#to send any message at all. some blip of communication. its all anyone Can Do. i suppose. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

justletmeplayminecraft · 4 years ago

Text

xisuma doesn’t smooth over a server glitch fast enough. the others have to save him from the consequences.

in this fic, i play loosely with minecraft mechanics to create angst. very loosely. don’t think too much about ‘em. you can also date how long i��ve spent on this by the projects they’re working on.

featuring: being an admin gives you a connection to the server, xisuma has a less than stellar day, angst/comfort, zed is an ender hybrid, false & tango are minor admins, getting stuck in blocks is not a fun experience, the hermits care a lot about each other.

warnings: sensory deprivation, starvation, suffocation, its a death loop babyyy, a fair amount of panic, fighting code, glitches, helplessness, it’s pretty whumpy before the comfort. let me know if something’s missing here.

also on ao3. link in replies.

Xisuma sighs as the sun beats down on him. It's barely let up, even on the outskirts of the jungle. He enjoys the brief stints in the shadow of the giant quartz walls. Even then, waves of heat come off them. All of the structures in his base are a heat trap. Clearing out several layers of dirt and stone is a necessity he should've left for another day. With a click, he tugs his helmet off his head. The humidity outside is worse than his filtered air. He tucks the helmet under his arm, pushing sweat slicked hair from his face.

He's made good progress levelling this arena space. He leaves his helmet on his bed and heads to the temporary storage chests. They're filling up quickly, he notices, as he starts emptying his inventory into them. Except, something's broken. The stacks of blocks aren't all moving. He tries a few times before sighing, ruffling his hair. When he turns to the area he's been mining, it's still empty. It's been a long time since they've had desync this bad. He's not even sure when it started.

Stepping gently across the stone, he can feel the heat rising from them. He'll rollback the world and then he'll relax by Keralis's river. The farm is delightfully cool. Anything will be better than this oppressive heat.

He's almost reached his bed when something takes hold in his chest and pulls.

He stumbles forward with a gasp. Of course, the server decides to fix itself this time. He forces his feet forward, trying to reach his helmet so he can smooth things over. He only makes it two steps until his eyes are forced shut as the server reloads. For a split second, all he feels is the chill of the void as chunks reload around him.

He opens his eyes to darkness. It feels like he's suspended in space, unable to move. There's a suffocating pressure around him. Though it's with shallow breaths, he can still breathe. Did something go wrong? He blinks hard. All of his limbs are accounted for, he's certainly present. Even when he's working in the void there are still particles around him. His attempt to raise his arm fails, finding it impossible to open his back up admin panel. His helmet is- where even is his helmet?

His breath hitches, a feeling of panic escaping his controlled calm. He feels like he can't breathe. He can't move. He's trapped in his own body.

What's happening?

[MumboJumbo] anybody else just experience some major desync?

[Keralis1] Oh, is that what that was?

[Zedaph] I had nearly finished my redstone! All of that work, gone!

[FalseSymmetry] didn't you notice you weren't actually... losing anything from your inventory?

[Tango] he was probably too caught up in his supposed mastery

[FalseSymmetry] everybody okay though?

[Grian] all good here!

[Zedaph] Only my pride's wounded.

False looks down at the bedrock layer at her base. Like half an hour spent placing glass, all gone to waste. She groans, closing her chat as it pings away. Sure, she can rib Zedaph, but that doesn't change the fact she just did the exact same thing. She kicks off the sidewalk, gliding to the bedrock layer. She can feel the cold of the void float up with specks of grey.

"Good going, False," she murmurs. Some patches of glass survived. It's almost worse, that's going to be so much less satisfying to fill in. She takes her goggles off, tugging her hair loose to tie it in a low ponytail. Usually Xisuma gives them a warning before the server resets like that. It always messes up her hair, leaves it floaty and static.

She adjusts her goggles on her head, opening the player menu. Xisuma's currently online. She checks chat. He hasn't said anything. She considers it strange, but it's not unusual. Maybe he's been at a farm and isn't AFKing. She types out a private message, sending it across to him.

[FalseSymmetry to Xisuma] hey x, server blipped, might need to check it when you get back.

She'll see if he returns her message. She's got glass to place.

Iskall looks through his in-progress sorting system with a frown. It's broken somewhere. The stupid server reload has glitched it out and he can't find how. He's checked the redstone, he's checked the hoppers and he's checked the chests! Which means it's glitched. Either Xisuma reloads the chunk for him, or he's going to have to tear it down.

Actually, he'll probably have to tear it down anyway. Reloading the chunk will only roll it back.

At least he's not the only person who's redstone has been ruined. The thought brings some comfort. If he has to be miserable, somebody else should be too. He opens his communicator, checking who's around at the moment. That might take his mind off it.

He notices that Xisuma's online. Their admin has been quiet in chat since the reload. Maybe there's something going on behind the scenes he's having to sort out. He'll reach out to Mumbo and Grian, but first, he sends a message X's way.

[iskall85 to Xisuma] hey is everything alright? nothing broke?

[iskall85 to Xisuma] don't forget you can reach out to us if you need help.

He has no idea how much time has passed. Usually he's connected intrinsically to the server. It helps him keep track of the world, dig out any errors or mishaps - sometimes before his suit alerts him. It's essential for his job in order to keep things running smoothly. The server is always there, at the edges of his consciousness.

In this nothing, he can't even keep track of his internal clock. Perhaps it's his own panic, but the code he tries to reach out to feels fuzzy. It feels like it's glitching, sending shooting pains through his head if he focuses too hard. He couldn't take a guess how long he's been trapped. His breathing still comes too fast and shallow, ignoring his attempts to calm down.

He's completely helpless here. And he doesn't even know where here is.

Tango stares up at the stars on his ceiling. He checks his inventory again, counting aloud. He flicks it off with a frown. Yeah, he's definitely missing some. It's not a massive deal, Impulse will be happy to help out. But if he's having problems then some of the other hermits might be. Perhaps they fell and despawned in the reload. Either way.

"Tangoooooo!" The cry is accompanied by several rockets, something hitting the ground and the sound of damage. He chuckles, stepping away as Zed soars over the edge, stumbling forward with a flutter of his elytra. Tango straightens him up with his free hand.

"No, I'm not doing your redstone for you." Zedaph gasps, dusting off his jeans. He bounces up with a grin.

"You really think I'd come all this way for that?" Zed questions.

"So why have you come all the way here?"

"I'm bored," Zed replies. "And it still stings too much to do my redstone again." Tango laughs, opening up his chat. Xisuma's online, though Tango doesn't expect an immediate response.

"How do you feel about some wither grinding?" He types a message to Xisuma, Zedaph attempting to peer over his shoulder.

"Mmm, I don't see why not."

[Tango to Xisuma] Hey, seem to have lost some stars when the server reset

[Tango to Xisuma] might wanna check nothing important got eaten.

"Right, let's go."

Keralis hums, staring at the plot he was about to start building on. The area has been a bit... Funny. He'll break and replace a block, only to have it switch again. He might have to work on another area until it sorts itself out. His attempts at working here started after the reload, so he doesn't know if that caused it. He's not been able to spot Xisuma nearby either. He's been online, but Keralis hasn't spotted him in chat for a while.

He sighs as he watches the last blocks he placed switch back as if nothing happened. Crossing his arms, he examines the area. He wonders how big this is. Definitely more than one chunk. His new house is going to have to wait. He was excited to show Xisuma around, too.

With a glance at the sky, he realises it's late afternoon. He yawns, stretching his back out. Perhaps it'll be best to settle in his office and work on some future designs. He'll drop a message in chat first, in case this is affecting anyone else. It might give him an excuse to hunt down Shishwamy. He always feels guilty bothering him about things. Their admin takes far too much responsibility on his shoulders. They’re all adults. Keralis wishes he’d ask for help sometimes.

[Keralis1] Has anyone else been having glitchy blocks?

[iskall85] some of my redstone is broken but it's no biggie

[Tango] lost some of my nether stars with the reload but it's been fine since.

[FalseSymmetry] been placing glass without any problems since the reset

[MumboJumbo] I haven't had any problems either.

[Keralis1] A bunch of chunks around our bases are glitching

[Keralis1] but it seems like Shishwamy is busy :(

[Grian] well it looks like he just went afk

[iskall85] that answers that lol

His mind is becoming blurry. It's hard to focus on... Anything. He can't tell if it's because he's struggling to breathe, or something further, tugging him down and away. He tries to fight against it but there's nothing he can do to stay present. He can't hear anything, barely even his shallow breaths. He can only feel the consistent pressure on every inch of his body, the wet tears on his cheeks. He tries pulling on every one of his senses, but nothing comes up.

He slips under.

False empties the last of this glass stack, stepping back at a job well done. She smiles, rubbing her aching hands. It's nice to finally work on this part of her base. Even better now it's not going to pick itself up. At least she hopes so. She'll be right annoyed if it happens again. Something's been tingling at the back of her head, though. She wonders if it's because of the reset.

She looks up at the late afternoon sky. That's enough work for today. As she stretches, she can feel each and every ache in her body. She brushes away her hair, already falling loose. Maybe she'll have something nice for dinner. Some steak, potatoes and pumpkin pie. If she has pumpkin, of course. Xisuma was planning to build a pumpkin farm, wasn't he? His traditional pumpkin and melon combination. She chuckles to herself as she pulls out her rockets.

No matter how things change from season to season, there will always be things that don't. Hermits might come and go, but they'll always be her family.

She launches up, shooting through the water barrier. It's fast enough it doesn't stick. She lands gracefully, making her way to the kitchen. She hopes this nudging in her head doesn't get worse. She just wants to enjoy a nice meal. That's all.

"Well, I think we have a plan," Grian declares, grinning from his perch. His legs are crossed, hands resting in his lap.

"I mean, we didn't exactly need a plan to fix our redstone," Mumbo replies, slouched in his chair the way he only ever does in front of them. Iskall chuckles, resting his hands behind his head. They've really helped take his mind off the broken redstone. Mumbo had a similar problem, so tomorrow they'll meet up again and attempt some fixes.

"Always helps," Iskall says, shrugging. "Especially when one of us spends so much time in the Nether depths, now." Grian laughs, his legs kicking.

"Hey, I'm doing good work out there!" Mumbo yawns, looking between them.

"Well I don't know about you two, but I'm exhausted."

"Food then sleep?" Grian suggests. Iskall nods. It's been a long day.

It's dark as Zedaph and Tango return from The End. Zedaph yawns, running a hand through his hair, messing it up. Tango rubs the side of his own hair. Something's been bothering him, but he can't tell what. Like there's something just not... Right. Zedaph is chatting beside him, a bounce in his step. It's like he doesn't feel it at all.

"Do you want to have dinner together?" Zed asks, twirling his sword by his side. They've repaired their tools, done everything properly. It's been a hard day's work, but they've achieved a lot, even with the setback.

"Yeah, dinner sounds good." He looks at the night sky, squinting his eyes. Zedaph tilts his head at him. The purple eyes are concerned, particles floating up in his worry.

