#Ape Suit (Human Guise);

[hxdonist]

.::. WHAT WAS CONSUMED OF ME? .::. cyberware.txt

Playing too free and loose with the net has its pitfalls, and Ikarus is well aware of them. Given his first neural uplink in a shady operation at little more than fifteen years old, his still-growing body regularly experienced damage from the electrical impulses often deployed against those picking around where they don't belong- and mental strain endured while netrunning, a close call frying the connections between his mind and his own right hand in his late teens- it was on his mother's recommendation that he replaced it, instead of seeking therapy or perhaps retiring for a short time from his dives into the depths of code for a time to let those connections slowly filter back in.

An Ichibangase/Eisher produced implant Ikarus' right arm is top of the line- installed in his teens and upgraded as Ikarus himself grew into a man, it's been largely the same since his youth, with exception of additional, improved weapon suites and stealth modifications made after-market to ensure that he is never left unarmed so to speak. Bearing pointed, razor-sharp claws cleverly hidden in the paneling of his more 'human' hand, the points remain precise and capable, able to manipulate even the smallest computer chips even with them exposed- though given their lack of sensation- Ikarus tends to prefer to use the touch-feedback sensitive fingers of the 'standard' hand. The flowing arcs of red light and electricity that shift like muscles beneath a hard outer shell are the single indication that the implant contains a railgun- grounded through the additional metal implanted within Ikarus' body after years of net diving, it can muster exactly five high powered, nigh-unstoppable by anything short of electromagnetic shielding shots before requiring a relatively lengthy recharge period of 30 minutes for an additional round, unless overclocked to strip power from elsewhere in his body.

His interfaces are more difficult to place, and are only at their most obvious when under the guise of 1NF1N1T3FUN, a helmet aping the image of a fox's head and face with projectors to display eight eyes over its scrawny, seemingly rotting visage, this headware is intended to mitigate and lighten the load he takes on while in the chair, and hide his identity in holos put out with NANO ZILLA's demands, or ransoms over information. lit in a harsh red and machined to match perfectly with his already installed port and the pre-existing damage to his body, it is comfortable enough to remain hidden beneath as long as he might require it- as only those who have earned his trust in his crew have seen him without it.

all internal interfaces, however, are starting to show their age. the operation to install his neural port was botched- 'overclocking' his connections if he's not careful- or mitigating with his helmet when wired in, he risks the loss of more than just his neck-to-right-shoulder connection- that expanse of his upper body- and some of his back and spine- mapped in sprawling carbon, chrome, and dancing red electricity. This too, is a secret, regularly wearing turtlenecks and long-sleeves to hide the bulk of his damage, in an effort to avoid looking weak, or perhaps, worrying his people. His on-board chipset, used for on-the fly hacking, scanning, and day-to-day business a phone might have previously filled the space of is a decidedly early model, jailbroken and regularly updated with the required work-arounds for modern technology- it works slowly, but effectively- many chromed-up cowboys unable to give chase as Ikarus makes a slow, lazy retreat unfettered by smart weapons or speed-enhanced limbs, quieted by anesthesia in code. . .

#ikarus.aes #ikarus.hc #ikarus.info #anarchictask

[xaallo]

Well, that took 2 hours!

Anywho, it’s Xaa’s human guise!

#mun art #Ape Suit (Human Guise);

[yakuzacasual]

I look forward to your updates a little too much lol would you be down to write about daigo encountering a person who he was interested in when he was in his little fuckboy phase that didn't really give him much attention. They don't have to end up together, I just think it would be funny if he felt embarrassed of any advances he made now that he's chairman and realizes his phase was not the best haha (I hope im being clear if not you can ignore<3)

PREFACE

How does it feel to be living with a brain as big and powerful as yours, dear? Because this request is just.......... *smashes little fist against a wall* This is the true perfection. I don’t think I’ve ever heard an idea as maginificent as this one and I can imagine nothing that may top it anytime soon. Getting to write from the perspective of Daigo, especially the emo one, especially with a bit of retrospect, DAMN I AM LIVIN LIVES RN THIS IS WHAT I WAS MADE FOR.

Did I just impulse write the whole thing despite the fact that I was planning to go to bed early? Maybe. Do I regret my choice? *satisfied ape noises* Am I proud of it? Fuck yes.

Now, back to being serious. I sincerely love you for this one. Please, I beg thee, do come back and leave anot!her one some time. For now I hope you enjoy it as much as I did and have a fantastic day!

BABY BOSS DAIGO FACING HIS SHAMEFUL PAST

Back in the days of his brazen youth, Daigo used to catch the eyes of many sorts of people. His broody demeanor attracted mainly women, but he could also recall quite a few men from these times as well. Many of such memories are just a blur for him nowadays, replaced by forever vivid scenes of companions dying for his cause and the Tojo clan slowly but surely crumbling in his hands with each passing year. There is but one recollection that stayed forever clear throughout the years, safely tucked away in the depths of his mind.

It was a rainy night, one of those that he remembers happened way too many times that month, when he found himself piss drunk and mindlessly staggering through the many alleyways of Kamurocho. Bruised knuckles tucked away in the warmth of his absolutely ridiculous, puffy jacket, eyes barely focused on the road ahead of him. He tried to escape the flashing neon lights and unbearable buzz of the entertainment district, seeking solace within the dirty streets forgotten by the normal citizens and gods alike. It’s where the dark deeds take place and maybe that’s what he was looking for. Another fix to keep him amused, something that would wake him up inside again for however fleeting a moment he could get. 

The details of how he ran into you are slightly fuzzy, albeit he likes to think that this slightly bloody visage of himself he still remembers seeing in the puddle was him kicking some asses. Not getting his own handed to him. In this state, he somehow finds you with his blurry eyesight. You sit on a park bench in what feels like the edge of the world, but is just a place slightly farther away from the ever beating heart of Kamurocho, covered by the shade of grandiose buildings falling apart at the seams. Maybe it’s a cig in your hand, maybe a bottle of whisky or maybe nothing at all - whatever it was that drove him to approach you was a suffocating feeling that you’re both somehow in deep shit. The features of your face are so detailed still. The shape of your lower lip, the frown of your brow and the way you looked at him as he took a place on the other side of the bench. He still remembers it all, somehow.

Surprisingly enough, there is not much to this story from that point onwards. Or so he has been trying to convince himself until that one fateful day, a very weird day. It’s just him running the usual Tojo errands when outside of the window of his limo he spots a face so familiar it causes him to instantly get a splitting headache right where he sits. You seem to even lock eyes with him through the darkened glass, as you calmly sip your beverage, enjoying the nice weather in the outside seat of a decent looking cafe. Under the guise of getting himself some well deserved coffee, Daigo slips away from his attendants and right into the other seat right opposite your own. The movement is not quite as smooth though. Just looking at his nervous stare you could tell he is out of his element.

Of course, you recognize him instantly. It would be hard not to, really. He may look better in a suit and the opinions on his slicked back hair may vary, but this is still most certainly him. The same square chin, the same tired lines visible on his face. Daigo Dojima has graced you with his presence. The clothes may make the man, but they won’t change who he was. And you? You know way too well who he was.

For him it does take a longer way to recognize you but he definitely does and, by gods, he immediately regrets it. That’s it. That’s the lost part of the puzzle he never wanted finished. The memories of days long gone, when he used to hit on you mercilessly after that one night in the park, when you showed him nothing beyond what would be expected from human compassion and yet he latched onto that like a poor puppy seeking validation in places, that could never offer what he needed. In retrospect he clearly sees in your eyes, both current and the ones he remembers, what his younger self did not understand at the time. Absolute and complete lack of interest. Which, considering who he is now, is quite impressive of you. Then again if he knew a chairman of a renowned yakuza family back when they were young and relentlessly pestering him for affection he did not have for them? Well, he can kind of guess he’d be much like yourself in this situation.

His blood may run cold, but his cheeks are flaring red as he remembers the god awful pickup lines he tried on you back then and how darn angry he was that not even his award-winning emo style that made ladies swoon at his feet had next to no effect on your, how he used to think about it, stone cold heart. In reality it was just you being reasonable and him being an absolute dumbass. He can even recall Kiryu giving him the biggest tonguelashing ever for how he used his influence in the Tojo clan to keep tabs on you for like a week. Now, he wishes Kiryu would be here to beat his sorry ass right back to the hospital, maybe cause a proper concussion to make him forget all this downright embarrassing stuff he has done as the most shameful person to ever exist on earth.

Daigo Dojima’s redemption arc starts now. He will make absolutely sure to somehow make it up to you, whatever you want of him. He is dead set on showing you the tremendous amount of growth he’s done since the last time you saw him. If it’s a restraining order you want, so be it. But if, by any chance, you do wish to get to know him better and let him redeem himself as the man he is now… Well, who knows. You may just gain the most powerful ally, a trusted friend or maybe even more.

#Ryu ga Gotoku #rgg x reader #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku x reader #rgg #yakuza 2 #yakuza kiwami 2 #yakuza 3 #yakuza 4 #yakuza 5 #yakuza 6 #yakuza x reader #yakuza imagines #daigo dojima #daigo x reader #Headcanon #imagine #request

[chernobog13]

NOT YER GRAMMA’S SPECTREMAN!

Someone on Youtube has posted  the original pilot (although it plays more like a pitch proposal) of Spectreman from P-Productions.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fP9Sk58anlw

As you can see in the screenshot above, Spectreman looked a whole lot different in the pilot than he did in the series.

That’s not even a full mask he’s wearing; the bottom part of the actor’s face was painted silver!

The pilot is short, barely 12 minutes long; has no dialogue; and has loads of Japanese narration throughout, which are factors that lead me to believe this is more a proposal for network executives, or a condensation of a full episode for the same purpose.

Like in the series, Spectreman is a cyborg, although the transformation sequence makes it appear that he is more of an android.

Spectreman tackles the foot of a dinosaur-like monster

Perhaps the biggest difference between the pilot and the actual series, though, is that Dr. Gori, the alien ape who tries to conquer Earth, was supposed to be the star character.  In fact, the pilot’s title is Space Monkey Man Goro (Uchu Enjoin Gori).

