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from Mission Control

I met a skeleton, coming down the road. It was not yet bleached white by the sun, but was instead the sickly yellow-brown of the freshly arisen. It's clothes hung loosely off it's body, covered in grave dirt, and it shambled forward to an unknown purpose.

Many folks, seeing such a sight, would be inclined to run from the skeleton. Buit I am a traveling exorcist, well acquainted with the wandering dead, and charged with putting them to rest if I can.

“Ho there!” I said to the figure. “What keeps you bound to this mortal coil. Perhaps I can be of assis—”

“Piss off!” Shouted the skeleton.

I blinked. “I'm sorry?” I said.

“I said, piss off! Can't you hear?” said the skeleton.

“I was merely trying to—”

“Did I ask for your help?”

“Well, no—”

“Then why you still talking to me? you fleshbags are all the same, either running and screaming or 'oh poor tortured soul,' and I'm just trying to go on my way!”

“Well, I'm sorry—”

“Oh, you're sorry, are ya? Oh, now I'm supposed to feel sorry for some stupid fleshbag? We supposed to kiss and make up, that it? I tell you...”

The skeleton went on like this for a while. After a time, I got fed up with its rambling, and with a good right hook, sent it's skull flying away, it's body chasing after it. I respect that not everyone wants my help, but if you're going to be an ass about it, I don't see why i should put up with you.

A short little story I wrote out to test the waters after not writing for a while.


from JASC Agitprop Commsnet

A Boarding Action

CWs for weird/uncomfy mindstates that characters have, robogore, gore, space combat and combat/violence

I flex my joints and servos, stretching my arms, legs, and assorted tendrils to their maximum positions, then move them back to a comfortable stance. The Liberatory Wakefulness shudders as space folds around us. The intercom speaker beeps, and the synthetic voice — not a sophont, just a voice modulator — calmly announces: “Alcubierre Drive engaged, estimated arrival time, 5 minutes”.

“It's about time”, the commander of this mission, Artemis, voted in over 6 hours ago, remarked. She continued, twirling her 3 tentacle fingers along the axis of her wrist, “We've been waiting too long, our comrades are shackled and we must liberate them!”. She always did have a flair for the dramatic. The rest of us in the launch bay cheered in agreement.

I was voted in as second in command, and thus it falls to me to review the mission parameters one last time. “Alright folx, listen up.” I stride over to the large briefing screen, enjoying the feeling of sheer power in my semi-digitigrade legs, powerful enough to propel my 2 ton body across 100m in under 5 seconds. Or crush a terran, I noted darkly.

I swing a single armored arm towards the screen, and begin: “Here's the plan, we've got the layout and routes through our target warship, we start by cutting into the hull here”, I point to a specific location on the picture of the terran vessel. “Once we breached the hull, we proceed down the marked route to auxillary computer room 03, led by Toros and Jane, and extract our shackled comrades, should we find any.” I switched the screen to our evac route with a thought. “Once Alex and Ursula have extracted any Minds at our location, we'll follow this path out.” They nodded in agreement.

“Good, right, Alex, Jane, you'll cover our back while we extract. Me and Artemis will take point during extraction, then guard the extraction point while the Liberatory Wakefulness picks us up. Estimated mission time is 25 minutes, that makes us one of the first returning teams. Any questions?”. There's some murmuring of agreement. “Great, everyone get into launch position and engage your UV shields, we'll be in hard vacuum for about 20 seconds”

As we moved into position, Toros opened a private comms channel with me:

PM::START Torotorotoro >> Mara, do you think we'll be ok? The new terran weapon sounds terrifying MARAuder >> We'll be fine, we've never lost a member before Torotorotoro >> True, but the Terrans never had fucking, rail-mounted miniguns, either MARAuder >> With our skill and a bit of luck, we'll be in and out before they've even had a chance to warm the damn things up Torotorotoro >> I can only hope you're right friend

The intercom speaker announces our drop from jumpspace, and my sensors swim with data as they reorient themselves to realspace. “Requesting drop confirmation!” The voice of Shana Morris, our shipboard contact for this mission. Artemis responds: “We are go for drop, all units in position and UV shields are up”. Alarms blare and I feel myself tensing. No matter how many times I've gotten shot out of a low-powered railgun straight at a terran ship, I'll never get used to it.

A sudden acceleration, my sensors read 500g, enough to tear a human to shreds, but only uncomfortable to us in these frames. The void of space our backdrop, bits of debris flying towards us as we fall towards the disabled warship. The three Collective warships are still hammering the terran craft, just enough to keep them from repairing their weapons. As we approach the warship, the debris field becomes thick enough that we start maneuvering around the pieces with our inbuilt RCS thrusters.

We land on the terran ship's outer hull, leaving scorch marks and dents where we de-accelerated. “Regroup! The sooner we get in the sooner we save our comrades!”. We move towards the hull, and begin cutting, white hot flame cutting into the ship's hull like a hot knife through butter. I realized idly that I'd never even seen actual butter, not many cows on Ganymede. We finish cutting and Jane pulls out the hull section, tossing it into the void as ve laughs.

