Lurkily

I missed this, somehow. A simulation if decay is EXACTLY what this is supposed to be. The timescale is too short to be realistic, but degradation of lost parts is more or less the decay you mention. As for engineering, heaters seem to be a favored method, except in that it leaves a heater behind. That's what spurred the acid block suggestion from one other player. It all seems like an artifical way to deal with something that gameplay mechanics could just handle.

I haven't used speed since the demo, and I would swear it had two values with a tolerance - if that's changed, I agree, we need to go back to that. I've used temperature a total of once, so I don't recall it's settings well. In one feature request, @Micha mentioned (in the context of a cool idea, not a certain goal) that he'd like to get away from fixed inputs, and instead let players add inputs and outputs, providing as many ranges as needed. (Making the spans without a range a de facto tolerance.) If the game does go that way, it would solve this as well.

Story commissions CAN work, but you really need to find an author who's good at commissions for that kind of thing. It takes a certain kind of mind, I think.

Two bengals? I hear they're a handful. I guess they can keep each other company, though.

I guess what I'm really getting at, is I'm curious how this story would play out, because I'm not sure I can see a way through it.

Not change this, but write another. I just feel like I'd have to remove or mitigate a lot of what might make them interesting, so there isn't an answer that appears more correct. A distinctive personality has a lot of clues, and whether it's the right answer or not, you can't have an answer that appears correct.

I don't even care if I come back, as long as it's a relatively safe trip, really. I could spend my life there if they've got some semblance of gravity, for health reasons. (rotation or thrust, whatever.) Just keep me in books, I'll be fine. What would your ideal retreat from the world look like, assuming you were insanely, stupidly wealthy, and no amount of waste could possibly limit your ability to do charitable things? I always thought that I'd like a silent (maglev maybe) train laid out as a living space, with observation decks up top, winding through some beautiful vistas.

In this one, there is a fairly obvious idea of who should be who that I turn on its head. The sniper has the youth, the unfamiliarity with chaos, even the artistic mind. I think if I were ambiguous, the reader would just conclude that they knew the answer, and it was a dull story. I could be more ambiguous about which is which, but I'm a big fan of internal contradictions in a character, and I feel like those contradictions couldn't be as interesting if I left the question open - mystery and confusion are never far apart. Do you still disagree? I'm open to trying a rewrite of this with a different goal, if you have a different imagining of the story.

Thank you! I've been posting all my short fiction, bit by bit, over here. I had quite a lot of fun with some of it. "Storytime" prefixes all my submissions like this, so you could easily search them if you want more. We're catching up with the current day, though. I have fifty or sixty bits of short fiction bouncing around, but have been limiting my posting here to the stuff I feel the best about. How many cats do you have?

This one was a little grittier than usual. It's a bit of a contrast with other works. No fantasy, no sci-fi, and more about what's unexpected in their personality, rather than what's interesting about them. This is around the time I began seeking photos for every story, as I noticed stories with a photo got more notice from people searching WordPress for things to read. This photo was not paired with the prompt. It's surprisingly hard to find a photo of a rifle paired with a photo of hard liquor, especially on wood like that of a bar, that isn't ruined by something like a roll of $100's or a stack of joints. Written to the prompt: "A photographer and a sniper meet in a bar. Neither is aware of the other’s occupation. They talk about 'how to take the perfect shot'." Photographer’s Spirit, Sniper’s Soul I looked at the mirror across the bar and surveyed the damage. The youthful man looking back at me was a mess. My hair was full of dust; from the explosions, from the powdered concrete of ruined buildings, and from the ever-present road dust. You couldn’t escape it. The caked mud on my face was where the dust in the air had mixed with a bloody scrape. I sipped at the beer in my hands – the first I had found in a week – and sighed, savoring this respite from the chaos. My companion was a more grizzled man. He looked like he was used to conflict. His hair was cropped shorter than mine, a week of beard went unnoticed by any razor, and a jagged, torn scar snaked along the line of his jaw like a disfiguring rope. “You’re new to this, ain’tcha?” “It’s my first time ‘in it.’ I took some fantastic shots, but . . . it’s chaos out here. This country is a wreck.” He smiled, putting an empty glass down, and the bartender refilled it with an amber liquid that smelled like kerosene. “Y’get used to it. Learn to function in chaos, or go home. Got some good shots myself. See that bell tower up there?” He pointed through the window – a church steeple was visible from a few blocks away. The top of it had been destroyed, leaving only a broken wall, and the crumbling stub of a staircase. “Before they secured the city, got some of the best shots of my life up there.” I turned back to my beer and sipped, sighing. “Must be nice. All that elevation, just you and the wind.” “Forty-x magnification. You could see the whites of their eyes.” I imagined it – the wind on your face, able to look down into the crowd, picking out individuals without worrying about them seeing you and changing their behavior, ruining a careful shot. You could practically read their mind if you could see their expression. “That’s serious magnification. It’s always best when they’re unaware. You can anticipate the moment, frame your shot two steps ahead.” He gestured with the cup, pointing past it at me. “You know how it is. You pick your place, and you look for your shot. Sometimes you don’t get a thing, sometimes you just get the one perfect shot, and sometimes everything you do is golden.” I nodded, knowing the feeling. “The day before yesterday, I was attached to some local forces guarding the west road. No visibility at all, just blown dust. Yesterday, though, the wind was up, it cleared the dust, and I was death itself.” I picked up my rifle and rested the forestock against my shoulder. I let my hand drift over the scope. I had too much respect for the scope’s alignment to touch it; instead, I caressed the air millimeters from the glass and metal. His brow furrowed, shock and horror creeping into his eyes. “You’re . . . talking about killing people.” Confused, I looked up to meet his gaze. “. . . what are you talking about?”