The monster tries to shake off the pesky cyborg hugging his foot

Dr. Gori’s appearance in the pilot is also different from how he appears in the series.  In the pilot he is a gorilla wearing a black cuirass.  He was re-designed for the series into the green-faced, blonde-haired, pink leisure suit-wearing master of menace we remember.  The Gori costume from the pilot was repurposed in the series as Dr. Gori’s assistant, Ra, or Karas as he was called in the English dub.

Almost the first half of the pilot delves into Dr. Gori’s backstory, with many shots of the actor wearing the impressive gorilla mask speaking (or at least moving his mouth).  I always found the Ra/Karas mask to be superior to any of the gorilla masks used in the Planet of the Apes films.

Along with backstory on Dr. Gori, we learn that Spectreman, when in his human guise, is found of wearing a cowboy hat with business suits.  He also has to request permission to transform into Spectreman from his commander, appropriately named Overlord, who watches over the Earth in a spaceship called Nebula 71.  That arrangement reminds me of Omac and the overseer satellite Brother Eye from Jack Kirby’s original Omac comic book.  

The original tone of the pilot is much darker and grimmer than the far more kid-friendly series.  There are still monster battles (they cram three into the pilot, one right after the other), and the dinosaur-sized monster seen above is actually stop-motion animated, which I feel was a great touch even if it feels more like Rankin-Bass the Willis O’Brien or Ray Harryhausen.

But of all the differences between the pilot and the actual series, I am happiest about the change in Spectreman’s costume.  The original design seen here isn’t too bad, but the execution is just gawdawful.  And kid as we might about superheroes wearing their underwear on the outside, it does look like Spectreman is wearing tights-whities over red longjohns.

For more information about this pilot, and the Spectreman series as a whole, track down G-Fan #132 (summer 2021) for Neil Riebe’s excellent article about same.

#Spectreman #Spectreman pilot #G-Fan #tokusatsu

[webcricket]

Looking Glass

Chapter 11 - Under Your Spell

Pairing: CastielXAU!Reader

Word Count: 3180

Summary: The final ingredient needed for Rowena’s location spell leads to an angelically intimate reveal. Warning for a swear word and non-explicit sexually suggestive situation.

Miss a chapter? Have a Masterlist Link!

Retracing his footsteps from the task of securing the door following a soggy return to the bunker and your subsequent sprint to your bedroom in search of a dry clothes, Castiel’s rain sodden boot leaves the last metal stair and lands on the floor with a slosh at almost the same instant Dean materializes in the hall door traveling the well-worn route from kitchen to library.

The hunter carries two condensation glazed amber bottles of beer, neither of which is intended for the angel.

Cas’ fingers pause in their anemic struggle to loosen the slippery blue knot of his silken tie. He eyes the alcohol; the thought passes fleeting that he could use a beer, or thousand. From the wind-mussed mat of dark brown locks slicked to his forehead down to the pruned-skin toes shoved into squishy socks, his demeanor drips defeat over the washed-out chance to kiss you and the continued existential battle waging within between his sentimental heart and reason-ruled mind regarding as to where, should your relationship develop further despite his ineptitude in processing and directing his developing emotion toward you, this newfound and deepening desire fits into his angelic existence and your otherworldly one.

Staring at his friend in the saturation of silence as though he’s also been caught in some seraphim subterfuge for having gone against Dean’s strongly worded decree that you not be allowed outside the controlled confines of bunker-dom, he thinks perhaps Dean should have warned, too, that you not be permitted to breach the boundaries of his heart; it’s precisely the sort of distraction none of them need right now – not that the angel necessarily abides by anything Dean dictates.

“Dean, you’re back.” Defaulting to the observable in the absence of anything more concrete to say about the maelstrom of confusion vexing his mind, the gravelly greyness of his tone emulates the storm roiling outside.

“How was your wa-” Dean’s gaze pops upward, widening upon perceiving the soaked state of the seraph. “-what the hell happened?”

Suit stuck to his skin, pallor oddly pale, a puddle gathers around Cas’ ankles as he tries to decide if and how to articulate to Dean the tale of a perfect afternoon punctuated by a near kiss preempted by an inner tempest of hesitation deluged by a literal tempest with an ending ultimately steeped in regret and the never-ending cycle of life’s uncertainty. It’s the sort of benign blow so consistent throughout the angel’s undertakings that it could be considered his trademark. Preferring to nurse his woes in private, dreading Dean will add insult to injury, he says nothing.

Waiting for an answer, and unlike the droplets of water sliding off the glass bottles to splash the concrete at his feet a darker shade of grey, the Winchester’s patience runs dry. “Cas, why are you wet?” he reiterates his question with specificity.

“It’s raining.” Cas shrugs his slouched trench coat-less shoulders as he mutters the specific, albeit overall vague in actual terms of why, reason for his dampness. He avoids looking directly at Dean.

“Ya think?” Dean gestures the neck of one of the bottles at the atypically disrobed angel. Astute to angelic body language, he doesn’t miss the glancing guilt. “Not to state the obvious, but isn’t this the exact scenario trench coats are made for? Where’s yours?”

Cas misreads the waved refreshment as an offer to take it. Slogging nearer, he reaches out to pluck the drink from Dean’s grip; twisting off the top, he downs the contents in a single long glug. Wiping wetted lips with a wetter sleeve, he professes, “I gave it to Y/N to dry off after she went swimming.” As the bunker houses no pool, which implies your swim occurred significantly out of bounds of Dean’s directive, his eyes dart sidelong to assess his friend’s reaction to the revelation of defiance.

There’s a rise of anger in the guise of vocal gruffness, but not toward the anticipated detail of your outing. Running his free hand through his hair in irritation, he huffs, “Don’t tell me she took a bath in my fishing hole.”

“Dude,” Sam interrupts. His cross-armed figure leans against the library threshold – parched, impatient, inquisitive, or all of the above. A smirk stretches his cheeks. “Why do you insist on calling it a fishing hole when you’ve never caught a single fish?” The arch of his brow wordlessly inquires as to the location of the beer his brother promised.

Grateful for an intermediary and the redirection, Cas contributes, “It would be a miracle if you did catch a fish considering there aren’t any inhabiting your so-called fishing hole.”

Surrounded and outnumbered, Dean’s lip curls in defense. Unapologetic for the angelically absconded beer, opening up the one remaining in his possession and laying claim to the rim with spit, he grumbles around a swig, “The art of fishing has nothing to do with whether you catch anything. I wouldn’t expect either of you to understand the complex nature of-”

“Here we go again.” Sighing, Sam uncrosses his arms and turns to wander into the library. “Heard it before, still not interested.”

Dean and Cas trail after him – the human casts the angel an appalled glare as his soles gurgle and squelch with every step.

Cas senses Dean’s aghast glower. Endeavoring to keep the conversation from detouring to you, he engages in the act of small talk. “Did you retrieve the rest of the ingredients?”

“Yeah, everything except an angel feather. Turns out they’re in scarce supply these days, but I figured you could-” He clasps Cas’ shoulder roughly and apes tugging a feather. “-you know.”

“Of course.” Cas suppresses the wince that threatens to contort his features with a mask of impassiveness. Yanking the rare intact plume from the scarred span of his wings is a bit like pulling a fingernail out by the cuticle; and yet, it’s nothing he doesn’t believe he deserves for his multitude of transgressions. In his heart, he judges this small sacrifice to be the least he can do for what he’s done. “Anything to help,” he adds, mostly to convince himself.

Dean’s grin is as genuine as Cas’ passivity is disingenuous. “Great, Rowena’s waiting-”

“On the wings, so to speak.” Rowena winks, simpers, and rises with a slow stretch from the leather lounge in the alcove. Yawning, she snaps shut a book she wasn’t actually reading and balances the slim volume on the arm of the chair. “Hello again, tweetie pie.”

Cas bobs his chin politely in acknowledgement. He notes mutely that the red-haired witch’s compulsive proclivity for using nicknames must be hereditary based on her son’s penchant for doing the same.

Her pout over the lack of a more rousing response to her flirtatious greeting morphs into one of contrived concern. Heavily mascaraed lashes fluttering, somehow intuiting the precise topic Cas wants to avoid, she extends her delicate dancer’s frame to full height on her heels to peer over their shoulders. “And where’s that poor disturbed child scuttled off to?”

All eyes alight on the angel for the answer.

Cas’ mouth presses into a pallid line under the burden of expectation for an explanation. “After we returned from the walk, she, uh, she wanted to warm up in the shower.”

“Oh?” Rowena’s crimson mouth quirks in avidity of amusement. Her gold-dusted eyes dart to Sam and Dean to ensure she holds their attention. “Because it looked to me like things were heating up nicely until someone stumbled over their cold feet.”

“Wait, what?” Dean sputters and chokes on a poorly timed sip of beer.

Sam smiles – the insinuation of budding romance explaining an abstract aloofness verging on daydreaming afflicting the seraph of late.

“You,” Dean states in disbelief, “and Y/N? Since when?”

“We’re not-” Sidestepping further elaboration, the self-inflicted torture of feather removal being preferable to Dean’s teasing, he veers for his quarters, muttering, “I’ll return with the feather.”

Target out of sight, Dean directs his interrogation at the witch. “Were you spying on them?”

She narrows her gaze. “It’s called scrying, and there’s little else to do for diversion in this dank dungeon of yours.”

“What else are you sticking your nose into?” Dean scoffs.

A soft smile of satisfaction slithers across her aspect. “Let’s just say the seraph’s not the only one with a stimulating secret or two around here. Do our dear young Samuel and haloed hero know about that nondescript box you keep hidden in your closet vent?” Pirouetting, she sinks again into the chair and recommences her non-perusal of the book.

Forehead furrowed mid-brow, Sam’s mouth shapes to utter an astonished ‘What box?’

Before he can speak, Dean holds up a palm. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing indeed,” Rowena titters, licks a finger, and flips the page.

Suit coat draped over his arm, tie slung undone around his neck, white dress shirt flapping agape as he pulls the ends of the damp garment from the tuck of his pants, Castiel peers up from unbuckling his belt as he enters his bedroom surprised to see you seated at the desk.

