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themoshpit
27 April 2019 @ 01:37 pm
vampires and werewolves and demons, oh my!
02 March 2019 @ 09:16 pm
| Tucked back in a sleepy corner of the city is a little cafe. It's nothing special, really. Just a few tables and booths that are seldom full, a small stage tucked back in the corner, and the modest offerings of some local baked goods and an espresso bar. It doesn't aspire to be much more than a quiet escape, a little hole-in-the wall that its regulars are content to keep a secret. After all, it's not often that you can count on a place to never be busy or packed with screaming kids. As slow and tucked away as the little cafe is, the crew and clientele have an intimacy, with most of the staff knowing most of the patrons and vice versa. It's a place to come study, read, work on a book, or try to build up the courage to take to the stage with a reading, some comedy, or even the odd musical act. But most of all, Paper & Cup is a place to get away from the weight of the world for a bit and just... remember how to breathe. |
10 May 2018 @ 02:14 am
[AI don't sleep. At least, they don't in the same sense that humans do. They don't turn off their systems and drift into imagination and their subconscious. They don't have a period of pure inactivity, they don't shut off their outside receptors in order to compartmentalize their experiences throughout the day. They don't have systems that need that long to recharge.
They don't sleep as humans do, but they do rest. They have "sleep cycles" that can be anywhere from a few seconds to a handful of minutes, an hour, sometimes, depending on the complexity of the task and the processing power of the AI. And it's during one of these cycles that Alpha feels something... change. Feels the world around him tilt on its axis, the tethers of information being pumped in and through him suddenly just... gone. His connection to the Mother of Invention, something that has been so steady and constant and comforting vanishing in a nanosecond, replaced by something... else. Something distant and foreign enough that when Alpha tries to reach out to it, to reconnect and figure out what the hell just happened, he almost feels his data ripped apart by the complexity of it.
Even before he surfaces, re-engages his outward senses, Alpha knows he's no longer home.
A fear grips him as he sends out frantic pings to the navigation system of the MoI, tries to reach out to F.I.L.S.S.' emergency systems. Because if even if the ship goes down, she should still be there. She should still be functioning, should be running out of the emergency systems, the back-ups, a training system, anything....
But, there's nothing. No response to his desperate calls. Nothing around for what seems to be miles.
In the darkness of a room deep within his panicking code, Alpha takes a breath. He draws strings of numbers together and focuses on solidity. He runs through scenarios, emergency protocols, goes through the whole goddamn book as he pieces his avatar together bit by bit in a space that begins to solidify and lighten around him. He makes the floor as he runs through Freelancer protocol. He builds the walls as he follows the Director's instructions to the letter. He runs electricity to panels of lights as he moves to the Counselor's back-ups. He creates a face, borrowing from data both in the back of his mind and the Director's memories of a younger day, while he moves into UNSC basics. And as he performs the last emergency test on that foreign, complex network around him, Alpha stitches light and coding to his body, creating the shimmering undersuit most young smart AI employ, before the begin to find their own personalities in the mind that created them.
Hundreds of thousands of processes performed, countless emergency lines coming bouncing right back to him. Alpha's done everything that's expected of him in an emergency, and there's been no response. Freelancer protocol tells him he should wait, then. Go deep into hibernation in the system he found himself in, so deep that no one will ever find him. So deep that he'll be overlooked, should the enemy try and scrub through whatever terminal he's ended up in. Because even erasure is better than being used against the organization he was created for. And, well, if Alpha was any other AI, he would do that. If he'd been based on any mind other than the stubborn genius of Leonard Church, he'd have followed those instructions and simply waited for rescue or for the inevitability of rampant degradation.
APH 0518-0 is no normal AI, after all. He's UNSC's secret weapon.
So, Alpha shifts his focus away from protocol, away from everything the Director told him to do in a situation like this. Instead of simply searching for official channels, he searches for something a little more familiar. He searches for Freelancer.
And holy shit does he get a response.
Carolina, North Dakota, York, Washington, and Maine. Four Freelancers that, as far as Alpha knew, had never been assigned on a team together. Where was the other twin? If they sent Maine out, then where was Wyoming? Florida? The team composition made no sense. Carolina and Maine were deadly in close quarters, Washington in close and mid, and North Dakota would be their only distance coverage. And York-- hadn't York been... injured? He remembers hearing about a training incident with him, Maine, and Texas. So why was he out on the field so soon afterwards?
