#voice agent ai

[precallai]

The Rise of AI Voice Agents: Transforming Communication

Introduction

In today’s digital world, artificial intelligence (AI) has revolutionized communication, particularly in voice-based interactions. AI voice agents are becoming an integral part of customer service, personal assistance, and business automation. This article explores free voice AI options, AI voice calls, AI phone agents, and various AI voice services while addressing common queries like changing voices during phone calls and stopping Google Voice from forwarding calls.

Understanding AI Voice Agents

AI voice agents are sophisticated virtual assistants that utilize natural language processing (NLP) and machine learning to simulate human-like conversations. These agents handle customer queries, provide information, and even make outbound calls on behalf of businesses.

Is Voice AI Free?

Many AI voice services offer free plans with limited features, while premium versions provide advanced capabilities. Popular free voice AI options include:

Google Assistant – Free for personal use with voice command features.

Microsoft Azure Speech Services – Offers a free tier with limited API calls.

OpenAI’s Whisper – A free-to-use speech-to-text model.

Voximplant – Provides free trials for AI voice calling services.

AI Voice Calls and AI Phone Agents

AI-powered phone agents enhance customer interactions by answering calls, routing inquiries, and providing real-time responses. Free AI voice call apps include:

CallApp AI – Allows AI-driven call recording and spam blocking.

TalkAI – Offers AI-powered voice calls with translation services.

Dasha AI – Enables conversational AI for businesses.

How to Change Voice During a Phone Call for Free

Voice modulation is an exciting AI application that allows users to change their voice in real time. Free voice-changing apps include:

Voicemod – Provides real-time voice effects.

Clownfish Voice Changer – Works with VoIP applications like Skype and Discord.

MagicCall – A mobile app that changes voices during phone calls.

AI Voice Services and Applications

AI voice services are used for various purposes, such as voicemail transcription, customer support automation, and interactive voice response (IVR) systems. Some AI-powered voicemail solutions include:

Google Voice – Offers voicemail transcription and AI-based call screening.

YouMail – An AI voicemail service that blocks spam calls.

Stopping Google Voice from Forwarding Calls

To prevent Google Voice from forwarding calls:

Open Google Voice and go to Settings.

Under the "Calls" tab, find the "Forward calls to linked numbers" section.

Uncheck the linked number to disable call forwarding.

Building and Setting Up an AI Voice Agent

Creating a custom AI voice agent requires a combination of NLP, text-to-speech (TTS), and API integrations. 

PreCallAI is an AI-powered calling platform designed to automate and enhance various aspects of customer communication. It offers a suite of services tailored to different business needs, including:​

Inbound and Outbound AI Calls: Automate both incoming and outgoing calls to streamline customer interactions.​

Order Assistance: Provide AI-driven support for handling orders, improving efficiency and customer satisfaction.​

AI Chatbot and SMS Bot: Engage customers through text-based channels, offering immediate responses and support.​

The platform serves a wide range of industries, such as e-commerce, financial services, healthcare, real estate, and education. It integrates with popular CRM systems like HubSpot and Salesforce, facilitating seamless contact management. Additionally, PreCallAI supports voice cloning technologies from providers like ElevenLabs and Cartesian, allowing businesses to personalize their communication strategies.​

By leveraging PreCallAI, businesses can automate lead qualification, follow-ups, and customer support, ultimately enhancing sales efficiency and customer satisfaction.

The Future of AI Voice Agents

AI-driven voice agents are continuously improving, making them indispensable for businesses and personal use. With advancements in deep learning, AI voice agents will become even more realistic, responsive, and accessible.

Conclusion

AI voice agents are rapidly reshaping how individuals and businesses communicate. Whether you're looking for a free AI voice call service, a voice-changing app, or an AI-powered voicemail solution, these technologies offer greater convenience and efficiency. As AI continues to evolve, we can expect even more sophisticated voice AI solutions, providing seamless, intelligent, and highly personalized interactions. Now is the perfect time to explore AI voice agents and integrate them into your communication strategies for a smarter and more connected future.

[creat0rstudi0]

My friend created Stone's voice model!!!

GOD, I LOVE HIM. 😭😭😭

Thank him very much ❤

[neurario]

I've been toying with Elevenlabs for Hat in Time purposes, I kinda just want this dumb crossover to happen

[aivoicesvcs1]

AI Voice Services by Think AI: Revolutionising Business Communication

AI Voice Services by Think AI is revolutionising the way businesses interact with their customers by offering advanced AI-powered voice solutions tailored for seamless automation, customer engagement, and operational efficiency. Designed to integrate effortlessly into existing systems, Think AI’s voice services provide businesses with a scalable and intelligent approach to automated communication.

From AI voice agents handling customer queries to automated appointment scheduling, AI-powered call routing, and personalised voice interactions, Think AI’s services are built to enhance customer experiences while reducing costs. By leveraging natural language processing (NLP) and deep learning, these AI-driven voice solutions enable human-like interactions, ensuring smooth and natural conversations.

Think AI's voice automation solutions are ideal for businesses in customer service, healthcare, finance, retail, and beyond, providing 24/7 availability and real-time responses to improve efficiency and customer satisfaction. Whether you need AI-powered call handling, automated voice assistants, or custom voice integrations for CRM and business operations, Think AI delivers state-of-the-art solutions designed for scalability, accuracy, and seamless deployment.

With AI-powered voice agents capable of multilingual support, sentiment analysis, and intelligent decision-making, Think AI ensures that businesses stay ahead in the era of digital transformation. The company also provides custom AI voice models to match brand identity and enhance customer engagement through conversational AI. Visit: https://www.thinkai.co.uk

[floatbot-ai]

Voice AI Agents are becoming essential for businesses, likely due to the fact that 71% of customers favor using voice over typing. But its not just about customer preferences.

It is also about how beneficial voice AI Agents are for businesses - lowering customer support costs, boosting revenue, improving operational efficiency and last but not the least being available 24/7!

Building a smart, interactive Voice AI Agent without writing a single line of code is now easier than ever. There are several platforms available that let you build Voice AI Agents without any coding knowledge, like Floatbot.AI, a no-code or low-code platform.

[all-review-by-rk27]

Agent X | Digital - Software

Unveiling the Power of Efficiency: My Experience with Agent X

Feeling overwhelmed by a never-ending to-do list? Struggling to stay on top of your workload? In today's fast-paced world, maximizing efficiency is key. That's where Agent X comes in – a digital software that has become my personal productivity powerhouse.

Streamlining Workflows and Automation Magic

Agent X is more than just a task manager. It's a comprehensive workflow automation tool that helps you streamline repetitive tasks. Imagine scheduling social media posts, generating reports, or sending automated emails – all with just a few clicks. Agent X takes care of the mundane, freeing up your valuable time to focus on what truly matters.

Seamless Integration and Organization Nirvana

One of Agent X's biggest strengths is its seamless integration with various applications. From your calendar and email to cloud storage and project management tools, Agent X connects the dots, centralizing your workflow in one user-friendly interface. This eliminates the need to switch between different apps, keeping you organized and focused.

Boosting Productivity and Unlocking Potential

Since adopting Agent X, I've experienced a dramatic increase in my productivity. Tasks that once took hours can now be completed in minutes, thanks to automation and streamlined workflows. This newfound efficiency has allowed me to take on more challenging projects and achieve my goals with greater ease.

If you're looking to break free from the shackles of inefficiency, Agent X is a game-changer. Its powerful automation features, seamless integrations, and user-friendly interface can empower you to reclaim your time and unlock your full potential.

[rosajs]

AI Creative Suite – Ultimate Creator’s Toolkit

AI Creative Suite – Ultimate Creator’s Toolkit

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Stupidly Simple Formula To Get Paid $238 Again & Again..

Save THOUSANDS On The Most Recent & Trendy A.I Tools & Use Them All In 1

Create EVERYTHING Your Heart Desires..4, 8K, UHD Videos, A.I Art, Emotional A.I Voice Overs, Professional A.I Support Agents, A.I Support Assistants & Generate Autopilot Social Media Traffic In 1 Place..

Works With ChatGPT4

Create Scripts, Shorts, VSL’s & Many Other Forms of High Converting Copy & Content

Do It In Seconds Without A Learning Curve

Beginner & Tech Dummy Friendly

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Commercial License Included

Agency Support Materials Included

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[comatosebunny09]

not quite human [ 02 ] | sylus

— cw: reader implied to be femme, gendered terms (miss, girl), profanity, sarcasm, existentialism, groping, innuendoes, sylus is an android, futuristic au, inspired by detroit: become human — notes: fuck it. here, have an update. [ part 01 ]

You know how you get something you thought was useless, yet you’ve grown accustomed to having it around for so long, you can’t envision your life without it?

Like, a towel warmer. You think, who the fuck would waste money on one of these things? What’s the point of one when you have a dryer? But say, your friend buys you one as a birthday gift. You can’t give it away or throw it out—that would be rude, asshole. 

So, it sits in your bathroom for ages, collecting dust and shit particles from your toilet. That is, until that one day you reluctantly decide to use it. And you realize, okay, maybe this isn’t so terrible. And soon, you’re using it every day. Used to the little luxury of having a hot towel against your ass—one of the few, minuscule pleasures distracting you from the whirlwind of your life.  

That’s how you’ve come to view your android friend, Sylus. He’d give you the piss for comparing him to a towel warmer. But you’re not very good with analogies so he can suck it. 

