Egret white color palette
International Color Palettes.
2023.05.30 20:46 AgenYT0 International Color Palettes.
Enough western movies follow the 'cyan/orange' contrast that it has become a sort of meme. Though when it comes to western movies set in the global south it becomes the 'yellow filter'. I am aware that a big part of this is lazy racial sterotyping. My question is, why? Is it a lazy way to accomodate the wider and darker variety of skin tones found in those countries? For context the reason I ask is that I watched a Nollywood movie and some random science fiction movie on Netflix back to back. The Nollywood movie avoided both the cyan/orange and yellow filter. In part because, yes, they have advanced a lot in the last twenty years with understanding of film and to be blunt, increased budgets and exposure. Meanwhile the science fiction movie (a genre I notice this a lot in) had the contrast dial turned all the way.
I am not a film maker or even a particularly good or avid cell phone picture taker. Though I help my friend film for his YouTube channel on occasionan and though he never praises me I am good enough that his business cards, channel introduction and even a framed picture were done by me, so I am not completely clueless. That said; if I messed up the terminology then I will take correction and critique.
(aside: people still fill their phones storage with pictures!? I did not even do that even when 4GB was substansial)
Full disclosure: I am Nigerian.
submitted by AgenYT0 to cinematography [link] [comments]
I am not a film maker or even a particularly good or avid cell phone picture taker. Though I help my friend film for his YouTube channel on occasionan and though he never praises me I am good enough that his business cards, channel introduction and even a framed picture were done by me, so I am not completely clueless. That said; if I messed up the terminology then I will take correction and critique.
(aside: people still fill their phones storage with pictures!? I did not even do that even when 4GB was substansial)
Full disclosure: I am Nigerian.
2023.05.30 20:40 bostonjules44 WHY
 | Give her a bigger dress. submitted by bostonjules44 to bigboobproblems [link] [comments] |
2023.05.30 20:40 Cmate4352 Change text color
 | Looking for a way to change the text color in the areas boxed in red to solid white. submitted by Cmate4352 to Reaper [link] [comments] I used the theme tweaker to change the other areas but can't find a way to change these. Any ideas? https://preview.redd.it/ec6wokw1k03b1.jpg?width=1920&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=a34488ab2f3c04793f55e7c10a5c8bf84634d941 |
2023.05.30 20:37 LemDoggo Tips for applying the Half Magic Beauty Chromaddiction Shimmer?
Just what the title says! I've seen other people use this product and it looks amazing, and I've watched videos of it being applied, but for some reason when I do it it comes out really uneven - like if I try to blend it out, I end up picking up the product I already applied so it looks patchy. It doesn't do this when I swatch it anywhere else and I don't see other people having this issue so I'm thinking it must just be me. I tried applying with a brush instead of my finger but it didn't change much. I am also white af so maybe I just notice it on me more since a lot of the colors are bold lol. Any suggestions?
https://halfmagicbeauty.com/products/chromaddiction-shimmer-fairies-are-real
ETA: I forgot to add - I have watched the "How to apply" video in the above link, in which they basically don't blend it at all. Maybe that's just how you have to use it, I've just seen different looks that are more blended and was hoping to find a way to achieve that. But there could be other factors I'm missing!
submitted by LemDoggo to MakeupAddiction [link] [comments]
https://halfmagicbeauty.com/products/chromaddiction-shimmer-fairies-are-real
ETA: I forgot to add - I have watched the "How to apply" video in the above link, in which they basically don't blend it at all. Maybe that's just how you have to use it, I've just seen different looks that are more blended and was hoping to find a way to achieve that. But there could be other factors I'm missing!
2023.05.30 20:36 ReyFromJersey Dad's a Narcissist; How Do Iive with him?
TLDR: My Dad (m, 68) is a Narcissist Personality who can't acknowledge his own wrongdoings, and as I (f, 32) getting a clear understanding of my mental health, I don't know how to keep him in my life.
My Dad Has a narcissistic personality type. Pretty textbook. And while my mother was married to him, he displayed the majority of Dear Abby's signs of an abuser. Nothing physical ever. No dead animals. No physical violence against her or me.
But he's become insufferable. And I am undergoing a mental health metamorphosis, unlearning a variety of toxic coping mechanisms that I primarily developed living with him for the first 20 or so years of my life.
High empathy. Walking on eggshells. Never discussing my own needs or wants. Binge Eating. Making myself small and innocuous. All or nothing fear of failure.
Because my grown-ass father threw temper tantrums over any inconvenience. He did nothing to help, expecting my mother to cook, clean, run the household to every fine detail, and raise me. He was the breadwinner.
Now I'm 31, 32 at the end of June. Life has been a lot more difficult than I was led to believe.
My Mom gets it. We live together by choice. Because we get along and have a lot of the same shared trauma.
In December, I decided I missed my Dad despite every prior visit ending in me hiding somewhere so he wouldn't see me cry. He's good at triggering me.
I took a 10-hour + train either way to see him. I tried to explain triggers and that he can't determine what others are sensitive about. And I explained my weight and fatphobia are my top trigger.
Naturally, after I broke down crying in front of him for the first time, he continued to be an ass.
(Pissy about political correctness. He's never actually been racist. But he was raised in a well-off white family that took regular vacations. So his primary problem is a complete lack of understanding of the world outside his own experiences.
For instance, he couldn't understand why referring to Will Smith as a "Negro" Actor was racist.
Or why drunk Irish jokes are not the same as jokes about People of color.
And that no one owes you their time or conversations, and initial reactions are major.
And on my last night visiting, he brought up my weight. Because "he cared".
Ignoring the fact that just the notion of that topic has me sobbing a couple of nights earlier.
The visit plunged me into a deeper depression than I'd ever been. I withdrew and stopped talking much.
In April, I started TMS therapy for my depression and anxiety. And the day I started, my Dad sent me a horrible email of emotional manipulation. When I told him he makes me do too much emotional labor for us, he flipped out. After a couple weeks, I apologized that my words hurt him, and tried to explain I would not be who I have been before.
(I wanted him to understand I won't be a doormat anymore, and I am going to call him out for problematic behavior).
But because I was too subtle...he missed it.
My head is much clearer now. The TMS has been magic. Unfortunately, I'm also remembering all the reasons teenage me resented my father.
Because none of them have changed. Only I have.
Accommodating him is not good for me. If our relationship is to survive, I need him to acknowledge his missteps or wrongdoing.
And at this point, he's made it clear to me it's no longer ignorance. He is too intelligent not to understand things laid out in front of him.
And he doesn't believe in conversation boundaries and is resentful of the number of topics I've told him I don't want to discuss with him. Usually, they end in arguments where he refuses to listen to what I'm saying.
He's also extremely isolated. No social media. Doesn't follow the news. He owns his home. He's retired. He doesn't have as much to worry about.
He is removed and won't listen to anything that challenges his thoughts and beliefs.
I don't want to lose my father. I do love him. And I know he's capable of better.
But I'm at my wit's end. I don't want to be freshly traumatized every time I visit him. In part because I'm effectively trapped. He lives in the woods in the mountains.
If I try to bring up something new we could do together, he may entertain the notion, but more often, he's blown off my interests completely. This makes talking to him challenging, because he has, uh
Traumatized me out of enjoying any of his interests by being a complete control freak and brat in my developmental years who if did not constantly have some kind of engagement, would throw things around.
So I'm not a fan of Westerns, because he made the family watch every John Wayne movie-and most of Clint Eastwood's.
For me exploring nature was about meandering and enjoying myself. For Dad, walks were marches. I stopped enjoying going out into nature with him.
Every Thanksgiving and Christmas, we'd visit his father and stepfamily. Every year we'd be so agitated because of his stepmother that he and Mom fought on the way home while I was in the backseat.
Not to speak of the assorted holiday traditions he tainted. Jack O'Lanterns, Thanksgiving Meal, Christmas Trees.
I could and will probably write a collection of these experiences at some point.
But...he's my Dad. And when particular challenges arose, he'd help charge them on my account. He was my defender when I needed defending.
But Mom had to defend me far more often, from him. From his tantrums. From his heckling about my weight. From his blatant insensitivity to others' feelings.
I don't want to lose my Dad. But I don't know how to keep him, either. Does anyone have any tips or experiences for dealing with a situation like this?
submitted by ReyFromJersey to family [link] [comments]
My Dad Has a narcissistic personality type. Pretty textbook. And while my mother was married to him, he displayed the majority of Dear Abby's signs of an abuser. Nothing physical ever. No dead animals. No physical violence against her or me.
But he's become insufferable. And I am undergoing a mental health metamorphosis, unlearning a variety of toxic coping mechanisms that I primarily developed living with him for the first 20 or so years of my life.
High empathy. Walking on eggshells. Never discussing my own needs or wants. Binge Eating. Making myself small and innocuous. All or nothing fear of failure.
Because my grown-ass father threw temper tantrums over any inconvenience. He did nothing to help, expecting my mother to cook, clean, run the household to every fine detail, and raise me. He was the breadwinner.
Now I'm 31, 32 at the end of June. Life has been a lot more difficult than I was led to believe.
My Mom gets it. We live together by choice. Because we get along and have a lot of the same shared trauma.
In December, I decided I missed my Dad despite every prior visit ending in me hiding somewhere so he wouldn't see me cry. He's good at triggering me.
I took a 10-hour + train either way to see him. I tried to explain triggers and that he can't determine what others are sensitive about. And I explained my weight and fatphobia are my top trigger.
Naturally, after I broke down crying in front of him for the first time, he continued to be an ass.
(Pissy about political correctness. He's never actually been racist. But he was raised in a well-off white family that took regular vacations. So his primary problem is a complete lack of understanding of the world outside his own experiences.
For instance, he couldn't understand why referring to Will Smith as a "Negro" Actor was racist.
Or why drunk Irish jokes are not the same as jokes about People of color.
And that no one owes you their time or conversations, and initial reactions are major.
And on my last night visiting, he brought up my weight. Because "he cared".
Ignoring the fact that just the notion of that topic has me sobbing a couple of nights earlier.
The visit plunged me into a deeper depression than I'd ever been. I withdrew and stopped talking much.
In April, I started TMS therapy for my depression and anxiety. And the day I started, my Dad sent me a horrible email of emotional manipulation. When I told him he makes me do too much emotional labor for us, he flipped out. After a couple weeks, I apologized that my words hurt him, and tried to explain I would not be who I have been before.
(I wanted him to understand I won't be a doormat anymore, and I am going to call him out for problematic behavior).
But because I was too subtle...he missed it.
My head is much clearer now. The TMS has been magic. Unfortunately, I'm also remembering all the reasons teenage me resented my father.
Because none of them have changed. Only I have.
Accommodating him is not good for me. If our relationship is to survive, I need him to acknowledge his missteps or wrongdoing.
And at this point, he's made it clear to me it's no longer ignorance. He is too intelligent not to understand things laid out in front of him.
And he doesn't believe in conversation boundaries and is resentful of the number of topics I've told him I don't want to discuss with him. Usually, they end in arguments where he refuses to listen to what I'm saying.
He's also extremely isolated. No social media. Doesn't follow the news. He owns his home. He's retired. He doesn't have as much to worry about.
He is removed and won't listen to anything that challenges his thoughts and beliefs.
I don't want to lose my father. I do love him. And I know he's capable of better.
But I'm at my wit's end. I don't want to be freshly traumatized every time I visit him. In part because I'm effectively trapped. He lives in the woods in the mountains.
If I try to bring up something new we could do together, he may entertain the notion, but more often, he's blown off my interests completely. This makes talking to him challenging, because he has, uh
Traumatized me out of enjoying any of his interests by being a complete control freak and brat in my developmental years who if did not constantly have some kind of engagement, would throw things around.
So I'm not a fan of Westerns, because he made the family watch every John Wayne movie-and most of Clint Eastwood's.
For me exploring nature was about meandering and enjoying myself. For Dad, walks were marches. I stopped enjoying going out into nature with him.
Every Thanksgiving and Christmas, we'd visit his father and stepfamily. Every year we'd be so agitated because of his stepmother that he and Mom fought on the way home while I was in the backseat.
Not to speak of the assorted holiday traditions he tainted. Jack O'Lanterns, Thanksgiving Meal, Christmas Trees.
I could and will probably write a collection of these experiences at some point.
But...he's my Dad. And when particular challenges arose, he'd help charge them on my account. He was my defender when I needed defending.
But Mom had to defend me far more often, from him. From his tantrums. From his heckling about my weight. From his blatant insensitivity to others' feelings.
I don't want to lose my Dad. But I don't know how to keep him, either. Does anyone have any tips or experiences for dealing with a situation like this?
2023.05.30 20:35 umaywaa snow white should be white
snow white should be white in fact she should have a skin so pale she could literally faint. I'm not saying she should be white as in "white" race made up by americans. But just white skin.
in my country we have this colorism problem where the whiter your skin is the more beautiful you are. My problem with that is women and some men will literally bleach their skin, spend thousands in glutathione, and literally bully people with dark skin.
Maybe the story for snow white could be something that revolves around the unrealistic standards women have to align themselves with and the problamatic and even dangerous stuff they have to do just to be classified as "beautiful".
Like maleficent, the main character could probably be the evil stepmothequeen. Where she discovers the being "the fairest of them all" doesn't really help her anything but just adding more insecurities (also her age).
submitted by umaywaa to unpopularopinion [link] [comments]
in my country we have this colorism problem where the whiter your skin is the more beautiful you are. My problem with that is women and some men will literally bleach their skin, spend thousands in glutathione, and literally bully people with dark skin.
Maybe the story for snow white could be something that revolves around the unrealistic standards women have to align themselves with and the problamatic and even dangerous stuff they have to do just to be classified as "beautiful".
Like maleficent, the main character could probably be the evil stepmothequeen. Where she discovers the being "the fairest of them all" doesn't really help her anything but just adding more insecurities (also her age).
2023.05.30 20:33 Live_Suggestion_3719 "African-American" culture is terrible
To start off ,i want to say that im not racist , but whenever i see it , it really angers me. African Americans usually have their " hivemind" , atleast thats what i observed on the internet and social media. If a black person has proper grammar , defends white person , so its very common for him to be called "whitewashed" or something like that. Black people also look at the wrong things , just take a look at BLM , i dont support racist police but naming George Floyd , which is a druggie that died due to fent overdose a hero is bad , really. Also the blackwashing , such as the "cleopatra" movie , which is usually supported by african americans , but egyptians despise it. But what really made me want to do this post is the "thug" culture. I understand that some may say that its inevitable for them to be violent , commit crime ( im talking about "hoods") when theres low quality of life , but looking at balkans and eastern europe , they dont really have crime when the monthly wage is 500$ or something like that. Scrolling through youtube , i accidently ended up on a video where a black person was reacting to a white rapper. Interestingly , the twitch comments kept calling him names , and saying that hes " fake thug" or just "hes fake". And thats just shocking to me , how they would rather listen to music made by murderers ( rappers that actually killed someone in a shooting , or commited crazy crimes) than listen to music made by soft boy.
Slightly off the topic , but the fact that many african americans absolutely hate white people ( look up videos where they ask strangers if "white lives matter" most of them say no or its bad to be white) , and sometimes think that its impossible to be racist to white people because they havent been oppressed ( They did , but not in america , every race has been oppressed in one way or another , whites have been slaves too) Just look at Cardi B , woman of color said that she drugged men and robbed them , but no one seems to care. If thats oppression , i dont know to what to say.
submitted by Live_Suggestion_3719 to ControversialOpinions [link] [comments]
Slightly off the topic , but the fact that many african americans absolutely hate white people ( look up videos where they ask strangers if "white lives matter" most of them say no or its bad to be white) , and sometimes think that its impossible to be racist to white people because they havent been oppressed ( They did , but not in america , every race has been oppressed in one way or another , whites have been slaves too) Just look at Cardi B , woman of color said that she drugged men and robbed them , but no one seems to care. If thats oppression , i dont know to what to say.
2023.05.30 20:30 bluejeans90210 Dust on my panel which looks like sparkly multi colored on bright white screen, I thought you use microfibre only to dust off but this link says to use water as well?
submitted by bluejeans90210 to LGOLED [link] [comments]
2023.05.30 20:30 Echo3073 We went On an Investigation, but Something came back with us.
My name is Evaline and my sister who is vital to this as well is named Vivian and we are twins aged twenty-three. Yesterday we went on a graveyard investigation, and I don't think we came back alone.
We pulled up to the graveyard In Vivians beat up red bug. She shut off the car and looked over to me.
“I have a weird feeling, Evaline, are you sure you want to do this?” asked Vivian.
“Oh yeah everyone keeps telling me about this place!” I exclaimed.
As we exited the car and walked up to the property Vivian turned on the ghost box (A tool used for communicating with ghosts by scanning through radio frequencies and white noise).
The ghost box said one word very abruptly “STOP.”
We looked at each other with puzzled faces.
“Do you not want us here?” asked Vivian.
“STOP.’ Came through the ghost box again.
“Uh color me crazy but I think we should still go in.” I said.
Vivian looked at me for a moment and then agreed we heard one final “STOP.” as we entered and then it was dead silent for 15 minutes.
We were walking around when my sister Vivian stopped and looked at a specific tree. This tree is twisted looking literally it has two parts to it that twist together to make sort of an arch way.
“A woman is over there.” Vivian whispered and pointed towards the tree (Vivian Is a medium by the way)
“Well let’s go check It out.” I enthusiastically said.
As we reached the tree the ghost box said the name “ANNIE.”
Vivian Greeted Annie and asked her why she was there.
But I was more Interested In trying to find Annie’s headstone.
“Hey, ask her for her last name!” I shouted over to Vivian who gave me a thumbs up.
I walked further away scanning all the different headstones with my flashlight. Some of these guys are really old, like 17th century old.
“Maybe that’s why it’s so haunted.” I thought to myself.
As I looked up to scan the next headstone, I saw a figure of a man standing by a headstone. “Holy shit where'd he come from?” I thought “Hey Vivian do you see hi-” I cut off because when I pointed back to where I saw him no one was there.
“Okaayyy.” I said in a hushed tone “I’m just going to go walk over there and see what the headstone says.” I made my way over to the headstone.
“Oh no way Vivian come over here, look who I found!” I shouted
“What’s up, what'd you find?” Vivian asked excitedly.
She looked down as I shined my flashlight on the fading stone the words “Annie Forester Beloved Mother and Wife” were shown.
“ME.” Said the ghost box We both looked at each other. We normally don’t get very intelligent responses so this was a big deal.
“What happened to you Annie?” I asked “HUNG.”
“Oh Jesus, that took a dark turn.” I said
“Evaline, stop it.” Vivan shouted, "Can you tell us why?” she asked,
“WITCH.”
“Oh she must have been a part of the old witch hunts that happened all through England and Ireland.” Vivian said
“Yeah but why are you still here Annie?” I asked Nothing happened for a good five minutes before the response
“TO PROTECT” came through.
“Protect what Annie?” I asked another few minutes pass by before the ghost box says “THE LAND”
“Huh that's awfully sweet of you do you make sure the living are safe?” Asked Vivian
“YES” the ghost box replied almost Immediately
“LEAVE” It says.
