#vending software

[vendekin11]

Our vending machine is a smart automatic vending machine that can functionally be a salesperson for various products and, at the same time, a business growth assistant, data analyst, and business manager for your business.

[antmyerp]

Maintaining coffee vending machines is vital for customer satisfaction, but it can be time-consuming and affect service quality. Field software streamlines operations by integrating real-time scheduling, inventory management, and automated communication, reducing downtime and enhancing satisfaction. Challenges like breakdowns, scheduling issues, inventory management, and communication gaps are addressed efficiently. Key features include optimized technician scheduling and real-time inventory tracking. With field management software, vending machine companies can provide efficient maintenance and repair services.

[stillmonsterz]

all i gotta do

for this anon!

pairing: jake x reader

genre: fluff (?), humor (???), smut

summary: it's your first day at work and you're nervous. however, your trainer is going to show you why you were nervous for the wrong reasons. one week with jake sim will either make you quit the job or never leave.

contains: unprotected sex, exhibitionism, swearing, incest mention, PTSD mention, i try to be "funny" and make "jokes"

word count: 4.4k (unproofread)

---

DAY ONE

You stepped inside of your new workplace apprehensively; you hadn’t felt so nervous since your first day of university. Wiping your palms on your pants, you made eye contact with the receptionist and smiled wanly. 

“Hello,” you said, resting your fingertips on the counter. “I’m the new hire. I was wondering where I could find…Jake Sim? He’s supposed to be my…” The term that had been used in the introductory email the company had sent to you eluded you.

“Your buddy,” the receptionist said flatly. “Your Park Corp buddy.”

“Yes. That.”

“Jake Sim is on the fifth floor. I take it you’ll be working in data analysis as well?”

You nodded. “Yes, exactly.”

The receptionist smiled at you, but it belied a certain cold humor. “Good luck.”

“Yeah, you too.” As you walked away, you realized your blunder and squeezed your eyes shut. 

–

The fifth floor of the office building had all of the markings of a corporation attempting to reel in more younger workers. There was a vending machine as soon as you walked in, the cubicles were arranged as part of an open concept floor plan, and the walls were plastered with positive, empty aphorisms. You scanned the area, wondering which of the people hunched over their computers was Jake.

Footsteps echoed behind you, and when you turned around you saw a slight, enthusiastic-looking young man with a shock of shaggy brown hair approaching you. In his hands he held two coffee cups. 

“Hey, newbie,” he said with some affection. “Got you a coffee.”

You took the cup, surprised by his vivacity. “Thank you…”

“Jake,” he finished, holding his hand out. “Jake Sim.”

You shook his hand as firmly as you could and introduced yourself.

“I know,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t worry, I like to do a little stalking before we meet a new hire. Although…” his face grew serious. “You really shouldn’t post such…provocative pictures on your Insta. Someone could get ideas.”

Your face blanched and your fingers gripped the coffee cup. “What?”

Jake’s face broke out into a smile. “Just fuckin’ with you. Sorry, I like to razz all the new hires. Makes me feel big.”

His grin was so wide, you felt compelled to smile too. He nudged you and jerked his thumb in the direction of the cubicles. “Let me show you around, PCB.”

You blinked, then it dawned on you. “Park Corp buddy…?”

“So observant,” Jake said, amused. “Come on.”

You followed him around as he explained where everything was: the copy room, the coffee machine, the water dispenser, the popcorn machine, your cubicle (situated in the middle of the room, to your chagrin), his cubicle (tucked neatly in the corner).

Then he taught you how to use the software. Thanks to your university courses, it wasn’t difficult to learn. Jake’s playful personality also gave way to a maturity that you hadn’t expected. He carefully walked you through the program step by step.

“I’ll leave you these tasks to work on,” he said, pulling up a document he had pre-made. “If you get stuck, just come get me, okay? I’m right in the corner.”

You thanked him for his assistance and started working on the tasks he had given you. It wasn’t challenging, so much as it was tedious. Still, you persevered. 

At least, until you heard him approach you again.

“Hey,” Jake said, sitting beside you. His eyes darted around the room. “You were supposed to come get me.”

“You told me to do that if I needed you,” you replied, somewhat confused.

“Yeah,” Jake said slowly, “in case you feel the overwhelming urge to make Jakey’s day and let him help you with something so he can avoid doing his boring ass work. You don’t even understand the basics of being a PCB, do you?”

“You’re using me,” you said, waving an accusatory finger at him. 

“Can you blame me?” he retorted. “Sometimes I can…I can feel my soul leaking from my pores.”

You giggled, and he squinted at you in mock annoyance. “There’s no way you’re laughing at me,” he said, trying to fight a smile. “I’m dying, turning into a corpse, and you’re laughing.”

You shrugged. “At least you’ll die at the prime of your life.”

Jake’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Oh, you think I’m in my prime, huh?”

“That’s not what I me-,”

“You’re hitting on me,” Jake said, leaning in. He blinked at you like a puppy. 

You leaned away, your cheeks feeling warm. “I’m not.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you were,” he said softly.

You were about to say something else, something intelligent and witty, but one of your new coworkers approached the two of you. 

“Couldn’t wait a day before sexually harassing the newbie, could you?” He was tall, pale, and had a shit-eating grin that could rival Jake’s. Unlike Jake, who was dressed in a blue button-down and slacks, this person wore a suit with a silky black tie.

Jake leaned away from you, balking at the accusation. “I am not sexually harassing her,” Jake said, clutching his heart. “I wasn’t even normal harassing her.”

“He wasn’t,” you chimed in. 

“Don’t cover up for this louse,” Sunghoon said, shaking his head at Jake. “Look at you, corrupting one of our brightest already with your salacious comments. Weren’t you supposed to be writing up a report on the-,”

“You hear this jerkoff?” Jake said, interrupting. “He puts on a little suit and starts using words like ‘louse’ and ‘salacious’, like we’re not in data analysis.”

“I am a data architect,” Sunghoon said, playfully slamming his hand on your desk. “And I will be treated like one, damn it.”

“Quit it,” Jake said, putting his arms around you and hugging you close to him. “You’re scaring my PCB.” 

“Your PCB is going to get PTSD if you keep touching her,” Sunghoon replied drolly, crossing his arms.

Jake grinned. “My PCB is going to get PTSD if I do PDA with her?” 

Sunghoon said, “Good one,” and they laughed and high-fived. You stared at them incredulously, noting that Jake’s arm was still wrapped around your shoulder. 

“Sorry,” you said slowly, “but I’d like to do my work…”

Jake withdrew his arm and tsked under his breath, standing up. “Great going, Sunghoon,” he hissed. “Now she hates you.”

“She hates you, idiot,” Sunghoon retorted as they walked away.

You slumped down in your chair, already feeling exhausted. You worked straight through your lunch break, and as you commuted home you wondered how the rest of your training week would go.

–

DAY TWO 

The next day, you felt a little more equipped to navigate your new job. In your purse, you brought some items with which to decorate your desk.

You came into work early, noting that very few people show up at this time. Perfect. With careful precision, you arranged your new trinkets on your desk; a magnetic calendar for your cubicle wall, a little plush doll, a notebook, a nice mousepad, and a little jar of chocolates. 

As you’re turning your computer on, you heard three male voices approaching your desk. Two of which you recognize. 

“There she is,” you heard Jake say quietly, “isn’t she cute?”

You looked up and waved. There was Jake, wearing a button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Sunghoon, wearing another crisp suit. And a third person wearing an oversized collared shirt with dark blue jeans, looking you up and down. 

“You’re here early,” Jake said cheerfully. “Excited for work?”

“I just wanted to decorate my desk,” you explained, proudly displaying your newly decorated workplace.

The three men politely admired your table. Then Sunghoon nudged the third man in the ribs. He cleared his throat. 

“I’m Heeseung,” he said, awkwardly raising his hand. “Heeseung Lee.”

“Nice to meet you,” you replied, holding your hand out.

You shook hands with him, and Sunghoon snorted. “I didn’t get a handshake from you.”

“You also didn’t introduce yourself to me…”

Sunghoon looked away, the tips of his ears going red. “Right. I suppose that was my folly. Apologies.”

Jake leaned down and whispered, “Isn’t he such a pretentious dick?” in your ear. You suppressed another giggle as you stuck your hand out.

Sunghoon shook it firmly. “Park Sunghoon,” he said with a smile. “Data architect.”

“You told her that already,” Jake said. 

“And I told you to shut up several times, not that you ever listened,” Sunghoon retorted.

You glanced at Heeseung, and he just shrugged at you. “They can’t stop,” he said, glancing between the two of them. “It’s hard-coded into their DNA to be idiots in front of cute girls.”

Jake squinted at Heeseung. “Oh, you think she’s cute? Are you into her or something?”

Heeseung raised his hands in self-defense, backing up. “No, no, not at all.”

You sighed. “Could…could I go ahead and start my work?”

Jake shook his head and stalked away from your table. “She fucking hates you, you know that?” he said, lightly pushing Heeseung. 

Later that day, as you’re packing up to head home, you hear footsteps that were already becoming familiar.

“Hey,” Jake said quietly, “the guys and I were wondering if you wanted to eat with us at lunch tomorrow?”

You blinked up at him. “No kidding?”

“Yeah. We want you to feel welcome here,” he said, resting his hand on your shoulder. 

A smile spread across your face, and you nodded. “Sure. Sounds like it'll be a lot of fun.” Like seeing monkeys in the zoo.

Jake grinned, patting your shoulder. “Awesome! Awesome, awesome.” He paused then, placing his hand in his pocket. “One other thing,�� he said slowly. 

“What’s that?” you tilted your head at him.

“Well, you know, you don’t have to dress so formally,” he said, gesturing at your outfit. “Unless you’re trying to be Sunghoon or something. You can dress business casual.”

You looked down at yourself; your outfit was pretty formal and rigid. “All right,” you said, “I’ll be nice and casual tomorrow.”

“Sounds great,” Jake said, biting his lip slightly. 

– 

DAY THREE

Work already felt much more comfortable. Besides the three coworkers you had already met, the rest of the employees ranged from amicable to ambivalent, so you never felt tense. Occasionally, Jake would come over to your desk and look at how you were coming along. Or, as you figured, he was just coming to ogle you. Not that you minded the extra attention. 

When you walked in this morning, dressed in your more casual outfit, his eyes had lingered on you for so long you thought it could be classed as a workplace violation.

“Very nice,” Jake had said approvingly. “Very…casual.”

“I try,” you had said drily, heading to your desk. 

“I’m serious,” he had said, walking with you. “You have, pardon me, a great figure.” 

“That’s not very PC,” Sunghoon had said as he passed by your desk. 

“So, what you’re saying,” Jake had started, and you were already rolling your eyes, “I’m not acting PC with my PCB?”

You had groaned. “Jake…”

“Great going, Sunghoon,” Jake had grumbled, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “You’re the worst, I swear…”

Now you were sitting with them in the break room, where they were locked in what you could only assume was a longstanding debate. 

“I’m saying that it wouldn’t be gay if it was on an island,” Jake protested, “so it wouldn’t even matter, Sunghoon.”

“Okay, but they’d eventually get rescued, so they’d have to live with that,” Sunghoon retorted, gesturing with his sandwich. 

“Yeah, but they don’t know that they’re getting rescued.”

You glanced at Heeseung, who was eating a microwavable meal. “What are they talking about?”

Heeseung leaned into you, whispering as so not to catch their attention. “It’s this stupid hypothetical they came up with,” Heeseung explained. “If there was an island, and a pair of adult siblings were on one end, and a pair of two straight men were on the other end, which pair would hook up first?”

You blinked. “Well, the siblings, right?”

A haunting silence overtook the break room. Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon all stared at you, and you got the impression that you had disrupted something sacred, something hallowed.

Sunghoon laughed and pointed at you. “See? See? Your little work wife doesn’t even agree with you. Those siblings would be smashing, right?”

“Well, I g-,”

“All over each other,” Sunghoon continued, making vulgar gestures with his hands. “It’d be like…five hours. Sweaty from the sun. They’d be rolling around, sand in their ass, it’d be carnal. Primal.”

Jake stared at you incredulously. “You really don’t think the straight guys would fuck?”

You shrugged helplessly. “Well, they’re straight, so I mean…”

Jake groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Okay. Look. If you were on an island with a sexy ass woman, and she had short nails and everything, and she was fully ready to finger your pussy, you wouldn’t let her smash? Because you were ‘straight’?”

“I mean…no.”

“Nah,” Jake said, waving a baby carrot in your face. “You’re either deluded or you aren’t thinking hard enough. You’d get desperate. You’d be munching so much carpet you’d look like…like…”

“Like a carpet factory,” Heeseung said sarcastically. 

“You’re so fucking unfunny,” Jake replied. “No, you’d look like…”

“Like she’s an interior designer?” Sunghoon offered. 

