#sounded like a contractor rather than anything

[stormofneurosis]

Operating an unlicensed charter boat

Possibly murder... jury's out on that one

a dozen or so healthcode violations

at least some amount of cruelty to animals

unlicensed mining, fishing, & logging

Some practicing of medicine without a license

OH yeah, how could I forget the unlicensed construction and electrical wiring!

Aiding and abetting criminal activities

Child neglect

hmmmm

I think that's all?

duality of man

[robbinghisdick]

I dont know if you're still taking prompts but! Slade kidnapping Dick for a contract. They've been on and off dating/sleeping together for a while but Slade doesn't know Dicks ID. Dick thinks Slade knows his ID and just thought is was a plausible deniablility/kinky thing. Dick flirting with Slade the entire time, but going along with the whole kidnapped thing but with 0 panic or acting and 100% flirting and fun thinking that this is just a scene Slade was wanting to try. Meanwhile Slade just being like wtf, this rich boy is a bit not right in the head. (NS4W encouraged)

When Dick came to, blindfolded and his arms tied behind his back, he could barely contain the aggravated groan building in his chest. Sure, why not? It had been a while since Dick Grayson had been kidnapped.

"Ah, so you're awake."

Dick's head snaps up, recognizing the voice of Deathstroke in an instant.

I thought Slade wouldn't take contracts on me? Dick wonders, frowning in confusion as he tugs at the restraints again. His frown deepens at the realization that he could so easily break himself free from the rope tied around his wrists. Yeah, for the average person they would hold, but certainly Slade didn't think so low of him? There was ample wiggle room and his legs were completely unbound. Even the blindfold wouldn't be too hard to shake off.

"It's nothing personal, kid, but I do recommend staying quiet and doing what I say," Slade says, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the room and getting closer. "I was not told what condition you needed to be in. Just alive."

A small shiver shoots down Dick's spine that he regrets to say isn't fear.

Are they... are they role-playing?

As ridiculous as it seems, Slade taking a contract on him and using some damn rope to hold him is even more ridiculous. Slade isn't a stupid man. Actually, he was frustratingly intelligent (not that Dick would ever tell him) and he'd certainly take more precaution than this.

This dynamic between them that had recently turned sexual was already riddled with poor communication... maybe Slade would rather do all this than admit he wanted to explore a few kinks. It made more sense than this being a genuine kidnapping.

In any case, Dick couldn't say he was really all that against it, even if he'd prefer a heads up.

"What are you gonna do if I don't stay quiet?"

"I got my portion of the job done much faster than my contractor's side. I suggest not pissing me off because you're stuck with me for hours."

///

Slade certainly hadn't made it easy to get to this point. He knocked Dick around a little, and it took an ample amount of back and forth to get to the actual sex part of it all.

Dick regrets to say it's been a long time since he's been this hard. On his knees, still tied and blindfolded, and Slade's hands in his hair as he seemed determined to choke Dick on his cock.

"I wasn't sure at first," Slade mutters with a grunt, "but you seem to really be enjoying yourself."

Dick moans to response, shifting uncomfortably as he desperately wished for something to grind against. He isn't too worried about an old man like Slade finishing too soon on account that serum meant that he bounced back quicker than even a much younger man like Dick could. There'd be plenty of time left for him.

Slade came and he pulled away, leaving Dick to to gasp and pant for breath. He could hear Slade crouching down in front of him before his thumb brushed over Dick's spit covered lip. "There's something wrong with with you, kid." His other hand abruptly squeezes the bulge in his pants, making him keen.

Despite trying to not to pathetically buck up into Slade's touch, Dick smiled. "You think this is the first time I've been kidnapped and tied up?"

Slade mutters a curse before unzipping Dick's pants and finally giving him some attention. "So what? You put out for any man that ties you up?"

Was he... jealous? Well, perhaps not the right word. Possessive would be more accurate if anything. It wouldn't surprise Dick that Slade wouldn't want to share.

"Might as well get something out of this," Dick says cheekily before he finds himself hunched over with a startled moan. Slade is stupidly good with his hands when he wants to be.

///

"That's it?"

He's tucked back into his pants and then can hear Slade re-adjusting his armor.

"I don't carry lube on me and don't fancy getting blood on my dick," Slade says bluntly. "Sorry, kid. Fun ends here."

Feels like kind of a waste? Was Slade bored or a bit too committed to the role? Did he want Dick to beg? Because if he really didn't have any sort of lubricant on him, Dick couldn't say he wanted to go further either.

"Slade, please," Dick whines.

The following silence is confusing and unnerving.

Suddenly, Dick finds the collar of his shirt yanked on and he's dragged to his feet. He's then slammed into the wall hard enough to make his head ring.

"You've been blind folded all night, how the fuck do you know who I am?" Slade asks with a snarl.

Dick can only stammer out a, "W-what?"

His blind fold is ripped off and Slade's hand goes from the collar of his shirt to his throat.

"I asked you how you know who I am?"

Dick's eyes adjust to the dim lighting and finds himself already working himself free of the rope. "What are you talking about?" Were they still in a scene?

"Is this a set up?" Slade demands, now pressing hard against Dick's throat. "If this was all to distract me, they won't be able to identify your body."

Slade definitely wasn't this good of an actor, and Dick finds himself no longer caring. This was more scary than it was hot.

He frees his hands and swings his legs up to wrap around Slade's arm, twisting it hard and forcing the man to stumble and let go of his throat.

Dick puts some distance between them and they stare.

Did... did Slade not realize who he was?

"This kidnapping was real?" Dick asks in disbelief. Surely Slade knew that Dick Grayson and Nightwing were the same person? That was something that had come up or been revealed... right?

Slade didn't give him a response, just went on the attack, thankfully without weapons. Hand to hand with Slade while unarmed wasn't exactly the easiest thing in the world, and Dick was mostly focusing on evading than he was on hitting back.

It was after a showy flip off something as he jumped away from Slade's reach did the man suddenly freeze.

"Wait."

Dick, for some reason, froze in turn.

Slade stares at him for a long moment. "Little bird?"

Dick couldn't decide whether or not it was a good thing that Slade knew his identity... but had the man really wanted it, he could've gotten it long before now.

"Hi."

They both stare a moment longer.

"Jesus fucking christ, why didn't you say something an hour ago?" Slade hisses. "I thought you were some fucked in the head rich kid." He pauses for a second. "Actually, I still think that but now for entirely different reasons."

Dick held up his hands. "I thought you knew!"

Slade waves his arms in turn. "You think I'd do all this instead of just catching you on patrol?"

"You're an older man, figured you'd rather take out your other eye than discuss proper BDSM etiquette!" Dick says in increasing exasperation.

He can't see Slade's face with the mask on, but he still finds himself nodding at the following silence and saying. "Exactly what I thought!"

If Dick tried to explain a safe word or the stoplight system to Slade, he was sure the man would just call him a slur.

Slade let's out a heavy sigh, head tipping slightly back. "Well there goes this contract," he grumbles before looking back at Dick. "Get the hell out of here before I decide to properly restrain you and make you someone else's problem."

"So I'm not getting railed tonight?" Dick can't help but say.

"Leave."

[seat-safety-switch]

“Fuck you, Tederick,” I said to my uncle’s new boyfriend, “I can too make a better self driving car than those assholes at Tesla.”

“It’s Edward,” Tederick corrected me. “And you’re on. If you can make a self-driving car, I’ll eat my own hat.”

Before my uncle had returned from the kitchen with dessert, I had already gotten on my coat and was out the door. I was headed to my secret laboratory: the ramshackle postwar 1-car garage that I rented because my house was so full of parts I no longer could fit in it to sleep. Now, I wouldn’t need sleep, because I had a project.

My bedroll and mouse-infested sleeping bag were set aside, to make room on the cold concrete floor for all the components I’d need. As fit my theory about the practicality of self-driving cars, it was all simple parts. A bunch of military-grade microcontrollers I’d found in the dumpster of a defence contractor, which had gone out of business due to the establishment of world peace. A security camera setup that I sawzalled off a bank, because those idiots didn’t take the very simple precaution of adding additional cameras, to watch the first cameras, to make sure nobody like me stole them.

At last, I secured the most important component: a seafoam-green 1996 Toyota Celica with considerable front-end damage. Not my fault, of course, but that of the country club. How dare those rich pricks put a fence in the way of a shortcut on my commute? I saved like fifteen minutes a day in exchange for a little bumper paint. You can’t put a price on that. One sleepless night of wiring, soldering, debugging, re-debugging, de-re-debugging, throwing my laptop out the window, and then duct-taping the corpse back together well enough to try one last upload: and I had a working car.

I decided to let it drive me over to my uncle’s house, so that I could watch that fucker Tederald dine upon his chapeau. Of course, building a self-driving car and testing a self-driving car are two totally different things. Had I gotten a little more sleep the previous night, I probably would have tried testing the car from the front seat, rather than climbing onto the back bench and immediately falling asleep while the Celica merged onto the highway with the triumphant horns of a turbocharger bypass valve.

A couple hours later, I awoke in a strange place. Looking out the window, I immediately recognized it as a forest. The car had pulled us into a strange clearing, and eerie light began to seep in from the full moon overhead, which seemed, if anything, larger than normal. I was about to say something, shut the whole experiment down, when I heard the sound of more internal-combustion engines. The Celica soon found itself joining a circle of other late-nineties Toyotas, the insistent revving of their motors joining to form a demented chant of the piston.

It’s a good thing the feds don’t give a shit about reporting self-driving car accidents, because whatever they summoned in the middle of that circle, lit so bright by the collection of a hundred H4 headlight bulbs that I could barely make out its mind-bending contours, is definitely gonna cause some.

[parasiticstars]

To Teach an Old Dog: #1

re re re re re re uploaded bc tumblr keeps fucking it up

TW: BBU/pet whump, casual mentions of dehumanization, institutionalized slavery, and suicide idealization, and me being very pretentious

Kavan’s back hurts. Of the numerous things wrong with his situation, this is what he decided to focus on in an attempt to stave off the impeding sensory overload— and this is the only familiar, non-Pet-fuckery problem he has.

The bit was fastened too tight and digs in the corners of his mouth. He can feel drool starting to crust his beard. He’s disused to the shoddy buzzcut his masters captors gave him in an attempt to make him presentable before auction; he'll certainly never take the feeling of hair on his ears for granted again. The ear tag is pulling on already mutilated earlobes, adding to a budding headache just behind his eyes. The concrete floors look and feel like they haven’t been cleaned ever. The auctioneer’s voice is solidly the fourth most irritating sound he’s ever heard in his life.

