Sometimes she randomly holds my hand and I die from cuteness overload 🥺☺️

2021.12.06 09:15 Pleasant_Yellow_ Sometimes she randomly holds my hand and I die from cuteness overload 🥺☺️

Sometimes she randomly holds my hand and I die from cuteness overload 🥺☺️ submitted by Pleasant_Yellow_ to cats [link] [comments]

2021.12.06 09:15 IslandADV I recently managed to get a decent 2 rider, 2 video, 2 audio, setup working. I go over a bit of the setup in the first part of this video. KLR 650 - DR650.

I recently managed to get a decent 2 rider, 2 video, 2 audio, setup working. I go over a bit of the setup in the first part of this video. KLR 650 - DR650. submitted by IslandADV to Motovlogging [link] [comments]

2021.12.06 09:15 Eve-3 Are the event prizes always this disappointing?

First place in this event and I got a plain Jane purple train. No extra capacity, didn't start out fully upgraded, just a plain purple train. Sure it's great to have a new train but considering the way that container looked as a reward I expected something really special. Super disappointed. I get a better prize simply playing 5 days in a row.
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2021.12.06 09:15 Eve-3 Are the event prizes always this disappointing?

First place in this event and I got a plain Jane purple train. No extra capacity, didn't start out fully upgraded, just a plain purple train. Sure it's great to have a new train but considering the way that container looked as a reward I expected something really special. Super disappointed. I get a better prize simply playing 5 days in a row.
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2021.12.06 09:15 RLCD-Bot [Titanium White Octane] [Titanium White Octane: Swayzee] [Peppermint] [Candy Cane]

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2021.12.06 09:15 drdadbodpanda Capitalism is unironically natural

Monarchies are also natural. Theocracies are also natural. Primitivism is also natural. Dictatorships? Natural. Constitutional republics? Natural. Feudal empires are also natural.
The list goes on and on.
But now let’s talk about what isn’t natural.
“True socialism”.
I rest my case and have a blessed day. (I’m atheist).
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2021.12.06 09:15 badshahjan BitGame Plays legal across over 100 countries

BitGame Plays legal across over 100 countries #Bitgame #LUT #Bitgame_bounty #BTC #Crypto #Sports
There are over a hundred countries in which BitGame is currently legal and it 's company that 's constantly looking for ways to expand in order to provide users with an open secure entertainment platform that incorporates blockchain technology 's asymmetrical encryption distributed data storage and token economics among other positive properties of blocchain technology .
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2021.12.06 09:15 kozilicious What’s a good book to start with to try kick-off a reading habit?

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2021.12.06 09:15 CheapCoffee1 What happened to the smart girl/boy of your class?

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2021.12.06 09:15 darklama17 LOOKING FOR PLAYER TO PLAY WITH (POSSIBLE 🇮🇹) ID: darklama17

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2021.12.06 09:15 SeesawLimp When you lose 10 straight

When you lose 10 straight submitted by SeesawLimp to Flyers [link] [comments]

2021.12.06 09:15 RLCD-Bot [Titanium White Dominus] [Hexed] [Titanium White Helios] [Titanium White Zomba] [Titanium White Laser Wave III]

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2021.12.06 09:15 potuswalrus Selling 1 3 DAY GA ticket

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2021.12.06 09:15 Pappacurgia Un titolo interessante

Un titolo interessante submitted by Pappacurgia to memesITA [link] [comments]

2021.12.06 09:15 CandyLoxxx What is your fav Thrice album and why?

Mine is definitely Vheissu because the pacing, production, and overall songwriting is truly amazing. It’s still hard to believe they could easily pull it off coming off of the heels of Artist but they did it successfully
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2021.12.06 09:15 jobsinanywhere How each country voted in 2021 Ballon d'Or with Portugal snubbing Cristiano Ronaldo and England ranking Messi second

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2021.12.06 09:15 Historical-Might-466 Nanonood habang naglalaro ng Mc

Nanonood habang naglalaro ng Mc submitted by Historical-Might-466 to NANIKPosting [link] [comments]

2021.12.06 09:15 aleishabb [Walmart] Acer Aspire 5, 14.0" Full HD IPS Display, 11th Gen Intel Core i5-1135G7, 8GB DDR4, 256GB M.2 NVMe PCIe SSD, Safari Gold, Windows 11 Home, A514-54-501Z with $50 off for $449

[Walmart] Acer Aspire 5, 14.0 submitted by aleishabb to LaptopDeals [link] [comments]

2021.12.06 09:15 clip_mirror_bot crazy streamer wipes out npc

crazy streamer wipes out npc submitted by clip_mirror_bot to livestreamfail_mirror [link] [comments]

2021.12.06 09:15 worldclassmathlete Apple Threat Notifications will alert you if your iPhone got Hacked! As per another report released by the Apple support group, the company can now warn the user if they have been hacked through a system message. In any case, the company refers to that a portion of these attacks could go unrecog...

