You're welcome! I really enjoy it when I can share my knowledge and other people find it helpful or interesting! :)

To borrow a phrase from XKCD: "You wouldn't die of anything; you'd just stop being biology and start being physics."

Obviously we experience the results of nuclear events any time we're out in the sunlight. However, we receive those results via electromagnetism--and gravity, because the sun affects the tides. Nuclear forces govern the fission reactions at the heart of nuclear power, but the heat is transferred via EM forces. Even in the event of a nuclear weapon explosion, the gamma ray pulse is EM, the thermal pulse is EM, the visible light is EM, and when the blast wave hits, it's doing damage by EM forces, too.

Maybe it's just my lack of imagination, but I don't see how a person could directly experience the strong or weak nuclear forces without being part of a significant fission, fusion, or decay event.

However: it turns out that only about 1% of the mass of a proton is composed of the rest mass of the quarks that make it up. The other 99% is the binding energy holding everything together, which is an effect of the strong nuclear force.

So, get a liter bottle of water and wave it around. Feel the heft. You're pushing on that bottle via electromagnetic forces, but 990 grams of that mass you're playing with is nuclear force.

Look up "OpenWorm". We're still at a primitive stage but we're doing amazing things.

Ah, a chance to put my material science classes to use!

When you bend something (and a metal ruler is a great example) and it can spring back, we call that "elastic deformation".

On an atomic level, metal is made of atoms in a crystal lattice. Each atom is spaced a certain distance away from its neighbors. The atoms stay at that particular distance because electromagnetic forces from their electrons and their protons add up in such a way that that distance is a low-energy configuration, like a ball sitting at the bottom of a dip in the ground. You can push and pull the atoms closer or farther apart, but to do that you have to put energy in, and they'll "want" to go back to that optimal distance.

Next, consider the shape of the ruler. Obviously, when it's straight, both sides are the same length. But, you can bend the ruler into a curve. When you do this, the two sides aren't the same length any more. The outer side of the ruler is now longer than the shorter side. It's the same principle as taking a corner in a car; the wheels on the outside have to go farther.

If you've stayed within the limits of elastic deformation, what's happened at the atomic level is that on the outside, you've pulled the atoms farther apart. The same crystal lattice structure is still there, but the atoms are now spaced farther apart than the lowest energy positions. On the inside, the opposite has happened: the metal is compressed, and the atoms are closer together than the lowest energy distances.

When you release the ruler, the atoms go back to their optimal distances. The long side shrinks and the short side expands.

So, the information of the original shape is stored in the crystal lattice structure. As long as you don't disrupt the lattice structure, the atoms "want" to go back to their original places. The forces that do the unbending are electromagnetism. (realistically, the only two forces you'll ever experience directly in your life are gravity and electromagnetism. If you are directly experiencing the effects of the nuclear forces, you're having a very bad day.)

Resistive power dissipation is given by P = R * I^2 where R is resistance and I is current.

A transistor in an "off" state has a very high resistance but no current flow, so power dissipation is very low to zero.

A transistor in an "on" state--that is, fully on, has a lot of current flowing through it but very little resistance, so power dissipation is low.

A transistor in an intermediate state--the kind of state you'd use for modulating an analog signal--has significant resistance and significant current flow at the same time. That means they dissipate a significant amount of power, and they get hot.

For some things, like audio amplifiers, there's simply no way around this and you have to deal with it by using beefier transistors and providing cooling.

For a lot of applications, including stove burners, it's simpler and cheaper to use pulse width modulation or "bang-bang" controls.

(It could be argued that bang-bang control is just pulse width modulation with a really slow pulse frequency.)

Anyway, in engineering you'll see a lot of things where you wonder, "why don't they do X instead, it seems like it would be better?" In most cases (not all) the answer is that yes, it would be better to do X, but it would also be more expensive, and it wouldn't be enough better to justify the additional cost.

> One thing I find really cool about weight loss is how the mass actually leaves the body. I don't remember the exact process, but ultimately it is mostly excreted via your lungs - all that carbon and oxygen is breathed out as carbon dioxide.

If my memory serves me correctly, when you want to know how many calories a person is burning--and to measure it accurately, instead of just estimating by their level of activity--you do it by measuring how much carbon dioxide they produce. Metabolism is combustion.

> Just because air is flowing, doesn't mean it's cooling down the metal. Flow doesn't equal cooler.

Roughly speaking, flow equals better heat transfer. We're used to thinking that flowing air = cooler because we--our bodies--are usually warmer than the air around us. Even if it's hot enough outside that the air is warmer than we are, then we're probably sweating, so we have evaporative cooling going on--and flowing air makes that happen faster.

So, in our personal experiences, we almost always find that it feels cooler when air flows over us. It's really easy to over-generalize that and assume that it's a universal law.

You can easily test it at home, though. Get two little cups of ice, make sure there's the same amount of ice in each one, and then put a fan on one and let the other sit in still air. You should notice that the ice with the fan melts faster--the flowing air is heating it faster than the still air is heating the other ice.