Alas, nothing Kavan attempts to focus on staves off the visceral, skin-crawling feeling of too much. No matter how many times the man gets shuttled in and out of auctions and captors like a head of livestock, he’ll never truly get used to the non-personhood, the sheer objectification of it all. Nor will he get used to an audience leering and inspecting him and the other Pets people around him like the products they’re advertised and sold as.

Nobody seems to be interested in him, thank god. Kavan’s getting too old for most people’s tastes— even as a labor Pet, being above thirty is automatically considered a liability, as if he’d crumple into dust the second he set foot onto a construction site or a plantation or wherever the hell else. Has he felt close to it? Definitely. But that didn’t mean he would; even though some places, water and breaks weren’t a given.

(Why would they be? Employers and contractors who use Pets rather than workers don’t need to abide by silly things such as OSHA and basic human decency.)

But regardless.

With the slowly increasing amount of times he’s talked about like his expiry date has run out, Kavan wonders when he’s going to just be taken out behind the shed.

He wonders if he’ll do it himself one of these days.

A prod to the small of his back forces him to straighten, making him nearly drop his sign in the process. His attention snaps back to the crowd, all crammed together in this dingy-ass building in those dingy-ass folding chairs betting on dingy-ass people.

Long had Kavan lost the naïvety that Pet owners were this special type of evil, so impossibly cruel and uncaring that they simply couldn’t be human. Regardless, the fact that everyone here is so unassuming still screws with him. He could hypothetically see any one of them, say, at a Starbucks bitching at the barista about their overpriced order, or shopping at Trader Joe’s, or working in their cubicle, or at a PTA meeting. That in particular jars him.

Nobody around them would know that said person was willingly participating in legalized slavery, lacking even the flimsy pretense of “rescuing” their aunt’s-grandma’s-brother’s-husband’s-neighbor’s-girlfriend’s-niece’s Pet or whatever else they’d want to virtue signal on their Facebook wall or status or whatever else.

(Are Facebook statuses still a thing? God, Kavan’s been out of the loop too long. He doesn’t even know how long.)

One woman in particular has set sights on him. Judging by the fine cut yet plain color of her coat, the disgusted-holier-than-thou glances she’d occasionally give whoever she was seated near whenever they did anything particular crude, the brand name Ceilos, she’s probably fuck-off rich trying not to look fuck-off rich. What would someone like her want at a low scale labor pet auction like this? Why is she eyeing him in particular? Why are her irises barely darker than #FFFFF?

Catastrophizing is, it seems, a very time consuming activity. It muffles the rest of the auction, the auctioneer’s droning that would soon settle the man’s fate, the assistant taking away the sign Kavan was holding and tugging at the rope attached to his collar.

He stumbles as he’s led off the platform and into the pen for inspection. Through the buzzing of his ears, the sound of heels clicking follows.

[dark-elf-writes]

Wait, but if Hazel was decades in the Asphodel... You cannot tell me that Eurydice didn't adopt her in twelve seconds max.

Hazel spent decades having a real mom, a good one. Who cooked to her and sang her songs, and extorted Zagreus into bringing her some pencils to draw because she was his sister and deserved it. And told her stories about everyone here and how good do her songs sound when she has Orpheus lyre to back her up. And told her how much she would have liked to have a kid like her, how that would have been her biggest blessing. And how Gaia likes to influence people lifes ("Take it from a nymph, hon. That woman loves it when someone smaller does her work for her.")

Zagreus knew her and brought her ambrosia from time to time, and pressed the contractor until they told him how many diamonds would he need to get his sister into the house from Asphodelus. (He told her she wasn't missing that much in Elysium unless she wanted to see him beat up Minos and Theseus).

He was so close, just one diamond more and he could introduce her to Dussa and Achilles and Nyx and even both of his parents had wanted him to succeed and bring her home where she belonged... Hazel's gone. A kid who looked like him but sadder got her out. And no one can find Thanatos.

I feel like it was a mix of Zagreus asking for a favor and Eurydice adopting Hazel tbh. Like Zag hears about his little sister sentenced to Asphodel rather than Elysium because she chose to take another’s guilt onto her and sacrificed her title of hero after already sacrificing her life to save countless more. But when he eventually finds her she’s so young. A child. All of thirteen and scared and alone in Asphodel. The one who remembers when no other mortal soul does.

Zagreus offers her a hand, tells her that he is her older brother, tells her that he knows a friend nearby.

Eurydice sees the usual red blur that is the prince dashing into her home and has to do a double take because in his arms is a rather dazed looking girl who keeps trying to make herself small.

Of course she offers to let Hazel stay.

They talk of curses. Of cruelties. Of love and loss. They talk of a woman who is earth as much as she is anything else. They talk and slowly Hazel starts to heal.

(“It wasn’t your fault.” They all tell her that a lot. Zagreus Eurydice. Orpheus. Even Nico when he shadow travels in and meets her for the first time years later.

It takes a long time for her to believe them, but in the Underworld there is nothing but time.)

Then one day Nico tumbles into Eurydice’s home in a tangle of shadows and too thin limbs and tells Hazel there’s a way out. That he can bring her back. That he can let her see the sun again.

Eurydice smiles and kisses them both in the forehead. “Go, children,” She whispers to them. To this little prince and princess of Hades. “You always had too much life to stay here.” It kills her to let her daughter leave but… Eurydice tried to escape once. Had helped Zagreus escape countless times. She would give Hazel the same chance.

And Zagreus understands when he finds out even if it aches to know he won’t be able to easily see his sister again.

Then the Doors are chained. Then Than goes missing. Then he stops dying.

And suddenly he can see a lot more of his siblings topside than he ever imagined.

[booksteaandtoomuchtv]

Engineered by Fate (2/?)

1 | AO3

Summary: Emma's life is going according to plan. She finished her degree a few years ago, landed a stable job that she excels at, and spends her evenings in the dance studio with a great group of friends. But her love life is a bit of a mess that she would like to ignore.

Fate has other plans when she is dragged on a week-long factory tour and continuing education trip at work. What was meant to be a one-night fling turns into something that may change Emma's life forever.

Rating: E

Tag list: @anmylica, @deckerstarblanche, @elfiola, @goforlaunchcee, @jrob64, @kmomof4, @pirateswhore, @stahlop, @teamhook, @tiganasummertreee, @undercaffinatednightmare, @xarandomdreamx, @zaharadessert (let me know if you want to be added or dropped)

They were three hours into their forty-five-minute layover. The gate agent had begun announcing increasingly less reassuring status updates. The last one had been, "They are performing maintenance on the plane's wiring.” Comforting.

When Smee, the seat thief, asked if Emma would join him and Killian, the pretty one, for a drink while they waited for the plane to board, she didn’t hesitate - a bit of time travelling at the bar sounded like the best way to get through this endless layover.  

The nearest bar was surprisingly busy for half ten on a Monday night, so they huddled around the only available stool. The soothing scent of cedarwood and the ocean breeze made Emma very aware of how close she was standing to Killian. His arm brushed against hers and he sent her an apologetic smile. The sincerity in those bright blue eyes sent a jolt of…something… through her body. She had a sudden vision of those eyes holding hers as he entered…Shut it down, right now. 

She tore her gaze from his before he could read her wildly inappropriate thoughts and glared at the half-empty cup in her hand as if it, rather than her recent break-up and several-month dry spell, was to blame for her filthy mind. Although the way he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal his forearms and had unfastened the top buttons so that she could see a hint of dark hair curling on his chest was not exactly making it easy for her to keep her thoughts pure. 

She tried to focus on the conversation around her, but couldn't find the energy to feign interest in discussing collegiate sports. The downside to being one of few females in her office and on this trip was almost certainly the fact that most non-work conversations centred around college and professional sports. She was knowledgeable enough to keep a conversation moving but it took energy that she just couldn't muster up after hours. 

“Are you excited to get a year of continuing education credits in one week?” The question was harmless, innocent, and a bit of a desperate reach for something to discuss. But the way he had asked it with his voice low so only she could hear his words and as if he wanted to know her answer to this silly question more than he wanted for anything else had given flight to butterflies in her stomach. 

“Oh, no. I’ve just heard the cheese is good in Wisconsin.” Emma answered dryly, keeping her voice low to keep her nerves out of the words.

He flashed a breathtaking smile and hid it entirely too quickly behind his glass. “This will be a long week if you are just here to try out cheese.”

“It is going to be a long week no matter my incentives.”

“Fair enough.” Killian granted. “So, what category do you fall into?”

At the blank look Emma gave him, he continued. 

“Archie says that he brings contractors, owners, architects, and engineers on these trips. I fall into the ‘engineer’ category.” 

“And where would you put me?” Emma challenged playfully, but she was genuinely interested to see where Killian thought she fit. 

“Well, you’re not an architect,” Killian answered immediately with absolute certainty. 

“Oh, and what makes you think that?” Emma was not an architect but was not sure if she should be offended by his quick and absolute response or pleased with it. 

“I am certain of it. Architects are,” he paused, worrying his bottom lip before continuing, “well, you just are not an architect. You’re a bit too professional,” he gestured at her suit slacks and button to clarify his meaning, “to be a contractor. So, you are an owner or one of those rare unicorns.” 

“Hm, or maybe I am a well-disguised architect.”

“You’re not an architect,” Killian murmured almost as a reflex as he debated internally over her owner or engineer status. “I’ve got it. I have indeed sighted a unicorn. You are an engineer.” 

Emma laughed, feeling flattered despite the ridiculousness of it all. 

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Killian’s eyes danced with triumph and genuine excitement. As silly as this game was, he seemed truly delighted to have made her smile. 

“No. Actually, I am turophile. I convinced Archie to bring me along for the trip through blackmail.”

“Oh? And what kind of blackmail could anyone possibly have on Archie?” Killian raised his eyebrow, which enhanced the silliness of their conversation. 

“I cannot give you that kind of power over Archie,” Emma deflected.

“I promise to only use it for good.” 

“Your promise means very little to me; I hardly know you.”

“Hm, that is something I hope to change,” Killian muttered almost to himself, but the promise in those words sent a shiver down her back. Even if she wasn’t sure which bit he intended to change. Before Emma could ponder it further, Killian spoke again. “Where do you work? Savannah doesn’t have many engineering firms, especially in this industry.”

“I never said I was an engineer,” Emma answered, her eyes bright with humour.  