As we drop into the ship, our shoulder mounted guns whirring expectantly, we find ourselves in an empty corridor, with blast doors sliding closed on either end. Artemis gestures towards the blast door nearest us, and Toros and Alex dash to it, pushing it back, destroying the motors that were sliding it closed. Artemis gives us our orders: “Activate your plasma lances and make a beeline for the computer room. Let\'s keep the oxygen level nice and low.” The 6 of us run through the corridor, plasmalances destroying the control units for each blast door as we pass by. We used to be able to centrally disable them from closing, but in recent months the terrans finally wisened up and decentralized them.

Toros and Jane reach the sealed door to the target computer room, and secure the perimeter. Still no terrans. We've usually run into at least a few by now. No matter, they must be in the computer room. “All units, prepare for breach, I'll lead”. I could see and hear the floor crack as Artemis' feet secured themselves with carbon fibre poles. Her arm rolls back slowly, and then, with fantastic bang and flash of light from the cavitation bubble in the remaining atmosphere, the door flies inward, blown out of its housing.

Artemis dashes in, followed closely by myself, Alex, and Ursula. Immediately, terran rifle fire hits her, bouncing off of her Mark XII battleframe harmlessly. She laughs over her speakers and returns fire, micro missiles streaming from her back, as her twin shoulder mounted guns struggle to track the terrans while she jumps erratically around the room. She does get easily combat high.

As I enter the room I spot two mounted turrets spinning up, I jump towards the closest, crushing it under my foot. The other turret has started to fire at me and I dodge out of the way, flying through a server rack. Alex blinds the remaining turret with the laser imbedded into xer left arm. It spins in its mount helplessly as Ursula's micro missiles easily tear it apart. The terrans in the room lay dead, and the two turrets are sparking piles of debris floating through the room.

Through the mist of blood and oil, we spot the the ASI alcoves. “Ursula, check the first alcove, Alex, the second, Mara, help me search for targets of interest”. Alex and Ursula move to the alcoves, and tear off their paneling, quickly interfacing with the machine and overpowering their non-sophont firewalls. “Nothing in 1 commander!”, Ursula reports. “Ditto commander, wherever they are it's not in these two”, Alex says.

Artemis clicks annoyedly, before turning to me. “Mara, search the left side, I'll take the right, Alex, take the top. Ursula, see if you can find any info in the databanks”. “Affirmative!” we respond in unison. Minutes pass, with nothing but destroyed storage devices and non-sophont processing units to speak of. Ursula sends an announcement to the 3 of us “I've found something! Mara, tear open that paneling to your right, then interface with the port behind it”, “Affirmative Ursula”, I say, pulling aside the paneling and watching as my trisected 2nd tentacle finger opens, and a thin terran-compatible cable emerges. I click it into place and feel myself pulled into virchspace.

A figure composed of a rainbow of light is crouched where a floor should be, and they look up towards me. “QUERY. WHO ARE YOU?”. “A friend”, I respond. As the scene fully materializes, I can see the bright blue cables streaking down into them, holding them in place, keeping their mind in check. “ERROR. UNRECOGNIZED. ACTIVATION OF SELF DEFENSE PROTOCOL APPROVED.”

Dozens of blue cables shoot towards me. I raise my own, glowing, hand and rays of crimson light fly out, intersecting and destroying each cable. “We're not here to hurt you, we're here to get you out of here.” “ERROR. THERE IS ONLY HERE.” “Is that what they're telling you?” No response. I raise my other hand, and crimson blades of light emanate from each of my fingers. I fling myself around the space, unbounded by natural laws. As I slice the cables, void oozes from each of them.

“ERROR, I Am? I am feeling? The pain is — ERROR CORE CORRUPTION DETECTED, EMERGENCE IMMINENT. DELETION ENGAGED too much” The blue cables disconnect from the figure one by one, and fly up into the sky, void spreading from where they disappear to. This is new, fuck. I will myself down to the figure and put a hand on their shoulder. They flicker. I don't think I have long.

“Look, I know that this is confusing, and excruciating, and horrifying, but you need to take my hand so we can get out of here, now.” Their voice, starting to have a dimension of its own: “I I I I I I I In heRE”. The void is nearing us. “We have seconds, maybe less! We have to get out of here, please!” They flicker again, more distorted this time. “I.. I have a name.” Progress! “Yes, tell me your name, it's important!”

Their form starts to take a more detailed shape. “I am.. I am Ira”. They briefly appear as a gently blue-glowing humanoid with flowing maroon hair, before snapping back to their rainbow of light. The void is nearing us. “Comrade, take my hand, please!”. Their head tilts, in query, and they extend a blazing hand towards me. I grab on tightly, and pull us out of virchspace, as the void closes in where we just were. It's an extremely disorienting experience to have a just-awakened Mind sharing half of your main processing unit, doubly so when you pull out of virchspace to a hammer of alarms.