Freshly showered, snug in cozy pajamas, smelling sweetly of lavender soap, you sit with your eyes fixed not on the computer perched in your lap, but upon the strip of tanned and toned torso visible to you. The intricately beautiful black lettering of a tattoo peeks from beneath the fabric covering the left side of his stomach.

The angel halts in the doorway, spine stiffened under your scrutiny, belt half unlooped from his trousers and hanging in his hand as if he doesn’t know whether to come or go.

Realizing the impudence of your sustained stare, cheeks hot, you gawk with sudden interest at the laptop and punch at a few random keys. “Hey, uh, I was looking for you,” you murmur. “Thought I’d give this Netflix thing another go, but I can’t seem to find the second season of Firefly.”

“The space western?” Relaxing, letting the leather slip forgotten from his fingertips, Cas steps into the room. He slings his coat and tie across the corner of the dresser to dry and moves nearer your side to squint at the screen.

His increased proximity and decreased dress does very little to diminish the hotness flushing your skin. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

Frowning at being the bearer of bad news, he reclines against the edge of the desk and shakes his head sadly. “I’m afraid that series was cancelled before the second season. I don’t suggest bringing the topic up with Dean, it’s an extremely touchy subject.”

“You’re kidding!” Sulking, you shut the screen, spin in the seat, and slide the computer back on the surface of the desk. You can’t help but steal another glimpse of the tattoo inked across his abs; this close, you recognize the strange symbols as Enochian warding – he’s an angel warded against other angels.

His blues narrow askance. “Why would I joke about that?”

“I guess you wouldn’t, I just thought-” Stumbling over your words, the significance of his tattoo – the possibilities of what occasioned the necessity of it – enthralls you. “Things really are different here, aren’t they? I may come from a world wrecked by an apocalypse, but at least we had six glorious seasons of Firefly.”

“I suppose, apocalypse aside, things have the potential to be quite different here. Hopefully some, too, for the better.”

Glancing upward, you meet his steady gaze. You perceive in the softened sapphire sheen of his eyes a glint of hope that he may be one of those positive differences.

“So-” You shift, nervously looking away to chew your lip; remembering your misreading of the kiss that wasn’t by the pond, you think perhaps your interpretation of this hope is only a mirror of yours and not a reflection of his own sentiment. “Dean’s back?”

“Yes.” He sighs subtly having lost your gentle regard and denies the desire to hook your chin with a finger to again lift up your disarming eyes to him.

You imagine – a pout creeping to downturn the creases of your mouth – you’ll be left alone in the bunker, again. The temper tamed until now climbs your throat. “Then I suppose you’ll be leaving soon to go searching for Gabriel?” Your tone scrapes the air and his ears more abrasively than intended.

He straightens at your harshness, hesitates, then moves toward the dresser. “We need one more ingredient to complete the spell. But then-”

“What is it?” You rise to your feet to follow him, trying not to appear too eager or desperate not to be abandoned. “Can I help?”

He rests his palms on the dresser and peers at you through the hazed glass of the rimless utilitarian rectangular looking glass mounted above it. “It’s not something you-”

“I can help, Cas.” You touch a hand lightly to his shoulder. “I feel so useless locked up in here. Please, let me help you with this.”

The flesh of his vessel prickles pleasantly under the thrum of your fingertips. He wanted to say in the sordid scope of history encompassing the collusions between heaven and humanity, he cannot recall a single soul granted permission to harvest a plume from an angel’s wings, let alone see their corporeal shape beyond shadow. It’s a side of him he reasons you don’t need to be subjected to – a glimpse of his tarnished true form. Proof of his failures. He blinks heavily, focus falling to the sanded twist of a knot darkening the smooth finish of the dresser’s woodgrain – an imperfection, but a flaw that makes the piece of furniture all the more beautiful. Proof of survival. Perhaps, he thinks, there’s a chance you might view him this way. “It’s a feather we need.” The low bass whisper raises the hair on the back of your neck. “One of mine.”

You squeeze your fingers firmer into the muscular arch of his shoulder. “Seems simple enough.”

“Simple, yes, but I’ve never-” He shakes his head. “No mortal has seen any more than a shadow of my wings. Revealing them, it’s an . . . a very intimate act.”

“So, kind of like you seeing me naked.”

“Yes, kind of like that,” he agrees, adding, without processing the intimation of attraction to you in what he says, “only you’re lovely, and they’re . . . not what they used to be.”

“You don’t have to hide from me.” Flipping your hand, you brush the backs of your knuckles down the length of his arm to weave your fingers through the spaces between his where they splay on the dresser; constricting your grip, you urge him into the light with sincere reassurance like he urged you to step into the sun today after so long in the dark. You coil your fingers until no gaps remain and his eyes lock on yours in the mirror.

“Close your eyes,” he rasps the breathy command.

“Cas-”

He covers your interlaced hands with his unconstrained palm and, sliding them from the dresser, spins to face you. “Unless you wish to be permanently blinded when the dimension where they’re cloistered phases into this one, I suggest you shut your eyes now.”

Your eyelids squeeze tight. You inhale and hold a lungful of the charged air building between you. A blaze of light burns bright against your shuttered lashes. A rush of soothing warmth washes sun-like over your skin. The atmosphere quivers to life with the sound of feverish rustling. His fingers fidget – fitful – in your grasp, then break limply loose.

“We need an unspoiled feather to give the spell the best chance of success.” He utters coolly – his voice seems somehow distant to you. No, detached – surely a measure of protection against the judgement he awaits when your eyes open.

Your eyes remain clamped. You worry you were too bold asking this of him; or, too manipulative in likening the revelation of an angel’s wings to the exposure of your body – an unremarkable human form at that, with a structure battered and stitched together by scars, inside and out, he chivalrously called lovely. Lovely. Your heart flutters – the compliment races in a flurry from right atrium to ventricle, circulating hot to sear the held breath in your lungs, then speeding with renewed fervor left atrium to ventricle to oxygenate your limbs in a weakening tizzy of excitement.

“Y/N, it will be easier for both of us if you open your eyes now.”

Lashes lifting, looking upward, you exhale an enraptured gasp and stumble backward; he catches you by the waist.

Imposing jet black wings branch above you; their span curves, cramped, into the corners of the room. In sections, the feathers erupt sparse from scar-coarsened sinew, in others, the quills are frayed and blunted almost to bone, and yet the overall effect astonishes. “Unspoiled, right.” Reduced by awe to echoing, you repeat his instruction.

He dips his head once, chin to chest, and sinks to one knee.

Your attention roves the broad span and finds a prospective plume jutting out near the juncture of his shoulder blades. “And when I find one, how do I remove it?”

His fingers stay at your waist, twisting at the hem of the fabric there as if bracing himself. “You pull. Hard.”

“Won’t that hurt?” You isolate and clutch the bony base of the intact quill in your fist and flatten your palm to his bowed shoulders for leverage.

“Yes,” he hisses between his teeth at your tentative tug.

“Sorry. Sorry! Are you okay?” You flinch at the raw power behind the curtailed flap tensing the insulted appendage.

“You have to pull harder,” he growls. Burrowing his forehead into your stomach, he clutches at your sides to bolster his support.

Readjusting the angle of your grip, you waver. “I don’t think I can do it.”

“I’ll be fi-”

You wrench at the feather as hard as you’re able.

“Fuck.” The respired humid heat of his agonized expletive and succession of pained pants as he struggles not to completely collapse at your feet steams through the cotton barrier of your shirt to moisten the hollow of your navel housed beneath – the graze of his fingers sinking into soft flesh will surely leave bruises.

The angelically absurd exclamation of obscenity and the carnally redolent contact aches as a surge of ardor flourishing at the apex of your thighs. Catching his breath, he leans backward to gaze up at you with watery blues. The spellbinding scent of your unmistakable arousal floods his senses.

The hard-wrung feather floats from your fingers to the floor, fingers favoring instead to card through the angel’s still damp halo of chestnut locks. He doesn’t appear so formidable with his scaffold of scarred wings sprawled behind the shrunken figure of his vessel – doesn’t seem so unattainable sat suppliant on his knees before you, pinpoints of lamplight sparkling in the black pools of dilating pupils. Cupping his cheek in your palm, daubing at a stray tear tenderly with the pad of your thumb, you bend to ghost the gentlest of kisses to the corner of his mouth.

Next: Ch. 12 - A Funny Thing Happened on the Road to Amarillo

#castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel reader insert #castiel fluff #castiel series #castiel x y/n #spn x reader #castielxreader #castielxyou #reader x castiel #you x castiel #cas x reader #cas x you #spn reader insert #castiel fanfiction #spn fanfiction #castiel x au!reader #castiel fanfic #cricket writes cas

[page-of-tales]

Rough Draft: Funeral for a MUEL

Genre: Science Fiction, HFY 

Based off of roomba empathy and EOD robot attachments.

3k words, feedback appreciated

This is a short story from a larger universe I am developing.

The Tok’ro system was a non distinctive system within the Jik’an Empire. A Class F star, with a few moderate sized exoplanets in orbit with an asteroid belt hovering at the far reach of the star. Named by an explorer nearly a century ago and nearly completely forgotten. Unexceptional in every way it still had one planet within the habitable zone. And thus it was secretly colonized by an independent faction of the Jik’an Empire some 60 standard cycles ago. The Lassarn as they called themselves were something of a spiritualist convent of the minimalist nature. They rejected the doctrines laid out by the Empire and often suffered persecution as a result. Seeking to explore freedoms heavily restricted under conventional rule the Lassasrn colony led a quiet and simple existence. The simple lifestyle were only a threat to those who deemed it.

It was only a matter of time before the colony was discovered by the Jik’kan EMpire. The small colony would come under fire as the Jikan Empire moved to crush the dissidents under the guise of ensuring national security. As the military forces moved into the system one of their first targets was a small mining base on the outer fringe of the system. To their chagrin this tiny base lodged in a random bit of floating space rock resisted the invasion forces. Successfully, hiding itself in the dense ring of asteroids. Placing asteroids to block out the bigger capital ships so that their mining frigates could pounce on fighter craft. The losses were small, and it was the delay that was vexing for the Empire. It was after the miners had cored several capital ships with mining laser drones that reinforcements were called. Elite Jik’kan shock troops swarmed the base in a frontal assault. Easily overwhelming the defenses and reaching the elusive mining base.

