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msbhagirathi · 29 days

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IPKKND LIVE BLOG SEASON - 1 [EPI - 3]

Cooommmeee onnnnn. Let'zzz beegggiiiinnnn.

Satvik Mishthaann Bhandaar. Khushi opens the cylinder's regulator's knob. Picks up the oil cannister, with tears glistening in her eyes.

Khushi's flashbacks of the lines that broke her heart :

i) "Mat kaho hume Amma." (Don't call me your mom.)

ii) "Payal iski sagi behen hoti tabahu aisi harkat karat?" (Had Payal been her real (blood-related) sister then would she do something like that ?")

iii) "Aaj tum saabit kar dee ho ki tum humra khoon naahi ho." (Today you have proved that you don't consider us as your own.)

iv) "Tum jaisi ladkiyon ka kya hai, ek jayega dusra phasaa lena." (This should not be a problem for girls like you, if one slips away then trap another.)

3. ANDDDDD- she lights the gas and makes jalebis. As we all get to know that stress eating and stress cooking are her outlets.

4. Sun comes up and we are in the next day. Hii Bitwa. Good morning.

5. We see Arnav, again, drowned in the horrors of his past. The head of his PR team comes and informs about the damage control but also tells his boss about his suspicions that some media people might still have managed to get hold on a few photos and videos.

6. But Bitwa is in no mood to listen. He gives him a threat, straight, of getting black-listed from the corporate market and having to spend the rest of his life in a 'kiraane ki dukan' (General store). Calm down angry young man, it's not good for your health.

7. He asks about his schedule to Rajesh (his secretary? then who was Aman? Lol. Whatever.)

8. Oh. So Bitwa eats oats(or toasts? Whatever.) for breakfast everyday. He is surprised to see channe ki roti, (orange-?) juice and fruits. He asks about the change and-

9. There comes his Di. "Hum jaante the, ki tum hume miss kar rahe hoge, chhotte." Look at his face. It's like 'not again'. Lol. Just sibling things.

10. So, Di wants her chhotte to complete her mannat and Our Bitwa has a very valid question, "Di mannat aapne maangi hai toh mujhe kyun puri karni padegi?" (Di, if you had asked for the wish then why do I have to complete it?) Lol. Just some Bitwa things.

11. I agree with Bitwa, here, Di. Why does he have to- OH OH OH I FORGOT- HE HAS TO MEET HIS WIFE THERE. HOW STUPID OF ME TO FORGET. Lol.

12. On a serious note, I hope you know the symbolization, here, Anjali, herself, called Khushi into Arnav's life, as his mannat.

13. Arnav, begrudgingly, accepts to go to the dargah for completing the wish. But. Of course. Without having the channe ki rotis, his Di made.

14. Excuse? Me? Khushi? Is? Still? Making? Jalebis? Like? What the-?

15. HAhahahahahisddifvoaidawdw. Jalebiyan ka mount everest. I am wheezing. (Jalebis' mount everest)

16. Lol. In an interview, Sanaya had mentioned that she likes all type of sweets except jalebis. I cannot help myself but focus on that thing. Babuji offers her a jalebi and Khushi is shown taking a bite, only that Sanaya did not take a bite, she just pretended to. I just cannot overlook it. Ok back to the serious-ness. Stop distracting me, okay?

17. I want to say something. I- it's so beautiful and heart touching, a father consoling his daughter but making her understand her mistake but also making her feel that whatever she did, that is to stand up against dowry system, is also A VERY RIGHT DECISION, but her way of taking matters into her hand, was also very wrong, she should have talked about this to her father. I felt so at peace. The father-daughter duo give off such a beautiful, soft and touching vibe.

18. He also consoles her for the things that Buaji said to her last night. In fact, he started the conversation with those words. Coz he knows and understands how gut wrenching it might have been to listen those harsh words.

19. The society people gather up and show their support and understanding towards Shashi babu and his family.

20. Stop making those annoying faces, Buaji.

21. Bitwa is on his way to the dargah. He asks his manager not to cancel his meeting but says will get delayed by 10-15 minutes.

22. They have reached the dargah. Khushi's first ever 'Laad Governor' makes an appearance. She talks of giving him a mouthful if she sees him ever again.

23. Did you notice this too? Arnav has changed his suit. Earlier, this morning he was wearing a grey? suit, i think and now there's a shiny black suit, with black aviators.

24. He starts walking and guess what, the cravat is back. *heart eyes*

25. Bitwa is well, Bitwa. Someone comes and tries to ward off evil eye with those peacock feathers and the way he dodges it off with making that face. Lol.

26. Payal tells Khushi to cover her head and Arnav, being an obedient jethji/jijaji, covers his head as well.

27. Is it coincidental that the first syllable of Arziyaan song starts just as Arnav enters the frame? And also the fact that the song is addressed in first person pronoun so it seems like it's been sung on Arnav's behalf.

28. "Tere derr pe jhuka hun, mitta hun, bana hun." (I have been destroyed and re-made myself (by hardships of life?) and I am bowing down at your doorstep.) This line, in fact, this whole song is made for our dear broken Arnav baby only, and only for him. I got emotional. Wow. Back to the epi.

29. Payal goes to take the niyaaz and Khushi crosses Arnav's way and her dupatta wraps up around his head. I think, he is kind of intrigued by it, coz he keeps looking at the back of that girl, in all white. Also, maybe tries to -identify?- her-what's with that unreadable expression Bitwa?

30. "Pyaas le ke aaya tha, dariya woh bhar laaya, noor ki barish mein, beeghta-sa tar aaya."

How beautifully these lines along with Arnav entering the main entrance of the dargah, have been synced together. I mean. Wow. (Click the lines to read the translation.)

31. Inside the mazhaar. Khushi, what is this behaviour? Wait for your husband.

32. I really got a few second goosebumps here. The fact that they are just a mere inches away, separated by that-wall?- tying the sacred threads, praying for their loved ones.

(Arnav, I hope so you are praying and not thinking that you are the mighty ASR and you don't need all that blessings and shit, just pray. For yourself. For your mental health, my boy. You need it. Believe me. You really do.)

33. "O ek khushboo aati thi, mein bhatakta jata tha,reshm-si maya thi, aur main takta jata tha."

Are they hinting at the telepathy that Arnav will start experiencing after a few days? Uhhuhh, foreshadowing, I see. Writers are very clever.

34. Khushi is complaining, to Khwajaji, about her meeting with 'woh'. Lol. Tell me Khushi. Who is this 'woh' here? I did not understand.

Also, Khushi says that, for the first time, she had to hide something from her babuji which means no one knows about their first meeting yet.

Khushi and her 'woh' sitting opposite to each other. One complaining while the other listening looking around with a frown in his face.

35. Do you know this fact that girls in India, after getting married, address their husband as 'woh' to every one else and even if they have to take their name, they add an extra 'ji' after it.

Did you see what I did there? Heh. I iz veri kelever.

Bitwa is looking at his wife leaving, after ranting about him.

36. Are you following her Bitwa? Do you love her already? So. Both are there, to tie their 'mannat ka tala'. Khushi prays to Khwajaji, to get her sister married to a good man, as she cannot bear to see her sad. On the contrary, look at Bitwa's face. He is doing 'all this' just for 'his Di's happiness.' And careless bitwa, instead of keeping the key in his pocket, lets it slip away from his hands. I realized that I loved the BG score here.

But, his wife Khushi will make sure he rightfully gets back his mannat ki chabi. Look at Arnav's face, when she calls out, to hand him the key. He already knows it's the same girl (the girl from that previous night).

37. He does not turn immediately. Look closely, he turns as if to gauge her reaction. Her polite-slight- smile drops as she realizes that it's her 'woh'. Khushi, still very much affected by last night's harassment, clutches her neck-line, in fear. Arnav looks at her face, already smitten tells her to 'phek do' it. (Throw away)

Turns back and leaves. Khushi realizes that he 'phir suna diya' to her. (He, again, had the last word.)

38. The BG score, that is playing, here, is basically played for Khushi every time whenever she has an idea for some thing in general or is talking to devi maiyya (i think?) or is talking to herself or is ranting about her LG or has a 'brilliant' idea to exasperate her LG and here, is giving a pep talk to herself.

39. Arnav is doing his ASR walk without disturbing anyone and Khushi is doing her 'Hum Khushi Kumari Gupta' style running, skidding, jumping and scaring everyone around her, with her chaotic run.

40. Khushi comes to a stop. Arnav notices her and stops as well. My God. How is it possible that I can literally feel her, being out of breath and not being able to get out a single word from her mouth, without breathing loudly, just after running a -what-few meters-? Lol. I love Sanaya.

41. Bitwa is like 'calm down babe, have some water and sit down first.' So, Arnav is staring at her and walking towards her, with slow and careful steps. Khushi, obviously afraid, steps away from him, trying to maintain a safe distance.

42. Screen freezes at Khushi's face and starts to fade out. *quickly pauses it* Precap. Don't like spoilers.

P.S. : I thought their argument over god and their beliefs would be in this one only. Btw, I loved Khushi's look and hair as well. Arnav's was fine. I loved loved loved babuji's scene with Khushi in the morning. I loved it. It was so soothing for Khushi, as well as, for all of us viewers too. Also, all the 'wife' and 'woh' jokes that I made for Khushi and Arnav are still not relevant, here, because of the harassment that was shown in the last one, so please don't take it seriously, I just did it to add some humor to it. Please don't take it the wrong way. Ok, bye. Have a great day/night ahead. God bless you.