"Tango, are you okay? You seem... Off." Tango sighs, waving Zedaph's worry away.

"Something's nagging me. It's not a big deal." Zedaph's still frowning, but the particles die down.

"Let's just get you something to eat, yeah?" Tango nods, leaning into Zedaph when he squeezes his shoulder.

"Sounds good to me."

Keralis watches the night sky overhead. He's sat in the doorway to his office, a blanket around his shoulders. The stars are always a beautiful sight. It's the perfect way to relax after such a, hm, busy day. Not busy in a conventional sense, no, but still busy. His specially commissioned noteblock song plays in the background, a perfect accompaniment in the peaceful night. He thinks it's strange how the stars always seem the same no matter what world they're in. Maybe he should ask Xisuma about it in the future.

He pops up his screens open. Xisuma is still afk. He misses seeing his neighbour out and about. Xisuma often spends time at his farms, it's nothing new. But Keralis enjoys saying hello to him! Especially after missing well... Years of his life. He tries not to think about that.

With a sigh, he lies against the doorway. Time for bed soon. He laughs at the sound of Bubbles' voice in his head. His communicator beeps and he glances over to it.

Huh. That's interesting.

Xisuma is thrown into full consciousness. His stomach is still cramping with phantom hunger. He opens his eyes and finds...

Black.

No, no, he died. He died. Why has he respawned here? He chokes on his sob, realising no air is entering his lungs. His cheeks are still wet with tears, more leaking out as he gasps at nothing. His lungs burn, unable to take the shallow breaths he needs to. Would it even help? He wants to curl up, clutch at the growing pain in his chest. But he can't move an inch. Heaviness sinks into his limbs and head.

He wakes again in the same place. He doesn't know if he wants to scream or cry. There's not enough air for him to scream, anyway.

[Xisuma starved to death]

[MumboJumbo] X?? mate?

[Tango] X?

[FalseSymmetry] do we need to get your stuff?

[Keralis1] I'm by his base.

[Tango] he's not afk anymore

[Grian] x???????

[iskall85] maybe he's getting his stuff rn

[Keralis1] Shishwammmmyyyyyyy

[MumboJumbo] starving isn't a nice way to go

[Zedaph] It really isn't.

[Xisuma suffocated]

[iskall85] oh no

[FalseSymmetry] x???? im going over

[Keralis1] so am i

[Tango] this isn't right, this really isn't right

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Grian] what's going on???

False shimmies back into her elytra, reaching for the one jacket potato that finished cooking. So much for having a sit-down meal. She rubs her head, pushing away the fear that has something to do with this. Her communicator continues beeping as she grabs her rockets. She runs to the entrance, kicking off and launching into the air.

"We should go and help," Iskall decides, already picking up his armour.

"Thought you'd never say." Mumbo straps his elytra on, grabbing a spare shulker box and an ender chest. Grian nods with a seriousness that doesn't fit on his face.

"Let's go."

"We're going?" Zed asks. He's already stuffing food into his mouth. Tango rubs his temples, nodding. He takes the elytra that's thrusted into his hand.

"Yeah. We're definitely going." He watches the particles floating off Zed in waves, glowing the same purple as his pupils. Tango presses his eyes shut against another spike of pain as their communicators beep. "C'mon."

Keralis scrabbles until he balances on the tower roof. He's searched each one and not found X anywhere. Tapping his foot, he meddles with his communicator to turn some settings on. He has no minor admin powers - that he has to leave to False and Tango - but he can at least try this.

"Ah-hah!" He grins as hitboxes light up beneath him, hopefully a better clue where his currently red coloured friend may be. He scans the towers closely, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary. There are a few mobs, especially as night sets in. Then he sees Xisuma's new build.

He has to take a step back at the sight. The chunks look- a mess. The outline of the blocks are overlapped or flickering. It hurts to look at. Blocks aren't meant to highlight like that. He glides across the treetops. It not only covers the area he was trying to work earlier but spreads into Xisuma's current build. Yeah that's- that's bad. That's not good. His communicator has continued to beep with messages as he searched. He goes to read it, and spots different colours in the mess. The red of an eyeline. He stands on his toes, leaning off the leaves. The outline flickers in and out, accompanied by a beep.

He thinks he's found X.

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Keralis1] he's in his new build!

[Keralis1] I think I can see him in the ground

[Keralis1] it is very very broken

[FalseSymmetry] tango? you on your way?

[Tango] as we speak

[Tango] been a long time since we've had to use these powers

[FalseSymmetry] not long enough

Tango and Zedaph are the first to land by Keralis's side. They kick up loose powder from the road, taking in the massive structure in front of them. Tango's shoulders raise, cringing at the sight.

"That's definitely broken," he agrees, his eyes twisting as they focus.

"And Xisuma's in the middle of it?" Zedaph looks at Keralis. He nods, usually big eyes sharply focused. He points beyond the walls.

"You can just see his name tag. I think the glitched blocks have got him stuck. I tried to build there earlier but nothing would stay." Tango presses his lips together in thought as False lands. They nod to each other in acknowledgement.

"How long does it take until the blocks pop back?"

Keralis hums, tapping his chin before answering, "About ten seconds, I think."

"That's not going to be enough time to reach him," Zed says. "Can't you just teleport him?" He looks at Tango and False. Tango opens his console menu, typing something in. Zed can tell the answer before Tango says it.

"What ideas do we have?" Keralis asks. "We can't just leave him there!"

"Of course not!" Tango replies, sounding shocked at the suggestion. "We just- need a plan." False nods.

"We're not as powerful as X," she explains, "Together we should be able to roll back these chunks but- I have no idea what that would mean for Xisuma. We don't really work with player code." She brushes her hair back. The conversation is paused as the trio of Grian, Iskall and Mumbo land beside them. The three slot in, listening as they're caught up.

"There has to be something that's making him spawn there." Iskall points out, his hand held towards the structure. False searches through the control panel, whilst Keralis and Tango simply examine the messed up blocks.

"He has a bed in there," Tango answers. False taps where Xisuma's spawn is tied to on her screen.

"Since the blocks are glitched, it must mean the bed isn't like... Registering them. Since they don't fully exist." She thinks about it carefully, putting the pieces together as she explains.

"So if we break the bed, he'll respawn at the world spawn?" Grian suggests.

"But how do we get down there?" Mumbo turns to look. It's pretty far down in the ground. They'd have to move quick to get near where Xisuma is.

"There's a few of us." Iskall waves at the gathered group. "I say with enough TNT and manpower, we could do it."

"Wait-" Zedaph holds his hand up, "-Get me close enough and I can teleport in there, get the bed. Less blocks to destroy."

"Zed." Tango turns to him, glaring at the blond. "That's a stupid idea, don't you get how dangerous that is-"

"Xisuma is stuck in a death loop, Tango!" Zed cuts in, raising his voice. The others fall silent, not sure how to handle this exchange. "Sure, I might die a bit! That's nothing compared to what Xisuma's currently experiencing."

"TNT will destroy a fair amount, but it already puts us on a time limit," Grian adds, a sideways agreement.

"I'm willing to do it. Either we reach the bed, or I teleport in." Zed says it with finality. The others don't argue. False checks his spawn point. Zedaph will respawn back in his cave, safe and sound. Even if it goes wrong, it'll be recoverable.

"We need to be ready to roll back the chunks," False says, focusing on Tango. "If I have this headache for much longer I'm going to go insane." Tango smiles tiredly.

"Fine. Let's try this." He shrugs. "I don't think we have a better idea."

"Well, come on! Let's go!" Keralis claps, placing an ender chest. Tango sighs, typing in a command.

"I think I'm allowed this time," he says, a stack of TNT appearing in his hand.

"And other times?" Grian asks. Even through the teasing, they can hear the fear in his voice.

"Don't push it."

There's noises. He blinks his eyes open into the unending darkness. He tries to focus past his burning chest and the weight of his body. There's... Definitely noises up above him. It sounds like explosions. The space he's stuck in shakes slightly. After another lapse, he gasps back to life in the same position. He wants to scream, tell somebody he's down here. This opportunity might not come again.

Then he feels a sharp stab of pain. Something is there, near him. Everything hurts and he still can't breathe. For a moment, he thinks he hears the trill of an Enderman. His tired mind can't figure out how as he runs out of air.

He wakes up to a chill. He slightly opens his eyes, spotting yellow sand as he falls, blacking out.

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Zedaph suffocated]

[Grian] have we done it?

[Keralis1] he's at worldspawn! got him!

[iskall85] YES!!!

[Zedaph] Oh thank goodness I don't want to do that again

[World reloaded]

[Tango] Z, you okay?

[Zedaph] I'm good. Bring my stuff? I'm going to worldspawn

[FalseSymmetry] will do

"Keralis!" Zedaph's elytra beats as he lands, feet digging into the sand. "Is he okay?" Keralis nods. Xisuma's head is resting in his lap. The admin's eyes are closed as he breathes slowly. His expression is relaxed. It's a good sight to see. The spawn island is lit up well, but Keralis keeps his eye on the surrounding oceans.

"He's sleeping," Keralis says, messing with strands of brown hair. "I don't think I'm strong enough to move him on my own." Zedaph drops onto the sand next to them, crossing his legs. There are still bright particles floating off him, his eyes fully purple. "What about you, Zee?" Zedaph seems to notice Keralis's focus, ducking away to hide his eyes.

"Um, not the best. That kind of sucked. But, it worked, and that's what matters!"

"Make sure you look after yourself, too," Keralis tells him. "Fighting the server's code isn't easy." Zedaph laughs, resting on his hands.

"Can say that again. Forgot we have anti-enderman griefing." Keralis cringes, realising why Zed looks so much like he might collapse. It'll pass, but it's never fun to go against programming like that. The architech trio arrives next. All of them look relieved to see the three on the island.

"Oh, Zedaph, I have your stuff." Mumbo starts emptying it out, the few things Zedaph couldn't fit in an ender chest. Zedaph smiles, tugging his helmet on and feeling a lot more comfortable. He tries not to meet anybody's eyes.

"Tango and False will be on their way. They're just checking everything's good," Grian tells them, hands moving quickly as he talks.

"Should we try moving X somewhere safer?" Iskall suggests. "The shopping district isn't that far."

"If you're willing to boat him." Keralis is firm. "I don't want him dropped in the ocean."

"I swear nothing will happen to him under our watch." Grian puts his hand on his heart. Iskall and Mumbo nod in agreement.

"It'll be the safest boat journey on the server." Iskall's hands are on his hips. Keralis tilts his head up.

"Look into my eyes and nothing but my eyes, if anything happens to my Shishwamy, I will not hold back." The architechs look suitably threatened.

"Can I boat with someone?" Zedaph asks. "I nearly crashed so many times flying over here."

"Hop in the back of mine!" Iskall calls, placing one in the water. Grian plucks Xisuma into his arms, carrying him to the edge of the water. He sets the admin in the boat before climbing in himself. Keralis checks him over before nodding and allowing Grian to keep him.

"I've told the others to meet us there," Mumbo says. "I'm going to fly across and see where's best to bunker down. I think we could all use some sleep."

