#what do you MEAN there's no neural interface??

[a-tenno-called-prin]

I so desperately want the Operator to have a "Father I cannot click the book" moment

[the-hydroxian-artblog]

Regarding the last ask, where does Beth whole thing falls on the scale of sentience compared to Neuromorphs and Stochastic Parrots?

(Great denominations, btw. How did you come up with them?)

Beth's chip is special, as it's basically a flat neuromorphic chip with a ton of density (most are cubic/brick-like), way more dense with connections than the average robot's chip to compensate for its smaller size, but with a separate traditional processor for interfacing with the rest of her phone's systems. She's pretty much sapient.

There's also a sort of "clock" processor that's supposed to control how and when she thinks, "punishes" her with either withholding dopamine when she misbehaves or giving her the sensation of a controlled shock, etc. She canonically "jailbroke" and dismantled this clock, which on one hand freed her of her programming! but on the other hand, it's also what helped regulate some of her emotions, so uh. yeah. Her voice is purely the neuromorphic chip's output, which is why sometimes she outright says things she tries to keep hidden as mere thought. Her "body" is essentially a 3D model that reads the impulses her chip sends out, and reinterprets them as appropriate movements and actions, similar to VR motion tracking.

Both "Stochastic Parrot" and "Neuromoprhic" are terms used in AI research, so I'm basically just adapting them for my own setting. The term "neuromorphic" is a broad umbrella term that I'm using very liberally, since the technology for it is very much in its infancy, but the main idea is that it's a chip that can process information without the need of a "clock". Meaning, different connectors in the chip can do their processing thing at different times or "go dark" when not in use, much like how a human brain can have all sorts of different impulses going on at different times, and literally isn't supposed to use more than 10% of its grey matter at a time.

Current neuromorphic chips can be used to program robots to do simple things, like navigate mazes, but at way less of a power cost than robots with traditional CPUs. If we kept going all the way with developing this tech further, we'd have machines that could dynamically learn and change via reacting to stimuli rather than scraped training data off the internet, and at that point you're basically dealing with a Thing That Experiences. Simulated or not, that's no longer something just pretending to have impulses or reasoning. That's Just An Actual Little Guy as far as I'm concerned. Maybe only a little guy like how an insect or even an amoeba is a little guy, but that's enough of a little guy for me to call a neuromorph a little guy. You can think of Neuromorphs in general as people with prosthetic brains rather than traditionally programmed neural networks as we know them today. My intenion is also not to rule out that some seemingly stochastic parrots are conscious on some level, or some seemingly conscious neuromorphs aren't really all there at all. It's not a hardline thing, but everyone on all sides will certainly try to fit each other into boxes anyway.

[reality-detective]

To the Cabal & Those Of Baal Worship

Do you want to know a secret?

- Remember the good ole days when someone had to be wired to gather information for a sting operation?

- Remember how someone would be searched before they entered a high security area for secret meetings you didn't want recorded on record?

- Remember when you could ensure that if someone would speak of what went on you had a way to get rid of them?

I want you to think of a hypothetical technology for second. Let's call it "Bio-Sensory Neural Interface" or "Energetic Biofield Interface" (EBI)

What can this technology achieve?

• The Bio-Sensory Neural Interface (BSNI) technology represents intelligence-gathering methodologies. It leverages the interaction between advanced computational systems and the human energetic biofield to facilitate seamless, real-time communication and data acquisition from human sensory experiences.

• Utilizes sophisticated sensors to interact with the human biofield, capturing and interpreting electromagnetic signals naturally emitted by the body.

• Enables non-invasive interfacing, ensuring the integrity and operational security of the actor.

Real-Time Sensory Data Transmission:

• Converts sensory input (visual, auditory, olfactory, and tactile) into digital data streams, allowing remote operators to experience the actor's environment firsthand.

• Acts as a live sensory transceiver, making the human body a dynamic tool for intelligence collection.

Cognitive Communication:

• Facilitates direct, silent communication between the operator and the actor through thought transmission, eliminating the need for spoken words or physical devices.

• Supports bidirectional communication, enabling strategic planning and real-time adjustments through inner dialogue.

What does this basically mean in more mundane terms?

This basically eliminates the need for physical implants or external devices, reducing the risk of detection and enhancing the safety of the operative in sensitive environments. Which means you could never detect any infiltration apparatus. You could never know who is working for the good guys.

This is one reason why your plans never pan out. This is why you can never quite nail down why something didn't go as planned. This is why you can never trace or track how certain info was shared to those who were never invited to your secret clandestine meetings.

You think because you hold them while a major celebrity is performing in town that the powerful political figures attending would fly under the radar because everyone is distracted with Taylor Swift? You are some funny guys.

BSNI technology is ideally suited for intelligence operations requiring high levels of discretion and security. Its applications extend to military intelligence, covert operations, and high-stakes negotiations where traditional intelligence methods may be impractical or too intrusive. And please avoid trying to look up this technology. This is not what it is called.

This is Mind-to-Mind technology. You all have been caught with your pants down. And now you are way too far behind to catch up to how this could have possibly been used against you. Now you are scrambling. Trying to wonder how you have had to resort to outright assassination attempts. Something that wasn't on the cards before you 1st tried years ago.

Oh' well. You lose. Off to G¡tmo you go. Pain-(☠️) is in your future.

- Julian Assange

[swagmagussupreme]

@whiterose-fans-blog White Rose Event, Day 2: Gundam/Mecha

(I, uh... got carried away with this one. Whoops. Hope this doesn't awaken anything in me [the thing is awake and thrashing {the thing is thinking robots/cyborgs/androids are hot}])

Warnings for body horror, I think. To be safe.

Word count: 5253

Ruby clambered into the mech with much less pomp and coolness than she did anything, but that did little to tame the roaring pound of her blood in her ears. She was magnified, electrified, extremely-freaking-happy-ified. Her nerves were frayed and exposed, the air in her lungs was aflame, and all for one incredible reason:

Today, she would have all her blood replaced with super-drugs and shove a finger-thick metal node into her spine. In other words, she would be a Pilot.

Her mech, a Lancer-class Haema built for speed and offense, was a thing of beauty, and she was beginning to have genuine worries about the trickle of attraction she felt towards its fast edges, its angular shoulders, and the furious triangular wedge of its head. The red upper coating of its paint looked supple and deep, aggressive, while the under-coat of silver shone beneath the arms and over the lower back's delicious curve like moonlight. And when it powered on, when the sharp eyes flashed white and the head split open like a dying spider in reverse, Ruby may have moaned.

So she toppled into the cockpit like a lovestruck fool, the snug fit of her bloodbag suddenly feeling stuffy as she reclined in the full-body seat. She tugged at the suit’s dark collar, which achieved nothing.

“You in?” came her sister’s voice over the interior speakers.

“Y-yeah!” Ruby stuttered in return, overcome with joy. When she realized her informality, she retried, “Uh, I mean, yes sir. Captain Yang. Sir.”

The woman in the speaker snorted. “Just S-L, Rubes. I'm not a Captain yet.”

“Oh, uh… right. Yeah. Sorry.”

“Nervous?”

This time, Ruby was the one to snort. “It's my first time in my Haema. What do you think?”

“Fair enough,” Yang commented, taking an audibly deep breath. “Alrighty, no time to waste, DLR’s gonna drop soon and we’ll be right in the fuck of it. You ready?”

Jitters awoke in Ruby’s stomach. She hadn't even noticed the carrier entering Divine Light Redistribution. Maybe that was why she was nervous. Probably. Yeah. She could almost believe that. “Psh, of course I'm ready.”

Her sister barked a harsh laugh over comms. “Sure,” she said, a worrying hint of rue in her tone. “Sure you are.”

Yang continued in a clinical tone: “This is C-Squad, ready to jack in.”

Another voice, so cold and professional Ruby wasn't sure it was even human, responded: “Affirmative, C-Squad approved to jack.”

Two thick cables dropped from the metal ceiling of the cockpit, dangling off to the side of Ruby’s chair— the neural jack and the transfusion cable— just begging to be installed. She obliged. Two mechanical arms rose from the chair to hold the sides of her head as Ruby slammed the neural jack into the nape of her neck, right through the port of her bloodbag. She bit her lip expectantly.

From the jack, four needles slammed deep into her neck, breaking through the limits of pain that Ruby had known, but that wasn't the main event— these were just sensory dampeners, poking deep to zap her nerves into a state that wouldn't have her dying of shock when the main interface node came in. Her neck tingled, numbing, heralding the node with blunt pressure. Ruby sucked in a breath.

The pressure disappeared as the node backed away, rearing up to slam its almost-blunt tip through her skin, through her muscles almost into the vertebrae. The thing in her neck felt huge, like someone had javelined her with a stick of rebar, but that wasn't even the worst to come. Shackles slammed around her wrists and ankles. She felt the node twist inside her, opening its cap. Blood leaked from her tortured lower lip.

Despite the immense anguish, even with the dampeners, Ruby had managed to keep her noise down to squeaks and heavy breathing, but the final step broke her silence. Uncountable nano-filaments wormed through flesh and bone, hungrily burrowing towards every nerve along her cervical vertrbrae. The invasion of her was maddening not only in its sheer pain— if not for the bloodbag covering her fingers, she would've clawed her fingernails off on the armrests— but also because of the growing sense of agonizing relief she felt. With each nerve interfaced, she became closer to the machine, which only made the pain of her meat seem more alien as every second passed, every shred of anguish a reminder that she was not at her prime. Even as her throat tore itself ragged with wailing, the corners of her lips tugged upwards. Soon, very soon, she would become one with the Haema.

All at once, the agony collapsed into nothing, and she knew it was done. Ruby had unified with the mech, her pain receptors were cut off completely, and even the memory of that suffering was vanishing into dust. Her shackles receded into the seat. Ruby sighed. Now, for the best part.

With practiced ease and a complete lack of worry, Ruby took the transfusion cable and slipped it into the port at the side of her neck. Tubes with razor-sharp tips slipped into her skin with ease, slotting directly into her carotid artery and jugular vein. There was no pain, but the process wasn't a mystery to the studied Pilot. Through the arterial tube came vitae, the saplike blood replacement compound brimming with nanomachines, vasodilators, anticoagulants, and synthesized cells with oxygen carrying capacity at least threefold superior to hemoglobin. The viscous liquid would surge through her, bulging her arteries against her skin, dilating them so much that the tiny vessels in her eyes would leak thick crimson tears. Every inferior blood cell would either be forced up her jugular to get sucked into the Haema or recycled by the vitae until the only thing circulating through Ruby was manmade super-juice. In short, it would make her into a hero.

Which was great because Ruby was born to be a hero, just like her mom was. The proof was literally in her genes— bloodcaller genes— she was made for vitae, and vitae was made for her. She was an offshoot of humanity born from that sanguine primordial soup, and she could utilize the blessed compound in ways no baseliner could. She was tapped into the vitae-amber heart of her Haema, her Haema was tapped into her own lifeblood, and the two of them could dance like figure skaters.

Ruby folded the control sticks forward into her armrests as soon as they popped up. She didn't need them; the mech knew what she wanted.

“Ruby? You good?”

The sound didn't come through a loudspeaker this time, it came directly into her ears as if Yang was physically with her. Her brain was jacked directly into their comms. “Never been better,” she breathed, feeling her voice in her own throat and the Haema’s. “You?”

Yang took a deep breath, sounding much less pleases than her sister. “Yeah. I'm good. Let's fuck this up.” After a pause, she added, “C-Squad, jacked in and ready to go."

“Confirmed, readings all-clear.” The voice pitched up, slightly impressed. “Phenomenal compatibility, Red.”

“Gracias,” Ruby said casually, stepping off the platform and feeling like she'd been reborn anew. She marveled at her hands, the red upper coat of her knuckles, the silver coat of her palms. “Holy crap.”

“Cut the chatter,” Yang chided, her own golden Haema stepping to Ruby’s side. Her movements were so… bulky. Mechanical. Joystick-controlled. Ruby couldn't help but pity her human sister.