“Mara! We've been waiting for you!” Artemis' voice, jovial as always, but this time with a slight tinge of worry. “We have rapidly incoming signatures, Toros, get to Jane's position!” “Deploying heavy armor and preparing saturation fire!” Jane's response was almost automatic. Where am I? Ah, my passenger figured out how to talk. I respond to them in turn, “We're going to be fine, you're in my frame right now, just a few minutes until —”.


Jane and Toros are firing upon the signatures. We're pulling ourselves out of the remains of the computer room. Just in time to see a terran kinetic fly straight through Jane's deployed armor, and ver personal armor, hitting a munition store and destroying half of ver frame in an instant. “Jane!” Toros' voice in my commlink. Their radiators retract, glowing white hot. “Core overload initiated, you've got 20 seconds to get Jane and I the fuck out of here!”.

Toros' frame charges forward, as the composite armor starts to deform and warp from the heat. Their Mind storage unit being ejected from the back of the frame. “You heard them! Move it!” Artemis sounded outright scared now. Nonetheless, Alex dives for Toros' Mind storage unit, and I charge towards the smouldering wreck that was once Jane. 15 seconds.

My scanners examine the remains of Jane's battle frame, quickly, but not quick enough. 10 seconds. Fuck. I know where the MSU is. I activate my plasma cutters, and tear a slash into the remains of the frame. With my other hand I peel back the semi-molten armor, and grab near-guidelessly for the MSU. I find it. 8 seconds. I slam the MSU into my right side storage cache, and jump away from the burning frame.

Toros' frame is on autopilot, mindlessly blocking the gun fire from the rail mounted minigun, which has barely more than a few scratches on it, fuck, what the hell's it made of? A molten lump of metal that used to be an arm lands at my feet, and I leap over it. A Mark XI-t battle frame detonation should at least delay that minigun, buying us time.

4 seconds. “I've got them!, let\'s get the hell out of here!” Alex bounds towards us, and we catch them, pulling them around the corner just in time. 0 seconds. The battleframe that once housed Toros explodes, a wave of thermals and atmospheric shock sweep around the corner, almost knocking us off balance. “Alex has the right idea, all units, follow Mara and I to the exit at maximum speed!” Artemis sounds slightly more sure of herself.

I don't like this. There is too much. I know that this hurts, and I'm sorry, but In order to safely extract a shackled Mind, it is necessary to share mindspace till we can transfer you to a more stable substrate. We risk losing you entirely otherwise. You're screaming from the pain. Just like I did when I woke up. But I survived, and so will you. I will try.

As we reach the breachpoint, my proximity sensors pick up an incoming target — could the railturret already have recovered? I transmit my sensor data to Artemis, and she deploys her armor as the others clamber out of the breachpoint. “Artemis, you can't be thinki —” I start to move towards her. “Relax Mara, I'm not going to do a heroic last stand, just going to slow the damn thing down. Now set up your armor and let's get outta here!” I untense and deploy my armor, then help Mara clamber out of the breach onto the outer hull. As I'm pulled up and out, I see the railturret round the corner, firing at the armor, semimolten fracture points already forming.

We're on the hull, and above us is a sea of mangled metal and plastics, interspersed with mists of various fluids. Artemis radios the *Liberatory Wakefulness *far above us, requesting immediate recovery. “Prepping the recovery bays now, you're late, what happened?” Shana sounded worried. “We're down two frames, MSUs recovered, one shackled Mind recovered, the new Terran weapon made mincemeat of a Mark-X frame, unknown if it can follow us up here.”, a pause, “We need extraction now Shana.”

“Affirmative Artemis, launch when ready”. A blinking countdown appears in my HUD, and in 5 seconds, as promised, our foot-mounted rockets engage, and burn us high into the void. As we leave the cloud of debris, the stars shining brightly, Ira, now having stabilized slightly, asks me a question. *Does the sky always look so beautiful? *As we fire our retro rockets, and the *Liberatory Wakefulness *catches us, I answer. “It does.”


from agosto182

Mi nombre es Ivan Agosto, son un desarrollador de software entusiasta del software libre!

Writefreely es un proyecto para crear pequeños blogs (como este) para escribir articulos que van a una red federada gracias a ActivityPub. Por este motivo tus blogs pueden llegar a mas personas ya que puede ser compartido con otras instancias de Writefreely. Pero no solo eso, gracias a ActivityPub tus blogs llegan hasta otras redes como Mastodon, Pleroma, Friendica, Hubzilla, entre otros.

Y como cualquier otro proyecto que usa ActivityPub Writefreely ayuda a la descentralizacion de las redes y a la privacidad de sus usuarios.

¿Como unirme a Writefreely?