“Why do you want us to leave?” I asked
“Yeah what's wrong Annie?” Asked Vivian
“HIM”
“Who is him?” Asked Vivian
“PLEASE GO”
Those were the last words the ghost box said for another twenty minutes
“Maybe we should go, it's been a while and we haven't gotten anything else.” Said Vivian
I Looked around the graveyard I had a bad feeling
“Yeah lets get outta here this place is starting to creep me out.” I said as I stood and shook myself off trying to get rid of the odd energy.
We packed up all of our things and headed to the entrance. We said a prayer so nothing negative would follow us and threw our bags in the trunk. As I opened the door I slumped down In the passenger seat.
“Phew.” I breathed
“We got some pretty good stuff from Annie. I just wanna know who the mysterious him is.” Giggled Vivian
The drive home was uneventful but I couldn’t shake that odd energy from my body.
“Hey Viv do you feel weird or is that just a me thing?” I asked looking over at Vivian
“Mmm yeah ever since we left I felt odd, hopefully it's just our nerves.” Vivian said with a warm smile. But something was hidden behind the warmth of her smile : fear.
We pulled up to the house and unloaded our bags onto the kitchen table. It's become sort of a ritual at this point, every time we finish an investigation we unpack and load in all the recordings to listen to with high quality noise canceling headphones. We also order some kind of takeout tonight's meal of champions was Chinese food my favorite.
I stirred together my orange chicken and rice as I pawed through the recordings settling on the third one when Annie mentions “HIM”. The recording fills my ears as I intently listen.
“LEAVE.” Says the ghost box
“Why do you want us to leave?” you can hear us asking
“HIM” the ghost box says
“Who is him?” Vivian’s voice says
I listen closely as silence fills the space
“I'm Him.” A deep voice says not over the voice box but right next to the recorder.
I screamed and jumped out of my seat throwing the headphones on the ground.
“What what what!” Says Vivian
“Oh hell no, that sounded like satan.” I said laughing In disbelief
I rewinded the recording so Vivian could hear it. I saw her face turn into a huge grin.
“Now this is solid stuff we have to go back there!” Exclaimed Vivian
“Yeah I'm down but you're reviewing the tapes next time that voice is creepy.” I said with a smile
“Deal!” Said Vivian as she stuck her hand out for a hand shake. I took it and shook hands.
“I'm gonna get ready for bed Viv goodnight!” I yelled as I walked away
“Goodnight!” yelled Vivian
I stepped into the poorly lit bathroom and turned on the shower
“That voice is seriously creepy.” I muttered to myself as I took out my High ponytail and let my dark brown curls bounce down to my shoulders. My hair always did look nice with my pale skin
“Thanks to you mom.” I said looking up at the ceiling
I stepped into the shower and started washing my hair when I heard something fall.
I opened the shower curtain to see the culprit my cat Leo
“Oh Leo you're going to be the death of me.” I puffed out closing the shower curtain again
Another crash comes from outside the shower curtain
“Leo Get ou-” I ripped open the curtain to find the toilet paper holder in the sink
I stared dumbfounded as to how my small cat could have body builder lifted the toilet paper holder into the sink.
“VIIIIVIAN” I screamed
Heavy footsteps pound down the hallway but no Vivian
“Vivian?” I called
Pounding assaulted the walls to the point they were vibrating as the footsteps continued
“VIVIAN” I endlessly scream for what seems like hours until the door bursts open and the walls stop pounding immediately
“Are you okay, what's wrong, what's going on?” Exclaimed Vivian with a very worried look.
“You didn't hear me screaming for you?” I sobbed
“No, I just now heard you and came in. What happened?” asked Vivian
I told her all of the events that had just occurred she looked towards the sink and back to me with a confused face
“The toilet paper holder isn't in the sink Evaline.” She said pointing towards the sink which was in fact empty
“What no I swear it was!” I exclaimed
“I believe you Evaline you never cry it's just odd try and get some sleep okay maybe you're really tired? Cooed Vivian
“Yeah maybe” I said
I finished my shower without any problems and climbed into bed.Covering myself with the plushy blanket I let sleep take me over.
“Evaline wake up!” Vivian yell whispered as she shook me awake
“What's going on?” I groggily asked and then I heard it pounding on the walls but it was everywhere The walls were all slightly shaking
“Is this what happened in the bathroom?” Vivian asked me
“Yeah pretty much just not as loud.” I said standing up I'm gonna go check it out stay her Vivian
“You're that white girl that dies in the horror movie.” Vivian said with a smirk
I shook my head and stepped out into the hallway. Literally all of the walls seemed to be buzzing with the pounding. I made my way past the family portraits and got to the back door slowly putting my hand on the door knob and twisting it till I quickly pulled it open and the pounding stopped. I Looked around the dark backyard and I noticed something: the figure of a man standing by our fence. I looked closer trying to get a better look it was definitely a man.
I turned around to grab the bat sitting on our porch.
“Hey buddy you better beat it!” I yelled, turning back with bat in arm to see he was gone.
“Weird.” I thought and went back inside the house. I closed the back door and turned to walk back to Vivian when I saw the shadowy man standing right in front of me.
“AH-” I started to scream but the air seemed to be sucked from my lungs and the only thing that came out was a small peep.
“I don’t like you creatures.” The man said in a voice I can’t even begin to describe. It wasn't human.
“But still you exist to only displease me.” He went on
“Who are you?” I stammered
“You wouldn't know the word but you gave a soul hope tonight which made her free of me so now I need another soul in return for the one you greedily took.” The man like thing said
“Annie?” I asked shakily
He made an odd gurgling crunching noise reminiscent of a laugh but sounded more like a garbage disposal.
“Obviously” he replied
“Now you're going to replace that soul.” He said calmly
“Evaline?” Vivian placed her hand on my shoulder
“Evaline Are you there helloooo?” Vivan said snapping her fingers in front of my eyes
“Yeah sorry Viv I just was thinking.” I replied
Now i'm writing this to you hoping someone out there knows what this thing is and how to get rid of it before I become the next soul to be taken by HIM.
submitted by Echo3073 to nosleep [link] [comments]
We pulled up to the graveyard In Vivians beat up red bug. She shut off the car and looked over to me.
“I have a weird feeling, Evaline, are you sure you want to do this?” asked Vivian.
“Oh yeah everyone keeps telling me about this place!” I exclaimed.
As we exited the car and walked up to the property Vivian turned on the ghost box (A tool used for communicating with ghosts by scanning through radio frequencies and white noise).
The ghost box said one word very abruptly “STOP.”
We looked at each other with puzzled faces.
“Do you not want us here?” asked Vivian.
“STOP.’ Came through the ghost box again.
“Uh color me crazy but I think we should still go in.” I said.
Vivian looked at me for a moment and then agreed we heard one final “STOP.” as we entered and then it was dead silent for 15 minutes.
We were walking around when my sister Vivian stopped and looked at a specific tree. This tree is twisted looking literally it has two parts to it that twist together to make sort of an arch way.
“A woman is over there.” Vivian whispered and pointed towards the tree (Vivian Is a medium by the way)
“Well let’s go check It out.” I enthusiastically said.
As we reached the tree the ghost box said the name “ANNIE.”
Vivian Greeted Annie and asked her why she was there.
But I was more Interested In trying to find Annie’s headstone.
“Hey, ask her for her last name!” I shouted over to Vivian who gave me a thumbs up.
I walked further away scanning all the different headstones with my flashlight. Some of these guys are really old, like 17th century old.
“Maybe that’s why it’s so haunted.” I thought to myself.
As I looked up to scan the next headstone, I saw a figure of a man standing by a headstone. “Holy shit where'd he come from?” I thought “Hey Vivian do you see hi-” I cut off because when I pointed back to where I saw him no one was there.
“Okaayyy.” I said in a hushed tone “I’m just going to go walk over there and see what the headstone says.” I made my way over to the headstone.
“Oh no way Vivian come over here, look who I found!” I shouted
“What’s up, what'd you find?” Vivian asked excitedly.
She looked down as I shined my flashlight on the fading stone the words “Annie Forester Beloved Mother and Wife” were shown.
“ME.” Said the ghost box We both looked at each other. We normally don’t get very intelligent responses so this was a big deal.
“What happened to you Annie?” I asked “HUNG.”
“Oh Jesus, that took a dark turn.” I said
“Evaline, stop it.” Vivan shouted, "Can you tell us why?” she asked,
“WITCH.”
“Oh she must have been a part of the old witch hunts that happened all through England and Ireland.” Vivian said
“Yeah but why are you still here Annie?” I asked Nothing happened for a good five minutes before the response
“TO PROTECT” came through.
“Protect what Annie?” I asked another few minutes pass by before the ghost box says “THE LAND”
“Huh that's awfully sweet of you do you make sure the living are safe?” Asked Vivian
“YES” the ghost box replied almost Immediately
“LEAVE” It says.
“Why do you want us to leave?” I asked
“Yeah what's wrong Annie?” Asked Vivian
“HIM”
“Who is him?” Asked Vivian
“PLEASE GO”
Those were the last words the ghost box said for another twenty minutes
“Maybe we should go, it's been a while and we haven't gotten anything else.” Said Vivian
I Looked around the graveyard I had a bad feeling
“Yeah lets get outta here this place is starting to creep me out.” I said as I stood and shook myself off trying to get rid of the odd energy.
We packed up all of our things and headed to the entrance. We said a prayer so nothing negative would follow us and threw our bags in the trunk. As I opened the door I slumped down In the passenger seat.
“Phew.” I breathed
“We got some pretty good stuff from Annie. I just wanna know who the mysterious him is.” Giggled Vivian
The drive home was uneventful but I couldn’t shake that odd energy from my body.
“Hey Viv do you feel weird or is that just a me thing?” I asked looking over at Vivian
“Mmm yeah ever since we left I felt odd, hopefully it's just our nerves.” Vivian said with a warm smile. But something was hidden behind the warmth of her smile : fear.
We pulled up to the house and unloaded our bags onto the kitchen table. It's become sort of a ritual at this point, every time we finish an investigation we unpack and load in all the recordings to listen to with high quality noise canceling headphones. We also order some kind of takeout tonight's meal of champions was Chinese food my favorite.
I stirred together my orange chicken and rice as I pawed through the recordings settling on the third one when Annie mentions “HIM”. The recording fills my ears as I intently listen.
“LEAVE.” Says the ghost box
“Why do you want us to leave?” you can hear us asking
“HIM” the ghost box says
“Who is him?” Vivian’s voice says
I listen closely as silence fills the space
“I'm Him.” A deep voice says not over the voice box but right next to the recorder.
I screamed and jumped out of my seat throwing the headphones on the ground.
“What what what!” Says Vivian
“Oh hell no, that sounded like satan.” I said laughing In disbelief
I rewinded the recording so Vivian could hear it. I saw her face turn into a huge grin.
“Now this is solid stuff we have to go back there!” Exclaimed Vivian
“Yeah I'm down but you're reviewing the tapes next time that voice is creepy.” I said with a smile
“Deal!” Said Vivian as she stuck her hand out for a hand shake. I took it and shook hands.
“I'm gonna get ready for bed Viv goodnight!” I yelled as I walked away
“Goodnight!” yelled Vivian
I stepped into the poorly lit bathroom and turned on the shower
“That voice is seriously creepy.” I muttered to myself as I took out my High ponytail and let my dark brown curls bounce down to my shoulders. My hair always did look nice with my pale skin
“Thanks to you mom.” I said looking up at the ceiling
I stepped into the shower and started washing my hair when I heard something fall.
I opened the shower curtain to see the culprit my cat Leo
“Oh Leo you're going to be the death of me.” I puffed out closing the shower curtain again
Another crash comes from outside the shower curtain
“Leo Get ou-” I ripped open the curtain to find the toilet paper holder in the sink
I stared dumbfounded as to how my small cat could have body builder lifted the toilet paper holder into the sink.
“VIIIIVIAN” I screamed
Heavy footsteps pound down the hallway but no Vivian
“Vivian?” I called
Pounding assaulted the walls to the point they were vibrating as the footsteps continued
“VIVIAN” I endlessly scream for what seems like hours until the door bursts open and the walls stop pounding immediately
“Are you okay, what's wrong, what's going on?” Exclaimed Vivian with a very worried look.
“You didn't hear me screaming for you?” I sobbed
“No, I just now heard you and came in. What happened?” asked Vivian
I told her all of the events that had just occurred she looked towards the sink and back to me with a confused face
“The toilet paper holder isn't in the sink Evaline.” She said pointing towards the sink which was in fact empty
“What no I swear it was!” I exclaimed
“I believe you Evaline you never cry it's just odd try and get some sleep okay maybe you're really tired? Cooed Vivian
“Yeah maybe” I said
I finished my shower without any problems and climbed into bed.Covering myself with the plushy blanket I let sleep take me over.
“Evaline wake up!” Vivian yell whispered as she shook me awake
“What's going on?” I groggily asked and then I heard it pounding on the walls but it was everywhere The walls were all slightly shaking
“Is this what happened in the bathroom?” Vivian asked me
“Yeah pretty much just not as loud.” I said standing up I'm gonna go check it out stay her Vivian
“You're that white girl that dies in the horror movie.” Vivian said with a smirk
I shook my head and stepped out into the hallway. Literally all of the walls seemed to be buzzing with the pounding. I made my way past the family portraits and got to the back door slowly putting my hand on the door knob and twisting it till I quickly pulled it open and the pounding stopped. I Looked around the dark backyard and I noticed something: the figure of a man standing by our fence. I looked closer trying to get a better look it was definitely a man.
I turned around to grab the bat sitting on our porch.
“Hey buddy you better beat it!” I yelled, turning back with bat in arm to see he was gone.
“Weird.” I thought and went back inside the house. I closed the back door and turned to walk back to Vivian when I saw the shadowy man standing right in front of me.
“AH-” I started to scream but the air seemed to be sucked from my lungs and the only thing that came out was a small peep.
“I don’t like you creatures.” The man said in a voice I can’t even begin to describe. It wasn't human.
“But still you exist to only displease me.” He went on
“Who are you?” I stammered
“You wouldn't know the word but you gave a soul hope tonight which made her free of me so now I need another soul in return for the one you greedily took.” The man like thing said
“Annie?” I asked shakily
He made an odd gurgling crunching noise reminiscent of a laugh but sounded more like a garbage disposal.
“Obviously” he replied
“Now you're going to replace that soul.” He said calmly
“Evaline?” Vivian placed her hand on my shoulder
“Evaline Are you there helloooo?” Vivan said snapping her fingers in front of my eyes
“Yeah sorry Viv I just was thinking.” I replied
Now i'm writing this to you hoping someone out there knows what this thing is and how to get rid of it before I become the next soul to be taken by HIM.
2023.05.30 20:30 TheDrungeonBlaster Gutterpunks Reloaded #7:100 Dead Nazis
-Red-
April 19th, 11:13 A.M., The Sprawl
I sparked a dilapidated Vita-Cig that I’d snagged from Trodes and peered out into the Sprawl; the careful equilibrium of a well-orchestrated black-market had returned; pushers and gangers lined the alleys, watching for signals from rooftop lookouts to avoid the single Peacewatch cruiser that had been stupid enough to enter the dockside. The poor bastard would be dead before the afternoon was over… not that I had much sympathy for his kind. Peacewatch made it a habit to stay out of the Sprawl: unless the Eggheads predictive crime system said something catastrophic was coming, they policed their kind and left us in the hands of the mob. I’d never iced an officer. Not yet at least.
“Your partner should be ready shortly, I think he’s just tying up a few loose ends,” Akari said, snatching the cigarette from my hand and taking a long drag.
“Remind me again why you think I should take the shrimp with me instead of Nico and Roman?”
“He’s smart… and the other two are working on something else. Besides-- you need brains on this one, Red, not muscle,” she giggled, passing the cigarette back.
“Whatever you say,” I paused, grabbing the smoke, “what do you have them up to?”
“There’s a shipment of Xeno-grade weapons coming down from the colonies. Nico and Roman will be liberating them from the Slicers. Or, their share, at least. It won’t be much, maybe a dozen guns, but it’ll be worth it: the force field tech alone will pay for the trip as soon as Fincetti’s goons start trying to take your heads off with plasma cannons and mono blades.”
“What do you mean, their share?”
“The job was too big for us to take on alone. I linked up with another enterprising group of Freelancers. If it goes well, maybe we can hire them on for the heist, we’re going to need more people if we want to walk out of there alive.”
We?
“What, are you planning on coming along now?” I asked, snuffing out the smoke.
“It only seems right; Trodes is coming along, and I’m a better shot than he’ll ever be. Besides, you have a dangerous habit of getting shot, and I can’t have you going down in the field,” she said, winking as if to punctuate the sentence.
“You sure? We can manage, you don’t have to come with us, you’ve done so much already.”
“I know I have, that’s why I have to protect my investment. If you go down out there, then the team is without a leader. A military scale operation like this will go south real fast without someone competent in command.”
“You’ve got me wrong, Akari: I’m no leader. I’m just someone who wants to live in a better city and doesn’t mind taking the trash out himself. Besides, why do we need a leader? We’re all competent adults acting in concert, of our own free will. We all know what we’re doing, if a situation arises and someone needs to take charge, it’ll happen.”
“You’ve got a lot of faith in a crew you just met,” Akari said with a sneer.
“You know why I asked you to put the team together, Akari?”
“Because there’s a bounty on your head that could finance twenty retirements, and you know you can trust me?”
“No, well yeah, but that’s beside the point—I asked you because you’re not a Fixer, you’re a part time street doc that works the front desk at the most popular Freelancer hotel in the Sprawl. If there’s anyone who knows who’s gonna get the job done, it’s you. See, a Fixer is going to be okay with whatever losses they deem acceptable beforehand, but they’re fine with keeping that to themselves. If you thought any of these mooks were going to crack under pressure, or do something stupid, you wouldn’t have set me up with them.”
Before she could respond, Trodes emerged from the stairs leading to the lab. He winced as the sunlight hit his eyes, shrugging on the hood of the oversized sweatshirt that blanketed his meek frame. Glimpses of pain showed through every tremor laden step he took. A cloak of wires enveloped his skull, feeding into an old-world cyber console.
“It’s insufferably hot out here,” Trodes sighed.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going far. Chances are that whatever hole we’re meeting BFU in will have air conditioning,” I responded, clicking my key fob, and signaling the bike to pull around.
Trodes face fell flat when the Supersonic rolled around the corner; apparently, the prestige of carving through the skyway on a state-of-the-art Taffington jet-bike was lost on him.
“Are we taking… that?” Trodes stammered.
“We are. Unless you’ve got a pair of wheels with two seats?” I asked, mounting the bike and revving the engine.
With an exasperated sigh, Trodes boarded the passenger seat. I could feel him behind me, vibrating as tremors gripped his body.
“You good, buddy?” I asked.
He nodded vigorously, clenching the handrails with white knuckles.
Akari shook her head and headed back to the lab.
I heard Trodes mumble something under his breath, but it was quickly drowned out by the jet-bike’s purr. I carved into the skyway. Driving in the Sprawl was pure freedom: almost nobody owned vehicles with aerial capabilities in this part of town. It didn’t take long to reach top speed.
