'homely support character' we find in Fraw Bow. However it is this shift towards centring generational conflict quite literally that the later show elaborates upon the most. Like Judau Ashta's friends, Tekkadan supplant the adults who bear responsibility for their situation, rebelling against abuse and foolhardy authority in search of a better future. And like their predecessors, that situation is rooted in poverty and the loss of parental figures who might have provided them with a more conventional normality. Mars is stricken with colonial division, rendered abject by the extraction of its resources, and subject to callously indifferent rule. Its children, orphaned by the resulting conflicts, must fight or starve – a more desperate echo of Judau pursuing the cash necessary to improve he and his sister's lot.

This does additionally, I am forced to admit, seem to owe something to Gundam AGE, where the antagonistic faction originates as discontented colonists abandoned on an inhospitable Mars by a central Earth-based authority. I deeply dislike crediting anything to AGE since I view it as by far the most morally compromised series, precisely because of its conceptualisation of a violent, absurdly powerful, atrocity-committing faction emerging from extreme deprivation. Even so, it does make sense as a point of reference for the development of the Post Disaster setting. AGE equally dabbles in hidden history ala IBO's Calamity War, extending an idea taken from Turn A and combining it with the a devastatingly powerful, autonomous mobile armour. 'Sid' presages Hashmal right down to its appearance.

A greater part of the conceptual landscape, however, seems owed to Gundam Wing. First, we have the relationship between the Earth and the colonies firmly tipped in Earth's favour, with no uniting organisation to take the colonists' side, even in a perverted form like Zeon or Vagan. There is no possibility here of an actual war, in the conventional sense, no national structure imposed on a conflict between oppressor and oppressed. Mars consists of divided vassal states and makes stuttering, incremental progress towards something more substantial, against the wishes of organisations assigned to keep it and the other space colonies in check.

Second, there is a sharp division between ground and space. We don't have ships that can traverse gravity wells and operate as well in one environment as the other. Passage across the Earth's surface must be managed by different means, relying on local assistance. The mecha too need to be adjusted depending on where they are deployed, creating obstacles in the plot. This serves to delineate different forms of action, as battles assume differing characters based on location.

And third, the social stratification running through Iron-Blooded Orphans is anchored at its top end by an aristocracy.

The handling of Gjallarhorn versus OZ provides a good example of where IBO's priorities diverge from its predecessor. It is tempting, I think, to position OZ as a more fanciful take on the nobility, infusing them with a certain validity and granting the argument that some are more fit to lead or inspire others. However they, the Alliance in which they originally hide themselves and the Rommerfeller Foundation they ultimately serve are all presented as vectors for oppression. These groups contain a non-zero number of unhinged murderous lunatics, after all, and engage in a great many nefarious activities for the sake of inflicting authoritarian rule on the population.

Nevertheless, members of OZ are permitted qualities that not only belie those elements but allow them to serve a higher purpose in the long run. Their nobility exists more in greater aims and ineffable qualities ascribed to 'true' soldiers than in any specific bloodlines – although, of course, Relena, adjacent in possessing importance via her heritage, benefits from both. There exists meaningful depth to the aesthetics and formality of the aristocracy, something notably, deliberately absent from Iron-Blooded Orphans.

Gjallarhorn are noble exclusively in the hereditary sense. What honour can be found among their ranks is fool-hardy and ineffective. Their manners and etiquette are vectors of snobbery, prejudice and abuse. While sympathy is evoked for individual members, it does not readily offset their actions – their purpose – as a colonial police force. Theirs is simply not a story that ends with letting bygones be bygones and everyone working towards the same ends.

Above all, IBO places a much greater focus on those who suffer under Gjallarhorn's domination than Wing does on those persecuted by the Alliance and OZ. Both shows use still images to convey mass protest and military action against civilians. But IBO takes the time to introduce us to people who belong in those scenes – labour activists and vulnerable populations, Tekkadan and the Turbines – while characters such as Ein, Almira and McGillis showcase the suffering present within Gjallarhorn, pervaded as it is by the same toxic attitudes it imposes on the world. The perspective through which we understand the setting aligns with the ground floor of the system, not the top. Even Kudelia, who apes Relena as a sheltered upper-class girl coming to understand a wider world, represents a lower social position than a long-lost princess adopted by a key government minister. Most of the time, we see things through the eyes of outsiders, not power-brokers, and when we are privy to the thoughts of the latter, they are coloured by antipathy and corruption.

