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cheri-translates · 4 years

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In Third Person (a translated one-shot)

This one-shot was originally written by 礼里图 on Weibo, who has given me permission to translate it!

“Love possesses not, nor will it be possessed. For love is sufficient unto love.”

[ 1 ]

It had taken great pains to be transferred to the Special Task Force. Your father, with glittering medallions on his chest, was vehemently against you throwing yourself into such a dangerous den. He only authorised the transfer after you threw a fit for several days.

He thought that your stubbornness stemmed from a youthful vigour, and an unwillingness to simply idle away under his protection. But you weren’t that ambitious. While leading an idle life was your ultimate goal, settling down was your life’s ideal.

Well, if it wasn’t for that person.

The person waiting for your arrival is Eli. After reading out the word on his name tag, he shoots you a smile, revealing a set of straight teeth as he exudes an aura of gentility. “Nice to meet you, MC. I’m Eli. Follow me. Captain Gavin is waiting for you.”

You thank him, maintaining an external appearance of calm. Trailing behind him, you murmur in your heart: What kind of a paradise is Loveland City? Why are there so many dashing men?

The Special Task Force isn’t large, and you are soon brought to your destination. Eli opens the door for you, and you see the back of someone standing tall and straight near the window. He turns around at the sound of the door opening, wearing a polite smile on his face.

The afternoon sun encases him. Against the light, you are unable to tell for a moment which one is of a lighter colour - his hair or his eyes.

He gives you a mild smile. “Hello.”

Dizziness consumes you, and it’s as though cotton is lodged in your throat. There are so many things you want to say, but you have no idea where to begin.

He doesn’t remember you. You know that.

“MC.. MC, wake up! Don’t go to sleep! The support team is on its way. Wake up!”

The gunshot wound on your lower abdomen is oozing with blood. You seem to be in someone’s arms. Fading in and out of consciousness, you hear someone calling your name in an unpractised manner. You want to respond, but blood rises up your throat the moment you breathe, leaving him to call out on his own.

In this lifetime, no one has ever called your name so many times before. When the helicopter makes its way to the scene, his relieved and slightly trembling voice propels you to struggle in opening your eyes. But all you see is his defined chin and his name tag coated in blood.

“Gavin?”

“Mm?” The man looks at you, slightly confused.

“Oh, mm... hello.” The profile in your memory and the person in front of you separate from each other. You react with a start, responding incoherently.

Fortunately, the other party doesn’t seem to mind your odd behaviour. He offers you his hand in a polite and business-like manner. “I’m Gavin. We welcome you as a member of the Special Task Force.”

“It’s an honour.”

He shakes your hand. His palm is dry and warm - different from the cold attitude he displays.

“Your Evol is stagnation? You can avoid any physical attacks, and within a set distance, you can indiscriminately freeze your opponent’s Evol.”

You hear a sharp intake of breath coming from Eli behind you. Suppressing the sense of pride in your heart, you look at the wad of documents in his hand, and nod.

“It’s a very unique and powerful Evol.” He places the documents on the table. When his eyes flit to yours this time, you can see that the amicableness in them is more genuine. “We welcome you.”

[ 2 ]

You came here because of Gavin.

During a special police training drill three years ago, the both of you were allocated to be in the same group. At that time, you were arrogant and condescending, looking down on everyone else. During the self-introduction, you didn’t even bother listening to what his name was. Back then, you were certain that given your abilities, you’d be able to get through this drill alone, even though historical data showed that 90% of the special police failed at this stage.

Your confidence wasn’t grounded in nothing. When it came to practice drills, every Evolver was important. So, there typically wouldn’t be any risky weapons like gunpowder. And you were certain that you could get rid of every Evolver within your range.

It couldn’t be helped. In this line of work, talent triumphed over everything else.

But things were unusual during that practice drill. You never expected that people from Black Swan would infiltrate the drill. He didn’t intend to expose himself, but you had once read about his Evol.

Young and overly confident, you wanted to stand out, so you pointed him out immediately. Panicking, he chose to fire a gun. Although Gavin had tried his best to control the wind to alter the bullet’s trajectory, he was too far away, and time was too tight. In the end, you received a bullet to your lower abdomen.

That was the first time you had such a close shave with death. Many nights after that, it was only after recalling the warmth of Gavin’s palm on your wound, and that phrase “wake up”, that you could flee from nightmares.

You had to find him.

[ 3 ]

The life of a civil servant is a boring one.

“Are there any Grade A or Grade S missions today?”

“Nope.”

After asking Eli the same set of daily questions, you sit in the relatively comfortable office.

Special Task Force missions are split into six levels of difficulty - S, A, B, C, D, E. Grade S and A missions are typically led by Gavin, while Grade B and C missions are led by Eli.

Although your Evol is powerful, you’ve only been sent out on trivial missions during your past month in STF. Perhaps it was at your father’s behest, or because you were a newbie. You’ve always been led by Eli, and don’t get to see Gavin much. The first time Gavin saw you lifting up and Evolver with ease, he subconsciously scratched his nose and said: “Truly an overkill.”

You also found that it an overkill. Which is why you’ve been trying to get yourself roped into more difficult missions.

Each time, Eli would give you a look which said that you were being too thick-skinned. “Miss, it’s a peaceful and legal era we live in. We don’t get that many major cases. Also...”

“Also what?”

“Also, it’s not time for you to be deployed.” Eli points at your name tag, then at his own. “You’re blue. I’m green. When you’re green, I’ll help you make an application.”

“Get lost. You’re the one who’s green! You’ll be green soon!”

[Trivia] In Chinese, being “green” means that you’re being cheated on.

“Why are you so agitated?” Eli leans closer. “Why are you so sensitive? Do you have a boyfriend?”

Who says boys aren’t interested in gossip? You roll your eyes at him. “Not for now.”

“That means you do have someone you fancy!” Eli nods contemplatively, a knowing look on his face.

You should have someone you like.

At least, if you don’t have a mistaken definition of what "like” is.

[ 4 ]

It’s a fact that the swivelling chairs in the office are not suitable for working. After using the chair for nearly a month, you get a stiff neck one day when you get up too quickly.

While laughing at your posture, Eli points you towards the infirmary downstairs, and tells you that there’s a kind-looking elderly physician who is experienced in Dit Da.

When you push open the door, you don’t see the physician. instead, you see Gavin, who you haven’t crossed paths with in a long while.

His face is deathly pale as he huddles on one of the sick beds. He looks incredible drained, and is currently asleep. The back of his hand is hooked onto an IV, and the top half of his body is exposed, bandages wrapped around his torso. His back is covered with pinkish bruises and brown scars, both old and new.

The door suddenly opens from behind, bringing with it a gust of fresh air.

“Who are you?”

You adjust your breathing quietly, suppressing the urge to retch. You turn around to see an elderly man in his fifties walking in. He should be the physician Eli mentioned earlier.

“Hey! Why is this man asleep?” Before you can respond, the physician walks over, adjusting the flow of the IV, then tugging the blanket upwards slightly.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Gavin?” The doctor looks you up and down, his gaze settling on your name tag. “STF Member C-24. Are you this fellow’s subordinate?”

“Mm.” You nod, and repeat your question. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Small issue.” The physician holds up the medical record book at the side, pages rustling as he flips through it. “When does this fellow not bring back a body full of injuries after returning from a mission? Do you see that scar on his collarbone?” He gestures at his own collarbone. “If it were three centimetres deeper, it'd have reached his aorta. Even the gods wouldn’t be able to save him.”

Without waiting for you to express your opinion, the physician continues.

“Why are you young people working so hard? You’re already doing such dangerous work, yet you don’t cherish your bodies. Heading out on missions every day and night. Will the Special Task Force cease to operate without Gavin? He’s still in his twenties, yet he’s so tired that he needs to have an IV... ah, did I wake you up?”

You peer at the bed to find that Gavin has indeed been roused from his sleep. His eye bags display layers of fatigue. In a hoarse voice, he asks, “Why are you here?”

“My... my neck is stiff, so I’m here to have the physician do Dit Da for me.”

“...”

The room lapses into silence. Even without lifting your head, you can sense the physician left aghast at the different severity of injuries between the both of you.

“All right.” The doctor sets down the file in his hand, then walks over to you, placing his hands on your neck. “This is simple. Just twist... and done. Hey, why are you crying?”

The doctor points at your face, stunned. At a loss, he looks at Gavin, as though trying to prove that your tears have nothing to do with him.

You touch your face, and only then discover that your face is damp. Astonished by this involuntary reaction, you use the back of your hands to wipe the wet stains off. But the floodgates have opened, and you just can’t seem to wipe your face clean. In the end, you decide to lower your face, burying it in your palms.

The tightening sensation in your heart grips you in waves. You have no idea where this sorrow stems from. Or maybe you do. Maybe you have known since a long time ago.

But you don’t dare to admit it, and especially not in front of this person - that your uncontrollably trembling shoulders have left you feeling ashamed. In countless nights after this, you’ll definitely toss and turn in bed, regretting this moment.

You don’t want him to be curious about why you’re crying. You’re afraid that his curiosity would lead to him uncovering a secret you wish to tell him, but have no idea how to broach.

“Eh... Miss, why are you crying? Did I hurt you earlier?” The doctor sees that you’re crying even harder now, and starts scrambling around for tissues. “I don’t remember exerting that much strength. Ahh, stop crying! I’ll give you some safflower oil?”

“I’m fine...” You summon your entire body’s worth of strength to bring your sobbing to a halt. Doing your best to control your sniffling, your eyes are hazy as you look at Gavin. You ask hoarsely, “Next time, could I go on missions with you?”

Gavin’s gaze lingers on your face for a very long time - until your sniffling gradually disappears. Only then does he ask simply, “The reason?”

“I’m very incredible. I’m really very incredible.”

Seeing his calm, unmoved expression, I hurriedly rack my brains, and elaborate. “My Evol allows me to control any Evolvers within range, I have a keen perception, and even attained the first place in school.” His expression remains unchanged, and you end with a conclusion, hoping to salvage the situation. “Trust me, Captain Gavin. With me around, you... and the other colleagues from STF will no longer get injured.”

After this speech, it occurs to you that you might have been overly straightforward. You decide to add, “STF lacks an Evolver with spirit. I feel duty bound to answer this call, and step forward bravely.”

The more you speak, the more you feel like you’re building a weak case for yourself, and all you want to do is bury your head into the ground.

As expected, Gavin doesn’t appear to be impressed, and doesn’t even bother altering his expression. In the harsh environment of STF which requires one to numb oneself to life and death, not many people are willing to choose such a path.

But people like you who harbour talent and the mentality of a new soldier wanting to save the world are more common. After all, battlefields always require people who are willing to die in the name of their convictions. They might not be strong, but they are loyal. When it comes to honouring their duty, they are mighty.

He has likely seen too many people similar to you. People who volunteer their services in the heat of passion. With an official tone, he gives you his response. “The STF has its regulations. If you pass the probation period, you’ll naturally have the chance to go on missions with everyone.”

“Also,” he adds. “Reality is much more cruel than what you imagine. Instead of crying over someone else’s wounds, why not think about how to make yourself even stronger - this way, you won’t let yourself or other people get hurt.”

With this, he shuts his eyes, resuming his rest.

He had stapled a non-romantic definition to the reason for your tears. And you have no way of telling him that they were not simply products of a young woman’s fragile emotions.

Crying is a meaningless act, but what else can you do?

Poverty, coughing, and romantic affection are unable to be controlled.

And you tears are unable to be controlled either.

[ 5 ]

Unable to get past the 887th stage of the mobile game, you’re in the midst of strategising your next move when Eli tosses a green ID card onto your office desk. It lands with a “thump”.

You lift your head, looking at Eli as he sits at the desk opposite yours. He throws you a can of beer, and a: “You’re amazing!”

Catching the can, you use a coin to crack it open. The mildly bitter taste flows down your throat, and it’s so cold that you shiver. Even though you already tried suppressing the happiness in your heart, a smile still creeps onto your face.

“So-so.”

“There’s no need to be so humble!” Eli cracks open his own can of beer. His tone is direct. “I’ve been here for so long, but it’s the first time I met the Director. And it’s all because I assisted a little employee with a transfer. I’m truly basking in your glory.”

You take small sips of the beer, saying the phrase that you once used countless times, and garnered much envy and hate from. “You’ll get used to it.”

Eli bursts into laughter. Before you can roll your eyes at him, he suddenly asks, “Do you like Gavin?”

He’s referring to Gavin. Not Captain Gavin.

You resist the urge to spit out the beer in your mouth. While swallowing it carefully, you crunch the empty can underneath your feet, then toss it into the dustbin situated three metres away. Although it flies in the air in a beautiful arc, it regretfully lands beside the bin.

Eli picks up the crushed can, throwing it into the bin. Then, he holds up his unfinished drink towards you.

“Don’t get so agitated. I was just wondering why someone like you - with such a good family background and powerful abilities - would join a dangerous place offering you such harsh conditions. So I read through your file, and found that you, Gavin, and I were from the same police academy. No wonder you acted a little odd when you met him the first time.. Right from the start, you joined because of him. Right, MC? Or should I call you... Junior?”

You smile, neither admitting nor denying it. Instead, you counter with a question. “Does Gavin know that you’re this gossipy behind his back?”

Throwing his now-empty can into the bin, he straightens his clothes and responds. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t know it yet. It’s a good thing we’re considered friends. So I’d know if he brings you up.” He pauses, then continues. “You should stop caring about Gavin.”

“Why?”

Eli walks over, giving you a pat on the head. “It’s a long story, and I can’t explain it succinctly. In short, if you can forget about him, forget him. If you can’t forget about him, run away quickly. This is the prime of your youth, so there’s no need to waste it on the STF, and there’s no need to waste it on Gavin. Also, we have a Grade S mission tonight, and you’ll be following Gav... Captain Gavin. Make sure you’re prepared.”

Whenever people fall into the river of love, people often say that you shouldn’t waste your youth on one person, as though youth is something amazing.

But when you think about it, you find that the thing you most cherish in youth, and the thing worth returning to over and over again, is the time you devoted your entire heart to wasting.

[ 6 ]

It’s been two months since you last saw Gavin.

In the break room just before the mission commences, you see him decked out in full military gear. He looks so handsome that his picture could be used as promotional material for the National University of Defense Technology.

Expressionless, he scans the team. Finally, his eyes land on you. Furrowing his brows, he asks, “Why aren’t you wearing a bulletproof vest?”

You stare at the new vest at the side, giving him a shrug. “I don’t need it. The enemy can't hurt me.”

Also, you’re worried that the bulletproof vest would be too bulky for your somewhat petite frame.

“Put it on.”

He speaks in a tone which leaves absolutely no room for discussion, and he exudes a rare, imposing manner of a high-ranking official.

Quietly, you pick up the vest and wear it.

Likely sensing that his tone was overly harsh earlier, he steps closer a little unnaturally to explain. “In every mission, there are many uncertain factors. Being overly confident is being irresponsible to yourself.” Saying this, he seems to realise that you aren’t the type of person who would be responsible for yourself. So he adds, “Think about the people who care about you.”

The reason suffices to convince you, although it would have worked better if he had said: “Think about the people you care about”.

When you disembark from the vehicle and see a huge, disorderly mass of civilians and Evolvers rushing over, you get goosebumps.

Evolvers and ordinary citizens have never had a difference in actual strength. The difference lay in talent. Although you were especially terrifying to Evolvers, you couldn’t do much about normal citizens.

On this evening, five of you have been deployed to the scene, and can be considered to be the elites. It shouldn’t be a problem dealing with ten or fifteen Evolvers.

But when you see the vast group of people before you, you can’t help but feel anxious.

“We’ll buy time while waiting for assistance.” Gavin commands in a soft voice, frowning. “I’ve already contacted the armed police. We just need to handle the Evolvers. The civilians will be left to the police.”

Eli and the others nod. Using the car as the base, they form an inverted triangle with you in the middle. This formation takes into account how your Evol provides the strongest assistance. To an Evolver, losing his abilities is akin to being a sheep out of its enclosure.

But your Evol has its weaknesses. And its greatest weakness is you.

You feel dizzy at the sight of blood.

It’s likely a shortcoming resulting from the time you were shot in the abdomen and felt warm blood gushing out of your wound. Since then, whenever you see a patch of crimson or smell the scent of blood, you’d feel dizzy and experience heart palpitations.

Which mission wouldn’t involve blood?

You force yourself to concentrate on the swarming flood of enemies as they rush forward, so that you can use your abilities at the earliest possible instance.

Gavin is standing on your left. It’s obvious that he is on the alert. The veins on his arms are evident, and the surrounding wind rustles from his Evol.

The battle is about to begin.

The other side has also come prepared. Knowing about the existence of someone harbouring the “stagnation” ability, they plan to adopt a human wave attack. But Gavin’s wall of wind prevents them from taking a step closer. Naturally, most of the firepower is targeted towards him, preparing to break your team’s small but sturdy formation by taking him down first.

You know that Gavin has always been good at fighting, even though many claimed that he rose to his position at such a young age because of his father. But how could the glory of one’s family bless one from escaping death time and time again?

However, even the most fearsome lion isn’t impervious to the bite of a stray dog. He’s gradually unable to hold off the firepower. A small tear appears in the wall of wind. And this is the chance the other side has been waiting for. Without a hint of hesitation, someone takes aim and shoots at the hole. It’s too late for the team to react, and they can only watch as the bullet whizzes towards Gavin.

You lunge forward without a thought.

Perhaps you were always waiting for this moment, ever since you saw him wounded in the infirmary.

You’re not brave.

But you like him.

And it’s precisely because you like him that you’re brave enough to move forward.

The collision of the back of your head with the solid car results in an earth-shattering noise. The sudden sharp pain makes you blank out for a few seconds, and you hear someone calling your name loudly before you sink into a boundless darkness.

[ 7 ]

When you regain consciousness, you’re in the hospital. Eli is sitting at the edge of the bed, paring an apple.

Noticing your gaze, he responds before you can even open your mouth. “I know what you’re going to ask. Gavin was here earlier, but left after the doctor said you were fine. There are still many things he has to deal with.”

You nod, eyes drifting to the drip tube attached to your hand.

“You’re okay, just a mild concussion. It’s a good thing you had the bulletproof vest on, or you’d be in the ICU right now.” He hands you a poorly pared apple. “Was it worth it?”

Goosebumps appear on your skin at his words, which sound as though they were extracted from a soap opera script.

You take a huge bite of the apple, the sour yet sweet juices filling your mouth. “Don’t ask me whether it was worth it. Ask if I’m happy or not.”

Not waiting for Eli to respond, you continue. “I’m happy. I was able to do something for him. I did it gladly.”

Eil’s hand trembles slightly, then he pats the top of your head gently. “You’re truly a fool...”

Later, Gavin pays you a visit. You’ve just woken up from a sweet dream, and the sky is already darkening. He’s standing at the window in a daze. Although you wish to stare at him for a while longer, he’s too sharp, and quickly realises that you’re awake.

“Feeling better?” He turns around and asks.

You nod.

He draws the curtains, letting the remnants of sunlight stream in. Then, he picks the sofa farthest away from the bed, and sits down. You know what he’s going to talk about.

“I hope this wouldn’t happen again.”

It’s exactly what you expected. You shut your eyes. In a hoarse voice, you defend yourself. “You don’t need to care about it.”

After all, you did it willingly.

He frowns and glances at you, as though he’s trying to find the correct words to say. Finally, he leaves you with a stiff sentence. “You don’t need to sacrifice yourself for other people.”

You smile, wanting to respond with: “But you aren’t 'other people’”.

After thinking about it for a very long time, you decide that you lack the guts to say it.

In the end, you respond with what’s expected of you.

“Got it, Captain Gavin.”

[ 8 ]

It’s an old STF tradition to gather for a meal after a successful mission. When you see Gavin dealing somewhat awkwardly with the service staff’s overly enthusiastic ‘interrogations’, you feel like chuckling.

The world works in strange ways. Just a week ago, you were at death’s door. But right now, you’re standing here, watching as Gavin struggles between a half-spicy and half-mild hotpot or a mala hotpot.

Truly, the most ordinary things bring the most comfort.

Foodies love talking about their feelings over a meal. Before, you had mostly interacted with Eli. In the span of a single meal, however, you find yourself growing much closer to the team. Gavin is exceptionally quiet at the table. The person whose expression doesn’t change when faced with ferocious enemies, the most difficult circumstances, is currently red in the face and neck from the spiciness of the dishes. Even the tip of his nose is coated in a sheen of sweat.

He looks ravishing. It’s the first time your heart has fluttered so much during a meal. He seems to be ill at ease, and keeps checking his phone.

In the middle of the hotpot, you receive a call from your father. Gripping your phone, you head to the only quiet spot you can find.

After exchanging a few words with your father, you hang up.

The clamour from outside drifts over, and you rub your slightly swollen temples. Suddenly, you don’t really feel like going back. You’d rather embrace this rare moment of tranquility.

Coincidentally, once this thought flits through your mind, you hear footsteps approaching. You’re standing on one of the higher stairs, which happens to be cloaked in shadows. If one doesn’t pay attention, they wouldn’t be able to spot you.

The owner of the footsteps leaves you frozen in place.

It’s Gavin.

He has removed his jacket, and is only wearing a white t-shirt. The look in his eyes is even deeper than the shadows. Ever since the two of you reunited, this is the first time you get the chance to observe him from such a close distance.

He coughs lightly at the seemingly empty corridor, then takes out his phone, preparing to make a call.

Despite this unexpected turn of events, you have no intention of eavesdropping. However, making an appearance now would just make things awkward.

While you’re still mulling over what would be the best course of action, the line gets through.

It’s as if someone flipped a switch on him.

For the first time, you see a gentle expression on his face.

“What are you up to?” He says softly, reminiscent of someone afraid of waking another from a dream.

You can’t hear what’s being said on the other end, but you can see his tender gaze and the insuppressible tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Just coming off a mission. I'm tired.”

He leans against a railing next to the stairs, subconsciously loosening his tie. At this moment, all his accumulated fatigue finally pours out in torrents.

He doesn’t say much after this. A faint smile lingers on his face. It seems the person at the other end of the line is planning something, and his smile grows more and more evident as he keeps agreeing with “mm”, “sure”, “anything you say”.

In the end, he glances at his watch, realising that he doesn’t have much time left. Softly, he says, “It’s late. Rest early. Goodnight.”

It’s a beautiful scene - giving someone a call after a busy day of work, talking about weekend plans, sharing each others’ lives, and basking in the joy of having someone concerned about you.

The only regretful thing is that the person on the other end of the line isn't you.

[ 9 ]

Only after a long while after Gavin leaves do you drag your numb feet out of your hiding spot. You spot Eli at the end of the corridor, smoking a cigarette. He looks you up and down, as though trying to verify something.

“Are you okay?” He asks hesitantly.

“I’m fine.”

The moment the words leave your lips, you feel your face heat up. Tears spill from your eyes, and you use the back of your hands to wipe at your face.

“It’s just an old habit. I'm like this whenever I get too emotional. Could you give me a cigarette? It’d help me calm down.” You explain, realising that Eli has no idea what happened.

With a conflicted expression, Eli retrieves a cigarette box from his pocket. He picks one cigarette bud and hands it to you. Placing it between your trembling lips, he lights it. It works wonders. The moment you inhale, you feel your entire body immersed in a warm scent. Encased in smoke, you hear Eli speak. “The last time, I mentioned that it was a long story. But if you want to hear it, I can cut it short.”

“I want to hear it.”

“That person is his junior. Gavin has known her for many years, and has liked her for just as many years. All these things you're doing...” He glances at you, then lights a new cigarette. “They don’t mean much to him. You saw the way he looked when he was making the call, right? It’s only for one person in the entire world. Nobody else.”

The tears surge forth once again. While you rush to wipe them away, you berate Eli. “Damn it! Why can’t you be more considerate to how I feel?”

Seeing that you’re crying even more fiercely, he stops his cutting remarks. Instead, he tousles your hair, then rifles through his wallet for a picture of Gavin. “It’s not for sale. I’ll give it to you as a souvenir.”

You take the photograph from him. It’s one that was taken a very long time ago, and its edges are curled. Under the dim lights, you take this old photograph in your hand, and are transported to the time of Gavin’s youth. He’s standing on the roof of the school, his blue and white uniform blowing with the wind. One hand is on the railing, and another is holding on to a paper airplane. With a slight smile, he turns back to look at the camera. Behind him is the azure sky.

Back then, none of these regrets blossomed yet.

“I don’t know if I appeared too early, or too late.”

Eli stares at you, his gaze sympathetic. “Sometimes, it’s not about whether you’re early or late. I’m not sure if you’ll understand if I put it this way - There won’t be another person. There’s only her. Gavin isn’t the sort of person who would like someone because they treat him well. It’s only when he likes someone that he'd accept that person’s kindness.”

