Margin of Error

Pax Humana · Thursday at 3:57 PM

According to the Codex, there are 2 FTL methods used by everyone. The Relays are point-to-point, effectively instant travel. The other is the drive cores which let you push, after 2000 years of research, to 15 times speed of light for a maximum of roughly 30 light-years' travel before you must stop and discharge.

The effect of this is that each new Relay added to the network produces a new sphere of exploration. If it's useful enough, that first sphere gets its own nodes that add more spheres of exploration added around eg a garden world or a juicy mining system.

Now, if the games were realistic enough, that'd mean each new Relay's initial sphere would contain dozens of new systems for people to develop (and fight over). One additional thing to consider is that these other systems would automatically route galactic trade through the Relay-bearing systems, meaning they're always economically subordinate to those Relay systems which become trade hubs and regional capitals for each colonization cluster, I think the wiki calls them.

If Marcus finds an alternate FTL method that's somewhere between those two speeds (19 YEARS to cross the galaxy vs seconds via Relay), on the strategic scale of distance covered, yes, that will absolutely be a military-grade advancement. Would it make the Turians friendly? Almost certainly not. They're Space Rome and cannot tolerate an alternate military power.

In fact, if humanity shows up with that alternate FTL method, that alone will cause wars, at least cold wars and probably 1 or 2 hot ones, as well.

abominable · Thursday at 3:58 PM

USSExplorer said:
No. The only FTL in the games is the one the Reapers left to seed the trap

Awww. Sad. Would've been one hell of a stone thrown into the galactic community's calm pond water.

USSExplorer said:
I don't know whether to be offended or intrigued by the idea of a female Turian operative trying to seduce Marcus

Lol no I meant that the Turian Hierarchy wouldve sent their most charming diplomats and generous concessions to try and wrangle some kind of tech trade for non-relay FTL.

They warlike, military-friendly tech is super shiny to the birbs.

Pax Humana said:
In fact, if humanity shows up with that alternate FTL method, that alone will cause wars, at least cold wars and probably 1 or 2 hot ones, as well.

Not really, no. For one thing, the Salarians and, more likely, the Asari are going to have to put the breaks on that.

The likely outcome is all three races will do their best to pressure humanity into joining the citadel. Humanity wont really have much of a reason, let alone a choice, to say no, not when the Salarians and, again more likely, the Asari dangle enough of the benefits of joining to make it a lot easier to swallow.

The Turians are going to do their best to look intimidating to show off the stick that usually gets shoved up their asses (as Joker once put it).

If the First Contact War kicks off much like in canon, we'll see largely the same course of events, with the Council even more eager to see humanity join in.

Edit: Though I guess that's largely theoretical now since author says nothing's gonna change from canon FTL methods.

Lokabrenna · Thursday at 9:16 PM

abominable said:
I forget, do the rest of the Citadel races only have the relays as FTL travel?

USSExplorer said:
No. The only FTL in the games is the one the Reapers left to seed the trap

No, they have standard Mass Effect FTL too, which for military ships can achieve velocities of about 15 lightyears per day (which is roughly half of what the typical Reaper is capable of). If you've ever noticed from the games that most of the systems you travel to don't actually have any Relays, this is the reason why those systems are both accessible and settled in the first place. The main issue with it is that it's limited by fuel availability, and the static buildup effect which creates a charge in the ship that must periodically be discharged to avoid frying the ship and everyone in it. This means that, functionally speaking, any given settled world in galactic civilization is still huddled within a hundred lightyears or so of a Mass Relay, because the logistics of settling a star system get increasingly expensive the further you get from a Relay or other economic hub.

EDIT: Whoops, looks like @Pax Humana beat me to it.

silentorphan · Friday at 12:23 AM

USSExplorer said:
I had researched her thoroughly before requesting admission to her seminar. She was exactly the kind of mentor I needed: brilliant, well-connected, and pragmatic enough to value results over process. She hadn't been concerned about my age from the first time we spoke.

...

"Mr Sinclair." I was surprised she called me directly as she'd never spoken to me before.

What? Either she did speak to him before or she didn't. It can't be both at the same time.

CNoxS911 · Friday at 2:36 AM

Thanks for the nice chapter

Reynard69 · Friday at 4:47 AM

well, he's definitely in a comic book reality at this point.

USSExplorer · Friday at 6:16 AM

Lokabrenna said:
No, they have standard Mass Effect FTL too, which for military ships can achieve velocities of about 15 lightyears per day (which is roughly half of what the typical Reaper is capable of). If you've ever noticed from the games that most of the systems you travel to don't actually have any Relays, this is the reason why those systems are both accessible and settled in the first place. The main issue with it is that it's limited by fuel availability, and the static buildup effect which creates a charge in the ship that must periodically be discharged to avoid frying the ship and everyone in it. This means that, functionally speaking, any given settled world in galactic civilization is still huddled within a hundred lightyears or so of a Mass Relay, because the logistics of settling a star system get increasingly expensive the further you get from a Relay or other economic hub.

Since that FTL is still based around eezo, I class it as the same thing. I thought the original question meant something different (Hyperspace, Warp, slipspace, etc), which is why I said no. If you want to class them as different, then okay, but they're still the canon FTL methods, which are rooted in eezo.

silentorphan said:
What? Either she did speak to him before or she didn't. It can't be both at the same time.

THat was likely a left over line from an earleir draft that I somehow missed during the checks. Removed now.

Reynard69 said:
well, he's definitely in a comic book reality at this point.

What makes you say that?

Lokabrenna · Friday at 6:29 AM

USSExplorer said:
Since that FTL is still based around eezo, I class it as the same thing. I thought the original question meant something different (Hyperspace, Warp, slipspace, etc), which is why I said no. If you want to class them as different, then okay, but they're still the canon FTL methods, which are rooted in eezo.

Yeah, your response technically included both, but the original question was if they only had the Relays for FTL, which means your wording made your answer slightly misleading to someone without the lore knowledge to know that regular Eezo FTL is a thing, and is part and parcel of the Reapers' technological trap. Even for me, your answer came off as somewhat ambiguous, since it is technically correct but also refers to two very distinct types of FTL with different mechanics, requirements and limitations as "one". In any case, including your post was intended to be more about clarifying for abominable than contradicting you.

USSExplorer · Saturday at 12:58 PM

0005: Foundations Tested
…

Like many of the buildings of the university, the gymnasium I was currently in was a mix of old and new. It balanced history with the shine of something modern. Behind its Victorian brick façade, it hid modern climate control and lighting, with rooms that could be adapted for almost every sporting function.

I didn't come here often. At sixteen, I was seen as too small, too skinny and seemingly unready to play with the other students. Yet I'd come today because Lars had insisted I needed a social life beyond what he called my insane, accelerated study schedule and my habit of spending time only with graduate students and a doctor focused on publishing papers.