Cynicism is one of IBO's main watchwords. Not hopelessness, yet it trades on a much grimmer view of people and power. Another interesting comparison to Wing is how it handles the inspirational nature of its protagonists. In Wing, the Gundam pilots are lauded for their purity and courage, often out of proportion to their actions, in ways that still work thematically. Meanwhile Tekkadan embody Quatre's infamous 'violent and dangerous but all nice guys' line to a T and also provide inspiration to others – as examples of how children like them make excellent soldiers. This isn't absent in Wing's approach, exactly, but like OZ's aristocratic nature, there is more space provided for it to be framed positively. In IBO, it forms part of the doom towards which Tekkadan rush. Sure, their inadvertent instigation a renaissance in mobile suit and 'space-rat' usage is a passing reference at the start of Season 2. But McGillis veneration and overestimation of their abilities is different only by degree, not kind. He makes them a part of his revolution precisely because they invigorate his belief that the downtrodden can change the world. A form of fetishisation, reducing them to objects, that runs explicitly contra to how we as the audience are allowed to understand them.

Given the fundamental mistakenness of McGillis' idea of them is key to both his failure and their destruction, it's hard not to read it as explicit rejection of some of Wing's more dedicatedly heroic framing. Even as Tekkadan earn sympathy from those closest to them, their commitment to violence-as-livelihood renders them fools, not martyrs; their achievements, a less significant step along the road to a better future than is made by Heero Yuy and co. I do find this a slightly tricky distinction to articulate because I'm aware it's another matter of degree. An engagement with something not absent in the earlier work so much as downplayed – left incipient rather than truly confronted. Wing's pilots save the day because they are better than the world they inhabit in key ways, despite exemplifying some of its worst aspects. Tekkadan succeed only in a fractured survival because they cannot be better than their world, despite being good kids regardless.

Where I feel on firmer ground is in looking at McGillis and Gaelio as a fascinating engagement with the whole concept of a 'Char clone'. Quite apart from Gaelio being perhaps the only fully-fledge Garma clone (depending on how one looks at it, Glemy Toto might be the only other candidate), I'm in two minds as to whether we can even properly classify them in those terms. The pattern set by Char depends heavily on rivalry as an underpinning component, manifesting as a competition between the protagonist and a masked figure who challenges them to become better, even when that figure is nominally on their side. Yet in Iron-Blooded Orphans, rivalry is largely rejected as a significant motivating force. To put it bluntly, Mikazuki doesn't care. His first fight with McGillis gestures in the direction of how a rivalry could form but never does. McGillis is Tekkadan's erstwhile ally by the middle of the first season. At the same time, Gaelio's attempts at pursuing a vendetta against Mika are repeatedly foiled by his inability to keep up. It's left to Ein to push Mika to be… honestly 'worse' might be the more adpt descriptor, with the resulting disablement tying Mika progressively further to his role as an engine of destruction over his wishes to be a farmer. And I don't think I can argue that Ein Dalton is a Char clone if the term is to retain any meaning.

Actually, 'Char clone' has always struck me as a bit of a slippery classification, insofar as it is habitually used. I don't feel it's correct to just assign it to every masked figure going, since to do so overlooks the specific qualities of Char and Amuro's relationship in the original Gundam. This is why I tend to exclude Ulube in favour of Schwartz Bruder in G Gundam: Ulube is too much of a mastermind, too little involved in Domon Kasshu's development. As I said above, rivalry and challenge are important to Char's character and its derivatives. Perhaps the area where McGillis is most firmly in Char clone territory is that he is challenged by Tekkadan. The inspiration he takes from them is actually pretty close to how Char's character trajectory is impacted by Amuro. He wants that power for himself, to prove he is as capable as he thinks he should be.

On the other hand, the lack of a reciprocal component from the protagonists complicates this view. That part is given over instead to Gaelio, who takes the role of McGillis' rival in the sense of pursuing him following the whole 'attempted assassination' thing and of a long-standing desire to 'catch up' to his best friend. Indeed these twos divvy up aspects of the Char archetype pretty neatly between them, with McGillis possessing the secret backstory, grand ambitions and affinity for impressionable youths, while Gaelio is infused with the quest for revenge, the dubiously-ethical psychic technology and being a snobby prick. It's not an entirely unique trick: the history of Char-alikes is full of different spins, including this kind of multi-character distribution of traits (funnily enough, in Gundam ZZ and Gundam Wing). But I don't think there's a cleaner example in the franchise and there's something amusing about it being a result of taking the 'what if Garma lived' concept extremely seriously.

