Best Of
Re: How is silence on shift hive still a thing?
I think silence is not fun for either team and should be removed completely
I think Keats is not fun for either team and should be removed completely.
Re: New Recipes!
RIP Basalt, you will be remembered. Press F to pay respects.
Re: GAME WON'T SAVE MY PROGRESS (3 in 1 update)
We've got a hotfix ready and waiting at Microsoft for a Certification opening. We have a booked date for the 24th, but it will likely be sooner.
Quoting from the great @Max
Quoting from the great @Max
This patch should fix the issue some users have been experiencing with saving. The reason we had some much trouble reproducing it is that it's dependent on the Xbox's time zone and only happens in Europe.
If you were in UTC+N, you could only save your game successfully if you'd been playing for N hours. Then, once you had saved you'd have to wait N more hours to save again.
This is due to a bug in Unity where the DateTime.UtcNow function on the Xbox was returning local time instead of UTC time.
-
Fun fact: Daylight savings time is ending in the UK in a week, at which point Obraxis will be back in UTC (he's currently UTC+1), so in another week this would have been even more difficult to discover since we would have had no chance of reproducing it.
Re: Miss the good o'l days
You're probably still here for Zen of Sudoku, am I right
Re: What power generator do you use the most
Okay, so, time for some testing.
NOTE: the balance adjustment seems to be bugged. The panel shows 75 power, but still contains 150 as before. The 75 only shows on solar panel mouseover, and at full power drain, when the base drops from "1/150" to "0/75". This only happens if no power is coming in at all (Night).
All locations tested with a single foundation at the exact depth, one solar panel, and one multipurpose room. "Noon" is engaged via the 'day' console command from 0 charge.
Current solar stats:
- Surface: 90% at noon (wtf is 100% then?). 67s for full 150/150 power (2.2/s)
-10m down, 89% at noon. 73s to charge (2/s)
-50m down, one of my favorite base locations on the shallows/grassy-plateau border. 75%, 80s charge. (~1.8/s) So far looking good.
We have to go deeper...
-100m down, 52%, 120s charge (1.25/s). Timing is decreasing pretty linearly with percent, so not bothering to time from here on.
-150m down, 25%, edge of the mushroom forest
-175m down, 14%
-200m down, 4%. Not good for much other than o2 production at this point. And only because oxygen production doesn't actually consume any power.
-210,220,230,240 drop off at roughly 1%, with 240m producing 0% power.
Testing those conveniently put me at pod 12 with a thermal geyser.
-Thermal plant (250 cap): 58c (best I could manage at the geyser). Looks to be a bit less than 1 power per second. 100 power in 117 seconds.
-Bioreactor (500 cap): Very similar to the thermal. 100 power in 120 seconds.
Both of these about 0.8/s.
-Nuclear Reactor (2500 cap): 100 power in 25 seconds. Pretty solidly 4/s.
Bases are all still in place, so if anyone wants something re-tested or confirmed just let me know.
NOTE: the balance adjustment seems to be bugged. The panel shows 75 power, but still contains 150 as before. The 75 only shows on solar panel mouseover, and at full power drain, when the base drops from "1/150" to "0/75". This only happens if no power is coming in at all (Night).
All locations tested with a single foundation at the exact depth, one solar panel, and one multipurpose room. "Noon" is engaged via the 'day' console command from 0 charge.
Current solar stats:
- Surface: 90% at noon (wtf is 100% then?). 67s for full 150/150 power (2.2/s)
-10m down, 89% at noon. 73s to charge (2/s)
-50m down, one of my favorite base locations on the shallows/grassy-plateau border. 75%, 80s charge. (~1.8/s) So far looking good.
We have to go deeper...
-100m down, 52%, 120s charge (1.25/s). Timing is decreasing pretty linearly with percent, so not bothering to time from here on.
-150m down, 25%, edge of the mushroom forest
-175m down, 14%
-200m down, 4%. Not good for much other than o2 production at this point. And only because oxygen production doesn't actually consume any power.
-210,220,230,240 drop off at roughly 1%, with 240m producing 0% power.
Testing those conveniently put me at pod 12 with a thermal geyser.