He’s become a part of your life you never knew you needed—someone to fill the gaps you leave around your home, to color the once quiet space of your apartment with his nerdisms, sarcasm, and presence. 

It was an adjustment, getting used to this hulk of a man—machine?—moving around your home like he’d always been a part of it, quiet as a cat, scaring you shitless. He’s like the pair of Crocs you said you wouldn’t be caught dead in. And yet, trying them out, you understand why they’re so damn convenient, especially in sport mode.

You can’t deny how nice it feels to return to a clean apartment. To journey home after an arduous day of work to hot food, clean sheets, and an asshole kicking you around in Mario Kart. Every. Single. Time. It’s not fair; he’s using his AI to hack the game, you just know it.

Yet, as much as you’ve wanted to fight him for besting you at every game on your Switch, you don’t think you’ve ever wanted to disassemble him more than now. 

You’re fighting for your life. Literally. No matter how much you gulp down air, you don’t feel like it’s enough. You might die here, coated with sweat and breathing like a pregnant woman ascending a set of stairs. You’ll at least ask Sylus to delete the browsing history on your laptop following your untimely demise—the things you’ve researched there out of morbid curiosity would warrant a visit from the FBI agent spying on you.

“One more round,” he says in that unfairly smooth voice as if he’s completely unfazed by the fact that you’re dying.

You turn pleading eyes on him, your hands dropping at your sides. He smirks, eyes gleaming with amusement from behind the safety of the punching bag. 

“That’s what you said the last three rounds!”

Sylus shrugs. “You’re the one who said you wanted help utilizing your gym membership.”

“Yeah! With Pilates or Spin!” You coil your body into a fighting stance, striking the thick leather of the punching bag out of frustration. “Not with this shit! You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

His face is an impassive mask as he holds the bag, unaffected by your anger-fueled jabs. His cold indifference encourages you to hit harder. His stupid face, his dumb, silky hair. 

“Pilates won’t enhance your cardiovascular endurance like boxing will.” 

Thwack!

“And, based on your eating habits and the sedentary life you lead, it’s only a matter of time before you have a heart attack.”

Thwack!

“I’m merely helping you stave off the inevitable.”

Sigh. 

You drop your stance, flailing about like a brat. Some of the gym’s other members eye you warily before returning to their workouts. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack doing this. I’m not Mayweather. I’m just a girl.”

He chuckles, the sound carrying below the cacophony of racking plates and the music spilling from the speakers to tingle your toes. You try not to think about it. How his mirth makes your stomach feel weird and makes your lips twitch with the threat of a smile. 

It’s terrifying how human he seems. Despite the electricity and blue blood flowing through his biocomponents, he’s not much different from a regular man. He’s become more human-like as the months eased by, trading his stoic, efficient robot-speak for something more casual. He’s become something like a roommate. A roommate who doesn’t eat, sleep, or go a day without making you want to hurl yourself into the void.

“Your sex doesn’t exclude you from your human limitations,” he says, disrupting your ruminations. 

You glare at him, wondering if you can reprogram him to be less of a dick. That, or sell him for spare parts.

Sylus’ eyes soften the slightest, fleeting bit. For a moment, you think he’ll be sympathetic. But you forget this man wants you dead. “One more round, and we’ll be done.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Give him a wary once over, ignoring how his tank bares his artificially toned physique, how his shorts boast the power of his thighs. You’re sure CyberLife is also out to wipe out the human race, what with how much detail they put into their androids. You’re no better than a man.

Resigned, you posture yourself for another round, adrenaline spuming through you, your knuckles turning white beneath the cotton bindings of your wraps. “Fine. But after this, I want the greasiest slice of pizza in the city, and I don’t wanna hear shit about it.”

Sylus huffs a sound, his eyes narrowing with mischief. “I’ll keep quiet, then. You have my word.”

Motivated, you start wailing on the punching bag like it owes you money, driven by the image of a slutty pizza slice melting in your mouth.

—

You should’ve known better. Should’ve known he’d make you work even harder for that pizza. The thought of it now makes you nauseous, and you’re once again fighting for your life. 

“I don’t even,” pant, “want the fucking,” wheeze, “shit anymore!”

He turns devious eyes on you from a broad shoulder, running ahead like it's effortless as breathing. Of course, it’s easy for him. He doesn’t have to worry about his lungs exploding or faceplanting on the pavement. 

“Come now,” he calls, and did he really just speed up? “The pizza parlor is only a block away.”

You roll your eyes, jogging behind him, all sloppy and about to fall apart like Patrick Star when he first entered Sandy’s dome. “You’re a,” pant, “real pain in the ass, ya know that?”

Fuck him and his stupidly long legs and his inability to feel pain. Maybe you’re in over your head. Didn’t know what you were signing up for when you asked him to help you get into shape. Normal women would be getting their nails done or picking out ridiculously expensive purses by now, not training like a fucking Saiyan. 

You slow to a hobble as the crosswalk pans into view, the red, holographic lines signifying you stop and wait for traffic, your saving grace. You dry heave as cars swish by, hands on your knees. A heavy, wide palm claps down on your back. You glower, and if you had the energy to, you’d chuck him in front of a speeding bus. 

“You did well,” he says. It sounds patronizing coming from him. But you asked him to show a little personality after your first week together, so you have no one to blame but yourself.

You straighten, your heart ready to leap from your chest with how ferociously it pounds. Sweat eases down your nose, and you cut your eyes at your robotic tormentor. “I did, huh? I only thought about killing you three times. I should pat myself on the back.”

Sylus snorts, his lips pulling into a smile. A dimple craters his cheek. Had you not been fighting to breathe now, you’re sure you’d be rendered breathless by the sight. 

“That’s a new record. But if the number of times you’ve wanted to harm me is dwindling, I’m not doing an effective job as your workout partner.”

Before you have the luxury of a response, he takes off across the street when the crosswalk glows green. You stare after him, mouth agape like a fish out of water. “You bitch!” you shout, chasing him, your chest warming at the boyish cackle he tosses you over his shoulder.

—

After a taxing game of tag—or, a game of you crying and throwing a tantrum in the midst of the shopping district, and Sylus taking pity on you (or trying to shut you up)—your journey concludes in front of a coffee shop.

“It’s the least you could do after running me into the ground,” you grumble around a pout, crossing your arms. 

Sylus peers at you from his periphery, that effervescent humor never leaving his face. “Fair enough.” He holds the door to the swanky little coffee spot open for you, bowing like a butler in wait. “After you, Miss.”

You scoff, brushing past him. The rich aroma of coffee beans and warm cream washes over you like a soothing balm, smoothing the divot between your brows. You smile, exhaling beneath the ambient, artificial lights, twirling around like a child. “These are my people,” you sing-song, garnering a few perturbed looks from the cafe’s other patrons.

You skip towards the counter to order, only to be halted by the cashier’s sheepish voice.

“I’m sorry, Miss.” She rubs the back of her neck and shrinks away like she’s afraid you’ll hit her. “No androids allowed.” The cashier then motions to a sign overhead, Androids in bold Comic Sans struck through. 

With all these technological advancements, you would think Comic Sans would be outlawed.

You scowl with your hands on your hips. “Well, that’s fucking stupid.”

The cashier sweat-drops, tittering nervously. “I don’t make the rules, ma’am. I just enforce them. It’s to keep it from getting crowded in here.”

“Or an excuse to be racist.” You turn to Sylus, watching him pensively. His gaze slides from the sign overhead to you, his processors seeming to work overtime as he studies you. “C’mon,” you clip, grabbing his arm, “let’s go somewhere else. This place smells gentrified and overpriced, anyway.”

As you step towards the door, he doesn't budge, and you spin to ask why. 

“You’ve been talking about coming here for a while now. I won’t stop you from enjoying yourself.”

You blink, thoroughly confused. Sure, it’s a new coffee spot you’ve heard your coworkers rave about. Seen ads for it on your socials—thanks, Zuckerberg. But you’ve intentionally avoided establishments outlawing androids. You’ve become accustomed to having Sylus attached to your hip, and you hate seeing him wait at those stupid Android Parking shelters. 

To you, he’s more than a machine (when he isn’t pissing you off). Sure, he’s an amalgamation of wires and metal, a complicated intelligence constantly learning and adapting to a world that gives you whiplash. But he’s…Sylus. And since you’ve known him, he’s acted like he’s grown sentience. You really wish people would stop treating androids like objects, even if they aren’t capable of understanding the human experience like you.

His gaze lightens, a rare flash of empathy. “I’ll be alright. I promise.” 

Carefully, he pries your fingers from his forearm, the feel of his palm on your knuckles temporarily turning your brain to smog. You watch with a retort on your lips as your companion steps out, moving behind the window to stand in the Android Parking zone along with the others, staring straight ahead with rigid apathy.  

Dejectedness stirs in your gut. You bite the inside of your cheek, begrudgingly stepping into the line. This coffee better be worth the fucking hype. Otherwise, you’ll air this bitch out.

After ordering your fraud-u-ccino, you plop on a chair that reminds you of those Little Tikes play-sets, scrutinizing the cafe like a Karen over crossed arms. 

“Is that the new SYL model?” giggles a woman behind you. 

You turn slightly, your blood running cold. You try to appear uninterested, toying with a discarded straw paper at your table. 

“Sure is,” says her friend, cupping her hand around her mouth in secret. 

“Wow! They look even better in person!” 

“I know, right? They look so hot. And there’s only been, like, three of them ever made. Wonder who owns that tall chunk of plastic.”