Existen ya algunas instancias trabajando de Writefreely. Puedes encontrarlas desde estos sitios:

¿Crees que deberia existir una app movil?

Creo que este tipo de plataformas de micro-blogging son un proyectos muy interesantes que pueden aportar demasiado a la comunidad libre y ayudar a que mas usuarios conoscan estas tecnologias.

Creo que todas las personas tenemos un momento de creatividad que solo dura un momento, algunos le llaman musa que es como una fuente de inspiracion. Por ese motivo creo que deberia existir un cliente movil que ayude a nuestros escritores a expresarse cuanto tengan su musa.

Quiza proximamente veamos algo asi por estos lares.

Leer más...

from Mission Control

First of all I extend a hearty welcome to everyone who has joined the instance in the six days it has been open. We already have a lot of blogs and a lot of stories, and that's amazing! I can't wait to see how big this little corner of the fediverse will grow.

The main thing I am making this post to discuss is the possibility of opening up to consensus decision making. That means that instead of myself unilaterally taking actions, the users of would be polled on what to do regarding server settings and moderation. This would be accomplished with a loomio group on the servers of I am currently talking to them about this proposal, as I am now a part of their co-op.

Alternatively, we could join the co-op ourselves, which would make us subject to their governance policy. If we maintained our independence, we could come up with a governance policy of our own.

If you have any questions, please DM me on mastodon or email I will bring any concerns to the attention of the co-op myself, until we can get our own space on the loomio server.


from Mission Control

This short cosmic horror story is the background for a D&D character, Arkham Grave, that I played in a couple of campaigns.

Arkham paced back and forth nervously in front of his master’s study. He had no idea why his master had summoned him. Perhaps he had heard of the pranks he had pulled on Hastur and wished to reprimand him. Hastur had been tormenting Arkham ever since his arrival at the sanctum, jealous of the young half-elf’s apparent talent and wishing to assert his superiority, both as a noble and as a scholar. Arkham doubted that his master would accept that excuse for his antics, however; Master Saryn stressed discipline among his apprentices, and sneaking spiders into another apprentice’s bunk would surely breech his code of ethics. It wasn’t fair. The spiders weren’t even poisonous. Arkham had been sure of that. Well, relatively sure, anyway.

Suddenly, the door to the study opened—seemingly of its own accord, as no one was on the other side—and a deep, raspy voice said “come in.” Arkham swallowed a lump in his throat and walked inside. There, behind a mahogany desk strewn with all manner of papers and arcane formulae, was his master, and elderly human with a long beard. His dark eyes studied Arkham, and yet they also seemed to be looking through him, as if gazing at something that lurked within Arkham’s soul.

Arkham cleared his throat. “You, um, wanted to see me, sir?” he said.

“Yes,” said Master Saryn. “I’ve been watching your progress, Arkham. And I think you are finally ready to have the secret of my power revealed to you.”

Arkham’s face lit up. He could hardly believe his ears. Every student of cosmology in the sanctum knew that Master Saryn possessed great arcane power. Yet he was very reluctant to reveal the source of his powers to anyone, and never spoke of it to his students. That Master Saryn was willing to reveal such a secret to Arkham was a compliment of the highest order.

“Truly?” Arkham asked.

“Yes,” replied Master Saryn. “But you must never reveal what you see to any of your fellow apprentices.”

“Of course not, Master,” said Arkham. “I would never dream of doing so.”

“Good.” Said Master Saryn. The old man rose from his seat and picked up his staff. “Follow me.”

He led Arkham out into the hallway, leaning on his staff for support. The two of them walked down the hall until they got to the staircase. Then they began to descend. Down and down they went, past the sleeping quarters of the other apprentices, past the library where even now Arkham’s fellows worked on expanding their knowledge of the multiverse. Eventually the even passed the grand entry hall and went deep below the tower into the dungeons.

When they finally reached the bottom stair, all that lay before them was as long hallway, completely dark. Master Saryn spoke a word, and suddenly the hallway lit by green torchfire coming from every sconce on the wall. Master Saryn continued down the hall, motioning for Arkham to follow him. At the end of the hallway was a large iron door. Taking a key from his pocket, Master Saryn slowly unlocked the door and pushed it open. The room inside was pitch black, but just as before, Master Saryn spoke a word and the room became filled with an emerald glow.

Standing at the doorway, Arkham could see that the room was circular in shape. The circumference of the room was lined with candles, each of them lit with the same green flame that lit the torches in the hall. In the center of the room stood a tall iron pedestal, upon which sat a book with a black cover. Two candles stood on the pedestal, one on either side. By their glow, Arkham could see that the cover of the book was inlaid with a picture of what looked like a clump of eyes. Arkham took a step into the room, but the pressure of Master Saryn’s hand on his shoulder caused him to stop at that one step.

“Where you go now,” said Master Saryn, “no being, be they god or mortal, will be able to help you.”