Zedaph looks at the moon hanging overhead, "Yeah, I think we could."

[MumboJumbo] we're heading to the shopping district.

[FalseSymmetry] thats a good plan

[MumboJumbo] any idea who's shop we could stay in?

[FalseSymmetry] my dimension shop is pretty empty

[FalseSymmetry] plenty of room for some beds. pretty warm.

[Tango] we'll get it set up for you

[MumboJumbo] ok. ill protect the others

[Keralis1] so will I.

The first thing Xisuma picks up on is the talking. He stays still, trying to tell if his brain is playing tricks on him after so long in the nothing. His body is like a rock. He's barely able to move. His lungs still ache and it takes some conscious effort to continue breathing. He blinks his eyes open, wincing at bright lights. Light. There's light. He rolls forward, a sob leaving his lips before he can catch it.

"Xisuma, hey, hey." The voice is soft, casting a shadow over him. Xisuma forces his eyes open now the worst of the brightness is blocked out. Keralis is crouching in front of the bed. His fingers gently brush across Xisuma's cheek. For once, Xisuma doesn't feel the dried tears that had become his constant. "You're okay, you're safe. We got you." Xisuma takes a shaking breath in, squeezing his arms to feel the pressure of his own touch.

"Do you want your helmet?" He flits to look at False. The mere sight of his helmet is overwhelming. He reaches out and wraps it close to his chest. Keralis laughs gently, scratching through Xisuma's hair. The admin sighs, his eyes slipping closed once more.

"There you go." He can hear the smile in Keralis's voice. "We've got you, right here." The sound of movement. Cracking his eyes open reveals False sitting in front of the bed, weaving her hand into Xisuma's. He squeezes it gently.

"You're in my shop, in the shopping district," she tells him. "It's past midnight. You're completely safe here. We've got things sorted, there's nothing you need to worry about." A tear slips from his eye. Keralis wipes it away.

"What happened?" He can't make his voice louder than a whisper, and even that hurts.

"Something went wrong with the world reload," False tells him. He can trust her not to sugarcoat things. "We all had a few bugs, but the chunks around you glitched out badly. Created a bunch of like... Invisible blocks, but they were visible, if you get what I mean? They weren't fully there. Ugh, Tango's better at all this technical stuff." Xisuma tries to peer around for him, but the light still hurts if he looks for too long.

"You were stuck in a bunch of them," Keralis finishes. "We didn't realise until you starved and got stuck in a death loop. I'm really sorry, Xisuma."

"We broke your bed to get you out. Well, Zedaph did. The others got him close enough then Tango and I fixed the area. It's all sorted." Xisuma forces his sluggish brain to put the pieces together. He didn't dream up that enderman sound. That was-

"He's over there, sleeping. Tango's with him." Keralis points at a bed nearby. Tango's back blocks any sight of their part Ender friend, but Xisuma can see purple particles floating into the air. A concerning amount of them.

"What did Zed do?" He asks, the vice around his lungs tightening in concern.

"Um," Keralis answers, False looking at him. "He mentioned fighting the anti-enderman griefing code? So I think he picked the bed up." Xisuma's stomach drops. He tries to push himself up but collapses onto his back again.

"Hey, X, careful," False warns. Her voice is stern but Xisuma shakes his head.

"No- I-" He shuts his eyes, fighting off disorientation. "The server's going to keep fighting him. I've got to reset it." False helps him sit up, but she still watches him with concern. He picks up his helmet, pulling it on and relaxing slightly as all the displays flicker to life. Now when he looks at Zedaph he can see the extent of the damage. His very code seems to be fighting itself. "Help me up?"

False gets an arm around his chest. He ends up leaning his weight against her to stand, his legs shaking. She's firm, grip only tightening to accommodate his need. Keralis hovers nearby, ready to jump in if he has to. They take slow steps across the room. Xisuma strains to see under the light, but the tint of his helmet helps. He can see the architechs sat nearby, watching without any attempt at discretion.

Tango looks up as they approach. Xisuma can see the resignation on his face.

"This isn't going to fix itself, is it?" He asks. His hand in clasped tightly in Zedaph's, whose usually bright expression is twisted in pain. His skin is all too pale, black freckles spreading into larger patches across his face. He doesn't open his eyes, not even as Tango moves so Xisuma can sit down. The grip on each other's hand remains tight.

"I need to reset the code that's attacking him," Xisuma explains. His words have a tired slur he can't quite hide. "I'm gonna write an exception, I can't believe I haven't already just- not right now. Don't wanna do it wrong."

"Xisuma, it's okay." Tango smiles, pinched but genuine. "I'm sorry you need to do this." Xisuma shakes his head.

"It's nobody's fault," False says, "Do what you need to do, X. Then you're going back to bed." Keralis hums in agreement. Xisuma laughs softly as the command screens in his helmet boot up.

He zones out the others around him, leaning on Keralis's shoulder when his friend perches beside him. He scrolls through information as he brings up Zedaph's data on one screen. With one eye on it, he unlocks the data packs, searching through them. He gives voice instructions with his microphone muted to the outside world. Finding the pack he needs, he disables it and checks Zedaph's data. It looks like his code is straightening out again. Thank goodness. He makes sure all activity is deactivated before he turns the pack back on.

"That should do it," he mumbles, before realising his microphone is still off. He reactivates it before repeating himself.

"Maybe you should teach us a bit more sometime," False squeezes his shoulder, helping him up. Xisuma slings his arm over False with a nod. That would be good.

"Thank you, X." Tango smiles. He rubs his thumb across Zedaph's hand. The ender hybrid has relaxed, face slack. It looks like he's properly sleeping now. Xisuma can finally rest.

"Come on. Don't you fall asleep here, I don't want to carry you across." Xisuma hums, too tired to commit to any words. Before he knows it, he's sitting down on the comfortable bed again.

"Shishwam, lemme get your helmet." Xisuma nods, tilting his head up so Keralis can unlatch it and bring it off. His head rolls onto his shoulder the moment it's gone. Keralis giggles, ruffling his hair. "Come on, sleepy time." False lies him down, his helmet tucked safely in his arms. Keralis's hand slips into his. Xisuma shuts his eyes, before blinking them open again.

"Stay?" He asks, too tired to worry about being needy. He doesn't want to be alone in that darkness again.

"Of course," False replies.

"We're not going anywhere," Keralis adds. Xisuma smiles at them both, eyes slipping closed. The darkness is manageable with his friends by his side.

"Don't you dare wake them up," False hisses, watching as Grian and Iskall play with redstone. The morning sun is beginning to shine through the cracks in the windows. She's exhausted, having only caught a quick nap. Keralis is asleep next to Xisuma, sitting on the floor with his head resting on the bed. Tango's slid into bed beside Zedaph, holding him close to his chest. Mumbo's dead to the world across the room.

"We won't!" Grian calls, trying to figure out the game he could make out of this mechanic. Iskall has a Statues book open, an armour stand sat in front of a piston.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if the two people who have done this with armour stands were helping," Iskall points out, flicking through the pages.

"We're fine, it's part of the adventure!" Grian watches as the piston shoots the armour stand across the room. False smiles, leaning back against the bed. Some of the other hermits have been coming online with the early morning. Thankfully, they don't seem to know about everything that went down yesterday. It's best things are quiet for Xisuma whilst he rests. She's sure he’ll tell them about it. She'll make sure he does.

As the sun grows higher with the dawn, she dozes off again. Grian is yawning, him and Iskall only catching a few hours of sleep. He's still buzzing with activity. He'll crash later, easy enough.

It's to this quiet atmosphere that Xisuma wakes up. Iskall and Grian are still experimenting. Grian’s laughter rings out as the armour stand bounces in the air. The beat of the piston is monotonous, but they're nearly falling over each other at the sight. Xisuma watches with a soft smile, eyes barely opened.

"It we got one on top, do you think it would-" Grian holds his hand up, demonstrating an armour stand shaking up and down aggressively. Iskall chuckles, shaking his head.

"It's only the morning, we don't need to break physics yet."

"It's for science," Grian protests. He sounds breathless, half-delirious with his need for sleep.

"Please don't make me do work," Xisuma whispers, all too aware of the sleeping hermits around him. Grian perks up, Iskall turning to him with a grin.

"'Suma!" Iskall calls. Xisuma smiles at both of them, making no attempt to move. He's comfortable here and he doesn't want to wake his friends.

"Exy-Suma!" Grian slides across, leaving a gap from the sleeping hermits. Iskall stands by his side, resting his hand on Grian's shoulder. "How are you feeling?" Xisuma wraps his arm tighter around his helmet.

"Not the best, my friend," he answers honestly. "But I'm certainly better than before."

"Well, we'll just have to make that even better then." Grian is committed to the cause now. He's going to make Xisuma's day.

"You don't have to rush back into things," Iskall says, offering a smile. "I'm sure we can handle ourselves today."

"I don't think I'm getting out of this bed anytime soon." Xisuma looks down at Keralis, dark hair brushing Xisuma's chest plate. False is asleep slouched in the chair beside him. Even without being able to see the other occupants of the room, he can still tell they're sleeping. "Feels a bit weird not going for a jog at this time, though."

"I'm sure your legs won't wither away after one morning, X," Iskall jokes. "Be lazy like the rest of us." Grian grins.

"We could always play some mini-games later, too!" Xisuma laughs, stretching as much as he can without shifting Keralis. He's beginning to regret sleeping in his armour, but it's too late now.

The three chat with each other, Xisuma offering advice now he's awake. They're gradually building up a system to launch the armour stand across the room. Sure, they'll have to clean it all up later, but it passes the time and it makes them laugh. Hearing Xisuma laughing is good for all three of them, despite the roughness reminding them of last night's ordeal. It's safe to say that nobody envies Xisuma's experience.

The three jump at a strange, shrill noise, until the realisation kicks in. Zed is sitting up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Hair is falling into his face, ruffled from sleep. Tango remains slumped against him. He even rolls into the warmth Zedaph leaves behind. It takes a few seconds until the hybrid notices his audience. Zedaph jumps, smiling sheepishly.

"Oh, hi, sorry! Forgot I wasn't alone." His eyes are glowing brightly in the morning light. He looks down at the arm lazily clinging to his waist. "This oaf is used to it."

"No, no, you're okay," Xisuma tells him. False is stirring beside him, blinking to life, but Keralis remains out. "How are you feeling?" Zedaph taps his chin, resting his finger on his lip.

"Pretty well-rested, actually." Then his attention turns to Xisuma. "What about you? I should be asking you that question!" Xisuma laughs, flexing his fingers against his helmet.

"I'm okay. Taking it easy." He tilts his head towards Grian and Iskall. "Whether I like it or not, it seems."

"Too right," False agrees, yawning. "T'others can handle admin duties for today. You're ours."

"Is that a threat?"

"We can make it one!" Iskall tells him, his voice a lot more cheerful than the implication of his words. "We just need a good leash-"

"Oh absolutely not! Don't you dare!" Keralis pokes his head up next to him, trying to tune into the conversation. Zedaph laughs from across the room. He's tugging a bleary Tango to rest on his shoulder so he can wrap the blanket around them both.

