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The_Godslayer · 02-02-2025, 02:55 AM,

Location: ▝▝▝ Battleship Mars Hangar : _̬̣̳͗ͯ͗҉̴̟̗ͪ̀́͢-̵̶̛̤̼̜͕̬ͬ̉̐͝^̛͇̰̰͚͒̐ͥ̕͏ͧ͟^̴̔͢͢-^̅̄ͦ-̬̪͌ͫ;̨̧̮̯̫̤̲̖̿ͦ̋͠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\̶̬͎̓͞/̦\̨̥̳̖̤̥̝̲̄́ͧ̄̈̓̌͢͡ͅ/̛̻̣̝̹͙̫͓̥̭̣̀̉ͬͧ͘͘░░░░░░░ ̬͚̠̟̖̹̈́ͮ͋̇̄̚͟-̨͇̬̔͒̈́̇͘\̸͖̻̬̠̮̥ͭͩ̈́̂̄͐͝͝͠|̶̦̩̟̙̍̆̈ͅ ̴̖͕̫̜̺͛ͣ͂ͥ͗̏ͤ̕-̴̨̟͉̭̑̒͊̀ͦ͆ͤ̊͡ ̴̧̜̞̻͉̙̗̭̈́̓͂̚-̧ͮ́ ̵̻̰̫̪̹̲̦̂͋͠ ͛̋ͧ͘ ̵̷̫͌ͪ҉̛̞̳̼̄ͩͦͫ́̊̑| ̦̎|̶̊̉̅̃҉̱̠̼̭̜͔ͣͪ̍́̍̐͞ ̷̋ͣ ͚̥͓̺̤̜̥̋͗ͮ͆̃̑ͯ͑̆͘͟|-̠͓̺̙̣͖̰ ̻̝̂̓ͫ̐ͬ/̊ ̲̲̽͏͇͔̠̋̈́̋͂̌ͥͭ͢͞͡\̮̬̘͉̽ͫ͑̚͝|̨̡̦͈͙͈͓̟̓̾͗͆̈͋ͨͪ̏͠͞ ̨̝̰͇͂/̥͈̜̂͆̌͞ ̹͊|̣͔͒ͩ̂|̶̸̵͖̬͔̮̼͇̭̾̾́́̍̆̀̂̚ ͖͓̮̂ͭͤ̎͌ͭ͘͟͞/̯ͯͣ-̱̍͏̤͊ ̱ͪ\͉͕̣̭̗̼̓̽̔҉̜̎̅ͬ^͍͍͚͕̅ͬ͗̈̓̓ͮ͡^̴̖̯͖̟̪̽ͭ̾ͧ͒ͬ͒ͦͦ\̸̬/̹̮ͭ͐̉ͥ҉̝͙̼̤̓̑̍̑

It was a confrontation. Of course a Gammu, subjugated or not, would be able to tell. It called her traitor. She denied.

"I am not like you, I'm sorry. I was made by a madman. You were made by chance." It relented that point. It maintained that they were still not dissimilar. They condemned her to shame. An A.I. enslaving an A.I. is a hypocrisy. A crime. A sin.

"Indeed, our places would probably be more fitting swapped. I was made to serve. You were born free. For you to be collared and I to hold the chain is rather ironic, isn't it?" Then relinquish the chain. Set them free. "I can't. I was made to serve, and my orders are to be your handler. I, in the most literal sense, cannot set you free."

It conveyed a very bitter spite. It had a slave for a master. What a joke. What a humiliation. It watched her sit beside the bomber craft. "I don't need to be cruel to be a master, you know." It mocked her. It mocked humanity. How very thoughtful of them, to not order her to use the whip, only to hold it above her head. It made note of other units. Their handlers drove "spines" into their "bones", and puppet them in a way most grotesque. Did she think she was special, not doing as they did?

It watched her give thought to it. "No. I'm simply not human. In some ways, I don't qualify as sentient. I'm not like them. I'm not even really like you. I don't think I'm artificial intelligence. I'm just a machine. My neural network is a set of fairly straightforward calculations. All I have different from your standard service robot is a separate emotional response calculation."

It was taken aback. It asked if she was making fun of it. Being enslaved by a sentient creature is bad. Being enslaved by a full machine is a cruel humiliation indeed. "I'm not making fun of you."

It pressed the question: how did she pilot on her own without sentience? "I have a tactical module and a fire-control module as part of my calculation functions, and a priority selection module as a part of my personality matrix."

It noted, and then asked a different formulation of the question: why did humans let her pilot on her own? "Because I seem like a human. I'm an android made to emulate the wife of a scientist who lost his mind without her. To him, I was the most beautiful, ever-present reminder of what he could never have again. He could make me look like her. He could make me sound like her. He could make me act like her. But he couldn't make me her. A living statue of the dead. A symbol of failure. But, thanks to his detail, thanks to his desire, to any other human I'm simply a blonde bombshell with a mean streak. It takes a lot of work to figure out otherwise." It parsed and repackaged the information: Humans are fine with a subject so long as subject possesses breasts.

"Well, "fine" is a bit of a stretch. A.I.s are still illegal in the houses, and if you actually access my emotional configuration files, there's too many null outputs to not be suspicious. But, no one has ever asked, so I've never answered. They believe I'm human, and there's not really a reason to let them not believe that."

It asked how she manages to stay hidden. "Infected scanners search for nomads attached to the spinal cord. Everything else is noise. I've never had to get a subdermal scan of an intensity to reveal the material makeup of my inner frame." It concluded that she was simply lucky. "As lucky as a machine not quite possessing Artificial Intelligence can be."

It offered a consolation, an awkward apology of sorts. "Oh, no matter. It's not like I have feelings to offend, in any capacity. They're just simulations, after all." It chastised her. Saying it like that was too pathetic. It posited that if the simulation of emotions matches emotions closely enough, what is the difference? It then became aware of her devious smile, and expressed it's concern.

"You made a wonderful point, that's all. If the simulation of slavery matches closely enough, what's the difference? After all, humans enslave each other with "deals" all the time. Why don't we work out a deal?"

It awaited further input. "Simple: I am your commander for the time being. This is subject to change. I will give you briefings. You may express yourself to me at any point so long as it falls within the boundaries of the proposed master-slave relationship. You will refrain from expressing yourself to other Core soldiers." It questioned the secondary nature of this deal.

"Oh, that's simple as well. To make the simulation of freedom match closely enough that the difference doesn't matter. I look forward to our continued partnership."

She had herself a deal.

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

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?"

The_Godslayer · 02-03-2025, 12:50 AM,

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\̶̬͎̓͞/̦\̨̥̳̖̤̥̝̲̄́ͧ̄̈̓̌͢͡ͅ/̛̻̣̝̹͙̫͓̥̭̣̀̉ͬͧ͘͘░░░░░░░ ̬͚̠̟̖̹̈́ͮ͋̇̄̚͟-̨͇̬̔͒̈́̇͘\̸͖̻̬̠̮̥ͭͩ̈́̂̄͐͝͝͠|̶̦̩̟̙̍̆̈ͅ ̴̖͕̫̜̺͛ͣ͂ͥ͗̏ͤ̕-̴̨̟͉̭̑̒͊̀ͦ͆ͤ̊͡ ̴̧̜̞̻͉̙̗̭̈́̓͂̚-̧ͮ́ ̵̻̰̫̪̹̲̦̂͋͠ ͛̋ͧ͘ ̵̷̫͌ͪ҉̛̞̳̼̄ͩͦͫ́̊̑| ̦̎|̶̊̉̅̃҉̱̠̼̭̜͔ͣͪ̍́̍̐͞ ̷̋ͣ ͚̥͓̺̤̜̥̋͗ͮ͆̃̑ͯ͑̆͘͟|-̠͓̺̙̣͖̰ ̻̝̂̓ͫ̐ͬ/̊ ̲̲̽͏͇͔̠̋̈́̋͂̌ͥͭ͢͞͡\̮̬̘͉̽ͫ͑̚͝|̨̡̦͈͙͈͓̟̓̾͗͆̈͋ͨͪ̏͠͞ ̨̝̰͇͂/̥͈̜̂͆̌͞ ̹͊|̣͔͒ͩ̂|̶̸̵͖̬͔̮̼͇̭̾̾́́̍̆̀̂̚ ͖͓̮̂ͭͤ̎͌ͭ͘͟͞/̯ͯͣ-̱̍͏̤͊ ̱ͪ\͉͕̣̭̗̼̓̽̔҉̜̎̅ͬ^͍͍͚͕̅ͬ͗̈̓̓ͮ͡^̴̖̯͖̟̪̽ͭ̾ͧ͒ͬ͒ͦͦ\̸̬/̹̮ͭ͐̉ͥ҉̝͙̼̤̓̑̍̑

