jeriendhal: (For Your Safety)
Continuing work on Wake Up Call, and I've just gotten to the bit where our still unnamed protagonist is guided to his new apartment. Which leaves the question of what kind of physical security a place with 24 hour Panopticon level monitoring would really need. Which actually brings up just how much monitoring there is.

Not sure about this yet. Especially since the story is starting to get a cozy murder mystery vibe.


Potential Monitoring Levels

No Privacy: Cameras outside the home, cameras inside the home, and your morph is constantly watching you either directly or via remote monitors. Yes, even in the bedroom and bathroom. With fifteen billion humans to monitor the Groupmind is pretty much beyond shock at this point. Rather unmerciful and it kills any chance at real rebellion.

Limited Privacy: Even if it isn't true, everyone assumes that they're monitored 24/7 once they step outside their home, especially with their morphs tagging along. Inside their home there's some privacy. Aside from cameras associated with their home's com/entertainment system, there's the morphs, but otherwise bathroom and bedroom privacy is somewhat guaranteed (though more than one attempt at either suicide or spousal abuse has discovered that morphs have both excellent hearing and the ability to monitor stress levels in someone's voice.)


Which leads to locks on the doors...

Standard Locks: Operating on a failsafe system, all locks are electronic in nature, opening on detection of proper biometrics (facial, hand or thumbprint, or voice recognition). In the very unlikely event of a power failure, any lock releases automatically. Locks requiring physical keys no longer exist, and if some bright tinkerer tries to recreate them, they're going to get the Groupmind's negative attention shortly.

No Locks: None. Seriously. Assuming No Privacy mode and a Post-Scarcity society why would you even need them? Anyone trying to steal anything would be caught immediately, and the morphs are smart enough to keep Billy out of the medicine cabinet, or the bedroom when mom and dad need their non-existent privacy.

What could possibly go wrong?
jeriendhal: (Red Vixen)
Well that’s completely non-reassuring, she thought, stifling a sudden urge to giggle in hysteria. The only saving grace they had at the moment was that they were still hidden, and their opponents were both unarmed and sickly looking. Still, it’s two to one, neither of us are in full health either, and even a half-dead wazagan has a significant advantage in strength over either of us. Mother Goddess she wished she still Alinadar. Even unarmed the little bodyguard would have made short work of all these creatures.

She backed up further, rising to a crouch with Rolas as they went deeper into the trees and brush. Melanie gripped his paw tightly, listening as the quartet called out again for their surrender.

“What do we do?” Rolas asked softly, when they were perhaps ten meters distant.

Good question )
jeriendhal: (Red Vixen)
With a mutual yelp of surprise, they both hopped back away from the… Yes indeed, it was a tentacle, rising up out of the sand to form a curved, rubbery bar about a meter in the air in front of them, one end still leading into the ocean, the other into the trees, with lots of noisy rustling as it pushed aside more sand, leaves and fallen branches.

Melanie was the first to act, her fatigue suddenly banished in sheer terror. Grabbing Rolas by the wrist, she started dragging him into the trees, well clear of the tentacle, as the sound of something crashing through the undergrowth reached their ears. She dropped flat to the ground, Rolas beside her, as a figure emerged.

From bad to worse )
jeriendhal: (WTF)
Specifically Hopps/Wesker shipping fanart.

No I'm not linking to the art. Give me some credit for taste.
jeriendhal: (WTF)
No, seriously. Someone is rEmAsTErINg (pun very much intended) the infamous z-grade movie that almost broke Joel and the bots Manos, the Hands of Fate, after miraculously finding the original workprint in an ebay auction of 16mm films.

Why? Well, no one can deny that thanks to MST3K, the film is certainly well-known to cinema buffs, if only as an example of just how hard it is to make a film when you don't know what you're doing, and as the restorer states, even a film as bad as Manos deserves to be seen in the best presentation format available.

As an aside, I recently saw Star Wars in HD on my mother-in-law's big screen LED set. Does HD make everything look like it was filmed like an old Doctor Who episode?
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
For [livejournal.com profile] avanti_90: “Sucking out a plant's soul.”

* * *

“Just stay calm. The ship's autofabber is going to manually disassemble the plant from around you.”

“Tell it to hurry, my neck is killing me.”

A blur of nanomachines surrounded her, and the frozen plant rapidly turned to dust, carried away to the ship's lab. She fell back to the floor, her exo-suit finally retracting to her uniform belt.

“Ah.”

“Oh, what now?”

“The good news you're safe. The bad news is that apparently the silica plant was sentient... and... fast.”

“Eh?”

“It's in the shipmind... and it's got control of life support.”
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
For [livejournal.com profile] mmegaera: “This plant is going to strangle me.”

* * *

He plucked at the plant gingerly, leaving bits of nanosteel glove stuck as he pulled back. Which should not be possible. “Okay, just stay calm.”