You scoff. Who owns him? Sylus and ownership aren’t two words you’d typically use in a sentence. You’re his primary user—the person whose instructions he’s programmed to follow. But you can’t recall a time you intentionally ordered him to do anything, let alone referred to yourself as his owner. 

“Must be somebody rich. Those models are expensive.”

“God, I bet it’s big. I’d ride that thing into the sunset.”

You let out an incredulous sound, looking out the window beside you. And if the ichor pouring through your veins wasn’t already frigid, it’s undoubtedly iced over by now.

For there stands Sylus, your stoic and unassuming companion, slowly gathering a crowd of women, blushing and fawning over him like a shiny new toy. You’re moving on autopilot when one of those bitches gropes his junk, taking advantage of his trance-like state beneath the kiosk.

Stepping into the balmy, spring air, the sounds of women cooing and giggling are like nails dragging down a chalkboard. You wend through the steadily building crowd, elbowing and shoving, channeling your inner Marlon Wayans in White Chicks to rescue your friend. 

The noise simmers to dull murmuring when you grab Sylus’ wrist, pulling him from his daze. He blinks owlishly, looking around before stumbling after you, wondering where all these people came from.

You’re wordless as you tug him down the street, a seething little tea kettle, tight-lipped, shoulders set. So what if he’s an android? Doesn’t give people the right to cop a feel whenever the urge arises. Sexual harassment is all the same, machine or not. 

You’re so busy, heatedly tugging him down the sidewalk towards a cab, you miss his smoldering, scarlet eyes studying the space between your shoulder blades, a sly smile pulling on his lips. 

[calder]

In every mainline Fallout game except for New Vegas, players can earn the loyalty of a dog known as “Dogmeat.” As part of the main quest of Fallout 4, Dogmeat assists in tracking down the antagonist, even if the player has never encountered him before. When you leave Kellogg’s home, Nick simply starts talking about Dogmeat as if he’s a known quantity.

Perhaps related to this quirk of the world, Dogmeat is first named in this game when the clairvoyant Mama Murphy recognizes him and addresses him by name. The game’s UI calls him “DOG” until he is recognized by Valentine or Murphy. It seems clear that this german shepherd is somehow an independent agent with a good reputation, or something.

Dogmeat does not have a loyalty quest associated with him, which is how the player would earn the other companions’ perks. However, upon finding Astoundingly Awesome Tales #9 within the Institute, Dogmeat becomes more resistant to damage. While this isn’t coherent or conclusive evidence of Dogmeat being a synth, it’s plainly prompting the audience to consider that idea. In light of these factors, his origins have been fiercely debated among the community.

The skeptics and “hard sci-fi” fans out there would have you believe that he’s merely a famous stray dog who solves crimes. But I believe there's something more remarkable at work.

There's a section in the Fallout 2 instruction book called the Vault Dweller's Memoirs, where the player character of the first game recounts what canonically happened. Due to Fallout’s famously terrible companion AI, if you travelled to Mariposa with Dogmeat, he would consistently run into the force fields and get vaporized. So, in the Memoirs, we learn that this is exactly what became of Dogmeat Prime, in canon. He loyally sprinted into a wall of solid light, and disappeared. What if our buddy simply awoke in a new, confusing place?

In Fallout 2, Dogmeat must be found at the Cafe of Broken Dreams, which is explicitly a liminal space. It appears randomly to travellers in the desert. The NPCs within are frozen in time, such as a young version of President Tandi, who mentions that Ian went to “the Abbey,” an area cut from the game. To gain Dogmeat’s trust, the Chosen One must equip the Vault Dweller’s V-13 jumpsuit, which Dogmeat recognizes as belonging to his dead master. You can also attack him to spawn Mad Max, who claims ownership of the dog. Max fits the description of Dogmeat's original owner given in Fallout.

There’s also the “puppies” perk in Fallout 3, which enables you to restore Dogmeat, in the event of his death. “Dogmeat’s puppy” inherits his base and ref ids. In other words, they ARE the same NPC, just renamed. So, the way this actually articulates is that whenever Dogmeat dies in combat, you can find him waiting for you back at Vault 101. In practice, it’s almost Bombadilian.

Lastly, please consider the following developer context.

In June of 2021, the dog who performed Dogmeat’s motion capture and voice for Fallout 4 passed away. A statue of her was placed outside of every Vault in the China-exclusive sequel to Fallout Shelter. She still watches over each player.

River's owner, developer Joel Burgess, honored her in a brief thread about her involvement in the game, and shared much about his thought process and design goals while leading the character’s development. The Dogmeat project changed course early on, after Mr. Joel saw a new member of the art team gathering references of snarling German Shepherds. This motivated him to bring River into the studio, so the artists and developers could spend time with her.

He wanted to steer the team away from viewing Dogmeat as a weapon, and towards viewing him as a friend. Everything special about Dogmeat was inspired by River. For example, whenever you travel with Dogmeat, he’s constantly running ahead of you to scout for danger, then turning to wait for you. This was inspired by River’s consistent behavior on long walks. The only way they were able to motivate River to bark for recordings was by separating her from Joel while he waited in the next room. Reading the thread, it’s very clear that he hoped Dogmeat would make players feel safe, encouraging them to explore, and to wonder. In his closing thoughts, he said the following:

-Joel Burgess

Mr. Joel felt it was important to express that the ambiguity of Dogmeat’s origin in Fallout 4 was deliberately built into his presentation. He also felt it was important that you know Dogmeat loves you. Dogmeat was designed, on every level, to reflect the audience’s inspirations, and to empower their curiosity.

The true lore of Dogmeat is a rorschach test. The only “right” answer is to pursue whatever captures your imagination.

[precallai]

The Role of Artificial Intelligence in Call Centers: Advantages, Challenges, and Innovations

Introduction

Artificial Intelligence (AI) is transforming the call center industry by automating customer interactions, streamlining workflows, and improving service quality. AI-driven technologies, such as virtual assistants, speech analytics, and predictive insights, enhance operational efficiency and customer satisfaction. However, integrating AI into call centers comes with challenges that need strategic solutions. This article explores the key benefits, challenges, and emerging innovations in AI-powered call centers.

Key Advantages of AI in Call Centers

1. Enhanced Customer Support

AI chatbots and virtual assistants provide instant responses, reducing customer wait times and ensuring round-the-clock availability. Natural Language Processing (NLP) enables these systems to interpret and respond to inquiries with human-like accuracy.

2. Boosted Agent Efficiency

AI supports call center agents by automating routine tasks, suggesting relevant responses, and summarizing interactions in real time. This allows human agents to focus on more complex and high-value conversations.

3. Smart Call Routing

AI-powered systems analyze customer history, sentiment, and query type to route calls to the most suitable agent, reducing resolution times and enhancing first-call resolution rates.

4. Predictive Analytics for Proactive Engagement

AI analyzes customer data to forecast behavior, identify potential churn risks, and suggest tailored solutions. This proactive approach helps businesses retain customers and improve satisfaction.

5. Cost Efficiency and Scalability

By automating a significant portion of customer interactions, AI-driven call centers reduce operational costs. AI also enables businesses to scale support operations efficiently without a proportional increase in staff.

Challenges of AI Integration in Call Centers

1. Handling Complex Queries

While AI is effective for routine inquiries, complex or emotionally sensitive issues often require human intervention. Balancing AI automation with human support is essential for optimal service.

2. Data Security and Privacy Compliance

Call centers manage sensitive customer information, making compliance with regulations such as GDPR and CCPA critical. AI systems must include strong security protocols to safeguard data.

3. Legacy System Integration

Many call centers operate on outdated infrastructure, which may not be fully compatible with modern AI solutions. Upgrading or implementing middleware can be costly and time-consuming.

4. Customer Trust and AI Acceptance

Some customers prefer human support over AI-driven interactions. Ensuring that AI systems provide accurate, empathetic, and context-aware responses while allowing seamless handoffs to human agents is crucial.

5. Mitigating AI Bias

AI models can inherit biases from training data, leading to inaccurate or unfair responses. Continuous monitoring and refining of AI algorithms are necessary to ensure unbiased and equitable customer service.

Cutting-Edge Innovations in AI Call Centers

1. Real-Time Sentiment Analysis

AI-driven sentiment analysis detects customer emotions in real time, enabling agents to adjust their approach and prioritize urgent cases accordingly.

2. Voice Biometrics for Secure Authentication

AI-powered voice recognition verifies customer identities using unique vocal patterns, reducing reliance on passwords and enhancing security.

3. AI-Enhanced Speech Analytics

Speech analytics tools analyze call interactions to uncover customer trends, identify compliance gaps, and suggest service improvements.

4. Hyper-Personalized Customer Interactions

AI-driven CRM systems leverage customer behavior and history to offer personalized recommendations, promotions, and support solutions.

5. AI-Powered Multilingual Support

Real-time language translation powered by AI enables call centers to serve global customers seamlessly, eliminating language barriers.

Conclusion

AI is redefining call center operations by improving efficiency, personalizing customer interactions, and reducing costs. However, successful AI adoption requires addressing challenges related to security, integration, and customer trust. As AI technology advances, businesses that strategically implement AI-powered solutions will gain a competitive edge in delivering exceptional customer service

[muddyorbsblr]

onyx pt1

See my full list of works here!

Summary: You're stuck in the Avengers Compound because of an injury from your last mission, and you come across an adorable and affectionate little kitten.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: language (no i'm not sorry, Rogers); talks of explosions and injuries sustained from explosion [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: one-sided crushing (but is it really…?)