Next Episode!

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siberat · 5 months

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“Well, this ice cream will melt if I just keep jaw flapping. *Picks up ice cream dish* How about we try this? It is my favorite flavor too, mint fluorite chip smothered in rich, rose-pink sauce. Of course, topped off with a heaping mountain of whipped cream. Garnished with a light and airy cookie rod to add a nice, pleasant crunch. *Licks lips* Now, if you don’t mind me, I must shovel some of this frozen treat into my mouth. *Hums in enjoyment*

Oh, this is very good! But I must take it slow, or I will get a processor freeze, right?

Oh, by the way, thank you for weighing in on the cups up versus cups down discussion! Several agreed with my thought that they should be top-side down. However, one anonymous user did make an important statement. It reads as follows: *clears throat* My team prefers to face the glasses up because “ it’s so the glasses don’t get dirty from touching the cabinet,” but I think it’s shuttlescrap, clearly you’re right, and they need to be faced down to not collect dust.”

Well, I sure don’t want to cause a rift between you and your team. *Bites a cookie rod, crumbs flying everywhere* Oh, do pardon my mess. But if I may offer a simple solution- just clean the cabinets, that way the top of the cups won't get dirty. *Winks*

Oh, and Alcorian pips in as well. *Optics widen* ‘The cups should absolutely be placed upside-down in the cabinet, and Rat/chet’s behavior frankly horrifies me /lh’ *Laughs* Oh my, sometimes I simply wonder what goes through that old mech’s processor, right? Ultimately, I let him put them away how he wishes and go behind him and fix it. I haven’t heard him complain about that yet. *Face goes deep in thought* However, I do receive some glares from time to time. Do you think he knows? *Shrugs*

Let’s move on to the next question. As well as the next dish. I sure polished off this ice cream! *Shows empty dish* Hmmm… what would be a good selection? Oh, how about some stuffed shells? * Picks up the bowl and shows the camera* Don’t these look scrumptious? Lithium-based noodles in the shape of a fun, large shell stuffed with three types of cheeses- one being ricotta cheese. *Face lights up in glee* Yes, that is my most fav type of cheese! But also, the sauce is vibrant and is seasoned with copper, zinc, and iron. *Grabs a shell and takes a large bite* Very good!

Wow, we have a lot of shy watchers, don’t we? It’s alright; this is a safe place. I promise I won’t bite! *Playfully winks* Another anon asks: “Is Rat/chet keeping things simple with Cyber/tronian dishes, or did he also gather up some organic/earth-based foods to add to the menu?” Well, while our digestive tracts are indeed powerful enough to digest ores, metals, and minerals, Earth-based foods can be consumed, but they do not provide much nutritional value. I have tried a few, mainly those Little Debbie snacks… *Sheepishly smiles* Those Swiss rolls look good. However, like most Earth-based foods… they can give one indigestion and…well…. Some terrible gas. *Covers mouth with a servo* Please excuse me for being so vulgar, but hey, you chose the topic! * Polishes off one stuffed shell and picks up another*

Regarding Rat/chet’s cooking… * Optics dart back and forth* Let’s just say it is improving. Being such a busy Doctor tending to his patients, he would opt for quick meals instead of tasty ones. Meaning, he would eat a lot of microwaved dishes. *Crinkles nose and sticks tongue out* Yuck! They were like chewing tires with how rubbery they were! However, he has improved, mainly due to my teaching him how to cook. *Bites lip* Well, when I don’t cook for him, that is. He can make simpler meals that still taste good. But if you ask me, I am the better chef!

Oh, look….* Shows empty bowl* All done! Those hit the spot! Now, it’s time for some creamy and sweet flan! This cute cylinder-esque dessert is small but satisfying! * Picks up the dish, cuts a sliver, and eats it.* The texture is silky smooth! It tastes like vanilla and caramel! This will make my tummy very happy, wouldn’t you say?

Alright, onto the next ask. SWSuperior asks: “So, how does it feel to betray the Decep/ticons?” *Gives deadpan stare.* Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say I betrayed the Decep/ticons, but more, the Decep/ticons betrayed us. *Eats another forkful of flan* So, yes, I used to be a part of the other faction; this is true. And while I am all for the equal treatment of all Cyber/tronians, the ‘Con’s idea of peace and victory depended entirely on violence and tyranny. I once stood behind Mega/tron and served as his minion. I have done countless things I regret- and I will not go into further detail about them. At the time, the promise of equality seemed such a dream! *shrugs*

But in the end, that was an illusion. Sure, I wanted a change. I was sick of living on the streets, being treated like trash, and using drugs to escape reality. The Decep/ticons promised that change. They vowed to rise out of the darkness and become so much more. *Sighs deeply* Unfortunately, that cost the ultimate price. How many mech’s suffered and died because of this promise?

Too many. And while in the beginning, I stood with the ‘Cons, somewhere along the lines, what they stood for warped into something so vile and nasty. Suddenly, being equal wasn’t enough. Now, the end game was to dominate. *Shakes helm in disappointment* What we initially were fighting against was what we were becoming.

And I didn’t like that. Not one bit. *Eats the last bit of flan* I want everybody to be treated with the kindness and respect they deserve. Mechs shouldn’t have to fear ridicule for their beliefs or have to work the streets because of their alt mode. Everyone deserves to be happy. And free.

Guess what? *Grins and shows empty plate* Time to pick another dish! Oh, I just loved that sweet dessert! I think I need another. Which shall it be? *Optics scan the table* That cake sure looks yummy, right? But I think I’ll save that for later. Oh! *Optics widen* I know what I want! Lava cake! *Twiddles fingers in excitement*

Look at this beauty! *Shows camera* Rich, moist chocolate cake with even more iced ener-cream on top! And let’s not forget it’s lava cake…* Cuts a chunk out, allowing liquid goo to flow out* Inside is this luscious liquid that’s sweet and warm, contrasting the coldness of the ice cream nicely. *Takes a bite, optics closing as he hums* Oh, this is divine! But I’m sure you don’t want to hear about how my food tastes this entire livestream, so let's take another note, shall we? *Reads over datapad*

This next question reads: “Out of everything you’ve ever eaten, what is your absolute favorite?” Well, thank you, anon, for asking! This is a rather tough one, to be honest. There are several dishes that I go bonkers over! *Dreamy look washes over his face* I love the full course, hearty meals, such as roasted cyber-turkey with mashed chromium potatoes, stuffing made from talc and calcium, and some fresh crystal beans! Very filling! *Rubs belly*

Oh my, would you look at this? *Pats a rounded belly* Well, it looks like I have been enjoying this meal! Just look at how full my tummy is! With all the fun and excitement of this livestream, I simply haven’t noticed how much food I have been packing down, huh? *Wags a finger* I bet you all knew and were too polite to say anything. Am I right? *Gives belly a pat*

But my favorite meal has to be Toshikoshi Soba noodles. This is a special dish to be eaten on New Year's Eve to start the New Year off with a clean slate and bring you good luck. These noodles are made from wodginite and are very easy to cut. *Hints a smile* The cutting of the noodles symbolizes letting go of the previous year’s hardships, in case you wanted to know. The soup consists of cyber-fish broth, shandite sauce, and sweet rhodium wine. *Continues eating cake* Oh, and I usually put in some cyber-fish cakes and dried seaweed and garnish it off with some feldspar. *Gives a chef’s kiss* The spectacular dish always lightens my mood! *Scraps plate clean*

Wow, that was tasty! And my belly is feeling awfully huge right now! *Sets plate down* This plating is starting to get tight. I don’t know how much room I have left. And I have so many more dishes I wanted to try and share with you! *Belly grumbles* Oh my! Did you hear that? Sounds like my paunch is starting to talk to you all as well! Let’s hope it adds to our engaging conversation, right?

Let’s move on to the next question- and dish. Shall we?”

… ……

Still taking on more askes! So, if you have a question for Dr/ift, send it in! You can send multiples. Also, if you wanted to ask as another TF character- just state so! Let’s keep this mukbang going and see if our dear swordsmech can handle all that food infront of him!

( if your ask didn’t get answered, I am saving some for other rounds)

Also, you can send you ask in as another TF char if you want! Have fun with them! ( I need more questions hint hint… running low*

#chubformers #siberatart #chubby belly #mukbang #digital art #weight gain game #weightgain #wip #chubby bot

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observeowl · 9 months

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Her Assistant | Chapter 12 - Genius Brain

Summary: After losing her family, Natasha Romanoff builds her company from the ground up. During the rise of her company, she decided she needed an assistant, one that works in her office and her house. That's when she saw your resume. After working five years for her, how was it like working for her? Or more importantly, how things progress?

Series Masterlist

Reader POV "Where are we going? We are not going outside, on the contrary, this is going deeper into the mansion." Miss Romanoff brought Wanda and I to the space she found earlier when she was 'looking' for the wine.

When Wanda saw the opened hidden compartment, she instantly knew where we were headed. Afterall, it was the place where she performs her spell to complete the ultimate magic.

Going down deeper into the mansion, we saw a huge magic circle in the middle of the room. "This was your duty wasn't it? To complete the magic circle?" Wanda remained quiet as she looked at the floor.

