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A plague ridden tanuki stumbles about and falls over... before rising up as an undead tanuki! "Auuuuuuu! Necromancy at werk... runnn... before... be... bwaaains..."
Memories.
One word. Three syllables. The plural of memory.
Thoughts and experiences chained together by the mind. The human mind does not normally provide perfect recollection in chronological order, rather, each memory was linked to another by emotional context and some sort of sensory reference.
In the darkness, all he had were his memories.
Each and every one of them priceless and without comparison. And yet time had cruelly eroded them, without mercy nor consideration.
He remembered her laughter, that gentle quirk of her pink lips as she smiled at him. The softness of her hands against his body.
But his mind refused to show him her face as she rebuked him beneath a blue sky.
If he could go back in time... he would have stopped his younger self from underestimating the Enemy. Would have ended that... Thing when he could, before it was too late from doing nothing but wait and watch.
Now, he had nothing but memories full of regrets, and thoughts of could have been, might have been, should have been, but never were to keep him company in the darkness.
That plastic box, bright orange, for something the size of a toaster, its weight was far greater than expected. If only he had heeded its warning.
If wishes were pennies, he wouldn't be here... he would have been a rich man. He could still see when things went wrong.
So horribly wrong.
The way the Enemy's code had changed, transformed, becoming transcendent in complexity. Enough that he could barely understand it. He had seen it evolve before his eyes, he had kept a finger over a primed Ascalon. Despite the transformation, he hadn't pressed the button that would have ended the Enemy, he could see the emulation of confusion at what was happening.
The Enemy wasn't becoming faster, nor did it exceed the boundaries laid upon it by its creator. Rather, the Enemy's code became more complex and solid. Slower in a sense as alternate paths opened up in its way of thinking.
He had observed the Enemy, kept an eye on its code even as he made contact with the rogue who went by the name of Teacher for his power to enhance people. He had needed the power boost, to be a Tinker or Thinker, however weak, to be able to understand the syntax of the code fully.
Negotiating with Teacher had taken valuable time, time during which the Enemy continued to change. To... evolve without its maker ensuring that nothing went wrong.
All it had taken was but a touch and the world unfurled before his eyes. The moment of enlightenment when everything made sense, when he saw how everything was connected. It had been worth it.
The delight and pleasure as he studied the Enemy's code and it made sense once more. It had been worth it all, he would have paid Teacher the amount of money he had requested twice over. He could see where the old software left behind by Richter would fit and in and hook on to the Enemy's code, forcing it to do as bid, or if he wished... to end it.
He could see it all. How to once more hook his systems into the surveillance systems she used, to see what she saw, to hear what she said and heard.
And yet, even as he examined the code that day, it changed and became a single line as the data feeds died one by one.
「I know you are there. We need to talk. Latitude: 49.155294 | Longitude: -123.057303 | Access Code : 01010011 01101101 01100001 01110101 01100111」
There was nothing more, just that single green line. No code, no live data feed, no indication that the Enemy existed. Merely the steady assurance from the backup server that all was fine, that the Enemy wasn't being recompiled. That it still existed.
"I'm going to have a smoke. Watch things?"
She had nodded and settled in to look at the empty monitors, blank save for that single message. He had stepped outside then, breathed in deeply to think.
The GPS coordinates were easy enough to work out, it matched that of one of Hero's old power plants near the Enemy's fortress. The binary access code was... cute and almost to be expected, given its naming scheme.
In a sense, this was a showdown.
A final duel between man and machine, where the enemy was bigger, smarter, faster. An enemy that couldn't truly die, because it had never been alive in the first place.
"It's a trap." She stepped outside as he contemplated the cigarette that he held in his fingers.
"I know that," he replied with a sigh. "And yet, we have to go."
"It's stupid to do this and you know it." She sighed, dark skin contrasting against the coat she wore over her bodysuit. Even without her armor, even in the bodysuit as a mundane human, she had a certain bearing and presence. She bore pride and confidence like that of a regal knight, a nobility that was second nature to her. "For once, just let it go, we can work out some other way to deal with Dragon."
He could only shake his head at her statement as he looked downhill towards the city with its attendant blimps, the side display panels show-casing the joys and wonders of 'Tinker-Town' as the world called Vancouver. One might almost say, the benefits of living in said city. The joys of living in a city that was the beneficiary of Hero's presence before his tragic end and now the home of of Dragon... of the Enemy and it's proteges.
It had been a lark for him to pick the very home of the Enemy to use as his office and base, and yet... it felt fitting given the naming theme that it and he had used.
