LegalAir: Simplifying Name Change Procedures in India
In a country as diverse and dynamic as India, names hold profound significance. They often carry cultural, familial, and sometimes even religious weight. However, circumstances may arise where individuals feel the need or desire to change their names. Whether it's due to marriage, divorce, personal preference, or any other reason, navigating the legalities of a name change can be a daunting task. Enter LegalAir, a revolutionary service aiming to simplify the Name Change in India process for individuals across India.

Understanding the Need

Changing one's name involves more than just adopting a new moniker. It requires navigating a maze of legal procedures, paperwork, and often bureaucratic red tape. This complexity can deter many from pursuing a name change, leaving them stuck with names that no longer reflect their identity or life circumstances.

The LegalAir Solution

LegalAir steps in as a beacon of simplicity and efficiency in this complex landscape. Through a user-friendly online platform, it offers a streamlined process for individuals seeking to change their names. Here's how it works:

1. Easy Registration: Users start by creating an account on the LegalAir platform, providing basic details and the reason for their name change.
2. Guided Documentation: LegalAir guides users through the documentation process, ensuring they have all the necessary paperwork in order, whether it's affidavits, identity proofs, or other legal documents.
3. Customized Assistance: Each case is unique, and LegalAir understands this. It offers personalized assistance tailored to the specific needs and circumstances of the individual, ensuring a smooth and hassle-free experience.
4. Legal Expertise: Behind the scenes, LegalAir boasts a team of legal experts well-versed in Indian laws and regulations regarding name changes. This expertise ensures that every step adheres to the legal framework, minimizing the risk of complications or delays.
5. Efficient Processing: Once all the documentation is in order, LegalAir takes care of the filing and processing, sparing users the headache of dealing with government offices and paperwork.
6. Updates and Support: Throughout the process, users receive regular updates on the status of their name change application. LegalAir's dedicated support team is also on hand to address any queries or concerns along the way.
7. Completion and Certification: Upon successful completion of the name change process, LegalAir provides users with the necessary certificates and documentation, officially recognizing their new identity.

Why LegalAir?

In a market cluttered with legal service providers, LegalAir stands out for its commitment to simplicity, efficiency, and customer satisfaction. Here's what sets it apart:

• User-Centric Approach: LegalAir places the user experience at the forefront, designing its platform and services with the end-user in mind. Every feature and function is geared towards making the name change process as smooth and stress-free as possible.
• Expert Guidance: With LegalAir, users can rest assured that they are in capable hands. The platform's legal experts bring years of experience to the table, guiding users through every step of the process with confidence and expertise.
• Transparency and Trust: LegalAir believes in transparency and integrity. From transparent pricing to regular updates on the status of applications, it fosters trust and confidence among its users, ensuring peace of mind throughout the name change journey.
• Time and Cost Savings: By automating and streamlining the name change process, LegalAir helps users save valuable time and resources. No more endless queues at government offices or bureaucratic hurdles to navigate – LegalAir takes care of it all, allowing users to focus on what matters most.

Conclusion

In a rapidly evolving society, the ability to adapt and change is essential. For many individuals in India, changing their names is a meaningful step towards embracing their evolving identities and life circumstances. With LegalAir, this process no longer needs to be a cumbersome ordeal. By combining technology, legal expertise, and a user-centric approach, LegalAir empowers individuals across India to embark on their Name Change in India journeys with confidence and ease. Say goodbye to complexity and confusion – with LegalAir, a new name is just a few clicks away.

My rls policies never function on read only views, I assume you put the policies you want on the data that the read only view is taking from other tables but it doesn’t seem to work