Well, as seriously as one can ever take this level of melodrama. It's Gundam – you get used to masked wing-nuts engaging in angry debates at the tops of their lungs.

There's a bunch of other lesser threads to consider. Aesthetically, Grazes are a reinterpretation of the Leos from Wing and the Rodis are Zaku-inspired, leading to the rare case of two different classic mook designs fighting one another. Nothing especially deep about that but it's quite fun. Naze's outline as a Jupiter-born man with a harem owes something to Zeta Gundam, if only as answering the question of 'what if that guy genuinely respected women rather than just being a manipulative creep?' Tekkadan likely owe at least something to Setsuna F Seiei's backstory from Gundam 00, doing justice to the concept of a show anchored by actual child soldiers without devolving into teenage fantasies. And I mentioned Turn A Gundam's hidden history: the Gundam frames are surely a new take on that same idea, of mobile suits as buried relics of a by-gone age.

I will also sound a note of caution about tunnel-vision when analysing Gundam shows – or any long-running media project. A good example, which I read years ago on Twitter, is arguing over whether Krypto the Super Dog or Ace the Bat Hound has priority as the original super-pet in comic-book history, without appreciating the then-current popularity of TV shows like Lassie. Not every aspect of a piece of art comes from inside the house, so to speak. Influences from the wider genre landscape or from outside that particular niche have to be born in mind. With IBO we might consider the proximity of shows such as Aldnoah.Zero (a depiction of an Earth/Mars conflict centred on an exceptionally skilled and stoic teenage soldier, featuring aristocratic antagonists and a shattered moon) in addition to prior Gundam series.

But I think I'll leave it there for now, with the primacy of the teenage characters, the structure and perspective of the world, the treatment of social hierarchy and ideal, and the dissection of the Char clone as the main areas where Iron-Blooded Orphans engages with prior entries in the franchise.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Funny that doesn't make sense but giving it regardless cuz it wouldn't leave me alone

Mars: How much disaster i would cause by leaving the system and going back to Cybertron?

Earth: Not much i think considering Moon has bigger role? Well.. Scientists would flip a lid surely.. And NASA would cry over their rovers i assume

Mars: Welp. Bye then. Btw i am telling father on you you not dealing with Unmaker and being with in triangle

Moon: Tattletale! Also you had the same opportunity as i to get rid of the Unmaker you coward!

Mars: Can't hear you!

Unicron: One spawn of my brother less but humans screeching imminent eugh

I imagine that Mars did wander off at some point. I imagine it happened several times after he outed his presence to the trio. The first time he wandered off was to redirect a few asteroids since Moon couldn't move without fragging up Earth's tides. The second time he wandered was to assess an alien ship that passed by. He never did determine the species, but it wasn't Cybertronian, so it was not his problem. However the third time he wandered off, it was FAR more serious.

He certainly wouldn't be waltzing off when NASA was in operation. But the time he did saunter off with a serious goal in mind was quite likely a few centuries before humanity figured out that space was a viable option. Mars may be the aloof cat dad of the group, but he is well aware of what he is guarding. The Unmaker is a serious threat, and Pluto throwing an absolute fit over pods from Cybertron heading straight to Earth certainly didn't ease him. Seeing the relics within the pods only served to make Mars far more willing to wander off to seek aid. He's not an idiot. He can recognize the touch of Primes on just about anything, as can all Titans.

Mars was the one to travel back in the direction of Cybertron in time to witness the effects of the war. Neither he nor those in Earth's solar system were aware of the war. But seeing the state of his planet would give him a VERY good reason to gather up any survivors possible. Unfortunately there wasn't much for him to salvage, but he returned to Earth's solar system with a warning.

Mars: Earth, Moon, listen to me.

Moon & Earth: ???

Mars: War has ravaged Cybertron. Only the husk of Primus remains.

Moon: Impossible-!

Mars: No, I saw it. The Allspark is missing and none of Primus's children are anywhere to be seen. I suspect they have fled.

Earth: What does that mean?

Mars: You are likely going to get a visit from your cousins soon enough.

Moon: Primus below, this is going to be a disaster.

