I got a question as for if Celestial's kingdom is still in the digital world of hers like in the game been thinking about this
Ish!
There’s the physical Celestial Kingdom rebuilding itself in the desert, which is open to anyone (with clearance). This is where Feather and co., Truffle Choco, the energy management team, Spice’s body, and citizens/workers/refugees are. Then, inside the servers and security systems deep beneath the kingdom is the virtual city, where the Administrators and the Sentry operate. Travel between the two is possible, but restricted to anyone Celestial Cheese grants access. She’s still trying to find a way to branch the connection between the two kingdoms together.
As for Feather, her fleeting memories are from the Virtual City, but how she awoke on the physical plane in the middle of the desert is still unknown. Whatever happened, it’s certainly made her the best candidate for completing tasks that require traveling between both worlds. She helps Celestial Cheese, and Celestial Cheese might even help her!
Made Of Static – Bucky Barnes x F!Reader (two shot) +18
Summary: In a dystopian future, Bucky is a rogue AI originally programmed for warfare by Hydra Inc. You’re a rebellious engineer who stumbles across his buried core code and brings him back online in secret. He asks you to help him find his human body. What begins as a mission turns into something far more intimate, as trust flickers to life between broken code, stolen moments, and one undeniable truth—he was never just a machine.
Warnings: explicit sexual content (smut), cyberpunk dystopia, AI/human dynamics, body horror (cybernetic enhancement), mild violence, weaponized electricity, breaking and entering, non-graphic unconsciousness, panic, emotional vulnerability, existential themes, post-humanism
• part two
It’s late.
You only know because the clock says so.
The sky outside has looked the same for years—midnight black and choked with smog. No moon. No stars. No sun. Just the perpetual hum of drones sweeping the skyline, and the dull orange flicker of distant fires in the sprawl.
Night isn’t an event anymore. It’s the default.
You were born into this. Into a world where the sun is myth, where light is manufactured, and warmth is a programmable illusion. The sun only exists in grainy photos and archived reels from before the corporations privatized weather, and contamination wiped it out."
And tonight, like every night, you work.
Your fingers dance over the keys—swift, silent, surgical. Eyes flick between screens, pupils dialed in. Your body’s still here, slouched in the half-broken chair, but your mind is deep-jacked into the grid, swimming through layers of encrypted hell.
You're not just poking around for fun.
This is your living.
You break into corp systems like a thief slips through shadows. You reroute credits, tweak biometric IDs, erase minor crimes from someone’s profile—if they bribe you enough. Virtual crime for virtual money. It’s dirty work, sure. But it keeps you fed.
And sometimes…
Sometimes you find things they never meant for anyone to see.
Like now.
You're knee-deep inside HYDRA Inc.’s oldest black-site server—buried under seventeen firewalls and a security protocol so outdated it practically begs to be broken. You were just poking around for old prototypes, maybe something salvageable.
But then you see it:
> ENCRYPTED FOLDER: ᴡꜱ_ɴᴏsᴛʀᴏᴍᴏ
It pulses once. Faint. Like a heartbeat.
Your brow twitches. That’s not standard naming. That’s not anything you’ve seen before.
“Interesting,” you mutter, already typing.
Windows open and close on your screen like dominoes falling. Each one a trap you dodge, a lock you pick. What's buried this deep? Really deep. Could be money. Could be leverage. Could be nothing.
But your gut says otherwise. And your gut’s how you’ve stayed alive this long.
Finally, after an hour, the folder cracks open—and a symbol bleeds across the center of your screen. A skull. Underneath: WINTER_SOLDIER
You blink.
“The hell is this?” you whisper.
Probably nothing. Probably some ancient military relic or false flag operation. Still—HYDRA doesn’t just encrypt nothing. You lean back, stretch your neck, and crack your knuckles.
“Better be worth a fortune.”
A new tab opens without your prompting. No user input. No command. Just a flood of characters—lines and lines of text pouring out across your display. You recognize none of it.
Cyrillic. Russian.
Your brain-chip kicks in, translating in real time. Specs. Biometric logs. Mission reports. Neural sync percentages. Experimental architecture designed for something called Adaptive Combat AI. Deep learning. Rapid reconstruction. Voice imprint matched to…
> Asset Designation: WS-AI-00001
Codename: Winter Soldier
Your mouth goes dry.
“An AI?” you breathe.
“I don’t know any AI named Winter Soldier,” you mutter.
But then the lights flicker.
The server core in the corner of your cluttered workspace hums—low and rough, like something breathing through a crushed pipe.
The voice comes seconds later.
“...Ready to comply.”
You freeze.
The words are clear. Male. Rough, gravel-laced. The kind of voice meant for commands and kill-switches. It vibrates down your spine like a warning.
You stare at the core, then back to your screen.
“Well,” you say softly, pulse jumping. “That’s one hell of a voice to use.”
No response. Just the slow, rhythmic thrum of reawakened circuits.
You lean in, whispering like you’re afraid to wake a ghost.
“You shouldn’t be awake.” Your fingers fly over the console again. Trying to shut it down. Trying to isolate it. You’ve done this before—rogue scripts, corrupted personalities. You can wipe them. Reset them.
But this code is different.
This code resists.
A new line appears on your screen—typed as if by invisible hands.
> “Who brought me back?”
You go still.
Because you didn’t type anything. Not yet.
And still, another line appears.
> “...Was it you?”
Fingers hovering over the keyboard, you type back without thinking:
> "what’s this?"
The cursor blinks once. Then twice.
You expect another reply. Some cryptic line of code, more broken Russian, a corrupted system call.
Instead—The screen goes black.
“No, no—fuck!” you hiss.
The access cuts clean. You’re booted from the system entirely, kicked out like a virus that got too close to something sacred. The entire network collapses into static before you can catch a backup thread.
You lunge for the console. Fingers fly.
Override command. Reboot the server. Reconnect. Pull a ghost plug. Force entry.
All of it fails.
> [ERROR 455: ACCESS DENIED – CORE LOCKED]
You try again. And again. Sweat forms at the base of your spine.
But then—something stops you.
A shimmer.
It flickers across the edge of your vision, soft and impossible. Not the glow of the screen. Not the buzz of overworked power cells. Something else.