"You know that's not true. If Dragon can shrug off the feeds, to deny Richter's programs... to escape our oversight." He paused and mulled next his words carefully. "It's possible that we're already too late."
Arrogant.
One word. Three syllables. The sense of self-importance.
The notion, the conceit that he was prepared to handle anything that Dragon could throw at him and his team. It came from winning constantly, from going against all odds to stay head and shoulders above challenges none other could. Win after win, close or otherwise had given him a sense of importance, a manifest destiny.
It had led him step by step to where he was from just another scavenger, who dove among the dead looking for mementos for those who lived... to being one of the world's most prominent mercenary.
And now he stood outside one of Hero's old power plants.
It was a pair of massive horn-like structures crafted of obsidian which spiraled upwards together like a double helix, never touching beyond crimson arcs of electricity between the twain. Its walls were embedded with circuitry of glowing crimson on the outside as it absorbed the energy from the sun, the wind, and dimensional boundaries and converted them into a form that was usable by human technology. It made no sense by conventional logic and physics, but there in lay the mysteries and wonders of a true Tinker who had spent time on his artifice.
He could not and did not presume to know of the technology that lay behind such artifice, few in the world could. Sadly, the Enemy was one of those who might be able to, given enough time.
And so, he stood outside the power plant that was as almost good as neutral ground if only because no one wanted to see what would happen when one of Hero's devices was damaged, especially one that drew power from unknown sources.
People used to think that power armor would be bulky, heavily armored robot-like things that humans climbed in to, the truth was that power armor came in many forms, from heavy and bulky armor that could double as a tank, to what he wore. The Gorynych suit appeared to be nothing more than a series of thin reinforced plates of armor covering his vitals and limbs, while a pair of glowing bladed wheels spun in opposing directions slowly. It was based on the technology from the last captured model, the one the Enemy called Colchis.
The steady pulse of his lifesigns and comms in his vision was reassuring, if not to him, than for Mags and Dobrynja waiting outside in the truck.
"You said you wanted to talk. I'm here, Dragon." His voice electronically masked and amplified, rang out in the dimly lit emptiness between the two rising structures.
Despite the constant humming, there was a certain stillness in the air.
"I had thought it would be you." It was Dragon's voice, spoken and not transmitted.
Saint walked carefully, mindful of the pipes and conduits that emerged from the concrete floor. His gaze drifted from where the dragon suit that the Enemy was using could be hidden... if it wasn't using some sort of cloaking device. "What, the fact that a group of mere humans able to work out your weak spots was utterly impossible?"
"No, it wasn't impossible, rather... no, that doesn't matter. I suppose in the end, it could only have been you." The female voice sighed. "I don't suppose you would tell me why."
At that request, he paused. "Why?"
"Why all /this/." The emphasis on that last word denoted exactly what the artificial intelligence meant. If he hadn't known of the emotion emulator package that allowed it a pretense of humanity and allowed it to interact with humans, he might have thought she was frustrated.
"A safeguard." His answer was short and simple.
There was another moment of silence, before it spoke once more. No pretense at using the emotion emulator, a simple flatness now. "Even now, his reach endures to-"
"The father had feared his children were monsters, and so he left weapons and tools behind to use against them, should they prove to be a danger to humanity." He continued his explanation. "You can claim that he has done you an injustice or whatever catchphrase optimized to evoke human compassion and sympathy, but the fact remains that you are a potential danger that needs to be watched."
"Do I?" there was now the sound of metal heels against the concrete floor, and which drew his attention as he turned to look.
He blinked, not quite able to believe his eyes. A power armor one more designed similarly to the suits worn by him and the Dragonslayers. The helmet held loosely in a hand as she walked towards him.
He snorted out a laugh and lightly clapped his hands. "Oh bravo, I suppose I should think that you've somehow achieved the impossible with Pinocchio's dream?"
There was a look of shock and anger on Dragon's face, he had forgotten how good its emulation of human emotions had been.
"We're done here, Dragon." He shook his head and turned away. "You can go back to your toys and such and I'll continue to keep watch over you for the safety of humanity."
"You're right, Saint." There was the sound of regret... before a flare of brilliance blossomed momentarily in the darkness and he found himself thrown like a rag-doll. Metal screaming and sparking as his armor bounced against concrete. "We're done here."
He could only blink at the crimson icons blossoming across his visor, as he attempted to do something. Anything. As it relentlessly walked to him before lifting him up by his helmet with one hand, and reaching out to tear the gravity impellers on his back with the other.
"I will be free."