“You know, Emma, you’re something of an open book,” Killian teased. “So, I don’t need you to confirm it. I read it.” 

Emma rolled her eyes. Killian smiled brightly - as if the highest compliment that anyone could pay him was to roll their eyes at something he’d done. This was, perhaps, the most wonderful and silly conversation that she remembered having. Yet, it felt warm and comfortable. 

Conversations weren’t warm and comfortable for Emma. She was usually trying to make sure she was listening and planning what the right thing to say would be and trying to hold back from interrupting or wondering what to do with her hands or wishing she would stop saying so much as the words spilt out of her or… well, conversations, especially conversations with new people, were always difficult. This hadn’t been difficult. 

Even as quiet fell between them, it was companionable. It was the quiet of two old friends, happy to be together after too long apart in a world that was far too loud. And that scared Emma. What the Hell was happening?

As if he could sense something amiss in her head, Killian interrupted her, “So, where did you go to school for that not engineering degree?” 

Glad for the distraction and thrown off by whatever was happening, Emma granted him an easy answer, “Georgia Tech. You?”

“Clemson. But, I moved back home after college and went to Savannah to finish up one of my projects and decided to stay. How’d you end up in Savannah?”

“Oh, I worked at a small consultancy through college and work there full-time now.” It was the barest tip of the truth iceberg; beginnings were not the time to trade stories about relationships that turned toxic and the dreams and hearts they left broken in their wake. Killian nodded in acknowledgement of her answer, but in the depth of his blue eyes she saw the companion of her pain. He was holding back, too, she realised, and for similar reasons.

“If you could have any animal feature, what would you want?” Killian asked in the same way he had asked what university she had attended. As if this was the natural next question to continue their conversation.

A surprised laugh escaped from her, “What?”

“I would want a snow leopard tail,” Killian answered.

“Why?”

“Why not? They are so majestic and useful. Okay, I haven’t figured out what all I could use it for, but I want one.”

“You’d never fall again,” Emma suggested. 

“Exactly! See? Useful.”

“Ok, um,” Emma started and stopped immediately to consider the question. “What if I want to be able to transform into an animal for a while?”

“Sure.”

“A dragon because I could fly or breathe fire or nap without being disturbed now that knights no longer exist.”

“Dragon also do not exist,” Killian pointed out.

“Neither do grown men with leopard tails,” Emma noted.

“Good point,” Killian conceded. He set his empty glass on the bar top and ordered another round for them. They continued their strange, almost whimsical, conversation until the gate agent welcomed them onto their connecting flight. And when Killian boarded the flight, he took the seat next to Emma. 

[yeenybeanies]

Smallest Cyber Specialist (pt. 11)

as it turns out, working from base is just as stressful as going out in the field with the 141. never a dull day! (feat. nikolai) the bold+italic text is meant to signal non-english dialogue, but apparently i can't code in underlines or hover text anymore on tunglr.hell 🙃 read it on ao3! (better formatting there tbh) first • previous • next call of duty | task force 141, nikolai, & pip lagomorph/lag (oc) 6,976 words strong language warning thanks for reading!! reblogs > likes!! patreon ✨ ko-fi ✨ ao3

The next time that the 141 left the compound, acting on more intel Pip had provided them, the hideling had opted to stay behind. She was fine at the base, she insisted. Where the operators were going, she was certain she could do everything she needed to do remotely. This particular target wasn’t directly AQ or Ultranationalists, but a side contractor that took an unfortunate deal to help out some terrorists. 

“I think it’s best,” Pip had argued, “that I stay out of the field for now. At least until I get this off.” She’d gestured to the cast on her leg. “With it, my mobility is limited. I’m vulnerable, and I slow you guys down.” 

Price had looked conflicted at the time, but ultimately agreed with her reasoning. None of them needed a repeat incident with Pip and an angry dog. Or something worse. 

So there she sat, using Price’s office as her workspace. She had her laptop, of course, and had it linked up to Price’s and another human-sized laptop, giving her plenty of screen space and computing power to do what she did best. 

“You boys almost there?” she asked into her headset. It was a redundant question; she knew exactly where they were, having been tracking their position ever since they left the compound two hours ago. She had a transponder on each of her handlers, unbeknownst to them. 

“Three kilometers out,” Price answered. “Gonna be walking the last one.”

“Roger that, Captain,” she said. “Sergeant Garrick, you still have that uplink I gave you?” 

“Got it safe and sound, Lag,” Gaz responded. “You want me to just hook it into just any computer?”

“Any computer or smart device. Anything that’s attached to the wifi.”

“Smart device?” Soap chimed in. “You tellin’ me you can hack in through someone’s smart fridge?” 

Pip leaned back in her seat, feeling a little smug. “A fridge. A printer. A dishwasher. Whatever. I’ve hacked into someone’s network through an aquarium filter before.” Without an uplink, at that. That was a fun time. She remembered it fondly, the satisfaction of it all, and the absurdity. “That uplink Gaz has bypasses a few steps for me, so it’ll be even easier to get in.” 

“Remind me when we get home to toss my smart speaker,” Price said with a huff. 

“You have a smart speaker, sir?” Gaz asked, sounding incredulous. “Do you know how to use it?”

Price made an offended noise. “Of course I do, Sergeant. I don’t know where you muppets get off, thinking I don’t know how to use modern technology. I’m not that much older than any of you.” 

That was true. The man wasn’t even forty yet, according to his file. 

A chorus of snickers rang over the comms, but Pip just grimaced. “You should definitely get rid of it, sir. Those things are painfully easy to break into. I could do it from halfway across the world, with my eyes closed.” 

“No need to brag, Pipsqueak. We can’t all be tech geniuses like you,” the captain chided playfully. 

“I’m just saying.” 

“Nearly there,” Ghost cut in. His voice surprised Pip, and sent a chill down her spine. 

She’d been more or less avoiding the lieutenant for the past few days, ever since she’d gone snooping into his files. The things she’d read in there… the stuff he’d endured… It made her shudder. She knew she’d have to get over it and carry on like normal sooner rather than later—preferably before Ghost noticed—but it was still very fresh in her mind. 

The cruelty of humans towards their own kind astounded Pip sometimes. It reminded her every day of why she and her people worked so hard to stay a secret from the wider human population. 

“Right, men,” Price said. “Look alive. Let’s make this quick; don’t wanna leave Lag lonely for too long.” 

“Go rot,” Pip grumbled in Hidespeak. 

“Heard that one before. Starting to think that’s an insult,” Soap said. He sounded like he was smiling. “Gonna have to teach us someday.” 

“Not on your life, Sergeant.” 

She watched on her screen as the four transponder icons slowed to a stop, and then started moving away from the road. They were on foot now, hoofing it towards the target compound. Ghost was going to take overwatch with a few operators, while Price, the sergeants, and the rest of the team infiltrated. 

This was going to go fine, she told herself. There was a different kind of anxiety that came with not being in on the action with her handlers, but Pip reminded herself that she was far from helpless here. As soon as Gaz could get her uplink hooked in, she would have the compound under her control. 

The first crack of a rifle—Ghost’s sniper, if she were to guess—rang over the comms. 

“Och—beautiful shot, LT,” Soap commented. Pip found some satisfaction in guessing correctly. She was learning a little bit about guns. 

“I can do better,” Ghost said. “So can you. Watch your six, Soap.” 

“Don’t need to when I got you watchin’ it for me. How’s it look, by the way? I’ve been doin’ some extra squats.” 

“I noticed.” 

Oh, gods. Pip muted her mic and let out a groan. Gaz did not mute his mic; his groan was heard by all. 

“Boys,” Price said, sounding exasperated, “don’t make me put you two in timeout.” 

“Would you put us in timeout together?” Soap asked, cheeky. 

“Soap,” Price snapped. There was more warning to that one, but it still made Soap snicker. 

Pip dragged her hands down her face and seriously considered taking her headphones off. Let her handlers do this mission on their own. They’d be fine without her. 

But no. She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t just abandon her boys, even if half of them were being very annoying right now. 

Wait. "Her" boys? What? When did that happen?

Actually, no time to think about that right now. Or ever. 

Pip breathed out a sigh and leaned back. Her role wouldn’t start until Gaz got the uplink hooked in. In the meantime, she was an observer, for better or for worse. While she waited, she pulled up some codes and programs she’d be using, giving them another look-over to make sure everything was in order. It was, of course, but there was no harm in septuple-checking. Or was it the octuple-check at this point? 

A flashing on Price’s laptop caught Pip’s attention. There was a new notification. An incoming call. The name “NIKOLAI” stared back at her, spelled out in all caps. 

“Uh… Captain, Nikolai is calling you.” 

“See what he wants,” Price said. “Little busy right now.” 

“Wha—you want me to answer it?” She watched the green phone icon shake as it rang, beckoning her, but she wasn’t feeling very swayed. 

“Nik doesn’t call unless it’s important. Go on and answer, Lag.” 

Liar. “I will pull up your call logs right now to prove to you that that’s not true,” she retorted. “And I’m not your secretary.”

“Lag—” the captain released an annoyed groan. “Just answer the bloody call for me, yeah? Make it quick; we’re almost to the first building.” 

Ugh! Pip glared at the incoming call, still ringing away on the computer. She’d never spoken to Nikolai before. Wouldn’t he be suspicious of someone other than Price answering his personal line? She knew she would be. 

Muting her end of the comms with the 141, Pip quickly connected her headset to Price’s computer, made sure the video camera was off, and accepted the call. “Nikolai,” she said, her voice modulator ringing back in her ears, “Captain Price is unavailable right now.” 

The other end of the call was silent for several long, uncomfortable moments, then the thick Russian accent came through, “Who is this?” 

Yep. Just as she’d predicted. Pip pinched her brow and shook her head. “My name is Lag. I am the cyber specialist Chief Director Kate Laswell assigned to Task Force 141.” Hopefully dropping Laswell’s name and title, along with the task force’s name, would earn her some credibility. “Captain Price is occupied right now; but I can relay a message.” 

“Oh! Lag! This is you?” Pip blinked, a little taken aback. He knew about her? How? And how much did he know? “Captain Price has mentioned that he now had a hacker. Nice to finally meet you. Er… sort of. I cannot see you.”

No shit. Pip cleared her throat. “I am unavailable for video calls. Nikolai—sorry to be short with you, but we’re in the middle of something. What is it you need?” 