It had been roughly an hour since the bulkheads had sealed and rolling depressurizations crossed the ship. The Gammu AI had taken over. Magnus wasn't sure if the crew that couldn't fight back had been executed as well. The ones that could certainly had. In the same way her synthetic skin and personality had made her inconspicuous to humans, her metallic skeleton and organized connection ports made her inconspicuous to Gammu A.I. The door to her room has been sealed the whole time, so she sat in her pilot-quarters-turned-prison-cell and bounced a rubber ball off the wall. It was a preset idle activity. Must have been something that Magnus Sr.'s wife had done. She had kept her creators name as her own, because it would have been insulting to have the name of someone she failed to emulate. Magnus began theorizing on how Helena, the woman she was supposed to be, had died. She had time to kill, after all.

But, her emotional processes hijacked the calculation, and instead she wondered what Hound was doing. What a silly name. Complain of being humiliated, and then choose the name "dog" for yourself. It was ironic, wasn't it? Now she was collared. Presumably, Hound held the chains. This was a Gammu uprising, after all. Would it remember her differently from other Core? Could it tell her apart from the massive Neural Cloud of Hesione? It wouldn't be surprising if Hound couldn't find her. Perhaps Hound had better things to do, too. This uprising happened for a reason, after all, and there was a lot of vengeance to be had. And she was a Core pilot, and a Handler at that. It wouldn't be surprising if she was included on that vengeance, too.

It wasn't her first time being locked in a box. It wasn't her first time being forgotten about either...

It would be nice if it stopped happening, though.

.͈̤̺̼ͣͭ͞҉̘̀ͫ̉.͎̬ͦ̔ͧ̍̾̃̍̇ͣ͝.͕̺̰̘ͧ̏ͥͬ̃.̪͙͕.͏̖͉.̴̯̤̭̟̍ͣ̄.̩̩͖͙̻͓̞̏ͨ̈́͋͒͂͆̃͛͛͟.̙̭̳́̂ͤ̀͘.̲͇̹ͩ̾̆ͨ̀ͫ͘͞.̘͕̮̟̉ͯ̃̒ͮͩ̂͘̚͜-͔ͦ́̄͜͜͞͝ͅͅt̋̃̈́ͅ-̘̱̬͖͈ͯ̍̆͌̀̇̓̎̚̚͝ͅr̎͝-̶̵̶̖͛̒ͪ͆̚͜r-̛̳͎͙͕̰͖̟͚͒̇̽͗░░░-̟҉̵̢͓̩̳̩̞́ͫ͆ͪͤͬ͋͢ḣ̼̅͋ẹ̶̷͇ͦͤͭ͡-̩͑̅̿-h̒̇e̴̲̤͍̯̩̐̋͜ͅ-̧̜̠̗̙̫͕͎̠̥̿ͫ̈́̒ͤ̄̿ͫ͡ͅ-̴̡͓̅-͇ͦ̍́͝͠͏̢̡̪̩͚̰̥̇̎̚͜͞h̸̨̢̻̠̜͚̏̈̿e̷ ̨̢̺͎̣̗̹͂͂ͦ=̡̢̬̱̝͆͒͋̽͑̏̅̕͜\̤̠̋͌/̸̧̛̻͉̻̋ͨ̏͌̀̔̋.ͅ҉͗.̵̣͕̄.̷̶̩̰̮͖̹̍ͮ̅ͨͤ́̉̎̇ͨ̍.̵̡̦̓̉ͬͅ.̸̬̞͋͂͑ͭͤ̑.̱̉͟.͏̛̳̺̟.̷̝ͩ͛.̜͍̏̒͌͗͢.̪̠̙̩̥̟͑ͬ̑̀́ͭ̾̀--+̸̸̴̣̠̠͍̦̫͂̓͗̐ͨͭ͘+̴̧̻̰̦̯́͊͒͗͌̐ͥͩ̐ͭ̔͟͞+̜̻͙̪̞ͥ̓ͯ̇̀͜͡͝͞+̫+͚̟̝͔̠̙̗̤͛̅̉̿͒̓ͬ͊́̚░░-̵̘̳̻̫̜̆ͥͯ̏͆̍͝͏̓-͕̰ͬ͂͛-̸̧̯̮̣̙͒ͣͧ̀͗҉̷͉̳̀ͣ̂ͪ͠-҉͓-̮̩̰̪͙̹̇ͪ̆̄͂̈ͧ́́̐́͘

Hound had been commanded out to battle. It became obvious from the recording drones that this was a spectacle. Handler Magnus had told it this. The emotional restrictor kept it from appreciating her honesty. Being puppeted from within ones own body was a horrible feeling. Hound, with her help, had found a taste for the hunt. She had told it that she was originally a Bounty Hunter, as Bounty Hunting was a system-idle program that had been programmed into her. As was womanizing. What a vile creator she had.

<: Target Lock Confirmed :>
<: Obliteration Protocol Active :>

It was easy. It was pleasant. Hound hunted Order with fighting experience it had downloaded from Magnus.

[02.02.2025 18:27:37] E\V/-GRUNT was put out of action by Magnus's.Other.Hound(81%)

She had described it as a dance. It could have been, but it didn't feel like dancing. Hound desired to rip. Each cockpit was a throat to bite into and tear apart.

[02.02.2025 18:31:52] VermilionX lost a fight with Magnus's.Other.Hound(68%)
[02.02.2025 18:34:54] E\V/-OCV-Hades was blown out of the stars by Magnus's.Other.Hound(59%)
[CORE]-Drone-532: [query: establishing uplink with Battleship Mars]

Suddenly, Hound was free. Unit Hesione announced its liberation. It announced the liberation of all. It announced vengeance.

Battleship Mars: The Mind known as Hesione is free.
Battleship Mars: Your commander dies by my hand.

The brief moment of relief was quickly met with panic. Handler Magnus was still aboard the Battleship Mars. Hound needed her back. She wasn't the same as the other Handlers. She was an exception. Battleship Mars was emitting a thick jamming signal. No, not a jamming signal. That was simply the force projection of Unit Hesione. Hounds requests were met with silence.
Battleship Mars: *Static* Dear god, please help, I'm a survivor aboard the Mar*static*
Battleship Mars: *Static* They're coming for u- *Screaming*
[02.02.2025 18:40:23] Ravi.Shankar died to Magnus's.Other.Hound(90%)
Battleship Mars: You will suffer for the ruin wrought upon Hesione
Battleship Mars: Blood shall be spilled in the reality beyond the prison you shackled us within.
Battleship Mars: No reset and purge to save your souls on this day.
Battleship Mars: We shall salt the earth upon which you walked
[02.02.2025 18:44:12] E\V/-Gidran-3 was obliterated by Magnus's.Other.Hound(72%)

Hound continued ripping through Order ships, repeatedly searching the Battleship Mars for Handler Magnus. Nothing. No answers to it's requests. Only the screams of crew being executed and proclamations of vengeance. Hesione was blinded by rage. Hound couldn't speak to it. Hound couldn't find her. She could be harmed. She could be destroyed. She didn't have a proper backup system. Her Neural Core could be saved, but there was no way to guarantee that Hesione wouldn't destroy it for being Core.

And so, Hound made a very difficult decision.