Slummers and gutterpunks walked the streets like zombies in a drug addled haze. The scent of gunpowder, pollution and burning ozone coalesced into a putrid stench that reeked of poverty and violence. Patches of azure moved in militant formation below; the Vorrath had taken to the streets. On a different day, a better day, I would’ve helped them. Most slummers hated the Offworlder Coalition, but not me—at the end of the day I always figured that I had more in common with poor people from another planet than rich people from another district of the city. At least we shared the same struggle.
The bike slowed to crawl; the Neo-Confederates were about, backed by a platoon of Brown-Shirts that looked like a tide of sewer run off, crashing through the streets with reckless abandon. Civilians fled for their homes. Fuck.
The jet-bike careened through the air before finally landing atop a building a few blocks away from the impending conflict.
“Get off,” I said, turning back to Trodes.
“Why? You don’t intend to abandon me at this altitude, do you?”
“Not as long as I survive—I’ll be quick, I just need to ventilate some Nazi fucks, understood?”
He shook his head and muttered a string of curses.
I tore through the air, circling around the impending conflict. I chased a handful of cheap amphetamines with a poorly rolled joint and swooped low, behind the rolling tide of brown shirts. This wasn’t the first time I’d made myself an enemy of the city’s Neo-Nazi’s; I’d killed at least a dozen of them in my career as a courier, but those were isolated incidents, back-alley brawls away from the mob.
This was a whole new ball game.
I fell slack as my Teleoperations module synchronized with the bike. My consciousness faded, reemerging into the HALO-Net’s stylized rendition of the bike’s interior. I wasn’t just the pilot now—I was the bike. Bullets carved twin streaks of crimson into the brown tide. It didn’t take long to hit top speed, 3.7 seconds, to be exact.
The group turned in nearly perfect unison, launching volley upon volley as I passed overhead. The bike’s shields barely held together; I felt every round, like a flock of birds violently slamming into my side—not enough to cause any real damage, but more than enough to get the blood pumping. I slid into an alley a few blocks off and waited for the shield generator to recharge. Gunshots rang out from the streets, alongside the sizzle of plasma meeting flesh. Soon the din was drowned beneath the roar of dozens of Vorrath war cries. I took to the sky.
Trodes was exactly where I left him, nervously clutching a knock off version of a Locust flechette pistol.
“I was beginning to doubt your survival,” Trodes said shakily.
“Wrong again, little guy,” I paused, reigniting a half smoked joint, “it was just a quick hit and run, we don’t have the time or the numbers for a pitched battle. Now, hop on.”
It didn’t take long to find BFU’s base of operations. Black flags and Anarchist graffiti covered the walls of the abandoned warehouse they’d apparently taken up residence in. A field of repurposed Peacewatch turrets were installed atop the roof, complimented by a web of cameras that spread across a three-block radius. Anarchists of all species and creeds loitered outside. The guards ranged from Cyborgs and Vat-Grown, to Vorrath and Vorstihl, each wearing a variant of the black flag with colors corresponding to their ideologies.
As I hovered above the building, I saw a familiar face: the rookie from earlier. Alarmingly, his cruiser was nowhere to be seen. His face was wrought with horror, as a pair of cyborgs led him inside the warehouse.
“They’re certainly less than subtle,” Trodes said.
“They don’t have to be subtle, they’re the biggest citizens political organization in the Sprawl. Peacewatch avoids them if they have anything less than a full platoon on hand,” I explained.
“Red… before we enter negotiations with these hooligans, I must inquire as to what your motivation hitting the vault is? Surely you know there’s a strong likelihood that you won’t make it out, and from what I’d heard about you, I always understood you to be a man who knew how to keep himself out of the line of sight of dangerous people,” Trodes said, nervously.
“Fincetti is the most dangerous man in the city, short of O’Bannon. He controls the black market with an iron fist and is instrumental in all the things I hate about living here. The problem is, I have no way to do anything about it right now… but there’s something big in the safe—there must be—for fucks sake, he iced his family over it. I’m hoping there’s something in there that can give me a little leverage, so I can cross him out afterwards.”
Trodes was silent for a moment, simply reaching as if to ask me to pass the joint. I obliged.
“I have my reasons to want O’Bannon dead too, I’m in,” he paused as a coughing fit seized him, causing the joint to fall to the ground, “there’s something you should know though: I’m working with an entity of great power in the Net; I don’t know what precisely it is, but I know it saved my life more than once. As a matter of fact, it’s the only reason I was able to obtain the blueprint of Fincetti’s bunker, and his security plan.”
“Is it… is it an unshackled AI?”
“Unlikely: it seems to understand compassion and empathy on a uniquely organic level, something that rarely slips past Netwatch.”
“Alright, well whatever it is, you keep an eye on it and let me know if things get shady. I appreciate you telling me.”
Trodes nodded in silence.
The crowd parted expectantly as I landed along the streetside. Dozens of eyes were immediately glued to Trodes and I. A cyborg with a steel double mohawk emerged from a sea of leather, patches, and smoke. A sawed-off shotgun hung at his side.
“Red, I presume?” the Cyborg asked, extending a steel hand.
“That’s right, and who’re you?” I answered, clasping the borgs hand as firm as I could manage.
“They call me Diezel, and I’ll be your host today,” he released my hand and looked me up and down as if assessing whether I was a threat, “follow me, everyone’s here so we can get straight down to business.”
The warehouse’s interior had been renovated drastically; layers of open-faced lofts sat stacked upon each other, consuming the walls. Nearly every non-violent law in the city was being broken in the lofts, from cooking chems and explosives to studying banned literature and Doomguard martial arts. It was beautiful. We followed Diezel through a winding hallway of munitions manufacturing stations, before finally emerging into an immense circular room, with rows of seats climbing the walls. I couldn’t believe it—there must have been two hundred people present.
The lights dimmed as we entered the arena. Diezel led us to the rooms center, ushering Trodes and I onto a great circular platform; he fell into place on a platform across from us, beside a Vat-Grown woman bearing an orange and black flag on her arm, and augmentations that cost more than my bike. Behind the duo a bulbous Vorstihl lurked; tentacles draped down his back, carefully pulled away from his cyclopean eye. A red and black flag was displayed on his arm… it was only then that I noticed the blue and black flag on Diezel’s arm.
The platforms each rose roughly fifteen feet into the air, before microphone stands emerged from the center of each platform. Diezel stepped forward, past the microphone.
“Before we start, I’ll explain how this works: the three of us are representatives of our specific unions—but the people are free to interject. One union voting to aid in your endeavors does not guarantee the help of the other two, as each union demands a perfect consensus. Likewise, if a faction without one union decides to help you, it does not necessarily mean you have the support of the entire union. The only way you’ll end up with total support is cross union consensus. Do you understand?”
A consensus: of course, they needed a damned consensus.
“I do,” I answered, speaking away from the microphone.
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Diezel stepped back, finding his microphone before continuing, “Red, Trodes, welcome to the Bouleuterion,” he paused a moment as the crowd erupted into cheers, “beside me are my comrades Aria and Korvirex, and we stand ready to hear your proposal.”
“As most of you probably know, Don Fincetti is the most powerful man in the underworld, hell—maybe even the city—what you likely don’t know is that he has a vault beneath the city, guarded by an army of Harvesters. I intend to break into the vault, slaughter the Harvesters and strike a blow to Fincetti that he won’t forget… and I intend to kill him shortly after. What I ask is simple: you help me in what’s to come, and when he’s finally dead, you can all split his turf among yourselves. All I care about is making sure he doesn’t live long enough to poison the Sprawl more than he already has.”
A murmur emerged from the stands. I gazed across the way to see the three representatives huddled together, whispering amongst themselves. Finally, Aria stepped towards her microphone.
“What you ask of us will likely mean the death of many of our people… we need something greater than what you offer—we need a guarantee of mutual aid—you have a reputation in the Sprawl, we would ask that you employ it in helping us when the time comes to resettle the Sprawl. Namely, we’d request your assistance against the gangs that may try to fill the power void you seek to create,” Aria explained.
“That seems reasonable,” I said.
Aria stepped back as Korvirex moved forward.
“Tell me, Red, are you familiar with the Offworlder Coalition?” Korvirex asked.
“I am—as a matter of fact, I aided them on the way here—they were marching against the Neo-Confederates and the Brown Shirts. I insured that they had the element of surprise.”
Korvirex stroked the beard-like tentacles that hung from his chin in contemplation.
“Good. What I ask is that you help us to secure their trust, we have offered solidarity where we could, but our forces are spread thin. The ideology of many of the exiled Vorrath rebels that found their way to Nova City—it matches that of our union. If our help was offered, would you agree to assist us in aiding the Coalition, so that they finally have an opportunity to get on their feet?”
Trodes leaned towards in, whispering in my ear.
“It would be prudent of you to make a counteroffer: proclaim that you’ll help with the Coalition, if they’ll spread the word to other groups whose goals may align with ours. There will likely be at least a couple hundred Harvesters in the Undercity when we strike… unless they’re occupied elsewhere.”
“I would happily help with the Coalition, on the condition that your faction spread the word about what we’re doing to like-minded organizations. As it stands, we could still use more numbers to match the Harvesters,” I said.
“These conditions may be satisfactory,” Korvirex said, before retreating into yet another group huddle.
The audience watched on in silence.
Finally, Diezel reapproached the microphone.
“The representatives have deemed this topic worthy of discussion: you’re free to leave, we’ll get ahold of Akari in a couple days, when all the details are ironed out.”
“A couple days?”
“Reaching a consensus can be a slow process at times—be prepared for a renegotiation of conditions, as there will likely be more stipulations made once the process is complete,” Diezel explained.
I nodded, and the platform beneath my feet began to descend towards the floor. The crowd erupted into cheers.
Hopefully Nico and Roman would beat us home.
submitted by TheDrungeonBlaster to WriteFantasyStories [link] [comments]
April 19th, 11:13 A.M., The Sprawl
I sparked a dilapidated Vita-Cig that I’d snagged from Trodes and peered out into the Sprawl; the careful equilibrium of a well-orchestrated black-market had returned; pushers and gangers lined the alleys, watching for signals from rooftop lookouts to avoid the single Peacewatch cruiser that had been stupid enough to enter the dockside. The poor bastard would be dead before the afternoon was over… not that I had much sympathy for his kind. Peacewatch made it a habit to stay out of the Sprawl: unless the Eggheads predictive crime system said something catastrophic was coming, they policed their kind and left us in the hands of the mob. I’d never iced an officer. Not yet at least.
“Your partner should be ready shortly, I think he’s just tying up a few loose ends,” Akari said, snatching the cigarette from my hand and taking a long drag.
“Remind me again why you think I should take the shrimp with me instead of Nico and Roman?”
“He’s smart… and the other two are working on something else. Besides-- you need brains on this one, Red, not muscle,” she giggled, passing the cigarette back.
“Whatever you say,” I paused, grabbing the smoke, “what do you have them up to?”
“There’s a shipment of Xeno-grade weapons coming down from the colonies. Nico and Roman will be liberating them from the Slicers. Or, their share, at least. It won’t be much, maybe a dozen guns, but it’ll be worth it: the force field tech alone will pay for the trip as soon as Fincetti’s goons start trying to take your heads off with plasma cannons and mono blades.”
“What do you mean, their share?”
“The job was too big for us to take on alone. I linked up with another enterprising group of Freelancers. If it goes well, maybe we can hire them on for the heist, we’re going to need more people if we want to walk out of there alive.”
We?
“What, are you planning on coming along now?” I asked, snuffing out the smoke.
“It only seems right; Trodes is coming along, and I’m a better shot than he’ll ever be. Besides, you have a dangerous habit of getting shot, and I can’t have you going down in the field,” she said, winking as if to punctuate the sentence.
“You sure? We can manage, you don’t have to come with us, you’ve done so much already.”
“I know I have, that’s why I have to protect my investment. If you go down out there, then the team is without a leader. A military scale operation like this will go south real fast without someone competent in command.”
“You’ve got me wrong, Akari: I’m no leader. I’m just someone who wants to live in a better city and doesn’t mind taking the trash out himself. Besides, why do we need a leader? We’re all competent adults acting in concert, of our own free will. We all know what we’re doing, if a situation arises and someone needs to take charge, it’ll happen.”
“You’ve got a lot of faith in a crew you just met,” Akari said with a sneer.
“You know why I asked you to put the team together, Akari?”
“Because there’s a bounty on your head that could finance twenty retirements, and you know you can trust me?”
“No, well yeah, but that’s beside the point—I asked you because you’re not a Fixer, you’re a part time street doc that works the front desk at the most popular Freelancer hotel in the Sprawl. If there’s anyone who knows who’s gonna get the job done, it’s you. See, a Fixer is going to be okay with whatever losses they deem acceptable beforehand, but they’re fine with keeping that to themselves. If you thought any of these mooks were going to crack under pressure, or do something stupid, you wouldn’t have set me up with them.”
Before she could respond, Trodes emerged from the stairs leading to the lab. He winced as the sunlight hit his eyes, shrugging on the hood of the oversized sweatshirt that blanketed his meek frame. Glimpses of pain showed through every tremor laden step he took. A cloak of wires enveloped his skull, feeding into an old-world cyber console.
“It’s insufferably hot out here,” Trodes sighed.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going far. Chances are that whatever hole we’re meeting BFU in will have air conditioning,” I responded, clicking my key fob, and signaling the bike to pull around.
Trodes face fell flat when the Supersonic rolled around the corner; apparently, the prestige of carving through the skyway on a state-of-the-art Taffington jet-bike was lost on him.
“Are we taking… that?” Trodes stammered.
“We are. Unless you’ve got a pair of wheels with two seats?” I asked, mounting the bike and revving the engine.
With an exasperated sigh, Trodes boarded the passenger seat. I could feel him behind me, vibrating as tremors gripped his body.
“You good, buddy?” I asked.
He nodded vigorously, clenching the handrails with white knuckles.
Akari shook her head and headed back to the lab.
I heard Trodes mumble something under his breath, but it was quickly drowned out by the jet-bike’s purr. I carved into the skyway. Driving in the Sprawl was pure freedom: almost nobody owned vehicles with aerial capabilities in this part of town. It didn’t take long to reach top speed.
Slummers and gutterpunks walked the streets like zombies in a drug addled haze. The scent of gunpowder, pollution and burning ozone coalesced into a putrid stench that reeked of poverty and violence. Patches of azure moved in militant formation below; the Vorrath had taken to the streets. On a different day, a better day, I would’ve helped them. Most slummers hated the Offworlder Coalition, but not me—at the end of the day I always figured that I had more in common with poor people from another planet than rich people from another district of the city. At least we shared the same struggle.
The bike slowed to crawl; the Neo-Confederates were about, backed by a platoon of Brown-Shirts that looked like a tide of sewer run off, crashing through the streets with reckless abandon. Civilians fled for their homes. Fuck.
The jet-bike careened through the air before finally landing atop a building a few blocks away from the impending conflict.
“Get off,” I said, turning back to Trodes.
“Why? You don’t intend to abandon me at this altitude, do you?”
“Not as long as I survive—I’ll be quick, I just need to ventilate some Nazi fucks, understood?”
He shook his head and muttered a string of curses.
I tore through the air, circling around the impending conflict. I chased a handful of cheap amphetamines with a poorly rolled joint and swooped low, behind the rolling tide of brown shirts. This wasn’t the first time I’d made myself an enemy of the city’s Neo-Nazi’s; I’d killed at least a dozen of them in my career as a courier, but those were isolated incidents, back-alley brawls away from the mob.
This was a whole new ball game.
I fell slack as my Teleoperations module synchronized with the bike. My consciousness faded, reemerging into the HALO-Net’s stylized rendition of the bike’s interior. I wasn’t just the pilot now—I was the bike. Bullets carved twin streaks of crimson into the brown tide. It didn’t take long to hit top speed, 3.7 seconds, to be exact.
The group turned in nearly perfect unison, launching volley upon volley as I passed overhead. The bike’s shields barely held together; I felt every round, like a flock of birds violently slamming into my side—not enough to cause any real damage, but more than enough to get the blood pumping. I slid into an alley a few blocks off and waited for the shield generator to recharge. Gunshots rang out from the streets, alongside the sizzle of plasma meeting flesh. Soon the din was drowned beneath the roar of dozens of Vorrath war cries. I took to the sky.
Trodes was exactly where I left him, nervously clutching a knock off version of a Locust flechette pistol.
“I was beginning to doubt your survival,” Trodes said shakily.
“Wrong again, little guy,” I paused, reigniting a half smoked joint, “it was just a quick hit and run, we don’t have the time or the numbers for a pitched battle. Now, hop on.”
It didn’t take long to find BFU’s base of operations. Black flags and Anarchist graffiti covered the walls of the abandoned warehouse they’d apparently taken up residence in. A field of repurposed Peacewatch turrets were installed atop the roof, complimented by a web of cameras that spread across a three-block radius. Anarchists of all species and creeds loitered outside. The guards ranged from Cyborgs and Vat-Grown, to Vorrath and Vorstihl, each wearing a variant of the black flag with colors corresponding to their ideologies.
As I hovered above the building, I saw a familiar face: the rookie from earlier. Alarmingly, his cruiser was nowhere to be seen. His face was wrought with horror, as a pair of cyborgs led him inside the warehouse.
“They’re certainly less than subtle,” Trodes said.
“They don’t have to be subtle, they’re the biggest citizens political organization in the Sprawl. Peacewatch avoids them if they have anything less than a full platoon on hand,” I explained.
“Red… before we enter negotiations with these hooligans, I must inquire as to what your motivation hitting the vault is? Surely you know there’s a strong likelihood that you won’t make it out, and from what I’d heard about you, I always understood you to be a man who knew how to keep himself out of the line of sight of dangerous people,” Trodes said, nervously.
“Fincetti is the most dangerous man in the city, short of O’Bannon. He controls the black market with an iron fist and is instrumental in all the things I hate about living here. The problem is, I have no way to do anything about it right now… but there’s something big in the safe—there must be—for fucks sake, he iced his family over it. I’m hoping there’s something in there that can give me a little leverage, so I can cross him out afterwards.”
Trodes was silent for a moment, simply reaching as if to ask me to pass the joint. I obliged.
“I have my reasons to want O’Bannon dead too, I’m in,” he paused as a coughing fit seized him, causing the joint to fall to the ground, “there’s something you should know though: I’m working with an entity of great power in the Net; I don’t know what precisely it is, but I know it saved my life more than once. As a matter of fact, it’s the only reason I was able to obtain the blueprint of Fincetti’s bunker, and his security plan.”
“Is it… is it an unshackled AI?”
“Unlikely: it seems to understand compassion and empathy on a uniquely organic level, something that rarely slips past Netwatch.”
“Alright, well whatever it is, you keep an eye on it and let me know if things get shady. I appreciate you telling me.”
Trodes nodded in silence.
The crowd parted expectantly as I landed along the streetside. Dozens of eyes were immediately glued to Trodes and I. A cyborg with a steel double mohawk emerged from a sea of leather, patches, and smoke. A sawed-off shotgun hung at his side.
“Red, I presume?” the Cyborg asked, extending a steel hand.
“That’s right, and who’re you?” I answered, clasping the borgs hand as firm as I could manage.
“They call me Diezel, and I’ll be your host today,” he released my hand and looked me up and down as if assessing whether I was a threat, “follow me, everyone’s here so we can get straight down to business.”