"Tell us the history behind this." Miss Romanoff said.

Wanda began telling us that in the past, there was harmful miasma to the humans but was like oxygen to the werewolves. However, people started to prosper and it started to diminish. So in return for the miasma, the werewolves would protect the witch's village if she could produce the miasma.

"The witches before me kept on researching the formula to create the miasma and this is what I gave the werewolves to activate the ultimate magic." Wanda finished explaining.

"So this was the history you were told." Miss Romanoff said.

I went to the center of the circle and Wanda warned me of the danger ahead. "Stop! If anyone but me touches the altar... it brings great misfortune." She slowed down at the end when she saw that it revealed a hidden lever inside.

Pulling it, it revealed yet another hidden compartment but this time it was a metal door that was very focused on security.

"Wanda, this is the entrance to the outside world. You can still head back if you wish."

"...I'm going ahead!" Wanda said with determination.

Just when everyone thought the place earlier was the deepest part of the mansion, it went further down. Compared to the village outside, there was a lot more technology such as the lifts and lights.

"Miss Romanoff." I got her attention when I noticed beeping sounds coming from one of the rooms. It was a room with many screens and radars with small dots.

"What is this? Is this some kind of magic circle?" Wanda asked when she looked around. The dots were moving at a slow pace.

"It's a tracker." I said after realising that the amulet Wanda gave us earlier was in our room the spot where we placed it. It was the correct step to leave them behind. No wonder they preached wearing the amulet to stay protected from the werewolves.

"T- that can't be!! Those amulets were prepared by Harkness after offering a special prayer on a night with a full moo-" I covered Wanda's mouth halfway when I heard some voices. It came from the other room.

"Hey! Be fast!" // "Is it finished already?" It was clearly a man's voice, something that was hardly heard in the woman focused village other than Pietro.

We went further in and it looked like a factory producing things. There were a lot of cylinders and gas tanks. Suddenly there was a cheer and we crouched down behind a cover. A pack of werewolves were grouped together and standing in front of them was the crazy lady! Harkness!

"Look! Our Red Witch has finally accomplished her job." She held a vial in front of them.

"Agatha??"

"A Miasma denser than ever is condensed inside this little bottle. This is going to change history."

A scream was heard from Wanda when she found out what she created. She came out of our hiding and fell to the ground. "You- What does this mean?"

"The Red Witch!" // "It's the Red Witch!" // "Get her! Give her a mask!"

She closed her eyes thinking she was going to be attacked but they suddenly were concerned for her health. They checked the values around and noted no problem in the area around. Wanda was confused at the werewolves that were speaking German.

The mask was split into half as I sliced it revealing a man inside the costume. "What do you think Wanda? The outside is full of surprises isn't it?" I asked as I killed the man.

"A... normal... man..."

"He was hiding a mask inside the wolf's nose. This is quite an elaborate farce. The werewolves were actually men wearing costumes and the miasma... is a chemical weapon created in this factory! It's poison gas!!" Miss Romanoff revealed as she picked up the 'head'.

The letter that Maria Hill sent from Fury was a writing of the chemical formula of the gas, C₄H₈Cl₂S. It was not a code but looks like it unless you know chemistry.

"THE WEREWOLVES AND THE CURSE ARE ALL LIES. THEY TOLD YOU TO DECEIVE YOU." Miss Romanoff revealed the truth behind all the acts.

"No.. way... then what about all the magic I created?"

"Indeed, what you did is not magic. But it's much more amazing than magic! When his liquid vaporises, all living things that come into contact with it will die. You should be proud! You created the most powerful poisonous gas in history!" Agatha praised. "Oh right!! We should give a name to this historic chemical weapon."

"Red Witch... Red... Crven... Craven... no, Raven. Let's call this Raven..."

Third POVThe emergency alarm rang and Pietro got out of his bed and ran to find Wanda in her room. When he saw no one was there, he changed and went to the room he knew where the alarm came from.

"What I've been creating so far wasn't magic but poisonous gas? I didn't create something to protect the villagers but a weapon used to kill people?" To say she was shocked was an understatement.

"Does it mean that everyone was just deceiving me!? PLEASE TELL ME IT'S A LIE... AGATHA!"

"Why are you crying Wanda? It's because of your wonderful intellect and the perfect environment that allowed you to concentrate on your research that you were able to create the ultimate chemical weapon! Why would you be sad about it? You changed history, my love."

"You should stop crying, my... dear daughter."

"Daughter?"

Agatha took part in a military project 17 years ago that revolved around poisonous gas that for 20 years couldn't be mass produced due to its danger. Mustard gas. Finally, one day her husband was able to find a safe way to synthesize it but an accident occured at the factory where the gas was produced.

She couldn't stop grieving over his loss. His brain was a treasure for the country but his genes were left inside her and came to life again. Her newborn child showed her talent very quickly. At the age of 3 she was able to read and understand the synthesis of mustard gas.

It was that time when she realised her beloved brain came back! She started planning for the perfect place to bring her up and allowed her to focus on developing the mustard gas. That was the purpose of the village, to isolate her from the world and all the things that could impair her genius, ethics and common sense, entertainment, pleasure etc.

"It was because you were here that you were able to develop a new weapon in less than 20 years!"

Wanda screamed out loud when she realised nothing she was told was true or real. Like she was living a lie.

"WANDA!" Pietro came into the room running.

"You deceived me too! YOU LIAR!" She shouted at her brother. At this point, she was also wondering if Pietro was truly her brother.

Miss Romanoff went to Wanda and helped her up before pointing her gun upwards and shooting it. They started running away and Pietro wanted to shoot them but someone else stopped him in fear of accidentally shooting the gas cylinder.

"Take care of them Y/N!" Miss Romanoff went to Wanda and helped her up before pointing her gun upwards and shooting it.

"Yes Miss Romanoff." Y/N stood in front of the door and prepared herself for a fight.

Meanwhile, Pietro was running another way up the stairwell to get to Wanda and met Hilde midway.

"Pietro what's happening?" She asked frantically when she heard the alarm.

"She found out everything." He hurriedly says as he continues to run past her. "They must be in area 23 now"

"PIETRO DJANGO MAXIMOFF!" She shouted and he immediately stood up right with his hands by his side. "I hope you didn't forget. In case of emergency, you must dispose of her. That's your mission as her assistant even though you may be her brother."

Pietro clenched his teeth before saying. "Yes."

---

Bucky who was waiting outside finally saw the red flare that Miss Romanoff fired which caught everyone's attention in the forest.

Natasha was with Wanda in the forest after running out. For someone who mainly walked around the mansion and paired with the shock from earlier, all her energy has been depleted.

"If you leave this place, countless people will try to use you. And you'll probably experience worse things than what you saw today." Natasha stepped forward and spoke to Wanda. "I believe it's time to choose... whether you still want to go to the outside world... or you'd rather get over with it now." She pointed her gun against Wanda's forehead. There isn't going to be a chance she misses at this range.

"I- It's horrible that I created 'Raven'. I don't know what to believe. I don't want to think anymore. I... I just want to vanish..." She started crying silently.

Natasha stayed silent for a moment before speaking. "Indeed. If you have no intention of using your genius brain, it might become a nice fertiliser for these plants."

"If you die... you won't have to listen to the screams of the people you could've saved."

"Save?" Wanda spoke in a quiet tone.

"I thought that if you were able to create the ultimate poison for your people, maybe you'd also be able to create the ultimate medicine." Natasha reasoned. "It would be... like magic. People all over the world would be amazed."

"Magical medicine?... Can I really do something like that?"

"Who knows? You certainly can't if you die here." Natasha shrugged her shoulders and spoke nonchalantly. "So, Red Witch, I'll ask you once again. Do you want to run away by dying? Or to live and accept the challenge?"

"I... want to live! I accept the challenge." Natasha saw the determination in her eyes and smiled before pulling her gun away.

"Let's get away before they find us." The flare from earlier gave away their position and they needed to leave quickly. "We'll meet up with Bucky."

"And Y/N?" Wanda asked knowing Natasha left her behind to deal with the werewolves. What if they decided to use the mustard gas against her?

"Don't worry, my assistant is very skilled."

---

"Damn Americans, did they send a spy to find out what we are doing?" The wolves asked.

"I am not a spy. I am just an assistant."

After saying that, they were left with an afterimage of Y/N standing there as she swiftly moved away.

"She's vani-" He didn't even get to finish speaking before he got kicked in the chest by Y/N.

"Your body is pretty robust. I guess... I will have to aim at your heads." She started attacking them at high speed, cutting their necks with a knife.

"Use mustard gas!! She'll be dead in no time. She has no prote-" Their man fell to the ground without his mask on as it was on Y/N.

"You really think I came in here without a plan in mind?" She did a dramatic bow as if it was the end of a musical before slashing out again.

"Let's see..."

---

"Take the Raven sample upstairs." Agatha instructed. "With the formula, we can mass produce this." She still had strong hope that she succeeded. The end was in sight for her and she couldn't possibly back down now. She failed once and she wasn't going to fail again.

"Some people talk about illogical things like love... but then they can rationally sacrifice their relatives." Y/N found her in one of the labs packing the research papers. She has in her hand the vials packed in a secure casing.