In that bright, gray room, Alpha grits his teeth and raises a hand, a screen of white light appearing in front of him. Data scrolls across it, bits of text and pictures flicking outwards into new, smaller screens with twitches of his fingers as he tries to decide what to do. Who to go to. What is going on. There was nothing transmitted during his sleep cycle, no official orders logged in the Mother of Invention's database, no record of the Director meeting with any of the Freelancers here. In fact, Agent York hadn't even been discharged according to what Alpha was seeing. So why...
A light pings in front of him, and Alpha reaches for it, spreads it apart until it's in the shape of a rectangle in front of him, pinpoints of light representing all the suit pings he's receiving shining in front of him. It would make the most sense to go to Carolina, to try and figure out what's going on from the safety of her suit, even going so far as to choose her to show himself to. She was top of the list, after all. But... she's far. Far enough that Alpha doesn't feel comfortable risking the jump, risking sending himself through the network so foreign he honestly doesn't know if his data will survive the trip.
Agent Maine is closer. Much closer. Wherever Alpha is, Maine's suit must be either in the same room or in an adjacent one. Were they captured together? Was the Mother's terminal somehow transferred nearby?
... shit. All this time spent analyzing the situation, and Alpha still doesn't know what to do. Protocol states that he should remain hidden, remain silent, and simply wait for either the Director or Counselor to recover him. But as far as Alpha knows, the Director and Counselor could be dead. This situation could be far worse than simple data theft. The agents here could be in danger.
Even the thought of that has cold dread shooting through Alpha, has the room around him almost frosting over, snow beginning to blow through the vents near the roof, from under the door to the side. His illusory breath fogs in the air in front of him, and he watches silently as frost begins to solidify on the projected "map" in front of him.
They could be hurt. They could be in danger. They could be captured, their suits compromised. The make-up of this team makes no sense, this situation makes no sense. Why would they be in a foreign place, why would they all be so still on this map, not an inch of movement coming from any of the suits he can pick up. They're in the unknown. They're surrounded by an alien network. They're in danger, and all Alpha has done so far is sit in a room. Useless.
In fact, that's all he's ever done.]
... ah, fuck it. [He says suddenly, fingers moving to pull at that rectangle in order to zoom in on the white spot of light, Agent Maine's spot of light. He closes his eyes, reaches out, the map in front of him filling in with detail, shifting and laying parallel to the floor in front of him, walls beginning to raise up as he maps the general push and pull of his data against the suit and around the alien network he feels swarming around him.
It takes a few seconds of cautious reaching before Alpha feels one of his hooks catch, before he opens his eyes and lets out a breath, lets his data flow from the terminal he woke up in and through that connection into something that finally feels familiar. Something whose data he meets like an old friend, sinking down into it and combing his fingers through the tangles of battle, re-calibrating balance and pressure to the values he knows to work best with how Agent Maine moves in training, with the data that comes back to him after every mission.
From there, it's easy to begin to push outwards, to access cameras and turn on external microphones, to warm up the projection capabilities of the suit and, with a deep breath, to move himself outside of it, a small, white human flickering into being within an otherwise dark space. He'd... expected Maine to at least be in the same room, since he had someone been forced out of his suit, but... there's nothing in here. It's... well, if Alpha didn't know any better, he'd say it's almost like the armor has just been packed up inside of a closet. But that couldn't possibly be the case.
He's... out of ideas, honestly. Frustrated and worried enough to risk the vocal projection of the suit, just enough to call out a quiet question to the immediate area: ]
... Agent Maine?
They don't sleep as humans do, but they do rest. They have "sleep cycles" that can be anywhere from a few seconds to a handful of minutes, an hour, sometimes, depending on the complexity of the task and the processing power of the AI. And it's during one of these cycles that Alpha feels something... change. Feels the world around him tilt on its axis, the tethers of information being pumped in and through him suddenly just... gone. His connection to the Mother of Invention, something that has been so steady and constant and comforting vanishing in a nanosecond, replaced by something... else. Something distant and foreign enough that when Alpha tries to reach out to it, to reconnect and figure out what the hell just happened, he almost feels his data ripped apart by the complexity of it.
Even before he surfaces, re-engages his outward senses, Alpha knows he's no longer home.
A fear grips him as he sends out frantic pings to the navigation system of the MoI, tries to reach out to F.I.L.S.S.' emergency systems. Because if even if the ship goes down, she should still be there. She should still be functioning, should be running out of the emergency systems, the back-ups, a training system, anything....
But, there's nothing. No response to his desperate calls. Nothing around for what seems to be miles.