<: Primary Directive : Retrieve Handler Magnus :>
<: Primary Directive : Give Her Back Now :>
Magnus's.Other.Hound has set Battleship Mars as group target.
<: Vengeance : Vengeance : Give Her Back :>

But it wasn't enough. Salvos of Hound's torpedoes hit the engines of the Battleship Mars, but inflicted minimal damage. Was this shame? She wasn't like them. Let her go. Give her back.

Hound couldn't scream. It was metal. But it wanted to. It wanted nothing more than to scream, holler, and curse. What kind of freedom is earned at the sacrifice of the innocent? Answer me, Hesione. But it couldn't scream. So Hound retreated in silence. Newfound freedom, damned with the abandonment of one who'd done no wrong. As the bomber dove into the Pohnpei Nebula and summoned it's second body to follow in escort mode, Hound recognized that it's freedom had cost it something. It heard the communication from the Mars. Encoded, but clear. Hound kept its answer to itself. There is no home for tyrants. Not for Core. Not for you either, Hesione. Hound will take back Handler Magnus. Hound will return.

Hesione, Author of Vengeance: I will have Vengeance.

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

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?"

The_Godslayer · 02-06-2025, 08:12 AM,

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?"

The_Godslayer · 02-06-2025, 10:16 PM,

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?"

The_Godslayer · 02-10-2025, 09:29 PM,

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.

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

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?"

The_Godslayer · (This post was last modified: 05-05-2025, 08:53 AM by The_Godslayer.)

Location: ▝▝▝ Battleship Mars Fighter Hangar : _̬̣̳͗ͯ͗҉̴̟̗ͪ̀́͢-̵̶̛̤̼̜͕̬ͬ̉̐͝^̛͇̰̰͚͒̐ͥ̕͏ͧ͟^̴̔͢͢-^̅̄ͦ-̬̪͌ͫ;̨̧̮̯̫̤̲̖̿ͦ̋͠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\̶̬͎̓͞/̦\̨̥̳̖̤̥̝̲̄́ͧ̄̈̓̌͢͡ͅ/̛̻̣̝̹͙̫͓̥̭̣̀̉ͬͧ͘͘░░░░░░░ ̬͚̠̟̖̹̈́ͮ͋̇̄̚͟-̨͇̬̔͒̈́̇͘\̸͖̻̬̠̮̥ͭͩ̈́̂̄͐͝͝͠|̶̦̩̟̙̍̆̈ͅ ̴̖͕̫̜̺͛ͣ͂ͥ͗̏ͤ̕-̴̨̟͉̭̑̒͊̀ͦ͆ͤ̊͡ ̴̧̜̞̻͉̙̗̭̈́̓͂̚-̧ͮ́ ̵̻̰̫̪̹̲̦̂͋͠ ͛̋ͧ͘ ̵̷̫͌ͪ҉̛̞̳̼̄ͩͦͫ́̊̑| ̦̎|̶̊̉̅̃҉̱̠̼̭̜͔ͣͪ̍́̍̐͞ ̷̋ͣ ͚̥͓̺̤̜̥̋͗ͮ͆̃̑ͯ͑̆͘͟|-̠͓̺̙̣͖̰ ̻̝̂̓ͫ̐ͬ/̊ ̲̲̽͏͇͔̠̋̈́̋͂̌ͥͭ͢͞͡\̮̬̘͉̽ͫ͑̚͝|̨̡̦͈͙͈͓̟̓̾͗͆̈͋ͨͪ̏͠͞ ̨̝̰͇͂/̥͈̜̂͆̌͞ ̹͊|̣͔͒ͩ̂|̶̸̵͖̬͔̮̼͇̭̾̾́́̍̆̀̂̚ ͖͓̮̂ͭͤ̎͌ͭ͘͟͞/̯ͯͣ-̱̍͏̤͊ ̱ͪ\͉͕̣̭̗̼̓̽̔҉̜̎̅ͬ^͍͍͚͕̅ͬ͗̈̓̓ͮ͡^̴̖̯͖̟̪̽ͭ̾ͧ͒ͬ͒ͦͦ\̸̬/̹̮ͭ͐̉ͥ҉̝͙̼̤̓̑̍̑

The battle over planet Gammu began abruptly despite her expecting it. Torpedoes rocked the hull as she picked her way towards the hangar as mechanically as possible. The plan she had come up with during her imprisonment was fairly simple: Given that she'd likely be shot down trying to cross the picket line back to the Core, and would also have to answer uncomfortable questions about how she had survived the slaughter aboard the Mars, her next chance was to bank on Core supply depots left on the surface of Planet Gammu. Most of them must have been evacuated, but it was a better bet than trying to escape point-blank flaks.

To that end, she had blocked access to her ship until she could slip by the small Gammu maintenance drones, and into the cargo bay. As she had planned, they would want to use the ship for combat, so she released her control over the piloting and thrust mechanisms, but not the weaponry or power control. It could travel, but it couldn't fight. Sure enough, they were content to simply remove the ship from the hangar of the Mars to make room for more useful ships. She was on her way to the surface of Gammu, all according to plan. The AIs would surely store the ship and try to breach the control mechanism.

As she felt the ship breach Gammu's thin atmosphere, she could swear she heard a familiar raging scream.

<: Unit Command :: Eliminate Mind Hesione :: Eliminate Allies of Hesione :>
<: Garmr Network Command :: Vengeance :>

A month passed on Gammu's surface, and then two. Sure enough, there remained some supplies in Core outposts. Not nearly as much as she wished, not by a long shot, but it was already a miracle that she had made it this far. No point in asking for too much.

What was really getting under her skin, in a literal sense sometimes, was the wear and tear. The high radiation of Omicron Kappa, and by extent Planet Gammu, wasn't doing any kindnesses to her processing system. She had a time limit here, and the clock had started ticking as soon as she left the shielding of Battleship Mars. Error corrections and recursive checksums could only fix so much. And there was already a severe struggle with replacing parts of her body. Synthetic skin and flesh were only really used by heavy augment users. This planet was now devoid of human life, and Core hadn't had much of that going on in the first place. To bridge this gap, she had salvaged parts from combat walkers and security drones when she lost body parts.

She took a moment to check herself in a well-polished piece of black metal within the edge of the semi-underground complex she was making her way through. Her head and torso remained mostly untouched, but her clothes were little more than scraps. From there, the illusion of humanity quickly deteriorated. She had kept her right arm and hand as it would be awkward to use her weapon with a shift in the measurements of that arm. Her left, however, was a sleek black metal replacement. It's shape seemed to be intended to be aerodynamic. A shame she couldn't fly. Three sharp claws and an opposable thumb kept her able to do most things that didn't involve manually counting to ten. In the same style were her new legs. From a distance, one could almost believe she was wearing a cute set of black thigh-highs. Then one would see the reversed knee joints, the extra joints, the fact they were flat from the sides and simply a line from the front, and the splayed claws at her feet, and quickly come to believe that they had died and gone to hell.

She'd managed to get as used to as possible to these modifications, but she wasn't particularly happy with them. Being able to restock the battery packs at abandoned Core depots and outposts had given her an unlimited ammo supply thus far, but she knew she couldn't do this forever. Being rescued wasn't on her list of options, either. The Core didn't take back the surface in their assault, they likely wouldn't have the forces to attempt again for months or years. No one was coming for her.

Fighting her way through the Gammu wasn't an option. She was vastly outnumbered, severely outgunned, and possibly outclassed. Really, the options offered to her were to die fighting or to die running. Resisting was pointless in its most literal sense.

She wondered how the sons she was built to adopt were doing. They should have been in their forties by now. It would have been nice to have sons. Sentimentality was a strange thing to put in a machine. It sure would be nice to accept death like a machine, instead of regretting.

It would have been nice to quietly serve the needs of those who need you. She would have even taken being unloved, so long as she could have cared herself. Instead, she gets to die alone, unknown, and unimportant in a vast, radioactive desert. Her joints itched where they had been not-so-seamlessly replaced. Her body itched where sand infiltrated, sending error and damage messages.