When I did come, I was normally alone, to avoid others seeing me move and exercise in case I went a touch too far beyond what my body appeared capable of doing. Other times, often at Lars' insistence, I'd watch as he and others played. Yet today, I'd allowed myself to be convinced by them to join in.

There was an element of danger in doing so, but it was also a good test environment. A controlled, isolated location to compare and calibrate myself against Lars and the others who were older than me.

They were a mixture of undergraduates from various fields, and as we played, I allowed myself to be better than most my age would be, though not to levels that would draw even more attention my way. I was fast enough to be useful and skilled enough to contribute, but never so much that anyone would look twice. A comfortable middle of the pack for those eighteen to twenty, but impressive for someone who was sixteen.

As we played, the ball came at me. A long pass from a chemistry student named Gregor. As I had done hundreds of times now, I tracked it easily, already calculating everything I needed. The ideal interception point and angle needed, along with the positions of the closest opposition as Gregor moved in from the left.

What I didn't calculate was the wet patch on the floor.

The defender, a burly geology senior named Hamish, slipped. His full weight, easily ninety kilograms and most of it muscle, came careening towards me at an angle that would have been painful for an adult, never mind a slightly lanky sixteen-year-old.

I saw all of it happen in slow motion. My eyes tracked the sudden shift in his trajectory and the slowly building panic in his eyes. I calculated how he would slam into me and the way his elbow would drive into my ribcage. This had happened before, though never so accidentally, and perhaps that was why I didn't react and adapt the way I otherwise would have.

Instead, without thought or decision, I moved. Purely by reflex, my body acted before my mind could calculate the perfect response to avoid damage without revealing the depth of my abilities, and before I could impose my carefully crafted limits to avoid revealing more than I wanted to.

My mind, for the first time perhaps ever, ran behind my body. I pivoted, caught Hamish's arm as he fell, shifted my weight to redirect his momentum, and then deposited him on the mat beside me. The move, never planned for, let him roll through the correction I'd enacted, so he was winded nearby instead of me being injured.

Around us, the game stopped. The other students were looking at me in stunned silence.

"Bloody hell," Gregor muttered, giving voice to the thought I was sure all of them were having.

I turned, moving to Hamish, seeking some time to process my actions.

He looked up at me, blinking as his mind no doubt replayed what had happened and then failed to understand how it had occurred. "What," he began, confusion dominating his face. "How did you…"

"Reflexes." The word slipped from me quickly, my mind firing rapidly, more than it usually did, to craft an answer. "My dad had me learn judo when I was young." I shrugged, seeking to deflect questions with a hint of embarrassment. "Muscle memory, I suppose."

I'd never taken judo. My dad had suggested it once, along with other such things, for exercise. I'd not accepted, already aware of the danger a slip in control could cause. That didn't mean I didn't know the martial art. I'd studied it and others from recordings and files. I could easily compete at an Olympic level if I wished, but I had no need or desire to do so.

It was merely a small tool in my arsenal if I were ever forced to defend myself.

Lars appeared at my side, helping Hamish to his feet while shooting me a look I couldn't quite read. "Nice catch," he said. "Didn't know you had that in you."

"Neither did I." That, at least, was partially true.

***

The game resumed not long after my mistake. I kept playing, though I allowed small mistakes to creep into my performance. A missed pass here, a stumble over my feet there, and the wrong choice at another moment. Just enough to both strengthen the idea that I wasn't some super athlete and to suggest, I hoped, that I was unnerved by what had happened.

In the locker room afterwards, Lars spoke to me about the incident. A firm hand on my shoulder, accompanied by a gentle word of support, told me that I'd done nothing wrong. He made sure I was okay after almost getting hurt and, he believed, hurting Hamish in turn. I thanked him for his words and slipped into the shower, letting the water soothe my skin as my mind raced.

Alone at last, my hands started shaking. Not from exertion, but from fear of almost losing control and being exposed.

It was similar to the fear I'd felt at the thought of the health check in the first semester. That had faded away when nothing untoward was revealed, but it returned now, rising from the depths as thoughts of what might happen if I was discovered to be more than what I should be took hold. Thoughts that I'd become a lab rat, or worse, if others learnt my genius wasn't limited to my mind.

In that one moment, without even realising it was happening until it was over, I'd revealed more about my abilities than I'd ever wanted to. One moment of lost control, of reacting purely reflexively, and in front of several dozen witnesses who likely still didn't understand how I'd done what I'd done, could've been my undoing. If someone had pushed about how I'd avoided getting injured, or had recorded it…

My nails dug into my palms. I couldn't afford close calls. I couldn't afford any slips.

As the water continued to cascade over my frame, I made myself a promise. No more casual sports, no more chosen situations where my body might act faster than my judgment. I would find other ways to socialise, other outlets for my physical energy that sometimes built up to uncomfortable levels.

Until I understood what I was and what I could do, I could never let go. Not for a single moment. Perhaps I couldn't even after I learnt my limits. The world, for all its appearance of peace and contentment, might never accept the difference between me and everyone else. Humanity had made clear how it reacted to something that was different.

---***---

The incident in the gymnasium haunted me for weeks.

Four hours of sleep was all I needed, yet almost every night after the incident, four uninterrupted hours wasn't possible. My mind wouldn't let me. Tonight, like so many others, I stared at the ceiling. The sound of Lars' gentle breathing was all that filled the room, and my mind was awash with thoughts. The same ones that had plagued me each night since the incident. It was the same question I had carried since I was a child, one I'd seemingly set aside as unimportant, or at least less important than the path I wanted to take through life.

What was I?

I was different. Enhanced, somehow, in ways I didn't truly understand. That was beyond doubt. I knew the comparisons, how at sixteen I could compete at Olympic levels if I tried, possibly even shatter records if I pushed. That had been enough to know, as my focus had been elsewhere. But now…

Now I had to know more. The why and how could wait, but I needed to understand myself. I needed to be aware of what I could truly do, of what was different about myself. So that, if the worst happened, I understood my limits and could exploit them safely.

Which meant I needed to start learning biology. Seriously learning it.

The irony wasn't lost on me. Lars, my roommate, was studying exactly the field I needed. Human evolutionary biology, genetic architecture, and the mechanisms by which traits were expressed and inherited. His textbooks lined the shelves above his desk, alongside data-storage units containing thousands of papers he'd accumulated during his undergraduate years.

I could ask to read one of those textbooks or saved files, claiming curiosity. But two, ten, a hundred? That would only invite questions. The same questions I had sought to avoid being asked since I had first started school. The sort that ended with men in black suits taking me away to a redacted site to do God knew what to me.

