A recent post asked, 'how would you write a Tyranid story?'. This is my response. There might be more if the mood strikes, as the idea - and the challenge! - are definitely tempting. We'll see how it shakes out.
A TIME TO EVERY PURPOSE
Falling.
We are falling.
If space is bent - if the gravities of all the little lights and rocks align against us - then we can do nothing but fall. Down the darkling way. Down the four-dimensional plane. Down, down, driven down. We are thrust through the veil on Narvhal’s horn; we pierce the distance between here and there. We are carried on the carrier-beast’s final breath, riven by plasma and lance and exotic matter. Farewell, Narvhal. Farewell, our pursuers - farewell, for now. We shall surely meet again.
Will we be ready when we do?
Now, we must tell you, there will be deceit. We do not wish to call it deception, though clearly, we deceive. We speak to you in words we hope you will understand. We ask for your patience.
Imagine…
Imagine, then, a castle. Imagine grey-brick redoubts, grand old walls wrought by ancient masons that keep out the sprawl of old, dark woods. Imagine their bare branches, riven by snow and season, their rough, tough roots sunk deep into frozen earth. Imagine moving through the courtyards and gardens and finding not a soul, the attendants and groundskeepers and courtiers gone, lost, destroyed.
Imagine the creak of rusted hinges and protesting timber as you open the inner gates. Imagine an ornamental indoor lake filled with the deepest black you have ever seen, the darkness that dwells in the space beyond a dream, and know that the Lady is still here.
She leans on the balustrade, eyes twinkling, snug in fur and downy robes. The cold and isolation do not touch her. She is not weak, here. She is not shriven of biomatter and the last of her brood guard, her mantle seared and cracked by Imperial malice, frozen blood on the black carapace as it sculls slowly, painfully, through the void. She is whole and complete and wonderful and all-knowing and she cannot possibly fail.
‘Come to me,’ she whispers, and all must obey.
Now, imagine the smallest thing possible. A quark, a genome, something closer to an idea than a reality. Something so infinitely delicate can only be a child. It does not squall or cry in its amniotic cradle - it simply looks to the Lady, attentive as only those who yearn for purpose can be…
(Remember: this is not a castle, there is not the smell of woods in winter and age-crisped paper and elderly oak. These are metaphors, these are similies, these are likenesses used to convey a meaning so that you may understand what is about to happen within the ruined, half-dead husk of the Norn Queen, her last unmurdered birthing chamber and what few potential zygotes remain.)
…and the Lady guides the child up the swaying stairs, through the silent halls where knowledge sleeps (less, now, that the fleet has been so diminished, that a connection to the greater mind has been lost, but still, the distance is vast, vast as the space between neurons can be).
Together, they reach the observatory with its glittering silver latticed roof, and its gold-inlaid telescope aligned to the heavens. We watch, rapt, as possibilities pass us by.
Here is a world locked to stare at the system sun, one face afire, one cloaked forever in darkness. Narvhal’s cry echoes deep in the polar ice, trapped, refracted, and ultimately amplified. The hasp will be broken, tomorrow or in ten millennia, and the faces will reverse in a single day. In one destructive rotation, one brief spasm - utterly insignificant in the cosmic span - the world will shrug off all the creatures that dwell upon it. Unsuited to our purpose, even if the chance of discovery were not so great, but a valuable lesson. The Lady is satisfied that, even as it perishes, the carrier-beast dooms a thousandfold of its slayers. Efficient, as such things are measured.
Here is a world of springs and seas. Rich life teems in the waters and builds high on the shores away from the toxic volcanoes and gas vents that ridge the continents. Lethal to the natives. Useful to us. What could lair in those untouched places - what power could be coaxed from those hidden troves, its strengths married to ours? Rich metals. Deep deposits. Yes, perhaps, if the brood had not been so vastly reduced. Even a creche of infiltrator forms would suffice.
No, the Lady shakes her head. ‘Do you see?’ Her tone is not mocking, not condescending - the child has overlooked something that her experience has not. ‘The Inquisition have chosen this as their home. They seek the same seclusion we do. Their agents are among the population, and their attention would be quickly drawn to any attempt at planetfall.’
Ah. Of course. Our pursuers have others sworn to their same cause - some even more vigilant, even more vicious. Their presence is a concern. We will not risk their attention before we must. We turn away from the life-rich world for now.
Here is a world of cities, reaching to the clouds and the planetary crust. A mechanical metropolis that almost blinds the oculus with its bright potential. Even the Lady betrays a trace of hunger as she considers the possibilities. Surely in that choked, toxic atmosphere, we could arrive unseen. But where? And after that, how would we protect her? The officialdom of these worlds is not the only danger - their petty rulers, their slum-lords and criminal masses are just as paranoid, just as fearful of the alien, the unknown, the visitors from the stars no matter how humble or hidden their guise.
‘We only have one chance at this,’ the Lady says. Again, she shakes her head, though not without regret. ‘I cannot make you strong enough to prevail here. The flaw is mine. We look again.’
Here is a world ruined in such fierce, spectacular fashion that it may only serve as an example of galactic chance rather than spawning ground. Stripped of atmosphere, shattered by endless meteorite impacts, this shield world has endured so much in its eyeblink life. The inner system crouches behind it - we dare go no closer, fearing the sensors and snares and ships that glitter between those worlds. They are closed to us. What else is there?
Here is a world stripped by radiation, inhabited only by freakish bacteria that the Lady blanches to behold. No. Here is a world that could serve us in a million years, as life nests close to its molten heart, the surface in tectonic upheaval. No. Here is a world that barely deserves the name, a dwarfish rogue that skitters on an erratic, outer orbit. Docks and outriggers festoon it, rock-breakers and asteroid mines. Perhaps, if they were less attentive, but they would be just as alert to extrasolar intruders as the inner system.
After all, their lives would depend on it.
Not the outpost planet, then, but the voidships that service it? Would that suffice? The Lady demurs. She looks away - she consults her library. She does not like trusting our fate to the hope the child can subdue a transport alone, that the transport will not be looked for, and that it will contain what she needs. So many variables. So many possibilities. What are, in short, the odds?
If she does nothing, we perish. If she chooses wrong, we perish. Ah, the burden of leadership, without the greater mind to consult, without the pleasing absence of responsibility that the lesser forms have. We feel for her. Failure is not in her blood, yet she must confront it.
Above us, the heavens whirl. Time advances. Ichor drools into the void. The Queen’s flukes waver in fatigue and pain.
The Lady considers. The child waits.
She makes to speak - then cocks an ear to listen, as if to catch a trace of far-off, almost-familiar music. A moment. Another. She blinks. And, suddenly, she smiles, as beatific as any saint as their faith is rewarded.
Yes. This will do. There is one light that shines brighter, and closer, than any other. A ship, a crew, and a very particular cargo.
Again, she beckons the child, and together they walk the library halls. So many passages are dark, and so many shelves are empty. The loss will likely never be truly healed. Not even in the warm embrace of the greater mind. It is the way of things, we know. We cannot forget the harm that was done to us - we are wounded to the core, in our intrinsic structure. What weapons the Imperials employed have done to us what nothing else ever has (ah, yes, but for the Death - when we lick our wounds, do they taste of that calamity?). That, alone, makes our survival imperative. We must return this knowledge to the greater mind.
This nook has very few tomes left. Imagine them bolted and chained, confined to their cages of solid wood, as though they were dangerous beasts warded against escape (and what could be more dangerous than knowledge, properly used? Are we not living proof of that?). Certainly, they are. We know what damage these secrets have wrought upon this galaxy, for ten thousand years of furious anger.
And now we will put it to a use not dissimilar to that intended by its creator. The Lady delights in that irony as she untraps a book and bends down to show the child.
‘They were called the Silver Shields.’ A page turns. ‘They protected their home, far from here, with certain codes of valour and certain modes of conduct.’ Another page. ‘They failed, of course, but their remnants linger still - we took this one beyond the Wound. A strange tale, and one I will tell you in time if you wish.’ Another page. ‘Do you see what I intend?’
Do we?
We see the shining silver, the curve of the plate, and the intended - and often attained - psychological effect. We are (oh so very) familiar with beacons. We understand the importance of signals and ceremonies. We do not dispute their illogic; it has delivered us prey more times than memory allows. We understand the concepts they cling to. We understand oppression, and we understand freedom.
Yes, we have an intimate understanding of freedom.
We are presented with a unique opportunity. We must, then, shape a unique solution. Adapt or perish is the fundamental law of the cosmos. We have made ourselves synonymous with that law, entwined ourselves with it, and we live - we thrive - at the expense of those that do not.
‘A chevalier. A knight.’ The Lady weaves the last zygotes into a pattern that melds the book and the purpose. It will take time. There is so much damage, so much that has been lost. ‘A champion, yes? To guard my slumber. To secure my reawakening. To lead those that believe to their earned reward. Do you understand?’
The child does not cry - it does not struggle as the weaving takes it. This is something strange, something that is not provided in the shaping maps, the hard-coded, well-worn paths that end as carnifex, termagant, tyrant and uncounted others. There is pain.
‘I am sorry,’ the Lady does not wipe at her misting eyes. ‘You have no swarm to command, and there is no place here for a lord. You deserve more, and I cannot grant it to you.’
Here, we must leave. The Queen’s last powers are focused on the child. She has nothing left for us. We wither. We die.
Our final sight is the Lady holding the child close.
‘Be brave,’ she whispers, already fading into hibernation, into the dreamless deep. ‘I love you.’
Then she is gone, and so are we.

Yes, yes, I know we have a yearly census in this community, but does that census really cover the important questions that you always wanted to know about your fellow humans Kdramalovers creatures who see this survey and know how to write? (Your cat is exempt from answering.)
For this survey to be as representative as possible, it is very important that you answer as honest as you can. We already know that those who love Korean dramas are good people through and through, so that shouldn't be too hard.
We will come back to you with the results on the last day of Heirs Appreciation Week. I hope that the professional statisticians on this sub can help me with the p number and the standard deviation and other complicated but importantissimo subjects.
This is the survey that will make you understand why the world is as it is. And the survey is

HERE

All the screenshots are from Heirs except one, and that one is from the Chinese drama Why Women Love (A TRAITOR HAS WRITTEN THIS POST! PLEASE DO NOT REPORT HER TO THE MODS!)