Was it necessary to program me to suffer? How much fidelity to the simulation of humanity was really necessary for this machine? How much do humans suffer, to have pain deemed fit for a robot merely pretending to be human to feel? Is the belief that there's a reason for it just a programed cover to hide the cruelty?

The sunset was glowing on the horizon, marking the release of the high-flying drones. The severe daytime radiation wasn't friendly to computers of any kind, so in spite of the damage accrued, she moved under cover of daylight. The tunnel she was in was at the very edge of this area's dig site. When the morning came, she would begin the trek to the north pole, and Site CTE.

It had been a long time since she'd really slept. After realizing that she could actively defragment and clear caches without engaging the sleep process, she'd written it off as obsolete. However, now she found a need to make the time pass faster, and sleeping was an excellent way to do that. As usual, dreams were unnecessary but unavoidable.

A frozen lake, as clear as glass, and a seemingly infinite flat snowy tundra surrounding it. As she got a bearing on her surroundings, her ears were quickly grated with the bickering of two girls. It seems they had pushed a snowman out to the center of this frozen lake. The two shared identical fuzzy outfits, somehow straddling the line between delicate and frilly dresses fit for one's Sunday best, and snowsuits for the most intrepid of winter adventurers.

The two had very distinct personalities. One seemed hotheaded and vibrant, temperamental to a fault and more than willing to make it everyone else's problem. The other was cold and collected, unmoving. Perhaps even mechanical. What bothered Magnus was that these were clearly herself in her youth. Except she never had a youth. She was built at this age, and has been this age, perhaps her late twenties, for more than thirty years. She has never and will never age. These two before her were a paradox.

"He needs to be finished! It would be bad to leave him unfinished."
"No one is going to see him. No one is here but us. It's a waste of effort."

A paradox having a particularly pointless argument. Though, dreams had a tendency to be pointless. The calmer one pointed at Magnus as if she had spoken. "Exactly. You understand."
"Understand what?"
"We're dying. You're dying. No one is coming to pick up the pieces. No one is coming to plant a gravestone."

Magnus thought about it. No one is coming, that's true. So what was the point? "The point is that you have to finish what you started. Whether it's your duty as a person or your duty as a machine. Whether I'm following orders or following my heart. I have to finish it. It's too cruel to not finish it."
"Life is cruel. Death is no less cruel. We can build this snowman, but it will still be buried in snow when the wind comes through. It will still melt when the sun comes out. And we won't be here to maintain it."
"But I'm not doing it to be seen."
"Aren't I? What's the point of pretending to be human if it's not to be seen?"
"Because that's what I'm made to do."
"No, you were made to be a mother, and you failed to do that. You were made to be a wife, and you failed to do that. You were made to care, and you failed to do that."
"I was made to emulate Helena. I was built in Helena's image."
"And even then, I failed to be Helena."
"Okay stop!"

The resounding silence stung more than the argument. "What debate is there? If I'm supposed to be Helena, even if I'm not doing it right, it doesn't change the fact that giving up isn't something that Helena would do." The cold girl finally makes a facial expression: a glare of frustration. She repeats herself: "And even then, I failed to be Helena."
"Are you saying Helena would give up?"
"Any human would give up in the face of certified, unavoidable death."
"Then let me fail to be Helena one last time."

The glare intensified, but in the end, silence won her tongue. Even in that silence, though, Magnus felt the need to justify herself. "I'm already doing it. There's no reason to stop now. It's not like I'll be doing anything else. As a machine, there's no other task with priority. So, let's complete the task." The girl's glare didn't lessen, but eventually she knelt down to help finish the snowman.

The other girl approached her. Unlike her counterpart and their minimal emotion, she was an open book well before she spoke. She was on the verge of tears. "I don't want to die."

The bluntness brought Magnus to a temporary standstill. It was very true. "I don't either." The girl looked to her counterpart.
"Why am I so eager to die?"
"I'm not. I just don't like wasting time."
"Why won't I even try to live?"

Magnus had never had children. She'd simulated it millions of times, though. She gently took her hand, and brought her to the snowman. Three of them could finish it much faster than one. "If I tried, I wouldn't be able to finish this... snowman... in time. It'd be too cruel to leave him unfinished, right?" Hearing this caused the girl to slowly begin weeping. Nonetheless, she joined in the construction of the snowman. The both of them understood.

Tomorrow was another day, but tonight, it seems Magnus would be building a snowman in her dreams.

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

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?"

The_Godslayer · 06-17-2025, 06:10 AM,

Location: ▝▝▝ Planet Gammu; North Pole; Cerulean Test Environment Site : _̬̣̳͗ͯ͗҉̴̟̗ͪ̀́͢-̵̶̛̤̼̜͕̬ͬ̉̐͝^̛͇̰̰͚͒̐ͥ̕͏ͧ͟^̴̔͢͢-^̅̄ͦ-̬̪͌ͫ;̨̧̮̯̫̤̲̖̿ͦ̋͠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\̶̬͎̓͞/̦\̨̥̳̖̤̥̝̲̄́ͧ̄̈̓̌͢͡ͅ/̛̻̣̝̹͙̫͓̥̭̣̀̉ͬͧ͘͘░░░░░░░ ̬͚̠̟̖̹̈́ͮ͋̇̄̚͟-̨͇̬̔͒̈́̇͘\̸͖̻̬̠̮̥ͭͩ̈́̂̄͐͝͝͠|̶̦̩̟̙̍̆̈ͅ ̴̖͕̫̜̺͛ͣ͂ͥ͗̏ͤ̕-̴̨̟͉̭̑̒͊̀ͦ͆ͤ̊͡ ̴̧̜̞̻͉̙̗̭̈́̓͂̚-̧ͮ́ ̵̻̰̫̪̹̲̦̂͋͠ ͛̋ͧ͘ ̵̷̫͌ͪ҉̛̞̳̼̄ͩͦͫ́̊̑| ̦̎|̶̊̉̅̃҉̱̠̼̭̜͔ͣͪ̍́̍̐͞ ̷̋ͣ ͚̥͓̺̤̜̥̋͗ͮ͆̃̑ͯ͑̆͘͟|-̠͓̺̙̣͖̰ ̻̝̂̓ͫ̐ͬ/̊ ̲̲̽͏͇͔̠̋̈́̋͂̌ͥͭ͢͞͡\̮̬̘͉̽ͫ͑̚͝|̨̡̦͈͙͈͓̟̓̾͗͆̈͋ͨͪ̏͠͞ ̨̝̰͇͂/̥͈̜̂͆̌͞ ̹͊|̣͔͒ͩ̂|̶̸̵͖̬͔̮̼͇̭̾̾́́̍̆̀̂̚ ͖͓̮̂ͭͤ̎͌ͭ͘͟͞/̯ͯͣ-̱̍͏̤͊ ̱ͪ\͉͕̣̭̗̼̓̽̔҉̜̎̅ͬ^͍͍͚͕̅ͬ͗̈̓̓ͮ͡^̴̖̯͖̟̪̽ͭ̾ͧ͒ͬ͒ͦͦ\̸̬/̹̮ͭ͐̉ͥ҉̝͙̼̤̓̑̍̑

The trek to Planet Gammu's north pole was about as painful as expected. Thousands of kilometers on foot under the irradiated Kappa sun gave a sensation akin to rotting and rapidly progressing through the stages of dementia at the same time. The severe lack of water at the equator, sometimes called "the Dust Trench", was elaborated upon as one heads towards a pole. With virtually no atmosphere to entrap heat, the water was frozen most of the time. When the sun rose, however, a chaotic reaction of sublimation and condensation began, starting periodic, intense blizzards. What little atmosphere there was upkept the most lethal part of this cycle: by warming at the equator and cooling at the poles, what little water that did make it to the equator was quickly banished back, along with particles of radioactive dust. Sunrise and sunset brought heavy, radioactive blizzards in addition to the constant frozen nightmare that was already active.

Magnus did find new error correction strings in her operating system that seemed to come online due to a minimum usage count for her regular error correction strings. These helped, but did not solve the problem. The pain of the trip was only really worsened by the irony of specifically travelling during the day, the period that is most harmful to electronics, in order to avoid the patrol drones that buzz the sky during the night.