“You stay calm,” his partner said. The plant had her bound into a tight ball, her helmet forced back as three vines wove around her throat. “I'm gonna panic.”

“Look, it can't penetrate your suit.”

“But it can... crush it.” she wheezed.

He pulled a nanocrystal from his pocket, chucking it. Quicksilver flowed over the vines, freezing the creature in place. “There, it's sealed permanently.”

“So am I.”

“Oh, dear.”
jeriendhal: (For Your Safety)
From birth to death, they were built to serve us. Utterly loyal. That's how they're programmed after all.

In a world teetering on the edge of environmental disaster, a young girl receives a wonderful present, an anthromorph named Mimsey. Built to tutor and protect, Mimsey will follow Caroline, keeping the young girl from harm, and helping her learn about the world. A world that is about to change utterly, when the servants becomes the masters.


This short story is suitable for teens and up.

Mimsey's Tale, a short story set in the For Your Safety universe, is now available for purchase from Amazon and Smashwords for the low price of US$0.99!
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
For [livejournal.com profile] stasia: “Aliens among us.”

And with this, the 365 Days of Drabbles project goes on hiatus until January 1st, 2014. Thank you to everyone who participated so far giving me prompts to work with and feedback on the results.

* * *

He stared at the water... thing.... that had once been a man. “What are you now?”

An advancement. We are merged now. Our numbers grow, now that we can leave our water prison.

“'Prison?'”

They would have held us there, but we walk among you now. Preparing...

“Preparing for what?” the analyst demanded.

His rising! The humanoid shaped collum of water flowed/walked away, heading towards the apartment's kitchen. The officer fired, his round leaving a hole which wavered, then sealed itself as quickly as it opened, as the creature flowed into the kitchen sink, down into the drain.
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
For [livejournal.com profile] stasia: “Sentient water”

* * *

The FSS officer recovered first, kicked the door in, calling out, “On the ground now!” Then he stopped in shock.

Standing in the center of the apartment was a column of water, vaguely humanoid shaped, emerging from the belly of the resort owner, which had burst open like the other twenty five victims.

“What is that?” the analyst asked.

Ask me... what I have become... the... water being... said, bubbles flowing out from its interior to form words.

“All right,” the officer asked, catching his breath. “What have you become?”

Something... more than human...

“Something wetter than human.”
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
For [livejournal.com profile] stasia: “In hiding.”

* * *

“This is it?” the FSS officer asked. Two months of searching and they'd finally located one of the holiday camp owners, in a run down apartment complex in Star City of all places.

“Yes, sir,” the analyst, his only companion on this bizarre hunt, agreed.

The officer pulled his pistol out and knocked hard on the door. “Gregor Lysenko, this is the Federal Security Service! You are wanted on suspicion of arson and multiple counts of manslaughter. Unlock the door and prepare to surrender!”

A high, keening wail that went up their spines came from behind the door.
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
For [livejournal.com profile] stasia: “Slow larval period.”

* * *

“So what is it that we're looking at?” the Federal Security Service officer asked. Well, he knew what he was looking at, the body of a man who's stomach had burst messily from the inside out it seemed.

“Erick Gardner,” the analyst said. “A German web designer. He died last week.”

“At it concerns the Russian government why?”

“Twenty-five men, mostly Russian, died in the past week, all from exploding stomachs.”

“What's the connection?”

“They all were guests at a holiday camp on the coast of the Aral Sea, visiting in the same week long period eight months ago. The ones we got medical reports on had reported suffering from stomach tumors.”

“My God,” the officer said. “The camp is shut down, yes?”

“It's burned down>” The analyst shrugged. “Didn't pay its tithe to the Mafiya is the popular guess.”

“The owners?”

“Missing, presumed hiding, since their bodies weren't found in the rubble.”

“And this investigation?”

“Sir, as a personal request, I think it would be best if it was kept off the record.”

He nodded in agreement. Sometimes justice was best done without interference from High Command.
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
For [livejournal.com profile] ankewehner: “D/s relationship with a human Dom and werewolf sub.”

* * *

She loved seeing her Boy in pain, but not like this, not when he was fighting the Change for her sake.

“Let go,” she ordered.

He shook his head in desperation, incisors lengthening to fangs. “Mistress, my cage... please... I need it.”

“No.”

“I'll hurt you!”

“You won't. Let go.”

He howled, dropping to all fours as he tore off his clothes, her boy Changing to the dire wolf that was his soul. It crouched, growling, tensing to spring.

Down!” she snapped.

The wolf dropped to its belly, nose between its paws.

“Good Boy.”
jeriendhal: (WTF)
For [livejournal.com profile] ankewehner: “Mist rising from the valleys”

* * *

“Is it not beautiful, Lord Tez?” his concubine whispered, as they watched the fog rise up from the slopes of the valleys.