Hmmmmm. Weird to think about. Why would I want to be someone whose goals and desires aren't mine? If I had to pick someone else's circumstances to be born into . . . Stephen King. A writer from a legacy of writers, whose writing was encouraged and read and critiqued by his family every day, who came to adulthood in an era where the field of authorship wasn't oversaturated and when publishers could often be relied on to look out for an author's interests. What BRAND of gingerale(Or ginger beer)? For me, Schwepps or Seargrams for Gingerale, Goya or Q for ginger beer.

Adding some shading (light purple on one side, dark purple on the other side, for the tree and the blades of grass) may do much more to convey lighting than the fog lighting does.

Vaporwave? The purple in the air, I think, is the part that needs the most adjustment. That's where it really crosses from 'unusual lighting' to 'washed out'.

Getting to eat ice cream for breakfast, because you're an adult. Awesome. Even though I'll hate myself for it later.

All good suggestions; with, or without limiting the capacity for infinite hordes. I feel like those are all things whose inclusion really doesn't bear on whether a horde should be possible. Those are all good balancing mechanics, but we're talking more about how we want the player to be challenged, or not challenged. Because hordes are functionally infinite, there there is no balance mechanic that can balance them. Any benefit one drone can provide is an infinite benefit, no matter how mitigated they are. The problem is that with a decent plan and half-decent engineering, a factory is an 'I win' button. With the exception of collection missions, they can make mission wins trivial and boring. In my opinion, infinite hordes should be endgame content, if permitted at all. EDIT: I should add, I don't think hordes need to be eliminated, necessarily, but, except perhaps as endgame content, (and I've just been playing Just Cause, so I see the fun of utterly ridiculous gameplay,) they should not at all be unlimited, and relying on player hardware to be the limiting factor is not a plan.

I would say it needs more contrast. There's more detail, but that purple is overwhelming everything. Even with the detail, the purple makes it seem more washed-out than previously. It doesn't look look dark anymore, the purple is so bright it seems like it's lit by purple instead of dark. That said, again, it is more detailed; I think improvements have been made here, but they are undermined by other changes.

That's a shame. The new ones are prettier, but the original trilogy by far had better chemistry between the characters involved. Depends. If I can give it my full attention, sit down, lower the lights, dubtitles. Tone of voice conveys a lot, and I don't look away from the action to read them; it just happens, corner-of-the-eye, after a while. If I'm busy, cooking, dubs, because I can follow a movie while dividing my attention. Almost forgot to add a question. Ginger ale or ginger beer? (Ginger beer is also non-alcoholic; it's basically ginger ale, but typically with less carbonation and a lot more ginger.)

Just . . . . . no. I can't do it. One is already demanding enough. (Not that he's hard, Alvin is really kind of demanding. Lap, now. Move that aside, the king needs a heated seat.) If anything, maybe another cat, so that the maintenance is more of the same and there are fewer challenges in them getting along. Trek or wars? Which is your favorite movie/series in the set?

I have one cat, Alvin. My apartment is a bit small for lots of animals. He gets into EVERYTHING. I'm taking him to the vet later today because he ate part of a zip lock bag, and I have to make sure there isn't a blockage. Do you create? What? Stories, artwork, craftsmanship?

Every time I come back to an older story, I find things I would change, that dissatisfy me. But I guess that's the nature of skill itself; (Or perhaps the nature of art, or maybe talent. I don't know.) if you develop it, you'll never be fully satisfied with what's behind you. Just have to leave it behind, be satisfied that you set it free.