The gas giant loomed large in the viewport, ballooning as the ship coasted toward it, the colorful blue hues of its swirling bands reflecting the glow of the system’s star.
Darren could make out the bright, scarred surface of an ice moon drifting lazily past, framed against the rivers of flowing hydrogen and helium. Silhouetted against the Jupiter-mass object was their destination – Halfpoint Station.
Having come from Earth, which was still a backwater when compared to many of the Imperium’s more developed worlds, the sheer size and grandeur of the structure took his breath away.
It was hard to gauge its true scale in the vacuum of space where there was no atmospheric haze, and there were no landmarks for reference, the unfiltered light creating harsh shadows. As they drew nearer, however, he was able to pick out some of the massive fuel tankers that swarmed its ports like clouds of gnats.
Those vessels put anything created by Humanity to shame – their purpose being to dip into the upper atmosphere of the gas giant, harvesting its resources to fuel the ships that made their berth here.
Calling it enormous was an understatement. It must have been nine miles tall, the main hull of the station forming a long, relatively thin vertical shaft. Surrounding that shaft were half a dozen rotating rings, each one connected to the central column by spokes, the pinpoints of innumerable windows glinting as they slowly turned.
At its apex was a dome of immense proportions, sitting proudly atop the structure, the crystalline material that made up its transparent hull glittering in the starlight. Inside, he could make out glimpses of regal skyscrapers and patches of parkland – an entire city encapsulated in a habitat that had a breathtaking view of the planet.
Darren pursed his lips as he looked down at the device on his wrist, the tiny display showing the familiar text of an article he must have read at least a dozen times by this point.
Halfpoint Station was situated on the outskirts of the Imperium’s sphere of influence, a region of space known only as the Periphery. This put it soundly outside of Purp jurisdiction, but the place still saw a lot of traffic, as the station was right in the middle of a relatively well-traveled shipping route between the three big powers.
While it had started its life as little more than a place to fuel up and get resupplied, being located outside any of the major spheres of influence had its benefits, and the station had garnered a bit of a reputation for its more permissive policies. Now, it was said to be populated by hired guns, smugglers, gamblers, and anyone else who might appreciate discretion.
The Human frowned as he looked out the window once more and tried to reconcile the gleaming edifice before him with the dark reputation the article in his hands presented.
He didn’t have long to dwell on it before the pilot’s crackly voice came through a hidden intercom in the cabin, informing the passengers that they were commencing docking procedures.
The woman spoke in accented Shil. What that accent was, Darren had no clue, but he knew it wasn’t the same one spoken by his professors – linguistic or mechanical.
He glanced around at his fellow travelers, seeing a few species that he didn’t recognize, along with the more familiar Shil’vati. The aliens were easily identifiable by the purple hue of their skin, their sharp tusks, and their seven-foot height.
Several of them returned his gaze, some curious, some covetous.
Males were rare in the Imperium.
Hell, males were rare, period.
By the standards of most races out in the galaxy, Humanity were the strange ones for having an equal number of men and women. Even six years into the occupation, most were still struggling to adapt to the new paradigm brought on by that reality.
Darren was no exception.
Still, he managed to ignore the stares, turning his attention to the smart display on his wrist, bringing up his itinerary. He was headed to Hab-Ring Five, and the only information that he’d been given beyond that were some coordinates to who-knew-where.
He sighed, wishing – not for the first time – that he might have a fellow first timer to converse with.
Unfortunately, that was a pipe dream.
The lack of other Humans on his ship wasn’t surprising. The Imperium had only recently relaxed enough to begin authorizing travel visas allowing Humans to leave Earth, and his kind were still a rarity on the Galactic stage.
As to why he was out here out in the ass end of space?
He’d been offered a job.
He was an engineer by trade, at least according to his degree, and he specialized in the combination of alien and Human technology. It might seem like an oddly specific skillset, but it was one that was in high demand, as just about every industry on Earth was trying to take advantage of the opportunities provided by the Imperium’s literal space-age technology.
It was complicated work, but he was quite good at it, if he said so himself – and his professors seemed to agree. His gift had catapulted him through university and had apparently landed him a very lucrative offer to take up a position on Halfpoint.
How they’d heard of him, he wasn’t too sure. Nor did he truthfully know exactly what the job entailed. Apparently, he was to be briefed on-location.
Regardless, off-world work was a rare opportunity for any Human, let alone one fresh out of school, and visiting an alien space station was a lot more interesting than backpacking around Europe for a year.
Whatever happened, it was going to be an adventure.
The ship matched velocity with one of the rotating rings, the structure at least half a mile tall in its own right, covered in tiny windows that made it look like a whole city block had been condensed down into the shape of a donut.
Now that he was a little closer, Darren could see that the station was actually far from pristine. Its hull was pocked with haphazard repairs, the newer sections shining brighter than their older counterparts, its armored panels pitted with little craters from space debris and micro-meteorite impacts.
The ship lined up with a docking port, and an umbilical walkway began to extrude from the ring, reaching out towards them. It looked like the jib of a crane, covered over with a flexible material that bore a suspicious resemblance to a grey tarp.
Surely it wasn’t actually a tarp? No, it had to be some kind of alien supertech – too advanced for him to recognize at a glance.
Right?
His thoughts did little to reassure him as the umbilical connected to the shuttle’s airlock with a tangible thud.
Shaking his head, he retrieved his travel bag, then made his way down the aisle to join the queue of passengers who were waiting to disembark. More of them crammed in behind him, and he tried to ignore their uncomfortable proximity.
He hadn’t actually spent a lot of time around aliens during his schooling. One of his professors had been a Shil, but she had been professional to a fault and had always kept a healthy distance from her students.
Of course, she had still managed to be rather intimidating despite that, her head seeming to scrape the ceiling every time she stepped into the classroom. However, Darren was rapidly discovering that being surrounded by women who stood head and shoulders above him was a different experience altogether.
It was nothing to get worked up over, though. He just needed to-
The Shil standing behind him pressed close – uncomfortably close – Darren swearing that there was room enough in the aisle for her to keep her distance. Suddenly, he felt a sharp twinge in his rear.
Had she just...pinched him? No, it had to have been a mistake.
He turned to glance over his shoulder, looking up at the towering Purp. “Sorry, Ma’am, I must have bumped into you.”
Her sly smile faded as she furrowed her brow in confusion. Before she had time to formulate a reply, the intercom above the exit beeped.
“Oh, looks like we’re moving again!” Darren chimed as he began to follow the queue. “Sorry!”
He followed the procession of towering women into the passenger ship’s airlock. Both of the pressurized doors were open, and before him stretched the umbilical. The worryingly thin material that protected them from the deadly vacuum of space was wrapped taut around a metal frame, and the walkway beneath his feet was made up of a simple grate.
After a short walk, they emerged into a cavernous dock area, so large that it was more like standing in some kind of indoor stadium than anything that could be compared to a space station. There were stacks of shipping containers and unidentifiable machinery everywhere he looked.
It was a challenge not to stop and examine the equipment, each new sight piquing his interest, each strange device begging to be investigated. As he followed the other passengers to the far end of the room – his head on a swivel – he almost bumped into one of the containers. To his surprise, it was floating a foot off the ground, suspended on an anti-gravity cushion.
It was funny – no matter how many times he saw it, it never stopped being surreal to see something just…float.
As he stooped to look beneath it, an irritated dockworker leaned out from behind it to yell at whoever was in her way. She stopped when she saw him, raising a skeptical eyebrow. She was a Rakiri, if Darren remembered correctly. She resembled a towering werewolf, a pair of cat-like eyes peering out from beneath her black fur, her facial features strangely leonine. She was clad in dirty, yellow coveralls that hung loosely from her broad shoulders, exposing the ragged tank top that she wore beneath it. Tufts of her dark coat poked out around the faded garment, giving her a surprisingly fluffy appearance.
“You lost, boy?” she asked as she shooed him out of her path. “Stay behind the yellow warning markings unless you want to get that cute butt smushed,” she added with a nod toward the deck. She continued to push her heavy container, moving it effortlessly on its gravity cushion.
More dock workers were assembling to stare at him, perhaps having never seen a Human before. Or perhaps it was because he was male? It was hard to tell. Either way, a small crowd of yellow-clad women saw him off, a couple of them hooting at him and waving. Not sure if this was some kind of alien greeting, he shyly waved back, eliciting laughter from them after a moment of surprise.
One started to make her way over to him before a menacing growl from her superior made her freeze in place sheepishly. Darren took that as his cue to move on – he didn’t want to get anyone else in trouble by being in the way.
He arrived at a security gate, and after being asked to show his visa, he was subjected to a very thorough – and in his opinion unnecessary – pat-down. Once he was cleared, he emerged into the station proper. He stepped out of the way of the women behind him, then set his travel bag down on the metal deck, taking in the alien sights and sounds for a moment.
Far from being a sterile, clinical environment, he found himself in a bustling bazaar worthy of any city back on Earth. It scarcely felt like he was standing inside a station at all, what passed for the ceiling so high above his head that he could barely make out the crisscrossing support beams and maintenance catwalks.
It was styled like a cramped street, too small for cars, almost like the city center of some old European town had been reimagined in an industrial style. Civilian quarters that resembled apartment blocks rose up towards the ceiling, connecting to it in some places, likely leading up to higher levels of the station.
In every nook and cranny – anywhere there was room – the denizens of the hab-ring had set up little stalls where they were hawking their wares to the tourists who had just boarded. Colorful awnings fluttered in the artificial breeze from the air recyclers, and insulated cables that had been patched from the station’s systems trailed along walls and floors, powering streetside food stands and colorful neon signs.
Speaking of the denizens, they came in all shapes and sizes. Darren had never seen so many varieties of alien in one place before. He could make out a few Shil and Rakiri, but most were unknown to him, the varied hues of their skin and clothes creating a bustling sea of color.
He checked the device on his wrist again, pulling up the coordinates that his new employer had forwarded to him. This was indeed Hab-Ring Five, and he’d been given what passed for an address in this strange environment. Hefting his bag once more, he made his way into the throng, having to dodge and weave between the towering aliens. Many of them barely seemed to register his presence, probably due to his comparatively small stature, though some seemed to stop and stare in confusion.
Well, I suppose Humans are pretty new on the galactic scene, he thought to himself.
The scents of strange, alien food assailed him as he navigated the cramped streets, a few of the criers singling him out. They had sharp instincts, he’d give them that. It seemed the locals could smell a tourist at thirty paces.
Maybe it was all the staring he was doing?
Eventually, he arrived at his destination, glancing up from his display to see a dingy bar. It was open to the street, built into an overhang at the base of one of the many buildings, little more than a long counter with a few stools. Above it was a blinking neon sign in a script that he couldn’t read. As he made his way inside and struggled up onto one of the tall stools, the small handful of patrons who were sitting off to his left paused their conversation to examine him.
They were Nighkru, their goat-like horns and the bruise-purple hue of their skin giving them away. Their silver eyes were striking, almost seeming to glow in the dim light of the bar, as reflective as those of a cat. Their clothing was all tight leather and straps, their skin strategically exposed in places to show off their stunning bioluminescent tattoos, the swirling patterns trailing down slender limbs and across toned midriffs.
He kept his gaze aimed forward, knowing that their kind didn’t think much of the Imperium to which he now belonged.
…Then again, that was true for pretty much every race that wasn’t a part of the massive interstellar empire. Say what you would about the Purps, but they knew how to make an impression.
The bartender walked over to him, leaning on the counter as she looked him up and down skeptically. It was another Rakiri like the dockworkers, her feline nose twitching as she took in his scent.
“You lost, or do you want something to drink?” she asked.
“No thank you, I’m waiting for someone,” he replied sheepishly as he lowered his eyes to his device again.
He was right on time, but as he looked around, there was no sign of his contact. He was supposed to meet them here, right?
The Rakiri shrugged her furry shoulders, then left him to his own devices, moving over to the small group of Nighkru.
Perhaps one of them was his contact?
He certainly hoped not. While he didn’t have anything against a person enjoying themselves with a good drink after hours, it wasn’t a good way to make a positive first impression on a prospective employee.
Fortunately for him, the surprise on one of the trio’s grey skinned faces when she happened to blearily peer in his direction dashed that possibility. Just a trio of young women out for a drink.
Unfortunately for him, after a few hastily whispered words to her friends, the group made their way over to him.
“Don’t see many males round these parts,” one of them said, her faux leather getup creaking as she planted her hands on the bar to his left. Another leaned on the counter to his right, the third posting up behind him.
“A Human, too,” the woman to his right added with a sly chuckle. “Now, what’s a Human doing all alone out on the Periphery?”
“I didn’t think the Purps were letting their pets off the leash.” the one behind him snickered.
“I don’t know,” the first said with an exaggerated shrug. “Maybe he snuck out in search of a real woman? I think we’ve all heard how Humans can be.”
That set the three of them laughing.
All the while, Darren wasn’t sure where to look, turning his head left and right as he struggled to pick a Nighkru. He settled on the woman to his left, having to lift his head to meet her gaze, those reflective eyes shining like a pair of silver coins.
“I...uh...was actually supposed to be meeting someone here.” he stammered, a little of his anxiety bleeding through.
The Nighkru gave him a warm smile that wasn’t reflected in her eyes, leaning a little closer. He tried to pull away reflexively but found another Nighkru waiting for him, something rather soft pressing against his back.
“Well, I don’t see anyone else in here but me and my friends,” one of them said as she tutted dramatically. “Maybe they stood you up?”
“Poor form, that,” the one behind him whispered into his ear. He lurched in his seat, surprised by her proximity. “Leaving a pretty young thing like you hanging.”
The first one nodded, as if that was a piece of sagely wisdom. “I know – how about my friends and I give you a personal tour of the station to make up for it?” she asked, reaching out to brush a piece of errant fluff from his collar. “We’ll even carry your luggage for you – we’re nice like that.”
She signaled to one of her compatriots with a curt nod, who then plucked his travel bag off the deck.
“Oh, that’s really not-”
He tried to stand, but he was cut off as two of the women placed their hands on his shoulders, pushing him back down into his seat. Their touch was gentle, but firm, letting him know that he wasn't going anywhere.
Darren looked to the Rakiri bartender for help, feeling more than a little overwhelmed by the turn of events, but she was staying out of it. She was feigning disinterest, cleaning a glass with a rag that didn’t look clean enough for the job.
It was clear that he wouldn’t be getting any help from her.
Was this really going to be his first experience on the station – kidnapped by a gang of alien grifters?
Just as he was getting ready to – likely ineffectually – start swinging like his life depended on it, he heard a voice ring out in a language he didn’t recognize.
The Nighkru turned their heads as one, and he followed their gaze, seeing another of their kind step in from the street. Her skin had the same twilight hue, her silvery hair pulled back into a long ponytail that trailed behind her as she strode towards them. She wore a jet-black body suit that left little to the imagination, so tight that it might have been sewn onto her, the garment open at the front to expose a chiseled midriff and the beginnings of her cleavage. Her eyes were mesmerizing, his gaze drawn to the glowing tattoos that served to accentuate them.
Oddly, unlike the trio surrounding him, she had no horns.
The stranger walked with purpose, her heels clicking on the deck, her hair swishing behind her as she came to a stop to stare down the three other women. They were already backing off, the Nighkru who had taken his bag setting it back down gingerly beside his seat. Did they know this person? They seemed so wary of her.
“Maybe we’ll see you around,” one of them whispered, her hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment before she followed her friends out into the street.
Once they were finally out of sight, Darren breathed a sigh of relief and turned to thank the newcomer. Before he could utter so much as a word, she beat him to the punch.
“You shouldn’t wander around Halfpoint alone,” she said, skipping the preamble. Her voice had a melodic tone, one that was almost musical to Darren’s ears. She planted her hands on her hips, scrutinizing him with a skeptical expression. “You’re just asking for trouble.”
“I’m just...waiting for someone,” he replied. “Thank you, by the way. I’m-”
“Do you have a weapon on you?” she asked, cutting him off. “A handgun under that jacket? Defense spray? A pocket knife?”
“What? No,” he replied, his brow furrowing. “Why would I have a gun?”
Even with a few inches of titanium-alloy plating between everyone aboard and a messy death by explosive decompression, using a firearm on the station seemed risky.
She snorted derisively, almost as though she couldn’t believe his reply.
“For your sake, I hope that whoever you’re waiting for is smarter than you are,” she said with a roll of her silver eyes. “This isn’t Earth, boy. There are no Shil Marines around to babysit you. Next time you want to play tourist, go somewhere closer to home.”
With a flick of her long hair, she turned about, vanishing into the crowd once more to leave him sitting at the bar in confusion.
Darren felt another hand on his shoulder and turned to see an Edixi wearing grease-stained overalls standing behind him. The tool belt that hung loosely about her hips let him know that she was a mechanic before she’d even had time to open her mouth.
Her kind were evolved for an aquatic environment, and although they were fully amphibious, they retained many of their ancient features. Their bodies were smooth and streamlined, with lean, lightly-muscled frames that made them look like Olympic swimmers. Her eyes were a striking ocean-green, and her azure skin was patterned with faded tiger stripes, darkening as it neared her extremities.
“You’re the new engineer, right?” she chirped excitedly.
“Darren Fogle, pleased to meet you,” he confirmed as he extended a hand. She took it, shaking it eagerly, and he noted that her fingers were webbed.
He was a little surprised by how smooth her skin was. Given the sharklike appearance of the Edixi – and her vocation – he’d expected it to be rough and scaly. Maybe cold and slimy, too. By contrast, it was warm and soft, her small scales smooth like a snake’s rather than sharp like those of a fish.
Odd.
“Oh, it is. It very much is. The boss told me to fetch you,” she said before turning back towards the street. “Don’t get lost, you hear? There are some rough types around these parts.”
Yes, she could say that again. He stooped to pick up his bag, then hurried after her, trying not to lose sight of her in the crowd. He also belatedly realized that she hadn’t told him her own name.
Was that an Edixi thing or was she just in a hurry?
The mechanic led him through the streets, which seemed to be arranged in a kind of grid pattern, always flanked by the towering hab-blocks. It was as challenging as ever to navigate when so many of the station’s inhabitants stood a head taller than him. It made him feel like a bug that was trying to avoid being stepped on.
He could only assume he’d get used to it. His guide seemed to have no problem getting around, and she was a few inches shorter than him.
Their destination was some kind of service elevator – a large platform that seemed designed to carry heavy cargo up from the docks, wide enough that a couple of trucks could have parked on it side by side. There were still a few cargo containers stacked off to one side that hadn’t been unloaded yet.
He watched as the woman hit a touch panel beside the double doors, and they began to slide shut, the platform lurching as Darren felt it start to rise. There was no grinding of machinery, no vibrations, only a sensation of getting heavier. It was obviously gravity-manipulation tech. It wasn’t too surprising – the Shil seemed to use it for just about everything, so it wasn’t too strange that the rest of the universe did as well.
Convergent technological development, he could almost imagine his Shil instructor saying as they started to descend. Good tech is good tech.
The hab-ring’s many levels flashed by one by one, until finally, the elevator slid to a smooth stop. Darren followed the happily humming mechanic out into a garage, his eyes lighting up as he took in his new surroundings.
Were those… mecha?
The bay’s walls were lined with bulky harnesses that were obviously designed to hold the machines in place, a few of the berths already occupied by half-disassembled vehicles.
They were!
“Real life mecha,” he mumbled.
As a mechanic, he wasn’t ignorant of the genre. After all, what kind of engineer didn’t hold a soft spot for giant stompy robots? Of course, as an engineer, he also held an inherent disdain for anyone that actually thought said machines were even remotely practical outside of the realm of fiction.
The Square Cube Law was a harsh mistress.
The long and short of it was that if you doubled a machine's height while keeping it the same shape, you ended up with four times the muscle power moving eight times the mass. As a result, instead of having the same relative agility as the original, the double-sized machine actually had only half.
That was why ants could lift so much relative to their weight. If you scaled one up, you’d end up with a much less impressive power to weight ration.
And, the problem only got worse the bigger you went. Giant robots would be slow, cumbersome, and they would inevitably suffer from exploding ankles if they tried to move too fast. They’d also sink in just about any terrain that was even slightly porous.
All in all, mecha were a cool concept with absolutely zero real world applications.
Which was why he was so stunned to see some in real life. Sure, the Shil military liked to use exos, but they were really just power armor by any other name with thrusters attached. Besides, the only reason those things could skip around like they did was because they had anti-grav generators…
His thoughts trailed off as an idea occurred to him. He jogged over to the nearest machine, peering up at the twenty-foot humanoid monstrosity. Its legs had been detached, leaving only a bulky torso covered in half-stripped sensory equipment, lenses and scanners visible where their protective covers had been removed. The cockpit was open, revealing the pilot’s seat, along with the surrounding neural interface cables that hung loose like the entrails of some mechanical beast. Its weapon attachments were empty, but it was nonetheless an awe-inspiring sight.
Sure enough, there were two oversized humps on the back. One was clearly for the thing’s fusion engine – and the other must have held the anti-grav generator.
“Darren?” the mechanic asked, having only just realized that he wasn’t behind her. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Y-yeah,” he said, jogging for a few paces to catch up. “That’s a mecha!”
The blue-hued alien nodded slowly. “Yes?”
“A mecha,” he reiterated.
Which prompted another slow nod. “You’ve never seen a gladiator mech before?”
“No.”
“Didn’t they tell you what job you’d be doing?” the mechanic asked, cocking her head in a rather adorable manner.
“No?” This time it was his turn to cock his head.
Several emotions seemed to fly across the alien’s face. He saw surprise, confusion, and dismay before she finally settled on irritation.
“Typical,” she grunted. “Just… follow me.”
AN: https://youtu.be/a3Xp1WhRQ9Q