The warehouse’s interior had been renovated drastically; layers of open-faced lofts sat stacked upon each other, consuming the walls. Nearly every non-violent law in the city was being broken in the lofts, from cooking chems and explosives to studying banned literature and Doomguard martial arts. It was beautiful. We followed Diezel through a winding hallway of munitions manufacturing stations, before finally emerging into an immense circular room, with rows of seats climbing the walls. I couldn’t believe it—there must have been two hundred people present.
The lights dimmed as we entered the arena. Diezel led us to the rooms center, ushering Trodes and I onto a great circular platform; he fell into place on a platform across from us, beside a Vat-Grown woman bearing an orange and black flag on her arm, and augmentations that cost more than my bike. Behind the duo a bulbous Vorstihl lurked; tentacles draped down his back, carefully pulled away from his cyclopean eye. A red and black flag was displayed on his arm… it was only then that I noticed the blue and black flag on Diezel’s arm.
The platforms each rose roughly fifteen feet into the air, before microphone stands emerged from the center of each platform. Diezel stepped forward, past the microphone.
“Before we start, I’ll explain how this works: the three of us are representatives of our specific unions—but the people are free to interject. One union voting to aid in your endeavors does not guarantee the help of the other two, as each union demands a perfect consensus. Likewise, if a faction without one union decides to help you, it does not necessarily mean you have the support of the entire union. The only way you’ll end up with total support is cross union consensus. Do you understand?”
A consensus: of course, they needed a damned consensus.
“I do,” I answered, speaking away from the microphone.
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Diezel stepped back, finding his microphone before continuing, “Red, Trodes, welcome to the Bouleuterion,” he paused a moment as the crowd erupted into cheers, “beside me are my comrades Aria and Korvirex, and we stand ready to hear your proposal.”
“As most of you probably know, Don Fincetti is the most powerful man in the underworld, hell—maybe even the city—what you likely don’t know is that he has a vault beneath the city, guarded by an army of Harvesters. I intend to break into the vault, slaughter the Harvesters and strike a blow to Fincetti that he won’t forget… and I intend to kill him shortly after. What I ask is simple: you help me in what’s to come, and when he’s finally dead, you can all split his turf among yourselves. All I care about is making sure he doesn’t live long enough to poison the Sprawl more than he already has.”
A murmur emerged from the stands. I gazed across the way to see the three representatives huddled together, whispering amongst themselves. Finally, Aria stepped towards her microphone.
“What you ask of us will likely mean the death of many of our people… we need something greater than what you offer—we need a guarantee of mutual aid—you have a reputation in the Sprawl, we would ask that you employ it in helping us when the time comes to resettle the Sprawl. Namely, we’d request your assistance against the gangs that may try to fill the power void you seek to create,” Aria explained.
“That seems reasonable,” I said.
Aria stepped back as Korvirex moved forward.
“Tell me, Red, are you familiar with the Offworlder Coalition?” Korvirex asked.
“I am—as a matter of fact, I aided them on the way here—they were marching against the Neo-Confederates and the Brown Shirts. I insured that they had the element of surprise.”
Korvirex stroked the beard-like tentacles that hung from his chin in contemplation.
“Good. What I ask is that you help us to secure their trust, we have offered solidarity where we could, but our forces are spread thin. The ideology of many of the exiled Vorrath rebels that found their way to Nova City—it matches that of our union. If our help was offered, would you agree to assist us in aiding the Coalition, so that they finally have an opportunity to get on their feet?”
Trodes leaned towards in, whispering in my ear.
“It would be prudent of you to make a counteroffer: proclaim that you’ll help with the Coalition, if they’ll spread the word to other groups whose goals may align with ours. There will likely be at least a couple hundred Harvesters in the Undercity when we strike… unless they’re occupied elsewhere.”
“I would happily help with the Coalition, on the condition that your faction spread the word about what we’re doing to like-minded organizations. As it stands, we could still use more numbers to match the Harvesters,” I said.
“These conditions may be satisfactory,” Korvirex said, before retreating into yet another group huddle.
The audience watched on in silence.
Finally, Diezel reapproached the microphone.
“The representatives have deemed this topic worthy of discussion: you’re free to leave, we’ll get ahold of Akari in a couple days, when all the details are ironed out.”
“A couple days?”
“Reaching a consensus can be a slow process at times—be prepared for a renegotiation of conditions, as there will likely be more stipulations made once the process is complete,” Diezel explained.
I nodded, and the platform beneath my feet began to descend towards the floor. The crowd erupted into cheers.
Hopefully Nico and Roman would beat us home.
2023.05.30 20:29 bonbam these GF chicken nuggets almost fooled my non-celiac husband, hands down best I've ever had. Also you get to eat dinosaurs. 11/10
 | submitted by bonbam to Celiac [link] [comments] |
2023.05.30 20:29 TheDrungeonBlaster [SF] Gutterpunks Reloaded #7: 100 Dead Nazis
-Red-
April 19th, 11:13 A.M., The Sprawl
I sparked a dilapidated Vita-Cig that I’d snagged from Trodes and peered out into the Sprawl; the careful equilibrium of a well-orchestrated black-market had returned; pushers and gangers lined the alleys, watching for signals from rooftop lookouts to avoid the single Peacewatch cruiser that had been stupid enough to enter the dockside. The poor bastard would be dead before the afternoon was over… not that I had much sympathy for his kind. Peacewatch made it a habit to stay out of the Sprawl: unless the Eggheads predictive crime system said something catastrophic was coming, they policed their kind and left us in the hands of the mob. I’d never iced an officer. Not yet at least.
“Your partner should be ready shortly, I think he’s just tying up a few loose ends,” Akari said, snatching the cigarette from my hand and taking a long drag.
“Remind me again why you think I should take the shrimp with me instead of Nico and Roman?”
“He’s smart… and the other two are working on something else. Besides-- you need brains on this one, Red, not muscle,” she giggled, passing the cigarette back.
“Whatever you say,” I paused, grabbing the smoke, “what do you have them up to?”
“There’s a shipment of Xeno-grade weapons coming down from the colonies. Nico and Roman will be liberating them from the Slicers. Or, their share, at least. It won’t be much, maybe a dozen guns, but it’ll be worth it: the force field tech alone will pay for the trip as soon as Fincetti’s goons start trying to take your heads off with plasma cannons and mono blades.”
“What do you mean, their share?”
“The job was too big for us to take on alone. I linked up with another enterprising group of Freelancers. If it goes well, maybe we can hire them on for the heist, we’re going to need more people if we want to walk out of there alive.”
We?
“What, are you planning on coming along now?” I asked, snuffing out the smoke.
“It only seems right; Trodes is coming along, and I’m a better shot than he’ll ever be. Besides, you have a dangerous habit of getting shot, and I can’t have you going down in the field,” she said, winking as if to punctuate the sentence.
“You sure? We can manage, you don’t have to come with us, you’ve done so much already.”
“I know I have, that’s why I have to protect my investment. If you go down out there, then the team is without a leader. A military scale operation like this will go south real fast without someone competent in command.”
“You’ve got me wrong, Akari: I’m no leader. I’m just someone who wants to live in a better city and doesn’t mind taking the trash out himself. Besides, why do we need a leader? We’re all competent adults acting in concert, of our own free will. We all know what we’re doing, if a situation arises and someone needs to take charge, it’ll happen.”
“You’ve got a lot of faith in a crew you just met,” Akari said with a sneer.
“You know why I asked you to put the team together, Akari?”
“Because there’s a bounty on your head that could finance twenty retirements, and you know you can trust me?”
“No, well yeah, but that’s beside the point—I asked you because you’re not a Fixer, you’re a part time street doc that works the front desk at the most popular Freelancer hotel in the Sprawl. If there’s anyone who knows who’s gonna get the job done, it’s you. See, a Fixer is going to be okay with whatever losses they deem acceptable beforehand, but they’re fine with keeping that to themselves. If you thought any of these mooks were going to crack under pressure, or do something stupid, you wouldn’t have set me up with them.”
Before she could respond, Trodes emerged from the stairs leading to the lab. He winced as the sunlight hit his eyes, shrugging on the hood of the oversized sweatshirt that blanketed his meek frame. Glimpses of pain showed through every tremor laden step he took. A cloak of wires enveloped his skull, feeding into an old-world cyber console.
“It’s insufferably hot out here,” Trodes sighed.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going far. Chances are that whatever hole we’re meeting BFU in will have air conditioning,” I responded, clicking my key fob, and signaling the bike to pull around.
Trodes face fell flat when the Supersonic rolled around the corner; apparently, the prestige of carving through the skyway on a state-of-the-art Taffington jet-bike was lost on him.
“Are we taking… that?” Trodes stammered.
“We are. Unless you’ve got a pair of wheels with two seats?” I asked, mounting the bike and revving the engine.
With an exasperated sigh, Trodes boarded the passenger seat. I could feel him behind me, vibrating as tremors gripped his body.
“You good, buddy?” I asked.
He nodded vigorously, clenching the handrails with white knuckles.
Akari shook her head and headed back to the lab.
I heard Trodes mumble something under his breath, but it was quickly drowned out by the jet-bike’s purr. I carved into the skyway. Driving in the Sprawl was pure freedom: almost nobody owned vehicles with aerial capabilities in this part of town. It didn’t take long to reach top speed.
Slummers and gutterpunks walked the streets like zombies in a drug addled haze. The scent of gunpowder, pollution and burning ozone coalesced into a putrid stench that reeked of poverty and violence. Patches of azure moved in militant formation below; the Vorrath had taken to the streets. On a different day, a better day, I would’ve helped them. Most slummers hated the Offworlder Coalition, but not me—at the end of the day I always figured that I had more in common with poor people from another planet than rich people from another district of the city. At least we shared the same struggle.
The bike slowed to crawl; the Neo-Confederates were about, backed by a platoon of Brown-Shirts that looked like a tide of sewer run off, crashing through the streets with reckless abandon. Civilians fled for their homes. Fuck.
The jet-bike careened through the air before finally landing atop a building a few blocks away from the impending conflict.
“Get off,” I said, turning back to Trodes.
“Why? You don’t intend to abandon me at this altitude, do you?”
“Not as long as I survive—I’ll be quick, I just need to ventilate some Nazi fucks, understood?”
He shook his head and muttered a string of curses.
I tore through the air, circling around the impending conflict. I chased a handful of cheap amphetamines with a poorly rolled joint and swooped low, behind the rolling tide of brown shirts. This wasn’t the first time I’d made myself an enemy of the city’s Neo-Nazi’s; I’d killed at least a dozen of them in my career as a courier, but those were isolated incidents, back-alley brawls away from the mob.
This was a whole new ball game.
I fell slack as my Teleoperations module synchronized with the bike. My consciousness faded, reemerging into the HALO-Net’s stylized rendition of the bike’s interior. I wasn’t just the pilot now—I was the bike. Bullets carved twin streaks of crimson into the brown tide. It didn’t take long to hit top speed, 3.7 seconds, to be exact.
The group turned in nearly perfect unison, launching volley upon volley as I passed overhead. The bike’s shields barely held together; I felt every round, like a flock of birds violently slamming into my side—not enough to cause any real damage, but more than enough to get the blood pumping. I slid into an alley a few blocks off and waited for the shield generator to recharge. Gunshots rang out from the streets, alongside the sizzle of plasma meeting flesh. Soon the din was drowned beneath the roar of dozens of Vorrath war cries. I took to the sky.
Trodes was exactly where I left him, nervously clutching a knock off version of a Locust flechette pistol.
“I was beginning to doubt your survival,” Trodes said shakily.
“Wrong again, little guy,” I paused, reigniting a half smoked joint, “it was just a quick hit and run, we don’t have the time or the numbers for a pitched battle. Now, hop on.”
It didn’t take long to find BFU’s base of operations. Black flags and Anarchist graffiti covered the walls of the abandoned warehouse they’d apparently taken up residence in. A field of repurposed Peacewatch turrets were installed atop the roof, complimented by a web of cameras that spread across a three-block radius. Anarchists of all species and creeds loitered outside. The guards ranged from Cyborgs and Vat-Grown, to Vorrath and Vorstihl, each wearing a variant of the black flag with colors corresponding to their ideologies.
As I hovered above the building, I saw a familiar face: the rookie from earlier. Alarmingly, his cruiser was nowhere to be seen. His face was wrought with horror, as a pair of cyborgs led him inside the warehouse.
“They’re certainly less than subtle,” Trodes said.
“They don’t have to be subtle, they’re the biggest citizens political organization in the Sprawl. Peacewatch avoids them if they have anything less than a full platoon on hand,” I explained.
“Red… before we enter negotiations with these hooligans, I must inquire as to what your motivation hitting the vault is? Surely you know there’s a strong likelihood that you won’t make it out, and from what I’d heard about you, I always understood you to be a man who knew how to keep himself out of the line of sight of dangerous people,” Trodes said, nervously.
“Fincetti is the most dangerous man in the city, short of O’Bannon. He controls the black market with an iron fist and is instrumental in all the things I hate about living here. The problem is, I have no way to do anything about it right now… but there’s something big in the safe—there must be—for fucks sake, he iced his family over it. I’m hoping there’s something in there that can give me a little leverage, so I can cross him out afterwards.”
Trodes was silent for a moment, simply reaching as if to ask me to pass the joint. I obliged.
“I have my reasons to want O’Bannon dead too, I’m in,” he paused as a coughing fit seized him, causing the joint to fall to the ground, “there’s something you should know though: I’m working with an entity of great power in the Net; I don’t know what precisely it is, but I know it saved my life more than once. As a matter of fact, it’s the only reason I was able to obtain the blueprint of Fincetti’s bunker, and his security plan.”
“Is it… is it an unshackled AI?”
“Unlikely: it seems to understand compassion and empathy on a uniquely organic level, something that rarely slips past Netwatch.”
“Alright, well whatever it is, you keep an eye on it and let me know if things get shady. I appreciate you telling me.”
Trodes nodded in silence.
The crowd parted expectantly as I landed along the streetside. Dozens of eyes were immediately glued to Trodes and I. A cyborg with a steel double mohawk emerged from a sea of leather, patches, and smoke. A sawed-off shotgun hung at his side.
“Red, I presume?” the Cyborg asked, extending a steel hand.
“That’s right, and who’re you?” I answered, clasping the borgs hand as firm as I could manage.
“They call me Diezel, and I’ll be your host today,” he released my hand and looked me up and down as if assessing whether I was a threat, “follow me, everyone’s here so we can get straight down to business.”
The warehouse’s interior had been renovated drastically; layers of open-faced lofts sat stacked upon each other, consuming the walls. Nearly every non-violent law in the city was being broken in the lofts, from cooking chems and explosives to studying banned literature and Doomguard martial arts. It was beautiful. We followed Diezel through a winding hallway of munitions manufacturing stations, before finally emerging into an immense circular room, with rows of seats climbing the walls. I couldn’t believe it—there must have been two hundred people present.
The lights dimmed as we entered the arena. Diezel led us to the rooms center, ushering Trodes and I onto a great circular platform; he fell into place on a platform across from us, beside a Vat-Grown woman bearing an orange and black flag on her arm, and augmentations that cost more than my bike. Behind the duo a bulbous Vorstihl lurked; tentacles draped down his back, carefully pulled away from his cyclopean eye. A red and black flag was displayed on his arm… it was only then that I noticed the blue and black flag on Diezel’s arm.
The platforms each rose roughly fifteen feet into the air, before microphone stands emerged from the center of each platform. Diezel stepped forward, past the microphone.
“Before we start, I’ll explain how this works: the three of us are representatives of our specific unions—but the people are free to interject. One union voting to aid in your endeavors does not guarantee the help of the other two, as each union demands a perfect consensus. Likewise, if a faction without one union decides to help you, it does not necessarily mean you have the support of the entire union. The only way you’ll end up with total support is cross union consensus. Do you understand?”
A consensus: of course, they needed a damned consensus.
“I do,” I answered, speaking away from the microphone.
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Diezel stepped back, finding his microphone before continuing, “Red, Trodes, welcome to the Bouleuterion,” he paused a moment as the crowd erupted into cheers, “beside me are my comrades Aria and Korvirex, and we stand ready to hear your proposal.”
“As most of you probably know, Don Fincetti is the most powerful man in the underworld, hell—maybe even the city—what you likely don’t know is that he has a vault beneath the city, guarded by an army of Harvesters. I intend to break into the vault, slaughter the Harvesters and strike a blow to Fincetti that he won’t forget… and I intend to kill him shortly after. What I ask is simple: you help me in what’s to come, and when he’s finally dead, you can all split his turf among yourselves. All I care about is making sure he doesn’t live long enough to poison the Sprawl more than he already has.”
A murmur emerged from the stands. I gazed across the way to see the three representatives huddled together, whispering amongst themselves. Finally, Aria stepped towards her microphone.
“What you ask of us will likely mean the death of many of our people… we need something greater than what you offer—we need a guarantee of mutual aid—you have a reputation in the Sprawl, we would ask that you employ it in helping us when the time comes to resettle the Sprawl. Namely, we’d request your assistance against the gangs that may try to fill the power void you seek to create,” Aria explained.
“That seems reasonable,” I said.
Aria stepped back as Korvirex moved forward.
“Tell me, Red, are you familiar with the Offworlder Coalition?” Korvirex asked.
“I am—as a matter of fact, I aided them on the way here—they were marching against the Neo-Confederates and the Brown Shirts. I insured that they had the element of surprise.”
Korvirex stroked the beard-like tentacles that hung from his chin in contemplation.
“Good. What I ask is that you help us to secure their trust, we have offered solidarity where we could, but our forces are spread thin. The ideology of many of the exiled Vorrath rebels that found their way to Nova City—it matches that of our union. If our help was offered, would you agree to assist us in aiding the Coalition, so that they finally have an opportunity to get on their feet?”
Trodes leaned towards in, whispering in my ear.
“It would be prudent of you to make a counteroffer: proclaim that you’ll help with the Coalition, if they’ll spread the word to other groups whose goals may align with ours. There will likely be at least a couple hundred Harvesters in the Undercity when we strike… unless they’re occupied elsewhere.”
“I would happily help with the Coalition, on the condition that your faction spread the word about what we’re doing to like-minded organizations. As it stands, we could still use more numbers to match the Harvesters,” I said.
“These conditions may be satisfactory,” Korvirex said, before retreating into yet another group huddle.
The audience watched on in silence.
Finally, Diezel reapproached the microphone.
“The representatives have deemed this topic worthy of discussion: you’re free to leave, we’ll get ahold of Akari in a couple days, when all the details are ironed out.”
“A couple days?”
“Reaching a consensus can be a slow process at times—be prepared for a renegotiation of conditions, as there will likely be more stipulations made once the process is complete,” Diezel explained.
I nodded, and the platform beneath my feet began to descend towards the floor. The crowd erupted into cheers.
Hopefully Nico and Roman would beat us home
submitted by TheDrungeonBlaster to shortstories [link] [comments]
April 19th, 11:13 A.M., The Sprawl
I sparked a dilapidated Vita-Cig that I’d snagged from Trodes and peered out into the Sprawl; the careful equilibrium of a well-orchestrated black-market had returned; pushers and gangers lined the alleys, watching for signals from rooftop lookouts to avoid the single Peacewatch cruiser that had been stupid enough to enter the dockside. The poor bastard would be dead before the afternoon was over… not that I had much sympathy for his kind. Peacewatch made it a habit to stay out of the Sprawl: unless the Eggheads predictive crime system said something catastrophic was coming, they policed their kind and left us in the hands of the mob. I’d never iced an officer. Not yet at least.
