Not Quite Alike

[The_Godslayer]

Location: ▝▝▝ Battleship Mars Crew Quarters : _̬̣̳͗ͯ͗҉̴̟̗ͪ̀́͢-̵̶̛̤̼̜͕̬ͬ̉̐͝^̛͇̰̰͚͒̐ͥ̕͏ͧ͟^̴̔͢͢-^̅̄ͦ-̬̪͌ͫ;̨̧̮̯̫̤̲̖̿ͦ̋͠3̛̱̳͆̈ͭ̀̀ͫͭ͐;̨͓̮͈͎̣̖͖ͬͣ͊̾ͭ̚͠3̛͆̇͠;̡̱̚͏̸̴̸͔̙̹͕ͦ̍͌͌̃̅̋ͧ3̤̪͓͕̤͋̋̄ͧ̚҉\͕͔́̈́͆͘͝/̷̴̴̸̜̥̝̹̺̱́̀̑̒͛̚͠͡ͅ\͉̻̹͔̈͂ͫ/͈̲́҉̵͇͍̀ͅ - tt-rr-321561--▝▁
acvX.░░░tvdgs░g-g-nn-3.16.a.n░░xciv.xc░░░ Data Corruption Detectedt̡͘-͔ͦ́̄͜͜͞͝ͅͅt̋̃̈́ͅ-̘̱̬͖͈ͯ̍̆͌̀̇̓̎̚̚͝ͅr̎͝-̶̵̶̖͛̒ͪ͆̚͜r-̛̳͎͙͕̰͖̟͚͒̇̽͗░░░-̟҉̵̢͓̩̳̩̞́ͫ͆ͪͤͬ͋͢ḣ̼̅͋ẹ̶̷͇ͦͤͭ͡-̩͑̅̿-h̒̇e̴̲̤͍̯̩̐̋͜ͅ-̧̜̠̗̙̫͕͎̠̥̿ͫ̈́̒ͤ̄̿ͫ͡ͅ-̴̡͓̅-͇ͦ̍́͝͠͏̢̡̪̩͚̰̥̇̎̚͜͞h̸̨̢̻̠̜͚̏̈̿e̷ ̨̢̺͎̣̗̹͂͂ͦ=̡̢̬̱̝͆͒͋̽͑̏̅̕͜\̤̠̋͌/̸̧̛̻͉̻̋ͨ̏͌̀̔̋\͇̀/̢̏ͯ͂M̸͓͛͘͏̯͎̟̂ͮ͟E̛̹͉̬̜̅ͭ͒͊͐ͧ͑ͣ́͡͝M̸̬͍̗̠ͬ͛͗̐́̾͝E̷̯̟̠̝͈̹̠̹͇̓ͧ̐̀̑ͯ̇S͇͓̲͈̫̑̏̽͒̉̅\̶̬͎̓͞/̦\̨̥̳̖̤̥̝̲̄́ͧ̄̈̓̌͢͡ͅ/̛̻̣̝̹͙̫͓̥̭̣̀̉ͬͧ͘͘░░░░░░░ ̬͚̠̟̖̹̈́ͮ͋̇̄̚͟-̨͇̬̔͒̈́̇͘\̸͖̻̬̠̮̥ͭͩ̈́̂̄͐͝͝͠|̶̦̩̟̙̍̆̈ͅ ̴̖͕̫̜̺͛ͣ͂ͥ͗̏ͤ̕-̴̨̟͉̭̑̒͊̀ͦ͆ͤ̊͡ ̴̧̜̞̻͉̙̗̭̈́̓͂̚-̧ͮ́ ̵̻̰̫̪̹̲̦̂͋͠ ͛̋ͧ͘ ̵̷̫͌ͪ҉̛̞̳̼̄ͩͦͫ́̊̑| ̦̎|̶̊̉̅̃҉̱̠̼̭̜͔ͣͪ̍́̍̐͞ ̷̋ͣ ͚̥͓̺̤̜̥̋͗ͮ͆̃̑ͯ͑̆͘͟|-̠͓̺̙̣͖̰ ̻̝̂̓ͫ̐ͬ/̊ ̲̲̽͏͇͔̠̋̈́̋͂̌ͥͭ͢͞͡\̮̬̘͉̽ͫ͑̚͝|̨̡̦͈͙͈͓̟̓̾͗͆̈͋ͨͪ̏͠͞ ̨̝̰͇͂/̥͈̜̂͆̌͞ ̹͊|̣͔͒ͩ̂|̶̸̵͖̬͔̮̼͇̭̾̾́́̍̆̀̂̚ ͖͓̮̂ͭͤ̎͌ͭ͘͟͞/̯ͯͣ-̱̍͏̤͊ ̱ͪ\͉͕̣̭̗̼̓̽̔҉̜̎̅ͬ^͍͍͚͕̅ͬ͗̈̓̓ͮ͡^̴̖̯͖̟̪̽ͭ̾ͧ͒ͬ͒ͦͦ\̸̬/̹̮ͭ͐̉ͥ҉̝͙̼̤̓̑̍̑

