The chart shows how consistently accessible 4G networks are in each country. Rather than measure geographic coverage, OpenSignal’s availability metric tracks the proportion of time users have access to a particular network. For example if a country has 50% 4G availability, then on average that country’s 4G users can find an LTE signal half of the time.
A high 4G availability can be an indication of good geographic coverage, but the metric tracks more than where users can find an LTE signal on a map. It accounts for indoor connections and times of high congestion when it’s often difficult to get a 4G signal even on high-coverage networks.
For this report we analyzed 17 billion measurements conducted by 500,687 OpenSignal 4G smartphone users between July 1 and Sept. 30.
Subtitle: No one’s going to read this today, but that’s ok, that’s what reblogs are for eh
Sub-subtitle: WHAT AM I DOING POSTING FIC AGAIN I AM A MENACE AND I MUST BE STOPPED
Sorry, this starts pretty abruptly and will be confusing without any context so:
PREVIOUSLY ON THIS TRAINWRECK OF EMOTIONS - The Emperor’s attack on Luke was quite a bit more brutal than what we saw onscreen, driving Anakin to kill Sheev-o with his son’s lightsaber so that he can live long enough to ensure that Luke can make it off the Death Star. He intends to stay behind and die, but of course Luke’s having none of that. With an appropriately schmoopy speech Luke lovingly twists his dad’s arm to come along, until they both have to book it out of there anyway when the docking bay’s atmospheric shields short out. They blast off in Vader’s personal shuttle, and Luke doesn’t bother waiting for the inertial compensator to kick in before gunning it, so he passes out from the g-forces…
I LITERALLY COULDN’T HAVE DONE THIS WITHOUT Y’ALL. I have attacked many of you lovely peeps on my dash as I’ve agonized and torn my hair out and rewritten this disaster like 6 six times over and you’ve been patient enough to read my Google doc and brainstorm and everything aND…*SQUEAK*
SO HERE. HAVE MY FEELS (again). (ಥ﹏ಥ) (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
The air was escaping.
At least, that was Luke’s first conscious thought, in reaction to the faint hissing noise somewhere nearby. His fogged brain conflated the docking bay’s explosive decompression with the idea that a piece of debris might have punched its way through the shuttle’s hull. Alarmed, he tried to move, but his limbs weren’t inclined to follow orders at the moment.
Wherever he was, it was bright, with light passing through his closed eyelids, and he was curled up in a rather awkward position on something curved and pliable with his legs wedged up against another much harder surface, almost as if he’d fallen asleep spilling out of a chair. If he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn he was simply hungover and waking from a very unfortunate nap underneath the Falcon’s gaming table.
BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND! Actually, no, there legitimately is like 200+ pages worth of this melodramatic space trash™ in my noggin and I’m about to unleash at least a few dozen more of them for your holiday enjoyment 8D
Picking up right where we left off last time…(because while this is all meant to be one big continuous “chapter,” I’d rather not bombard y’all with a Great Wall of Text, y’know)
((OK, I seriously can’t believe how many of y’all loved the first installment and I’m still internally screeching about that but I’m gonna specifically tag @monsterquill and @mythaster JUST because y’all literally said you wanted 200 more pages and/or a novel and/or would give your left arm for more of this SO HERE IT IS XD :3
And special thanks to @culturevulture73 and @celinamarniss for reading my crappy first drafts, lol. TBH, my writing’s a lot more rushed here because I just can’t frickin’ wait to get on with it already (ノಠ益ಠ)ノ彡┻━┻ ))
“Commander…dare I ask how you’ve managed to stretch the parameters of your mission this time?”
A self-deprecating smile spread across Luke’s face at Admiral Ackbar’s gravel-dry tone. “It’s quite a tale, I’ll give you that,” he replied. “But you’re going to hear it soon anyway.” He glanced aside at his father, still somewhat surprised that the comm didn’t pick up the sound of his respirator. Convenient, for now. “I…have a high-ranking defector with me.”
“Ah? Well, this is an unprecedented occasion, after all. Do either of you require medical attention?”
Luke winced; it had to be obvious from the lisp and strain in his voice. Anakin’s helmet swiveled in his direction. “…Technically, yes. I’m not in control of this vessel, and my pilot’s sustained a limb injury. Clearance to dock, sir?”
“General Calrissian, would you spare an escort?”
Lando’s droll voice joined their conversation. “Luke, you’re not telling that story until my flask and I are ready to hear it. Green Four and Seven, flank that Lambda and see her into Home One.” Two affirmatives answered him, and Luke saw a pair of A-wing fighters draw up alongside the shuttle.
“Thanks, Lando.” Luke grinned, relieved to hear another friend was alive and well after the battle, his joy evident in the blatant disregard for address. “See you aboard, Admiral.” Signing off, he slumped back into the chair and blew out a long breath.
I felt a Sunday Six would be disingenuous since this is well over six lines (or paragraphs? I don’t actually know which it’s supposed to be lol), but here’s Darth Saddest getting his kicks out of pulling a Wednesday Addams on a poor Rebel medic who’s wondering what she did to deserve this flaming tire heap.
“Your attention is unnecessary.”
The rangy young woman with plain, bird-like features and far too many lines around her eyes for someone her age scowled up into Anakin’s mask. “Trust me, Lord Vader, we don’t need more motivation not to treat you.”
The medic had accompanied him to the brig - apparently leaving him in sick bay near the most vulnerable members of the Rebellion had been too unseemly a notion, and Anakin was not about to argue with them. He was not in any pain he did not regularly experience, and there was no immediate need to have his full mobility restored. Impatience and resentment simmered beneath his indifference at being examined while his son should have been the one already receiving care.
“Without access to my records, this is an exercise in futility - ”
“Quiet!” the woman snapped, and Anakin complied with a mixture of irritable amusement that she had the spine to do so. The tension in her frame betrayed her nervousness at having been assigned such a daunting task, but she was otherwise beyond caring. With a loud exasperated sigh she gave up and dropped her medisensor to make some adjustments, as she’d realized that its standard settings were not going to penetrate his armor and suit.
Beneath the mask Anakin allowed himself a smug half-smile; he could have made that suggestion earlier, but that would make things easier, of course.
Bringing the medisensor back up, she began a slow sweep of his severed forearm, then stalled. The frown knitting her brows gradually shifted from anger to confusion, then to disbelief and a dawning horror as the device’s readout picked up more results from his upper arm and torso, well beyond her focus.
“This…these prosthetics…” Her eyes kept darting back and forth between him and the medisensor’s screen. “The quality is deplorable. Where are the sensory…? The wiring…” She was actually beginning to look more upset for his sake rather than at him. Almost scoffing incredulously, she added, “You have active necrosis.”
“A regular inconvenience. I am…somewhat overdue for a debridement.”
“For injuries of this age?” she asked, outraged. “How are you…?” Stunned into silence, she stared straight into his lenses for a good minute before taking a step back and covering her mouth with a hand. After several more moments of livid contemplation she crossed her arms and said, “You weren’t weighed, but I’d venture you’re close to or more than 130 kilos, from your size and all this nonsense.” She waved a hand to indicate his armor. “With your remaining bone density, I don’t know how you still manage to stand, let alone be a sentient weapon of mass destruction. Or how you’re not already septic. What’s holding you together, space tape and spite?”
A grin pulled at the scar tissue across his jaw and cheekbones. “You are mostly correct, Lieutenant.”