Agatha covered her nose and mouth with her hands when the alarm started beeping and she realised that the poisonous gas alarm was going off.

"Didn't you like it so much that you were ready to sacrifice the life of your dear daughter for it? This poisonous gas?"

The index was getting higher, striving to reach the red portion. The concentration was so high that Agatha couldn't save herself with just her hand. Y/N and Natasha may have survived their earlier contact of mustard gas even in prolonged exposure but it was different now. It was a lot more toxic and concentrated.

"This is to thank you for exposing Miss Romanoff to the gas. How does it feel? The death scent created by your loved one." Agatha wasn't able to reply as her body weakened and fell to the ground.

Y/N acted according to Natasha's order and destroyed all the evidence in the room and made sure none of the samples got to see the world. She also set fire to the labs before making her way out.

Bucky has been running for a while trying to find Natasha in the forest. After regrouping, they split into two groups and went separate ways.

---

It was alarm after alarm. However, now it was the fire alarm that was ringing. Sprinklers were activated and tried to control the spread of the fire. In the case of a fire, the lifts were not working and they noted that the gas had been destroyed and the samples had been taken by outsiders. They were panicking that everything went into dust in just seconds.

"First Special Commando Squad Captain Anne Drewantz and Second Special Commando Squad Captain Grethe Hilbert, ready to attack!" They came to report to Hilde in their army uniform. They have located where the flare shot came from and was ready to operate the new experimental weapon.

"Are you planning to move that?" Pietro asked.

Ignoring his question, Hilde started taking out her outdated clothes that hid her army uniform underneath she proceeded to give orders to the rest. "Our primary goal is to retrieve the Red Witch. However, if she takes even one step out of the forest... Kill her."

"Yes Ma'am." The three of them salute her.

They set the hounds out to sniff out Wanda's scent but they reached a point where they split up. Pietro gave the dogs a cloth of Wanda's belonging to make them focus on her. Their main focus was to retrieve Wanda, hence Pietro's squad will head for her. The rest of them would follow Hilde.

Bucky was running along with Wanda trying to get away from the soldiers as best they could. However, Pietro's squad was closing in behind them.

"STOP!" Pietro shouted as they pulled out their guns.

"You don't get to order me!" Shots were fired and people started hiding behind the thick trunks that were abundant in the forest.

"Wanda go ahead. I'll gain time." Bucky said as he pulled out his homemade explosive and threw it at them.

Pietro noticed a marmalade can on the ground and immediately told his men to stand down. He knows Bucky's good with his movement as a group of men couldn't even put one guy down.

Pietro may be Wanda's brother but that isn't the reason why he was her assistant. It was because he was the best fighter among the rest.

Flanking around, Pietro managed to surprise Bucky as they went head-to-head with each other. Bucky sustained a light wound on his left forearm. He instantly sensed that Pietro was fast as he pulled out his knife and rushed towards him, leaving him hardly anything to defend himself.

After slightly stumbling Bucky, he went for Wanda, leaving his men to suppress Bucky. "WANDA!" Bucky shouted to warn her.

Pietro ran after his sister and grabbed her elbow for her to turn to face him. "Wanda!"

"Thanks for coming, here's your tip."

It wasn't Wanda. It was Natasha wearing her clothes and running in place of her. She held the gun in front of her and fired her shot.

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x you #black widow #my writing #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfiction

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wetsteve3 · 1 year

Photo

Things were pretty mellow regarding Japanese mid-size bike development in the mid-1960’s. There were two-stroke 250’s, 350’s and a 500 from three makers and Honda started offering the CB450 about 1965. Then in late 1968 we opened our copies of Cycle and Cycle World to photos from European industry motorcycle shows and saw the Honda CB750! Four megaphone mufflers, the brilliant engine sticking out from under the candy apple tank and that glorious machined brake rotor up front. If you were riding around 1969, even if you loved British bikes or Harleys, you couldn’t help but stare.

In that era the 750cc bike, a “45,” was king and what was road raced and dirt tracked in most places. In fact the Dick Mann ridden Honda CB750 won the Daytona 200 in 1970. But Honda realized riders might want something a bit smaller, more manageable. In 1972 they offered the CB350F and CB500 Four, both in-line fours mimicking the big CB750 though with vertical cylinders. Later each was punched out to 400 and 550ccs respectively. The 350’s and 400’s were sweet, but typical of in-line fours of the era, you had an 8500 to 10,000 RPM redline and you’d better use it to get some acceleration. The CB400F’s remain very collectible with their 4 into 1 pipe and decked seat, production Cafe Racers of sorts. The more docile four pipe 350F is collectible too, but the exhaust systems are very prone to rust through and maybe one in five good bikes have stock exhausts any longer.

The 350F rolling chassis is pretty typical for the era, a mix of tubes and stampings. Like its big brothers, it has a disk brake in front, and drum in the rear, free standing tach and speedo, flip gas cap, dual seat. As 350cc bikes, this 350F, the CB/CL 350K3 and SL350 Motosports were sold in dealerships side by side in this era. The F was sold 1972 to 1974. Of all the Honda fours, the 350 is likely the smoothest running, essentially vibration free.

This 1974 Honda CB350F with an aftermarket four-into-one exhaust was donated to the National Motorcycle Museum by Suzi Bellville and Hall of Fame inductee Eddie Fisher and we’re happy to have it on display.

Specifications: Engine: In-Line Four-Cylinder SOHC Type: Air-Cooled, Wet Sump Bore & Stroke: 47mm x 50mm Displacement: 347 cc Ignition: Battery & Coil Carburetor: Four 22mm Keihins Horsepower: 34HP / 8000RPM Redline Starting: Kick & Electric Clutch: Wet, Multi-plate Transmission: 5-Speed Final Drive: Chain Driven Frame: Tubular Steel Cradle Suspension: Hydraulic Fork / Swingarm, Dual Shocks Brakes: 260mm Disk Front / 179mm Drum Rear Wheelbase: 57.5 Inches Wheels/Tires: 3.00 x 19 / 3.50 x 18 Weight: 352 Pounds, Dry

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sourceempoweredltd · 7 months

Text

MotoTec X1 70cc 4-Stroke Gas Dirt Bike

>>>GRAB YOURS NOW<<<

Motor: 110cc 4-Stroke Single Cylinder Air Cooled

Factory Model# K1

Displacement: 107 ml

Max Power: 6.7 HP @ 8000 RPM

Max Torque: 4.94 ft-lb @ 5500 RPM

Compression: 9.1:1

Transmission: Automatic Single Gear

Engine Oil: SAE 10w/40

Engine Start: Electric Start (12v/4ah battery)

Carburetor: PZ22 Jingke

Drive Train: #420 Chain (14T, 39T Sprockets)

Fuel Tank: 2.2 Liter

Introducing the MotoTec X1 70cc 4-Stroke Gas Dirt Bike, designed for those seeking an adrenaline-fueled off-road experience.

Equipped with a powerful 110cc 4-Stroke Single Cylinder Air Cooled motor, this bike delivers impressive performance and responsiveness. The factory model K1 ensures reliability and durability in every ride.

With a displacement of 107 ml, the MotoTec X1 boasts a maximum power of 6.7 HP at 8000 RPM, allowing you to conquer any terrain with ease. Its maximum torque of 4.94 ft-lb at 5500 RPM ensures excellent acceleration and control.

Featuring a compression ratio of 9.1:1, this dirt bike offers optimal combustion efficiency for enhanced power delivery. The automatic single gear transmission simplifies operation, making it suitable for riders of all skill levels.

The engine oil recommended is SAE 10w/40, ensuring smooth performance and longevity. Thanks to the electric start powered by a reliable 12v/4ah battery, you can effortlessly ignite the engine and get ready for action.

The PZ22 Jingke carburetor guarantees efficient fuel delivery for optimum performance while the drive train consists of a sturdy 420 chain with carefully matched sprockets (14T front and39T rear) for exceptional traction on various terrains.

With a generous fuel tank capacity of 2.2 liters, you can enjoy longer rides without worrying about refueling frequently.

Experience unparalleled excitement on the MotoTec X1 - where power meets durability and adventure awaits!

>>>GRAB YOURS NOW<<<

#dirt bikes #bikes for teens #bikes #usa teen bike riders #off road bikes #buy dirt bike #dirt bike lovers #dirt bikes for teens

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basils-plants-and-potions · 9 months

Note

*Tims too upset to be reasonable and throws the cylinder anyways*

TAKE THAT!

*it bounces off the glass, barely even cracking the glass and explodes at his feet instead.*

Shi-

*the white gas surrounds him and he starts coughing. He starts bleeding from his eyes and blood leaks from his lips*

House runs over, opening the door and pulling Tim into the shop. Basil walks in from the back, panicked at the sight.

Basil runs over and offers the boy a healing potion.

#omori #omori ask blog #basils plants & potions #basils plants and potions #basil's plants & potions #omori basil #basil omori #ofa #chaos arc #the child should accept the potion

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hyperannotation · 10 months

Text

"Cell Membrane" by Soko Nada

The poem "Cell Membrane" by Soko Nada is a visceral exploration of destruction, pain, and the desire to protect oneself. It delves into themes of violence, the body, and the repercussions of technology. The cell membrane symbolizes both vulnerability and resilience as it expands and protects. Blood, symbolizing life force, drips from bombarded cells, spreading ugliness. The reverberations of laughing gas add an eerie atmosphere. The poem alludes to the destructive nature of corporations and the pervasive culture of destruction.