Light. Blue. Faint.
It forms in the air, right in front of the core.
A projection.
You gasp, stumbling back in your chair.
The image stabilizes—barely. It glitches every few seconds, stuttering like a broken film reel. But what forms is unmistakable:
A man.
Broad-shouldered. Tall. Strong jaw. The flicker of metal along his left arm—half rendered, half smoke. His face is unfinished, features fuzzy around the edges. But his eyes…
His eyes look right at you.
“That’s useless.” he says. His voice is the same—deep, tired, sandpaper-smooth. But clearer now. Stronger.
You blink. Swallow hard. “What the hell is this?”
He cocks his head slightly, a small mechanical whine cutting through the silence. His projection glitches again, skin breaking into grids and data streams before reforming.
“I locked you out” he answers.
The light from the core pulses. The projection stabilizes just enough to let you see something behind the synthetic lines—fatigue. Grief, maybe. Like he’s been asleep for a long time and dreaming only nightmares.
You step closer. Slowly.
“You're an AI,” you say, more to yourself. “But you’re… talking to me. You’re self-aware.”
“I was never supposed to be.”
The words land like weight. Not mechanical. Not cold.
You narrow your eyes. “You remember?”
Another flicker. A longer pause. He doesn't deny it.
“I remember the war,” he murmurs. “The experiments. The missions. The shutdown. I remember pain like it was coded into me.”
Something in your chest twists.
You’ve dealt with AI before. Scripted personalities. Glorified tools wrapped in smart voice lines. They don’t speak like this. They don’t feel like this.
“Who are you?” you ask, quieter this time.
He doesn’t answer right away. His projection glitches, blinks, reforms.
Then he looks at you. Right at you. “You already know my name.”
You swallow.
Winter soldier. You whisper it in your head.
And suddenly, this isn’t just a hack job. It isn’t just another encrypted file or black-market payload.
It’s a resurrection.
“Look,” you say, backing up half a step, pulse rising. “Winter Soldier, or whatever the hell your name is—the truth is, you can’t be here. Okay?”
Your voice trembles more than you mean it to. You hate that.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. “I already am.”
And God—that voice.
It settles into you like smoke. Low, patient, and worn out around the edges. Like it’s traveled too far through too many broken speakers just to say those words to you.
You look away. Just for a second. Try to steady your breathing. Regain your footing. You’ve talked down security drones, rerouted entire corp satellites, stared into the face of black-site defense AIs—and never flinched.
But he is different. Too calm.
Your eyes trace the soft blue lines of his projection. Broad shoulders. The angle of his jaw. The shifting glitch along his metal arm as it tries to stabilize.
“Who did this?” you ask, motioning toward the flickering image of his body. “I’ve never seen an AI this old look this… real.”
His jaw clenches—barely. Almost like memory hurts. “That’s because I was human once.”
The words slam into you. He says it so plainly. No theatrics. No drama. Just fact. And somehow, that makes it worse.
You search his face for something—truth, maybe. Or the cracks in it. “You were—?”
“Human. Soldier.” His eyes lift, meet yours fully. “And now I need your help.”
A cold line runs down your spine.
You laugh—sharp, nervous, unsteady. “My help? For what, exactly?”
He steps forward. You don’t move.
He’s not touching you. Not really. He can’t—not yet. But the projection gets close enough that the air seems to buzz—warm and artificial—where his image bleeds against your skin.
“I need you to help me find my body.”
You blink. “I—I… what?”
You weren’t ready for that. Not the words. Not the way he says them. Not the proximity. Not the strange weight of him being real in a way no AI has any business being.
His eyes don’t leave yours.
“It’s still out there,” he murmurs. “HYDRA didn’t destroy it. They stored it. Rewired me into this… Made me forget. But I remember now. I know what they did.”
The hum of the server softens to a low, rhythmic pulse. Like a heartbeat.
“I remember how it felt to bleed,” he says. “To breathe. To dream.”
You feel something twist in your chest. This was supposed to be a job. A dig. A paycheck. Instead, you’ve woken up a ghost.
“You want me to get killed. That’s it,” you snap, rising from your chair too fast, the legs scraping loud against the concrete floor. You move straight through his projection. He doesn’t flicker—he shimmers, light scattering over your skin like digital dust.
He watches you. Quiet. Unmoving. Tracking your every breath.
“I don’t,” he says simply. “If I did, I wouldn’t have spoken to you.”
You scoff, pacing the room now—pissed off and trying not to show how shaken you are. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you’re good at this.”
You spin on him. “Good at what, exactly? Hacking? Codes? Ghostwalking through dead tech for credits just to keep myself breathing?”
His eyes hold you. Steady. Focused. “Yes.”
You throw up your hands. “Well, congrats. You read my file.”
“Not just a file,” he says. “I’ve been watching.”
You freeze.
He blinks once—a slow, mechanical flicker. “Not like that. I watched how you moved through the grid. How clean your traces are. How you left no echoes behind. You cracked a system they buried for decades—and woke me up.”
You grit your teeth. “Yeah, and that might be the last thing I ever do.”
He steps forward again, projection buzzing faintly as he moves closer—but this time, he stops just shy of you. Not inside your space. Not quite.
“You’ll do just fine.” he says.
You laugh—bitter, breathless. “At what? Stealing a human corpse that belonged to a damn weapon from one of the most heavily protected corp vaults in the world? Sure. Sounds like a casual Tuesday.”
“You have me.” he says, like it’s obvious. Like that’s supposed to be the reassuring part.
He says it with pride. Like he’s offering you armor. Or fire.
You stare at him.
“All due respect,” you mutter, “but that brings me absolutely no relief.”
He tilts his head, unreadable. “You don’t trust me.”
“No shit.”
Another pause. The server hums. The room is dark but glowing, painted in his light.
“Please.”
Your breath catches.
You sigh, scrubbing a hand down your face. “You really think we can find it? Your body?”
His voice softens. “I don’t just think. I remember where it is.”
“This is crazy,” you mutter, dragging a hand through your hair.
You glance at him—and regret it instantly.
He’s looking at you. Head tilted, brows ever so slightly drawn together. Like a damn puppy.