***

I had waited. Lars kept regular hours. Days were spent in lectures; evenings he was either in the laboratories, the libraries, or out with friends. My schedule was different, having shifted with how far ahead of everyone else I'd moved. Beyond the seminars, the meetings with Dr Okonkwo and her team, or the odd evenings meeting up with Elena and others to debate random topics, my schedule was what I chose it to be.

I was close to finishing another year's worth of work. Everyone around me seemed to expect me to complete my Bachelor's before the year was over. Yet, since the gymnasium, ever since deciding I had to know more about myself, I had slowed down. Not enough to draw concern, but enough that I could devote time to learning a new discipline with the attention it deserved.

I'd started with Lars' introductory texts, working through them in days instead of the months they should have taken. The knowledge went in smoothly, integrating with frameworks I hadn't known I possessed. It filled in gaps in the puzzle that I had barely realised existed. My focus had always been on maths, physics, and engineering, but it seemed the knowledge was far broader than that.

That, too, was troubling.

By the second month after deciding to learn what I was, I was nearly finished with the coursework for a Master's in human biology. I was even touching on some graduate work, borrowing Lars' ID to gain access to the biology libraries that my ID wouldn't let me enter. Gene expression, epigenetic modification, and the complex dance of proteins and enzymes that turn the genetic code into physical reality. As close to the cutting edge as students were allowed to push.

I made sure to read everything there was about the genetic optimisation suites that had been available since the 2120s. The same ones that I'd been given as a child. I compared the expected results to what I knew about myself.

Standard enhancements could improve baseline human capability by perhaps fifteen to twenty per cent across various metrics. Things like strength, endurance, cognitive processing, and disease resistance. Meaningful improvements, but only incremental advancements. The enhanced were still recognisably human and still operated within the normal range of human potential.

I was not within the normal range. I wasn't even close to it.

Based on what I could measure without proper equipment, my physical capabilities exceeded the human baseline by factors of three to four. My cognitive processing was harder to quantify, but the speed at which I absorbed Lars' textbooks, and the ease with which I could locate and correct issues in work done alongside Dr Okonkwo and her team, suggested an enhancement of a similar magnitude. My healing rate, something I had tested reluctantly with various self-inflicted injuries that wouldn't draw too much attention, seemed to be five to ten times faster than normal.

No known enhancement therapy could produce these results. Nothing in the scientific literature even suggested such capabilities were possible, not even in the more theoretical works that some rumoured the rich and powerful had access to.

That meant I was something new. Something that shouldn't exist.

The only comparisons my mind could draw were from the media in this life and the former one. Super soldiers, Spartans, Augments, and even synthetic humans. I wasn't synthetic; even so, the media they came from offered comparable metrics I could measure myself against.

Regardless of exactly what I was, or how I'd come to be it, as I lay there in bed turning over everything I'd learnt about myself, the implications continued to make my stomach shift. I'd always feared capture, being experimented on, and, at worst, being dissected. Now those fears had magnified to levels that bordered on crippling.

If discovered, I would become the most valuable research subject in human history. Governments would fight over me. Corporations would bid for access. I would rewrite what it meant to be human, all while losing everything that made me who I was, and being denied the freedom to unlock what I knew on my own terms.

I pushed down the rising swell of fear as I made a vow to myself. I couldn't be captured or caged. I wouldn't allow anyone to dissect me on a laboratory table as they sought to understand what made me different, superior.

I disliked the fear that swarmed my thoughts, but it was clarifying. It sharpened my focus and drove decisions I had been putting off.

My plans, crafted in the first week of the first semester for what to do if discovered, had been refined. If anyone learned of them, they'd think I'd passed paranoia and moved into some sort of schizophrenia. The escape routes weren't merely for getting out of the city but for escaping from the country. There were still some places on Earth that were isolated enough that I could hide from most of the world if needed.

I'd be crafting dead drops and storage points throughout the city in the coming weeks to stash resources. False identities to escape the island and continent if the worst happened. They wouldn't last forever, but the few weeks, at best, of anonymity would be critical. David's security project suddenly took on new urgency as well. I needed systems that couldn't be cracked and data storage that couldn't be accessed.

Even though I'd now finished my research about myself, or as far as I was willing to push within the confines of the university, I'd keep my pace of study slowed. I needed the extra time to prepare for the worst, which was more important than gaining my degree as soon as possible.

I was sure that Dr Okonkwo had noticed the change in my output. She'd likely comment on it in the coming weeks to ensure I wasn't suffering from burnout or struggling with my chosen accelerated workload. I'd have excuses ready to ease her concerns and those of my parents if they were made aware.

There were two months left in the year. Now understanding more about myself, I had a hidden purpose. Preparations for the worst would be in place before the semester ended, before I returned home to see my family. I didn't want to abandon them or toss away my efforts so far. However, I would be a fool not to prepare for the possibility. One that would only grow as my name became more widely known.

---***---

The submission portal glowed softly on Dr Okonkwo's smart-glass desk, the final confirmation prompt waiting for her authorisation. Around us, the late afternoon light filtered through windows that had automatically tinted against the June sun.

"Asymmetric Field Gradients in Ion Acceleration: Theoretical Foundations for Enhanced Thrust-to-Power Ratios," she read aloud. "Okonkwo, A., Sinclair, M." She paused, looking at me carefully, her finger hovering over the prompt. "You understand this will raise eyebrows. A first-year undergraduate as co-author on a submission to the Journal of Propulsion and Power."

"Technically, I'm a third-year." I kept my tone light, a smile dancing on my lips. "Or will be, once the examination board processes my results."

She gave me that look, the one that said she was not amused by my deflection. "You know what I mean. The reviewers will scrutinise this more carefully because of your involvement. They'll look for errors, for overreach, for any sign that a student's contribution was exaggerated."

I allowed myself to scoff. The arrogance was warranted here. "Then they won't find any."

The paper was solid; I'd made certain of that. The central insight, the recognition that asymmetric field gradients could improve thrust efficiency without proportional power increases, was mine. The derivation, the mathematical framework, and the preliminary simulation results. All of it was mine, though she had refined the process to hide much of that truth.

But I had been careful about how much to reveal.

The knowledge in my head went further than what appeared in this paper. I could see extensions and applications that would take years for others to discover. I saw implications reaching well beyond this paper, touching on propulsion systems this world hadn't yet imagined. If I published everything I knew, if I laid out the complete framework that existed in fragments behind my conscious thought, I would change the field overnight.

I would also become the subject of intense scrutiny. Where did this knowledge come from? How could a teenager in his first year of university develop insights that eluded researchers who had spent decades in the field?