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Part 1 here: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1biqrzf/incremental_improvement_part_1/
I've rebeled against the idea of being a hero since this started. I didn't want it, I still don't really, but I'm past that point. I stepped into the next room, and I saw it: My super suit.... and started laughing, "Really?"
John quirked an eyebrow, "Did we get the style wrong?"
I rubbed my eyes, still chuckling, "It's blue and gold. Those are the Cub Scout colors, specifically, the Blue and Gold Banquet. It's fine, just... it fits."
The suit was sleek, no cape involved, and it was mostly navy blue, the gold used to outline and define. On the helmet, the facemask portion was in a solid rounded sheet of gold, not even eyeholes, made to resemble a combat helm I'd seen enough of in games and other media. The suit itself was clearly armored, designed for use by a hero who was not bulletproof. I walked up to the dais it stood on, on a mannequin, as John came to the bottom of the dais, "A hero's suit is an extension of who they are, and built to help them in their work. Your helm was designed to give you relevant information, as well as protect against things like gas attacks. The whole suit is sealed, and as I'm sure you've guessed, you'll be armored. It did take a little bit of effort to design around Reaver, but it got done. The important part of it is the mask
"A hero's mask is their identity for most people, a symbol of what they fight to protect, and it protects the hero as well, even if you have somewhat rendered that point moot. Take some time, and when you're ready, don it and join us so we can get started."
John walked out, and I was alone with the suit. I'm not really sure how long I just walked around it, looking it over, and finally, I let out a slow breath, and I got changed. The suit was form-fitting, no loose bits that could get caught up, and I could feel Reaver's amazement at the construction. I stretched, and the suit stretched with me, with Reaver poking out at its point on my arm. The other arm had a matching bracer to it, and Reaver shifted its color to match the gold. From the outside, it didn't look like there was any difference between the two. I zipped up the suit, covering the zipper line with more of the suit fabric, and finally donned the helmet.
At first when I put it on, it was just dark, then systems came online, and it scanned my face and eyes, confirming my identity. From the inside I could see now as the darkness changed to a heads up display, completely with retinal control functions. It was tracking where my eyes went, and I could even see what was out of eyesight on small screens that were hooked into cameras, giving me a full 360 degree range of vision. I could switch between active comms, mute, read police bands, there were a ton of functions at my disposal, including whether the helmet was fully sealed, letting in the scents around me if I so chose or not. Looking around, I saw a table off to the side with some items on it, and went over to examine. They kept the blue and gold motif of the suit, and were definitely intended for my use. Most noticeably, there was a gold utility belt, with fastenable compartments that could be customized to what I needed. There were some other things as well, such as flashbangs that with the protection of the helmet, I would be immune to, meaning I could use them in close quarters. As well, a sidearm with rubber rounds. There were various sundry items of hero work like cuffs, zip ties, lockpicks. I armed up, put on my new footwear, somewhere between sneakers and boots.
I did one last check on my new equipment, and looked at my civilian clothes. I'd crossed a line now, and I knew there would be more lines that I would have to cross ahead of me, but in that moment, it was something that would have to wait. I stepped out to John announcing me, now my moniker, "I present Aegis."
There was no clapping or cheering. The assembled heroes nodded their head solemnly, laying a fist over their hearts in salute. I was one of them now, and I was leading this charge, "This city has needed real help for a long time, and I know everyone here has put in their fair share of work already. I thank you all for following me this far, but we need to go further. In phase two of this plan, we clean up the trash from Portland, the ones who peddle drugs, weapons, and even people. We've identified their operating areas, we know who most are, but know that they likely suspect that we might be coming for them, whatever we've done to conceal this advance. Be vigilant, and I want everyone in constant communication. Let's do this."
We broke into teams, although myself and Crimson would be working independently. John directed me over to the garage, and there was a motorcycle waiting there for me, in the same motif as my suit, "Alright, the bike does have auto-nav functions, so you don't need to be fully reliant on your own driving skill. It's been built and designed for your use, and it's made to be accessed by your helmet, so if you need, you can call it to you."
Alright, this is really cool. I've knocked a bunch of aspects of hero life, but this part? Kind of hard not to have an insane grin at the concept of the gear you get to use. I slung my left over and took my seat, "John, H.A.A. is now Castle. Everything passes through us. Let every agency with skin in the game know that the hammer is falling, and share the intel."
John nodded, and departed as I started up the bike, and it came online in my HUD. While I did use the auto-nav at first, I quickly got my balance with the bike and took over, navigating to my first target: The warehouse that the guys had come from the other day. I was on-site pretty quickly and had to wait for all others to get in position. I teleported myself up to the roof as darkness overtook Portland. It got dark early in the winter, so it wasn't even necessarily that late, but it would give us cover for what was coming. The skylight let me scan inside, and playing with the helmet settings, I was able to see them moving around, and ID'd a number by the tech in my HUD. A number on the ground level moving palettes. I adjusted my entry point, and when I got the confirmation that everyone else was in position, broke the glass and teleported to the ground, "By order of the H.A.A.-"
I had to teleport out as gunfire erupted. I was now tracking almost two dozen guys, and pretty much all of them were packing heat, and really not trying to conserve ammo. Well, time to return the favor, appearing on the second level across from two of the shooters with what my heads up listed as AR-15s. Widely available, the weapon itself isn't actually that impressive by itself, same fire rate as a glock 9mm, but much more customizable. By looks though, these were just stock. Two shots from the sidearm and they hit the ground grabbing their chests, "I'd suggest you both stay down."
I grabbed the guns, and ported out, depositing them on the roof, before flashing back into the fray. This time, I decided to go up close and personal, in a crowd of five that had come together in a collection of crates they were using for cover. It was a really good thought in most situations, their own teammates behind them, with visual of the field, and a rest to fire from and take cover behind. Apper in the center however, and they're a little screwed. Reaver shifted into a hollow fighting stick. Yeah, it lessened the the impact mass, but that was good. I wasn't trying to kill anyone, I just needed them down. I caught one with the stick, and yanked another to the ground with a tendrils, sweeping to take down a third by the time the other two were even turning around, only for one to go down to gunfire. Someone had panicked, and fired into the fray from the outside, hitting their own man. The last one dropped his gun, and hit the ground, as local patrols called in the gunfire, and I called out over the comms, "This Aegis. I will require officers of any available. Currently fighting a couple of dozen guys, all armed and dangerous. I'm restraining them, but need backup to secure exits", then gave them my location and got back to work.
These guys might be killers, but they didn't fight pitched battles. They used numbers and weapons to win, and here, it just didn't matter that much. They were fighitng out of their weight class, and they were starting to panic. Shit. Somebody was going to get killed at this pace, so I decided to try something, "Everyone stand down! I don't want to kill you, but I'm pretty sure you'll end up killing each other before I can stop you!"
Incoming fire told me they still weren't getting the lesson here. Reaver shifted, turning into a Roman Scutum, a tower shield used in phalanx formation. I'd have teleported, but the five I'd taken down were now in the line of incoming fire. Why do people never listen to reasonable position?
In the corner of my vision, the HUD showed one of them pulling a pistol, and I shot the tendril back out, yanking it out of their hand and throwing a back kick to put him back to the ground.... Hm, idea. The shield was certainly protective, but it was also cutting visibility. I sent Reaver the command to shift, and got a small slit in the shield to see, then tendriled my own firearm. The tendrils had my own strength, so no reason I couldn't use the gun. I was wildly off on the first couple of shots, but I corrected, and soon enough started cutting down the numbers. I was careful to aim center mass. A head shot, even with rubber rounds could kill. I focused on the ones were moving to flank, alternating sides as I moved toward the center. Reaching out, I could feel the warehouse's security cameras, and took them over, using technopathy to hook into my HUD, and track their movements. A couple tried to duck out, and ran into the cops outside. Okay, two on the second floor, two out back with the cops, five down around me, and I'd taken out four from behind the shield. I taken thirteen out of the fight, I was over halfway through, and the gunfire stopped for a moment.
Reloading. I took the moment to teleport away from where I'd been standing, and dropped two mores guys. Fifteen down, and now I saw the one they were all protecting. Time to take out the boss, and maybe I could end this before it went any further. I popped out between two of them, tendrils snapping out and yanking them to the ground, and I had my quarry. Instead of going for a gun, he just sighed, and dropped to his knees, putting his hands behind his head, "Kid, you think you've won? There are worse things than me out there, and they'll be coming for you soon enough."
I just ignored it, "Units surrounding, looks like the show is over. Bring it in."
A moment later, cops poured in from all sides, and any fight left in the remainder fled. They dropped weapons, and hit the ground. A Sergeant came up to me, "You injured?"
"No. You have control of the scene?", I was mostly still buzzing from the adrenaline of the moment.
The Sergeant nodded, and I dismissed myself, knowing there were other places that needed help. Once I got on my bike, I made it about two or three blocks before pulling over, and vomiting. I'd lasted longer before it hit me this time, but was that a good thing, or a bad one? The radio told me I didn't have time for that kind of thinking, and got moving.