The narrator experiences physical pain and the breaking of metal, piercing the membrane. The repetition of "callous" suggests a hardened defense mechanism. The poem hints at surveillance and the invasive nature of mobile phone call recording. Destruction becomes a pervasive theme, with everyone destroying someone or something, and the body becomes a site of wreckage. Abnormal heart sounds and the extraction of a metal cylinder from internal organs add to the sense of violence and violation.

The poem explores the internal struggle between past and present, love and destruction. The suppression of screams and the bleeding of lukewarm love create a sense of stifled emotions. The desire to wear out and escape the pain is present, while the insect breath symbolizes vulnerability. The act of smashing, throwing, and denying becomes a means of coping and pretending that the destruction never occurred.

The final lines suggest a desire for transformation and liberation, where turning destructive elements into grains of sand may offer a sense of relief and fearlessness. The poem leaves an impression of chaos, suffering, and a search for release from the cycle of destruction.

cell membrane by Soko Nada

Open >

Expanding cell membrane

It protects itself while proliferating

blood

edit

Of metal leaking disturbing laughing gas

Blood drips from many, many cells that have been bombarded, and ugliness spreads

dull pain reverberates in the bones

Reverberations of laughing gas around,

1:32

600 7:30

sleep

Shoot, whoosh, sound…

That metal also broke violently in the middle,

pierce the membrane,

Blood flows You get callous You get callous He gets callous even more, to protect

[For corporations] Mobile phone call recording

everyone is destroying someone or something

Destroyed and stuck in my body

11:42

pluck, pluck, throw metal

kaiwa.cloud

while destroying something

[

blood

edit

I'm trying to abandon my wreckage

Abnormal heart sounds in my heart

His blood pressure dropped, his heartbeat dropped, his pupils dilated, and I pulled out the metal cylinder stuck in my internal organs.

Strike down the multiplied love, your split

Both eyes, cracked palms,

Between the beaten past and the defeated today, more and more,

1:32

(7:30

sleep

Cursing and killing my overgrown love

Pull out 1 2... 3...

Scream is not allowed, swallow it, suppress it

Love like lukewarm blood bleeds there

Don't leak your sobs,

still bleeding…

You want to wear out, you want to wear out, you want to wear out

I'm looking up at you with my insect breath

Smash it, throw it, destroy it, deny it,

kill, pretend it never happened,

①X

Improve CS quality with call recording cloud

Then, if you turn them into grains of sand, you won't be afraid...

#Soko Nada

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diabolus1exmachina · 2 years

Photo

Audi Le Mans Quattro (Prototype, 2003)

This fascinating driving machine is a synthesis of the experience gained from numerous racing triumphs, allied to advanced design and Audi’s technical competence – which has in turn become synonymous for Audi’s technological leadership (Vorsprung durch Technik) on the racetrack and the road alike. A flow of power as if from a turbine, a high maximum torque curve and a fascinating sound: the basic features of a perfect sports-car engine. This 5.0-litre V10 engine with its twin turbochargers is just as fascinating in the potential it offers as in its suitability for day-to-day use. Its bite in every operating range and its unrivalled willingness to rev up to high speeds are truly impressive.This ten-cylinder engine has 40 valves, operated by four overhead camshafts. Both the inlet and exhaust valves have continuously variable opening periods to ensure optimum gas flow in all engine-speed ranges.Two turbochargers driven from the exhaust and located behind the engine boost the pressure of the combustion air to a maximum of 2.0 bar before it is forced into the engine. The charge-air intercoolers are mounted above the engine. They are fed with air through an inlet on the body side and have an additional low-temperature cooling water circuit. The two oil coolers are at the side of the engine, well positioned in the airflow behind the side inlets.As a result of these careful design measures, the engine can develop an impressive 449 kW (610 bhp). A big contribution to this formidable output is made by the direct petrol injection (FSI) system. FSI combines outstandingly efficient power output with highly efficient combustion of the fuel.In the Audi Le Mans quattro the ten-cylinder biturbo FSI engine is particularly pleasant on account of its willingness to rev freely and its lusty pulling power at all engine speeds. The maximum torque of 750 Newton-metres is available within an exceptionally broad engine-speed range from 1,750 to 5,800 rpm, so that unnecessarily frequent gear changes are avoided.

Note: Some years later, and pressured by the Mercedes SLR or the Porsche Carrera GT, Audi decided to fight its rivals with the AUDI R8 5.2 QUATTRO V10 PLUS.

#audi #le mans #Mercedes SLR #Porsche Carrera GT #AUDI R8 5.2 QUATTRO V10 PLUS.

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dieselworldmag · 1 year

Photo

4BT Basics And Performance Options

The popularity of diesel-powered vehicles here in the U.S. has really jumped in a positive direction in recent years. More and more manufacturers are starting to offer all-new diesel powerplants in half-ton trucks, cars and midsize SUVs—the introduction of a 3.0L diesel in the new Ram 1500 trucks, an EcoDiesel in the latest Chevrolet Cruze passenger car and there’s even been talk of a 4.5L Duramax coming down the pipeline. With the big car builders starting to offer diesel upgrades from the standard gas powerplants, there must be legitimate reasoning.

Maybe it’s better highway fuel efficiency and the giant increase in torque offered by a diesel engine. In reality, it’s probably an attempt at meeting ever-increasing CAFÉ (corporate average fuel economy) numbers. Either way, these smaller V-6 and four-cylinder engines will be sticking around. But back in the day, it was Cummins that developed their own small diesel engine market with the 3.9L 4BT.

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rjalker · 1 year

Text

The Planet of Dread, by Roman Frederick Starzl

Originally published in the August 1930 edition of Astounding Stories of Super-Science magazine.

Top 10 photos taken before disaster.

[ID: A cropped screenshot from HeroForge.com, showing two characters. One is a human with light brown skin and short black hair, wearing a pale blue long-sleeved shirt, yellow khaki pants, and tall leather boots. The other is a humanoid Martian with light skin, wearing a long-sleeved tunic, leggings, and shoes of bright red with gold trim, with large pointed ears. A gold metallic band covers the top of his face, and he has no hair. End ID.]

There was no use hiding from the truth. Somebody had blundered—a fatal blunder—and they were going to pay for it! Mark Forepaugh kicked the pile of hydrogen cylinders. Only a moment ago he had broken the seals—the mendacious seals that certified to the world that the flasks were fully charged. And the flasks were empty! The supply of this precious power gas, which in an emergency should have been sufficient for six years, simply did not exist.

He walked over to the integrating machine, which as early as the year 2031 had begun to replace the older atomic processes, due to the shortage of the radium series metals. It was bulky and heavy compared to the atomic disintegrators, but it was much more economical and very dependable. Dependable—provided some thick-headed stock clerk at a terrestrial supply station did not check in empty hydrogen cylinders instead of full ones. Forepaugh's unwonted curses brought a smile to the stupid, good-natured face of his servant, Gunga—he who had been banished for life from his native Mars for his impiety in closing his single round eye during the sacred Ceremony of the Wells.

The Earth man was at this steaming hot, unhealthful trading station under the very shadow of the South Pole of the minor planet Inra for an entirely different reason. One of the most popular of his set on the Earth, an athletic hero, he had fallen in love, and the devoutly wished-for marriage was only prevented by lack of funds. The opportunity to take charge of this richly paid, though dangerous, outpost of civilization had been no sooner offered than taken. In another week or two the relief ship was due to take him and his valuable collection of exotic Inranian orchids back to the Earth, back to a fat bonus, Constance, and an assured future.

It was a different young man who now stood tragically before the useless power plant. His slim body was bowed, and his clean features were drawn. Grimly he raked the cooling dust that had been forced in the integrating chamber by the electronic rearrangement of the original hydrogen atoms—finely powdered iron and silicon—the "ashes" of the last tank of hydrogen.

Gunga chuckled.

"What's the matter?" Forepaugh barked. "Going crazy already?"

"Me, haw! Me, haw! Me thinkin'," Gunga rumbled. "Haw! We got, haw! plenty hydr'gen." He pointed to the low metal roof of the trading station. Though it was well insulated against sound, the place continually vibrated to the low murmur of the Inranian rains that fell interminably through the perpetual polar day. It was a rain such as is never seen on Earth, even in the tropics. It came in drops as large as a man's fist. It came in streams. It came in large, shattering masses that broke before they fell and filled the air with spray. There was little wind, but the steady green downpour of water and the brilliant continuous flashing of lightning shamed the dull soggy twilight produced by the large, hot, but hidden sun.

"Your idea of a joke!" Forepaugh growled in disgust. He understood what Gunga's grim pleasantry referred to. There was indeed an incalculable quantity of hydrogen at hand. If some means could be found to separate the hydrogen atoms from the oxygen in the world of water around them they would not lack for fuel. He thought of electrolysis, and relaxed with a sigh. There was no power. The generators were dead, the air drier and cooler had ceased its rhythmic pulsing nearly an hour ago. Their lights were gone, and the automatic radio utterly useless.

"This is what comes of putting all your eggs in one basket," he thought, and let his mind dwell vindictively on the engineers who had designed the equipment on which his life depended.