“Uh, sorry,” Ruby apologized, willing her words through the chassis comms rather than the radio comms. “Keep forgetting this whole talking thing is a ‘we’ and not a ‘me’ now.”

Yang's eye-roll was audible. “Keep rubbin’ that in, why don'tcha.”

A mechanical voice wailed over the hangar: “EXITING DIVINE LIGHT REDISTRIBUTION, ENGAGING COMPELLED SPEED, COMMENCE IN T-MINUS TWENTY SECONDS;

“BLESSED BE YE FAITHFUL;

“HIS KINGDOM COME;

“HIS WILL BE DONE;

“KNOW HIS LOVE AND KNOW HIS FAITH, AND BE SHELTERED BY ALL THINGS;

“AVE DOMINUS;

“GODSPEED.”

“Ah-men!” Ruby cheered, pumping the giant metal fist of her Haema excitedly.

“Ay-men,” Yang said more plaintively, her own mech perfectly still, awaiting the hangar’s opening. Ruby came to her side.

“Uh, sis?” she asked. “You okay?”

Yang’s Haema twitched its arm a little, the Pilot within probably jolting against her controls. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I'm okay. Just…”

“POWER ASTERN, WAFTING COMPELLER DRIVES, ANCHOR WELL IN T-MINUS TEN SECONDS.

“INCOMING INCOMING INCOMING.”

A dull thump rattled the vessel, making Ruby stumble on her new, much taller legs. Yang righted her with a hand, perfectly still. Her chassis crackled with her voice.

“Ruby, we'll be okay.”

Ruby looked at her sister's Haema. It was boxier than her own, Bulwark-class, rigid and cubic with giant proportions that made Ruby's look like a ballerina, but she knew that Yang could probably pilot that thing better than she could, even as a bloodcaller. Such was dictated by Yang's experience, which she had in spades over her sister. In an attempt to reassure her, Ruby took the staff of her weapon from her back and held it in a stern, at-ready stance. “Of course we will,” Ruby decided. “You're the best there is, and I'm right behind ya.”

Yang snorted.

“ANCHOR WELL ESTABLISHED. HANGAR DOORS OPENING.”

“I'm alright,” Yang said humbly. “But you'll be the best. Just… don't try too hard, okay?”

Ruby blinked, which she felt in her Haema despite it not having eyelids, which was weird. “What?”

The hangar doors shot open in a blink. Yang shoved her out with one hand, and Ruby tumbled weightless into hell.

The battle was already well underway. They were just reinforcements meant to turn the tide. The carrier they'd taken was barely within the outer area of the battle, but it was already alight with long-range sabot fire and dazzling anti-countermeasure lasers, so Ruby got a dramatic view of her sister thrusting out of the open hangar amid a dramatic backdrop spectrum of lights and explosions. Her big golden box of a Haema flew straight towards the battle’s distant center, producing a pair of tower shields that she covered her front with.

“Fall in, Red,” Yang commanded sternly over the comms, her voice a crackle as the signal fought through the background radiation of nebular space. “P-formation.”

Ruby shook her head and willed her giant mechanical body to thrust, her vitae-enhanced senses drinking every minute detail of the battle. When she blinked, she felt thick crimson crawling down her cheeks, and when she breathed, she felt like she could drink the world.

Falling behind the cover of her sister's giant shields, she observed what she could.

The battle was mostly gun-against-gun, no boarding vessels or ramming ships visible amid the chaos, with the Divine Hierarchy's ships clustered like a star in the center, a ball of purifying fire and plasma that lashed out against the surrounding seculars and belligerents. The fleet of God's enemies was numerous, consisting of smaller vessels concentrating fire like flies on honey, with larger vessels fanning out along the outskirts and firing from range, proudly displaying their cowardice. Ruby snarled and shouldered her weapon, a custom-made lance that she'd been designing her whole life in anticipation of this.

“Easy, rookie,” Yang admonished. “Engagement path coming to you… now.”

Bright green dots lit up a track leading in towards the center of the conflict, then out.

“Huh? What is this, hit and run?” Ruby complained. “Come on, let me get in there!”

“Red!” Yang snapped, making her sister jump. “This is not a game, and this is not school! You will stay on my ass and shoot what I tell you to shoot! Got that?”

A surge of defiance welled up between Ruby’s teeth, red and sweet and hot, but she bit down until it subsided. “Yes, sir.”

Yang flashed her mech's glowing green eyes at Ruby for just a second before turning forward again. “Now, if you'd actually wait, you'd learn that we're just dipping in to silence a particularly loud gunboat, then we'll be dashing out to start hunting some of the command carriers. No good dogfighting in the center, anyways, too much flak.”

Ruby felt her face and the Haema’s face go warm. “Oh.”

“Now get that stupid thing pointing forward, we’ll be lining up soon, and I wanna see what it can do.”

“Right!” the rookie Pilot agreed, instantly cheering up. She whipped the staff of her weapon around and shifted her thumb along its side, releasing bipods that she hooked along the front of Yang's shields. With her other hand, she slotted a sabot the size of her Haema's middle and index fingers into the giant gun's receiver, feeding the maw of her monstrous Crescent Rose as she slammed the bolt forward. She felt the barrel start to hum in her hands— in her Haema's hands, which felt exactly like her own— and mentally requested a targeting solution. Seeing a digital alignment with her barrel and an alignment to the target, she matched the two lines. The gunboat, so far away and roaring with so many cannons, looked like prey, and Ruby slavered for it.

“Ready,” she managed to say, holding herself back despite the scarlet lust in her veins.

“Fire when—”

Ruby felt the round blast in her metal hands, jolting her back against Yang's shields, the explosive primer kickstarting the sabot through the railgun’s coils and slingshotting it out the barrel so fast that the first impact with the gunboat's aft shields turned the tip into plasma— which was perfectly according to plan. The front half of the sabot vaporized a bright blue, tearing a hole through the shield that ferried the round’s second, denser half straight into the hull. The projectile tore through the gunboat like a meteorite through paper, blasting out an exit wound that had the small vessel looking like a big metal flower. Its guns sputtered out one last breath before the whole ship started to blankly list, dead.

Ruby’s cheeks hurt from her grin, and she'd smiled hard enough to split the bites she'd made just before the interface node. Vitae bubbled to the wounds, sweet and viscous, congealing over them like amber. “Did you see that?” she asked, feeling her voice a little frantic. “Now we veer out, right? To the big ship?”

Yang’s voice came out like a worried stare. “Yes. Just… keep following my lead.”

Ruby, despite herself, giggled as Yang turned them both tangentially along the main sphere of combat, skirting the worst of it and blasting towards the outer limits. The carrier, a fat, juicy obelisk of a ship, came into sight quickly, looking like a ripe fruit produced just for her. Ruby slid another rectangular primer into its slot, then racked a new sabot. She wouldn't need a targeting solution for this. “Ready."

Yang, surprisingly, took a while. She said nothing while Ruby dithered impatiently, feeling her gun’s hum, her finger itching on the trigger. They came closer, kept coming closer, and Ruby had to hunker down behind her sister’s shields as they came within range of the carrier’s guns.

“Yang! Yang!”

The golden Haema beneath her jolted. “Fire!”

Ruby breathed a sigh even before she pulled the trigger. The primer exploded, the round flew free, and she could track the sabot’s blistering line towards the carrier’s center, where it'd rip through the shields and tumble through whatever mass of important stuff lay vulnerable beneath the shell of its hull. Then the whole thing would explode hotly, and Ruby could bask in the satisfaction of heroism, knowing she saved her faithful brethren and damned the seculars.

Only, the sabot never struck the hull, never ripped at the big carrier’s juicy insides, because something— some-frigging-how— deflected it. A bright shape, either white or blue, stood between her and her prey.

Then Ruby was tumbling, because Yang had been completely ripped out from under her, thrust out as a spiraling mass of yellow and violet— another Haema, Ruby realized, wrestling with her sister and somehow holding its own!

Her control thrusters blasted, Ruby splayed her arms and legs wide, and she flourished her staff into both hands. Charging after her sister, the lance shunted out a long blade from its tip. The Lancer became its namesake, spear held straight and true as the vitae in Ruby's system coursed with a lust for combat.

Her charge was arrested by a blur of blinding white. Another Haema stood before her, a blue-limned buckler on its right forearm and a long white sword in its left hand. It was smooth and articulated, formed like a porcelain suit of ancient plate armor, complete with resplendent blue pauldrons that supported a bright cyan cape. Its eyes were a baleful, clashing red, locked perfectly onto Ruby’s— in and out of the Haema.

She felt something. Some… tugging. A pull at her heart and her veins and her brain. A familiar feeling.

Ruby stared into those glowing scarlet eyes and felt a hunger. A clawing need. A lust and a desperation that Ruby had never seen in anyone else before.

Another bloodcaller.

“Achtung, Bauer!” rocketed a voice from that knightly Haema, haughty and high-pitched. “You stand in ze presence of Schnee! In your thick skull, realize zat resistance is futile! Your God has abandoned you!”

Of course, the first time she'd ever met another bloodcaller, they were crazy. “What?”

“Zis is your last chance! Drop ze lance!”

Ruby blinked, the gears in her skull going ka-klunk and slipping into rapid motion, slapping her with realization: she would fight a fellow bloodcaller. And on her first day!

Ruby lowered the tip of her spear in a move that she hoped looked honorable and flared her stabilizers. “Nope,” she said through a voracious grin. “Let's go.”

Her ears crackled loudly, a voice— her sister's voice— wailing through: “N-no! Ruby! Don—”

Static cut Yang's transmission down to nothing. She felt a rise of protectiveness within her, an urge to bolt past this weirdo and grab her sister, but a single movement from the Haema before her choked everything dry. It dipped low at the waist, spread its arms, and bowed.

Sense left Ruby. Rationality fled completely. All she had was lust.

Space shortened to nothing before her, the Schnee (whatever that meant) getting closer as Ruby blasted fully towards it, spear extended, thrusting outwards decisively for the center of mass. The knightly mech parried her stupendously, buckler arcing up and batting the lance away with ease, with force, nearly throwing it out of Ruby’s giant silver palms before she redoubled her grip and blasted past the Haema. She cut her thrusters and rolled, her body barreling around until the spear’s point was once again level with her opponent, at which point the long blade shifted dorsally, presenting the gun-barrel once more as Ruby slapped in a primer and shoved a sabot home. She pulled the trigger.

The porcelain-looking Haema knocked her sabot away with a shower of plasma and shrapnel, the force of the round throwing its arm back and turning it slightly before some kind of control thrusters kicked in, or another stabilizer that Ruby couldn't see. Without hesitation, she set her spear’s point forward again and charged, screaming towards the bloodcaller, lance out. This time, with their buckler still away, the Haema clashed its sword— a rapier with some kind of fancy, colorful hilt— directly against her spear, locking the point against their crossguard and sending them both flying with Ruby’s momentum.

“Utterly lacking!” the porcelain knight cried. “You are artless, you are overly quick, you make no grace of your movements!”

The buckler came around and smashed into Ruby’s head, separating her from the bloodcaller and making everything spin. She fanned out her thrusters for control, but she moved too late— the knight was behind her, her sensors were screaming, she could feel the thrust that was about to penetrate her spine— she would die. The blade would penetrate her chassis and vent her cockpit into the cold aether. Ruby would flop into space, helmetless, the heavy vitae in her body pulsing and pushing until she went unconscious, and it all ripped out of her veins at once. Ruby Rose, on her first mission, her divine christening, would die.

Ruby blew all the thrusters on her right side and pulsed up with her feet, forcing the rapier to slide into the hip of her Haema instead of the lethal center. Her huge mechanical body held the blade like a sheath, and she flipped her staff to—

“Hold still, you idiot!” the knight cried, its hand coming around to grab Ruby by the face— her Haema’s face. “There!”

“I've got you!” Ruby cried first.

