Six machine soldiers are sent to the island in the sky, hoping to put an end to another threat to humanity. When Bracket wakes in a freezing cavern, he is alone. But the mission must be carried out regardless, no matter what it takes.
Machine Learning: A Cave Story Quest
- Thread starter Lepidoptera
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File 1, Entry 1 - Compile Data
Lepidoptera
Mother of Monsters, Unverified Impuritas Civitatis
- Location
- Indeterminate Unknown
Machine Learning - File 1, Entry 1 - Compile Data
You are broken.
No, that's not quite right. You are damaged. Damaged possibly beyond repair, but not broken. You are not broken. You are alive, and that means you cannot be broken just yet.
You run a diagnostic check. Memory and Logic processors are superficially damaged. No data lost, and reasoning capacities are unaffected. That knowledge lifts a weight from your body you hadn't realized was there. Paren is still noticing that she's forgotten things after being ambushed by a rabid Mimiga more than a year ago, and the technicians never really managed to fix Chevron's decision-making abilities. He never acted too put-out by it, but the idea of being damaged in such a fundamental way never failed to unnerve you. Fortunately, everything that makes you who you are has remained intact.
The same cannot be said for your body, unfortunately. The most severe damage is to your motor systems. Half your body is too damaged to move at all, and the other half does not appear to be responding to you. It's likely some minor circuit damage due to exposure to the elements, but actual diagnostics are inconclusive. Durability has been heavily worn down, and there are multiple breaches in your skin. One of these breaches is submerged, allowing a fluid of some kind to leak into your body. Whatever it is is extremely cold, and your temperature regulator system is struggling to compensate. At least it's not broken. Your eyes are ruined, to put it simply. Not irreparably, your self-repair system is miraculously undamaged, but your vision will be spotty for days even in ideal cases. The same cannot be said for your broadcasting systems, which will require a complete replacement. Considering how close those are to your data banks, you are astoundingly lucky that only the radio was damaged.
Zero contact with your squad and with command will be a problem. Or the first will be, at the very least. Command's number of useful contributions to completing any of your objectives since activation can be counted on your fingers. If anything, having an excuse not to wait for their approval for every major decision will let you be more efficient. On the other hand, you would really like to speak with your team right now. At least to check their current status. You saw Curly and Quote both take heavy blows before you were knocked unconscious, but machine soldiers are built to be durable. They're probably both fine. Paren, Chevron, and the Commander can all hold their own, so they're not in any danger. Still, it would be nice to hear their voices. Even Paren's voice. Instead, you have to be content with silence and numbness until your automatic repairs have progressed further.
You wonder if the target has destroyed yet. You still aren't certain exactly how long you were unconscious, but it could be anywhere from seconds to hours. Maybe even longer, judging by the weathering damage you've suffered, but that doesn't make sense. Even if you're not anyone's favorite, your team wouldn't have just left you in the open while you were knocked out. Has something gone wrong? You can't imagine that everyone actually lost to…
To…
As you scour your recent memories, the agonizing reality becomes more and more apparent: your memory logs were, in fact, damaged. Not significantly, but you failed to process some more recent memories into long-term. To your dismay, you have managed to just barely miss every mention or sight of the thing your squad was fighting.
It doesn't matter. Nothing on this island could hope to actually win against all six of you at once. Rabid Mimiga are vicious creatures, not to be underestimated under any circumstances, but you could take two or three in a fight on your own depending on the circumstances. Only Quote and the Commander would be able to perform similarly, but Curly, Paren, and Chevron aren't incapable fighters. The Mimiga population on this island couldn't be more than a few hundred at most, and you were told that the majority of them hadn't yet become rabid. Even if every one of them had charged your squad at once, all they'd have done was kill themselves faster. It would be ridiculous for your comrades to all have been defeated by a single foe, even if you can't remember who it was you were fighting.
Answers come slower than you want but sooner than you'd expected when your eyes return to functionality. You're staring at the ceiling of a cave, layers of ice glistening brilliantly in some unknown glow. It's beautiful, the way the light catches against the frozen crystals and scatters across the brisk air. The sight is still indistinct and out-of-focus, but that does little to suppress its beauty.
You can hear running water. More than that, you can feel the water rushing around your body. The current's tug is harsh and strong, but only a small part of it. For the most part, the water around you is too shallow to take hold. You must have been swept up in the current during the battle and carried to wherever you are now. Further down the stream, you can see a massive lake dotted with small bits of ice. If you had been dragged any further, you would have ended up completely submerged. Between the temperature and the internal flooding, the possibility of surviving would be practically zero. You were very lucky to land on the shores.
You shiver at the thought of what could have happened to you, and then blink. Then again. Your movement has been restored, at least partially. You raise one arm and grope for something to support yourself on the frozen banks. It's almost revolting how slow and stiff the movement is. Still, you manage to find a protruding rock anchored strongly enough to the ground to support your weight and use it to haul yourself up.