In the darkness of a room deep within his panicking code, Alpha takes a breath. He draws strings of numbers together and focuses on solidity. He runs through scenarios, emergency protocols, goes through the whole goddamn book as he pieces his avatar together bit by bit in a space that begins to solidify and lighten around him. He makes the floor as he runs through Freelancer protocol. He builds the walls as he follows the Director's instructions to the letter. He runs electricity to panels of lights as he moves to the Counselor's back-ups. He creates a face, borrowing from data both in the back of his mind and the Director's memories of a younger day, while he moves into UNSC basics. And as he performs the last emergency test on that foreign, complex network around him, Alpha stitches light and coding to his body, creating the shimmering undersuit most young smart AI employ, before the begin to find their own personalities in the mind that created them.
Hundreds of thousands of processes performed, countless emergency lines coming bouncing right back to him. Alpha's done everything that's expected of him in an emergency, and there's been no response. Freelancer protocol tells him he should wait, then. Go deep into hibernation in the system he found himself in, so deep that no one will ever find him. So deep that he'll be overlooked, should the enemy try and scrub through whatever terminal he's ended up in. Because even erasure is better than being used against the organization he was created for. And, well, if Alpha was any other AI, he would do that. If he'd been based on any mind other than the stubborn genius of Leonard Church, he'd have followed those instructions and simply waited for rescue or for the inevitability of rampant degradation.
APH 0518-0 is no normal AI, after all. He's UNSC's secret weapon.
So, Alpha shifts his focus away from protocol, away from everything the Director told him to do in a situation like this. Instead of simply searching for official channels, he searches for something a little more familiar. He searches for Freelancer.
And holy shit does he get a response.
Carolina, North Dakota, York, Washington, and Maine. Four Freelancers that, as far as Alpha knew, had never been assigned on a team together. Where was the other twin? If they sent Maine out, then where was Wyoming? Florida? The team composition made no sense. Carolina and Maine were deadly in close quarters, Washington in close and mid, and North Dakota would be their only distance coverage. And York-- hadn't York been... injured? He remembers hearing about a training incident with him, Maine, and Texas. So why was he out on the field so soon afterwards?
In that bright, gray room, Alpha grits his teeth and raises a hand, a screen of white light appearing in front of him. Data scrolls across it, bits of text and pictures flicking outwards into new, smaller screens with twitches of his fingers as he tries to decide what to do. Who to go to. What is going on. There was nothing transmitted during his sleep cycle, no official orders logged in the Mother of Invention's database, no record of the Director meeting with any of the Freelancers here. In fact, Agent York hadn't even been discharged according to what Alpha was seeing. So why...
A light pings in front of him, and Alpha reaches for it, spreads it apart until it's in the shape of a rectangle in front of him, pinpoints of light representing all the suit pings he's receiving shining in front of him. It would make the most sense to go to Carolina, to try and figure out what's going on from the safety of her suit, even going so far as to choose her to show himself to. She was top of the list, after all. But... she's far. Far enough that Alpha doesn't feel comfortable risking the jump, risking sending himself through the network so foreign he honestly doesn't know if his data will survive the trip.
Agent Maine is closer. Much closer. Wherever Alpha is, Maine's suit must be either in the same room or in an adjacent one. Were they captured together? Was the Mother's terminal somehow transferred nearby?
... shit. All this time spent analyzing the situation, and Alpha still doesn't know what to do. Protocol states that he should remain hidden, remain silent, and simply wait for either the Director or Counselor to recover him. But as far as Alpha knows, the Director and Counselor could be dead. This situation could be far worse than simple data theft. The agents here could be in danger.
Even the thought of that has cold dread shooting through Alpha, has the room around him almost frosting over, snow beginning to blow through the vents near the roof, from under the door to the side. His illusory breath fogs in the air in front of him, and he watches silently as frost begins to solidify on the projected "map" in front of him.
They could be hurt. They could be in danger. They could be captured, their suits compromised. The make-up of this team makes no sense, this situation makes no sense. Why would they be in a foreign place, why would they all be so still on this map, not an inch of movement coming from any of the suits he can pick up. They're in the unknown. They're surrounded by an alien network. They're in danger, and all Alpha has done so far is sit in a room. Useless.
In fact, that's all he's ever done.]
... ah, fuck it. [He says suddenly, fingers moving to pull at that rectangle in order to zoom in on the white spot of light, Agent Maine's spot of light. He closes his eyes, reaches out, the map in front of him filling in with detail, shifting and laying parallel to the floor in front of him, walls beginning to raise up as he maps the general push and pull of his data against the suit and around the alien network he feels swarming around him.