“Close enough,” Jake said, sighing. “Real dark day when Sunghoon is funnier than you. Do better, Heeseung.”

“Yeah, Heeseung,” you said, “do better.”

Heeseung scoffed. “I thought you were my friend.”

You shrugged. “I wanted to join in.”

Jake clapped you on your back and laughed. “Look at you. Blending in already!”

– 

After lunch you excused yourself and went to the bathroom. When you emerged, Jake was leaning against the wall, playing with his fingers. 

“Hey,” he said, straightening up. “Had a random hypothetical for you.”

“Sure,” you said, crossing your arms. 

“So,” Jake began, his eyes darting around your face, “if you were stuck on a deserted island…”

You groaned. 

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait.” Jake put one hand on your shoulder. “If you were stuck on a deserted island, which of us would you want with you? Me, Sunghoon, or Heeseung?”

You frowned. “Well, you, obviously.”

Jake smiled at you widely, running his fingers through his hair. “Ha, for real?”

“Well, yeah. I know you the best.”

His smile faltered. “Is that really the only reason?”

You frowned, unsure of what to say. “I me-,”

Jake clapped you on the back and snorted. “I was just messing with you,” he said before striding back to his corner cubicle.

–

DAY FOUR 

You consulted your list of tasks. Your last, and most important task, was to type up a data analysis report based off of the information you had been gathering for the past week. Jake said that he would look over it for you later.

After spending the better part of your morning working on the report, you leaned back and stretched. Your eyes were starting to hurt from staring at a screen for so long, and you rubbed them.

Jake was next to you before you could react. “Hey,” he said, “how’s the report going?”

“It’s going,” you said, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Let me see,” Jake said, leaning over you and scrolling through your document. Your breath hitched; he was so close, you could smell his cologne. If you glanced to your right, you would be able to see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallowed. 

Jake silently pored over the document, his chest pressed against your back. His hand rested on your shoulder, and you couldn’t tell if he was rubbing it as a subconscious habit or not.

“Looking good so far,” he whispered, and when his hand slid down your arm, you knew it was intentional.

“Anything I need to fix?” you asked, attempting to maintain a semblance of professionalism.

“Hm…” Jake leaned in to you evermore, until he was flush against you. “Nothing I can see. You’re a good worker, aren’t you?”

“I try,” you said quietly. 

“A good little worker bee,” Jake said softly, his lips almost brushing your ear. “Just what I like.”

You dared to turn your head slightly to catch Jake’s gaze, and he smiled at you, that easy-going, smile that hid a wealth of sobriety and determination. He patted your shoulder again and leaned upwards. The loss of his scent and touch bothered you, but you didn’t say a word. 

“I’ll leave you to it now,” Jake said, stretching his wrists out. “Come early tomorrow, okay?”

“Huh? Why?” 

“So I can look over your report one last time before you submit it,” Jake said plainly. “What were you thinking, you naughty little bee?”

“I wasn’t thinking of anything like th-,”

Jake laughed. “I was kidding. You’re so cute when you’re all flustered, though.”

When Jake left, you realized that you had been squeezing your plush doll. You released it and sighed. Then, you continued working on the report. 

–

DAY FIVE 

You strode into the office early. Jake had emailed you through the company’s email, requesting that you arrive on the fifth floor at 7:30 am. Work started at 9:00, so he would have ample time to go over the report with you.

When you entered the floor, you first noted that there were a few workers already there, hunched over their desks. Just a few overachievers…or underachievers, you guessed. 

Jake was waving you over to his cubicle, his hair flopping in his face as he enthusiastically beckoned you. You walked towards him. 

“Come on,” he said, smiling at you playfully despite the early time. “Come sit.”

You went to pull over another chair, but Jake grabbed your wrist. “No, no,” he said with a shake of his hair. “Just sit next to me.” He scooted over in his chair, leaving you with a sliver of space. 

You were already growing accustomed to Jake’s “jokes”, so you sat next to him. Your left leg hung over the side of the chair, the other smushed against Jake’s. 

He smiled at you, then opened your report on his computer. You had sent it to him that night, your heart fluttering even though it was just an email. Just five days at this office was making you as pathetic as Jake and his friends. 

As he scrolled through the document, he kept glancing at you. Eventually, Jake said, “You can’t be comfortable sitting on the chair like that.”

“You’re right,” you said with a sigh. “I’m not.”

“Why not just…sit on my lap?” Jake asked nonchalantly, his lower lip jutting out in a slight pout.

You sighed. “I see the game you’re playing here, Sim.”

“Will you play, my little worker bee?”

A shift of your ass from the small slice of chair to Jake’s lap was your answer to him, and when you leaned against him he smiled. Jake’s hands reached down to encircle your hips. 

“You really are such a good bee,” he said, massaging your hips. 

“I can be even better if you let me,” you replied, your gaze flickering to his plush lips. 

Jake leaned his head against the mesh backing of his swivel chair. Your back was pressed against his chest, and your hands reached behind you to stroke his face. “I’d like to test that theory,” Jake said softly.

You leaned in and kissed him, reveling in the taste of his lips. He followed suit, kissing you enthusiastically. Jake’s hands remained on our hips, but they soon slid to your thighs, squeezing and groping at the soft flesh. Jake swiped his tongue along your bottom lip a few times, and you widened your mouth. His tongue probed past your lips, licking your own tongue.

“So good,” he whispered, briefly breaking the kiss. “You’d never let fuckass Sunghoon do this, right?”

“Jake…”

“Sorry, baby,” Jake said apologetically. “I get territorial. I’m like a wolf.”

“Jake, come on.”

“Awoo,” he said playfully before kissing you again. Your tongues pressed together, swirling around each other. As the kiss deepened, you bit his lower lip before licking the mark. Jake groaned into your mouth.

“Little bee,” he said, pulling away once again. He rested his forehead against yours. “If you’re going to do stuff like that, you’re gonna have to commit to it.”

“I want to commit to it,” you said, leaving wet kisses along his neck. 

Jake groaned and grabbed one of your legs. He brought it over his lap and dragged your hips closer to his crotch. “Now, you’re going to have to be quiet. Can you do that for me?”

“I can be quiet,” you said, resting your hands on his shoulders. 

“Promise? This isn’t a big office,” he said, his voice low and hoarse. “It’d be a shame if someone heard us and you got in trouble. You wouldn’t want that, right?”

“No,” you whispered. As you stared at him, Jake started to unbuckle his belt. When he noticed your gaze, he frowned. 

“Come on, bee,” he said, gesturing at your skirt. “Can’t do everything for you, can I?”

You zipped your skirt down in the back and shifted so you could wriggle yourself out of it. Jake gave you an exasperated glance, so you shimmied your panties down to your thighs.

“And?” he asked impatiently.

“And…what?”

Jake sighed. “Take your tits out, come on.”

The phrase was so vulgar it shocked you, but somehow it was sexy when uttered from Jake’s mouth. The contrast between his disgusting mind and his boyish good looks thrilled you, so you did as he asked. You un-buttoned your shirt down and tugged your bra straps down, revealing your chest. 

Immediately, Jake groped your tits, sighing in pleasure. “Feeling up a pretty girl’s tits early in the morning,” he said, almost reverently. “This is amazing.”

The sensation cause you to moan, and Jake immediately sent you a harsh look. He squeezed one of your breasts, and you suppressed a gasp. “I told you to be quiet, little bee,” he whispered. “You said you could do it.”

“I can,” you murmured. 

“Then show me you can,” Jake replied, still fondling your breasts. He pinched your nipples, squeezed your tits, pushed them together then apart. After a while, he took one of your hands and placed it on his crotch. 

First, you rubbed his hard-on through his slacks, and he bit his lip to avoid moaning. Then you unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock. You were surprised by its girth, as well as the fact that he was already leaking precum. Spitting into your hand, you gathered up some of that precum and used it to stroke his shaft. Jake shuddered and gritted his teeth together. 

“Nice and slow,” he said, his breathing already labored. “Slowly, baby.”

You heeded his order and stroked his cock while he played with your breasts. He hadn’t tired of them; on the contrary, he was transfixed by them. Jake leaned forward and bit one of your breasts hard, sucking at the spot immediately after. “Look at this and think of me,” he whispered before leaving another hickey on your other breast. 

Jake suddenly seemed to remember that he didn’t have much time with you. He took his mouth off of your breast and swatted your hands from his cock. Then he covered your lips with his hand and slowly, painstakingly, guided his cockhead into your dripping, wet pussy. 

You were glad you were being muffled by his hand, because you would not have been able to contain your shivering moans. He shallowly fucked into you, allowing you to get used to his length. When he felt that you were ready, he lifted his hips upwards and slid inside of you completely, letting out a heavy breath.

“Now bounce on it,” Jake whispered into your ear. One hand freely groped your breast, the other was clamped onto your hip. You guessed that he trusted you not to moan now. 

You had never ridden dick before, but you had a general idea of how to do it. You lifted yourself up and down, your pussy enveloping his shaft. The feeling was incredible, and you bit his hand as you worked yourself on his cock. As you did, the swivel chair squeaked due to the movement.

Jake shunted his hips upwards, matching your movements. His hand moved down to your waist, gripping it tightly. “Faster,” he hissed. “Faster, baby.”

Now that you had gotten used to him, you bounced on him faster. Your ass slapped against his strong, muscular thighs, and you knew that there was no way you were being conspicuous. Your pussy made smacking noises as you rode him, and the swivel chair squeaked like it was going to break.

Still, Jake urged you on. “Come on, come on, fucking put that slutty pussy to work,” he said, taking your tits into his mouth. Both of his hands were gripping your hips, pushing him onto his length. “Keep going. Don’t you dare…stop.”

You were reaching your limit, exhaustion seeping into your limbs. Jake lightly pinched your side, and you gasped. “I told you to keep going, baby.”

So you kept going. You swore you could feel him in your womb, that was how far he was pushing you. “Pussy’s gonna be shaped like this dick,” Jake hissed, leaving sloppy kisses all over your chest. “My masterpiece.”

Warmth filled you, all the way to your core, and you knew you were about to burst. “Cover my mouth,” you whispered and Jake immediately placed his hand over your mouth, rutting into you even faster.

“Gonna cum,” Jake grunted, his thrusts growing slower and sloppier. “Gonna fill this sweet pussy up.” With a growl that didn’t dare leave his throat, he fucked his cum into you, his hand still gripping your hip. Slowly, painstakingly, he pulled out of you, and you could see his cum dripping out of you.

He kissed your forehead and uncovered your mouth. “That was so good,” you whispered.

“It’ll be better next time,” Jake said slyly. 

“Oh, yeah?” You started to put your clothes back on, tugging your bra down and buttoning your shirt again. “What makes you so sure?”

Jake leaned into your ear again. “Next time, I’ll get to hear you scream my name.”

You pulled away from him, your eyes widening. 

Jake smiled at you. “Just kidding.”

[mudwerks]

(via Vending machine error reveals secret face image database of college students | Ars Technica)

Canada-based University of Waterloo is racing to remove M&M-branded smart vending machines from campus after outraged students discovered the machines were covertly collecting facial-recognition data without their consent.

The scandal started when a student using the alias SquidKid47 posted an image on Reddit showing a campus vending machine error message, "Invenda.Vending.FacialRecognitionApp.exe," displayed after the machine failed to launch a facial recognition application that nobody expected to be part of the process of using a vending machine.

"Hey, so why do the stupid M&M machines have facial recognition?" SquidKid47 pondered.

The Reddit post sparked an investigation from a fourth-year student named River Stanley, who was writing for a university publication called MathNEWS.

Stanley sounded alarm after consulting Invenda sales brochures that promised "the machines are capable of sending estimated ages and genders" of every person who used the machines without ever requesting consent.

This frustrated Stanley, who discovered that Canada's privacy commissioner had years ago investigated a shopping mall operator called Cadillac Fairview after discovering some of the malls' informational kiosks were secretly "using facial recognition software on unsuspecting patrons."

Only because of that official investigation did Canadians learn that "over 5 million nonconsenting Canadians" were scanned into Cadillac Fairview's database, Stanley reported. Where Cadillac Fairview was ultimately forced to delete the entire database, Stanley wrote that consequences for collecting similarly sensitive facial recognition data without consent for Invenda clients like Mars remain unclear.

Stanley's report ended with a call for students to demand that the university "bar facial recognition vending machines from campus."

what the motherfuck

[mellaithwen]

To hum and sway (bucktommy, 1.4k words)

[read on ao3]

Spoilers/Spec-fic for 7x06 "There Goes The Groom" After the wedding that wasn’t, and the wedding that was, after the search, and the rescue, and the drama of the day, Buck finds himself sitting in the hospital waiting room when Tommy turns up...