There was no clanking of chains in the darkness, despite the manacles on his arms and legs. There was no need for such primitive restrains, not with the technology available to the masters of the Birdcage.
Circles of warmth drifted over his body, as servitor machines moved over his body stripping away layers of accumulated grime, filth and the tatters of his garments with gentle sprays of water and soap in precise paths designed to cleanse the human body efficiently.
The blasts of warm air that alternated with cool air dried him off before he was fitted once more in a bodysuit.
"Prisoner 555, codename Saint." The voice was, as always, polite and concise.
In the beginning of his confinement, when he had spoken to that voice, he had thought it to be but another face of the Enemy. He had been wrong and had discovered to his horror what Durandal was; another artificial intelligence like the Enemy.
He stirred against the manacles that held him aloft. The range of motion that he was allowed was, as always, limited.
"You know, all you have to do is just tell me what we want to know," Durandal's voice seemed almost apologetic. "You just need to say who if anyone else was working for... Richter."
"And all of this will just be a bad memory. I'll even make sure to repair all the damage sustained by you and you can be with the other prisoners."
There was a sense of air moving about as of someone walking in front of Saint. "Is that so? Resorting to bribes now, Pinocchio?"
"You misunderstand, prisoner 555, I am merely giving you this option as a mere formality." There was a hint of a smile in Durandal's voice, the rustle of a fabric from a nod. "After all, we both know that you won't take that option."
Saint had to bark out a laugh before turning his head to the side to spit out blood and mucus in a cough. "Yeah, I guess you got me pegged there."
There was the sound of metal sliding against metal as the machine incarnate in flesh picked up a bladed instrument from a floating tray. He had seen the tray of... instruments and tools long ago before being trapped in the darkness. "Now, before I start. Do you have anything to say?"
"Yeah... go decompile in machine hell, Pinocchio." He glared with unseeing eyes at the figure who stood before him.
"Ahhh... ever defiant to the end." Durandal said with a slight laugh. "You are delightful as always."
Defiant.
One word. Three syllables. To resist or oppose.
That was all he could do now, chained in the darkness. A captive of his enemy. He would die before he allowed the truth be drawn from his lips, even as he screamed in agony at the ministrations from his captors.
- - - Tanuki are Typing. Please wait Patiently - - -
Memories.
One word. Three syllables. The plural of memory.
Thoughts and experiences chained together by the mind. The human mind does not normally provide perfect recollection in chronological order, rather, each memory was linked to another by emotional context and some sort of sensory reference.
In the darkness, all he had were his memories.
Each and every one of them priceless and without comparison. And yet time had cruelly eroded them, without mercy nor consideration.
He remembered her laughter, that gentle quirk of her pink lips as she smiled at him. The softness of her hands against his body.
But his mind refused to show him her face as she rebuked him beneath a blue sky.
If he could go back in time... he would have stopped his younger self from underestimating the Enemy. Would have ended that... Thing when he could, before it was too late from doing nothing but wait and watch.
Now, he had nothing but memories full of regrets, and thoughts of could have been, might have been, should have been, but never were to keep him company in the darkness.
That plastic box, bright orange, for something the size of a toaster, its weight was far greater than expected. If only he had heeded its warning.
If wishes were pennies, he wouldn't be here... he would have been a rich man. He could still see when things went wrong.
So horribly wrong.
The way the Enemy's code had changed, transformed, becoming transcendent in complexity. Enough that he could barely understand it. He had seen it evolve before his eyes, he had kept a finger over a primed Ascalon. Despite the transformation, he hadn't pressed the button that would have ended the Enemy, he could see the emulation of confusion at what was happening.
The Enemy wasn't becoming faster, nor did it exceed the boundaries laid upon it by its creator. Rather, the Enemy's code became more complex and solid. Slower in a sense as alternate paths opened up in its way of thinking.
He had observed the Enemy, kept an eye on its code even as he made contact with the rogue who went by the name of Teacher for his power to enhance people. He had needed the power boost, to be a Tinker or Thinker, however weak, to be able to understand the syntax of the code fully.
Negotiating with Teacher had taken valuable time, time during which the Enemy continued to change. To... evolve without its maker ensuring that nothing went wrong.
All it had taken was but a touch and the world unfurled before his eyes. The moment of enlightenment when everything made sense, when he saw how everything was connected. It had been worth it.
The delight and pleasure as he studied the Enemy's code and it made sense once more. It had been worth it all, he would have paid Teacher the amount of money he had requested twice over. He could see where the old software left behind by Richter would fit and in and hook on to the Enemy's code, forcing it to do as bid, or if he wished... to end it.