It takes a few seconds of cautious reaching before Alpha feels one of his hooks catch, before he opens his eyes and lets out a breath, lets his data flow from the terminal he woke up in and through that connection into something that finally feels familiar. Something whose data he meets like an old friend, sinking down into it and combing his fingers through the tangles of battle, re-calibrating balance and pressure to the values he knows to work best with how Agent Maine moves in training, with the data that comes back to him after every mission.
From there, it's easy to begin to push outwards, to access cameras and turn on external microphones, to warm up the projection capabilities of the suit and, with a deep breath, to move himself outside of it, a small, white human flickering into being within an otherwise dark space. He'd... expected Maine to at least be in the same room, since he had someone been forced out of his suit, but... there's nothing in here. It's... well, if Alpha didn't know any better, he'd say it's almost like the armor has just been packed up inside of a closet. But that couldn't possibly be the case.
He's... out of ideas, honestly. Frustrated and worried enough to risk the vocal projection of the suit, just enough to call out a quiet question to the immediate area: ]
... Agent Maine?
02 January 2018 @ 02:22 am
its not murder if no one misses them
28 October 2016 @ 05:54 am
Legend tells that in the beginning, the first humans were blessed with ena in order to keep them safe from harm. The ena was a gift, given to the first humans by the Sea God in order to allow them to live freely in his underwater domain. There, they were protected from the extremes of the surface weather. There, they didn't suffer from famine or drought. They were happy. They were strong. And they were protected. Eventually, some of humanity became curious. They wanted to know more about the land above the water. They wanted to travel and explore and see what a life in the sun could be like. So, a group of the Sea God's people split from the rest. They went to shore and cast off their ena in order to live in the sun and air. Only... once the ena was cast off, it could never return. Over time, the People of the Land and the People of the Sea continued to grow their separate ways. Those who had cast off their ena had children, and their children had children, and eventually, there came an entire race of humans who knew almost nothing of the sea and what lay beneath it. Under the water, the People of the Sea continued their life shrouded in ena and worshiping the god who protects them. As it tends to go with situations like these, as time went on the differences between those of the Land and those of the Sea grew more and more pronounced, until the two groups could do nothing more than live in grudging harmony. For the People of the Sea needed products of the land, and the People of the Land could not live without the bounty of the Sea. This is the current state of the world. The People of the Land look down upon the "fish" under the water, thinking them strange and antiquated. They have long since forgotten what it is to worship the Sea God who had once protected them. Meanwhile, the People of the Sea think the "pigs" on land are arrogant and self-absorbed. They are the foolish children that abandoned the safety of the sea. They are the devils who are tempting the younger generations to cast aside their homes and join them on the surface. The world is changing. As the surface becomes more and more advanced, the younger generations become increasingly entranced with it. As a result, the People of the Sea have become stricter than ever, limiting the time their younger generations spend on the surface to simple supply trips or attending school. The rules are simple, but finite. You can interact with the world above, but if you fall in love with those from the surface, if you choose a profession too far inland, if you make your home anywhere other than the village you were born into... you are exiled. Cast out of the Sea God's protection, unable to ever go back to your home under the water. In this evolving environment, what do you choose to do? Are you a child of the sea, interested in the upper world? Are you of the land, curious as to what could be under those endless waves? Or perhaps your mother, father, grandmother, grandfather was from the ocean. Maybe you grew up hearing stories, and every inch of you aches with the desire to see that world with your own eyes. Either way, it may come time to make a choice. The power of the Sea God fades as more and more People of the Land dismiss the old traditions and worships as fairy tale and fantasy. The seas are becoming restless, the weather unpredictable, the marine life chaotic. In desperation, the sea god is reaching out. He's spending the last of his power in order to tempt his children back to the sea. Half formed, weak ena is forming on those with the sea's blood, protecting the children of the sea in times of trouble, when the water would have taken a life rather than protected it. In the face of change, of old prejudice and new discoveries, the question comes again. What do you choose to do? AKA, hi! And welcome to Kels cares too much about her fish children's world and wants to play LITERALLY EVERYTHING IMAGINABLE IN IT. So this is an open post where you can play with characters from the anime Nagi no Asukara, AU others into this world, or make up your own OC fishy babe and do whatever you want! Seriously please do it, it's a magical ocean world where physics make no sense and you can make soup and watch TV while at the bottom of the goddamn ocean. ALSO FORBIDDEN ROMANCE!!!! And working through prejudices!!!!!!! pls play not-mermaids with me i can't stress how much i want to play not-mermaids |
22 July 2016 @ 12:42 pm
Welcome to the forever open post of random Sanji interactions!!! Have an AU? A random scenario? Want to hit me with a meme prompt? An idea for an adventure? A random what-if? PLEASE DO!! Just drop a comment below with an idea, a starter, a gif, a picture prompt, and I will start the world's most intense game of RP Pong with you o7 I will literally play anything, SO HIT ME UP, FRIENDS! |
10 October 2015 @ 11:26 pm
lanterns meet space skittles
[The Mother of Invention's a pretty decently sized ship, when it comes down to it. She's bigger than a simple fighter ship, larger than most freight and transport ships, but doesn't quite measure up to the larger command ships, the hearts of fleets that make their way across the various star systems. But still, as she sits in the docks on a local planet, her crew members enjoying some recovery time while some minor repairs are being made, supplies being stocked, she must look a bit larger than life, compared to the other ships on standby nearby.