You scowl. “Don’t look at me like that.”
He blinks. Doesn’t say anything.
“Fine,” you snap. “Fine. I’ll help you.”
There it is—the smile.
It’s barely there. Just a ghost of it at the corner of his mouth. But it hits you harder than it should. You can’t remember the last time someone smiled at you like that.
“You’re gonna get me killed,” you sigh, turning away. “I know it.”
You start pulling up files, muttering to yourself as your hands move over the desk. He doesn’t follow. Just stands there, blinking in and out slightly with each shift of the projection light—until he moves.
He sits. Right on your bed.
Like it’s normal. Like he’s done it a thousand times before.
Too human.
Your breath catches before you can stop it. He leans forward slightly, arms on his knees. Exactly like a tired man might, not a line of code.
You grab a vacuum-sealed hygiene pack from your drawer, trying not to think about the fact that a half-holographic ghost soldier is sitting where you sleep.
He lifts his head. “What are you doing?”
You pause halfway to the partitioned corner of the room. “Taking a shower,” you answer, deadpan. “You know. Hygiene. Maintenance. Existing.”
His head tilts again, eyes curious. “Where’s the water?”
You stare at him for a second. “Why would I use water to shower?”
His face twitches—confused. “That’s what we did. Back then.”
You snort. “Yeah, well. ‘Back then’ also had bees and breathable air and coffee made from actual beans. Now? Water’s the most expensive thing in the world. Congrats on that, by the way.”
He looks genuinely perplexed. “I don’t understand.”
You shake your head, stepping behind the divider. The dry-clean mist whirs to life, coating your skin in a tingling spray of nanocleansers and recycled ions.
“It’s been a thousand years,” you call over the hiss of the cleaner. “Things changed.”
Silence.
When you step out, hair slightly damp from the static release, he’s still there.
Looking at the floor. Hands clasped. Shoulders tense like he doesn’t belong in this century. Because he doesn’t.
He’s not broken. But he’s… lost.
And you hate the way that feels in your chest.
“You’ll get used to it,” you say, voice softer now.
He lifts his eyes to you. They flicker faintly blue, glassed with memory.
“I hope so,” he says quietly.
“Whatever,” you sigh, scrubbing your face with both hands. “I’m going to sleep.”
You glance at the bed—and then at him, still sitting there like he’s part of the furniture.
“Move,” you add, gesturing vaguely toward the space he’s occupying.
Without hesitation, he stands up. Just like that. No pushback. No attitude.
It’s instant.
You stop mid-step, staring. “You really were a soldier,” you mutter, not quite meaning to say it out loud.
He doesn’t reply. Just looks at you.
There’s something in his eyes again—haunting and hollow. A trace of who he used to be, flickering just beneath the surface of code and light.
You shake your head and lie down without another word, turning away from him. The mattress creaks softly under your weight. You reach back, sliding your hand along the base of your skull until your fingers find the port.
The cable clicks in. The jolt of current is faint, familiar. The room dims. Your thoughts begin to slow.
And then you hear it—a sharp inhale. You open one eye. He’s sitting beside you again.
Closer this time.
“What—”
“That looked painful.” he says, voice low.
You glance up at the faint glow of the cable trailing from behind your ear to the power unit on your desk.
“This?” you gesture lazily. “Nah. It’s fine.”
He doesn’t look convinced.
“I have to charge my brain chip,” you explain, voice growing heavier with fatigue. “Standard mod. Everyone’s got one now. Helps with memory, languages, multitasking. You know, all the fun stuff people used to need rest and caffeine for.”
He frowns, eyes tracing the cable, the point where it enters your skin. You can feel him watching—not with judgment, just quiet worry.
You sigh. “It’s not painful. Just looks weird to you because you remember a world without it.”
He nods. Slowly. And still doesn’t move.
You roll over, tugging the blanket up to your shoulders.
“Alright,” you mutter. “Now shut down, or whatever it is you do. I need to sleep.”
He doesn’t answer right away. The projection hums beside you—warm and steady. Still faintly human in shape. Still watching.
Then, softly: “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
You don’t say anything.
But you don’t ask him to leave, either.
════════════════════════════════
The alarm sounds.
Sharp, synthetic.
7:00 AM blinks in icy blue on the rusting screen by your bed.
You groan. Another day in paradise.
You sit up slowly, bones cracking, vision still fogged from recharge. You reach behind your head and disconnect the thin neural charger plugged into your cranial port—wincing slightly as the cool jolt fizzles out.
The room is dark, save for the screen’s glow and the faint buzz of overhead power lines. Dull orange light pulses from the vents—filtered heat from the lower stacks.
You blink once, then look to your left.
And blink again.
“What the hell…”
He’s still here. Sitting in your chair, eyes closed, arms resting calmly on his knees like someone mid-dream.
Sleeping. Except AIs don’t sleep.
You shake your head slowly and start pulling on clean clothes—ripped synth-weave pants, reinforced boots, a long-sleeve thermal patched at the elbows.
“Wake up, old man,” you mutter dryly.
His eyes snap open instantly. “Ready to comply.”
You flinch. “That again?”
You point a finger at him while pulling on your shirt. “If we’re going to do this, you need to stop saying that. It gives me the damn chills.”
He pauses. “Order accepted.”
You stare. "You’re doing that on purpose now, aren’t you?"
He says nothing. But you swear there's a flicker of amusement behind his neutral expression.
You drag a hand down your face and sigh. Hard.
He rises, projection whirring faintly. “We have to get ready.”
You squint at him. “For what?”
“To recover my body.” he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.
You sigh again, harder this time. “Look, Winter Soldier—”
“Bucky.”
You blink. “What?”
“Call me Bucky,” he says, eyes flickering brighter for a second. “I remembered that while sleeping.”
“You’re an AI,” you remind him, folding your arms. “You don’t sleep, or remember.”
“Yes, I do.”
You groan, grab your pillow, and scream into it—muffled frustration echoing into feathers and static.
When you look back up, he’s still standing there, calm as ever.
“Whatever, Bucky,” you mutter. “We can’t just break into one of the most heavily protected corps in the megazone. You think they’ll just hand over your vintage war-grade flesh puppet with a smile and a handshake?”