An eerie silence served as your only company in the Avengers Compound the last few days, some of your teammates off to finish the HYDRA mission that left you injured while the others took time off to visit their families over the holidays. With the promise to keep their comms on in case they would be needed until the New Year.

Now all that remained in the Compound with you were a few junior agents that drew the ends of the short stick, Val, and Loki.

Sadly your teammate, friend, and occasional drinking buddy Val was out blissfully spreading holiday cheer throughout New York with her girlfriend.

And Loki? Well, the God of Mischief wasn't exactly on chummy terms with you. Didn't even so much as give you a passing glance when you were at mission briefings.

Which was a damn shame because what you would give just to get lost in those stormy ocean eyes.

You made your way to the pantry in the common room to replenish your stash of snacks, towing along a little wagon to help you on the way back. Every step had you feeling every square inch of bruising on the left side of your body that you got from being unlucky enough to be caught in the blast radius of an explosion at the HYDRA base you were trying to infiltrate with Shaun just a few days ago.

Your phone buzzed with a new message. "Speak of the devil," you muttered to yourself, seeing Xu's name on your screen as soon as you pulled up next to the elaborate barista setup, putting a few Lindor truffles in a small bag for your wagon. "Hey FRIDAY?"

"Yes, Agent Y/L/N?" the AI answered immediately.

"Could you make me a white chocolate mocha with peppermint while I raid the latest Costco delivery for uhh…supplies. Yeah, I'll go with that."

"Right away, Agent Y/L/N." The sound of the barista setup whirring to life filled the kitchen area as you checked on Shaun's message.

Thor just mentioned that he'll ask his brother to take a look at your injuries. Maybe get him to kiss it all better. He finished his text with a smirking emoji, along with some hand gestures that painted a less than family friendly picture, making you roll your eyes at the screen.

You recorded a voice memo for him. "You know that he'd need to actually be willing to look at me so that he could see the damage from the blast, right? And last I checked I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm Medusa reincarnated and I'll turn his Asgardian ass to stone."

You went on to the ridiculously stocked pantry to rummage the delivery that came just a few hours ago, trying to find a bag of Jalapeño Cheetos somewhere in the mix, when you heard a tiny meow from somewhere behind you. You looked to the ground to find a black and white munchkin cat looking up at you with wide blue eyes.

"Hi there, baby…" you cooed, surprised the adorable little creature hadn't hissed or scratched at you yet. Cats normally didn't take to you, which was a shame because you often found yourself fighting the urge to pick one up or stroke its head whenever you crossed paths with one during your errand runs. "How'd you get in here?"

The tiny kitten caught you by surprise with what it did next, walking up to your feet and proceeding to rub its cheek against your ankle, a little purr emanating from its small fluffy body. You decided to risk the hissing and scratching and bent down to pick it up, your heart melting once he placed his paws on your cheek and proceeded to nuzzle your face with his nose.

"Aren't you a complete darling." He settled into your arm as you carried him out of the pantry, a little whine escaping him when you placed him down on the counter. He stood on his hind legs and made grabby hands towards you, blue eyes wide and pleading for you to pick him back up. "Just a second, sweet baby, I'm just getting you something to drink."

You took out a tiny sauce dish and poured some cream into it, pushing it toward the kitten that responded with a slow blink and a meow before licking away at the rich liquid.

"I'm sure your owner's gonna crucify me for giving you that but I can't help spoiling little fur babies especially when they're as adorable as you are." You took a sip of the coffee FRIDAY had finished making before shouting out a question for her. "Hey FRIDAY, you have any clue who this little bub belongs to?"

It took a second for her to answer. "Negative, Agent Y/L/N. There is currently no other agent on the premises looking for their pet. I also see no collar on them and from a preliminary scan they do not seem to have a microchip on them."

Those words stopped the kitten from drinking to look up toward the ceiling and hiss at the source of the voice. He only relaxed once you started stroking his fur again, going back to drinking and letting out a few purrs along the way. "No owner, huh? Does that mean I can invoke Finders Keepers then?"

"It appears so, Agent Y/L/N. What would be your new companion's name?"

The kitten looked up at you, as if expecting your answer. You wondered briefly if he could actually understand what it was that you and FRIDAY were talking about. "How about Onyx? I know I know it's absolute garbage for originality to name a black cat after a black gemstone but--"

His eyes widened before he climbed up your arm, only stopping once he'd reached your shoulder to nuzzle at your neck again. "It seems he likes the name, Agent Y/L/N."

"Then it's settled." You placed a soft kiss on top of his head. "Hello there, Onyx."

You brought your new kitten back to your apartment, setting him down on your bed while you tried to take off your sweatshirt as gently as you could manage.

"Ah, fuck it," you hissed as you felt the bruising around your ribs, letting out a pained sound when you opted to whip the garment over your head as fast as you could instead. Your reflection revealed that the bruising on the left side of your torso was quickly becoming a frightening deep purple.

Onyx meowed from your bed, again standing on his back legs and making grabby hands at you, eyes wide with evident pain.

"What's wrong, little baby?" He placed his paws gently on your side when you made your way to him, pressing his nose to the skin near where your bruising began. "Oh don't you worry your pretty little head about those, sweetie. They'll heal…eventually."

He kept on pressing his face to the area, your heart melting for the tiny kitten even more realizing that he was pressing kisses to your wounds.

"You really are such a precious little bub, aren't you?" You picked your new kitten up, placing him on the armchair in your reading nook before setting an alarm for dinner in a few hours and settling into your bed. "Get some sleep, sweet baby Onyx. I'll see you in a few hours."

Your eyes had only closed for a few seconds before you heard another tiny meow followed by a soft thud, immediately making you sit up on the bed looking for the kitten. He'd already made his way to your bedside, standing on his back legs and reaching up trying to climb up the sheets.

"Alrighty then," you mumbled, picking him up and placing him on the pillow beside yours. You rolled over to lay on your right side to remove any pressure to your injuries the best you could, hovering your finger near Onyx's nose once you'd settled in. He leaned up and pressed his nose to your finger, paws kneading on his pillow. "Boop," you giggled. "Sweet dreams, baby."

Just as you'd closed your eyes to try catching an hour or two of rest before you had to eat again and take those pain meds that Banner prescribed you, your phone began to blare Immigrant Song way too loudly by your nightstand. There were only two contacts you gave that ringtone to and one of them was currently out with her girlfriend.

"Talk to me, Thunder," you muttered, groaning when your stretch to reach for your phone made your bruising smart a bit. "You all good over there?"

"Absolutely grand, Lady Y/N," the blond god's voice boomed from the other end. "I was just wondering if you could check on my brother, he refuses to answer his phone yet again."

"That's gonna be a hard pass from me, buddy. I've already been cut and bruised, I'm not too keen to add stabbed to that list. He's probably just practicing spells. Or out on a date." You winced at that last part, an irrational part of you flaring up with unwarranted jealousy at the thought of Loki out with just about anyone. "Just--I don't know, check up on him yourself when you get back. You can take a stab better than me anyways."

Thor sighed loudly, the low rumbling making Onyx step back from his pillow and start hissing at the phone. You stroked the top of his head to calm him down. "Very well then, Lady Y/N. Rest well. We're scheduled to return after nightfall."

"I'll have pizza here waiting for you guys. Bring your own mead." You clicked off and tried to get some sleep, having FRIDAY place an order for pizzas and wings for when the team gets back. Your new kitten padded his way over to you, resting his head on your outstretched arm and letting out a soft purr.

The sound of the Quinjet coming back roused you from your nap, along with the feel of little paws on your arm and Onyx nuzzling your cheek.

"Looks like everyone's home," you mumbled, pressing a few kisses to the kitten's head before making your way out of bed. "Come on, little baby. Time to meet the team."

With a whole lot of discomfort and groaning, you slipped your sweatshirt back on before presenting your hand to Onyx and patting your shoulder, prompting the kitten to climb up your arm and perch himself on the spot, nuzzling his face behind your ear.

The team had already arrived and filled the common area when you made your way there, some of them helping themselves to the pizza. Barnes and Wilson walked in with coolers, probably filled with chilled bottles of beer inside.

"Hey, there she is!" Shaun exclaimed, pulling out a bottle of Pepsi before making his way over to you and pulling you into an embrace. "How's the healing go--Whoa there." He took a step back as Onyx hissed in his direction. "Where'd you come from, little guy?"

You shh'd the kitten, pressing kisses to his little cheek to calm him down. "It's okay, baby, Shaun is a friend. One of the good guys." You turned back to your mission partner. "Shaun, this is Onyx."

"Always thought you were a dog person, Babes," Natasha spoke up before taking your arm and walking you to the food. "We leave for one day and you become a cat lady. Where'd you even find the time to go to a shelter and get baby blue eyes over here?"

"I didn't, actually," you answered the master assassin. "I just went to the pantry and poof there he was, meowing at my feet. Like the cat distribution system mailed him to me by magic or something." He nuzzled your cheek again before starting to knead at your face.

"And he doesn't belong to anyone? You're sure?" Shaun spoke up, backing up immediately when he tried to pet your new kitten and getting hissed at. "Easy, kitty. I'm a friend, I'm not gonna hurt you." The martial artist turned back to you. "He wasn't collared? Or chipped?"

"Nope. FRIDAY scanned him and everything."

"You wanna think about getting him chipped?"

Onyx hissed again at the question before swishing his tail around to curtain your hair around him, his little body shaking on your shoulder. As if he was silently pleading for you to not take him out to have him chipped.