You might also already have a device built around this effect: a convection oven or air fryer.

And disregard the rest.

George Whynot Carver, got it.

Not so much with growing it, as with distributing it. We have a lot of food waste, and a noticeable amount of farmland going to growing foods that can be sold to the rich for higher profits instead of fed to the poor to keep them fed.

> In the ruins of the kitchen, I stoop down to pick up the mezzaluna knife that Luigi gifted me last Christmas. One of the fine wooden handles is blackened, and the blade has scorch marks on it, but it's still sharp as a razor.

Oh shit. Someone done effed up.

Thank you so much! I'm glad the concept came through and that you liked it!

3: Consequences

Later:

There's a bar in town where the superheroes gather. Through an unspoken agreement--and I'll be honest, a fear of what might happen otherwise, the villains mostly leave it alone. It's a place they can go to socialize and relax.

That's why no one is prepared when a rivet-studded brass sphere careens through the door on a jet of steam. That's why in the nearly a full second it takes for it to find the Justice Three, deploy a wicked steel spike, and nail itself to the table through Cannonade's stack of pancakes, no one reacts to stop it. They're still staring dumbfounded at it when it activates its payload.

The top pops open, and a napkin-size translucent screen shoots out, along with a lens and mirror, making a tiny portable movie theater. Scratchy black and white footage plays, and the audio has a tinny quality but it's perfectly intelligible.

"Blood calls out for blood, heroes," says my image. "You killed one of mine and I'm calling you out. Come out and face me like adults, or die cowering."

In moments they've burst out the door and spotted me standing across the parking lot. Cannonade points at me and shouts, "We took a petty criminal off the streets yesterday, and now we'll take down the mastermind!"

I stand, shoulders square, both hands on the head of my cane, as my opera cape flutters gently in the breeze. They're forming up for their standard attack, and I'm processing several trains of thought.

They've dismissed Ray as a "petty criminal." They're not entirely wrong; Ray was convicted of a class C felony auto theft of a car worth less than two thousand dollars; you could call that "petty." They didn't seem to know or care that Ray had been staying out of trouble and looking for work for over a year before he heard about the place that gives ex-cons a second chance. They didn't know or care that Ray had been seeing someone for nine months, or that her kids were starting to call him "dad", or that he'd come to me for advice about affordable engagement rings.

I'm good with tech, but not so good with people, and apparently I've been misreading these people all this time. Stupid! I thought I had someone who understood me, someone who enjoyed playing the same game that I did. I was wrong.

I rapidly consider a dozen different bon mots to sum up the situation, but they're all villainous cliches, and we're not doing that today.

Cannonade raises his gun toward me. It finally sinks in that all this time, he's actually been trying to hit me. Fulcrum is in the process of gathering for a leap, and the Crimson Quiver is quietly preparing to loose an arrow at me, after I've been put off balance by the other two. This is a setup I'm familiar with, but only now do I realize that this isn't a well-rehearsed opening number. They just don't know any better.

"Didn't you ever wonder?" I ask.

Fulcrum is in the air now, fist ready. Of course, she no longer has any way to alter her trajectory, and it's a simple matter to determine where she'll land. Normally I'd make a show of diving out of the way, and put myself in position for a followup attack from one of the others. Today, I simply step to the left, putting a light pole between myself and the Quiver.

"Wonder what?" says Fulcrum as she smashes the pavement where I was just standing.

"Why there were never any bystander casualties?" Time is disjointed, as it always is in these affairs. Surely we shouldn't have time for this much conversation. But we do.

I smack the side of Fulcrum's head with my cane. Of course, her flesh is invulnerable to any physical force I can muster. It's also transparent to magnetic fields, and the concentrated pulse from my cane triggers a cascade of uncoordinated activity in her motor cortex, leaving her collapsed on the ground for the next few seconds.

The Crimson Quiver is moving to his left to restore line of sight; I keep moving to my left and we mutually pivot around the light pole, although this puts me directly into Cannonade's field of fire.

"I used live ammunition and explosives, and no one ever got hurt. Did that never seem unusual?"

As I say this I pause and spread my arms wide, as though inviting an answer. It also invites plasma cannon fire, and Cannonade responds. "Your antiquated junk is no match for us," he says as he levels his gun.

One of my drones puts a 25mm tungsten core nylon-jacketed bullet through the armored shell of his arm cannon as he fires. My targeting software normally ensures that every bullet ends up someplace harmless. Today, it ensures that a few ounces of tungsten are in Cannonade's pulse generation chamber at a bad time. My brass goggles black out my vision for a moment, but I can feel the flash on my face. The goggles go clear in time for me to see him crumple, his arm a smoking wreck. Hmm. The feedback through the control circuits knocked him out; I'd expected his systems to be better than that.

The Crimson Quiver has taken the opportunity to position himself for a shot, and looses. Those arrows of his are made of some good stuff--I regret never having the chance to compare notes on material science with him--and they're moving damn fast for arrows at about 140 meters per second. They'll cut through my soft body armor pretty easily, and this one is headed straight for my heart.