Mars: It will be. And if the Allspark is not retrieved within a few centuries, I will gather it myself. I will not stand for our kind to extinguish when a few of us yet live.

Yes, Mars is usually very chill. But after the death of his citizens, he fears extinction above all else. If Optimus had failed to gather the Allspark, Mars would have left to get it himself and probably turned himself into a living hotspot until SOMEONE fixed Cybertron and made it habitable again.

[montgumery]

okay i have so much to say about this guy, but this is the first ref from my big project! Maiq is the grand admiral (in charge of all fleet operations) of a group of star systems known together as the Conclave, which has been at war/very high tensions with another empire, the Imperium Arcana, for hundreds of years, ever since both nations reached the stars. (i have lore posts planned later but there are myths involved. like the rivalry predates most recorded history)

The Conclave uses a combination of magic and technology, whereas the Imperium only uses magic. (again, more details about it later but they are an even match) Maiq had been serving in the fleet as a ship captain, commanding a powerful battleship in defense of the Conclave, until he and the battalion of ships under his command were attacked by an incredibly powerful Imperium weapon, a lightning elemental. Attempting to save his crew as it ripped his ship apart, he attacked it by diverting the ship's arcane energy array, resulting in a blast that separated it from its core, but he was injured to the point of near death by discharging magic.

Somehow, he survived, dragging himself to an escape pod, where he's been in stasis for the last 20 years, believed dead. In the meantime, as the Imperium grew ever stronger, the Conclave's then grand admiral defected, leaving the fleet in shambles. Shortly after, his pod was found. (still need to work out these story details a bit lol) It's a miracle that he's even still really sane after that long in forced stasis, and even more so that he was able to (mostly) walk away from the elemental's attack, even if he is now permanetely injured.

in this world, magic has a definite effect on the user, and anyone used to being around/working with magic can "feel" it in the air. (so hyped for the magic explanation post guys) but Maiq gives off bad magic vibes. (the magic signature conclave sailors are used to is not there) the scent of ozone seems to follow him through the air, like a overheated plasma coil, or the moment before a storm. some of the newer recruits flinch during inspection if they stand too close, unable to shake the feeling of static crawling up their spines. As the highest ranking officer left after the former admiral's betrayal, and the vicious infighting that followed, (with a power vaccum and the fleet stranded, officers and sailors alike were forced to fight for resources) he's basically been tossed headlong into the deep end of a pool filled with acid. he knows he has to take up the mantle of grand admiral, he has to try and salvage what remains of his beloved fleet, the closest thing he has to a home, but is there anything left even worth saving? (spoiler alert the answer is yes, I don't like writing things that are 100% doom and gloom, the real world is tragic enough already lol) also for personality traits, he's an excellent strategist, that tends to push himself up to, or past the point of exaustion. pragmatic, sentimental, determined. at the heart of it, i'd call him an optimist. that might not be the right word for it (idealistic maybe?) but he is firm that things can and will improve, if he can put in the work to get it done. that does have a bit of a downside though since he tends to push himself and not like relying on others, especially now that he can't walk without a mobility aid. (his mindset will improve as the story progresses but for now he has opinions and not all of them are great)

if anyone made it through the absolute word vomit holy shit, thanks for checking it out! definitely more to come!

[rotten-apple-of-my-eye]

🧟‍♂️ Ship Lore 🧟‍♂️

AKA a post that discusses the structure of the relationship, how it began, and a very loose timeline. Important thing to note is that I’m ignoring the fact that only two or so years have passed since the start of the apocalypse, maybe closer to five, because that makes more sense to me how Negan had such a smooth operation in Sanctuary that had people bending at the knee for him.

Negan and Wren’s father went to school together. They were friends growing up, and tentatively still called each other that after graduation, even if they didn’t really talk much. Negan could be a dick, but Wren’s father was worse. But, seeing as how Negan was playing Gears of War with a bunch of kids instead of fellow adult friends, I assume he personally doesn’t have many. So Negan and Lucille are like an honorary uncle and aunt to Wren.

Negan actually met Wren when they first came home. Lucille wanted to bring gifts, and he liked being with his wife, and also Lucille was gonna drag him here regardless of how he felt because this was the only friend he had. Fortunately, since he’s a teacher, he’s good with kids, so he had no problem handling little baby Wren. He got the title of Godfather, Lucille Godmother, but only loosely.