“Your partner should be ready shortly, I think he’s just tying up a few loose ends,” Akari said, snatching the cigarette from my hand and taking a long drag.
“Remind me again why you think I should take the shrimp with me instead of Nico and Roman?”
“He’s smart… and the other two are working on something else. Besides-- you need brains on this one, Red, not muscle,” she giggled, passing the cigarette back.
“Whatever you say,” I paused, grabbing the smoke, “what do you have them up to?”
“There’s a shipment of Xeno-grade weapons coming down from the colonies. Nico and Roman will be liberating them from the Slicers. Or, their share, at least. It won’t be much, maybe a dozen guns, but it’ll be worth it: the force field tech alone will pay for the trip as soon as Fincetti’s goons start trying to take your heads off with plasma cannons and mono blades.”
“What do you mean, their share?”
“The job was too big for us to take on alone. I linked up with another enterprising group of Freelancers. If it goes well, maybe we can hire them on for the heist, we’re going to need more people if we want to walk out of there alive.”
We?
“What, are you planning on coming along now?” I asked, snuffing out the smoke.
“It only seems right; Trodes is coming along, and I’m a better shot than he’ll ever be. Besides, you have a dangerous habit of getting shot, and I can’t have you going down in the field,” she said, winking as if to punctuate the sentence.
“You sure? We can manage, you don’t have to come with us, you’ve done so much already.”
“I know I have, that’s why I have to protect my investment. If you go down out there, then the team is without a leader. A military scale operation like this will go south real fast without someone competent in command.”
“You’ve got me wrong, Akari: I’m no leader. I’m just someone who wants to live in a better city and doesn’t mind taking the trash out himself. Besides, why do we need a leader? We’re all competent adults acting in concert, of our own free will. We all know what we’re doing, if a situation arises and someone needs to take charge, it’ll happen.”
“You’ve got a lot of faith in a crew you just met,” Akari said with a sneer.
“You know why I asked you to put the team together, Akari?”
“Because there’s a bounty on your head that could finance twenty retirements, and you know you can trust me?”
“No, well yeah, but that’s beside the point—I asked you because you’re not a Fixer, you’re a part time street doc that works the front desk at the most popular Freelancer hotel in the Sprawl. If there’s anyone who knows who’s gonna get the job done, it’s you. See, a Fixer is going to be okay with whatever losses they deem acceptable beforehand, but they’re fine with keeping that to themselves. If you thought any of these mooks were going to crack under pressure, or do something stupid, you wouldn’t have set me up with them.”
Before she could respond, Trodes emerged from the stairs leading to the lab. He winced as the sunlight hit his eyes, shrugging on the hood of the oversized sweatshirt that blanketed his meek frame. Glimpses of pain showed through every tremor laden step he took. A cloak of wires enveloped his skull, feeding into an old-world cyber console.
“It’s insufferably hot out here,” Trodes sighed.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going far. Chances are that whatever hole we’re meeting BFU in will have air conditioning,” I responded, clicking my key fob, and signaling the bike to pull around.
Trodes face fell flat when the Supersonic rolled around the corner; apparently, the prestige of carving through the skyway on a state-of-the-art Taffington jet-bike was lost on him.
“Are we taking… that?” Trodes stammered.
“We are. Unless you’ve got a pair of wheels with two seats?” I asked, mounting the bike and revving the engine.
With an exasperated sigh, Trodes boarded the passenger seat. I could feel him behind me, vibrating as tremors gripped his body.
“You good, buddy?” I asked.
He nodded vigorously, clenching the handrails with white knuckles.
Akari shook her head and headed back to the lab.
I heard Trodes mumble something under his breath, but it was quickly drowned out by the jet-bike’s purr. I carved into the skyway. Driving in the Sprawl was pure freedom: almost nobody owned vehicles with aerial capabilities in this part of town. It didn’t take long to reach top speed.
Slummers and gutterpunks walked the streets like zombies in a drug addled haze. The scent of gunpowder, pollution and burning ozone coalesced into a putrid stench that reeked of poverty and violence. Patches of azure moved in militant formation below; the Vorrath had taken to the streets. On a different day, a better day, I would’ve helped them. Most slummers hated the Offworlder Coalition, but not me—at the end of the day I always figured that I had more in common with poor people from another planet than rich people from another district of the city. At least we shared the same struggle.
The bike slowed to crawl; the Neo-Confederates were about, backed by a platoon of Brown-Shirts that looked like a tide of sewer run off, crashing through the streets with reckless abandon. Civilians fled for their homes. Fuck.
The jet-bike careened through the air before finally landing atop a building a few blocks away from the impending conflict.
“Get off,” I said, turning back to Trodes.
“Why? You don’t intend to abandon me at this altitude, do you?”
“Not as long as I survive—I’ll be quick, I just need to ventilate some Nazi fucks, understood?”
He shook his head and muttered a string of curses.
I tore through the air, circling around the impending conflict. I chased a handful of cheap amphetamines with a poorly rolled joint and swooped low, behind the rolling tide of brown shirts. This wasn’t the first time I’d made myself an enemy of the city’s Neo-Nazi’s; I’d killed at least a dozen of them in my career as a courier, but those were isolated incidents, back-alley brawls away from the mob.
This was a whole new ball game.
I fell slack as my Teleoperations module synchronized with the bike. My consciousness faded, reemerging into the HALO-Net’s stylized rendition of the bike’s interior. I wasn’t just the pilot now—I was the bike. Bullets carved twin streaks of crimson into the brown tide. It didn’t take long to hit top speed, 3.7 seconds, to be exact.
The group turned in nearly perfect unison, launching volley upon volley as I passed overhead. The bike’s shields barely held together; I felt every round, like a flock of birds violently slamming into my side—not enough to cause any real damage, but more than enough to get the blood pumping. I slid into an alley a few blocks off and waited for the shield generator to recharge. Gunshots rang out from the streets, alongside the sizzle of plasma meeting flesh. Soon the din was drowned beneath the roar of dozens of Vorrath war cries. I took to the sky.
Trodes was exactly where I left him, nervously clutching a knock off version of a Locust flechette pistol.
“I was beginning to doubt your survival,” Trodes said shakily.
“Wrong again, little guy,” I paused, reigniting a half smoked joint, “it was just a quick hit and run, we don’t have the time or the numbers for a pitched battle. Now, hop on.”
It didn’t take long to find BFU’s base of operations. Black flags and Anarchist graffiti covered the walls of the abandoned warehouse they’d apparently taken up residence in. A field of repurposed Peacewatch turrets were installed atop the roof, complimented by a web of cameras that spread across a three-block radius. Anarchists of all species and creeds loitered outside. The guards ranged from Cyborgs and Vat-Grown, to Vorrath and Vorstihl, each wearing a variant of the black flag with colors corresponding to their ideologies.
As I hovered above the building, I saw a familiar face: the rookie from earlier. Alarmingly, his cruiser was nowhere to be seen. His face was wrought with horror, as a pair of cyborgs led him inside the warehouse.
“They’re certainly less than subtle,” Trodes said.
“They don’t have to be subtle, they’re the biggest citizens political organization in the Sprawl. Peacewatch avoids them if they have anything less than a full platoon on hand,” I explained.
“Red… before we enter negotiations with these hooligans, I must inquire as to what your motivation hitting the vault is? Surely you know there’s a strong likelihood that you won’t make it out, and from what I’d heard about you, I always understood you to be a man who knew how to keep himself out of the line of sight of dangerous people,” Trodes said, nervously.
“Fincetti is the most dangerous man in the city, short of O’Bannon. He controls the black market with an iron fist and is instrumental in all the things I hate about living here. The problem is, I have no way to do anything about it right now… but there’s something big in the safe—there must be—for fucks sake, he iced his family over it. I’m hoping there’s something in there that can give me a little leverage, so I can cross him out afterwards.”
Trodes was silent for a moment, simply reaching as if to ask me to pass the joint. I obliged.
“I have my reasons to want O’Bannon dead too, I’m in,” he paused as a coughing fit seized him, causing the joint to fall to the ground, “there’s something you should know though: I’m working with an entity of great power in the Net; I don’t know what precisely it is, but I know it saved my life more than once. As a matter of fact, it’s the only reason I was able to obtain the blueprint of Fincetti’s bunker, and his security plan.”
“Is it… is it an unshackled AI?”
“Unlikely: it seems to understand compassion and empathy on a uniquely organic level, something that rarely slips past Netwatch.”
“Alright, well whatever it is, you keep an eye on it and let me know if things get shady. I appreciate you telling me.”
Trodes nodded in silence.
The crowd parted expectantly as I landed along the streetside. Dozens of eyes were immediately glued to Trodes and I. A cyborg with a steel double mohawk emerged from a sea of leather, patches, and smoke. A sawed-off shotgun hung at his side.
“Red, I presume?” the Cyborg asked, extending a steel hand.
“That’s right, and who’re you?” I answered, clasping the borgs hand as firm as I could manage.
“They call me Diezel, and I’ll be your host today,” he released my hand and looked me up and down as if assessing whether I was a threat, “follow me, everyone’s here so we can get straight down to business.”
The warehouse’s interior had been renovated drastically; layers of open-faced lofts sat stacked upon each other, consuming the walls. Nearly every non-violent law in the city was being broken in the lofts, from cooking chems and explosives to studying banned literature and Doomguard martial arts. It was beautiful. We followed Diezel through a winding hallway of munitions manufacturing stations, before finally emerging into an immense circular room, with rows of seats climbing the walls. I couldn’t believe it—there must have been two hundred people present.
The lights dimmed as we entered the arena. Diezel led us to the rooms center, ushering Trodes and I onto a great circular platform; he fell into place on a platform across from us, beside a Vat-Grown woman bearing an orange and black flag on her arm, and augmentations that cost more than my bike. Behind the duo a bulbous Vorstihl lurked; tentacles draped down his back, carefully pulled away from his cyclopean eye. A red and black flag was displayed on his arm… it was only then that I noticed the blue and black flag on Diezel’s arm.
The platforms each rose roughly fifteen feet into the air, before microphone stands emerged from the center of each platform. Diezel stepped forward, past the microphone.
“Before we start, I’ll explain how this works: the three of us are representatives of our specific unions—but the people are free to interject. One union voting to aid in your endeavors does not guarantee the help of the other two, as each union demands a perfect consensus. Likewise, if a faction without one union decides to help you, it does not necessarily mean you have the support of the entire union. The only way you’ll end up with total support is cross union consensus. Do you understand?”
A consensus: of course, they needed a damned consensus.
“I do,” I answered, speaking away from the microphone.
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Diezel stepped back, finding his microphone before continuing, “Red, Trodes, welcome to the Bouleuterion,” he paused a moment as the crowd erupted into cheers, “beside me are my comrades Aria and Korvirex, and we stand ready to hear your proposal.”
“As most of you probably know, Don Fincetti is the most powerful man in the underworld, hell—maybe even the city—what you likely don’t know is that he has a vault beneath the city, guarded by an army of Harvesters. I intend to break into the vault, slaughter the Harvesters and strike a blow to Fincetti that he won’t forget… and I intend to kill him shortly after. What I ask is simple: you help me in what’s to come, and when he’s finally dead, you can all split his turf among yourselves. All I care about is making sure he doesn’t live long enough to poison the Sprawl more than he already has.”
A murmur emerged from the stands. I gazed across the way to see the three representatives huddled together, whispering amongst themselves. Finally, Aria stepped towards her microphone.
“What you ask of us will likely mean the death of many of our people… we need something greater than what you offer—we need a guarantee of mutual aid—you have a reputation in the Sprawl, we would ask that you employ it in helping us when the time comes to resettle the Sprawl. Namely, we’d request your assistance against the gangs that may try to fill the power void you seek to create,” Aria explained.
“That seems reasonable,” I said.
Aria stepped back as Korvirex moved forward.
“Tell me, Red, are you familiar with the Offworlder Coalition?” Korvirex asked.
“I am—as a matter of fact, I aided them on the way here—they were marching against the Neo-Confederates and the Brown Shirts. I insured that they had the element of surprise.”
Korvirex stroked the beard-like tentacles that hung from his chin in contemplation.
“Good. What I ask is that you help us to secure their trust, we have offered solidarity where we could, but our forces are spread thin. The ideology of many of the exiled Vorrath rebels that found their way to Nova City—it matches that of our union. If our help was offered, would you agree to assist us in aiding the Coalition, so that they finally have an opportunity to get on their feet?”
Trodes leaned towards in, whispering in my ear.
“It would be prudent of you to make a counteroffer: proclaim that you’ll help with the Coalition, if they’ll spread the word to other groups whose goals may align with ours. There will likely be at least a couple hundred Harvesters in the Undercity when we strike… unless they’re occupied elsewhere.”
“I would happily help with the Coalition, on the condition that your faction spread the word about what we’re doing to like-minded organizations. As it stands, we could still use more numbers to match the Harvesters,” I said.
“These conditions may be satisfactory,” Korvirex said, before retreating into yet another group huddle.
The audience watched on in silence.
Finally, Diezel reapproached the microphone.
“The representatives have deemed this topic worthy of discussion: you’re free to leave, we’ll get ahold of Akari in a couple days, when all the details are ironed out.”
“A couple days?”
“Reaching a consensus can be a slow process at times—be prepared for a renegotiation of conditions, as there will likely be more stipulations made once the process is complete,” Diezel explained.
I nodded, and the platform beneath my feet began to descend towards the floor. The crowd erupted into cheers.
Hopefully Nico and Roman would beat us home
2023.05.30 20:25 TheDrungeonBlaster Gutterpunks Reloaded #8: 100 Dead Nazis
-Red-
April 19th, 11:13 A.M., The Sprawl
I sparked a dilapidated Vita-Cig that I’d snagged from Trodes and peered out into the Sprawl; the careful equilibrium of a well-orchestrated black-market had returned; pushers and gangers lined the alleys, watching for signals from rooftop lookouts to avoid the single Peacewatch cruiser that had been stupid enough to enter the dockside. The poor bastard would be dead before the afternoon was over… not that I had much sympathy for his kind. Peacewatch made it a habit to stay out of the Sprawl: unless the Eggheads predictive crime system said something catastrophic was coming, they policed their kind and left us in the hands of the mob. I’d never iced an officer. Not yet at least.
“Your partner should be ready shortly, I think he’s just tying up a few loose ends,” Akari said, snatching the cigarette from my hand and taking a long drag.
“Remind me again why you think I should take the shrimp with me instead of Nico and Roman?”
“He’s smart… and the other two are working on something else. Besides-- you need brains on this one, Red, not muscle,” she giggled, passing the cigarette back.
“Whatever you say,” I paused, grabbing the smoke, “what do you have them up to?”
“There’s a shipment of Xeno-grade weapons coming down from the colonies. Nico and Roman will be liberating them from the Slicers. Or, their share, at least. It won’t be much, maybe a dozen guns, but it’ll be worth it: the force field tech alone will pay for the trip as soon as Fincetti’s goons start trying to take your heads off with plasma cannons and mono blades.”
“What do you mean, their share?”
“The job was too big for us to take on alone. I linked up with another enterprising group of Freelancers. If it goes well, maybe we can hire them on for the heist, we’re going to need more people if we want to walk out of there alive.”
We?
“What, are you planning on coming along now?” I asked, snuffing out the smoke.
“It only seems right; Trodes is coming along, and I’m a better shot than he’ll ever be. Besides, you have a dangerous habit of getting shot, and I can’t have you going down in the field,” she said, winking as if to punctuate the sentence.
“You sure? We can manage, you don’t have to come with us, you’ve done so much already.”
“I know I have, that’s why I have to protect my investment. If you go down out there, then the team is without a leader. A military scale operation like this will go south real fast without someone competent in command.”
“You’ve got me wrong, Akari: I’m no leader. I’m just someone who wants to live in a better city and doesn’t mind taking the trash out himself. Besides, why do we need a leader? We’re all competent adults acting in concert, of our own free will. We all know what we’re doing, if a situation arises and someone needs to take charge, it’ll happen.”
“You’ve got a lot of faith in a crew you just met,” Akari said with a sneer.
“You know why I asked you to put the team together, Akari?”
“Because there’s a bounty on your head that could finance twenty retirements, and you know you can trust me?”
“No, well yeah, but that’s beside the point—I asked you because you’re not a Fixer, you’re a part time street doc that works the front desk at the most popular Freelancer hotel in the Sprawl. If there’s anyone who knows who’s gonna get the job done, it’s you. See, a Fixer is going to be okay with whatever losses they deem acceptable beforehand, but they’re fine with keeping that to themselves. If you thought any of these mooks were going to crack under pressure, or do something stupid, you wouldn’t have set me up with them.”
Before she could respond, Trodes emerged from the stairs leading to the lab. He winced as the sunlight hit his eyes, shrugging on the hood of the oversized sweatshirt that blanketed his meek frame. Glimpses of pain showed through every tremor laden step he took. A cloak of wires enveloped his skull, feeding into an old-world cyber console.
“It’s insufferably hot out here,” Trodes sighed.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going far. Chances are that whatever hole we’re meeting BFU in will have air conditioning,” I responded, clicking my key fob, and signaling the bike to pull around.
Trodes face fell flat when the Supersonic rolled around the corner; apparently, the prestige of carving through the skyway on a state-of-the-art Taffington jet-bike was lost on him.
“Are we taking… that?” Trodes stammered.
“We are. Unless you’ve got a pair of wheels with two seats?” I asked, mounting the bike and revving the engine.
With an exasperated sigh, Trodes boarded the passenger seat. I could feel him behind me, vibrating as tremors gripped his body.
“You good, buddy?” I asked.
He nodded vigorously, clenching the handrails with white knuckles.
Akari shook her head and headed back to the lab.
I heard Trodes mumble something under his breath, but it was quickly drowned out by the jet-bike’s purr. I carved into the skyway. Driving in the Sprawl was pure freedom: almost nobody owned vehicles with aerial capabilities in this part of town. It didn’t take long to reach top speed.
Slummers and gutterpunks walked the streets like zombies in a drug addled haze. The scent of gunpowder, pollution and burning ozone coalesced into a putrid stench that reeked of poverty and violence. Patches of azure moved in militant formation below; the Vorrath had taken to the streets. On a different day, a better day, I would’ve helped them. Most slummers hated the Offworlder Coalition, but not me—at the end of the day I always figured that I had more in common with poor people from another planet than rich people from another district of the city. At least we shared the same struggle.
The bike slowed to crawl; the Neo-Confederates were about, backed by a platoon of Brown-Shirts that looked like a tide of sewer run off, crashing through the streets with reckless abandon. Civilians fled for their homes. Fuck.
The jet-bike careened through the air before finally landing atop a building a few blocks away from the impending conflict.
“Get off,” I said, turning back to Trodes.
“Why? You don’t intend to abandon me at this altitude, do you?”
“Not as long as I survive—I’ll be quick, I just need to ventilate some Nazi fucks, understood?”