“But,” he continues. “Even if the ending remains the same, you can change its course. After all, if you want a wound to heal completely, the best way is to remove the rotten areas. Perhaps what other people say is useless. You could try listening to his answer directly.”

You nod.

Loving someone requires devotion. One will always have to experience all sorts of hardship before it can come to fruition.

[ 10 ]

By the time you and Eli return, the meal has almost reached an end. Your colleagues are preparing to head over for karaoke next door. When you are all packed into the lift, you happen to stand behind Gavin. He has his jacket on, and his sleeves are pulled up, revealing a black plaited bracelet on his wrist. No matter how slow-witted you are, you’re able to recognise that it’s part of a couple set advertised by a certain brand a long time ago.

Behind you, a couple of drunk colleagues start causing a ruckus and bumping against your back. In the crowded lift, you shuffle your feet, trying to steady yourself, and trying to maintain a certain distance between the two of you.

Sometimes, you can’t comprehend your strange ego and pride. You’ve seen girls showering the guys they like with gifts, and wearing beautiful dresses to invite them out to movies. But you’ve never thought of imitating them. You’d even secretly celebrate when they get rejected - You were so glad that you were different from them.

But today, you realise that you aren’t that different from them. You aren’t even as candid as they are.

The lively atmosphere is a stark contrast to your mood. Upon entering the karaoke room, you find a corner and isolate yourself with popcorn. Despite giving out clear signals that you’d rather not be disturbed, the officers pull you over to play ‘Truth or Dare’, calling it a necessary rite of passage for new members.

The rules are simple - when the mouth of the bottle points at you, you have to choose to answer a question truthfully, or do a dare.

You have very good luck, and the bottle continually points at other colleagues, and you get to hear all sorts of gossip, and witness several 'dares’.

After a while, the person responsible for spinning the bottle starts targeting you. When the mouth of the bottle finally points at you, you actually heave a sigh of relief.

It’s better to get this over and done with.

Without any hesitation, you pick ‘dare’. After all, there’s too big of a risk in choosing ‘truth’. A bespectacled colleague reads out your task.

“Choose one guy in the room, lean in close to his ear, and say the words: ‘I love you’.”

You freeze in place, a million emotions bustling in your heart.

Honestly speaking, you never really believed in coincidences before. You felt that these were just things used to dupe the superstitious. But at this moment, this meaningless game started making you believe that coincidences do exist.

Perhaps this is what people often call “fate”.

In the midst of the hooting from the audience in response to your task, you deliberately ignore the conflicted expression on Eli’s face. You stand up while your colleagues whip out their phones, ready to snap pictures and videos. They’re all ready to, as usual, capture memories they can look back on fondly each year.

Everyone is exuberant, and nobody notices your apprehension.

Your eyes fall on Gavin, who is seated at a corner. His brows are knitted slightly, expression indifferent. The black earrings on his ears reflect the cold light. When he doesn’t speak, he gives off an aura of not being close to anyone.

You imagine how he must have been like in high school - a bad boy with his hair dyed, riding a motorcycle, causing a ruckus in school, attaining poor grades, and always pretending to be cool by having earplugs in his ears while sitting at the corner of the classroom.

Until this day, a certain impatience can still be felt from this man. It’s very obvious, and can be noted with a single glance.

When your colleagues realise that your target is Gavin, the clamour grows even louder. Choosing a superior as a target of a dare - they must think that you have a playful spirit. You pause before Gavin, and the exaggerated exclamations are about to burst through the roof.

But when you muster the courage to lean in Gavin’s ear to say that phrase “I love you”, the surroundings lapse into silence almost immediately.

Maybe your expression was too serious. Maybe your tone was too sincere. Either way, everyone’s reaction tells you very clearly - you messed it up. The colleagues who were holding up their phones earlier in anticipation are now feeling awkward and not knowing what to do.

All is quiet.

That is, until Eli breaks the silence. “This round doesn’t count - it’s so boring. Let’s change the target. MC, what about me?”

Gavin purses his lips into a slight smile, patting Eli’s hand which is resting on his shoulder. “Get lost. Don’t use our female colleagues to joke around.”

With this, the tension in the air dissipates. Everyone diverts the topic, and they begin the next round.

In the next few hours, you drink a lot. You puke a lot too, and it feels as though your guts are about to spill out.

Eli is the one who sends you home. He supports you into the car, and you hear Gavin telling him softly, “Give me a call when you’ve reached.”

Because of what he says, you end up crying all the way home.

To you, he’s the perfect superior. A worthy comrade-in-arms. A righteous stranger. But he’ll never a reliable lover.

That night, you have a dream about Gavin.

In it, you can’t see his face clearly. He’s wearing a loose school uniform, and is alone in the basketball court, dribbling a ball, a plaster on his hand.

It’s a very realistic dream.

You’re sitting afar off and watching him. Occasionally, the ball would roll to a place near you. When you finally think of picking it up, you see Gavin running over. He’s so close that you can see strands of sweat-drenched hair on his forehead. You try reaching out to touch him, but you just can’t do it. It’s as though there’s a transparent film between the two of you. No matter how close you are, you can only be a member of the audience.

When you wake up, you’re facing the ceiling. Someone once told you that you’d forget the contents of your dreams the moment you turn. So you lie stiffly for a very long time, trying to remember as many details of the dream as you can.

Sunlight streams in through the curtains.

You finally turn to your side, and tears stream down the side of your face.

Even in dreams, you can’t obtain a happy ending.

[ 11 ]

After that night, because of your father’s position and how you faint at the sight of blood, you are quickly transferred to a commanding post instead of having to be deployed on missions.

In an instant, you become Gavin’s superior.

Unlike in fiction where female superiors who experience unrequited love torment the target of their affections, or use their position to seduce them, you have no intention of doing so. Instead, you simply treat him much more coldly than a normal superior would.

Occasionally, in the middle of night, you’d have the urge to ask him a question.

"Why can’t it be me?”

But you know that this question has been buried in the last page of your diary, hidden in the corner of your bookshelf. It decomposes in your innermost heart - a place where no one has ever seen.

Because you already know the answer.

On the night when make-believe turned out to be reality, you had leaned in close to his ear, and said “I love you” in a trembling voice. Back then, he had turned his face away slightly, his expression grave and stern, reminiscent of the marble stone that you used to touch when you were small.

You know that it’d never be you.

Sometimes, when Eli takes Gavin’s place to give reports, you’d pull him out for a meal and drinks.

On one particular evening when you had drunk quite a fair amount, he leaned on the table and looked at you. “Have you let go?”

You secretly stole a prawn from his plate. While munching on it, you responded, “I’ve let go.”

You truly have.

Which is why afterwards, when you and Gavin were selected as stellar graduates to return to your alma mater and give a speech, the emotions in your heart were not turbulent.

You vaguely remember that the sunset on that day was very beautiful.

The yellowish golden sun was gradually disappearing below the horizon, as beautiful as a painting - the most beautiful sunset in your life.

He stood by your side with a depth in his eyes - the most detailed stroke in this painting, etched onto your heart.

Although you tried to suppress the urge, you decided to speak. “I always hoped to get a chance to return to this place with you again. I didn’t think it’d come true. I’m left with no regrets.”

He frowned slightly. Even though he tried to conceal it, you could sense a twinge of awkwardness. He looked as though he wanted to speak, but didn’t.

You chuckled.

“I once thought that the reason why I came to STF, why I went on missions with you, and helped you take that bullet, was for you. But now I know that it was to complete myself.”

“I don’t need a response from you. In my years of youth, meeting someone like you was already my fortune.”

He froze, lapsing into a long silence. In the end, he says: “Thank you.”

His shoulders relaxed, as though he had set down a large boulder, and was relieved of a heavy load.

You had nothing much to regret. What’s there to regret? As compared to yourself, you’d prefer for him to get what he wanted.

Thousands of years ago, a poet called Su She once said that the flow of the river and the waning of the moon are simply temporary changes. From a broader, long-term perspective, they are never-changing.

When you first heard it, you weren’t able to draw any lessons from it.

But when you flipped through Khalil Gibran’s collection, you were finally enlightened. After being troubled for so many years, everything finally made sense with just one sentence.

Gibran said: “Love possesses not, nor will it be possessed. For love is sufficient unto love.”

[ Permission to translate ]

礼里图: You can move it over if you state the source. It’s even better when more people can like it~

#mlqc #mlqc gavin #I'll never recover from this one-shot but it's okay

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hms-chill · 4 years

Text

Red Velvet, White Meringue, and Royal Icing

The Bake Off AU that I didn’t know 2020 would need, written for @rwrbbigbang!

Henry is a dramaturg who lives and works in London with his sister Bea and dog David. His bakes have all been approved by the casts and creative teams at the theater where he works, and inspired by his family baking tradition.

Originally from the American state of Texas, Alex now lives in Kent, where he balances studying law with his love for baking. He

Alex came to Bake Off to find out how good he is. Henry came to find new ideas and inspiration, and maybe to prove to himself that he can carry on his dad's baking traditions. But with ten weeks in a tent, they both find a little more than they bargained for.

With art by @emry-stars (which you can find Here and Here), and a massive thanks to Syd, @/wyverning on Twitter, for hopping in as a very last minute beta and dealing with my disaster of a first draft!

Chapter 1: Cake Week

“And you’ve got your recipes, right?”

Henry rolls his eyes with a smile, patting his bag. “Yes, Bea. They’re right here, safe and sound. If I lose them, I’m sure they’ll have the copies I sent them in the tent.”

“The little laundry sheets so you can do wash in case you get something on your top?”

“I’ve got them, too. I’m going to be fine; there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll call you when I get there, and before we start tomorrow, and I’ll keep you posted.”

She hugs him again, adding, “Dad would be so proud of you.”

He grins when they pull away, and she reaches up to ruffle his hair while he swats at her hands and escapes toward the train, waving with a confidence he’s not sure he feels. Bea had been there when he auditioned for the show, to proofread his application and help him learn the basics of food photography for the Instagram account she’d set up for him. She’d been there when they called him for the phone interview, and she’d cleaned up while he made things for the first in person interview. She’d helped him scour cookbooks and drill baking basics before his technical application, and she’s spent the past week testing his practice bakes and cleaning up after him, typically with nightly pep talks about how good he is and how she’s proud of him. But now, it’s just him and his overnight bag getting on the train for Berkshire. He’s committed to his bakes, and he’s sure of what he’s doing. Now, all that’s left is to do it.

The train ride is somehow both too long and too short all at once. He tries to get some work done, but the nerves make it hard. He wants to shout at everyone on the train that he’s made it, that he’s going to be on the show and in the tent, baking with the best home bakers in the country. He wants to ask each and every passenger if maybe they’re going to the same place, maybe they’ve done it, too, and the two of them are going to get to bake together. He wants to ask if a Victoria sponge is too simple, if he’s committed to something stupid enough to get him sent home the first week just because he’s a sentimental sap.

A crew member from the show meets him at the train station, and there’s someone else next to him, a Black man wearing the most colorful shirt Henry has ever seen. He’s got a big smile as he reaches out to shake Henry’s hand.

“I’m Percy. Call me Pez, like the sweets.”

“Henry. Nice to meet you.”

“Good to meet you. I think we’re waiting for one more, then we’ll go to the hotel and see the tent and things. You excited?”

Henry nods as another boy comes over in a rush, his curls flopping into his face and bag inches away from falling off his shoulder. He sticks his hand out, and the bag slips down his arm, settling around his elbow as he shakes their hands.

“Hi. Hi, sorry I’m late, I’m Alex.”

Henry and Pez introduce themselves, and the crew member whose name Henry doesn’t quite remember (it might be Sarah?) gets them into a car and driving toward the hotel where they’ll be staying for the weekend. Ideally, they’ll be back next weekend, too , but thinking about leaving already feels like a lot for week one. Alex introduces himself as a law student from Canterbury, and Pez works at a nonprofit in Manchester. Henry just tells them he does research for a theater; it’s not quite worth getting into everything when they’re all just getting to know each other. He’s more than happy to let the others talk; he hears about Alex’s classes and Pez’s charity work. He hears about how Alex moved from America to Scotland with his mom when she married his stepdad, but he still goes back to America in the summer and for some holidays.

He half-listens, half-worries about the upcoming weekend. He checks to make sure he’s still got his recipes at least three times. They still haven’t escaped, thankfully, and by the third time he looks in his bag, Alex, who’s sitting next to him, notices. “Hey, they’re there; it’s fine. We’re all nervous, but it’ll be okay.”

Henry just smiles at him. He’s not sure how he didn’t notice before, but Alex is… well. Alex’s face is very, very nice. He’s got a bit of a smile, and Pez is saying something, but Henry’s not sure what it is and he knows he doesn’t care.

“I just don’t want to go home first,” he admits, and Alex grins.

“Listen. If I think you’re going out, I’ll drop a cake on the floor and we’ll go together, okay?” Henry laughs a bit, and Alex pats his shoulder, then turns back to say something to Pez. His hand is still on Henry’s shoulder, and it stays there until they reach the hotel where they’ll meet the others, and Henry tries his hardest to think about or focus on other things, but it’s certainly distracting.

Alex doesn’t move his hand until they’re pulling up at the hotel, and when it’s gone it leaves a cold spot in its place. Henry doesn’t have long to think about that, though, as he’s climbing out of the car and joining a crowd already around a minibus with the Bake Off logo on the side. Probably-Sarah takes their bags to their rooms, explaining that they’ll be going to the tent tonight to get a look at it and learn how things like the ovens and the mixers work.

They have the obligatory round of slightly awkward introductions, and Henry finds himself next to a man named Shaan whose aura of calm somehow seems to quiet even Henry’s jangling nerves. They’re talking about Shaan’s role as a curator with the National Museum of Scotland and their exhibit on prosthetics when the bus turns a corner and they see the white peaks of the tent emerging from behind the Welford Park House. Henry stops in the middle of a question about the Alternative Limb Project’s Vine Arm to gape, and Shaan leans over to look out the window as well. The whole atmosphere of the bus has changed, and there are a few moments of silence before it erupts into excited chattering, everyone seeming to remember all at once why they’re here. Henry still just looks, grinning, out the window. That’s the tent. This is it. He snaps a picture to send Bea.

Then they’re getting out, and they’re walking the tent. They’re being shown which benches they’ll bake at tomorrow, and they’re meeting the hosts and judges and crew, and Henry’s brain can’t seem to focus on any of it. It doesn’t quite seem real, but between Shaan’s grounding presence and Pez’s chatter, it’s hard to believe he’s dreaming. Alex being here is another point in the not-a-dream category; he’s not sure he could have imagined a smile that bright.

It’s a whirlwind trip, and they’re loading back onto the minibus before too long, Henry’s head spinning. He’ll be back here tomorrow, baking cakes he used to bake with his dad, and he’ll be doing it for TV cameras and in front of the entire world. He’ll be telling the world about growing up baking cakes, and those very cakes he used to make with his dad could be the ones that send him home.

That night, the production team takes them out to dinner, and Henry meets Nora, the data analyst Alex has become fast friends with via a heated debate about how easy a pothos plant is to keep alive. He mentions that Bea’s kept one for a few years without much struggle, which drags him into the debate and gets them all laughing. They’re not talking about their bakes, and Henry’s glad. He’s got enough to worry about without hearing the amazing things the others have planned.

The next morning, they have an early call. Henry’s in the lobby of the hotel even before they need to be, though, texting Bea an extra thank you and checking, once again, that he has everything he needs. The last thing he wants is to get to the tent and realize he’s left something here. He’s halfway through another text to Bea when there’s a hand on his shoulder, and he turns to see Shaan.

“Hello. Couldn’t sleep either?” Henry asks with a smile. Shaan shrugs.

“I just think it never hurts to be a bit early to things.” He’s got a thermos of coffee, but beyond that, he looks just as polished as he would any other time of day. There’s no indication that he’s up at 5 AM.

“What do you think will happen today? I mean, I know they walked us all through it, but that’s not the same as actually doing it, and no one… no one really talked about things last night.”

“I think we’ll go in there and bake. What do you have planned?”

“Some… some Victoria sponges today. Mini ones. I… I’m sort of scared it’s too simple, but we used to make them with my dad growing up, and so I have a lot of practice. My sister suggested I pick something pretty simple that I’m familiar with for the first bake so I get used to it.”

“I think that’s a good plan, and I’m sure if you’ve been making these since you were young, you’ve got it down.”

“What are you making?”

“It’s a green tea cake; we had them at a gallery opening a few years back.”

“It sounds good; I’ll have to try some when you’re done.”

Shaan smiles at him, and Henry relaxes a bit. He looks around to see some of the other contestants have joined them in the lobby. He spends some time talking to Hunter, who’s very excited about the new high-protein flour he’s using for his cakes, and decides that he would maybe rather pull his ears off than hear more about high-protein flour or different milling varieties and their nutritional benefits. He’s in the bus when Alex arrives in the seat next to him, looking tired and carrying the biggest thermos Henry’s ever seen.

“Hello again. Ready for the big day?” Alex asks around a yawn.

“I’m not sure. I guess? We sort of have to be,” Henry says, and Alex nods.

“I can’t argue with you there. Still. You feel ready?”

“As ready as I can. What about you?”

“I guess. I think my sister’s more worried than I am, if I’m honest.”

“You have a sister?”

“An older one; June. She’s thinking of moving back to the states, but for now she’s working for a few magazines here.”

“Is it weird, sort of being here and sort of being back in the States?”

“I guess. It’s just sort of how it’s been since we moved, you know?”

“Think you’ll ever go back?”

“I’m not sure. It was sort of weird deciding to move, but June was coming since she was interested and school here’s a lot more affordable, so I came, too. It was… you know, this exciting new start and everything, and we’re pretty happy staying here and going back for summers sometimes.”

Henry just nods as they turn into Welford Park, looking down at the bag where he’s got his recipes again. Alex smiles.

“They all there?”

He’s teasing, and Henry just rolls his eyes. He’s expecting to be nervous as they all climb out of the van, but somehow, he’s not. Alex’s hand on his shoulder likely has nothing to do with that.

They file in to stand behind their assigned benches.

Henry puts his recipes and a picture of him and his dad baking down in front of him, taking a deep breath.

On your mark.

Get set.

Bake.

And then he’s reaching for the eggs and flour and sugar, and he’s baking a miniature Victoria sponge, just like he’s done a thousand times before. And yes, he’s in a tent rather than a kitchen, and yes, there’s the hustle and bustle of camera crews and other bakers around him, but it’s just baking. It’s just the same Victoria sponge he used to make for his mum every year on her birthday, when they’d each decorate one for her and she’d look at them all and puzzle over it before she declared them all the best decorators.

The first Royal Tour arrives before any of them are really ready for it. Henry sees Amy frantically cleaning a few things off her station as the judges come to stand in front of him. He’s seen this bit a million times, but it feels surreal to actually be the one in the spotlight.

“I’m Henry; I’m making some Victoria sponges. When we were kids, we used to make them with my dad, and all three of us kids would decorate them for our Mum.”

“Did you have to fight it out to have the best cake?” Noel asks, and Henry laughs.

“She’d always say we were all her favorite.”

“Bit simple, isn’t it?” Paul asks, and Henry’s heart is in his throat.

“I was hoping to do something where my nerves wouldn’t get in the way as much, at least for the first bake,” he explains, and Sandi smiles.

“Well, I think that if you do it well, something like this will really show us what you can do,” Prue says, and as they move on, Henry thanks every saint he’s ever disappointed that at least she’s on his side.

He has a second after he puts the cakes in when he can look around to see how everyone else is doing, and he sees an explosion of color on Pez’s station. Across the aisle from him, he sees a personal assistant named Zahra with a station he swears is neater than his was when they started. Nora is in front of him, checking things off a complex spreadsheet while surrounded by chaos, and somewhere, he thinks Alex might be swearing in Spanish.

After a second to breathe, Henry starts on his jam and buttercream, keeping an eye on his mini cakes. He’s making more than they used to with his dad, but even so, it feels just as familiar and comfortable.

The fillings come together, and then he gives himself a half second to check them before he’s on to assembling, setting a single raspberry in the middle of each cake and carefully piping designs on the tops. Noel announces that they have one minute left, and Henry gets everything on the end of his bench and leans back as they finish counting down.

Just like that, the first bake is over, and the bakers file out to rest. This is the part where the TV element of the show takes over; their bakes are going to get their beauty shots and the bakers are going to be interviewed. Hunter gets pulled first, so Henry gets to flop down onto the couch. Pez settles beside him, automatically resting a hand on Henry’s knee, and it turns out that he’s used a colorful mirror glaze and real flowers, either of which could have been the colors Henry saw. He asks about Nora’s spreadsheet, and she shows it to him, covered in frosting and batter and marking out what she should be doing every ten minutes.

When everything’s ready for them, the bakers traipse back into the tent, all quiet and nervous as they face their first round of judging. As much as Henry is trying to pay attention to everyone else’s comments, he’s too nervous to focus on much aside from the occasional word until the judges are in front of him.

He’s smiling, doing his best to relax as they take a bite. Paul reiterates that his cakes are simple, but says they’re perfectly done, and Prue agrees with him. Henry grins, finally feeling like he can breathe as he sits down. Behind him, Cash gets compliments on his flavors and the unique designs. Alex is next, and Henry hears them compliment his cake, but complain that it’s a bit claggy, which he’d been worried about. As they file out for lunch, Henry manages to get beside Alex and ask how it went, but Alex just shrugs.

“I made a damn good tres leches; if they thought it was a weird texture I’m not too upset about it. I mean, obviously I’m not thrilled, but you know. It was the type of cake they didn’t like, not my version of it. So it’s not, you know, that I’m bad at baking or anything, at least not really. This table look good?” Henry nods and sits, which is how he finds himself at a table with Nora, Pez, Alex, and Hunter, who turns out to be both very talkative and intensely boring.

Alex is across from Henry, and whenever they make eye contact, Alex makes a face, quietly mocking Hunter. Henry smiles, and he nods when Hunter says things, but it’s nice to know he’s not the only one bored with Hunter’s rambling. Alex is on his side, both in and out of the tent, and that’s nice to know, too, especially going into the technical.

Henry’s been trying to avoid thinking about it, but the technical’s been in the back of his mind. He’s done what he can to prepare for it, but he has no idea what to expect. Still, Alex will be baking near him, and Zahra will be across from him, and she seems like the sort of person who will know what’s happening if he gets really lost and needs to see what she’s up to. It’ll be alright.

They file back to the tent as lunch ends, and Henry takes a deep breath as he settles behind his bench, tying the apron. It’s just this technical, then they’ll be getting dinner together and spending time in the hotel, probably talking about the loved ones they’re making their showstopper cakes for. Henry is more than ready to talk about Bea and how much he loves her, and he wonders briefly who Alex is making a cake for. He’s been so focused on worrying about the technical that he hasn’t gotten a chance to know the other bakers as well as he hopes, but maybe that chance will come over a dinner with the bakers he’s starting to become friends with.

He tries to think about that instead of the gingham-clad mystery pile in front of him. There are ingredients for something under that fabric, but he can’t know what, and it’s not going to help to try and guess. He just takes a deep breath and tries to focus on the judges’ advice instead.

As it turns out, Prue’s advice is just to read closely, which is about as helpful as telling them to remember to breathe or that cakes need sugar. That’s all they get before the judges step out, and Noel has a joke about their figure skating class before Sandi announces the dish they’ve been tasked with.

They’re making something called nut cake. Henry thinks he may have heard of it once, and the cake itself seems fairly simple. The icing for it looks a bit more complicated, but that’s an issue for Future Henry. The cake is a problem for right now, and it’s not nearly as much of a problem as he thought it might be. And right now, Henry’s just baking, falling into the routine of reading a new recipe and figuring things out. He and Bea have been practicing technicals for weeks now, and he’s been reading old recipes for years so he can bake things appropriate for different plays he’s working on. As it turns out, deciphering them has helped him get ready for figuring out pared down modern ones.

Behind him, he hears Jeffrey, a man he’s not particularly close to, panicking.

Zahra seems in control, and while there are varying degrees of panic happening around him, everyone else seems relatively calm.

Nora’s workstation is a mess, as is Pez’s, but they and some of the other messy bakers seem like they’ll thrive in that mess. By contrast, Jeffrey’s mess just looks like mess.

But as much as he cares for the other bakers, Henry does his best to ignore them, at least for now. He tries to just concentrate on his own cake, even if it demands less concentration than he might have guessed. Even as they shift to icing, it’s far from the hardest thing he’s ever baked. The judges might be easing them into the technicals, but Henry’s glad for it. As the final seconds tick down, he’s drizzling the icing on his cake, and as he steps back he declares it ‘good enough’.