-Thermal plant (250 cap): 58c (best I could manage at the geyser). Looks to be a bit less than 1 power per second. 100 power in 117 seconds.
-Bioreactor (500 cap): Very similar to the thermal. 100 power in 120 seconds.
Both of these about 0.8/s.
-Nuclear Reactor (2500 cap): 100 power in 25 seconds. Pretty solidly 4/s.
Bases are all still in place, so if anyone wants something re-tested or confirmed just let me know.
Re: Alterra research into Precursor Ion Crystal tech produces results
Maalteromm wrote: »However they need to bake the graphite before making the battery. I did a quick search but didn't find an answer on how much energy they need to make a single battery, and how long does it take for said battery to provide such energy back (if it ever does).
Someone call me? Settle in, folks; Science Man has been summoned.
Actually, unless they've also discovered the single least efficient manufacturing process in history, they're going to be in positive return.
We're using a form of nuclear waste here, which means we've already harvested - ballpark figures - about 24 million thermal kWh per kilo of fuel. Average conversion efficiency is about 50%, so you're still looking at about 12,000,000 kWh/kg, or 12 GWh/kg. In practical terms, this is roughly the same amount of power Norway consumes in a year. Nuclear fuel doesn't liberate all this energy at once, of course, so we're looking at a steady energy harvest rather than a big wad, but nevertheless, that's a metric crapload of energy. (Technical term.)
Net result, unless they're blacking out Norway for a year to bake their graphite, they're still well in positive territory. Plus, don't forget, these aren't kilogram batteries; they're much smaller, so your efficiency actually goes up.
This is where we start going into deep science, so TL;DR crew, eject now. Everyone else, let's have some fun.
First point of order. Despite how the article makes it seem, we're not using nuclear fuel waste. This isn't burnt uranium or MOX, this is graphite. Graphite, lest there be confusion on the matter, is not nuclear fuel. It is, however, integral to the use of nuclear fuel, so it's a pretty inescapable waste product. Without graphite, fission barely works, so you have to count it into the energy production for any discussion of efficiency and use.
(The very, very short version is that when a uranium atom fissions, it spits out three neutrons that are moving really fast. The graphite slows down neutrons so that they can stick to other uranium atoms, prompting them to fission, and then you have a chain reaction. The constant neutron bombardment, however, converts the ordinary carbon of the graphite into carbon-14, the same stuff we use to date fossils and rocks. In nature, it's very low-order and very low-concentration, so you can relax. The graphite pulled from a reactor core, though, is hot as hell (in all senses) and not something you want to be near.)
The diamond cell process involves heating graphite laden with radioactive C14 to the sublimation temperature of carbon, which is about 6500*F (3600*C for our metric buddies), turning it into a gas which can be captured and used to make diamond batteries. This is about three times the temperature of the hottest steel blast furnaces, and you have to do it in containment. Happily, this is within the temperature range of an arc furnace, and those can be contained, so win there. (We use low-power versions in steel production all the time, and they're amazing to watch...it's lightning in a can.) A low-temp unit running at about 1600*F consumes, ballpark again, 132 MW per hour of runtime. But it's worth pointing out that steel arc furnaces are big, inefficient, and not well optimized, so for the smaller units needed to pull off the radioactive diamond battery process, call it...eh...50% more power. So call it about 200 MW per hour of runtime, which means 60 hours of runtime will equal the energy originally harvested from the kilo of nuclear fuel. Now, we don't know what kind of heating profile it'll take to harvest that graphite, but odds are good that each kilo is going to take a lot less than an hour. So we're still in the positive.
As batteries go, these are interesting little guys. We're talking 2V cells, so they deliver 33% more voltage than a AA. You're not starting your car with these suckers, but they're physically tiny, 10mm x 10mm x 0.2mm, so you can wire up a crapload in series and up the voltage, so that's a plus. They're unbreakable for all intents and purposes, which is a safety bonus. Diamond is a natural superconductor, so their efficiency is sky-high. They're very low energy, delivering just over 3000 joules/year (enough to vaporize one gram of water), so about, eh, 15joules/day. (A AA alkaline, run flat in 24 hours, will deliver about 14,000 joules.) But we can wire them together in parallel to up the amps. So we can wire them in stacks, and then array the stacks to get higher power output. Oh, one more detail...