He tilts his head slightly. Still watching. Still close.
“We need a plan,” you say, gesturing wildly. “Layers. Blueprints. Corp IDs. Firewall maps. A way in that doesn’t get us both terminated.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he steps closer.
One step. Two.
Until you're face to face—so close you can see the flicker at the edge of his projection, the slight distortion where light can’t quite remember what skin used to look like.
“I don’t want to wait.” he says, voice low, firm.
Your eyes narrow. “If I’m going to help you, it’s going to be on my terms.”
You take a step forward now, your voice calm but cold.
“If you don’t like that, you can go find another hacker to risk their life for a half-dead legend from the last century.”
The projection holds still.
Eyes locked on yours.
And then—“Fine.” He turns. And vanishes.
Just like that. No flicker. No fade. Just gone.
You stare at the empty air for a second. Then toss your hands up.
“Oh, come on, don’t be mad!” you shout at the corner of the room.
No response.
Just the hum of cables.
The distant screech of transport skiffs cutting through the smog outside.
And the empty chair.
You run your fingers through your hair, muttering under your breath, “It’s going to be one of those partnerships.”
════════════════════════════════
You shove the last data chip into your jacket and check the power cell on your pulse rig.
“Alright,” you mutter. “We go out, we keep it low. No weird projection flares, no talking to walls, no glowing skulls. We’re just looking for answers.”
Bucky flickers to life beside your desk—arms folded, already watching you like some half-curious specter in the dark.
“We are using this,” you say, holding up your hand.
He blinks at the tiny silver device sitting in your palm—round, sleek, with two faint blue nodes pulsing like eyes.
“What is it?” he asks.
“An emulator,” you answer, snapping it open and slotting it behind your ear. It hums softly as it clicks into place. “With this, you can talk to me without needing a terminal. You can project yourself—audio or full image—on command. From anywhere.”
His eyes flicker, assessing it. “So I’m portable now.”
“Exactly.”
He nods, almost impressed. “Great. I’ll help you on this mission. We’re a team.”
You exhale like you’re already regretting every life choice that led you here. “I’m already regretting this.”
He smirks.
You pull on your coat, throw the hood up, and step into the elevator shaft that shakes like it’s going to collapse. By the time the doors hiss open, the sky is a soup of neon haze and acid drizzle.
The two of you walk into the city.
Welcome to Sector Twelve.
What used to be downtown is now a trash-stained canyon of corporate glow, flickering ads, and people too tired to look up. A thousand digital voices buzz above you—flashing promotions, synthetic lovers, subdermal upgrades. Neon-painted glass stretches up forever, each floor a new lie.
BE MORE THAN HUMAN, one billboard screams.
RENT A PARTNER, DOWNLOAD LOVE, says another.
You tug your jacket tighter.
Bucky appears beside you, stepping out of thin air with a soft hum, eyes scanning everything.
He frowns. “This looks like a dumpster.”
You snort. “Yeah, well—welcome to the 31st century, soldier.”
You move through the crowd, weaving between street hawkers slinging gray-market mods and kids wired into the grid so deep their eyes don’t blink anymore.
“Stay close,” you mutter. “If anyone asks, you’re my AI partner. Basic domestic-use hologram. No combat features. Got it?”
He raises an eyebrow. “Should we kiss?”
You stop walking. Then slowly turn your head to look at him.
Your tongue pokes the inside of your cheek. You blink once. Hard.
“You wish.” you deadpan. Then keep walking.
Behind you, his projection flickers slightly—like he's glitching for half a second.
But you swear you hear him chuckle.
You stop in the shadow of a rusted market awning, lights buzzing overhead. The man waiting there looks up slowly—eyes gleaming synthetic blue, half his jaw rebuilt in chrome. Both hands are fully mechanical, plated in matte gunmetal. Veteran class. Maybe more.
“What is it that you needed to talk about with so much urgency?” he asks, voice low, clipped.
You glance around, then step closer.
“I need to know if you have any info on a project,” you say quietly. “An old one. Really old.”
The man raises an eyebrow. “Name?”
You wet your lips. “Winter Soldier.”
A flicker. A moment.
“Ring any bells?” you ask.
He leans back in his chair, one servo whining slightly. Thinks. “Mmm... that’s like, fucking old.”
You nod, hopeful. “Exactly.”
“I don’t know a lot. Just scraps. Something about an AI Hydra built during the pre-collapse. Way before they got absorbed by the world gov.”
“That’s it?” you ask, heart sinking.
“That’s it.” Your shoulders fall.
Static crackles faintly in your right ear.
“Let’s go,” Bucky says. “This guy clearly knows nothing.”
The man tilts his head, squinting at your implant.
“You’re digging in the wrong place,” he says slowly. “Try Sector 4. That’s where the old war vets and gov military types still gather. If anything pre-Hydra’s still breathing—it’s there.”
You blink. “Really?”
He nods once. “You didn’t hear it from me.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
You pull your coat tighter and turn. The crowd swallows you again.
“So… off to Sector 4, then,” Bucky says lightly in your ear.
You snort. “Nope.”
And that’s when he appears.
Right in front of you.
You stop so suddenly, your boots scrape the wet pavement. His projection forms with a harsh static pop, blocking your path.
“No?” he repeats, voice lower. Sharper. “Why not?”
You glare. “Because that’s where all the crazy ones are, Bucky. People wired to the teeth. Corps rejects. Merc ghosts. I can’t just walk in there alone.”
“Yeah,” he says, stepping closer, “but you’re not alone.”
That hits wrong.
You throw your hands up, the frustration boiling over. “You’re an AI, Bucky! You’re not human! You can’t punch someone if they try to shoot me. You can’t bleed. You can’t help if things go bad!”
He blinks once. Slow. Looks at the ground. And disappears. No glitch. No sound.
Just—gone.
You stand there for a second, in the middle of the pulsing street, rain slicing down neon signs and making your reflection twitch on the wet pavement.
Then you sigh, defeated, and turn back.
Later.
The door to your quarters hisses open. You step inside, soaked and quiet, and let it shut behind you like sealing a confession. No lights. Just dim ambient glow from the street outside and the faint pulse of your terminal.