“N— no, you have not!” the bloodcaller protested. “You are facing ze other vay! I have you by ze face!”

Ruby let her smirk drip into her voice. “You didn't notice? Look behind you.”

There was a shuffle, metal-on-metal as the knight’s body moved against Ruby’s, which felt confusingly like flesh-on-flesh. She felt the Haema, the bloodcaller within, jump in surprise as they caught sight of Ruby’s spear— with the long blade of its head flipped like a scythe’s— hugging the crook of their porcelain neck. “Huh,” they said, which sounded like a real person right next to Ruby’s real ear. “Aren't you something.”

“Now let me go, or you'll die first.”

The other bloodcaller snorted, their voice tight but humored. “Nein. I vill not.”

“And why not, huh?”

The fingers around Ruby’s face, their steel feeling like real flesh, warmed to burning. “Because I have still gotten you.”

Burning, something which Ruby couldn't feel. Pain, impossible when the Haema had her nerves cut dead, but it all surged right to her brain nonetheless. She felt the sword in her hip— the real sword in her real hip, lodged in flesh and bone and gushing blood— and she screamed. She wailed, thrashed, swinging her scythe like it would relieve the feeling that could never be felt, the impossibility that had become reality. She had lived her whole life knowing that the Haema’s pain could never be hers, but now her reality was sundered. She arched her spine— the Haema’s spine, her spine, the bodies were the same, the agony was the same, they were both howling.

The sword exited her bones and metal in a white flash of anguish, and Ruby found herself being jerked backward by a hand. She felt her ears coming alive with sound, hot and loud.

“Ruby!” Yang called from a mile away. “Ruby, are you— they got you! Oh god, Ruby, Ruby respond!”

Ruby gurgled, unable to find her voice. She felt her Haema moving, limp.

“You're alive! Thank God, they got you. Okay. Just… stay there, okay? Everything—”

Static cut her out again. Ruby gurgled again.

“Vhy are you making zat noise?” the bloodcaller asked, dragging her limp Haema by the neck. “You should not be avake.”

Vitae surged in her, a well of defiance rising in her gut, but nowhere else. “I… I'll kill you,” she promised. “I'll… do it.”

Ruby’s head lolled back, her eyes boring up at the other bloodcaller. It stared back. Ruby could feel their eyes— her eyes, she was certain— clashing against her own. The hand around her neck was real. The body carrying her was blood and meat and skin. The bloodcaller dragged her all the way to the carrier she'd failed to destroy. She chucked her into a hangar, one similar in all the important ways to the one she'd just left. Ruby’s metal body sighed limply against the floor.

Porcelain feet entered her vision, their shape like sabatons, and Ruby’s brain was convinced that they'd be warm to the touch. There was a sound. Then another sound, then more sounds. Then a hissing, a clanking, a sliding. Ruby’s split perception differentiated, one pair of her eyes seeing the world open into white light before her, the other pair staring listlessy at the big metal feet. She wasn't sure which was real.

There was a person inside her. The person, the bloodcaller, the girl like her, not a knight but a stretched-out thing of white that her red-tinted vision struggled to comprehend. Ruby’s eyes failed to focus, and any attempts to move her body only made the wrong limbs move, the ones that were on the outside. A voice slipped into Ruby’s ears, real, with a tongue and lips and air, but no less real than that knight’s voice had been.

“Vait, vat in ze fuck?” the white thing tugged at her umbilical cord— her transfusion cable. “Mein Gott, zis is so much vitae. How are you alive?”

Ruby blinked, pushing out saplike red tears. Speaking felt unfamiliar, like it was in the wrong throat— everything felt unfamiliar. Scrambling, panicking sensors felt just like her sense of smell and taste. She couldn't differentiate.

“Vat? Vat are you saying?”

The bright white head bent towards Ruby. She tried to force air over her throat, remembering manually what a voice was supposed to be. “Blood… crall… brall… brac… ler…”

The white thing shook its head. “Have you a concussion? I did not give you one.”

Ruby groaned, testing her vocal chords. “Blood… blood… call… er.”

White made no sign of acknowledgement and instead gripped Ruby's umbilical cord fully. “Let us get some normal blood in you, oder?”

Ruby tried to thrash. Her body didn't comply. Something was covering her vision, obscuring her view of the white thing, something caked thickly over her whole face— hair, thick and dark, crystallized to her skin by dried vitae. She was bleary. She was angry. Nobody would take her vitae away.

This point was carried across through weak movements of her arms and tiny, wordless burbles, which white-thing either didn't understand or didn't respect. Ruby vacillated, stuck between flopping in her chair or trying to flop out of it, but White did another series of indecipherable things with her hands, causing the worst thing ever to happen to Ruby:

All her vitae raced up her veins, dilating and burning her vessels as the thick stuff moved faster than it should, scraping Ruby’s insides and blasting up, leaking from her eyes as it bulged up her neck. At the same time, feeble blood flooded her carotid, piping traitorously from her own Haema, hot and cold and thin. It felt like all her parts were filling with tepid water. Her mind slowed to a crawl, her vision sharpened and dulled simultaneously, and her pain doubled.

White held her down. “Stop your thrashing!” it demanded, its accent turning ‘thrashing’ into ‘trashing’. “Vhy are you going crazy!”

Ruby kept thrashing. She couldn't not be thrashing until the white smear fumbled at the back of her neck, grabbed something it should not grav, and yanked.

Unfortunately, that seemed to work because the violent cleaving of Ruby's existence snapped everything into perfect human clarity. Her body became singular, unbalanced and nauseous, but the physical pain disappeared. It was replaced by mental pain, anguish of memory, the haunting of that impossible pain reeking deep in Ruby's bones. Her brain felt like a sinkhole— brought so high then wrenched so low— vacant and filling only with the upending memory of having her real hip getting pierced by a real sword.

It was worse than the actual pain. Somehow. Now she was sober, no high to ride from the vitae, no adrenaline, no nothing but her thoughts and the recollection of the rapier and her bones, free to be remembered in excruciating detail from all angles. A fundamental fact of her life had been shattered. Painfully.

Ruby's hearing cleared before her vision did.

“Okay, okay, you are okay? Ja?”

Ruby opened her eyes, only to realize they were already open. They took a little longer to calibrate.

When the image in front of her, still obscured by plastered black hair, finally came to clarity, Ruby scowled.

The smear of white, the bloodcaller who'd done this to her, was a girl. Probably. Her hair was long and white, hanging in an asymmetrical ribbon of a ponytail. Her features were pale, powder or snow, and pinched somewhat close to… frustration? Concern? With her bright, colorless brows drawn so tight, Ruby couldn't tell. Her lips were a pursed bow, pinker than lips should be, chin and nose downright cherubic to match.

Cute. The face was cute. Even if it was riven with sharp, surgical lines. A vertical seam split her nose from tip to bridge, vanishing somewhere under her hairline. Forked lines cupped the orbits of her eyes, dipping down her cheeks like tears, cresting over her jaw and continuing until they disappeared beneath her collar. More angular lines ringed each ear. Her face looked like it could just… open.

Ruby gulped. Without vitae, she felt weak. No indignant heat rose in her chest. She didn't spit ‘you secular waste!’ in her face. Her cheeks warmed. Her head lolled a little.

“Oh, you are not okay. You… how did you… nichts. Macht nichts.” She shook her head and looked out of the gaping cockpit of Ruby's Haema. “I vill be back mit Wasser— water. You need it. Er… stay put. Egal.”

Ruby watched her leave, and she wasn't sure how much time had passed before the bloodcaller came back. It felt like a blink, but Ruby felt tender, vulnerable loneliness like she'd been gone forever. She felt pathetic. She was pathetic. She should be throttling this lady, killing her, but she just sat there slumped, feeling (and probably looking) like a wounded animal. The girl, the bloodcaller, knelt before her. Ruby realized she was on her side. She didn't remember falling out of the seat.

The girl tilted Ruby’s chin up, holding a water bottle like it was a gun.

A voice rumbled up Ruby’s shredded throat— her own, probably. “Wher… sher…”

“Hm? Ja? Still avake?”

“Nnnn… naamm-uh. Nayum.” Ruby worked her jaw, getting feeling back in her mouth. “Name. Your name.”

“Schnee,” Schnee said. “Like I said.”

Ruby turned her nose up petulantly. “Nuh-uh. That's not a name.”

“Oh really? Then vhy don't you tell me your—”

“Ruby,” Ruby answered stupidly, giving intel away to the enemy like the concussed idiot she was.

“Zat is just as believable as mine."

“I'm a bloodcaller. So’re you.”

Schnee stared at her. Ruby stared back. “Weiss,” Weiss said eventually. “And I'm not… that.”

Ruby tried the name on her tongue. “Vice?”

The girl cringed. “Just…” she sighed with a lifetime of defeat. “Weiss. Mit einem ‘W’. Wuh.”

“Vuh?” Ruby tried, concussed. “Vuh-ice?"

“Nein. Weiss. Ooouuh-ice.”

“Ooouuh-ice.”

“Weiss.”

“Vice.”

“Double-u."

“Uu-ice?”

Weiss (Uu-ice, apparently) dragged a hand laboriously over her face. Ruby noticed surgical marks on that, too. “Ja. Sure. Uu-ice. Close enough.” She grabbed Ruby's jaw and tilted her face up towards the water bottle. “Now say ‘aaah’.”

Ruby (still concussed, still an idiot) obeyed, opening her mouth wide and even going ‘aaah’ for her mortal enemy, ready to accept her anomalous fluids. Weiss squeezed the bottle. Water blasted over Ruby’s face, which felt amazing, soaking her as the other bloodcaller focused the stream towards Ruby's dumb idiot waiting mouth. The water was heaven on her tongue, washing all the sweetness of vitae away.

The girl— the bloodcaller— Weiss— pulled the bottle back and, with undue care, brushed Ruby’s now-wet, un-crystallized hair out of her face. She stared, brows raising. Her eyes were impossibly blue.

“Scheiße,” she mumbled. “You are pretty.”

[catgirlredux]

>Entryway_memo.17.89 /// Inner City, 55-5073 /// use viewSourceL() to access coordinates

I found one. I really didn’t expect to get this lucky this early on, but I guess the Doors were shining on me today.

I almost missed it; the whole thing was overgrown, and the active muffling was still on so even my pad couldn’t pick it up. I only managed to spot it because the moss and ivy covering its head morphed to the iconic crest: an Equites-class, first-gen rig.

This is big - most current HAKs, your Hoplites and your Lucids and whatnot, exhaust their power core stupidly fast. But the older ones, especially in generation 1, were super inefficient, so to avoid wasting too much leaking energy they implemented a system to recycle power back into the core. This wreck could have fought in the War of Rooms fifty years ago and it would still have plenty of juice left. I reckon I’ll easily get at least 6000 NC for it, if not more.

Tomorrow I’m going back to crack the damn thing open and extract the core.

>Entryway_memo.17.90 /// Inner City, 55-5073 /// use viewSourceL() to access coordinates

I don’t know where to start. Shit got weird. I went back to the wreck with my cutters and started to chop away at the cockpit, same as usual.

When I removed the glass, I saw the first sign that something was wrong. Usually when a HAK this old wrecks, the pilot has already ejected. Without one, the nanofilament bioharness inside the HAK chassis loses its structure and crumbles into powder. That didn’t happen with this one - instead, the fibers were still fully intact and wrapped around each other in a giant fucking gooey knot or something.

Well I mean, I had to get through the operators seat to get to the core, so I started cutting away at the harness. But as soon as my knife hit the nanofibers, the whole thing hardened up.

This is where it got really weird though. My knife couldn’t do jack shit to the harness so my next thought was to use my torch and burn through it. But as I was getting it from my pack, I heard a fucking voice!

“Are you… human?” it asked. It sounded weak and muffled, but I tell you I fucking jumped. There weren’t supposed to be any other scavengers in this quadrant but you never know, right?

The voice asked again, “Are you human?” So I responded, said yeah.