They're purely theoretical.
Yeah, we haven't prototyped these yet. We can't; we simply don't have the fabrication technology. We have most of the pieces, but some of them - like double-coating diamond layers - we just don't have a handle on yet. Now, the team did prototype a similar design, but with a lot of cheats; it doesn't use diamond, its energy source is radioactive nickel, and they had to muck about with some other details. What that prototype does do, however, is provide proof of concept, and that's always the first step. The lead researcher, Tom Scott, has hinted that they've made headway in C-14-based cells, but that's still tightly under wraps.
What's the advantage? Well, for starts, a long-lived battery changes the entire landscape of technology. Satellite lifespans, space probes, pacemakers - things where you can't or don't want to be swapping out batteries could be made so that you never need to. Would they replace all batteries? No; some applications require high output in a short span of time, and chemistry is still going to be your buddy there. So no diamond car batteries. (Cell phones? Maybe; wired up correctly, a sufficiently small cell size could work as an "eternal" cell battery, but there are going to be engineering challenges to overcome there.) But for ultra-long-term, steady output? Diamond cells could well dominate the field.
So, in the end, what are we left with?
- A battery design that provides a cheap, safe, and productive means to dispose of radioactive graphite waste
- No impact on waste nuclear fuel whatsoever
- A way to turn an expensive-to-contain, insanely-long-lived hazmat waste into a profitable, useful product
- Batteries with exceptionally long lives but low output
- A design which is theoretically possible, but not yet achieved (possibly not yet achievable)
- A great idea which already has a large number of applications, and will undoubtedly find more
Re: DOWNWARD SPIRAL - A Subnautica Story
Downward Spiral - Chapter 2, Part II
Her foot has just barely hit the decking in the corridor when the portside end, some hundred meters away, explodes. The overpressure wave, compressed and contained by the hallway's sides, rockets along the titanium tube looking for somewhere, anywhere, to go. The spacious Engineering Control Room and its wide open doors, therefore, make for a natural exit.
The blast wave lifts Lackland off her feet, launching her back into Engineering control, bowling over two junior watchstanders as her muscular 77-kilo body plows into them with no more control than a tornado-launched scarecrow. Every loose item in the room takes to the air as the blast wave gets under, along, or just plain against objects large and small, sending tablets, tools, and hardprints airborne. Even in the scrupulously clean control room, fine dust that had hidden in seams and crevices is blown into the air.
Lackland crashes into Åkerman, yanking him off the console he's braced against. Ultimately, this saves both of their lives. In near-unison, three of the four trunk bus lines on the starboard wall blow out, uncontained high voltage igniting cable insulation and sending a sleet of shrapnel that had been junction cases in all directions. Titanium shards scythe through the air where Åkerman's torso had been.
With the engineering corridor now open to space, the rush of air rapidly reverses direction and everything in Engineering Control is blown toward the corridor. The few engineers who still have a grip wherever they've braced themselves can only watch helplessly as the rest tumble toward the corridor door. It's closing per emergency protocol, but a large hole in a wide corridor allows a lot of atmosphere to escape very quickly. Loose tablets and hardcopies whip out into the maelstrom tearing down the corridor, joining a blizzard of debris from other compartments and the frantically thrashing four-limbed shapes being hurled toward oblivion.
One of the senior engineers skids across the threshold to join them.
Finally, seven long seconds after the blast upended reality, the doors of Engineering Control meet and seal off the compartment. Airborne bodies and debris drop to the deck, tumble, and are finally at rest again. Only a handful of seconds later, the compartment's pressure is back up to standard and the survivors can breathe comfortably again, as can the fires now taking hold in the high voltage switchgear.
As Krista Lackland regains her bearings, the first thing that takes her concern is a particular sound. The fires roaring in the background should be underscored by the incessant beetling of the fire alarm, or at least the teeth-jarring nasal shrieking of the collision alarm which, in the hierarchy of misery, is second only to a fire alarm. Except, and only in the Engineering spaces, there's one alarm that overrides them all. The two-toned, high-low, saw-wave Power Plant Casualty alarm that is currently drilling into Lackland's brain.
Aurora's heart has stopped.