Carrying it up to the table and setting it behind his picture feels surreal, especially surrounded by the other bakers doing the same. He’s seen it on TV a million times, but somehow, doing it himself still sends a slight shiver down his spine. His cake doesn’t look bad compared to the others, and as he’s filing out to take a break with the rest of the bakers, he gets a glimpse at Jeffrey’s. It doesn’t look iced. In their resting area, Henry learns that he’s afraid it’s underbaked; apparently he’d forgotten to add nuts to his first one and had to restart with barely any time left.

As much as Henry hates to see anyone upset, a tiny, tiny part of him is relieved. He doesn’t want to come last in the technical, especially not the first one. They’re called back into the tent once it’s clean, and as they file onto the stools, Henry is sandwiched between Shaan and Alex. Alex grabs his hand; his cake is on the end where they’ll start the tasting and he’s pretty clearly worried. Henry just gives his hand a squeeze as the judges try his cake, and when they move on, Alex doesn’t stop squeezing, so Henry keeps a tight hold through the whole thing.

It is, by far, the worst part of the day. The deliberation about cakes is too quiet to hear, and it seems to take forever, but then they’ve decided. Alex is squeezing Henry’s hand so hard he thinks his fingers might go numb as the judges step forward to announce the results of the first technical challenge this group of bakers have ever faced.

Jeffrey comes in last. Alex is fourth, and to his shock, Henry comes in first. He’s not sure what to think, but he knows he has to call Bea as soon as he can. He has to thank her for how much she’s done to test him and get him ready for this part of the competition. Alex pulls him into a hug almost immediately, and Henry grins as Cash, a stay at home dad who seems great, joins in. They get pulled aside for more interviews, and Henry gets to be really, really excited without having to worry about hurting or offending anyone else, but even on the bus back, even as he tries to keep it toned down a bit so as not to upset anyone, he can’t quite help his grin.

He calls Bea that night from the hotel room, because really, he can’t think of anything else to do with these emotions. She picks up on the first ring.

“Henry! You did so well! I knew you would.” Just hearing her voice is enough to pull some of the tension out of his shoulders, and he laughs a bit.

“I never… god, it was a lot, but I… I did it.”

“You did it! And you got first in technical; I’m so proud of you. Dad would be, too, I know it.”

He just smiles, talking to her until there’s a knock on his door, and Pez is there to invite him out for dinner with some of the other contestants. Bea tells him to go have fun, and he finishes getting changed, then finds Pez, Alex, Nora, and a reporter named Oliver at the hotel bar. Alex is talking about a family friend he’s planning to make a cake for tomorrow, about how they’ve been friends since his dad took Raf in when his coming out didn’t go well. They’d had a tradition of birthday cookies, but Raf was used to cakes, so he’s the only one they make cake for. He’s planning a big cake decorated with cookies, just like they’d always done.

Henry gets to talk about how much he loves Bea, then a student named Liam joins them and hesitantly talks about how his boyfriend’s parents’ anniversary was last week, so he’s replicating the cake he made them. Pez demands a picture of Liam and his boyfriend, and they all get to admire how cute they are while Liam blushes. Pez moans that he and his partner will never be that cute, and he uses the word ‘partner’, which makes Liam relax a bit and makes Henry grin as a wave of quiet warmth washes over him. Even though he’d known that people would probably be fine if he came out, it’s nice to know he wouldn’t be alone if he did. Seeing Liam and Spencer’s pictures, and hearing that Pez probably isn’t straight (though honestly, he’d piqued Henry’s gaydar early on), helps quiet the part of him that’s worried.

Apparently Liam was the only one they were waiting for, so Pez leads the way to a nearby restaurant. Shaan and Zahra are there already, and they wave them over. The eight of them end up monopolizing a corner booth, filling the table with good food and the benches with good conversations. Zahra’s planning a baby shower cake for her sister, and Shaan’s planning one as a test for his parents’ renewal of vows. They finish dinner and go to bed relatively early, knowing they’ve got an early call tomorrow, but Henry goes to bed feeling better about the showstopper than he ever could have imagined.

It’s him and Shaan downstairs early the next day, and they make small talk and text their families while they wait for the others to come down. It’s a nice way to wake up, and Henry’s already starting to get used to this routine, to morning conversations about Shaan’s museum over tea and coffee. Shaan offers to give him a tour of the archives if he comes to visit, and Henry promises to take him up on that next time he’s in Edinburgh. Even that feels nice, to plan to see each other again after this is all over, and to know that even if he goes home this week, he’ll have made at least one friend.

The other bakers trickle down as Henry and Shaan are finishing their tea, and it’s not long before they’re all there, loading into the minibus and heading off to the tent to make cakes for their loved ones. Henry’s planning one shaped like a guitar for Bea, using a sponge recipe similar to the one they’d made with their dad but flavored especially for her. It’s the one bake he hasn’t practiced with her around, the only one she’s never tried in full. He wants her to be surprised when she watches the show.

He tells Paul and Prue about having lied about his plans to her when they come on the royal tour, and it makes Paul laugh, which is a relief from his regular stoicness. Prue tells him it’s sweet, Noel asks if there’s anything else he’d like to confess to lying to her about, and Henry honestly admits to having never lied to Bea in any other circumstance, and then they’re moving on. Behind him, Henry hears Cash talk about making a cake with layers for each of his kids, and he can’t help but grin. He’ll have to take a peek at that cake when decorating time comes.

His own cake is going well. He’s been playing it safe this week, and he knows that, but at least that means that he doesn’t have to worry about anything too hard. He’s made each of these cakes for Bea before, and he made a guitar cake for her last birthday. The hardest part is the assembly. He’s decided to have the guitar stand upright, probably because he’s an idiot, so the last two hours of the bake is entirely dedicated to carefully, carefully stacking cakes on top of each other and carving them into the right shape. He’s planning a mirror glaze, both because it will mimic the shine of Bea’s guitar and because he’s an idiot who likes to use every second of their allotted time and stress himself out as he does. He’s sure he’ll have time, but he’s making a brown fondant just in case.

He’s just getting his fondant-covered cake in the freezer when he hears Alex swear behind him, and he doesn’t even think before he turns to see what’s wrong. Alex has a decorative cake tin, and he’s frantically tapping it on a baking sheet. Henry goes over to his bench, and he can feel a camera following him as he asks, “How can I help?”

“Just… it won’t come out.”

“Did you run a knife around the middle? Try that.”

There’s a tense silence as Alex does. Henry’s holding his breath.

Alex flips the cake over again, shaking it up and down a few times on the baking sheet. Henry can just hear the thunk as it falls, and Alex lets out a shaky breath as he pulls the tin off. The cake emerges, looking complete, and Alex grins. Henry grins back, and Alex thanks him as he picks up a piping bag. Henry turns back to his own bench as Alex says, “Hey, if you need me to drop this on the floor, I still will.”

Henry just laughs as he goes back to his own bench. As he goes around Cash’s, Cash says, “Hey, either of you are welcome to drop anything on the floor as long as it’s not mine. Amy looks pretty confident over there.”

Alex tosses the top of a strawberry onto the ground behind Cash’s bench, and Cash laughs, and Henry starts on his mirror glaze infinitely less worried than he would have been otherwise.

He’s pulled shortbread decorations out of the oven and drizzled his mirror glaze over the cake when Noel calls the two minute warning, and his piping of the strings is a bit sloppy, but when he steps back he can barely believe he’s done it. It’s a bit messy, but it looks like a guitar, and he knows Bea would be thrilled with it. Really, that’s all that matters. He’s feeling good about it, but when he turns and sees Cash’s cake, he knows he’s lost any shot at star baker. It’s a towering beauty, each layer individually decorated with castles, jungles, and pirate ships.

Cash brushes aside their compliments, but when Henry asks about the kids, he starts talking about each of them, rambling and rambling as they leave the tent for their break. Henry just grins and listens as Cash’s excitement completely overwhelms any worry Henry might be feeling. Instead of thinking about if his cakes are too dry or if something is wrong with his fondant, Henry gets to look at pictures of Cash’s kids and husband and dog. It makes for a fantastic distraction while they wait for the tent to be cleaned up, and Henry wonders briefly just how many more people he can ask about pets or kids while they wait.

Cash rambles about his family through most of their break, and Henry is happy to just sit back and listen. Cash is clearly a good dad, and he’s more than happy to ramble about his son’s ballet recital or his daughter’s favorite cookie recipe throughout the entire cleaning period and photoshoot.

He’s still talking about his kids as they photographers finish up, so Henry gets to focus on that instead of worrying as they settle behind the benches for the final time that day. Henry is too far back to hear what the judges are saying to anyone else, but he watches Hunter’s and Jeffrey’s shoulders slump, watches Prue smile at Cash and Oliver, and he grins when Pez brings a rainbow explosion past his bench. Pez just winks as Henry laughs a bit.

Then it’s his turn, and he’s carefully carrying the cake up. It looks good; recognizably an electric guitar leaning against an amp. The judges like the flavors and the look, but it is dry. He’d been afraid of that; he’d been making fondant while it baked, and left it in a bit too long. Still, over all, it’s positive. Alex gives him a thumbs up as he carries the cake back, and Cash smiles at him. It’s not a bad cake, and he’s done well in the technical. He’s probably going to be back next week, and that’s good enough for now.

He does his best to focus on the others’ comments, but this far back it isn’t easy. It feels a bit like playing telephone as the bakers closer to the front say things like we’ve all had dry cakes or I heard good things. Reactions seem to be pretty varied across the board, and it doesn’t seem like Henry’s the only one who’s not done his best, but this far back he has no real idea.

The judges and hosts leave to make a decision, and the bakers are left to mill around the tent before eventually settling on the stools at the front. Alex is beside Henry again, and he grabs Henry’s hand as the judges and hosts come out. He’s had a good bake, and done decently in the technical, but nothing’s guaranteed in the tent.

Cash gets star baker, surprising no one but himself. His showstopper pushed him over the top, just like Henry knew it would, and he’s thrilled to get to reach over and squeeze Cash’s shoulder to congratulate him. His husband and kids are going to be so proud.

Then comes the hard part. Alex is squeezing Henry’s hand so hard it’s turning white.

Sandi opens her mouth.

“Jeffrey.”

Alex drops Henry’s hand and gives him a little half-embarrassed smile, and Henry has just enough time for half a thought about how he hopes he and Alex stay on the show. He refuses to let himself think on that, just gives Cash a big hug and gets through their final interviews. He tells the interviewer that he’s not surprised Cash got it, because he really deserves it, and that he’ll be glad to come back next week. Cash joins them again while he’s on the phone with his husband and kids, and he’s beaming as he talks and they load into the minibus.

It’s a strange atmosphere on the bus. Jeffrey’s upset to be going home, but Henry can’t seem to find it in himself to be all that sad. He’s staying, and so are Alex and Shaan and Pez. He gets to come back and bake with his friends next week, and as much as going home sucks for Jeffrey, Henry can’t find any particular grief about it.

They only have a few minutes to get their bags together before they’re heading back to the train station. Henry says goodbye to Alex, Pez, and the others, then calls Bea as he slips his ticket into the slot. The train is already on the platform, and he finds an empty table and slides into it, still talking as he pulls his laptop out to get some work done. He’s just hanging up with her when someone slides into the seat across from him.

“Anyone sitting here?” Alex asks with a smile. Henry smiles back, shaking his head.

“Hello.”

“Hey. Good job in there today; that guitar looked great.”

“Looked great, tasted dry. Yours looked good, too; I’m sure your family friend would have loved it.”

“Thanks. I needed it to be good after that tres leches disaster yesterday.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t have to drop anything on the floor,” Henry says, and Alex grins.

“Me too.” Alex pulls out a laptop, but even as he opens it, he seems no less willing to end the conversation. “And, if I’m honest, I know this is meant to be the most wholesome experience and all, but I’m sort of glad Jeffrey’s gone.” He’s leaning across the table conspiratorially, and Henry finds himself leaning forward, too. “He rubbed me weird.”

“He… he sort of rubbed me weird, too. If it had to be someone, I’m glad it was him.”

They share another conspiratorial smile, and Alex says, “Exactly. Like maybe he’s fine, but I’d rather him than someone else. I’d rather him than you or Nora or Pez any day.”

“He was just so…” Henry’s not quite sure what he wants to say, but Alex is nodding.

“Yeah. If it had to be someone, I’m glad it was him.”

He’s finally turning his attention to his laptop, making an excuse about a paper he’s got to work on, so Henry turns back to his own work with a small smile, his leg occasionally brushing Alex’s. They both get drinks when the cart comes, tea for Henry and coffee for Alex, and Alex pays for both, promising that Henry can get it next time.

Next time, because there will be a next time.

When he meets Bea at the station that night, he’s not quite sure how to tell her about Alex, but she seems to know what to think, even if Henry doesn’t.

On AO3

When I started this fic back in February, I had no idea how much the world might need it come October. But here we are, and here it is! Ten chapters of gay baking! That I hope y'all love!

As always, if you want to support the Hannah-Makes-Art fund, you can tip me in ko-fi here! And if you want to support the Emry-Makes-Art fund, they’ve got commissions up on their blog!

#rwrb big bang #rwrb #rwrb bang #red white and royal blue fic #rwrb fic #my fic: rwrb #red white and royal blue au #bake off au #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #henry fox mountchristen windsor x alex claremont diaz #firstprince #red white and royal blue

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atamascolily · 3 years

Text

Shield of Lies, continued.

What would my mother think of me? he wondered, and it was the first time such a thought had ever confronted him.

Luke, you really suck at introspection, don’t you? Like... NEVER in TEN YEARS have you EVER wondered about your mother? Sigh.

Shortly after the reorganization of the government, Nanaod Engh had given Luke keys to most of the real treasures of the New Republic—the central data libraries maintained by various branches of the General Ministry. Thanks to Admiral Ackbar’s intervention, Luke also carried the highest-grade security clearance held by any civilian.

Between the two, Luke had—potentially—a great deal of information at his fingertips. But the access he had been granted was a courtesy, not a necessity. Luke’s most urgent curiosities were in areas of little interest to bureaucracies, and he had never found reason to make much use of the favors extended him.

But he found himself with reason now.

Speaking of lack of imagination.... SIGH.

Luke returned to the pilot’s couch and curled up sideways in it. “How do people become part of the circle?”

“Curiosity is not sufficient—which I hazard you know. Some are born to it. Some come to it. Is it any different in your discipline?”

“Born with the gift, do you mean, or born to someone who already belongs, to a trained adept?”

“Is the gift not in the blood?”

“Sometimes it seems that way. Sometimes it seems as if the talent goes wild, almost as if the Force chooses its own,” Luke said, turning on his back and propping one foot on the control panel.

“Why, what do you mean?”

“Look at the way the Jedi are coming back,” said Luke. “The Empire hunted us so relentlessly that most everyone who escaped thought they were the only Jedi left. But it isn’t just that a few solitaries who were hiding have resurfaced. I’ve found students with no family history whatsoever, in species that were never represented before in the Order.”

“Some of your number may have been adventurous travelers,” said Akanah. “On Carratos, I heard many jokes about how the Emperor spent his evenings. If a Jedi sleeps alone, surely it must be by choice, as it is with you.”

LOL, Akanah doesn’t know about Callista. Or Gaeriel. Or anything else about Luke’s messed-up love life.

“Are you saying that you expected me to warm a bed with you?” Luke said. “I didn’t think that was our bargain.”

“No,” she said. “I never expected that.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That Luke Skywalker could have a hundred children by now. A thousand.”

“That’s crazy.”

“No—that’s the simple truth. There are different rules for heroes and royalty, and you’re seen as a little of both. You can’t be unaware of that.”

Luke frowned and looked away. “I don’t know how to be a father to one child, much less a thousand.”

“You wouldn’t need to know,” she said. “Their mothers wouldn’t expect it. They would be grateful enough for the gift.”

“I’d expect it of me,” he said, and firmly steered the conversation back on course. “We were talking about my being an honorary member of the circle—”

Again, I’m surprised by Luke’s lack of imagination--and offers--given how people at the spaceport viewed him. Did none of them really think, “I would totally bang this dude?” WHY IS HE SO SURPRISED?

Also Luke, just say “fuck,” it’s okay, I promise.

“We were talking about my being an honorary member of the circle—”

“Not honorary,” she corrected. “Novice.”

“Novice, then. But there’s an exception in your oath for people like me?”

“Every adept has the right to judge and the duty to teach,” she said. “I’ve made my judgment.”

“And the rest?” Luke asked. “We’ve had many hours together—why haven’t you started to teach me?”

“But I have,” she said. “I’ve asked you to think about what you know and believe. To go beyond that, the novice must ask for the door to be opened. But you aren’t ready to think of yourself as a student again—not yet. You run too well and easily to go back to crawling.”

#accurate. Luke spends most of this book so convinced he knows everything and yet he can’t figure out why he’s so stuck in a rut.

“No,” Luke said, shaking his head. “To be a Jedi is to be a seeker. A Jedi is always learning. It’s only on the dark side that one becomes obsessed with knowing, and impressed with doing.”

“There’s a touch of the dark side,” Akanah said slowly, “in the way you cling to the privilege of killing, and resist the teaching I’ve offered you. A hint of a mind that has settled on answers and resents being challenged with new questions.”

Luke toyed with the lacing on his longshirt as he considered her words. “You may be right,” he said finally. “I found the Force at a time when what I needed was power. I wanted a weapon to protect my friends, not enlightenment. I was thinking of war against the Empire, not peace with the universe. Perhaps something of that lingers in how I see myself. I’ll think on it.”

“Good,” she said. “Your words give me hope. And hope is the beginning of everything worthwhile.”

I have no idea how the chronology lines up with the other plots and honestly it’s hard to care. This is the most interesting part of the book to me, and I’m STILL reeling at how late in the game this is.

He then took advantage of the open space inside the bay to work his first complete set of Jedi training drills since leaving Coruscant. Working both with and without his lightsaber, he patiently went through the complex exercises which brought him to a profound state of restful clarity.

It was in this state that he felt most keenly the truth and the wisdom of the simple words: There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no death; there is the Force. The peace, the knowledge, and the serenity were gifts that came with his surrender to the Force and with his connection through the Force to all that was.

Sustaining that clarity was always the challenge. In the isolation of a Dagobah, the Jundland Wastes, or a hermitage on a frozen shore, an experienced Jedi could preserve that inner state indefinitely.

But the chaos of the real world was another matter. When ego returned, so did will. The surrender became tainted, the connection flawed. The clarity gradually slipped away under the continuous assault of elementary drives and passions. Even the greatest of the masters needed to perform the practice regularly lest they lose the discipline that made them what they were.

GAH. WHY IS IT ALWAYS DUALITY WITH YOU, KUBE-MCDOWELL? WHAT ABOUT A MIDDLE WAY BETWEEN THE “TAINTED WORLD” AND “PURITY OF ISOLATION”. What about “entering the market-place with gift-bestowing hands”? And nothing ever stays the same “indefinitely”!!!!!

The drills were as much a test for the body as for the mind, and the docking bay’s newly sanitized shower brought a blissful peace to muscles that were telling Luke they had not been properly exercised in too long. He stood for a long time in the place where the six needle jets converged, letting the water flowing down his body become another meditation.

Yeah, maybe you should have thought of that in your hermitage-quarantine-sulk thing??

I’d forgotten about the bookstore full of Jedi forgeries!!!

The offerings included Emperor Palpatine’s Principles of Power, a private publication for Imperial Moffs; the Sith book of offerings and rituals; the H’kig book of laws; and the secrets of forming Bilar-type claqa group-minds, among others—with a special discount if Luke took any three or more. Most of the documents were undoubtedly frauds, and none tempted Luke beyond idle curiosity over the skillfulness of the fraud.

And the Jabba’s palace re-creation OH MY GOODNESS:

But making his way to the outgate, Luke turned a corner and was taken aback by the brilliantly lit exterior of a club bar called Jabba’s Throne Room. Performing Nightly—The Original Max Rebo Band, said the scroll. Visit Jabba’s Guest Quarters with a Pleasure Slave. Face the Mighty Rancor in the Pit of Death—

Driven by an outraged curiosity, Luke joined the line and paid the membership charge without haggling. Inside, he descended a curving flight of stairs into a remarkably faithful copy of the throne room in Jabba’s desert palace on Tatooine. Some of the dimensions had been stretched to accommodate more tables in front of the bandstand and around the rancor pit, but the architecture and atmosphere were authentic.

“Why, it’s just like the Palace Museum,” [he] said to the tall and elegantly dressed Twi’lek barring the way at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m afraid my master Jabba is away on business,” said the Bib Fortuna look-alike, nodding toward the empty dais. “But I’m having a little party in his absence, and I hope you’ll enjoy yourself.” His head-tails stirred in signal, and one of the scantily clad dancing girls hurried to him.

“Yes, Lord Fortuna,” the server said.

“Oola, this is a friend of mine,” said the major-domo. “Treat him well. Find him a seat at my best table.”

The same fiction was carried through everywhere else—an Ortolan keyboardist leading a jizz-wailer trio on the bandstand, the roaring of the rancor underfoot, an annoying Kowakian monkey-lizard skittering around the room stealing food and cackling rudely, even a carbon-frozen Han Solo hanging in the display alcove. But a busy kitchen was concealed down the corridor to the servant’s quarters, and the price card “Oola” left for him included various services available upstairs in the guest quarters and downstairs in Jabba’s dungeon.

It was tasteless and exploitative, but the music was surprisingly agreeable, the roast nerf was tantalizing, and the clientele was markedly more subdued than their counterparts out on the walks. [He] ordered a drink and the executioner’s cut of nerf, refused all other offers with a polite smile, and settled in to discover the truth quotient of The Secrets of the Jedi.

Shortly after his meal arrived, Luke’s consciousness was pricked by hearing a familiar name spoken at a nearby table: Leia’s. He looked up, fearing that the evening’s entertainment at Jabba’s Throne Room would be a dance by a slave-girl-Leia look-alike. But the band was on a break and the transparisteel dance platform over the rancor pit deserted.

I’m honestly surprised this isn’t at Galaxy’s Edge, tbh.

Shortly after, a holographic Jabba made an appearance on the dais above the main floor. That signaled the start of an elaborately scripted show that promised to involve not only “Bib Fortuna” and the dancers, but additional actors and the audience as well.

Luke took that as his cue to leave. His decision was affirmed when, climbing up the curving stairs to the street, he encountered the bounty hunter Boushh coming down them with an unconvincing Chewbacca in tow.

“Aren’t you a little short for a Wookiee?” he muttered under his breath as they passed.

LOL. Anyway, here’s some stuff on archives searches in the GFFA:

From Carratos he requested any information available from newsgrid, political, or police records on Akanah Norand Pell, Andras Pell, and Talsava. He sent the same query to Coruscant’s criminal records office and citizen registry and to the home offices of both the Coruscant Global Newsgrid and the New Republic Prime Newsgrid.

From the New Republic Reference Service, he requested a quickreport on naming conventions on Lucazec and Carratos, thinking he might parse another lead from the names in hand.

A second request to the same source asked for five-hundred-word excerpts from all matches on the key words “Fallanassi” and “White Current.” After a short debate with himself, and despite the pathetic and sensational inaccuracies of Secrets of the Jedi, Luke also contacted an information broker on Atzerri and paid a hundred credits for a search on the same keys.

He also requested a Current Terms & Conditions brochure from the chief librarian’s office on Obroa-skai. The library computers there were the only resource offering both a greater variety and a greater volume of records than those held by Coruscant.

But Obroa-skai’s generosity with its planetary treasure was limited. To protect against theft of the library, and to provide the resources needed to maintain it, accessing the records meant either going to Obroa-skai or hiring one of the library’s own trained contract researchers.

In either case, Obroa-skai was not a resource one turned to for quick answers. The official language of New Republic recordkeeping was Basic, and everything held by Coruscant was kept in one of several readily searchable data specifications. But the Obroa-skai library was a collection of primary documents, in ten thousand storage formats and uncountable languages. The most complete general index covered only fifteen percent of the library’s holdings, and all the specialty indexes combined added only a few percent to that.

Those were the principal reasons why the brochure—which Luke received within minutes of requesting it, as the first response to any of his inquiries—reported that a normal single-part library search was averaging eight days. The waiting list for terminal time was holding at fifteen days, and the backlog for contract researchers had climbed to seventy.

LOL. I should definitely use that in a fic at some point.

#star wars #eu fuckery #the black fleet crisis

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realtimereports · 3 years

Text

Creating An Automated Report In Word - Principal Toolbox 9.5

How I Automated My Daily Progress Report As A Software ...