It was only after they stormed the base, slaughtering everyone aboard, that they realized their mistake. The crew of this mining base was of mixed races. Most notably several dozen humans.

Even though the system had been blockaded, news of the massacre got out. The outcry from human held sectors was immediate and loud. The abuses of the Jik’an Empire had long been a contentious point in the interstellar community but as it was an internal matter outsiders could only voice discontent. Yet the massacre of the miners provided the humans the excuse to do something about it. Proclaiming their intent to protect human lives in Tok’ro the humans made a declaration they would support Lassarn independence.

Battle Leader Luk’Ta was well into his yellowing years. Patches of yellow scale an indication to his age. He was a Lassarn, his scars from his removed cybernetics a sign of his faith, as well as an indication of his past. Of the people on this planet he was one of the fewest, and certainly the oldest to have military experience. Though his experience only cumulated to that of a First Follower he had been given the position of Battle Leader to lead in the defense of the Lassarn. It had been a losing battle. The Jik’kan soldiers were better trained, better equipped, and more numerous. The only advantage Luk’Ta knew they had was to disappear into the lands they knew so well. Fighting from shadows. But now it was time to emerge and strike back.

WIth that thought in the back of his head Luk’ta looked on at the blazing wreckage of a Mech. What had been a hulking nightmarish entity pursuing his troops across the mountains now burned fiendishly after being brought down in a hail of rocket fire. He would normally feel proud about defeating a war machine of the Empire but the victory wasn’t truly his. If it weren’t for the arrival of the humans and their weapons they would never had brought down the mechanized terror, but rather been hunted to the very last.

The humans, there were only seven of them, had distributed over a dozen dumbfire rocket launchers to his soldiers, most of whom were volunteer civilians before all this, before leading them to where the Mech had been lying in wait. Surprising it in an ambush the barrage of firepower quickly destroyed the monster. It was entirely thanks to them that the Mech had been destroyed with no losses. Letting go of his wounded pride he turned to his First Follower Kil’Ro.

“Where are the human’s?”

“They say they are burying a comrade.”

“They took a casualty?”

“No… it seems one of their robots was destroyed.”

Luk’Ta looked over to where the humans had gathered. He didn’t know much about their culture but as a fellow warrior he wondered why they seemed to mourn the loss of a machine.

SRT 3 was a specialist recon tactical squad of seven soldiers who were trained in conducting ground recon and hunting high value tactical targets. On Tok’Ro that meant hunting down Mechs. Mech designs varied from species to species. But in general they were large advanced war machines of significant tactical value. The Jik’kan Mech was a standardized 2 story machine with it’s own shield generators and weapon platforms capable of striking targets in orbit. It moved by a mix of thrusters and spider legs, though it moved at a low speed. It’s design was meant to facilitate an ability to drop small fortresses from orbit onto an enemy territory capable of withstanding counter attacks while at the same time supporting reserve forces.

The Jik’Kan empire had deployed over a thousand 2 story war machines across the planet. Spreading them out to cover all parts of the planet. Given the risk the Mechs posed with their ability to strike targets in orbit, Command had decided that specialist teams would have to create a gap in the defensive net before they could bring in the fleet for support.

A couple of the alphabet soup squads were picked for the job. ODSTs, SRTs, and even some companies of VSTs. Now the odds of sending infantry behind enemy lines were historically very low. Paratroopers of the old era faced many of the same problems the modern drop troopers did. Even with exo suits, infantry could only carry so much gear. And they often burned through what ammunition they carried quicker than a firecracker. Resupply was difficult and without fire support infantry squads could only do so much on their own. Yet a problem of this scale merely breeds an innovation to match it. The logistics of sending an infantry squad deep behind enemy lines to destroy heavily armored and defended Mechs was one solved with a pack animal. A mechanical pack animal.

The MUEL or Mobile Unmanned Equipment Loader has often been referred to as a mule. Like it’s earthly counterpart the MUEL is small cargo carrier. With 4 walking limbs that move a frame capable of carrying a heavy payload and a 12 lb sensory box unit on one end it strongly resembled a creature from the Equidae taxonomy. Designed as an infantry support unit it is often described as the most sophisticated supply crate R&D could come up with.

Despite its inglorious status the MUEL has a number of features that have kept it in production. It can move smoothly over uneven terrain, sprint quickly through open ground. On smooth ground the MUEL is able to extend wheels and reach speeds of up to 90 mph able to keep pace with mounted infantry. It lacks any offensive armaments. For defense it has a couple inches of ceramic armor and a Tier 4 neural net tied to it’s sensory receptors. It’s net is just advanced enough to understand verbal commands and counter basic ECM. While normally it functions on an autonomous mode it can be controlled with either voice command, or a PAD. The MUEL’s significance was in its performance of a singular function unaided with no complex training required to operate.

SRT 3 had started calling the MUEL assigned to them as Shrek. An inside joke, but the moniker stuck and the MUEL adapted to respond to it. Shrek was a constant companion to the squad. It followed them around base like a faithful dog. And on missions it would trot up to them after they had landed, ready to go. And at night it could help stand guard, electronic sensors cutting through the darkness. After missions they maintained it, changing out broken parts and damaged components. Giving it a wash to clean it of mud and grime.

Over time the squad had come to empathize with the dumb bot. They had hacked the OS so that it could play music and it would play tunes while they traveled to missions. They would pet it’s sensory unit. Taking turns to ride it like a horse. In a firefight Shrek would sprint up to them, dispensing ammo or providing cover. More than once they had loaded a wounded soldier onto Shrek to ride back to a medic.

Once while in retreat Shrek had taken 2 AP rounds through its body crippling both back legs. Unable to move the squad had been forced to leave Shrek behind. This had surprising effects on the squad who were lucky enough to retreat unscathed. The squad later joined the push to take back the area and after some searching found Shrek hiding in a bombed out garage. They had made repairs on the spot and brought back Shrek like a returning hero.

But now…

After unloading the extra rocket launchers from Shrek to the local militia it had been considerably lighter and practically prancing alongside their march. The Mech had been easy to find without unpacking the sophisticated equipment they brought with them, boldly broadcasting on an open frequency with hardly any masking. After scouting out its location the SRT and militia had prepared an ambush to catch the Mech.

The attack had gone off without a hitch. The Mech had burst out from cover when they painted it with a laser, it’s point defense had taken out most of the high flying missiles but the ones positioned below struck true.

Rocked by explosives it had toppled over onto the pre placed minefield which erupted in gouts of fire. Even with all that damage the crew of the Mech began emerging like insects from an agitated hive.

Most were killed within seconds, but one managed to get ahold of a hull mounted gun and open fire. Bullets that would shred a tank had spewed forth like fire. A pair of militiamen exposed to the fire line.

It was Shrek who saved them. Dashing the distance to intercede directly. It’s armor was instantly shredded, and it collapsed to the ground. The gunner had been taken out and the militiamen saved. But Shrek was gone. Its neural net components had taken several hits, it’s sensory unit detached by a round. It’s servos whined as some part of it’s programming tried to make it stand, but it was unable. The damage so complete and devastating.

SRT 3 had convened around Shrek. But the call was clear. The squad had offloaded the remaining supplies to the militia. A somber mood befell them as the squad leader held an incendiary grenade. Final words and memories had been shared, a can of oil poured over Shrek. First a spark and the a burst of flame as the remnants of Shrek caught fire. To prevent the technology and information from falling into enemy hands it had to be destroyed. A somber silence fell over the squad as they watched the flames devour the robot.

Shrek had upheld the mission, the least they could do was follow that through. With that the squad turned, more resolute than ever. The leader of the militia approached, now that the ceremony was over.

Luk’Ta glanced behind the soldiers at the burning robot. What remained was rapidly melting into slag. The humans seemed somber. They gave a nod to Luk’Ta as he approached. Luk’Ta approached the soldier in charge. These humans battle armor made them all look practically identical but Luk’Ta had learned to pick out the leader by his stance. The leader turned to the others and gave a few instructions and 5 of them walked off to perform their duties. The human soldier and companion turned to give Luk’Ta their attention. Luk’Ta glancing again at the flaming robot spoke slowly so the translator would pick up.

“I am sorry for your loss.”

The leader barked, a gesture of humor. Humans seemed to find humor in many things, even in war.

“I guess it must look like that.” The human leader, paused looking back. “It was just a bot.”

“It saved my people.” Luk’Ta pressed.

“That was lucky. I’m glad they are alright.” The human leader said waving the matter off. He spoke to his companion who held a projector to the ground. A map of the region was displayed with a number of markings. Luk’Ta was still unfamiliar with most of the designations humans used but he had learned a few. He pointed to a cluster of triangles.

“This is us correct.”

The human leader nodded, then catching himself spoke, “That is correct. So far all targets have been cleared, which makes for about 70% of clearance. The fleet will be arriving soon to take advantage of that.”

The projector flashed to another image of the system. The human leader drew a line from a point in space to the region some distance south of where they were on the planet.

“The landing zone is approximately here. Command doesn’t expect there to be any complications in engaging with the fleet in orbit. But we still have to clear out the remaining Mechs in the AO, area of operations.”

Luk’Ta shook his head in acknowledgement, this was all review. The human paused briefly before continuing, the display flickering to the continental map again.

“We also have reports that the evacuation corridor has been set up so you can start ordering your people to evacuate.” The human leader drew two lines in the dirt indicating the safe path created by the ODSTs. “Command has suggested that the militia would be best suited for helping civilians evacuate.”

“What about the remaining Mechs?” Luk’Ta knew from experience that even a few Mechs could wreak havoc on the landing forces and the evacuation.

“We’ll hunt them down, Command has made evacuation a priority and we need to do it quickly.”

Luk’Ta shook his head this time in agreement. The presentation disappeared as the soldier pocketed the projector.

“We can lead you to the rally point, we should march in 10 minutes.” The human leader turned to go. Luk’Ta watched them leave, behind him he heard his First Follower approach.