"Don't you worry, baby. I won't get you chipped, I wouldn't hurt you like that," you cooed, letting out a little giggle as he placed his paws on your cheeks and nuzzled your nose, giving the tip tiny licks. You were so focused on your cat's affections that the bellowing of Thor looking for his brother was a distant muffled noise in the background.

Until he got to where you were standing and his booming voice was impossible to ignore. "What an adorable little beast you have, with you, Lady Y/N." Onyx buried himself in the crook of your neck, shaking at the sound of Thor's voice.

"It's alright, Onyx. It's just Thunder, he may be all big and menacing on the outside but he's just a fluff ball on the inside. Come on, go say hi."

The blond Asgardian approached you, examining your new pet carefully before a knowing grin graced his bearded face. "Hello, Brother."

A chill went down your spine at his words. "What the fuck d'you just say, Blondie?"

He motioned toward the kitten on your shoulder. "This is the explanation for his lack of replies on his phone. His absence from his quarters. Lady Y/N, the little beast hiding himself in your hair…is my brother. That is Loki."

In your stupor, the only words you could manage to say were, "Bitch what?!"

A/N: Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to the members of SAS, beloved besties, and fellow whores! I've had this idea doing a slow lurky crawl in the microwave that is my writing noggin for the last few months, and I'm so excited that I finally get to share it with y'all! Part 2 is coming in a few days, and then it's a coin toss on whether I'll be trying to end the year with crossing off some things on my writing todo list, or crossing off some titles from my Tumblr TBR 😳👀

everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Halloween! Would love more of F is for Frankenstein! 🧟‍♂️

a continuation of 1

Twelve hours later JARVIS has brought him up to speed on what was clearly the weirdest week of his life, the fabrication units are working on a better container for his corpse than the damn suit, and they’ve identified nearly a hundred ways that this plan isn’t going to work.

JARVIS isn’t deterred.

One of the advantages of being a synthetic person is that he can’t feel exhaustion physically, although this whole experience has confirmed that he can feel it mentally. The downside to this is that he doesn’t have any sort of natural que to alert him to the passage of time.

Which means he doesn’t have any idea how long it’s been until it occurs him to check and he frowns. There’s something not quite right, besides the obvious. “Did you – shouldn’t I have gotten some calls or something by now? What did you tell them?”

It’s been almost twenty four hours since he died. Even with the clean up from a massive alien invasion to see too, he’s sort of expected someone to reach out to him. Agent Coulson is such a stickler for timely debriefs –

Ah. He was such a stickler for timely debriefs. Tony isn’t the only one that hadn’t gotten out of this mess alive.

“Sir has received eighty nine assorted calls and texts from Miss Potts, fifty three from Colonel Rhodes, one hundred and twelve from Mr. Hogan, and seventeen from various SHIELD personnel. Two of those are from Director Fury personally. There have been close to a thousand from various news and media companies, but those have been ignored and deleted per Sir’s standing orders.”

It’s amazing how well he’s able to synthesize and interpret emotion. He’d installed a rudimentary AI into – well, himself, he guesses, and that combined with the memory dump is really exceeding all of his expectations. He knows this because he’s appalled. “JARVIS! What the hell? If we’re going to convince the world I’m not dead, we have to talk to people!”

“Is that what we’re going to do?” JARVIS asks.

There’s steel in his voice, a warning buried in there. TONY’s heard that tone before but never, ever directed at him.

Except it’s not. Jarvis would never talk to Tony Stark like that, but he’s not Tony Stark. He’s just one more robot and AI for Jarvis to corral, although sophistication wise he’s several steps ahead of his helper bots. Except he might not be, because not even Butterfingers would be dumb enough to agree to something like this.

“It’s not going to work,” he says harshly, because it isn’t. “But yeah, I guess that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Calling Miss Potts,” JARVIS says promptly, and Jesus, that’s not what he meant at all.

“Don’t,” he hisses, but of course it’s too late and Pepper picks up immediately.

“Tony?” she asks, voice shaky and hoarse and faint. She’s been crying. She’s been crying hard enough that it’s stolen her voice and he knows Jarvis was focused on other things, but he could have at least sent her a text. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

He breathes and then leans over, elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. He doesn’t even have an omelette to hide behind this time. He knows he’s dead and he’s seriously considering the idea that this is hell.

“Tony?” she repeats, voice going up several notches in the way he hates. She’s afraid. He hates when she’s afraid.

He forces him mouth to move, forces words pass his lips. “Hey, Pep.”

“Oh god, Tony,” she says and then there are tears again. He wishes he could hold her, could kiss her tears away and could fold his arms around her delicate shoulder and tuck her beneath his chin, keeping her safe and keeping her close. Except he can’t do any of that, because he’s not Tony Stark. “Tony, Tony – you left so quickly and we couldn’t find you and no one’s been able to get in contact with you and JARVIS is offline in the tower and – where are you? Are you okay? I watched you fly that bomb into the portal, and,” she has to cut herself off to try and keep from crying again.  

You watched me die, he thinks, although he obviously doesn’t say it. “Hey, breathe for me, okay? Deep calming breaths, I know you have a lot experience with those around me-”

“Don’t tell me to breathe!” she snaps. “Where are you, Tony? What’s going on?”

He hesitates. They haven’t discussed this, and they really should have before JARVIS put that call through. Unless this is a test, and wow, his AI are such assholes. That old curse about having kids that are just like you is making more sense by the second.

“Something happened to my memory,” he says, which is probably the only true thing he’ll be able to tell her and will hopefully cover the gaps of things that JARVIS couldn’t tell him. “I got here and passed out and I just woke up and I panicked and I don’t – I saw space, and the – the aliens, which is so weird to say Pepper, I need you to fully appreciate how weird that is, but my head is killing me and nothing makes sense. The last memory I have on Earth is us running final checks on the clean energy prototype.”

He's a terrible person. Or, well, a terrible android. Whatever.

“Where is here?” she presses, her voice softening and strengthening both. It’s always so much easier for her get her bearings when she’s the one taking care of him, which is probably why she’s always so steady. She’s always taking care of him. “Where are you, Tony?”

There’s no getting around this one. Jarvis probably won’t be happy about it, but TONY isn’t really happy with him right now either. “Malibu. I’m at the Malibu house. Sorry, I don’t know why I came here – I mean, I really don’t, I was blacked out for most of it. Give me a couple hours for everything to stop spinning and I’ll head back to New York. Wait, are you still in New York? You were going have to leave early for that thing after we tested the prototype-”

“I am in New York now,” she says, almost sounding calm. “Do not fly the suit if things are spinning Tony, I swear to god.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine, just a little spinning, you’re so dramatic-”

“Tony!” she interrupts, but the hitch in her voice is laughter instead of tears. “God, Tony. I’m so glad you’re okay. I love you, so, so much.”

If there is a hell for androids, that’s where he’s going.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’m glad you’re okay too, Pep.” He can’t say it but he has to say it because Tony would say it, because Tony loves saying it, because he loves her so much that it sits heavier on his chest than the arc reactor ever could. “I love you too.”

He stares at his hands for a long time after the call ends. His fingerprints are Tony’s, of course, and his hair is Tony’s and his memories are Tony’s and this feeling that he wants to call love belongs to Tony too. None of it is his.

Well, except the guilt. That’s definitely his.

“Incoming call from Colonel Rhodes,” JARVIS announces.

“Answer it,” he says. Why is he so damn tired? He’ll have to run a diagnostic on his processors later.

There’s nothing but harsh breathing down the line, filling every corner of the workshop. TONY thinks, maybe a little hysterically, that it’s the only breathing happening here. He’s designed to mimic it, but it’s nothing besides that, mimicry. “Hi Papa Bear, how are things?”

The heavy breathing stops, for so long that TONY wonders if they got disconnected, then Rhodey bites out, “I’m going to kill you, Tony! I’m too damn old for this, you can’t keep giving me heart attacks every time I take my eyes off you!”

Too late. Tony’s already dead.

“You’re only two years older than me,” he says. “If it weren’t for me, you would have been the youngest freshman at MIT. Besides, a heart attack or two is character building, I’ve had like. Seven. Ish.”

“Reminding me how many times you’ve almost died is not your smartest move right now,” Rhodey says. “Tell me you’re okay.”

It’s a demand, an order, firm and unyielding like he’s one of Rhodey’s underlings. Except that Tony was giving orders way before Rhodey was, with the whole running his own multi-billion dollar business thing, and that tone of voice has never worked on him. Still, he says, “I’m okay.”

“Tony,” he says warningly, clearly not believing him, which is fair enough. He is lying.

TONY sighs, hanging his head like he can stretch the tension out of him, but that’s not how things work anymore. He’s vibranium and silicone and some other interesting materials and all his tension is mental. “Sour patch, I’m fine. Okay? Confused as all hell, but I’m okay. I’m sorry I worried you. I really didn’t mean to.”

“You never mean to,” Rhodey says, but his voice has softened and lowered. It sounds like he’s holding the phone even closer. “You almost never mean to.”

“It’s just difficult, is the thing, because you’re a little prone to worrying, a worrywart, as your mother might say-”

“My mother worries more about you than me and always has even though I used to be only one us getting blown up,” he says.

TONY pauses, considering. “Well, she is a smart lady.”

“Damn straight,” he agrees. “Pepper says you’re in Malibu. I can be there in two hours.”

“No!” he shouts, then winces. His eyes skitter over to the suit holding Tony’s body. They need a plan and that plan can’t involve Rhodey being here in two hours. “Don’t. Stay with Pepper. Please.”