“Right, right—I was just calling to let Price know that I got him the weapons he was asking for. I am on my way to drop them off, and will be there in—”

“No one’s at the base right now,” Pip said quickly. Her heart started to pick up the pace. “Probably best to hold onto them until Price gets back.” 

“Oh. But you are there, no?” 

Oh, hell no. “I’m unavailable for the time being. I can’t help—”

“Ah, no worries. I will drop them off anyway. It’ll be quick. Be there soon.” 

“Wait, no—” Before she could voice further protest, the call ended. Pip stared blankly at the computer screen, her heart pounding. 

Nikolai was coming here. And Pip was alone . 

Oh, shit. Fuck. No no no no—

“Ready to breach, Captain,” Gaz said, drawing Pip’s attention back to her handlers. Fuck! And she also had them to deal with too! The hideling let out a frustrated growl and turned back to her own computer, mic hot. 

“Nikolai has the weapons you asked for, Captain” she relayed, voice tight with irritation. “He’s coming to deliver them.”

“That’s my Nik,” Price replied approvingly. “Always pulls through for us.” 

“Charges set,” Gaz said. There was a muffled boom, then the comms erupted with chatter and gunfire. Pip hunched over, taking stock of where her handlers were, piecing together the scene in her mind. Gaz’s marker split away from Price and Soap, heading towards the server room, as discussed prior in planning. She focused in on his comms, his chatter; he was the important one right now, as her involvement depended on his success. From the sound of things, he was making quick, efficient work of any resistance he encountered. 

Pip’s hands hovered over her keyboard in anticipation when he entered the server room. She was ready. Eager. She wanted to help her boys get this done so they could hurry up and get back to base and deal with Nikolai. (That wasn't going to happen, but wishful thinking was all she had at the moment.) As soon as Gaz plugged the uplink in, the notification popped up on Pip’s screen, and her hands went to work. 

“Got your gadget hooked up,” Gaz said. “You connected?” 

Code scrolled down her screen, already hard at work to shatter firewalls and extract data. “Yep. I’ve got it from here. Thank you, Gaz. I’ll be in the security cameras here in a minute.” 

“Good work,” Price said. “Gaz, get back here. Lag, let us know what you can see.” 

“Roger,” they said in unison. 

A minute was a generous estimation to give Pip some leeway; she had the feeds  for all the security cameras pulled up on the other human laptop in less than thirty seconds. She watched for a moment as the dark, well-armed figures stalked through the halls, clearing the place out corridor by corridor. It was scary how efficient the 141 was. 

“I can see you, Captain,” Pip said. Price looked around until he spotted the nearest security camera, which Pip nodded up and down to acknowledge him. “Your hall is clear for no—wha– woah! Gaz, wait!” On another camera, the sergeant, having not yet made it back to Price, stopped in his tracks. His shoulders went stiff. “Five hostiles are coming your way!” 

Gaz cursed under his breath and ducked for cover behind a crate. Pip watched with bated breath as the group of five ran past. One stopped to look down Gaz’s hall, but continued on after deciding it was clear. His mistake. Pip breathed out in relief. 

“Thanks, Lag,” Gaz said, giving the camera near him a thumbs up. 

She kept an eye on things while the boys worked, offering advice and instruction as needed. Simultaneously, she also kept an eye on her laptop, where files rapidly flashed across the screen. This was going well. Going smoothly. For the first time since her (unofficial) induction into the 141, things weren’t going batshit buckwild fucking crazy. 

This was fine! 

And then Nikolai��s van pulled up outside of the base. Pip didn’t realize he’d arrived until she heard a heavy knocking on the vehicle bay door. 

“Hello?” The Russian called. 

“ Fuck—!” Pip’s blood ran cold. She snapped her laptop shut and scrambled for her belongings. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck—” 

“Lag?” Someone asked. It sounded like Soap, but Pip wasn’t sure. She was preoccupied.

“Lag—what’s wrong?” That was Price. 

Pip shoved her stuff into her backpack, hauled it under her pelt, and hobbled with her crutch to the edge of the desk. She could hear Nikolai in the hall now. Apparently he had a code to the garage door, and was able to come and go as he pleased. Terrible security practice on Price’s part.

“I told him not to fucking come! I told him—” 

“Lag, what the hell are you saying?” Was that Ghost?

“Nikolai is here!” she spat. 

“Wha—already ?” Price again. “I didn’t think he was coming now!” 

She reached the edge of the desk and dug her hook into the wood, then rappelled down to the floor. She shook the hook free right as knuckles rapped against the office door. 

She’d told him that no one was here! 

Ah, but the two laptops—the human-sized ones—were still up on the desk! There wasn’t much Pip could do about those. She cursed under her breath and took cover underneath the desk drawer. It was a narrow space of only a few inches between the floor and the bottom of the drawer, so she wouldn’t be spotted unless Nikolai decided to crouch all the way down. He had no reason to do that, right? Hopefully he wouldn't drop a pen or something.

The door opened slowly, squeaking on its hinges. Heavy boots took two steps into the office, then stopped. Pip watched, not daring to breathe. “Hello?” Nikolai said. He sounded confused. The boots remained still for a few moments, then stepped further in. Pip’s eyes didn’t leave them, not as they paused for a moment in front of the desk, then rounded it. 

“What is this?” the man said out loud, now in his native Russian. Pip listened to the soft groans in the wood above. If she were to guess, Nikolai was leaning his hands on the desk, looking over the two laptops. One still had all of the security camera feeds; the other had code scrolling down the screen. 

“Lag, how copy?” Price asked. Her comm was still in her headset, so Nikolai couldn’t hear it. With him so close, though, she wasn’t willing to risk being heard to answer the captain. 

Ghost spoke up, once again surprising Pip. “I’ll handle it,” he said. “You lot keep at it down there.”

He was going to handle it? What was he going to do? How could he handle anything from—

A buzzing sound came from somewhere up above. Pip recognized it as the vibration of a cell phone with an incoming call. Nikolai hummed a confused note and answered. “Ghost?” 

Ah. That’s how he was going to handle it. But Pip didn’t release her breath just yet. She couldn’t hear Ghost’s side of the conversation, and she had no idea what he intended to say. She was reasonably sure that he wouldn’t tell Nikolai that the 141’s resident cyber specialist was secretly a six-inch-tall hideling, but not knowing still made her nervous.

“Yes, I am at your base,” the Russian said. “Did your hacker tell you? …Is she here? I see two laptops here, one with what looks like security cameras… боже мой—that is Gaz! Is this feed live? …And you have access to the security cameras?”

Hearing Nikolai sound so impressed did make Lag feel a hint of pride in her work, but her fear and annoyance largely overshadowed it. She just needed him to leave ! She couldn’t work with him here!

“A compliment? From you?” 

What?

“She must be good then. I want to meet this hacker,” Nikolai said with an enthusiastic chuckle. “Maybe see if I can get her to work for me.”

Fat chance of that. 

“Wha—hiding from me? Why would she be—... Oh. I see…”

Pip’s anxiety spiked again. What was Ghost telling him? 

“Right…” He said, dejected. Pip grimaced. “No problem. I will be out of here in a few minutes. Leaving the manifest on Price’s desk.” 

Thank the gods...!  

Nikolai’s boots headed for the door and stepped out, the door closing behind him. Pip finally released her breath, and gasped to soothe her burning lungs. She waited a few seconds more, listening to the Russian’s retreating footsteps, then crawled out from her hide space. Using her hook, she quickly climbed back up onto the desk and pulled out her equipment to resume her work. She glanced at the cameras to regain her bearings, then checked her download progress. It was almost done. About a minute left.

“Okay, I’m back,” she said into her comm. “Thanks, Ghost.”

The lieutenant didn’t respond, but Price did. “All good?” 

“All good,” she confirmed. “One more minute, then I can kill the power for you, if you need.” 

She would have done so earlier, but this facility’s power unit was more centralized, so she wouldn’t have been able to keep the computers working. 

“We’ll let you know,” Price said. “Might not need it. We’ve already found what we’re looking for.” 

“Missile parts?” 

“Missile parts. Nothing assembled, though.” 

That was good news. Pip’s computer dinged, signifying the complete download. She gave the file names a cursory look-over, and selected one of the manifests. It listed off parts for ten missiles, among other things. Her brow furrowed. There were no cameras inside the storage room where the parts were being held, but she had a funny feeling. 

“Captain, how many missile kits do you count? This manifest I’m looking at says they received ten.” 

The answer wasn’t immediate, though she heard a few men counting under their breath. 

“Looks like I got four over here, Cap” Soap said. 

“Two here,” Gaz answered next. 

“Shit. Only two over here, too” Price said gravely. “Everyone fan out. Search this place top to bottom for any signs of those last two kits.” 

Pip turned her attention to the cameras. She accessed the harddrive, pulled up recordings over the past week. She opened an image analysis program on her laptop and linked it to the recordings, giving it specific parameters to scan for. Large crates leaving the compound. It wasn’t a failsafe program, and would likely flag more than what she was looking for, but it would be a start. If those missile parts had left this facility at some point in the last week, she’d find out when. 

“I am leaving now!” Nikolai’s voice boomed out in the hall, making Pip jump. She put a hand to her chest, feeling the pounding within. Fucking hell, she’d almost forgotten that he was still here. “If you can hear me, Lag, I apologize for intruding! All the cargo is in the garage.” 

A part of her—a very small, but surprisingly loud part—felt kinda bad for just ignoring the Russian. Sure, he’d dropped by unexpectedly and given her quite the fright, but his intentions were good. He was a valuable asset and ally, and Price seemed to trust him. 

Did she trust him? No. Not when he was so close. Hell, she barely trusted her handlers. 

Wait, so she did trust her handlers? Maybe. Maybe she was starting to. 

Pip transferred Nikolai’s contact information from Price’s laptop to hers, and typed out a quick SMS. 

>> спасибо, николай >> this is lag by the way. my personal contact

From down the hall, almost to the far door, she heard Nikolai’s surprised words: “Oh! She speaks Russian, too!” 

Hopefully she wouldn’t regret giving her contact to him. 

The analyzing software pinged with a few matches to the parameters she’d set. She pulled up the flagged clips and looked them over. The first three were nothing, but the fourth one—

Pip switched on her mic, “Captain, I think I’ve found them leaving the facility two days ago.” A chorus of cusses echoed over the line. Pip felt the sentiment. 

“You got all the data from the computers, right? Can you find where they’re going?” 

“Working on it, sir.” Fingers flying over her keyboard, Pip dug into the files she’d taken. She navigated over to one of the shipping schedules and looked up the date and time that matched the camera feed. Surely something had to be here. It had to. There was no reason for there not to be anything here.