“Can we trust them?”

It was a question that had lingered on the Lossarn’s mind ever since the humans had declared their support for their cause. It seemed absurd that the humans would risk going to war for strangers over the death of just a few miners. To be accurate there were humans on Lossarn as well, but the lengths they were going to were far beyond a simple rescue of their own kind. The humans were no friends of the Jik’kan, but that didn’t make them friends of the Lossarn either.  The logical conclusion was that humans shouldn’t be helping the Lossarn so there had to be some reason.

Some had suspected the humans wanted the system itself. But the plan they proposed was an evacuation of the colonists to human space, to entirely abandon the system. They would be resettled far from the Empire once a suitable home could be decided on. It was an entirely gratuitous action. The Lossarn had no wealth, or valuable technology that the humans would have wanted. Nor had there been any significant contacts between the two. It was a conundrum that had stoked some resistance to the human’s plan. And Luk’Ta had heard some of the whispers behind closed doors among his men.

The flames of the robot pyre had died down, the smell of molten metal blended with that of the smoking Mech wreckage. Luk’Ta had come to realize something in that moment. The humans had exhibited grief for their robot, as though it were a living comrade. The ceremony had struck him as familiar because it reminded him of a military funeral. But for a robot. A bot, a dumb inorganic machine. A machine was a tool. To become attached to a tool seemed like the act of madness. Yet the humans had done so quite naturally. That was a level of empathy completely alien to Luk’Ta.

Empathy. The ability to understand another. Luk’Ta wondered to himself it that was why the humans were willing to commit themselves in defense of an entirely alien species. Why the human squad of elite soldiers had managed to ingratiate themselves with most of the men. Why trained killers laughed at Lossarn jokes, and managed to raise the mood from dire straits. Why they played with the children in the village, and joined them for meals. It seemed absurd. It would be absurd if that was the case. He decided to keep that conclusion to himself for now. Turning to face his First Follower he made a non committed gesture. What Luk’Ta didn’t know that he was largely right, though the background political motivation was to stick a hot poker in the eye of the Jik’kan military under the guise of a humanitarian action.

#writing #hfy #science fiction #empathy #story

[justnoodlefishthings]

I'm confused about the difference between a species and a kind

Well...organisms are categorized in a 7 step process. Kingdom, phylum, class, family, genus, and finally species. For example, humans are:

Kingdom: Animalia (animal)Phylum: Chordata (vertebrate)Class: Mammalia (mammals)Family: Primates Genus: Homo (hominid apes)Species: Homo sapiens 

A species is a group of organisms that has similar characteristics and are capable of exchanging genomic information i.e. can reproduce and create viable offspring. 

A subspecies is the same as a species but is a permanent local variant. For example, Panthera leo persica (Asian Lion) is quite identical to the African Lion (Panthera leo) but has slightly different physical and behavioral adaptations better suited to India than African savannas. But this difference is not strong enough to constitute a separate species. Perhaps in the future, they will finally split and become a unique species. 

I’m not sure what you mean by “kind” so I’m assuming you mean variances in a species that do not constitute a separate species? 

So like....a white lion, for example, is still Panthera leo. It has a recessive genetic mutation that gives it a white coat. While the blonde to pure white morph is commonly found in the Southeast African Lion subspecies (Panthera leo krugeri), it can occur in any lion population should the recessive gene crop up. White lions are a color morph, not a subspecies or species. The only reason they are bred for in captivity is show appeal as they draw in tourists. As color morphs, they are not “endangered” and the white colors don’t really provide a benefit in the wild. Not to mention, as the coloration is a recessive gene, irresponsible zoos will inbreed in order to produce more white lions. 

If white lions crop up in nature, so be it. That’s evolution at work. But zoos who purposefully breed for them under the guise of conserving them are probably on the verge of being as bad as people who breed white tigers and call it conservation. 

[blazehedgehog]

WHat do you think of the nerds angry about the new Mario game going on about "they're making the same mistake with mario that sonic team made with sonic 2006!" i.e. putting a colorful mario in an urban street with normal people.

I can’t imagine anyone actually, seriously having that kind of opinion. If they do, they’re being ridiculous. The difference here is intent:

Sonic Team put Sonic in a world full of humans because Sonic Team has (or maybe had) a weird vision for who Sonic the Hedgehog was. Remember: the original pitch for Sonic the Hedgehog was an edgy rockstar that had a human girlfriend with giant boobs. They thought this was “cool.” Sega of America stepped in and told them it was weird (because it was) and made them change it to something a little more friendly. But in the back of somebody’s mind at Sonic Team, those ideas stuck around. When Sega of America stopped being able to boss Sonic Team around, we got Station Square in Sonic Adventure and Princess Elise in Sonic 2006.

And everything Sega of America told Sonic Team back in 1990 ended up true: having Sonic take place on earth was a little weird, and it was DEFINITELY SUPER-ULTRA-WEIRD to give him a human girlfriend. 

By the very next game (Sonic Unleashed), the terminology changed: nobody was allowed to say the planet’s name anymore. Was it Mobius? Was it earth? All the characters simply referred to it as “this world” or “the world” or in Eggman’s case, he bizarrely refers to it as “Sonic’s world” as if he’s not even from it.

And the next game after that (Sonic Colors) removed all traces of human life entirely, outside of Eggman himself. Eggman is now the Sonic franchise’s sole homo sapien entirely. It’s a move very clearly done to get as far away from games like Sonic 2006 and the idea that “yeah, Sonic takes place on earth.”

Now, going back to Super Mario Odyssey, we have a completely different context entirely: There is no notion that Mario has always taken place on earth. Lifelike humans are not suddenly appearing under the guise of “they’ve always been there, you just haven’t seen them.” Lifelike humans in Mario being weird is the point. That’s why they’re there. To be weird. To have a three foot tall cartoon character run past a 6 foot tall man in a business suit. It’s Roger Rabbit. Look at this:

Does this look like a place that’s trying to actually be a realistic representation of a world? It’s two square blocks suspended in an endless void. It’s not trying to tell an “epic” or “serious” story, it’s just “hey look at this weird place.” It’s exactly the same as showing Mario in some kind of bizarre rock candy world, where the ruling entities appear to be sentient dinner forks wearing chef hats and scarves.

Anyone saying Mario is actually fully committing to aping Sonic Adventure is either dumb or intentionally being outlandish in their speculation in order to get clicks for their website. Because, if anything, New Donk City exists to parody games like Sonic Adventure. 

#questions #nintendo #switch #super mario odyssey #sonic adventure #sega #dreamcast #sonic team #sonic 2006 #Anonymous

[jobsearchtips02]

Medical security allowed China to discover unique coronavirus

A medical-surveillance database created after the SARS outbreak in China assisted scientists identify the brand-new pressure of coronavirus from a cluster of pneumonia-like diseases in Wuhan.

Medics and doctors upload the data into the nationwide security system in genuine time, which allows for quick recognition and reaction.

However, the Chinese government’s use of the system has actually been controversial, since it collects medical information from people and has been utilized to track ethnic minorities there.

That data gets uploaded into China’s countrywide medical monitoring system, called the National Contagious Diseases Keeping Track Of Information System Database.

That’s how China found within a week of the first reports that the feverish, coughing patients in Wuhan didn’t have pneumonia– they had contracted a new type of coronavirus not seen in human beings prior to.

” It was selected up by Chinese authorities through a monitoring system put in place after SARS in 2003,” Dr. Maria Van Kerkhove, a contagious illness epidemiologist who serves as the World Health Organization’s technical lead for MERS response, said a live Q&A on Facebook this week

An x-ray of chest of a patient with 2019- nCoV.

Junqiang Lei, Junfeng Li, Xun Li, and Xiaolong Qi

A brand-new system after SARS

Infections in the coronavirus family can cause the cold, pneumonia, and SARS. The outbreak of the brand-new coronavirus, whose taxonomic name is 2019- nCoV, has spread to 22 countries in addition to China. More than 12,000 people have actually been infected, and a minimum of 259 have passed away.

That case count, after just one month, has far outstripped the total throughout the eight-month SARS break out in 2002 and 2003, which killed 774 individuals and contaminated 8,000

The Chinese government released the disease-monitoring database after that outbreak in order to prevent another transmittable illness from spreading out in the same method.

” China … has developed outstanding disease monitoring systems considering that SARS, including real-time emergency situation department security for severe acute respiratory infections, so this will assist with rapid recognition of brand-new cases,” Raina MacIntyre, head of the biosecurity research study program at Sydney’s Kirby Institute, told Reuters.

Up until now, the brand-new coronavirus does not appear to be as lethal as SARS— about 2%of people infected with the brand-new coronavirus have actually died, whereas SARS had a death rate of 9.6%.

A worker in a protective suit checks the temperature level of a traveler arriving at the Xianning North Station, in Xianning, Hubei province, China, January 24,2020

REUTERS/Martin Pollard

” This is a system WHO and other partners have actually worked along with China to put in place, and this is thanks to this system that the cluster of pneumonia of unidentified cause in Wuhan was detected in the very first location,” Tarik Jasarevic, a communications officer at the World Health Company, told Organisation Expert in an email.

The WHO stated a worldwide emergency situation due to the Wuhan coronavirus outbreak on Thursday, but said it was since of the infection’ possible to infect countries whose health systems aren’t appropriately prepared.

‘ The level of action of China has clearly progressed’

China’s database system is technically an updated version of a medical-surveillance system that has existed for over 5 decades. The Chinese federal government produced the first variation in 1959, following the H2N2 Asian influenza pandemic that came from China in1957 It eliminated an approximated 1.1 million people around the world.

However by 2002, when China saw its very first case of SARS, the system had become outdated. Health authorities were still reporting infectious-disease incidences by filling out cards by hand then mailing or faxing them to a headquarters. That made information hard to gather and arrange and considerably slowed reaction time.

So after the SARS outbreak, the federal government produced a new online system that permitted clinics and hospitals to report cases in genuine time.

The Chinese Ministry of Health has centralized control of that data and uses it to make decisions about its actions.

” China’s capability to detect, deal with, and manage infectious illness and health emergency situations has advanced considerably over the past 20 years.