Apple Threat Notifications will alert you if your iPhone got Hacked! As per another report released by the Apple support group, the company can now warn the user if they have been hacked through a system message. In any case, the company refers to that a portion of these attacks could go unrecog... submitted by worldclassmathlete to gadgetarq [link] [comments]

2021.12.06 09:15 Alex123_UK My second highest score. . .

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2021.12.06 09:15 _bee70 [Offer][Hire me] Virtual Assistant

I offer to be your Virtual Assistant. I have skills in Salesforce, Social media management, Slack, Discord, and Microsoft Teams chat Clients among others. I can receive your calls through Talkdesk. I also offer remote tech support, research, content creation, and management. I can learn something new you need help with. I am flexible, can work in any niche. Leave a message or DM for further discussion. Email:
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2021.12.06 09:15 Morzo_Voidmaster Mus and Leo – A standalone short story about a boy befriending a robot

The stars were like a thousand tears flowing across the face of antarctic night. Those denizens of Riholm who still cherished the skies set aside time from their busy lives to point their telescopes up. Though the town's plastic dome distorted much, the brightest stars and constellations were pristine compared to the light-polluted urbanity of lower latitudes. In fact, the South Pole was the last unspoiled patch of nature on Earth.
Someday, thought Mus, I will journey beyond the icy wastes and see the great cities Mama and Papa abandoned for Riholm. The boy of ten sat cross-legged on the roof of his parents' top floor apartment. He pleaded with the stars as if they could grant his wish, but twinkles were all that he received.
Whether it be day or night, winter or summer (and at the South Pole those cycles coincided), the dome was kept at a constant 15 degrees Celsius. Yet bare feet and pajamas still drew a chill after three hours. Mus mummified himself in the thermal blanket he was sitting on and headed for the rooftop door.
Mus's hand let loose of the handle.
It was coming from the street below. Mus looked over the side of the building at the partially lit steel plating of the street. A man-shaped shadow moved between the lights and with each movement came that sound. They were dragging themselves.
Mus tiptoed about the apartment so as not to wake Mama and Papa sleeping in the family bed. Pants, shoes, flashlight, apartment access card; with these things secured, he descended the stairs and was on the street in a matter of seconds.
The sound was a distant echo now. Mus wondered how someone in that condition could move so fast but didn't let that slow his aid mission. His plastic soles made their own echo in the shallow canyon of the street. Riholm was a web of these canyons, with four and five story buildings forming their walls. Building facades were made from the same steel plating as the streets but painted in tropical colors (Mama said it was a psychological thing, a passive way to counteract the six months of night). With half the street lamps in need of repair, Mus wondered if it mattered what colors the town was painted.
They did, however, make navigation easier.
The shadow had taken a memorable route: right at the mechanic's hot pink shop, left at the lime green library, straight past Riholm's fire red city hall, and into the bumblebee colored industrial district. It stopped at a dead end alley piled high with refuse from the factories on both sides.
Mus tiptoed around, scanning and rescanning the piles for the shadow and suppressing the fear within himself. A glistening claw fell at his feet. Only after Mus had leaped backward into some ruined rubber tires did he realize the "claw" was just a deformed crane hook toppling to the ground.
Then he felt the cold metal fingers on his shoulder.
He leaped in the other direction, tripped over a piece of junk, and fell onto his stomach. He then rolled onto his back and froze before the gaze of two crystal blue eyes. It took a moment for a few dim rays from the security lights to outline their robotic owner.
Mus had lots of experience with robots in his short life. There were the hockey puck sized robots that cleaned the apartment building. There was a robotic arm that cleared jams at the recycling plant so workers didn't have to risk their limbs. Papa managed the high altitude communications balloons which kept Riholm in contact with the rest of the world. Mama oversaw the team of autonomous snow plows which constantly cleared the area around the dome.
But this robot was something else, not an it like the rest, but a he. His body reminded Mus of the plastic human skeleton hanging at the front of his science class, yet larger and with proportions that marked him as inhuman. The chest was as big as a 50 liter barrel. Human facial features translated to metal made the robot look like an Easter Island head. Rusted green paint clung to the robot's body in patches.