An exclamation from Gunga startled him. The Martian was pointing to the ventilator opening, the only part of this strange building that was not hermetically sealed against the hostile life of Inra. A dark rim had appeared at its margin, a loathsome, black-green rim that was moving, spreading out. It crept over the metal walls like the low-lying smoke of a fire, yet it was a solid. From it emanated a strong, miasmatic odor.

"The giant mold!" Forepaugh cried. He rushed to his desk and took out his flash pistol, quickly set the localizer so as to cover a large area. When he turned he saw, to his horror, Gunga about to smash into the mold with his ax. He sent the man spinning with a blow to the ear.

"Want to scatter it and start it growing in a half-dozen places?" he snapped. "Here!"

He pulled the trigger. There was a light, spiteful "ping" and for an instant a cone of white light stood out in the dim room like a solid thing. Then it was gone, and with it was gone the black mold, leaving a circular area of blistered paint on the wall and an acrid odor in the air. Forepaugh leaped to the ventilating louver and closed it tightly.

"It's going to be like this from now on," he remarked to the shaken Gunga. "All these things wouldn't bother us as long as the machinery kept the building dry and cool. They couldn't live in here. But it's getting damp and hot. Look at the moisture condensing on the ceiling!"

Gunga gave a guttural cry of despair. "It knows, Boss; look!"

Through one of the round, heavily framed ports it could be seen, the lower part of its large, shapeless body half-floating in the lashing water that covered their rocky shelf to a depth of several feet, the upper part spectral and gray. It was a giant amoeba, fully six feet in diameter in its present spheroid form, but capable of assuming any shape that would be useful. It had an envelope of tough, transparent matter, and was filled with a fluid that was now cloudy and then clear. Near the center there was a mass of darker matter, and this was undoubtedly the seat of its intelligence.

The Earth man recoiled in horror! A single cell with a brain! It was unthinkable. It was a biological nightmare. Never before had he seen one—had, in fact, dismissed the stories of the Inranian natives as a bit of primitive superstition, had laughed at these gentle, stupid amphibians with whom he traded when they, in their imperfect language, tried to tell him of it.

They had called it the Ul-lul. Well, let it be so. It was an amoeba, and it was watching him. It floated in the downpour and watched him. With what? It had no eyes. No matter, it was watching him. And then it suddenly flowed outward until it became a disc rocking on the waves. Again its fluid form changed, and by a series of elongations and contractions it flowed through the water at an incredible speed. It came straight for the window, struck the thick, unbreakable glass with a shock that could be felt by the men inside. It flowed over the glass and over the building. It was trying to eat them, building and all! The part of its body over the port became so thin that it was almost invisible. At last, its absolute limit reached, it dropped away, baffled, vanishing amid the glare of the lightning and the frothing waters like the shadows of a nightmare.

* * *

he heat was intolerable and the air was bad.

"Haw, we have to open vent'lator, Boss!" gasped the Martian.

Forepaugh nodded grimly. It wouldn't do to smother either. Though to open the ventilator would be to invite another invasion by the black mold, not to mention the amoebae and other fabulous monsters that had up to now been kept at a safe distance by the repeller zone, a simple adaptation of a very old discovery. A zone of mechanical vibrations, of a frequency of 500,000 cycles per second, was created by a large quartz crystal in the water, which was electrically operated. Without power, the protective zone had vanished.

"We watch?" asked Gunga.

"You bet we watch. Every minute of the 'day' and 'night.'"

He examined the two chronometers, assuring himself that they were well wound, and congratulated himself that they were not dependent on the defunct power plant for energy. They were his only means of measuring the passage of time. The sun, which theoretically would seem to travel round and round the horizon, rarely succeeded in making its exact location known, but appeared to shift strangely from side to side at the whim of the fog and water.

"Th' fellas," Gunga remarked, coming out of a study. "Why not come?" He referred to the Inranians.

"Probably know something's wrong. They can tell the quartz oscillator is stopped. Afraid of the Ul-lul, I suppose."

"'Squeer," demurred the Martian. "Ul-lul not bother fellas."

"You mean it doesn't follow them into the underbrush. But it would find tough going there. Not enough water; trees there, four hundred feet high with thorny roots and rough bark—they wouldn't like that. Oh no, these natives ought to be pretty snug in their dens. Why, they're as hard to catch as a muskrat! Don't know what a muskrat is, huh? Well, it's the same as the Inranians, only different, and not so ugly."

For the next six days they existed in their straitened quarters, one guarding while the other slept, but such alarms as they experienced were of a minor nature, easily disposed of by their flash pistol. It had not been intended for continuous service, and under the frequent drains it showed an alarming loss of power. Forepaugh repeatedly warned Gunga to be more sparing in its use, but that worthy persisted in his practice of using it against every trifling invasion of the poisonous Inranian cave moss that threatened them, or the warm, soggy water-spiders that hopefully explored the ventilator shaft in search of living food.

"Bash 'em with a broom, or something! Never mind if it isn't nice. Save our flash gun for something bigger."

Gunga only looked distressed.

On the seventh day their position became untenable. Some kind of sea creature, hidden under the ever-replenished storm waters, had found the concrete emplacements of their trading post to its liking. Just how it was done was never learned. It is doubtful that the creatures could gnaw away the solid stone—more likely the process was chemical, but none the less it was effective. The foundations crumbled; the metal shell subsided, rolled half over so that silty water leaked in through the straining seams, and threatened at any moment to be buffeted and urged away on the surface of the flood toward that distant vast sea which covers nine-tenths of the area of Inra.

"Time to mush for the mountains," Forepaugh decided.

Gunga grinned. The Mountains of Perdition were, to his point of view, the only part of Inra even remotely inhabitable. They were sometimes fairly cool, and though perpetually pelted with rain, blazing with lightning and reverberating with thunder, they had caves that were fairly dry and too cool for the black mold. Sometimes, under favorable circumstances on their rugged peaks, one could get the full benefit of the enormous hot sun for whose actinic rays the Martian's starved system yearned.

"Better pack a few cans of the food tablets," the white man ordered. "Take a couple of waterproof sleeping bags for us, and a few hundred fire pellets. You can have the flash pistol; it may have a few more charges in it."

Forepaugh broke the glass case marked "Emergency Only" and removed two more flash pistols. Well he knew that he would need them after passing beyond the trading area—perhaps sooner. His eyes fell on his personal chest, and he opened it for a brief examination. None of the contents seemed of any value, and he was about to pass when he dragged out a long, heavy, .45 caliber six-shooter in a holster, and a cartridge belt filled with shells. The Martian stared.

"Know what it is?" his master asked, handing him the weapon.

"Gunga not know." He took it and examined it curiously. It was a fine museum piece in an excellent state of preservation, the metal overlaid with the patina of age, but free from rust and corrosion.

"It's a weapon of the Ancients," Forepaugh explained. "It was a sort of family heirloom and is over 300 years old. One of my grandfathers used it in the famous Northwest Mounted Police. Wonder if it'll still shoot."

He leveled the weapon at a fat, sightless wriggler that came squirming through a seam, squinting unaccustomed eyes along the barrel. There was a violent explosion, and the wriggler disappeared in a smear of dirty green. Gunga nearly fell over backward in fright, and even Forepaugh was shaken. He was surprised that the ancient cartridge had exploded at all, though he knew powder making had reached a high level of perfection before explosive chemical weapons had yielded to the newer, lighter, and infinitely more powerful ray weapons. The gun would impede their progress. It would be of very little use against the giant Carnivora of Inra. Yet something—perhaps a sentimental attachment, perhaps what his ancestors would have called a "hunch"—compelled him to strap it around his waist. He carefully packed a few essentials in his knapsack, together with one chronometer and a tiny gyroscopic compass. So equipped, they could travel with a fair degree of precision toward the mountains some hundred miles on the other side of a steaming forest, a-crawl with feral life, and hot with blood-lust.

Man and master descended into the warm waters and, without a backward glance, left the trading post to its fate. There was not even any use in leaving a note. Their relief ship, soon due, would never find the station without radio direction.

The current was strong, but the water gradually became shallower as they ascended the sloping rock. After half an hour they saw ahead of them the loom of the forest, and with some trepidation they entered the gloom cast by the towering, fernlike trees, whose tops disappeared in murky fog. Tangled vines impeded their progress. Quagmires lay in wait for them, and tough weeds tripped them, sometimes throwing one or another into the mud among squirming small reptiles that lashed at them with spiked, poisonous feet and then fell to pieces, each piece to lie in the bubbling ooze until it grew again into a whole animal.

Several times they almost walked under the bodies of great, spheroidal creatures with massive short legs, whose tremendously long, sinuous necks disappeared in the leafy murk above, swaying gently like long-stalked lilies in a terrestial pond. These were azornacks, mild-tempered vegetarians whose only defense lay in their thick, blubbery hides. Filled with parasites, stinking and rancid, their decaying covering of fat effectively concealed the tender flesh underneath, protecting them from fangs and rending claws.