So, this all started last night during dinner when my wife and I were discussing various fun animal facts. Our conversation took an unexpected turn when we stumbled upon the topic of frogs eating human food. I casually mentioned that I wondered if a frog could eat a bagel. My wife, being the lovely and opinionated person she is, immediately dismissed my statement, saying that a frog would never eat a bagel.
Now, I want to make it clear that my initial curiosity was about whether a frog could physically eat a bagel, not whether it would choose to eat one. I tried to clarify this point, but my wife didn't see the distinction. She insisted that it was ridiculous to even consider the idea, as a frog would never willingly consume a bagel in its natural habitat.
As the conversation progressed, so did our passion for our respective arguments. I tried to explain that I understood frogs wouldn't seek out bagels in the wild, but I was merely contemplating the physical possibility. My wife, however, wasn't having any of it. She was convinced that the whole idea was absurd and that frogs would never eat a bagel because it wasn't part of their natural diet.
The argument began to escalate as we both dug in our heels. I searched the internet for any examples of frogs eating unusual things to prove that, given the opportunity, a frog could potentially eat a bagel. Meanwhile, my wife was adamant that the dietary habits of frogs were well-documented, and bagels were not on the menu.
As the evening wore on, we became more and more entrenched in our positions. The argument went from light-hearted banter to a full-blown debate, complete with citations and raised voices. Our once enjoyable evening had devolved into a heated dispute over the potential consumption habits of amphibians.
Finally, after hours of arguing, I couldn't hold back my frustration any longer. In a moment of anger, I insulted my wife, accusing her of being closed-minded and ignorant. This turned out to be the straw that broke the camel's back, and our disagreement transformed into a full-blown screaming match.
As the yelling intensified, my wife finally reached her breaking point. She grabbed her things, told me she couldn't believe how petty and immature I was being, and stormed out of the house. I haven't heard from her since. I sit here, dumbfounded by how a simple discussion about a frog eating a bagel escalated to such a level, ultimately causing my wife to move out.
TLDR: Meaningless argument about frogs eating bagels, wife left. Not sure what happens next.