Still, refueling and repairs takes time. And time isn't something Alpha's good at dealing with.
He's fine for the first day or so, perfectly able to sit in his storage unit and run calculations to whittle down the hours. He runs diagnostics on the ship, thumbs through personnel files, spends time creating a new processing file for the other AI on board the ship. But in the end, as day one comes to a close and day two starts, he's sick and tired of staying put.k
So, he shakes himself free of the programs keeping him anchored in, spreads himself forward and hooks himself into a passing transmission, riding it away from the Mother of Invention and towards the main terminal of this little repair station. Instantly, he's digging into the records of other ships, scanning them over and tossing files back into the storage system. Too small, too old, too small and old, too routine, not advanced enough, too advanced, and-- huh.
He dives into the file he's found. The file of a ship with a strange energy source, every bit of information about it encrypted so hard even he's having trouble getting through. Some police ship from a sector so far beyond what he's used to seeing. All running off some energy source he's unfamiliar of. A source that's apparently mainlined into the AI running it.
It doesn't take him long to find it, takes even less time for him to slide into the storage spaces in a worker's equipment, scattering himself enough that he won't overload anything as he's being carried nearby, close enough that he can reach out and--]
Holy crap, you actually are complex. [He's transmitting, unable to help himself.
Oh well, whatever. It's not like he's had any real contact with other AI's before. How's he supposed to know how its normally done?]
Still, refueling and repairs takes time. And time isn't something Alpha's good at dealing with.
He's fine for the first day or so, perfectly able to sit in his storage unit and run calculations to whittle down the hours. He runs diagnostics on the ship, thumbs through personnel files, spends time creating a new processing file for the other AI on board the ship. But in the end, as day one comes to a close and day two starts, he's sick and tired of staying put.k
So, he shakes himself free of the programs keeping him anchored in, spreads himself forward and hooks himself into a passing transmission, riding it away from the Mother of Invention and towards the main terminal of this little repair station. Instantly, he's digging into the records of other ships, scanning them over and tossing files back into the storage system. Too small, too old, too small and old, too routine, not advanced enough, too advanced, and-- huh.
He dives into the file he's found. The file of a ship with a strange energy source, every bit of information about it encrypted so hard even he's having trouble getting through. Some police ship from a sector so far beyond what he's used to seeing. All running off some energy source he's unfamiliar of. A source that's apparently mainlined into the AI running it.
It doesn't take him long to find it, takes even less time for him to slide into the storage spaces in a worker's equipment, scattering himself enough that he won't overload anything as he's being carried nearby, close enough that he can reach out and--]
Holy crap, you actually are complex. [He's transmitting, unable to help himself.
Oh well, whatever. It's not like he's had any real contact with other AI's before. How's he supposed to know how its normally done?]
29 September 2015 @ 07:42 am
[Alpha is bored.
B-O-R-E-D.
It's not that there's nothing to do, there's plenty to do. There are calculations to run, routes to plot out, files to sort, a few new personnel to get familiar with. Work, work, work. All things he can devote the back half of his processors to, leaving about 80% of him free to just sit and stare into space. Bored.
Booooooooooooooooooooored.]
Hey, FILSS--
No.
But--
Not after last time, Alpha.
[Man, you make a program get caught one time, and suddenly they don't want to play Spy On The Ship with you anymore.]
Fine. [He slides the processes over, feeling the other AI slide against him as she takes his place running things on the bridge, a small spark of amusement jumping from her to him, making him grin despite the grumpy front he's trying to put up.] I'll go myself, then.