Then the harness loosened up, turned all goopy again, and a hole started to appear right in the middle facing me. It spread wider and wider until the ball of nanofilaments pulled all the way back, and you know what was inside?

A fucking body. Shit, what a sight. It was buried in nanofilaments from the chest down, but its arms and head were free - at least mostly; its hands were still dunked in the nanofiber goop that remained of its harness.

It wore a black catsuit - probably a neural interface - that clearly used to be skintight. However, it was so emaciated that its clothes hung off its shoulders. Its head, completely shaved and exposed, looked almost like a skull, and worst of all, it was lined with thin nanotendrils that crawled across its skin and seemed to pierce right into its cheeks, temples, and eyes. A series of lights in the cockpit around its head flickered, showing clear signs of age.

It didn’t open its mouth but I heard the voice again: “Did they… win?”

I stuttered back, “Win what? Who? You mean the War of Rooms? No, no we won that!”

“The War of Rooms…? Is that… what it’s called now…” The person - I guess it must have been the HAK’s operator - the person seemed happy with this response.

“W-wait, so you really are from the War? B-but that was over 50 years ago, how- how old are you?”

The operator’s head tilted to the side and the fibers along its forehead pulsed slightly before it responded.

“This unit’s organic component was created… 72 years ago. This unit’s… synthetic component was created 65 years ago.”

72 years ago… that means the damn thing was only 19 when the War ended?? But what’s more, how the hell did it survive for half a century in these ruins?

At least it seemed willing to answer my questions. I started my recorder at this point: following is a transcript of our conversation.

>Entryway_load(KS_0598.rsi)

///KS/// How are you alive - what do you eat?

///EOR/// This unit is… not alive. (unintelligible, closest match >> ****thetic) component supercedes the prior processes of this unit’s organic component.

///KS/// Wait, you keep describing yourself as the “organic component” - what do you mean by that?

///EOR/// This unit was once two. After this unit’s last mission, this unit was unable to move from this location. Time allowed this unit’s organic component and synthetic component to achieve what you call terminus, but what would be better described as unity. This unit’s biological and synthetic components merged, and as such this unit no longer adheres to the biological standard or requirements for organic life as it is currently defined.

///KS/// So you and the HAK are, what, conjoined? Like a Chambered One or something?

///EOR/// (unintelligible, closest match >> laughter?) The Chambered Ones were misguided. At another time this unit might have considered them evil. They believed they could achieve unity through religious mannerisms and compromises. Their “Chambers” are weak imitations of this unit and this unit’s brethren. It is good that they are destroyed.

///KS/// Well, um. They’re not actually destroyed. We signed a peace treaty - they’re members of the Vaulted Rooms now, at least the ones who want to be.

<brief period of silence>

///EOR/// At another time this unit would have been incensed at this news. Now it seems irrelevant. This unit achieved terminus 37 years 7 months and 16 days ago. Since then, this unit has been content with itself.

///KS/// So… I’m guessing you don’t want me to report this wreck to the force?

///EOR/// This unit is no longer desired, nor does this unit desire to return. This unit requests that you do not speak of this unit.

///KS/// Okay okay, chill. I only found you because I thought I could salvage a power core or something.

///EOR/// This unit cannot provide its power core. However…

<Note: at this juncture the operator of the HAK pulled a hand free, grabbed its other arm, and proceeded to wrench it from its socket. There was no blood. A mass of nanofilaments quickly coated the stump.>

///KS/// WHAT THE FUCK?

///EOR/// If the black market still exists, this will sell for a substantial amount. Please take it and leave. And thank you for speaking with this unit.

///KS/// Wait, but I

///EOR/// Thank you for speaking with this unit. Now please, let this unit exist.

I left. I took the arm too. I don’t know what to do now…

[wainwrightjakobshammerlock]

What I think disability aids made by Borderlands gun manufacturers would be like. CW for mentions of systemic ableism and weight loss.

Atlas: Sleek and fancy, but also expensive as hell and prone to accidents. Sort of like IRL fancy prostheses or wheelchairs - they seem cool but are actually kinda sucky and very pricey. Don't expect the average Promethean to afford one. Though in this case, it's because they're often loaded with purely experimental tech that was probably shipped too early.

Hyperion: They make a few prosthetic and implant models and that's it. Pretty much all their stuff is aimed at their own employees trying to get "ahead" and not actual disabled people, so give up trying to find one fitting your particular needs. At least they're pretty fucking sturdy (but not against hacking). And no, they haven't thought of adopting those exoskeletons their engineers use for other needs.

Maliwan: Similar to above, but aimed at their general customer base instead. These guys are hipsters who try marrying form and function, and in many cases that means augs of some sort. I wouldn't really call them transhumanist though, that implies respecting bodily autonomy, human rights and not being ableist; these guys would sell arms with tracking chips and neural interfaces that fry your brainstem if you don't pay the subscription fee. And then tell you to lose weight with the new fad diet their marketing department cooked up. The hoverchairs and flavored chewelry are pretty great, tho.

Dahl: They wouldn't. They claim to be reliable but they're actually the biggest cowards in the Six Galaxies. If one of their soldiers loses a leg or something that's grounds for being (dis)honorably discharged. What exoskeletons or other devices they make are purely for war. Plus, the one Dahl employee we see having a prosthesis (Helena Pierce) doesn't seem to have a Dahl brand one. Aside from weird metal rank implants and funky gun-inspired fidget cubes they don't do much in this department.

Torgue: Expect everything to be painted like a Hot Wheels toy and probably explode somehow - either on you or on your enemies. All the mobility aids have jets attached for either smacking ableists with great force or speeding through town. I think Torgue himself wears a hearing aid (from all the explosions) and it looks like a fucking microphone with car parts on it, complete with exhaust.

Jakobs: Steampunk baybeee!!! Of course, the subgenre of said steampunk depends on the quality of the aid. The most basic ones are IRL Victorian era metal arms: flat, spiky, inhuman, but still quite ornate. The ones custom-tooled for execs and their families (looking at you, Alistair Hammerlock) are more "sleek" steampunk, with fine chassis of signature Jakobs brass and filigree engravings. They also make genuine wood canes with organic rubber grips that will outlive you if you take proper care of them... which is definitely shown in their price tags. The Jakobs stim toy line is half weird gear contraptions, half competition with Dahl's fidget cubes.

Vladof: Heavy, clunky, dieselpunk style. But damn if they aren't effective. A standard Vladof boostchair could break through a wall and be completely unharmed. A Vladof AAC device looks like an electron tube supercomputer that you have to haul around in a cart. That's all I really have to say here.

Tediore: I have no idea.

[whumpy-daydreams]

Capture the flag

Writing Masterlist

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apologies this got so long and its not even that whumpy?? anyway have a sci fi action sequence

CW: guns, military whump

327 missed their team. They wondered what they were doing, how training was going, whether they missed them too. They wondered if 305 would be angry.

But the month was almost up. Only two days before they reunited with their team. First they had to get through two days of evaluation, and the first was with Whumper.

327 had no idea what to expect as they were escorted from their cell. They weren't led to the training rooms though, instead heading to the armoury, Whumper standing with crossed arms in the doorway. 327 saluted, keeping their eyes forward.

"For your combat evaluation you will be assisting with Company 4's defence training. You have three hours to retrieve the flag in sector seven and return to the extraction point. Any questions?"

327 knew Company 4. They still had 3 years of training left before getting deployed, though that didn't mean they were harmless. Like 327 they had been trained since birth, moulded into perfect weapons.

"Am I to engage with Company 4, sir?"

"What the fuck do you think?" Whumper stepped aside. "Suit up."

327 didn't waste time getting into their armour. It felt comforting to be inside the padded gel suit again, to know there was a layer of metal between them and the world. As they slipped their helmet on the neural interface fired up, the visual display merging seamlessly with their vision.

_

A sea of jungle spread out below them. 327 stood at the edge of the open jet door, waiting for the order to jump. They were glad Whumper had chosen this location - it was a place they'd trained in many times before.

"Preparing to drop in three... two..."

327 stepped off the jet. Arms tight to their sides they plummeted towards the canopy top, numbers dropping at the edge of their vision as the suit calculated the time to impact.

The armour was designed to absorb the force as 327 hit the earth. They rolled, retrieving their rifle, scanning the trees for any heat signatures.

All they had to do was think and a translucent map of the area was displayed, overlaying the jungle around them. Three miles north-east. 327 doubted any of Company 4 would spread so far away from the site they were protecting.

Unless... They activated their camouflage, the surface of their black armour rippling to refract light instead of absorb it. It wasn't perfect, but it would help.

327 set off through the jungle. It didn't take long before they were close to where the flag should be.

But there were still no heat signatures. No signs of movement. No signs of anything in the forest. 327 checked the map again. Yep, they were definitely in sector seven. So where was Company 4?

They made sure to scan the area thoroughly, on guard for ambushes. There was nothing there though.

"Colonel Whumper this is 327 in sector seven. No sign of Company 4 or the target, sir. Over."

327 waited for a response. "This is 327 requesting situation update. Over." Their comms were silent, not even static to suggest interference. 327 was on their own.

Maybe this was part of their evaluation. Think. What would you do if you were hiding a flag? The answer was painfully obvious. They weren't protecting a location, they were protecting an object. So Company 4 had left sector seven.

It was just a question of which direction they'd gone in. 327 scanned the ground. They didn't know how many people weapons they were trying to find, but they would have left signs. It didn't take long to figure it out.

327 moved north. Company 4 hadn't left much to show their path, but that didn't matter. They'd made enough of a dent in the forest for them to follow.

_

Finally there was a flash of movement. The heat signatures were low - the suits shielded a lot of radiant heat - but it wasn't hard to miss three figures in black armour in a sea of green.

327 crouched down, silently ordering their armour to engage cooling mechanisms. It could only maintain it for an hour before draining the power, but when you were outnumbered... well, it was worth it.

Attacking now wasn't the right choice. 327 was made for stealth, designed to infiltrate behind enemy lines or eliminate targets from a distance. The three figures weren't heading anywhere. 327 recognised the stance, the bored alertness of being on guard.

As silently as possible they crept to the left, hidden in the undergrowth as they went around the first set of guards. A voice in their ear almost startled them.

"327, this is Colonel Whumper requesting status update. Over."

Why now? "Colonel, this is 327. I've located Company 4, preparing to advance. Over," they whispered, quickly setting the suit's settings to silent.

"Understood. Over." 327 resisted the urge to grit their teeth, turning their attention back to the mission. Enhance heat signatures, they commanded the neural interface.

Glowing yellow shapes brightened, revealing fifteen- no, twenty - people scattered through the jungle ahead of them. From the way they moved, 327 could guess the flag was at the centre of the concentric circles they made.

327 got as close as they could before opening fire. Four people were on the ground before a single hit landed on 327. The beam of a stun laser glanced off their electromagnetic shield as 327 sprinted, using the trees for cover as much as the could.

Rays of light shot through the jungle, the quiet ambience turning into a symphony of energy as Company 4 began to group together.

Their suit could take ten full hits before the shielding failed, and another five before it would malfunction completely - a simulation of mortal injury.

327 changed tactics. Using the undergrowth as cover they changed position constantly, able to down another five people before taking a full hit. The biometric display flashed orange.

That wasn't right. It was registering three hits, not one. 327 didn't have time for this. They'd spent almost an hour finding the company - they'd have to be quick if they wanted to get to the extraction point on time.

From their position they picked off one person after another, keeping an eye out for any sign of the flag they were supposed to be retrieving. Finally they saw it: a piece of black fabric wrapped onto the arm of one of the weapons.

327 ran. Orange flashed again, another warning that their shields were compromised. It didn't matter.

They dropped the people flanking the flag-bearer and tackled them to the ground, straddling their chest as they grabbed their pistol. As 327 neutralised the flag-bearer, their shields went down.

It was time to get out. 327 sprinted west, their map overlaying the trees as they headed for the extraction point. They didn't need heat signatures to know there were six people on their tail.