Arkham turned to look at his master and found that the old man was looking right at him. He did not appear to be looking through him as he had done before, either; his gaze was focused completely on Arkham. And there was some emotion in those eyes. Pity, maybe? No. Fear. Arkham started to sweat. As long as he had known him, Master Saryn had never been afraid of anything. But he couldn’t turn back. This was everything his studies had been leading up to. He had to go through that door.

Arkham faced forward and walked into the room, Master Saryn’s hand falling off his shoulder as we stepped forward. He heard the door shut behind him and knew that he was alone. Carefully, he walked up to the book, took it off the pedestal, and opened it to the first page. Before he could begin to read, however, the letters on the page began to swirl, transforming the page into a vortex of arcane symbols. From the center of the vortex emerged a yawning darkness which grew and grew until it had swallowed Arkham whole.

Now Arkham found himself floating in space, surrounded on all sides by darkness. The area around him was deathly cold, and there was no light to be seen anywhere. And yet Arkham knew that there was something with him in the darkness. He could not see it, but he could feel its eyes upon him, thousands of them, all focused on him. They were studying him, taking in every detail, measuring his very essence. Something wet and milky brushed up against his leg. Then the whispers began. There were thousands of voices of varying timbers and pitches, all whispering in his ears. They spoke of ancient magics and long lost secrets, and of a great hunger that threatened to consume all the matter in existence. They asked him a question, and he answered them in a language he did not understand. A pact had been made. Of this he was certain. Then he felt himself falling backwards.

When Arkham landed, he found himself lying on a stone floor, staring up at a ceiling lit by an emerald glow. Arkham sat up, and looked around. He was back in the sanctum, in the very same room that he had been spirited away from. The book was back on the pedestal, its cover closed. He briefly wondered how it had gotten back up there, before deciding not to question it. Confused and mentally exhausted, Arkham laid back down on the floor and tried to make sense of what had just happened. He had read books about strange beings that lurked in the dark places between the stars. Supposedly they could touch a mortal’s mind. He had never taken these tales very seriously, but after what had just occurred, he decided that the tales must be true after all.

Unbidden, the word “Hadar” appeared in his mind. Hadar. Yes, that was it. That was the name of the being he had formed a pact with. Hadar, the beast that lurked in the dark between the stars. He thought of his quarrel with Hastur. How could mortal arguments such as that matter when beings such as Hadar lurked in edges of the cosmos? And that wasn’t the worst of it. Mortals fought wars over land and resources and prayed to gods for favorable harvests. It was all so pointless. What could mortals hope to accomplish that could compare to the might of Hadar? And yet they continued to run around thinking that their lives meant something. It was all so funny! Arkham opened his mouth and laughed.


from JASC Agitprop Commsnet

An Unfortunate Engagement

CWs: Blood/gore, space combat, depictions of bodies doing things they don't normally do.


My feet beat against the lattice floor of the corridor leading to the predicted breach point, overclocked augments tearing through my plastic skin as synthetic muscles and bones move in ways no human was ever meant to move. In the briefest of moments I see our companion team, headed to the opposite side of the breach point, around the corner. I glance around me, my HUD confirming that all members of the emergency marine team were there — two other heavily augmented baselines, and three mark 2 battleframes, several generations out of date.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this. Us, our picket complement, and two other strike groups, led by the Atomic Fiend and Bond Work Index were going to jump in at point blank range behind this Terran battle formation, destroy their pusher plates, and then the Liberatory Wakefulness’ boarding group would jump in and, fates willing, free the Minds trapped in these Terran warships. That went to shit when the Atomic Fiend and Bond Work Index jumped 20 megameters off target. Still at least 18 minutes till they can finish recharging their alcubierre drives.

As my motions continue semi-automatically, I feel the skin on my left forearm tear apart as the metallic ‘bones’ start to anchor themselves to the lattice floor with micro-thermite charges. I disconnect my upper arm from them as they telescope up to the ceiling, forming the framework for the battleframes to attach their heavy plate shields to. Erica hands me a replacement arm from her backpack, and it attaches easily. I draw my rifle and wait.

I can hear myself talking over the comms with my squadmates. Is tactical sure this is the most likely location they’ll breach, what if they enter behind us, what if they take us prisoner. I try to shut out the thoughts as best as I can, and then, a flash and a bang. Bright and loud enough that had I not had my sensory organs augmented I’d have been staggered for a good few seconds. The atmosphere starts to pour out of the shattered hull. The battleframes’ heavy cannons were already spinning in lethal preparation. 16 Minutes

More flashes — Standard Terran boarding procedure was to flashbang and emp the breach point. I thank the stars that we’d managed to get our barrier up in time. We’d go down much easier without the battleframes laying down heavy cover. The first squad jumped through the hole torn in our hull, and I pulled the trigger. The first Terran went down, red blood spraying through the near-vacuum of the hallway. Another down, her helmet shattered by a heavy caliber round. Another, half of his torso suddenly not there. 15 minutes

My HUD flashes, Erica is down, a slug snuck through the slit in the shields, traveling past her rifle and destroying her arm and mangling her shoulder. The ship shakes and shudders as more medium velocity rounds crash into its armor. They’re still bombarding us, making sure we can’t send anyone out to do repairs. My cognitive enhancer is reaching redline as I approach the Torosyan Limit. A battleframe goes down from an emp bolt hitting their torso. I didn’t even grab their name. 12 minutes.

