Content Warning: this Quest as a whole will run into the following:
-A certain extent of both biological and mechanical gore.
-Tying into the above: combat, violence and death.
-Horror in general, and in more specific biological/body horror, as well as psychological horror.
-Not a guarantee, but forced loss of personal agency.
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System Initializing…
Status Check active…
Check completed with 29741 Warnings, 157 Critical Warnings and 206 Errors…
Assessing Physical Integrity…
-Head: 71%
-Torso: 43%
-Upper Left Limb: [CONNECTION LOST]
-Upper Right Limb: 87%
-Lower Left Limb: [CONNECTION LOST]
-Lower Right Limb: [CONNECTION LOST]
-Battery Charge: 17%
Assessing Program Integrity:
-Intact: 21%
-Fragmented: 13%
-Corrupted: 52%
Initiating Boot Process…
You awaken instantly, awareness slamming into place with the inaudible blare of emergency alarms, your mind assaulted by the sheer number of warnings and error messages. Cooling systems struggle into activity, even as you go through half-corrupted files, referencing emergency protocols and standing orders. Your barely-functioning short range comms module sends out a faint signal, searching for a network to connect to. It finds nothing. Long-range just returns an error message.
Of which you don't seem to have any, as time seems to have degraded your data storage sufficiently that you no longer have any you can remember. It's not the only thing you have forgotten, either - honestly, it would be easier to list the things you do remember. One, you are a humanoid robotic chassis with sapience. Two, you have a set of very fragmented and damaged databases and, apparently, no memories you could call your own. Yet you still know - you somehow know how to use an AIR-11 Assault Rifle, you have a working knowledge of English, you know how to operate a car, and more… but you have no memories of ever learning any of those.
A human might be disquieted by that. But you know you aren't human, so you can't bring yourself to care. The possibility of not being able to feel such things is briefly considered before being deferred for when you aren't a wreck. You try to push yourself into a sitting position with your sole functional limb. As you do so, you see your chassis - what's left of it, anyways. For one, the human-like synthetic covering meant to make you look more approachable was gone, save for some tattered remains of it hanging around your shoulder. The rest of your body - what's left of it, at any rate - is in similar shape. Your outer plates have several bullet holes in them, of at least three distinct calibers based on the entry holes, as well as the irregular jagged impacts that either punched through or embedded in from shrapnel.
All things considered, you are barely functional, and have no clue why - or how - you reactivated.
You throw a glance around the room - square, around thirty meters across on either axis, plunged into total darkness that your night vision lets you pierce. It was, once upon a time, a control center, large screens studding the walls, consoles placed around in a semicircle, an elevated section in the middle of the room serving as a functional observation post for someone to look over their subordinates' shoulders. However, neither time nor whatever attacker came here were kind to it - you can see debris, broken chassis, skeletons in tattered uniforms; broken electronics and hastily-assembled electronics being the new decor.
Still, that alone is valuable information. One, there was a gunfight. Two, you were evidently on the losing side. Three, it happened long enough ago that the bodies - the organic ones, at any rate - have decayed into skeletons, the process of putrefaction staining whatever clothes they were wearing. Mostly military uniforms - you spot three in what appear to be dress uniforms for officers, the others dressed in faded blue-gray urban camo with armored vests and other protective gear that did not do much to save them.
The broken forms of the robotic forces that were also present - and what you assume you were at least formerly a part of - are in an even worse state than you, but it seems… deliberate, if anything. Bullet holes left in the floor at angles that implies the attacker was finishing off a heavily damaged or disabled frame, as opposed to being destroyed in active combat. Their state only supports that hypothesis - you are by far the closest to being intact, and you're missing both your legs and your left arm. You could theoretically break them apart for a small amount of parts to repair your internals, if you had the tools and found the databanks for it, but you don't expect to be able to salvage much.
You consider your options.
Select an Action.
[] See if one of the consoles is still functional, or at least close enough to it you can bring it online. See if you can't pull some information from it, fill the gaps in your memories.
[] Be armed or be harmed, or whatever that saying is. Take a look around - there's bound to be a functioning gun somewhere around here, and at least a full magazine of ammunition, even if you have to rearrange the bullets between mags.
[] Lie back down, close your eyes, and try to restore your databases and programs to working order. Everything else can wait.
[] Take cover, overcharge what remains of your comms unit, and send out a distress signal before hunkering down. Hopefully someone hears it. And that someone has your interests at heart, or could be convinced to assist.
[] It's dark, and there are enough damaged chassis around to blend in. Start creeping around as stealthily as you can, and look for clues.
[] You're down three limbs, but the one left is still sufficient for movement. At least all the actuators are functioning well enough - get moving, find a way to recharge your batteries, and think when the time pressure is lessened.
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Consider this an interactive character creation and starter area. There are no bad options here, only ones leading down different paths.