But it was blank. That whole day was—it was missing. 

She checked another file, and found that day missing from there too. 

Confused, Pip started a broad search—something, anything to do with the missiles for that day. Communication logs, manifests, shipment schedules—literally anything . Russian, Arabic, Farsi, English, French, German, Spanish. 

Nothing.  

Pip sat back, frustration and unease starting to boil in her gut. This didn’t look good. This was… bizarre. Why would there be no records on that specific day? It was like that day had been erased from the entire system. 

“I…” she didn’t like this feeling washing over her. This feeling of failure. Of uselessness. Failure, of course, was an inevitable part of life, but, when it involved terrorist missiles being lost to the wind, things got a bit more dire. “The records… they’re not here,” Pip said, forcing her voice to remain even. Calm. “I can’t—I don’t have anything, Captain. Not until I can comb through this more thoroughly, which will take time.” 

Price sighed, sounding disappointed, and it stung. That surprised Pip. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I—”

“Don’t apologize,” Price interrupted. “Just do your best. Keep looking. Everyone, clear out! We’re gonna torch this place. Ghost, you and your team RV with us back at the truck.” 

“Yes sir”s and “roger”s quipped from everyone on the channel. 

Pip didn’t pay much attention to their retreat. She kept her comms open, and could hear the idle chatter, but, if asked to repeat anything said, she would come up with nothing. She was focused instead on furiously tearing through the files, looking for something, anything. Anything that could alleviate this catastrophic (gods, calm down) failure of hers. 

Why was that one day missing? It had to be intentional, right? Alarm bells rang in Pip’s mind, screaming that this was sanitation work. Someone had gone through and wiped this data from the computers. 

But why? That would suggest that they knew to counter hackers. 

They’d even gone beyond basic file deletion and completely removed any traces of the data from the server, leaving no chance of file recovery. Pip raked her fingers through her hair and took a deep breath to try and curb her frustration. Today was turning out to be a lot more stressful than she’d anticipated. She thought bitterly that, at this point, she might as well have just gone with her handlers, if it was going to leave her feeling about the same level of distress.

Gods, could she have one calm day with the 141? Just one? She would love that. 

Another sigh, then the hideling steeled herself, and settled in for a long stint of file analysis. 

The next two hours went by without her noticing, too engrossed in her work to pay attention to the time. So it surprised her when she heard several pairs of boots in the hallway. First she flinched, ready to fling herself off of the desk again to hide, but she noticed her handlers’ transponders were all back at the base before she could act on that impulse. 

Ah. So they’d returned to her. She frowned hard with the knowledge that she’d gotten no new useful intel on the missing missile parts in the time it took them to return home. 

She quickly closed the tracking program—no need to keep it up, lest it garner her any uncomfortable questions—and resumed her scanning. Familiar footsteps approached the door. Gaz pushed it open tentatively and peeked in. Pip glanced up to acknowledge him. There was a thin layer of ash and dirt on his skin, in his hair. 

“You alright in here?” he asked, stepping into the office. 

“No,” she said flatly, eyes falling back to the document she was reading through. “No I’m not, Kyle.”

For reasons unknown, Gaz’s first name came easier to her. It also helped that he didn’t miss a beat, hearing her say it. Either he hadn’t noticed, or he didn’t care. He rounded the desk and leaned in, looking over the different screens Pip still had up. The laptop that had the camera feeds was just a mosaic of black squares and static now that the compound had been reduced to rubble. Various documents with highlights and margin notes littered the screen of the other. 

“Quite the setup you’ve made for yourself in here,” he commented. Pip responded with a vague hum. Gaz squinted over her shoulder at Pip’s hideling-sized screen, but couldn’t make much out between the small font and the Cyrillic. 

“I haven't found anything useful yet,” Pip said, under the impression that Gaz was here to check up on her progress. “There’s a lot to go through; I’m working as fast as I can.” 

“Of that, I  have no doubt,” the sergeant said. “Just checkin’ in to see how you’re doing.” He sounded sincere. Pip felt something tickle in her gut. She turned her head to look back at him, the hard furrow of her brow softening just a little. 

“Thanks, Gaz.” Genuine. Appreciative. 

“You haven’t touched your snacks,” Gaz notes, nodding to the still-wrapped protein bar, strips of jerky, and small cup of water left for her. 

Pip shrugged. Honestly, she’d forgotten that they were there. Too busy. Too stressed. “Not hungry.” A partial lie. She was hungry, but she hadn’t noticed until now. Still, Gaz responded with an unconvinced hum.  

“We didn’t all split this,” he said, taking the protein bar into his hand and turning it over to read the label. “Before we left. Forgot our ritual. Maybe that’s why you’re having bad luck.” 

Pip snorted. It was her turn to sound unconvinced. “Don’t think it counts as a ‘ritual’ if we’ve only done it once before.” But she did feel a warmth settle under her skin at the memory of them sharing that last snack. That was only a few days ago. Gods, why did it feel like it had been longer? 

“Well, that’s how you make something a ritual, yeah? You keep doing it,” Gaz continued. “Think we can tap into some of the good luck if we share it now?” 

“I’m not superstitious,” Pip replied with a shrug. “Don’t believe in any of that luck nonsense. But if you want it, go ahead.” Despite her body reminding her that she was, in fact, hungry, Pip didn’t feel like eating just yet. 

Gaz didn’t pressure her, which she was silently grateful for. He set the bar down, and straightened up, sparing the screens just a moment more of his attention. “Wanna come see what Nik brought us? Price said it’s some cool stuff.” 

Pip hunched further. “Guns and weaponry are more your style. I wouldn’t really know what I’m looking at” she said. This reminded her that she still needed to get a better familiarity with the equipment her handlers lugged around, but now wasn’t the time for that. Something compelled her to not outright reject the sergeant, though. “Maybe another time, Gaz. You guys have fun. I’m… I’m going to keep at this for a while longer, I think.”

A weight settled on her right shoulder—Gaz’s index finger, she quickly realized. Reassuring touches could be awkward with the size disparity between humans and hidelings, but Pip did appreciate the gesture. She reached up and patted his knuckle in return. 

“If you’re sure,” he said, voice softer. 

“I am. Thank you for checking in.” 

–– –– ––

After Gaz left, Pip lost track of time again. It was almost like she was in a trance, a fugue state of sorts, her mind on one sole track: sorting and scrolling and combing through these goddamn files for a crumb of usable information. Her frustration, for the time being, was tempered; there was a numbness that settled in its place. A resigned numbness. 

Eventually, there came another knock to the door, now ajar after Gaz’s exit. Thankfully, this time, Pip felt no compulsion to hide. She didn’t look up just yet, nor did she say anything. The door swung open so Price could let himself in, a frown fixed under his mustache. 

“Awful quiet in here,” he commented. 

Pip paused her scrolling and leaned back, taking the captain in. Her eyes stung from strain, and she could feel the beginnings of a headache creeping under her skull, but she did not voice her complaints. “Welcome back, Captain,” she said simply. “Happy with your new toys?” 

“Oh yeah,” he replied, some of that frown lessening just a smidge. “Sorry about that mess earlier with Nik, by the way. Though I’m positive he wouldn’t have hurt you, had he seen you.” 

Pip closed her eyes, quiet for a few seconds as she waited out the sting. “That’s not the point,” she said. There was a hint of bitterness in her tone, something resurfacing from prior resentment at past actions. But she didn’t want to get into that right now. Too much other shit on her plate. 

“I know, I know, I’m just sayin’—” 

“Price—please… Is there something you need? Because I have a lot of files to go through, and I’ve barely made a dent.” 

The captain shook his head. “Don’t need anything,” he said. “Well—I’ll need the desk back. And my laptop. Paperwork, y’know? Best part of the job.” The sarcasm was thick on his tongue. Were Pip in better spirits, she might have graced him with an amused huff. Not a laugh, but a huff. Instead, she ran a hand through her hair and took stock of where all of her stuff was. 

“Right. I can relocate—” 

“Don’t pack up.” Price held a hand up, stepping closer to the desk. “Just scoot over a little bit. Plenty of space here for the both of us.” 

Right. Of course. They’d done this already before. Hell, they were sharing this desk just the other day. Pip untethered the wireless links to the larger laptops, letting both screens go black, then scooted herself and her belongings over to one far corner of the desk. Price sat down heavily in his chair with a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face. He swiped the hat off of his head and set it aside. He too had a fair amount of dirt caked to his skin. Pip suspected that Soap and Ghost were in similar states. Everyone was in need of a shower. 

Damn, a shower sounded really nice right about now…

Maybe later she'd ask one of her handlers to help her with one. 

Pip settled in, mentally preparing herself for a sleepless day, and possible sleepless night, of work. 

“You didn’t eat,” Price noted, his words cutting into Pip’s thoughts. 

She suppressed an eyeroll. She’d already had this conversation with Gaz. Already done this song and dance. “Don’t feel like eating.” Not a lie. 

“Probably should, though.” 

“Gaz said as much. Lamented that we didn’t share a snack before you guys left.” 

Price quirked a brow. “‘Lamented,’ did he?”

“Lamented,” she repeated. “Blubbering like a baby. Blamed the bad luck I’m having on that protein bar right there.” She nodded to the bar in question. Price took it up in his hand, the wrapper crinkling against his gloves. 

“If I open this, will you eat some?” 

Pip turned her head up toward the ceiling, eyes closed. “Price, I’m really not—Gaz and I already had this talk. I just want to keep at this before I lose steam.” 

“Alright. Okay.” He set the bar back down, and let the topic drop. “Let me know if you need anything.” 

In lieu of a verbal response, Pip gave him a thumbs up, then set back to work. 

At some point, she’d put on music in her headphones—something to fill the silence in the space that Price’s pen scratches and slow breaths couldn’t. And, at some point, that music stopped without her noticing. It was a two-hour-long playlist she’d put on, and who knew how long ago it had ended. By this point, she was properly spaced out, too focused to notice the ache in her back, the numbness in her limbs, the growl in her stomach. 

But Price noticed that last one. He lifted his head, brows scrunching together. “Was that you?”

Pip hummed without actually having heard him; it was an automatic response on her part. 

It didn’t register that the crinkling noise behind her was Price opening the protein bar. The soft snap of said protein bar being broken up didn’t register either, not until Price’s fingers entered her field of vision, a piece pinched between his thumb and pointer. Pip blinked, leaning back from the intrusion with a confused look on her face. 