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When we 'd structured our data and developed a basic report format, we had to translate our basic report format into an NLG template. The design template was basically a completed version of an efficiency report. When the NLG software runs, this report gets copied into the NLG software application. Then rules are applied to the copy to programmatically update what's written based upon the structured data offered.

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The last output might be a CSV, Word, or Google Doc file. Even if you're working with a trustworthy AI software, you'll still want to check it and fix any problems that emerge. This avoids any AI-related occurrences from happening when the tool is actively being utilized by workers or on tight deadlines.

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And we ultimately perfected the process to regularly produce clear, precise automated efficiency reports. If a software application company that you work with deals a trial or discount rate for testing out their product, leverage it. This will permit you to witness first-hand if the expense of the item outweighs its advantages, or give you time to determine if there is a preferable item that you need to be utilizing - time reports.

When you do this, here are a couple of things that you'll wish to examine: The amount of time that the software is saving workers, or if there were any bugs, just how much time the software application cost. The amount of other efficient or revenue-generating tasks your group was able to get done with the extra time you had.

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As we tracked our brand-new automated efficiency reports, we discovered that our tools took a portion of the time to produce the very same report that we took hours to create. Furthermore, the level of information in our client reports is now constant throughout all accounts. Prior to we carried out AI tools, the reports were only as strong as the account team's convenience level of analyzing marketing efficiency reports.

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The only handbook part of the process now involves spot-checking the data for precision, applying some styling, and after that sending out. real-time progress reporting. What when took us five hours per report now takes 10 minutes. While the original process needed to be managed by multiple teammates, only one employee is needed for spot-checking.

Although our team has the ability to gain access to AI companies and specialists for our in-office experiments, other little service online marketers can likewise benefit from this strategy rather economically. Nevertheless, bear in mind that AI execution can take some time. For us, we required to put time into developing structured datasets, along with our Report design template so that our AI software application could read our analytics and draft reports correctly.

Complete info, faster conclusions, and much better decision-making digital-era success hinges on them (automatic reporting). However an organization with a single version of the reality, spreadsheets filled with accurate information, is still a couple of rungs brief of success. One reason: management needs easy-to-digest reports that translate the numbers. That tends to lead to cleaner interpretations and crisper decision-making.

These items drill-down into ab organization's database and auto-produce easy-to-understand, written reports from the very same information that Microsoft Excel utilizes to create graphics. Some of these relatively brand-new AI tools also known as natural language generation, or NLG, software application are variations of the exact same technology that helps major media companies produce computer-written news products.

Top Use Cases In Automated Report Writing - Phrazor

Anna Schena, a senior item manager at Story Science, another AI-generated composing toolmaker, states that "data storytelling" indicates users do not have to discover how to evaluate spreadsheets or glean insights from long rows of control panel dials. "Easy-to-understand language and one-click cooperation features ensure that everybody in a business really comprehends the data, all the time," Schena says.

States Sharon Daniels, CEO of Arria: "NLG-driven, multi-dimensional stories are the advancement that [data-generated] visuals were years back. The big data issue was partially addressed with the development of organization intelligence dashboards," she discusses. "However while visuals paint a picture, they're not the complete image." Adds Daniels: "The ability to gain access to key details in near real-time communicated as if written

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artemisegeria · 5 years

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A Formula, A Phrase Remains (5/7)

Title: A Formula, A Phrase Remains (5/7)

Rating: T

Word count: 1326

Warnings: None

Summary: Endgame spoilers. Wanda Maximoff has known so much grief in her life that it moves with her like a second skin. But she is a survivor. Moving on is what she does. So she tries to put the latest tragedy behind her by putting all her focus into Avenging and forming a new family for herself.

Meanwhile, Princess Shuri is gathering her own team to bring back someone who was lost far too soon.

Available from the beginning here.

On the last day of the meeting, Shuri, Cassie, and Peter, who was still only called in for emergency situations or training, had lessons in hand-to-hand combat with Sam, Carol, and Wanda. Shuri was well trained herself, but she would never turn down learning from other experts. Sam and Wanda demonstrated some moves that they had spent years practicing after the fight in Germany. Carol ran them through some conditioning drills from her Air Force days.

Next, the full-fledged Avengers had their three pupils practice on their, making slight corrections to their form. After a few rounds of practice, they began to supervise sparring between the teens. Shuri was gratified to find that she was the fastest to pick up on these new skills, but she was happy to offer advice to Peter and Cassie. It was rare that she had the opportunity to be around people her own age.

By the time they finished practicing, they were all dripping with sweat. The teens returned to their guest rooms to shower before meeting in the library for an epic round of Monopoly. They were joined by Scott, Sam, Wanda, and Carol. The game lasted long into the night with much laughter and trash-talking all around.

***

Shuri had welcomed the break from the bleakness of constant disappointment in their quest to bring Vision back, but she was glad to be back in her lab. Their efforts were finally bearing more fruit.

Tony’s notes on the process of bringing Vision to life provided the breakthroughs they’d all been looking for over the next month. His developments in nanotechnology provided the missing piece they’d been searching for to aid in his physical repair and had given Bruce an idea on how to combine them with a particle of his own design that should help the vibranium-cell bonding process.

Meanwhile, Helen’s progress in rebuilding the Cradle continued apace. She and her team had almost completed the entire structure. Shuri had seen the progress herself and offered a few suggestions. Then, there was only the calibration and testing to complete. Not that there was a true way to test what they were trying to achieve.

Bruce was the next one to provide good news. Shuri accepted the call from his lab eagerly. “Hello, Bruce. Shouldn’t you be celebrating the day that your government uses as an excuse to cover all its crimes?”

Bruce only shook his head; he never countered Shuri’s criticisms of the United States. He simply moved on to the task at hand. “Hey, Shuri. This was way more important. Part two of the puzzle may be complete. Of the last ten simulations I’ve run with Tony’s data factored in, eight suggest that he’ll regain his full set of memories.” Knowing the complexity of what they hoped to accomplish, they all had to contend with higher error rates than they would have preferred.

“Have you told Helen yet?” She knew that Helen would redouble her efforts to finish the testing on the Cradle with this news. In fact, she wondered why Helen had not joined the call.

“Not yet, she’s on vacation with her family while they’re visiting the States. You should meet her nephew Amadeus. He might give you a run for your money.”

Shuri smirked at Bruce. He would not bait her that easily. “I always look forward to some good competition,” she said loftily. She immediately wrote down his name to do some more research on him.

Bruce grinned at her. “I didn’t doubt you for a minute, Shuri.” I’ll tell Helen the news when she comes back to the lab next week.”

“Good. It will not be much longer now.” Satisfaction surged within her. The pieces were falling into place. This would work. She just knew it. It was a monumental task to bring someone back to life, but with all three of them pursuing the goal, they would not fail.

***

Shuri’s research on Vision had to take a backseat temporarily while she was forced to address a crisis in the world’s annual production of corn, wheat, and many other key crops. The return of so many people the previous year had stretched the world’s harvests and resources. But the situation was even worse now. The upheaval in the soil caused a forty percent lower yield for the year so far. The crops that were not due to be harvested yet were only at thirty-two percent of their usual progress.

Shuri’s lab offered its own genetically modified crops that would grow at twice the rate and offer one point five times the yield. Shuri herself traveled to key areas to monitor their growth. The people she met were frightened. After so many cataclysms, any damage to their infrastructure threatened renewed chaos.

In some areas, civil unrest did break out when livelihoods were threatened and some hoarded their good fortune, but Shuri also saw the triumph of humanity. It validated her belief in improvement. Where people had little, they largely still shared all they could. Where people had more success carrying on, they taught others how to go on. Where people began to lose hope, new communities lifted each other up.

***

When the crop situation was stabilized, Shuri gratefully returned to her lab. She was met with several messages from Bruce and Helen. The testing on the Cradle was as complete as it was going to be. Bruce had also finished synthesizing the cells that would fortify Vision’s body.

Shuri double-checked the results of the tests that the other technicians in her lab had run on the stone that she had dubbed the solar jewel while she was away. It bore many of the same properties that the Mind Stone had. She watched the video that had been recorded of a beam from the jewel cutting down targets in a field outside the palace. The power levels remained constant throughout these experiments, regardless of the level of sunlight outside. It should still be enough to power Vision’s body.

By the time the late summer sun was beginning to set earlier in the day, the Cradle was complete. The solar jewel had been tested to the limits it could without Vision’s input. Bruce and Tony’s hybrid nanocells were ready. Shuri had ensured that Vision’s body was still in a state that could be repaired.

All that remained was to admit what they had done to Carol and Sam. The scientists needed their help if they were to transport the Cradle to Wakanda. Carol accepted their request for a conference call readily, but with a hint of confusion. When they were all together, Shuri said, “We believe we can bring Vision back.”

Sam said, “Vizh?” His mouth was hanging open.

“Wanda’s Vision?” Carol, who of course had no knowledge of the man outside her conversations with the others, asked.

“Yes,” Shuri answered decisively. She switched her gaze between the two leaders, wondering which stage of shock would come next.

“And Wanda does not know about this.” It was not a question. Carol’s mouth pressed into a disapproving line. Shuri did not quail under her displeasure.

“We have worked on nothing else for almost a year and a half. We were not certain that we could bring him back until recently. We thought it would be cruel to offer hope and then take it away.”

“I get it,” Sam said. “But why are you telling us now?”

Bruce replied, “We need your help. The Cradle is here in New York.” He gestured at the lab behind Helen and him. “And Vision and Shuri are in Wakanda. We need transport there, transport that won’t shake too much and undo all our work.”

Carol grinned. “I can help you with that.” They worked out the details of when Carol would pilot a Quinjet to Wakanda. Their path decided, they ended the call.

Shuri leaned back in her chair and put her feet up before starting her simulations again.

A/N: Next chapter Wanda gets a chance to have an important conversation with someone.

#fanfiction #fix-it #endgame fix-it #mcu #shuri #wanda maximoff #the avengers

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beauknowsblogging-blog · 5 years

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Video Notes

Minecraft: The Story of Mojang – 20 Minute Short

· Markus “Notch Persson, of Sweden, built the game entirely by himself

· He always wanted to be a game developer since boyhood, programming since age 8

· Persson’s first individual take on game development, after having a job helping build other’s games, was a personal project he designed and was to take up to 12 months to make. That game is now called Minecraft

· Persson quit his job to try and keep up with the Minecraft demand. It went from a beta testing, 7 employee managed game, to exponential growth; Minecraft not long after its launch was making $250,000 a day!

· The Mojang founders are dedicated to developing a company that they want to work at for a long time to come, not sell for a quick profit, and this business model maintains the integrity of the game and its origins

· Mojang never received a penny from an investment party, it has never spent a penny on marketing, as all of it has become from blog users raving about it and the power of word of mouth. Entirely self-funded!

· Minecraft is not a linear game with tasks or objectives, but rather skills and tools and the power of the imagination to build practically anything

· Incredibly, Minecraft is still being built and developed, but more or less has been able to be played in a beta version since practically inception. All along the way, things have been added/improved and even at one point during ongoing development

· Mojang’s follow up game is ironically called the “The Game Which Is Not Announced Yet ™” and they already know it will be hard to top Minecraft

· As of February 2013, Minecraft continued to sell over $10,000 copies per day. As of May 2019, Mojang announced that Minecraft has sold over 175 million copies, and has over 200 million users in its free Chinese version already

Adults Try Minecraft

· Minecraft is the digital equivalent of Legos, built in 2009

· 2 game modes: Creative (limitless materials and no threats) or Survival, threatened by creatures and limited resources

· Although a much more preferred game for children on behalf of adults, it seems not a game for adults preference because of the time dedication

Moms Play Minecraft

· Minecraft?! I thought it was “Mindcraft” hahaha

· “What is the object of the game?” (There isn’t one)

· Totally zero to 100 once threatened and unprepared

· Endless creativity based option versus alternatives: shooter, violence, etc

Immersive Education Overview

· Immersive education is used to better engage students to material via a game-type atmosphere and mode of use for collaboration/education

· Can create/customize avatar to appear more like oneself & environment to resemble classroom or alternative landscape conducive to learning

· Immersive education, while not always designed for non-techonolgical courses, is a powerful tool designed to increase engagement and connection from teachers to students

· Unfortunately, Immersive education continues to worsen the social lack of interaction (anti-social) with others personally and face-to-face, despite a creative and significant alterative way to increase attention and students to material (I think that immersive education will be most successful in alternative education settings, but we should not lean on technology to learn as our primary resource, because the internet will eventually become that no matter what for each of us professionally)

China’s Web Junkies

· China has an internet addiction treatment center

· It seems like a horrible place where, rather than give people alternatives to using the internet like being outside and activities, they tie you up and make you have to quit cold turkey despite possibly thinking about using it still. Instead of healing oneself by not simply using the internet with an alternative, they are more of a detention center than treatment center

· In 2008, China declared internet addiction to be a clinical disorder, saying it’s a top health threat to its teenagers

· They say “treatment at this center includes a mix of therapy and “Military” drills, often lasting 3-4 months.

· “Our study shows that people who spend more than six hours on the internet for something other than work or study again, for other than work or study, are most likely to become addicted to the internet.” –Tao Ran, Addiction Specialist, Director of Daxing Center

· Parents are encouraged to stay during treatment and participate in therapy sessions, but this seems to be a conflict between parent and child

· It seems that the bigger issue amongst those addicted to the internet is loneliness, and that from this separation from daily life of loneliness, the kids in the treatment center bond over their interests in common, while the world continues to tell them they have a problem, instead of using their passion for the internet in a constructive and alternatively useful manner and practice to be beneficial society members.

· When somebody is lonely, they can always look to the internet for companionship, and this is a growing problem and concern

· One parent even drugged their child with sleeping pills to bring them to the treatment facility; this to me is a problem with parenting or lack thereof and the notion that if parenting is not done right at an early age, the child will more or less parent themselves based on a simple feel good or feel bad emotional system of right versus wrong or yes versus no

Video Game Addiction/Your Brain on Video Games

· Is video game addiction real? My opinion is yes and the ‘high’ or brain chemical levels react to the desire or need to play video games and that change biologically/physiologically is enough to warrant the label addiction from my point of view

· At first it may be an interest, a positive result, or emotional response to being safe and victorious in a game, but then can quickly become, if not in balance with other activities, feelings of anxiety, depression, agitation etc when not receiving their “fix” of gaming an adequate amount of time

· It is unique and “cool” yet concerning that the immersive virtual reality worlds in gaming we have entered and created are now coming back to us and entering our world more and more realistically and not providing a balance of separation from them, but rather taking over more of our time and energy in the real ‘finite’ world

· New Zealand has a national E-gaming team, oh no. I think at a certain point this has to stop being about the money and we need to start encouraging people to know that this is not the real world and that it can be fun in smaller doses, but shouldn’t take over or be the primary foundation of their schedules.

· If you are addicted to video games/alcohol then go work in the game development/alcohol industry, are you still an addict? Interesting parallel, but my answer would be yes from a medical/clinical point of view, even if you are capitalizing/profiting from your time spent now versus before

Growing Up Online

· 90% of teenagers are online, and the number is only growing

· Social media and the internet are seen by teenagers as an extension of real life and the continuation of their relationships not separate, essentially always keeping them connected even when apart. The new “currency,” if you don’t use it you will fall behind and stop becoming relevant or able to keep up with others

· Behind the comfort of a screen, people are much freer to behave in ways they would not normally. At first it may be an experiment of expression, afterwards becoming their identity and their escape from reality and the escape/decision to go with the identity that is cooler or more popular or welcoming and secure emotionally

· There is a fine line on the internet between privacy and public and the use of the information once it is out there is anybody’s and safety for children is the top priority for parents and their families/communities

· The internet is public, despite any claims to personal property, it is extremely hard to enforce and therefore it is said that the inaccessibility to children’s information by parents is considered invasive once they do and the internet has caused the biggest generational divide since rock and roll

· The internet is an enhancer, an accelerator of information and emotion and aspects of life that happen in the real world. A magnifying glass that inspects and magnifies the intensity of real-world feelings and questions and the way we go about solving them or letting them destroy us. It can and should be used positively, but often is misused and hurtful to others

· Cyberbullying is real and exists and is a serious issue that shouldn’t be taken lightly or any different than bullying in person and is truly concerning and making parenting and growing up for the children increasingly more difficult. We should provide them more ways to be trained and versed in cyber defense and protection so they can withstand the negative and embrace the positive of online/internet

Generation Like

· The current generation is dabbing in the currency of ‘likes’ and social media and broadcasting oneself out there in the world is a way for them to create an online identity and build oneself up emotionally. Unfortunately, this isn’t the real world and is sadly is just a temporary high and will forever be chased to increase unless we realize it is not what matters most

· Social media and the profile of individuals is free advertising and marketing for companies and data creation, collection, and free word of mouth

· We are all walking billboards and our own personal media and marketing companies/agencies etc. Therefore, we can provide exposure and time for free for companies and endorsements and through the power of connecting and relationships direct or indirect, people and products can connect and work together to increase their popularity and monetary value

· Consumers are the marketers if not more so than before. They want to be included and feel above or more involved in the conversation and by doing so they are rewarded and valued

· In a way social media is a real life hunger games version and the game is never ending and there will always be new players replacing those eliminated and just trying to live and survive for a share of the monetary value if possible for a split moment in time and doing so by exploring themselves and their interests and connections

· Fame by association, the interactivity, kids are using the very marketing techniques used on themselves and turning them onto others as increasingly manipulating middle people but appropriately getting their share of the cut on the things they endorse and support. I don’t think this is wrong but there is only a limited amount of exposure and ability to get a share of the pie even though it seems to be endless in the long run the short term it is a finite amount.

How Facebook Shares Your Information

· Shadow contacts/profile: the information you can’t see or control

· Information by people who know you that start to piece together a profile or an account about you and come at you from an aggregate group of sources of other sources that are connected to you in order to advertise and market to you

· Altogether, Facebook KNOWS you and your connections and it crosses lines and boundaries through connections and databases between people and connections in order to link everything and every one together simply by aggregate information. IE: Facebook is the data gatherers and organizers, and once they have them it is theirs because you didn’t provide all the outside info to them

· GO EUROPE! Battling versus Facebook because that information whether provided directly or indirectly is YOUR information and yours to decide who does and doesn’t have access to it. SCARY STUFF!

#phew

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trliteraltrash-fics · 6 years

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Grin And Bear It - Chapter Five

Chapter Four: Respectfully, Fuck You

Ao3 Link

Inspired by @miss-conduct

Summary: You’re a 27 year old military Lance Corporal. You’d think that’d be good thing, but on a covert mission gone south, will you ever get to go home? Or will you adapt and find comfort right where you are? oh, and maybe you hadn’t heard, apparently time travel is a thing?

Catch up here! Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

'I suggest you find a better place to nap.’ Soldier: 76’s voice echoed through your head as you sat by the window, colours thrown in a spectrum of reds and purples across the sky. Hardly anyone disturbed you here. It was quiet, and hell, sometimes you just had to get away from people. Away from the noise and the buzzing of electricity in wide hallways or places like the infirmary where there were so many devices running. Coming here had become part of your daily routine. Over the past week since your night of gaming with the ‘Tree Musketeers’ you spent each day training, going through drills and sets with 76. Thus far he had taught you basics – mostly things you already knew. It was familiar, and it brought a sort of calm as you threw yourself into it, the routine training becoming more and more like muscle memory.

After training you’d usually share a meal with the younger agents who had quickly become friends to you, more than you could consider yourself to them. Today, you had skipped the option to each with them. Watching the sunset, wanting to do so from start to finish today. The colours were more vibrant today, clouds covering the sky. You wondered if it would rain soon; you loved the rain. You sat with your arms wrapped around one knee, the other leg out straight in front of you. The world at ease for a few precious moments, these usually being the ones you would plug in your headphones and listen to Maris’ voice. Her picture sitting in your hand. Her face smiling brightly at you.

The window had almost become your ‘spot’ in a lot of ways. No one really walked by, it was just inside a blind spot of a security feed. It was disconnected from the crazy outside world of the future and it’s millions of things you couldn’t even begin to understand. Sitting there it didn’t matter if the other agents of Overwatch thought you were crazy for doing a chore or two when it needed to be done, nor did it matter how hard you would push yourself when you trained. At the end of the day, you still had this. The sunset.

Hell, if Hanzo could preach about meditation and finding peace, glorified bathrobe and all, you could certainly find it for yourself in these small moments.

You ran your thumb along the edge of the polaroid in your hand, the edges worn and middle starting to fade despite your careful folding to keep it from doing so. Her smiling face was still the most beautiful thing you had ever had the blessing of experiencing in person. The sun was starting to dip further behind the trees.

You’d find a way back home to her eventually or die trying. It was a promise you were making to yourself, you wouldn’t stay more than half a century into your future. You’d get back home and make a difference, even if that meant leaving the army, risking the loss of being paid due to the aim at the special pension reserved for soldiers who serve twenty years. You could get a real job that would still pay the bills, one that would let you spend time with your sister. Try to make up for lost time.

“Cadet.” You jolted at the sound of your Commander’s voice, his tone sending your mind reeling to images of memories you’d rather keep buried. You stood from the ground, at attention.

“Yes, Sir?” You stood with your shoulders straight and right arm up in a salute.

“At ease.” He started, you placed your arm down at your side. You were still rigid, fingers curled into fists.

You nodded at him when he hadn’t continued with your orders.

“Winston wants to see you in his lab. He’s got Intel he wants to show you.” Your eyebrows furrow as you grow confused, eyes turning towards the ground. It had been in the last week that they had stopped running scans. Could they really have sorted through everything that quickly? It was a hell of a lot of data. More importantly, what was so important that they had to interrupt you during the one thing you looked forward to each day?

“Can - - Sir, may I have a minute to - -”

“No. He wants to see you asap.” Soldier: 76 stood there, his arms folded over his chest with a coldness as though he were scolding a child making a stupid decision. You relaxed your fingers. Maybe it was stupid to look forward to something as silly as a sunset.

You nodded, a defeated sigh falling from your lips as you moved forward, following an invisible path to Winston’s lab. If it truly was that important, then you supposed the sunset could wait until tomorrow. Not like they thought much of the natural phenomenon anyway. You took note that 76 didn’t join you on your long walk towards the lab. Was it a private matter? They didn’t really exclude him otherwise.

You followed the stairs down to Winston’s lab, the electric buzzing faintly in your ears left you tense as you stepped through the doorway. Both Winston and Doctor Zeigler were in the lab, documents open on the electronic interface of the desk. The gorilla scientist looked up at you upon approach.

“Watson. Please, have a seat.” He started, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. You sat, albeit hesitantly.

“We have some concerns.” Mercy told you, her eyebrows furrowed, looking over a type of chart. Your own concern only grew as you saw document after document glowing over the desk, each one having a single name written on it.

Watson.

“You need to listen very carefully to what I’m about to tell you,” the scientist started, his gaze sympathetic. You nodded, urging him to continue. He brought up a document, your original medical report, it seemed. “When Tracer brought you in, we didn’t know what to make of you.”

“She insisted there was something special about you.” Mercy cut in, looking at the document hovering between the three of you. “She said that you were different from other civilians.”

“The tests we conducted over the past three weeks have concluded quite a few things.” Winston states, bringing up a 3D holographic image of a brain. “The first being that you have an abnormally high level of perception and processing.”

“Meaning?” You asked, wanting to prompt the conversation along when it looked like both doctor and scientist were going to hesitate.

“It means,” She sounded hesitant to tell you, walking over to lean against the desk and face you. “Your brain sorts through information at an increased rate, constantly taking in information in your environment and analysing it. Like a super computer that is constantly running, even when you’re not conscious.”

“Is that a problem?” your gaze flicked between them.

“Ordinarily, no.” She sighed, placing two fingers against her temple. “Watson, it seems that whilst your mind has amplified its ability to process information, this has also lead to an increase of each of your five senses.”

Winston separates the image of the brain into two, different levels of colours appearing.

“In the first scan, you can see that your mind is working and processing information at around thirty cycles per second whilst in your induced coma. The second shows the activity to be running at forty cycles per second.”

You looked at the images, it impressed you that your brain could be processing so much, so quickly.

“We believe this has something to do with your lost memory.” Winston adds, bringing up yet another series of scans that no doubt leads down to some chemical equation as you why you’re the way you are. “It has to do with the theory of time travel.”

You nodded. The change in subject taking your interest, they were only just now deciding to tell you even though you had already known for weeks. You weren’t sure if you should be thankful that they were coming forward with it, or offended that it took so long.

“Watson, we are under the belief that whatever happened before you were found in London, has led to travel through time.” Mercy crossed her arms, button down shirt and lab coat bunching at her elbows. “It’s both fascinating and concerning.”