As Mus scooted back and the robot forward, the prime handicap became clear. The robot ended at a hemispherical pelvis. Wires hung from the two holes where its legs once connected.
A baritone voice erupted from the robot in a storm of static: "Low power."
Mus scooted backward but the robot closed the distance
"Low power."
"I can't help you."
"Low power."
The robot stopped.
"Voice command, huh?" The courage that brought him here returned to Mus once he got back on his feet. "Sit up."
The robot balanced on his pelvis with help from his two meter long arms. If his legs had been proportional, then the complete robot would have stood twice as tall as Papa, and he was the tallest man in Riholm.
"Low power."
Mus paced the alley trying to think of a solution to his new friend's woe. He didn't know what bigger robots ran on, but when one of the hockey pucks was low it scuttled over to a charger. He walked around the statuesque robot yet found no charging ports. "Do you have a replaceable battery?"
"Low power." A circular door opened at the center of the robot's chest.
That was it! Mus shined his flashlight inside and found an empty stainless steel cylinder with six raised edges, reminiscent of a washing machine's tub. He didn't know what kind of battery fit in here but he knew where to go looking.
"I'll be back tomorrow. Can you stay here?"
"Low power."
"Stay here." Mus pointed to the ground and the robot's eyes followed. So he had spatial command recognition. Mus wondered what this robot used to do. Guess he'd find out when he fixed him!
The mechanic's shop was always humming, literally. Mills, lathes, and other machining tools sat beside two 3D printers, one used for metal and the other for plastic. A hundred battery packs of numerous models charged along the back wall. Mus scanned these with his eyes, trying to match a shape to his robot friend's chest yet finding none.
Donald, the mechanic, wiggled his rotund body out from underneath one of Riholm's unreliable garbage collection trucks. "They should just buy new ones or tell people to walk their crap to the recycling plant," he said. "Oh, hello youngster, you needin' somethin'?"
Mus was yanked out of his thoughts and left scrambling for the explanation he had practiced in the mirror that morning. "I'm looking for a battery for a . . . well it's kind . . ." Mus made the shape with his hands. "And it has ridges inside."
"That's not very much information to go on. Is this request comin' from your mum?"
"Your pa?"
"No. It's just this thing that I've found."
"Well, you've described a pretty big battery and big batteries tend to go in big things, like vehicles."
The lie came together then, though it took a toll on Mus's conscience. "Actually, it is for Papa. He spotted a half-buried snowmobile in the balloon's cameras and wants to give it to Mama as an anniversary gift."
"Oh! Well, I've a great deal of experience with snowmobiles. Only two types of batteries for those and neither is like you described."
Panic. Cold sweat. "Uh, you see, he doesn't actually know if it's a snowmobile because it's half-buried. It might be more of a snow, snow, snow-go… that… goes on snow."
Donald scratched his red beard. "You sure about that?"
"Mmm hmm."
Donald sighed and entered the backroom. He re-emerged with a cylinder roughly the size of Mus's description but without the indents necessary for connection. "This is the closest I could find," he said. "I'm guessing your pa, having his head in the clouds all day, don't know what he's talking about. Let him know that I'm billing him even if it's wrong."
"Sure thing." Mus's heart sank into his stomach at the thought of Papa opening that, but if it saved his friend, so be it.
Donald loaded the battery onto an electric cart and reminded Mus to, "return this cart ASAP 'cause I can't afford another."
The dead end alley was still dark and cluttered, yet felt warmer to Mus now that it was the home of a friend. That friend remained exactly as he had left him, with arms locked and eyes staring at the ground where Mus had pointed. The alteration of his catchphrase from "Low power" to just "Low" was the only thing that had changed.
"Don't worry, pal. I got a fix for feeling low right here." Mus placed the cart in front of the robot and tried using its lift to insert the battery, with no success. "Could you put this into your chest, please."
The robot's hands clasped the battery and began wedging it into the ill-fitting cavity. He rocked back and forth as his balance was tested. Mus even climbed on him and gave what little force his scrawny arms could produce. Still, the battery would not go more than halfway in.
Mus sat next to the reloaded cart with tears in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I really thought I could fix you."
"Yeah, me too buddy. Maybe Papa won't be on the hook for this stupid battery—He gave it a kick—if I return it today."
"Anyway, just wait here for me to get back."
Mus returned the battery and negotiated with Donald for a full refund. "Because your pa gave poor instructions, I'll do it this time." Then Mus returned himself to the apartment and the family's warm bed.