“Sir…?”

“Eat somethin’, Lag,” Price said. “You’re overdue for a snack.” 

Long overdue. Overdue for a nap, too, but that wasn’t going to happen if she could help it. Reluctantly, Pip accepted the piece and nibbled on it. It was sweet with caramel and bits of crunchy nuts. Normally, it would delight her, but she was too distracted to notice the taste. 

“Not every mission is a success,” Price says. “Sometimes our intel doesn’t work out—” he winced as it left his mouth. Pip’s head whipped around, her pupils blown wide. 

“My intel was solid,” she snapped. The stress and her weariness had worn down the restraint on her temper. “I found the facility. I found those missile parts. I just…” Protein bar forgotten again, she turned back to her computer. “This is intentional. There’s no way I’m just… missing it. Someone’s tampered with this database.” 

Price reached around her. For a second, she thought he was going to pick her up, but he didn’t. Instead, he pushed the top of her laptop down, closing it. He then took the discarded snack and handed it back to her. 

“The data’s been removed,” he summarized. Pip nodded, staring down at the food in her hands. “And you can’t recover it?” 

The hideling ducked her head, eyes squeezed shut. “I can’t,” she said. “It’s been wiped clean. Whoever sanitized this server knew enough to cut off any chances of recovery.” She drew in a slow breath. “The only somewhat useful information I’ve been able to get so far is the vehicle that took the missing missile parts. But the license plate wasn’t visible in the camera…” She trailed off, brows furrowing. For a long moment, she was silent. A light bulb went off over her head. 

“Pip…?” Price prodded. He ducked his head, trying to catch her eye again, but she turned away and opened her laptop back up. 

“Maybe there were cameras somewhere on the roads leading away from the compound.” She wasn’t talking to Price anymore so much as she was voicing her idea out loud. The man leaned over her, squinting at her little screen, but she paid him no mind. There was a renewed spark of hope in her chest. A hope that just maybe, maybe she could get something out of this failure—

“Mother fucker!” No fucking cameras. Not a single street camera on the one road that led to and from the compound. 

Pip slammed her laptop shut again and dropped her head into her hands, fingers pulling at her hair. A frustrated, borderline anguished groan pushed its way through her clenched jaw. Behind her, she heard Price shift, then felt a warm pressure on her back, over her pelt. The pad of a finger, sans glove. It rubbed gently up and down her spine, sending a wave of shudders in its wake. 

“It was worth a shot,” he said, no-doubt meaning to be encouraging, but it came off as patronizing. Pip grumbled something unintelligible and sagged under his touch. “We’ll find those parts, Pip. You need to let this go.” 

Let it go. Pip huffed and shook her head. She’d never been good at letting go. Never been good at failure. 

“I’m sorry, Captain,” she said, her voice weaker than she would have liked. “I… I’ll keep trying. I’ll figure something out—” 

Both of Price’s hands came down around her, scooping her up into his palms. He held her at eye level, his sharp eyes studying her. “You’re done,” he said after a long moment of silence. Pip’s head snapped up, brows raised in alarm. Her heart rate spiked.

“Wha—?” 

“For the day,” he clarified, seeming to realize how ominous his words sounded. “You’re taking the rest of the day off.” 

That sounded awful. That sounded like the worst thing she could do right now, when this was so critical— “Price, I can’t just—” 

“Nope. No arguments,” he said with a hard sense of finality. “You’re not to use your little laptop for the rest of the day.” 

Pip snapped her mouth shut, her teeth coming together with an audible click. She ground them together once, twice. “You’re treating me like a child,” she growled. 

“Would make sense, since you’re acting like a child.” Pip bristled, but the captain continued, “But no, I’m not. I’m treating you like a cranky, stubborn little shite that needs to take a break.”

“Fuck you.” Bitter. Acrid. She switched to Hidespeak, “You’re the most infuriating commanding officer I’ve ever had to deal with, and I hope you rot.” She didn’t mean it. Not the last part, anyway. (Or even really the first.)

Price leaned back in his chair, an amused smug smirk peeking out under that mustache. “Only part of that I understood was ‘commanding officer.’ No word for ‘CO’ in your language?” 

She ignored that question, not in any mood to entertain prying into her culture. “What am I supposed to do then?”  

“Eat. Drink. Sleep. Try to relax.” The captain shrugged, nonchalant. “Get yourself in the headspace for your vet appointment tomorrow.” 

Motherf—! She’d forgotten about that! Fuck! Pip pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes and swallowed down the urge to scream. Price chuckled, but Pip didn’t find the deep rumble very pleasant right now. 

“I want to go home,” she said. She wouldn’t, not before she finished this damn mission, but she had to voice her sentiment. 

“We’ll get you there,” Price said. “Just need you to hang on with us a bit longer.” It sounded like a promise, but Pip knew all too well just how easily a promise like that could be broken out here. This was dangerous work. No one was guaranteed a ride home in this line of work. Not even Price. 

Reluctantly, she nodded her head, still buried in her hands. 

“Right. That’s a good girl. So. Finish up that protein bar and this water, and then I’ll take you somewhere where you can get some shut eye, yeah?” 

Sorry, good girl? Oh no. Nope. She was not going to acknowledge that, nor the way it sent a shock of butterflies fluttering through her gut. None of that. Pip snatched her snack up and tore off a big bite, a bit more ravenous than necessary to distract herself. She didn’t meet Price’s gaze, but her eyes did wander to the scarf folded loosely around his neck. 

That gave her an idea. She’d done it with both of her past handlers multiple times. 

“There,” she said, pointing to the scarf. Price glanced down at it, brows furrowed, then looked back at her quizzically. 

“What?” 

“Your scarf,” she clarified. “If… if it’d be okay. I could sleep in there.” 

One of Price’s hands fell away to curl into the scarf, pulling it away from his neck. “You want to sleep in this? While I’m wearing it?”

Gods, the more he asked her to explain it, the more awkward she felt. Her cheeks were getting warmer by the second. But she nodded. “If you’d be okay with that.” 

And when he agreed after thinking it over for a moment, she did find it a little surprising. But she wasn’t going to back out now, not as the captain brought her close to his neck, letting her and her pelt slip into the folds of his scarf. It was warm, and smelled of sweat and gunpowder, but that had never bothered Pip. It was cozy. Once she was settled in a comfortable pocket against his neck, situating her pelt between herself and his skin, she was practically invisible, lost under the scarf. No one would know she was there. 

“You alright down there?” Price asked. So close to his throat, his deep voice rattled through her. Pip sighed and buried her face into the fabric. 

“‘As good as I can be,” she answered. 

"You're not gonna slit my throat while you're in there, are you?"

Now that was an idea. Pip hummed. "Tempting." But probably not. Probably.

[aufucker]

(Pseudo) Diner Date

BJ/Jack

PREQUEL TO THE LAST FIC BC I FORGOT TO POST LOL

You were used to being up long before the sun rose.

Chores needing to be completed on your family's ranch before school started served for great preparation for your current life of supply runs on the company's dime, spending anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours putting in lumber orders for any bloodied boards or beams that needed to be replaced.

But you always liked to leave earlier if you could. You had a trucker diner you always enjoyed going to, taking the time to scarf down a plate of jalapeño scrambled eggs and almost over-seasoned home fries with your near endless coffee refills. Sometimes, you'd treat yourself to one of their giant waffles. A full stomach did make dealing with the other contractors waiting around much more tolerable.

You seated yourself into your favorite booth after saying your "G'mornin'" with an involuntary yawn. The burnt orange pleather, still only slightly warm from whomever sat last, with the glossy table inlayed with local advertisements of roofing repairs, movers, and landscaping professionals, only to be slightly textured from the stray grands of salt that somehow escaped the recent cleaning, digging into the skin of your forearms.

Your black coffee was served without question and with an almost familiar smile. You never were around long enough to have a fixed view of the server's faces, but the tones of their older voices were always so clear.

Opting to wait a moment before putting your order in, you sipped at your coffee, ears perking slightly as the door's hanging bell was jostled loudly by someone's entrance.

"Grab a seat wherever, hon, we'll be right wit'cha!" you knew that to be Colleen's voice.

And you knew that black and white jacket that walked in to be Dean's.

You both seemed surprised to see each other, you moreso at this hour with his noticeable lack of uniformed blues.

"Oh, fuck. Hey, B. Got you working today?" he asked, his tone low and a little tired. Sounded more like he woke up recently, rather than got off a shift.

"Mm-hmm. You ain't?" you asked into your cream colored mug, hiding the small grin that tugged your mouth as he slid into the booth in front of you.

"Nah. First day of PTO. Got a long ride ahead."

"Lucky fucker. Forgot you're usually gone 'round this time of year." you mused. He was usually long gone to god knows where before you even realized.

You earned a laugh from him. You hated how it made the tops of your ears burn.

He ordered his steak and eggs with water and black coffee, going on about trying to cut back on sugar amidst the chatter you two shared. He was vague about any questions you asked about his whole vacation.

"It's a sex thing, isn't it?" you asked flatly. "You're doing some weird sex shit in the woods or something."

That earned a snort, and a part of your waffle being promptly stolen and shoved into his mouth.

"You got me, B." he said. You knew you didn't.

"Hey! Thought you said you weren't eating sweet shit!"

"Said I was cutting back!" he grinned, wincing only slightly as you slightly-harder-than nudged his leg with your boot.

"Asshole. How long a drive you looking at?"

"'Bout a day, maybe day and a half. I try not to make unnecessary stops if I can help it." Dean mumbled, pulling out and laying down cash on the table. It was enough to cover your plate and the tip. You knew better than to try and argue about it.

But you were going to argue about the car. As the two of you stepped out, you didn't recognize it, it wasn't anything you had ever seen at his place before- an old beater of some sedan, probably from the late 90s, if you had to guess.

"You know that's not good for a poor old thing like that."

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and you heard the plain clattering of his key. "Only drive it for these trips. It's fine, B. I promise."

You felt your time together waning quickly. Why did you want to keep stalling? Something about that car felt like a death trap, and you couldn't place why. It looked *fine.* Well maintained - the body had some flaking of paint, but that was expected with something as old as you were. Your ears kept perking up to the quiet shifting sounds it made. Was it still settling from his drive in? Probably the leaf springs... your mind was wandering.

With a sigh, you dug for your own keys to the company truck you rode in with, giving the grey haired man a firm look.