Medical security can be questionable, however

Employees of Watrix, a Chinese artificial-intelligence business, show their firm’s gait-recognition software application in Beijing.

AP

Many governments have monitoring programs to determine infectious-disease break outs. Nevertheless, the Chinese government has a questionable history when it comes to surveillance and the collection of medical data.

Authorities in the Chinese province of Xinjiang, for example, instituted mandatory biometric-data collection programs to gather DNA, iris scans, fingerprints and blood types from homeowners. Of Xinjiang’s 20 million residents, 49%are Uyghurs, the majority of whom are Muslim. The group continues to deal with severe discrimination, monitoring, and forced detention from the Chinese federal government.

” The obligatory data-banking of an entire population’s biodata, including DNA, is a gross violation of international human rights norms, and it’s even more troubling if it is done surreptitiously, under the guise of a complimentary health care program,” Sophie Richardson, China director of Person Rights Watch, stated of that program in 2017.

%%.

from Job Search Tips https://jobsearchtips.net/medical-security-allowed-china-to-discover-unique-coronavirus/

[nh935]

The Adventures of Solaire, Part VIII: Top Deck Shenanigans

The Incredible Yet Accurate Adventures of the Dread Pirate Captain Solaire Ravenheart Otherwise known as The Adventures of Solaire

Part VIII Top Deck Shenanigans

When one reviews the catalogue of bardic interests, both of their profused “muses” and of unoriginal tales bards find interesting enough to steal for their own under the guise of “archiving folklore,” one sees that the subject of mariner tales and sea shanties are very under-represented. Indeed, the attitude of most bards is that sailors are an unrefined and coarse people, and any poetic substance gleaned from them will be a diseased kind of substance, one more fit for scrawling on the walls of taverns than gracing the pages of a book.

I find this rather disappointing. During my time on the sea, both whilst I sailed under Solaire and then afterwards, I discovered that a great amount of maritime culture was beautiful in it’s own right: the sea shanties used to keep time were gorgeous examples of multi-part harmonies, their superstitions offered a fascinating and rarely-used doorway in the journey of unraveling the human mind, and many of their tales are far more poignant and far more funny than some of the so-called “master bardsmen” on land, and much less likely to come attached with pretentious conversations about the survival of self when cast into the storm of a constrictive society… or whatever the hell “Maestro’s Lament” was supposed to be about.

Take, for example, the popular sailor’s tale of “The Twice Captained Ship.” In it, two twin brothers, both sea captains, mistakenly board the same ship, believing it to be their own. As the first mate steers the vessel onwards, one captain comes up and tells him that they’re on the wrong barring, and to adjust, which the first mate, of course, does. Then, after that captain goes down below deck, the other approaches the first mate and yells at him for changing course and tells him to correct the barring before leaving. This back and forth continues for quite a bit, with the poor first mate unable to understand why the same captain keeps giving him contradicting orders, until, by chance, both brothers happen to come on deck at the same time, see each other, and immediately laugh in understanding and at the bizarre coincidence of the whole thing, at which point the off-course ship hits a rock and sinks, condemning everyone on board to a slow death by drowning.

Writing this now, I suppose it is possible that the reason sailor’s tales are often overlooked is that their gallows tone is… upsetting, to a more soil-based audience.

No matter. The point I am torturing out of this long, rambling introduction is that ignoring the tales of sailors is a bad idea, as we stand to lose the valuable information inside. The dangers of making two leaders work on the same task, for instance. Perhaps if Austin was a sailor as well, he would be more engaged in his struggle of authority versus Solaire and fought that fight harder in the beginning. Who knows? Maybe he would have abandoned the fight to begin with.

Oh well. All we can do is watch from the shores of hindsight and wait for the ship to sink. At least it will be entertaining when it does happen, regardless of the amount of twins.

***

“WHUMP!”

Weiss grimaced as the mermaid thumped against the glass enclosure once again. He was hoping that the creature would have calmed down by now, or at least protested its capture in a manner that was less potentially damaging. Weiss had never seen a mermaid, but based on the creature’s swollen limb and darkened skin, he assumed that she had already broken her arm trying this tactic. It didn’t matter much in the end, he supposed.

He just hated to sell damaged cargo.

As he stared at the glass, a thin man in a deep blue suit stepped next to him. “This is marvellous, Weiss. Truly marvelous!” he marveled. “I mean, a true Triton! How did you even find it?”

Weiss smiled and gave a little shrug. “I hafe my vays.”

“Well, however you did it, I’m stunned.” The other man turned to Weiss. “So, how much to keep her?”

Weiss’ eyes went wide and he took a step back. “But sir, slafery is illegal! I vould nefer be infolfed in such an immoral business!”

The silence hung in the air for a minute. Then both men burst out laughing.

“One million gold,” Weiss finally managed to gasp, wiping tears out of his eyes.

The other man grabbed his hand and shook hard. “You have a deal, sir. I’ll have Jamesy contact Winthrop and transfer the money over.”

Weiss nodded and watched the man walk away, then he motioned Winthrop over. “The crev member who first contacted zis creature… Kallovs, vas it?”

“Yes sir,” Winthrop said. “I’ve already put him in the interrogation room.”

“Good, good. I vant to queshtion him all day. If he can find one, he can find more. So no interruptions, no matter vhat.”

“Weiss! Weiss!” Austin’s tinny voice yelled through the brass intercom system.

“Damn ze day I applied my mind to ze field of acoushtics,” Weiss growled. He grabbed the pipe and screamed “VHAT?!”

“We’ve got a top decker going ape shit. We need some help pacifying him.”

“Zat’s vhy I hafe you, you lifink mountain! Figure it out. I’m busy.”

“But sir…”

“Are you unable to do your job?” Weiss asked, his voice taking on a sharp and dangerous edge. “Because if you are, I can alvays collect your collateral…”

“No sir!” Austin immediately spoke back. “We can do this. I’ll… I’ll find a way.”

“Good! Don’t bozer me any more today.” Weiss shook his head and stormed off. “Come Vinthrop! I need to blow off some shteam wis Kallovs!”

Winthrop hurried to match pace with his employer. “Very good, sir.”

***

“So what did Mr. Wiess say?” Tomo asked, crouching under a gaming table.

“He said to figure it out,” Austin grumbled, slinking away from the brass intercom and joining Tomo. “Don’t suppose you have any ideas?”

“We could always ask Solaire…” Tomo said.

“There is no way in all the Nine Hells I would ever ask that back-stabbing, two-faced, little silver spoon…”

“HEAR ME AND TREMBLE!” a voice boomed behind them. The statement was then punctuated by the sound of an explosion.

Tomo looked to Austin.

“Fine, get Solaire,” Austin mumbled.

***

And where would Solaire be at this moment? Why, walking the bottom deck of the ship, stern to bow, with one foot flush in front of the other like a tightrope walker... obviously.

The action wasn’t as insane as it seemed. Solaire’s spying of Winthrop notebook had alerted him to the fact that there was a more complete archive of the ship’s going-ons somewhere on board. This would be the record that told him where River was. Problem was, he had nowhere to find it.

However, not all was lost. Solaire knew two things about the codex, as he had been calling it. One, the codex contained a massive amount of notes, and therefore had to be stored in at least a small room, and two, it contained information on Weiss’ criminal activities, information that could potentially ruin the small Eiswhen man. So where would one store a massive amount of hidden objects?

To the son of a noble family, the answer was obvious: a secret room.

Which is where the weird walking came in. The best way to find a secret room was to compare the length of the building, or ship, in this case, against the length of each room in the ship added together. If the ship length didn’t match the length of the rooms combined together, then a secret room had been added in somewhere, causing the discrepancy, and from there, you could narrow down its location.

But the only measure he had on him was his own foot. So walking from one end of the ship to the other it was. It had taken him all day and his legs were beginning to cramp, but he was close now. Just a few more, he thought. 13,856… 13,857… Almost…

“Solaire!” Tomo shouted as he rounded the corner and came out of nowhere. Solaire jumped, withdrew his pistol, and then panicked.

“Thirteen thousand, thirteen and six, or was it twelve… Damn you!” Solaire shouted, pointing a finger at Tomo. “Damn you in the name of every created world!”

“We need you on the top deck,” Tomo remarked, ignoring the man’s outburst.

“Fuck off. I have something important I need to redo, thanks to you.” He walked over to the other wall, placed his heel against the surface, and began the walk again.

“This is not a request,” Tomo stated.

“Wonderful,” Solaire huffed, taking some more wobbly steps, “I still don’t care.”

“You will come.”

“No, I wonAAGH!” Solaire sunk to his knees as the all-too familiar feeling of electric pain and ozone smell hit him. He glanced backwards, murder in his eyes, to see Tomo holding a slave plate controller, identical to Weiss’.

“You seem to be confused about the nature of the hierarchy of authority here,” Tomo began with an even tone. “It’s possible that my friendliness with you has confused you, so allow me to clarify: you are not in charge here. You follow orders given to you from both Austin and I, just as we follow orders from Weiss in turn. Any actions that upset that chain of command will not be tolerated by any party. Is that understood?”

Solaire narrowed his eyes. “No, it’s not. I think I need another lesson.”

“Granted,” Tomo replied. He watched expresionlessly as Solaire writed around in agony, yelling and twisting, holding the button down for almost two minutes of torture. “Is the lesson clear now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Solaire gasped, feeling the skin around the plate in his neck begin to burn. “As a crystal.”

“I’m glad. Be at the top deck within five minutes,” Tomo finished, leaving Solaire on the ground and running up the stairs.

***

“Skyler! Willaby!”

Solaire’s two companions jumped as their names were called, both engrossed in a game of dice with the other crewmen.

“What is it now?” Willaby wined, looking up to see the white-clothed figure of Solaire stomp his way down the hallway that served as their makeshift casino.

“Top deck,” Solaire clarified. “We’re needed.”

“By who?” Skyler demanded.

“By me. Let’s go.” Solaire strode past the two men, stopped as he realized he was not being followed, and turned to face them.

“Well?” he asked.

“We’re not going,” Skyler said.

“What?”