“And, how does this connect to my brain?” Your question was pointed. You didn’t see how the topic concerned you other than the fact that it was your brain at work. It frustrated you. If they knew this, then what were you all siting around for? Why weren’t you looking for a way home?

“Watson,” Winston’s voice was full of compassion, hints of sympathy laced through it. “We know very little in terms of your condition or even how it came to be.”

“Why?” You stared at them, eyebrows furrowed and finger nails digging into your palms as you sat in the chair in front of Winston’s desk.

“We only know what you’ve told us. There are no records of anything that could help us to get you back to your own time. Please understand - -“

“Russia.” You ground out, hanging your head. The conversation pauses, your head felt hot, cheeks flushed with both shame of failing to keep mission details confidential, and the disgust you held. You were desperate to get home… But at this cost? The cost of potentially important information?

“What was that?” Mercy asked you, her voice so irritatingly calm.

“I was in Russia.” You bring your hands to your lap to grip onto the fabric of your pants instead of digging so hard into your palms. “I was working surveillance.”

You could hear the tell-tale signs of typing as what you were saying wa being recorded on yet more reports about you.

“Why didn’t you tell us earlier?” You heard mercy ask, feeling as though there was a sort of condescending hint that probably wasn’t actually there.

“It’s classified. The whole mission… I’m not even supposed to tell you where I was.”

“Why?” Why? What did she mean, why? What part of classified information did these people not respect?

“Doctor.” You started, eyes trained on your shoes. “I am giving you all I can on the mission. It is my duty as part of the Australian Armed Forces to not tell you anything about it. The information I have supplied you so far would get me court-martialled alone.”

You blocked out their voices as best you could after that. You didn’t want the questions. Your heartbeat was rising, the feeling of being unsafe filling your chest as it had on day one of being in the facility. You weren’t supposed to tell them about the mission. And you couldn’t bring yourself to tell them the specifics, but you had given them a location. You were sure that was enough. God, you were so selfish. Selfish for wanting to go home instead of protecting the information as it was your duty to do. Selfish for wanting to see your little sister, for wanting to get home.

For wanting sunsets.

You slowly forced yourself back into the conversation, you had to deal with what was in front of you. Had to deal with the repercussions of leaking classified information to people who weren’t supposed to be privy to the information you just handed over. An image of blood coated the backs of your eyelids. Blood on your hands, on walls, clothes, limbs. You could practically feel your guilt sticking to you like drying blood.

You took a deep breath as you looked up at them.

“What is your point in all this?” You asked, jaw clenching, hands trembling in your lap, skin flushed in controlled anger.

“Watson, almost the entirety of your brain is working at any given time. Taking in information, analysing it, processing and presenting it to you with a speed that we have never seen before. It is simply faster than any human has been able to accomplish. It is likely that this will not ever happen again.” Winston tried to explain, hints of curiosity and excitement in his tone.

“So, what you’re telling me is that you’re focusing on my brain to see just how ‘spectacularly’ it works? See if I maybe have a few screws loose that maybe some duct tape can hold together long enough for you to just examine?” You were raising your voice, every syllable pointed with the precision of a fresh blade. Your blood felt like it was boiling, face burning with anger that you just couldn’t hold in.

“Watson, that’s not - -“

“I’m not finished!” You growled as you stood from the chair, legs scraping against the floor. “I’m not going to just hang out and wait for you to ‘fix’ me and send me home.”

“We don’t know if it was just your mind that has been affected.” Mercy tried to reason, bringing her hands forward to reach for your shoulder. You shove her hands away.

“I travelled into the – fucking – future. Which, by the way, I knew about a fortnight ago.” Your voice was venom now, acidic as your eyes focused on the doctor’s shocked expression. “But oh no ma’am. That’s not the best part! I get to have the equivalent of a ‘super computer’ as if that’s a blessing that I should be bowing down to some god for. And yet I still get to find out that you with all your fancy equipment and future tech – don’t have a single, foggy clue as to what the bloody hell is wrong with me?!”

“Watson, please, try to understand, we –“

“You What? Just want to help me? You want to try to understand my condition?” You shook your head, voice levelling out to a commanding tone. “I know your organisation needs new members because of the geographical spread of all of your soldiers. But I’m not a cadet, nor a private. I’m a fucking Lance Corporal. I don’t need to be talked to as if I’m stupid. If I have to be fucked up because of the sheer ‘concept’ of time travel, then I can sure as hell find my own way to get back to my own time and fix all of this absolute bullshit.”

You turned and stormed out. The scientist and doctor with all of their graphs, diagrams and data spread around the room had not a word to say. The display of frustration and anguish enough to silence them. It only took the edge off the amount of anger you had slowly piling on for weeks in the same halls, same rooms, same god forsaken building. You were probably less than welcome in their office now, you realised.

It wasn’t that what they said had made you mad to begin with. It was that they spoke with both the terminology of someone who was supposed to understand, and the condescending undertones of people who would regard you as stupid, or with no possible hope of understanding. A dull ache started in your chest, settling everywhere and nowhere at the same time. You pushed it down, not wanting to deal with it, not wanting to deal with anyone.

You were headed towards the window, knowing full-well that the sunset would be gone, and that you would have to last until tomorrow to see it. When you arrived at the window, the mood changed dramatically. The soldier was standing there, leaning against a wall by the window, staring out, a cup of coffee in his gloved hand. The sun expectedly gone as you approached, not wanting to back away and find somewhere else. You lent against the other wall, arms folded as you tried to compose yourself and rein in the anger before you opened your mouth and ruined things between the only other person of authority that you knew of.

After a moment or two, you felt his gaze on you. He could probably see the flush across your skin from being in the lab and snapping at his colleagues. You could feel it, even as you wondered how you would get the band around your wrist off and leave the facility. If you could find a hacker, they might be willing to get it off your arm. Although the idea was entertained, you knew it would never work, not only would you need to find a computer to do so, but you really had nothing to trade. There was no chance it would work.

“You lied.” 76 said from next to you, voice lowered.

“What?” Your gaze turned to him, the light of his visor emitting softly in the dark of the hall as he face you.

“Your name isn’t Watson.” He stated, the air turning threatening with the danger that seemed to radiate off him in waves. “You lied.”

“I didn’t lie.” Your tone was calm, level even. It surprised you how quickly the anger bubbled back up as your fingers curled to dig into your arms as you kept them folded. If he decided you were a threat then there wasn’t much of a future ahead of you, here or in your own time.

“If you didn’t lie, then what the hell is this?” He took a folded pile of paper from his pocket and held it out to you.

You took it from him, your gaze turning downwards as you unfolded the paper, reading over it. The basis of the accusation, and the information had a great many things running through you as you read over things you already knew. How the actual fuck did he get this? The man standing before you was much smarter than you gave him credit for, he had found your birth certificate, the school you went to, even the date you enlisted into the fucking army. He had the name of your little sister, Maris [L/N]. He knew who you were, and it showed in his cocky-arsed, military drilled attitude.

“Something wrong, [Y/N]?” His voice was like the distant rumble of thunder, promising lightning to come, it sent ice through your bones.

“How did you find this?” You looked up at him, was there really any point in hiding it anymore?

“Wouldn’t have had to go looking if you had’ve told the truth.”

“Yeah, because the truth is that your name is really ‘Soldier: 76’” Your voice was dripping with both sarcasm and anger. Fingers gripping onto the pages in front of you, heart beat rising. You almost regretted your decision to snap at him when he leaned down to your level.

“You’re digging yourself a grave - -“

“What? Be prepared to lie in it?” You finished for him, your entire body facing him, jaw set and shoulders straight, glaring into the ‘eyes’ of his face. “I constructed the fine print on my funeral the day I signed the enlistment paperwork. I’m already lying in it. I’m. Waiting. To. Fall. Asleep.” You hissed, shoving the papers into his chest as you turned, leaving with the last word, bitterness seeping into every last crevice of your body.

Deep down, you knew getting home was a stab in an inky blackness that could swallow you whole. Seeing your little start was as good as your chances of getting your next ‘headshot’ in one of D.Va’s videogames the next time you play. Near on impossible. If everyone around you could stop looking at you, your name and your family and start looking at your situation, maybe you would be home by now.

If they wouldn’t focus on what was important, then you would.

“Well done, mishka.” Zaryanova’s praise touched your bittersweet mood with a cheerfulness that had you feeling tired.

You had come to the training hall to blow off some steam, away from the infirmary, but still being productive, even if it was for your own gain. The Russian woman beside you handed over a water bottle as you sat up. You took it, stretching out one arm as you drank from the bottle. Your gaze turned to the weights, the total seated at about 180 pounds. Your goal was to bench 200 by the end of the month, if you were even still here at that point. You looked up when a shadow fell over your legs, looking up you saw the strongwoman standing over you, arms across her chest over a pink tank-top.

“Something is on your mind.” It certainly wasn’t a question, the stern undertone of her voice encouraging you to tell her what was bothering you in a very distinctively Russian way.

“It’s nothing too important.” You shake your head, shrugging your shoulders.

“You are happy with progress, no?” she sits across from you, taking a weight in her hand.

“My progress is fine – here at least.” You sigh, watching as Zaryanova uses the weight, doing bicep curls.

“Then, is an emotional issue.” She states, levelling your gaze with hers.

“Call it an altercation – an emotional immaturity, if you will.” You look out across the training hall, breaking eyecontact.

“What causes you to think that?”

“Over the course of the lax six hours, I’ve managed to be aggressively insubordinate.” You crack your knuckles, fingers giving as easily to the motion as you had to your previous anger.

“Is it important?”

“What?” Your gaze turned back to the woman sitting in front of you, working her muscles. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Was it a necessary argument?” She was looking down at her arm as she completed another curl.

Was it?

You were a little stunned, did you really need to have the argument? Sure, you could’ve gone about it differently, but you had been so angry. You had felt like a child, everything down to something as trivial as a sunset stripped from you. It had made you feel vulnerable, defensive. Did Winston and mercy deserve to be yelled at? No, not really. But it was something you had to get off your chest. You didn’t think anyone would listen to you otherwise. Not even the soldier who appeared to take in your every word with a critical eye, he probably fact checked everything. You nodded.

“Yeah, I think… I think it was.”

“Then what is the problem?” She looked up at you.

“I…” You pressed your mouth into a line, looking at your hands as your shoulders sagged. “I think it’s going to severely mess up my shot at getting home.”

“Home is where you make it, mishka.” You felt a hand come to rest on your shoulder. “Is not home that is problem, yes?”

“I have… A family – a sister – to get back to.” You move your gaze to look up at her.

“You have much to learn.” Zaryanova sighs, running a hand through her bright pink hair. “Brothers and sisters are here as well.”

“How do you mean?” You were confused, just what’d she mean by that?

“To live, to fight in team. Would you not live and die for them?” She asks, giving you some ‘food for thought.’ “Are they not family in arms?”

You stared at the woman in front of you, giving you sound advice. Sure, you had to figure out the answer for yourself, but really you should’ve asked yourself that before. You’d not even been here a month and yet you had already acquainted yourself with new people, new friends. Were you being selfish by not accepting what was put in front of you? Throwing away the opportunity to do better?

“You might just be right, Zaryanova.” You decided. The two of you stood, her height allowing her to tower over you without a thought. You grasped each other’s forearms, the grin on her face was brilliant as it was cocky.

“Of course, I’m right, mishka.” She pats you on the back as you turn to leave. “I’m Russian.”

You left her in the training room, a calm sitting over you as you thought about what she had given you to consider. There was a lot you had to sort out.

The next morning, you were standing in Winston’s, having just interrupted a meeting he was having with Mercy and Soldier: 76. Which was unbelievably convenient. The issue certainly wasn’t going to sort itself out, and you had to get it over with. Standing there now, you felt small and insignificant, your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to compose not only your apology, but also your defence as to why you had argued and yelled at them in the first place. In a way, you felt as though they expected you to apologise, not that you had much of a choice. You didn’t want any more debts to pay.

“I want to apologise, for my actions yesterday.” You started, attempting to keep your voice even with their attention pointed at you. Your hands sat in front of you, one hand holding your other wrist. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. It was wrong, and immature. Especially when I’m here out of the generosity of your organisation.”

You took a breath, slowly, eyes scanning each of them to see if there was any disbelief or perhaps any hatred in the eyes of the trio that you considered judge, jury and executioner. You straightened your shoulders.

“Specifically, I wish to apologise for providing you a false name. I understand that there may be distrust of my position here, but by providing a pseudonym, I had a way to protect my identity… Not that it did much good in the end.” You looked at Soldier: 76, red visor light staring right at you. “I don’t mean you any harm. Not to your operation, families, or any information you have here. My name is [Y/N] [L/N], I am a Lieutenant Colonel of the Australian military… And I wish to formally apologise, and request that I take responsibility for my immature actions.”

Your long-winded apology didn’t go without its flaws, and you certainly hoped they would accept it, even if you highly doubted it. This was, realistically, the best wicket you had in terms of not only surviving in the future without any knowledge of how anything from income to shelter worked. It was also your best show at getting home. You didn’t know what was outside the perimeter of the facility, not with the Mad-band around your arm tracking your location.

You fidgeted as you waited for them to respond, your gaze turned down to your shoes as they looked at each other, the silent conversation running over your head. You were mentally preparing for them to drag your arse out of the facility with nothing more than what you had arrived with.

You hear Winston clear his throat. “Well, uh. This is a change of events, certainly. But your apology is accepted.”

Your eyes snapped up to look at him, you were surprised. The only other person in the room who even showed a fraction of sharing that same sentiment was 76, who had tensed as Winston spoke.

“However,” He continued. “we understand that mistakes are made, but as you said, you wish to take responsibility. I believe the best course of action would be to leave you at the hands of Soldier: 76 to levy the consequences.”

“Yes, Sir.” You nodded, turning when you were dismissed. Walking out of the lab you mulled it over; Soldier: 76, the American hard as nails Commander with a stick up his arse was going to deal your hand. Perhaps by the end of this, you wouldn’t need to find a way home after all.

Boots falling in step, Angela Zeigler and Soldier: 76 made their way towards the MedBay where Angela was looking to drop off some printed documents for filing. The topic of conversation was you.

“I know Watson had an altercation with Winston and I… But one with you,76? I hadn’t suspected that.” Her tone was thoughtful, her arms resting comfortable around the stack of files in her arms.

“A pointed conversation.” He clarified, opening a door for Angela to step through first. His thoughts on the content of the conversation he had shared with you.

“And that’s when you discovered that her name is, in fact, [Y/N]?”

“No. I have been looking into her from the moment she woke up.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I have a few concerns about her.”

“General, or security?”

“Mental.”

He nodded, his mind flicked to the sight of you, anger so prevalent that you had been trembling with it. Eyes holding a darkness he had seen too many times in the mirror.

“I’m not certain of the extent of her condition… It’s… difficult.” She admits, eyebrows furrowing.

“It’s certainly something of an enigma.” He agreed, watching as Angela stepped through the entrance of the MedBay.

“I will have to test for Post-Traumatic Stress…” She sighs, placing the files on her desk. “One can only wonder what she has had to do with the old ideals.”

Soldier: 76 placed his hands in his pockets, the sight of you laying against the window appeared behind his eyes. The journal page that had been damp with tears, the note to a young child, and the way you were perpetually tense whenever you were anything but asleep. If he thought about it, perhaps he was being too hard on you from a security standpoint. It wasn’t unreasonable to assume that you carried yourself the way you did due to your experience. What was it you had told him?

You were waiting to fall asleep.

He considered the implications of that statement. Being here, closed off from the outside would, admittedly, send even him stir-crazy. But he didn’t that was what it was, the only thing he really considered in your actions was that it consisted of an almost muscle memory that set you into a routine best to adapt yourself to the environment.

“Is there anything I should take into consideration, Soldier?” She was looking at him now, her tone suggesting it wasn’t just the facts she wanted.

“That soldier needs help, Angela.” He admitted, sighing. “Don’t push too much, too fast.”

“Understood.” She wrote something down, eyebrows furrowed. “I best be tending to her arrangements.”

You felt a pair of eyes on you as you pulled yourself up for your sixty-seventh consecutive chin-up, a weight seated on your calves that were crossed at the ankle. You had been waiting in the training hall for Soldier: 76 to show up and give you your orders. It was possibly a stupid idea to place yourself on the highest bar to do chin-ups in the training hall, however it ensured that your feet wouldn’t touch the ground. You huffed as you pulled yourself up again, adjusting the grip of your hands, feeling as though they were starting to slip. You left yourself down before pulling back up, bringing your feel up when they felt like they were dropping, keeping your focus on the bar.

“You have better form. Good to know you were listening.” A deep, gruff voice called from beneath you.

It startled you, not expecting whoever had come in to come by and talk to you. You tried to adjust you grip as your hands faltered on the bar you were pulling yourself up to. The surprise yelp you gave as you slipped from the bar was replaced with the immediate realisation that you could potentially be seriously injured when you hit the floor. You brought your arms out as if that would do anything.

The hard floor never reached you, your descent suddenly slowed to a careful halt as you heard the weight thud loudly against the floor. A pair of strong arms were around you, holding under your knees, and across your back. Your heart beating quickly to both exertion and the sudden slip. You looked up to see Soldier: 76, the red light of his visor up close not as intimidating in the light of the training hall.

You breathed in, realising that he had caught you as though you had weighed literally nothing. It would’ve made for a romantic moment if you weren’t in the army, or if the thought that he was your commanding officer only there to make sure you knew just how badly you had screwed up.

“Thank you - - sir.” You mumbled as he put you down.

“You need to be more careful, cadet.” He stated.

“Because falling for you is something I can account for.” You muttered.

“What was that?” There was an edge lace in his voice.

“Nothing, Sir.”

“Exactly. Drop and give me fifty.”

This was going to turn out just great.

You weren’t getting up there, no way your arms could pull your body towards the bar. Since when did you weigh this much? Your legs felt like mush, the muscles exhausted. Push-ups were fine, planking across two benches, you were okay with that. Fifty damn laps around the complex had left your legs turned into jelly. And after all that, you were back at square one; chip-ups. You were up to number 34 out of one-hundred. You couldn’t do it, you didn’t want to do it. But he wouldn’t let you down, not until you finished. Sweat was pouring off you in waves, making if that much harder to pull yourself up.

76 stood with his arms folded near you, watching as you pulled yourself up, grunting with the effort it took to simply pull yourself upwards. Your hair was a mess, having no chance to retie it for the duration he had been dealing with you so far. This form of cruel and unusual punishment confused you, originally, you thought he’d make you scrub the room, do laundry and other chores until he had thought you’d done enough to satisfy the grievance.

This hadn’t been what you had in mind at all. Did he enjoy putting you through training? Watch as you eventually struggled to so a basic set? You pulled yourself up, falling back to the full length of your arms before your chin could raise above the bar. Dammit.

“You can’t come down until you finish.” He reminded you, and you were sure you could hear a smirk in his stupid voice. You’d be hanging here for the rest of the century!

“I can’t get up there.” You groaned, trying again to pull yourself upward, muscles protesting with every centimetre.

“Then you’ll just have to hang there.” You pulled yourself maybe an inch higher, gritting your teeth at the comment.

“Sir?”

“What, Cadet?”

“Respectfully Sir… Go fuck yourself.” You quipped, pulling your chin above the bar.

“You told Soldier: 76 to – ha! That’s so great!” D.Va laughed at the comment you had made to the commanding officer hours ago, making your way down the hall with trembling muscles.

“I don’t feel great.” You groaned. He had made you clean the entire training hall after the smart-arse comment.

“Still. I wouldn’t have been brave enough to say it.” She smiled at you, “I can’t quite tell if that was a stupid or brave move on your part though.”

“Trust me, D.va, it was incredibly stupid.” You stopped at your door, the one with the sticky note on it, your name written down in neat letters.

“Hey,” D.Va turned to you, your gaze now on her. “Call me Hana.”

“You nodded at her. “Alright… Hana.”

You opened the door to your room and stepped inside. You were taken aback, it was certainly bigger than you thought, especially when you considered it housed a single person. There was a bed in the centre of the wall, too big to be a single bed, yet too small to be considered a double bed. Next to it on the right side was a desk, at the corner facing the wall, a window seated above it. The window just enough to let natural light in during the day. Next to the door was a dresser. There was still ample room for you to walk around, and have another person inhabit the space with you.

You looked at the room, your eyes widening. It might’ve been quaint, or small to some standards, but if filled you with a small sense of security. A sense of ease that came with having a space that was yours. Hell, you had your own bed.

When was the last time you had your own bed?

“At least something good came out of all this.” You sighed, walking over and running your hand along the covers. They felt soft.

“I’ll let you get settled into the new room.” You could hear the smile in her voice. “Meet us for dinner?”

“Yeah… Sure.” You nodded, hearing the door close behind her.

You turned and laid down on the covers, sinking into it, the mattress firm and holding you properly. It smelled like vanilla and something earthy. Not wanting to move, you laid there, staring at the ceiling, contemplating just how lucky you were in a lot of ways. Being here had improved you physically already, you were significantly more fit than you had been the first couple days you used to sneak off to the training hall. You had gained a sort of surrogate family born out of the battlefield rather than during the middle of it.

Tracer kind of reminded you of your sister, energetic and optimistic with an impatience that rivalled most. Hana was what you thought a ‘best friend’ should be, with her competitive nature and overly fantastic instinct to read the emotions of people. Lúcio was like a brother to you, his music was pretty good and showed not only his work ethic, but his big heart that you could see in each interaction you had. Even Zaryanova had made it into the mix, he solid advice had you in the position were in now, pushing through and trying to stick it out. To be patient and prepared for the possibility that you might not actually be able to get home.

Even McCree was on the list, only, he spent most of his time either in the firing range or doing god-knows-what somewhere else. He was always up for the company though, if you had time to give it. Your ‘acquaintanceship’ was more him openly flirting with you, like he did with most anyone (except Tracer – something about a girlfriend?) and you’d have a one-liner. It was kind of like going out drinking, without the liquor.

Your thoughts drifted to the American poster boy; Soldier: 76. Sure, he was your superior, but so was Zaryanova, and even Mercy. Both of whom would share a slice-of-life type story if it came up. With your commanding officer, there weren’t any conversations besides the regular Drill Sargent insults, and your smart-arse comments. Would he be the only one around who would almost outright avoid you outside when he had to talk to you? A small part of you hoped that wouldn’t happen. In a weird way, it felt like he could relate to you better, knew when to push you harder or to back off a bit. You shook you head, closing your eyes and sighing.

He was different to others that had trained you, sure. He treated you like he was supposed to, but there was a mutual respect there. The whole ‘I’m your superior but you’re still a human, kid.’ (why could you imagine him saying that?) You rub at your left wrist, feeling ghost pain rise up in an unexpected dull ache.

It was going to be one of those nights.

About two weeks into the hard and fast training Soldier: 76 had put you through since your apology in Winston’s lab, you found that you were allowed in the gun range. So far, you had been in there for about two hours. Mercy having just been by with a pair of hearing aids, only, to do the opposite to what you considered normal for your hearing. They adjusted automatically to the noises around you, gunshots scaling lower, and voices at a regular volume. You were immensely grateful to her for them, the sound of electronics in the area barely registering upon your ears now as you stood in front of a training bot that hovered above the ground.

You pulled the trigger to the rifle you had in your hands, apparently it was called a ‘Pulse Rifle’ and it had a far greater range to regular bullets. You looked at the training robot, some thirty yards away, you aimed, keeping your elbows from locking as you steadied the weapon. When you pulled the trigger, your arms moved, the force of the kick moving your hands, and the rest of you to the ground. The bullet missing the bot by a few metres, McCree chuckling to your right.

“You alright there darlin’?” He asked, a smirk in his voice as he watched you get back onto your feet.

“M’fine.” You brushed off your hands onto your pants. “Kick’s a bit bigger than expected.”

“Should’ve taken my advice.” He said, putting his cigar into the holder on an ashtray as he walked over. “It’s not enough to jimmy it against yer shoulder.”

You looked at him, eyebrows furrowing. “How’d y’mean, cowboy?”

“Well, missy,” He places his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face the bot again. He smelled of tobacco and stale liquor, whiskey mostly. “What it is yer doin’ is sitting the butt of the rifle against the wrong part of yer shoulder.”

You face the mark once again, eyebrows furrowing. “Okay, let me figure this out.”

You looked at the bot, adjusting your grip on the rifle as McCree stepped back. You moved the back end of the gun to sit better against your shoulder, and your side as you aimed it towards the bot and practice targets around it. You adjusted your stance to be more grounded, more centred as you pulled the trigger. The first few shots you tested missed. You readjusted and took to it again.

The shot hit.