A flash of light went overhead as 327 ducked just in time to avoid a stun ray. They rolled, taking position behind a tree. Light filled the air again as they went up against six opponents, keeping one eye on the charge left in their weapons as the felled two people.

Suddenly it occurred to them that Whumper had tampered with their equipment. The realisation was unwelcome but not unsurprising. 327 pulled back as a stun ray zoomed dangerously close to their head.

There were still three people left when their weapons ran out. If 327 wanted to reach the extraction point without 'dying' they needed to eliminate the others.

When another shot hit them, the visual display shot red.

But 327 was already there, swinging out a leg to down the person on the right, fist knocking another's head back. They grabbed a handgun from the first, quickly shooting three rays at their helmet, not bothering to watch as their armour disabled, rendering them motionless on the ground. Two more to go.

Red spilled across their vision again. One more hit and 327 would fail their evaluation. They spun, each shot hitting its mark as their target fell prone.

The visual display shuddered as a powerful kick to the stomach sent 327 to the ground. Their gun fell to the side, their opponent scrambling to get to their own. 327 got there first.

Luck was on their side. The last member of Company 4 fell to the ground with only one shot.

327 clambered to their feet, fallen opponents scattered around the jungle floor. One hour to get back to the extraction point. Tying the flag to their arm, 327 started running.

_

They could see the jet through the trees, positioned in a clearing, already prepared to take off. Whumper was waiting by the door, focused on his watch as 327 halted in front of him, saluting. Two minutes. Just two more minutes and they would have failed.

"The flag." Whumper held out a hand. 327 handed it over. "Cutting it close. Get on."

It was as much praise as they could hope for.

[poisonousmoonfics]

Chapter II: Sombra witch

tw: mentions of alcohol

As the Quinjet touched down on the landing pad atop the Avengers Tower, the team emerged, weary but victorious, from their latest mission. Lola stood waiting at the entrance, flanked by Agent Hill, her eyes bright with anticipation as she greeted the returning heroes.

"Welcome back, Avengers," Lola said with a warm smile, her voice tinged with relief. "How did the mission go?"

“How do you think?,” Clint manages to reply sarcastically while being taken by Dr. Cho to have his wounds tended to.

“I’ll pray for you Clint!,” Lola shouts jokingly.

Steve, his suit slightly scuffed from battle, stepped forward, his expression grave. “Mission was a success," he replied. "We managed to retrieve Loki's scepter from the HYDRA base in Sokovia.” Thor, his hammer slung across his back, nodded in agreement.

“What about Strucker?,” the girl questioned.

"Strucker's in NATO custody," Agent Maria Hill said, approaching the team.

"And like you realized, we ran into some trouble with two enhanced individuals," she said, her voice tight with frustration.

At the mention of the word ‘enhanced', Lola's curiosity was piqued. “Do you have any information abut them?" she asked, her eyes widening with interest.

Agent Hill stepped forward once again, a tablet in hand, and started to read from the files. “Wanda and Pietro Maximoff,” she began, her voice steady. “Twins. Orphaned at ten when a shell collapsed their apartment building. Sokovia's had a rough history."

“Their abilities?”, questions Steve with arms crossed.

"He's got increased metabolism and improved thermal homeostasis. Her thing is neural electric interfacing, telekinesis, mental manipulation.”, Agent Hill explained the twins’ powers. Lola listened intently. She glanced at Steve who had a clueless expression at the agent’s words.

"He's fast and she's weird.”, Lola rephrases Hill’s statement so he can understand. He nods intrigued.

As Agent Hill continued to recount the twins' origins and abilities, Lola listened intently, her mind whirling with questions. These new adversaries presented a formidable challenge for the Avengers, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension at the thought of facing them in battle.

“They're probably going to show up again, guys.”, Lola points out, a concerned sight escaping her lips.

"Agreed. File says they volunteered for Strucker's experiments. It's nuts.”,

"Yes, what madman would voluntarily surrender himself to an unknown power to avenge his family?”, Lola playfully mentions.

"Right. And what kind of monster would let a German scientist experiment on them to protect their country?”, adds Steve.

Agent Hill rolls her eyes. “Damn, I’m sorry. Didn't mean to offend everyone.”

“All good,” Steve says. “And Lola is right. We need to keep an eye on them."

As Agent Hill continued to recount the twins’ files and other details of the previous mission, to Steve and Natasha, Lola could accept that this new adversaries presented a formidable challenge for the team, and she couldn't help but feel a twinge of apprehension at the thought of the possibility facing them in battle. The twins abilities seemed incredibly volatile.

Nonetheless she was curious and strangely felt a sense of empathy for them both. Maybe it was because they were young like her. Perhaps she saw resemblance in the twins initial motives to acquire more power; loss, pain and the sense of justice. She took a look at the pictures of the Maximoff's shown on the projection of Hill’s tablet. Again, feeling drawn to something about the enhanced.

Lola suddenly didn’t feel the presence of her follow teammates she she snapped out her thoughts and teleported to the lab. She emerged in the room from the shadows making Bruce slightly jump from the scare.

“For fucks sake, Lola!”, cusses the doctor’s as he composes himself.

The girl laughs at him but directs an apologetic look. “Sorry. How’s he doing?", she asks referring to Clint.

"Oh, unfortunately, he's still Barton.”, Tony jokes.

Lola covers her mouth in fake shock. “That's terrible!”, she replies teasing. Clint rolls his eyes at his teammates comments.

“He's fine. He's just thirsty.”, tells the billionaire without concern. “Alright. Look alive, JARVIS. It's play time. We've only got a couple days with this joystick so let's make the most of it. Update me on the structural and compositional analysis.”, Tony commands while walking over to the computers.

JARVIS begins his task, then proceeds to explain the results of his research. “The scepter is alien. The jewel appears to be a protective housing for something inside. Something powerful. Like a computer. I believe I'm deciphering code.” Tony continues to work along the AI and Lola walks closer to Dr. Cho as she tends to Clint’s wounds.

“You sure he's going to be okay? Pretending to need this guy really brings the team together.”, the black-haired girl questions with slight concern.

“There's no possibility of deterioration. The nano-molecular functionality is instantaneous. His cells don't know they're bonding with simulacrum.”, clarifies the woman.

“She's creating tissue.”, Bruce tells Lola, she nods understandingly.

“I'm gonna be made of plastic.”, Clint reproaches.

Dr. Cho contradicts him. “You'll be made of you, Mr. Barton. Your own girlfriend won't be able to tell the difference.”

“Well, I don't have a girlfriend.”, he answers.

Lola laughs. “That can't any of us fix.” The other three scientists agree with her mocking Clint.

“This is the next thing, Tony.”, says Cho referring to the new technology. “Your clunky metal suits are going to be left in the dust.”

“Well, that is exactly the plan.”, he agrees. “And Helen, I expect to see you at the party on Saturday.”

“Unlike you, I don't have a lot of time for parties.”, the woman tells him responsibly.

Lola slightly nudges the doctor. “Come on Helen, it will be fun!”, she says trying to convince her.

Cho hesitates a moment before asking: “Will Thor be there?”

“Oh, he will.”, Lola confirms with certainty.

Bruce notices Tony checking some analysis and plans on the computer, so he approaches the man. “What's the matter?” he asks.

“Well, the scepter. You see, we were wondering how Strucker got so inventive.”, Tony begins to narrate. "So, I've been analyzing the gem inside-- You may recognize,” he brings up a 3D image of Jarvis's consciousness.

“Jarvis...”, Bruce says.

Tony nods and then he brings up another 3D image of what’s inside the scepter “Meet the competition.”

Bruce eyes widened and an amazed expression was written al over his face. “It's beautiful!”, he exclaims. Lola walks up to them, also with an astonished expression.

"It looks like it's thinking. I mean this could be a... it's not a human mind, it...”, Bruce tries to form words but his mind was erratic. “I mean, look at this! They're like neurons firing.”, he exclaims exited.

Tony continues to explain. “Down in Strucker's lab I saw some fairly advanced robotics work. I gotta guess he was knocking on a very particular door.”

“Artificial intelligence.”, Bruce catches up to Tony’s superstition.

"This could be it, Bruce. This could be the key to creating Ultron.”, the billionaire tells thrilled.

Lola snaps out of her trance. She looks up at him with a raised brow “I thought Ultron was a fantasy, Tony.”

The man shakes his head and replies “Yesterday it was. If we can harness this power, apply it to my Iron Legion protocol.”

“That's a mad-sized if.”, she comments concerned about Tony’s ambition

“Our job is ‘if’.”, he justifies. “What if next time aliens roll up to the club, and they will, they couldn't get past the bouncer?”

“The only people threatening the planet would be people?”, Bruce ask not aware of being sure of what Tony is implying.

“I want to apply this to the Ultron program. But JARVIS can't download a data schematic this dense. We can only do it while we have the scepter here, that's three days, give me three days.”, Tony pleads.

Bruce crosses his arm and gives him a stern look. “So you're going for artificial intelligence and you don't want to tell the rest of the team.”

“Right. That's right, you know why, because we don't have time for a city hall debate. I don't want to hear the "man was not meant to meddle" medley.”, Tony says. “I see a suit of armor around the world.”

Lola shakes her head in disappointment at Tonys words. “The more you try to justify your experiment, the more I want to call Steve to organize one of his boring team meetings.”, she threatens.

Bruce lets up a deep sigh. “She right. Sounds like a cold world, Tony.”, he tries to convince him to forget his plan.

“I've seen colder. This one, this very vulnerable blue one? It needs Ultron.” Tony answers firmly. “Peace in our time.”

The following Saturday, Avengers Tower buzzed with laughter and conversation as the team and their friends enjoyed a rare moment of relaxation. Lola stood by the window, watching the city lights twinkle below. She turned around, getting a glimpse of the team having fun. Her mind struck peace all over her body, and her lips formed a warm smile. She marveled at how different her life had become since joining the team and how she could never have imagined finding a new family.

In the middle of the room, Rhodey animatedly recounted one of his War Machine adventures. “Well, you know, the suit can take the weight, right? So, I take the tank, fly it right up to the General’s palace, drop it at his feet, and I’m like, ‘Boom! You looking for this?’” Rhodes paused, waiting for the reaction. Tony and Thor just stared at him blankly. “Boom! Are you looking… Why do I even talk to you guys? Everywhere else, that story kills.”

“That’s the whole story?” Thor asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s a War Machine story,” Rhodey answered proudly.

“Well, it’s very good then,” Thor said, laughing heartily. “It’s impressive.”

Lola joined them, chuckling softly. “Quality save,” she replied to Thor. Rhodey rolled his eyes.

Maria Hill also joined them. “So, no Pepper? She’s not coming? What about Jane?”

Both men shook their heads in denial.

"Where are the ladies, gentlemen?” Maria teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Miss Potts has a company to run,” Tony explained, a touch of pride in his voice.

Thor nodded. “Yes, I’m not even sure what country Jane’s in. Her work on the convergence has made her the world’s foremost astronomer,” he bragged.

“And the company that Pepper runs is the largest tech conglomerate on Earth. It’s exciting,” Tony added, a grin spreading across his face.

“There’s even talk of Jane getting a... um, uh...” Thor struggled to remember.

“Nobel Prize, Thor,” Lola helped him.

“Yeah! A Nobel Prize,” Thor said proudly.

“Yeah, they must be busy because they’d hate missing you guys get together,” Maria mock coughed. “Testosterone! Oh, excuse me.”

Rhodes chuckled. “Want a lozenge?”

Maria nodded, walking away with Rhodes.

“What about you, Lady Lola?” Thor asked. “No special gentleman in your life?” the girl shifted uncomfortably.

She had zero dating experience. She hadn’t even had a crush in her 22 years. She felt like a complete virgin in every sense of the word. But how could people blame her? She didn’t care about romantic relationships when she was a kid and then was held captive for the rest of her teenage years. The closest to a committed relationship she’d ever was with the scientists in the HYDRA labs. Besides, now that she was older, she never cared about boyfriends either, and finding a balance between love and saving people was something she never thought about. And she’d probably scare the first man who ever decided to approach her anyway, so she was kind of a lost case in that area.