[With everything transferred over, Alpha shakes himself out of his housing, unhooks the processes keeping him tethered, and with a quick jump, he's diving on into the electronic nervous system of the Mother of Invention.
He... probably does this too often, relies too much on FILSS' warnings, on the proximity alarms he has rigged for any time the Counselor or Director come to get him. But... shit, he can't help it. There's just so much to see in this ship, so many smaller processes he doesn't get a chance to really interact with from the bridge. Though really, all of that is nothing when compared to the people.
Usually, Alpha sits in the training room, watching those idiots attempt to beat the crap out of each other. He watches, notices weaknesses, little human errors that he would be able to correct, and he finds himself imagining the time when the Director thinks he's ready, that he's developed and learned enough to actually go out and fight instead of run calculations, plot courses, and deal with the MOI's old-ass nav system.
But today the main team's out on assignments, running missions somewhere out on a nearby planet. So, he bypasses his usual haunt, skims over the few top ranking Freelancers who are left, and decides to pay a visit to the barracks side of the ship. He doesn't usually get out this far, doesn't have time for it, normally. But today... well, today he's skipping from suit to suit on his way down the line, laughing to himself when he skims maybe a little too close and accidentally causes a suit to buzz as he pushes its systems maybe a little too far, gets a soldier to yelp at seemingly nothing. Private, private, private, just the general workers, soldiers at the top of their class but still barely rookies when it came to being qualified for Freelancer armor. Nothing interesting, nothing fun, just--
Oh. Hold on. That's not another grunt.
He does a quick heel turn in the data stream he'd been running with, sending out a ping and clutching gleefully at the response he gets back, using it to catapult himself towards the empty Freelancer slots he'd picked up on. Alpha settles quickly, sliding into the armor as discreetly as possible, assembling a room around himself so he can think a bit better, can work with something physical instead of a stream of headache-inducing ones and zeros.]
Ugh. [He can't help but react, his code shaking itself off, withdrawing a bit from the data he'd settled himself down in. It's the AI equivalent of someone wrinkling their nose.] Holy shit this is a mess. [He's... just... gonna dump all the low res porn clogging up this guys memory banks. Make it a bit more livable in here.
And, well, literally no one needs Three Boobed Babes XXL And Wild in their life. Alpha knows. He just watched the entire goddamn thing as it was disassembling itself.
Actually, screw it. He was going to info pick from this guy without letting him know anything's up. But he should really suffer through this with him. So hey, Tucker, hope you won't have a heart attack by the sudden PORN PURGE progress bar that's showing up on your HUD.]
B-O-R-E-D.
It's not that there's nothing to do, there's plenty to do. There are calculations to run, routes to plot out, files to sort, a few new personnel to get familiar with. Work, work, work. All things he can devote the back half of his processors to, leaving about 80% of him free to just sit and stare into space. Bored.
Booooooooooooooooooooored.]
Hey, FILSS--
No.
But--
Not after last time, Alpha.
[Man, you make a program get caught one time, and suddenly they don't want to play Spy On The Ship with you anymore.]
Fine. [He slides the processes over, feeling the other AI slide against him as she takes his place running things on the bridge, a small spark of amusement jumping from her to him, making him grin despite the grumpy front he's trying to put up.] I'll go myself, then.
[With everything transferred over, Alpha shakes himself out of his housing, unhooks the processes keeping him tethered, and with a quick jump, he's diving on into the electronic nervous system of the Mother of Invention.
He... probably does this too often, relies too much on FILSS' warnings, on the proximity alarms he has rigged for any time the Counselor or Director come to get him. But... shit, he can't help it. There's just so much to see in this ship, so many smaller processes he doesn't get a chance to really interact with from the bridge. Though really, all of that is nothing when compared to the people.
Usually, Alpha sits in the training room, watching those idiots attempt to beat the crap out of each other. He watches, notices weaknesses, little human errors that he would be able to correct, and he finds himself imagining the time when the Director thinks he's ready, that he's developed and learned enough to actually go out and fight instead of run calculations, plot courses, and deal with the MOI's old-ass nav system.
But today the main team's out on assignments, running missions somewhere out on a nearby planet. So, he bypasses his usual haunt, skims over the few top ranking Freelancers who are left, and decides to pay a visit to the barracks side of the ship. He doesn't usually get out this far, doesn't have time for it, normally. But today... well, today he's skipping from suit to suit on his way down the line, laughing to himself when he skims maybe a little too close and accidentally causes a suit to buzz as he pushes its systems maybe a little too far, gets a soldier to yelp at seemingly nothing. Private, private, private, just the general workers, soldiers at the top of their class but still barely rookies when it came to being qualified for Freelancer armor. Nothing interesting, nothing fun, just--
Oh. Hold on. That's not another grunt.
