Turning the page. [Invite only]

[[get to that later]]

"So... this is it then. You're freezing yourself now." A simple statement floats through the clouds of smoke produced by the suited, but still as yet unnamed, man. He receives a singular nod in reply. "Well, it's been a blast, really and actually most of the time, and... I'm gonna miss you." Clapping his armoured hands together to overcome both the noise from the various generators and the silence of the moment he then chips cheerfully "So what's still to be done? I need to fill out an address form on this thing? Computer tappity-tip-tapping? Ritual sacrifice? What's the deal?"

"Noting so dramatic." Matt chuckles, "See the monitor there? Once the green bar's full I get in, the field activates and the pod launches to the destination. It takes a lot of energy to form a coherent field or, indeed, subsequently collapse it but whilst it's running it doesn't much if any charge at all. Due to being a non existent mass with a quantum probability of zero." Looking at the stasis pod Matt realises in that moment not only does it look like a coffin but, in all likelihood, that it is. His. The squealing of metal forced the thought to stop in it's tracks and to turn and see what was happening.

Servos, circuitry and sinews streching to hold back a generator bucking and brawling to break free of it's brackets is what can be seen. What can be heard, slightly muffled by the two cigs he's still smoking, is the suited shore prop shouting "Looks like we'll have to cut the goodbye and good lucks short! Matt, get in there! I can hold this thing back for long enough! Maybe? But you gotta go now!" Refocusing his attention on the manic machine he says to it "Naughty... trying to bunk off for a break again! Hey! Don't spark at me kiddo! No! I said don't spark at me! That's the opposite! Cut it out! Woah there!"

As the sparks became arcs of electrical energy discharging around what has been his only friend and ally over these many months Matt loses sight of the man. After a brief unheard "Goodbye." Matt runs over to the console, sets the pod to automatic, and climbs in. As the door swooshes shut he looks at the internal readouts and says "Ninety nine percent. I may just make this aft-" Sentence unfinished the stasis field activated and Matthew Spectrum became a non existent mass with a quantum probability of zero. As far as time is concerned he ceased, temporarily, to exist.

At the same time the pod's contents stopped existing in time and the pod itself launches another arc of electrical energy forks as it discharges. Partially onto a otherwise unmentioned surface, partially through the unnamed man. He flops to the floor with the only accompaniment being the now silenced generators and the dull glow of the suits readout on the neck mounted secondary display WARNING. POWER OVERLOAD. PRIMARY SYSTEMS OFFLINE. PLEASE STAND BY. . .

"Hey! Who turned out the lights? And the physics? And where's my suit while we're at it!" asked the man while he looks around at the infinite emptiness in every direction and the plain jumpsuit that has replaced his usual, more hi-tech, number.

[woo-oo!] (Aye?) *I can talk now... great. Just another misery to deal with* {Biscuit now?} 'Oh dear. If we're back then then the protocol's active too.'

"Hey! I know you... all of you. It's coming back to me... a bit. Twentyseven, Fifty, Sixtyfive, Four and Fourteen, right? Wait a minute... was that the boyscout you were talking about? I thought the stuff the old man gave me killed him off."

'One day, one glorious day and you'll pay attention when others are explaining something to you' Fourteen sighed, 'As you were told... repeatedly... there was an experiment. Where a datapacket was to supposed to write to only one small part of the brain. It didn't and the brain was stimulated globally creating echoes of it's own architecture. Some of which formed us. Protoforms of a quasi personality or, as you take great pleasure in referring to us, voices. As for you....'

Confusion and boredom demanded an interruption and the man gratefully obliged. "Yes? No? Maybe? About two percent of that went in and I don't remember all this from before. I think. The old man talked about things long after the point I needed a smoke break. So how'd you know all about it and how does the boyscout fit in to it all?"

'...I'll try to explain but, please, listen and pay attention!' After taking a moment Fourteen continues 'I receive the same information you do. As it passes through the mind but I, unlike you, pay attention to it. That is how I know and you don't. The protocol, or boyscout for whatever reason you call it that, was the intended product of the experiment. A neural... program of sorts. It's limited code - quote unquote - knows, as it were, that it should be the only thing present in the neural pathways and, subsequently, tried to erase you and us. Mr Spectrum gave you a stabilising agent that inhibited the portion of the brain it was encoded on but which also lowered your global conductivity enough that we were also suppressed. At a guess I would surmise you've either stopped taking the medication or somehow electrocuted yourself or both. This also means the protocol will finish executing its directives... and us.' Fourteen ended solemnly.

"Fourteen? Remind me never to invite you to any parties. Relax. I've got this..." unfortunately the blast, which emanated from a doppelganger of the former speaker, cut the sentence short. Knocked down onto a horizontal plane the passed for a floor in the nothingness the man looked at his double then, after getting to his feet, paid close attention to his hand. "Wow. they don't make me like they used to. I never used to fade in and out like that. Harsh." As the double silently advanced, hand bathed an a ball of energy which was growing in size and intensity, the original seemed too interested in his fading form. Or, at least, that's how it seemed up to the point the next blast fired. Deftly sidestepping the bolt the fading original smashed his double to the 'ground' "Yeah! I can still stay solid enough to kick seven shades of the proverbial outta you kiddo!" Not waiting further he launched himself at his double again.

As the two fought on it became very clear who was going to be the victor. Fading faster and more frequently the original was insubstantial more often at the wrong moment yet solid in time for the next bolt to connect.

[I can't look] (The big eejit's gonnae be pan soon) *I knew this was bad... now it's gonna be even worse* {He be fine. Then biscuit} 'Wait a moment. I think he's up to something...'

With the original only visible once every few seconds for a brief flicker, prone and lifeless, the protocol advanced charging up what was to be the killing blow. Then large letters popped into the nothingness where all were assembled encircling them. They spelled out

SELF REPAIR AND DIAGNOSTICS ROUTINE COMPLETE.
REACTOR - ONLINE
INTERFACE - ONLINE
MOTORS - ONLINE
WEAPONS - ONLINE

ALL SYSTEMS NOMINAL.

The protocol unleashed the blast and the bolt connected. What it connected with, however, was a now fully solid original, complete with armoured space suit, still lying prone on the floor but otherwise unaffected by this latest blast. Slowly and shakily the formerly faded man stood. An unseen command caused the suits helm to unfold from the recesses it had retreated into and, with some effort, he took it off and held it in his hands. Weakly he said to the doppelganger "Like the suit? I do. Here, try it on for size!" and plunged the helm onto his copy's head.

For the first time the protocol spoke, well, screamed. The scream echoed through the emptiness until it was punctuated by an armoured knee to the groin. "Shut. Up! Seriously, kid, you gotta realise that some people live. Some people die. It is what it is." The knee was withdrawn only to be followed by a trip to the floor. The protocol barely manage to roll onto its front to see the foot speeding toward its chest. It never had time raise a hand in defense before being stamped out of existence. All that remains is an empty space, no body, and the now empty helm rolling slowly away. Picking up the helm and reintegrating it with the suit the man cheerfully chirps "Okay. First number to tell me where the way out is wins a prize. Any takers?"

{Prize... like a biscuit?}

"Four, kid, if you know the way out... you get a whole pack of biscuits!"
{Yes. Out. Then biscuit.}