“She’s fine,” Rhodey retorts. “You-”

“I’m fine,” he interrupts. “I’m fine, she’s fine, we’re both fine, except she’s in the city that was recently invaded by murderous aliens and I’m not and I have a suit of armor with repulsor technology and she doesn’t, so. Stay with her. Please.”

The silence drags on then Rhodey lets out an aggravated sigh. “Fine. But get your ass over here and if you miss another call from either of us I’m heading over, no matter what you say.”

“Sir yes sir,” he says.

He expects Rhodey to hang up on him then, but he lingers, nothing but his real, non synthetic breathing on the other end. “You really scared me this time. I saw the news reports and then we couldn’t find you-”

“Hey,” he says softly. A bomb and Tony disappearing and Rhodey unable to anything about it. Tony wasn’t the only one of them that had nightmares after Afghanistan. Neither of them had ever been particularly good at sleeping, but it was nearly impossible those months after, when he and Rhodey were fighting and Tony was hiding Iron Man and they still crawled into the same bed because Rhodey got frantic if he reached out in the middle of the night and found the bed empty. Which he often would, considering how much time Tony was spending in his workshop.

They shared a bed more after Afghanistan than before it. Rhodey had been willing to risk the paparazzi and exposure if his other option was staring up at his ceiling and having a panic attack about Tony being gone. Tony had been bitter about that, which certainly hadn’t helped their fight about weapons manufacturing any.

Pepper’s nightmares had been easier. She’d only been his assistant and friend at the time, after all. She would call him at two or three or four in the morning – or all three – and have some sort of urgent question or something for him to sign and he just went along with it because she just needed to hear his voice to fall back asleep and he’d learned after the first teary voicemail and alert from JARVIS that when he didn’t pick up, her vitals were out of acceptable range, per the prototype StarkWatch on her wrist.

It wasn’t until after they got together that she told him she actually drove to his house most nights and called him from her car rather than her bed. Just in case he didn’t answer, which wasn’t logical and didn’t make any sense at all but Pepper hadn’t pretended it had.

They’d all gone a little crazy, after Gulmira, but they’d settled.

But this is going to bring it all bubbling up and if TONY doesn’t figure out a way to reassure them then they’re going to want to stick close to him like they had before and he can’t let them do that. He can’t keep up pretending to be Tony forever and it’s going to be either Pepper or Rhodey who figures it out. He doesn’t need to help that process along at all.

Except that since they watched Tony fly a nuke into space and then hadn’t heard from him in two days, that’s basically impossible. The fact that it wasn’t three months and from their perspective he’s actually fine is going to help, but the level of damage control he’s capable of here is fairly minimal.

Still, he has to try.

“Honey,” he says, making his voice soft and warm like Tony only does when they’re alone. He doesn’t know where Rhodey is now, if he’s somewhere private, but he doesn’t hang up or stop him. All the stupid nicknames were fun and genuinely affectionate but they were also cover for the times that Tony slipped and called him something he shouldn’t, a little too genuine and not quite kitsch enough to pass muster. “Love, it’s okay. I got my head knocked around some, that’s all. And because I freaked out and ended up on the wrong side of the country, I need you in New York, doing what I can’t. That’s all. I’ll be there soon.”

If there’s a hell for androids, TONY is going there and the hellfire will be hot enough to melt his vibranium core, which, you know, is going to the be least of what he deserves.

“I love you,” Rhodey says. TONY closes his eyes. “You know that, right, baby? I do.”

It’s a bad, bad sign that Rhodey is the one using pet names, especially over the phone. “I know. Of course I know. I’ve always known.”

Over two decades of secrets and hiding and fooling around with women he didn’t give a shit about, before Pepper, and through every lonely, angry, desperately sad moment of it, Tony had known that Rhodey loved him. He wouldn’t have put up with that shit for anything less.

Tony died knowing that Rhodey loved him. TONY is sure of it. It’s the worst sort of cold comfort and he’s glad that he can’t offer it.

“I love you,” TONY echoes, because Tony’s been saying it for twenty six years and there’s no good reason for him to stop now.

Except that Tony is dead. He’ll never tell Rhodey that he loves him again.

One day Rhodey and Pepper will find out that the truth and know that while they heard Tony’s voice telling them what they needed to hear, while they let relief nudge out the fear, Tony was dead and cold and gone.

He hates this. This wasn’t what he was programmed for.

This isn’t what Tony would have wanted. But until he can convince JARVIS of that, they’re all stuck in this hell of the AI’s making.

[ddejavvu]

Texting the BAU: Would they still love you if you were a worm?

I'm not sure if anyone's ever done this before, but I was inspired by the AI voice tiktok that I saw of 'Hotch' answering this question! The user that posted the tiktok I saw was 'shiftershiz', I thought their video was really cool and I owe them the inspiration for this post!

This post has Hotch, Garcia, Morgan, Rossi, JJ, Reid, and Prentiss. If you'd like to request a temp agent that I didn't include, or an earlier one that got written off, please do so in my inbox, I'd be happy to make more :)

I apologize if some of these pictures are a bit longer than others, I cut the conversation into two 'screenshots' when I could but sometimes it was easier just to stretch them out a teeny bit.

(Almost) all of these can be read as either platonic or romantic, the only hitch is that I mention Will in JJ's post so unless you're envisioning a throuple that one won't work </3

Images under cut to avoid a long post, happy texting!

Hotch:

Garcia:

Morgan:

Rossi:

JJ:

Reid:

Prentiss:

[gravedwe11er]

My brain's been completely consumed by @keferon 's mecha pilot AU lately, especially all the texaid things, and I just had to add my own two cents to the pile! So, here is Felix/First Aid's Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Day (followed eventally by a much better one).

cw for gore and violence, as well as the usual things that come with Vortex being Vortex

He’s still scraping out the remains of the latest unlucky bastard, the sharp stench of cleaning agents mingling with the iron-sweet tang of blood and making his nose burn, when the enemy-incoming alarms bathe the whole hangar in red. Immediately, the usual post-battle calm turns into a frenzy of shouts and barked orders, dozens of footsteps rushing to and fro.

It hasn’t even been thirty minutes since they’d come back from the last fight.

Swearing to himself, Felix wills his hands to stop shaking as he finally succeeds in prying out the - god, is that the guy’s finger? – from inside the pilot’s harness. He throws it out of Vortex’s cockpit in the vague direction of the catwalk, not bothering to see if it landed in the glorified body bag they give him for these clean up jobs. Ten pilots ago, they still used to bring a stretcher in a show of, what- misguided optimism, maybe? Now, they can’t even be bothered to pretend.

The floor is still filthy, bodily fluids splattered liberally all over the cockpit, but Felix can hear the next pilot/sacrifice marching up the catwalk and prepares to make himself scarce, content at least in the knowledge that all the more solid bits of the last one have been disposed of. He gets up on unsteady legs, eager to get out of this stinking grave when the blood red plexiglass of the cockpit suddenly slams shut in front of his face. The hydraulics hiss as they complete lockdown procedures, entombing him inside.

His blood runs cold.

There’s frantic banging on the glass, from the outside in, from the inside out. There’s shouting, from the pilot, from control, asking what’s going on, telling him to get out, get out now. There’s a sharp, heavy gaze pressing down on him, with all the suffocating weight of a rockslide, and Felix feels oh so very small.

Beneath his clenched fists, words coalesce into being on the glass screen, white on arterial-blood red; it makes him think of bone shards in an open fracture.

TAKE A SEAT

Felix starts, jumping away from the glass. Stumbling backwards, he gapes, mind reeling, before forcing out, “Please, I don’t- I’m a medic.”

I KNOW

“I’m not- I’m not a pilot,” he whispers, pleading with the cursed thing, shivering like a leaf under the thing’s crimson lights. Something in the machinery around him hisses, a stuttering staccato of a sound, and Felix somehow tenses even further as the screen in front of him changes again.

I DON’T WANT ANOTHER PILOT. I WANT YOU ; )

His heart stutters in his chest. “Why?”

BECAUSE YOU’RE PERFECT

The letters blink out, only to be immediately replaced, bigger than before. More forceful.

TAKE A SEAT

He does. His hands shake like never before as he puts on the pilot’s helmet, still reeking of the previous pilot’s blood and sweat and fear. Dozens of others have died here, at the behest of this deadly war machine, corrupted AI or cursed or whatever the hell is wrong with it. All in the name of humanity’s survival. Felix is sure he’s going to join their ranks today.

Through the haze of oncoming panic, he idly wonders which one of his colleagues is going to be mucking his entrails out of here, when all’s said and done.

The machinery around him comes alive and his head swims, wisps of his-but-not blinding agony and fear and malevolent glee flitting through his mind as the neural connection settles. Felix feels a pressure on the inside of his skull, almost like a greeting, a jaunty knock on the gates to his brain as a voice echoes from inside-outside-everywhere.

“Let’s dance, baby!”

The mech lurches, enormous frame shaking and hydraulics hissing as it disconnects from the docking station, heading for the hangar bay doors with almost a spring in its thundering step. For a moment, Felix considers trying to stop it, grasping at the controls, dragging the cursed thing back into dock and forcing it to spit him out. Then he remembers the bloodied fingers on the floor, or stuck in sharp gaps between internal plating, and shoves his clammy, shaking hands under his thighs.

The stuttering hiss of what’s probably the ventilation system rings through the air, almost like a choked off giggle, as an intrusive presence hums amusement-approval in his head.