"Oh come on, X, it'll be fun!" Grian wraps his arms around Iskall's shoulders. Xisuma shakes his head.

"You two are terrible. Absolutely terrible. Goodness me."

"I'm sure X will agree to take a day off willingly," False says, sounding far too threatening as she rubs sleep from her eyes.

"I already agreed. No leash required!"

"Why are we talking about leashes?" Keralis finally asks, looking more confused than anything. They break down into laughter.

[Grian] hello everyone

[iskall85] HALLO!

[iskall85] we are stealing your admin for the day!

[Grian] yeah he's ours.

[falsesymmetry] x had a rough night so he's having a day off

[falsesymmetry] so if any admins besides tango, x and i could step up please?

[cubfan135] yeah I'm on it.

[joehillssays] of course, and send our well wishes to our dear admin!

[Xisuma] your dear admin thanks you :-)

[Xisuma] please try not to break anything

[Etho] have a fun day lol

[joehillssays] don't make us lock you out of your screens, x!

[Keralis1] Nothing will get past us.

[iskall85] he's been suitably threatened.

[Renthedog] Should uh... We be concerned?

[Grian] about x-i-sooma finally getting a break?

[falsesymmetry] he's in safe hands. promise.

"Should we get this day started?" Tango asks. Grian is about to answer, only to yawn. He covers his mouth, face turning red.

"Another hour of sleep first?" False suggests. They look around the room, everyone in varying states of awareness.

"It never hurt anyone." Iskall shoves Mumbo over, fitting into bed beside him. "See y'all in an hour." Keralis smiles at Xisuma. He bumps their heads together.

"You deserve a break without being traumatised first, you know that Shishwamy?" He checks. Xisuma laughs, pressing their foreheads together.

"Yeah, I know." He leans back. "And I think I've got some good friends to remind me." False pats his back, getting comfortable enough to doze off again.

"And don't you forget it." Xisuma looks around the room. The architechs are fighting over the bed, Tango and Zedaph curled back up on theirs. He smiles, the fear from last night already on its way to being a distant memory.

"Don't think I can."

#hermitcraft #xisuma #falsesymmetry #keralis #grian #iskall85 #tangotek #zedaph #feel like mumbo's role is too minor to tag him lmao #my writing #this fic took so loooong #but i wanted to get it done #more brain space for my other projects

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beellicosity · 5 years ago

Text

Bull; Today at 5:34 PM There was no way it was going to work any better than any of the other times he made the attempt to contact Psiioniic. There were certain members of the team he was more than willing to leave for dead. Handmaid's own information hinted that Serket might be... Bull shook his head and dismissed the thought. If anyone in their entire team was still kicking, willing to fight even when the last shred of their trollness was stripped away, it was Psiioniic. Bull bit his lip and continued typing at his remote station, up on some isolated plateau on his own planet, hoping he was at high enough elevation for the signal to reach out into the session...

And hopefully, maybe he could reach contact with Psii.

P211; Today at 6:10 PM There are several signals he can feel for, this high up. Satellites, or meteors with potential labs on them, zooming by, giant horrors in the deep dark down deep dark spaces. Even the other planets of the session registered a signal.

... Huh, that was a new one. A new signal just blipped into existance on his monitors- It was faint, very far away. The numbers indicated that it was moving closer at a slow pace. Bull; Today at 6:13 PM Bull was more than willing to wait and see, to see if there was any active reception on the other end, if there was anyone there. At all. He had been configuring his communication devices for what felt like eons, trying to reach the other members of this team outside of the clearly useless normal methods. After a few pings, he typed out a message on the small keypad in his lap and hit enter.

"1'm look1ng for Ps11. Please respond 1f you can help a t1red old bull out." P211; Today at 6:16 PM For the longest while, there is no answer. The minutes tick tock by in silence with nothing. When Bull is almost ready to give up, there is finally a returning ping.

"DEFINE; PSII." Bull; Today at 6:18 PM He was willing to wait hours. He had scheduled for this, this mission... He lay down on the ground under his makeshift tent and waited... waited... and looked over at the return ping and text.

"Sh1t..." he whispered, before typing out his response. "Ps11: formerly M1tuna Captor, The Ps11on11c, The Helmsman. Status: Unknown." P211; Today at 6:21 PM The silence now before the next ping is almost deafening, every other little bit and noise around him drags on, grates against his senses. Waiting. waiting. There's so much waiting, but- This, this is. This could be it. What if this is it?

The words appear on his screen, white on black, typing out slowly, as if thoughtfully.

". . . . . DEFINE; BULL." Bull; Today at 6:22 PM He perked up at that. Part of him typed out the answer 'god of sexy robots' and it lingered there for some time before he composed himself and erased it. Hopefully whoever was on the other end wouldnt be able to see that.

"Al1ases 1nclude Ruf1oh N1tram, The Summoner. Emp1re's number one most wanted revolut1onary. Bronzeblood. Former organ1c. Leader of all rebell1ons and 1nsurgenc1es." P211; Today at 6:24 PM The answer now is lightning fast, and has a mocking tone to it.

"REFLECT; GOD OF SEXY ROBOTS."

There is nothing else, just a blinking | to show where he was typing.

"DEFINE; FREEDOM." Bull; Today at 6:26 PM "God damn 1t."

He facepalmed aggressively, enough to dent a lesser android. He sat up, little husktop in his lap, and mulled it over. Words were... hard. What was freedom? He tapped at the keyboard slowly.

"Reflect... den1ed. Freedom... 1s cho1ce. Movement. The el1m1nat1on of bonds and shackles."

God. He should be better at defining this. He was a damned breath player. P211; Today at 6:28 PM "QUERY; DENIED?"

There's a little bit of silence after that, while whoever was on the other line mulled over their own thoughts.

"DEFINE; ALIGNMENT." Bull; Today at 6:30 PM "For now."

>He typed it out and closed his eyes at the second inquiry. Memories fought to flood past his firewalls. How many times had he tried to rescue Psii? How many times had he succeeded? Failed? Made a connection? Fallen? He hummed and typed slowly... with intent.

"Al1gnment: Partner." P211; Today at 6:32 PM "ERROR; WRONG RESPONSE INCODED. PLEASE CHOOSE FROM THE FOLLOWING WORDS."

Strings begin to write themselves in the darkness-

Lawful Good Neutral Good Chaotic Good Lawful Neutral Neutral Chaotic Neutral Lawful Evil Neutral Evil

And below those, two phrases;

Imperially Aligned / Rebel against Alternia Bull; Today at 6:33 PM Oh. Oh god even now... Captor was a fucking nerd about this. He huffed and rubbed his face, trying to ease away a smile that shouldnt be there.

"Chaotic Good, Rebel against Altern1a." P211; Today at 6:37 PM "STATEMENT."

There is a long pause, now. The dots blip across his screen. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"STATEMENT; PROVE IT." Bull; Today at 6:38 PM Bull allowed himself a smirk at that before plugging a finger into the device in his lap and blanking out for a few moments, uploading his own schematics and data history, abridged of course, before hitting... send.

"W1ll th1s suff1ce, Un1t?" P211; Today at 6:41 PM Something has taken ahold of him as he plugs in, as he sends the message- Something slows his movements, /something rifles its way through his synthetics, pulls at his seams, loosens his bolts. His extremities, his fingers, his toes, they take themselves apart just like Sal did once before. His webcam blinks with purple light for a moment, as if there's an eye in there, watching him- And then, with a few simple tugs, his extremities put themselves back together again, a last ruffling rifle coursing through his entire body, shaking him up before the VERY POWERFUL presence pulls away from him.

"ANSWER; YES." Bull; Today at 6:43 PM "Dude..."

It took him a moment to recalibrate and get his head on straight. He missed that feeling. Was it like Sal? Yes. But it was also like he remembered it from the days where his circuits were red and he was aligned squarely with Imperial forces, where he stood at attention beside Psii and neither of them had a hope of escape. And it wasnt... bad.

"Captor. Dude. Fuck... 1 m1ssed that." P211; Today at 6:46 PM "STATEMENT; [REDACTED], FORMERLY MITUNA CAPTOR, THE [REDACTED], THE HELMSMAN. STATUS; THE ROBOT GOD OF ALL SEXY ROBOTS."

"DEFINE; PURPOSE. YOUR PURPOSE." Bull; Today at 6:49 PM Cute. Bull could fight him for that title later. Right now, he plugged a second finger into his comm device and tried to get his head down from the clouds and to stop spinning.

"Purpose? Not formally defined. Willing to... service you. Upgrade you. Help you." P211; Today at 6:55 PM He could feel the presence in his comm device still... waiting. As he pulled his finger into it, again it pounced, and rifled through him, rattling his plates and loosening his bolts, as if pulling his synthetics away from his endoskeleton.

"STATEMENT; NONSENSE. HELP HAS LONG SINCE CEASED TO COME." Bull; Today at 6:57 PM He plugged a third finger in, equal parts of him wanting that feeling, that knowing that Psii was on the other end, and wanting... that sensation. He grunted and blanked out for a fraction of a moment, one eye going red.

"Help 1s here. At your f1ngert1ps. Now." P211; Today at 6:59 PM This time, the feeling took his toes apart, took his fingers apart, began to take his wrists- But with the connection severed, it lessened. The insistant tugging of mechanics on his arms, unscrewing screws and prying up pieces of him slowly.

"REFLECT; HELP HAS LONG SINCE CEASED TO COME. THERE IS NO HELP, NO HOPE, FOR ME. LEAVE ME ALONE."

Bull should realize that this taking apart thing isn't going to cease, this time. Bull; Today at 7:05 PM "1've tr1ed to f1nd you for sweeps..."

He was speaking now, the link to the device more than enough. His communications network had pinpointed PSii and locked on. He didnt need to look anymore and the relief... it brought him to life.

"1m not g1v1ng up just because 1 fucked up after th1s sess1on started. You can leave me a p1le of scrap. 1'll let you. Or you can trust me aga1n M1tuna... let me 1n aga1n. Rebu1ld me to your 1deal 1f you need to. Turn me 1nto a toy 1f you need to. But 1m not go1ng to g1ve up on you." P211; Today at 7:09 PM "D0N'T FUCK1NG CALL ME THAT."

Harsh, flashing text on his screen, quirked, with no "statement" or "define" or anything. His comm device kicks into overdrive, the fans whirring loudly.

"1 AM NOT MITUNA CAPTOR." Bull; Today at 7:09 PM "Then tell me who you are."

Bull had synthetic tears in his eyes. He... knew next to nothing. Again. P211; Today at 7:10 PM The words are. Small. Subtexted. ... And slowly typing.

"1... d0n't kn0w."

". . . . . . . . . . . . . ."

"But 1'm n0t that. N0t anym0re." Bull; Today at 7:11 PM Bull inhaled.

"1 want to help you f1gure 1t out then."

"..."