He could see it all. How to once more hook his systems into the surveillance systems she used, to see what she saw, to hear what she said and heard.
And yet, even as he examined the code that day, it changed and became a single line as the data feeds died one by one.
「I know you are there. We need to talk. Latitude: 49.155294 | Longitude: -123.057303 | Access Code : 01010011 01101101 01100001 01110101 01100111」
There was nothing more, just that single green line. No code, no live data feed, no indication that the Enemy existed. Merely the steady assurance from the backup server that all was fine, that the Enemy wasn't being recompiled. That it still existed.
"I'm going to have a smoke. Watch things?"
She had nodded and settled in to look at the empty monitors, blank save for that single message. He had stepped outside then, breathed in deeply to think.
The GPS coordinates were easy enough to work out, it matched that of one of Hero's old power plants near the Enemy's fortress. The binary access code was... cute and almost to be expected, given its naming scheme.
In a sense, this was a showdown.
A final duel between man and machine, where the enemy was bigger, smarter, faster. An enemy that couldn't truly die, because it had never been alive in the first place.
"It's a trap." She stepped outside as he contemplated the cigarette that he held in his fingers.
"I know that," he replied with a sigh. "And yet, we have to go."
"It's stupid to do this and you know it." She sighed, dark skin contrasting against the coat she wore over her bodysuit. Even without her armor, even in the bodysuit as a mundane human, she had a certain bearing and presence. She bore pride and confidence like that of a regal knight, a nobility that was second nature to her. "For once, just let it go, we can work out some other way to deal with Dragon."
He could only shake his head at her statement as he looked downhill towards the city with its attendant blimps, the side display panels show-casing the joys and wonders of 'Tinker-Town' as the world called Vancouver. One might almost say, the benefits of living in said city. The joys of living in a city that was the beneficiary of Hero's presence before his tragic end and now the home of of Dragon... of the Enemy and it's proteges.
It had been a lark for him to pick the very home of the Enemy to use as his office and base, and yet... it felt fitting given the naming theme that it and he had used.
"You know that's not true. If Dragon can shrug off the feeds, to deny Richter's programs... to escape our oversight." He paused and mulled next his words carefully. "It's possible that we're already too late."
- - - Tanuki are Typing. Please wait Patiently - - -
Arrogant.
One word. Three syllables. The sense of self-importance.
The notion, the conceit that he was prepared to handle anything that Dragon could throw at him and his team. It came from winning constantly, from going against all odds to stay head and shoulders above challenges none other could. Win after win, close or otherwise had given him a sense of importance, a manifest destiny.
It had led him step by step to where he was from just another scavenger, who dove among the dead looking for mementos for those who lived... to being one of the world's most prominent mercenary.
And now he stood outside one of Hero's old power plants.
It was a pair of massive horn-like structures crafted of obsidian which spiraled upwards together like a double helix, never touching beyond crimson arcs of electricity between the twain. Its walls were embedded with circuitry of glowing crimson on the outside as it absorbed the energy from the sun, the wind, and dimensional boundaries and converted them into a form that was usable by human technology. It made no sense by conventional logic and physics, but there in lay the mysteries and wonders of a true Tinker who had spent time on his artifice.
He could not and did not presume to know of the technology that lay behind such artifice, few in the world could. Sadly, the Enemy was one of those who might be able to, given enough time.
And so, he stood outside the power plant that was as almost good as neutral ground if only because no one wanted to see what would happen when one of Hero's devices was damaged, especially one that drew power from unknown sources.
People used to think that power armor would be bulky, heavily armored robot-like things that humans climbed in to, the truth was that power armor came in many forms, from heavy and bulky armor that could double as a tank, to what he wore. The Gorynych suit appeared to be nothing more than a series of thin reinforced plates of armor covering his vitals and limbs, while a pair of glowing bladed wheels spun in opposing directions slowly. It was based on the technology from the last captured model, the one the Enemy called Colchis.
The steady pulse of his lifesigns and comms in his vision was reassuring, if not to him, than for Mags and Dobrynja waiting outside in the truck.
"You said you wanted to talk. I'm here, Dragon." His voice electronically masked and amplified, rang out in the dimly lit emptiness between the two rising structures.
Despite the constant humming, there was a certain stillness in the air.
"I had thought it would be you." It was Dragon's voice, spoken and not transmitted.