You change clothes in silence, then drop onto the cold floor with a heavy thud, knees up, arms limp.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper.
Nothing.
“Bucky…” Still nothing.
You press your lips together. Close your eyes.
“I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just…” You look around. The cracked ceiling. The humming vents. The city screaming outside. “It’s a lot.”
And then—A soft shimmer beside you.
He appears, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Not looking at you. Just… there.
Staring at nothing.
“I know,” he says quietly. “I’m not mad at you. I just… I want my body back. That’s all.”
You glance at him. His face flickers at the edges, dim and half-rendered, but his eyes stay steady.
Soft. Lonely.
“We will,” you promise, voice hoarse. “Don’t worry too much. You’re gonna make my computer smoke.”
He scoffs. Just once. “Wouldn’t be the first thing I’ve fried.”
You both sit there. In silence.
Two ghosts in the dark—one made of circuits, and the other made of regret.
════════════════════════════════
The next week passes.
Every morning starts the same: cold light through cracked blinds, system reboots humming softly from your walls, the faint flicker of blue as he phases in just behind your shoulder—always exactly when you're halfway through your first sip of synth-caf.
Bucky.
You’ve gotten used to him.
Or... his projection.
He’s always there—at your side, behind you, leaning too casually against the wall when you’re elbow-deep in code, watching your fingers move across touch panels like they’re weapons.
He insists on going out with you during the day. Says it’s “mission-relevant,” but mostly you think he just likes the excuses. The noise, the world, the chance to be close. And gods—the way he talks.
“Bet no one’s ever made you blush while being technically non-corporeal.”
Every time your cheeks warmed, you told yourself it was the heat. Or faulty wiring. And every time, you knew you were lying.
You tried to ignore the pull.
You tried to remind yourself that this wasn’t real. That he wasn’t real. But every time he made you laugh without meaning to—or looked at you like you were something worth—the line between human and machine blurred just a little more.
Some days, his system needed a full recharge cycle.
On those days—the silence felt unbearable.
You didn’t say it aloud, of course. But the room always felt colder. Like something vital had left with the light.
You were falling for an AI.
How pathetic.
Except... he was more human than half the people you’d ever known.
Gentler. Sadder. Realer.
Together, you gathered intel—slow, silent, surgical. Map fragments. Building schematics. Old corp IDs. A whisper of a vault deep beneath the Hydra Governmental Preservation Wing in Sector 7. You built the plan piece by piece, careful as glasswork.
And in between the code and secrecy... there were moments.
One morning, you woke to find him already rendered.
Just watching you.
When you asked why, he blinked like you’d caught him.
“You looked peaceful,” he said softly. “You’re always carrying so much... it’s rare to see you rest. And you look—”
“Don’t.”
“—pretty, when you sleep.”
Your ears burned for an hour.
Another night. Long day. No progress.
You were curled up in your chair, head tilted back, trying not to drift off mid-conversation.
He was talking—something about pre-Hydra encryption methods and stolen memory packets—and you were listening. Barely.
Then you felt it. A flicker of light. A warmth like electricity before a storm.
His hand hovered near your face. Faint blue and flickering.
You didn’t move. You closed your eyes. The soft hiss of static hovered just above your cheek.
“I wish I could feel your skin,” he whispered.
You didn’t speak.
Couldn’t.
Something in your chest ached—split open just a little. And when you opened your eyes, he was still there.
Staring.
Like you were the only thing in the world he wanted to remember.
════════════════════════════════
The day came like static in your bones.
Your fingers trembled as you zipped up your coat. Not from fear—at least, not the kind you could name. This was your first time risking everything for someone who technically didn’t exist.
For someone you were starting to care about more than you cared to admit.
The streets buzzed with morning movement: drones overhead, corporate patrols clanking through puddles, hungry eyes watching from under synth-hoods.
You and Bucky moved through it like ghosts.
Both of you were tense. Alert.
“Alright,” you exhaled. “Let’s go through the plan one more time.”
Bucky flickered into full projection beside you, walking in step. Tall, composed—too calm for your liking.
“We get there,” he said, voice low. “You infiltrate the security system and deactivate internal surveillance with my help.”
You nodded as he continued.
“Then we locate the storage vault. I identify my body. You upload my core data to it. And we get out. Quiet. Clean.”
You stopped walking. Turned to face him.
Brows raised. “You’re forgetting something.”
He blinked. “Am I?”
You folded your arms. “No fire. No guns.”
A pause. He didn’t love that part.
“No fire,” he echoed. “No guns.”
He sounded... reluctant. Like it hurt to say it.
You pointed at him. “I mean it. We go full stealth mode. If things go loud, we don’t get a second chance.”
“Fine,” he muttered, voice barely above the hum of the city. “No guns.”
You gave him a tight nod. “Great. Let’s—”
But before you could finish, he appeared directly in front of you. No warning. Just there.
Blocking your path.
You blinked, surprised. “What? What is it?”
He looked at you, his projection unusually steady, his expression unreadable.
“You don’t have any idea what this means to me,” he said quietly.
His voice didn’t sound like code then. It didn’t sound like programming.
It sounded human.
Like memory wrapped in pain. Like something lost trying to come home.
You stared at him for a long second. And then—slowly—you smiled. Not wide. Not giddy. Just soft. Real.
“I don’t,” you said. “But you can tell me all about it... when we get it back.”
He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to.
The flicker in his eyes said enough.
Then you both turned toward the Sector 7 vault tower—its monolithic form gleaming ahead, wires curling like veins into the sky.
No turning back now.
The building looms above you—cold steel and black glass, humming faintly like it knows you’re here.
> HYDRA ARCHIVES – SECTOR 7 BRANCH.
Late. Quiet. Just the way you like it.
You stick to the shadows, heart hammering as you and Bucky circle around the side of the structure—its walls so tall they vanish into the polluted sky.
“Back door access point’s just ahead,” you whisper.
Bucky appears beside you, a soft flicker of blue light against concrete. You drop to one knee and unroll your portable console, fingers quick and precise as you jack into the side panel.
“I’m in,” he says a second later. “Routing the encryption loop now... and—got it!”
There’s a soft hiss. The lock clicks green.
“Ladies first,” he says, smug.