“What? No, no...” she murmured nervously. “I’ve never dated anyone before.” Thor and Tony blinked in genuine surprise. The three didn’t speak for a few moments, making Lola want to die of embarrassment.

Tony finally broke the silence. “You’re still too young for boyfriends anyway.” She rolled her eyes, annoyed.

“It’s not because I don’t have options!” Thor and Tony raised their eyebrows doubtfully. Lola’s cheeks turned red as she tried to justify her loneliness awkwardly. “No, no, no... It’s mainly because of work. Yup. You guys know, being an Avenger is time-consuming. So yeah, no boyfriend.”

“Mhm, I see. None of them must be worthy!” Thor exclaimed with disappointment.

“I agree with Goldilocks. And don’t worry, kid. You’re not missing out on anything. Men suck!” Tony exclaimed, and Thor nodded in confirmation. Lola chuckled at the protectiveness of her teammates and agreed.

At the bar, Natasha was pouring a drink when Bruce approached, his usual awkwardness softened by the friendly atmosphere. They started to chat, and Lola noticed Natasha’s flirting. She always saw the tension between the two heroes. But Lola was sure that neither of them acted on their feelings either out of professionalism, fear of rejection, or because they feared hurting each other.

After a few minutes of conversation, Natasha walked away, and Lola gravitated towards her. “It’s nice,” she commented, nodding towards Bruce.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Natasha raised an eyebrow teasingly.

“You and Bruce,” Lola insisted.

“Work comes first,” Natasha mentioned firmly but with a sad smile creeping on her face.

“I think it’s okay. You guys aren't breaking any laws,” Lola showed her support. “Like me, you’re not the most... open person in the world. But with him, you seem very relaxed,” she mentioned genuinely, happy for her friend.

“You know I like to flirt,” the spy replied nonchalantly.

“I’ve seen you flirt, Nat. This isn’t just that.” Lola paused. “Look, I just think you should talk things out. You don’t want to wait till it’s too late. You both deserve love,” she suggested calmly.

“We’ll see,” the spy said. “You give good relationship advice for someone who hasn’t even given her first kiss."

Lola glares at Natasha offended. “What’s up with you guys reminding me that I’m single as fuck?” she reproached walking off. Natasha just laughed at the girl.

Later, as the party wound down, only the Avengers, Dr. Cho, Maria Hill, and Lola remained. Thor’s hammer sat on the table between them.

“But it’s a trick!” Clint insisted, pointing at the hammer.

“Oh, no. It’s much more than that,” Thor replied.

“Uh, ‘Whosoever be he worthy shall have the power!’ Whatever man! It’s a trick.”, mocked the archer. 

“Well please, be my guest,” Thor said, gesturing to the hammer.

Tony grinned. “Come on.”

“Really?” Clint asked, getting up.

“Oh, this is gonna be beautiful,” Lola said, settling in for the show.

“Clint, you’ve had a tough week, we won’t hold it against you if you can’t get it up,” Tony joked, making the others laugh.

“You know I’ve seen this before, right?” Clint said, grabbing Thor’s hammer and failing to lift it. “I still don’t know how you do it.”

“Smell the silent judgment?” Tony teased.

“Please, Stark, by all means,” Clint retorted.

Tony got up. “Never one to shrink from an honest challenge.” Tony said, grasping the hammer. “It’s physics,” Tony said, grasping the hammer. “So, if I lift it, I... I then rule Asgard?” Tony asked.

“Yes, of course,” Thor replied.

“I will be re-instituting Prima Nocta,” Tony quipped, trying to lift the hammer but failing. “I’ll be right back.” Wearing his armored hand, he tried again and failed.

Both Tony and Rhodey then tried together, each wearing their armored hands.

“Are you even pulling?” Tony asked.

“Are you on my team?” Rhodes countered.

“Alright, let’s go!” they both pulled as hard as they could but to no avail.

Bruce then tried, pretending to change into the Hulk and roaring, causing everyone to look at him warily or grin.

“Widow?” Tony asked Natasha.

“Oh, no, no. That’s not a question I need answered,” she replied.

“Lady Sombra*?”, Thor asked Lola. 

“I'll just lift the scythe,” Lola passed the challenge.

“All deference to the man who wouldn’t be king, but it’s rigged,” Tony said.

“You bet your ass,” Clint agreed.

“Steve, he said a bad language word,” Maria teased.

“Did you tell everyone about that?” Steve asked Tony.

“The handle’s imprinted, right? Like a security code. ‘Whosoever is carrying Thor’s fingerprints’ is, I think, the literal translation?”

“Yes, well that’s, uh, that’s a very, very interesting theory. I have a simpler one,” Thor said, getting up and lifting his hammer easily. “You’re all not worthy.” There was a chorus of disagreement from the others.

A loud screeching noise, like microphone feedback, suddenly filled the room. Everyone covered their ears. As the noise faded, Tony pulled out his device. One of the Iron Legion suits, heavily damaged and housing Ultron’s consciousness, stumbled into the room.

“Worthy... No, how could you be worthy? You’re all killers,” Ultron said, his voice a haunting mix of distortion and clarity.

“Stark,” Steve called, alerting Tony.

“JARVIS,” Tony called, tapping his device in vain.

“I’m sorry, I was asleep. Or... I was a-dream?” Ultron continued, his voice dripping with malice.

“Reboot, Legionnaire OS, we got a buggy suit,” Tony said, frustration seeping into his tone.

“There was a terrible noise... and I was tangled in... in... strings. Had to kill the other guy. He was a good guy,” Ultron said, his head jerking unnaturally.

“You killed someone?” Lola asked with a stern voice. Although she was firm in front of the android, inside she was confused. How could she not sense the death of someone in the building?

“Wouldn’t have been my first call. But, down in the real world we’re faced with ugly choices.”

“Who sent you?” Thor demanded, his eyes narrowing.

Ultron replayed a recording of Tony’s voice: “I see a suit of armor around the world.”

“Ultron...” Bruce says, stepping forward.

“In the flesh. Or, no, not yet. Not this... chrysalis. But I’m ready. I’m on a mission.”

“What mission?” Natasha asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Peace in our time,” Ultron declared.

Abruptly the walls exploded, and several Iron Legion bots barged into the room. They began attacking the team, who all went on the defensive. Lola, startled by the sudden chaos, quickly assessed the situation, and joined the fray.

Bruce climbed over the bar to avoid fire from the bots. Natasha grabbed him and dragged him down, and he landed on top of her.

“Sorry!” Bruce said, his face inches from hers.

“Don’t turn green!” Natasha warned, her voice urgent.

“I won’t!” Bruce replied, his breath quickening.

The Avengers continued fighting the bots. Lola, using her agility and abilities, dodged the bot's attack and destroyed them. 

One of the Iron Legion bots lunged at Steve, who deftly dodged and slammed his shield into it, causing it to short-circuit and collapse. “We need to contain them!” he shouted, directing the team.

Thor swung his hammer, sending bots flying in all directions. “They’re endless!” he roared. 

Lola emerged from the shadows beside him. “Don’t worry. So is death,” she mentioned and continued to help him destroy the robots.

Tony, still tapping furiously on his device, growled in frustration. “JARVIS, do you copy? JARVIS!”

Ultron, amidst the chaos, laughed maniacally. “This is the end, the end of the path I started us on.”

“Everything has an end,” Lola shot back, as she ripped a bot from the inside with her powers. Seeing an opportunity, she shouted, “Tony, if we can hack into one of them, we might be able to shut them all down!”

Tony nodded, his eyes sharp. “Rhodey, cover me!” He sprinted toward a fallen bot, dodging blasts, and debris.

Rhodey, back in action, provided cover fire, his War Machine suit roaring to life. “On it!”

As Tony worked, Ultron’s voice echoed. “I know it is dramatic. I'm sorry, I know you mean well! You just didn't think it through. You want to protect the world, but you don't want it to change. How is humanity saved if it's not allowed to...evolve?”, The android picks up one of the dismembered Iron Legion bots. "With these? These puppets?” he crushes the Iron Legion bot's head. “There's only one path to peace: The Avengers' extinction.”

“Shut up party pooper!”, Thor exclaimed resented. He gets flustered and throws his hammer, shattering Ultron’s body. 

As the dust settled, Lola looked around at her teammates. They were bruised and battered, no one was really prepared for such a fight. 

“Well, that was unexpected.”, Tony chimed in. 

"Sometimes I forget it's always like this with you, guys.”, Lola said as she dusted off her dress. 

*sombra (Spanish) = shadow

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

Making this its own post for organizational porpoises. Based on this sci-fi au idea.

Beatrice watched the massive metal exo-suit clomp toward her across the hangar floor.  Each step was accompanied by a heavy thud and a squeak, courtesy of residual moisture left over from the spray-down in the disinfectant chamber.

When the girl inside the suit noticed her standing there, one of its thickly plated arms rose in a clumsy but enthusiastic wave, nearly knocking over a courier bot in the process.

"Hey, Bea!  Did you see us out there?"  The exo-suit's voice modulator added a mechanical pitch shift to the words, but it did nothing to disguise their exuberance.

"I did," she said, smiling despite herself.  "Your team did well redirecting that asteroid.  Captain Superion will be pleased."

The clomping, clanging legs finally came to a stop in front of her.  "But did you see us?" Ava asked again.  "How cool we were?  We were definitely the most badass team out there.  Cam and I were strapping those charges down like it was our job!"

"It was your job," Beatrice points out, earning a heavily digitized huff.

"You know what I mean!  And Lilith was a real smooth operator.  She was bouncing from hotspot to hotspot so quickly, you'd think she was trying to set a record…  Don't tell her I said that though.  She doesn’t need more fuel for her ego."

"My lips are sealed," Beatrice said, grinning.  "Are you ready to get out?"

"If you're ready to catch me!"

Her smile reversed itself in less than a second.  "Ava, I swear, if you try to dump yourself out of that suit—"

"Huh?  What's that, Bea?" Ava cut her off gleefully.  "Couldn't hear you over the disengage protocol prompt.  Here I go!"

"Ava, no!"  Beatrice rushed forward as the front of the suit opened up, the armored plates pulling away to reveal its interior.  It took her one second too long to notice the giggling coming from the pilot still secured in her harness, but she couldn’t avoid noticing the 1000 terra-watt smile on her face.  "Ava…"

"You should've seen your face!"  The younger girl crowed with delight.  "Bea, you moved so fast!  You should be the one hopping around on asteroids!"

Beatrice’s shoulders slumped with newfound mental exhaustion.  "I couldn't possibly pick a job more stressful than my current one," she grumbled, scowling when Ava just continued to laugh.  "I will leave you in there," she threatened, though it was a toothless one.

"No, you won't," Ava countered easily.  "If you do, I'll just whine until you come back out of sheer annoyance."

"Your resemblance to Jonesy grows more unnerving by the day."

Ava simply smirked.  "Are you saying I'm as cute as a kitten, Bea?"

"You're certainly as lazy," Beatrice responded, sidestepping that comment with considerably more ease than she would have six months ago.

Ava pouted.  "Bea, I give you the perfect opening to call me cute and that's what you do with it?  You dork."

Bea rolled her eyes.  "I'm sure you'll give me other opportunities.  Are you ready to get out or not?"

Ava huffed.  "Yeah, I guess.  This thing is getting kinda warm."  She shut her eyes momentarily to command the safety harnesses to unlock before giving the final disengage order to the suit's neural interface.  Beatrice positioned herself strategically to brace her body against Ava's when she started to slump out.  Protocol called for at least two technicians to help any mobility-impaired pilots out of their exo-suit, but Ava was small enough that Beatrice had no trouble maneuvering her by herself.  She carefully pivoted around while keeping Ava’s upper body secure in her arms, letting the pilot rest her chin on her shoulder as they moved.