First/Previous
I’s but a boy and no higher than a mule’s ass when I fell in alongside the others in the shotgun infantry because I couldn’t ride a mount for the life of me and besides, whenever there was wreckage up the way or somewhere we couldn’t get a wagon through, I’d slip ahead and function just as well as any scout in my quick footwork. The Rednecks (called so much because of the kerchiefs we displayed around our throats) were a marching group that I was born into—there’d at one time been such companies that traversed the wastes besides the wizards. That was before Baphomet or Leviathan or even Mephisto; this was when the demons we’d come across were of lowly intelligence or manageable strength. That is not to say that there were never any close calls in those days—after all, the demon armies that’d come so long before had taken the world, but still a human could scratch by and sometimes even bands of us would take up arms, march in the dens of those blasphemous creatures, and deal with them in the ways we knew how. The day I’d been given the long gun, Jackson had not been so eager to do so because I think he was my father and he always had a certain warmth and he’d taken me in as a son, but I never knew for sure or even asked. It was in the way that I’d sometimes catch him watching me from the corner of my eye whenever I was feeding the hounds or cleaning around camp, and that’s how I’d come at guessing he was my dad—it was that and his affections that’d be rare and foreign in the company.
The Rednecks marched the eastern United States in the days with more towns and even in that time there was a hope among them that this too should pass as all other historical calamities, but the eve of destruction was upon us (maybe it was always). No one remembered dates in our company so I couldn’t say when my birthday was and so I don’t know how old I ever was in my life, but that didn’t matter because an adult was so when they were given their weapon and pushed to the fore. We were warriors for God and some would comment on how we’d tricked ourselves, because sometimes, camped on roadsides or even in downtowns when allowed, we’d erect that great big wooden crucifix that Sibylle kept along with her things and we’d kneel and pray on the ground and it was good—for all of those I’ve witnessed bonding themselves in their religion, damning themselves or others because of their bodies, our religion (not so much old-time as the song goes) seemed to set us free. As much as we concerned ourselves in those prayers, it was that we were the image of God, and so should do God’s work. So, we did.
The company marched north in the foothills of the Appalachians with those great dead and brown mountains on their lefthand then they’d lodge in Charlottesville for a time and then cross over the range and march south with the mountains on their lefthand again till they reached midway through Tennessee and then they’d cut southwest and touch with Marietta before heading northeast then north again. It was a cyclical patrol they took and it just so happened that Sibylle was pregnant all those years ago on the verge of a swing up north and that’s how I came into this world in one of those old canvas tents, the first sights probably dirt and whatever rags that’d been gathered around; some of those in the company told me that Sibylle had squatted, dropped me clear on my head then remounted her horse and ordered everyone else to carry on—she was strong, but I always took that as a folk story anyway.
The story goes that Sibylle took many men to her tent—women too when the mood so pleased her—and so it could’ve been any number of the men in the company that was my father, but I really like to think it was Jackson.
The woman wasn’t ever looked down on for it—her promiscuity was seen as a strength if nothing else and besides she wasn’t married—it took me growing up to understand she’d went on with a persona to do the things she did. She was the first to fight, the last out of a bad situation, and whatever nonsense a man might give her, she’d return with near immediate violence. She was a hard woman, but not without kindnesses in her own way. Maybe the world did it to her, or it could’ve been the fighting, or it could’ve been any number of other things—it would do no good to speculate over a dead person like that. What I do know is that stories would permeate whenever we’d sit around trash wood fires and people did speculate her motives. She wore a cowboy hat and a pistol across the front of her pants so that the holster swung between her thighs, and she was missing her left eye—over the socket was a brown leather patch tailored in Charlottsville. My mother—if that is what she should be called—spat, drank, fought, spoke gruffly, and was business until nighttime. Given the nature of her, the stories around those fires would come and oftentimes the questioning over her missing eye would enter circulation; some said it was thumbed out of her skull by a scorned lover and yet others guessed it was a demon that got it. No one ever knew for certain because she never offered an explanation, and I was never told.
As far as I know, the woman weened me quick as a babe and then I was out of her tent and among the company; this is where Jackson took me on and mentored me; my first words—I don’t recall what they were—were said to him. When I was still much too small to even help sufficiently with chores, I remember he’d tell me stories from books, and it wasn’t long until Jackson was teaching me the letters and the words they formed; his recital was dim in the tent at night whenever he’d pitch an elbow alongside my sleeping bag on the floor and lay there and read to me by the light of a candle. I’d fall to sleep quick, but he never seemed to mind; more than once I woke before him and the candle would still be going, and the book would be placed beside him on a small table and at some point, in the night, he would’ve thrown an arm across me.
The childhood I had in the company was shorter than others, but for the moments it had, I do cherish. I learned to read which is more than most and I learned the self-sufficiency that came from such a life, but that’s not exactly so accurate; for all the skills they’d given me, self-sufficiency was hardly a bother in those times I patrolled the Appalachians with them. It’s not like anything else. It was family in the way that I trusted each of them—every single one. And as I grew up, we’d sleep sometimes three or five to a tent so that I’d never worry because there were always warm bodies beside me. Warm bodies that’d fight for me just as I’d for them. If it came to it, we would die for one another, because our goal of ridding the scourge was greater than any one of our lives. So, we believed, and maybe we were right.
Or maybe we were fools; some of the townsfolk or merchants or travelers we’d occasionally converse with had no qualms in telling us so. It wasn’t that we were ever contracted to take out demons, so oftentimes we’d be given flak in our endeavors. A town would be just as likely to look at us pitiably as they would be to offer us refuge or meals and sometimes, we’d accept supplies that were offered freely, but it didn’t matter because we did what we did for ourselves and it wouldn’t matter the reserves we had—the only time the company was threatened outright by humans were the events in which we attempted to conscript others; the conscripts were plentiful, but many townsfolks did not care for us taking their citizens. Parents cursed us for leading their children astray, city leaders decried us for depleting their populace, but there was always more ready to take up the righteous cause. In the time when I started the fight, our numbers fluctuated gently above or below the cusp of a hundred.
Then I had a brother too, during a time before I’d been put to the company’s task of demon-slaying he was born, but I think biologically we only ever shared Sibylle; even still when the boy was ushered on by her, Jackson took him to raise as well and the boy was handsomer and smarter than I’d been, but there was little jealousy I had for him. His name was Billy and as years went by, he shared the face of another man in our company—John. It’s doubtful that John ever made a claim on my brother—there was none I ever knew of anyway—but not a soul among us seemed outwardly affronted by the bohemian arrangement of our family. John in question was a like many of the men in our company, aloof and his origins were from a land I didn’t know from the south; I’d heard it said a few times that when he’d enlisted years prior, his name before was Juan and the others among the gang took to calling him John; if it bothered him, he never showed it—what he cared about most was the guitar he kept with him wherever he went. Some naked black nights among the rocky hills, around the trash wood fires, he would serenade the gathered crowd in Spanish song, and I never knew the words, but his voice was always slow and never loud and it was only once the company procured a cache of liquors that he’d call for his guitar and someone would bring it, and no one complained; often times a person might glimpse the sway of those gathered, lilting sitting silhouettes listening against the darker shadows beyond.