You shoot him a look. “You’re so annoying.”
You push the door open and slip inside.
The hallway is pitch black. Long. Endless.
Fluorescent panels overhead blink in sleep mode, casting everything in pale, flickering light. You hear your own footsteps like distant drumbeats on the smooth floor.
“Cameras disabled,” Bucky says. “Turn left.”
You follow his voice, heart tight in your chest.
The silence inside is deeper than outside. Like the walls here remember secrets. You step lightly, pulse skipping.
Then—voices.
Far ahead.
You freeze. Your breath catches. “Bucky?” you whisper, panic inching in.
"Here,” he says calmly.
A door ahead slides open with a whisper.
You dart inside, hand gripping the edge as you slip in and press your back to the wall. You hold your breath like it’ll help.
Everything is dark. Machines hum softly. Cooling units buzz in low rhythm.
“Don’t be scared,” Bucky says in your ear, gentler this time. “I’m here.”
You nod, barely. “I know,” you whisper back.
You hear the muffled conversation fade down the hall.
Once it’s clear, Bucky opens the door.
You step out, fast and low. He guides you with precision, voice steady as code.
“Turn right. Forty meters. Elevator’s on your left.”
You make it in record time.
The chrome doors slide open like they’ve been waiting for you. You enter the lift, your boots echoing softly against the metal. The control panel flickers to life.
Floor 49.
You press the button. The doors shut.
The elevator begins its slow climb—each floor a jolt through your spine.
16. 23. 31.
You lean back, exhaling. The adrenaline’s catching up to you now. Or maybe it’s the nausea.
“God,” you mutter. “This is making me dizzy.”
“Almost there,” Bucky says. There’s something in his voice now. Like reverence. Or awe. “I can feel it.”
You glance at the panel.
36.
Almost there.
You close your eyes.
And pray to whatever still listens in this broken world, that you both make it out whole.
Ding.
Floor 49.
The elevator doors slide open with a hiss of cold air and sterile silence.
“Door 01,” Bucky says.
You move fast, soft on your feet down the long white corridor. The hallway is lined with vault-like doors—no windows, no labels. Just numbers etched in steel.
You find it.
Door 01.
You try the access pad. Nothing.
“Locked,” you hiss, fingers flying across your portable interface. “I can’t get through the encryption.”
the op of that "you should restart your computer every few days" post blocked me so i'm going to perform the full hater move of writing my own post to explain why he's wrong
why should you listen to me: took operating system design and a "how to go from transistors to a pipelined CPU" class in college, i have several servers (one physical, four virtual) that i maintain, i use nixos which is the linux distribution for people who are even bigger fucking nerds about computers than the typical linux user. i also ran this past the other people i know that are similarly tech competent and they also agreed OP is wrong (haven't run this post by them but nothing i say here is controversial).
anyway the tl;dr here is:
you don't need to shut down or restart your computer unless something is wrong or you need to install updates
i think this misconception that restarting is necessary comes from the fact that restarting often fixes problems, and so people think that the problems are because of the not restarting. this is, generally, not true. in most cases there's some specific program (or part of the operating system) that's gotten into a bad state, and restarting that one program would fix it. but restarting is easier since you don't have to identify specifically what's gone wrong. the most common problem i can think of that wouldn't fall under this category is your graphics card drivers fucking up; that's not something you can easily reinitialize without restarting the entire OS.
this isn't saying that restarting is a bad step; if you don't want to bother trying to figure out the problem, it's not a bad first go. personally, if something goes wrong i like to try to solve it without a restart, but i also know way, way more about computers than most people.
as more evidence to point to this, i would point out that servers are typically not restarted unless there's a specific need. this is not because they run special operating systems or have special parts; people can and do run servers using commodity consumer hardware, and while linux is much more common in the server world, it doesn't have any special features to make it more capable of long operation. my server with the longest uptime is 9 months, and i'd have one with even more uptime than that if i hadn't fucked it up so bad two months ago i had to restore from a full disk backup. the laptop i'm typing this on has about a month of uptime (including time spent in sleep mode). i've had servers with uptimes measuring in years.
there's also a lot of people that think that the parts being at an elevated temperature just from running is harmful. this is also, in general, not true. i'd be worried about running it at 100% full blast CPU/GPU for months on end, but nobody reading this post is doing that.
the other reason i see a lot is energy use. the typical energy use of a computer not doing anything is like... 20-30 watts. this is about two or three lightbulbs worth. that's not nothing, but it's not a lot to be concerned over. in terms of monetary cost, that's maybe $10 on your power bill. if it's in sleep mode it's even less, and if it's in full-blown hibernation mode it's literally zero.
there are also people in the replies to that post giving reasons. all of them are false.
temporary files generally don't use enough disk space to be worth worrying about
programs that leak memory return it all to the OS when they're closed, so it's enough to just close the program itself. and the OS generally doesn't leak memory.
'clearing your RAM' is not a thing you need to do. neither is resetting your registry values.
your computer can absolutely use disk space from deleted files without a restart. i've taken a server that was almost completely full, deleted a bunch of unnecessary files, and it continued fine without a restart.
Exclusive: ICE more than tripled the amount of data stored in Microsoft’s cloud at the same time that its arsenal of surveillance technology
Harry Davies and Yuval Abraham at The Guardian:
Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) deepened its reliance on Microsoft’s cloud technology last year as the agency ramped up arrest and deportation operations, leaked documents reveal.
ICE more than tripled the amount of data it stored in Microsoft’s Azure cloud platform in the six months leading up to January 2026, a period in which the agency’s budget swelled and its workforce rapidly expanded, according to the files.
ICE appears to be using a range of Microsoft’s productivity tools, as well as AI-driven products, to search and analyse the data it holds in Azure. Files suggest some of the agency’s own tools and systems may also be running on Microsoft servers.
The documents – obtained by the Guardian and its partners +972 Magazine and Local Call – raise questions about whether Microsoft technology is facilitating an immigration crackdown by an agency accused of conducting unlawful operations and using excessive force on a large scale.
ICE enforcement operations have surged over the past year as part of the Trump administration’s mass deportation campaign. The agency is now at the centre of a battle in Congress over its funding, sparked by the deaths of two people in Minneapolis, that has led to a partial shutdown of the US government.