"Just take your time getting back, yeah? And make sure you get that thing checked out whenever you arrive to...wherever the fuck you're going, okay? Kinda don't want to hear you're stranded in Bumfuck, Nowhere."

"Alright, alright. I'll pop in to a mechanic on the way back, okay? Thing usually sits in one place the whole time, anyway."

God, you wanted to throttle him. "Text me when you get back. Okay?"

[nightlifeseries]

Date night N.D. and Tami Pt 4

Tami: So, tell me how have you been? 

N.D.: Work has been nonstop. Every time I think I have a break- I get called in for an emergency. 

Tami: Is that bad? 

N.D.: Not bad for my pockets. But it’s bad for my health and relationship.

Tami: I mean.. [chewing] I work just as much so I get it. I was going to sleep this entire day if you didn’t call me. 

N.D.: Oh yea? How is the shop? 

Tami: It is crazy right now. I have gotten a few offers to open a new shop.

N.D.: How would that work? 

Tami: Yea well at the same time, the girls want to renovate the current location. 

N.D.: In what way? 

Tami: They suggested adding a washing station, combining the spa and massage room. Which I am not opposed to. It’s just with that kind of update, we wouldn’t be able to use the shop. Like structurally - we can move the clients to one side and style them. We would be right in the way. I was personally thinking of taking the stairs out and adding an elevator lift.

N.D.: Did you share that with the ladies? Will that location support an elevator lift? 

Tami: I have to get with a contractor and see what we can change structurally. It may not be possible. I mean when I moved into that building, I had no idea my popularity would skyrocket. 

N.D.: What about tearing down the building and rebuilding? So everything you need is there rather than renovating and wasting time with contractors? 

Tami: So hire builders? 

N.D.: I think building a new salon would be most cost effective. Renovating is way more expensive. 

Tami: But what do I do about the girls? They have to work.

N.D.: Take them with you. 

Tami: Huh? 

N.D.: You travel to clients. Take them with you. That way they can network and pick up clients as well. 

Tami: Certainly you can not be serious. I mean that sounds good, but do you know how much that would cost? I have 6 stylists. Traveling for one person is a lot.

N.D.: You have friends in high places right? 

Tami: uh... 

N.D.: Send them to other shops to help out. You have been all over the world. Give your stylists a chance to travel and grow their clientele. That way when you open the second shop - you will be ready to work. 

Tami: Wow this is a lot to think about. So you mentioned rebuilding the salon, sending the girls to other cities for work, and opening the second shop. Did I miss anything? 

Youtube

[ejzah]

Maybe A Strip Club Would Be Safer, Epilogue

***

“You know they’re never going to let us live this down, right?” Deeks asked conversationally, taking a bite out of a mango.

After their rather fantastic, and dramatic, takedown of Gael and Matteo, Margarita had called the policia. They appeared equally bemused by the whole situation, until Sam mentioned they were with NCIS, and showed the ID he’d brought with. Then the lead officer just seemed annoyed.

It had taken several hours to process everything, by which point it was mid afternoon, and well past their scheduled cave diving session. So after apologizing to Margarita for inadvertently ruining her day, they’d headed back to their hotel and then to the market for lunch, settling on the small back porch to eat.

“Who?” Sam asked.

Despite his claims that he was fine, a thin line of sweat coated his upper lip and appeared ever so slightly wilted. Actually, none of them were looking the best after the morning’s adventures. Callen sported several bruises, and Eric had somehow skinned his knees during his theatrics.

“Kensi, Nell, Anna. We’re going to get a healthy dose of “I told you so”, followed by them never letting us leave the county again.”

“Oh yeah, Nell is not going to be happy,” Eric agreed with a grimace.

“I thought you two were living in “domestic partnership”,” Sam commented slyly. “Why would Nell have a say in where you go?”

“Friends with benefits,” Deeks muttered into his hand, grinning when Eric squared his chin, trying to look unaffected.

“As my business partner, and very good friend, of course Nell has a vested interest in what happens to me.”

“Uh-huh. You keep telling yourself that, Beale,” Callen said as he finished off the rest of meat-filled sandwich that had Sam shaking his head in disapproval. “You know, there’s no reason why we have to tell are respective partners about this. Or any other family members.”

Deeks stared at Callen for a second, raising a sweaty eyebrow, and then he started laughing.

“Sure. Cause they won’t have heard about this little incident already,” Deeks drawled. He ran his hand through the air. “‘Three American Federal Agents and unknown business man involved in Mexican showdown.’ Kilbride will be livid.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about Kilbride.”

“He’ll think we went looking for trouble.”

“Hey, I’m a civilian contractor, he can’t do anything to me,” Eric spoke up, and Deeks patted him on the shoulder.

“Oh brother, if you think that, then you’ve clearly been out of the game way too long. He has a way of making everyone feel small and extremely foolish.”

“I was trying to forget.” Eric made a face.

“So, what do you want to do with our last couple days of freedom?” Callen asked. “I think we should probably stick to something closer to the city.”

“There’s always museums,” Deeks suggested, which earned him a disgusted look from Callen.

“Deeks, I am not going to a museum for the bachelor party I didn’t even want in the first place.”

“Well, I’m pretty we couldn’t run into too much trouble there. Of course, it is us.”

“Or, there’s still karaoke,” Eric reminded them, straightening up as Callen and Sam immediately began to protest. “No, hear me out. There will be drinks, food, and entertainment. What more could you ask for?”

“People who don’t sound like cats?” Deeks offered, not all that invested either way.

“Hey, I vetted this place personally. C’mon, guys. It’s gotta be better than sitting out here all night.”

“What the hell, let’s do it. But I’m gonna need a lot of beer. And if any pictures of my wind up online,” Sam decided, getting up to throw away the remains of his lunch.

“And this just became the best bachelor party ever,” Callen said, with a massive grin, which quickly transformed into innocence when Sam glared at him. Once Sam was out of earshot, the grin was back in place and he tucked his arms behind his head. “Ah, good thing I just upgraded the storage in my phone. He never said anything about videos.”

***

A/N: Hope you all enjoyed this ridiculous little story. Thanks for reading!

[theydjarin]

I know tumblr is the “missing the point” and “strawman” website but. I mean first of all I have not and will not say fandom hasn’t changed, but it’s more like the means and visibility have changed rather than the actual content of the debates. Has modern social media made these things feel more intense? Absolutely. But that’s symptomatic of society as a whole rather than fandom in particular.

“Fandom wars weren’t as bad because they didn’t involve morality before modern fandom!!”

Anti and purity culture absolutely existed before modern fandom, though it often stemmed directly from homophobia or dislike of explicit content. Lucasfilm was notoriously one of the first antis and this prevented a lot of fanfic, and slash fic in particular from being published.

But before that, the Star Trek fandom grappled with deviant content at a time when indecency laws were common and homosexual content couldn’t be spread via mail in a lot of the US.

From fanlore:

When Leslie Fish declared at August Party in 1978 during a panel on whether or not they'd do 'it' that "it's natural: animals do it[16][17][18] and Kirk and Spock could do it" her arguments were mind blowing to many. These early debates would often draw huge crowds. The panel room at August Party was jammed with 75-100 people, all shouting and red-faced, trying to convince others of their viewpoint.

Reasons for opposing K/S varied. Many fen thought it was immoral to depict them having sex. Others thought it was simply out of character, or fell all over themselves laughing at the thought of Kirk or Spock saying 'I love you' to one another. At least one fan felt that K/S fanworks were "a blight to the minds of fans of any age who believe in ST and see its philosophic goals for the future. Outsiders, such as reporters, insult fandom enough, must we insult ourselves with this trash?" [20] Others felt that these scenarios were created by people who'd clearly never had that sort of "deviant sex". [21] "Think of the children" was a common argument. [22] [23]

And then there is this excerpt of an infamous letter from an zine editor in 1977, I think it sounds pretty familiar actually:

How does it suit you to be told that careful plotting and a reasonable development of the original characters is inferior to porn. How do I answer the letters now in the face of this trend? 'Welcome, so you're dying of cancer, and "Star Trek" has shown you how to face death with courage... You say you're so glad you found us, someone to share your love for the essentials... the integrity, love, nobility, gallantry -- you'll be glad to know the truth is that Kirk and Spock are a couple of simpering gays, and McCoy's a child molester.' It's going to take a long time and a lot of those happy letters before I stop feeling dirty and disgusted. And from all indications, it's only going to get worse. The zines are obsessed with the latest popular sentimental fad in vice. Last year it was rape, this year homosexuality, and I believe next year is scheduled for incest, particularly with pre-teen children.[4] We are shortly to be inundated by stories of McCoy's rape of Joanna (in fact someone told me one had already appeared). ... I don't know how this sea of sludge can be stemmed; by labeling the zines not an ambiguous 'adult' but 'porn/pervert,' or by dropping them from the directory; by appealing to Paramount (after all, I hear they did refuse to let Bantam publish Jean Lorrah's prissy-porn novel, in a flash of good taste I never expected) to make a stipulation in every contract that the contractor refrain from publishing anything that will that will defame or ring opprobrium the series characters or actors -- even a flat legal prohibition -- better to outlaw zines completely than see them destroy Star Trek...

Also a lot of people have mentioned how things like doxxing, death threats, and swatting are new - swatting, sure, that’s new thanks to the military industrial complex post 9/11, but I’m so sure doxxing and death threats have been an issue since forever.

I randomly came across this, tbh it kind of made me laugh because it was in the comments section on “ask a manager.” even though OP doesn’t give a time reference, I can infer this would have been in the 90s.

And fanlore has examples of cyberbullying starting pretty much as soon as the internet was invented

Anyway. I think it’s very human nature to have rose colored glasses when it comes to nostalgia, and for people to think what they experienced was Worse Than Everything Else.

Ah yes. The good old days when shipping wars hadn’t been invented yet. Before the existence of antis when we all lived in harmony -

No, no. Tumblr and twitter had *created* puritan culture. I mean before then.

No no no before then. Before social media poisoned everything-

Before then….?

Before….

Well surely shipping wars didn’t exist before the internet-

[allwave]

Exploring the Importance of Excellent Technical Support

Introduction: Exploring the Importance of Excellent Technical Support

In today’s fast-evolving corporate environment, seamless audiovisual (AV) systems are not just beneficial—they are essential. However, the complexity of modern AV solutions demands more than just installation; it requires ongoing, proficient technical support to ensure optimal performance and longevity.