He shook his head and muttered a string of curses.
I tore through the air, circling around the impending conflict. I chased a handful of cheap amphetamines with a poorly rolled joint and swooped low, behind the rolling tide of brown shirts. This wasn’t the first time I’d made myself an enemy of the city’s Neo-Nazi’s; I’d killed at least a dozen of them in my career as a courier, but those were isolated incidents, back-alley brawls away from the mob.
This was a whole new ball game.
I fell slack as my Teleoperations module synchronized with the bike. My consciousness faded, reemerging into the HALO-Net’s stylized rendition of the bike’s interior. I wasn’t just the pilot now—I was the bike. Bullets carved twin streaks of crimson into the brown tide. It didn’t take long to hit top speed, 3.7 seconds, to be exact.
The group turned in nearly perfect unison, launching volley upon volley as I passed overhead. The bike’s shields barely held together; I felt every round, like a flock of birds violently slamming into my side—not enough to cause any real damage, but more than enough to get the blood pumping. I slid into an alley a few blocks off and waited for the shield generator to recharge. Gunshots rang out from the streets, alongside the sizzle of plasma meeting flesh. Soon the din was drowned beneath the roar of dozens of Vorrath war cries. I took to the sky.
Trodes was exactly where I left him, nervously clutching a knock off version of a Locust flechette pistol.
“I was beginning to doubt your survival,” Trodes said shakily.
“Wrong again, little guy,” I paused, reigniting a half smoked joint, “it was just a quick hit and run, we don’t have the time or the numbers for a pitched battle. Now, hop on.”
It didn’t take long to find BFU’s base of operations. Black flags and Anarchist graffiti covered the walls of the abandoned warehouse they’d apparently taken up residence in. A field of repurposed Peacewatch turrets were installed atop the roof, complimented by a web of cameras that spread across a three-block radius. Anarchists of all species and creeds loitered outside. The guards ranged from Cyborgs and Vat-Grown, to Vorrath and Vorstihl, each wearing a variant of the black flag with colors corresponding to their ideologies.
As I hovered above the building, I saw a familiar face: the rookie from earlier. Alarmingly, his cruiser was nowhere to be seen. His face was wrought with horror, as a pair of cyborgs led him inside the warehouse.
“They’re certainly less than subtle,” Trodes said.
“They don’t have to be subtle, they’re the biggest citizens political organization in the Sprawl. Peacewatch avoids them if they have anything less than a full platoon on hand,” I explained.
“Red… before we enter negotiations with these hooligans, I must inquire as to what your motivation hitting the vault is? Surely you know there’s a strong likelihood that you won’t make it out, and from what I’d heard about you, I always understood you to be a man who knew how to keep himself out of the line of sight of dangerous people,” Trodes said, nervously.
“Fincetti is the most dangerous man in the city, short of O’Bannon. He controls the black market with an iron fist and is instrumental in all the things I hate about living here. The problem is, I have no way to do anything about it right now… but there’s something big in the safe—there must be—for fucks sake, he iced his family over it. I’m hoping there’s something in there that can give me a little leverage, so I can cross him out afterwards.”
Trodes was silent for a moment, simply reaching as if to ask me to pass the joint. I obliged.
“I have my reasons to want O’Bannon dead too, I’m in,” he paused as a coughing fit seized him, causing the joint to fall to the ground, “there’s something you should know though: I’m working with an entity of great power in the Net; I don’t know what precisely it is, but I know it saved my life more than once. As a matter of fact, it’s the only reason I was able to obtain the blueprint of Fincetti’s bunker, and his security plan.”
“Is it… is it an unshackled AI?”
“Unlikely: it seems to understand compassion and empathy on a uniquely organic level, something that rarely slips past Netwatch.”
“Alright, well whatever it is, you keep an eye on it and let me know if things get shady. I appreciate you telling me.”
Trodes nodded in silence.
The crowd parted expectantly as I landed along the streetside. Dozens of eyes were immediately glued to Trodes and I. A cyborg with a steel double mohawk emerged from a sea of leather, patches, and smoke. A sawed-off shotgun hung at his side.
“Red, I presume?” the Cyborg asked, extending a steel hand.
“That’s right, and who’re you?” I answered, clasping the borgs hand as firm as I could manage.
“They call me Diezel, and I’ll be your host today,” he released my hand and looked me up and down as if assessing whether I was a threat, “follow me, everyone’s here so we can get straight down to business.”
The warehouse’s interior had been renovated drastically; layers of open-faced lofts sat stacked upon each other, consuming the walls. Nearly every non-violent law in the city was being broken in the lofts, from cooking chems and explosives to studying banned literature and Doomguard martial arts. It was beautiful. We followed Diezel through a winding hallway of munitions manufacturing stations, before finally emerging into an immense circular room, with rows of seats climbing the walls. I couldn’t believe it—there must have been two hundred people present.
The lights dimmed as we entered the arena. Diezel led us to the rooms center, ushering Trodes and I onto a great circular platform; he fell into place on a platform across from us, beside a Vat-Grown woman bearing an orange and black flag on her arm, and augmentations that cost more than my bike. Behind the duo a bulbous Vorstihl lurked; tentacles draped down his back, carefully pulled away from his cyclopean eye. A red and black flag was displayed on his arm… it was only then that I noticed the blue and black flag on Diezel’s arm.
The platforms each rose roughly fifteen feet into the air, before microphone stands emerged from the center of each platform. Diezel stepped forward, past the microphone.
“Before we start, I’ll explain how this works: the three of us are representatives of our specific unions—but the people are free to interject. One union voting to aid in your endeavors does not guarantee the help of the other two, as each union demands a perfect consensus. Likewise, if a faction without one union decides to help you, it does not necessarily mean you have the support of the entire union. The only way you’ll end up with total support is cross union consensus. Do you understand?”
A consensus: of course, they needed a damned consensus.
“I do,” I answered, speaking away from the microphone.
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Diezel stepped back, finding his microphone before continuing, “Red, Trodes, welcome to the Bouleuterion,” he paused a moment as the crowd erupted into cheers, “beside me are my comrades Aria and Korvirex, and we stand ready to hear your proposal.”
“As most of you probably know, Don Fincetti is the most powerful man in the underworld, hell—maybe even the city—what you likely don’t know is that he has a vault beneath the city, guarded by an army of Harvesters. I intend to break into the vault, slaughter the Harvesters and strike a blow to Fincetti that he won’t forget… and I intend to kill him shortly after. What I ask is simple: you help me in what’s to come, and when he’s finally dead, you can all split his turf among yourselves. All I care about is making sure he doesn’t live long enough to poison the Sprawl more than he already has.”
A murmur emerged from the stands. I gazed across the way to see the three representatives huddled together, whispering amongst themselves. Finally, Aria stepped towards her microphone.
“What you ask of us will likely mean the death of many of our people… we need something greater than what you offer—we need a guarantee of mutual aid—you have a reputation in the Sprawl, we would ask that you employ it in helping us when the time comes to resettle the Sprawl. Namely, we’d request your assistance against the gangs that may try to fill the power void you seek to create,” Aria explained.
“That seems reasonable,” I said.
Aria stepped back as Korvirex moved forward.
“Tell me, Red, are you familiar with the Offworlder Coalition?” Korvirex asked.
“I am—as a matter of fact, I aided them on the way here—they were marching against the Neo-Confederates and the Brown Shirts. I insured that they had the element of surprise.”
Korvirex stroked the beard-like tentacles that hung from his chin in contemplation.
“Good. What I ask is that you help us to secure their trust, we have offered solidarity where we could, but our forces are spread thin. The ideology of many of the exiled Vorrath rebels that found their way to Nova City—it matches that of our union. If our help was offered, would you agree to assist us in aiding the Coalition, so that they finally have an opportunity to get on their feet?”
Trodes leaned towards in, whispering in my ear.
“It would be prudent of you to make a counteroffer: proclaim that you’ll help with the Coalition, if they’ll spread the word to other groups whose goals may align with ours. There will likely be at least a couple hundred Harvesters in the Undercity when we strike… unless they’re occupied elsewhere.”
“I would happily help with the Coalition, on the condition that your faction spread the word about what we’re doing to like-minded organizations. As it stands, we could still use more numbers to match the Harvesters,” I said.
“These conditions may be satisfactory,” Korvirex said, before retreating into yet another group huddle.
The audience watched on in silence.
Finally, Diezel reapproached the microphone.
“The representatives have deemed this topic worthy of discussion: you’re free to leave, we’ll get ahold of Akari in a couple days, when all the details are ironed out.”
“A couple days?”
“Reaching a consensus can be a slow process at times—be prepared for a renegotiation of conditions, as there will likely be more stipulations made once the process is complete,” Diezel explained.
I nodded, and the platform beneath my feet began to descend towards the floor. The crowd erupted into cheers.
Hopefully Nico and Roman would beat us home.
submitted by TheDrungeonBlaster to Novacityblues [link] [comments]
April 19th, 11:13 A.M., The Sprawl
I sparked a dilapidated Vita-Cig that I’d snagged from Trodes and peered out into the Sprawl; the careful equilibrium of a well-orchestrated black-market had returned; pushers and gangers lined the alleys, watching for signals from rooftop lookouts to avoid the single Peacewatch cruiser that had been stupid enough to enter the dockside. The poor bastard would be dead before the afternoon was over… not that I had much sympathy for his kind. Peacewatch made it a habit to stay out of the Sprawl: unless the Eggheads predictive crime system said something catastrophic was coming, they policed their kind and left us in the hands of the mob. I’d never iced an officer. Not yet at least.
“Your partner should be ready shortly, I think he’s just tying up a few loose ends,” Akari said, snatching the cigarette from my hand and taking a long drag.
“Remind me again why you think I should take the shrimp with me instead of Nico and Roman?”
“He’s smart… and the other two are working on something else. Besides-- you need brains on this one, Red, not muscle,” she giggled, passing the cigarette back.
“Whatever you say,” I paused, grabbing the smoke, “what do you have them up to?”
“There’s a shipment of Xeno-grade weapons coming down from the colonies. Nico and Roman will be liberating them from the Slicers. Or, their share, at least. It won’t be much, maybe a dozen guns, but it’ll be worth it: the force field tech alone will pay for the trip as soon as Fincetti’s goons start trying to take your heads off with plasma cannons and mono blades.”
“What do you mean, their share?”
“The job was too big for us to take on alone. I linked up with another enterprising group of Freelancers. If it goes well, maybe we can hire them on for the heist, we’re going to need more people if we want to walk out of there alive.”
We?
“What, are you planning on coming along now?” I asked, snuffing out the smoke.
“It only seems right; Trodes is coming along, and I’m a better shot than he’ll ever be. Besides, you have a dangerous habit of getting shot, and I can’t have you going down in the field,” she said, winking as if to punctuate the sentence.
“You sure? We can manage, you don’t have to come with us, you’ve done so much already.”
“I know I have, that’s why I have to protect my investment. If you go down out there, then the team is without a leader. A military scale operation like this will go south real fast without someone competent in command.”
“You’ve got me wrong, Akari: I’m no leader. I’m just someone who wants to live in a better city and doesn’t mind taking the trash out himself. Besides, why do we need a leader? We’re all competent adults acting in concert, of our own free will. We all know what we’re doing, if a situation arises and someone needs to take charge, it’ll happen.”
“You’ve got a lot of faith in a crew you just met,” Akari said with a sneer.
“You know why I asked you to put the team together, Akari?”
“Because there’s a bounty on your head that could finance twenty retirements, and you know you can trust me?”
“No, well yeah, but that’s beside the point—I asked you because you’re not a Fixer, you’re a part time street doc that works the front desk at the most popular Freelancer hotel in the Sprawl. If there’s anyone who knows who’s gonna get the job done, it’s you. See, a Fixer is going to be okay with whatever losses they deem acceptable beforehand, but they’re fine with keeping that to themselves. If you thought any of these mooks were going to crack under pressure, or do something stupid, you wouldn’t have set me up with them.”
Before she could respond, Trodes emerged from the stairs leading to the lab. He winced as the sunlight hit his eyes, shrugging on the hood of the oversized sweatshirt that blanketed his meek frame. Glimpses of pain showed through every tremor laden step he took. A cloak of wires enveloped his skull, feeding into an old-world cyber console.
“It’s insufferably hot out here,” Trodes sighed.
“Don’t worry, we’re not going far. Chances are that whatever hole we’re meeting BFU in will have air conditioning,” I responded, clicking my key fob, and signaling the bike to pull around.
Trodes face fell flat when the Supersonic rolled around the corner; apparently, the prestige of carving through the skyway on a state-of-the-art Taffington jet-bike was lost on him.
“Are we taking… that?” Trodes stammered.
“We are. Unless you’ve got a pair of wheels with two seats?” I asked, mounting the bike and revving the engine.
With an exasperated sigh, Trodes boarded the passenger seat. I could feel him behind me, vibrating as tremors gripped his body.
“You good, buddy?” I asked.
He nodded vigorously, clenching the handrails with white knuckles.
Akari shook her head and headed back to the lab.
I heard Trodes mumble something under his breath, but it was quickly drowned out by the jet-bike’s purr. I carved into the skyway. Driving in the Sprawl was pure freedom: almost nobody owned vehicles with aerial capabilities in this part of town. It didn’t take long to reach top speed.
Slummers and gutterpunks walked the streets like zombies in a drug addled haze. The scent of gunpowder, pollution and burning ozone coalesced into a putrid stench that reeked of poverty and violence. Patches of azure moved in militant formation below; the Vorrath had taken to the streets. On a different day, a better day, I would’ve helped them. Most slummers hated the Offworlder Coalition, but not me—at the end of the day I always figured that I had more in common with poor people from another planet than rich people from another district of the city. At least we shared the same struggle.
The bike slowed to crawl; the Neo-Confederates were about, backed by a platoon of Brown-Shirts that looked like a tide of sewer run off, crashing through the streets with reckless abandon. Civilians fled for their homes. Fuck.
The jet-bike careened through the air before finally landing atop a building a few blocks away from the impending conflict.
“Get off,” I said, turning back to Trodes.
“Why? You don’t intend to abandon me at this altitude, do you?”
“Not as long as I survive—I’ll be quick, I just need to ventilate some Nazi fucks, understood?”
He shook his head and muttered a string of curses.
I tore through the air, circling around the impending conflict. I chased a handful of cheap amphetamines with a poorly rolled joint and swooped low, behind the rolling tide of brown shirts. This wasn’t the first time I’d made myself an enemy of the city’s Neo-Nazi’s; I’d killed at least a dozen of them in my career as a courier, but those were isolated incidents, back-alley brawls away from the mob.
This was a whole new ball game.
I fell slack as my Teleoperations module synchronized with the bike. My consciousness faded, reemerging into the HALO-Net’s stylized rendition of the bike’s interior. I wasn’t just the pilot now—I was the bike. Bullets carved twin streaks of crimson into the brown tide. It didn’t take long to hit top speed, 3.7 seconds, to be exact.
The group turned in nearly perfect unison, launching volley upon volley as I passed overhead. The bike’s shields barely held together; I felt every round, like a flock of birds violently slamming into my side—not enough to cause any real damage, but more than enough to get the blood pumping. I slid into an alley a few blocks off and waited for the shield generator to recharge. Gunshots rang out from the streets, alongside the sizzle of plasma meeting flesh. Soon the din was drowned beneath the roar of dozens of Vorrath war cries. I took to the sky.
Trodes was exactly where I left him, nervously clutching a knock off version of a Locust flechette pistol.
“I was beginning to doubt your survival,” Trodes said shakily.
“Wrong again, little guy,” I paused, reigniting a half smoked joint, “it was just a quick hit and run, we don’t have the time or the numbers for a pitched battle. Now, hop on.”
It didn’t take long to find BFU’s base of operations. Black flags and Anarchist graffiti covered the walls of the abandoned warehouse they’d apparently taken up residence in. A field of repurposed Peacewatch turrets were installed atop the roof, complimented by a web of cameras that spread across a three-block radius. Anarchists of all species and creeds loitered outside. The guards ranged from Cyborgs and Vat-Grown, to Vorrath and Vorstihl, each wearing a variant of the black flag with colors corresponding to their ideologies.
As I hovered above the building, I saw a familiar face: the rookie from earlier. Alarmingly, his cruiser was nowhere to be seen. His face was wrought with horror, as a pair of cyborgs led him inside the warehouse.
“They’re certainly less than subtle,” Trodes said.
“They don’t have to be subtle, they’re the biggest citizens political organization in the Sprawl. Peacewatch avoids them if they have anything less than a full platoon on hand,” I explained.
“Red… before we enter negotiations with these hooligans, I must inquire as to what your motivation hitting the vault is? Surely you know there’s a strong likelihood that you won’t make it out, and from what I’d heard about you, I always understood you to be a man who knew how to keep himself out of the line of sight of dangerous people,” Trodes said, nervously.
“Fincetti is the most dangerous man in the city, short of O’Bannon. He controls the black market with an iron fist and is instrumental in all the things I hate about living here. The problem is, I have no way to do anything about it right now… but there’s something big in the safe—there must be—for fucks sake, he iced his family over it. I’m hoping there’s something in there that can give me a little leverage, so I can cross him out afterwards.”
Trodes was silent for a moment, simply reaching as if to ask me to pass the joint. I obliged.
“I have my reasons to want O’Bannon dead too, I’m in,” he paused as a coughing fit seized him, causing the joint to fall to the ground, “there’s something you should know though: I’m working with an entity of great power in the Net; I don’t know what precisely it is, but I know it saved my life more than once. As a matter of fact, it’s the only reason I was able to obtain the blueprint of Fincetti’s bunker, and his security plan.”
“Is it… is it an unshackled AI?”
“Unlikely: it seems to understand compassion and empathy on a uniquely organic level, something that rarely slips past Netwatch.”
“Alright, well whatever it is, you keep an eye on it and let me know if things get shady. I appreciate you telling me.”
Trodes nodded in silence.
The crowd parted expectantly as I landed along the streetside. Dozens of eyes were immediately glued to Trodes and I. A cyborg with a steel double mohawk emerged from a sea of leather, patches, and smoke. A sawed-off shotgun hung at his side.
“Red, I presume?” the Cyborg asked, extending a steel hand.
“That’s right, and who’re you?” I answered, clasping the borgs hand as firm as I could manage.
“They call me Diezel, and I’ll be your host today,” he released my hand and looked me up and down as if assessing whether I was a threat, “follow me, everyone’s here so we can get straight down to business.”
The warehouse’s interior had been renovated drastically; layers of open-faced lofts sat stacked upon each other, consuming the walls. Nearly every non-violent law in the city was being broken in the lofts, from cooking chems and explosives to studying banned literature and Doomguard martial arts. It was beautiful. We followed Diezel through a winding hallway of munitions manufacturing stations, before finally emerging into an immense circular room, with rows of seats climbing the walls. I couldn’t believe it—there must have been two hundred people present.
The lights dimmed as we entered the arena. Diezel led us to the rooms center, ushering Trodes and I onto a great circular platform; he fell into place on a platform across from us, beside a Vat-Grown woman bearing an orange and black flag on her arm, and augmentations that cost more than my bike. Behind the duo a bulbous Vorstihl lurked; tentacles draped down his back, carefully pulled away from his cyclopean eye. A red and black flag was displayed on his arm… it was only then that I noticed the blue and black flag on Diezel’s arm.