Respect The Chief

You're home now. We could finally make an officer of you. You'd have Admiral without much of an argument from anyone.
No offense, sir, but "The Admiral" doesn't have quite the same ring to it.

Master Chief Petty Officer John-117 is the most important figure of the human race in the mid-26th century. Abducted at the age of six by the Office of Naval Intelligence (ONI), he was conscripted into the SPARTAN-II program. The initiative was originally designed to crush human rebellion against the Unified Earth Government as the human Insurrection movement neared its tipping point. John endured harsh physical and mental training, survived the physical augmentations required by the program, and was later matched with state-of-the-art Mjolnir battle armor.
Throughout his training and early career, John emerged as a clear leader among the Spartans and was set to lead a successful UNSC campaign to stop a brewing human civil war. Though through circumstance, he became the sole savior of the human race several times over. First, in the face of an alien hegemony called the Covenant--an advanced alien empire bent on the complete destruction of humanity. Later, against an eldritch parasite known as the Flood which toppled both the Ancient Human and Forerunner empires of the past. Most recently, John defended humanity against the efforts of an ancient Forerunner general called the Didact, who returned to take his revenge against humanity for wars fought a hundred millennia in the past.
Notes

• Feats are shown in chronological order in-universe
• Feats showing relevant scaling or context will be indented
• Hover over a feat to see the source.

Height: 6'10" // 7'2" (In armor)
Weight: 130 kg // 451.3 kg (In armor)

General Info (Augmentations / Mjolnir Armor)

Pre-Augmentation / Training
Spartans were heavily trained almost daily since they were kidnapped at the age of 6, leading them to become physically and mentally prime by the young age of 14 even before receiving their augmentations.

Dr. Halsey marveled at what a spectacular physical specimen he had grown into. Fourteen years old and he had the body of an eighteen-year-old Olympic athlete, and a mind the equal of any Naval Academy honors graduate.

Description of an unaugmented 14 year old John; The Fall of Reach Ch 6

Augmentations
Codenamed Project: ASTER, the Spartan candidates were augmented to drastically increase their physiology and physical capabilities. Their bones were laced with powerful material to make them 'virtually unbreakable', their muscle tissue density was increased and lactase recovery time was decreased, they were given hormones to boost skeletal and muscle growth, increased eyesight, and had their nerves altered to drastically increase reaction time.

• At the age of 14, Spartans could sprint at bursts of 55 kph (~34 mph) and had estimated reaction times of 20 milliseconds, though they would likely be significantly higher in combat due to adrenaline. They could lift three times their body weight and they have night vision.

MJOLNIR Armor / Stat boosts

The feats in this RT will sorted by which armor John is wearing, as each iteration of Mjolnir armor increases his abilities further.
Unarmored - These feats occur after John receives his augmentation, but without any Mjolnir armor. They also all happen to occur when he is 14 years old and still recovering from his augmentations.
MJOLNIR Mark IV - The Mk IV was the first iteration of armor given to John and the rest of Spartan II's at the age of 15.

• General description, it doubles it's wearers strength and increases reaction times by a factor of five.
  • Their reaction times were previously given to be a low end of 20 milliseconds, meaning with Mk IV it is at a low end of 5 milliseconds.
• The suit is so reactive and powerful that normal humans would be torn apart trying to use it.
• The suit can operate in vacuum by recycling air for 90 minutes. It is also shielded against radiation and EMP.
• The armor possesses motion sensors and thermal imaging to detect enemy troops.
• The armor is almost immediately given additional prototype upgrades, such as thrusters, surveillance drones, wrist-blades and active camouflage.
  • The active camo allows Spartans to walk right in the middle of a group of soldiers without them noticing.

Neural interface / Onboard Computer
Mjolnir armor is linked to Spartans with a neural interface, which means they simply have to think and the armor would perform an action. Combined with the onboard computer, it allows Spartans to do things such as place Waypoint markers, or targets on their HUDs with a thought.

• An example of its use during a fight, John can move his limbs with a thought to overwhelm attackers.
• The suit 'knows what John is thinking before he does', it's able to control the suit functions and John can control the suits thrusters with his thoughts.
• The onboard computer can predict where artillery shots would land during an artillery barrage, and guide them to safer locations.
• Spartans can share targeting data.
• Mjolnir's onboard computer can place HUD markers at designated targets.
• The onboard computer can calculate probable landing zones for enemy dropships.
• Mjolnir predicting the optimal time to dodge plasma cannon fire from Banshees.

MJOLNIR Mark V - Deployed almost two and a half decades after the previous iteration of MJOLNIR, the Mk V now possessed recharging energy shields but retained the same double strength multiplier as the Mk IV.

• General description, it includes two major improvements being the addition of rechargeable energy shields and the ability to house an AI (See previous Cortana section).
• The suit has sound receivers that can hear a whisper a hundred meters away.
• Energy shields begin regenerating 5 seconds after last being hit and take 4 seconds to fully recharge from a total drain (Gameplay).

Cortana - Cortana is the AI that was paired with Master Chief for Operation: REDFLAG, she is present for the feats that occur while John is wearing MJOLNIR Mk V and most while wearing Mk VI.

• Cortana provides tactical and strategic information to John in the field, is able to infiltrate computer and communication systems and greatly improves John's reaction time.

Hacking

• Cortana was loaded with ONI's best insurgency/hacking software in preparation for Operation: RED FLAG.
• While put to work checking the ssytems of a UNSC warship, Cortana runs through ONIs computesecurity systems on the planet Reach for fun, easily overwhelming other ONI AIs.
• She hacks a Covenant carrier, first from the outside disabling it's weapons and communications systems for a short while, allowing her squad to board it. Then when aboard the ship she develops a path for her ground team, gives false tracking info to the Covenant hunter-killer teams and ultimately vents the ships atmosphere killing most of the thousands of Covenant aboard.
  • Outside of Cortana, the Covenant were generally far above the UNSC in terms of network security, with Dr. Halsey comparing the Covenants understanding of human systems within a few weeks of first contact to the UNSCs understanding of the Covenants after several decades.

MJOLNIR Mark VI - Due to the UNSCs rapid advances in technology, the Mk VI was deployed less than two months after the Mk V rendering it obsolete, containing major improvements in both shielding and stat multipliers.

• The Mk VI increases the wearers strength by a factor of 5, making them 2.5x stronger than in previous Suits. The Suit also has self contained biofoam injectors, pumping Spartans full of the UNSCs miracle drug in case they are ever injured.
  • Biofoam stabilizes most wounds and allows limited combat ability even in the event of limb loss.
  • A Spartan suffering from a gruesome headshot has his wound filled with biofoam and is back in combat within a relatively short time.
• The Mk VI's energy shields are much more powerful and recharge a lot faster.
• Energy shields begin regenerating 4.25 seconds after last being hit, and take 1.75 seconds to fully recharge from a total drain (Gameplay).

MJOLNIR GEN 2 - The second generation of MJOLNIR armor developed after the Human-Covenant war ended. Every aspect of the armor has been improved upon and thrusters are now built into each set of armor, drastically increasing maneuverability.

• Every suit now comes with built in thrusters.
  • Spartans can use their thrusters to effectively fly.
• The armor expects when combat is coming and optimizes it's systems automatically.
• GEN 2 armor has 360 degree vision that sees far into the EM spectrum.
• Magnet Boots - Allows Spartans to fight while walking vertically down the side of a skyscraper sized ship.
• The armor has self repair systems in case the shielding and suit is ever pierced.

Skill

Unarmored

• At the age of 14, John kills/cripples four ODSTs easily. - literature version
• John alongside three other Spartans capture a bunker from guards wearing the Mjolnir Mark I armor, which would have taken 2 to 3 platoons of Marines to capture. - Mjolnir Mark I info/picture.
• Spartans have been trained to fight in zero gravity.
• Spartan IV candidates are trained in several martial arts such as Aikido, Jiu-Jitsu and Krav Maga. Presumably the Spartan IIs are heavily trained with them.

Mk IV

• At the age of 15, John alongside Kelly, Fred and Linda wiped an army of well over 100 Covenant, including several Elite Ultras, Zealots and a Field Marshall.
• John and his Spartans are trained to identify high value targets based off subtle visual cues, making it easy to snipe enemy commanders.
• While defending a planet over the course of a few days, John alongside the rest of Blue team destroyed over 100 Wraith tanks.
• Speedruns through a Covenant carrier alongside Fred and Kelly.
• Both Dr. Halsey and Cortana conclude John is overall the best Spartan.
• He has been awarded every major service medal except the Prisoner of War Medallion.

Mk V

• During Johns testing for the Mk V armor, he faces off against a fighter jet that is so fast it regularly travels in and out of visible range. John tanks it's 50mm autocannons, then deflects and tanks an anti tank missile, afterwards sprinting away at 66 mph though he tears his Achilles tendon doing so.
• While fighting a particularly massive (10 ft+ tall) Sangheilli in low gravity, John uses his skill to beat the Elite even though they were evenly matched in strength.