Of course, at this range, it'll take nearly a tenth of a second to make that trip. The optical tracking systems on my area defense automata have dozens of milliseconds to spare as they hit the arrow with the beam from a compact fiber laser. The arrow explodes in mid-flight, and I see one of the feathers spiraling to the ground.

I'll give the archer this much: he's thinking about as fast as I am, and he's realized that he's in a real fight. He's reaching for another arrow, and you know how super archers work; it's going to be optical chaff or a LIDAR jammer or some other clever way of shutting down my area defense.

Normally, I enjoy that interplay, but today's not normal. A pair of fire support drones on a pre-programmed response surround him with a barrage of flash-bang grenades.

(Does it seem like I have rather a lot of drones with me? Well, automata are one of my specialties, and I came here prepared for a wide range of contingencies.)

While he's flinching, I shoot him with a tazer dart from my general purpose pneumatic sidearm.

On schedule, out of the corner of my eye, I see Fulcrum getting her limbs back under control. Before she has a chance to stand, I toss a gas grenade her way. As tough as she is, a few lungfuls of that stuff leave her drooling into the asphalt.

It's quiet except for the ringing in my ears. The crowd in the bar are staring through the windows in shock. I tip my hat to them.

"When the Justice Three wake up, let them know that they still draw breath because Professor Cogsworth, in his mercy, has allowed them to live."

"This time."

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a funeral to plan."

I jet away.

1: Aftermath

I sit on the factory floor, back against a wall, fire-foam soaking through my pants as I stare vacantly. Irony. I've often wished that my mind would stop and be quiet for a while. Now it's as silent as the grave.

It's quiet out there, too. The sirens stopped a while ago. The ambulances are gone. The machines are silent. A few of my employees are still here. Those who were completely uninjured, I sent home. Those who were badly hurt got a ride to the hospital on the company's dime.

Ray got a ride to the morgue.

Margaret, the press operator, touches my shoulder gently. "Boss? It's ... it's not your fault. We knew what we were getting into. And you couldn't have stopped them if you'd been here. They're too powerful."

She doesn't understand, but that's my fault. I've shielded them, kept them in the dark about who I am. Sure, they know they're working for a supervillain, but I never let them know the truth. I should have. I tried to protect them but all I did was deprive them of the ability to make an informed decision.

2: The Heist

Earlier:

I stride out through the wreckage of the bank's doors, cackling in victory. In each hand I have a big bag of loot, and I'm flanked by a pair of Steam-Powered Crime Automata. Suddenly I stop, eyes wide. "The Justice Three? How?!"

Cannonade, leader of the south metro area's number two C-list superhero team, strikes a pose. "Well, if it isn't Professor Cogsworth, the steampunk sideshow, caught red handed." Heat ripples are coming off the plasma gun that makes up his left arm, indicating that it's warmed up and ready for action.

Fulcrum takes a step forward and grins at me as she slams a fist into her palm with a noise that sounds like a gunshot, showing off her super-strength. The Crimson Quiver nocks an arrow with a glittering, wickedly sharp head and simply stares humorlessly.

I gulp nervously, then rally. "It's three on three, super-nerds, and my superior mind tips the scales in AIEEEE!"

I shriek in terror as Cannonade fires a plasma bolt. I bring up my arms in a defensive gesture and the blast hits the swag bag in my right hand, blasting it apart. Quarters and nickels shower the sidewalk like hail and burning dollar bills fill the air like autumn leaves, drifting out to the street.

"GET THEM!" I sputter, and the Steam-Powered Crime Automata spring into action. With a thoomp! the first fires a grenade at Fulcrum. The explosion knocks her on her ass, but she rolls with it and doesn't seem hurt. The other fires a burst of bullets at the Crimson Quiver, but he slides out of the way like a liquid and the bullets stitch a line of pock-marks in the brickwork of the building across the street.

Well, I perform with both valor and panache, but before long, I'm empty handed and my automata are collapsed on the ground spewing steam. Time for me to make an exit. I throw off my opera cape, revealing my jetpack. I spring into the sky on wings of flame, but my opera cape is pinned to the jetpack by an arrow, flapping behind me. The extra drag and imbalanced thrust send me into a spin, and my defiant cry of "You haven't seen the last of Professor Cogsworth!" loses some effect as I corkscrew away.

Later that evening, I'm nursing a fine scotch as I review the media coverage of my encounter. Civilian casualties: zero. Property damage: hundreds of dollars. Fires started: none.

Cannonade gives a big, square-jawed grin for the camera as he says, "Cogsworth is no threat to us, and as long as we're on the job, he's no threat to you, citizens."

I've seen enough. I turn off the TV.

God, this is so much FUN! He's playing the straight man role so perfectly--if I didn't know better, I'd think he was sincere.

In a few weeks, an antique steam locomotive is coming through town on a publicity tour for the railroad--stealing that would be a feather in Professor Cogsworth's cap, would it not? I start planning, knowing that I can count on Cannonade and company to match me move for move.

(part 3 follows)