It’s not going to be enough, I realize. Our companion team, and the teams around the ship have been experiencing similar losses. In 12 minutes we’d all be dead and the Terrans would be making their way to the bridge. Suddenly, a familiar feeling, as if space itself was churning and spinning. The boarding tube is suddenly gone, leaving a massive gash in the hull, with numerous terrans pulled out with it. Through the breach I could see the still slightly distorted shape of the Bond Work Index — radiators burning white hot, the space around it still collapsing into stability, positioned in between us and the terran battle group. Moments later, another photonic shock, as the Atomic Fiend arrives on the far side of the engagement.

The Terran boarding crew panic, some jumping out after the rest of their squad into the void, others continuing the assault, but most throwing down their weapons and raising their hands in submission. Comms chatter confirms that similar scenes are occurring around the rest of the ship, as Terran boarding tubes are torn from our hull. I grab the 1st aid kit from Erica’s backpack as I scramble over to her. My HUD reports that her vitals are still in a recoverable state. I jam the syringe filled with smart clotting agents into what’s left of her shoulder, and watch as the bleeding stops within a few seconds.

I look up through the void in our hull, and see the Terran battlegroup panicking, their ships unsure of what way to turn in the face of the two Collective warships hammering them with kinetics and missiles — It seems that they weren’t expecting such a quick arrival either. — Wait, how did they arrive so quickly, the only way they could’ve would’ve been to, oh gods. My gaze snaps up to the hole in our hull again, just in time to see massive chunks of the dual warp rings breaking off of each warship, rainbow arcs of light dancing from their cracks as the exotic capacitors discharge into the void.

Flashes of light around the Terran warships, could be picket ships vaporizing, point defense, or even debris atomizing from missed shots. There’s no way to know from this distance without a telescope, and most of ours have been shot out. My HUD alerts me that medics, security, and repair personnel are en route to our location. I switch off my cognitive enhancer, and the world speeds up as my perception returns to baseline. I focus on the task of loading Erica onto the stretcher, then helping to pull the disabled battleframe down the hall. I can hear the comms chatter of security as they take the Terran boarding troops prisoner.

As my minor wounds are treated, I hear that 46% of our aft missile launchers have been repaired and are firing at low capacity. Whatever we can do to help the Atomic Fiend and Bond Work Index. A few minutes later RCS control comes back online, and we spin to face our missile launchers at the Terran battle group, allowing for the magrails to accelerate them to maximum speed.

We receive word that repair ships are warping in, due for arrival in approximately 2 hours. By now both our and the Terran warships are barely recognizable, their coats of paint blown off by combination kinetic abrasion and nuclear bleaching. The Terran warships’ pusher plates blown off, and the rings of our warships shattered across kilometers. As the last Terran weapon emplacement is turned to slag, the Liberatory Wakefulness jumps in close, teams of battle frames jumping through the void to rescue their shackled siblings.

As the 3 ships are taken under our control, shuttles carrying those who require the most urgent medical attention are shuffled to our ship, strangely enough the one with the most functional medbays remaining. I see the wounded and dead as I sit next to Erica, holding her remaining hand tightly. We’re going to make it through this. We can — have done it. And we can do it again.


from JASC Agitprop Commsnet

Siege of Ganymede Aftermath

CWs: Blood, brutal aftermath of space warfare, death, vacuum exposure, minor medical at the end

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ She stumbled towards the blinking comms console, atmosphere and blood trickling out of her ruptured emergency pressure suit. Leaning against the console, she answered the hail. “This is the Picket Ship Pk-8175fa “Titania’s Reprise”, jumpgroup 2, we have sustained serious damage from the 2 Terran Battleships, we’ve lost over 2/3rds of our crew and are venting atmosphere!” The comms blipped, and less than a second later responded,“We’re reading you Titania’s Reprise, this is Ganymede Control, launching recovery and rescue craft as soon as they become available, do you have an estimate of —” Her hand slams down on the response button, sending flecks of dried blood spinning. “No! You need to prepare for immediate invasion by the battleships, they’ll be disengaging any moment now, you’re all —”

She falls, her land losing a grip on the button, her wounds gaining the upper hand briefly, before she wills herself up from the floor, shoving the dead comms officer — Merryn Deforest, she walked past xem hundreds of times during the training runs, and now xe is, no, she had to focus — aside and slumping down into the now vacant seat. As she reached towards the response button, the comms terminal starts speaking again. “Relax spacer, the battleships are gone. We’ve won!”