The next seconds or minutes or hours are something of a blur, a waking nightmare soaked in adrenaline and cortisol. Vortex walks itself out of the hangar doors, side by side with other mechs, who look like children next to its imposing size. It does so under its own power, without Felix’s input, and this shouldn’t be happening, none of this should even be possible. Felix is no technician, and definitely no pilot, but he knows the mecha aren’t autonomous, can’t be autonomous, but it’s moving anyway and there’s someone else in here, someone else in his head and he’s laughing at him and-

Then he sees them. The world snaps into sudden clarity.

Felix never thought they could really be that big. He’s read reports of the destruction they bring, seen the wrecked cities on TV (and may or may not have taken a good look at a few pieces of them in the labs without permission), but- he didn’t really get it. Not until now. He kind of wishes he could go back to that, honestly.

The monsters, the quintessons, roar as they notice their group of mechs, who suddenly look so terribly small in comparison to the quints’ lumbering, many limbed forms. Almost immediately, their somewhat nonchalant destruction turns into an organized assault as the group of about two dozen charges right at them.

“Oh god,” he wheezes out between short, terrified breaths. “No, no no, get away, get me away from here-“

Suddenly hearing a chuff of laughter from what simultaneously sounds like the inside of his head and behind him, Felix jumps in his seat as he feels the phantom of a breath on his ear. “Aww, are you scared, Felix? Don’t you worry, darling.”

For a moment, everything stills, the mech around him like a coiled spring, a calm before the storm. An overwhelming wave of foreign bloodlust crashes over him, setting his blood ablaze as the war machine leaps into a run, Felix trapped inside and powerless to stop it. With the thrumming wail of integrated weaponry charging up, they meet the quintessons head on.

“We got this.”

As the fighting begins, Felix somehow manages to stray so far into panic he’s almost feeling calm again. Vortex lunges and parries and strikes, the presence in control of the mech clearly a skilled pilot, and Felix watches with a growing fascination as the monsters fall apart into bloody pieces under its – his, Felix thinks - servos. He sees the thoracic cavity of one open up underneath Vortex’s arm-blade, and his mind, conditioned from years of dissections and med school, snaps into action. Oh, looks like a dual cardiovascular system, with the secondary brain here, and the primary would most likely be- Almost immediately, he feelsthe thought being picked up on, examined, and the ghost/mech/whatever it is sends interest-glee-let’s-see-for-ourselves through the neural connection before changing the trajectory of his strike. The sword cuts clean through where Felix thought the primary brain would be, and the thing seizes in Vortex’s grip before going limp.

There’s a near-deafening buzz of mechanisms all around him, crimson light flaring bright. “Ha! That’s what I’m talking about!” sings through his brain, praise-delight humming along his nerves, and Felix can’t help but let a tiny, nervous smile twitch at the corners of his mouth.

“I told you you’d be perfect, baby,” purrs the voice inside his head, and he could swear he feels two hands, cold and intangible, settle on his shoulders, as the battle rages on.

The alarms flare on the late end of breakfast period, turning Felix’s once slow morning into a mad scramble. He races past other pilots and various personnel, stumbling into his quarters, shoving his uniform on before running out again, already feeling out of breath. All the supplementary pilot training he’s been going through, and, if he’s honest, flunking through, doesn’t seem to have done his physical condition much good. Still, it’s not like it matters much, and both he and his superiors know it, but appearances must be kept up nonetheless.  Or so they say, at least. Can’t let the public know their most efficient mech is somehow piloting itself, apparently.

He finally gets to the hangar, his fellow pilots giving him a wide berth as he heads towards Vortex’s cockpit, doing his best not to trip over his feet in his haste. A small smile strays onto his face and, out of the corner of his eye, he sees some of the others stepping further away from him.

Felix is not a very popular man these days, though it’s not like was much of a social butterfly before either - always too awkward, a little too odd for most people to enjoy hanging around. The frequent twelve-hour shifts in the medbay, sneaking off to the research labs and Vortex cleanup duty after he was caught certainly didn’t do him any favors.

Now, though? It’s like he’s got the plague. Most of his former colleagues are dismayed at his sudden reassignment, the sudden changes in their schedules leaving them crankier than usual, though it’s not like he was all that close with them before. The various base personnel keep out of his way, seeming to consider him as cursed as the mech he pilots, his very presence a potential bringer of bad luck. Meanwhile, the actual pilots view him as an intruder into their ranks, exempt from the usual camaraderie that comes with the job.

He can’t deny that it stings a little, even though he’s pretty used to the feeling of rejection. Still, it helps that he's never really alone anymore.

It’s a thing he’s heard about from some earlier tests, from other mech models around the world, those types who tried their hand at connecting two people together to fight as one. How their minds, even when disconnected from their machines, still have a thin little thread connecting them for days, weeks after. He looked it up, after their first mission, when the distant feeling of a presence would linger in the back of his head; gleeful and pointed and anticipatory. It used to unnerve him before, but now, like everything else he sees as he steps into the open cockpit, it’s just- familiar.

Somehow, Vortex has become a balm on his eternally shredded nerves, the capricious, sarcastic bastard comfortably fitting himself into Felix’s life and making it- well. If not better, then definitely more interesting.

The gaze of Tex’s camera eyes never gets any less sharp, or less heavy, but he no longer feels like he’ll buckle under the weight of it. The inside of the mech is as clean as can be, because though he might be a pilot nowadays, he’s still a doctor by trade and he refuses to spend hours at a time sitting in a walking biohazard. The glass clicks shut behind him as he hops in, locking him securely inside as a string of ridiculous little white hearts and smiley faces scrolls across the red screen.

Felix snorts a quiet little laugh, laying a hand on the plexiglass, a building anticipation both his and not making his nerves buzz. “Hey Tex. Ready to go?”

YOU KNOW IT, BABY

“Then let’s dance.” Felix borrows the other man’s usual phrase with a small smile, buckling into the pilot’s harness and putting the helmet on his head in a newly familiar motion.

It takes a few moments to ride out the initial discomfort of the establishing connection, but then Vortex - or Victor, but that name is mostly as dead as the owner of it - is there, their minds snapping together like puzzle pieces. Delight, excitement and the ever-present bloodthirst washes over their shared thoughtscape, and Felix sends greeting-happiness-anticipation in return, feeling, as is usual for him these days, much better with Tex’s dark presence in his head.

“Let’s fucking dance, darling.”

He never would have thought they’d end up here, like this - hell, he didn’t think he’d survive their first battle together. But survive he did. Against all odds, against all previous expectations, Vortex had let him go then, with a winky face and a jaunty ‘come again soon!’, aching and terrified, but alive. And then he survived the next time, once command seized on the obvious opportunity to lessen their losses and sent him back into the jaws of the beast again. And then the next. And the next, until suddenly, he’s got dozens of successful missions under his belt and he’s still not dead.

People have questioned him about it, over and over. He never knows how to answer, to describe the understanding they’ve found with each other, so he simply keeps repeating the same thing – it just sort of works.

Once the bay door opens, orders coming in through the comms in Felix’s helmet and scrolling across his visor, they disembark, long strides taking them out into the foggy morning air. Three other mechs on their heels, they make their way to the coords where the quints were reported to make landfall, anticipation-excitement thrumming through them like an electric current. As always, there’s a thread of anxiety running through Felix’s body, but he doesn’t let that stop them, steadying himself against Tex’s ironclad confidence and working to keep his breathing steady.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to fully shake that, no matter how many times they do this – it’s a very sensible fear, after all. He’s going right into the heart of danger, protected only by a breakable veil of glass and steel, mind-in-mind with the ghost of a dangerous man.

Perhaps one day, a single missed strike might lead him to bleed out right here in this cockpit, mirroring the fate of the mech’s first and last true pilot. Maybe he’d join Victor in here too, another ghost in the machine. Maybe humanity will lose, and they’ll both be torn apart by the writhing hordes of quints, ground into so much shrapnel along with the rest of their species.

Or, maybe one day, Vortex will get bored of him, splaying Felix’s blood and sinew across the interior of his cockpit like a particularly macabre painting, yet another victim of his moods joining the already sizable collection. It’s definitely a possibility, though he doubts it more and more each passing day. They’re way too tangled up in one another now, and maybe he’s flattering himself, but - he thinks Tex might miss him, if he was gone.

Not today, though. Today, they fight like they’re dancing, perfectly in sync, Tex’s skills made all the more lethal by Felix’s ever-expanding insight into the biological makeup of their enemy. They shoot and hack and slash, aiming for weak spots, quintessons dropping in their wake as they tear through them like wet tissue paper. A well-aimed punch saves a fellow pilot from being skewered, Felix sending a wave of gratitude through their connection – though Vortex himself couldn’t care less about the lives of others, he knows Felix does, and the fact that he’s willing to do this, just for him? Well. It means a lot, to say the least.

Cold, there-but-not arms wrap around him from behind in a ghostly embrace, a chin laying down on top of his head. Felix leans into it as much as he can, a smile on his face, and he feels Vortex’s feral grin in his head as they dive back into the fray. Together.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

As always, endless thanks to my beta @jayden-writes, sorry for putting giant robots on your plate, again. I appreciate you.