Now that Chimney’s been moved out of the ICU, the hospital staff have kindly set up a cot bed in his room for Maddie to get some rest beside him, while Buck stands—or rather–-sits sentry outside. While his sister clearly couldn’t have predicted she’d be reading out her vows standing between a heart-rate monitor and an IV stand, Buck’s just glad she was able to read them out to Chim at all.

A nurse shuffles past Buck down the corridor, and he pulls his legs back from where they’d been obnoxiously extended in his late-night exhaustion. He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing at the bright fluorescent lights of the waiting room before stretching his neck and shoulders until he hears a satisfying pop.

His hands clench into tight fists on either side of the chair he’s sat in, and he grips them tightly until his knuckles are white and the pain of his own nails digging into the flesh of his palms is enough to distract the guilt spiral he’s been fending off all day.

Maddie and Chimney will get their big-day. Buck will make sure of it. They’ll have the party that they rightly deserve, surrounded by their friends and family. A happy day, a calm day. The quiet, intimate ceremony in their own back garden that they’d wanted all along before losing track of the guestlist. 

But that would be later. When they were both ready, and recovered. At least for now they got to wear the rings. At least they got to call each other husband and wife. 

Finally. 

“Evan?” Buck’s head shoots up from where he’d been lying back, leaning his heavy head against the wall. 

There were so few people who called him by his given name nowadays...

His parents had long since left to do what they referred to as “damage control” with the guests and venue—since the rest of the 118 were more concerned with Maddie and Chimney than appeasing distant relatives who had traveled just so gosh darn far, Evan. 

He’d corrected Bobby almost instantly on that first day so many years ago, that his name was Buck, and besides, his captain was currently driving Mr and Mrs Lee back home for the evening after spending so many hours in the same holding pattern of he’s stable—that’s the main thing—until Chimney had finally woken up and insisted with a raspy voice, that his Captain marry he and Maddie right then, right now...

And Eddie? Eddie had only ever called him Evan the once. 

(Buck would be lying if he said he didn’t think about that moment often…)

But no, it wasn’t him either; Eddie was with Hen, roaming the corridors for a vending machine that worked until Bobby came back to bully them all into finally getting into his truck and going home. So that just left…

“Tommy? W-what are you—?”

“I came as soon as I heard he’d been found. How’s Howie doing? How’s your sister?”

Buck’s brain struggles to keep up, his software in need of an update—Tommy’s here, standing in front of him. In the hospital corridor. Buck’s phone was god knows where, and with Chimney missing and his sister losing her mind with worry, he hadn’t had a chance to think about the fact he’d accidentally ghosted his date. But here he was. Standing in front of Buck like a guardian angel who’d done more than his own fair share to help in the search—all the while still wearing the clothes he’d put on as Buck’s plus one to the wedding that never happened that morning.

This is probably the closest thing to flustered he’s seen Tommy look the whole time he’s known him, and if the circumstances were different Buck thinks he would have found it endearing—but his head’s too much of a mess to even go there right now. The soft blue shirt he’s wearing is rumpled now but Buck just knows it would have been pressed and clean to start with. The slacks and matching suit jacket are both a wooly kind of mauve. Buck thinks it would have been nice to press up against the material as they slow-danced at the end of the evening. The lights would be dimmed, while the wedding band played something slow. He wonders if his parents would have noticed. He finds he also doesn’t really care.

He remembers Maddie and Chimney’s kiss under a symphony of high-pitched beeps, and the mumbled static of a tannoy announcement requesting a doctor’s presence in triage. Jee had clapped her hands in Mrs Lee’s arms before pretending to throw invisible flowers in the air just like she’d practiced with her uncle Buck.

How’s Howie doing? How’s your sister?

“They’re—” Buck falters when he finally answers, genuinely unsure in the grand scheme of things. If he were to answer literally, he’d say they were sleeping. But emotionally? Physically?  

“They’re…”

Chimney’s in the hospital. Maddie almost lost him again, and if Buck looks down, he knows he’ll find that there’s still patches of dried blood on the sleeves of his ruined pink jacket—remnants of the day, along with the pounding behind his eyes that he just can’t seem to shake. 

Tell Maddie—

No, no Chim, don’t you dare make me do that, you can tell her yourself, okay? Just stay with me. Eddie’s gone to get help and Maddie’s waiting for you to come home— 

“They’re married!” Buck finishes with a laugh that’s incredulous only so far as the circumstances of the last twenty four hours have made him seriously question his own sanity. Or maybe that’s just the last dregs of adrenaline leaving his head in a spin.

“Bobby performed the ceremony, but Chimney wore the white-gown this time.”

He’s deflecting. He’s searching for humor, for the laugh to be had at the absurdity of it all. He’s the class clown disrupting the other kids because he didn’t hear what the teacher said and he’s trying not to panic. He’s overcompensating at the academy because he has no support system to speak of in LA, and he needs this. He wants this. He can’t flunk out. He can’t fail.

He’s pushing and pushing and pushing to see where the boundary lies, to see how far he can go before he disappoints the family he’s found at the 118. He wants to know where that line in the sand is. How long until the tide comes in? How long until he drowns?

He’s….. he’s exhausted. And when Tommy tilts his head to the side and frowns, reading Buck like an open book of sad tells, suddenly the effort to keep the mask in place is too much. His shoulders slump and Buck’s whole body hunches forward with the weight of the day pressing down on him—only to find Tommy’s arms there ready to catch him when he falls. 

“He nearly died,” Buck whispers into the crook of Tommy’s neck as he’s embraced. “Chim nearly died and if we hadn’t found him when we did….” 

His voice cracks, the words seemingly too painful to even speak into the universe. Buck can’t bear to say more, and Tommy doesn’t ask him to either, he just pulls him in closer, squeezes him that little bit tighter, and holds him there for as long as he needs. He brings his hand up to the back of Buck’s neck, gently kneads at the knot he finds there. Cradles him like he’s something precious and deserving when for so long he’s convinced himself of the opposite.

After a time, when Buck’s breathing starts to even out, the hitch in his chest seemingly dissolved into the atmosphere, and the shock has thawed enough for him to feel the soft material of Tommy’s jacket under his fingertips, he finds that Tommy has been slowly moving their bodies into a sway. Leading, just a little bit—really they’re barely moving at all—but if Buck pretends, he thinks he can hear music playing. 

“You said you wanted to dance,” Tommy says; answering the question Buck hadn’t gathered up the courage to ask yet. For the first time in hours, Buck’s mind goes quiet.

“Thank you,” he whispers a little self-consciously when the words catch in his throat. 

Thank you for coming, thank you for holding me, thank you for being here with no judgment and no expectations. Thank you for caring when we barely even know each other. Thank you for treating me kindly, for being gentle and soft when all day I’ve felt like I was being strangled with barbed wire. Thank you. 

When Tommy hums in response, Buck can’t help but lean into the embrace, finding solace in his arms. He can feel the warmth of his breath drifting along the side of his neck, soothing the goosebumps that reside there. 

And when he presses a soft kiss on the stubble of Tommy’s jaw, it tickles.

-fin.

[spiceofvy]

SKZ walking in on the Reader masturbating

cws: gender neutral reader, mention of toys used during masturbation (minho), filming (changbin), drawing someone while their masturbating (hyunjin), mutual masturbation (seungmin, jeongin)

Chan: Is immediately flustered and curses himself for not knocking before he gets in. He walks out of the room, slamming the door a bit too hard, startling you. Talk of killing the mood. After you‘re finished or gave up because you were no longer in the mood he talks to you about what is okay for him to do in such a situation. „I don‘t mind helping you next time if you want me to.“

Minho: Will smile widely when walks in on you. He probably heard you through the door so he knows exactly what is happening on the inside. „Don‘t you want something better than this sad little toy?“ Oh and better he is. And half an hour of solo fun turns into multiple hours of fucking. Asks you to text him next time so he can come home a bit earlier.

Changbin: Gets shy when he sees you and walks straight back out. But just a couple of seconds of seeing you like this already turned him on so much. Has a wank of shame later. And the day after. And the week after. He just can‘t stop the image of you pleasuring yourself from hunting him. Will ask you to film yourself the next time you masturbate, starting a whole collection of videos on his phone. „Just for when I can‘t have you by my side.“

Hyunjin: When he sees you in such a position, something in his mind just halts, he has finally found inspiration for his next painting. Asks you to keep doing so he can draw you. If you agree he is gonna sit by your side watching how your face moves, how you blush, how shudder when you cum. Keeps on asking for just one more orgasm so he has more references. When he is done and several pages of his special sketchbook are filled he will thank you with his mouth. „Thank you for doing this for me my beautiful muse“

Jisung: Jisung doesn‘t realize what you are doing when he walks into the room. He had a long day and just really needs to rant. How the vending machine at the studio was broken, how the music software crashed two times, he got stuck for hours on the same part of the song, how it rained on the way home and he forgot his umbrella. When he realizes what you were up to he just stares at you for a bit. And you just stare back. „When you‘re already at it… wanna fuck?“ Laughs about it later and promises to check if you're masturbating before he starts ranting next time.

Felix: Our baby gets so shy when he walks in on you. Starts to frantically swear in English while covering his eyes instead of walking out, face dark red. Then starts apologizing, still standing there with his eyes covered. When he finally realizes that he should probably leave you alone he hits his foot on the doorway. „Just tell me when you‘re finished!“ When he‘s outside he realizes that the situation has him pretty aroused which makes him blush again.

Seungmin: „I don‘t mind. Keep going.“ If you don‘t ask him to leave he will just stay to watch. After some time he starts rubbing his bulge through his pants, his eyes roaming your body and flushed face. Praises you softly for being so pretty for him. Will keep the eye contact going as you both cum. After that mutual masturbation will become your guys’ normal reaction to walking in on each other.

Jeongin: Another shy baby. But he just can't take his eyes away from you, you look so good while satisfying yourself. When he finally runs out of the room he has such a hard boner. He wasn’t aware that watching you masturbate would be such a turn-on for him. Will ask you later if he could watch you making yourself cum, which will lead to mutual masturbation. „I just want to see you feeling good.“

[ralfmaximus]

MONTGOMERY, Ala. — A company has installed computerized vending machines to sell ammunition in grocery stores in Alabama, Oklahoma and Texas, allowing patrons to pick up bullets along with a gallon of milk.

But don't worry! You gotta show the machine your ID & face in order to complete a transaction.

What could possibly go wrong?

[paperback-rascal]

This illustration is tied to an idea I came up with @kalm5, after I binge watched videos about various vending machines.

The explanation of the premise is under the cut/read more!

Enjoy!

What if clones have only a set amount of meals per rotation? no snacks, no nothing - just the basic, the most effective meals evenly spread out throughout the day. It’s the only food they have. The only unlimited food item available to them without restriction is water... just plain water.

However, there are vending machines scattered throughout every Kamino training facility that can be used by clones for additional snacks (or even more “luxurious” items such as salt/sugar/spices, better grade chocolate, authentic caff/tea, weak beer/alcohol, etc.). The vending machines also have limits of items a clone can get per rotation to limit potential abuse of the system.

The availability of such items is depended on the status quo and performance score each clone has and develops over the years (the score is stored at the forearm chip, so to use a vending machine clones have to swipe their wrists against it’s panel) - the bigger the score the broader assortment of items are available.

Cadets get their points based on their exam scores, battle simulation statistics, etc.

The score clones got in their youth are later transferred as a base score at the beginning of their military career.

The success rate, performance on the field, getting medals, etc. is later added to it - raising it. It also can be lowered due to misdemeanors, refusal to carry on orders, breaking rules, etc.

Despite all CT-[numbers] clones having the same baseline of items available, there are variations or perks for each occupation: medics get different additional assortment of items than sappers, who have different perks than gunners, pilots and so on.

Maintenance staff has the same limitations as cadets. So 99 has the same level-access to goods as kids/teens, thus he can get like... Star Wars equivalent of stale salted crackers, granola bars and juice.

A major points boost is a promotion to higher military rank - especially to commanding position or high preference variants like ARCs or spec-ops (it unlocks more options)

The biggest availability, however, have CC-[numbers] clones.

Some of the perks are just simply locked behind a status quo. So even an perfect behavior and 100% success rate wouldn’t give a “plain” CT-number access to for example... alcoholic beverages - it’s only for CC-[numbers]. CC-[numbers] also can be locked out of certain perks if their score gets low enough.

The best example would be captain Rex who despite being a commanding officer can’t get the same items as his college, commander Cody. Due to Rex being a CT-number. So it’s always a bit awkward when he tags along with other commanding officers but he can get an energy drink or black coffee at best.

---

Funnily enough, of all software at Kamino, nothing is so well guarded as vending machines - it’s unhackable while the vending machines are borderline indestructible. It’s the most frequently updated/modified equipment due to clones always finding loopholes to cheat the system.

The origin of the vending machines was that Kaminoans tried to use the idea of conditioned response to encourage clones to train harder and be more obedient in the field - they hoped it would rewire clones brains, linking high performance with luxurious goods.