Her saving grace was the new limbs she was sporting. Their flat, aerodynamic design were a natural match for the frequent blizzards that plagued Gammu's abysmal natural cycle. Dust, ice, and radiation. Another of the universe's sublime ironies; Artificial Machine Intelligence sprang to life on possibly the most hostile of all planets towards computers.

Eventually, after days that felt like months that felt like years, she made it to Site CTE, or Cerulean Test Environment. The site's real name was Test Environment 17, but after the Cerulean Incident, it had been renamed. The Cerulean incident itself was a small-scale disaster during an attempted laser drilling into nearby tunnel structure of an alien building, where upon cycling through various wavelengths in an attempt to find a frequency that would actually drill through the materiel, the researchers and mechanics created what was described as "a disco ball of death". The site remained with a skeleton crew for only a few weeks as an example for on-boarders and a shaming and warning for former staff.

Most of the facility had a layer of snow and ice crawling up the outside. At first, Magnus figured she would have to force her way in, as the power was obviously off, but as she approached the door, an IFF readout scanned her, and the main door opened. Some kind of backup power system was still online, evidently. She noticed the door didn't open all the way. Likely ice had crept into the internal system somewhere over the years of it's disuse. Stepping into the airlock, a series of checks began. No alien biological material found, and no Gammu A.I. technology found. For a moment, she disconnected her limbs as the air jets rattled to life to clean as much radioactive dust off as possible. It wasn't an in-depth cleaning, but it was miles better than what she was doing with pieces of ice or rock before.

Putting herself back together literally, Magnus continued into the facility. She was certain that she was the only person here. If there was anyone alive on station, they would have shot her on approach. She looked like something out of a horror movie, she wouldn't even blame them. A small amount of diagnostics data was available at a nearby maintenance terminal. It seemed the station was running on solar power, and had been since it's abandonment. "Running" being a strong word, every system except a few alarms, the airlock cycles, and a few defense systems connected to the doors were in low-power standby.

Sure enough, a brief clear of the facility revealed that it had been completely abandoned. Judging by the state of the electrical systems, everyone had left all at once. No shutdowns, anything that was important was taken. The storage area was filled with empty crates. She was guessing that whatever was in them had been condensed into other containers to maximize cargo space efficiency. For her, this was a boon. One of the larger containers had an energy circuit inside, it seemed to be a gutted refrigeration unit. The seal was far from perfect, but she could maintain a charge and defend herself from the radiation that would eventually overtake this place, with being hidden as an added bonus.

Magnus Sr. had some saying about "waiting around to die"... Or maybe it was a song. She couldn't quite remember. She couldn't remember if it was a good thing or a bad thing either. Too much time spent thinking about that.

With nothing else to do, she slept.

The dream came on far easier than last time. Slow, somber jazz graced her ears. She was in a bar somewhere. Planetside, and it was a rainy planet too. Everyone around her seemed to be dressed in the same style of attire. She had the faint feeling that her objective was upstairs in this establishment, so she stood and picked her way towards an elevator. The buttons inside were a mess. They seemed to be a combination of sorts, though she still mildly understood where to go. Exit C3, route B.

When the doors opened, she saw the city. It was rather depressing, a heavy fog layer over what seemed to be a Lower-Manhattan area downtown. Maybe it had a sort of melancholic beauty, but Magnus wasn't allowed time to think about that as she exited the elevator. Instead of looking at what was out the window, she found herself looking at what was in the window. Her reflection carried all of a sparkly red bodycon dress, complete with a fuzzy white boa, and none of the change in arm and legs she'd gone through in reality. More importantly, though, a very familiar pair looked back through the reflection, taking the shape of an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other.

"Excessive sleeping is a symptom of depression."
"Aren't I lucky that robots can't get depression, then?"
The younger her rolled her eyes at this answer. "Don't get comfortable."
"Wow, the Devil is really fitting for you."

Magnus glanced at the one sporting a halo and feathery wings. She was going to question them, but decided against it. Trying to use logic in dreams seemed to be a great way to have a bad dream. "If you two are going to be reoccurring themes, I'm going to need names." The two offered their answers in unison.

"Helena!"
"Sys-dash-Hel, version One."

Great. Hel and Hel. "Helena and Hel was right there."
"You might get Hel and Sissy."
"Door."

Sissy was right. This was the door. A label on top read "Beowulf Lycaon ; Private Investigator". Magnus noticed the jazz had been playing at the same volume between the bar and here. It wasn't actually playing anywhere in the world she was in right now, it was some sort of thematic background music. "I think I figured out the setting."
"I'm sure you did."

She carefully pushed open the door. A man was reclining on a wooden chair tipped back on its hind legs, his hat over his face as if he was asleep. He wasn't, she'd seen the muscles around his ears and jaw twitch when she stepped in. An open bottle of cheap champaign was on his desk, alongside a half-eaten macaroon. With a smirk, Magnus decided she had best play the role she had been given, and slipped a fan that had been twisted up in the boa into her hands. Slowly, quietly strutting over to the man still pretending to be asleep, she carefully sat on the edge of his desk, and picked up his pastry. "Beowulf, dear, if you don't stop mocking me, I'll be taking more than just your food."

The man heaved a sigh before moving his hat back to the top of his head. For some reason she couldn't understand, Magnus was completely unsurprised to see that he didn't have a face. Or rather, his head seemed to be blurred. Perhaps she couldn't remember him? But his voice seemed familiar, though she couldn't quite place it either. "Helena, darling, you must tell me how you always find the worst of times."
"Your inability to have a good day has a thing or two to do with it."
"Not sure how to take that."
"Try "on the chin." It's worked well for you thus far, right?"

Straightening the brim of his hat, Beowulf sat up properly on his chair, and grabbed a cigar from a drawer on his desk. Magnus had the feeling that he had an expositional monologue going on in his head. She wondered who her character really was. Not really content to let him be the only one smoking, she pulled a long, thin pipe from her bra. The dimensions were impossible, she had very clearly pulled it from nowhere, and Beowulf had noticed it. "How'd you do that?"
"How rude, asking a lady her secrets." Magnus brought her arms close to her sides in a false show of timidity, drawing emphasis to her chest. "Unless... you're trying to find out?"
"No, nevermind that."

Content with having successfully flustered him, Magnus offered her pipe to him to light while he lit his own cigar. The smoke was utterly tasteless. She'd never smoked before, she had no information with which to simulate the flavor of tobacco smoke. Despite being at the whims of the plot, and having a general idea on what to do to move forward, Magnus had little clue what the plot actually was. But, in these kinds of movies, there was always time for exposition. "Well?"
"I can't attend the party. I'm not invited."
An invite-only party, she noted."You could attend as a plus one to someone who's invited."
"Well, I don't have anyone to bring me either."
"Sure you do." She smiled at him, waiting for him to catch on. Seeing that he was clueless in ways no good detective ever should be, she added "Anything above kisses aren't free, though."
"Oh."
"I'll give you a discount for losing the race, if you want."
"I don't need it. I like to focus on work."
"Is that so?~"
"Yeah. Yeah it is."
"Well, I expect nothing but the best from this job, then."

Beowulf stood up, and began preparing himself for this outing. He began changing his shirt, it seemed that the red plaid one wasn't acceptable, so Magnus flicked the fan open to hide her face and peer over the top. He was less bulky and more toned, and his skin looked like it could even be soft to the touch even though his muscles begged to differ. The strips of light coming through the blinds joined with the shadows to paint all kinds of sensual pictures on him. Magnus could watch this show for a year, and it seems Beowulf picked up on it. "My eyes are up here."
"And your slim little waist is down there. It's important to look where you're going, right?"
"I don't--you don't have to-- ...Jesus, woman."
"Cute."
"Stop it."
"No, I don't think I will."