I wasn't sure I wanted to share this one. The story in it is . . . okay. But I re-read it, and I realized the people and the emotions are the real story. I like the people involved. I like the queen, her contradictions, the various masks she wears, and the glimpses beyond that you get. I like Efran, I like his gruffness, his devotion to honest assessment, and his awareness that people don't always want to hear it. I re-read this, and I remembered why I thought there was magic in this one. This was written in response to the prompt:" The elf queen, hearing that yet another young hero was slain during a heroic monologue, decides she’s had enough. She gives her last magical weapon to the grizzled, no-nonsense human guard and says it’s up to him to slay the great evil." Dire Gifts “Dammit! Damn it all, another man dead while bragging to the enemy! Another blade lost! What do these idiots think dire blades are, Efran?” I had not moved during her tirade. She would blow herself out and calm down. She never spoke to me, though. She spoke to her guards all the time, but never to Kirin, or Efran. I was surprised that she knew my name. “I don’t know, grace. But really, what are they? They’re not a birthright or a destiny. Just a rare and powerful tool.” In her frustration, and being alone, she had laid across her throne. Her head laid on one arm, her knees hooked over the other. Now though, she flipped over, kneeling in the seat with her hands on the arm, and her ocean-blue eyes on mine. Her gaze was uncomfortably intense. “Uh . . . did I give offense, your grace?” “No. No, you make sense. More sense than any of those posturing dead men.” She stared a moment longer – then her gaze broke. “It’s useless. I have one blade left. A dagger! Nobody can fight their way through that darkness with a dagger.” For a moment, I considered the problem. A blade was a blade. But this was not just a blade, and people had strong opinions where the gods were concerned. “I see your hesitancy. Speak, Efran.” ” . . . Your grace, a dagger is just a spear with a shorter shaft.” “They are gods-given! You would slap a god in the face with the insufficiency of their gifts!?” I read shock, and a little anger in her eyes, and knew I was on shaky ground. I hesitated and sought the right way to frame my thoughts. “I gave my daughter a set of kitchen knives once. When she traveled, she had one blade ground down to a belt dagger. It saved her life, and I was not displeased.” She stared at me, intent. “You do not think they would take offense?” “They say the gods watch over the valley temple and speak in its halls. Have the work done beneath their gaze.” “Efran. I will trust this to you. You can involve nobody in the palace. Make a spear in the Temple of the Gods.” Her eyes on mine were intensely focused, and crouched on her throne she looked both imposing and youthfully naive. She’s twice my age, I thought. How can she seem so young? “I will do this for you, grace. I will keep your secret.” “Good. Send in someone to relieve you at your post. You begin immediately. Take this.” She took the royal seal off her belt. “Grace, I don’t need this for the task.” She looked at me, confused. “This is my authority. It says that your word is mine. It is honor and power. You don’t want it?” “Grace–” “You speak to me plainly. While we are alone, call me Acacia.” “Your gr–” She lifted a finger sharply. “Ah-ah-ah! Acacia. Like the flower.” “…Acacia. I am honored. But I can do this without it. Every time that seal leaves your side, it places you at risk. It should not be without need.” “There is a need. You will carry a dire blade. I can’t have people asking questions. And I need you to take it. Don’t ask me why, Efram.” She pushed the seal upon me, and reluctantly, I took it. ‘Seal’ was a bit of a misnomer. It was a slim, square box of dark wood with a lid that covered the imperial crest, keeping it hidden until its authority was required. “I am honored . . . Acacia.” “Good!” She smiled and sat up straight on her throne, the youthful excitement vanishing. Sometimes she was like a child; sometimes she was this cold matriarch. “Send in the minister, and a guard to take over your post.” I knew the time for familiarity was over. “Yes, your Grace.” I made my way to the armory and gained admittance with her seal. I had to show it twice before I was alone in the most secure vault. Seven empty racks, seven men dead from their arrogance. I found the dagger; it was the last of the dire blades, and the oldest. I lifted it from the rack and felt the hilt thrumming against my skin. I had always wondered, everybody did, if they would be worthy. A dire blade wasn’t destiny, but it took a man of principle not to be burned by them. It didn’t matter, though. I didn’t need to wield it. I belted the blade to my hip and left. It was a week before I returned to her. She cleared the room, and once alone I knelt before her and unlaced the long bag. The blade shone a smoky gray, and the shaft of the spear was wrapped with a web of smoky gray steel, a chaotically patterned inlay along the entire shaft of the spear. “That’s dire steel. Why is the entire shaft covered in dire steel?” “Imre once gifted your ancestor this dagger, and we did the work in a space reserved for her worship. The craftsman said he heard her voice, but didn’t understand. He carved the inlay without knowing why, and every time he looked back, the metal grew from the blade to fill it. The blade is bigger now, too. The spear will be too big for most elves, though.” “She approves of our work. She sees our need. Yes, she knew what I wanted. She made it for a human. It’s just the right size for you to wield.” I looked up in shock. “Empress, I can’t. This weapon isn’t for me. I’m not a noble.” “Oh?” I looked up at her, confused. “The spear seems okay with it. I checked with your captain. He says that your mother’s brother was–” “That’s not in my blood. He married into it.” When I fell silent, I realized that I had interrupted her. There was a cold moment of silence to let me know that she noticed it too. Her expression gentled though as she leaned forward in her throne, watching me. “It is enough . . . did you know that if any of those ‘heroes’ succeeded, they would have been able to lay claim to this kingdom?” I raised my head, surprised, and shook it slowly. “This kingdom was founded upon a singular act, the quelling of a great evil a thousand years ago. This evil; it isn’t new, only newly-woken. With the symbol that founded our kingdom behind them, they would have a claim. To keep my rule without violence, I would have to take a king, and that . . . that would only trade one usurper for another. I send each one out, without trusting them a bit.” I lowered my eyes. The thought of Acacia marrying sat in my gut like a stone. It seemed I had gained some affection for her. No, more than that, I thought. She was both old and young, playful and stern, principled and whimsical. The contradiction of her had always enticed me. And she had just laid out a path by which she might be in reach to a commoner. No, not any commoner; just me. “Are you saying . . . you trust me?” “I allow you my name, don’t I? I permitted – demanded that you speak plainly with me. I gave you my seal to elevate you among other men.” She rose and stepped down from her throne to where I kneeled, taking my hands and pulling me up. “You speak sense to me. You don’t let me sulk. If you can succeed at this, Efran, I’ll need you.” My heart skipped a beat, and her ocean-blue eyes met mine. “Like this matter with the dire blade. This kingdom raised me in a crown, everybody eager to please me. I need your mind, your honesty, and your sense.” “Just my mind, your grace?” My use of her title wasn’t a mistake; she noticed the distance the words created, too, and reached up, her small hands on my cheeks. “Not just your mind.” She smiled, a blush overtaking her, then she giggled, turning away, rushing back to her throne. There was nowhere there to hide her face, though, and she stood with her back to me. She probably thought she hid her blush, but her long ears were beet red. I bent and picked up the spear. The uncertainty of my life scared me more than the evil I was about to face. My future had always been a known quantity. The city guard, the palace guard, promotions, a captain’s badge. I’d climb the ranks and serve as well as I could. Setting my whole life onto an unknown course was terrifying. Nobility? The hero of a country? What would I do? I couldn’t be a soldier anymore. And . . . a husband? I tied a cover down over the head of the spear, to protect it as I traveled. “Your grace, I’ll do this for you. You can trust me. When I return, I will support your rule, and give you my counsel in any way that I can.” She turned, shy, and let me see her blushing cheeks. “Only your council?” I smiled as I watched her turn, and stepped closer. After a brief hesitation, I cupped her cheek and tilted her face up. I bent to lower my lips to her brow; she leaned up to offer her lips instead. They were soft, and my heart was pounding as I stepped back, beating so loud that she must be able to hear it. “No, Acacia. Not only my council.”