The answers to those questions would lead to other questions. And eventually, inevitably, to examinations I could not afford to undergo. The sort of investigations that had dominated my thoughts ever since the gymnasium. Even now, with the first stages of plans in place to escape to some remote country, the fear hadn't eased significantly.

So I'd recalibrated. I revealed enough to be significant, to establish credibility, and to only just open doors I needed opened for the future. Not so much that anyone would suspect the depth of what I was hiding, but enough that I'd have their attention in the coming years.

The electrode modification from months ago, the correction factor I'd provided in Dr Okonkwo's seminar, was in the paper. Concrete improvements to existing technology, alongside demonstrable results that could be tested and verified. But there was nothing that pointed towards knowledge I shouldn't possess.

The truly radical ideas, I kept to myself. Those could come out once I was no longer a student, and once my name could stand on its own. When my reputation was able to shield me from the most obvious dangers that might befall someone of interest to governments and corporations.

"Are you ready?" Dr Okonkwo asked, her hand never wavering as she waited for my response. One we both knew would come.

After I nodded, she pressed the prompt. The portal's light shifted from amber to green, signalling that the paper had been submitted. She'd explained that the normal process was six to eight weeks before we knew if they would publish it. As my name was attached, and they would scrutinise it further, we expected eight weeks to be the minimum time it would take.

"Whatever happens," she said, turning to face me, "you've earned this. The work is genuinely excellent, Marcus. I've reviewed papers from seasoned researchers that weren't this elegant."

"Thank you." It was one of the few times I let true appreciation show.

If not for her seeing my potential, for accepting me when I'd stepped before her, I wouldn't be here today. That first paper, the key to getting my name into the circles that would matter in shaping the future direction of technology, and, I hoped, the world, was now close to being published.

"But I need you to understand something." Her words and her expression hardened. "Publication brings attention. ESA will see this, as will other agencies, universities, and people of power in industry and government. There will be offers. People wanting to know more about the young mind behind the mathematics. Are you prepared for that?"

Of course, I was prepared and had considered that. It was, in fact, part of the strategy. Visibility created opportunities, connections, and resources, but it also created risk. The challenge was balancing the pair carefully, more carefully than I'd initially expected it to be. I was concerned about what I was, but I wasn't going to abandon the path because of what might go wrong.

"I'll manage."

Those were the same words I'd offered to James Okafor when he'd told me of the rigours of working on Dr Okonkwo's research team. His attempt to scare me off was one that had failed spectacularly. In the years working with her, his name had yet to appear on a paper of Dr Okoonkwo's. Inside of five months, mine was about to.

"I believe you will," she responded, a flicker of a smile emerging. "I just hope you understand what you're getting into."

I smirked, letting a hint of genuine emotion show. "I rarely understand what I'm getting into, Dr Okonkwo. I've found it doesn't stop me."

She laughed at that, the tension breaking. "No. I don't suppose it does."

---***---

Stormbringer117 · Saturday at 1:13 PM

Is he like Captain American strong? Or like Spiderman strong?

abominable · Saturday at 1:36 PM

USSExplorer said:
What was I?

You're a protagonist. That means you're on a one-way street with shit. And you're going the wrong way.

USSExplorer · Saturday at 1:46 PM

Stormbringer117 said:
Is he like Captain American strong? Or like Spiderman strong?

Given how those levels of 'strong' vary, let's just go with "Yes" and see where things head

abominable said:
You're a protagonist. That means you're on a one-way street with shit. And you're going the wrong way.

Might be one of the most amusing answers to that sort of question I've ever read.

eien · Saturday at 4:22 PM

Ok, all my chips on he's a baby custodes build.

Reynard69 · Saturday at 5:56 PM

USSExplorer said:
Until I understood what I was and what I could do, I could never let go. Not for a single moment. Perhaps I couldn't even after I learnt my limits. The world, for all its appearance of peace and contentment, might never accept the difference between me and everyone else. Humanity had made clear how it reacted to something that was different.

every time he does this, I'm reminded of the college philosophy joke; "it takes a well educated man to be this stupid".

The "different" things humanity attacks are always uncharismatic. Exceptional people have become celebrities for 7000 years of recorded history, to the point that "well, they're stronger/smarter/more inventive than 99% of people; they MUST be the children of god, obviously". And in the west, ESPECIALLY physically gifted people. Showing yourself to be an obscene sports prodigy is the best way to positive reputation.

Hell, just doc wakanda's reaction to him should have been a crack in that idea, never mind his graduation with honors sir.

Heck, I almost WANT XCOM to show up and take him at this point. At least then his hypocrisy in being constantly cripplingly paranoid but still seeking attention would be justified.

USSExplorer said:
That meant I was something new. Something that shouldn't exist.

something they wouldn't know was special, because they'd have no context for it.

USSExplorer said:
But I had been careful about how much to reveal.

Mostly if you intend to profit from it after school.

Lokabrenna · Saturday at 11:42 PM

Reynard69 said:
every time he does this, I'm reminded of the college philosophy joke; "it takes a well educated man to be this stupid".

The "different" things humanity attacks are always uncharismatic. Exceptional people have become celebrities for 7000 years of recorded history, to the point that "well, they're stronger/smarter/more inventive than 99% of people; they MUST be the children of god, obviously". And in the west, ESPECIALLY physically gifted people. Showing yourself to be an obscene sports prodigy is the best way to positive reputation.

Hell, just doc wakanda's reaction to him should have been a crack in that idea, never mind his graduation with honors sir.

Heck, I almost WANT XCOM to show up and take him at this point. At least then his hypocrisy in being constantly cripplingly paranoid but still seeking attention would be justified.

something they wouldn't know was special, because they'd have no context for it.

Mostly if you intend to profit from it after school.

I mostly agree. He's been wildly paranoid from the start, in ways that aren't really logical or justifiable. Like how he mused that the limited number of charging stations in rural Ireland might be part of some Machiavellian conspiracy to control people, rather than the obvious reality that businesses like charging stations follow the demand (and therefore the money), and most of the demand for a service like that is always going to be in urban centers. It's the most basic and mundane kind of economics, not some Illuminati bullshit.

Even if there was Illuminati bullshit to genuinely fear, he's crippling his growth in the one avenue that would actually protect him from it: Fame. Become famous enough, and no one can "disappear" him for experimentation or whatever. Besides, I'm not sure why he thinks he hasn't given too much away already. Didn't he just let them take an unaltered DNA sample a chapter or two ago? One that was guaranteed to be analyzed by his government? At this point, he should be going full steam ahead on at least one or two angles that accrue fame the fastest, if only to get ahead of whatever they're going to find in his genome. Once he makes himself a household name, then he's as close to untouchable as you can get.