Lackland drags herself to her feet, pain lancing across her body. Åkerman rolls to his side, slipping out from under her as she stands, scrambling to his feet.
"Almond!" he shouts.
"Here, sir!" comes a reply from a tall tech untangling himself from an unconscious junior watchstander.
"Get your ass to the RCB and start working around this damage and get me power! Watch what you're doing and do not crash polarities! You blow out my last remaining bus and I'm going to be pissed!"
"On it, sir!" Almond yells, taking off at a dead sprint for a rarely-used control board on the far end of Engineering Control.
Lackland shoves a fire extinguisher at a junior engineer. "Richards, get these fires out. On the double," she wheezes. Something's wrong in her chest. Richards, to his credit, doesn't even hesitate, yanking the safety cap off the extinguisher before launching his attack on the fires consuming the starboard bulkhead conduits.
"Lackland," Åkerman coughs, the air already stifling hot and going bad fast, "Your arm."
Krista looks first at her right, which is scraped but seems okay. Her left though, is a different story. The radius and ulna both suffered impacted fractures before another phase of her wild tumble smashed her arm again, driving the sharp proximal fragments through muscle and skin. The exposed bones are freely dribbling blood and have a peculiar glitter to them. Absently, she realizes that it's the embedded components of her SECID, the hair-thin wires and contactors pulled out of the flesh by the bone on its way through which, much like the bones themselves, were never intended to see the outside world.
"Reset it," she tells Åkerman, who has already grabbed a medkit. He looks at her, an instant away from questioning the instruction, before simply nodding. There's no hesitation as his off hand grabs her upper arm, his dominant hand grabs her left, and they jerk in opposite directions.
The blaze of pain defies analogy. There's nothing in Lackland's experience to compare it to. The shattered bones resubmerge. Before she can recoil, he wraps a flexcast around her arm, cinching it down brutally before it hardens in the air. With her free hand, Lackland grabs a Atixole autoinjector from the kit and presses it to her jugular. The shot of painkiller hits her like a prizefighter, but the roar of pain in her body subsides...at least fractionally. Enough to think, and for right now, that's all that counts.
Lackland is getting her brain back together as Bigboard flicks back to life. Moments later, his control board regains consciousness as well.
"Nice work, Almond!" Åkerman shouts, retaking his station in front of Bigboard. His fingers fly like a concerto pianist, partitioning Bigboard again and again, specific damage callouts and system status grids appearing in rapid order. Aurora bucks hard, the kick from underneath combined with a slipping yaw. Åkerman steadies himself against Bigboard's control desk while Richards, still battling the fire, loses his balance and hits the deck again. The extinguisher, its trigger locked down, skids away under its own propulsion.
Richards gets to his knees, yanks another extinguisher cylinder off the wall, and hits the fires head-on without pause. The power plant casualty alarm is still yowling under the roar and crack of the electrical fires.
"XO, bad news," Åkerman is saying.
"What? How bad's the damage?" Lackland says, dragging herself to Bigboard's command desk.
"Ship's dead, ma'am. But apparently, so are you," he says, pointing to a system alert in the lower right corner: TRANSFER OF XO AUTHORITY - LCDR KEEN - LACKLAND KIA
Funny, dead shouldn't be this painful. Or hot. Or loud. Or crowded, for that matter. Then it comes to her. When her shattered arm shredded her SECID, Aurora lost her biomonitor telemetry. As far as the computer is concerned, she died the moment her arm broke. This creates a problem.
Lackland attempts to key a command into Bigboard, only for the standard access denial warning to appear. Her codes are invalid now, all system access revoked. Dead people don't generally need mainframe access.
"Åkerman, I'm locked out of the system," she says. He certainly already knows it, but saying it out loud feels like she's rebutting the system's insistence that she's dead.
"No problem," Åkerman replies, not taking his eyes off the board, "I can manage. We have all four main engines down. Engine 1 is giving me nothing; I think she took it right in the head. Two is messed up. I have an offscale overtemp, so whatever got us passed right through the upper hull. We're lucky the ship didn't blow."