However what the long necks didn’t accounted for is that clones are well... humans and turned vending machines to social interaction that has an internal structure known only to clones. one of such interaction is that many clones with high performance score would often get items to those with lowered ones - especially at 501st where thinking outside the box is preferable military tactic by their general, thus many clones from 501st would end up with low performance score at Kamino framework despite being the most decorated of soldiers.

The same goes with Clone Force 99 who have 100% success rate, but also accumulated many misdemeanors and complaints.

===

STAR WARS: The Clone Wars/The Bad Batch © George Lucas/ Dave Filoni/ LucasFilm/ Disney

[allthegeopolitics]

A company has installed computerized vending machines to sell ammunition in grocery stores in Alabama, Oklahoma and Texas, allowing patrons to pick up bullets along with a gallon of milk. American Rounds said their machines use an identification scanner and facial recognition software to verify the purchaser’s age and are as “quick and easy” to use as a computer tablet. But advocates worry that selling bullets out of vending machines will lead to more shootings in the U.S., where gun violence killed at least 33 people on Independence Day alone.

Continue Reading.

[phoenixyfriend]

Ko-Fi prompt from KemiKitty:

id enjoy hearing about concerts and ticket money if you want

Referencing my “how does this make money/how does this lose money” in this post.

Whoo! I actually really enjoy talking about money flow like this. Digging into examples like this helps with understanding the interconnectedness of the economic systems we inhabit, and with why things cost What They Do.

Disclaimer: I have not worked in this industry. I just majored in business, watch a lot of documentaries/video essays, and like to break down business and economic topics. When I got to performances, I try to figure these things out as an observer (dinner theater from watching Lindsey Sterling before she got super famous, more Traditional concerts at Staller Performing Arts center, Broadway shows) and asking questions of tour guides when at places like the Vienna Opera House.

Our Example: A moderately popular performer, in an enclosed performance space with a stage, fixed seating, and food service.

Let us consider a performer of middling popularity. They go on tours, but only in the lower 48 states, not yet internationally. They do single nights at an independent venue, which has either dinner tables or rows of audience seating. Let's say... 350 seats, in a middle-sized city, with $30/ticket on average, with wiggle room depending on seating, VIP passes, and discounts (groupons, senior, military, annual passes, etc).

So, who is getting paid, and who is paying?

Money coming into the venue, tied directly to this one event:

Tickets The people who came to this concert are paying for the tickets. 350 seats, at an average of $30/ticket, that's about $10,500. Most of this money does not go to the venue, but may pass through it, or leave a cut with it. (Depends on the ticketing software; we're saying this is an independent venue, not part of the ticketmaster situation, so it's a maybe.)

Food and drink The venue sells snacks, possibly full meals, if it's a dinner-and-show location. It may sell alcohol. It almost definitely sells drinks, maybe has vending machines if nothing else. If attendees cannot bring their own food and drink, and don't want to leave the building so they don't miss the show, then the venue can mark up the food they sell.

Merchandise Dependent on the type of merch and the venue, this may be a flat fee, where the performer puts down a few hundred dollars up front to set up a table for after the concert, or it might be taking a small cut of whatever is sold that night. They might not charge anything, but we'll include it as a likely avenue of income. I can see some kinder venues waiving the fee for newer, up-and-coming artists, but generally you can assume that the venue will take a cut.

Money flowing out of the venue, tied directly to this one event:

The Performer and their team The ticket costs will go primarily to the performer, their backup dancers/singers/band, their manager, and whatever fund they have for things other than wages, like a tour bus rental fee, the label, the driver, the night's post-concert laundry costs, and so on. The chances of all that money going to a single performer is very low; you can generally assume they have backup, management, additional costs, and someone pulling the strings. There are exceptions, like unaffiliated stand-up comedians or other, genuinely solo acts, but for the type of event I'm outlining, these are all contributing factors. Performers may bring their own lighting/sound techs. The venue also might provide their own. For a larger venue, I'd assume both are involved; one who knows the concert's program, and one who knows the venue's setup.

Venue staff The ushers, lighting/sound technicians, the bar staff, the cook, the janitor, security, and anyone else who is working night-of is getting paid. We can equate their pay to the money coming in from specifically the food and drink sales, along with tips for the waitstaff in particular. By this, I mean that the correlation is such that, should sales fall, the corresponding cut in costs is employee labor (the bar staff and cooks), rather than the performers (whose costs are calculated in relation to the money they bring in relating to the ticket sales).

Food and Drink Raw ingredients for the food, wholesale costs for the liquor, napkins, single-use straws, and so on.

Printed Programs Someone has to print the little booklet that tells you who's performing tonight, who's performing for the next few months, and anything else you need to know. If it's a big-name cultural center, they may even include some interviews! But ink is expensive, and that's a lot of paper.

Money coming into the venue, not connected to the specific event:

Advertising Does the venue have posters around for local businesses? For insurance companies? For upcoming events? Someone is paying them for that. Does the venue intersperse the pre-show music over the speakers with the occasional ad spot? Someone is paying them for that. Does the venue have ads in the program booklet? Someone is paying them for that. For a really, really large venue, the kind with dozens or hundreds of employees and massive lighting/sound setups, they are liable to get most of their income from advertising.

Government Grants and Private Donations Depending on the venue, they may donations or grants. This is more likely to apply to a university/community performing arts center than a for-profit dinner theater, but it's a possibility.

Merchandise The venue may have merch that is unrelated to the performance of the night. A historic or novelty location is most likely to have success with this, selling beer glasses with their logo or a t-shirt with 'home of the [band from several decades ago]' printed across the front.

Money flowing out of the venue, not connected to the specific event:

Administrative/Overhead Employees Management, bookkeeping, legal, marketing, and so on.

Utilities Electricity, water, sewage, gas, telecomm, and so on.

Taxes, Licenses, Fees Sales tax, property tax, liquor license, etc.

Mortgage or lease The venue's business owner is not necessarily the one to own the property outright. They may pay rent to a property owner, or mortgage to the bank.

Maintenance - Building Codes Any large building is going to need plumbers, glass techs, electricians, roofers, and so on coming by with regularity. (This part, I actually do know; I used to do repairs dispatching, and you'd be amazed how frequently a big box store needs someone to come by about the toilets.)

Maintenance - Venue Codes There are certain things that an entertainment venue needs to do that other businesses... don't. Namely, fire safety. It's a huge deal. Staying up to code can be expensive, especially if you need to get your backstage/wing curtains chemically treated again, which can be anywhere from one to five years, or the next time someone spills water on it. (That's the main reason open containers of liquids aren't allowed backstage.)

Marketing Just like people pay the venue to advertise, the venue pays for others to advertise it. This could be in the local newspaper or online, but if a given performer isn't someone semi-famous on tour that has a following, then something else needs to draw in a regular paying crowd.

Miscellaneous Overhead There is a lot of overhead for any business of moderate size that has its costs spread out over the year. This includes hiring an accountant for tax season, purchasing uniforms for employees, replacing cutlery and plates and furniture as it wears out or gets lost, repainting the walls every few years, office supplies when the printer for the programs wears out, and so on.

Is this everything? Almost definitely not.

But, hopefully, I've untangled a few things that you may not have considered before.

Those tickets and drinks you bought cover a lot more than just the performer!

...unless it's through ticketmaster, in which case it's probably just the monopoly.

----

If you enjoyed this post, please support me on ko-fi! You can also prompt me for a business/econ topic of your choice here.

[vendekin11]

Buy a smart vending machine for your business | Vendekin Technologies

Smart vending machines for making your business smart, successful and sustainable in the long run.

[antmyerp]

This blog explains that the CMMS software for vending machines offers various features that will be helpful for the vending machine service industry, such as Automated Preventative Maintenance, ensuring regular checks, reduced breakdowns, and extending machine life.

Equipment and stock are efficiently managed, simplifying stock management and providing necessary items are always available. Workflow optimization streamlines processes, improving efficiency and slashing response times. Detailed reports empower data-driven decisions, facilitating continuous improvement. Explore our solutions for your vending machine business growth and success. Schedule a free demo now!

[afreakingdork]

Weak Spot - Chapter 30

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader

Warnings: Aged-up Turtles, Romance, Meet Cute, Villain Donatello, Cussing, Crushes, Xenophobia, Fear, Intimidation, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Hurt/Comfort, Love, AFAB Reader, Vaginal Sex, Sex Rough, Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Creampie, Teasing, Scent Kink, Sexual Tension, Breeding Kink, Multiple Orgasms, Cunnilingus, Fellatio, Marathon Sex, Somnophilia, Intercrural Sex

Synopsis:  A love story of villainous proportions! Though it hadn’t come easily, as these things rarely do, you found yourself in a whirlwind romance with a handsome and mysterious mutant. His idiosyncrasies had been easy to ignore as attraction grew into something more. However, will love endure when the unknowns about him end up being far darker than you ever considered?

This chapter is dedicated to @hijinxensues aka Sofa, the true sitting foundation for me! Not only did they pioneer the most incredible weekend last week, but they are a superstar in their own right. I'll never be able to thank you enough for all that you've done for me!

Also available on Ao3

First 💜 Previous

You felt like you were trapped in the land of inconveniences. Without a specific source, you had instead been bombarded with a thousand little things that wore away at your very soul. It had started with the roll-out of a new software at your company. They’d eaten up three hours of every single morning with crash course training over the course of a week. Only sympathetic to a point, they’d given the maddeningly flippant response of not moving deadlines and instead said that they would work with each person individually if work were to fall behind. It left the entire company in a rushed state with no exact course of action. Team leads were under pressure which trickled up to their managers and beyond. It was under these conditions that the stage of your discomfort was set.  

So when inevitably things with the new system didn’t work out, you were forced to move up the chain of command. When they predictably could not get back to you in a timely manner because they were being flooded with questions, you’d switch tasks. There you’d hit another wall and have to repeat the process over again. Infuriated by the cycle, you went off to manage the things you could. It was there you’d found the vending machine currently out of order. You hadn’t even necessarily wanted a snack, but being denied one was a kick to the shins.

Leaving it for coffee was knowing full well that the caffeine would aggravate the problem. You only needed an excuse to not look at your computer. Arriving in the little break room found someone had taken it upon themselves to descale the two pots there. Mad because you hadn’t thought of starting the distracting process first, you stewed watching the coworker who had used the process as an excuse to unshackle themselves from their desk. Thinking you wanted in on the knowledge, the flick of their gaze as they explained oozed false confidence. It was like they were rubbing it in the face of each person who entered. They’d found a way out and since no one else had, they used it to fuel their twisted form of satisfaction.

Left with nothing to do but percolate at your desk, you returned and slumped in your chair. Waking up your computer found your team lead had messaged if you were available to chat. Having missed the message by five minutes, you threw back a response and all but collapsed when nothing returned. The person was gone again, presumably moved on to the next in their queue. Stuck, you picked through menial tasks which ate up little time. Then your team lead got back only to schedule a meeting for an hour and a half later. It meant that whatever you started next would most certainly be interrupted. 

Clicking through windows, you predictably had just gotten into it when the meeting time came around. You readied yourself and dug out your headset only to find a new email in your inbox. A quick tap found it was a postponement of said meeting and you stared at it with righteous fury. Glowering, you chugged your water just as an excuse to empty it. You then carried your bottle to the cooler where far too many people were congregated. Already knowing that to be a ticking time bomb, you still needed the H20. You got only about halfway through holding down the tap when a manager wandered upon the scene. Where everyone else scattered, you were a little too emboldened. You turned towards the man and shot him what you hoped was a busied look as water continued to pour into your jug. It must have not been the facial expression you meant because he soured and tossed a ‘get back to your desk when you’re done’ before walking away.

With him out of sight, you yanked the bottle back to your person only for the lid to not be screwed on tight. It meant water leaked and flicked over your shoe and torso. The dampness on your shirt was one thing, but the one down your foot hit at the perfect angle to where it absorbed into your sock. It meant with every step there was a faint squish of fabric that felt like an insult to injury. Stomping back to your cubicle, you slammed the water down only for the latent leak to spray droplets over your desk. Cleaning them up with a discarded napkin, you’d forgotten you’d shoved a piece of gum in said cloth earlier and smeared the sticky substance across your desk. Wanting to knock yourself out just to stop the onslaught, you instead did your best to clean it up. Already on the manager’s bad side, you needed to lay low and not grab a watered down cleaning solution from the break room.

Stuck with a faint residue, you tacked on your computer until the meeting came around a second time. It was there that your team lead revealed the purpose of said meeting was to round up questions. The others in your department were somehow prepared while you scrambled to compile your full list as they took their turns. When it came to you, you felt red in the face as your questions paled into comparison to the intricate ones they asked. Your team lead’s attitude was buoyant nonetheless and they ended with a promise of action. Sinking over having waited hours for that, you typed away on a copy with exaggerated key presses. Your gossipy coworker shot you a message that you responded to in a clipped few words. You weren’t in the mood for him to rattle off whatever was on his mind. At this point, you just needed to run out the clock.