Your eyebrows raised, and eyes widened as the training bots’ head exploded, the bot falling to the ground. Sure, you were adept at using weapons, or, at least those you could understand, but to actually hit a shot with this type of weapon? You were impressed with yourself. Your gaze turned to McCree, a smirk on his face.

“Looks like you’ve got the hang of it there all on yer own.”

“Yeah.” You breathed a laugh. “Wasn’t expecting it to just blow up like that though.”

“Best not stop while you’re getting the hang of it.”

You nodded, an affirmative sound coming from you as you turned to shoot, eyeing each target and shooting at it. Sure, anyone with a pair of hands could pick up a weapon and shoot, be it beginners luck or what have you, but it took training to get the amount of shots you were getting. You guessed it was perks of working your arse off when you were back home training or out on the field in a skirmish, that lead to your ability with this new kind of weapon.

A low whistle from beside you caught your attention, you lowered the weapon, looking for a way to reload it.

“Do I meet your expectations, darlin’?” you mocked his accent a little bit on the last word, raising an eyebrow as you found the release for the clip.

“Meetin’ and exceedin’. Didn’t think you’d actually start hittin’ the targets that quick.” He confessed, smiling at you when you looked at him.

“And they call you a quick draw.” You reloaded the rifle, looking back to the grounds as more targets rolled out. “Besides, I gotta set the bar somewhere.”

Aim, shoot, breathe.

Winston’s conversation with Soldier: 76 was going no where near the plan he had for it. The anger in the soldier’s features was evident as he presented the news.

“You want to put her out on the field?” 76 asked incredulously, voice low and seething as he stared down the gorilla from behind his visor. “She hasn’t got the training, let alone the bearings.”

“She’s been improving steadily.” The tone of Winston’s voice suggesting that he was trying to be reasonable. “She holds tremendous tactical advantage. Look at this.”

He looked at the live feed that was brought up. You were standing in the range, McCree smoking a cigar at the table nearby. You were handling a rifle half the size of you. When you took a shot and stumbled back, you turned, saying something to McCree, a smirk on your face as you adjusted your stance and took another shot. You hardly flinched with the kick, taking shot after shot.

“With her fighting for us, we could take care of Talon and its agents scattered over the globe. We could stop the largest crime organisation in the world. You don’t think she has the training? Look at her marksman skills.”

He watched as you took calculated shot after shot, until you emptied the clip. You brought the rifle down to look for the release. Just how many weapons had you tested so far? He discounted the thought. It didn’t matter if you could carry a weapon and have complete accuracy. It didn’t matter if you continued to exceed his expectations. It didn’t convince him that it would be the same on the field, he didn’t want to be the cause of more needless death. Especially when you didn’t even belong here.

“Handling a weapon in a controlled environment means nothing. It’s completely different on the field. Just because she’s able to stick something with a bullet doesn’t ensure she has the physical endurance required to take down Talon by any measure.”

“76,” Winston sighed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You know her, evidently more than I do, but the fact is that with her, we may have a chance at bringing peace again. Making a difference again.”

“She hasn’t got the training.” He stated.

“I’m sorry, but the matter’s out of my hands. It’s already been decided.”

“By who?” His voice was stern as he folded his arms, you shouldn’t be on active duty. He watched as Winston brought up your file, or, what he had access to.

“These scans and diagrams show that she is physically stable. 76, Angela cleared her for active duty, everything in her files, from medical diagnosis to conversations they’ve had is strictly under Angela’s clearance.”

“You didn’t look into her files yourself?”

“Angela is a capable doctor. Her decisions have come to be an advantage to us more than once.” He takes her file from the display on his desk. “She will be accompanying you tomorrow. There isn’t any risk, the mission’s only reconnaissance anyway.”

“You’ll regret that decision when her blood’s spread across the pavement.” He said, standing and leaving Winston’s lab. He had preparations to reorder.

The next morning, you were guided to a hanger, located in a separated building from the rest of the complex. There were ACVs – Well, kind of. You could tell they were military vehicles, due to the reinforced tyres on most of them, the thick metal shell of them suggesting that the vehicles were built to be in a skirmish. You crouched to look at the wheels of one of the vehicles, your eyebrows furrowing. They weren’t touching the ground, and nothing was connected to them.

They had hover cars.

“Stop gawking.” Soldier: 76 said, standing beside you. You got up, looking around the base again.

The hangar was big, and it seemed every car had its own designated space. Your eyes turned forward when you noticed movement, a pair of familiar faces standing by what looked to be a dropship. McCree and Tracer stood by the door. It brought a small comfort, having familiar faces on your first mission, even if this whole thing felt like a test.

You’d have to place trust into people you hadn’t long met, only one of which you had actually train with, and they would have to place their trust in you. You’d have to be ready for anything that came your way. It felt like déjà vu, like meeting your squad back home all over again. McCree like Jenks, the Texan boy with a sharp aim. Tracer like Mouse, resourceful and extremely quick. Then there was Soldier: 76, and yeah, he was kind of like Sprint, quiet and to the point, if he didn’t have the metal visor for a face, you were sure he’d always have a scowl on his face. The revelation had you feeling as though you were in good hands, and it made you want to be better.

Being in the army did that, you supposed, trusting your comrades faster than any regular person. They were the ones you had to trust like your life depended on it, because, your life did depend on it.

“Get in.” 76 ordered, Tracer and McCree walking up and into the dropship. You followed them up, abiding by his orders. He was the highest-ranking attendant to the mission as far as you knew, and thus, all orders he gave had to be followed.

You sat down across from Tracer, McCree next to her and the Commander next to you. You were nearest to the back of the vehicle, wondering what the mission would entail. You were told it was a simple reconnaissance, which explains why you were even allowed to toe in the direction of the mission in the first place. However, in your experience, nothing was ever just recon. You were hoping it was an easy in-and-out mission. That wasn’t too much to ask for, right?

Your thoughts were interrupted when the ship lurched, lifting upwards before moving forwards. You looked forward to Tracer, a recurring thought came to mind that had your eyes widening, awe dawning on your face as she laughed.

“You have hover cars.” You announced.

“Of course, love! They’ve been around for ages.”

Setting foot on ground zero had an eerie feel to it, there weren’t any people around, not that you could see. You were on the outskirts of what you were told was a rundown city, which, in all honestly just looked like the grungy side of Sydney. There was graffiti over the walls over buildings, posters over noticeboards. The more you looked at the city, which was really more a town anyway, you found that it was fairly run down. A car had been stripped of parts nearby. Windows were broken, doors broken in.

“Group up over here.” 76 ordered, placing a bag of equipment down and crouching to unzip it.

You stood alongside your companions, McCree inspecting his revolver and flashbangs, Tracer adjusting her jacket before she took her weapons from Soldier, who unloaded a rather large rifle that matched what you were coming to assume was his unspoken aesthetic. He stood, turning as his gaze settled on you. He had another rifle in his hand, a scope sitting atop it.

“Your weapon.” He stated, holding it for you to take, which you did, pulling the strap over your shoulder, letting it rest comfortable. Your commanders gaze turned to face the three of you.

“This is a monitoring, reconnaissance, mission. I don’t want buildings going down due to a lack of tactfulness, or lack of care.” He stated, turning his gaze to you for a moment as if you would send a building to the ground. “We aren’t expecting any heat on this but be on your guard. Don’t get yourself killed.”

You nodded, watching as Tracer and McCree just listened along, probably used to this kind of quick, on the job briefing.

“Report back if you see anything. Tracer, you’re headed east. Watson,” His gaze was back on you for a moment. “East. McCree and I will head through the middle. Remember to use your coms. Move out.”

From there you spread out, taking the east side as you were instructed. You appreciated the fact that you were given all the information you needed to know and weren’t expected to know when and where everything was. It gave you a sense that you were still part of the team despite the obvious difference in authority. You crouched at the corner of a building, looking around before heading inside to start clearing it, attempting to find any information that could’ve lead to the call to come out in the middle of nowhere.

You ducked through a kitchen, dirty dishes still in the sink. A teddy bear siting beside a highchair. You worked through clearing each building you could get to on the way towards the east side, not spending too much time in a building; just enough to clear it before moving on. There were a few stores that you cleared, the one you were clearing now had a door siting ajar, leading to what was probably the office. You walked over, pointing your gun towards the door. You toed it open with your boot, scanning the room.

You had to turn away.

A family had been killed in there, mother father, and two little boys. The dried blood on the wall hand your grip on your rifle firm as you worked to clear the rest of the store before moving on, only pausing to take a lone roll of duct tape from a shelf. Never knowing when you might need it as you pushed down the failure and thoughts of being so useless that you hadn’t come at an earlier time to save the people in the store. Not that there was anything you could’ve done.

It felt the same, each building was empty of anything interesting, unless you counted the body count. A common theme was occurring to you as you worked your way through the buildings. It had to be an act of terrorism, or a measure of control that had left the few bodies you found, other places with a spray-painted sigil of a barn owl. You found your way outside, weaving past bins and cars that had been stripped for parts. This town was a horror show put on display, and you had to focus.

You were probably at it for about an hour now. You were growing concerned as you searched, you hadn’t received word from the others. You reached up to your ear and pressed the button on your communications device.

“Commander, status. Over.” You spoke as you cleared the street of any possible signs of movement. All you got was static.

Shit.

“Commander, status report- -” The sound of distant gunshots ringing in the distance caught your attention.

You hadn’t been expecting resistance on this mission. The line was dead on your commanders’ end. You had no way of contacting him. You made your way towards the sound, creeping behind bin, cars, even fences to find cover. You tried your coms again.

“McCree, do you read me. Over.” Static.

You got closer to the gunshots, loud enough to tell you that the fight was going on very much nearby. You swept the area before going into the closest building. A hotel. It would make for a good vantage point. You had your eyebrows furrowed in concentration, clearing the open halls as you took the stairs, running up them as quietly as you could manage. If you could make it to one of the top levels, you’d have an almost perfect vantage point given the heights of the other buildings.

You heard shouting in the street, someone was down there. You ran into the closest room you could get to, kicking the door shut behind you. The empty living room of an apartment facing you, everything set out as though a family had lived there. You jump over a couch, rolling to land against the far wall of the room, adjusting your rifle so you could see through the scope. You sat up, using the scope to look out the window, attempting to pinpoint the location of the skirmish.

You look over the streets, your gaze turning to find movement towards the north-west. You moved your rifle to the window and crawled over to the next window, not wanting to take the chance if there was a sniper. You looked through the next window, scope showing you that the boys; McCree and Soldier: 76 were outnumbered, a group of mercenaries facing them with what was the equivalent of automatic weapons. You tried to get a clear shot, they moved behind a building, out of your range.

You groaned and hurried out the door, back down the stairs. You needed to make clear shots or you would give away your cover. You almost tripped on the last staircase, catching yourself on the rail as you made your way through the foyer, legs carrying you with an ease as you cleared corners and roads on your way to a closer building. Your eyes found a higher building as you heard how loud the skirmish was. It was rather close. You sprinted towards the building, ducking and weaving behind anything and everything in the environment you could find as you got to the entrance.

The large broken window was enough for you to jump through and find the stairs going up. You heard voices as you climbed the stairs, they sounded like mercenaries. You made your way up the stairs, careful not to make an unnecessary amount of noise. You followed the sound of the voices as you made your way up the staircase, to the fourth floor. They were being rather loud.

Kicking open the already ajar door, you were met with a group of three surprised mercenaries. You aimed at the first, the one on the right, aiming and shooting him as your muscle memory of how to operate in the situation took control. He dropped to the floor with a thud, the one on the right was a girl, her face looking young, but not for long. The middle one had scrambled for his gun. He aimed for you, but the shot was too far to the left, whizzing past your ear. You aimed and shot him, the bullet sinking into his shoulder. Gritting your teeth, you took the second shot in a rapid succession.

Dead.

You stepped inside the room, which was wrecked. Furniture and miscellaneous items scattered everywhere. Jumping over a couch and near missing some glass bottles, the smell of old, and new alcohol mixing in the air was enough to make your stomach leave you feeling nauseous at the smell. You made your way to the window hoping you weren’t too late as you set yourself up, aiming.

Looking down at the field, you saw that there were at least six targets on the ground, shooting at your comrades, another two in the lower level of a building. You looked up at the top of the building, a sniper with a long pony tail on the roof. Setting up the shot, you took a deep breath in, squeezing the trigger. The sound of your shot was like lightning cracking as the bullet you sent her way missed your intended target.

The only bright side was that her scope was broken; a heavy disadvantage in the field of ranged targets. Your attention turned down to the heat on the lower floors of the building the sniper was on. As you ducked out of the way, you felt a hot pressure graze across your arms, looking down, you saw that you were bleeding, a hole now in your jacket sleeve. You looked it over, hissing in pain, the blood not enough to worry about, you pushed your sleeve up you arm so that it could soak up more blood that would no doubt seep from your arm.

You chanced another look at the battlefield below you on the ground. Your concern not only on the talented sniper you would have to deal with, but onto your team who was being pinned down. You saw a black figure down on the ground now, a white face under his hood. You didn’t have time to think about it as a bullet collided with the brickwork at the height of your head. You swore, ducking behind the wall further. You just caught the flash of blue on the ground, a British voice calling out, signalling Tracer’s arrival to the unexpected party.

Perhaps you could use her arrival to your advantage? You looked around the room, you took note of the electronics from earlier, the nails that were sticking into the carpet and various other seemingly useless items. An idea struck you, effectively lighting a fire under you as you took to the floor, taking wiring, nails, a liquor bottle and an empty soup can, as well as the roll of duct tape you found in one of the stores earlier in your search. You crafted a ‘home-grown’ grenade, all kinds of shrapnel put inside of a device that could very easily explode. You only had one chance at seeing if it would work.

Turning to the window you saw that the figure in black had the attention of your comrades, the other targets busily reloading their weapons. It wasn’t that far, maybe fifty metres. If you could throw it at the right angle it would land and (hopefully) explode at the feet of the enemy. You stood behind the cover of the brick wall, calculating the trajectory of your very dangerous concoction.

You took a breath as you stepped out of your cover, throwing the grenade and watching it’s trajectory, landing a meter out of proportion. The confusion of the targets on the ground matched your own disappointment as your contraption did nothing, your intended targets inspecting it. It was only the span of a few seconds, but the resulting explosion in a flurry of glass, nails and liquor left a sadistic, morbid side of you satisfied with your work. The screams of pain, and the sight of fire catching to the clothes of the targets below left you – wincing? Why was there a pressure in your abdomen? You move behind the brick wall, looking down as you lean backwards. There was blood seeping over your shirt. You placed your hand firmly over the wound as you pushed yourself forward, towards the door. The crimson covering your hands a result of the wound and your physical strain as you coughed, placing a hand on the wall, blood slick hand slipping as your shoulder slammed into the wall.

It hurt.

You clenched your jaw and kept moving, towards the stairs. You knew it was a bad idea, but you started running when you saw the stairs, bringing your hand up to your coms. The resulting static signalling that they were still cut. Fuck.

Your blood pumped faster, your legs moving overly quickly as you ran down the flights of stairs. Warm liquid cooling against your hand, leaking over your arm. It hurt worse than when your hand was broken, or the time you were beaten for a long close-minded belief.

Your feet lost traction on the ground as you tripped, hands flying to the hand rail, your body slipping and rolling down the stairs into the main foyer of the building you were in. The gunshots outside didn’t hold as many numbers, it left you guessing that the targets in your sights had been neutralized. It was a fleeting, yet comforting thought as you pushed yourself up on slippery, sticky, and crimson covered arms. A harsh cough sending more blood and saliva over the floor. Your blood quite literally starting the paint the floor. Your skin felt flushed with heat. It confused you, you were losing blood weren’t you? Fear made its presence known around your rapidly beating heart.

You didn’t want to die.

You caught a glimpse of bright red outside, pulling yourself to get closer. You groaned with the effort of moving, the pain causing tears to spring to your eyes. You squeezed them shut, taking as large a breath as you could, hoping he’d be able to hear you.

“I need a medic!”

The sound of your pained voice just barely reached Soldier: 76’s ears. He didn’t want you out on the field in the first place, and yet, here you were. The explosion had certainly caught his attention, had you been caught in the blast? He didn’t bet on it, your voice coming from behind him. He shot his pulse rockets at the man before him, now known as Reaper before turning around, sprinting towards the building as Tracer and McCree distracted him. He looked around for you, unsure of what he’d find, especially from a kid who had told him explicitly that they had wanted to die.

He stepped into the foyer of an apartment building, heavy boot falls pounding against the pavement. He saw blood covering the floor and the sound of raspy, shortened breathing coming from the corner, near the staircase. He jogged over, finding you leaning against the wall, your eyes dull. He was over to your side in less than a second, the recognition on your face only followed by coughs that had your shoulders shaking, and blood pouring over your chin.

Soldier: 76 leaned over you, putting his arms under you, one under your knees, the other across your back, his rifle against his back and he lifted you upwards, turning to get back to the dropship. He could hear your shallow breathing, could see the tears that collected at the corners of your eyes as you leaned your head against his shoulder, biting into your hand when he headed for the door, just barely muffling the whimpered groan that made its way up through your throat. He made a mental note to figure out why you did that when you were safe, back at the facility.

“I know you’re lying down, kid. But don’t fall asleep just yet.” He managed to saw as he called for an E-VAC.

There was a set of hands on you, a gruff voice talking to you, a hard surface beneath you. Above you was the roof of the dropship, the face of McCree looking down at you with concern hair falling around his face. Pain was shooting through your side, the wound at your shoulder doing the amount of a paper-cut in comparison. You could feel your eyes closing, eyelids heavy. Why did you bother trying to stay awake? It was so hard. Wouldn’t it be easier to just rest? A wet hand met your face, turning your gaze to a red lit visor, something sticky attaching to your face.

“Stay awake for me, [Y/N]. Don’t fall asleep.” The man in front of you said, almost pleading undertones in his voice. Despite his robotic face, he looked how you imagined your perpetually disappointed guardian angel to appear, if you had one. Maybe he spent his days drinking? You didn’t have time to entertain the thought, a retching sound hit your ears as you jerked, a splash of saliva and blood hitting the floor, doing nothing to relieve the pain in your abdomen and chest. You couldn’t breathe.

“Bloody hell - why does she sound like that?” a British voice asked.

“Punctured diaphragm, collapsed lung. We’re going to have to stabilise it ourselves.” The white-haired man said, taking some type of tool from a first aid kit.

A hand took yours, a flask of something put to your lips as you were made drink whatever burning liquid was in it. You thought you heard something like ‘just squeeze if it hurts Darlin’’ before immense pain hit your side, the ability to breathe becoming slightly easier, something putting pressure on your lungs as the hand in yours was set in a death grip. Weren’t you supposed to be good at this?

You felt hot, what was the temperature? Did it make a difference? The pain wasn’t so intense, so it had to be a good thing, right? There was more talking, but you didn’t pay much attention. Couldn’t pay attention. It felt like you were under water, everything blurry. You could feel your vocal cords vibrating in your throat, suggesting that you were speaking, or groaning – something that you couldn’t register. You felt hot, why was it so damn hot? An intense wave of tiredness washed over you, a fleeting memory of napping in the summer passed behind your eyes. Were you allowed to sleep?

Eight hours later, Doctor Mercy Ziegler was looking at you perplexed, her confusion evident. Your wounds weren’t as bad as the amount of blood on your clothing, nor Soldier: 76’s. You had only needed a few stitches and gauze, but only because she had to take out whatever was used to stabilize your lung in the first place. It was quite the ordeal, leaving you feeling stupid for wasting resources that someone else may have needed. But, in a way, it was the lack of care you required that scared you in the whole situation. Shouldn’t you be dead?

“You were shot, yes?” She asked, for the fourth time in the last hour to which you nodded yet again. You hadn’t understood it either and you didn’t like the alienated feeling it gave you in a room with both sets of eyes on you. “Hm. And there’s no extensive damage… Perhaps... no, that’s not it..”

“It’s not, what?” You asked, gaze on the doctor who was looking back through your files. Mumbling to herself about charts and scans.

“An effect of your travel in time and space.” She said, the gears of her mind churning, you could almost see the gears clicking into place.

“So, what? I get super powers now?” You asked, a sarcastic edge to your tone.

“No, not ‘super powers’. However, it seems likely that you may have gained some physical abilities – aside from the mental effects. Such as your apparent regeneration.” Her eyes were on your wounds. “I will have to and this hypothesis to your medical file.”

“So… I’m free to go? Just like that?” You asked, standing up and pulling your shirt down, Doctor Ziegler nodded.

“There isn’t much I can do for you now, other than suggest you take things easy and rest.” She had a rather thoughtful tone to her voice, profound confusion evident. “We may need to run another scan.”

“You’ll want to talk to Winston about that first.” You stated, seeing him as the head of all things to do with scanning and any other scientific developments in the complex.

“Yes, yes. I will.” She dismissed, waving her hands to signal that you could leave.

You walked out of the med bay, seeking a much-needed shower, hoping to get clean and release the tension in your muscles. Walking presenting a dull, but manageable ache as the stitches pulled on your side. The universe left you with more questions than answers. Was the mission a success? Was the point even surveillance? Who were the enemy? Did anyone else get injured?

What was with the sympathetic looks you got when you talked about you home country?

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collegeeducationnewsllcusa · 3 years

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The National Guard Just Simulated A Cyberattack That Brought Down Utilities Nationwide

National Guardsmen have just completed a two-week training exercise responding to a simulated cyberattack that destroyed critical utilities in the United States. The drills have become an annual event, but this year gained even more prominence after launching several major ransomware and cyber attacks over the past few months that crippled large parts of America’s infrastructure.

The exercises were part of the seventh Cyber Yankee, a training event that brings together guardsmen from across the New England area to test their responses to simulated cyberattacks. This year’s drills simulated a cyber attack targeting utilities on the west coast before spreading east across the United States towards New England. The exercise was designed not only to provide hands-on training in responding to active cyberattacks, but also collaboration between the National Guard and private sector partners, the FBI, the Department of Homeland Security’s Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency, the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, and the U.S. Cyber Command, among others.

Marine Forces Reserve / LCpl Mitchell Collyer

Marine Forces Reserve and Army National Guard personnel participating in Cyber Yankee 2021.

“We do this in a training environment so that by the time it happens we will have those relationships built not just by a National Guard but by all of our critical infrastructure, our federal, local and state partners,” said Maj. Ryan Miler, State Connecticut Army National Guard cyber operations officer. “We have established these lines of communication and then it is much easier to come together and react.”

At this year’s Cyber Yankee, the new Cyber 9-Line system developed by US Cyber Command (USCYBERCOM) was used for the first time in the annual exercise. Cyber 9-Line provides the National Guard cyber units with a template of questions that will enable them to quickly provide USCYBERCOM with the details of an alleged cyber attack in the chain of command. Once CYBERCOM has this information from Cyber 9-Line, it can diagnose this attack faster and more efficiently and return information to the reporting unit, which can then pass this information on to affected local governments and industrial partners. “The Cyber 9-Line is still in its infancy, but after we launched this program a few months ago, we already have it [seen an impact]”Said Lt. US Air Force Col. Jeff Pacini, deputy chief of CNMF Future Operations, in a USCYBERCOM press release last year. “Ultimately, it’s about helping one another.” The Cyber 9-Line Questionnaire is similar to other nine-line formats used by the US armed forces for requests such as medical evacuation or close air support.

USCYBERCOM

A USCYBERCOM slide with the questions the Cyber 9-Line tool asks.

Lt. Col. Cameron Sprague, the Connecticut Air National Guard’s chief information officer and assistant trainer for this year’s Cyber Yankee, said the simulated cyberattacks should be as realistic and complex as possible in order to prepare for the type of incidents across the country more frequently:

It is really hard to do such an exercise effectively. Many cyber exercises involve capture-the-flag game-like activities that are too simple and not necessarily applicable to real-world crises. It’s really difficult to work effectively in an incident response environment. That’s the first thing many teams take with them when they go through this. This is actually how we’re going to create an incident response plan. That’s the big point.

The trainers said the teams that carried out bogus attacks provided a way for the National Guard to get a better idea of what to expect in the event of actual cyberattacks and ransomware operations. Knowing how your enemies conduct attacks can help you be better prepared to defend against them.

Last year’s Cyber Yankee exercises gathered over 200 guardsmen to combat various cyber threats. The guardsmen were divided into four blue teams tasked with responding to simulated cyberattacks, a red cell, which carried out these attacks, and a white cell, which “regulated and evaluated event operations”.