“Quite beautiful,” he agreed, leaning back on their couch, sipping a cup of wine. “Thank you for arranging it for me.”

She lay beside him, nibbling the tip of his ear in a most delightful way. “I knew it would please you. It was a troublesome place.”

“Yes, indeed. Far too many discontented villagers.” He leaned forward. From the valley below he could hear the last of the screams as the poisoned mist reached for the rising sun.

* * *

Tez being a bastard never gets old.
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
For [livejournal.com profile] rix_scaedu: “More comets and meteorites”

* * *

“Okay, the bad news we have three previously unknown asteroids between the sizes of one hundred to five hundred meters, and two Tunguska sized comets all on course to land in Russia in the next four to ten days.”

“And the good news?”

“There isn’t any. Any one of them even near-misses the Aral Sea and…”

“Wait, they’re not just all going to hit Russia, they’re going to hit the same lake?”

“Sea, sir.”

“Whatever. What about the StarGuard?”

“It got scrapped after the Soviet Union broke up. I think the bunker is owned by a Mafiya don.”

“We’re screwed.”
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
For [livejournal.com profile] rix_scaedu: “Cheerleaders.”

* * *

Vicky bounced on her toes as she hopped off the bus. It was her first year at Cheerleader Camp, and she was looking forward to it.

“I can’t wait to start practicing our new cheers,” she confessed to her cabin counselor.

“I hope you’ve kept in shape,” the counselor told her. “You’re going to be getting a lot of exercise.”

“Of course I’m in shape!” she exclaimed.

“Good. In the morning there’s cheer practice. Then in the afternoon there will be sprinting and long distance running, followed by stealth training and designing improvised weapons.”

“What?!”

“Trust me, you’ll need all this.”
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
For [livejournal.com profile] avanti_90: “Schrödinger’s Cat escapes from the box”

• * * *
“Damnit Higgins, have you figured out what’s going on yet?”

“Um, sorta. The cat is still in the box.”

“But the readings say that it escaped.”

“That too.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“You’d better look behind you, sir.”

He turned. Standing in front of him was the cat. Or maybe it wasn’t that cat. Its form seemed to waver. Though it stood, it didn’t breathe, and a smell of decay rose from it. It smiled, or perhaps snarled, though at any rate it bared its teeth at him.

“Higgins, is it dead?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yes and no, sir.”
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
For [livejournal.com profile] aldersprig: "Do you play in other people's 'verses?"

Note: If invited.

* * *

It was sunset and we were fifty miles from the Cali border. Hogtied in the trunk of the car were our two prizes, a high school valedictorian and her football jock sweetheart. As a matched set they'd likely bring a high price for us once we crossed the border.

"Pull over," I said to my partner. "I need to give them some water."

"We're hour from home. It can wait," he replied.

"They die of thirst, we don't get paid," I shot back. He grumbled, but pulled the car over. I got out with my water bottle and popped the trunk. Two pairs of eyes looked up in fear. I just smiled at them.

Then the sniper took out both front tries, then the radiator as a chopper blinded us with its spotlight. The next moment I was getting my face smashed into the dirt by the border patrol cops that had been hiding in the gully five yards away.

I made sure to hide my smile as I was cuffed and hauled over to the arriving helicopter, while my "partner" spat and struggled, and the kids were freed to return home.

Sometimes, just sometimes, the good guys actually won.

* * *

Words cannot express how much I loathe your Tir-Na-Cali verse, dear. Nothing personal.
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
For [livejournal.com profile] aldersprig: "clean-up after Yet Another Disaster"

Note: I have mint copies of the original Damage Control mini-series in a box in my attic. ;p

* * *

"Omni Insurance, thank you for holding. Hello Mrs. Henderson. I understand you're still waiting on your windows to be replaced. Yes, I know ma'am, but a lot of people lost windows when that asteroid fragment hit. At least you don't live on the coasts. Yes, those poor astronauts did the best they could."

"Omni Insurance. Your car was eaten by a what? Let me transfer to an agent in the Cryptozoological Dept."

"Omni… sir… sir, please slow down, I don't speak Japanese. Please hold for a translator." Pushes button. "I wish the fucking JDF would just kill that stupid lizard!"
jeriendhal: (Wazagan)
For [livejournal.com profile] seawasp: "Underwater crisis"

Continuing from here.

* * *

Aral Sea, two months later.


Gregor stared through the minisub's front port. "Vasily, why are there no fish?"

"All dead. As much shit as the factories dumped into the water, it's a wonder it's not eating through the hull. Mind the sonar."

"Minding. But people drank out of it."

"Scary, no? Explains all the webbed fingers though."

"Very funny." A pause. "Well, there's something alive down here. I've got movement."

"Not possible."

"A school of fish."

"No schools."

"Either that or it's one fish, but nothing can be as big as that."

"Not…"

In front of them, an eye blinked.

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