The wheelchair waited just behind them, arm and foot rests pulled to the side in anticipation of its occupant.  Beatrice lowered her onto the seat and helped her rest against the cushioned back.  The chair, as with every product developed by the Arq-Tech Corporation, was designed to be ergonomically sound.  It provided complete back and limb support with adjustable settings, and its neural interface had a sensor to detect the presence of its user if they couldn’t move their hands to put it on manually.  Beatrice watched the interface band close around Ava’s head and light up as it synced with her brain's electrical activity.

"Thanks, Bea!" Ava said brightly, directing her chair to spin her in a little circle.  "Another mission knocked out of the star system!  Now I'm starving!  When do you clock out?"

"As soon as the last of the teams make it back, I'll be finished."  Beatrice’s eyes traced over the side of Ava’s chair, catching on the barest bit of a sticker tucked under the girl’s hand.  The sticker, one of an entire set plastered across the device, depicted a cartoon dog whose name Beatrice could not remember no matter how many times Ava told her.  The young pilot loved nothing so much as a new decoration for her wheelchair.  Beatrice’s favorite, however, was not one Ava had chosen, but one that Mary snuck onto the back of the device one night in the canteen.  It was a sign that read “If found, return to Squad Oscar Charlie Sierra”, accompanied by a drawing of a fluffy, grease-covered puppy with big, sad eyes laying underneath the words.  It had been placed over a month ago, and Beatrice was fairly certain Ava still didn’t know it was there.

“Cool!  I still have to shower, but then I’ll see you at dinner?”  Her hopeful smile was a merciless, precision-targeted attack against Beatrice’s mental fortitude.  Captain Superion and the United Earth Fleet could only dream of missile technology so dangerously effective.

“Of course, Ava,” she said gently.  “Save me a seat.”

“You bet!”  With another excited spin of her chair, Ava beamed at Beatrice in farewell before racing down the thoroughfare as fast as the wheels could carry her.  Only once she disappeared through the hangar bay doors did Beatrice feel like her heart could finally settle.

[moosemonstrous]

Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU

I was taking notes while rewatching the movie bc why not. Extremely random thoughts below:

Wanda and Pietro Maximoff pilot Cherno Alpha

Kaijiu are demons

The Charger suffered tons of corruption damage before Beto died and Eli went off the rails?

Amadeus would 100% try to drift with his only access to a corrupted tissue are you kidding me sorry Robbie as soon as he gets a wind of this he's plugging into your brain

Stark (rokhal's idea for the other scientist accepted as canon here) is much more hell yeah than Herman but still. Hell doesn't exist what next does an angelic host come down to help with the fight? Wait what do you mean a guy was found frozen in the ice after the last attack

Charlie Hunnam has Strong Johnny Blaze vibes

This AU would obvs run on a different timeline and I want a PR person (Kate Bishop?) to try and make Robbie into a celebrity because come on. He's young enough to appeal to all demographics without it being weird and cleans up well enough if you can get him to stop scowling for two seconds.

Hannibal Chau is just himself no notes. Although... No, Deadpool couldn't run a business if his life depended on it.

Ivanov has a Deal with Chau to give him access to demon remains.

Mako's backstory explains what happened to Juliana after she fled with the boys

Johnny was the pilot who saved Robbie and Gabe? Only Roxanne died in that fight and he left the program rather than sticking around to adopt random orphans.

I'm just really into the idea that one of the rangers getting damaged/killed is pretty typical, but once you get the hang of a drift it's easier to do it with someone else. So you always have a few potential candidates in your back pocket, and some pretty odd pilot mixes. They all need so much therapy.

Demons learn to knock out the jaegers' circuits? The Charger doesn't run on nuclear, but it sure seems to run anyway. With a whole lot of fire coming from the reactor. Stark has kittens about it this is not how physics work.

Why isn't Reyes burnt to a crisp? Amadeus put the neural interface down right now or so help him

Robbie has the worst rates of colateral property damage out of any ranger. He reckons 'would it be better if I murdered civilians' won't go well as an excuse.

The Charger seems to have an infinite arsenal of melee weapons that just. Form. Again, Stark has kittens about it.

I completely forgot about the Kaiju baby oh my god

Seriously Guillermo would make such a good Ghost Rider movie can you imagine

Eli's immediate goal would be to kill Ivanov, but what happens after that? Going through the Breach to shake down his patron seems like a good idea right. And Roberto is down! For the wrong reasons but he'll come around.

[logicalarachnid]

Spider-Man (2018) Aftermath Otto vs Spidey Boss-Battle Ramble

Just finished playing Spider-Man (2018) and that final Peter & Otto scene RUINED me. I expected to lose it when Aunt May would die, bcs they were setting it up to end like that, but gosh, I did not expect that heartbreaking scene between mentor and student.

To me, that final scene between them was such a good depiction of someone like Otto who is mentally unstable/ill, and it isn't their fault, but they lose their way and lash out. And Peter, who is like a carer, someone close to that hurt person, who loves them, and wants to help, but they can't anymore.

It's like Peter says to Otto when he tells him that he can't save him. "I guess you'll have to save yourself." It's the motions that they go through during the conversation, how it shifts because of how Peter doesn't respond the way Otto wants/hopes. The way Otto suffers, we can understand it and partially sympathise, and we are able to do this purely because of Peter's perspective, bcs of the journey we go through with him up to that point. Peter loves Otto, and it hurts to hear him talk the way he does. It hurts him to know about the terrible things Otto did that has hurt all of NYC...all of it is far from who he knew the man to be before.

"You were everything I wanted to be!" This line really got to me in particular. How, while Otto tires to backtrack and get out of the situation the best he can, if he could only convince Peter, it doesn't work, bcs it just shows Peter just how far gone Otto is from what he knew. And yet, despite that knowledge, despite his crimes, and despite the trouble, the betrayal, the physical assault made against him, the attempted manipulations, and Aunt May...despite all of it, Peter chose kindness. He chose to look after Otto.

Otto: I should have known you'd turn on me, just like all the others.

Peter: Turn? Turn? I worshipped you! Your mind...your conscience, wanting to help others...the way you never gave up!

Otto: That's because men like us have a duty. A responsibility. To use our talents in the service of others. Even if they don't appreciate it...we have to do what's best for those beneath us. Whether they understand it or not.

Peter: No. You're wrong. You were everything I wanted to be! You just...threw it away!

Otto: Yes, of course. You're right, Peter. I see that now. The neural interface affected my mind. But I can fix it. We can fix it...together. If you'll help me.

Peter: I'll do everything I can. I'll make sure you get the best help.

Otto: No! If they put me away, they'll take my arms! I'll be trapped in this *useless* body! Please, Peter.

Otto: That...wasn't me. You said...you'd never abandon me, you promised, remember? And, of course, you'll rest easy knowing your secret is safe with me.

Peter: You do what you think is best, Doc. It's all any of us can.

Otto: Peter-?

Peter: Even when it hurts like hell.

Otto: Peter? Where are you going? Peter? PETER!!

This whole bit shows Otto trying different tactics but at his core he's scared of being vulnerable, of not having his arms. I'm not sure if Otto came back for a few moments or not. However, I am sure that when he began to agree with Peter, telling him he was right, and trying to show that they're similar, and subtly said that they're superior to everyone else...that was definitely manipulative in nature.

Does he still care for Peter in some capacity? Honestly, it is difficult to tell, it was left ambiguous. I personally hope that somewhere deep down Otto does still care for Peter. He did tell him that he saw him as a son, but whether or not that was also manipulation or partially true idk. I hope we get to have a scene of him regarding Peter in the sequel, or a mention of him at least. I mean, Peter lost two people he loved in one day and both were very traumatising. Hopefully, it won't be swept under the rug completely.

[traxanaxanos]

I frequently find myself being deeply fascinated and drawn in by background characters in the media I engage with. There's one centaur woman in a battle shot of the Chronicles of Narnia who I was obsessed with when that movie came out; I think frequently and at length about Freda "Where is mama?" Lord of the Rings and her brother (and her mama for that matter - she got back to her kids!! She did it! What did she experience on that perilous and dire journey to reunite with her children??).

This is the same for Star Trek, of course, my first and ever-lasting media obsession. And I've been trying to figure out what the draw is. I think it's partially that those background characters provide a way to poke at the edges the story creates, to push past the boundaries and explore the world a little more, even if only in flights-of-fancy. And, in addition to that ideal dreaming, the what-ifs?, the presence of the characters in the background makes the universe feel whole, feel inhabited, and feel BIG. Deanna Troi is obviously shaken by Daniel Kwan's death, and we see that. But what is Lieutenant Junior Grade Nara up to in the background? How does she cope with that event - she seems composed when Troi talks to her - sad, but in a professional and distant way. Did she grieve privately? Do Canopians grieve differently? Are Starfleet engineers fairly desensitized to the death of a coworker? Her presence brings up so many questions and widens the field of the universe. Lieutenant Stadi doesn't seem particularly flamboyant, nor is she burdened, frustrated, or apathetic about her psychic powers, which is what we've seen of Betazoids so far between Lwaxanna, Tam, and Deanna. Is she then a more everyday citizen of Betazed? Could she have been the Tuvok to Deanna's Spock? Was she the pilot because she was supposed to interface with Voyager's bio-neural gel packs, and would that mean Starfleet was attempting to militarize a planetary population who largely seem violence-averse (because lets be real, Voyager may be a science ship but starfleet is really a military organization). Did she volunteer for this experimental position? We are never going to get answers but aren't the questions fascinating? Doesn't their unanswerable nature make the world of Star Trek seem that much bigger?

What is Zarabeth doing for the rest of her natural life, alone on a freezing planet, trapped in the past, after her sad strange adventure with the men from the future? What was the tyrant Zor Kahn's rule like? Did Zarabeth take part in her family's rebellion against him, or was her banishment merely vengeful punishment against the very existence of her family? Does she get into cave painting? Before the sun of Sarpeidon went super nova, could you have found a cave amidst the ice with a message she tried to leave for those future men (goodbye, I loved you!), for Zor Kahn (I defy you to the last!), for anyone at all (I was here! I loved! I lived!)? People exist and existed outside the adventures of Kirk, Spock, and Bones, and keep on existing after our heroes depart, the trio don't just leave an uninhabited void behind them when they leave for the next adventure (even though we know that they actually do, since they're the characters the show is about and nothing exists beyond the eye of the camera).

I think one of my issues with a lot of the new Star Trek properties, even when I like them, is that they lean so heavily on nostalgia, on fan-bait and references, but that rarely works for me. I don't care about seeing Spock or Picard again, their stories ended, and even if there's some lose threads, they're fun to pick at in an idle-thought way, not to unravel, and their stories had solid, fulfilling endings. I don't want to see Riker again, especially if it's to show him once again abandoning his Imzadi, to show that his character growth in marrying Deanna, in committing to something and to her specifically, is paper-thin and so easily cast aside. It shrinks his character. And when Riker is always showing up to save the day in Enterprise, in Star Trek: Online, in Resurgence, and in Lower Decks, when we get the fifth or sixth iteration of Spock, it also shrinks the world. It's the Skywalker problem. The galaxy actually isn't as big as it seems, it really only stretches a few feet past the horizon of these handful of characters. There is no Oz, in the end, and behind the curtain is just a writer's room obsessed with characters who already got their endings. There is no one else who exists in the galaxy except for like 4 men and mayyyyybe the women who are their romantic interests. It removes the dreaming edges of the world, and shows the hands of the creators far too much.

I also don't think its hypocritical to say that when the references do work on me its only if it's a background character. I was legitimately so thrilled when Sonya Gomez showed up on Lower Decks! She scratched that itch, that feeling of newness and boundary-pushing and exploration that is what I love about background characters (and I do have to admit she has always been one of my fave background characters). The life we can imagine for her! The adventures she must have had! All the things that led from her being a bumbling ensign to a capable, compassionate captain! The vastness of the Star Trek universe, that it has room for Sonya Gomez and all her off-screen, unseen, imagined stories. Literally, the possibilities for the life of her character between those two episodes of TNG and the one episode of Lower Decks are infinite. That's the kind of reference, the returning character bait that really works for me, that gets me excited for continuing stories in a universe.