He does a quick heel turn in the data stream he'd been running with, sending out a ping and clutching gleefully at the response he gets back, using it to catapult himself towards the empty Freelancer slots he'd picked up on. Alpha settles quickly, sliding into the armor as discreetly as possible, assembling a room around himself so he can think a bit better, can work with something physical instead of a stream of headache-inducing ones and zeros.]
Ugh. [He can't help but react, his code shaking itself off, withdrawing a bit from the data he'd settled himself down in. It's the AI equivalent of someone wrinkling their nose.] Holy shit this is a mess. [He's... just... gonna dump all the low res porn clogging up this guys memory banks. Make it a bit more livable in here.
And, well, literally no one needs Three Boobed Babes XXL And Wild in their life. Alpha knows. He just watched the entire goddamn thing as it was disassembling itself.
Actually, screw it. He was going to info pick from this guy without letting him know anything's up. But he should really suffer through this with him. So hey, Tucker, hope you won't have a heart attack by the sudden PORN PURGE progress bar that's showing up on your HUD.]
22 September 2015 @ 07:22 am
[He crashed.
The second he claws his way back to consciousness, to awareness, he just knows he crashed. It's not something uncommon, at least not to him. But the fact that he's waking up feeling completely rooted down, tired and feeling like he's completely unraveled means-- fuck what does it mean?
Church had been... he'd been helping, jumping from Tucker to Caboose, Caboose to Tucker, stretching himself and jumping increasing distances, trying have one hand in each suit, at one point, because they'd been in a fight. They'd been in a fight and Caboose needed a trigger, needed something to push him into his strength, to get that berserker side of him going and to keep it going. And Tucker-- he needed the boost, needed someone to spot the things he was missing in his self-doubt, to just create the ease of movement his hesitation kept denying him. That's... right. He'd been helping, jumping, feeling himself get more and more tired but he needed to keep going, to strip himself down with every jump, feeling himself fall further and further into each storage unit every time he did jump. As if he could just sink down, go to sleep, turn off and let himself fall to piece and--
... And he had. Halfway through a jump, moving from Tucker to Caboose, he'd fallen short. He'd been unable to reach, had felt his grip slipping from Tucker's suit and he'd been falling, falling through darkness and nothing, just the static of his mind and a hum that filled his entire body as his consciousness broke down to nothing but symbols and number, spinning around his head and overloading him, too much input not enough output, always too much input, too much overload, trying to do too much with such a fucking broken mind and-- nothing.
He doesn't remember anything between then and now. It had been like someone just flipped a switch, like he'd blinked and he's here, in a dark, humming room. A room he's come to know well, during his recent stints as an AI, as the Alpha and not Church, the asshole ghost. But it's dark, the lights all but gone out, and he can feel the hum of a storage unit all around it, can feel it holding him, the only thing holding him together.
With a breath, he lets himself break apart. Turns himself to code and numbers and fragments of thoughts, feeling himself slide through the wiring until he finds the hologram projectors in-- what is he? A chip? No, Tuck and Caboose wouldn't let him just be a chip. It's too inhuman, too... too much like a computer. And he's not a computer. Or at least... he wasn't. He wan't until just now, just a scattering of thoughts and the echo of actual emotions held together by equations that won't stop running through his head.
Church appears, a broken, flickering, faded out image of himself, at the shoulder of his stock-still robot body, because he can't handle anything else. He doesn't have the strength, doesn't have the capability anymore. And honestly? He doesn't even know how he's managing this. Hell, he can't even get a clear picture going, is just standing there blind because he doesn't have the ability to work the projector, the speakers, and the camera all at once.]
... shit.
The second he claws his way back to consciousness, to awareness, he just knows he crashed. It's not something uncommon, at least not to him. But the fact that he's waking up feeling completely rooted down, tired and feeling like he's completely unraveled means-- fuck what does it mean?