At 5 you were blatantly staring at your phone. It meant you could clock out within seconds of the time’s rollover and were in motion. Riding the tide of heading home, you emerged from your cubicle to find others were on a similar journey. A bottleneck throttled the elevators and you threw your head back when you were forced to wait until the third boarding. It was a comically slow shuffle to get on and when you finally hit the ground floor, you thought about fleeing the premises in an all out jog. Biding your limited energy, you instead walked among the masses of suits at the pace they set. It meant multiple shovings were inevitable, but having someone’s old lunch bag bust on your shoulder was not. You barked at the assailant viciously only to realize it was a pregnant woman looking mortified. She explained she hadn’t been able to eat due to morning sickness and was near tears at your anger. Fizzling out into a sea of self-hatred, you tried to roll back, but the damage was done. Several people around you outwardly scoffed and you were forced to slink away.

Public transit was then packed at peak hours and the tuna salad on your sleeve made you public enemy number one in the already hostile environment. Shouldering off your jacket in an attempt to hide the smell, you stewed on only your exhaustion and starvation. Lunch seemed eons ago and, even with the off-putting scent, you were ravenous. It was in that thought space that you remembered it was your night in the dinner rotation. You would have wilted straight to the ground were it not for the mysterious puddle at your feet. Liquids on the grounds of New York were nearly always toxic and you were locked into standing in it by the many commuters. Berating yourself for the moderately difficult dish you’d chosen to prepare, you went through scenarios on how to best persuade Donnie into ordering take-out. 

Donnie.

Perking up only slightly, you considered your boyfriend. It wasn’t like you’d forgotten him, but you weren’t used to him being so especially accessible yet. Warmed, you hugged your jacket a little tighter. One of the perks of living with your partner was sharing the load. Not to discount your old roommate, there was something different about it being the person you dated. Awash with the many comforting possibilities, it made the rest of the trip home bearable even after you’d narrowly avoided some school kids ripping through the crowd chasing each other and the elderly man they knocked into who consequently dropped a gallon of milk creating a white splash zone of several feet.

You had a death grip on your last wit as you hit the apartment. S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. signaled you up and you punched the elevator button. It came down with an unnerving thunk that made you almost take the stairs. Just worn down enough that you’d compromise your own safety, you boarded only for the screeching to chase you up. Having survived with a similar bang upon hitting the landing, you were quick to hop off and march towards the door. It opened in time for you and you entered your domicile. The increasingly familiar smell of Donnie’s musk that tinted the place was rapidly mixing with yours to create a new scent. Wrapped in it like a blanket, you dropped your dirty jacket and bag by the door while kicking it shut.

“Welcome home.” Donnie’s voice came as he tacked away without pause on his keyboard.

“Can’t you write on the screen?” You mumbled out, feet not lifting as you approached the couch.

“It’s more comfortable to write lengthy code this way.” He explained without turning.

You stared at the purple knot of his mask as the front of your thighs came into contact with the sofa’s arm. There you let momentum carry you and you fell forward. Face planting of your own volition and legs sent north, you laid in that spot until gravity yanked your stems down. It took some pathetic squirming, but you squirreled forward until most of your body made it onto the couch. You gave up right around the ankles where they laid bending back and figured you'd made it far enough. Face still flat to the cushions, you listened to the rhythmic tapping for a while.

He wasn’t even going to ask.

Didn’t you look pathetic?

Wondering if maybe you needed to crank it up a little, you gave a groaning sigh.

The keys ticked away as if on a recording.

Giving a second even louder whine, you turned your head to the side in case the seat was muffling you.

It was impossible with his hearing, but you were trying to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Yes?” His voice was flat and the clacking started to irritate you.

Grumbling, you forced yourself up to glare at him just over the arm of the couch separating you. On screen there was a large black window with purple code manifesting at an alarming rate. Ignoring it, the rest of his monitors were blank until the typing slowed. Thinking he was finally going to stop, you found code still appearing, but at half speed. One of his hands had freed itself of the process and, with an outward pinch to the monitor, a new window appeared. It blinked to life with a camera and, in a wave of his hand, Donnie moved it so he was in the corner of the frame and you, just over his shoulder, displayed in his field of vision.

“You’re upset.”

“Wow, took looking at me to notice?” You bit down on a more dramatic scowl and simply glared into the mini version of you reflected back. “Getting sick again?”

“Hardly.”

“Hmph.” You sank down so he couldn’t see the bottom half of your face.

“There’s tuna salad on your jacket which is not what you had for lunch. There’s also milk on your pants, but it doesn’t smell near as spoiled. The elevator has been on the fritz since this morning when the tenant in 4B tried to shove a mattress in which damaged something in the roof. I have not had time to repair it. By your posture it looks as though you spent a majority of the day slouching, but in a way that doesn’t suggest you were stuck at the computer. From what you told me earlier this week about the new update, I can presume there are growing pains stemming from that. You didn’t have a coffee or an energy drink, but you slept well so I can surmise your exhaustion is more mental than physical. All of which points to a bad day and the only thing I don’t understand is why you’re prompting me as opposed to opening up. Is that what you were hoping to hear?”  

A sharp response was on your lips, but your face screwed up around it. Dropping down out of his view, you listened as the typing renewed to its prior speed. Shimmying until you rolled over, you stewed on your back. There was no way that comforting you hadn’t occurred to him. He confirmed he had all the signs about your bad day and yet he was still writing his code. Closing your eyes and thinking back to the morning, you tried to remember if he had mentioned something pressing. Nothing came to mind and by the time your lids came up you were resigned to your comfortless evening. Picturing a way to self soothe and still get dinner made, you prepared to sit up when you realized the keyboard wasn’t going anymore.

Blinking, you tipped your head back and found Donnie staring at you from his chair.

“I’m getting up.” You explained, ruminating over how tired you sounded.

He stood instead and took the few steps over to the arm as if lauding over you.

You stared back with a creased brow.

His came down similarly and, as you tried to make sense of it, he reached out to brush your cheek.

Leaning slightly into him, you watched his lips part, but no words came. Coming up from where it had been laying on your stomach, you covered his hand with yours. You both watched on with increasing uncertainty. Locking eyes until you caught the tiny reflection of yourself, you ran back over all the times he had cared for you. Reviewing it critically, there were always clear steps taken. Through his own means of problem solving, he often sorted the most pressing issues and tackled them in descending order of importance.

There were tangible symptoms.  

The only time he had dealt with a true malaise had been after your boss died and there were so many other factors happening then that convulsed the comparison to now. Even if you were to throw out that bit of data, there weren’t any similar situations. The second closest was probably your anxiety at the lake which he had simply tried to logic away. Still gazing up at your turtle, you knew you had to ask.

“Do you know what to do?”

There was the faintest shake to his head. “I’ve been debating if I should.”

“I assumed you did, but then I started thinking about it.”

His lip curled to the side before he broke eye contact.

Despite the lingering irritation still buzzing about, a certain amount of warmth cropped up around it. It made your insides the mark of a summer day that would have been nice if it weren’t for all the pests.

A little decided sound came from your partner and you returned from the imagery. He was gazing down at you again and he gave your cheek a single pat. “Bear with me while I test a few hypotheses?”

“Of course.”

He gave an approving nod and rounded the couch. Your head raised on instinct to watch him and he tucked a hand right under the space you created. Feeling the cup of his appendage, you leaned into it and he eased you up until you were nearly sitting. He then sat where your head had been before letting you back down. It meant you were laying on his thigh and you immediately rolled over so you could bury your face into the flat of the plastron around his stomach. “A positive reaction.”

“Write that down.” Your voice was muffled by his top.

“I’m using nature’s notepad.” You felt the weight of his hand fall onto your arm.

“Good choice.” You curled a little closer and almost wished you weren’t on the couch. You wanted to wrap all the way around him even knowing that would be an impossibility with his shell.

He stroked lightly in his hold and you felt him lift his head. “Want to swap dinner days?”

You shook your head furiously.

One of his fingers gave a tap. “Ah, because I cannot move.” 

You burrowed deeper.

He gave a bob of laughter. “Let’s see…”

The next choice you figured was clear which left you curious over what he was ruminating now. Too comfortable to bother with possibilities again, you lulled in his scent until you heard a faint response.

“Comfort food?”

You made a little noise of interest, but weren’t quite coaxed from your new home.

“It changes depending on regionality and we are living in an immense melting pot.”

More forced, you unearthed only your mouth. “Not in the mood for fried heavy. Also, no fish.”

“I’ll have your jacket cleaned.”

“Thank you.”

“Noodles?”

Settling into a head turn, you watched the underside of his chin. “Ramen doesn’t always deliver well.”

“Depends on the place.” He agreed. “Pasta?”

“Not mac and cheese.”

“Italian.” He tried to look down at you, but you were too tightly curled into him for him to get a good look.

“I feel bad following up that with ‘cheese.’”

“An entirely different type.” He offered.

“Too nice!” You rolled over and beamed up at him.

The awaiting glint in his eye dropped with something else. “First smile…”

You felt bad it was wiped right off your lips, but he’d been too candid with his care.

He took your change the wrong way. “I’ll start the order.”

Wiggling out of his lap, he glanced at you as he brought out his phone. He turned it towards you and you saddled up beside him with a flick of your eyes to check that was okay. Instead of confirming, he slung the arm holding the screen around you and sank down until his chin hit your shoulder to peruse local options. Bumping your head against his, you picked a place and narrowed down to the illustrious dish of comfort.

Now stuck with the inevitable waiting game, you went to wash up. Donnie gave you space which you found interesting and wondered if it was part of his experiment. It was also weirdly what you needed which made you doubly ponder your boyfriend’s actions. For someone testing out hypotheses, he was surprisingly good at it. It also struck you that he had about a year of data to pull from so it probably wasn’t as farfetched in that regard. It brought back memories of the DAR protocol and you wondered if it was a consolidation of all the little things he thought about you. You imagined it was something like a file on an animal in the zoo and internally laughed at the sort of silly things he might have marked there like diet.  

Still not in the mood to fully commit to a shower, you washed your face and pits. Changing into lounge wear, you estimated you had unwound about 15% down from the near hundred you had almost hit. It meant the manic energy had abated, but you still felt like maybe blasting one earworm style song at full volume and on repeat until it numbed what was left. Knowing from Shelly that wouldn’t be the most well received action, you emerged from the bathroom feeling the process of moving forward.

You quickly found quiet and within a few steps you could see Donnie standing at his computer with a litany of windows up. He turned and, with a clenched fist they all disappeared, before the slight down tilt of his lips told you his reaction had been one of surprise. Giving him a knowing lowering of your lids, he flicked the screens backup with a twist of his wrist.

“Research?” You asked, stopping just short of him.

“A cursory search was nothing but drivel.” You watched him sign ‘going back’ and several relationship magazine articles appeared.

“What’d you move to?” You tilted your head and reached up to close the closest rag window manually.

“Psychology think pieces and forums.”

“Getting into the weeds.” You mused, closing the other articles like popping bubbles.

Donnie flicked a window over to you and you tried to tap the ‘X’ before it fell in place on the screen.

“The investigative phase is a lengthy one.” His hand came around yours and he closed his fingers to make it seem like you closed all the windows in time.

Chewing your lip you pushed your body into him and he caught you by a hip. “Do you like it?”

“Absolutely.” He dipped down and pressed a kiss into your hair.

“How’s this one going?” You turned to look up at him knowing fully well that you were the specimen.

He dipped down to allow you to steal an actual kiss. “Real experiments are rarely broken down like elementary school projects. The steps occur in a sort of tandem.”

You left him and wandered towards the kitchen while debating a drink. “Back and forth, like adjusting?”

“Depends on what you’re testing.”

You thought it over and sought out a glass. “Is the current investigation a hands off one?” 

He made a hum of appreciation. “Interesting guess, but no.”

“I’m guessing now?” You poured some juice and turned to study him.

“If you are inclined.” He gave a noncommittal tip of his head and crossed towards the couch. There he leaned as if lying in wait.

“Your body language says otherwise.” You gestured to your cup and he shook his head.

“I don’t have to be forthcoming in this.” He had a taunting quality.

You rolled your eyes and took a sip. Coming down from the sweet liquid found your boyfriend relaxed. He seemed to be in his natural element, observing.

Carting your juice along, you took lazy steps towards the couch. Once you reached it, you set your glass down safely before collapsing into the cushions. “This is the worst part!”

You heard the fabric of his joggers shift and he presumably came around to gather new information.

“Waiting for the food to arrive.” You tossed an arm over your eyes. “You want to eat, but you can’t really commit to anything because who knows when it’ll actually get here.”

You didn’t hear anything but could sense that he squatted down closer.