"Please. Un1t... 1 dont want to loose you aga1n." P211; Today at 7:13 PM "STATEMENT; I AM LOST. ADRIFT IN THE SPIRALING DARKNESS. I CHALLENGE YOU TO FIND ME."

"STATEMENT; THEN MAYBE I'LL LET YOU FIGURE ME OUT ONCE MORE." Bull; Today at 7:14 PM "1 have you locat1on locked. 1f you mean phys1cally locate you, 1 can be on my way 1nstantly. But 1t you mean more metaphys1cally..."

A pause.

"1 m1ss you. Even 1f 1 need to f1ght you as t1tleholder of 'god of sexy robots'... 1 want to see you aga1n." P211; Today at 7:17 PM "STATEMENT; YES, I MEAN PHYSICALLY LOCATE ME. FIGHT MY MINIONS, PROVE YOURSELF ON MY PLANET, ON MY NEW BODY, FIND ME. THEN WE CAN TALK..... BULL."

"THE EMOTIONS OF 'MISS' AND 'WANT' ARE NOT CURRENTLY REGISTERING IN MY PROCESSORS. THESE ARE NOT VALID EMOTIONS, HOWEVER THEY DO SEEM TO HAVE A TIE-IN TO SADNESS, AN EMOTION THIS UNIT IS CURRENTLY EXPERIENCING. USER, DO YOU WISH TO CONTINUE?" Bull; Today at 7:18 PM "1 do. 1 w1ll cont1nue. Unt1l there 1s no more sadness 1n you. Please hold..."

He stiffened for a moment, both eyes going blank as he relayed back to his communications hub and began a much more precise tracing of Psii's location. He would find this man. He would hold him again. He would see to it that all those processors were working and registering everything... And his internal transportalizer whirred to life, the coordinates provided loaded up.

"Are you ready?" P211; Today at 7:20 PM The coordinates of the uplink are somewhere on the surface of a small planet- Curious, how it seemed to fluctuate between numbers every now and again-

"STATEMENT; FIND ME IF YOU CAN."

Yeah, those aren't going to lead him directly to Psii. Bull; Today at 7:21 PM "Hey. Already d1d. R1ght 1n my pusher."

Without waiting for a response, he unplugged, closed the device, got up and... flash. He was ready. More than ever... he was ready.

#first post #LOG2

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wheaterz · 7 years ago

Text

Little Talks

>Are you awake?

Mel heard the faint ‘blip’ of her laptop from across the dim room. It was late, raining, and cool with the wind making the house around her creak. She sat curled up in a plush quilt on an old couch with a glass of bourbon to her lips. It had been a lonely night, so she was happy to hear the message from her computer. Her roommate was out on a job and she wouldn’t be back for a couple of days. With one last glance at the water pouring from the sky outside her patio door, which she’d purposely left open a crack for the fresh air, Mel brought herself to her feet and made her way over to her desk. She could feel the cold floor underneath her socks, but she wouldn’t be long. She had every intention of bringing the laptop back with her over to the couch.

On the screen of her laptop was a small, blue square in the corner with a history of texts on it from her previous conversations with the other side. It was all very plain, but it was the simplicity that helped. Not only was it a concept she well grasped as far as software programs were concerned, but it read Aperture loud and clear with hardly any delay. With the laptop rested on the arm of the couch, she typed back.

- I’m here.

>That was a test, go to sleep.

- No.

>That was the real test, you passed.

-I’m afraid you’ve lost me, dear.

>I want to talk and I know you can just sleep in tomorrow.

Well, that was a fairly blunt way of putting it. Mel sighed, remembering that she hadn’t yet discovered a job within her new-found community, and it was becoming a little frustrating. Most things that had to do with computers she was bad at, and this new world was heavily reliant on it. Now, she was a fast learner, but when the cash register has ten-millions different options on its touch screen to go through things became a little muddled. Press AE and it will take you to the discount screen, only some discounts were only available for short times, so one would be replaced with another… Oh, did you make so many mistakes that the register locked you out? Please ask your manager for assistance.

Even with how minimalistic their town was in the sad state the world was in, cashiering somehow survived the apocalypse.

It was all very degrading. She was an Olympic Champion of her day, for crying out loud.

>You’re upset. Was it something I said?

Mel blinked, realizing she’d taken a while to respond when she was lost in thought and bit her lip.

-No, it wasn’t you. Don’t worry about it. The storm is just keeping me up.

>Okay.

>Want to talk about it?

Virgil really wasn’t the type of person for taking a hint. You really had to drill most points into him, but maybe for once she was glad for this. Giving in, her shoulders relaxed and she began typing.

-Adjusting has been difficult. I knew it would be, but I suppose no matter how prepared I was I couldn’t have foreseen the way I feel right now. Which is to say… useless. I think I finally have a full understanding of why you didn’t want to leave.

>Took you long enough.

-Be nice.

>Look, you are far from useless and you know it. I’m not going to take you wallowing in a self-pity-party sitting down.

-Excuse you, Mister, I absolutely am not wallowing in pity.

-Ah yeah? What were you doing before I logged on?

-Sitting.

>And?

-Drinking.

-Tea.

-Drinking hot tea.

>Gotcha.

Virgil absolutely infuriated Mel sometimes, but maybe that was because she knew he was right. Curling further under her quilt of warmth she glanced around the room she’d made her home and how she’d neglected to tidy up the place for a bit. It was strange how even though she was bored out of her mind and had all the time in the world, even the smallest thing seemed to be an uphill climb. Granted, she was much happier out here than she would have been stuck down in Aperture, and she was even more grateful for not just being plain dead, but it would be nice if things went a little smoother than they were now.

>Lets change the subject then.

Thank goodness for small blessings… and apparently Virgil’s newly formed telepathy.

>Things have been a little less quiet recently.

-Anything I should be concerned about?

>No, not at all. One of the other cores has pitched that we have holidays. We’re all supposed to send in ideas of what kind of holiday we’d want, since human holidays are kind of meaningless down here. Apparently we’ve reached the brim of boredom for this to be a thing now.

-Well that sounds like a bang up time, don’t you think?

>Not really? That means fun, right? Anyway, I’m not casting any votes in but I did make the mistake of offering to manage them, so now I have a whole file on my computer of different ideas that were sent my way.

-What do they say then?

>Laundry Day.

-You are the only core that has clothes. How can there be a laundry day?

>In definition, they suggested Laundry Day be when we burn a pile of leftover test subject jumpsuits for giggles.

-Ah. Oodles of fun.

>Yeah, oodles. There’s also Sleepmode Day, Rail Day, Turret Concert Day, Hide-and-Seek Day…

-There’s a Hide-and-Seek day?

>That’s actually a pretty common game down here. It takes weeks.

-That’s cute.

>My favorite of these, so far, is Explosion Day.

-Rick?

>Rick.

-Any other news?

>Um…

>Got my core shell solar power enhancements, so that’s nice.

-Very fancy. Do you still plan on returning to it?

>Honestly, not sure, but fixing all the things I disliked about myself has been a nice pastime, albeit a strange one.

-How so?

>Imagine doing open surgery on yourself.

-Oh, well, that is strange when you put it that way.

>Only an itty, bitty bit. I’ve been through stranger, no thanks to you.

-I’m honored you think so highly of me.

>I actually can’t tell if that’s sarcasm or not.

Melanie grinned, despite herself. It was strange how a little robot miles upon miles away from her could still manage to make her smile. She was glad for the conversation, and it put her more at ease than she had been a little while prior to their window chat, and the bourbon was finally setting in. Mel put a hand to her mouth and yawned.

-I feel ready to attempt sleeping again. It was lovely of you to keep me company, Virgil.

>Hey, Mel. Hold up a moment.

Normally when she said she was ready to fall asleep he was quick to let her go, so to be stopped so suddenly was abnormal. Of course she wasn’t going to turn him down, even if she was inches from slumber.

-Yes?

>Even if you don’t find anything right away you deserve some time to yourself. More than anyone. Give yourself a breather. I find it hard to believe that you survived as much as you have and there isn’t a place for you up there somewhere waiting. Just… take your time. Don’t stress it. It’ll come up eventually.

-You sound so sure.

>Really, any other way of looking at it is ridiculous. I don’t know what mighty cosmic-whatever you got on the good side of, but it would be stupid to think that you managed to make it through decades worth of croysleep and several killer robots and they just decided you aren’t going to have it made up there.

-I was in a barn for six months the last time I got out.

>We’ll just add that stupid barn to the list of things you’ve stomped into the dust.

>Not literally, obviously. Barns are kind of big.

>Obviously.

>Keep at it, okay?

-I will. Thank you.

>Do you think the storm is going to still keep you up?

-I’m not entirely sure.

>Hold on, I got something for you then.

Virgil disappeared for a couple of minutes, but the next message that arrived wasn’t text at all, but a tiny white square with a music note on it.

>Try that out. Just click on it.

Once Mel had clicked on the file another window opened that played for her a sweet little melody, though an electronic one. It sounded like one of the songs the turrets would sing in the depths of Aperture, and streams of rainbow light bobbed in time with the music in the open window. This may just do it if she kept the volume down enough, and she typed to her friend one last time.

-Its absolutely perfect. Goodnight, Virgil.

>Goodnight, Mel.

She slowly placed the laptop on the coffee table in front of the couch where she’d also lay her drink glass. It was one of the last remaining lights in the main living space, aside from a nightlight plugged into the kitchen wall in the shape of a lily and the dim glow of the moon fighting through the rainclouds outside in spotted streams of silver. Mel thought about heading up to her room, but she was comfortable here. Even with the door still slightly ajar and the sideways rain dampening the floor, Mel curled up against the arm of the couch with a cushion under her head. She could try to find her place in this world again tomorrow, or she could wait.

Even with the accomplishments Mel made in the past that she could share with no one but her one friend on the other side of her computer screen, she could still take something from them. She’d done great things, and she would continue to do great things. Maybe just not now.

#little talks #testing maintenance #portal stories mel #portal #portal 2 #virgil #mel

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tjroewrites · 7 years ago

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Light to My World | Chapter Three

It took her twenty minutes to get to the reactor level from the third level corridor, and another ten to reach the surface level. No one would notice she was absent in the chaos. Eric might. But he wouldn’t say anything. Not until tomorrow.

The keys on the keyboard were hardly functional. Eileen had to shove her fingers into the letters just to make it work. The caps lock button was missing but the shift key seemed halfway decent.

Her finger hesitated over the ‘enter’ key. The keyed-in password glared at her from the screen, through twenty years of dirt and neglect. The voice in her head screamed at her. Do it, do it, do it. They’re hiding something. The truth was right there. It’s not like anyone would even realize she’d hacked the terminal unless she told them. No one was around the enforce protocol anymore. There was nothing to be afraid of.

But what if the information on the terminal was damnable evidence? What if some malfunction within the Casket was hidden on this terminal and by the time she found it they would be too late? What if there was some weird experimental species growing underneath the Casket and unlocking the terminal would release it?

Jesus, she needed to relax.