Reynard69 · Saturday at 11:55 PM

Lokabrenna said:
Didn't he just let them take an unaltered DNA sample a chapter or two ago?

and by his own musings, as a kid, with a scheduled round of genetic boosters.

USSExplorer · 2026-07-13T11:04:57+0100

0006: Summer and Success
…

The hiking trail wound through pine forests that smelled of resin and morning dew, with the Danish coastline visible in glimpses between the trees while a cool breeze blew over us. My family walked ahead of me in loose formation: Dad leading, Mum beside him, Keira and Callum somewhere in between. I brought up the rear, as I often did these days, watching them more than participating.

I knew that distance was forming between us. That the path that I was walking would likely take me away from them, but I wasn't ready to let go of them just yet. They were my anchors in this life: the reasons I'd found for why I was willing to push to know what was in my head, and for why I felt I had to prepare the Earth for the danger I sensed was coming.

I glanced upwards, towards where I felt certain that danger lingered. It had no name yet, but I knew it would, one day. I offered another silent prayer that it wouldn't reveal itself today or any day before I and the world were ready.

Somewhere behind us, back at the car park where we'd left it, the transport that had brought us here was charging. It had carried us from Edinburgh all the way here as we journeyed through the European Federation's seamless border network. Dad had insisted on a newer model, one with adaptive suspension that handled the varied road conditions between cities and towns. Mum had allowed that, though on the condition that we stopped in various cities as we travelled.

We'd gone down to Hull, boarded a ferry, something fast and clean, to get to the continent. Then, after a few weeks, we had reached Denmark as our final destination. Once our time here was finished, another ferry would take us back to the UK.

Another of those small details about the world I'd noticed was that charging stations grew less prevalent and more expensive the further from major cities and roads one travelled. Just as had been the case in Ireland last year, which lent more weight to the idea that the world wasn't as perfect as the media and history suggested.

My brother slowed in his walk, and my focus shifted to him. He looked tired and subdued from the morning's walk as I moved alongside him.

"Marcus?"

I looked down at my eleven-year-old brother and smiled. "Hmm?"

"Do you think there's really life on other planets? Like, actual aliens?"

He'd asked me that before, first after my speech at Caledonian Academy and then every time I returned home. It wasn't unusual. Like many his age, Callum was fascinated by space, though I sensed it had grown stronger since that speech last year.

"Yes," I replied. "I'm certain of it."

I blinked, caught off guard by the confidence in my tone. It wasn't the careful, qualified response I gave others. No, I spoke with certainty without proof.

For years, ever since I'd come to accept that there was knowledge in my mind that remained elusively out of reach, I'd been certain there was life out there. Something lurked in the shadows, waiting and watching, and would one day threaten everyone. I had no proof of this, yet I could feel it in my bones with more certainty than I'd felt across two lifetimes.

"How do you know?"

My gaze shifted upwards again, the path we were walking already mapped out to avoid tripping. "Because the universe is too big for us to be alone. And too old. Life has had billions of years to emerge, grow, and spread. We're not special, Cal. We're just early, or possibly late."

When I looked down, his brow was creased. His young mind was hard at work processing my words, turning them over with the gravity only a child could bring to such matters. "Will we meet them? The aliens?"

"Someday. Maybe sooner than anyone expects."

"Cool." He grinned and bounded ahead, apparently satisfied.

I watched him go, unsettled by my own certainty. Where had that come from? The same place as the knowledge that lurked behind my thoughts, waiting to be unlocked, perhaps? The same source that I still didn't understand.

That was unsettling.

***

Keira found me later, just after lunch, at a scenic overlook. She was eighteen now, preparing for her own university journey in the autumn. She was full of plans and excitement that seemed impossibly foreign to me.

"You're doing it again," she said, settling onto the rock beside me.

I looked at her uncertainly. "Doing what?"

"Being here but not being here." She gestured at the view and at our parents, who were unpacking the memory-polymer containers that kept our food fresh at the perfect temperature. "This is supposed to be a family holiday. You're supposed to be present."

"I am present."

She smiled, though there was no warmth in her eyes. "No, you're not. You're watching us like we're specimens, which you're taking notes on." She turned to face me fully, and I saw something I hadn't expected in her expression. Pain. "You've always been the weird genius brother, Marcus. I accepted that years ago. But lately… it's like you're not even trying to connect anymore."

I didn't have an answer for her. She was right, of course. There had been distance between us, between all of my family and me, for years. It had grown greater after the medical check at the start of my first year. Then, after the gymnasium incident, after getting clearer hints of what I was and what I was capable of, it had grown to a point one might call a chasm.

Every conversation now felt like a performance, every interaction a careful calibration of how much to reveal and how much to hide, and I hated it. I hated that I was willingly distancing myself from my family. But it was to protect them. I had to keep them safe, which meant staying away from them.

"I'm sorry," I said, and I meant it. "I have a lot on my mind."

"You always do." She sighed, but some of the tension left her shoulders. "Just… try, okay? For Mum and Dad. They worry about you more than they let on."

"Okay."

***

That evening, we gathered around the fire pit at our rented cabin. I watched the sun set, noting the colour shifts in the sky while my datapad sat silent in my pocket, its notifications from the university temporarily ignored. In the background, the cabin's display showed a news segment, the volume low:

"…increased funding for Mars surface exploration missions, with the European Space Agency announcing a new partnership…"

"The paper you're publishing," Mum said, breaking the silence of the cabin as her eyes found mine across the flames. "It's important, isn't it? Not just academically."

Dad looked up from the fire he'd been tending. "Fiona…"

"It's a fair question, Ewan." She didn't look away from me. "I've read the abstract. I don't understand most of it, but I understand enough to know it's not ordinary work. The ESA doesn't reach out to ordinary undergraduates."

No, they most certainly didn't. They barely reached out to post-graduates, and even then, few of those had come close to co-authoring a paper that pushed the envelope of what was known as much as mine did.

"It's good work," I answered carefully. "It might help improve spacecraft propulsion. Make missions more efficient."

"And what comes after that?" Dad asked. His mind, geared towards engineering, was shifting. "Where does this path lead, Marcus? You're sixteen, and you seem already to be operating at levels most researchers don't reach in their entire careers. What's the endgame?"

I didn't have an answer I could give them. The truth was too strange and frightening. How could I tell them that I was preparing for something that I couldn't name? That I was building toward a purpose I couldn't yet see. That I understood things that no one else had even considered. Or that I was terrified that if anyone discovered what I really was, and what I knew, that I'd spend the rest of my life in a laboratory.

"I don't know yet," I replied softly, keeping all my thoughts and doubts out of my voice. "I'm figuring it out as I go."

My parents exchanged a look, the kind that said they knew I wasn't telling them everything. The kind that asked Are you okay? Without ever speaking the words.