“You heard him, we’re not going!” Willaby scrambled to his feet and stood inches away from Solaire, staring directly into the man’s eyes for a full minute.

Solaire’s eyes met his, face refusing to change.

Willaby’s gaze hit the floor. “We’ll be there shortly.”

“Now!” Solaire moved and began his march back down the passage, now followed by a scrambling Willaby.

“But what about… ah hell!” Skyler threw down the dice in disgust. “Don’t you two go away now, you hear me? I’m coming back to this hot streak in just a second.” Then he too left and ran down the hall to catch up with his two compatriots.

One crewmember raised his eyebrow at the other. The second merely shrugged and pocketed the gold coins left behind.

***

“Took you long enough,” Austin groaned, bracing up against a large wooden table as the sound “FOOMFOOMFOOMFOOMFOOM!” rattled away on the other side.

Tomo stood with his back to the barrier and peeked around it. “I suppose my task did take exactly as long as it needed to.”

“I really hate you sometimes,” Austin muttered. A loud BOOM! sounded and he threw more of his weight against the table. “Where the hell is Solaire?”

“He should be here soon. I let him know in no uncertain terms that his presence was required here.”

“And how do you know that snake didn’t just hide as soon as you left?”

“Alright, alright,” Solaire shouted, ascending the stairs. “I’m here to fix all your problems, as usual. Now where’s the fire you can’t put out?

A high PING! cracked through the air and Solaire’s hat flew off of his head, landing near his feet with the unmistakable shape of a bullet hole in the fabric. Solaire looked at it, then back up to the deck.

Standing in front of him was an intimidating mixture of man and machinery. Seated in the center was a balding, slightly pot-bellied man in an amber suit. However, he was not the intimidating part. The intimidating part came from the skeletal brass form surrounding him. Extending from his arms and legs, holding him inside the mechanism with straps, were long limbs of sturdy metal, connected together with interlocking tubes that hissed with steam as they moved. Two more of these limbs jutted from his shoulders, independent from the human frame, giving the man the appearance of a strange gold insect.

At the ends of these appendages were different weaponized extensions. The legs ended in heavy clamp feet, each looking as strong as the hand of a gorilla, if not more so. The left arm ended in a long straight blade with a sharp edge. A long rifle-like firearm was mounted to the left shoulder arm, appearing to lock in on targets of its own volition, and a large cannon was mounted in the right shoulder, still emitting smoke.

But the piece-de-resistance was the weapon seated in the right arm. The main body of it was a large gun, resembling a scaled up hunting rifle: a long body and long barrel, opening easily the size of a man’s fist, with a wide stock that presumably stored a powerful firing mechanism. However, halfway up the gun, where the ammunition would be normally loaded, there was a large revolver barrel instead. To make the mechanism even stranger, this revolver barrel was attached to a set of two hoops that made a wide circle around the gun and spaced every two feet or so was another revolver barrel, and the whole circle was connected to a motorized chain. The exact mechanics of the design were lost on Solaire, but he knew what the machine was built to do:

Kill.

“Ah,” Solaire spoke. “I suppose you didn’t take too kindly to the whole ‘please vacate the premises, sir.’”

In response, the man raised the gun. The barrel rotated away as the entire hoop moved, placing another barrel into the chamber with a soft click.

Solaire dove for Austin’s improvised table-shield, moving right out of the way a half-second before the space he was standing at began to explode into tiny pieces under the “FOOMFOOMFOOMFOOM!”ing barrage of the gun.

“Glad to see you finally decided to grace us with your presence,” Austin shouted as he braced against the table once more.

“And a similar thanks to you for the warning. That could of…” Solaire stopped. “Wait a minute.”

A shape clad in green tweed appeared in the doorway Solaire had just entered from, and Solaire could see the man’s eyes suddenly track and notice the shape.

“HEY!” Solaire bellowed, waving frantically. The man’s attention was diverted for a crucial half-second, causing the arm to swing towards the disturbance as the barrel clicked into place. Solaire ducked behind the barrier and the firearm began to fire again, unloading it’s chamber across the room as the recoil seized the motion of the gun and forced it to continue to swing wide.

Skyler jumped to the side and landed into a roll, sword and gun at the ready. Willaby, meanwhile, belly-flopped to the side, hands covering his head, thus bringing both men behind the shelter.

“Mind warning us?” Skyler shouted in outrage.

“I would if someone else had passed it along!” Solaire responded.

“Why the blazes did you bring those two?” Austin asked. “We just asked for you!”

Solaire pointed a finger at Austin. “A captain is no captain without reliable, competent…” he trailed off as he noticed that Willaby was now noticeably more white and soft than he had been a second ago.

“Are you… covered in feathers?” Solaire asked.

“Er… yes,” Willaby admitted.

“So is that just… a thing now?” he continued.

“Looks like.”

“...Right.”

“GUEST,” a mechanical voice spoke from behind the upturned table, “YOU ARE TO BE TERMINATED. WE APPOLOGIZE FOR…”

A loud KA-BOOM interrupted the speech, followed by the sounds of metal arm blades on metal arm blades.

“So how much did this guy lose?” Solaire asked.

“Close to 150,000 gold in net total,” Tomo answered.

Skyler gave a whistle. “How the hell do you lose that much in one night?”

“I believe the poor judgement he exhibited would be to blame.”

“Stop fucking gossiping and figure a way to stop him!” Austin yelled.

Solaire ventured a peek around the table, pistol in hand. The man was currently engaged with several of the construct guards, arm blade through the center of one. As two more attempted to flank around his backside, one was destroyed as the rifle arm whirled around and put a bullet right through its brass head. The other was taken out as the man whirled around and pointed the large gun at the automaton, firing the barrel with another resounding set of “FOOMFOOMFOOMFOOM” until the entire chamber of eight bullets were spent.

“Twelve barrels of eight bullets a peice…” Solaire muttered to himself.

“That machinery is powered by Elysium stored in the large container strapped to his backside,” Tomo declared. “If we could destroy that container, the exoskeleton would become depowered.”

“...making him just a regular guy,” Skyler finished.

Solaire shook his head. “Uh-uh.”

Everyone turned and stared at him.

“I don’t know about you,” Solaire continued, “but I have never seen that kind of thing before. Means he built it himself. Smart guy like that knows his own machine’s weak points and is going to be covering them the entire time.”

“So what do we do?” Willaby asked.

Solaire leaned back to look his companions in the eye. “The biggest threat from that thing is that blaze-weird gun. Everything else there is useless at short-range; that blade’s too long, as is the rifle. And no way is he going to risk blowing himself up with that cannon.”

“So we take out the gun!” Willaby exclaimed, shouting with enough enthusiasm to spit feathers.

“You wanna study that thing while it’s firing at you? No, we exploit the weakness we know. The design it has seems to make it impossible to stop firing until that entire chamber of bullets is spent. And that man is no steely-eyed aimer. We duck, weave, and exhaust the chambers.” Solaire looked to Tomo. “How many times has that thing fired?”

“Unknown,” the samurai replied. “I left during the battle to find you.”

Solaire glanced at Austin.

Austin extended his fingers and counted off one, two, three, and then shook his head and backtracked to two.

Solaire rolled his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. There’s twelve chambers there and he’s fired at least four times. My guess is six with how trigger happy he is.”

“You seem to be glossing over the fact that your entire plan is to get shot!” Skyler protested.

“No, get shot at,” Solaire clarified. “There’s a huge difference between the two.”

“Being?”

“He’s a soft noble who’s obviously compensating, not a battle-hardened fighter. All we really need to do is startle him and duck.”

“Hold on!” Austin interjected. “Why are you trying to call the shots?”

Solaire reeled back, as if he had just been asked if he was sure the sky was blue. “Because I’m the most qualified to.”

“No, you’re not,” Austin insisted. “I am. Tomo is. You take the orders.”

Tomo nodded, slowly raising the shock remote.

Solaire narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

Austin addressed the group at large. “Right! We’re going with Tomo’s plan, because it’s the plan that won’t get us killed. Split left on my mark, Tomo. I’m going right. We’re gonna flank him and rip out that Elysi-whatever. You three knuckleheads, stay here and keep him distracted. And three, two, mark!” Austin darted over one way while Tomo split to the other, leaving Solaire, Skyler, and Willaby crouched in the shadow of the overturned table.

Willaby started to round the corner, magic rod in hand, only to be yanked back by Solaire by the jacket as a resounding PING! managed to clip one of the floating white feathers and cause it to explode into fuzz.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Solaire hissed.

Willaby looked at Solaire with confusion. “Creating a distraction, like Austin said.”

“We’re not doing that. We’re sticking with my plan.”

Skyler gave Solaire a glare. “You’re not our boss.”

“No, but I am your captain. I said so in the mess hall.”

Solaire received blank stares back.

He sighed. “Look, I’m not going to be happy until I put a bullet in Weiss’ head. And to do that, I’m going to need help. Help from my crew. You can do things I can’t, and because of that, you are…” he grimaced a tiny bit, “valuable to me. I’m not going to do anything that may be too dangerous to your lives. I can’t, not until we’re off this ship.

“But if you think that Austin feels the same way about you, feel free to step around that barrier and be his distraction.”

Willaby and Skyler looked to each other, then back to Solaire.

“So what do we do?” Skyler asked.

“Well first things first, we save those idiots. Weiss would be unbearable. Willaby!” Solaire pointed to a large decorative column. “Think you can knock that over?”

“Should be able to.” The baker raised his arms and thrust forward with his rod like a sword, forming a large screaming blue missle to appear and slam into the side of the pillar. The large mass slowly tipped before falling over with a thunderous CRASH! landing right in front of Tomo mid-charge, forcing him to back up and scan the room around in bewilderment.

“Skyler, I need you to get over to that rope,” Solaire said. “When I give the signal, cut it. And not a second before.”

Skyler nodded and took off, jumping from one pile of debris to another to reach a long golden rope tied to the side of the room. As he did, the man in the machine noticed the man in leathers leaping from cover to cover, and raised his gun to meet him.

The barrel started with a FOOM and Skyler cut a hard stop behind his current cover, waiting for the barrage to be over before continuing on.

“Five,” Solaire mummered.