Lackland nods; one engine entirely blown out, another shot through the head and probably on fire, and the powertrain didn't go up? It borders on miracle. The miracle falls apart, though, with the other engine readings. Main 3 and 4 are still warm, but spooling down; when the power buses blew, their confining magnets quenched. Aux boosters one through four are all in error-reset, and the system has tagged them as "damaged, status unknown."
And all six emergency thrusters are stone dead. Aurora is deep in a gravity well without propulsion or power.
"Time to restart engines three and four?" Lackland asks. She knows the news won't be good.
"Five hours, ma'am. Three if we want to play it dangerous."
Lackland casts a glance at the nav display in Bigboard's upper right corner. They have three or four minutes, maybe five, tops. With her good arm, Lackland keys her epaulet mic.
"Almond, you still with us?"
"Go for Almond!" comes the reply, shot through with distortion but still understandable.
"I need you to route power to aux boosters. Steal it from anywhere, route it through anywhere. Just get it there. Power the aux boosters," Lackland says entirely too calmly.
"On it, ma'am!"
A feeling of tranquility is settling into Lackland's brain despite Aurora's situation.
"XO? Krista? What's your plan?" Åkerman asks, still trying to pull data on the powerplant.
"Surfing," she says, not taking her eyes off the board.
Her foot has just barely hit the decking in the corridor when the portside end, some hundred meters away, explodes. The overpressure wave, compressed and contained by the hallway's sides, rockets along the titanium tube looking for somewhere, anywhere, to go. The spacious Engineering Control Room and its wide open doors, therefore, make for a natural exit.
The blast wave lifts Lackland off her feet, launching her back into Engineering control, bowling over two junior watchstanders as her muscular 77-kilo body plows into them with no more control than a tornado-launched scarecrow. Every loose item in the room takes to the air as the blast wave gets under, along, or just plain against objects large and small, sending tablets, tools, and hardprints airborne. Even in the scrupulously clean control room, fine dust that had hidden in seams and crevices is blown into the air.
Lackland crashes into Åkerman, yanking him off the console he's braced against. Ultimately, this saves both of their lives. In near-unison, three of the four trunk bus lines on the starboard wall blow out, uncontained high voltage igniting cable insulation and sending a sleet of shrapnel that had been junction cases in all directions. Titanium shards scythe through the air where Åkerman's torso had been.
With the engineering corridor now open to space, the rush of air rapidly reverses direction and everything in Engineering Control is blown toward the corridor. The few engineers who still have a grip wherever they've braced themselves can only watch helplessly as the rest tumble toward the corridor door. It's closing per emergency protocol, but a large hole in a wide corridor allows a lot of atmosphere to escape very quickly. Loose tablets and hardcopies whip out into the maelstrom tearing down the corridor, joining a blizzard of debris from other compartments and the frantically thrashing four-limbed shapes being hurled toward oblivion.
One of the senior engineers skids across the threshold to join them.
Finally, seven long seconds after the blast upended reality, the doors of Engineering Control meet and seal off the compartment. Airborne bodies and debris drop to the deck, tumble, and are finally at rest again. Only a handful of seconds later, the compartment's pressure is back up to standard and the survivors can breathe comfortably again, as can the fires now taking hold in the high voltage switchgear.
As Krista Lackland regains her bearings, the first thing that takes her concern is a particular sound. The fires roaring in the background should be underscored by the incessant beetling of the fire alarm, or at least the teeth-jarring nasal shrieking of the collision alarm which, in the hierarchy of misery, is second only to a fire alarm. Except, and only in the Engineering spaces, there's one alarm that overrides them all. The two-toned, high-low, saw-wave Power Plant Casualty alarm that is currently drilling into Lackland's brain.
Aurora's heart has stopped.
Lackland drags herself to her feet, pain lancing across her body. Åkerman rolls to his side, slipping out from under her as she stands, scrambling to his feet.
"Almond!" he shouts.
"Here, sir!" comes a reply from a tall tech untangling himself from an unconscious junior watchstander.
"Get your ass to the RCB and start working around this damage and get me power! Watch what you're doing and do not crash polarities! You blow out my last remaining bus and I'm going to be pissed!"
"On it, sir!" Almond yells, taking off at a dead sprint for a rarely-used control board on the far end of Engineering Control.