Mus stared at the ceiling of the apartment's bedroom all afternoon but sleep was kept at bay by the fading blue eyes of his new robot friend.
Mama was walking out the door with a bundle of books from the family collection when she stopped to check her son. "You tossed and turned all night," she said. "Are you sick?"
"I'm fine," he said.
Her hand caressed his forehead and played with his bangs. "You don't seem to have a temperature."
"Yeah, because I'm fine."
"You can never be too careful down here. One sick boy means a dozen carriers which could mean a wave illness is about to sweep Riholm. Do you want 10,000 people to be bedridden and staring up at plaster?"
"No, Mama."
"Good. Now I have to go deliver these books to Mister Taylor in the hospital."
"What happened to Mister Taylor?"
"These poorly lit streets, that's what. He fell over a recycling bin and broke his leg." She must have caught the horror on Mus's face. "D-d-don't worry Mus, he'll be fine! Nothing lifts the mind and body like a good book."
Mama left the apartment but an idea remained in Mus's grasp. He dressed and ran out the door with the intention of learning what made robots tick.
The wood-paneled interior of Riholm's library was a stark contrast to its lime green facade. When Mus asked about this, the librarian said that," bright colors were not conducive to learning." He would let her know that he had almost fallen asleep twice during this visit.
However, he was reading some dry material at the time. Robotics: Theory and Practice, Robots: Three Laws Safe?, and Designing Humanoid Robots: 5th Edition. It was in this last text that he found a chapter on power sources. It said that most humanoid robots ran on a rechargeable battery pack, but some larger ones used in construction had an RTG. It took Mus a few tries to pronounce the components of that acronym: Radioisotope Thermoelectric Generator. In either case, once the power source was removed the robot would run off any residual energy stored in its systems, which could last anywhere from a few hours to a few days. Total power loss often resulted in memory damage.
Mus swallowed hard at the thought that two days had already passed.
With minutes left before the library closed, he grabbed the three texts plus and headed for the dead end alley.
Once again he found the robot as he had left him. Yet, was the body a little more slumped? Mus brought the section on RTGs to the robot's attention in the hope that he might recognize his power source. He looked at the diagrams with clouded eyes. No, not clouded, dimmer. And its body was more slumped.
"Come on, I know you take one of these. Just point to the model and I'll search the whole world for one.
"Maybe you're tired. Just look at the picture you think is right."
The robot wrapped one giant hand around the book, his skeletal fingers touching Mus's own for the first time. His blue eyes dimmed even further and the one arm assigned to maintain balance faltered. The robot began toppling over onto Mus but the boy couldn't find the strength to move. With one last burst of energy, the robotic hand which had grasped the book pushed against the ground and reversed the direction of the collapse. The robot landed on its back as Mus sat speechless but unharmed.
"Hey? Hey!" Mus beseeched his new friend but no more did he repeat his singular phrase. Mus threw himself onto the chest and searched every square millimeter of the cavity with his flashlight. On an inner wall not spotted the first time, he found this short designation: "Model L30, RTG-250W."
Mus memorized the information and set off for the mechanic's shop where he found Donald gossiping with one of Riholm's four police officers. Mus gripped Donald's overalls as if they were a life preserver and began a string of incoherent pleas.
"Is he bothering you, Don?," said the policeman.
"No, no, it's fine," said Donald. He laid his hands gently on Mus's shoulders. "Slow down, youngster, and tell me whatcha need."
"Model L30, RTG-250W!"
"Robot dying. Low power. Need RTG. Hurry!"
"You keep RTGs in your shop?," said the policeman.
"Of course not," said Donald. He turned his attention to Mus with added ferocity. "Where did you get the idea that I kept anything radioactive? Accusations like that aren't funny, Mus. Are you trying to get me shut down?"
Mus couldn't hold his tears back anymore. "I've got to save him!" He broke away and ran into the backroom. Robot and vehicle parts littering unorganized shelves became the victims of his search as he shoved them about frantically. Donald pleaded for Mus to stop, but the firm hands of the police officer were what finally tore the boy away.
Placed on a bench in the shop's closet-sized office, Mus was questioned until he finally broke. He told about that night under the stars, the robot, and the lengths he'd gone to save him. Then Donald and the policeman stepped outside the shop to talk among themselves but Mus heard everything.
"How'd an old construction robot get inside the city?" said the policeman.
"With the way you patrol," said Donald, "it probably crawled right in."
"Well, I'll be sure to have it dragged back out."