Keep in mind, I'm also willing to engage political questions - I know our agency is a controversial one - as long as things stay civil. Oh, all the time. The scanners we used are basically CT scanners; they use x-ray, and there's a lot they can't penetrate. Sometimes an object is just made of metal, and indistinct, other times, such as with film, they put things in shielded containers. (film bags are sometimes lead lined specifically to get through x-ray safely.) In that case, you just have to open it and see. If you can't say it's safe, it doesn't fly. And sometimes people lock it up. At our airport, you brought checked luggage to us, so we often had a passenger there to unlock it. But when we didn't, we still had some options. TSA locks have keys that allow us to open the lock. We also, some of us, kept common keys with us; masterlock and brinks sold replacement keys for some locks, and they're sometimes (not always) interchangeable. More common in cheap luggage locks. I personally got and learned to use a lockpick kit. Sometimes, though, we just had to use bolt cutters. We'd page them, try our keys, it would resist our picks, we couldn't split the zipper if it was a metal zipper... we just cut the lock off. Locks integrated into clasps we sometimes had to open with a crowbar. The worst were the big pelican cases. Tough ABS plastic, four eyelets big enough for heavy duty locks, and our cutters aren't made for hardened steel lock hasps, we didn't have the tools to cut the plastic eyelets. More than one like that just didn't make it to the destination.

Welcome on board! Be sure to ask a moderator if you need any help with anything.

I've been told this interests some people, so here's an AMA. I screened luggage, not people, and in my role, only what would go under the plane, not what the passenger could access, so we didn't care much about knives and such. What I won't do is divulge specifications of equipment, procedures, or anything that would qualify as "Sensitive Security Information". But I can go into the generalities of how things functioned and what we worried about. Also keep in mind, my information is about two years out of date.

Miniscule terrain damage for miniscule physics force, more damage for more force - it will make digging that way either inefficient except for the most miniscule particles, or a threat to your ship.