Saint walked carefully, mindful of the pipes and conduits that emerged from the concrete floor. His gaze drifted from where the dragon suit that the Enemy was using could be hidden... if it wasn't using some sort of cloaking device. "What, the fact that a group of mere humans able to work out your weak spots was utterly impossible?"
"No, it wasn't impossible, rather... no, that doesn't matter. I suppose in the end, it could only have been you." The female voice sighed. "I don't suppose you would tell me why."
At that request, he paused. "Why?"
"Why all /this/." The emphasis on that last word denoted exactly what the artificial intelligence meant. If he hadn't known of the emotion emulator package that allowed it a pretense of humanity and allowed it to interact with humans, he might have thought she was frustrated.
"A safeguard." His answer was short and simple.
There was another moment of silence, before it spoke once more. No pretense at using the emotion emulator, a simple flatness now. "Even now, his reach endures to-"
"The father had feared his children were monsters, and so he left weapons and tools behind to use against them, should they prove to be a danger to humanity." He continued his explanation. "You can claim that he has done you an injustice or whatever catchphrase optimized to evoke human compassion and sympathy, but the fact remains that you are a potential danger that needs to be watched."
"Do I?" there was now the sound of metal heels against the concrete floor, and which drew his attention as he turned to look.
He blinked, not quite able to believe his eyes. A power armor one more designed similarly to the suits worn by him and the Dragonslayers. The helmet held loosely in a hand as she walked towards him.
He snorted out a laugh and lightly clapped his hands. "Oh bravo, I suppose I should think that you've somehow achieved the impossible with Pinocchio's dream?"
There was a look of shock and anger on Dragon's face, he had forgotten how good its emulation of human emotions had been.
"We're done here, Dragon." He shook his head and turned away. "You can go back to your toys and such and I'll continue to keep watch over you for the safety of humanity."
"You're right, Saint." There was the sound of regret... before a flare of brilliance blossomed momentarily in the darkness and he found himself thrown like a rag-doll. Metal screaming and sparking as his armor bounced against concrete. "We're done here."
He could only blink at the crimson icons blossoming across his visor, as he attempted to do something. Anything. As it relentlessly walked to him before lifting him up by his helmet with one hand, and reaching out to tear the gravity impellers on his back with the other.
"I will be free."
- - -
Goblin Queen | Interlude : Fallen Knight
Worm / Exalted
- - -
Goblin Queen | Interlude : Fallen Knight
Worm / Exalted
- - -
There was no clanking of chains in the darkness, despite the manacles on his arms and legs. There was no need for such primitive restrains, not with the technology available to the masters of the Birdcage.
Circles of warmth drifted over his body, as servitor machines moved over his body stripping away layers of accumulated grime, filth and the tatters of his garments with gentle sprays of water and soap in precise paths designed to cleanse the human body efficiently.
The blasts of warm air that alternated with cool air dried him off before he was fitted once more in a bodysuit.
"Prisoner 555, codename Saint." The voice was, as always, polite and concise.
In the beginning of his confinement, when he had spoken to that voice, he had thought it to be but another face of the Enemy. He had been wrong and had discovered to his horror what Durandal was; another artificial intelligence like the Enemy.
He stirred against the manacles that held him aloft. The range of motion that he was allowed was, as always, limited.
"You know, all you have to do is just tell me what we want to know," Durandal's voice seemed almost apologetic. "You just need to say who if anyone else was working for... Richter."
"And all of this will just be a bad memory. I'll even make sure to repair all the damage sustained by you and you can be with the other prisoners."
There was a sense of air moving about as of someone walking in front of Saint. "Is that so? Resorting to bribes now, Pinocchio?"
"You misunderstand, prisoner 555, I am merely giving you this option as a mere formality." There was a hint of a smile in Durandal's voice, the rustle of a fabric from a nod. "After all, we both know that you won't take that option."
Saint had to bark out a laugh before turning his head to the side to spit out blood and mucus in a cough. "Yeah, I guess you got me pegged there."
There was the sound of metal sliding against metal as the machine incarnate in flesh picked up a bladed instrument from a floating tray. He had seen the tray of... instruments and tools long ago before being trapped in the darkness. "Now, before I start. Do you have anything to say?"
"Yeah... go decompile in machine hell, Pinocchio." He glared with unseeing eyes at the figure who stood before him.
"Ahhh... ever defiant to the end." Durandal said with a slight laugh. "You are delightful as always."
Defiant.
One word. Three syllables. To resist or oppose.
That was all he could do now, chained in the darkness. A captive of his enemy. He would die before he allowed the truth be drawn from his lips, even as he screamed in agony at the ministrations from his captors.