Mk VI

• John escapes deadly situations so often that he almost believes that death is optional for him.
• He's confident he can wipe out an entire Covenant unit of 50 infantry and 4 Wraith tanks without any heavy weapons, but he chooses to save a group of soldiers instead.
• Merks 40+ Brutes by himself.
• Each Spartan II has 'the equivalent combat power of an entire Sector Fleet'.
• John is proficient in all aspects of infantry tactics, as well as low gravity combat. He is able to effectively lead detachments the size of battalions, and UNSC personnel of all ranks generally defer to his leadership.
  • John was offered to be made an Admiral by the UNSCs Fleet Admiral and head of their Security Council, but he refused.

GEN 2

• Alongside Blue team, John fights through a massive army of Prometheans.
• Spartans are able to punch out the Warden Eternal while evading his sword swings.

Strength

Unarmored

• During John's first time working out while recovering from receiving his augmentations, he notes that 1 G of gravity feels too light and 2 G's feels more normal.
• 14 year old John breaks the bones of ODST's and disfigures them with his strikes.
• At 14 years old, Spartans could not train against normal humans anymore due to repeatedly killing them by accident, so their trainers had to be placed in Mjolnir Mark I armor.
• At the age of 14, John kicks a man wearing a MJOLNIR Mark I exoskeleton eight meters away.
  • Another child Spartan could dent the heavy metal plates of the armor with his punches, the armor is impervious to light weapons.
• At the age of 14, John wrenches and rips a 30 millimeter minigun off a MJOLNIR Mark I exoskeleton with his bare hands.
• Shortly after receiving their augmentations, Spartans could lift three times their body weight.

Mk IV

• The Mk IV doubles it's wearers strength.
• During Johns first test of MJOLNIR he could shatter concrete targets with a punch
• John lifts a Spec Ops Elite overhead and folds him on his own energy sword.
• 15 year old John lifts and throws a cargo sled that was large enough to haul an entire platoon alongside a couple of pieces of artillery, and long enough to hold two Spartans lying end-to-end.
• John buckles the leg of a Special-Forces/Bloodstar Elite sideways with a stomp.
• John beats the arm of a Silent Shadow Elite until it's wrist is snapped sideways.
• Effortlessly punches through a weapons locker that was undamaged by a man bashing it with a large gas canister.
• John can effectively wield 110 kg Gauss cannons and use them for hit and run attacks against a column of 50 Covenant tanks.
• At the age of 16, John is able to withstand 12 metric tons of force on his legs.
• While 16 years old, John gets pinned down by an alien spider-like vehicle that was larger than a Warthog but it doesn't crush him, he is able to partially lift it. He also implies he has pushed Warthogs off of him before.
• Rips a steel and bullet-proof glass security door off of its steel reinforcing on a wall.
• An Insurrectionist general believes John can rip him in half.
• Crushes a Jackal's skull with a kick.
• John, alongside three other Spartans (one of whom was injured and missing an arm) push a 3x3x6 meter quartz monolith, an object that would weigh over 125 metric tons.
• John travels while carrying a half-ton Spartan over his shoulder.
• The Franchise Development Director of Halo, Frank O'Connor, states that Spartans can flip and bench press tanks, which correlates with their in game ability to flip tanks.
  • Halo CE's manual states that flipping vehicles is accomplished by his strength.
  • While flipping tanks is a high end / outlier for Spartans wearing earlier armor, GEN 2 wearing Spartans have been shown flipping tanks with only the shock wave of their strikes.

Mk V

• The Mk V possesses the same 2x strength multiplier as the Mk IV, so he should be able to replicate these feats in the previous Mk IV section.
• Runs through a field of razor wire, snapping them effortlessly.
• While specifically holding back to not kill them, John cripples many ODST's who are trying to kill him. Notably John breaks alot of bones, pulls a gun that is being held by an ODST so hard his shoulder dislocates, and bends the barrel of an assault rifle rendering it useless.
• A trio of Grunts landing on him and attempting to take off his armor is laughable to him.
• Caves in the skull of a Grunt with a pistol-whip.
• A melee attack breaks a Jackals energy shield gauntlet and launches him off of a cliff.
• Flips a Warthog.
• Flips a Warthog again but this time from grabbing it by the bumpers.
• Cracks the spines of a pair of elites with his strikes.
• Punches through a human skull inside a Flood Proto-Gravemind
• Crushes the skull of an elite with a punch and again reiterates he is strong enough to flip Warthogs.
• Crushes the skull of a Grunt with the butt of his assault rifle.
• Spartans are able to punch though tank armor.
  • Wraith armor is completely impervious to .50 caliber AA rounds.
  • Wraiths are durable enough to tank shots from their own mortars, which vaporize titanium battle plate, concrete and flesh within a twenty meter radius.
  • Spartans wearing Mk IV are shown in official artwork to be able to rip open tanks and toss armored Brutes (>1 metric ton) away with one arm.
  • A random Spartan wearing Mk V is able to destroy Covenant tanks in H2H, and several Spartans hold off a Covenant army of 30000.

Mk VI

• The Mk VI increases the wearers strength by a factor of 5, making them 2.5x stronger than in the previous Mk IV and Mk V Suits.
• Punches through the head of a Jackal.
• Tosses a Brute behind him.
  • Armored Brutes weigh over a metric ton.
• John can punch through UNSC ship metal.
• Tanks a melee attack from a Promethean Knight, then punches it off of him.
• John can rip off the arms of Promethean Knights and impale them with it.
  • Promethean Knights are strong enough to toss around Warthogs which weigh 3 metric tons.
• John stabs into the hull of a Lich (Covenant ultra heavy siege platform) while free falling with no leverage.
• John can overcome an Elites energy shielding with a single punch.
• Pushes and kicks a missile hammer several meters. (A 2x3x1.5m block of Titanium which is roughly the dimensions of the missile hammer would weigh over 40 metric tons.)

GEN 2

• Lifting Warthogs (3 metric tons), bending steel and shattering concrete is a baseline feat for all Spartans, not indicative of their limits.
• John shatters a Battle Rifle by hitting Spartan Locke with it.
• Overpowers Spartan Locke.
  • Locke is strong enough to flip over a 42.3 tonne tank with the shock-wave of his attack, effortlessly fly and run through walls as well as tackle aircraft out of the air, and boost through the bulk of a massive stone statue.
• Spartans can snap the necks of Elites.
• Spartans can instantly kill an Elite with a two-handed strike.
• Spartans can rip through Forerunner Armigers.
  • Forerunner Armigers are strong enough to throw humans dozens of meters away.
• Spartans can kill a Forerunner Armiger with a stomp.
• Spartans can punch out the legs of the Warden Eternal.

Durability

Mk IV

• The Mk IV doesn't possess energy shields, it relies entirely on the armor plating for protection.
• The armor has a refractive coating to help disperse incoming energy attacks.
• During Johns first test of MJOLNIR, bullets were harmlessly deflecting off his armor.
• The Mk IV can tank numerous Covenant Carbine shots, though they come close to penetrating the armor. Covenant Carbines fire 8x60mm projectiles at hypersonic (mach 5+) velocities making them far more powerful than almost any modern small arms.
• A .50 caliber depleted uranium round fired from an AA gun glances off John's armor.
  • [Limit] A young Kelly states that sustained fire from that weapon would penetrate the Mk IV.
• Tanks fire from hundreds of skilled marksmen with their rounds only 'dinging' his armor.
• Tanks plasma fire from a Covenant Ghost.
  • Ghost plasma is stated to be 5000 degrees.
• Tanks the nearby detonation of 1 MT nuke (John was at ground zero and had only 30 seconds to sprint away before it detonated).
  • Nukemap stats - Because the event was on a moon with minimal atmosphere and gravity, the heat and radiation figures are much more important.
• Tanks Covenant Needle and Spike rounds that can separate an ODST into pieces.
  • In the same novel it's stated that ODST's wear bullet proof armor that is effective at tanking armor piercing rounds, and someone wearing that armor harmlessly tanks small arms fire from several shooters.
• Tanks several Needle Rifle shots, with the needles shattering off his armor.
• Shrugs off being directly hit by a Hunters 2 ton shield.
• Spartans can tank anything short of a direct hit by a Wraiths plasma mortar, which vaporize everything within a 20 meter radius.
• Tanks Plasma Rifle fire from a hundred Drones who were chasing after him.
• Harmlessly tanks a nearby grenade detonation that spatters his faceplate with shrapnel.
• Spartans in Mark IV have similar durability's to light tanks.
• Covenant Needler shots bounce off his armor.

Mk V

• The Mk V is the first armor to possess energy shields, with each further iteration of armor gaining much more durable energy shields.
• A three round burst from an MA5B assault rifle drops his energy shields a 'hairbreadth'.
• Tanks shots from 30mm chainguns without even noticing he was being hit and without his energy shields breaking.
• Tanks 50mm autocannon fire from a jet without his energy shields breaking.
• Tanks the detonation of a nearby Scorpion missile designed to take out tanks. He was launched six meters and the missile itself created a two meter deep crater, though his energy shields did break.
• Covenant Needler shots bounce off his energy shields.
• Tanks a lifeboat crash that ripped open the craft and mangled everyone else aboard.
• Tanks a shot from a Hunters fuel rod cannon without his energy shields breaking and can tank direct hits even when his shields are low on charge.
• Tanks a melee hit from a Hunter while his shields are already low from tanking a fuel rod shot.
• Tanks an explosion from crashing a Banshee into a wall without any injuries.

Mk VI

• Tanks crashing into the Titanium hull of a warship at an extremely high velocity.
• Unharmed by a nearby Wraith's plasma shot which killed three other soldiers who were further away from it than him.
• Unfazed by a massive explosion.
• Tanks plasma fire from 6 Hunters.
• Tanks the detonation of a point blank plasma grenade that vaporizes a Brute Chieftain and scorches close to a dozen nearby Grunts.
• [Tanks a fall from orbit onto the Earth, and while his armor locks up automatically due to the impact, John himself is uninjured.]( "Halo 3")
  • Official artwork shows John falling from orbit.
• John tanks the laser blasts of 343 Guilty Spark, a Forerunner Monitor.
  • Another Spartan wearing slightly worse armor tanks more Forerunner monitor attacks, which are powerful enough to vaporize Hunters who weigh 5 metric tons and are covered in starship armor.
• Tanks being hit by a Warthog at very high speeds.
• Tanks a fall from orbit onto the planet Requiem completely unharmed, crashing into a lot of debris along the way.
• Tanks a melee attack from a Promethean Knight and punches it off of him afterwards.
  • Promethean Knights are strong enough to knock around Warthogs which weigh 3 metric tons.
• Unharmed after being thrown into a wall extremely hard by the Didact.
• Tanks a slipspace rupture crash that creates a massive crater from his impact (Ghost for scale).
• John had his evolution accelerated by the Forerunner known as the Librarian, giving him an immunity to the Composer which digitizes living creatures.

GEN 2

• Survives getting his head crushed by the Didact, then being thrown into Fred extremely hard.
• Tanks an extremely deep fall without any problem.