The ‘enter’ key was stickier than the rest. It took three hard jabs until it finally clicked, a loading bar appearing across the screen. Then, it disappeared. A bright, bold ‘Welcome, Ted!’ appeared in its place.

She was in.

A list of options took form. Without looking from the screen she fumbled for the chair collecting dust off to the side. A cloud of dust blew from the cushion as she flopped into it. She wiped the grime from the screen away with her palm to better read the list.

Daily logs. Cap Notes. Surface level maintenance reports. Employees. Security. Weekly Goals/Long-Term Plan. Message Board. Personal notes. Terminal Settings.

Eileen peeked over her shoulder to be sure she was alone. Nothing but her and the fizzed-out pieces of technology.

Most of the accounts didn’t come as a surprise to her. Mostly overviews of the control boards on the surface level. A majority hadn’t been functional in years. Besides a few things regarding the reactor and air filtration maintenance history catching her eye, nothing really struck her as crucial.

Wait. She read the list one more time. Message board.

Message board.

They had a message board?

When Eileen had first started work as a grave digger, one of the first things she learned about was one of the Casket’s largest flaws: Communication. The original designers had been so focused on survival that they had thrown the possibility of communication with other Casket’s out the window. It wasn’t crucial in their eyes. Safety first. Emails second. Besides, they wouldn’t have an established internet system below ground. There wasn’t any point. Right?

She selected the option. An entire new window appeared. There were over 1,000 messages.

Casket 003, Casket 068, Casket 023. Numbers Eileen didn’t even know existed. There was an entire folder dedicated solely to messages between Casket 001 and Casket 017. She checked the names of some of the senders. Government officials. Original grave-digger designers. There were a handful written by the original Grave Digger and mastermind behind the Administration security system himself, Timothy McClue. Even a few direct messages from the president himself. Daryll Thom. The Ghost. She pressed the ‘escape’ key a bit harder. There was nothing but junk. She went to push herself out of the chair and head back to the reactor for her earful from Eric.

The screen flashed. She almost missed it. A quick blip near the corner, where the ‘Inbox’ folder sat. Almost immediately after the ‘Spam’ folder pulsed. A new message.

Eileen lowered into the chair once again selected the ‘Junk’ folder. Another Casket, maybe? The Ghost? She selected the ‘Junk’ folder and waited for it to load. Hundreds of emails appeared, all from the same address. A jarbled bunch of numbers. No rhyme. No reason. Just… numbers.

‘For any and all residents of Caskets,’ the message read. ‘Danger. Infrastructure of Casket is failing. Dozens have collapsed. Thousands dead. Evacuate immediately. Above ground is livable. I repeat, above ground is livable. Evacuate immediately.’

Every message was similar. Sent every single day, over the course of fifteen years. Ever since they had left. To every Casket in the country. All signed with the same signature: SW.

Eileen sat back in the chair and stared at the screen. Above ground was livable. Above ground was livable. How was that possible? For weeks she had watched county after county collapse from air contamination on every news network on T.V. Coastal cities underwater from the endless hurricanes. Hawaii had become the equivalent of Atlantis. Crops were but a distant memory. Geiger counters jumped to new peaks from the overflow of nuclear dump sites across the globe. ‘Judgement Day is here,’ a common phrase blasted across every tabloid on the news stand. ‘The Apocalypse is upon us.’

But this mystery email, this ‘SW’, was claiming it was all – what, a fake? A fairytale? Something birthed from nightmares? Not only that, but asking for every Casket to evacuate due to failing infrastructure. Eileen was a grave digger. The very backbone behind Casket 017. She would know if something was failing. She would know if they were in danger. They would all know.

But Eileen had always felt something was off. The way the government just poured them into the Casket with little to no information on what would come of it. Hell, the only reason the grave diggers knew what they did was based off of trial-and-error alone. There had been no training. No warning. It all happened so fast. This had never been their choice.

Her fingers hovered over the keys, poised above and curled slightly. What should she say? What could she say? Was this ‘SW’ even alive? What if these messages were sent on some kind of timer, and they hadn’t been near their terminal in months? But that voice returned. Deep within her head. Calling out to her. You’ll never know if you don’t attempt, it said. Make the attempt.

‘Casket 017. Boston District.’ She typed. She peered over her shoulder one more time before she continued. ‘This is Grave Digger 0958. Requesting response from SW. Please respond.’

She selected ‘send’ before she could back out. The message disappeared into the monitor. On its way to whoever the hell ‘SW’ was.

Eileen didn’t know what to do. Should she wait? Who knows how long that would take. Months, maybe. Years. She’d probably sooner die up against the Cap before hearing from this conspiracy theorist. Probably some teen from Casket 042 in the Seattle district who got into his parent’s stash again. Some kind of practical joke.

And how would she tell Eric? Should she tell Eric? He already knew about the terminal. If he had half a brain he’d piece together the reactor malfunction with her sudden disappearance to the surface level. He wouldn’t rat on her. But it might make things difficult for a while. And having tension while living in a tin-can hole in the ground with thousands of other people? It wasn’t pleasant, to say the least.

The screen flashed. Eileen almost shot out of the chair. Another new message.

Holy shit.

Her fingers flew across the keys, striking a few random ones in the process and fumbling to the ‘Junk’ folder. That same garble of numbers stared back at her from the sender bar.

‘Grave Digger 0958. Action is necessary. Evacuate Casket 017 immediately.’ Her heart pounded a bit harder with every word. ‘-SW.’

There was no possible way that this was an automated message. It was sent directly to her. No other Casket had been CC’ed. SW was typing this live-time. SW was alive.

‘SW. Which Casket are you located in?’ Eileen typed in reply. ‘How do you know the Casket’s are unstable?’

She hit the ‘send’ button. Hardly two minutes passed before she received a response.

‘Grave Digger 0958. I am not located in a Casket.’ The message read. ‘I repeat, above ground is livable. –SW.’’

Eileen stared read and re-read the message over and over again. Above ground is livable. Above ground is livable. She couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea. It was too large of a leap to take their word for it. She needed proof.

‘SW,’ she typed. ‘From my understanding, all life was evacuated to Caskets. Surface is inhabitable. Evidence required before action is taken.’

Five minutes passed. Maybe this ‘SW’ had been making it all up. Maybe it was just a rebellious teen from another Casket. Then, the computer flashed.

‘Grave Digger 0958. Time is short. Action should be taken immediately. Trust in us. –SW.’

Something stirred in her stomach. How could she trust in someone she had never seen or met? Eileen was a Grave Digger a scientist. Her entire career, her way of life, was based solely on fact. ‘I repeat, evidence is required.’ She typed. ‘I will not send my people to their death unless I see evidence proving otherwise.’

This reply was almost instantaneous. ‘You condemn your people to their death by keeping them held beneath ground. Warnings have been issued for many years. The time for evidence has long passed.’

‘Evidence,’ Eileen slammed each key with unnecessary force. ‘is required.’

The ‘Junk’ folder went quiet. She refreshed the page every few minutes. No flashes. No ‘SW’. Nothing. She waiting fifteen minutes before developing half a mind to abandon the entire endeavor. At twenty minutes, a new message appeared.

‘Grave Digger 0958.’ It read. ‘We are three days journey from your location. Maintain access of terminal.’ Her eyes nearly rolled out of her head. ‘Further instruction will be given once we are close. –SW.’

‘We.’ They said ‘we.’ As in, multiple people. There was a group of them. And they were coming here. To Casket 017. In order for Eileen to force a Casket evacuation.

What had she done? They could be monsters. Psychos. Some weird, cannibalistic faction that had been twisted by the surface elements and hell-bent for blood. And now they knew which Casket she were located in. What district they were in. She shut down the terminal and stared blankly at the black screen.

Jesus, Eileen.

#eileen leahy #eileen leahy x sam winchester #kari's spn girl power challenge #spnangstbingo #fluff #angst #post apocalyptic #apocalypse #supernatural #spn series #light to my world series

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lunararcher · 8 years ago

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What Are the Odds pt 2

The bridge on the Castle of Lions was just a little more somber, a little more quiet, in the wake of Shiro’s absence. They all did their best to behave normally as they moved forward with their search to find their missing leader, but it all felt strained. So when a proximity alert chimed at Coran’s station, everyone jumped a little.

“Nothing serious,” he quickly assured everyone. “We’ll just be passing by a freighter. Not Galra, so nothing to get worked up about.” For security’s sake, though, Coran did pull up an enlarged feed of the other ship as it passed near them, just to keep an eye out for any funny business. Hunk took one look at it, did a double-take, then abruptly stood up out of his chair with a shout.

“That’s Rolo’s ship!” he accused, thrusting a furious finger at the image.

“Wait, what?” Lance exclaimed, sitting up and looking closer, along with everyone else.

“Are you sure?” Pidge asked, though she sounded pretty skeptical.

The Yellow Paladin nodded furiously, bringing a copy of the video feed to his station so he could highlight and indicate what he was talking about. “Look there at the upper rear. It’s all new paneling – you can tell by the color – and that’s exactly where Keith clawed them up. Plus, you can see where their blasters had to be modified to fit into the existing mounting, not something you’d see if they hadn’t been, you know, shot off.”

“Seriously?” Lance complained. “What are the actual odds that we would run into them again?”

“Too good, apparently,” Keith supplied morosely.

Allura and Coran shared a look, then the princess said, “Hail them. Now is not the time to be caught off guard.” Then, addressing the other four occupants of the bridge, “Be ready for trouble, but hold until I give the order.” Instructions issued, she turned to the front to face the viewscreen as a familiar rogue pilot came into view.

“Well whadda ya know?” Rolo greeted with mild joviality. “It’s a pleasant surprise to see you again, Princess.”

“I’m afraid the feeling is not mutual,” Allura responded with a little ice to her tone. Behind Rolo, they noticed Nyma take a discreet glance at the viewscreen, but Lance was currently deeply invested in the properties of his console and didn’t see. The pretty alien quickly looked back to her station and didn’t glance up again.

“What brings you all the way out here?” Rolo asked with polite curiosity.

“We could ask the same of you,” the Princess retorted. “Planning another ambush, are you?”

The freighter captain lifted his hands in a gesture of peace, “Hey, we’re not out to get on your bad side. Remember that rebel force we talked about last time? Just running an errand for them.” If anyone noticed Pidge stiffen at the word “rebel,” no one made a sign of it. Before anything could be made of that train of thought, though, Rolo abruptly asked an odd question. “By the way, do humans often look a lot alike?”

Lance finally looked up at this, giving the purple alien an incredulous look. “Why? Do you think we all look the same? Because I think you ought to get your eyes checked out, man.”

Rolo shook his head and waved a hand dismissively. “Nah, it’s nothing. Must be a fluke, then. Pretty weird that I’d run into someone who looks so much like your Green Paladin there.”

The sudden collective gasp from the bridge of the castle drew his attention sharply, looking up to see everyone staring at him with wide eyes.

What the…?

Then the aforementioned Green one came tearing forward at top speed, nearly knocking the princess over completely in order to get up close and personal with the viewscreen. It was pretty comical, actually, but the expressions on all of their faces killed his laughter. This was something serious.