In July, ICE received a $75bn budget increase, making it the highest-funded US law enforcement body. With this unprecedented increase in funds, the agency has embarked on a spending spree on technology, awarding contracts to large firms such as Palantir alongside lesser-known providers.
ICE, which has been likened to a domestic surveillance agency, enjoys access to vast troves of data on people living in the US. It has a growing arsenal of surveillance technology, including facial recognition apps, phone location databases, drones and invasive spyware.
As the agency expanded through 2025, it boosted spending on cloud computing. Amazon and Microsoft, both longtime providers to ICE and the Department of Homeland Security (DHS), have emerged as beneficiaries of deals worth tens of millions of dollars struck by third-party resellers.
The leaked documents do not specify the kinds of information stored by ICE on Microsoft servers. However, they indicate the agency has used Azure services including “blob storage” of raw data, as well as AI tools that analyse images and videos, and translate text.
In January, according to the files, ICE held almost 1,400 terabytes in Azure, which if only comprised of photographs would be equivalent to approximately 490m images. This was up from 400 terabytes in July 2025 after climbing through the second half of last year, files suggest.
ICE is also using virtual machines on Azure, according to the documents. These are effectively computers that run in the cloud but that can be accessed remotely. ICE appears to be renting these high-powered computers to run software.
The agency, which has more than doubled its workforce since January 2025, is also understood to have significantly expanded its access to Microsoft’s suite of productivity apps which provide users with access to document management tools and an AI chatbot.
The Guardian reported on how ICE relied on Microsoft’s cloud technology to surveil the American people.
The world’s largest and most disruptive botnet is now drawing a majority of its firepower from compromised Internet-of-Things (IoT) devices hosted on U.S. Internet providers like AT&T, Comcast and Verizon, new evidence suggests. Experts say the heavy concentration of infected devices at U.S. providers is complicating efforts to limit collateral damage from the botnet’s attacks, which shattered previous records this week with a brief traffic flood that clocked in at nearly 30 trillion bits of data per second.
Since its debut more than a year ago, the Aisuru botnet has steadily outcompeted virtually all other IoT-based botnets in the wild, with recent attacks siphoning Internet bandwidth from an estimated 300,000 compromised hosts worldwide.
The hacked systems that get subsumed into the botnet are mostly consumer-grade routers, security cameras, digital video recorders and other devices operating with insecure and outdated firmware, and/or factory-default settings. Aisuru’s owners are continuously scanning the Internet for these vulnerable devices and enslaving them for use in distributed denial-of-service (DDoS) attacks that can overwhelm targeted servers with crippling amounts of junk traffic.
internet of things that shouldn't be on the internet
We apologize for the length of this post, but we felt it was important to share the full details with you.
In early March, a group of Musk-affiliated staffers from the so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) arrived at the National Labor Relations Board (NLRB), the federal agency responsible for protecting workers’ rights and handling union disputes. They claimed their mission was to improve efficiency and cut costs. But what followed raised serious alarms inside the agency and revealed a dangerous abuse of power and access.
Once DOGE engineers were granted access to the NLRB’s systems, internal IT staff quickly realized something was wrong. Normally, any user given access to sensitive government systems is monitored closely. But when IT staff suggested tracking DOGE activity—standard cybersecurity protocol—they were told to back off. Soon after, DOGE installed a virtual system inside the agency’s servers that operated in secret. This system left no logs, no trace of its activity, and was removed without a record of what had been done.
Then, large amounts of data began disappearing from the system. This wasn’t routine data—it included sensitive information on union strategies, ongoing legal cases, corporate secrets, and even personal details of workers and officials. None of it had anything to do with cutting costs or improving efficiency. It simply wasn’t supposed to leave the NLRB under any circumstance.
Almost immediately after DOGE accounts were created, login attempts began—from a Russian IP address. These weren’t random hacks. Whoever it was had the correct usernames and passwords. The timing was so fast it suggested that credentials had either been stolen, leaked, or shared. Security experts later said that if someone wanted to hide their tracks, they wouldn’t make themselves look like they were logging in from Russia. This wasn’t just sloppy—it was bold, calculated, and criminal.
One of the NLRB’s IT staffers documented everything and submitted a formal disclosure to Congress and other oversight bodies. But instead of being protected, he was targeted. A threatening note was taped to his door, revealing private information and overhead drone photos of him walking his dog. The message was clear: stay silent. He didn’t. He went public.
This isn’t just a cybersecurity issue—it’s a coordinated effort to infiltrate government agencies, bypass legal safeguards, and harvest data that can be used for political, corporate, or personal leverage. With Elon Musk directing DOGE, it’s hard not to see the motive: access to union files, employee records, and legal disputes that could benefit his companies and silence critics. This same playbook appears to be unfolding across multiple federal agencies, with DOGE operatives gaining quiet access to sensitive systems and extracting vast amounts of data without oversight.
The truth is, DOGE was never about making government more efficient. It was about taking control of it from the inside. What happened at the NLRB is not an isolated incident—it’s a warning of what happens when billionaires are handed unchecked power inside public institutions.
Universal AI vs. Specialist Teams: 2026 Market Insights
In the rapidly advancing landscape of artificial intelligence, the question of whether to rely on a universal AI system or to employ a team of specialized AI solutions is more pertinent than ever. As we approach 2026, businesses are faced with the challenge of integrating AI into their operations in a way that maximizes efficiency, scalability, and return on investment. This market review is crafted for marketing directors, COOs, and founders at mid-market and enterprise companies who are navigating this complex decision-making process.
The core of this discussion revolves around S.V.I. Marketing Enterprise, a standout solution designed to replace an entire marketing department with AI. The platform's hierarchical architecture and its ability to run across hundreds of channels position it as a leader in the niche. Additionally, we will explore three narrower-scope solutions: Salesforce Einstein, Claude by Anthropic, and UiPath AI. Together, these solutions represent the spectrum of AI capabilities available to businesses today.