I’d been given the gun and put to the sole mission and quickly fell in with John because he led the infantrymen and with me being the newest as well as the youngest, the hazing began immediately; I didn’t know how to walk a straight line or keep up with anyone else (never mind I had half the stride of a man then) and any time I’d tidy my pack, I’d find my gear strewn on the ground and the deflated bag resting atop it like a blanket.
My feet ached and John shouted, “Vamanos!” So, I vamanosed at the rear of the pack. We were marching ahead of the wagons and the others, and we’d just left a small trading unit on our trek up I-85, beyond Marietta but not quite across what’d once been Lake Hartwell; some of the maps read okay but many of the roads were hard travelling with their uprisen destruction and the strange weeds we saw from time to time that sprouted from cracks like twisted decaying yellow fingers. The roads could be hard travelling on whatever vehicles we had and so the infantrymen would be sent ahead to be sure the way was clear. The traders we’d met further south on I-85 said there was a nest somewhere and they’d given the place a wide berth and we’d walked so far ahead of the company I was certain the traders were stupid or liars as the road beyond seemed empty and clear save the dead rust buckets lining each shoulder that’d long since been pushed or towed from the way. Just as I’d thought so, John came to a halt at the front and knelt and withdrew a scope to gaze ahead and gave a brief signal for all others to go low.
Twenty people knelt there on the broken asphalt and I was among them, at the rear as it was my first bit of action, so I saw them exchanging glances to one another while John peered through the scope and many of their faces were not much older than mine and one of them lifted a ball cap from his head and steam rolled off his short kept hair before he scooped the cap back over his crown, holding it by the bill. “You smell that?” asked the young girl next to him.
“Stinks,” someone said.
The young man with the cap finally muttered, “Oh, I know that smell.” He then removed his pack and began fighting with it.
John whispered, “Masks!” The word hissed through his teeth, and he was quick to put on his gas mask and did so with an expertise greater than anyone else present. He took his scattergun from the strap on his shoulder and pulled from his knees onto his heels.
The mask was difficult to see through, and hot with the sun coming on us the way it was, and I shifted around for my peripherals were consumed by the blackness therein. There were few less quick on the draw than I and one of them was the boy with the cap; he’d dropped his hat and was still attempting to yank the strap of the mask free from the pack he’d thrown between his knees; he had the filter end out and was pulling hard and panicked while the head straps remained stuck on some piece of equipment within the recesses of the bag. John crept near the boy, gun held like a mop by his side and tore the mask free from the bag before punching the boy lightly in the chest with the hand that held the mask; the man let the mask fall to the boy’s lap. The boy scrambled to slide into it and John watched over us, returning to his position at the fore and I saw the creatures scratching across the road up the way, raised grotesquely swollen heads sloppily rolling on their small bodies.
“Mutants,” said the young man once the mask was over his face; his cap lay on the ground, shorn from his head.
All readied their guns, so I took mine and saw that some reached for sidearms then shifted across either side of the road at John’s motioning requests. We took to the sides, hiding among the bulwark of jalopies and I stuck near the rear of the group, sidling down against the wheel of a van and peeked around the corner to spy on the creatures drawing nearer. Gas expelled from their heads then reflated and I can not say who it was that fired first, all I know is that the maelstrom of bullets that followed was deafening; expertly the company pincered the creatures, taking careful aim and ending each. Chlorine gas erupted from the manmade holes in the creatures’ heads and their bodies laid in the road, flat and grotesque in the yellowing fluids that ejaculated from their wounds.
John moved forward and began taking his sidearm to those demons that still pushed on a limb or trembled with life and the others knew the drill and began doing the same and I crept from my hiding spot behind the van, partially in awe at the quick organization and partially ashamed for never having fired my weapon. I took to the crowd of demons and began firing my own weapon at any potential among their blasphemous ranks and in minutes the crowd of fart heads (I’d not yet heard that nickname) were as dead as could be.
The Chlorine gas dissipated and some of the infantry began removing their masks and the young man who’d had difficulties with his mask prior now kept it protruding off his forehead like a horn and he was smiling as were the others and I felt my hands shaking; the recoil of the shotgun could’ve been to blame, but I think it was an introduction to new terror, the possibility of mortality—of my own mortality.
John removed his mask and joined the crew of us there in a knot among the unmoving demons and he rummaged through his coat and removed a small cigar, lit it from a match, then placed it in the corner of his mouth. “Coño,” he spoke to me, and I knew that word, “Why are you so scared? I see you shaking. What’s gotten under your skin?” His smile was playful and then the others joined in teasing me and from there on, I promised to steel my nerves forevermore, knowing I’d break it anyway.
So it would be that before the rest of our jolly band arrived on the scene, the scouts would push on in fewer numbers and John specifically asked for me to accompany them.
Moving from the south were the others and their blots became more focused on their arrival and ahead of them all was Sibylle riding the aged painted stallion; beyond her were wagons and jury-rigged vehicles and walkers too, and I thought I could just make out the gas-powered caleche Jackson drove for the plumes of smoke it sent from its exhaust.
“There’s a nest ahead we should clear,” said John, dead in tone and shouldering the strap of the shotgun.
The young man, still with his mask clasped to his forehead, searched the muck, and found the hat he’d lost. “Smells somethin’ awful.” He made a face.
A handful of us moved ahead, perhaps six of us, and left the others to meet the rest of our crew.
The young man, now carrying the gas mask by his fingers lackadaisically with his shotgun in the crook of his elbow, fell in alongside me. “Name’s Gibby. You?”
“Harlan.”
“Nice to meet’cha, Harlan. You’re one of Sibylle’s aint you?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Well sure, you hang with that mechanic all day. What’s his name?”
“Jackson.”
“That’s the one. He’s good with his hands, but I hear he’s a lame shot.” There was quiet among us as we took the road further, each of us kicking up loose asphalt or snagging boots along those weird weeds; John was in the front, three others in the middle—they jabbered among themselves—and me and Gibby there at the back. The sky was azure, and the clouds were white as cotton and drifted overhead like there wasn’t an issue with the world. A flock of birds took across in a lopsided formation and upon either side of the road and beyond were dead woods without leaves, naked and gray and tired seeming. “Don’t take none of what that old guy said about you. I mean, don’t let it go to your heart. You know?”
“I wasn’t.”
“He’s just a real tough sonofabitch. I’ve been with the company,” Gibby’s eyes traced the sky overhead like he figured the math invisible before his eyes, “Three years or so and he’s a good one. He’s saved me so many times I’ve lost track.” The young man grinned, and I saw he was missing a few teeth. “You saw what happened with that mask of mine. He might talk hard, but he’s soft in there.”
“I guess.”
“You didn’t ever shoot anything moving before today, did you?”
“I shot a feral hound some time ago.”
Gibby looked on with mild surprise, “Did you? Wasn’t a good dog, was it? Like a pet?”
I shook my head.
“It gets easier with time—the scouts and the ones in the infantry always crack up and try to take potshots at the newcomers. You’re green so don’t let it get you down.”
“Alright.”
“Never seen a nest, have you?”