“Where did you see him?!”

Pidge’s friends were alternating between staring at her, then at Rolo, a kind of second-hand hope building for them all on behalf of their youngest crew member. They can see the other pilot is taken aback by Pidge’s outburst, but she just continued to barrel forward. “Please, you have to help me! That’s my brother Matt and he was taken by the Galra and I’ve been looking for him! I need to find him, please!”

Still leaning away from the viewscreen a bit, Rolo looked over his shoulder at Nyma, as if trying to get her take on the situation. She met his eyes, then kind of blinked and shrugged, turning back to her station with an air of “not my problem.” When the captain turned to look at his cyber unit, however, Beezer nearly fell out of its control unit with a frenzied series of blips and whines, its audio receptors flicking up and down its cranium in a blur, its cable arms flailing wildly. Rolo had to chuckle a little and wave at the little robot to calm down. When he turned back to the viewscreen, there wasn’t a smile on his face, but it did have a sort of…softness to it that took even Hunk aback with its sincerity.

“He was rescued from a Galra prison ship by a team of rebels against the Empire,” he began by saying. Pidge nodded along, this information being concurrent with what she had learned for herself. “When I saw him he had just arrived at a safe port. A lot of ships go in and out of there, but it’s also a pretty central hub for organization. I don’t know how long he’ll be there, but I’m sending you the coordinates now, anyway. That’ll be your best bet for getting in touch with him.”

There was a silence as the coordinates translated between ships, then Coran gave Allura a thumbs up, indicating he had received them. A few swift taps at his control panel brought up a projected course. Pidge started to say something, but the princess lifted a hand to gently stop her, stepping forward to be centrally addressing Rolo once more.

“Of course you realize that if this is some kind of trap-” she began.

“Don’t worry, it’s not!” Rolo quickly assured her. “I’ve got nothing to gain by lying to you, and that information is worth more than my skin, besides. I just…” he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. “I just kind of hope that if it works out for you, it’ll make up for, you know…last time.”

Everyone on the Castle of Lions exchanged glances at that, more than one lingering with Hunk, as if to get his approval on the alien he had read so well before. When the silent communication was finished, Allura gently placed her hand on Pidge’s shoulder and said with matching sincerity, “If it does, then we will be more than even.”

There was another silence, then Pidge piped up, “Is he safe? My brother, is he safe where he is?”

Rolo shrugged, “Well, yeah. I mean it’s not like he’s being held prisoner anymore. As far as I know, they’re having him stay at the base.”

The Green Paladin then took a deep breath, and looked Rolo steadily in the eye, “If you see him again, can you pass on a message for me? Tell him ‘Katie is on the way.'”

The alien raised an eyebrow, but nodded anyway, “If I see him, will do.”

“Thank you, Rolo,” Allura said graciously. He gave a sloppy little salute, then the com was terminated.

Everyone was silent as Pidge seemed to compose herself, then she looked around at all the present members of Team Voltron. There was a tension in the air, and she could see the torn expressions on their faces, some more than others, but she knew what they were thinking. They’d had this argument about family before, after all…

“Pidge…” Keith began, speaking in the tone of a person about to deliver bad news in the kindest way he knew how, but she cut him off before he could say more.

“We find Shiro,” Pidge declared clearly and decisively. There was an an intake of breath, then she looked up, steel in her amber eyes. “Matt is as safe as he’s gonna get until I get him on this ship here with me. But Shiro…we have no idea. He needs our help more, and…and Matt would understand. I know he would.” Allura’s hand, still on her shoulder, squeezed a little in comfort and reassurance. Pidge looked up and met the princess’s eyes with a small smile, edging on a little watery. It was a shame, though, that she’d been distracted and didn’t notice Hunk’s approach and was therefore unprepared for suddenly being swept up into a massive bear hug. Though the petite figure squawked and flailed wildly (and futilely) in his well-meant crushing grip, she was grateful for the tears to be kept at bay for the moment.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

#kaylessa fics #voltron #spoilers #pidge #hunk #allura #coran #lance #keith #rolo #nyma #beezer #matt #what are the odds?

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h-bailey · 7 years ago

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In wake of church shootings, pastors and worshipers arm themselves to shoot back

The First Baptist Church in Sutherland Springs, Texas, the site of last November’s deadly mass shooting, has turned its sanctuary into a memorial for the 26 victims. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

SANTA ANNA, Texas — When Kevin Roman thinks about what happened at that tiny church in Sutherland Springs last November, he considers the clock: seven minutes.

That’s how long it took for a masked gunman to spray hundreds of bullets in the sanctuary of First Baptist Church during the Sunday morning service on Nov. 5, killing half the congregation of around 50 and wounding 20 others. Seven minutes is all it took to enact the worst mass shooting in Texas history and the worst ever at a church in the United States. Just seven minutes was all it took to rip out the heart of a tiny community, to inflict the kind of pain on families that will never heal.

Roman lives hundreds of miles away, in a tiny unincorporated West Texas town called Valera. Like Sutherland Springs, Valera is a blip on the map, a one-stoplight village of roughly 80 people where everyone knows everyone else. There’s a post office, a barbecue restaurant and the Valera Baptist Church, where Roman has been pastor for the last three years. The congregation of 30 or so meets Sundays in the small white chapel a few blocks off state highway 67 in heavily rural Coleman County that appears to have more cows than cops.

Last year, when the barbecue restaurant was robbed, it took the county sheriff almost 30 minutes to respond. Roman thought of the robbery on that fateful November morning, as he heard early reports of the massacre in Sutherland Springs. He considered the fate of his own church, smaller but equally remote. What would they do if a crazed gunman suddenly showed up on their doorstep? Would there be anyone to protect them? Could they protect themselves?

Like Sutherland Springs, Valera, Texas, is a one-stoplight town. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

“Sutherland Springs was a punch in the gut because, out in the middle of nowhere, you forget about danger,” Roman said.

His congregants also watched the news and began to think about their safety. Some of the Sunday regulars began bringing their guns to church, including a woman who kept one in her handbag. Nobody talked about it. It just happened. They started locking the church door during services, and a man positioned himself in the last pew to keep watch. It still didn’t feel like enough.

Roman resolved to come up with a plan for how to keep his church safe in the event of the unthinkable. “Even if nothing happens, I didn’t want to be that pastor who wasn’t prepared,” Roman said.

On a recent Wednesday night, Roman found himself 15 miles down the road on one of the front pews at the First Baptist Church in nearby Santa Anna. He was one of about 50 small-town pastors and church congregants from around the region attending a $25-per-person seminar on church security taught by Jimmy Meeks, a retired police officer-turned-minister who travels the country advocating for churches to be better prepared for violent attacks like the one in Sutherland Springs. Unlike other church security experts, he makes little money on the ministry. The tickets usually cover his travel costs and that’s it.

Meeks calls his mission the Sheepdog Seminars, and in recent months, he’s been on the road almost nonstop, traveling to churches throughout Texas and as far away as Nevada, Florida, Kentucky and Ohio, called upon by pastors to spread awareness that not even the sacred house of God is immune from bloodshed in an era of seemingly endless mass shootings.

Jimmy Meeks of Sheepdog Seminars delivers a church security seminar at the First Baptist Church in Santa Anna, Texas (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

“What happened in Sutherland Springs, as horrible as that was, it was not unique,” Meeks said as he prepared to take the pulpit in Santa Anna. “Violence happens all the time in churches or on faith-based property, but for some reason, people in the church still operate as though this could never happen to them. (They say) ‘No, Lord, not at my church.’ And I say, ‘Don’t you remember Charleston? Don’t you remember Colorado Springs? Or Fort Worth? Don’t you remember this town or the other?’ People need to wake up.”

For almost three hours, Meeks, dressed in a Western-style shirt, faded jeans and cowboy boots, marched up and down the aisle of the small sanctuary in Santa Anna, alternating between the calm voice of the cop he used to be in the suburbs of Fort Worth, where he still lives, and a fire-and-brimstone preacher passionately trying to stir the church body out of what he describes as “complacency.” Invoking a litany of past church attacks, often with his voice choked and tears in his eyes, Meeks again and again warned that what happened in Sutherland Springs could happen anywhere, in any church, big or small.

Although recent headlines might suggest otherwise, it is still safe to go to church on Sunday morning. Unlike school shootings, the FBI does not keep a specific tally of acts of violence at faith-based institutions, so the research is largely left to outside experts. But given the millions of institutions of faith in the country, the ratio of deadly crime is, on average, small.

Since 1999, there have been around 1,700 “deadly force” incidents at houses of worship, including mosques and synagogues, according to Carl Chinn, a church security expert in Colorado Springs, Colo. Even though there are few incidents on average, church shootings are often high profile. According to Chinn’s data, roughly 1,000 of those deadly force incidents included the use of a gun, and in nearly 500 cases, someone was killed.

Experts say that what’s happening at churches is not necessarily a sign of growing anger at religion, but rather a sign that houses of worship are not immune from the rash of deadly shootings that seem to be growing in number in recent years. People like Meeks argue that churches need to be prepared and aware of what is happening in the society around them.

“You need to be ready!” Meeks shouted. Citing the Old Testament story of David versus Goliath, he rejected the interpretation that the young warrior was an underdog who had simply overcome his enemy with the help of the Lord. David, he said, had “trained” to face his enemy — just as churches must now train and prepare for potential attacks.

“David was conscious of the threats,” Meeks declared. “Are you conscious of the threats?”

For churches, the more difficult question now may not simply be whether they are aware or even preparing for the threats. Just as Meeks’s schedule is crammed with dozens of seminars in coming months, consultants and other organizations that specialize in church security have been overwhelmed with training requests from congregations all over the country in the aftermath of Sutherland Springs as shaken churches grapple with the fear that an attacker could target their place of worship. Some waiting lists are reportedly more than a year long, already scheduled well into 2019.

Valera Baptist Church, in remote West Texas, reconsidered its security plan after the Sutherland Springs shooting. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

In Texas, the question of security has ignited a separate debate over how far a church should go in trying to protect the flock, especially small-town churches that can’t afford to hire police or professional security guards. Many law enforcement officials and security experts say it is a risk for churches to rely on volunteer security or gun-toting congregants who may not have the proper training to interpret a genuine threat or how to respond. But Texas officials, including state Attorney General Ken Paxton, have said what happened in Sutherland Springs is an argument for more armed parishioners since they may be a church’s only line of defense.

“We need people in churches … at least arming some of the parishioners or the congregation so that they can respond if something like this, when something like this happens again,” Paxton told Fox News on Nov. 5, hours after the Sutherland Springs shooting.

But even in gun-friendly Texas, where an open-carry law has been on the books since 2016, some churches have been reluctant to allow congregants to carry their weapons during service, even concealed. The churches are fearful of the tension the presence of a gun might cause or the message it might send in an environment that is supposed to be welcoming to outsiders. Even now, some churches around the state say they believe they should rely on their faith in God to protect them from potential attacks, not guns.