I didn't like having to hide from them, from my brother and sister. Out of everyone I moved around with, using carefully crafted personas and half-truths, it was their reactions and their doubts that hurt the most. I wanted to tell them; I did, but they couldn't handle the truth.

No one could.

***

Later, as the fire burned low, Dad took Callum into the cabin. Keira had already retreated, a call over her datapad capturing her attention. I was left alone with Mum, who shifted closer to me, her hand finding my shoulder.

"You're going to do great things, Marcus. I know you will. Just remember," she said quietly, "brilliance isn't worth losing yourself over."

"I'll remember."

But even as I spoke the words, I knew they were a lie. I was already lost; I had been since the day I woke in this body with memories of another life. I was me, and yet I wasn't.

The only question, of the untold number that never seemed to leave my thoughts, was whether I could find a way to make what I knew matter. Whether I could prepare the Earth and everyone on it for whatever it was that lurked in the depths of space before the cost became too high.

Callum still saw me as the invincible big brother. Keira saw through the performance but didn't know what lay beneath. My parents saw their brilliant son slipping away and didn't know how to hold on.

And I saw the cost of my secrets accumulating like compound interest. Every day, the debt grew larger.

---***---

September brought Edinburgh's familiar grey skies and the start of my second official year at the university. It also brought the notification I'd been waiting for.

Dr Okonkwo's office hadn't changed since June, though the view through the window showed leaves beginning to turn on the trees below. She gestured me to the chair across from her desk, her expression carefully neutral in a way that suggested she knew something she wasn't yet ready to reveal.

"Journal of Propulsion and Power," she said, activating a holographic display above her smart-glass desk. The acceptance letter floated there, official and undeniable. "Accepted with minor revisions. The reviewers called it 'groundbreaking' and 'paradigm-shifting.' One said it was the most significant theoretical advancement in ion propulsion in two decades."

I smiled, matching hers and showing some true pleasure at the formal confirmation of my ideas. "The experimental data helped."

"The experimental data confirmed what you already knew would work," she countered, her gaze sharpening. "That's the part that bothers them, and frankly, Marcus, it bothers me too. You don't propose theories and test them. You state certainties and validate them."

There was nothing I could say to counter that because it was true. So I chose to remain silent.

She let the silence stretch for a moment, then dismissed the display with a wave of her hand. She then leaned forward and, for the first time that I could remember, looked older than she was.

"ESA has already contacted me," she began slowly, hints of worry in her tone. "They want to meet you to discuss potential collaborations on their advanced propulsion programme. Two private companies, Cord-Hislop and Eldfell-Ashland, have also inquired about consulting arrangements." She paused. "And Cambridge has asked about your post-graduate plans."

My mind shifted, focusing on the two companies. I knew them in ways that went beyond simply having heard of them since I was a child. They prickled at memories linked to my former life, yet how or why remained elusive. They were important, in some way, probably minor, but I didn't know how.

"I'm not interested in leaving Edinburgh," I said honestly, even as one stray thought wondered how others might react to hearing such news as they began their second official year at university. "Not yet. And any move to the private sector would bring constraints that would limit what I could publish and when."

"Sensible answers," she replied with a nod of approval. "But the ESA connection could be valuable. They have resources we don't, experimental facilities that could validate your theoretical work."

"I'd be open to discussing collaboration."

The ESA was exactly where I needed connections. Space was the future; I was certain of that, even if I still didn't know why. I had to be at the forefront of that research and those projects. Otherwise… it would all be for nothing.

As for the corporations and conglomerates, they could wait. They worked on business models, with a focus on potential future earnings and market control. I had shown promise with a paper at sixteen. If I showed more, they'd be back, and their offers would be better than before.

Dr Okonkwo studied my face, and I knew she was cataloguing details. My posture. My breathing. The micro-expressions I couldn't quite suppress. She was still building a model of me, trying to understand the person who produced these impossibilities as if I were an equation to be solved.

"You're sixteen," she said finally. "You've just put your name on something that will be cited for the next fifty years. People will want to meet you, understand how you came to these conclusions, and study alongside you. Are you prepared for that level of scrutiny?"

The word study landed differently now than it would have a year ago. Before the gymnasium, before I gained some understanding of what I was and what I was hiding.

"I'll be careful," I said.

"That's not what I asked."

"I know." I met her gaze directly.

Something flickered in her expression. Not disappointment, exactly. Recognition, perhaps, that I was deflecting, and acceptance that she couldn't force more.

"This changes things, Marcus. You know that."

"I know."

"Good. Because there's no going back now."

---***---

The Sheep Heid Inn claimed to be the oldest pub in Scotland, its stone walls dating back centuries. Whether the claim was true, I couldn't say, but the atmosphere was genuine and authentic in ways most modern places couldn't match: worn wooden tables, a fire crackling in the hearth, and the particular smell of old beer and older history.

There was technology here, but it was hidden and shaped to remain unobtrusive. The owners had long ago decided that ruining the aesthetic wasn't worth the price of open and obvious modern comfort. That was a sentiment I agreed with, as it made the place oddly archaic without ever feeling old and unimportant.

Once news of my paper being published echoed around the university, it caused many who had dismissed or ignored me to sit up and take notice. A sixteen-year-old undergraduate co-authoring a paper that was published in a prestigious journal was unheard of.

For those who didn't know me, it brought the expected reactions. Fear, consternation, jealousy, and, in a few unwanted cases, interest of a further sort I didn't wish to attract. For others, those I might consider colleagues and acquaintances, it created a reason to be proud, and for Lars, it was a reason to celebrate.

He had arranged this evening in the Sheep Heid Inn with the same enthusiasm he brought to everything, forgetting, or perhaps not caring, that at sixteen I couldn't drink. Everyone I knew was here, even if some of them I barely interacted with, or in the case of James Okafor and others, disliked me.

David had arrived with a datapad full of citation analysis. Predictive models that showed how the paper would propagate through the academic networks and beyond. The project we had started last year was beginning to show true potential, though we had taken it off the university's servers. What it would be used for meant that public records of its existence were unwise.

The arrival of Gregor, Hamish, and the others they ran with had caused me to freeze up. The memories of that day flashed back into my conscious thought. Yet it was Elena, arriving thirty minutes after the celebration started and already slightly drunk, that was causing me the most disquiet.

Almost as soon as she arrived, several girl friends in tow, she'd pulled me aside and settled us into a booth from which I couldn't escape, heedless of how others reacted or how close she sat.

"So," she said, after taking a sip of her vodka and orange, "how does it feel to be the youngest person to fundamentally rewrite propulsion physics in… what, a century?"

"I didn't rewrite it. I extended it," I replied, toying with the straw of my juice.