Lackland shoves a fire extinguisher at a junior engineer. "Richards, get these fires out. On the double," she wheezes. Something's wrong in her chest. Richards, to his credit, doesn't even hesitate, yanking the safety cap off the extinguisher before launching his attack on the fires consuming the starboard bulkhead conduits.
"Lackland," Åkerman coughs, the air already stifling hot and going bad fast, "Your arm."
Krista looks first at her right, which is scraped but seems okay. Her left though, is a different story. The radius and ulna both suffered impacted fractures before another phase of her wild tumble smashed her arm again, driving the sharp proximal fragments through muscle and skin. The exposed bones are freely dribbling blood and have a peculiar glitter to them. Absently, she realizes that it's the embedded components of her SECID, the hair-thin wires and contactors pulled out of the flesh by the bone on its way through which, much like the bones themselves, were never intended to see the outside world.
"Reset it," she tells Åkerman, who has already grabbed a medkit. He looks at her, an instant away from questioning the instruction, before simply nodding. There's no hesitation as his off hand grabs her upper arm, his dominant hand grabs her left, and they jerk in opposite directions.
The blaze of pain defies analogy. There's nothing in Lackland's experience to compare it to. The shattered bones resubmerge. Before she can recoil, he wraps a flexcast around her arm, cinching it down brutally before it hardens in the air. With her free hand, Lackland grabs a Atixole autoinjector from the kit and presses it to her jugular. The shot of painkiller hits her like a prizefighter, but the roar of pain in her body subsides...at least fractionally. Enough to think, and for right now, that's all that counts.
Lackland is getting her brain back together as Bigboard flicks back to life. Moments later, his control board regains consciousness as well.
"Nice work, Almond!" Åkerman shouts, retaking his station in front of Bigboard. His fingers fly like a concerto pianist, partitioning Bigboard again and again, specific damage callouts and system status grids appearing in rapid order. Aurora bucks hard, the kick from underneath combined with a slipping yaw. Åkerman steadies himself against Bigboard's control desk while Richards, still battling the fire, loses his balance and hits the deck again. The extinguisher, its trigger locked down, skids away under its own propulsion.
Richards gets to his knees, yanks another extinguisher cylinder off the wall, and hits the fires head-on without pause. The power plant casualty alarm is still yowling under the roar and crack of the electrical fires.
"XO, bad news," Åkerman is saying.
"What? How bad's the damage?" Lackland says, dragging herself to Bigboard's command desk.
"Ship's dead, ma'am. But apparently, so are you," he says, pointing to a system alert in the lower right corner: TRANSFER OF XO AUTHORITY - LCDR KEEN - LACKLAND KIA
Funny, dead shouldn't be this painful. Or hot. Or loud. Or crowded, for that matter. Then it comes to her. When her shattered arm shredded her SECID, Aurora lost her biomonitor telemetry. As far as the computer is concerned, she died the moment her arm broke. This creates a problem.
Lackland attempts to key a command into Bigboard, only for the standard access denial warning to appear. Her codes are invalid now, all system access revoked. Dead people don't generally need mainframe access.
"Åkerman, I'm locked out of the system," she says. He certainly already knows it, but saying it out loud feels like she's rebutting the system's insistence that she's dead.
"No problem," Åkerman replies, not taking his eyes off the board, "I can manage. We have all four main engines down. Engine 1 is giving me nothing; I think she took it right in the head. Two is messed up. I have an offscale overtemp, so whatever got us passed right through the upper hull. We're lucky the ship didn't blow."
Lackland nods; one engine entirely blown out, another shot through the head and probably on fire, and the powertrain didn't go up? It borders on miracle. The miracle falls apart, though, with the other engine readings. Main 3 and 4 are still warm, but spooling down; when the power buses blew, their confining magnets quenched. Aux boosters one through four are all in error-reset, and the system has tagged them as "damaged, status unknown."
And all six emergency thrusters are stone dead. Aurora is deep in a gravity well without propulsion or power.
"Time to restart engines three and four?" Lackland asks. She knows the news won't be good.
"Five hours, ma'am. Three if we want to play it dangerous."
Lackland casts a glance at the nav display in Bigboard's upper right corner. They have three or four minutes, maybe five, tops. With her good arm, Lackland keys her epaulet mic.
"Almond, you still with us?"