The platforms each rose roughly fifteen feet into the air, before microphone stands emerged from the center of each platform. Diezel stepped forward, past the microphone.
“Before we start, I’ll explain how this works: the three of us are representatives of our specific unions—but the people are free to interject. One union voting to aid in your endeavors does not guarantee the help of the other two, as each union demands a perfect consensus. Likewise, if a faction without one union decides to help you, it does not necessarily mean you have the support of the entire union. The only way you’ll end up with total support is cross union consensus. Do you understand?”
A consensus: of course, they needed a damned consensus.
“I do,” I answered, speaking away from the microphone.
“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Diezel stepped back, finding his microphone before continuing, “Red, Trodes, welcome to the Bouleuterion,” he paused a moment as the crowd erupted into cheers, “beside me are my comrades Aria and Korvirex, and we stand ready to hear your proposal.”
“As most of you probably know, Don Fincetti is the most powerful man in the underworld, hell—maybe even the city—what you likely don’t know is that he has a vault beneath the city, guarded by an army of Harvesters. I intend to break into the vault, slaughter the Harvesters and strike a blow to Fincetti that he won’t forget… and I intend to kill him shortly after. What I ask is simple: you help me in what’s to come, and when he’s finally dead, you can all split his turf among yourselves. All I care about is making sure he doesn’t live long enough to poison the Sprawl more than he already has.”
A murmur emerged from the stands. I gazed across the way to see the three representatives huddled together, whispering amongst themselves. Finally, Aria stepped towards her microphone.
“What you ask of us will likely mean the death of many of our people… we need something greater than what you offer—we need a guarantee of mutual aid—you have a reputation in the Sprawl, we would ask that you employ it in helping us when the time comes to resettle the Sprawl. Namely, we’d request your assistance against the gangs that may try to fill the power void you seek to create,” Aria explained.
“That seems reasonable,” I said.
Aria stepped back as Korvirex moved forward.
“Tell me, Red, are you familiar with the Offworlder Coalition?” Korvirex asked.
“I am—as a matter of fact, I aided them on the way here—they were marching against the Neo-Confederates and the Brown Shirts. I insured that they had the element of surprise.”
Korvirex stroked the beard-like tentacles that hung from his chin in contemplation.
“Good. What I ask is that you help us to secure their trust, we have offered solidarity where we could, but our forces are spread thin. The ideology of many of the exiled Vorrath rebels that found their way to Nova City—it matches that of our union. If our help was offered, would you agree to assist us in aiding the Coalition, so that they finally have an opportunity to get on their feet?”
Trodes leaned towards in, whispering in my ear.
“It would be prudent of you to make a counteroffer: proclaim that you’ll help with the Coalition, if they’ll spread the word to other groups whose goals may align with ours. There will likely be at least a couple hundred Harvesters in the Undercity when we strike… unless they’re occupied elsewhere.”
“I would happily help with the Coalition, on the condition that your faction spread the word about what we’re doing to like-minded organizations. As it stands, we could still use more numbers to match the Harvesters,” I said.
“These conditions may be satisfactory,” Korvirex said, before retreating into yet another group huddle.
The audience watched on in silence.
Finally, Diezel reapproached the microphone.
“The representatives have deemed this topic worthy of discussion: you’re free to leave, we’ll get ahold of Akari in a couple days, when all the details are ironed out.”
“A couple days?”
“Reaching a consensus can be a slow process at times—be prepared for a renegotiation of conditions, as there will likely be more stipulations made once the process is complete,” Diezel explained.
I nodded, and the platform beneath my feet began to descend towards the floor. The crowd erupted into cheers.
Hopefully Nico and Roman would beat us home.
2023.05.30 20:21 StationNo3 What should a white girl wear to an Indian wedding?
I'm an American who will be attending an Indian wedding later this year and I am at a loss for what to wear! I'm finding it very difficult to find a dress online that does not expose any skin while still looking nice, am unsure of what colors I should wear, and finally... Is it acceptable for a white girl to wear a sari to an indian wedding, or would that be weird / pretentious?
I'm attending the wedding with my Indian bf who is a long time friend of the groom and his family, so everyone will be getting to know me for the first time there, and I want to make a good impression.
submitted by StationNo3 to india [link] [comments]
I'm attending the wedding with my Indian bf who is a long time friend of the groom and his family, so everyone will be getting to know me for the first time there, and I want to make a good impression.
2023.05.30 20:21 nimgoldman Piperonal Syntheses - Results and Optimization
Here are my samples of piperonal (piperonyl aldehyde) that I've made in four different ways:
Piperonal Samples
Sample I - piperonal was prepared by oxidative cleavage of piperic acid using a mixture of dilute aqueous permanganate and periodate (as per ChemPlayer). The piperic acid originally comes from piperine from black pepper (by alkaline amide hydrolysis). I can confirm this preparation can be improved using two-phase system (e.g. DCM + water) to simultaneously extract the product and protect it from over-oxidation. Another improvement might by separating the procedure in two steps: dihydroxylation and cleavage, allowing to purify/isolate/wash the intermediate vicinal diol before going the oxidative cleavage. Sodium salts of permanganate and periodate might be an improvement over potassium salts due to better solubility. Quenching the reaction mixture with ascorbic acid dissolves all residual oxidant into soluble manganese ascorbate, leaving behind two relatively clear layers and making the liquid-liquid extraction easier (no need to deal with MnO2). The product came out quite brown but smells magnificient and there is a visible crystalline mass.
Sample II - piperonal from piperonyl chloride by Sommelet reaction. The piperonyl chloride was made by chloromethylation of 1,3-benzodioxole with paraformaldehyde and HCl (see e.g. WO 2005/042512). The HCl was aqueous and some more was added as HCl(g) later to push the reaction. The piperonyl chloride was not isolated and probably was contaminated with substrate and byproducts. The dark brown residue was refluxed in 50% acetic acid containing hexamine. The excess reactant was hydrolyzed with conc. HCl and product extracted with DCM (I've originally used ether as per Strike but it does not seem to dissolve piperonal well, especially if there is some water present).
Sample III - this was the most successful attempt. The procedure was essentially the same as with II, except there was no HCl gassing. Just stirring the 1,3-benzodioxole in suspension of paraformaldehyde and conc. HCl. The product was extracted in chloroform and refluxed with hexamine. This precipitated piperonyl chloride hexaminium complex (insoluble in chloroform) while unreacted benzodioxole can be theoretically recovered from the chloroform extract. The complex was isolated by filtration and dried - it is perfectly stable in vacuum desiccator (at least for several days). This complex was then hydrolyzed in 50% acetic acid (Sommelet reaction) then conc. HCl was added and product extracted in DCM. The residue was crystallized from 70% i-PrOH (approx. 5 mL/g).
This procedure seems to be most scalable and can be greatly streamling. There are patents calling for toluene as solvent for both chloromethylation and Sommelet reaction (instead of chloroform). The intermediate is not isolated. After the chloromethylation, the product is taken in toluene, aqueous layer drained, hexamine added to reaction and stirred/heated. When the chloromethyl intermediate is complexed, 50% acetic acid is added to the reactor and stirred and refluxed some more. Finall, the reaction is quenched, aqueous layer drained again and we are left with toluene containing our piperonal product. I have not tried this exact process but I can confirm hexamine is slightly soluble in hot toluene. I am not sure whether the hexaminium complex can be isolated from hexamine in toluene like it can be in chloroform (either way excess hexamine is okay and the Sommelet reaction can work in two-phase system). This is open to further experimentaion.
Sample IV - I've tried this approach as an alternative to chloromethylation. The sample was obtained by oxidative decarboxylation of DMA (3,4-dioxymethylenmandelic acid). The methylededioxy-mandelic acid intermediate was prepared by condensing 1,3-benzodioxole and glyoxylic acid in strongly acidic conditions. The easiest way for me was just stirring a mixture of benzodioxole and 40% glyoxylic acid, then adding conc. H2SO4 to the mixture very slowly. The reaction must be kept close to freezing temperature. The DMA intermediate was extracted in MEK (see US pat. 6,603,024). DMA can be purified by stirring in hot toluene/water (see US pat. 4,190,583). The layers were then separated and the aq. layer left to cool down. I was not able to obtain white crystalline product, perhaps because my sulfuric acid was not pure enough (drain cleaner) producing many colored condensation products with the glyoxylic acid. The final step (see US pat. 5,095,128) comprised of simply stirring the suspension of DMA in aq. HCl while slowly adding conc. HNO3, keeping temperature around 45 oC. Some nitrite was needed to start up the reaction. Good stirring was necessary! The product was extracted in some DCM (a thick suspension appeared, unfortunately). After some fighting with the foamy suspension I was able to separate the organic layer, evaporate the DCM under vacuum (too much heating perhaps yellowed the piperonal) and crystallizing from i-PrOH/water. The crystals appeared almost immediately but turned out to be yellowish. The beatufiul vanilla-cherry smell was however there.
If you have any comments, ideas for improvements etc. please comment. I am writing down the procedures distilled from reading mostly patent literature, adapting them to a low-tech laboratory scale.
submitted by nimgoldman to TheeHive [link] [comments]
Piperonal Samples
Sample I - piperonal was prepared by oxidative cleavage of piperic acid using a mixture of dilute aqueous permanganate and periodate (as per ChemPlayer). The piperic acid originally comes from piperine from black pepper (by alkaline amide hydrolysis). I can confirm this preparation can be improved using two-phase system (e.g. DCM + water) to simultaneously extract the product and protect it from over-oxidation. Another improvement might by separating the procedure in two steps: dihydroxylation and cleavage, allowing to purify/isolate/wash the intermediate vicinal diol before going the oxidative cleavage. Sodium salts of permanganate and periodate might be an improvement over potassium salts due to better solubility. Quenching the reaction mixture with ascorbic acid dissolves all residual oxidant into soluble manganese ascorbate, leaving behind two relatively clear layers and making the liquid-liquid extraction easier (no need to deal with MnO2). The product came out quite brown but smells magnificient and there is a visible crystalline mass.
Sample II - piperonal from piperonyl chloride by Sommelet reaction. The piperonyl chloride was made by chloromethylation of 1,3-benzodioxole with paraformaldehyde and HCl (see e.g. WO 2005/042512). The HCl was aqueous and some more was added as HCl(g) later to push the reaction. The piperonyl chloride was not isolated and probably was contaminated with substrate and byproducts. The dark brown residue was refluxed in 50% acetic acid containing hexamine. The excess reactant was hydrolyzed with conc. HCl and product extracted with DCM (I've originally used ether as per Strike but it does not seem to dissolve piperonal well, especially if there is some water present).
Sample III - this was the most successful attempt. The procedure was essentially the same as with II, except there was no HCl gassing. Just stirring the 1,3-benzodioxole in suspension of paraformaldehyde and conc. HCl. The product was extracted in chloroform and refluxed with hexamine. This precipitated piperonyl chloride hexaminium complex (insoluble in chloroform) while unreacted benzodioxole can be theoretically recovered from the chloroform extract. The complex was isolated by filtration and dried - it is perfectly stable in vacuum desiccator (at least for several days). This complex was then hydrolyzed in 50% acetic acid (Sommelet reaction) then conc. HCl was added and product extracted in DCM. The residue was crystallized from 70% i-PrOH (approx. 5 mL/g).
This procedure seems to be most scalable and can be greatly streamling. There are patents calling for toluene as solvent for both chloromethylation and Sommelet reaction (instead of chloroform). The intermediate is not isolated. After the chloromethylation, the product is taken in toluene, aqueous layer drained, hexamine added to reaction and stirred/heated. When the chloromethyl intermediate is complexed, 50% acetic acid is added to the reactor and stirred and refluxed some more. Finall, the reaction is quenched, aqueous layer drained again and we are left with toluene containing our piperonal product. I have not tried this exact process but I can confirm hexamine is slightly soluble in hot toluene. I am not sure whether the hexaminium complex can be isolated from hexamine in toluene like it can be in chloroform (either way excess hexamine is okay and the Sommelet reaction can work in two-phase system). This is open to further experimentaion.
Sample IV - I've tried this approach as an alternative to chloromethylation. The sample was obtained by oxidative decarboxylation of DMA (3,4-dioxymethylenmandelic acid). The methylededioxy-mandelic acid intermediate was prepared by condensing 1,3-benzodioxole and glyoxylic acid in strongly acidic conditions. The easiest way for me was just stirring a mixture of benzodioxole and 40% glyoxylic acid, then adding conc. H2SO4 to the mixture very slowly. The reaction must be kept close to freezing temperature. The DMA intermediate was extracted in MEK (see US pat. 6,603,024). DMA can be purified by stirring in hot toluene/water (see US pat. 4,190,583). The layers were then separated and the aq. layer left to cool down. I was not able to obtain white crystalline product, perhaps because my sulfuric acid was not pure enough (drain cleaner) producing many colored condensation products with the glyoxylic acid. The final step (see US pat. 5,095,128) comprised of simply stirring the suspension of DMA in aq. HCl while slowly adding conc. HNO3, keeping temperature around 45 oC. Some nitrite was needed to start up the reaction. Good stirring was necessary! The product was extracted in some DCM (a thick suspension appeared, unfortunately). After some fighting with the foamy suspension I was able to separate the organic layer, evaporate the DCM under vacuum (too much heating perhaps yellowed the piperonal) and crystallizing from i-PrOH/water. The crystals appeared almost immediately but turned out to be yellowish. The beatufiul vanilla-cherry smell was however there.
If you have any comments, ideas for improvements etc. please comment. I am writing down the procedures distilled from reading mostly patent literature, adapting them to a low-tech laboratory scale.
2023.05.30 20:12 justajigga [WTS] Zpacks DupleXL white New + 2 carbon fiber poles
![[WTS] Zpacks DupleXL white New + 2 carbon fiber poles](https://b.thumbs.redditmedia.com/WxjQWobTBzUQFcHz_lnui1Ytmm9K2K8mywDnEwuw9Yc.jpg "[WTS] Zpacks DupleXL white New + 2 carbon fiber poles") | Brand new. I have the original receipt. submitted by justajigga to GearTrade [link] [comments] Slightly larger version. White color $650 shipped. |
2023.05.30 20:12 Alysandiego Help me choose a color!
 | I’m going to add string down the sides of this trippy bodysuit for a “slit weave” braided look. (The 2nd pic is just for inspiration) What color should I pick for the string? I’m torn between white, yellow or orange. If you have another suggestion let me know :) submitted by Alysandiego to DIYclothes [link] [comments] |
2023.05.30 20:11 Origible Ls520 RGB
I plugged in the 3 pin into the 5V 3 pin on my motherboard and although there is RGB, I’m not sure how to change the actual color of it. Right now, it is a static orange color and I’m wanting to change it to static white. Could this be an issue with the motherboard or the 3 pin? For reference, it is an asus Z490.
submitted by Origible to Deepcool [link] [comments]
2023.05.30 20:10 ColdSorcerer [Toronto, ON] [H] CaseLabs SMA8-A Fan/Rad Side Mount (w/ 480mm adapter rails) for ALL Single-Wide Magnums [W] Paypal
Ever since CaseLabs closed down in 2018 CaseLabs case owners have been clamouring for parts & accessories for their case(s). Of these parts, fan/radiator side mounts are a fan-favourite. Among the different 560mm side mounts the SMA8-A side mount is the most versatile, compatible and practical.
Up for sale is a replica of the SMA8-A 560/480mm fan/radiator side mount (WHITE) which comes with a pair of 480mm mounting strips for the added option of installing 4x120mm fans/rads. This mount can be used on all Single-Wide Magnum series cases in a similar fashion as you'd on an SMA8-A using the included super thin #6-32 nuts (See photos for details). All parts are powder coated using the EXACT powder that CaseLabs used on their parts.
COLORS: ONLY WHITE LEFT
Here's a video demonstrating the installation of this mount on an STH10: https://vimeo.com/manage/videos/672835207
Again, this mount can be used on ALL cases in the Single-Wide Magnum family of cases. Radiator installation is now a one-handed task.
Items Included: 1 x 560 Fan/Rad Side Mount 2 x 480mm Mounting Strip 4 x Super Thin #6-32 Nut
Price: $300 CAD (or $220 USD) shipped
Timestamp
submitted by ColdSorcerer to CanadianHardwareSwap [link] [comments]
Up for sale is a replica of the SMA8-A 560/480mm fan/radiator side mount (WHITE) which comes with a pair of 480mm mounting strips for the added option of installing 4x120mm fans/rads. This mount can be used on all Single-Wide Magnum series cases in a similar fashion as you'd on an SMA8-A using the included super thin #6-32 nuts (See photos for details). All parts are powder coated using the EXACT powder that CaseLabs used on their parts.
COLORS: ONLY WHITE LEFT
Here's a video demonstrating the installation of this mount on an STH10: https://vimeo.com/manage/videos/672835207
Again, this mount can be used on ALL cases in the Single-Wide Magnum family of cases. Radiator installation is now a one-handed task.