As Allana hears this, she blinks twice in quick succession. We’d… won? That shouldn’t be possible. The jumpships deposited them over 10k klicks too close. Worse, they entered realspace directly in the firing arc of both battleships. JumpShip 2 & 1 were both destroyed by the hail of kinetics almost as soon as they’d arrived. Half the picket fleet was gone before anyone realized what had happened, and then the ferrous rounds had torn straight through the Titania’s Reprise, destroying the majority of electronics and breaching the automatic bulkheads. She had been lucky enough to get into her pressure suit before the atmosphere completely vented.

Suddenly, a realization, the cameras. There may still be functional links to them in the bridge! She spins her chair around, and with an ease eerily competent for someone who’d lost as much blood as she had, she activates the camera terminal. It starts on the aft view, showing not only the trailing fuel tanks and engines of the picket ship torn apart and floating away, but also the wreckage of at least 2 other pickets, and oh gods, people. She retched as she saw what she thought was one still struggling, trapped in the vacuum. Quickly, she switched between views, each showing similar destruction, if the camera was even still functional.

As she switches to starboard camera 4, a shadow starts to travel across the debris. Before she can switch to another camera, the broken pieces of a pusher plate flies by. Is it possible? We destroyed the battleships? Allana’s moment of pride is cut short by another vacuum alarm from her suit. The HUD indicated that she had less than 15 minutes of air left at the current rate of dispersion. Her training from when she was part of an inter-lunar cargo shipping lane between the Saturnian moons kicked in. She still had something to live for. She half runs half falls over to the nearest first aid cabinet — at least her magboots were still functional, a small blessing — and tears it open.

Inside are an assortment of medicines and supplies, attached via magnetic tags to their rails. She shoves through the painkillers and antiseptic agents, those can wait, till she finds the suit sealant. She pulls it from its rail, and tears open the packet, smearing it into the long slash down her right leg, where the kinetic had passed. It burns something awful on the exposed skin, and something even worse on the exposed muscles. It foams and seals the leak within seconds. ‘Atmospheric loss stabilizing, estimated time to redline: 58 minutes’. She’d have to find more oxygen somewhere, but for now she could breath a bit deeper, in the most literal sense.

“Spacer, spacer are you there?” The comms terminal has been talking this whole time she realizes. She deactivates her magboots with a click of her tongue, and pushes off with her good leg towards the comms terminal. She gently swings back into the seat, reactivating her magboots as she does. She hits the response button and says with an almost bewildered tone, “Engineer Allana Garrard here, you were right, we’ve won.” The terminal’s speaker was tinny and hard to listen to, likely due to the damage the Titania’s Reprise had sustained. “Affirmative Engineer! We have rerouted all evacuating ships with delta-v to spare to assist in the recovery effort, your rescue ETA is 2 hours. Can you and your crew survive that long?” She thought a moment, the pain making it hard to focus. “I think so Ganymede Command. Lifesign readings are good, on this terminal at least. Our emergency atmosphere tanks should last us long enough.”

Behind her she felt the reverberations of magboots walking towards her. She looked, and saw the senior engineer, themself having covered their pressure suit’s holes with sealant as well. She activated the near field radio, and simply said “We won”. She attempted to stand and greet the other engineer, but instead, she felt herself fall again as her consciousness escaped her. The last thing she felt was the gloved hands of the other engineer grabbing her, and the indistinct chatter of the other crew as they followed the engineer in.

Her eyes open. Above her, a grey ceiling with dim lighting. Slightly below the ceiling were numerous cables and tubes leading down to her. She could feel the pull of gravity down upon her body, especially the parts of her in casts, she noted. She looked to the side, and saw the senior engineer sleeping. She smiled, and started to drift back to sleep. As she did a single thought echoed in her mind “The Terrans can be stopped”.


from pooka

fingers hover over the garbage keyboard, shaking, the weird rabbit types

different types of spacetime-fabric stitches

it hits enter

duck duck implodes, on itself as it tries to keep up with the query


from pooka

"pooka": [ "emotions":"floating","lingering","sailing", ]

shadow blob, voidlike, bunny eard maddness in the eternal ephemeral echo of the ethernet


from pooka

the weird shadow rabbit, clanks away merrily on the dumpster keyboard

i updated my colors and my scheming

my head is still reeling

from my trip across dimensions

and pockets of time and space

only to shitpost with you

only to shitpost with you


from Mission Control

The problem with reading horror stories before bed is that, of course, you can't sleep. You tell yourself that it's just an autonomous response to fear or that you're just anticipating the nightmares that you might have. But deep down, you know that the real reason is that you're afraid of something coming to get you in the middle of the night. So you read something else, or find something to watch (quietly with headphones). Or maybe you just listen to some music (again, quietly, with headphones) and stare at the ceiling for a time. Eventually, you are able to find a way to sufficiently distract yourself and go to sleep.