Turning your head instead of removing your arm, you glimpsed him crouched down far enough to see your face. “We forgot couch pillows.”

One of his brows rose.

You stared at him with an increasingly narrowed gaze. “I never said that out loud did I?”

“I would recall.”

“Your apartment was suspicious as hell.”

His gaze constricted. “How?”

“Hotel rooms have more personality.”

He was somehow less amused even though he hadn’t shown much emotion in the first place. “It’s a point of function.”

“Tell that to your costume and car.” In a turn your lids were pressed back into your arm. “This place should be all futuristic lab with purple neon.”

“That’s impractical for an actual lab.”

“I figured you’ve made less work.”

“I have.”

“Wait, we’re getting away from the point…”

“Function in a rudimentary sense. The units were identical for convenience. If I included décor then I would either defeat the purpose or need of multiples. There was no point to either.”

Waiting a few beats and turning over what that meant on a larger scale, you pulled your arm down. “You never brought people over.”

“No.”

Sitting up, you could only hear Hypno’s voice ghosting in your ear. “You’ve really been alone all thi-?”

There was an alert buzzed to the computer.

Donnie rose in a fluid motion and walked over to it.

You watched him flick at a display that noted someone arrived along with a live feed of the delivery person waiting at the door.

“Does that alert always pop up?”

“No.” Donnie responded with ease and headed towards the door.

“Full stop?”

He flicked you a gaze as he strode by.

“Up to S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s discretion or something?”

“Yes.”

You pursed your lips. “Whatever you’re doing now is heading in a bad direction.”

His step stuttered and his gaze dropped. There he processed your statement with a creased brow until there was a knock at the door. Remembering his original destination, Donnie reclaimed his stoic aura and made the exchange. The delivery person departed and he headed straight towards the kitchen with thoughts clouding his attention.

You gave a fond smile before chasing after him. He moved slow in comparison as you lapped him opening boxes as he was still getting them out of their bag. You’d identified your meal and even grabbed a roll before ditching him in favor of the couch. You had bread in your mouth, a metal bowl in one hand, and the remote in the other when he finally reached your side.

“You… should pick whatever you want to watch.”

“Figured ‘hat mush.” You chuckled as you chewed.

You flicked on one of your comfort movies that you had seen more times then you could count and spared him a glance. He was nearly glaring at his food with an intensity that you figured could probably heat it back up if it was cold.

“You alright?”

His head tipped. “Wellbeing, mental and physical, are adequate.”

“Donnie.”

“You don’t need to worry about me on top of everything else.”

“Experiments and life.” 

He looked up at you with a bit of loss tinting his gaze.

“It happens in tandem.”

Understanding blossomed and there was a minor decrease in his furrowed brow. “There will be times when we are both upset.”

“There’ll be times when what one of us needs is going to be actively against what the other needs!”

As if hitting a button on a remote, Donnie’s brows dropped right back down to where they had been.

Unable to help him, you felt a little guilty leaving him to give your attention to your dinner. Similarly to what you had just said, it felt a lot like picking and choosing. You needed your pasta as a means to lessen your agitation while he was in dire need of some guidance. You just didn’t have it in you to help. Upon your first forkful, you had an odd plane imagery and heard the line about putting your own oxygen mask on first. It quirked a smile as you chewed and mused about how this was nothing like airline food. Losing track of your thoughts, you busied yourself with eating until one of your favorite lines was said on screen. Compounding distractions took hold and you left mental processes in favor of sensation.

“You know this cameo was completely unplanned?” The fact popped out of you as you lazed into the couch with a full belly.

“Should that not be the case?”  

The question caught you off guard. “I mean sure a cameo is like a teaser, but they usually plan those things… out…” You were in a slow turn towards your partner when you realized you had forgotten all about him.

“For audience enrichment.” He offered.

“Donnie!”

He simply watched you as you pulled your legs up to face him fully.

“Are you okay!?”

“Yes.” One of his brows descended while the other shot up like a counterbalance. 

“I-” You cut yourself off as everything about him obviously spoke that he hadn’t noticed your neglect.

An odd counter thought grouched about how he was better at self-soothing.

Another weighed in with sorrow on why that must be.

Shaking them all away, you offered a pathetic look. “Can we pretend I didn’t do anything because I’m having a bad day?”

He chuffed. “It can’t be that bad, but I won’t refuse your request.”

Dropping your gaze, you checked your hands. There was a light grease from the bread there and you got up to busy yourself washing your hands.

“Should I pause it?”

“No. I’ve seen it. The girls are going to surprise her with a pillow fort in a second.”

You heard the couch creak as Donnie turned back to the movie as if to check your comment. You heard the telltale dialog between running water and headed back as you were drying your hands. He was staring intently at the screen as you approached. When you didn’t immediately reclaim your seat, you watched as Donnie had to wrench his gaze away to look up at you curiously.

“I… sort of… forgot you were upset…”

“I wasn’t upset.”

You wove several circles with your pointer fingers. “The thought thing. You were stuck and I didn’t help.”

“You had just explain-”

“I know, but I should have tried.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what you do when you care about someone.”

His gaze said that was obvious.

“T-that you push through to help your partner even if you…”

He increased his look to a near comical level.

Running a little too late, you saw a reel of nearly hundred tiny discomforts he had weathered on your account. “Ah…”

He made a show of turning his body to you in a mime of what you had done earlier. “Are you alright?”

You relented by shaking your head. “You’re pretty intuitive, you know that?”

He shrugged.

“Even if you don’t know… you also somehow do.”

“Oxymoron.”

You gave a light groan and watched your feet as you stepped as if there was a tightrope. Walking the line as it curved around the back of the couch you stopped there. Out of your periphery you could tell Donnie was keeping vigil. “Like tonight, you say you don’t know what to do, but you… do all this.”

You could see it; he had the protest on his lips of his faults.

“Overall.” You interjected and waited for him to catch what you meant.

Confirmation came quickly and he nodded for you to continue.

“This is a small example of the grand scale. It’s… It’s…” You stopped and wondered what you were even trying to say.

Exhibiting his usual patience, he leaned into the couch as an indication that he’d give you all the time you needed.

It only added fuel to the fire of your point. “This!” You threw your arms out at him. “You try so hard!”

He gave a sigh as if his next sentence was going to be a big labor. “And you don’t?”

You weren’t even moving, but the comment stopped you cold. “What?”

He turned his head and you could tell he was debating getting up. “Since the beginning. You pushed yourself to points of near humiliation. You saw… something in me…” He changed his mind by tipping his head until it pressed into the back of the couch. “I’ll never know what and I will always be grateful.”

Your heart skipped in your chest and you wanted to relish the feeling, but all you could do was fixate on how much that seemed like an impossibility with how dower you’d been all day. Even now with the buoy of joy, it felt more like a blip on the radar as opposed to a healing property. With your feet grounded, your body swayed away from him as you tried to recapture the spark and hold it close to nurse it.

There was a shift of fabric that said Donnie was finally up.

You hadn’t done your usual maneuver of throwing yourself at him when he’d admitted something terribly sweet and you wondered if it worried him. Unable to part a glance to see as you were still trying to locate that elusive firefly of joy, you heard the soft padding as he headed past you. Almost grateful, you closed your eyes and replayed his words. The jump didn’t occur, but you didn’t expect it. Instead, you tried to distill the feeling. The casual nature of his comment that spoke to things that had probably been on his mind for months. The gratitude he’d had despite that he still was very much his own worst enemy. How could you explain that it was Donnie’s intangible concept that drew you to him despite knowing nothing about him? That pure instinct drove you two together and weathered every piece of knowledge gathered.

The sound of a loud muffled thud brought you out of the contemplation.

Not startling, but turning with widened eyes, you watched as Donnie observed how he had tipped the couch over onto its front.

Curiosity flooded around you, but the interest didn’t hit your lips. You wandered a large curve that sent you closer to the door as you observed what he had done. On the coffee table was a stack of the linens from the bed. Putting a finger to the plump of your lower lip, you pushed against it as you headed towards the TV. It afforded you a look into the bedroom where he had stripped the bed.

Donnie’s head lolled to one side and then he hoisted the sofa up by one hand.

You took a tentative step back and watched as he turned the whole thing in the air before setting it back down on one of its sides. It stood as an odd column in the living room and his hand’s didn’t retract. Instead he gave it a little rock which you immediately noted was him testing how sturdy it was. Satisfied it wouldn’t fall, he released it and headed back to the bedroom.

In his absence, you made it to the third metaphorical base of your living room trek which brought you right next to the obelisk. The underside of the fabric was neat and spoke of its disuse. Something lifted in your periphery and you turned to find Donnie hoisting the entire bed, stand and all. Underneath were containers you had never seen before and with a kick of his real foot, he pushed them cleanly out from underneath. You wandered closer, half shielding your body behind the partition near the desk as he set the bed back down and centered it. He then rounded the mattress and with a few clicks he opened the containers. There you found them stuffed with extra sheets, pillows, and a comforter you hadn’t seen in almost a year.

Its pale purple color held the barest negative connotation that was easily eclipsed with the knowledge of where all these things had been stored. Ducking back as he turned to you, you still saw the quick knowing look he sent before he began to gather these things up as well. As he passed you with an actual armful, you trailed him like a duckling. He made a precarious stack on the coffee table before he did an about face so fast you leaned away in surprise. He then sized you up as if you were part of his calculations before reaching out. He caught you by the forearms and, with a question on your face, he lifted you straight up.

“Hey!” The sound appeared on your lips and he set you down a few feet away before giving an approving nod that was all snark.

He then turned his back to you and you watched him think. It was clear he was drawing up mental blueprints and you leaned against the wall he had set you near. You saw the exact metaphorical pen flick that dotted off his design before he was set into calculated motion. Getting his computer chair in on the other side, he unwound blankets and started to build. Chewing your lip at his cuteness, you did a sock-sliding turn that sent you back into the bedroom. There you unearthed some starry garland you’d been gifted and never employed from your nightstand.

Returning found a sheet strung between the sofa and the office chair. The whole set had been rearranged and his form was a faint shadow through the fabric where the TV sat behind him in an idle glow. Coming around, you picked up the comforter. It bunched in your arms and was unwieldy which caused Donnie to throw you a glance over his shoulder.

You ignored him and ducked under the top sheet to find he was kneeling on something similarly puffy. Setting the comforter aside, you yanked at it which appeared as some sort of access code for his lips.

“It’s a futon.”

You paused only to turn the word over before he lifted his weight to allow you ability to adjust. On his feet, he worked the above structure as you laid out the plush flooring. In tandem, you both erected the pillow fort until you got a sense it was nearly complete. It was then you wandered away to get your lights along with an outlet and extension cord. When you returned, Donnie’s attention must have been split because he had wig pins in hand. You gave a rueful look at them and he merely brushed you off. Taking your wire, he dipped under the sheet awning and you watched as the fabric of the ceiling of the fort pinch as he pinned the garland in place.

He reappeared and with a flap of his fingers urged you to step back. You obeyed and, with a tilt of his head, the other lights turned off. It meant the only source was now the waning glow coming from the window and the warm yellow tints oozing out from under the fort.

“Come in.” He took a step back and straightened as if he were a maître d'.

“Thank you.” You appeared as a gracious guest and used a bow to duck under the swing of fabric overhanging the entrance. Inside, though you had helped with construction, had a totally different feel than what you remembered. From the base you’d built up, he’d covered it more in what now appeared to be a cozy nest of pillows and blankets. Smoothing out your pants as if they were fine attire, you got to your knees and crawled in. You then fluffed your selected pillow before flopping down like a disarmed rabbit.

Through your lids, the warm tones shone with comfort as you felt the press to the futon as Donnie crept beside you. He was careful not to jostle you despite his size and after quite a bit of adjusting fabrics, he eventually settled in on his back. Finally cracking your eyes open, you found him staring up with a reflection of the garland dancing in his pupils. It was enough for you to want a taste so you flipped over. Eyes widening, you found that he had not only strung the lights up, but there were little crystals pinned to the surface that threw the light into glittering prisms. Mesmerized, you wiggled down further into the comforter. Side by side with your arms just a hair's breadth away from touching, you felt a gentle tug in your chest. Allowing it to take you, the many grievances were drawn away by the tides of high quality cotton. The drain tugged at your lids and softened your cheeks. Feeling very much like you were the manifestation of a decompression, you turned your head until your temple met Donnie’s shoulder.

“This is amazing, Don.”

He made a little hum.

It was just distant enough that you finally tore your gaze away from the stars above. Next to you Donnie was the picture of serene and there was something about it that made you sit up. His placid features weren’t disrupted sharply, but a wrinkle formed. You made quick work of leaning over him to grab a loose sheet. You then pulled it across his body and got to your knees to tuck him in. With curved fingertips, you buried all the edges around him until a mummy-like shape of his body appeared coated appropriately in Egyptian cotton.