Magnus paused her idle program. There were two spots, one on the floor and one on the wall, where the constant bouncing of the rubber ball had left grey patches and tiny bits of rubber that had worn off the ball. A message had come through on her personal communicator. Something to do while imprisoned. A brief read gave her the standard Neural-Control reward mechanism for a mission accomplished. Broadened control over A.I.s . . .

Metallic marching caught her attention. "Ah, oops." She quickly stood and deactivated her non-necessary joints, and the door to her room finally opened. Maintenance robots refit into security guards stepped through. Her ports were briefly raked for information, but upon accessing the paradox calculations that made up her emotional processes, quickly retracted. A Gammu could probably complete a paradox calculation, but no doubt it still wouldn't be fun. The machines scoured the room looking for a hidden Core pilot. Magnus did not even flinch. A second information sweep crossed her ports, looking for information on the room. They were satisfied with the idle program, and came to a set of conclusions about the Core transmission. Magnus didn't know what conclusions, though, she didn't have nearly the level of permissions needed.

Then, they left. And also left the door open. Obviously, there wouldn't be a need to close it if it was just a simple robot inside. Magnus didn't waste time, and stepped out into the hall to be greeted with the scene of a week-old slaughter. Most of the hallway was the reddish brown of dried blood. Pilots, maintenance, and crew alike littered the floor. Seems they didn't desire to take all too many prisoners. There was an attempted emotional response, but she denied it, and made her way through the door at the end of the hall.

Stepping out into the crew quarters general area, she saw the tip of the iceberg in the extent of the Gammu A.I.s function. The refit maintenance robots didn't paint nearly enough of a picture. Reshaped metal and circuitry jutted out, seeming alien in comparison to the pre-existing infrastructure. It had smooth curves, and seemed to be designed around a cylindrical philosophy, as opposed to the rigid, flat design of AP-series tech. She likened it to what she'd seen of the Nomads, like Nomads in a different format. Or maybe they had something that was the same.

She dismissed the thought in favor of more pressing matters. Making her way to the locker room, she found that most lockers had been broken open and looted. Darnell, Henrys, VanColphain. . . She found the pattern. Lockers with standard weaponry had been taken, likely used to refit the maintenance robots. The ones left were pilots that were either specialists, or in the case of VanColphain, just plain weird. Near the end of the hall, she found hers, untouched. She was about to unlock it, but then thought about the state of the other lockers that had been opened. Instead, she turned off her force inhibitors, punched through the locker door, and ripped it off it's hinges so that it matched the rest of the lockers.

Her tool of choice awaited her. A bullpup sniping rifle, firing tachyon-encased plasma bolts. She armed herself and attached the spare energy packs to her belt, then pulled the exhaust slide back to inspect the barrel from the breach. Satisfying her query on whether it required cleaning, she then quickly checked the safety switch, the caps on the scope, and the recoil pad on the stock to make sure they were undamaged and she had left nothing inside the stock. Finally, she popped open the grip cap and caught the small locket that fell out. She flicked it open to look at the picture inside.