"Go for Almond!" comes the reply, shot through with distortion but still understandable.
"I need you to route power to aux boosters. Steal it from anywhere, route it through anywhere. Just get it there. Power the aux boosters," Lackland says entirely too calmly.
"On it, ma'am!"
A feeling of tranquility is settling into Lackland's brain despite Aurora's situation.
"XO? Krista? What's your plan?" Åkerman asks, still trying to pull data on the powerplant.
"Surfing," she says, not taking her eyes off the board.
Re: Greetings Survivor, great job not dying.
I have faith the modding community will handle that.
Re: Update 318 - 64-Bit Release - Natural Selection 2
@Handschuh
Our next patch (319) has performance in mind.
We're currently improving our profiling tools for it, and are already finding some hidden and impacting stuff that's been missed for years..
If we can't reproduce your stuttering before it ships, (due to hardware/software differences on the team etc) then you'll still have the tools on hand at that point to provide the data we need to fix it.
Our next patch (319) has performance in mind.
We're currently improving our profiling tools for it, and are already finding some hidden and impacting stuff that's been missed for years..
If we can't reproduce your stuttering before it ships, (due to hardware/software differences on the team etc) then you'll still have the tools on hand at that point to provide the data we need to fix it.
Camouflage creatures.
There needs to be some type of fauna that can camouflage itself to match surroundings. A herbivore would be cool but a predator would be terrifyingly brilliant! I want to be scared please add this!
Just imagine this. You're picking up quartz on the cliff faces of the blood kelp. Calmly thinking about the windows you intend to construct and the lithium and copper you need to collect later. As you move from one quartz crystal to the next, you suddenly freeze.
Something looks wrong about the next piece of quartz. Then it moves a little. You slowly start backing away when a 20 meter section of the cliff wall seems to fracture and shift. That odd piece of quartz shimmers and turns a pale blue. Then the color spreads throughout the "rock" as it transforms into the shape of a terrifying sea monster.
You flee at the sound of it's horrifying gurgling, back to your seamoth and attempt to enter it but the creature is already upon you. It slams into you poor little seamoth and then grabs it and flings it against the ravine wall, destroying it. In the commotion of the explosion, you manage to hide in a tiny, dead end cave. Silence follows. Your oxygen won't last forever. After 60 seconds of eternity you peep your head out. Nothing. Just the blood kelp zone.
You begin your accent to the safety of your cyclops. Not 15 meters in as you pass close to a bloodvine, it's blood oil orb opens to reveal a giant eye, staring into your soul. You double your speed as the bloodvine begins to wriggle and writh. You try and focus on your cyclops' ping without looking back. You hear that heart-stopping, deep gurgling from behind and you can't take it and spin around to look. Just in time to see its mouth envelope you whole.
You push you desk chair away from the computer, stand up, and go to change your pants.
Just imagine this. You're picking up quartz on the cliff faces of the blood kelp. Calmly thinking about the windows you intend to construct and the lithium and copper you need to collect later. As you move from one quartz crystal to the next, you suddenly freeze.
Something looks wrong about the next piece of quartz. Then it moves a little. You slowly start backing away when a 20 meter section of the cliff wall seems to fracture and shift. That odd piece of quartz shimmers and turns a pale blue. Then the color spreads throughout the "rock" as it transforms into the shape of a terrifying sea monster.
You flee at the sound of it's horrifying gurgling, back to your seamoth and attempt to enter it but the creature is already upon you. It slams into you poor little seamoth and then grabs it and flings it against the ravine wall, destroying it. In the commotion of the explosion, you manage to hide in a tiny, dead end cave. Silence follows. Your oxygen won't last forever. After 60 seconds of eternity you peep your head out. Nothing. Just the blood kelp zone.
You begin your accent to the safety of your cyclops. Not 15 meters in as you pass close to a bloodvine, it's blood oil orb opens to reveal a giant eye, staring into your soul. You double your speed as the bloodvine begins to wriggle and writh. You try and focus on your cyclops' ping without looking back. You hear that heart-stopping, deep gurgling from behind and you can't take it and spin around to look. Just in time to see its mouth envelope you whole.
You push you desk chair away from the computer, stand up, and go to change your pants.