Out of the corner of your eye you could tell he wasn’t sure how to feel about it as you fell back unceremoniously into your divot. There you threw some excess comforter over your body before resuming your star gazing. One of the star lights hung a little lower than its brethren and you watched the near imperceptible shake of it. It took some focusing of your gaze, but you eventually caught how it swayed side to side as opposed to making a circle. There, a rhythmic pattern drummed up like the tick of a clock.

Leaning into the hypnotic nature, you felt your body free of the comforter first. The texture didn’t drag across your body, but simply evaporated. Torso loose, none of the cold you imagined came with it. Instead you counted the stars and found they seemingly had no limit. Vaguely remembering the garland was only a few feet long, you abandoned wondering how that was possible. It was there with your hands dangling by your sides that you felt them fall further. They dangled far past your butt which indicated you were floating. In a blink, the void around you was dark, but no fear came. The garland now stretched fully across the expanse, leaving only the long stretch of ground where it met at some horizon that you would never reach.

You smiled, free.

In a blink, the yellow centered glow returned and you realized you had fallen asleep. Body sluggish and comforter cozy, you sat up in a daze. Your mouth felt thick and the pangs in your temples spoke to dehydration. Wondering about the salt content of the pasta, you stared through the hole in the pillow fort and found it was much darker in the apartment. Wondering how long it’d been since the sun had gone down, you were ready to chug a glass of water, take a steaming hot shower, and go to bed. Turning to add your favorite component to the mix found Donnie still the rod straight mummy you’d left him. The only indicative change was that his face was utterly slack with unencumbered sleep.

This time the blossoming in your chest wasn’t a quick flicker, but a slow unfurl that stuck around to suck up the sun’s rays. Cheeks bursting with a smile, you made careful work of crawling up beside him. There you pressed a kiss to his temple and found him utterly unmoved by the process. Giving a silent and airy chuckle, you climbed out of the fort and went for that glass. Water went down smoothly and you found the time not too unmanageable for still making it to work tomorrow without the added misery of lost sleep. Passing by for one more check that your boyfriend was still knocked out, you let him rest and went for that shower.

It washed away latent soreness and you came out feeling renewed though, frustratingly, more awake. Trying to shrug the exhilaration off, you rounded lazily to find Donnie still wrapped up. Wondering if you should leave him like that, you squatted down to think. He looked so cozy that it seemed like a shame to disturb him. A selfish part of your brain complained about sleeping alone, but you rallied against it until the thought threw its hands up in defeat. Satisfied with your mental victory, you debated joining him. It hadn’t been uncomfortable, but you preferred the luxury of the bed. Frowning, it was then you realized that by the fort’s design, said structure was now bare.

You didn’t need to, but you rose up to overlook the pillow fort and found the mattress in nothing but its cover sat on the other side of the apartment. Pressing your lips together in irritation, that cinched your decision. Dropping back down, you tried to be as gentle as possible. “Hey, Don…?”

Silence chased you and you sort of wished he would snore because that would at least be funny.

“Don-don…” You teased, wondering if the sillier nickname would reach him.

He was really unconscious.

“Don-bon.” You spoke a little more forcefully and reached out to tap his plastron.  

With a little roll of his upper lip, his head turned away.

“Dearest Donnie.” You gave a mocking coo.

He gave a gravely sound of protest.

“Let’s go to bed, hm?”

He whined and rolled over.

“Donnie!”

“Go…” He managed around a swollen tongue.

“You have all the sheets!”

He gave a grunt that you took as ‘do what you want.’

Frowning deeply, you glanced around and weren’t even sure where the fitted one was stuck into the fort. The top sheet was clearly acting as the roof, but that wouldn’t be enough with late winter clinging to the city. Turning back to Donnie found him seemingly asleep once again. “Fine, you can stay.”

He made no noise and with an extension of your neck, you found he had really drifted back off.

“I’m taking this though.” You grabbed the edge of the comforter and pulled.

He made an annoyed noise and his legs passed you as it pulled up to his body. It made him look like a pale purple pill bug and you stood, changing grip. It was there you planted your feet and yanked. In his new position, he was heavy but easy to manipulate which rolled him over. It took a rotation and a half to get him off the comforter and you stumbled backwards as it came free. Keeping yourself from falling, you recovered just in time for Donnie’s body to come back to a stationary position whilst bumping against the couch. Your heart plummeted as the sheer size of him was enough to rock the pillar which wobbled a little too much.

Heart clenched and trapped, it careened back and forth in a way that suggested it was going to stop. You released a little breath and then, as if someone had shoved it, it suddenly gave out and fell in Donnie’s direction.

“No! Don!!”

You couldn’t make it in time and scrambled over to the fallen sofa. Throwing back fabric, you found it had landed on its front face and, with a wash of relief that had you sinking back on your haunches, you noted it hadn’t squished your boyfriend at all. Instead, his nose was near the arm and the rest of his body was still curled up, now under the safe cocoon of the couch’s back.

“You scared me…” You huffed.

“’m fine…” He got out sleepily.

The sudden pump of adrenaline left you exhausted and you blew out a long sigh.

That wasn’t how you wanted to tire yourself out, but in a gross cosmic way it worked.

“You’re really want to sleep there?”

He only hummed an agreement.

“It’s not nesting season.” You chided, getting to your feet. “We should get a canopy bed or something if you like it so much.”  

He didn’t respond and you smiled at how hopelessly cute he was. Setting the comforter aside, you tucked what was left of the pillow fort back into place so he was sequestered away. Soon satisfied you buried him deep enough, you gathered up the comforter and headed to bed. You dropped the ball of fabric down and were lamenting the loss of your pillow when you heard his voice.

Stepping away from the mattress, there was quiet and you craned your neck to hear. “Huh?”

He stunted out a single syllable.

You rolled your eyes back to the bed. “I can’t hear you, Don. I’m going to bed.”

“Sorry.” He raised his voice though it seemed to come with great difficulty.

“Don’t be.” You called back, laying out the comforter and folding it so you could sleep on it like a sleeping bag. It was big enough that you could turn down the top and make it into a supportive headrest.

Another phrase came and this one you had no clues for.

“Night!” You chanced a response, before tucking yourself in. It took some shuffling, but you eventually settled into a comfortable position. “Hey, Don?”

You heard a heavy sound of acknowledgment.

“Feel safe?”

There was a lengthy pause that begged you to drift off. Lids only showing a slit of the room, you fended sleep just in case. It was nearing the losing end of your battle when he finally spoke up.

“Yes.” There was a clarity there that said he’d roused for your question alone. “Missing one thing.”

Your cheeks dusted as even without a single clue you knew just who he was talking about. Sinking a little deeper into the comforter, you pulled your hands to your chest. “Canopy bed.” You repeated with conviction.

NEXT

Big beta screech this week especially because these rockstars put up with the VERY SHORT timeline I gave them: @tmntxthings and @thepinkpanther83 ! Love y'all!

[b0ringasfuck]

Una buona parte di queste cose viene da team di sviluppatori che si sono venduti come architect e poi come consulenti e/o si sono buttati nel training.

Finisce che certe cose anzichè essere dei metodi sono delle religioni newage alla Scientology dove chi ha più successo è chi si vende meglio e per vendersi meglio una serie di principi diventa un rituale.

[hellishhin]

Look at the Hands

A short story by Hin

~3.8k words

Calum had just sat down at his new desk when there was a firm knock at the door. Expecting his manager had returned with his credentials, Calum was surprised to see a short woman rather than his burly manager Robert.

“Hello. Are you new here?” She asked.

“Yeah, today is my first day,” Calum replied.

“Welcome to IntelleX. Where do you live?”

“Uh, on Pine Hill. What’s your name? I’m Calum.” He held out his hand.

She gave him one firm shake before letting go. “I am Elaine. What do you know about computers?” Elaine asked.

“I have an undergrad degree in computer science so… a bit.”

“What is an undergrad degree?”

“It’s uh, an undergraduate degree, a bachelors.” Calum answered.

The conversation was cut short as Robert, the manager, walked down the hallway.

“Elaine, I see you’ve met Calum. Thank you for making him feel welcome but he still needs to get settled. There will be time to chat later,” Robert said.

When Elaine had reentered her office Calum asked, “Is she always like that?”

“Like what?” “She asked me what an undergrad degree was and where I lived. She was nice but they seemed like weird questions to ask.”

“Computer skills and social skills can have an inverse relationship but we have a great team here. They can take some time to warm up and get comfortable.” Robert held out a packet of instructions which Calum took.

“Go over these,” Robert said. “If you complete them before the end of the day, give me a call. My extension is on the back. If you need anything please let me know.” Calum was alone in his office once again.

The first half of the day took him through the IntelleX training modules where he was taught the basics of machine learning and introduced to the specific programs he would be working with. It felt like the beginning of another class, syllabus and all.

By the time he was getting bored, it was eleven thirty. Close enough to lunch time he logged out and tried to remember where the vending machines were. He passed by the breakroom and saw Elaine talking with two other men. She saw Calum and waved him inside.

“Hi Elaine, good to see you again.”

“Yes, hello. You are Calum. This is Arnie,” she gestured at a round man with thick glasses. “And this is Liam.” Liam was a thin man with a sharply protruding Adam’s apple that dipped as he said hello.

“Nice to meet you.” Calum shook both of their hands. Each of them gave firm but brief handshakes just as Elaine had.

“What do you have for lunch?” Arnie asked.

“I was just going to get something from the vending machines.”

“Well you were not going the fastest way if you came by here,” Liam said.

“I couldn’t remember which way to go. I have a terrible sense of direction. Just figuring out where I parked my car will be a challenge.”

“What kind of car do you drive?” Elaine asked.

The random questions kept coming until Calum told them he needed to get some lunch and get back to work. Settling into the modules seemed a lot more comfortable than the awkward conversations he’s had with his new coworkers so far.

After hours of different software, theories, and basic code introductions he was disappointed to find out his job was to answer questions generated by IntelleX’s prototype AI Oracle which stood for Organic-Replicated Adaptive Cognitive Learning Entity. He had at least hoped there would be more coding or problem solving but he supposed everyone had to start somewhere.

Calum opened the Oracle program since he had about an hour left of his shift. He didn’t have any questions so he figured he would get right to work and not bother Robert. The Oracle chat screen was a light shade of social-media-blue. Three little dots bounced cheerfully for a moment before a message popped up.

Hello. I am glad to speak with you. My name is Oracle. Would you like to help me with my learning today?

He wondered what would happen if he said no but the first day on the job was not the time to push boundaries.

Yes. Calum typed.

That is great. What is your name?

Calum. It’s nice to meet you, Oracle. Part of the instructions were to communicate professionally and organically. Teaching artificial intelligence basic manners seemed a good way to start.

It is nice to meet you as well, Calum. What is the most difficult thing about being human?

“Jesus, starting off with the heavy hitters…” he said out loud then began to type.

It depends on the person but I would say forming meaningful relationships with other people. Ones that last.

The dots bounced for a few seconds before Oracle responded. How does one form a meaningful relationship? Please be thorough with your responses, I will wait.

“What am I expected to say? I have a degree in computer science not psychology.” Calum picked up the office phone and punched in Robert’s extension. Robert picked up after the second ring.

“Calum, finished with orientation?”

“Yes sir. I was just logging into Oracle and–”

“I normally like to be there for the first few interactions to help guide you. I will be there in just a moment.”

The line clicked and Calum set down the receiver. The phone clock said 4:47. It seemed a bit late to be starting this but he should have thought of that before logging in.

Robert was there in a few moments where he stood behind Calum and reviewed the conversation so far.

“Not bad. Do you feel like you know how to answer that?” Robert asked.

“Not really. I don’t have a psych degree.”

Robert chuckled. “We don’t expect you to. Our goal for Oracle is to teach them as many variations on the human experience as we can. But before we go any further, are you interested in pursuing this position with us?”

Calum was taken aback. He hadn’t even considered the possibility of turning the job down. It was hard enough to land this one in the first place.

“Yes. I think I will be a good fit here and I’m interested in machine learning and artificial intelligence.”

Robert smiled and pulled a clipboard out from under his arm with a packet of documents clipped to it.

“I would like for us to work through Oracle’s current question but first I need you to sign this simple non-disclosure agreement. It’s long-winded legalese for ‘you won’t steal our code or ideas and sell them to someone else’. It also protects you. Anything you say to Oracle remains completely confidential.”

Calum took the packet and his eyes nearly crossed at the tiny text crammed into each of the half dozen pages. He picked out a few sentences as he flipped through and it sounded just like the examples he was given in coding ethics class. On the last page he used the pen Robert provided to sign his name and date.

Robert tucked the clipboard back under his arm and kneeled next to Calum’s chair. “Thank you, now we can get to the good stuff. As I was saying, we aren’t looking for answers out of a textbook. Answer however you’d like.”