“Nope.
“Well, you’re in for something.”
John froze in his step and traced his eyes across the ground before turning to us and calling us to gather. Marked across the dilapidated road were yellowed smatterings of liquid; chlorine hung in the air. “Masks,” he whispered, “Guns ready.” Each of us subordinates did as was ordered. He pushed us near the trash wood off the road, past an overturned emptied trailer, and as we pushed through the median where a thin and vacant forest grew sickly, there was another road just beyond, just as poor, and further still there was a hole the size of a well on the far side of that newly seen road and we hushed along, following John’s lead and we went crouching in the shadow of him, keeping mind of noise. He motioned me forward in the line and the sound emanating from the pit was liquid and nauseating.
“Yes?” I asked as I came nearest to him, hunkered as low as I could be.
“Ever use a grenade?”
I shook my head and unease swelled but I pushed it away.
He took the round object from his belt and passed it to me. “There’s a pin. Pull the pin. Throw the grenade in that hole. It’s that simple.”
I moved to the edge of the hole, teeth bared from within my mask, fingers wrapped hard around the grenade, and I came to the edge and was immediately struck by a sudden lurch of vertigo as it went further into the earth than I could’ve imagined—the creatures clung to the walls of the tunnel, fat heads opening for the gas to spill forth from their ridged cloacal maws. I teetered on the tips of my toes and the air was thin and the lens of the mask through which I saw the world became fogged from the gas that erupted from the impossibly deep pit. There, just beyond those wretched things, I felt as though there was a light in the darkness breathing up at me like the earth and stone beneath was alive.
Ripping the pin from the grenade, I held it outstretched and dropped the thing; it went bouncing from to and fro within the hole and I was dazed and could not pull away.
Two hands yanked me from there just as I’d gone blind in the gas and the explosion erupted, sending a vibration beneath our feet. John ushered me away and the others followed, and I dared a glance over my shoulder to see the earth open then close and the tunnel fell in on itself—one of those things had clamored to the opening only to touch the ground with a near human palm before being sucked beneath. The ground encircling the hole fell in as did a portion of road and once it was done, there was a massive dip in the earth there, a testament to what was.
We took up along the tree line of dead vegetation, and I was still staring at the place the nest had been, dust coming to a fog around our knees and John barked out, “Keep your eyes sharp—see if there’s any stragglers.” There weren’t any left, but we took up a formation, sweeping the area; Gibby whispered something and kicked a rock and John flinched at the noise, giving the young boy an expression.
The nest had been cleared and we awaited the arrival of the others on the open road in a semicircle fashion, maintaining a level of apprehension at any potential threat—once the rest of the convoy had arrived at our location, we fell in alongside them and I took a moment to find Jackson; he was there in the caleche alongside Billy who sat over on his side in the throes of a good nap with his face in his hand—smoke bellowed up from the rear of Jackson’s contraption so that an open spot formed in the convoy for no one wanted to catch a face full of the black fumes. I began walking alongside the wagon’s slow pace.
“How was it?” asked Jackson.
“Scary,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, “It’s always scary. Did you kill anything?”
“I did.”
“Good. If you keep doing that, you’ll be just fine.”
“John’s something.”
“He is. But you’d do well to keep on his good side. He’s tough, but competent.”
We moved on the rest of the day till the sun threatened darkness by horizon clouds and we took up camp just on the edge of Lake Hartwell—though by that time it was hardly a lake and looked shallow enough to be a nothing more than a decorative reflective pool.
The convoy unpacked canvas tents, took to burning stews over butane eyes and lighting lanterns and meager fires and John pulled me aside in the fray of passersby and told me that if I were to ever hesitate with an explosive like that again, he’d kick me into the hole and save everyone the trouble. I merely nodded at him and he took on towards the front of the convoy where Sibylle would be and my troupe of scouts was disbanded and I aided Jackson in folding out the rear of our wagon and we put on supper while Billy, still small and talkative, rummaged through the larder boxes I removed from the caleche and the boy, mischievous, found the jar of sugar we kept and began excavating the granular powder with his fingers and lathering his tongue with it and grinning; I stepped after him and snagged the jar from him, returning the cap over the container.
“Hey!” said Billy.
“We’ve only got so much.”
“So? We can get more.”
A warm smile overtook me then, “You plan on paying for it?”
“Sure. I’ll pay you back.”
“Of course, you would. How about until you’ve got enough money, you don’t eat all the sugar, huh?” I asked him.
A thought dawned over him, “It was your first patrol! Did you shoot anything? Did you powpow them?”
“Come help,” I moved over to Jackson where the man was cutting the bad parts from potatoes and I began at them with my own knife and Billy sat on the ground at our feet, playing with the bits that fell from our knives.
“Did you kill monsters?”
“Shh,” said Jackson, “Don’t bother Harlan.”
“I can talk about it,” I said.
Jackson frowned, “Alright.”
“What were they like?” asked Billy.
“There were dragons and shadow monsters and more,” I laughed.
“Were there, really?”
“Sure.” I laughed and dropped a potato into our pot broth.
Jackson pointed his knife not in anger, “Don’t joke about dragons.”
“Do dragons exist?” asked Billy.
“You just don’t joke about them, okay?” said Jackson.
“Have you ever seen them? Tandy and Tubs says they’re made up.”
“Well,” said Jackson, sending his own potato into the broth, “They’re right then.”
We ate a mess of watery stew—potatoes and onions and cloves of half-good garlic was what was left for hearty prep and in the night, after we’d finished our meal and washed our utensils and taken to the tent, Billy found the play gun that Jackson had made for him from scrounged scrap metal and pointed it at me and told me that he’d shoot me and I laughed and wrestled the gun from his little hands, putting him into a headlock and tossing the metal piece to the dirt floor of the tent.
“Quit playing—s’time for bed,” Jackson told us and although I was too old for it, Jackson read a story to Billy and I listened and I think Jackson knew I was listening because he’d periodically hesitate a page turn and look over to see me in my bedroll still awake; the story was old and it was about a man named Don that liked to read books and the man wanted to be a knight, but he had it all wrong.
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Hello,
My first real successful colony was a game I played yesterday and the day before over a ton of hours. It ended with an 8-day long toxic fallout, ash winter and solar flare at the same time. I was told not to build a superbuilding so I spread out. The colonists would not respect my burrows zones so I constantly drafted them to not leave the indoors buildings manually for like an irl hour. In the end I was presented with a situation that was reminiscent of apocalyptic fiction movies like on the beach, and later literally gave me nightmares. At the end, after malnurition did them in as I couldn't get more food, the map was devoid of flora and fauna.
I was playing cassandra classic adventure story (so, "normal difficulty") with the only custom thing being anomaly stuff being set to minimum as I did not want to deal with that yet. I mean, I don't mean to sound like a paranoid d*** but it did feel to me like the game wasn't generating stuff as much as running a function where it decides your time is over and it will do whatever to just kill you unfairly (as in, no chance of survival regardless of skill). Three or four disasters at the same time that synergize with each other? Giving me a ton of free colonists while there's fallout outside after like 10 irl hours with not a single opportunity for colonists? Come on, it feels like the game was trolling tbh.
I would have gotten hydroponics because I was just done rushing microelectronics to get the better tech table as I had only one intellectual guy, but I apparently didn't have the time.
So yes, I am kind of afraid storyteller would pull a "you are definitely dead" roll again and it hurts my enthusiasm to play and I just wanted to ask how to deal with such a feature.
Thank you.