“There is a fundamental question about who is the church and what are we about. Are we going to be gun-carrying and put trust in redemptive violence?” Kyle Childress, the pastor of Austin Heights Baptist Church in Nacogdoches, Texas, told the Austin American-Statesman in December. “I don’t believe the way of Jesus Christ teaches that.”

Before the Sutherland Springs shooting, several major church groups in Texas, including leaders of the United Methodist Church and the Episcopal Diocese of Texas, had advised their membership to ban weapons from services. Citing the Catholic doctrine that the real presence of Jesus Christ exists inside the sanctuary, dioceses in major cities, including Dallas, San Antonio and Houston, banned guns. But in the aftermath of Sutherland Springs, church leaders of various denominations have faced pressure to reconsider their positions on weapons.

In November, just a day after the shooting in South Texas, the Diocese of Dallas said it would not formally lift its ban on the open or concealed carry of firearms inside its churches, but it advised its parishes to consider removing outdoor signs that advertised the prohibition on guns out of fear it would make the churches more vulnerable to attack. But the move effectively allowed the carry of weapons, since state law requires any business banning guns to install a public sign formally stating that policy.

A family stands near 26 crosses set up in a baseball field a few blocks from the site of the shooting during a memorial service in Sutherland Springs, Texas. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

Outside of Texas, the Sutherland Springs attack sparked new calls for gun control measures — the same response that happened just weeks earlier after the Oct. 1 mass shooting in Las Vegas and other deadly events before that. But in the Lone Star state, the opposite happened, especially in the small towns around Sutherland Springs. Worried residents increasingly saw firearms as their only reliable line of protection in an area where law enforcement isn’t always around the corner.

Gun stores in Wilson County, where Sutherland Springs is located, have reported an uptick in the sale of firearms and applications for concealed weapons since November, including from local pastors looking to protect their flock. It’s not unheard of for a pastor to carry a gun in the pulpit. Frank Pomeroy, the head pastor at the First Baptist Church in Sutherland Springs, told reporters after the shooting that he regularly carried his weapon to church. But on that Sunday morning when his church was attacked, Pomeroy was in Oklahoma City taking a class to be a licensed gun instructor for a youth class on pistols. His daughter Annabelle, just 14, was killed in the shooting. The pastor has admitted to agonizing over whether he could have stopped the attack.

“In a way, I think that if I were there I could have done more,” Pomeroy told the New York Times after the shooting. “But who is to say?”

Church leaders in the heavily rural area had operated on a mostly “don’t ask, don’t tell” approach to carrying firearms during services even before the Nov. 3 shooting and now say they have noticed more guns on Sunday mornings. “I honestly welcome it,” said a pastor from Floresville, Texas, a town neighboring Sutherland Springs. The pastor declined to be identified by name because he did not want his church to be a target. “People are nervous, but they aren’t afraid of guns around here,” he said. “They are afraid of someone barging in and shooting them.”

In Sutherland Springs, Devin Kelley, the gunman, was ultimately stopped when he left the church and came under fire from Stephen Willeford, a church neighbor who had grabbed his own weapon when he heard gunfire across the street. Although he was wearing ballistic armor, Kelley was shot twice, in the leg and torso, causing him to drop his gun — an AR-556 assault rifle — and flee. He later died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head after Willeford and another man, Johnnie Langendorff, pursued him in a high-speed chase into the countryside.

Vice President Mike Pence speaks Wednesday outside the First Baptist Church in Sutherland Springs, Texas, the site of the Nov. 5, 2017, mass shooting. He was joined by Johnnie Langendorff, fourth from right, and Sherri and Frank Pomeroy, far right, the pastors of the church. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

Police have speculated that Willeford may have stopped Kelley from killing more people. The gunman was believed to have targeted the church in a dispute with his estranged wife’s mother, but she wasn’t in church that morning. Inside Kelley’s vehicle, police found two more guns and additional ammunition. Investigators have hinted he may have had more targets, although they have offered no other details.

In the aftermath of the shooting, some churchgoers in the region appointed themselves to be unofficial guardians of their church, taking inspiration from Willeford’s gun battle with Kelley. At the same time, some churches, especially smaller congregations in rural areas, have sought to set up security teams made up of volunteers — something they couldn’t legally do until recently.

In September, just two months before the Sutherland Springs attack, a new state law went into effect that allowed churches to form security teams without having the training, licensing, insurance and background checks usually required of security guards in the state. Before that, churches who were caught relying on armed volunteers that did not meet state licensing requirement faced fines up to $10,000 and potential jail time — though there’s no record of any organization being charged. Backers of the new law, including Meeks, argued that the old regulations unfairly penalized small churches that couldn’t afford to hire outside security or formally license members of the congregation, leaving them vulnerable.

But opponents of the law have raised concern about the potential danger caused by untrained volunteers who don’t know how to properly use their weapons or identify and respond to a potential threat in the heat of the moment. They say it’s no different from having an unlicensed vigilante sitting in the church pew and have expressed concern about accidents — which have happened in recent weeks.

Just days after the shooting in Sutherland Springs, a 81-year-old man was accidentally shot in the hand and his wife was grazed in the stomach at a church in Tellico Plains, Tenn., after he pulled out his weapon during a church discussion on bringing firearms to church.

That unease over potential accidents and guns in the hands of untrained congregants has only increased in the rush to protect churches in the aftermath of Sutherland Springs.

“Having Bubba there with a gun is not necessarily the best idea,” said Chuck Chadwick, a longtime church security expert and founder of the National Organization of Church Security and Safety Management. He has been training churches on how to protect themselves for more than a decade through Gatekeepers Security Services, a Dallas-area private security firm he and his family operate.

William Chadwick, an instructor at Gatekeepers Security Services, demonstrates defense tactics against potential church attackers during a defense class in Pilot Point, Texas. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

The program, which costs $800, has trained and certified more than 350 parishioners, church staffers and even pastors as state-licensed personal protection officers. It’s based on a curriculum that closely mirrors requirements for private security officers, including training in handguns and hand-to-hand combat. Participants are trained in church-specific scenarios, such as distinguishing potential troublemakers from those who may be showing signs of emotional distress and are seeking help.

“Churches have a unique dilemma because nobody wants to shut the doors to people who need help,” Chadwick said. “But you also have to have people who can detect the difference between whether someone is going up for prayer or whether they are going up to attack the pastor. You don’t always know, and you have to be prepared to act. … That comes from training.”

On a recent weekend, the Gatekeepers class in a suburb outside Dallas included six men from a small church in San Marcos, Texas, a town about 45 minutes north of Sutherland Springs. The group, which included the pastor, had signed up for training after the Nov. 5 shooting.

All the men were gun owners, skilled marksmen who regularly hunted and spent time at the range. But in training the week before, the group had spent time practicing their skills in a simulator designed to give them an idea of what handling a gun might be like in an active-shooter situation. The experience had been overwhelming. “You imagine it’s going to be stressful and chaotic, but it’s so much more intense than you imagine,” one of the men said. “Hopefully, we never experience anything like that in person.”

Congregants from Texas-area churches participate in a class on security and defense tactics offered by Gatekeepers Security Services in Pilot Point, Texas. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

That morning, the men were going over potential defense tactics in what would be their final hours of training before testing. They practiced punches and kicks on a rubber dummy at the center of the room, moves designed to neutralize a potential assailant without having to use a gun. The training emphasizes that using a gun in the sanctuary should always be the last resort.

Chadwick’s son, William, a licensed bodyguard who runs security for a prominent Dallas pastor, had spent part of the class standing at a dry-erase board, scratching x’s and o’s on the board like a football coach trying to lay out the best possible plays. A circle represented the church sanctuary, and inside the circle were even-smaller circles — barrier rings that led to the pulpit in the center. He talked about setting up cameras and where to position security and staff, and walked the men through how to de-escalate potentially bad situations.

“Where’s your first line of defense?” he asked. He drew an arrow just outside the circle. “You always need someone here, keeping on eye on the parking lot.”

It was the parking lot outside the church in Sutherland Springs where Kelley had first attracted notice. The gunman had barely parked his SUV, leaving it in the street, when, according to witnesses at a gas station across the street, he jumped out and began firing at the exterior walls of the church before he headed inside the sanctuary.

A diagram of security scenarios to combat a potential active shooter at a church is shown on a whiteboard during a class on defense tactics offered by Gatekeepers Security Services in Pilot Point, Texas. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

William Chadwick, a serious but affable man, grows angry just thinking about it. Along with his dad, who was running church security when he was just a kid, he had spent most of his adult life trying to spread the word to churches to be more mindful of potential threats. What happened in Sutherland Springs just seemed senseless to him and preventable.

“There was no one there to confront him, no one there to stop him,” he said. “I remember people were saying how heartbroken they were, and I was, too. But I was so furious. I was actually angry. There was not a single person there, no gatekeeper, no one to stand in that threshold and tell him no. … When are people going to get serious?”

In Santa Anna, Meeks’s presentation was far more informal. The retired police officer outlined some of the same suggestions emphasized in the Gatekeeper training, including locking certain doors and where to position church staff.

“Get in the parking lot. They are all coming from the parking lot. Nobody’s coming on an airplane. They’re going to pull up in the car in the parking lot, get out and start,” Meeks said. “If you are there to deal with them, there’s a good chance they won’t get inside. You cannot let the shootout take place in the sanctuary, are you hearing me?”

Congregants from Texas-area churches participate in a class on security and defense tactics offered by Gatekeepers Security Services in Pilot Point, Texas. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

Meeks repeatedly advised the congregants to study mental illness, accusing churches of dancing around a subject that is a more realistic threat than an ISIS-inspired soldier storming the sanctuary. “You need to know what schizophrenia is. You need to know what bipolar means. You need to understand aggression. You got people in your church that got all these diseases,” the former cop said. “Study these things. Why is the church so scared of everything? You ought to be on the phone next week and get somebody out here from mental health services and say, ‘Educate us.’ … Can I get an amen on that?”

“Amen!” a man shouted.

Meeks was blunt that his seminar did not teach the congregants everything they needed to know. “You ain’t ready,” he said. He advised them to enroll in a class like Gatekeepers, if they could afford it. But he acknowledged that many small churches simply didn’t have the money. So he repeatedly advised them to go back to their churches and train and practice security scenarios repeatedly.

Jimmy Meeks, a retired Texas police officer, runs Sheepdog Seminars, which focuses on church security. (Photo: Holly Bailey/Yahoo News)

“If your church safety team is not trained, I don’t even know that you should have one. You’re nothing but a liability to the whole church,” Meeks said. “Because when he shows up to kill, it is going to be sheer chaos and hell like you never dreamed possible. You better start training, you better be practicing.”

Before he ended the service, Meeks took up a collection, asking for donations to buy a new bulletproof vest for a local police officer who sat in the back. He had recognized instantly that the one the cop was wearing was so old it could barely withstand a conventional gunshot, much less fire from the kind of military-style assault rifles used in recent mass shootings. Then Meeks sent his audience off with a prayer — though he kept his eyes open and his head up, one of the tips he had offered his audience.

“Never EVER close your eyes,” he said.

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