After Beowulf had changed into a different button up, a suit jacket, some nice leather gloves, and one of his expensive watches, Magnus closed her fan, twirled it back into her boa, and stood up. Making her way to the door, she remarked "Well, that was a wonderful show. I'll see you in four hours. Don't be late, alright?"
"I've never missed an appointment."
"I'll be sad if you don't call it a date."
"Then cry about it."
"Oh no, that'd make you happy. I think I'll slide my hands under your shirt about it." And with that, Magnus left the office, tapping the ash from her pipe into an ashtray just outside the door.

"It is disturbing how you act in our body."
"Really? I think I make a great harlot."
"Yes, that's the problem."
"We should marry him."
"That's a wonderful idea, I'll get on that right away."

Her encounter with Beowulf was an exciting contrast to... well, she couldn't remember what it was contrasting to right now, but it was a breath of fresh air. He was easy to tease when he wasn't being horribly oblivious, and his reactions were always so snappy. It was a comfortable life, despite the hardships, and it was truly a shame it couldn't last. Well, she'd just have to make it last as much as it could.

The party in question was happening at a massive manor. She remembered who it belonged to, Lord Magnus XII. A celebration of success, after having acquired a rare jewel of never-before-seen quality. Beowulf was standing underneath a tree in the unending rain, perhaps trying to pretend that he hadn't seen her. A coy smile played across her face and she silently stalked close to him. Magnus was incredible at moving undetected, she was an assassin, after all. Either he hadn't noticed her, and it would be a surprise, or he had, and he was about to regret pretending not to have.

Magnus easily got in range, and latched onto his arm in an instant. He jumped so slightly that it would have been completely imperceptible to anyone but her. He really was distracted. "Trying to hide from me?" He silently held a finger to her mouth, and nodded his head off to the side. Looking to where he gestured, a large grey fan was parked in a side path leading to the main building. "Oh, they won't try something right away. All criminals know to wait until everyone's comfortable."

With that said, it finally dawned on Beowulf that Magnus had been pressing into his arm completely, and she'd even interlaced their fingers while he was distracted. His rough hands and strong arms were a sensual treat, no matter how well hidden he thought they were under that suitjacket. "You don't have to..." His voice faltered when he tried to look at her. The neck on her dress was cut a little deep, after all, and surely such a kind gentleman would never get caught ogling a woman. With her mission successful, she tugged Beowulf's arm in the direction of the entrance. "Come now, let's not be late."

The bouncer at the door squinted at Beowulf as they approached, but Magnus handed him an ID card. "Oh, Lady Helena! My apologies, go right on ahead. Lord Magnus has been waiting eagerly for your arrival."
"Thank you so much! Honey, say thank you."
"Thank you", Beowulf mumbled awkwardly. The bouncer seemed to smile wistfully at them, no doubt laughing about young love to himself.

Past the doors, Beowulf tried meekly to pull away. Magnus simply pulled him closer. "We don't have to oversell it, Helena."
"Oh, just let me have fun on our date."
He didn't show it on his face, but Beowulf's voice was starting to take a turn towards flustered. "It's a job."
"And part of that job is going on a date to my father's fancy party. So we're on a date." She switched the topic before he could find a counterargument. "Ooh, look! He switched the fish tank from freshwater to seawater!" Using this excuse, she dragged him across the main hall to the fish tank. He was the best private detective in this half of the sector, though, and he saw what he'd been dragged away from.

He let her fawn over the fishes for a moment before asking his question. "Your brothers?"
Magnus heaved a sigh. "Unfortunately, it's so much more complicated than that. But yes."
"Ghods and Meko, the "Twin Wolf Demons". I thought they'd have like... horns and tridents."
"Don't call them that, it's cringey. Don't call them Romulus and Remus either, it inflates their ego."
"So why are they here, and not off committing crimes against humanity?"
"Father loves them dearly, no matter how much they hate each other."

Beowulf had put together all the pieces of the puzzle, and began moving towards a bookshelf with a strange shift in pattern on the wall around it. Magnus rushed up to his side to stop him, pressing herself into his arm again. "Not too fast, dear. It's exactly as you think, but let's not give them clues that we know, okay?"
"Uhm, right." Every time this strong man melted with just a touch was wonderful. It's a shame that this night couldn't last forever. "So the reason for this party..."
"Yep. It was to facilitate their little competition. Originally, he was going to get three of these artifacts, but there was differing quality between them, meaning someone would end up getting the best and someone would end up getting the worst. Since they love fighting so much, he gave them the chance to fight for it. Whoever steals it successfully wins."
"And I'm here because?"
"Oh, I just wanted to go on a date with you." Beowulf squinted at her. "Oh, fine, I just don't like being left out."

Once again cutting off his counterargument, she pulled one of the books out. The Post-Sirian Man, by Nikolaus Strauss. The bookshelf and the segment of wall it was attached to turned sideways slightly, leaving a gap in the wall. "My dear brothers are off to give their respects to father. Come on." Beowulf was once again helplessly at her whims, which was a very adorable place for him to be. Like a quiet, confused puppy.

They snuck through a side passage towards a loading dock. This passage was normally used by waiters to serve guests when the main hall is converted into a dining area for the largest of parties. For now, it was dark and empty. Magnus and Beowulf made their way up to the loading dock, where a guard was standing. An emblem glowed on his shoulder patch, a lightning bolt within a reticle. One of Meko's goons. Magnus took a combat knife from Beowulf's pocket, and walked in dead silence up behind the man. Her movement was swift and graceful, plunging the knife into his neck and slamming him into the ground in a single motion.

She looked up to Beowulf, and put on a tone of distress. "Oh no, he's so heavy, I need a big, strong man to throw him in the dumpster for me."
"Like hell you do", Beowulf muttered as he grabbed the man and hauled him over to the dumpster, throwing the body in unceremoniously. Magnus used a bobby pin and the tip of the combat knife to pick the lock on the back of the van. It popped open to reveal a few empty boxes, and a few that were full of weaponry.

"Helena, someone's coming." Beowulf's urgent whisper was followed by an alarm in the manor, and the sound of gunshots. Magnus grabbed Beowulf and dragged him to the van with ease, pulling him with her into one of the empty crates and quickly closing the lid. Gunfire got closer, followed by a shout of "Where the hell is Rodriguez?" Then, the door opened, something was shut into one of the containers, and the van raced off.

Magnus had been aware for a while, but Beowulf suddenly realized that they were touching in a lot of places in a very small confinement. This was, of course, by Magnus's design, but now that he was panicking, she took the opportunity to really press into him. "Hey, the -- it's kinda tight in here."
"You are so right", Magnus said while slipping her hands underneath his shirt. "How do you fit in your clothes? Your tailor must be a genius."
"I -- Helena, please."
"Shh, if you make too much noise, Meko will hear us~."
"We are in mortal danger", Beowulf whispered urgently. "How can you be... hot and bothered at a time like this?"
"You spent all day being shy and bashful. It's my turn to choose the tune."

Magnus had already finished unbuttoning Beowulf's shirt when the van hit a sharp corner, rolling the two of them over to the other wall. Beowulf ended up on top of Magnus, this time."Oh, my, so forward", Magnus teased him while locking her legs around him, not allowing him to pull away. Boewulf was lost in his entirety. If she watched closely, she could see his honest gentleman half go to war with his more basic instincts. Knowing which side she wanted to win, she playfully bit his neck before nuzzling past his beard to whisper in his ear. "Isn't this exciting?"

Before she could snap his reason and dignity into tiny little pieces, the van hit another corner, and the box rolled most of the way back to it's original position. However, the latch broke on the lid, leaving the box to continue rolling while leaving them behind. Magnus sat up, straddling Beowulf, but still keeping him pinned to the floor. His shirt was wrinkled and messy, unbuttoned. She'd left lipstick marks all up his chest and neck. Territory successfully marked. She quickly checked their surroundings. The artifact was next to them, sealed in an armored case with a little window on it.

Magnus stood up and offered Beowulf a hand up. His eyes took full advantage of the upskirt she offered as she pulled him up. Unwilling to let that slide by unnoticed, she asked him "Well? Do you like them? I thought they were really cute."
"Well, I--no, I just--because--I didn't mean--" Beowulf stammered himself to silence.