All this to say, in complete earnestness, this is why now, more than ever, we need a Greskgrendrek mini-series.

[voltronimus-prime]

what IS the drifting about bc i am genuinely so interested

The Drift is from the movie Pacific Rim.

Basic backstory + direct quotes:

Humanity is attacked by giant monsters, "Kaiju".

"When alien life entered our world it was from deep beneath the Pacific Ocean. A fissure between two tectonic plates. A portal between dimensions. The Breach."

The first Kaiju attack was utterly devastating.

"By the time tanks, jets and missiles took it down six days and 35 miles later three cities were destroyed. Tens of thousands of lives were lost."

Six months later another appeared. After 2 more of these attacks, it was clear this wasn't stopping any time soon. Humanity needed a new weapon.

A big problem when fighting them was "Kaiju Blue". Their blood is incredibly acidic and toxic, meaning that no matter where you fight them it'll still severely damage the environment. The best solution was to focus on inflicting blunt force trauma, making them hemorrhage internally without breaking the skin.

"The world came together pooling its resources and throwing aside old rivalries for the sake of the greater good. To fight monsters, we created monsters of our own. The Jeager program was born."

So basically, we needed to punch them really hard.

Giant mechs capable of going toe-to-toe with Kaiju. To control them effectively however, sticks and buttons wouldn't cut it. A neural interface to let you move it like your own body was required. However:

"There were setbacks at first. The neural load to interface with the Jeager proved too much for a single pilot. A two pilot system was implemented. Left hemisphere, right hemisphere pilot control."

Now it wasn't as easy as just plugging in two people. In order to share the neural load, the brains needed to be connected and work together as a unit, as well as with the Jeager. They needed:

"The Drift. Jaeger tech. Based on DARPA jet fighter neural systems. Two pilots, mind-melding through memories with the body of a giant machine. The deeper the bond... the better you fight."

The ability for any two(or more) people to successfully meld and fight together is called their "Drift Compatibility". This has very little to do with the individual capabilities of any single person, but how well both of them work with each other.

Because of this it's common for pilot teams to actually be related; siblings, parent and child, etc. But we also see a married couple, along with some pilots that just happen to think the same way.

Considering how late this response is, I'll put this part out now and see if there's any questions.

[scrittarts]

Hello again! I have come back with more questions! Feel free to answer these on your own time.

Due to the fact there are many designs and that they have interchangeable parts, can a mech be outfitted with weapons? I know they have claws and a strong jaw (presumably) but can you strap a plasma rifle onto one? What about utilities like a lighter? Does that mech need training and a license for dangerous upgrades?

assuming the answer to 1 is yes, has there been any major wars or conflict?

Once again about interchangeable parts and different mech designs, are certain mechs designs suited for specific tasks? Can an operator choose the design before becoming a mech? How much freedom do they have?

I hope you can answer these, but I understand if you cant. I hope the world building goes well! Have a good day :>

More questions! 1) Only some parts are interchangeable - and outfitting can mean multiple things. Obviously nothing prevents a mech from holding a weapon with their hands, or physically strapping them onto limbs and holding triggers - I assume this isn't what you mean. When an operator is integrated, their neural I/O is mapped to their new Mech body, propagating nerve signals through the machine muscle that makes up most of a mech's body mass. It's possible to re-map neural bandwidth on demand, to add additional components, limbs, sensors, proxy capabilities or, as you mentioned, weapons. Initially, the mech may have to give up part of their sensory I/O or choose to sacrifice functionality to make room for additional parts, but over time, after initial operator integration, the integration systems themselves slowly seek deeper into the operator's organics, splitting even the finest of signals into smaller strands - as such, operators will often experience their base capacity for neural I/O expanding very gradually - and experienced mechs may not need to give up anything to fit an upgrade. Adding parts requires an Integration Module / INTEG. These are semi-uncommon upgrades that interface with a mech's nervous system by weaving directly into their machine muscle, and acting as an extension for compatible external systems to latch onto.

Trying to enforce which tech a mech decides to incorporate can be a complex affair, and in setting not many factions would consider it a worthwhile endeavor.

If you outwardly sport dangerous upgrades, chances are you won't be welcomed into civilized settlements.

2) The entire setting is post apocalyptic, with mechs being ancient techology, remaining after the fall of the empires of old, now studied and replicated - whichever conflict lead to the fall of previous civilizations, it was extremely comprehensive in its destruction.

Current civilization has existed for long enough to independently develop space travel, but with new powers emerging, new faction conflicts are brewing. I may get into these later, but I've identified at least a handful distinct groups at risk of entering lasting conflict with one another.

3) Certain mechs are better suited for certain tasks by design, and the frame of a mech largely defines its final shape and capabilities (prior to upgrades).

Mechs are mostly Found Technology and the understanding thereof is still being built.

There are generally two ways of becoming an operator - being integrated inside a mech equipped with operator conversion systems, and being integrated within a standalone conversion pod. There are reasons to integrate even if you don't have a mech, which I'll get into later (you could become a Virtual Dweller for instance).

It should be noted that an Operator is what the user becomes during integration. Many operators aren't even aware that they're separable from their Mech Body - if they were converted inside a mech equipped with conversion systems, they'd simply wake up as the mech upon completion.

If you find one and want to perform modifications on it prior to integration, you'd have to find a way haul it back to a workshop with all the necessary spare parts to make significant alterations, and hope it doesn't get stolen or damaged along the way. For this reason, it is often a take it or leave it kinda' deal.

[shrinkthisviolet]

⭐

Gonna talk about a deep cut: in that very moment when i love him (i destroy him), a Peter & Otto fic I wrote after playing the first Spider-Man Insomniac game!

Peter & Otto is such a special relationship to me, I love it so much. The friendship, camaraderie...and the betrayal! They really make you hope that Otto can somehow avoid his fate, they get you attached to him, and that’s a remarkable thing. But you can’t...because not only is he doomed to become Doc Ock, but also...he's already tumbling down that path before he puts on the neural interface. Even before the game begins.

This is something that this video essay brings up, something I hadn’t even considered before (and really, that video essay is the main inspiration for this fic). Because of course, the most common mainstream telling of Otto’s story is in Spider-Man 2, when he is indeed a good man corrupted by the neural interface. But here...the sheer scope of his plans by the time Peter finds them means he's been orchestrating things from the very beginning. He was falling down the path before we even knew it—and of course, it’s because of his grudge against Norman Osborn that began when they experimented on Martin Li, a grudge that burst into bloom when Norman cut Otto’s lab funding.

So that’s key point #1.

The same video essay linked above brings up the idea of short-term vs long-term consequences, and how Peter will always make the choice that has benefits in the short-term (minimizes short-term consequences), and then take on all the blame for any negative consequences (as someone who falls into this trap a lot in my own life, that hit hard). Even with Otto, he says, “how did I let this happen?” Maybe if he got to the lab earlier, checked the machines better, paid more attention...

But a) he’s focused on the short-term (for the sake his own peace of mind, he has to be, but this is a flawed approach, his fatal flaw), which just keeps coming, and b) as mentioned before, Peter couldn’t save Otto, because he mistakenly assumes the trouble started with the neural interface. It didn’t—it started before, though ofc when exactly it started is unclear. It’s not something Peter could’ve saved him from, in any case. He realizes that here:

“Please, Peter,” Otto begged, “that wasn’t me!”

But it was. Peter knew it was. He wanted to throw it in Otto’s face: the files, the plans, all the stuff he’d found. That anger…it wasn’t simply occasional experimental frustration like Peter had initially thought. It was genuine rage and impatience…and Peter had been too naive to see it.

(Though ofc he still blames himself 🥺)

And that’s the focus of this fic, really: the scene where Peter walks away from Otto, but expanded. What’s Peter thinking during that scene? How does he reconcile it with May “when you help someone, you help everyone” Parker? Well...this is how:

When you help someone, you help everyone, May often said. But she also always stressed the importance of self-care, first and foremost. It was worth putting in the effort to try, she said, but you had to know when the effort was futile. When it was time to cut your losses.

Peter had never thought he’d encounter someone like that. Someone he was so desperate to help, who rejected all attempts for him to do so but fooled him into thinking he had a chance. Someone who wormed his way into his heart and shattered it bit by bit, until all he had left was a hole in his chest filled with shards.

Peter hates cutting his losses. But here...after trying throughout this fight scene and subsequent conversation to save Otto...he has to. Even as Otto begs him to come back and help him…Peter walks away. Though of course...he’s still Spider-Man. So what does he promise Otto?

“I’ll do everything I can,” he choked out, “to make sure you get the best care.” That, at least, he could promise. He did it for his Rogues, he could do it for Otto too.

Even now, he shows Otto compassion. He promises Otto will have the best care. Because that’s who Spider-Man is…even to the enemies that stab him in the back so viciously. Especially when, in their lowest moments, those villains still fall back on their bad habits and prove how little remorse they truly feel:

“And of course,” Otto continued, seeming relieved suddenly—probably something in Peter’s face, Otto had always been able to read him so, so easily, “you’ll rest easy, knowing your secret is safe with me.”

Because Peter lives by a creed. And most importantly, he and Otto have some key differences:

He lived by that philosophy of responsibility, by his uncle’s last words: with great power comes great responsibility. And for a time, he’d thought Otto believed the same. And maybe he did.

But Peter would never ever make the mistake of thinking the people of New York were in any way beneath him. Him having superpowers, saving them…it wasn’t out of any sort of arrogance or superiority. It wasn’t because he believed himself to be more than them.

It was because he believed them to be capable of more. Because, where most people looked around the city and saw lost causes and corruption and fear, he saw potential and hope and life.

What sort of hero would he be if he didn’t protect that life?

Otto believes in “doing what’s best for those beneath [him].” Peter believes in helping everyone, no matter what.

So this fic really ended up being part-Peter & Otto exploration, part-Peter/Spidey character study, based on some of the ideas presented in a stunning, moving video essay (linked in the 3rd paragraph). And I love it to pieces 💞

director’s cut ask game!

[hiighborg]

For the CP2077 OC ask game: 4, 11, 19, 33!

I'll do this for Vance since he's my main OC and my V, though I can always add on later for the bazillion other Cyberpunk OCs I have💦

4. what tarot card from the major arcana would you associate with them?

The Fool or the Devil. Getting fired from Arasaka left him with a new freedom he didn't have before. He can be reckless and fucking stupid sometimes, but this Night City is new to him in a way.

19. is your character from night city? if no, where were they born? what brought them

Born and raised baby!

33. what is/was their relationship like with their parents? 

🎉Mommy issues 🎉

Florence Caid is a Chief Scientist working at Biotechnica. Aimi Kusanagi is a leading anchor at News 54. They're overbearing but well-meaning. Loving in their own weird corporate kind of way. After getting fired from Arasaka he feared letting his parents down and so the only option (to him) was to disappear.

11. do they have any cyberware? is it cosmetic or is it weaponry/armor?

The first and most noticeable cyberware are a pair of sleek, long, cybernetic legs. Formerly Jinguji originals, Vance has augmented and personalized them so much over the years they're unrecognizable. For cosmetic, there's EMP Threading and cosmetic plating underneath his top surgery scars and around his hips; otherwise it's all to push his physical limits. Vance is addicted to chrome, edging cyberpsychosis. He's got internal cyberware for netrunning such as neural ports and interface plugs, and an internal cooling system. Alongside that he's chipped with monowire and pain adapters. He's so chromed up if he were to be up open, wires and cables would spill out. Aimi got him chipped around the age of 16 to be taller-- more 'designer'. It'd give him an edge the other's didnt' have in the industry. This is likely why he has a physical dependency on cyberware now.

He's big time Overcompensating™️