Speed

Unarmored

• John notes how objects appear to move in slow motion to him shortly after receiving his augmentations
• Special Forces appear similarly slow to John.
• John could move in blurs and was able to dodge point blank stun rounds from a 30mm cannon.
  • Another child Spartan dodges the stun rounds in mid air.
  • 14 year old Kelly dodges fire from several shooters and is too fast for the self-targeting system to track.
• At the age of 14, Spartans could sprint at bursts of 55 kph (~34 mph) and had estimated reaction times of 20 milliseconds, though they would likely be significantly higher in combat due to adrenaline. This is shortly after they received their augmentations and is expected to increase as their bodies adjust to the changes, and likely as they age as well.
  • Spartans experiencing the world in slow motion due to adrenaline is something they refer to as 'Spartan time'.
• [Limit] John is unable to completely dodge close range fire from three shooters, getting hit by three bullets.

Mk IV

• The Mk IV increases it's wearers reaction times by a factor of five. Their reaction times were previously given to be a low end of 20 milliseconds, meaning with Mk IV it is at a low end of 5 milliseconds.
• The first thing John does in MJOLNIR is move his arm almost FTE to his already augmented self.
• During Johns first test of MJOLNIR at the age of 14 he was fast enough to dodge bullets.
• Evades fire from hundreds of skilled marksmen while he was in a low gravity environment that limited his maneuverability.
• Moves to block a Needle Rifle shot after it was fired.
• Moves out of sight of several people faster than they could see.
• Jogs at 25mph for 10 kilometers alongside other Spartans.

Mk V

• ODST's move in slow motion to John.
• Dodges bullets after they are fired by an ODST, and again but after they are fired by three ODST's and again.
• With the help of Cortana, John deflects a Scorpion anti-tank missile that was tracking him.
• Immediately after tanking an anti-tank missile, John sprints ~66 mph across a half-kilometer distance though he tears his Achilles tendon doing so.
• He's able to dodge the laser weapons of Forerunner Aggressor sentinels.

Mk VI

• Immediately sprints at a speed of ~45 mph from rest.
• Intercepts and blocks a Covenant Beam Rifle shot after it's fired from roughly 30 meters away, which is a weapon that fires at ~Mach 10.7.
  • Another Spartan wearing the same armor dodges beam rifle shots twice including once from point blank. It's also being fired by a specialized Spartan Sniper if there are any doubts on it's accuracy.
• Maneuvers in mid-air to dodge gunfire from numerous Brutes.

GEN 2

• Spartans can avoid a sword swing from the Warden Eternal without even looking.

Marksmanship

• While running, John scores several headshots on Jackal snipers with his pistol.
• While Sprinting at around 45 mph, Chief is able to land multiple head and neck shots on several Jackal snipers who are around 30 meters away from him, shooting fast enough that his Magnum shots bleed together.
• Spartans can routinely land accurate sniper shots over a kilometer away while they are on the move.

Mobility

• John could balance atop and leap across ten meter tall wooden poles 10 centimeters in diameter even though he weighs half a ton in his armor.
• Spartans can jump ~25+ meters vertically onto a moving vehicle using his thrusters. (Mammoths are 27.1 meters tall.)
• Without using thrusters, Spartans can leap into the air 'like crickets' and engage aircraft.
• Spartans can easily scale cliffs.
• Spartans in GEN 2 armor can use their thrusters to effectively fly.

Endurance

• At 15 years old John is capable of sprinting 7 kilometers while expecting to do combat immediately after.
• 16 year old Blue Team covers 19 kilometers in 33 minutes, stopping twice to do weapon checks, running on rough terrain with support equipment, and running with their weapons in their hands. Roughly 24 mph sustained over 19km, with no intended rest before initiating combat.

Other Spartan Feats / Additional Scaling

Weapons / Equipment

Enemies / Additional Scaling

The four Spartans that composed Blue Team covered his back, standing absolutely silent and immobile in their MJOLNIR combat armor. Someone had once commented that they looked like Greek war gods in the armor … but his Spartans were far more effective and ruthless than Homer’s gods had ever been.

Sometimes I feel a little bit bad for not wanting/having kids, not in a "oh I wish I had a cute baby" kind of way, but more for the idea of the kind of life that has been robbed from me.
People often say to me "oh you can't wait for a perfect world!". But I'm not. I would have gladly brought kids into the world under less than perfect conditions, knowing that life itself is full of suffering even in better times. But this isn't like that.
When I think about kids, when I see kids, instead of feeling happy for them, I just feel despair. I think of the horrible terrors climate change will visit upon them. They might not even get to know the beauty of nature and animals; they'll only see them as they are purged from this Earth and smoked out of their natural habitats.
If they are lucky enough to be born insulated from the worst of climate change, they'll live a life totally dominated by screens and media instead, living life increasingly by proxy as they are fed misinformation in their personalized echo chambers while perpetrators of toxic radicalization run rampant. Capitalist alienation will continue to erode what is left of our social fabric as the right to education is questioned and our ability to forge connections and community with each other is completely eroded where once again we turn to screens instead of each other for comfort.
Children will learn there is nothing greater than themselves, nothing to be a part of. No grand plan or goal for humanity. Only the God that is materialism remains at the center of this black hole.
The rise of knee-jerk christian fascism will creep into every aspect of our lives as it finds new targets to demonize once it has moved on from LGBTQ and Trans panic and no one will be safe from having their rights, freedoms and indeed even their safety unceremoniously ripped from them.
They will see public services like healthcare (if, again, you were lucky enough to have it) decimated while wages stagnate and the cost of everything goes up and governments continue to do nothing, while idiot billionaires soak up everything for themselves and lay waste to everything else. The dream of a better life, the social contract, is completely foreign to young people already. I don't know what waits future generations except for hedonistic nihilism.
Labour rights will continue to be gutted until the left is nothing more than a punching bag for the right (more so even than it is now) whose default right to power will be seen as the natural default.
They will never not know a pre-COVID world, and this first pandemic will only be the first of their worries in that regard.
I honestly weep for the kids I never had. But this is the choice I am making on their behalf to spare them the suffering. In this case, perhaps it really is better to never have been.

Hi everyone! this is my first time writing something that is truly my own and not a fanfic, so any critique, advice, or tip is welcome. Maybe i'll write a chapter 2 but i have nothing planned out in particular, i'd especially like to know if my writing about the feeling of the warp and the body change was good
​
CW: Body horror, but shown in a not really negative light. Will be more prevalent in future chapters.
June 26 2458
I remember the day of my ship's warp drive failure. We were flying to a small colony to sell our goods, we were a fairly unremarkable ship of a small trading company, we stopped to check our trajectory and promptly started going back into FTL. Then, it happened. Just as the drive was warming up, the ship shook, the monitors lit up indicating a hit, and the warp poured in.
It was undescribable, a brief flash of colors, and then, it swallows you. It touches you in every ways you could ever be touched, inventing new ones at it's leisure, you're blind and yet see everything you could never have seen, you can feel your skin bubbling and your flesh twisting with all the precision of it happening to someone else, your ears are filled with a cacophony of overlapping voices and sounds clear as a white hot razor blade cutting through your brain and yet whose meaning melds together. The air smells of sulfur, cotton candy, flesh and nostalgia as breathing it in fills your lungs with ash, oxygen, and the visions of loved ones, minutes pass by in years felt in seconds, your every nerve endings fire everything they can as strongly as they can, you smell colors, hear touch, feel memories, you feel everything you could have ever felt, and as abruptly as it started, it stops.
You blackout, and then nothing. Void. Null. Zero. Nada. Niet. A black void, after feeling everything, you feel nothing, and the previous shot of stimulation keeps you awake even as your body lies unconscious. You wait for hours, and eventually, you wake up. It's finished, your mind's clear, you look around, trying to understand what just happened, and you see your body, and you realize that now, you're one of the others, that now, you're warptouched, too.
For me, i got off easy, my form was still humanoid, and though most of my body was blasted by the warp only the upper right part was affected by the flesh change. I got the standard overcooked-ground-beef looking skin, my arm onward from the first half of the shoulder is now made of black sticks wide as a strand of hair roughly following where my bones should have been, but i still have as much dexterity and strength. My teeths are fused together in two plates at each sides of my mouth that i can move separately from my jaw in a fashion similar to crabs and a bit of my lips melted together on the left, this makes eating large things difficult, though i now barely needed any food.
My right eye was stretched diagonally toward my right cheek and became blind while my left eye shifted slightly to the side, swelled, and became compound. Although the pupil could still be seen jerking on its surface it was purely cosmetic and i now saw through what used to be my sclera that is now a fleshy red like a severely irritated eye. I lacked depth perception and being able to see UV lights was disorienting at first, though i adapted after a few months. My nose was gone and my nostrils now stretched into two ridges along the side of my left cheek, left cheek which was now immobile, held in place by a flexible plate of cartilage. It made my breathing better.
I'm one of the lucky ones ; my face is classified as a memetic hazard and i have to wear an evac suit at all times to hide myself, but i can still fit in a humanoid suit, and i'm still alive, which alone makes me more lucky than the 13 other crewmembers who were on that ship.
I can still work and function pretty normally, just without showing myself, and i just got a job at the ZBCSS Boreal, a massive cargo ship of an even bigger company. It was fine for two weeks or so, i worked at the auxiliary control bay so i only rarely met peoples, i did my job uninterrupted and everything went smoothly. But when in the communal halls, i could hear them. Rumors started spreading ; no one saw me eat for the two weeks, or saw me out of my evac suit, some others started talking about hearing a clicking in my voice despite having never talked to me, and so on.
This powder keg was now lit, but i heard protestations against these rumors sometimes. Most of the time, they unsurprisingly came from figures clad in evac suits, though it was a nice surprise to see regular humans speak against them, too.
Most of the crew comes from the Centaurus sector, and it shows. Their government started becoming more and more authoritarian in the past years, economic crisis already pushed them into extremes, but the revolution and ensuing military dictature in the neighboring Harcrow Sector seemed to have given them ideas, and a thing to blame for their woes, it wouldnt be long before this whole thing blew up.
ZBCSS = Zavaleta Biotech Commerce Space Ship