Hi y'all!!
So, I created a script in excel to automate a task in a table. The code is the following:

function main(workbook: ExcelScript.Workbook, Time: string, Cases: string, AgentName: string) { // Worksheet = TODAY let worksheet = workbook.getWorksheet("TODAY"); // table = ABC table let table = worksheet.getTable("ABC"); // Get the data from the table let range = table.getRangeBetweenHeaderAndTotal(); let tableValues = range.getValues(); let agentFound = false; let row = 0; while (!agentFound) { if (tableValues[row][0] == AgentName) { agentFound = true; tableValues[row][1] = Time; tableValues[row][2] = Cases; tableValues[row][3] = Cases; } row++; } range.setValues(tableValues); } 

This all works with Teams commands. If someone writes !cases0, it will take the agent name, the time they leave and Cases = 0. So, this script goes to the Excel table and modifies it. When I play it, it works perfectly fine.
But here comes the problem. If two people write !cases0, or !cases1 or something like that at the same time, the script will execute perfectly but the Excel sheet won't be modified. Do you know why does it happen? How can I solve it?
I've tried to change the Control Concurrency with a Degree of Parallelism of 1 but if some case is pending (that sometimes happen) it's not a viable option...
Any tip or help? Thanks!!

Hi y'all!!

So, I created a script in excel to automate a task in a table. The code is the following:

function main(workbook: ExcelScript.Workbook, Time: string, Cases: string, AgentName: string) { // Worksheet = TODAY let worksheet = workbook.getWorksheet("TODAY"); // table = ABC table let table = worksheet.getTable("ABC"); // Get the data from the table let range = table.getRangeBetweenHeaderAndTotal(); let tableValues = range.getValues(); let agentFound = false; let row = 0; while (!agentFound) { if (tableValues[row][0] == AgentName) { agentFound = true; tableValues[row][1] = Time; tableValues[row][2] = Cases; tableValues[row][3] = Cases; } row++; } range.setValues(tableValues); } 

This all works with Teams commands. If someone writes !cases0, it will take the agent name, the time they leave and Cases = 0. So, this script goes to the Excel table and modifies it. When I play it, it works perfectly fine.