Deeper in the forest the battering of the rain was mitigated. Giant neo-palm leaves formed a roof that shut out not only most of the weak daylight, but also the fury of the downpour. The water collected in cataracts, ran down the boles of the trees, and roared through the semi-circular canals of the snake trees, so named by early explorers for their waving, rubbery tentacles, multiplied a millionfold, that performed the duties of leaves. Water gurgled and chuckled everywhere, spread in vast dim ponds and lakes writhing with tormented roots, up-heaved by unseen, uncatalogued leviathans, rippled by translucent discs of loathsome, luminescent jelly that quivered from place to place in pursuit of microscopic prey.

Yet the impression was one of calm and quiet, and the waifs from other worlds felt a surcease of nervous tension. Unconsciously they relaxed. Taking their bearings, they changed their course slightly for the nesting place of the nearest tribe of Inranians where they hoped to get food and at least partial shelter; for their food tablets had mysteriously turned to an unpleasant viscous liquid, and their sleeping bags were alive with giant bacteria easily visible to the eye.

They were doomed to disappointment. After nearly twelve hours of desperate struggling through the morass, through gloomy aisles, and countless narrow escapes from prowling beasts of prey in which only the speed and tremendous power of their flash pistols saved them from instant death, they reached a rocky outcropping which led to the comparatively dry rise of land on which a tribe of Inranians made its home. Their faces were covered with welts made by the hanging filaments of blood-sucking trees as fine as spider webs, and their senses reeled with the oppressive stench of the abysmal jungle. If the pampered ladies of the Inner Planets only knew where their thousand-dollar orchids sprang from!

Converging runways showed the opening of one of the underground dens, almost hidden from view by a bewildering maze of roots, rendered more formidable by long, sharp stakes made from the iron-hard thigh-bones of the flying kabo.

Forepaugh cupped his hands over his mouth and gave the call.

"Ouf! Ouf! Ouf! Ouf! Ouf!"

He repeated it over and over, the jungle giving back his voice in a muffled echo, while Gunga held a spare flash pistol and kept a sharp lookout for a carnivore intent on getting an unwary Inranian.

There was no answer. These timid creatures, who are often rated the most intelligent life native to primitive Inra, had sensed disaster and had fled.

Forepaugh and Gunga slept in one of the foul, poorly ventilated dens, ate of the hard, woody tubers that had not been worth taking along, and wished they had a certain stock clerk at that place at that time. They were awakened out of deep slumber by the threshing of an evil looking creature which had become entangled among the sharpened spikes. Its tremendous maw, splitting it almost in half, was opened in roars of pain that showed great yellow fangs eight inches in length. Its heavy flippers battered the stout roots and lacerated themselves in the beast's insensate rage. It was quickly dispatched with a flash pistol and Gunga cooked himself some of the meat, using a fire pellet; but despite his hunger Forepaugh did not dare eat any of it, knowing that this species, strange to him, might easily be one of the many on Inra that are poisonous to terrestials.

They resumed their march toward the distant invisible mountains, and were fortunate in finding somewhat better footing than they had on their previous march. They covered about 25 miles on that "day," without untoward incident. Their ray pistols gave them an insuperable advantage over the largest and most ferocious beasts they could expect to meet, so that they became more and more confident, despite the knowledge that they were rapidly using up the energy stored in their weapons. The first one had long ago been discarded, and the charge indicators of the other two were approaching zero at a disquieting rate. Forepaugh took them both, and from that time on he was careful never to waste a discharge except in case of a direct and unavoidable attack. This often entailed long waits or stealthy detours through sucking mud, and came near to ending both their lives.

The Earth man was in the lead when it happened. Seeking an uncertain footing through a tangle of low-growing, thick, ghastly white vegetation, he placed a foot on what seemed to be a broad, flat rock projecting slightly above the ooze. Instantly there was a violent upheaval of mud; the seeming rock flew up like a trap-door, disclosing a cavernous mouth some seven feet across, and a thick, triangular tentacle flew up from its concealment in the mud in a vicious arc. Forepaugh leaped back barely in time to escape being swept in and engulfed. The end of the tentacle struck him a heavy blow on the chest, throwing him back with such force as to bowl Gunga over, and whirling the pistols out of his hands into a slimy, bulbous growth nearby, where they stuck in the phosphorescent cavities the force of their impact had made.

There was no time to recover the weapons. With a bellow of rage the beast was out of its bed and rushing at them. Nothing stayed its progress. Tough, heavily scaled trees thicker than a man's body shuddered and fell as its bulk brushed by them. But it was momentarily confused, and its first rush carried it past its dodging quarry. This momentary respite saved their lives.

Rearing its plumed head to awesome heights, its knobby bark running with brown rivulets of water, a giant tree, even for that world of giants, offered refuge. The men scrambled up the rough trunk easily, finding plenty of hand and footholds. They came to rest on one of the shelflike circumvoluting rings, some twenty-five feet above the ground. Soon the blunt brown tentacles slithered in search of them, but failed to reach their refuge by inches.

And now began the most terrible siege that interlopers in that primitive world can endure. From that cavernous, distended throat came a tremendous, world-shaking noise.

"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"

Forepaugh put his hand to his head. It made him dizzy. He had not believed that such noise could be. He knew that no creature could long live amidst it. He tore strips from his shredded clothing and stuffed his ears, but felt no relief.

"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"

It throbbed in his brain.

Gunga lay a-sprawl, staring with fascinated eye into the pulsating scarlet gullet that was blasting the world with sound. Slowly, slowly he was slipping. His master hauled him back. The Martian grinned at him stupidly, slid again to the edge.

Once more Forepaugh pulled him back. The Martian seemed to acquiesce. His single eye closed to a mere slit. He moved to a position between Forepaugh and the tree trunk, braced his feet.

"No you don't!" The Earth man laughed uproariously. The din was making him light-headed. It was so funny! Just in time he had caught that cunning expression and prepared for the outlashing of feet designed to plunge him into the red cavern below and to stop that hellish racket.

"And now—"

He swung his fist heavily, slamming the Martian against the tree. The red eye closed wearily. He was unconscious, and lucky.

Hungrily the Earth man stared at his distant flash pistols, plainly visible in the luminescence of their fungus bedding. He began a slow, cautious creep along the top of a vine some eight inches thick. If he could reach them....

Crash! He was almost knocked to the ground by the thud of a frantic tentacle against the vine. His movement had been seen. Again the tentacle struck with crushing force. The great vine swayed. He managed to reach the shelf again in the very nick of time.

"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"

A bolt of lightning struck a giant fern some distance away. The crash of thunder was hardly noticeable. Forepaugh wondered if his tree would be struck. Perhaps it might even start a fire, giving him a flaming brand with which to torment his tormentor. Vain hope! The wood was saturated with moisture. Even the fire pellets could not make it burn.

"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"

The six-shooter! He had forgotten it. He jerked it from its holster and pointed it at the red throat, emptied all the chambers. He saw the flash of yellow flame, felt the recoil, but the sound of the discharges was drowned in the Brobdignagian tumult. He drew back his arm to throw the useless toy from him. But again that unexplainable, senseless "hunch" restrained him. He reloaded the gun and returned it to its holster.

"HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM! HOOM!"

A thought had been struggling to reach his consciousness against the pressure of the unbearable noise. The fire pellets! Couldn't they be used in some way? These small chemical spheres, no larger than the end of his little finger, had long ago supplanted actual fire along the frontiers, where electricity was not available for cooking. In contact with moisture they emitted terrific heat, a radiant heat which penetrated meat, bone, and even metal. One such pellet would cook a meal in ten minutes, with no sign of scorching or burning. And they had several hundred in one of the standard moisture-proof containers.

As fast as his fingers could work the trigger of the dispenser Forepaugh dropped the potent little pellets down the bellowing throat. He managed to release about thirty before the bellowing stopped. A veritable tornado of energy broke loose at the foot of the tree. The giant maw was closed, and the shocking silence was broken only by the thrashing of a giant body in its death agonies. The radiant heat, penetrating through and through the beast's body, withered nearby vegetation and could be easily felt on the perch up the tree.

Gunga was slowly recovering. His iron constitution helped him to rally from the powerful blow he had received, and by the time the jungle was still he was sitting up mumbling apologies.

"Never mind," said his master. "Shin down there and cut us off a good helping of roast tongue, if it has a tongue, before something else comes along and beats us out of a feast."

"Him poison, maybe," Gunga demurred. They had killed a specimen new to zoologists.

"Might as well die of poison as starvation," Forepaugh countered.

Without more ado the Martian descended, cut out some large, juicy chunks as his fancy dictated, and brought his loot back up the tree. The meat was delicious and apparently wholesome. They gorged themselves and threw away what they could not eat, for food spoils very quickly in the Inranian jungles and uneaten meat would only serve to attract hordes of the gauzy-winged, glutinous Inranian swamp flies. As they sank into slumber they could hear the beginning of a bedlam of snarling and fighting as the lesser Carnivora fed on the body of the fallen giant.

When they awoke the chronometer recorded the passing of twelve hours, and they had to tear a network of strong fibers with which the tree had invested them preparatory to absorbing their bodies as food. For so keen is the competition for life on Inra that practically all vegetation is capable of absorbing animal food directly. Many an Inranian explorer can tell tales of narrow escapes from some of the more specialized flesh-eating plants; but they are now so well known that they are easily avoided.

Aclean-picked framework of crushed and broken giant bones was all that was left of the late bellowing monster. Six-legged water dogs were polishing them hopefully, or delving into them with their long, sinuous snouts for the marrow. The Earth man fired a few shots with his six-shooter, and they scattered, dragging the bodies of their fallen companions to a safe distance to be eaten.