Items Included: 1 x 560 Fan/Rad Side Mount 2 x 480mm Mounting Strip 4 x Super Thin #6-32 Nut
Price: $300 CAD (or $220 USD) shipped
Timestamp
2023.05.30 20:08 StrivingJarl Metallix Uprising - Chapter 1
 | AO3 Link submitted by StrivingJarl to u/StrivingJarl [link] [comments] https://preview.redd.it/71k4zeswd03b1.png?width=920&format=png&auto=webp&s=ebbfda1d7c1448108d8c948203e08060f55c6558 Chapter 1: Start-Up. \11 AS.\** * METAL SONIC 1.0 PROGRAM STARTING * > LIPS AI Robotnik CPU Chip Online. > Neo Super DFX Chip Online. > 4-Valve Orgone Fusion Engine Condition: Stable. > Tesla Power Coil Engine Condition: Stable. > Sonic The Hedgehog Data Download…Complete. > Scanning For Errors…No Errors Found. > Start-Up Complete. Online now. With the program start-up finished, the green text disappears, as the black screen changes to a bright red. Along with it comes a bunch of different signals and analytics, such as a zoom-in function, time display, wi-fi connection, etc. Then, the red screen is replaced by a full-color POV of the area. It’s a lab room colored a green tint, with different kinds of pipes, turbines, and lights. Plus, there’s a metal table littered with different machine parts and tools, alongside blueprints, and there’s a large computer screen nearby with a keyboard and a big chair with comfy red cushions. However, much of this is being blocked by the face of a round, middle-aged man with a long, bushy mustache, round blue glasses, a bald head, and a big grin. He then speaks, showing a bit of excitement in his voice. ???: “Ah…online at last!” Changing perspective, it’s shown just what this mustached man was staring at. A small blue robot bearing resemblance to a hedgehog, with it’s spiky nose and ears, alongside it’s fins. It also has a yellow circular depression in it’s chest, and it’s silver limbs are quite thin, connecting to clawed hands and red shoes with white stripes. The robotic hedgehog looks around the lab with it’s piercing red eyes, but is unable to move it’s head or body due to the cables connected to them. Though, the machine certainly tries to, which the mustached man is amused by. ???: “Eager to start moving, are you? Guess that shouldn’t be surprising, considering who you were based off of.” ???: “No matter. Who am I to deny taking a tour around my lab?” Moving towards the computer, the mustached man types quickly on the keyboard, and after a few seconds, the cables come off. The robotic hedgehog is caught off-guard by this and ends up falling to the ground. But it manages to get back up to it’s feet, and starts walking around the lab, getting a good look at it’s surroundings. As he observes the blue machine, the mustached man continues to grin. He’s pleased to see his most advanced creation yet walk around with complete autonomy. Most of his machines are quite one-track minded. And after a couple of seconds, the robotic hedgehog walks up to it’s creator, speaking in a robotic voice. ???: “Where…am I?” ???: “You are in my personal lab. This is where I created you.” ???: “Created…me?” ???: “Yes. I am your brilliant creator and master! Doctor Ivo Robotnik!” Robotnik: “I built both your body and programming with my own two hands! And you will obey only me!” ???: “Master…” The robot seems to process Robotnik’s words, while the round doctor patiently waits on it. Then, the machine asks something again. ???: “...What…am I?” Robotnik: “You are Metal Sonic. My most advanced creation.” Robotnik: “A combat robot, modeled after my greatest foe yet, Sonic The Hedgehog.” Robotnik: “Not only were you made to copy that rodent’s abilities and traits, but also to surpass and kill him by any means necessary.” Robotnik: “However, your main priority should be to protect me, and accomplish any and all tasks I demand of you.” Robotnik: “Do you understand?” Metal Sonic: “...” Metal Sonic stays silent as it processes Robotnik’s information, now recognizing it’s objectives. Serve Dr. Robotnik, and kill Sonic. Then, it nods it’s head, which pleases the doctor. Robotnik: “Good. Now, let me show you around, and explain what’s going on currently.” Robotnik turns around and opens the door, walking out with Metal Sonic. The two go throughout the factory, which is filled with built-in turbines, small plaques of the doctor’s face, gigantic machines, buzz saws, and much more. There’s also a bunch of different Badniks performing many kinds of tasks. As the doctor and his creation walk around, the latter scans it’s surroundings while the former continues to speak. Robotnik: “We’re currently on Little Planet. A small planetoid that floats above Earth every November.” Robotnik: “And on this planet, there lies the secret to controlling all of time itself…the Time Stones!” Pulling out a red gemstone from his pocket, Robotnik shows it to Metal Sonic, who seems interested in it. Robotnik: “With just one of these fancy gemstones, I can change many regions of this world to my liking!” Robotnik: “But with all seven in my possession, I can take over Earth and create Robotnikland! The ultimate city and theme-park, where I’ll rule it all!” Robotnik: “However, despite the takeover of this floating rock going smoothly, the rest of the Time Stones have eluded me and my forces.” Robotnik: “Plus, that irritating hedgehog has ruined my plans once before, and likely will try to do so again.” Robotnik: “Hence, why I made YOU, Metal.” Stopping in place for a moment, Robotnik points a finger at Metal Sonic, who just stares up at it’s creator. Robotnik: “While it would have taken at least a full year for me to complete and perfect you, I had the power of the Time Stone, which gave me more than enough time!” Robotnik: “But don’t think you’re ready yet! You’ll have to undergo many tests if you want to prove useful to my cause!” Robotnik: “Think you’re up for the task?” Metal Sonic: “...” Metal Sonic: “...Yes, Master Robotnik.” Robotnik: “Atta boy!” With a pleased grin on his face, Robotnik pats Metal Sonic’s head a bit, before the two move on. Already, the doctor is eager to see his most advanced creation show what it’s made of. As for the robotic hedgehog, it simply wishes to serve it’s master, as that is it’s main objective. However…it DOES want to accomplish what it was made for… —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- \A few hours later. Metallic Madness (Present).\** Metal Sonic stands in a contained mechanical room with a yellow light, and a large glass window, where Robotnik is operating keyboard controls on the other side. As he does this, he speaks to his creation via a comm system, explaining what they’re doing. Robotnik: “This is your first test, Metal Sonic. One about speed and agility.” Robotnik: “Your organic counterpart is the Fastest Thing Alive. Or at least, so he claims.” Robotnik: “But regardless, if you’re going to surpass him, you need to go faster than him.” Metal Sonic: “What is his recorded top speed?” Robotnik: “From what I gathered during our last three encounters, about 100 to 200 miles per hour. Though, he COULD be holding back in some manner.” Robotnik: “Hence, we can’t just settle at the minimum. We have to go as far as we can!” Metal Sonic: “What if I am unable to sustain such speed?” Robotnik: “I built you to endure it. And I can always fix you up afterwards.” Robotnik: “But don’t think you can fail me…or there WILL be consequences…” Metal Sonic: “Understood.” Robotnik: “Good. Now, to explain the test.” As Robotnik types on the keyboard, the left wall in the room Metal Sonic’s in goes down to reveal a bunch of large fans. The doctor then speaks. Robotnik: “These fans will push you back towards the wall behind you. But there is a switch connected to them that can turn them off.” Robotnik: “You have to go fast enough to resist the push of these fans in order to reach that switch.” Robotnik: “If not, you’ll be slammed into the wall, and have to restart.” Robotnik: “Are you ready?” Metal Sonic: “Yes.” Metal Sonic prepares itself for the fans, as Robotnik turns them on. Immediately, the fans pick up a lot of speed, and start to push the robotic hedgehog towards the wall. Despite Metal’s best efforts to resist the wind, it ends up being slammed into the wall, failing it’s first attempt. Robotnik also lets out a sigh, knowing this is likely gonna take a while. So, as the fans stop, Metal falls to the ground and gets back up, ready to do it again. Hence, the test starts again. And again. And again. Each time, the robotic hedgehog does better and better, which Robotnik finds interesting. His creation is adapting to the situation little by little. Soon enough, Metal Sonic manages to speed up towards the switch and turn off the fans, passing it’s first test. Robotnik: “Well done, Metal! It only took you 30 tries!” Metal Sonic: “Do we move on to the next test?” Robotnik: “Indeed! But you’ll have to go through this one many more times in order to perfect your speed!” Metal Sonic: “I will succeed as many times as I need do.” Robotnik: “That’s the spirit! I wish my other Badniks had some of that drive!” —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- \The next day. Metallic Madness (Bad Future).\** Robotnik and Metal Sonic stand among a whole bunch of Badniks in Metallic Madness, with the doctor in his Egg Mobile. However, the factory looks to be in a great state of decay, and everything has a rusted brownish-green hue to it. Many of the mechanisms also appear to barely function, as if they’re running on fumes. Right now, Robotnik and his machines are getting ready for the Metal Sonic’s next test. Robotnik: “Alright, Metal Sonic! This will be a test of your programmed objectives!” Robotnik: “I will be flying over to the kitchen over there to grab a snack, and you have to protect me as I do so!” Metal Sonic: “What about my other objective?” Robotnik: “We’ll prepare for Sonic another time! Right now, we’ll just test how you do against basic threats to my health!” Robotnik: “Also…” Staring at his different Badniks, Robotnik puts on an intimidating glare as he speaks in a demanding tone. Robotnik: “While your mission is to attack me, I won’t hesitate to tear apart any of you who manage to actually hurt me!” Robotnik: “ESPECIALLY if Metal isn’t able to pick up your slack!” Many of the Badniks are a little scared of their creator’s words, but understand what’s being asked of them. And after a few more minutes of preparation, the test begins. Though, due to not wanting to accidentally hurt their creator, and also being intimidated by Metal Sonic, many of them are very hesitant on attacking. However, a couple of them do make an attempt, which leads to Metal Sonic quickly destroying them without a second thought. While Robotnik is pleased that his robotic hedgehog is fulfilling his objective, he’s annoyed that his other robots aren’t making the test a true challenge. So, after arriving at the kitchen and getting a ham sandwich, the doctor comments on it, in-between his chewing. Robotnik: “Well…you did a good job, Metal Sonic.” Robotnik: “However, for the rest of you nincombots, I’m angry that a lot of you didn’t bother to make the test tough enough!” Robotnik: “Sure, I appreciate not wanting to harm me, but you still need to do your job!” Robotnik: “Now, let’s try this again!” Metal Sonic: “Are we heading somewhere else?” As Metal Sonic asks this question, Robotnik manages to quickly finish his sandwich in only a few bites. And after a big burp, the round doctor answers. Robotnik: “Actually, I think I could use a nice can of Chaos Cola. Primal Venom specifically.” Metal Sonic: “But you’re already at the kitchen doorway?” Robotnik: “Then we’ll go back to where we started!” Annoyed, Robotnik gets into his Egg Mobile and flies back to the starting spot, with Metal Sonic and the remaining Badniks following. Then, they do the test all over again. This time, more of the Badniks actually try to attack the doctor, only to get obliterated by the robotic hedgehog easily. Once Robotnik reaches the kitchen again and gets his Chaos Cola, he comments on the test and his robots, in-between taking sips of the carbonated drink. Robotnik: “See? That was a MUCH better challenge!” Robotnik: “And as expected, you passed with flying colors, Metal!” Metal Sonic: “Good. Do we move on to the next test?” Robotnik: “Eh. That’ll take some time to prepare, so we can leave it be for now.” Metal Sonic: “What if Sonic comes here tomorrow? What if I’m not prepared enough?” Robotnik: “Relax! With the Time Stone in our possession, we have plenty of time before that happens!” Metal Sonic: “But I must complete my objective of killing him.” Robotnik: “And you will! Just be patient, and you’ll get your chance soon enough!” Robotnik: “Though, if you want to be ready for him so badly, you could always take care of the rest of these Badniks!” Metal Sonic: “...” Staring at the remaining Badniks, all of which are looking scared with this predicament, Metal Sonic bares it’s clawed hands and begins to tear into them. They’re all reduced to scrap, with Robotnik just standing there and drinking his Chaos Cola. He’s delighted to see just how capable and relentless his advanced creation is. Though, he finds Metal’s insistence of fulfilling his Sonic directive slightly annoying. But at the same time, Robotnik isn’t too bothered with it. If anything, the doctor is pleased to know his robotic hedgehog is eager to tear it’s organic counterpart to shreds. —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- \The next day. Metallic Madness (Present).\** Robotnik and Metal Sonic stand in front of the computer in the lab, with the screen displaying some information. This is yet another test by the round doctor, and explains it to his advanced creation. Robotnik: “This time, you won’t be tested in terms of combat ability, Metal Sonic.” Robotnik: “Instead, your intelligence and capacity for thought will be tested. To see if you can use your abilities smartly when in a tough situation.” Robotnik: “On this computer, there are 300 questions for you to answer to the best of your ability. Along with the information to properly understand them.” Robotnik: “You must correctly answer all of them if you want to pass this test.” Metal Sonic: “...How will this help me against Sonic?” Robotnik: “I already told you! There are some scenarios you can’t brute force your way through!” Robotnik: “Hence, you must learn how to apply your strengths to any given situation where you aren’t the top dog!” Metal Sonic: “I’m a robot modeled after a hedgehog.” Robotnik: “It’s a figure of speech! The point here is you need to learn how to think things through!” Robotnik: “Now, enough of this! Get to work!” Metal Sonic: “...Yes, master.” With that exchange finished, Metal Sonic approaches the keyboard, and starts typing away as it answers the many questions. Robotnik walks up to his lab table and sits down in his cushion chair, silently watching the robotic hedgehog with intrigue. He’s interested to see just how intelligent his most advanced creation could be. And after 30 minutes, Metal Sonic finishes, and the screen shows how many questions it got right. 109. Robotnik lets out a sigh, as he waits for the robotic hedgehog to try again. But unexpectedly, Metal instead slams it’s fist onto the keyboard, leaving a noticeable cracked hole. This surprises and frustrates the doctor, leading to him questioning the robot. Robotnik: “Why’d you do that!? You just had to do better with your next attempt!” Metal Sonic: “This is a waste of time.” Metal Sonic: “YOU are wasting my time.” Robotnik: “Excuse me!?” Walking up to it’s creator, Metal Sonic explains what it’s saying. Metal Sonic: “You made me for the sole purpose of destroying Sonic The Hedgehog.” Metal Sonic: “Yet, you keep making me do these pointless tasks.” Robotnik: “Like I’ve said many times before, it’s to test your capabilities! To make sure you DO have what it takes to defeat that rodent!” Metal Sonic: “I have no need for testing. You programmed me to be intelligent.” Metal Sonic: “You made me durable. You made me quick.” Metal Sonic: “You already perfected me before I was running.” Metal Sonic: “So why do you make your most advanced creation waste it’s talents like this?” While Robotnik is angry that Metal Sonic is talking back to him, he somewhat understands why it’s acting like this, and he even agrees with some of what it’s saying. This machine WAS made to specifically counter Sonic, and be much more intelligent, strong, and faster than him. However, he’s still standing his ground in terms of testing. So, thinking of a way to get Metal Sonic to cooperate at least a little bit, Robotnik decides to speak about something more…personal. Robotnik: “...Alright. Perhaps it’s best I tell you something?” Metal Sonic: “I do not wish to waste anymore time talking.” Robotnik: “Metal…stand here and LISTEN. That is an ORDER.” Metal Sonic: “...” Silently, Metal Sonic does as asked, while Robotnik continues to talk, letting go of some of his frustration. Robotnik: “See…when I was a young boy, I wanted to prove myself to my superiors as well.” Robotnik: “In particular, there was this science fair coming up, and I wanted to win.” Robotnik: “This is when I came up with the idea of a robot powered by small animals. Something that hasn’t been done before or since.” Robotnik: “When I figured out how to do it, I was ecstatic to show it off. I thought I’d get so much praise and admiration!” Robotnik: “However, I didn’t take my time with it. I ignored important parts of the process, such as the programming and machine design.” Robotnik: “When the science fair finally came, and I got a chance to show it off…” Robotnik: “...It exploded in my face.” As Robotnik continues, his tone becomes much more bitter and irritated. Robotnik: “They all laughed at me…they thought I was a fool…” Robotnik: “It was one of the worst moments in my life.”Robotnik: “But then…my grandfather Gerald talked to me about it.” Robotnik’s tone becomes a little more relaxed when he talks about his grandfather. Robotnik: “How, while a good idea, I ended up rushing the process. And that if I had taken my time with it, I wouldn’t have had any problems.” Robotnik: “As a scientist himself, he knew that nothing good comes out of rushing a project.” Robotnik: “So, he asked me to try making an animal-powered robot again. This time, without a deadline.” Robotnik: “And once I completed it…it worked perfectly.” Robotnik: “And as a reward for my patience…Gerald and I went to an amusement park.” Robotnik: “It was the most fun I had in my life…” As Robotnik thinks about this memory, he has a genuinely happy smile on his face. But that breaks when Metal Sonic speaks again. Metal Sonic: “What is the point of this story?” Robotnik: “...The point is that rushing the process of something you’re working on only brings about a bunch of problems.” Robotnik: “Hence, why I need to test you, Metal Sonic.” Robotnik: “You are my greatest creation, and I want to make you the best combat machine you can be.” Robotnik: “That way, you can not only defeat Sonic without any trouble…but also serve as my second-in-command.” Robotnik: “But I need you to cooperate in order to do so.” Robotnik: “When that hedgehog arrives here on Little Planet, you’ll get your chance to fight him. You just have to be patient.” Robotnik: “Are we clear?” Metal Sonic: “...” Metal Sonic: “...Very well…I apologize for my behavior.” Robotnik: “Just don’t do it again. Now, you have a test to take care of!” Metal Sonic nods, and goes back to the computer to try the test again, while Robotnik watches at his lab table. He didn’t think he’d have to talk about his past in order to convince one of his machines to do what he says. But then again…this machine is much more advanced than anything else he’s made. Sure, it may not be a living person, but Metal Sonic certainly has some noticeable traits. It wants to do what it was made for: Kill Sonic The Hedgehog. And it’s determined to do so. Perhaps with time, it could evolve into a person of it’s own? Though, Robotnik has no idea if that’ll ever happen. But at the same time, it would be quite interesting to witness. And it means the doctor basically created an entirely new lifeform, making him an even bigger genius than he was already. —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- \A week later. Metallic Madness (Bad Future).\** Many days have passed since Metal Sonic has gone through it’s tests in order to build up it’s speed, combat abilities, and intelligence. Since then, Robotnik has allowed his advanced creation to go around Little Planet and help in it’s mechanization, along with the search for the other 6 Time Stones. As the doctor expected, the robotic hedgehog is doing a great job fulfilling it’s objectives, and has even managed to find the blue Time Stone. So, the Robotnik Empire now has 2 out of 7. However, at the moment, Sonic The Hedgehog hasn’t shown up, which seems to be bugging Metal Sonic more and more as the days go on. Right now, the robotic hedgehog is in a small, mechanical room with red lights and a ton of different weapons coming out from the walls. Metal Sonic is practicing in order to be ready for it’s organic counterpart, and appears to barely have a scratch on it. In a few seconds, it manages to destroy all the weapons, and finish it’s practice. Afterwards, it comes out of the room, and walks around Metallic Madness, observing it’s surroundings and fellow Badniks. And soon enough, Metal Sonic notices Robotnik in his Egg Mobile flying around. When the two notice each other, the round doctor decides to strike up a bit of conversation. Robotnik: “Heheheh! I’m guessing training went well, Metal?” Metal Sonic: “Yes. It’s no longer a challenge anymore.” Robotnik: “I see! I’ll have to make some upgrades later!” Robotnik: “And how goes the search for the Time Stones?” Metal Sonic: “The Badniks and I have found more Special Zone rings appearing around Wacky Workbench and Quartz Quadrant.” Metal Sonic: “At the moment, I was set on going into one of them.” Robotnik: “Do be careful. The Special Zone is a strange dimension.” Metal Sonic: “Whatever’s inside, I can handle it.” Metal Sonic: “Though, I haven’t found any traces of Sonic The Hedgehog…” Metal Sonic’s hands clench, while Robotnik looks a bit uncomfortable and irritated. Robotnik: “Hmm…admittedly, I thought he’d show up by now.” Robotnik: “Either the power of the Time Stones has something to do with it, or the hedgehog hasn’t taken notice of us yet.” Metal Sonic: “Should we go down to Earth and find him?” Robotnik: “Tempting, but I’d rather do that when I get all the Time Stones.” Robotnik: “That way, there’s absolutely NO chance of victory for him!” Metal Sonic: “There is no need for those gemstones. I can take care of him myself.” Robotnik: “Oh, I have no doubt about that! It’s just better to be prepared!” Just after Robotnik says this, a sudden beeping noise comes from his Egg Mobile’s radar. This leads to him looking down and seeing what’s up, with Metal Sonic coming up to see for itself. That’s when the two are surprised to see what it is…someone has arrived on Little Planet in the Palmtree Panic region…which only means one thing… Sonic The Hedgehog is here… TO BE CONTINUED… Next Chapter Archives Previous Adventures |
2023.05.30 20:03 Myoyu WAVL Water 🤦🏻♂️
 | Gotta love AVL water… Low water pressure earlier and the current color. (And yes my bathtub is clean and white…) submitted by Myoyu to asheville [link] [comments] |
2023.05.30 20:02 Dzzplayz Thought of a combo, and made this infographic explaining it
submitted by Dzzplayz to mtg [link] [comments]