Church had been... he'd been helping, jumping from Tucker to Caboose, Caboose to Tucker, stretching himself and jumping increasing distances, trying have one hand in each suit, at one point, because they'd been in a fight. They'd been in a fight and Caboose needed a trigger, needed something to push him into his strength, to get that berserker side of him going and to keep it going. And Tucker-- he needed the boost, needed someone to spot the things he was missing in his self-doubt, to just create the ease of movement his hesitation kept denying him. That's... right. He'd been helping, jumping, feeling himself get more and more tired but he needed to keep going, to strip himself down with every jump, feeling himself fall further and further into each storage unit every time he did jump. As if he could just sink down, go to sleep, turn off and let himself fall to piece and--
... And he had. Halfway through a jump, moving from Tucker to Caboose, he'd fallen short. He'd been unable to reach, had felt his grip slipping from Tucker's suit and he'd been falling, falling through darkness and nothing, just the static of his mind and a hum that filled his entire body as his consciousness broke down to nothing but symbols and number, spinning around his head and overloading him, too much input not enough output, always too much input, too much overload, trying to do too much with such a fucking broken mind and-- nothing.
He doesn't remember anything between then and now. It had been like someone just flipped a switch, like he'd blinked and he's here, in a dark, humming room. A room he's come to know well, during his recent stints as an AI, as the Alpha and not Church, the asshole ghost. But it's dark, the lights all but gone out, and he can feel the hum of a storage unit all around it, can feel it holding him, the only thing holding him together.
With a breath, he lets himself break apart. Turns himself to code and numbers and fragments of thoughts, feeling himself slide through the wiring until he finds the hologram projectors in-- what is he? A chip? No, Tuck and Caboose wouldn't let him just be a chip. It's too inhuman, too... too much like a computer. And he's not a computer. Or at least... he wasn't. He wan't until just now, just a scattering of thoughts and the echo of actual emotions held together by equations that won't stop running through his head.
Church appears, a broken, flickering, faded out image of himself, at the shoulder of his stock-still robot body, because he can't handle anything else. He doesn't have the strength, doesn't have the capability anymore. And honestly? He doesn't even know how he's managing this. Hell, he can't even get a clear picture going, is just standing there blind because he doesn't have the ability to work the projector, the speakers, and the camera all at once.]
... shit.
22 August 2015 @ 10:30 pm
they think you're dumb, i think you're smart-- no wait i lied, i think you're dumb
[The first thing Church knows, when he comes to, is anger. Anger at waking up with no idea where he is, with being unable to see, to move, to do anything other than stand there and grind his teeth together and try to piece together what the fuck had just happened.
There'd been... Wyoming. Obviously. Wyoming and his fucking time clones. And then Tex and Omega... the ship. Tucker's stupid fucking kid. And Tucker--
His head snaps up, and all of a sudden there's light. He's in a room of some sort, just a smooth box with white walls, a white floor and ceiling. There's no windows, no doors, nothing except a small hum he can both hear and feel reverberating all around him. He's trapped. But instead of feeling claustrophobic, closed in and cut off, he feels almost... safe. There's something calming about this place, something almost familiar, though he can't quite place it.
Still, it's not enough to completely quell his frustration. Which is why he's stomping over to the closest wall and immediately kicking the shit out of it.]
Tucker! What the fuck is going on?!
[He doesn't know why, and he sure as hell doesn't know how, but somehow he just knows the asshole will be able to hear him.]
There'd been... Wyoming. Obviously. Wyoming and his fucking time clones. And then Tex and Omega... the ship. Tucker's stupid fucking kid. And Tucker--
His head snaps up, and all of a sudden there's light. He's in a room of some sort, just a smooth box with white walls, a white floor and ceiling. There's no windows, no doors, nothing except a small hum he can both hear and feel reverberating all around him. He's trapped. But instead of feeling claustrophobic, closed in and cut off, he feels almost... safe. There's something calming about this place, something almost familiar, though he can't quite place it.
Still, it's not enough to completely quell his frustration. Which is why he's stomping over to the closest wall and immediately kicking the shit out of it.]
Tucker! What the fuck is going on?!
[He doesn't know why, and he sure as hell doesn't know how, but somehow he just knows the asshole will be able to hear him.]
03 July 2015 @ 12:45 am
OPEN OPEN OPEN COME AT ME BRETHREN
Whoever you are, wherever you might be, seeing an Apple-looking robot ... drone of sorts, whirring idly by probably isn't what you're expecting. Especially since it's far enough away to have not noticed you yet. Perhaps, from the interesting looking, gun shaped arm it seems to be sporting ...
Not being seen yet is a good thing. Unless you're bold, ballsy or something altogether curious. It does sort of look like a living Tamagotchi.
26 April 2015 @ 08:29 pm
Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops.
12 April 2015 @ 03:07 pm
giant muselist
open post for: texts, silly things, domestic things, fluff and cute
aka: kels is sickbrained but dying for cute so COME TAKE ADVANTAGE OF SILLY TAGS AND SITUATIONS