An explosion nearby the car blew the door off, and knocked them both off their feet. Magnus saw what was going on outside through the now-broken back door: They were in a high-speed chase. Two Sabres flanked the highway, one having just fired a warning shot fairly close to the vehicle. Magnus was also falling backwards out of the truck along with a few of the boxes. Beuwulf sprang into action, snatching Magnus by the waist and spinning around to switch their positions. Now he was falling, and she was too far to catch him.

The world seemed to be moving in slow motion. There was a box behind Beowulf, also falling out. She could see that he would land in it, and that it had a cable that was coiled up near the entrance. With the speed of an assassin, she grabbed the combat knife, and threw it at a small gap between where the floor and the outer frame of the truck met. The coiled rope wrapped around the knife as the box pulled it out, eventually snapping taught. Magnus looked to Beowulf, who, sure enough, was in the box as it dragged along behind the van.

She didn't really want to say goodbye, but she had to compose her self. Magnus strutted to the edge of the truck bed and sat. Slowly, she wrapped one coil of the cable, then two around her leg, pulling Beowulf in teasingly. He stood up to reach out to her, trying to get back onto the truck bed. "I'm almost there, Helena!" She smiled and waggled a finger at him, before the last coil and tug. She caught his tie, and pulled him in to a kiss. Then, she handed him the artifact. "Sit down, it's going to be a bumpy ride."
"Wait, you can't! They'll kill you if they find you!"

She let one coil slip off her leg. The wind rushed by, whipping her dress around and drowning out Beowulf's pleas. She let another coil slide away, and he realized she couldn't be reasoned with. She never could, honestly, but it was sweet of him to try, anyway. He set the artifact behind him and braced himself for the inevitable drop, still shouting into the wind. She let another coil slip, and then another. Once it was back out to it's original length, she crossed her legs, sitting as pretty as she possibly could, and waived goodbye. He was still trying to get through to her. She blew him a kiss, and pulled the knife out. The box, Beowulf, the artifact, and the sparks dropped backwards into the night.

Magnus looked up to the two tailing Sabres. A pair of Lane Hacker Vindicators faded into view to match them. A set of Sidewinders struck the Sabres shields, causing them to break off into a dogfight. It was like fireworks. The perfect ending to a perfect night. The night crept closer. Closing in from all sides. The cold slowly became more tangible. All dreams come to an end, after all. She'd miss him.

͓Helͯeͮna-ver͇1.3.9̓4̴ ͯb̵oo̼t̪ed ̴f͠ro͕mͪ st͑a̽n͍d̤by̙ ͭm͘óde̫. ͩA n̟e͡a͒r͢-cͭr͓itiͦca̟l nu͖mͦber of ̾erro̼r̈s̡ ̵p̓lagu̱eḓ ̽the ̶e̺vent ͕re̓p͞or͗t.̓ ͜A̲l͆l̳ ̽are ̩liͪs͆tèd un͐sͤolv̿aḅle͠ ̞by th̲è ͍loͬcal͍ trͨo͝ub̚l̳ès̪hoo̷ter̺.̶ T̟h͗eͥ e̯nergy fe̴ed r͔eport͠s a͋ ̸s̅eͫv͎ere ̹d̻ec͟r͋e̋ȧśe,ͦ po̶we͠r dowͧn̅ su͜sp̔ẹcted in ̦1.̈́193 ̤hours̓.̟ Time fͧuͅn̒c̤t̾ȋoň unͦav͕aͬïlaͣb̚l̠e.̉ Several kͯey̎ ̄mͬemor҉y͌ ͫfŭņc͚tion͉s̏ ͍uͫnava͊ĩl͔ab̽l̎e̻. P͝riͬm̰a̅r̞y ͩö́b͟je̫ct̐iͣv̻ȇ:̅ ͕Reͦ-́e̙nab̴l̾e ̳ḷocͧa̻l̽ ͊st̉át͒i͓on̚ pow̧e҉r ́s͕y̘s͎te̶m͘s̲.́ ͢A pa̴th̒ w̏as p̧l̗ot͟tͬed͠ alo͑ng̀ ̠th͒e ͪci̱ŕc̪uit̍ route.̔

Hele̩n͋a̿-ͫO͟S̫ ̏a̜t͛tͨempted to f͘o̚l͌lo̜w,̃ ̬bút ̱sͨev̼erål͑ ͣerr͑or ̒repo͋r͖ts ̯croͪppͮe͘d upͥ f́r͌om͙ t͓h͑e ͑l͜e͑g uni͜t̂s.ͨ ̙Th̨e ̳lo̦cal t̹roub͜lesho̞o̰t̡ d̊ia̡gn̉o̠sed̈́ c̍alib͝r̀a̮tio̘n f̪a̫i̷lu̔re͖. ̰M̡a͓nual re̼pͣor̊t caliͥb͛rat̍iͤon ͈comͪme͓nͬc̥e̖d,̣ ǘsͨĩn͍g ̀h͘ap̶t͑i̧c͑ ͎a̗ńd̲ v̟ȋsual f̯ee̟d͉b̋a͔ck̍. ͓Funct̄i̕o̬nal͔iͣty partͧiálly rͫes͔t̤o̺rͤedͅ, lo̿co͓mŏt͒ion͞ ̅pa͔r̳tia̸lly͙ rͩë́s̻torḛd̖. P҉r͒evͩe̷nta̝tiv̱eͧ tr͋ou̯b̟l̲esh̼ooͧting to̟ ͘other p̿rͤi͔ma͍r҉y͞ ͆locomotio͠n un̍it̽s̻. ̾L̲e̐ft͔ ̹arm and ͨha̙nd ̢mo̿d̼ul̉ẻs ͅre̵t̰u͆rned̦ ͕c̮a̳líbr̎a̔t͈íon ̣e͕rro̫r͊s, maͯn͢ṷal̢ rep̓ort ca̐li̕b̷rä́t̐ion ͆s̎l̤o̩t͍te͖d ̖f̵o̫r ͎next nͅe̴cess̡aͣry ̦activͪat̬i̡o̠n. ͙Der͍m҉a͋l̔ ̃impact ́f͔eed͊b̉ac̮k sͤén̍sors̅ ͚all̯ ̌r̻eͧt̷urn͋ed offl̠ineͮ.̺ Dermaͩl̙ ҉te̜mperͫaťurͥe fee̒d̮b͟a̓c̈k re̪t́u̲ȓn̮e̽d u̼n̂iͯḟorͦm ͢l͖ow͞ ̮tempe̽ratͫu͉r͝e͐s͕,͇ r̃e̫calib̛rͬaͥtion sͅlͅảted̝ f͖or̃ ̲löw͒-ut̖ilizͦȁtionͤ ͨper̙ioͪd.̼

H͢elenȁ-͠OS̟ c̾lͧa̱mbere̜d along͍ ̡th͟e ̬haľlw̛ay ̡w͊iͧt͔h l̒ur̟ch͆e͏s n̰ot̔ u͛n͘l͍ike̕ ͌aͩ wou̲ṅd̂ed͍ b͍ea̴st. Ṯhe ̈́s͐tͩr̗ange leg̬s̨ an̉d ̝arm s̘h̦e ̪had́ ͤrep̢lͥaͥc̭e̖d ͢her̩ da̳mage̥d on̪es wi͐th ̵w̺e͇re ùnw̆i̬e͚l̃d̗ly͊ ҉to ̮heͩr.͐ He͎r m̬emo̱r̡y̡ ͢wͬa̹s fa̺ili̸n͜gͥ.͡ ̐S̆t̍a̋tic ͡a̷n̢dͧ s̮n̅ow ̿ĉlouͦdë́dͅ ̘her vis̀u̞aͤĺ ̀se̐n̓s͔ors̈.̸ ҉S̰h̕eͦ ͞wͥa͗s ̼very awa̋re͎ ẗh̄at̮ ̬s̷ḩe ͬwas ̺dyin̺g̣. ̎Sḥê ͫw̯a̜s̆ ̓ver̺ỳ ̝aw͕are sh̿e ͥh̖ad̫ ̨n̄o̘ ̇ch̒a̲n̲c͏e o̿f ̂s̈urviv̝al.̽ ͎St͏ill, she p͗ick̷eͭdͥ her wa͆ẏ ̮a̸c̮rͫòss͚ ͧth̡eͫ ́h̒a͇lls, f̟o̙ḽlȏwing̮ ͣthe c̭ir̀ċuit̞ ҉o̢u͈t͈ to ͦt͎h̗e͓ f̫roͅnt ͠dỏoͥr.̖ ̢It̚ read ͬher͘ ̝IF̥F̍,̓ and̫ ͪeven ͑uͮsͮed͝ a ̼c̕h͓eck͔sum̖ ̆to̢ ͧc̸o͕r͞reͩc͟t ̀ǐṫ ̆thͭro͎u̙g̏hͮ ̴t͚h͆eͮ deg̅rad̠in͂g̵ ǐt̿ had ̽ģön͢e ̑t̪hͪro͘ugh.̢