Only one of the flash pistols was in working order. The other had been trampled by heavy hoofs and was useless. A heavy handicap under which to traverse fifty miles of abysmal jungle. They started with nothing for breakfast except water, of which they had plenty.

Fortunately the outcroppings of rocks and gravel washes were becoming more and more frequent, and they were able to travel at much better speed. As they left the low-lying jungle land they entered a zone which was faintly reminiscent of a terrestial jungle. It was still hot, soggy, and fetid, but gradually the most primitive aspects of the scene were modified. The over-arching trees were less closely packed, and they came across occasional rock clearings which were bare of vegetation except for a dense carpet of brown, lichenlike vegetation that secreted an astonishing amount of juice. They slipped and sloshed through this, rousing swarms of odd, toothed birds, which darted angrily around their heads and slashed at them with the razor-sharp saw edges on the back of their legs. Annoying as they were, they could be kept away with branches torn from trees, and their presence connoted an absence of the deadly jungle flesh-eaters, permitting a temporary relaxation of vigilance and saving the resources of the last flash gun.

They camped that "night" on the edge of one of these rock clearings. For the first time in weeks it had stopped raining, although the sun was still obscured. Dimly on the horizon could be seen the first of the foothills. Here they gathered some of the giant, oblong fungus that early explorers had taken for blocks of porous stone because of their size and weight, and, by dint of the plentiful application of fire pellets, managed to set it ablaze. The heat added nothing to their comfort, but it dried them out and allowed them to sleep unmolested.

An unwary winged eel served as their breakfast, and soon they were on their way to those beckoning hills. It had started to rain again, but the worst part of their journey was over. If they could reach the top of one of the mountains there was a good chance that they would be seen and rescued by their relief ship, provided they did not starve first. The flyer would use the mountains as a base from which to search for the trading station, and it was conceivable that the skipper might actually have anticipated their desperate adventure and would look for them in the Mountains of Perdition.

They had crossed several ranges of the foothills and were beginning to congratulate themselves when the diffused light from above was suddenly blotted out. It was raining again, and above the echo-augmented thunder they heard a shrill screeching.

"A web serpent!" Gunga cried, throwing himself flat on the ground.

Forepaugh eased into a rock cleft at his side. Just in time. A great grotesque head bore down upon him, many-fanged as a medieval dragon. Between obsidian eyes was a fissure whence emanated a wailing and a foul odor. Hundreds of short, clawed legs slithered on the rocks under a long sinuous body. Then it seemed to leap into the air again. Webs grew taut between the legs, strumming as they caught a strong uphill wind. Again it turned to the attack, and missed them.

[ID: A black and white illustration showing Forepaugh and Gunga fleeing the web serpent, which lunges towards them from the air with its crocodile-like jaws open wide. Gunga is turning to run, and Forepaugh has raised the gun towards the serpent. End ID.]

This time Forepaugh was ready for it. He shot at it with his flash pistol.

Nothing happened. The fog made accurate shooting impossible, and the gun lacked its former power. The web serpent continued to course back and forth over their heads.

"Guess we'd better run for it," Forepaugh murmured.

"Go 'head!"

They cautiously left their places of concealment. Instantly the serpent was down again, persistent if inaccurate. It struck the place of their first concealment and missed them.

"Run!"

They extended their weary muscles to the utmost, but it was soon apparent that they could not escape long. A rock wall in their path saved them.

"Hole!" the Martian gasped.

Forepaugh followed him into the rocky cleft. There was a strong draft of dry air, and it would have been next to impossible to hold the Martian back, so Forepaugh allowed him to lead on toward the source of the draft. As long as it led into the mountains he didn't care.

The natural passageway was untenanted. Evidently its coolness and dryness made it untenable for most of Inra's humidity and heat loving life. Yet the floor was so smooth that it must have been artificially leveled. Faint illumination was provided by the rocks themselves. They appeared to be covered by some microscopic phosphorescent vegetation.

After hundreds of twists and turns and interminable straight galleries the cleft turned more sharply upward, and they had a period of stiff climbing. They must have gone several miles and climbed at least 20,000 feet. The air became noticeably thin, which only exhilarated Gunga, but slowed the Earth man down. But at last they came to the end of the cleft. They could go no further, but above them, at least 500 feet higher, they saw a round patch of sky, miraculously bright blue sky!

"A pipe!" Forepaugh cried.

He had often heard of these mysterious, almost fabulous structures sometimes reported by passing travelers. Straight and true, smooth as glass and apparently immune to the elements, they had been occasionally seen standing on the very tops of the highest mountains—seen for a few moments only before they were hidden again by the clouds. Were they observatories of some ancient race, placed thus to pierce the mysteries of outer space? They would find out.

The inside of the pipe had zigzagging rings of metal, conveniently spaced for easy climbing. With Gunga leading, they soon reached the top. But not quite.

"Eh?" said Forepaugh.

"Uh?" said Gunga.

There had not been a sound, but a distinct, definite command had registered on their minds.

"Stop!"

They tried to climb higher, but could not unclasp their hands. They tried to descend, but could not lower their feet.

The light was by now relatively bright, and as by command their eyes sought the opposite wall. What they saw gave their jaded nerves an unpleasant thrill—a mass of doughy matter of a blue-green color about three feet in diameter, with something that resembled a cyst filled with transparent liquid near its center.

And this thing began to flow along the rods, much as tar flows. From the mass extended a pseudopod; touched Gunga on the arm. Instantly the arm was raw and bleeding. Terrified, immovable, he writhed in agony. The pseudopod returned to the main mass, disappearing into its interior with the strip of bloody skin.

[ID: The cover for Astounding Stories of Super-Science August 1930, showing Gunga and Forepaugh inside the tube with Gunga in the lead, both staring in horror at a green and red monster which has grabbed Gunga's arm, tearing through his bright red shirt. End ID.]

Its attention was centered so much on the luckless Martian that its control slipped from Forepaugh. Seizing his flash pistol, he set the localized for a small area and aimed it at the thing, intent on burning it into nothingness. But again his hand was stayed. Against the utmost of his will-power his fingers opened, letting the pistol drop. The liquid in the cyst danced and bubbled. Was it laughing at him? It had read his mind—thwarted his will again.

Again a pseudopod stretched out and a strip of raw, red flesh adhered to it and was consumed. Mad rage convulsed the Earth man. Should he throw himself tooth and nail on the monster? And be engulfed?

He thought of the six-shooter. It thrilled him.

But wouldn't it make him drop that too?

Aflash of atavistic cunning came to him.

He began to reiterate in his mind a certain thought.

"This thing is so I can see you better—this thing is so I can see you better."

He said it over and over, with all the passion and devotion of a celibate's prayer over a uranium fountain.

"This thing is harmless—but it will make me see you better!"

Slowly he drew the six-shooter. In some occult way he knew it was watching him.

"Oh, this is harmless! This is an instrument to aid my weak eyes! It will help me realize your mastery! This will enable me to know your true greatness. This will enable me to know you as a god."

Was it complacence or suspicion that stirred the liquid in the cyst so smoothly? Was it susceptible to flattery? He sighted along the barrel.

"In another moment your great intelligence will overwhelm me," proclaimed his surface mind desperately, while the subconscious tensed the trigger. And at that the clear liquid burst into a turmoil of alarm. Too late. Forepaugh went limp, but not before he had loosed a steel-jacketed bullet that shattered the mind cyst of the pipe denizen. A horrible pain coursed through his every fibre and nerve. He was safe in the arms of Gunga, being carried to the top of the pipe to the clean dry air, and the blessed, blistering sun.

The pipe denizen was dying. A viscous, inert mass, it dropped lower and lower, lost contact at last, shattered into slime at the bottom.

Miraculous sun! For a luxurious fifteen minutes they roasted there on the top of the pipe, the only solid thing in a sea of clouds as far as the eye could reach. But no! That was a circular spot against the brilliant white of the clouds, and it was rapidly coming closer. In a few minutes it resolved itself into the Comet, fast relief ship of the Terrestial, Inranian, Genidian, and Zydian Lines, Inc. With a low buzz of her repulsion motors she drew alongside. Hooks were attached and ports opened. A petty officer and a crew of roustabouts made her fast.

"What the hell's going on here?" asked the cocky little terrestial who was skipper, stepping out and surveying the castaways. "We've been looking for you ever since your directional wave failed. But come on in—come on in!"

He led the way to his stateroom, while the ship's surgeon took Gunga in charge. Closing the door carefully, he delved into the bottom of his locker and brought out a flask.

"Can't be too careful," he remarked, filling a small tumbler for himself and another for his guest. "Always apt to be some snooper to report me. But say—you're wanted in the radio room."

"Radio room nothing! When do we eat?"

"Right away, but you'd better see him. Fellow from the Interplanetary News Agency wants you to broadcast a copyrighted story. Good for about three years' salary, old boy."

"All right. I'll see him"—with a happy sigh—"just as soon as I put through a personal message."

#described images #public domain stories #public domain characters #public domain books #Martian #Martians #Gunga the Martian #Mark Forepaugh #The Planet Inra #Planet Inra #Aliens #Short Stories #scifi #science fiction #this is what happens when you don't listen to the locals

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