Negan generally wasn’t around super often until Wren was like 4 or 5 when Wren’s parents divorced. He and Lucille could tell their dad was struggling with being a single father, being a man child much like Negan relapsed into when he got fired, so they didn’t feel comfortable with leaving Wren alone with that mess 24/7. It wasn’t much, but Lucille always offered to babysit, or do things with them mom’s typically do at important benchmarks. Negan could keep a closer eye on them because gym teachers teach all grade levels, so once they hit the age that he was teaching, he could see them every day. They weren’t parenting Wren, but were a support group they could go to if they needed it. I’d consider it pretty casual about 89% of the time.

Wren grew up to be real attached to their godparents. They didn’t really like their father that much, but their mother was worse. So the times they got to hang out with them was the best. Played video games with Negan whenever they were over, learned a bit about cooking from him too. Learned some things from Lucille as well.

When the apocalypse started, Negan was a little busy dealing with the tiny itty bitty fact that his wife had terminal cancer that he had limited treatment for—treatment that, one night, bursts in the freezer so that it’s unusable. Basically, any life outside their home was completely off his radar, and how could anybody blame him? He was doing everything for Lucille, even making difficult choices (i.e. leaving her to get medicine when she begged him to let her go)

After everything happens in “Here’s Negan”, after he burns his home down, he hits the road, and completely unintentionally runs into Wren hiding something. He was this 🤏 close to blowing their brains out thinking they were a zombie, just barely refraining from squeezing the trigger when he sees the familiar gray eyes and red hair. He’s surprised they’re even still alive; hell, he’d been in his home with Lucille for a significant chunk of time.

Wren’s father died. Wren’s mother and step-father and step-sister all also died, which was very discouraging because the step-father was a redneck with a small proper arsenal from hunting and shooting targets. Not to mention the guy was built like a wall. They only managed to survive because they were small and could fit into places to escape zombies when needed. They became nothing more than a rat, surviving off what little was salvageable, but hell did they survive. Negan immediately takes them with him and they were near inseparable after that.

Negan would introduce Wren as his kid in those early days of travel when talking to non-hostiles. He made Wren wear baggy clothes and a ball-cap so nobody could tell they were a girl: all kinds of freaks and perverts survived the initial outbreak, he wasn’t letting anybody touch what was his, living or dead. As they got older, Negan went from saying “this is my kid” to “they’re mine”, making the relationship incredibly ambiguous.

By season 7 of the show, Wren’s at minimum 15 years old, and yes, Negan is one of the creeps he was trying to protect Wren from but shhhh it’s better him than somebody else. Wren’s happy with the arrangement, they love each other, and having Wren like this means they are his and only his. He has killed people to keep this dynamic (killing the Doctor for something he didn’t do, claiming justice for breaking the rules but really he didn’t like how close the Doctor and Wren were becoming)

Wren had been given everything they could ever need or want in Sanctuary. They have the same privileges as Negan’s harem but with more freedom and added benefits. If anything, Wren had to really twist his arm to get him to agree on a position, which was being the Doctor’s assistant (and we saw how that ended). It kept them near the heart of Sanctuary and away from Walkers. Wren takes over the position for the little time they have before Rick inevitably slits Negan’s throat in their 1v1.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: there’s Negan’s wives, and then there’s Wren. Wren is the only one Negan can really acknowledge as a true partner because they aren’t with him for the benefits or to settle a deal for survival. Thus, they share a room, they share a bed, they act like a married couple but Negan won’t actually give them the title yet. They do eventually get properly married, rings and all.

Negan gives Wren first pickings off the trucks. Whatever they want is theirs. If they won’t take anything, Negan will do the “shopping” for them, getting them “gifts” he thinks they’d like, making sure he gets a bulk stock of foods Wren likes (or that he can cook into one of his recipes that Wren loves so much).

Wren only pulls “rank” on Saviors when they are being dickheads to their own community. Nobody is allowed to say a word—can’t even make a goddamn face at Wren—if they want their brains kept in their skull or to avoid the red-hot iron. Negan even bends to their will, but in a whipped husband, “they have my balls in their handbag” kinda way. They use it to make him make morally upright decisions, or at least beneficial ones for the community, since they’re often on the ground floor dealing with their people more than Negan can.