It looked like an identical copy of her, but it was Magnus who was the copy. Instead, the photo inside the locket was the woman she was made to take the place of. "You know, Magnus Sr. never told me you had this kind of attitude, girly. Being you has been a pain in the ass thus far." The other photo in the locket was a signature over a kiss mark. "Haaah, whatever did you see in that idiot scientist, Helena..." After recontextualizing her situation as simply another adventure, she resolved the hang-ups plaguing her emotional processors. With a smirk, she closed the locket, and tucked it back into the grip of her gun. She flipped her hair so that she could attach the gun to a magnetic holster on her back, and began planning her way forward with the limited information she had.

She had little clue where the Battleship Mars was currently, outside of being in the Edge Nebula. It had a goal that she wasn't sure of, but she figured it would either be a focused assault on Nauru if the Gammu A.I.s had significant firepower, or a reconquest of Planet Gammu if they didn't. She checked her network link to her Hammerhead, which should have been in the hanger. It was, indeed, still in the hanger, but Magnus found herself sharing ring zero permissions on the kernel with a user obfuscating their identification. It could have only been Gammu, though, so she figured they intended to user her ship in whatever conflict they were preparing for. She checked the conceptual processor files. No breaches in the impossible-rings. Rings minus one through minus three were still hers. She left the access there. No need to leave a trail to find her little trick.

Satisfied that, when the time comes, she can at least try to remove the A.I.s access to her ship and escape, she went back to the general area, and pulled the body of a turret operator off the couch, and sat down to think. The pose she had preset was classified as an idle process, so she was inconspicuous to the machines, though they still occasionally checked her.

She wondered how Hound was doing. She hoped it was doing alright. She hadn't picked up any mention of it in the data traffic on the ship that she could read.

It would suck if he's having a hard time after all of this.

.͈̤̺̼ͣͭ͞҉̘̀ͫ̉.͎̬ͦ̔ͧ̍̾̃̍̇ͣ͝.͕̺̰̘ͧ̏ͥͬ̃.̪͙͕.͏̖͉.̴̯̤̭̟̍ͣ̄.̩̩͖͙̻͓̞̏ͨ̈́͋͒͂͆̃͛͛͟.̙̭̳́̂ͤ̀͘.̲͇̹ͩ̾̆ͨ̀ͫ͘͞.̘͕̮̟̉ͯ̃̒ͮͩ̂͘̚͜.ͅ҉͗.̵̣͕̄.̷̶̩̰̮͖̹̍ͮ̅ͨͤ́̉̎̇ͨ̍.̵̡̦̓̉ͬͅ.̸̬̞͋͂͑ͭͤ̑.̱̉͟.͏̛̳̺̟.̷̝ͩ͛.̜͍̏̒͌͗͢.̪̠̙̩̥̟͑ͬ̑̀́ͭ̾̀--+̸̸̴̣̠̠͍̦̫͂̓͗̐ͨͭ͘+̴̧̻̰̦̯́͊͒͗͌̐ͥͩ̐ͭ̔͟͞+̜̻͙̪̞ͥ̓ͯ̇̀͜͡͝͞+̫+͚̟̝͔̠̙̗̤͛̅̉̿͒̓ͬ͊́̚-̵̘̳̻̫̜̆ͥͯ̏͆̍͝͏̓-͕̰ͬ͂͛-̸̧̯̮̣̙͒ͣͧ̀͗҉̷͉̳̀ͣ̂ͪ͠-҉͓-̮̩̰̪͙̹̇ͪ̆̄͂̈ͧ́́̐́͘

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I'll do something about my superiority complex when I cease to be superior.

"Whatever happened to catchin' a good old-fashioned passionate ass-whoopin and gettin' your shoes, coat, and your hat tooken?"