A report came out  from an industry magazine called System Contractor News that showed that within the commercial integration business (Audio, Video and Collaboration), integrators by a vote of almost 3:1 valued quality technical support over any other vendor provided service. In short what the numbers showed was that as value added resellers, we are more interested in great service than low prices or specialized logistics support.

While our industry, similarly to many other industries says we are more interested in service than price, we often find ourselves in a tough predicament of trying to have both. In fact, with our interests always being in serving our customers, we often lump quality into the same conversation meaning we are trying to drive the lowest price, best service and highest quality products into every job we do. When you really think about it, this starts to sound like “Mission Impossible,” as most companies know that when you go for all three you are almost always going to come up short with one.

Putting Value In Technical Capabilities.

For customers making sizable investments in their technology spaces often price is put at the top of the list when choosing a vendor.

Generally this has to do with a perception that all the potential suppliers are the same, so why not just select on price. However, this may be a mistake because in the world of integration not all players are the same and perhaps one of the great differences is in the technical support we provide.

When we started off this article we talked about how integrators weigh the importance of tech support. Basically going up the food chain we want our manufacturer and distributor partners to help us when product issues creep up (and they do). Downstream we recognize our customers expect the same from us. When a room system or device has a problem you are looking to us to provide fast and productive support.

The Critical Role of Technical Support

Technical support goes beyond troubleshooting; it involves understanding the client’s unique needs and ensuring their AV systems enhance rather than hinder their operations. A study by AVIXA highlights that organizations with access to responsive and knowledgeable technical support report higher satisfaction and reduced downtime, directly impacting productivity and the bottom line.

Case Studies of Success

Consider the experiences of leading firms featured on platforms like Inavate and SCN 50, where technical support has transformed potential AV disasters into triumphs of technology. These case studies not only illustrate the capabilities of expert support teams but also demonstrate how they are instrumental in maintaining the integrity and functionality of complex AV setups.

Forward-Thinking Strategies

The future of AV is here with technologies like AI integration and automated diagnostics, further underscoring the importance of sophisticated technical support. As AV systems become increasingly integrated with IT infrastructure, the expertise of tech support becomes more crucial in navigating these integrations smoothly and effectively.

Conclusion

Investing in high-quality technical support is not just about fixing problems—it’s about preventing them. By choosing AV solutions backed by excellent support, businesses ensure they are equipped to handle anything the future holds, making it an invaluable component of any AV strategy.

Have a look at our page as well to know more about video collaboration- https://www.allwaveav.com/about-us/

[ramuneempiremtl]

Slave-kun's Happy Life in Another World: Chapter 1

Since reincarnating, or rather, since gaining self-awareness, I've experienced nothing but the lowest of lows.

Being a slave is tough.

I guess being a slave really is the bottom of the barrel.

My job is cleaning and laundry.

In this world where magic exists, it's a pretty easy job, but as a newly reincarnated person, I had a hard time activating that magic.

Because of that, I was constantly scolded by the servants, calling me a slowpoke or a hindrance. If it weren't for a fellow slave who secretly taught me how to activate magic out of pity, I would have truly become a hindrance.

Well, being scolded is still fine.

The problem is the violence.

I work in the mansion of an influential merchant who runs a trading company in the city, but the guards here are the worst.

During work breaks, they get irritated and assault the slaves. When they're not doing that, they're usually high on some strange powder. When the effects of the powder wear off after a while, they start getting irritated from withdrawal symptoms and lash out at everyone around them.

Is this the end of the world?

This is the worst.

It was even worse when there was a sweet-smelling, red-haired woman who came from somewhere. When that woman was around, the violence they used as a way to let off steam became even more sadistic. She was a dangerous one who enjoyed watching people suffer in pain.

I've been through things that are too embarrassing to even talk about. I was often targeted because I was particularly small and weak.

I think she said she was an adventurer.

It's a fun-sounding profession, but I hope it's not full of crazies like this.

We get two meals a day, a soup made from boiled leftovers (very rarely, we get a piece of meat, which is a treat), which we soak up with dried bread.

If I'm unlucky, it coincides with the guards' bad mood time after eating, and I end up throwing up what I've eaten. Such a waste.

We sleep in a dimly lit, semi-basement room where the slaves are crammed together. It's cold because it's made of stone.

The slaves don't interact much. Everyone is doing their best to protect themselves. We wrap ourselves in thin blankets and try to rest our bodies as much as possible.

Apparently, this is the mansion of the head of the trading company, but it's so big that there's a lot of work to do, as befits a wealthy person's mansion. They must be making a lot of money.

If you're making a profit, then you should do something about the working conditions.

Slaves are bound by a contract magic that prevents them from doing anything that would harm the contractor, such as rebelling or committing suicide.

It seems that even appealing to someone outside for help is considered 'harmful', so there was nothing I could do.

I tried to die several times, but I couldn't.

I fell into despair.

To make matters worse, for some reason, I can't even speak. The other slaves can talk, so it seems to be just me.

This may not be related to the contract.

I think it's because of the trauma I experienced in this body that I can't speak. I don't remember what happened, but I don't want to know.

I wake up, work, and get beaten up for fun.

If I'm lucky, I get to sleep on the cold stone without being bothered.

I can't die to find relief.

I can't even speak up.

In such days, I gradually felt my own existence fading away.

I came to another world, but at this rate, I'll end up as nothing more than a doll with no feelings.

If that happens, it might be easier.

I want to be at ease.

The turning point came about a month after I gained self-awareness.

[locally-normal]

I'm sorry, did you just suggest that individual engineers who work for Raytheon are the problem? And the answer is, making it illegal to do things like work for Raytheon?

You realize Raytheon is a government contractor right? The government is the one buying the missiles. The government will never discourage making missiles for the government.

The military should stop doing evil shit with the missiles. Then making missiles wouldn't be so bad. Also, can we please demolish the NSA, while we're fantasizing about things being better.

(Also many people already refuse to work for Raytheon, so the workers self-select into turning the place into a right wing cess pit worse than any other software company, per a software friend of a friend who worked there when it was the only job offer they had, until being pressured into quitting by his friends and another company paying more.)

While I'm already putting this garbage thread on people's dash (sorry), the rest of this response is right, engineers and scientists are less likely to be right-wing extremists than the average USamerican, the moral panic is nonsense. The story looks like it's about bros making distasteful jokes and being annoyed they were attacked for it, and oh my god one of them isn't in a happy marriage heaven forbid.

But go on, solve the existence of assholes with an extra college course. I'm not even that against this particular one, it sounds pretty cool, I'd have rather taken that than some of my gen eds. I just don't think it'll accomplish anything whatsoever.

[suffolklandscapeandmasonry]

Should You Say ‘Yes’ to Masonry Services in Suffolk County?

We all love our houses and commercial spaces to look unique and visually pleasing. Still, sometimes we overlook certain services that can significantly contribute to the aesthetic charm and structural resilience.

One of them being: masonry. Now that we've got this on the table, you must be thinking, "Hey! Should I be eyeing Masonry Services Contractors in Long Island for my place?"

Let’s cut to the chase - the answer is an emphatic YES! Here's the scoop on why.

The 'Why' for Masonry Services in Suffolk County

You Get Quality That Stands the Test of Time

Masonry isn't just about stacking blocks - it's a craft that offers undeniable durability. Masonry structures, whether made of stone, brick, or concrete, stand tall through different weather conditions and the passing of time with minimal upkeep. It’s a smart investment for the long haul.

Your Space Stays Cozy

Masonry has an awesome characteristic: thermal mass. It has the knack of absorbing and releasing heat slowly, which means it helps maintain pleasant temperatures in your buildings all year round. Result? You’ll scoop up savings on energy expenses over time.

Your Property Looks Oh-So-Beautiful!

Masonry gives your property a unique architectural look and caters to your aesthetic aspirations. With a myriad of design possibilities and the natural allure of materials used, masonry can elevate the beauty of your properties to great heights.

The Cherry on Top – Complementary Services to Boost Your Property's Allure

While masonry nails the structural and aesthetic game, toss in some other landscaping services and your property turns from good to ‘wow’!

Give Your Property an Edge with Landscaping Retaining Wall Services in Long Island

Ever thought of how you could make your sloped property more functional? Landscaping Retaining Wall Services in Long Island got you covered. They not only manage water flow and counter soil erosion but, when done right, can add a dash of style to your landscape.

Brighten Up with Landscape Lighting in Suffolk County

Do elegant landscape features? Show them off with a flattering Landscape Lighting in Suffolk County. It not only glorifies your space but also covers the security aspect by lighting up paths and potential hidden nooks. It’s incredible how dramatically it can transform your property!

Make a Statement with Walkways in Suffolk County

Your outdoor space is a reflection of your style and persona. Why not make it more navigable and appealing with smartly designed Walkways in Suffolk County? It’s an understated way to guide your guests around and flaunt your landscape too.

Let the Water Do the Talking with Waterfall Builders in Long Island

A well-made water feature by Waterfall Builders in Long Island can add the perfect tranquility quotient to your place. The soothing sound of cascading water – is there anything more calming? It’s a subtle upgrade that can skyrocket the appeal of your property.

Spend Smartly

Crafted masonry and customized landscaping services can bring exponential returns on property resale. Deeming them as potential investments, rather than expenses, can lead to rewarding benefits.

Investing in these services can also improve the overall look and feel of the property. Such improvements can increase the resale value of the property, making it more attractive to potential buyers.

Quick and Hassle-Free Maintenance

With masonry and supporting services like landscaping, landscape lighting, and walkway construction, maintenance is never a headache. Once installed, these features require minimal upkeep, saving you both time and occasional wallet-pinches.

Bump Up Your Curb Appeal with Exceptional Paving

Now, let’s talk about another aspect that’s sometimes overlooked - the pavements of our property. The way your driveway or walkway looks contributes hugely to first impressions. Whether you're planning to create brand-new paths or revamp old, worn-out spaces, masonry services hold the key.

Quality pavers can do wonders for your property's curb appeal while ensuring durability and low maintenance. The choice of materials, the finish, the layout - each aspect is tailored to reflect your style and needs. So yes, it's time to ditch the dull concrete slabs and get your paving game strong!

A Final Note

So should you opt for masonry services in Suffolk County? ABSOLUTELY! Nothing beats the impressive durability and stunning aesthetics that masonry brings to the table. Throw in other landscaping services like retaining walls, landscape lighting, walkways, and waterfalls, and it's a home run!

Ready to bring in a spicy twist to your property? Feel free to ping us or buzz us directly. Here’s to transforming your spaces while you sit back and enjoy the stunning results!