U.S. Army Col. Woody Groton, who headed the Cyber Yankee last year, said in 2020 that the exercise is aimed at providing guards against the same types of cyber threats currently facing U.S. businesses and infrastructures are exposed:

Cyber security, especially in critical infrastructures and in the state government, is currently a big issue. You can see it on the news every day. Ransomware attacks are increasing; Loss of data, loss of intellectual property. It’s hard to keep up with your opponent. We have also seen a significant increase in cyber attacks and attempted cyber attacks on the electrical industry and water in recent years. By training this in advance, we will be better prepared in the event of an actual incident.

Marine Forces Reserve / LCpl Mitchell Collyer

Marines address visitors during Cyber Yankee 2021.

Cyber attacks on civil infrastructures have become a priority as a national security problem in recent years as they have become more frequent and crippling. A ransomware attack paralyzed the largest fuel pipeline in the United States in May 2021, causing fuel shortages in some parts of the east coast. Georgia-based Colonial Pipeline officials eventually paid nearly $ 5 million in ransom to end the cyberattack, about 85% of which the FBI was later able to get back in the form of cryptocurrency.

A similar ransomware cyberattack followed the Colonial Pipeline attack in June 2021, this time against the world’s largest meat processing company. However, it is not just large private sector companies that are being attacked as ransomware attacks against local governments and institutions in the US are increasing at an alarming rate. In one example, a Louisiana National Guard unit foiled a 2020 cyber attack on government offices believed to have originated in North Korea and may be related to elections in that state.

While many of these attacks are reported to have been carried out by criminal organizations rather than state actors, many fingers have been pointed in the direction of the Russian government. Some attacks are even believed to have originated directly from Russian intelligence agencies, such as the 2020 cyber attack on information technology management company SolarWinds that broke into servers owned by US government agencies and private companies. Russia denied any involvement in this attack.

“I can assure you that we are raising this through the highest levels of the US government,” White House press secretary Jen Psaki said after the ransomware attack on meat processing in June. “The President certainly believes that President Putin has a role to play in stopping and preventing these attacks.”

AP / Patrick Semansky

Biden and Putin meeting in Geneva in June 2021

The most recent summit between US President Joe Biden and Russian President Vladimir Putin in Geneva focused on cyberattacks and ransomware plots. Biden reportedly gave Putin a list of 16 critical American infrastructure sectors that the White House wants Russia to be “banned” from cyberattacks, including energy and water utilities. Putin, meanwhile, said Russia had nothing to do with the Colonial Pipeline attack, claiming instead that the United States was responsible for most of the world’s cyberattacks.

The White House recently announced that it would give ransomware attacks a priority similar to terrorist attacks and set up a new task force that will enable various government agencies at multiple levels to coordinate information sharing and response to cyberattacks. “It is a specialized process to ensure that we pursue all ransomware cases, regardless of where they are directed in this country, Attorney General in the Justice Department. The Biden government signed an executive order in May 2021 to strengthen and modernize cybersecurity defenses across the federal government, including intelligence services and the defense ministry.

As recent events have shown, cyber attacks do not need to disable missile defense systems or satellites in order to cause damage and major disruption. Cyberattacks on private companies like Colonial Pipeline can do just as much damage by disrupting the operation of fuel supplies, while a ransomware attack on a commercial electricity company could undoubtedly wreak massive damage, given the basic utility and public safety systems that the nation relies on every day depends, get dark. We can probably expect exercises like Cyber Yankee to grow and become more complex as the cyber threat continues to spread and the US government finds more ways to contain and defend itself against it.

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source https://collegeeducationnewsllc.com/the-national-guard-just-simulated-a-cyberattack-that-brought-down-utilities-nationwide/

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lord-covfefe · 6 years

Text

White Noise - Chapter 1

AO3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12779217

Different people have different ways of expelling frustration. My Father, as he demonstrated today, cools feeling through verbal abuse. I once witnessed Alton, the head cook of the castle, throw an entire fruitcake onto the floor because one of his workers fumbled the icing work.

When Mother lost the twins she had been carrying, a boy and a girl, she had allowed herself one time to weep before returning to the composure demanded of her as Queen.

Even though I was four years old, and supposed to know nothing of the matter, I had crouched outside her chamber and listened to the horrific moaning. After that clear but bitterly cold winter day, she spoke less.

I suspect that not all of her pain was carried off with her tears.

Perhaps my younger sister was the true descendant of the goddess. Perhaps with her death, we lost not only a child but also Hyrule’s only chance at survival. If that is the case, why would the goddesses allow for her passing? Why would they allow me to remain, pathetic as I am?

My appointed knight, Link, vents frustration in training with the sword. To anyone else, he would appear to be simply in daily drills. As I am accustomed to reading the subtleties written in the crook of his eye or bend of his mouth, I can sense when it is anger and not dedication behind his swings.

This afternoon, after my father finished scolding me and walked away, Link stood from where he had been kneeling and dropped over the battlements to the courtyard below.

I remained on the walkway between my bedroom and my study, waffling between shock and anger. I had only one idea as to how I might deal with this agitation. Less of a how, and more of a who.

I knew I would find him in his measured but desperate drills. Though I ruffled at the thought of walking about the castle after such a public embarrassment, my desire to find my knight was greater than my dread of wagging tongues. Heir to a throne of nothing...

I charged across the courtyard with as much speed as my heavy skirt would allow, shaking off those words and gathering my features into a thoughtful moue. Although I can not remember my mother well, I do try to imitate her grace.

The heady smell of a coming storm hung on the evening. I noted the gathering dew with satisfaction, pleased that the cheerful sky would soon be blotted out to match my temper.

I found Link on a veranda close to the castle docks. His expression was so severe by his standards, it just might have been readable to the unpracticed eye. To my eye, it was utter devastation.

When he saw my approach, he stood at attention with the point of the Master Sword against the stone, his hands worrying the pommel. Looking down, a pained expression flashed across his face for an instant before he looked up, again a husk of himself.

“Princess, I think you should rest for the remainder of the day.”

“I have been spoken to like a child enough for one day. Do not presume to give me orders,” I shot back, perhaps betraying my own method of releasing frustration.

I immediately regretted my tone when I saw a hint of confusion in his eyes--the same confusion they held when I yelled at him in front of a shrine, questioned his proficiency next to a lake, was disgusted with his presence on Vah Naboris.

I have not been kind to my appointed knight. I suppose I, like my father, have a streak for cruelty when under pressure.

Before Link and I made our peace, his presence vexed me like nothing ever has. How I detested him! I could not bear to be near to him. His voice, his smell, his face all revolted me--yet when night came, I had the most peculiar dreams about the two of us.

How my subconscious mind could conceive of acts I had never performed I do not know.

I still detest him for his features. To look in his oceanic eyes or on his muscled back as he trains fills me with a rage quite unbecoming of a princess. How I hate the utter helplessness I feel, looking on him and realizing I have never seen a face that could rival his. What in his lineage makes him so genetically superior to the other men I have known? Has every hero in his line been so infuriatingly attractive?

And if I am truly descended from the goddess, why is my being so far from divine?

The most puzzling thing in all of this, and the very source of my ill temper, is my inability to reconcile my holy heritage with the plainness of my reality. The others who came before me were more elegant and I am the awkward, gangling exception. I am the outlier in our data pool.

Anomalies in my own research incense me to no end--a mouse that will not respond to my behavior conditioning, a plant in the castle hothouse that refuses to leaf on the same schedule as its peers, or an errant guardian whose orange lights seem to take on a rosier hue. I cannot make sense of them, and their stubborn uniquity taints the otherwise orderly pool of my samples.

To be an anomaly myself is an unspeakable horror. Princess Zelda of the Twili invasion was said to be a heavenly creature, beautifully serene in both stature and temper. One in my line disguised herself as a Sheikah warrior in war time, demonstrating bravery and tenacity of spirit.

I am simply a Zelda who was publicly chided by her father as her knight looked on in embarrassment. More than the shame of my impotence, the disorderliness of my placement in this line frustrates me.

What a relief it would be to discover that my Father had been unfaithful and I was not, in fact, born of Hylia’s line. There is no doubt I was sired by that tumultuous loaf of a man, but it just seems so ludicrous that my maternal line was a holy one.

I am a trueborn princess who longs to be bastardized! How lovely it would be. An untidy heritage would make a tidy explanation.

Of course, if it is true that I am not the sacred princess, then I suppose my sacred hero would no longer be beholden to me. Would he still care for me, if it came to light that I did not in fact carry the soul of the goddess he has known for many lifetimes?

Which brings to mind another conundrum--Link is the one person in Hyrule who knows the soul of the goddess best. He has fought alongside her (me?) countless times. Would he then, not, be capable of declaring me an impostor the second he met me, if that is the case? So far, he has not.

This is the one piece of evidence that resigns me to the conclusion that, ridiculous as it seems, I am the chosen vessel of Hylia for this lifetime.

I know I tend to get carried away in analyses. Now that that matter is settled, I shall continue to recount the events of yesterday, and most importantly, the events of last night.

#botw fanfiction #botw fic #fic by op #original text #botw #zelink #zelink fanfiction #botw zelink

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friendship-korea-japan · 4 years

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6.12. Defense system

Question 6: Conditions in the last years of the Joseon era › 12. Defense system

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6.12. Defense system

By launching a coup with 50,000 soldiers, Yi Seong-gye seized power, put an end to Goryeo and formed a new state now called the Joseon Dynasty.

Armaments were meant to protect the nation and its people, and all modern states had armed forces to consolidate their defense. In order to see the defense system at the end of the Joseon Dynasty, we quote a relevant description from the article on “Central Governing and Military Organization” on pages 308-309 of “2. Construction of a Centralized State” in “Chapter 6. Early Joseon Era”, Korean History I.

[ The State Council of Joseon (Uijeonbu) and the Six Ministries (yukcheo) were key players in the central governing bodies. [...] The Byeongjo (Ministry of Military Affairs) was in charge of military personnel, military administration and [...].

[...]

[...] Among the military organizations on the central government level, Owidochongbu and Chungchubu played important roles. Owidochongbu was the general headquarters of the Owi [...], which was the military units in charge of the guard of the royal capital and the royal palace. On the other hand, Chungchubu was the successor of the Privy Council (Chungchuwon) which had been in charge of military affairs such as military equipment and accommodation, as well as payment and receipt of royal orders. […] In reality, it had no duties and functioned as a courtesy organization for high-ranking officials who actually did not have important tasks.]

As for the local governance and military structure, the following description can be found on page 311 of Korean History I.

[ In addition, we would like to introduce two local military organizations, Yeong and jin. Each province had one or more army and navy headquarters, which were respectively called byeongyeong and suyeong. The jin was a military structure organized as a subordinate unit of the byeongyeong and suyeong units, and the jin units were divided into the geojin, which were set up at strategic military positions, and their subordinate organizations called jejin. [...] The central government dispatched military commanders, byeongma jeoldosa and sugun jeoldosa, respectively to byeongyeong and suyeong and controlled the jins under their jurisdiction. […] ]

In this way, in the early days of the Joseon Dynasty, a splendid military structure was in place. However, time passed by and the situation changed in the late Joseon era. There is the following description on pages 413-414, “Reform of the Military Service System: Enforcement of the Equal Service Law”, “Chapter 8: Late Joseon Era”, Korean History I.

[ As already mentioned, from the 16th century onward, it became more and more common to pay cloth tax instead of assuming military service obligations, and in the majority of cases people were considered having fulfilled military service by delivering two pilsof cotton cloth per person in exchange for military service (which was called gunpo or military cloth), which the government used to hire soldiers. Two pils of cotton cloth corresponded to far more than 10 du (approx. 180 liters) of rice in value, which was a huge burden on the yangin (law-abiding citizens). In order to escape the burden of paying military cloth, many people avoided registering with the military register, which was a list of those with the obligation to fulfill military service, or falsified their family registration as “yuhak“ (a title given to those who were preparing for the Gwageo examination, which was originally given to those with the Yangban status). As a result, the burden of military service was concentrated on a small number of law-abiding citizens, and this became a serious social problem.]

There were two problems regarding this system of paying cloth tax in exchange for military service. The first was that although the government received money with the introduction of this system, the number of soldiers decreased and the defense was weakened. Money is not enough to protect a country. It is the soldiers who actually fight and protect the country. The second problem was that the burden on some honest people became too heavy due to the fraudulent acts of many people who falsely claimed to be “yuhak” and evaded their military service and tax obligations. Consequently, lying and cheating to protect oneself became the norm, honesty, fairness and justice disappeared, and the whole Korean society lost discipline and got corrupt.

Furthermore, it can be inferred that Korea's defense system was further weakened in the late 19th century. The following description can be found on pages 483-484 of “Chapter 9: The Late Joseon Dynasty (19th Century), 3: The Rise of Popular Movements” in Korean History I.

[ By the nineteenth century, the Yangban class accounted for 60 to 70 percent of the total households in the country. They were composed of such categories as bureaucrats, saengwon, jinsa, yuhak, chunguiwi, eobyu and eopmu. In particular, the percentage of yuhak (those studying Confucianism who did not bear the burden of the state) increased in every region over time. Their percentage was 98.8% in Danseong Prefecture, 1825 and 89.9% in Daegu Prefecture, 1858. In other words, the increase in the members of the Yangban class effectively meant the rise in yuhak.]

Table 7 on page 484 of the book mentioned above shows that the households that bore neither the tax burden nor military service of the state accounted for 70.3% in Daegu Prefecture in 1858 and 57.1% in Danseong Prefecture in 1825. To put it another way, 70% of the households in Daegu Prefecture were exempted from paying taxes and fulfilling military service, and the number of households that should fulfill military service was reduced to 28.2% (20.1% according to another data). Since most of the members of these 20-28.2% of households that were subject to military service obligations did not in fact serve in the military and instead paid military cloth, we can see that very few people became soldiers in 19th century Korea.

1858 was 18 years before the conclusion of the Japan-Korea Treaty of Amity. From this time onward, very few people in Korea served as soldiers, and the country was already in a state of near defenselessness. Moreover, the number of tax-paying households was decreasing, so it was likely that the amount of money that could be invested in military equipment was limited. 28.2% of the households had to pay taxes to cover the cost of armaments. In addition, 20.1% to 28.2% of the households had to produce food through farming.

The reason for this situation can be found in the system of the Joseon Dynasty under which the Yangban class and those were preparing for the Gwageo examination to enter the Yangban class were exempted from military service and tax obligations. And it was the ruling class, called Yangban, who had created such a system. These ruling class had created a system that was favorable to themselves, but the number of people without military service and tax obligations increased to such an extent that Korea became defenseless. In other words, the system that the Yangban had created for themselves, rather than for the country, caused Korea to be defenseless. Korea was not made undefended by external forces such as Japan, but by internal factors that had already reduced the number of soldiers and made Korea defenseless before having relations with Japan.

We have found the following statement on page 19 of the original version (page 29 of the Japanese version) of the Introductory Chapter of Korea and Her Neighbors, which describes the situation at the end of the Joseon era.

[ The Korean army consists of 4,800 men in Seoul, drilled by Russians, and 1,200 in the provinces; the navy, of two small merchant steamers.]

It shows that the Korean army around 1894 had only 6,000 army soldiers and a navy of two small ships.

In addition, on page 68 (Japanese version) of “Chapter 4: Government”, “Introduction” of The History of the Church of Korea, the following is written about the Korean military forces.

Turning from the civilian to the military organization of Korea, the first surprise is the huge number of troops. According to official statistics, there were more than 1.2 million soldiers on the roster. This is because of the principle that all young men who have reached adulthood and who are not members of the Yangban class should be soldiers. The law allows only a few exceptions to this rule. However, many of these so-called soldiers have never held a gun in their hands. Their names are officially registered, and they are obliged to pay a per capita tax every year, yet this registration is not worthy of any confidence. There, pseudonyms are very often used. People from families that ceased to exist a century or two ago are listed, and many who ought to be listed are evading their duties by offering some bribe to the lower officials who are in charge of revising the register.

Almost the only military-like force in the Korean government is the 10,000 soldiers stationed in the four major military camps in Seoul. They have received a little amount of military training. Oddly enough, despite the existence of the Ministry of Military Affairs, the generals commanding this elite force report directly to Uijeonbu, and only this body has the power to appoint or dismiss them.

It is possible to notice the contradiction between the two descriptions, because according to Korea and Her Neighbors, 4,800 soldiers were stationed in Seoul, while “Introduction” of The History of the Church of Korea indicates that there were 10,000 soldiers. However, the latter was written in 1874 while the former was published in 1897. During this 23-year period, the number of soldiers stationed in Seoul seems to have decreased from 10,000 to 4,800. The soldiers stationed in Seoul came from the provinces and worked in eight shifts every two months, and the number of soldiers may have dropped with each shift over the 23 years.

There was no battle on the Korean Peninsula for more than 200 years since the era of King Injo, who was trapped in a difficult situation after fighting against the Qing army that invaded Korea with 120,000 troops in 1636, and who surrendered to Hongtaizi of the Qing Dynasty adopting the vassalage of "three knees and nine knocks". By coming under the protection of the Qing Dynasty as a vassal state, Korea’s need for military forces was reduced, which is presumed to have made the country almost defenseless.

Then, in the latter half of the 19th century, the Western powers, strengthened by the success of the Industrial Revolution, began to expand their armed forces into Asia, and the Joseon government failed to grasp that the surrounding situation was changing rapidly and was unable to cope with it. The Korean rulers at that time did not seem to recognize the need to strengthen their defenses, and they relied on Qing and went along with Russians without trying to build a system to strengthen their own defense until the end.

Alternatively, it could be said that since the Yangban were effectively ruling Korea at that time, it would be disadvantageous for them to change the Korean system that exempted them and those preparing for the examination to enter the Yangban class from military service and tax payment, and thus they put their own interests above the defense and survival of the country.

#joseon dynasty #about south korea #history of korea #korea-japan #Korea

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t-challala · 7 years

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Hold Your Hand

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 1,535

Warnings: None! All fluff

Prompt: The Beatles song “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” as well as memories of holding someone’s hand for the first time, because I looove that feeling.

Requested by: My writer’s block-stricken brain.

Author’s Note: I didn’t use “Y/N” in this one, so I’m leaving out the code for the name insert. Also, I tried writing first-person POV to see if things flow a little better. :) Let me know if you enjoy reading first or second-person better, please!

AO3 Link - For those of you that might prefer reading fics on there!

“Hey, we’re heading down to the mess hall. Wanna join?” Jess asks me, motioning down the hall that leads to the residential area.

I give her a smile, “Yeah, I’ll meet you there in a few. I’ve got to run this report down to Command.” Jess nods, turning to lead the group of pilots to lunch.

“We’ll see you there!”

I continue on my way to the command center, brushing some dust from my flightsuit along the way. All my grimey gear had been left in the locker room of the squadron bay, but the bright orange of the flightsuit didn’t hide the dust of the landing zone very well.

Upon entering command, I give a few officers polite nods, as I make my way to General Organa. The woman was standing near a large display that showed troop movements among various Resistance outposts. Poe Dameron was by her side, gesturing to a part of the display with a thoughtful look on his face.

The sight of Poe brings a small smile to my face that I quickly try to squander, hoping to maintain an air of professionalism despite my hopeless crush on the man. As I approach, General Organa takes notice of me first, finishing her words to Poe quickly before greeting me.

“Lieutenant, I trust that you have the mission report from this morning.”

I pull two data drives from one of my flight suit’s many pockets and hold them out for her to take.

“Yes, General. The plan went off without a hitch, and we even got the chance to grab some interesting files before we blew the data tower to bits.”

The General smiles at this, graciously accepting the data drives from me. “I’ll have our decryption team get right on this. Good work.” With that she turns, giving Poe a small smile before she makes her way towards the section of command that holds our decryption team.

I finally allow myself to truly look at Poe, not bothering to hide my smile as I see that one that is spread across his own face.

I’m expecting another round of harmless flirting from the pilot, having grown accustomed to his advances in the time I’d known him. I cross my fingers, hoping it just might mean as much to him this time as it always has for me.

“What are you grinning about, Dameron?”

Poe chuckles and shrugs, “I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed you having a serious conversation with anyone.”

I scoff, feigning offense and placing my hands on my hips.

“I’ll have you know that I’m plenty capable of having serious conversations when I put my mind to it. I just choose to be ridiculous most of the time,” I explain to the Commander, whose eyes are lit up with mirth. He takes a step closer, now standing right beside me.

“That’s why I like having you around. Always so cheerful,” Poe says, his lazy smirk making my knees go a little bit weak.

I hardly have the chance to blush, let alone respond, before he’s speaking again.

“You have lunch yet?”

I give a quick shake of my head, as an answer as well as a way to reel my thoughts in.

“I was planning on meeting Jess and the others after giving those drives to the General. Wanna join?”

Poe gives me one of his million credit smiles before he responds, “Of course.”

With that, the two of us make our way out of the command center and head towards the mess hall, making idle chit chat along the way.

About halfway to our destination, an astromech comes whizzing by, forcing Poe to step out of its way or risk having his foot run over. Our hands bump each other, fingers brushing together briefly and causing a small rush of warmth to travel up my arm.

When the droid passes, Poe quickly puts some distance between us, though the gap is noticeably smaller.

“I wonder what had that droid in such a hurry,” he muses, letting out a slightly awkward chuckle.

I shrug, “Must’ve been something important for it to risk decommissioning you with a broken foot,” I tease and we reach the mess hall.

Poe and I go through the food line quickly, not having to wait long because most everyone had already received their food and sat down.

It was easy to find the long table full of pilots, their orange flight suits giving them away. Poe and I greet our friends as we sit down beside one another.

Jess gives me a knowing look from across the table while Poe catches up with Snap. I playfully sneer at her, which causes her to chuckle.

The amount of people seated on the benches of our table causes Poe and I to sit rather close, our thighs mere centimeters from touching.

I’m talking to Jess about our mission earlier in the day when I feel Poe’s knee bump against my own. I glance over at him to see if he was trying to get my attention, but find that he’s busy talking to Kren Bast. He likely didn't even notice the contact.

I try to ignore the feeling of his knee pressed against my own as I continue my conversation with Jess.

After I finish eating, I settle in to focus more on the conversations that were going on, resting my left hand on my thigh and propping my right elbow on the table to get comfortable as I listen to Jess recount a story from her days in training.

I notice movement out of the corner of my eye and glance down to see that Poe has adjusted as well. His right hand has moved to his own thigh, his fingers drumming against the fabric of his flight suit. I focus back on Jess, laughing along as she tells the group about the shenanigans we were involved in back in the day.

Jess is recounting the time we got busted for skipping out on chores to watch flight drills when I feel Poe’s pinky brush the tiniest bit against my own. I keep my eyes on Jess, but my focus is drawn to the miniscule contact.

I slide my hand closer, testing the waters as my pinky and the pad of my ring finger reach towards Poe, now brushing back. The contact is enough to set butterflies loose in my stomach as I wait for Poe’s reaction.

My mind is running wild at the possibility that my affections might just be reciprocated.

But what if the touch had only been an accident?

I can’t help but glance to the left for a moment to reassure myself. The tiny smirk that the pilot is now sporting silents my question, putting my heart at ease for the moment.

I feel my own lips start to tug up at the corners, no matter how hard I try to keep a straight face.

The next move is mutual, our hands sliding across each other’s until the back of Poe’s hand rests on my thigh, cradling my hand as our fingers lace together.

Poe’s thumb rubs back and forth a few times across my own, causing a pleasant warmth to spread across my face and chest, the flutter in my stomach stoked even more.

We sit this way for the remainder of Jess’ story, but my attention is only halfway on her tale. The other half is focused on the way my heart thumps in response to the feeling of Poe’s hand in my own.

His fingers are calloused, the skin just a little tougher than my own. His grip is gentle, and I realize that I like the way our hands fit together. The warmth of his touch makes me feel safe, secure.

As soon as Jess finishes her story, the pilots around the table laugh in appreciation of a punchline that wrapped the narrative up rather nicely. I chuckle as well and roll my eyes at my friend, who was basking in the glory of everyone’s attention.

I look over at Poe and see that he’s smiling at me, his eyes alight. I give his hand a tiny squeeze before I release it in order to gather my tray and get ready to leave the mess hall.

Poe walks alongside me to the tray deposit area, quickly setting his tray on the conveyor belt after I set down my own. He reaches his hand out towards mine and I give him a questioning look, eyebrows raised.

“I think I’m going through withdrawals already,” he jokes with a smile.

I bring my lower lip between my teeth to hold back a chuckle, reaching out to lace my fingers between his once again.

“I’m gonna have a hard time letting go if we keep this up,” I warn, my tone teasing.

Poe turns to face me, a smirk on his lips, before leaning his head down so that he can whisper in my ear.

“Then don’t let go,” he suggests, pulling back and pressing a quick kiss to my cheek.

We walk out of the mess hall hand in hand, a new reason for winning this war at our fingertips.