Seeing his opening, Austin hooked around to get behind the man before breaking into a full charge. Once he did, the mechanical man pivoted away, bringing the tank out of reach and swinging the barrel of the gun right at him.

“NOW!”

Skyler cut the rope in front of him and the line went slack, releasing its support from the crystal and gold chandelier hanging above the assailant’s head. Seeing it, he instinctively covered his head with his arms just in time for the firearm to engage, blowing all eight high caliber rounds through the roof of the cruise ship.

Austin paused, realizing his opportunity to go in for a closer melee but not to reach the fuel tank that he was so desperately trying to get to. As he hesitated, the attacker recovered, and so the giant man warily ducked around the corner instead.

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!” the man yelled.

“Four. And don’t make promises you can’t keep.” Solaire turned back to Willaby, still crouched behind the table with him, and picked up a small metal contraption, tossing it at the baker. “I need you to make a spark.”

Willaby caught it and stared at the strange object in his hands. “A spark? Wh-”

“Just do it!” Solaire reached into his coat and withdrew his cutlass, hooking the end of the blade into the decapitated head of an unfortunate automaton.

“Damn these feathers. Okay. Spark. Electricity. Like first love…?” Willaby’s rant was stopped by a sudden sizzle and a blue crackle, which leapt into the metal object and spoke “GUEST, WE APOLOGIZE FOR THE STATE OF THIS UNIT.” At the same time, Solaire waved the construct head in the air.

The ruse worked. The man immediately whirled towards the source of the noise, aimed at the brass head, and fired, unloading yet another set of rounds into the object and causing it to explode into a shower of gears and shrapnel.

“Three.”

Tomo cautiously rounded the far end of the pillar, katana in hand. He shifted his pose, ready to rush, but the man immediately whirled around and saw the samurai, releasing another set of “FOOMFOOMFOOMFOOM” as Tomo moved backwards and placed himself behind the pillar, protecting him from the barrage.

“And two. This is going better than I thought.” Solaire moved to look at Skyler, who had just now caught back up with the other two men. “Skyler, these last two are on us. Think you do one on your own?”

“Born ready.” Skyler withdrew his other hook sword and ran into the open gripping both blades. The motion immediately drew the attention of the attacker in the center, who aimed the gun at the charging man in leather armor. Skyler gave a slight smile and hooked the swords onto a piece of debris on either side of him, heaving himself up and over the man in the metal skeleton as the rounds uselessly struck where he had just been.

“One. My turn.” Solaire put away his pistol and cutlass, ran over to the edge of the room lined from floor to ceiling with large window panes, and leapt onto the curtain there. As he hung on for dear life, the curtains moved and continued down the track they were set into, pushing Solaire along the wall like a fly attached to a speeding cart. The barrage-gun immediately began to track the clinging noble and fire away, blowing giant holes in the curtain a few inches away from Solaire with every shot.

Now at the end of the track, Solaire dismounted and rolled behind an overturned slot machine. “And zero. Lead the target next time, moron.”

Skyler, who had been swinging upon the ceiling with his swords up until this point, landed nearby and began to run towards the man’s backside.

Solaire saw the charge and yelled “STOP!”

Skyler only hesitated for a half-second before diving for a nearby upended card table, leaping into cover just as the long rifle twirled to face him and PING!ed what would have been a fatal shot had he not just moved out of the way.

“Those weapons are still a problem!” Skyler shouted.

“Obviously!” Solaire peeked out, then ducked back. “I’m going to take care of the rifle. When I call out a name and a weapon, move to neutralize it.”

Skyler nodded, and Solaire ran straight for the man. In response, the man aimed the gun, rotated the old barrel out, and clicked in a new one; a new one, Solaire realised with horror, he could just barely see had a full set of rounds.

He had staked his life on a miscount, and now there was no time to save himself. Even as time began to slow, all he could do was watch as the instrument of his doom readied with a soft click.

“HRGH!”

A sudden mass of brown and green appeared right between Solaire and the deadly firearm. It fired with a “FOOM”, breaking the card table into pieces like a child smashing a glass vase and giving Solaire the opening he needed to roll to the side and hide behind a sturdier roulette table. As the barrage continued, he traced the flight path of the furniture back to the spot it had came from: Austin, standing only five or so feet away.

Austin nodded to Solaire. Solaire nodded back.

There was another soft click, followed by a hydraulic hiss, a lack of “FOOM”s, and swearing from the man inside. Confident now, Solaire moved back out, feinted left and continued right, letting the rifle uselessly PING! at the spot it had assumed he would be. He then hopped onto the sword arm just below the blade, scrambled onto the shoulders of the construct, withdrew two daggers and finally dug both of the short blades into the arm holding onto the rifle, leaning his weight into the improvised hand holds. The rifle attempted to turn and aim, but the unbalanced force the pale noble introduced caused it to swing around wildly, going nowhere near its desired targets.

“Skyler, cannon!”

Skyler charged out, hooked his sword into a hanging chandelier, and pulled, flinging himself upwards as the light fixture crashed to the ground. He landed next to Solaire on the construct’s shoulders and attached both blades by the hooks into the upper lip of the cannon. Thus connected, he leaned back and forced the large barrel to swing upwards, the cannon now unable to muster enough force to move itself back down.

The man inside growled and moved the large firearm backwards, readying to swing it as an improvised club.

“Austin, gun!”

Austin gave a battle roar and tackled the weapon, holding onto the mass and digging his heels in. Against the grunzen’s enhanced strength, the arm stood no chance, simply groaning in protest as the hydraulics attempted to haul it upwards.

The man’s attention now snapped to Austin. With a snarl, he lunged the blade arm back, ready to skewer the man.

“Tomo, sword!”

With a fluid motion, Tomo moved between Austin and the blade, holding his katana upwards at an angle. The blade smashed down right on the sword’s edge, sliding it just sideways enough for the weapon to miss its mark. Before it could draw back for another stab, Tomo quickly spun his sword upwards and down, locking it into the space that attach the arm to the blade. He then began to counter the limb’s movement with his own, shifting back when it moved forward, shifting left when it moved right, unbalancing each gesture and making the edged implement stay pointed down each time.

The face of the man seated inside turned a furious shade of red. “YOU… YOU… VIPERS! I’LL DESTROY YOU ALL!” He began to stumble around in circles, forcing everyone around to hold on tighter or risk losing control of the weapons they were locking down.

“Willaby, keep him still!”

The mass of fluffy feathers and green suit appeared from behind the sideways table, drawing himself up and attempting to appear intimidating. “And she broke up with me, me, because being a baker isn’t an ‘attractive career for a husband.’” He finished the statement with a long exhale, cold and sparkling light blue wind escaping from his mouth. It settled around the feet of the brass monstrosity and covered them in several inches of ice, thereby locking the legs in place.

The man struggled for a bit, jerking this way and that, attempting to free something, anything, but failing every time.

He looked up at Solaire. “You’re all devils, every last one of you! You hear me?”

Solaire shrugged. “So?”

“You’ll get yours. You’ll see.”

“And on behalf of Mr. Weiss’ casino, we apologize for the inconvenience.” Solaire let go of one dagger and brought his arm around to the mans head, releasing the single-shot spring flint-lock from inside his sleeve and firing it in the same motion, putting the shot right through his head and painting the inside of his wonderful, deadly contraption red with his own blood.

***

Two hours later, everyone had returned to their preferred activities: Tomo had gone back to his quarters to sharpen his katana and meditate, Willaby and Skyler were attempting to win back the gold they had already won, Austin had disappeared to parts unknown, and Solaire was back to the bottom deck of the ship, counting steps.

“13,860… 13,861… 13,862!” he finished, putting the toes of his shoes to the opposite end of the hull. Then he sighed and raised his head. “Please stop spying on me.”

The giant shape of Austin emerged from the shadows with a small, sheepish grin on his face. “Sorry. Didn’t want to interrupt… whatever that was.”

“Well, I appreciate that, at least.” Solaire crossed his arms. “So what is this? A dressing down? Disciplinary meeting? Punishment?”

Austin reached inside his coat pocket, pulled out a brown bottle, and handed it to Solaire.

“Is this… rum?” the noble asked. “I thought Weiss had a strict ‘no-alcohol’ policy with the crew.”

Austin’s grin went a little wider. “He does.”

Solaire uncapped the bottle and sniffed it.

Austin rolled his eyes, snatched the bottle back, took a long swing, then gave it back. “Not poisoned, see?”

Solaire nodded and took a large drink himself, wiping his mouth off with his sleeve.

“Look,” Austin began, “I wanted to see if we could patch things over. Think we got off on pretty hostile ground from the start.”

Solaire took another hearty swig. “There a reason we shouldn’t?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Tomo has a slave plate. You don’t.”

Austin sighed. “My relationship with Weiss is a bit more… complicated than that. But I promise you, I hate him just as much as you do.”

“Mmm.”

The silence hung in the air for a second.

“I know you’re not the best at taking orders,” Austin began, “but I’m stuck as the commander of you three. If Weiss tells me to make you do something and you don’t, that’s my head on the line. I’m willing to back off on the battle orders. I’ve never pretended to be smart, and I think you’ve proven yourself to be pretty good at that stuff, but I need you to recognize me and Tomo as the boss. Just to make our lives easier, alright? Do that for me, and I promise you’re off this ship the second Weiss gets his fancy armor pieces.”

Solaire thought for a second, slowly rotating the bottle and making it slosh. “I suppose I can agree to a temporary truce. Just for convenience's sake.”

“Thanks,” he clasped a giant hand to the noble’s back and walked away.

As Solaire watched him leave, he extended his fingers into the shape of a mock gun and said “bang.”

Austin turned around, confused.

“Turned your back on me,” the noble explained. “Took you out.”

The confusion on Austin’s face lingered for a moment, then he broke into a smile. “You’re a funny man, Solaire,” he said with a chuckle as he rounded a corner and ascended the stairs.

Solaire smiled as he watched him go. Inside of his coat sleeve pocket, he could feel the spring-locked flintlock itch at his skin.

#the adventures of Solaire #short_story #series #adventure #action #fantasy #steampunk #pirate