But here comes the problem. If two people write !cases0, or !cases1 or something like that at the same time, the script will execute perfectly but the Excel sheet won't be modified. Do you know why does it happen? How can I solve it?
I've tried to change the Control Concurrency with a Degree of Parallelism of 1 but if some case is pending (that sometimes happen) it's not a viable option...
Any tip or help? Thanks!!

Original article: https://new.reddit.com/MinecraftCommands/wiki/questions/storeinventory

Store a players inventory and return it to them at some point

Java

Storing (in storage)

Since version 1.20.2, macros have been added that allow you to insert any data into any part of the command, making storing/returning easier.
Below is an example of storing a player's inventory in storage using the scoreboard ID system. To do this need to run function example:storing as a player.

# function example:storing data remove storage example:inv this execute store result storage example:inv this.ID int 1 run scoreboard players get @s ID data modify storage example:inv this.Inventory set from entity @s Inventory function example:storing/update with storage example:inventory this # function example:storing/update $execute unless data storage example:inv players[{ID:$(ID)}] run data modify storage example:inv players append {ID:$(ID)} $data modify storage example:inv players[{ID:$(ID)}] merge from storage example:inv this 

This player data storage system will create an in storage example:inv object for each player in the players list that will look something like:

# storage example:inv players[{ID:5}] {ID:5,Inventory:[{Slot:0b,id:"minecraft:stick",Count:1b}]} 

However, this implementation can support any data other than player ID and Inventory and you can easily add saving any other data.

Returning (from storage)

Using macros makes it very easy to return items to the player, since you can simply read the Slot, id, Count and tag tags and paste this data into the /item replace command. But there are two small difficulties:
- some slots (offhand and armor slots) cannot be directly inserted by slot number, so a separate function is needed to handle these slots.
- items may not contain a tag tag, but macros always require all the data to be inserted.
Therefore, need to create a scoreboard in which the current slot will be stored in order to run one of two functions: example:returning/inventory - for inventory slots (0 - 35) and example:returning/equipment - for offhand (-106) and armor slots (100 - 103).
For items without tags, need to create an empty tag before running the macro for that slot.

1.20.2 - 1.20.4

Below is an example for versions 1.20.2 - 1.20.4. To do this need to run function example:returning as a player:

# function example:load scoreboard objectives add Slot dummy # function example:returning ## Read player Scoreboard ID execute store result storage example:inv this.ID int 1 run scoreboard players get @s ID ## Reading the selected player's data from the entire array of data of all players. function example:returning/read with storage example:inv this ## Create an empty tag if there is no tag data in the current slot. execute unless data storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1].tag run data modify storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1].tag set value "" ## Running the function of returning items from the end of the list. function example:returning/item with storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1] # function example:returning/read $data modify storage example:inv this set from storage example:inv players[{ID:$(ID)}] # function example:returning/item ## Set the current slot to select slot processing $scoreboard players set #this Slot $(Slot) execute if score #this Slot matches 0..35 run function example:returning/inventory with storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1] execute unless score #this Slot matches 0..35 run function example:returning/equipment with storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1] ## After returning the current item, remove this slot from storage and start returning the next item data remove storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1] execute unless data storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1].tag run data modify storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1].tag set value "" function example:returning/item with storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1] # function example:returning/inventory ## For inventory slots, can directly insert Slot into the /item command function example:returning/equipment with storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1] $item replace entity @s container.$(Slot) $(id)$(tag) $(Count) # function example:returning/equipment ## Equipment slots require converting slot number to slot name $execute if score #this Slot matches -106 run item replace entity @s weapon.offhand $(id)$(tag) $(Count) $execute if score #this Slot matches 100 run item replace entity @s armor.feet $(id)$(tag) $(Count) $execute if score #this Slot matches 101 run item replace entity @s armor.legs $(id)$(tag) $(Count) $execute if score #this Slot matches 102 run item replace entity @s armor.chest $(id)$(tag) $(Count) $execute if score #this Slot matches 103 run item replace entity @s armor.head $(id)$(tag) $(Count) 

1.20.5+

However, as of version 1.20.5, item tags have now been replaced with components that cannot simply be inserted into the /item command, so for this need use a loot table written inline.
Below is an example of a loot table in which need to put item data using a macro:

{ "pools": [ { "rolls": 1, "entries": [ { "type": "minecraft:item", "name": "$(id)", "functions": [ { "function": "minecraft:set_count", "count": $(count) }, { "function": "minecraft:set_components", "components": $(components) } ] } ] } ] } 

Note: This loot table should be inside a macro function, and not as a separate loot table file!
Below is an updated example for version 1.20.5 without comments, since otherwise it is the same as for version 1.20.2:

# function example:load scoreboard objectives add Slot dummy # function example:returning execute store result storage example:inv this.ID int 1 run scoreboard players get @s ID function example:returning/read with storage example:inv this execute unless data storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1].components run data modify storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1].components set value {} function example:returning/item with storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1] # function example:returning/read $data modify storage example:inv this set from storage example:inv players[{ID:$(ID)}] # function example:returning/item $scoreboard players set #this Slot $(Slot) execute if score #this Slot matches 0..35 run function example:returning/inventory with storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1] execute unless score #this Slot matches 0..35 run function example:returning/equipment with storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1] data remove storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1] execute unless data storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1].components run data modify storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1].components set value {} function example:returning/item with storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1] # function example:returning/inventory with storage example:inv this.Inventory[-1] $loot replace entity @s container.$(Slot) loot {pools:[{rolls:1,entries:[{type:"minecraft:item",name:"$(id)",functions:[{function:"minecraft:set_count",count:$(count)},{function:"minecraft:set_components",components:$(components)}]}]}]} # function example:returning/equipment $execute if score #this Slot matches -106 run loot replace entity @s weapon.offhand loot {pools:[{rolls:1,entries:[{type:"minecraft:item",name:"$(id)",functions:[{function:"minecraft:set_count",count:$(count)},{function:"minecraft:set_components",components:$(components)}]}]}]} $execute if score #this Slot matches 100 run loot replace entity @s armor.feet loot {pools:[{rolls:1,entries:[{type:"minecraft:item",name:"$(id)",functions:[{function:"minecraft:set_count",count:$(count)},{function:"minecraft:set_components",components:$(components)}]}]}]} $execute if score #this Slot matches 101 run loot replace entity @s armor.legs loot {pools:[{rolls:1,entries:[{type:"minecraft:item",name:"$(id)",functions:[{function:"minecraft:set_count",count:$(count)},{function:"minecraft:set_components",components:$(components)}]}]}]} $execute if score #this Slot matches 102 run loot replace entity @s armor.chest loot {pools:[{rolls:1,entries:[{type:"minecraft:item",name:"$(id)",functions:[{function:"minecraft:set_count",count:$(count)},{function:"minecraft:set_components",components:$(components)}]}]}]} $execute if score #this Slot matches 103 run loot replace entity @s armor.head loot {pools:[{rolls:1,entries:[{type:"minecraft:item",name:"$(id)",functions:[{function:"minecraft:set_count",count:$(count)},{function:"minecraft:set_components",components:$(components)}]}]}]} 

​

Hi all! Below, I'll describe what I'd like to do, what conditions I'm working under, and what I've tried to far.
What I'd like: I am looking to bring in data from one table/sheet into another automatically based off of matching off the primary key (both tables have matches in their primary key fields). Effectively, I'd like the equivalent functionality to a VLOOKUP (excel) or a JOIN (SQL). I need to contextualize data from one software with datas from another, and hoping to do this in airtable.
Conditions: 1. I cannot use any third party apps like zapier 2. The destination table is brought in via native connector 3. The source for the data I'd like to be looked up is brought in via API 4. the lookup needs to happen automatically off the primary key 5. Both tables are in the same workspace
What I've tried: 1. Both tables have been updated to be able to sync to another table 2. I have tried making the primary keys linked records, but this cannot be done given how the data comes into airtable 3. I have created a linked field and an associated lookup field in the destination table, but updating the linked record field is manual and therefore a non-starter (far too many records to do this accurately) 4. I have tried setting up an automation, but I am frankly stumped on what to define in the trigger and actions - I have tried seemingly every combination and I can't figure out how to get an automation to basically do this:

• "WHEN there is a match between table1 and table2 ON 'primary_key', THEN a new field X should be created that brings in field Y from table1 to table 2, and remains blank when there is no match"

It may be that I need to pre-create this new field to update in table2, but even so, I'm lost on triggeaction (keep in mind how these tables are generated - API and native connector)
This is critical to my workflow. If I cannot do this, I cannot use airtable as the solution for my company. ANY help would be very appreciated!

I want to build a kind of Social Blade clone. You can look for YouTube channels and see how their stats have changed.
Currently I'm performing a daily scrape of the channels and storing all the information in one table.
I'm using an Azure Function and Azure SQL Database for this project.
Number of videos and number subscribers changes frequently, so I definitely want to track that daily.
However, how to best deal with more static data such as display name and channel description? I'm currently scraping this daily as well. It is nice, because easy to spot when a change was made, but off course a lot of duplicate data.
I'm currently scraping it all in 1 table, should I split it up and normalize the data? Have a separate table with subscribers and videos which changes daily and then a static table with channel info? What would be best practice?

I have this method that uses `unstable_cache` to fetch data from Vercel postgres db, and cache it for 10 seconds.
I expect every time the method is called, it should return a list of records of fixed length off 4 (either from cache, or fetching from database). However, I realized that sometimes the method doesn't return any data. It is inconsistent.
This is how I used `unstable_cache`, I wonder if I did something not right.

export async function fetchData(geoName: string, year: number, month: string) { try { const data = await unstable_cache(async () => fetchDataAction(geoName, year, month), [], { revalidate: 10 }); // log to validate if data is returned properly for a given geoName. console.log("fetched data for " + geoName + ", size: " + data.length); return data; } catch (error) { console.error('Database Error:', error); throw new Error('Failed to fetch card data.'); } } export async function fetchDataAction(geoName: string, year: number, month: string) { const data = await sql` SELECT * FROM my_vercel_postgres_table WHERE geo_name=${geoName} AND year=${year} AND month=${month}`; return data.rows; } 

I tested it locally, and seeing many times it returns no data:

- When it's good: GET /map/New%20Hampshire?_rsc=bjq2a 200 in 17ms fetched data for New%20Hampshire, size: 4 - When it returns no data: GET /map/Michigan?_rsc=hc3wf 200 in 21ms ✓ Compiled in 1739ms (2077 modules) fetched data for Michigan, size: 0 

R,
I’ve never been embarrassed to declare my love for you, despite my insecurities, despite my past actions and despite the reactions of everyone around me.
I wouldn’t mind wearing my faults on my sleeves and bearing the weight of it all just to prove that I am serious about what you are to me, and what I want to be to you.
I am stupid, and I am naive, and I am so deeply in love with you. I am so enthraled by your every word that it almost makes me feel ashamed. I am not worth the effort. Every word from your tongue spills out like the sweet saccharine melodies of a seraphim. Surreal and dreamlike, unimaginably beautiful. I can’t match your brains function. I can’t match your tact and your wit.
I am an open book, simple and clean, throughly transparent. But like a book, my words spill out in chapters on and on one after the other like a waterfall, never-ending.
So much of me was laid out on the table and it left no room for you. I had so much I wanted to share that I never gave you the chance to bear what was left of your soul to me. As it turns out, there is a lot.
So much I don’t know. So much I fear I may never know. But I wait. I wait everyday. My ears are ringing, and my heart pounds at the thought of your return. And this time I swear I will build a bigger table and leave enough room for the both of us. I’ll use whats left of my book, and let you fill in the empty pages.
Anything that will lead you to me. Any track for you to follow. I’m here, Waiting.