"Keep your voice down. But, yes, I agree. Thing is probably irradiated so the sooner it leaves town the better."
"And that kid has been exposed for who knows how long."
There was a long pause here.
"I'm almost done for the day," said Donald. "I can take Mus to the hospital while you're organizin'' the hazmat team."
They returned with smiles as if no death sentence had been cast. Donald bent down (though his short stature made this unnecessary) and examined Mus as if he were a broken motor. "Say, you're not lookin' too good. Maybe I should take you to see a doctor in case you're catchin' cold."
"What about the robot?"
Donald's mouth opened but no words emerged.
"Don't worry about that," said the policeman, "I'll personally request an RTG from Riholm's supply."
Mus didn't trust him, but he trusted Donald. He locked eyes with the mechanic and said, "Really?"
Donald put his hands on Mus's shoulders and closed his eyes. "Really."
Mama and Papa sat at the counter which served as both a food prep station and kitchen table. Mus lay on the family bed near their feet, his eyes still red from crying all night. They had taken off work to console him (and prevent him from doing anything rash).
"It will be alright, son," said Papa.
"He's been tossed out like garbage."
"He was radioactive," Mama said. She bent down and ran her fingers through Mus's hair. "I'm just glad the hospital still had a supply of the counteractive pills after 40 years."
"Unsurprising," said Papa, "everything about this place was built to last, even the medicine."
"I wish they'd had lower standards," said Mama, "then maybe they'd have thought twice before using nuclear powered robots."
"He wasn't being used for recreation and without the dome battery repairs and replacements would have been a logistical nightmare. Not to mention the warmth an RTG provides to sensitive components working in the icy wastes. Even old communication balloons used them. Why? Because nuclear power is the definition of reliability."
"And hair loss, and bloody stool, and sterility, and . . ."
Papa sipped his coffee in silence as Mama continued to list ailments.
". . . and despite all that," said Mama, "I've booked a meeting with the mayor to save our robot friend."
Mus shot up and into Mama's arms. "You did? When?"
"Yeah, Mama," said Papa, "when did you do this?"
"No," said Mus, "I meant when is the meeting? Can we go now? NOW?"
"Sshh. We go at noon."
"Thank you, Mama. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'll shower and put on my nicest clothes and—"
"—No. Stay like you are, Mus. We need you to look as pathetic as possible to give our request any hope of being granted."
"And what is our request exactly?," said Papa.
"To retrofit and repurpose our robot and bring him in out of the cold."
Mama and Mus arrived at Riholm city hall with the appearance of their hat in their hand. Mus's messy hair and puffy eyes garnered enough sympathy from the mayor's secretary to have him buzz the two in on schedule. The policeman who was with Donald opened the mayor's door without making eye contact, but Mus refused to be ignored.
"There's no RTG supply in Riholm, is there?"
The policeman frowned in a way that seemed to be directed inward. "No."
Mus nodded in satisfaction, then joined Mama inside.
The plainness of the mayor's office disappointed Mus: plain wooden door, plain white walls, tidy aluminum desk, and all underneath a two meter high ceiling typical for Riholm. The only distraction from this was the large paper map of Antarctica behind the mayor's head. On this both biomes and population centers were displayed.
The South Pole and Riholm sat at the center of the map surrounded by hundreds of kilometers of ice sheet. McMurdo City, Palmer City, and a dozen other cities which grew out from research stations sat on a narrow band of newly arable land on the coast. Mus wondered if any of them would part with an RTG if the retrofit failed.
"Madam Mayor," said Mama, "there is plenty of work that needs to be done within the dome."
"And it can be done by non-radioactive human beings," said the mayor.
She looked as placid as she spoke. Her emotionless face was curtained in blonde hair that was just long enough to touch her navy blue dress suit. "A politician built to last," Papa had said.
"I told you," said Mama with a twinge of anger Mus hoped only he could detect, "that he can be retrofitted to use standard batteries."
"Just because you know snow plows doesn't mean—"
"Ask Donald, the mechanic. He would be the one doing the retrofit anyway."
"I will have my secretary look into it, but feasibility isn't the main problem. Neither is the robot's potential usefulness."
"Then what is?"
"Ownership. That robot was abandoned by the builders of Riholm 40 years ago. By Antarctic law it is salvage. Whoever takes possession becomes responsible for its environmental impact, both past and future. Do you really think the town of Riholm wants that burden?"
"Are the responsibilities the same for an individual?"
"The law speaks of 'the possessing party.' It is applicable to states, municipalities, companies, and yes, individuals."