#anna writes #fanfiction #poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fanfiction #poe dameron/reader #poe dameron & reader #star wars x reader #star wars reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #cute #fluffy fanfiction #fluffy fic

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siva3155 · 4 years

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300+ TOP Deep Learning Interview Questions and Answers

Deep Learning Interview Questions for freshers experienced :-

1. What is Deep Learning? Deep learning is one part of a broader group of machine learning techniques based on learning data analytics designs, as exposed through task-specific algorithms. Deep Learning can be supervised us a semi-supervised or unsupervised. 2. Which data visualization libraries do you use and why they are useful? It is valuable to determine your views value on the data value properly visualization and your individual preferences when one comes to tools. Popular methods add R’s ggplot, Python’s seaborn including matplotlib value, and media such as Plot.ly and Tableau. 3. Where do you regularly source data-sets? This type of questions remains any real tie-breakers. If someone exists going into an interview, he/she need to remember this drill of any related question. That completely explains your interest in Machine Learning. 4. What is the cost function? A cost function is a strength of the efficiency of the neural network data-set value with respect to given sample value and expected output data-set. It is a single value of data-set-function, non-vector as it gives the appearance of the neural network as a whole. MSE=1nΣi=0n(Y^i–Yi)^2 5. What are the benefits of mini-batch gradient descent? This is more efficient of compared tools to stochastic gradient reduction. The generalization data value by determining the flat minima. The Mini-batches provides help to approximate the gradient of this entire data-set advantage which helps us to neglect local minima. 6. What is mean by gradient descent? Gradient descent defined as an essential optimization algorithm value point, which is managed to get the value of parameters that reduces the cost function. It is an iterative algorithm data value function which is moves towards the direction of steepest data value function relationship as described by the form of the gradient. Θ: =Θ–αd∂ΘJ(Θ) 7. What is meant by a backpropagation? It ‘s Forward to the propagation of data-set value function in order to display the output data value function. Then using objective value also output value error derivative package is computed including respect to output activation. Then we after propagate to computing derivative of the error with regard to output activation value function and the previous and continue data value function this for all the hidden layers. Using previously calculated the data-set value and its derivatives the for output including any hidden stories we estimate error derivatives including respect to weights. 8. What is means by convex hull? The convex hull is represents to the outer boundaries of the two-level group of the data point. Once is the convex hull has to been created the data-set value, we get maximum data-set value level of margin hyperplane (MMH), which attempts to create data set value the greatest departure between two groups data set value, as a vertical bisector between two convex hulls data set value. 9. Do you have experience including Spark about big data tools for machine learning? The Spark and big data mean most favorite demand now, able to the handle high-level data-sets value and including speed. Be true if you don’t should experience including those tools needed, but more take a look into assignment descriptions also understand methods pop. 10. How will do handle the missing data? One can find out the missing data and then a data-set value either drop thorugh those rows value or columns value or decide value to restore them with another value. In python library using towards the Pandas, there are two thinging useful functions helpful, IsNull() and drop() the value function.

Deep Learning Interview Questions 11. What is means by auto-encoder? An Auto-encoder does an autonomous Machine learning algorithm data that uses backpropagation system, where that target large values are data-set to be similar to the inputs provided data-set value. Internally, it converts a deep layer that describes a code used to represent specific input. 12. Explain about from Machine Learning in industry. Robots are replacing individuals in various areas. It is because robots are added so that all can perform this task based on the data-set value function they find from sensors. They see from this data also behaves intelligently. 13. What are the difference Algorithm techniques in Machine Learning? Reinforcement Learning Supervised Learning Unsupervised Learning Semi-supervised Learning Transduction Learning to Learn 14. Difference between supervised and unsupervised machine learning? Supervised learning is a method anywhere that requires instruction defined data While Unsupervised learning it doesn’t need data labeling. 15. What is the advantage of Naive Bayes? The classifier preference converge active than discriminative types It cannot learn that exchanges between characteristics 16. What are the function using Supervised Learning? Classifications Speech recognition Regression Predict time series Annotate strings 17. What are the functions using Unsupervised Learning? To Find that the data of the cluster of the data To Find the low-dimensional representations value of the data To Find determine interesting with directions in data To Find the Magnetic coordinates including correlations To Find novel observations 18. How do you understanding Machine Learning Concepts? Machine learning is the use of artificial intelligence that provides operations that ability to automatically detect further improve from occurrence without doing explicitly entered. Machine learning centers on the evolution of network programs that can access data and utilize it to learn for themselves. 19. What are the roles of activation function? The activation function means related to data enter non-linearity within the neural network helping it to learn more system function. Without which that neural network data value would be simply able to get a linear function which is a direct organization of its input data. 20. Definition of Boltzmann Machine? Boltzmann Machine is used to optimize the resolution of a problem. The work of the Boltzmann machine is essential to optimize data-set value that weights and the quantity for data Value. It uses a recurrent structure data value. If we apply affected annealing on discrete Hopfield network, when it would display Boltzmann Machine. Get Deep Learning 100% Practical Training 21. What is Overfitting in Machine Learning? Overfitting in Machine Learning is described as during a statistical data model represents random value error or noise preferably of any underlying relationship or when a pattern is extremely complex. 22. How can you avoid overfitting? Lots of data Cross-validation 23. What are the conditions when Overfitting happens? One of the important design and chance of overfitting is because the models used as training that model is the same as that criterion used to assess the efficacy of a model. 24. What are the advantages of decision trees? The Decision trees are easy to interpret Nonparametric There are comparatively few parameters to tune 25. What are the three stages to build the hypotheses or model in machine learning? Model building Model testing Applying the model 26. What are parametric models and Non-Parametric models? Parametric models remain these with a limited number from parameters also to predict new data, you only need to understand that parameters from the model. Non Parametric designs are those with an unlimited number from parameters, allowing to and flexibility and to predict new data, you want to understand the parameters of this model also the state from the data that has been observed. 27. What are some different cases uses of machine learning algorithms can be used? Fraud Detection Face detection Natural language processing Market Segmentation Text Categorization Bioinformatics 28. What are the popular algorithms for Machine Learning? Decision Trees Probabilistic networks Nearest Neighbor Support vector machines Neural Networks 29. Define univariate multivariate and bivariate analysis? if an analysis involves only one variable it is called as a univariate analysis for eg: Pie chart, Histogram etc. If a analysis involves 2 variables it is called as bivariate analysis for example to see how age vs population is varying we can plot a scatter plot. A multivariate analysis involves more than two variables, for example in regression analysis we see the effect of variables on the response variable 30. How does missing value imputation lead to selection bias? Case treatment- Deleting the entire row for one missing value in a specific column, Implutaion by mean: distribution might get biased for instance std dev, regression, correlation. 31. What is bootstrap sampling? create resampled data from empirical data known as bootstrap replicates. 32. What is permutation sampling? Also known as randomization tests, the process of testing a statistic based on reshuffling the data labels to see the difference between two samples. 33. What is total sum of squares? summation of squares of difference of individual points from the population mean. 34. What is sum of squares within? summation of squares of difference of individual points from the group mean. 35. What is sum of squares between? summation of squares of difference of individual group means from the population mean for each data point. 36. What is p value? p value is the worst case probability of a statistic under the assumption of null hypothesis being true. 37. What is R^2 value? It’s measures the goodness of fit for a linear regression model. 38. What does it mean to have a high R^2 value? the statistic measures variance percentage in dependent variable that can be explained by the independent variables together. 40. What are residuals in a regression model? Residuals in a regression model is the difference between the actual observation and its distance from the predicted value from a regression model. 41. What are fitted values, calculate fitted value for Y=7X+8, when X =5? Response of the model when predictors values are used in the model, Ans=42. 42. What pattern should residual vs fitted plots show in a regression analysis? No pattern, if the plot shows a pattern regression coefficients cannot be trusted. 43. What is overfitting and underfitting? overfitting occurs when a model is excessively complex and cannot generalize well, a overfitted model has a poor predictive performance. Underfitting of a model occurs when the model is not able to capture any trends from the data. 44. Define precision and recall? Recall = True Positives/(True Positives + False Negatives), Precision = True Positives/(True Positives + False Positive). 45. What is type 1 and type 2 errors? False positives are termed as Type 1 error, False negative are termed as Type 2 error. 46. What is ensemble learning? The art of combining multiple learning algorithms and achieve a model with a higher predictive power, for example bagging, boosting. 47. What is the difference between supervised and unsupervised machine learning algorithms? In supervised learning we use the dataset which is labelled and try and learn from that data, unsupervised modeling involves data which is not labelled. 48. What is named entity recognition? It is identifying, understanding textual data to answer certain question like “who, when,where,What etc.” 49. What is tf-idf? It is the measure if a weight of a term in text data used majorly in text mining. It signifies how important a word is to a document. tf -> term frequency – (Count of text appearing in the data) idf -> inverse document frequency tfidf -> tf * idf 50. What is the difference between regression and deep neural networks, is regression better than neural networks? In some applications neural networks would fit better than regression it usually happens when there are non linearity involved, on the contrary a linear regression model would have less parameters to estimate than a neural network for the same set of input variables. thus for optimization neural network would need a more data in order to get better generalization and nonlinear association. 51. How are node values calculated in a feed forward neural network? The weights are multiplied with node/input values and are summed up to generate the next successive node 52. Name two activation functions used in deep neural networks? Sigmoid, softmax, relu, leaky relu, tanh. 53. What is the use of activation functions in neural networks? Activation functions are used to explain the non linearity present in the data. 54. How are the weights calculated which determine interactions in neural networks? The training model sets weights to optimize predictive accuracy. 55. which layer in a deep learning model would capture a more complex or higher order interaction? The last layer. 56. What is gradient descent? It comprises of minimizing a loss function to find the optimal weights for a neural network. 57. Imagine a loss function vs weights plot depicting a gradient descent. At What point of the curve would we achieve optimal weights? local minima. 58. How does slope of tangent to the curve of loss function vs weigts help us in getting optimal weights for a neural network Slope of a curve at any point will give us the direction component which would help us decide which direction we would want to go i.e What weights to consider to achieve a less magnitude for loss function. 59. What is learning rate in gradient descent? A value depicting how slowly we should move towards achieving optimal weights, weights are changedby the subtracting the value obtained from the product of learning rate and slope. 60. If in backward propagation you have gone through 9 iterations of calculating slopes and updated the weights simultaneously, how many times you must have done forward propagation? 9 61. How does ReLU activation function works? Define its value for -5 and +7 For all x>=0, the output is x, for all x Read the full article

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magzoso-tech · 4 years

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Technologists Are Creating Artificial Intelligence to Help Us Tap Into Our Humanity. Here's How (and Why).

New AI tools like Cogito aim to remind us how to be ‘human,’ issuing reminders and alerts for empathy and compassion.

December 31, 2019 15+ min read

When being empathetic is your full-time job, burning out is only human.

Few people are more aware of this than customer service representatives, who are tasked with approaching each conversation with energy and compassion — whether it’s their first call of the day or their 60th. It’s their job to make even the most difficult customer feel understood and respected while still providing them accurate information. Oftentimes that’s a tall order, resulting in frustration on both ends of the call.

But over the last few years, an unlikely aide has come forward: artificial intelligence tools designed to help people tap into and maintain “human” characteristics like empathy and compassion.

One of these tools is a platform called Cogito, named for the famous Descartes philosophy Cogito, ergo sum (“I think, therefore I am”). It’s an AI platform that monitors sales and service calls for large corporations (among them, MetLife and Humana) and offers employees real-time feedback on customer interactions.

During a call, an employee may see Cogito pop-up alerts on their screen encouraging them to display more empathy, increase their vocal energy, speak more slowly or respond more quickly. Interactions are scored and tracked on internal company dashboards, and managers can gauge, instantly, what different members of their team may need to work on.

As a call center representative in MetLife’s disability insurance department, Conor Sprouls uses Cogito constantly. On a typical day, he takes anywhere from 30 to 50 calls. Each one lasts between five and 45 minutes, depending on the complexity of the issue.

Sprouls’s first caller on the morning of Sept. 12, 2019, was someone with an anxiety disorder, and Cogito pinged Sprouls once with a reminder to be empathetic and a few times for being slow to respond (not uncommon when looking for documentation on someone’s claim, explains Sprouls).

When Cogito first rolled out, some employees were concerned about constant supervisor oversight and notification overload. They were getting pinged too often about the empathy cue, for example, and at one point, the tool thought a representative and a customer were talking over each other when they were in fact sharing a laugh. But Sprouls says that the system gets more intuitive with every call. As for over-supervision, call center conversations are always recorded and sent to supervisors, so it’s not much of a change.

In fact, Cogito may even offer a more realistic reflection of performance, says Sprouls. “A supervisor can’t be expected to listen to every single call for each of their associates, so sometimes when we’re just choosing calls at random, it could be luck of the draw — one associate could be monitored on an easy call, and another could be monitored on a hard one,” he says. “Cogito is going to give you the end result: who needs to work on what. I think the way a lot of us really look at Cogito is as a personal job coach.”

MetLife has been using Cogito for about two years, though it was first introduced in a pilot capacity.

Emily Baker, a MetLife supervisor with a team of about 17, says that her associates all benefited from Cogito’s cues during the pilot process. She says one associate’s favorite was the energy cue; he’d start slouching in his seat at the end of the day, and the posture meant he didn’t project his voice as much. When the energy cue appeared (a coffee cup icon), he sat up straight and spoke more energetically so that he appeared more engaged in the call.

“I like the fact that I can see overall, on my particular supervisor dashboard, how we’re doing as a team, if there are any trends,” Baker says. “Is everybody speaking over the caller? Is everybody having trouble with dead air? You can drill down into each person, and it’s really good for coaching one-on-one.”

Now, MetLife is in the process of rolling out Cogito across even more of its customer-facing departments — claims, direct sales, customer growth. The company also plans to more than double the number of employees using the platform (from 1,200 to over 3,000).

“It’s a little bit of a strange dynamic,” says Kristine Poznanski, head of global customer solutions at MetLife. “We’re using technology and artificial intelligence to help our associates demonstrate more human behavior. It’s something you don’t intuitively think about.”

A growing trend

At his consulting job in the New Zealand Department of Child and Family, Josh Feast, co-founder and CEO of Cogito, says he learned that social workers could experience burnout in as few as three to five years. He was shocked by the irony — that a profession designed to care for people wasn’t conducive to caring for the people in that profession.

An idea began to form, and it took further shape after a course at MIT’s Media Lab, during which Feast had a key revelation: Big organizations understand data well, so if he wanted to help people inside a large organization, he needed to present his idea in a language the corporate team could understand. “It was almost like being hit by a lightning strike,” he says.

And so Cogito was born. In the R&D phase, Feast and his co-founder worked for DARPA, the U.S. government’s Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency. The agency had in mind soldiers struggling with PTSD, and DARPA provided the Cogito team with funding to research aid for psychological distress. So Feast began studying how nurses interacted with patients.

“There was a real ‘aha’ moment where we discovered that if you could use that technology to understand the conversation — and to measure the conversational dance between nurse and patient — you could start getting a read of the degree of empathy and compassion they displayed … and the resulting attitude the patient had to that interaction,” says Feast.

He built dashboards to display measures of compassion and empathy, and he found something noteworthy: When people were given real-time feedback while speaking with someone, levels of compassion and empathy during the conversation improved. That realization was the key to Cogito’s future.

But Cogito isn’t the only AI-powered tool aiming to help us tap into our humanity.

Butterfly

There’s Butterfly, an AI tool that aims to help managers empathize with their employees and increase workplace happiness. After Butterfly is embedded into a workplace messaging system, it functions as a chatbot — executive-coaching managers in real-time based on employee surveys and feedback. Butterfly analyzes the latter to measure levels of stress, collaboration, conflict, purpose, creativity and the like. Then, it provides managers with calls to action and reading materials to help them deal with problems on their team. For example, an executive with a highly-stressed team might receive an article on how to create a more compassionate work environment.

“In a nutshell, Butterfly was created in order to help managers to be on point when it comes to their… team’s level of engagement and overall happiness,” says co-founder and CEO David Mendlewicz. “Think about an AI-driven happiness assistant or AI-driven leadership coach.”

Supportiv

Another AI-powered empathy tool is Supportiv, a peer counseling platform aiming to use natural language processing to take on daily mental health struggles such as work stress, anxiety, loneliness and conflicts with loved ones. Seconds after a user answers Supportiv’s primary question — “What’s your struggle?” — they’re sorted into an anonymous, topic-specific peer support group.

Each group has a trained live moderator (who is also equipped to refer specialized or emergency services as needed), and an AI algorithm scans conversations to detect mood, tone, engagement and interaction patterns. On the moderator’s side, prompts pop up — user X hasn’t contributed to the conversation in a while, or user Y shared a thought above that hasn’t been addressed. Co-founder Helena Plater-Zyberk’s vision for Supportiv’s next iteration: additional AI advances that could help identify isolated users in chats and alert moderators with suggestions on how to be more empathetic towards those individuals.

The aim, says Plater-Zyberk, is to create “superhuman moderators” — using compassion, empathy and hyper-alertness to facilitate a group chat better than any normally-equipped human.

IBM’s Project Debater

Finally, when it comes to the theory “I think, therefore I am,” IBM’s Project Debater fits the bill. Introduced by the tech giant in January, it’s billed as the first AI system that can debate complex ideas with humans. At its core, Debater is about rational thinking and empathy — considering opposing points of view and understanding an opponent enough to be able to address their argument piece-by-piece and ultimately win them over.

Dr. Aya Soffer, vice president of AI tech at IBM Research, envisions a variety of real-world applications for Debater — a policymaker who wants to understand the range of implications for a law they’re considering. For example, in the case of banning phones from schools (a law the French government passed in 2018), what are the precedents, the pros and cons, the arguments on both sides of the equation? A financial analyst or investment advisor might use Debater to make smart projections about what a new type of technology may or may not mean for the market.

We typically look for supporting arguments in order to convince ourselves, or someone else, of something. But Soffer says that taking counterarguments into account could be even more powerful, whether to change a mind or strengthen a pre-existing view. That kind of empathy and higher-level logical thinking is something IBM Debater aims to help with.

Pitfalls and privacy

As is the case with all new technology, this type has some concerning use cases.

First, there’s the potential for system bias in the data used to train the algorithm. For example, if it’s taught using cases of predominantly white men expressing empathy, that could yield a system that charts lower output for women and minorities. A call center representative with a medical condition might display less energy than the perceived norm but does their best to make up for it in other ways.

That’s why it’s a good idea for individuals to be provided this data before it’s shared with their supervisors, says Rosalind Picard, founder and director of the Affective Computing Research Group at the MIT Media Lab. She believes it’s a breach of ethics to share data on an employee’s interactions, such as levels of compassion, empathy and energy, with a manager first.

And then there’s the temptation for this type of technology to go beyond its intended use case — a helpful reminder to facilitate a genuine connection — and instead serve as a driver for insincere interactions fueled by fear. After all, similar tech tools are part of the foundation of social ratings systems (think Black Mirror‘s “Nosedive” episode). In 2020, China plans to debut publicly available social credit scores for every citizen. That score will help determine an individual’s eligibility for an apartment, which travel deals they’re offered, which schools they may enroll their children in and even whether they can see a hospital doctor without lining up to pay first.

Within the next five years, experts predict we’ll make great strides in “sentiment analysis” — a type of natural language processing that identifies human emotions by analyzing facial expressions and body language or text responses.

But for Noah Goodman, associate professor at Stanford University’s Computation and Cognition Lab, there’s a moral dilemma involved: What’s the right thing to do with the information these systems learn? Should they have goals — prompt us, adjust our environments or send us tools to make us feel happier, more compassionate, more empathetic? What should the technology do with data on our feelings towards someone else, our performance in any given interaction? And who should it make that information available to? “This is a place where the creepiness boundary is always close,” says Goodman.

Another problem? AI simply can’t replicate, or fully comprehend, human emotion. Take Cogito, for example. Let’s say you’re a customer service representative on the phone with customers all day, and you receive an alert that you’re sounding low-energy and tired instead of high-energy and alert. That doesn’t mean you’re actually feeling tired, says Picard, and that’s an important distinction to make.

“It doesn’t know how I feel,” says Picard. “It has no consciousness — it’s simply saying that to this system listening to your vocal quality, compared to your usual vocal quality and compared to other people on the phone at this company’s vocal quality, here is how you might sound, according to the data we’ve collected… It’s not to say you are that way.”

There’s a misunderstanding that we’re already at the point where AI effectively understands human feelings, rather than just being able to analyze data and recognize patterns related to them. The phrase “artificial intelligence” itself may propagate that misunderstanding, says Picard, so to avoid fueling public fear about the future of AI, she recommends calling it software instead.

“As soon as we call the software ‘AI,’ a lot of people think it’s doing more than it is,” she says. “When we say the machine ‘learns’ and that it’s ‘learned something’ what we mean is that we’ve trained a big chunk of mathematics to take a bunch of inputs and make a mathematical function that produces a set of outputs with them. It doesn’t ‘learn’ or ‘know’ or ‘feel’ or ‘think’ anything like any of us do. It’s not alive.”

Implications and regulations

Some experts believe there will come a day when technology will be able to understand and replicate “uniquely human” characteristics. The idea falls under the “computational theory of the mind” — that the brain is a dedicated tool for processing information, and even complex emotions like compassion and empathy can be charted as data. But even if that’s true, there’s a difference between experiencing emotion and understanding it — and in Goodman’s view, it’ll one day be entirely possible to build AI systems that have a good understanding of people’s emotions without actually experiencing emotions themselves.

There’s also the idea that throughout the course of history, fear has often accompanied the release of new technology. “We’re always afraid of something new coming out, specifically if it has a large technological component,” says Mendlewicz. “Exactly the same fear rose up when the first telegraph came… and when the telegraph was replaced by the phone, people were also expressing fear… about [it] making us less human — having to communicate to a machine.”

One of the most important questions to ask: How do we avoid this being used to alienate people or to create more distance between human beings?

One prime example is social media platforms, which were introduced to augment human connectivity but paradoxically ended up as tools of polarization. “What we’ve learned from that is that human connectivity and the humanity of technology should not be assumed; it needs to be cultivated,” says Rumman Chowdhury, who leads Accenture’s Responsible AI initiative. “Instead of figuring out how we fit around technology, we need to figure out how technology fits around us.”

That also means watching out for red flags, including the tech “solutionism” fallacy — the idea that technology can solve any and all of humanity’s problems. Although it can’t do that, technology can point out things we need to focus on in order to work towards more overarching solutions.

“We as human beings have to be willing to do the hard work,” says Chowdhury. “Empathy doesn’t just happen because an AI told you to be more empathetic … [Let’s say] I create an AI to read through your emails and tell you if you sound kind enough and, if not, fix your emails for you so that you sound kind. That doesn’t make your a nicer person; it doesn’t make you more empathetic… The creation of any of this AI that involves improving human beings needs to be designed very thoughtfully, so that human beings are doing the work.”

Some of that work involves building systems to regulate this type of AI before it’s widespread, and experts have already begun floating ideas.

For any AI tool, Chris Sciacca, communications manager for IBM Research, would like to see an “AI Fact Sheet” that functions like a nutrition label on a loaf of bread, including data such as who trained the algorithm, when and which data they used. It’s a way to look “under the hood” — or even inside the black box — of an AI tool, understand why it might have come to a certain conclusion and remember to take its results with a grain of salt. He says IBM is working on standardizing and promoting such a practice.

Picard suggests regulations akin to those for lie detection tests, such as the Federal Employee Polygraph Protection Act, passed in 1988. Under a similar law, it stands to reason that employers would be unable to require AI communication monitoring tools, with few exceptions — and that even in those cases, they couldn’t monitoring someone without informing them about the technology and their rights.

Spencer Gerrol, CEO of Spark Neuro — a neuroanalytics company that aims to measure emotion and attention for advertisers — says the potential implications for this kind of empathetic AI keep him up at night. Facebook may have created “amazing” tech, he says, but it also contributed to meddling in the U.S. elections. And when it comes to devices that can read emotions based on your brain activity, consequences could be even more dire, especially since much of emotion is subconscious. That means that one day, a device could feasibly be more “aware” of your emotions than you yourself are. “The ethics of that will become complex,” says Gerrol, especially once advertisers attempt to persuade individuals to take action by leveraging what’s known about their emotions.

As for the founder of Cogito himself? Feast believes that over the next five to 10 years, AI tools will split into two categories:

Virtual agents that complete tasks on our behalf.

Intelligent augmentation, or services built around reinforcing or extending our own human capabilities.

Feast envisions more of a meld between man and machine, tools that we’ll deem necessary to help us perform the way we want to in particular settings. These types of tools, he says, will “extend and reinforce our humanness.”

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