You can always spot Wren in a crowd, even if they’re wearing the cap Negan gave them as a kid, because they’ll be the only one not kneeling for him when he enters the room. They’ll stand hands-in-pockets listening to Negan’s speech and then jog over afterwards to greet him.

Strangers usually think Wren lowkey hates Negan because they can be kind of a chilly jerk to him but they both adore each other, Wren just doesn’t take his shit and he finds that smoking sexy. Wren’s actually the type to greet him with a beer and a very heated kiss when he comes home. They canoodle. They kiss. PDA is absolutely a thing for them, including the fact that Negan makes zero attempts at noise control when screwing Wren’s brains out, or the fact that they’ll leave the bedroom looking like they tumbled out of a tree with all the bruises (hickeys) and blood (bites). Nah bro it was just sex and Wren will say that to people’s faces if they try to insinuate Negan beats them (he’s never raised a hand at them before) 👍

Wren helped save Negan after his throat was slit. They laid in the recovery room with him until he was up and cognizant, not budging to eat or drink or even clean his blood of their hands. And, god, they were covered in it.

Wren remained loyal to Negan all the way to his recent appearances in Dead City. Wren got to stay with Rick’s group and, by extension, imprisoned Negan without getting tossed into the cell. Trust me, they tried like hell to get put in there with him, but Negan cut in and said that Wren had medical training, which made them a useful asset, and assured that Wren was a good kid and would obey so long as they were allowed to come see him in his cell.

Wren never technically did anything to attack Alexandria. They were too focused on keeping people alive to draw a gun. It would have made people more friendly to them, but they were ice cold in return, doing their chores and job and nothing more. They weren’t going to befriend the people imprisoning Negan.

[usafphantom2]

SR-71 #974 sleeps below the fish’s in the deepest part of the ocean the Mariana Trench there will not be any communist spying in that area.

Since the end of the Cold War, more information has come to light, with many official documents declassified. My friend Paul Crickmore sent me the following email last year with some interesting information.

I just read the piece you wrote about the loss of #974 a couple of days ago and thought you’d like a ‘sneaky-peek’ at part of the piece that’ll appear in the new book covering the subject…

“Side‑scanning sonar imaging of the crash site took place on 29 and 30 April, and it was not long before the debris field of ’974 was located. The 280ft‑long salvage vessel USS Beaufort was dispatched to lift the wreckage with its 10‑ and 15‑ton cranes, fitted on the bow and stern, respectively, and to find the sensors and defensive systems (Coincidently, the ship was built by Brooke Marine, in the author’s home town of Lowestoft, Suffolk).

Due to the proximity of the communist New People’s Army, a number of Navy SEALs were on board to provide protection to the divers and crew.

One morning during the search, an order for General Quarters was sounded at 0400 hours. Crew members rushed to their action stations in readiness for an immediate confrontation. They saw a large number of small vessels (which had been detected on the Beaufort’s radar) making for the ship.

Tension mounted until it was discovered that the would‑be attackers were fishing boats that had come towards the bright lights of the naval vessel because a very large shoal of fish had congregated around it. 🐠

When ’974 impacted the water inverted both engines, the main undercarriage and the aircraft’s sensors smashed through its upper surfaces.

They were scattered on the ocean floor at varying distances away from the main wreckage field. On the evening of 1 May, wire hawsers were attached to one of the J58 engines. The late evening movements dislodged the TEB tank and caused a small leak, which released tiny amounts of the chemical throughout the night.

TEB CAUSED GREEN PUFFS

As the volatile chemical bubbled to the surface, it mixed with ambient air and exploded in small green puffs. The ‘magic’ of the ‘Yankee’ engineers caused quite a stir among the native fishermen who saw the eerie ‘TEB‑bubble show’. The next day both engines were lifted and brought aboard the Beaufort’s fantail, and two days later, many of the sensors were also recovered. When the ship’s crew attempted to lift the main section of the aircraft, the crane operator found that the large delta‑shaped wing planform greatly exceeded the lifting capacity of his crane, and the wreckage refused to budge an inch. A yard derrick was sent from Subic Bay, and the forward fuselage section was recovered on 7 May, while the main structure was lifted aboard the Beaufort’s fantail the following day. The black wreckage was a sad end for a once‑proud airplane, despite Dan’s skillful ( Dan House, the Pilot) and valiant efforts to save it.”

This post is by Linda Sheffield

With Paul Crickmore

@Habubrats71 via X