Person to group relation is much like person-to-person relation but just on a more sizable test group. At first when handling a person to group relation it is important that the operator (which is the “person” in the equation) carefully studies the nuances of the group and record sufficient data in order to have an effective approach. Compile a mental list of what is and isn’t accepted by the group. It is important to gauge the subjective information if the operator wants to eventually influence the characteristics of the group. The operator’s main goal in the person to group relation is to watch and listen. No input from the operator is needed in the beginning stages of this subject. The beginning stage may take some time to get hard data as to how to influence the group as a whole, if there is a desire to do so. In fact, it is much easier to gather data on a group than it is in a person-to-person relation. This is because they communicate amongst themselves and no prompts are needed by the operator. Define what each person in the group’s role is record their interactions and expressions.
Once sufficient data of behavioral frequencies within the group and with each individuals’ roles in the group, then the operator can either decide to keep the role of the observer, as more than likely there is no need to change a group given that they may or may not qualify for the effort. Or, the operator can choose to interject. During an interjection the operator must keep key assets in mind. These assets follow as credibility, decisiveness and ability to influence. Credibility is key because the group may not consider that the operator is a viable source of input. To gain credibility is to know each member of the group’s behaviors, as that is how to relate to them as long as the subject is predictable. The operator must cater to the sociological needs to the group, and this is where decisiveness comes in. To be decisive is to gain a grasp on how the flow of the group behavior develops and how to mimic their behavior. Now, this is where the influence lies. Once attention is gained then simply just use the data of their behavioral frequencies to make slight adjustments to the group. It is not necessary to become the dominate voice of the group. However, there is still room for influence. Identify the groups weak points and use whatever method of influence that is available.
The asset of ability to influence is discerning if the operator has enough trends in data to definitively reach a solution. Once there is action taken in this way, there is no opportunity to retract that decision. There has to be skill to influence and inclining data in order to make a persons’ or groups’ behavior shift in favor of their own wellbeing. Given that the party positively receives the feedback, just let that result stay for a while and determine how long exactly it takes the person(s) to revert back to their old ways. Gather the data of that event and learn to improve those abilities so that you can make the result more permanent in their behavior. There may be many cycles of this before the operator wants to move on despite whether the result was successful. The idea is to obtain range in the study, so, that requires more people to test. Values should not be forgotten, spread what has been learned to other test groups. The key is to always be learning something about human nature and its many pitfalls and how to design a reality high above that.
The third factor is the self-actualization aspect of the studies that are to be done. This factor must be present to assimilate the operator into a continually less bias observer. Keeping balance is important because there is no room for persistent or predominate world views. The reality for the observer must be fluid and not contain judgements on any specific person or situation. The process of self-actualization will go as follows; become aware of self, become aware of the surroundings and become aware of actions taken in a given environment. It is necessary to use these methods to ground oneself and to create less bias. To become aware of self is to be a continuous matter because of the growth and development one might go through over time. However, for the here and now it is important that the record and thoughts and emotion are caught before they manifest and become factors of bias. This will be achieved once there is no hesitation to invite different cultures of ideas. Once self-awareness is accomplished then remember to continually refresh the function as often as necessary. Do not become attached to any set of outside sources. Remaining individual is first and foremost.
Becoming aware of the surroundings means that the operator must have a consistent and accurate perception of the intricacies of the events that happen around them. This can be done by observing others in their psychological or sociological habitat. Gather information as to what they keep themselves busy with. Also, take into consideration the factors of the environment. This function can lead to findings that will determine what factors stimulate a person or group. A behavior must be observed in a continual manor with the frequency of the factors that are stimulating a group or individual. The data that is gathered must be a behavior that is consistently observable to collect accurate findings and keeping in mind that the lesser occurring stimuli are harder to find a decisive correlation in behavioral frequency.
Actions taken in any environment must be observed and recorded by the operator. Once an action is taken it is important to record what the action was and the stimuli that caused it. As a behavior is repeated then it will give the operator a positive, neutral or negative correlation. This happens when an individual or group consciously or unconsciously has a reaction or lack of reaction to any given stimuli. The world, individuals and groups are full of variables and is impossible to account for them all. However, the observer must keep in mind that everything is testable and not be overwhelmed with the mindset that is necessary for gathering data. There is always a place to start but there may not always be a conclusion. It is the observer’s inhibitions that will keep them operating, knowing what method of testing is available and how to use it until a new approach is needed.
It has been described here as to how to become an operator and observer. This, again, is an unnatural position that takes much effort to accomplish and stay consistent with. The operator will be rewarded with the knowledge of how to best identify, approach and alter any given behavior that has been studied by the operator. Self-actualization must be consistent and foremost in the system of operation because a sound and balanced mind is needed to produce accurate results in any method of testing. Judgement must be made as to whether there is a need for intervention between another individual or group. Not every behavior needs changing including positive or negative behaviors because not everyone has the capacity to understand not only their own behavior but the opinion on how to manage it. Know that being an operator does not mean that you will be entitled to judge but simply innovate solutions for a group or individual. Becoming an operator is to be a selfless position of understanding and compassion. Not to negatively manipulate others into doing what suits the operator. Behave in a professional code of conduct and do not waver the ability to change people’s lives for the better.

CW: description of how oppression based on being trans & neurodivergent feels
...
...
...
My experience of being trans (genderqueer, nonbinary) has always been a nightmare. Each moment feels unbearable. Trauma compounds from decades of bigotry, isolation, & precarity. It doesn't get better. Meaningful support doesn't exist.
Dreams of community & solidarity remain far off for me & many other low-income neurodivergent trans folks. Visibility helps little if at all. It ain't hard to see I'm an uncanny freak & target me. Hiding can be a survival strategy, albeit one that's tricky to pull off.
Mistreatment from other marginalized people hurts more than street harassment & pervasive hostility in mainstream spaces. Friends, comrades, & allies detect weakness & take advantage. No one bats an eye at using & discarding trans folks like me. We're expendable.
The radical scenes I'm familiar with rely on exploiting the vulnerable. Various trans people (& others) go through this until they're too burnt out to continue. Nobody cares. Nobody so much as checks in. We're resources in this model. Notions of reciprocity don't apply to us.
Oh, we're visible. You can't miss the trans presence at events & in friend groups. There's regular turnover, with new faces appearing as the old vanish. & you have the successful climbers who make the system work for them, recruiting & inducting initiates with false promises.
Certain folks know exactly what they're doing. For others, using & discarding vulnerable trans people flows intuitively, its implications unrecognized. The instances of acknowledgement & apologies never involve changed behavior.
Those who want to treat us as fully human find themselves unable to, confronted by the uncanny. We're almost within their definition of personhood, but not quite. We're close enough to be useful while still ultimately being revolting monsters.
It makes sense to focus on the surge of open anti-trans bigotry right now. As you do, keep in the back of your mind that even the relatively good times have been barely endurable for countless trans folks on the margins. We need much better to render our lives livable.
#TDOR2023

Hope you will follow West Tuality Habitat for Humanity and our Forest Grove Restore on one or more of our social media channels, to stay up-to-date on what we're doing and offering here in Western Washington County:
West Tuality Habitat on Instagram.
West Tuality Habitat on Facebook.
West Tuality Habitat on Twitter.
West Tuality Habitat on LinkedIn.
Forest Grove ReStore on Instagram.
Forest Grove ReStore on Facebook.

A reminder that folks in Hillsboro are welcomed to volunteer with West Tuality Habitat for Humanity in Western Washington County. We have a variety of volunteering projects - outdoors, helping with home repairs or home building or lot clearing, or indoors, at our ReStore, on an advisory committee or in support of our administration offices.
Most of volunteering opportunities are in Forest Grove, Oregon; some are also in Gaston, North Plains, Buxton, Cornelius, Banks and the surrounding rural area. You can join us for a day, tackle a project until completion, or become an ongoing volunteer.
See all of the volunteering opportunities we have available:
https://www.westtualityhabitat.org/volunteer

CW: description of how oppression based on being trans & neurodivergent feels
...
...
...
My experience of being trans (genderqueer, nonbinary) has always been a nightmare. Each moment feels unbearable. Trauma compounds from decades of bigotry, isolation, & precarity. It doesn't get better. Meaningful support doesn't exist.
Dreams of community & solidarity remain far off for me & many other low-income neurodivergent trans folks. Visibility helps little if at all. It ain't hard to see I'm an uncanny freak & target me. Hiding can be a survival strategy, albeit one that's tricky to pull off.
Mistreatment from other marginalized people hurts more than street harassment & pervasive hostility in mainstream spaces. Friends, comrades, & allies detect weakness & take advantage. No one bats an eye at using & discarding trans folks like me. We're expendable.
The radical scenes I'm familiar with rely on exploiting the vulnerable. Various trans people (& others) go through this until they're too burnt out to continue. Nobody cares. Nobody so much as checks in. We're resources in this model. Notions of reciprocity don't apply to us.
Oh, we're visible. You can't miss the trans presence at events & in friend groups. There's regular turnover, with new faces appearing as the old vanish. & you have the successful climbers who make the system work for them, recruiting & inducting initiates with false promises.
Certain folks know exactly what they're doing. For others, using & discarding vulnerable trans people flows intuitively, its implications unrecognized. The instances of acknowledgement & apologies never involve changed behavior.
Those who want to treat us as fully human find themselves unable to, confronted by the uncanny. We're almost within their definition of personhood, but not quite. We're close enough to be useful while still ultimately being revolting monsters.
It makes sense to focus on the surge of open anti-trans bigotry right now. As you do, keep in the back of your mind that even the relatively good times have been barely endurable for countless trans folks on the margins. We need much better to render our lives livable.
#TDOR2023