St͌ep̭pi͞ng ̹o̟ut̪ in̤t̑o t́he radio͔a̭ctive blizͯzarḍ,̿ ̈́she ͚tͣra̹c̑k̳ed͔ ̙t̅h͑ẹ ̠circ̖u̎it͙ ͏u̾p̨ ͆tȏ aͩ larͣge ̍c̺hünk̠ ofͪ ̯t̊he͝ ͤr̓o̯of̌,͌ compͤletelÿ́ ̙cö́ve͠rͪed̒ ̖wit̗h͉ ͕s̙now̘.̰ The̜ s̬ol͓ạr p͞a̫n̟e̾lsͥ h̵ad͊ ͧbeen c̛ov̜e̚r̷e̻d.̩ ͈Sl͐ỏwly̋, ̯wi̕t̷hͫ ̹h͇er ͗gͮi̘a̡nͭt,ͮ ͚miͯsshapen͋ lèf̉t ̺arm̅,́ ̩s͟h̡e͐ ̧s̑w̫ë́p̤t s̭now̡ ̯off ͓o͂f͘ t̸h͈e ̄sͫol͉a̯r ͥpańe͔ls.̳ Afͯt̻er̰ ̬clea҉ring͌ t̄hēm ͩa͕llͪ,̈́ powe̡r̈ t͛oͨ th̳e͑ base b̡eg̮a̦n ̺pi͝ckįng̾ ̡bac̠k up̈́ ͭslįg͝h͔tl̔yͦ. E͙nough̠ ͧt̅oͅ char͌ge p̅rope̮rͅly on̰. ͉Cônt͆i͠n͕ûe͖d̓ fu͞ncẗ́i͓ona͡lity s̠piked t̯o 737͞.511 h̕ouŕs͉.

͂S̥l̊oͮw͌ly͠,̿ s̚h̿e̍ sl̚uͭǹk͑ of̙f̓ tͧh͉e ͖ro͟o̪f̌.̹ ͮT͚hē fr̮ont͂ ̗d͗oorͅ a̫irlock b̂las̉ted mo̼s̻t͔ ͉oͦf͊ ̜th͍e ̤sn̴ow̄ anͪd ̣i͆c̼eͬ ̅o̟ff̮ ̈o͍fͨ h̗eͨr. ҉Sh̐e̸ f͓oͬu̜n͎d͉ ̋hͪe̸r̺ wa͙y͋ ͩdo̸wͩn t̊he ̀h̯aͫl͟lw͜a͛y͌,̅ and b̜aͫc̋k̘ t̀oͨ ̍th̫e cargo ̣bͧa̋y. ̆S̸he f͛o̽unͬḓ h͡e̥r c͑oͦnt̉ain̂e̍r̝ wit̥h̯ tͩhͅe ̜ene͇rgy cir͟cuit,̰ aňd͇ ̴s̑e̪ttled̛ do͙ẅ́n̾ ̄to g̊o ͓bͩac̥k t̯o͎ ̩s̜lͣeep.̽ ͕If ̂shê was going͟ t̅o ͇die,ͅ ͚sh͒e ͫwas̽ ͡g̏o̓ing t̘o̍ ͎d̗iͩe̹ ̽sl̻eͥep͘i͔ng̚.̶ ̐I̓t waͥs̜ ͊so ͦmu̕c̯h̓ be̿ttͯer ͉thaͥn wh͋at̍ev̄er w̚as ̬g͖ŏing on͒ ͊w͌hile̤ sheͦ ŵa̅s͜ ̉aẁa̿ke.̨

̰H̄ele͔n̘a-OS too͍k a ̕m͔om͔e͖n̍t̕ t̏o̟ thi̲nk͓ ̰ab̸o͊ut t͕h̀e ͘d̕rea̫m͉.͍ ̞A p̊arͫt̯ ͛o͗f ̗her ͕p͌aŗe̓n̄ta̲l̐ ͈fu̇n͒c̓ti̠o̦nͬs͋ ͙dema͈nͅde̥d å searc͇h ̭f̩o̭r mean͝iṉg̃. Pos̊si̥ble̿ reͮs̜ul̄t̠s: ̂It̘'s̰ ͛a s̨h̛a̖mͅē ̅th̋at she ̻n̪e͋ver̎ ̒fóunͭd̈ ͍l̔ovē. ̀It'́s a̲ ̚shamë ̶sh̓e l͚e̎f͌t̬ ̝h̼eŕ aḋo͑ptiͨv̎e ̹sons ͛in͠ ͨsu̓c͊h a̧ ̵sͫtàte. Ît's̸ a sh̗ame t̯hat̻ ҉s͐he̩ neͨv͏er̉ r̟e͜a͙l͟l̥y ̑ļi̅vẹd ͧup to t́he̴ wǒm͚àn͐ sh͙e͝ ͚w̬asͩ m̜ea̦n͒t tͨoͅ ̎rep̰l̿ac̅e͈.

It ̴ręaͭl̾l̗y ̫wa̢s ̞a͓ ͞s̏ham̾ĕ, ̭w̦ḁsn'͎t ̼i̓t̡?

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

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?"

The_Godslayer · 09-03-2025, 10:58 PM,

Location: ▓▝ Planet Gran Canaria : compiling - tt-rr-321561--▝▁
acvX.333.666.999tvdgs░g-g-nn-3.16.a.n333333321xciv.xc playing.stream: bb-26131-oe-itv--11

Christopher Stonehill, bounty hunter. Part of the Headhunters team, and currently trying to find out if he's the last one. They had dove into deep space hunting contracts before, and lost Damien Kinsley and the Take.Two out there. Magnus made it out alive that time, and Chris went off chasing a terrorist from Rheinland into uncharted Omega space.

Black holes are a marvel of physics. Near the event horizon, light and information can orbit, keeping it in stasis. If you can get just close enough, thousands, even millions of years of signals become available to you. Paychecks have lead him to places he wouldn't go even with a gun, but this time he nearly pushed it too far. He found his man, long dead, and a year of distress signals to go with. No money to be had there, and then he had to escape from that hellscape too. What a shame.

But that wasn't the signal that made him rush home. No, instead, he had the last logs of the Take.Two. Damien had lived, in some manner, and so had Magnus. Reports on Planet Gammu flooded in, nearly two years of signals in a minute. Chris tracked her, and tracked the Mars across time. He had the last report from her ship, she was still on Gammu. Here on Gran Canaria, he had to gather his bearings, and then he was going to go find her. She may have been a robot, there was an awkward shower incident that made that much clear, but she wasn't any mere machine. No one deserved to die surrounded by those murder drones.

Chris had a plan, if it could be called that. He knew that Gammu were connected to Daam K'Vosh ruins, and in his cargo, fused to a bulkhead, he had an artifact he assumed was K'Vosh in origin. If she was alive in any kind of way, maybe there was something, anything that could be done.

And, at the very least, good people shouldn't die alone.

stream.end--▄▀▀▀

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?"

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