Mama took a deep breath and closed her eyes while she said, "then I guess I have no choice. My family will take possession of the robot and assume all responsibilities including environmental."
Mus turned to her with renewed tears. "W-we're taking him in?"
"Yes we are."
"I don't recommend that," said the mayor, "the cost of the recent cleanup alone will bankrupt you."
"Don't tell me how to handle my finances. Besides, I'll be getting a new source of income very soon."
A thousand tears still flowed across the antarctic night and, without the dome's obscuring effect, were joined by a thousand of their dimmer companions. Mus peered up at them in defiance of the bitter wind's attempts to turn his head. Mama, however, was more than enough to return him to Earth. She climbed down the ladder of their borrowed snow plow and took hold of his parka strings. Mus was soon wrapped tighter than a tourniquet.
"I told you to cover yourself. Negative 40 degrees Celsius will rip the warmth from your bones."
"Sorry, Mama." Mus scanned the area lit by the snow plow's spotlights. "Are they near?"
"We're just beyond the veil of night," said Papa as he entered the light cone with a toolbox in hand.
Donald appeared right after dragging a portable sand blaster. "We did it."
Papa and Donald took off their jumpsuits and deposited them in the trunk of Papa's new snowmobile. Both men were full of energy, beating their bare chests despite the cold.
"I just spoke to Mus about keeping warm and there you go acting like schoolboys."
"Sorry Mama," said Papa.
"Yeah, sorry Mama—I mean ma'am." Donald's face was as red as his beard but Mus couldn't tell if it was from the cold or embarrassment.
Once everyone was properly dressed again, Mus burst out the question that had repeated in his mind for the past week: "Is he okay?"
"Better than okay!," said Donald. "We sanded away the rest of his old paint and applied a new coat designed for nuclear reactors."
"McMurdo's decommissioned power plant had a lot left over," said Papa, "and its officials were surprisingly bribable."
"Right. It was meant to keep metal safe by blockin' radiation but it should work the other way around."
"What about the power supply?," said Mus.
Donald puffed up and wiggled his fingers. "I worked my magic. His new sulphur ion chest battery is able to pump out the necessary 250 watts, though it will need to be charged daily, and it is a bit awkward lookin'."
"And the legs?"
"Oh, those I'm most proud of. You see—
"Hell, Donald," said Mama, "just bring him out so Mus can see."
Heavy footsteps crunched snow in the darkness beyond the spotlights. A glint of orange appeared, floating two meters off of the ground.
"It's okay," said Papa, "you can come forward."
The robot stepped into the light and revealed his full three meter height. Mus divided his attention between the familiar blue eyes staring down at him and the new components that made them shine from so high. Powerful legs, sculpted to look like an athlete's, had replaced dangling wires and come complete with a pair of feet. The new battery was too long for the chest cavity which forced its door to stay open. But who cared about cosmetics in a matter of life or death?
Mus held out his hand. "You had other things on your mind when we first met, so let's start over. Hi, my name is Mus."
The robot cupped the boy's small hand in his own. In pristine electronic vocalization, he answered with his name: "Leo."
The stars may have guided the few denizens of Riholm who still turned their telescopes skyward, but for the vast majority, like Mister Taylor, street lamps were far more useful. The lamps' state of disrepair was always a top priority, yet one to which the mayor and town council never got around . . . until aid came from an unlikely place.
The robot, Leo, found on the street by a boy and cast out into the icy wastes by men, returned to Riholm repaired and resplendent in glaring orange, like a phoenix.
Mama started a petition to contract Leo as the town's official street lamp maintenance robot. Yet it took Mus's puppy eyes to get it through. Leo became a beloved sight in Riholm, striding upon streets that he once crawled and stopping only to reach up and change a bulb.
Mus followed Leo on his route whenever school or family obligations didn't get in the way, but they inevitably saw each other less and less. Over time Mus grew out of his desire to leave Riholm and became apprenticed to Donald instead. Days spent in the shop and nights spent reading texts borrowed from the library turned Mus into a master mechanic long before his certification. Donald retired 30 years later and sold the shop to his apprentice for a fraction of what it was worth. To Riholm, Mus became Mus the mechanic.
Out of the many vehicles and robots which Mus regularly repaired, none were more rewarding than his old friend, Leo.
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2021.12.06 09:15 OsoDeMaricon Off the charts cringe

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2021.12.06 09:15 AviseAnalytics ShotSpotter: A long Shot Investment!

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