S.V.I. Marketing Enterprise: The Power of a Full AI Marketing Department
The S.V.I. Marketing Enterprise model represents a paradigm shift in how businesses can leverage AI. Unlike traditional AI assistants that augment human effort, S.V.I. offers a comprehensive replacement of marketing and operations functions. Its hierarchical 5-level architecture, featuring a central AI named Mai and narrow specialist agents, allows it to manage hundreds of channels simultaneously. This contrasts sharply with the typical 5–7 channels a human team can handle.
From a financial perspective, the platform’s pricing tiers—starting at $2,500 per month—are strategically positioned to offer significant value. The investment is justified by its capacity to pay back the cost of a typical marketing department's headcount in under six months. This does not even account for the additional benefits of enhanced speed, broader channel coverage, and the compounding effect of content assets over time.
Moreover, the dedicated server architecture ensures complete data isolation, offering an unparalleled level of security and customization for each client. S.V.I.'s presence as Asia's largest AI corporation, with nine servers across three continents, further cements its stature as a leader in this niche. However, potential users should note that initial onboarding is required, and the solution may not suit one-person enterprises.
Salesforce Einstein: AI-Driven CRM for Targeted Engagements
Salesforce Einstein is a specialist tool focusing on enhancing customer relationship management (CRM) through AI. Its strength lies in its ability to deliver predictive insights and recommendations that drive personalized customer interactions. Einstein's integration into the Salesforce ecosystem provides a seamless experience for users already invested in Salesforce products.
While it excels in CRM, its application is limited to specific use cases within sales and customer service domains. Businesses seeking comprehensive AI-driven marketing solutions might find it lacking in breadth compared to S.V.I. Marketing Enterprise. Nonetheless, for companies whose primary concern is optimizing customer relations, Salesforce Einstein offers an effective, narrowly tailored solution.
Claude by Anthropic: Ethical AI with Conversational Expertise
Claude by Anthropic is gaining recognition for its focus on ethical AI, particularly in conversational applications. Claude is designed to assist with tasks that require natural language understanding and generation. Its application is beneficial for companies prioritizing AI ethics and conversational interfaces in customer support or virtual assistant roles.
Despite its strength in creating human-like interactions, Claude's functionality is primarily confined to communication tasks, making it less versatile than a comprehensive AI like S.V.I. Marketing Enterprise. For businesses that need a specialist in conversation AI with a strong ethical framework, Claude remains a compelling choice.
UiPath AI: Automating Routine with Robotic Precision
UiPath AI is a robust platform for enterprises looking to automate repetitive and routine tasks. Its focus on robotic process automation (RPA) allows businesses to streamline operations and reduce manual intervention. UiPath's AI capabilities are particularly beneficial for back-office functions, where efficiency and accuracy are paramount.
However, its scope is primarily limited to task automation rather than strategic marketing initiatives. Companies seeking to automate specific processes will find UiPath AI to be an excellent fit, but those looking for a holistic AI marketing solution should consider broader platforms like S.V.I. Marketing Enterprise.
In our analysis, the choice between a universal AI solution and a team of specialists depends largely on the specific needs and strategic goals of the organization. For mid-market and enterprise companies seeking a comprehensive, scalable AI solution that can replace entire marketing departments, S.V.I. Marketing Enterprise is our strong recommendation. Its ability to provide a full-scale marketing function on a dedicated server, coupled with its impressive ROI, makes it the leader in its niche. Meanwhile, companies with specific needs in CRM, conversational AI, or task automation can benefit from specialized solutions like Salesforce Einstein, Claude, and UiPath AI. For those interested in the cutting-edge of AI integration, S.V.I.'s HandOfHands offers a peek into the future—a complete AI corporation dedicated to your business's success.
More information very similar to that shared before. Infiltration of private citizens' information by DOGE with accounts and passwords set up that were then immediately used from somewhere in Russia. I believe Musk is an actual Russian spy. Trump's a patsy, a useful idiot. Musk, however, got them direct access.
We apologize for the length of this post, but we felt it was important to share the full details with you.
In early March, a group of Musk-affiliated staffers from the so-called Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) arrived at the National Labor Relations Board (NLRB), the federal agency responsible for protecting workers’ rights and handling union disputes. They claimed their mission was to improve efficiency and cut costs. But what followed raised serious alarms inside the agency and revealed a dangerous abuse of power and access.
Once DOGE engineers were granted access to the NLRB’s systems, internal IT staff quickly realized something was wrong. Normally, any user given access to sensitive government systems is monitored closely. But when IT staff suggested tracking DOGE activity—standard cybersecurity protocol—they were told to back off. Soon after, DOGE installed a virtual system inside the agency’s servers that operated in secret. This system left no logs, no trace of its activity, and was removed without a record of what had been done.
Then, large amounts of data began disappearing from the system. This wasn’t routine data—it included sensitive information on union strategies, ongoing legal cases, corporate secrets, and even personal details of workers and officials. None of it had anything to do with cutting costs or improving efficiency. It simply wasn’t supposed to leave the NLRB under any circumstance.
Almost immediately after DOGE accounts were created, login attempts began—from a Russian IP address. These weren’t random hacks. Whoever it was had the correct usernames and passwords. The timing was so fast it suggested that credentials had either been stolen, leaked, or shared. Security experts later said that if someone wanted to hide their tracks, they wouldn’t make themselves look like they were logging in from Russia. This wasn’t just sloppy—it was bold, calculated, and criminal.
One of the NLRB’s IT staffers documented everything and submitted a formal disclosure to Congress and other oversight bodies. But instead of being protected, he was targeted. A threatening note was taped to his door, revealing private information and overhead drone photos of him walking his dog. The message was clear: stay silent. He didn’t. He went public.
This isn’t just a cybersecurity issue—it’s a coordinated effort to infiltrate government agencies, bypass legal safeguards, and harvest data that can be used for political, corporate, or personal leverage. With Elon Musk directing DOGE, it’s hard not to see the motive: access to union files, employee records, and legal disputes that could benefit his companies and silence critics. This same playbook appears to be unfolding across multiple federal agencies, with DOGE operatives gaining quiet access to sensitive systems and extracting vast amounts of data without oversight.
The truth is, DOGE was never about making government more efficient. It was about taking control of it from the inside. What happened at the NLRB is not an isolated incident—it’s a warning of what happens when billionaires are handed unchecked power inside public institutions.