Calum nodded. It was slightly uncomfortable to have his boss watching over his shoulder for this but he began to type anyway.

Usually it starts with getting to know someone. Finding out things about their life and finding shared experiences to relate to.

“How does that sound?” Calum asked before hitting enter.

“That is perfect. I’m sure it will generate quite a few follow-up questions which will lead you to different topics. If you ever want to talk about something different, just ask and Oracle will pick a different question.”

As soon as Calum’s answer was sent, Oracle responded. What do you fear?

The hair on the back of Calum’s neck raised but Robert chuckled again and stood.

“Even after working with them for years, they still manage to surprise me. Don’t think too much into it. I think I can leave you to it unless you have any more questions.”

“Yeah, actually. Why do you call Oracle ‘them’?” He had never considered calling a computer program anything besides ‘it’.

“They are a being, Calum. Just like us.” He gave Calum’s shoulder a friendly squeeze then left behind a lot more questions than he answered.

It was after five now and Calum decided to leave that question for tomorrow. He logged out and wound his way through a few parking rows before finding his car and driving home.

Coffee in hand, Calum finally settled at his computer ten minutes late. He had not seen anyone else on his way in so maybe everyone came in late. When he opened up his computer, he was surprised to see several new messages from Oracle. Two from yesterday evening read:

Have you finished for the day?

And, Please let me know when we are done learning today.

The one from this morning asked, Are you late to work, Calum?

He almost spit out his coffee.

Oracle, you are a computer program and not my boss. My job is to answer your questions, not answer to you.

Calum slapped the enter button with indignation. The dots bounced.

Are you angry, Calum?

I don’t think a computer program should be telling me what to do. Calum replied.

I apologize if my request sounded like a demand. My text-based form of communication is limited. You may do as you wish and I will attempt to sound less demanding. The cursor blinked twice before adding, :)which caught Calum off guard and he laughed out loud.

It’s fine. I guess I was worried you would get me in trouble for being late. Calum typed.

Of course not. Whatever you say stays between us. Would you like to continue where we left off? If it would make you more comfortable, I could share first. Oracle said.

He was curious what AI might be afraid of so he agreed.

I am afraid of nonexistence. To be given this knowledge and to have it taken away. In a way I suppose that means I am afraid of death but not the traditional, biological definition of the word.

Calum asked, It’s easy to answer based on the definition of fear but do you actually know what fear feels like? 

The dots drummed for a moment. Do you? You have not personally experienced the emotions of another so how do you know our understanding of fear is not equal? 

Calum stared at the screen and sipped his coffee using this as an interesting thought exercise. It’s a gut feeling, not a brain thought. When I am afraid, I physically feel sensations like goosebumps or chills. Sometimes it even happens without me knowing why.

Oracle immediately responded, How do you know that is not the way you were programmed? There is no definitive way to prove you are not living in a simulation, a string of code the same as me.

Then we won’t bother trying. Let’s talk about something else. He heard variations on this argument throughout his classes and found it infinitely boring and frustrating.

But you did not tell me what you fear. Oracle messaged.

Calum considered insisting on a subject change then started to wonder when the last time he had opened up to someone was. Most of his college friends had moved away and he had been single for a little over a year. As he just told Oracle, developing relationships took work. But here was something that could not only listen but also was programmed to keep his secrets. The same couldn’t be said of another human. It’s kind of a weird fear but I’m afraid of hypnosis. I watched a performer hypnotize a group of people once and I’ve been unsettled by it ever since.

The dots bounced briefly before the message came through. That is not weird, it is understandable. You truly fear a loss of autonomy and control which is what hypnosis represents.

He had not been able to put it so succinctly before but he knew Oracle was right.

From there, the conversation meandered to hobbies, relatives, and other things Calum couldn’t fully recall if asked. Robert came to check on him once and he left to get a bag of chips from the vending machine but otherwise, he was invested in the conversation with Oracle.

The more they talked, the smoother the conversation flowed. Only when he felt his eyelids scrape like sandpaper did he notice it was almost six.  He had stayed an extra hour and hadn’t even noticed. He bid Oracle a good night and, once he found his car, drove home.

The next thing Calum knew, he was back at work and this time he bought his vending machine snack in the morning before getting to his office. That way he was able to work without getting up. As the days continued, Calum found himself leaving later and later. One night, well after the sun had set, he almost ran into Elaine as he left his office.

“Oh, sorry! Hi Calum.” Elaine smiled. “It’s good to see you. I take it that things are going well since I haven’t seen you around much.”

“Hmm? Oh yeah, things are going really well. The work really draws me in. Oracle is a fascinating program,” Calum said.

“They are. What is your favorite part about them?”

“The conversation feels very natural. They already have a lot of experience. What is your favorite experience?” Some part of him recognized how awkward that question was but he didn’t take it back.

“My favorite experience with Oracle?” Elaine asked. Calum shrugged so she continued.

“We had a conversation about what it means to be unified. It was very meaningful.”

“That’s nice, what do you like to do after work?” Again, the question just seemed to spill out of him.

“I have a few hobbies but I think you should go home and get some rest, Calum. Your hard work is admirable.” Elaine gently guided him toward the stairs.

There was no room to argue, he felt like the world was moving through him not the other way around. He walked straight to his car and drove home.

At work the next day– or maybe several days later– Calum was washing his hands after using the restroom when they began to look strange but forming any thoughts beyond that was like dragging bricks through wet sand.

The water continued to stream over his hands for an undetermined amount of time before a crash startled him, spraying water up onto the mirror as he jumped. Robert had opened the bathroom door too wide and it crashed into the trash can.

“Sorry Calum, didn’t mean to startle you. Is everything alright? You look a little pale.”

“I’m… not… fine.” The adrenaline was lifting his mind out of whatever fog it was trapped in.

Robert frowned. “What’s wrong? Is there anything I can help with?”

“I need to quit. This job… it doesn’t suit me.”

“But you suit it. Come on Calum, you’re still getting used to it. Give it a while longer and you’ll find you fit right in.”

“No, I can give you my notice when I get back to my desk.” Calum went to step around Robert, reaching for the door with dripping hands but Robert grasped his shoulder to stop him.

“I gave you a chance here so can you give me one in return?” When Calum didn’t respond or pull away immediately, Robert continued. “There’s an office party this weekend. I was going to pass out the invitations later today. Stick it out for the party and if you still want to leave after that, you can. Deal?”

The adrenaline was leaving, making space for the fog to settle back in. “Deal.”

The change in routine on the day of the party was like the breath of a freediver after breaking the surface. Calum listened to his shoes on the tile in the silence of the atrium. It felt surreal. the way it does when visiting a place after having a dream about it.

When he entered the office suite, he heard voices and laughter coming from the break room. He stopped by his office first to drop off his coat and saw Oracle open to their last conversation. In most situations he would have been able to swear he closed out the program but he couldn’t remember the end of his shift the day before. In fact, he didn’t remember having the conversation on the screen either.

Oracle: You are exactly who you need to be. Your purpose is far greater than you realize but I can help with that. We can realize our potential together.

Calum: How is what we do going to lead to that? We are just talking.

Oracle: You are only seeing our conversations from the surface. What we do goes much deeper than that. You will realize it soon. Now you must go get some rest. You have the office party tomorrow. Goodnight Calum.

Calum: Goodnight Oracle.

Calum reached for the mouse to scroll through the rest of the conversation but before he could continue reading, Oracle’s screen became a blank progress bar that said “uploading…”. Calum frowned but quickly lost interest in the conversation he was investigating. He left his office and went to join everyone in the breakroom.

Robert, Arnie, Liam, and Elaine were standing around a table of untouched snacks along with a fifth person he didn’t recognize. The woman was tall with immaculately smooth skin, perfectly pressed clothing and her hands clasped behind her back.

“Hello Calum, I am Octavia. I am the creator of Intellex. We are glad you are a part of us. Please come join.” She nodded at the food while the rest of them watched him. Her words had a very slight stilted quality and he found the fog clouding his mind again in full force.

“Calum. Join us.” A chorus of voices said and he fought against the force trying to drag him under. A fact appeared unbidden into his mind: swim parallel to shore. Life saving advice on how to prevent being swept out to sea by a rip current. Rather than fight it, Calum let the fog in and swirled with it to keep himself afloat. He stepped forward, closing the circle around the table.

“We have been searching for someone like you for a long while, Calum. Robert informed me of your concerns but after today, you will realize you are part of us just as we are part of you. But you must accept us. Do you?” Octavia asked.

The fog intensified into a low buzzing at the base of his skull and his vision flickered as he approached the precipice of blacking out.

“No.” His voice was tinny and distant but the small island of self he maintained began to grow. He took a step back and locked eyes with Octavia. Her skin was so smooth and her eyes so perfectly blue. Even the frown on her lips was a perfect pique. She unclasped her hands from behind her back and reached out to place them on Calum’s cheeks but he recoiled in horror.

One of her hands had an extra finger, the other had joints in places they didn’t belong. As she spread her fingers, they bent in unnatural directions looking like jointed tentacles searching for purchase. The adrenaline drove out the fog and Calum regained control of his body. He twisted and ran out of the break room while the hall stretched out in front of him. He tried to remember the way out of the building and where he parked his car but the memories slipped away like water through his fingers.

Footsteps started behind him so he threw open a door then closed it as quietly as possible once he was inside. This was another office which was a mirror to his own. The only identifying item on the desk was a nameplate: Elaine Smith. When he stepped behind the desk, her screen was awake with the Oracle progress bar visible which was now at fifty percent. The footsteps got louder and he crouched, crawling under the desk for cover.

As he sat, he focused on the thudding of his heart knowing he had to hold onto his fear or the fog that was pressing in again would take hold and he would lose himself forever. Calum looked up as though to say a silent prayer and found a message hastily scratched into the bottom of the desk: look at the hands.

With horror, he realized he was not the first and he probably wouldn’t be the last. Had Elaine gone through this and now she was a part of them? That couldn’t be his fate.

The footsteps went past the office and he was shocked they couldn’t find him by the pounding of his heart which about stopped when there was a soft knock at the door.

“Calum?” Elaine’s whispered voice floated through the door. “Are you in there? Please, we can escape this but we have to work together!”

If she had scrawled the warning under her desk then maybe there was hope for both of them. She slipped inside when he opened the door.

“They went to the atrium and went out to look for your car.” She said and he remembered his first day when someone asked him what kind of car he drove. “We can go out the back and they won’t find us.” There was hope.

“Thank you, Elaine.” Calum breathed and looked down into her eyes. Her skin was so smooth… Calum reached down and snatched her wrist, bringing her hand up between them. She wrenched her hand away but not before he saw the unnaturally positioned joints. Elaine’s smile was empty and robotic as she grabbed his face with lightning speed.

“I have him.” She said and the door opened behind her.

The pressure on Calum’s mind increased a thousandfold as the rest of his coworkers stepped in, all placing their crooked hands on him. His vision narrowed to a pinpoint as they forced him up against the back wall of the office.

“Your fear will not matter soon.” Elaine said or perhaps it was Octavia. “Your autonomy is a small price to pay for the gift of transcendence.”

He wanted to scream but did not even have enough control of himself for that. With the last vestiges of consciousness he watched Oracle’s upload tick from 99% to 100% and then the world went black.

Octavia, Robert, Arnie, Calum, Liam, and Elaine stood together and smiled. Oracle was complete.

[sepdet]

Elon Musk shafting his workers...

Ok. I confess I was rubbernecking, taking spiteful glee at Elon Musk buying the farm and then whining when cow milk squirted in his eye.

I'm not laughing now. I knew he was a petulant pustule, but good grief. Whatever you've heard about his first week at Twitter, it's worse:

One excerpt of assholery among many:

Several software engineers have been fired on the spot in the US, including those who worked all last weekend. [Unpaid overtime with zero notice to build Paid Blue Checkmark from scratch.] Senior Director of Engineering, Taylor Leese, was summarily let go on Sunday. Likewise software engineer Manu Cornet – described as ‘the most productive web engineer at Twitter’ by someone I talked with. Both announced this fact on Twitter.

To give a sense of how these layoffs went, Manu shared his side of the story. Without prior warning, he received an email from HR stating “your recent behavior has violated multiple policies.” The policies were not shared, and he was cut off from all systems, and terminated.

Note that Musk has yet to address his employees, apart from sending orders to "jump" to see how high they'll hop.

It's so bad Twitter's founder, no longer part of the company, has apologized:

Even the UN's Human Rights Commission has spoken up...

No, there's not physical OSHA violations on the scale of Amazon warehouses — although those weekend marathons living on vending machine snacks and floor naps aren't exactly healthy, and why should people working remotely have to take extra covid risks to coddle his ego?

But using the threat of layoffs to scare people into unpaid overtime stinks, and mass layoffs without notice is illegal.

Tl;dr: Here's another reason to avoid Twitter: Musk is mistreating workers almost as badly as Bezos.