It shouldn't have bothered me that I couldn't drink; after all, there was little to be gained from getting drunk. Yet being unable to indulge, while surrounded by my colleagues, fellow students, and even those I'd rather not socialise with, was irritating.

Yet I knew it was for the best. I didn't know how my body would react to alcohol or what mistake I might make if it influenced my system. There was no telling the danger that could be unleashed if my body reacted before my impaired mind could even begin to process what was happening.

"Bullshit." She set her glass down with more force than necessary. "You broke something everyone thought was settled and rebuilt it better. That's not an extension; that's revolution." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to an almost conspiratorial level. "And you're not even excited about it."

"I'm pleased with the work." The answer was again bland and clearly not what she wanted.

"Pleased." She laughed, but there was an edge to it. "David," she called out to one of the few people around me she knew from outside the seminars, "back me up here. He's not pleased. He's… what's the word?"

David looked up from his datapad, his expression thoughtful. "Unsurprised," he said quietly. "Because it's not a surprise to him. Is it, Marcus?"

The words seemed to slice through the atmosphere. Silence fell over the area around me, eyes turning my way, most confused at the young man's statement.

Elena, I noted while trying not to, given how close she was, leaned forward predatorily.

"I worked on it for months," I said, keeping my voice steady, hoping to ease the tension that had befallen the festivities. "Of course, I knew it'd work."

"That's not what I meant," David said.

"No," Elena agreed. "It's not. But it's what he's going to say."

The moment stretched, dangerous and sharp. I could see Hamish, Gregor, and others trying to understand what was happening, why the mood had shifted. David's eyes held that quiet knowing he'd always had, the recognition that something about me didn't add up, paired with the restraint that kept him from pushing. James watched me closely, seeking the hint of a flaw in my façade, hoping to find cause to have Dr Okonkwo remove me from her research team.

Then Lars raised his glass, oblivious to the undercurrent or choosing to ignore it and move past it. "To Marcus! First of many, yeah?"

***

Later, as the night crept through the city, I found myself in the pub's courtyard. Even after the mood had returned to one of celebration, I had felt Elena's attention on me. It had lingered for the entire evening, as had David's occasional glances. As if they both knew there was more I was carrying than I was prepared to reveal. That weight and the scrutiny were why I'd come outside, seeking relief in the cool seclusion that the night offered.

Footsteps, no more than five minutes after I'd entered the courtyard, meant I wasn't going to get the isolation I sought. Not when I knew who it was.

"I'm not going to ask what you're hiding," Elena began, leaning against the old stone wall to stop her body swaying from her drinks. "I don't think I want to know."

"There's nothi–"

"Don't," she cut in, holding up a hand. "I'm drunk, not stupid. You're brilliant, you're strange, and you're scared. I don't know of what, but I see it. It's in the way you watch everyone, the way you're always calculating." She paused, her eyes narrowing as she stared at me. "I notice things too, Marcus. Not as much as others, but enough."

I said nothing. There was nothing safe to say.

"Just… don't hurt anyone with whatever it is you're carrying." Her voice softened. "These people in there? Lars, David, even me. We actually like you; God help us. We're not just networking or trying to ride your coattails. We're your friends."

The word landed strangely. I had colleagues and contacts, people I found useful or interesting. But friends implied something more, something that I wasn't sure that I could afford.

"I won't hurt anyone," I said finally. "That's the last thing I want."

"Good." She pushed off from the wall. "Then come back inside and pretend to be happy for once. It's your celebration. Act like it," she said, offering her hand in a way that made it clear saying no wasn't an option.

I let her guide me back inside, her warm touch more pleasing than it should've been as the air and sounds of the pub washed over us. I looked around, taking in everyone still present, seeing the few I might call friends laughing and drinking. They were good people, all of them, and they cared about me in their own ways.

I couldn't reciprocate fully. I was lying to all of them, every moment, with every breath.

Dr Okonkwo had been right. There was no going back. The publication would open the doors I needed it to open, and it would create the visibility I required for my path forward.

But every opened door let something move in as I stepped out, and the light it brought might reveal things that were better left in the shadows.

I raised my glass with the others, smiled at the appropriate moments, and said the expected things.

I only wished I knew whether it was still a performance or whether the mask had become the face.

---***---

CNoxS911 · 2026-07-13T11:40:55+0100

Thanks for the great wonderful chapter

al103 · 2026-07-13T12:34:21+0100

USSExplorer said:
I sat by the window, watching the Atlantic throw itself against the rocks below as the night slowly crept up on us. Callum had claimed the seat beside me, his nine-year-old energy temporarily exhausted by a day exploring tide pools.

"Marcus?" His voice was quieter than usual. "Do you think there's life on other planets?"

I glanced at him. His eyes held that particular intensity children got when asking questions that mattered to them. Not idle curiosity, but something deeper.

"Yes," I said. "I'm certain of it."

"How do you know?"

I considered the question. With adults, I would have hedged my answer. Probability arguments, the Drake equation, the sheer vastness of the universe making isolation statistically improbable; those were the logical routes through which to craft an answer. Maybe mixed in with some general vagueness that they would expect from a teenager.

But Callum wasn't asking for statistics.

"Because the universe is too big for us to be alone," I replied. "And too old. Life has had billions of years to emerge, grow, and spread outwards. We're not special, Cal. We're just early. Or possibly late."

He considered my words with the odd intensity that only a child seemed to possess. "Will we meet them? The aliens?" His eyes lit up with fresh energy and excitement.

"Someday. Maybe sooner than anyone expects."

USSExplorer said:
"Marcus?"

I looked down at my eleven-year-old brother and smiled. "Hmm?"

"Do you think there's really life on other planets? Like, actual aliens?"

He'd asked me that before, first after my speech at Caledonian Academy and then every time I returned home. It wasn't unusual. Like many his age, Callum was fascinated by space, though I sensed it had grown stronger since that speech last year.

"Yes," I replied. "I'm certain of it."

I blinked, caught off guard by the confidence in my tone. It wasn't the careful, qualified response I gave others. No, I spoke with certainty without proof.

For years, ever since I'd come to accept that there was knowledge in my mind that remained elusively out of reach, I'd been certain there was life out there. Something lurked in the shadows, waiting and watching, and would one day threaten everyone. I had no proof of this, yet I could feel it in my bones with more certainty than I'd felt across two lifetimes.

"How do you know?"

My gaze shifted upwards again, the path we were walking already mapped out to avoid tripping. "Because the universe is too big for us to be alone. And too old. Life has had billions of years to emerge, grow, and spread. We're not special, Cal. We're just early, or possibly late."

When I looked down, his brow was creased. His young mind was hard at work processing my words, turning them over with the gravity only a child could bring to such matters. "Will we meet them? The aliens?"