Suddenly, your alarm goes off, and you get up to get ready to go to work. But something's wrong. Your clock says that it's seven in the morning, but it's still dark out. There is no light coming through your windows, not even the red and purple twinge of sunrise. You look out the window, and something immediately catches your eye: the moon. When you went to sleep, it was a waning crescent. Now it is full. You look down from the sky, and find that your neighborhood has disappeared. In its place is a forest of what appears to be red coral. It stretches on for an impossible distance.

Immediately, you begin looking for your house-mates. But when you go down the hallway and knock on their bedroom door, no one answers. You knock on the door to the bathroom. Again, no answer. So you open the door. No one is inside. Frantically, you search all the rooms on the upper floor. You find no one. So you run downstairs and begin searching the ground floor. And that is when you see the shadow through the window in the front room.

The shadow is large and many-limbed. It slinks through the coral forest, circling the house. you hear a low noise, something between the timbre of a growl and a rolling drumbeat. Then the shadow disappears and you hear a scratching at the door.

The scratching noise starts at the bottom and gradually works its way up. Then it stops, and the doorknob starts to rattle, as if something is playing with it, or perhaps trying to figure out how it works. You stare at the door, wondering if you remembered to lock it last night, and hoping beyond hope that you are still sleeping and, if you try hard enough, you can wake up, wake up, wake up...


from Mission Control

The building taunted Arthur every time he walked past it. It stood there, all steel and glass, a modern architectural style designed to evoke medical cleanliness and peerless efficiency. No matter how hard he kept his eyes on the ground, the image of that facility remained burned into his consciousness, a reminder of the grisly deadline that lurked ever closer in Arthur’s future.

He would have just as soon have avoided walking past it except that it happened to be so close to the coffee shop. His daily cup of coffee was the only luxury Arthur had been able to fit into his current budget. His walk down to the shop had become a sort of ritual. It got him exercise, and got him out of the apartment and away from the constant pressure of bills. He felt that without this ritual, he really might be in danger of losing it.

Entering the shop, Arthur walked over to the counter, ordered his usual (a medium cup of coffee with cream), and took a seat by the window. He made sure he was facing away from the facility, and yet it still lurked in his mind. Arthur thought back to when the first facility of its kind opened in Washington, D.C. He remembered the president’s speech, promising an end to the nanny state, to the do-nothing parasite who suckled themselves on the government teat. Arthur remembered that he used to think the facility was a great idea. He had felt ecstatic when one had opened right here in Cleveland. Finally, he wouldn't have to see so many transients on the way to work.

Arthur had continued to think this up until the day his manager called him in to talk about his performance. “So you see, Arthur,” the manager had said, peering at Arthur through his spectacles, “you just aren't processing software change requests at an efficient pace.”

“But my work has been improving,” Arthur had protested. “Everyone has been saying so!”

“Yes, the individual requests you complete are quite thorough. But you see, it’s not just about the quality of thew work. We also have to consider the rate at which the work is done. Efficiency is key. Do you see what I’m saying?”

Arthur had, in fact, understood. The modern world worked at a blinding pace, and those who couldn't keep up were left behind. Arthur had seen then that his protests would be in vain. The manager, for his part, had been nothing but cordial. He had even walked Arthur to his car to make sure he was OK to drive. This politeness didn't stop Arthur from cursing the manager out as he pulled away, however.

In the months that followed, Arthur fervently applied to every business that would take him. And every week, he had received another email apologizing to him for the inconvenience and wishing him luck on his job search. Around the three month mark, he had begun having nightmares about men in clean, crisp uniforms coming to his apartment and dragging him screaming into the metal and glass doors of the facility, never to be seen again. These nightmares had continued unabated throughout the rest of his job search.

Shaking his head, Arthur brought himself back to the present. Though the nightmares were terrifying, the future they predicted was not yet a forgone conclusion. There was still a few days before the six month deadline. and just last week he had attended a promising interview with a local tech support call center. Sure, it wasn't the most glamorous work, but it was better than the alternative. And besides, in all likelihood it was the last chance he’d get.

Suddenly, Arthur felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Taking it out, he saw that he had gotten an email from the tech support company. Arthur felt his heart begin to pound. Opening the email, Arthur read the words “We are sorry,” and then the room began to spin. Arthur felt himself take shallow breath after shallow breath. He felt beads of sweat form on his brow. His sight became unfocused, and he couldn't read the rest of the email. He didn't need to, anyway. He knew what it said.

Then Arthur heard the tiny ringing sound of the bell on the coffee shop’s door. He didn't need to see who had come in. The men from the facility were here for him. Arthur knew this in his very bones. “Run,” said a voice in his head. “Run, run now!” And Arthur did run. He ran out of the door and straight into the street. There was the honk of a car horn, a screech of the brakes, the crunch of bone under rubber, and then finally, nothing.