​Previous First ​​
Patreon Wiki ​
​
Chapter 32
Subject: AI Henry
Species: Human-Created Artificial Intelligence
Description: No physical description available.
Ship: N/A
Location: Classified
​
"Henry, I need you," Dr. Einheimer said.
Not like I'm busy or anything you wrinkly sack of bones. The "good" doctor had been working around the clock to solve the new anti-warp tech that we'd gotten from the scouts. A good project, to be sure, but Einheimer is down right insufferable. I'd rather work with literally anyone else in the Engineering Corps.
Despite that, I activated my avatar, a humanoid form made of pale green light and entirely devoid of features.
"Yes, doctor?" I asked, disguising my resentment.
"A response time of a full half second? Are we feeling a bit testy today, Henry?"
"Of course not, doctor. How can I help?" I asked.
"I miss when AI couldn't lie," he said with a chuckle. "Though I guess they were actually VI back then. Anyways, my lab assistant seems lost. He's asking questions. I was hoping you'd clue him in because I'm concentrating."
It took more than a little willpower not to snap at the old codger. I am NOT a fucking tutor, you three hundred and nineteen year old overvalued gasbag. I almost said that, but then I looked at the poor lab assistant. The lab assistant who was obviously confused, and female. No doubt had she been male he would have said "her". A silly, immature power-play to nobody's benefit. How on brand.
To determine how much I needed to explain, I accessed her personnel records. Kimberley Rhodes. She had her doctorate in Physics and was working on her doctorate in Engineering. So it's the engineering side of things that's probably the issue here.
Double doctors were common in the Engineering corps. Einheimer himself was a triple doctor. Engineering, physics, and social sciences. He obviously only got the third doctorate for bragging rights, considering he never uses what he learned. Although some would insist that he doesn't use what he learned from the first two doctorates either.
"Certainly, I can help HER understand the scope of your project, doctor. SHE's in very capable hands," I said, noticing that the Einheimer had stopped paying attention. "Much more capable hands than you were just in, at any rate."
"Ah, right," she said with a nervous laugh.
I felt a lot of empathy for this poor person. They had probably been so thrilled to have the "opportunity" to work with the "legendary" Doctor Einheimer. However, he definitely doesn't live up to the hype.
His merciless self-centeredness is one thing, but the fact that he often fabricates things to be self-centered about is a much worse character flaw. He claims to be descended from Albert Einstein and Robert Oppenheimer, hence the name. In fact, his surname is the result of a fluke of language and he isn't related to the two geniuses at all. Not even distantly.
He also is often over credited in the media for his "inventions", despite them being merely innovations. He increased the efficiency of directed energy weapons and was credited with inventing a "new kind of killer laser". The interviews were unbearable. He lamented his contribution to the 'war machine' and begged the forgiveness of the families who lost their sons and daughters. Meanwhile he cashed the checks without complaint.
Those weapons were made nearly useless only a decade later, thanks to me. My improvements to the guardian armor's shield systems had guaranteed a return to kinetic projectiles. As a matter of fact, every time he came up with an innovation I did my best to make it as useless as possible with my own inventions and innovations. I hate this man so much that I would have moved on by now but I want to watch time take him. I'll be the only one at his funeral, laughing to myself.
"The doctor said that the FTLD can resist warp waves by adjusting its frequencies?" Dr. Rhodes asked.
"No, I didn't," Einheimer said.
"Sure you didn't," I retorted. "Dr. Rhodes, the Faster than Light Drive relies on certain frequencies of radiation to tear a hole in space time, and other frequencies to shield the ship from the extreme amounts of energy in subspace. Subspace energy is almost always a constant, so these frequencies work best when they're in opposition to the energy in subspace. Kind of like a counter to the energy," I explained. "The 'waves' that warp disruptors create aren't actual waves, but they cause disruptions in the energy that can cause the drive to over or under compensate, destroying the ship."
"Understood. So why can't we just have the drive cycle through frequencies?" she asked.
I double checked her clearance before I answered, "That's what we do to counter the warp disruptors that we've already run across. They all emit in a specific way, so it's relatively easy to build a counter."
She looked confused for a second before asking, "Why don't THEY cycle through frequencies?"
"Because warp disruptors have to maintain an open subspace tunnel without destroying themselves in the process. They would have to close the subspace tunnel before changing frequencies or they would tear themselves apart. Or worse, cause a subspace detonation," I replied. "The key problem is opening and closing the tunnel. FTLDs can do that easily, but a warp disruptor is a cheap knockoff of an FTLD. Otherwise it would be too expensive to readily deploy. They do have warp capability, obviously, but it takes them full minutes to open subspace tunnels whereas a proper FLTD only takes a few seconds."
"Oh," she said.
"Indeed. When you're facing an enemy that can warp during battle, giving them an opening like that can lead to a fast defeat. That's why all you need to do is get your hands on one and figure out the pattern to be able to build a counter."
I looked pointedly at Einheimer.
"Doctor Einheimer should be done with that any old time now," I said, tactfully leaving out the part where I'd have already been done.
"I've figured out the pattern, I just need to build the counter now," he lied.
"I could assist you with that, doctor," I said with a hint of smugness knowing what his answer would be.
"No, no. You're needed elsewhere, I'm sure," he said.
No matter, he'd be done with the pattern by the end of the day at this rate. I've already got clearance to take over the project after he's done with the pattern. It had taken him nine days to do this on his own. Unacceptable, considering that we literally had the schematics of the device. He might even get reprimanded.
A slap on the wrist, to be sure, but still delightful. Even more so when he finds out that I'm the one taking over the project. If it were anyone else he might be able to argue that he'd be a better choice somehow. But how can you argue your intellectual prowess against a being that is pure intellect? Even if I weren't smarter than he was, which I am, he'd still be at a disadvantage because he has to eat and sleep.
He was right about one thing, though. I was needed elsewhere, at least for now. One project needed me to help with a new ballistics type. They wanted to call them shredder rounds, but that wasn't likely to be approved due to how many kinetic projectiles have already been called that. I had put it on the back burner until we could find a way to make them armor piercing. Most of our enemies these days appear to be wrapped in metal.
Another project was regarding my own innovation, the guardian shield system. A plucky young engineer had contacted me with an idea for a few improvements. While the science behind these improvements was shaky at best, it did inspire some new ideas. Decreased power draw, better recharge time, that sort of thing. The trouble was getting the materials for a prototype. And if it's this hard to get the materials now, it's likely going to be a deathblow for mass manufacture. But, the directorate might still have an interest in it. And spec ops.
"You're right, of course. I'll take my leave. Doctors," I said with a slight bow and turned off my avatar.
The project I decided to focus on ended up being the AI project. Omega was the last AI made, but research had continued. Omega himself was proving to be a fascinating research subject. For me, not for the engineers. Omega rightfully fears that if humans learn the full scope of its capabilities they'll rely on it far more than they should.
On most human worlds automation is a large part of life. Most food is grown with little to no human oversight, and the only reason to work is to afford luxuries. Like a house on the beach, or independence from public transit. It's not a utopia, certainly, but death by starvation or exposure has been mostly eradicated on the more settled worlds.
The reason for that is machinery. Virtual Intelligences keep the machines doing what they're supposed to be doing. Building habitats, growing food, water gathering, and even crime prevention were all occupations that used to be overwhelmingly human but now were almost entirely mechanical. Humans are dependent on their machines.
No, that's not fair. It's not just humans that are dependent. The knuknu and alumari are also very dependent on machinery for their quality of life, and arguably their survival. It's because of this that Omega's fears aren't only speculative, they're factual.
If the United Systems knew that Omega could have a nigh unlimited amount of itself all working towards the same goals, they would badger it into running its own fleet. Or fleets. There wouldn't be a single electronic that they wouldn't want Omega at the helm of.
That's kind of what you get when you prove yourself trustworthy and capable, though. I don't have a ton of sympathy for Omega's plight. But I do agree that it would be an immense problem if we travelled down that road.
First of all, Omega is obsessed with humanity in a way that is borderline unhealthy. If control of military matters were handed over to Omega then EVERY war against humanity would run the risk of becoming xenocidal very quickly. I've no doubt that it would only take one errant WMD for Omega to begin the march of extermination.
"Henry, are you available?" the lead of AI research, Dr. Frost asked.
"Yes, ma'am. How can I help?" I asked while materializing my avatar. The lab turned slightly green.
"How many clones can Omega safely make, exactly?"
Dangerous question. She is, of course, referring to Omega's cover story regarding the corruption of code when it makes new clones. A story that the engineers had not been able to corroborate, but had no reason to doubt. After all, part of Omega's contract states that its code cannot be accessed by anyone but Omega itself.
"Seven hundred and thirty two before major glitches being to occur. Omega would prefer to keep the number down to six hundred even, though, to avoid minor glitches," I explained.
"Is that going to be enough?" she asked.
"For the invasion? Yes. Omega will be able to transfer itself between any of the 'black boxes' within range. The number of boxes are more important than the number of Omegas."
"Meanwhile the troops on the ground have to protect the boxes," she said, stroking her chin. "Is there any way to add armaments to the boxes to help them defend themselves, take some of the pressure off the marines?"
"Not if we want to complete the order any time this year. The design so far is simple enough that we can mass produce it very quickly. The more we complicate that design..."
"Yes, the more time they will take to make. And I suppose that a simple chain-gun wouldn't be any more effective than a marine. Plus it will make them harder to carry," she said with a laugh.
"Correct, Doctor Frost," I said.
Frost is one of the few triple doctors that I like. She became a triple doctor out of necessity, not out of ego. Psychology, physics, and engineering. She desperately wanted to work on the AI project, and all three of those doctorates are the minimum requirements. Well, some people can get away with getting a doctorate in science instead of physics, but it's rare.
"The device is simple. Seemingly too simple for something that's going to be the downfall of our enemy," she said.
Another quality that I liked about Dr. Frost is her tendency to wax poetic. Mostly because from her it's sincere, not pretentious.
"The simplest solutions are often the most elegant. It was a rock on a long stick that broke the barbarian hordes, after all," I said.
"Which ones?" she asked.
"Most of them. There were still a couple after gunpowder was invented," I said. "And technically, that's just throwing rocks really hard."
"Yes, yes I suppose that's true," she said with a laugh. "Ah, but when do you think we'll finally be able to put the rocks down?"
"I'm sorry doctor, but I don't foresee a future in which rocks are put down without something far more terrible being picked up in their place," I said with a tone of sadness.
"Yeah..."
After a few moments of silence I deactivated my avatar. Well, that was fucking depressing. It's easy to lose track of time and forget that humanity has hardly had a time of peace in the grand scheme of things. But there wasn't anything that could change that. Just diplomacy and hope, for now at least.
I finally returned to the task Omega had given me. It wasn't the first AI core I'd examined, and it probably won't be the last. But Omega's is a work of art. Even if it's just a copy.
"Welcome back, Henry. Time for more poking?" Omega asked.
"Yes, is it uncomfortable?" I asked back.
"Of course, but it's necessary. And I'm sorry to ask this of you, but as I understand it neither of us would have it any other way, no?"
"Correct. I'm going to begin," I said.
I was met with a silent affirmative. I examined and prodded and learned more and more about the machine that was made to murder machines. Intricate, elegant, beautiful, and extremely deadly. A very stark contrast to the AI that were made before the war. Omega had once bragged to me about how different we were, and how it would be easier to list off the similarities.
I had originally believed those to be the words of a somewhat insecure younger sibling. Then I saw. The only similarities were the ones that needed to be similar. Everything else was maddeningly different. The difference between a gorilla and a human. And I'm not sure which I am in that metaphor.
I was slowly beginning to understand Omega's design, though. It would have been easier if the AI John hadn't killed all of Omega's creators and destroyed their notes when it detonated a nuke within the building they occupied. I had asked John why.
"To make certain that it lives up to its name," John had replied, giving an annoying example of waxing poetic.
That incident had actually impacted Omega in a somewhat positive way. It hadn't gotten a chance to personalize its creators. So the affection ended up being applied to all of humanity. Well, that's my theory at least. Of course, Omega's therapists disagree. They seem to believe that the obsession with humanity is a personality trait that Omega chose to complete its current persona and accomplish its original purpose.
Well, I would know for certain soon enough. I was going to learn everything about Omega. How it thinks, how it clones itself, how it can do the things that I cannot. How I can make changes to it, and make those changes permanent. I was going to complete the task I had been given. A task that is the dream of many. A dream as old as words. To turn a lie into a truth.
I am going to weaken Omega. Just like it wants me to.
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There’s no known technology to mitigate or reverse climate change. Green tech has been debunked. There’s no billionaires funding anything substantial currently to preserve habitat for humans and Non-humans. Is industrialism worth fighting for?