"Someday. Maybe sooner than anyone expects."

"Cool." He grinned and bounded ahead, apparently satisfied.

You pretty much repeated scene 1 to 1.

loki98065 · 2026-07-13T13:03:41+0100

thanks for the chapter, getting closer to the mc figuring out where he is. I am looking forward to seeing what tech trees up give him.

Lokabrenna · 2026-07-13T14:15:31+0100

al103 said:
You pretty much repeated scene 1 to 1.

Aha! I knew I'd read that scene before. It was bothering me the whole time, but I wasn't sure if it was just deja vu, or if I was remembering a different story entirely.

As for the rest, honestly this one's a bit of a chore to read. While I do not believe OP used AI to write this chapter, it is absolutely riddled with one of the main features that makes AI writing so obnoxious: the intricate over-detailing of every single scene and every inconsequential moment, which serves no real purpose but to drag things out and inject melodrama at every turn. Nobody can just say something, or make a simple gesture, or anything like that. It's always got to be some hyper-flowery, overwrought bit that takes ten times as long to get the point across for no appreciable gain. I was deeply tempted to just skim over large sections, because the chapter refuses to stop jerking itself off and just get to the point. While there's something to be said for trying to add a bit of complexity and avoid oversimplifying things, this chapter takes it way too far, imo, and it turns into a straight up slog.

USSExplorer · 2026-07-13T15:00:37+0100

al103 said:
You pretty much repeated scene 1 to 1.

I'm aware, and as someone who has both younger siblings and children, I've dealt with moments where they ask the same basic question at multiple times over the years. The reason it was done here was to show Callum's focus on aliens/space, as it plays into his character development.

Lokabrenna said:
While I do not believe OP used AI to write this chapter

Nah, I wrote it all myself. I have used AI to help world-build as there's almost nothing for the pre-game years to borrow on, but the writing is mine and mine alone.

Lokabrenna said:
the intricate over-detailing of every single scene and every inconsequential moment, which serves no real purpose but to drag things out and inject melodrama at every turn.

That is a style of my writing that's been in play for many a year. Sorry its a chore/boring for you, but it's just the way I write now that I've settled into doing it heavily with multiple ongoing stories.

Pax Humana · 2026-07-13T18:44:30+0100

I love the irony of the MC having all this extra knowledge and understanding about everything external to him but still having such large gaps in self-knowledge, both body and mind.

silentorphan · 2026-07-13T18:47:34+0100

USSExplorer said:
I'm aware, and as someone who has both younger siblings and children, I've dealt with moments where they ask the same basic question at multiple times over the years. The reason it was done here was to show Callum's focus on aliens/space, as it plays into his character development.

What bothers me is Marcus' reply. It's one thing for younger kids to ask the same questions over and over, especially if they're short, basic questions. It's another for the person answering to repeat the exact same one each time, word for word, especially if it's a long-winded reply.

For example, if I were asked that question IRL, I'd give the long answer the first time, and then every following time I'm asked, I'd just truncate it to "Because the galaxy's too big for us to be alone" and leave it there.

al103 · 2026-07-13T19:36:41+0100

USSExplorer said:
I'm aware, and as someone who has both younger siblings and children, I've dealt with moments where they ask the same basic question at multiple times over the years. The reason it was done here was to show Callum's focus on aliens/space, as it plays into his character development.

It doesn't work. Because it plays more into "author is idiot who can't remember what he written 3 chapters ago" and not "kids are stupid and aliens/space blah blah blah". Unless you would write explanation after chapter... which a lot of people do not read and in general if something like that should be explained that it doesn't work in the first place.

Reynard69 · 2026-07-13T20:14:51+0100

Woop, heating up despite a vacation.

USSExplorer said:
Out of everyone I moved around with, using carefully crafted personas and half-truths, it was their reactions and their doubts that hurt the most. I wanted to tell them; I did, but they couldn't handle the truth.

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gvypKtPhRU0&t=5s

USSExplorer said:
And any move to the private sector would bring constraints that would limit what I could publish and when."

Meaning capital constraints? Or regulatory constraints?

Because both of them can, and regularly are, bypassed.

Think about how gigantic companies billions in debt are still able to buy out other gigantic companies. They go to a bank, offer their business as collateral, and take out a billion dollar loan to buy their competition. And the banks let them, because of the sunk cost fallacy, and various central bank histories of 100 year debts as their backbone. This is done even better by companies that aren't failing. They mortgage a patent to gain holdings, their holdings to expand their holdings and rapidly outpace the debt through explosive growth. This would work obscenely better for someone like Marcus, who doesn't need decades and ruinous research budgets or really stupid modern financial tricks to refine their profits.

And regulations, lol. No matter what government you're dealing with, they're always willing to forgive outright illegal things, if you offer a strategic advantage, command enough of the economy your censure would make elections uncertain, or you had enough money to simply buy them. Which, sadly, doesn't require nearly as much money as most people think.

silentorphan · 2026-07-13T22:11:50+0100

Reynard69 said:
Meaning capital constraints? Or regulatory constraints?

I'm thinking it's more internal? "Your research is now the company's IP, and the company decides what and when you publish, if at all. Also, your research stays with us even after you leave."

Reynard69 · 2026-07-13T22:39:47+0100

silentorphan said:
I'm thinking it's more internal? "Your research is now the company's IP, and the company decides what and when you publish, if at all. Also, your research stays with us even after you leave."

Ah, I suppose that was me brain farting. I was starting from the assumption he would be making the company and calling the shots. Like Tony Stark. From the comics, no the MCU.

Lokabrenna · 2026-07-13T22:45:11+0100

USSExplorer said:
That is a style of my writing that's been in play for many a year. Sorry its a chore/boring for you, but it's just the way I write now that I've settled into doing it heavily with multiple ongoing stories.

Alright, thanks for the heads-up. I'll see myself out, then.

Margin of Error

Versed in the lewd.

Versed in the lewd.

Versed in the lewd.

Versed in the lewd.

Well worn.

Foxes are Fantastic

Doing what's necessary, even if it causes chaos

Versed in the lewd.

Doing what's necessary, even if it causes chaos

Soulless

Versed in the lewd.

Doing what's necessary, even if it causes chaos

Not too sore, are you?

Foxes are Fantastic

Versed in the lewd.

Foxes are Fantastic

Doing what's necessary, even if it causes chaos

Well worn.

I trust you know where the happy button is?

I trust you know where the happy button is?

Versed in the lewd.

Doing what's necessary, even if it causes chaos

Versed in the lewd.

Versed in the lewd.

I trust you know where the happy button is?

Foxes are Fantastic

Versed in the lewd.

Foxes are Fantastic

Versed in the lewd.

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