[nephilimbrute]

ok since you guys don't know anything about my agent 8's personality, i'm doing a huge infodump on them. enjoy

Agent 8; they/them, nonbinary — 24 as of current time, in a relationship with Agent 4 and Captain 3

they're pretty, but also one of the worst people you'll meet. everyone who met them has had something terrible happen to them, basically a bad omen...yet they still think they're a saint! 8 is very narcissistic, but also very self-critical. they think they can be the only one to do something, that they're the best at it...but they know this is wrong, so they hate themself for it

they think they're a very fragile and innocent being, like a deer. they want to live a calm and steady life, no excessively loud or overwhelming sounds and music, just them and their close ones. they enjoy writing poetry and creating art to the likes of vincent van gogh, but also impressionism in general. they have a very bad memory now, so they want to capture the present time as best as they can if it ever gets worse. often times, 8 thinks about any big events that are coming up in the near future (concerts, festivals, etc.). they don't like to think about the future outside of these things (was team present if that wasn't obvious)

they used to be full of emotion, expressing and voicing their thoughts well. but slowly over time, they've became numb to most things to prevent themself from being embarassed by...sadness. they think being upset is embarassing, and are easily annoyed by gloomy people. they have such little sympathy, but it still exists. they are capable of love! it's not hard to crack through their shell, nor do they even have one. 8 themself is aware of how they've changed over the years, and they want to go back to how they used to be; loving, sympathetic, mindful of others. they do feel very sorry for the change in their personality, but the partial sanitization that was done to them makes it difficult to revert to their old self

8 feels like they're putting up a front when they want to be nice, and, they can be compassionate and apologetic sometimes. they deeply wish for anyone who recognized them pre-octo expansion to forgive them, even if they did nothing wrong

because of the whole octo expansion situation, 8 has developed truman syndrome, paranoia, and heavily dislikes anything involving a smart AI or robotics. this is one of the reasons why marina pisses them off so badly. to 8, they think that they've caused no harm, and every mistake they've done was not entirely their fault. they make a lot of people uncomfortable in some way without touching anyone or saying anything. despite all that, they respect people's personal space a lot!..other than pearl and marina, who they used to watch sleep before being kicked out

now, onto their relationships. 8 is doing fine with agent 4, he's nice to them so they like him... but so is cap3, yet 8 might be one of the worst things that ever happened to her. cap3 really wants some alone time and hates being stared at, and 8 does the exact opposite of that. they don't touch her at her request, but they Will stare at her whenever she's doing anything, at any given time. they don't process in their mind that they want to make her uncomfortable, they just sort of...do?

^ i only limited this to a bit so i won't delve Too deep and go off topic. you can ask about that if you want

i guess you could say they have some kind of parental issues? i don't know, they can't remember who their biological parents are anyways. they have a strong attachment to marina though, can't decide if they wanna be her or want her to adopt them. kind of "eh" with pearl, still respects him nonetheless

congratulations! if you've read until the end, here's a human 8 doodle :3

[eiralunaire]

Damian, after returning from a solo mission to Titan Tower, learns that his partner Reader was sent on a mission to Spain without informing him.

Damian Wayne returned to Titan Tower after a solitary mission, his mind occupied with the reports he had to deliver and the strategies he was already planning for future operations. Although he had managed to eliminate those responsible for a trafficking ring in Gotham, he felt that something was not right. There had been a bad feeling in the air since he left the city.

As he landed on the roof of Titan Tower, the engines of the customized jet shut down with a high-pitched whistle. The sound of the night was dense, an uncomfortable silence. As soon as he got off the jet, Damian activated the communicator he wore on his wrist, looking for information from his team and, above all, from Reader. Normally, she was the one who made sure to greet him as soon as he arrived, sometimes with a smile or some witty quip, but on this occasion there was no sign of her.

The lights of the tower shone through the large windows that surrounded the main room. There was no sign of the other Titans. Everything was quiet. Too quiet.

As he entered, he was greeted by the Tower’s AI.

“Welcome, Damian Wayne,” he said in his usual monotone.

Damian moved with purposeful steps, his eyes searching the monitors for any hint of activity. He began typing, looking for recent mission and assignment reports. One of the files on the screen caught his attention: **Reader – International Mission – Spain**.

His jaw tightened as he saw the location. **Spain. Why didn’t he know about this?** He typed faster, accessing the mission details.

**Subject: Support in covert operations**

**Location: Barcelona, ​​Spain**

**Operation in progress: Investigation and neutralization of developing metahuman threat.**

The feeling in his stomach intensified. Damian frowned as he read more details. The team had been sent without his knowledge, and it bothered him deeply. He always made sure Reader was safe. Her going on an international mission while he wasn't present wasn't something he liked, nor would he allow if he'd known about it.

He activated the Titans' communicator, looking to contact whoever was available, but there was no immediate response. Finally, a familiar voice appeared.

"Damian, is everything okay?" It was Nightwing, who seemed to be in the middle of another mission.

"Why was Reader sent to Spain?" Damian asked, his tone direct and cutting.

"I figured... you already heard." Nightwing paused, perhaps considering how to approach the situation. "It was a last-minute decision. The team in Europe needed urgent support and she volunteered. You know she's one of the best at covert operations."

"That's no excuse for not informing me," Damian snapped, his patience already at its limit. "I should have known."

Nightwing sighed on the other end of the line.

“I understand your frustration, but you were on a critical mission and a quick response was needed. There was no time to discuss it with you.”

Damian clenched his fists. He couldn’t help but feel like information had been deliberately withheld from him. Reader was skilled, he knew that better than anyone, but that didn’t lessen his concern for her. The idea that she was on the other side of the ocean, facing who knows what kind of threat, unsettled him more than he was willing to admit.

“Do you know what the current situation is?” he asked, his fingers moving quickly over the keyboards, tracking down any updates on the mission.

“The latest report indicates that they’re close to neutralizing the threat, but they’ve had complications. Some of the local forces weren’t prepared to deal with a metahuman of that magnitude.”

“How many are with her?” Damian insisted, trying to remain calm.

“The European team is supporting her, as well as some JLA agents.” Reader is leading the operation in the field, but communications have been intermittent due to the technological interference the target has been causing.

Damian cursed under his breath. He couldn’t stand the thought of being so far away and not being able to make sure everything was under control. **Reader is capable. Reader is strong.** But that didn’t mitigate the fear.

“I’m going to Spain,” he said, determined.

“Damian, listen…” Nightwing tried to intervene. “If you go now, you could put the mission at risk. Trust that she knows what she’s doing.”

“I’m not asking for your approval,” he replied coldly. “Just informing you.”

He ended the communication before Nightwing could respond. He was upset, but more than that, he was uneasy. He and Reader didn’t just share a personal relationship; there was a deeper connection between them, something he couldn’t ignore. He wouldn’t leave her alone in hostile territory, not while he had the means to reach her.

Quickly, he headed to the Tower's hangar. His jet was already ready for another mission, so he wasted no time getting on. Although he knew it could take a few hours to get there, he wouldn't let that time lapse weaken him. He felt responsible for her safety, and it wasn't just because of his role as a leader. Reader had accomplished what few people in his life could: break the barriers he had erected since he was a child.

As the jet took off, Damian connected to the international communication channels, trying to get any signal from Spain. However, as Nightwing had mentioned, the interference made it impossible. There was nothing but silence.

Damian's thoughts flew back to the first time he met her, how, from the beginning, something about her had attracted him. Her intelligence, her ability to stand firm in any situation, her constant willingness to help others. She was a person who knew how to handle herself in risky situations, and she often faced them without hesitation. And yet, something about this mission made him uneasy.

Time seemed to drag as he crossed the Atlantic. The constant roar of the jet's engines was the only sound that accompanied him. Damian checked and re-checked every detail of the mission he had been able to obtain. Barcelona was a complicated city for this type of operation. Its dense infrastructure and narrow streets could become a dangerous battlefield, especially if they were dealing with an unpredictable metahuman.

Finally, the jet began to descend on the outskirts of the city. Night was falling over Barcelona, ​​the city lights flickering in the distance like a million little fires. Damian adjusted his equipment, preparing for landing. Time was of the essence. He had no further details of the mission, but he didn't need them. His only priority was to find Reader and make sure he was safe.

As soon as he set foot on the ground, he activated the tracker he had installed on his equipment before leaving. It was a discreet device used by the Titans to keep track of each other during missions. However, when he tried to locate Reader, the device showed nothing.

**Interference. Damn.**

Damian moved nimbly through the streets, staying in the shadows as he went. He used his contacts in the city to obtain more information. According to local reports, the riots had reached a fever pitch in the Raval neighborhood. A confrontation between a covert operations group and a being with metahuman abilities had caused chaos.

With that information in mind, he quickly headed towards the location. The streets were empty, the lights flickered, and the air was charged with a strange electricity. Damian felt that every second was vital. Finally, he reached the cordoned off area. From a tall building, he observed what was happening next.

The confrontation was taking place right in one of the main squares. In the distance, he could make out the operational team fighting to keep at bay a metahuman who seemed to control electrical energy on a large scale. Lightning crackled everywhere, lighting up the night with blue flashes.

And there, in the middle of the chaos, was Reader.

She moved with the grace of someone who had trained hard for this kind of situation. Her focus was absolute, but Damian could see the exhaustion on her face. She was using her skills, but the enemy was formidable, more so than anyone had anticipated.

Without wasting any time, Damian leapt onto the battlefield. Within seconds, he was already at Reader’s side, blocking one of the attacks headed her way.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, surprised but relieved to see him.

“I wasn’t going to leave you alone in this,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the enemy as he prepared his next move. “We’re going to finish this together.”

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

I'm back after being away for a week, ah. now I need ideas to make more scenarios.