Finally, you can take a good look at the cavern you find yourself in. The whole thing is coated in a thin layer of frost that sparkles ethereally in the light. The cave is illuminated by a pair of fluorescent lights placed just above a metal door leading into the cave. Their light is faint and barely reaches the small shore where you stand, but that only serves to make the gleaming traces even more beautiful. A small metal balcony overlooks the underground lake, which stretches perhaps a kilometer end to end. There are a few other natural entrances to the cavern, but none that you can actually use. All three as well as the one you presumably entered through are small and occupied by a constant stream of water rushing through them and feeding into the reservoir.
You're not sure how this works geographically. Geologically? You don't know the word, it wasn't relevant to your position. But all this water has to be going somewhere, and the lake doesn't seem to be getting any bigger. Maybe there's a pump somewhere down here funneling the water back somewhere else on the island? There is a man-made balcony here, so there must have been some reason to survey this place.
No matter the reason, it's another stroke of luck for you. Whatever's on the other side of that door must be connected to some larger facility. If you pass through it, you should be able to either find a way back to a regroup point or, better yet, repair your transmitter and get back in contact with the rest of your unit. And command as well, you guess.
Your first step forward is unsteady, both because of the icy ground and the stiffness in your joints. The ice beneath your foot cracks into splinters under your not-inconsiderable weight. The resulting cloud of diamond dust is scattered into the air around you, and you have no choice but to pause and appreciate the way it glitters in the frigid air.
Unfortunately, your time appreciating nature is cut short by a shrill shriek. A small swarm of bats, blue-furred and each the size of a human's head, detach themselves from the ceiling and take flight in your direction.
You turn and glare at the swarm. The Island's fauna are unusually aggressive and dangerous as a rule, though running into a swarm of cave bats now of all times is terribly unfortunate. With your current condition and their numbers, you can't disregard them as a mere annoyance like usual. At least your weapons are fully operational. All machine soldiers were made for battle, so it's only right to take pride in it. Maybe this wasn't misfortune at all. You were just handed a completely reasonable chance to vent some of your frustration.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
Primary Objective
[] Remove the threat posed by the Mimiga
[] Safely acquire the Demon Crown
[x] Obtain information regarding the creation of the Red Flowers, the Demon Crown, and the Island itself
[] Destroy the Island to remove it as a potential threat
Select one Primary Objective. All other objectives will be listed as Secondary Objectives. Secondary Objectives can be reassessed and even discarded if there is logical cause, but the Primary Objective must be completed at all costs.
Weapon Systems
Capacity: 50/50
Each selected weapon reduces your maximum Capacity by a listed amount depending on the weapon's level. Your maximum Capacity will determine how much damage you can take. There will be opportunities to upgrade weapons or obtain new ones later without reducing maximum Capacity, but these opportunities will be neither free nor common.
Two weapons at maximum can be carried for now.
[x] Machine Gun
-[] Level I (-10 Capacity)
-[] Level II (-12 Capacity)
-[x] Level III (-15 Capacity)
Standard-issue for lesser Machine Soldiers, but Curly is proof that advanced units can still bring out some special potential in it. Fires faster at higher levels. At maximum level, can propel the user via recoil.
[] Fireball
-[] Level I (-10 Capacity)
-[] Level II (-12 Capacity)
-[] Level III (-15 Capacity)
A heavy projectile which lacks much airtime but ricochets off of most surfaces and can crowd corridors or small areas to quickly clear out hordes or single, durable targets alike. Can cover a wider area at higher levels.
[] Rocket Launcher
-[] Level I (-15 Capacity)
-[] Level II (-17 Capacity)
-[] Level III (-20 Capacity)
An answer to all worldly obstructions, but an expensive one. Ammunition cannot be synthesized and must be assembled through scavenging. Becomes more destructive at higher levels.
Carries a maximum of ten rockets. Increased to fifteen at maximum level.
[] Bubbline
-[] Level I (-5 Capacity)
-[] Level II (-7 Capacity)
-[] Level III (-10 Capacity)
An energy-based weapon with projectiles that hang in the air after being fired. Good for setting traps and keeping space against opponents, but weak in inflicting harm. Projectiles last longer at higher levels and will cloud around the user defensively before firing out with greater range when burst at maximum level.
[] Snake
-[] Level I (-5 Capacity)
-[] Level II (-7 Capacity)
-[] Level III (-10 Capacity)
A bizarre weapon with shots that completely phase through anything in their way up to a certain distance, dealing damage as they travel. Great against swarms of enemies or foes with durable bodies. Gains increased range, damage, and speed with each level.
You are broken.
No, that's not quite right. You are damaged. Damaged possibly beyond repair, but not broken. You are not broken. You are alive, and that means you cannot be broken just yet.
You run a diagnostic check. Memory and Logic processors are superficially damaged. No data lost, and reasoning capacities are unaffected. That knowledge lifts a weight from your body you hadn't realized was there. Paren is still noticing that she's forgotten things after being ambushed by a rabid Mimiga more than a year ago, and the technicians never really managed to fix Chevron's decision-making abilities. He never acted too put-out by it, but the idea of being damaged in such a fundamental way never failed to unnerve you. Fortunately, everything that makes you who you are has remained intact.
The same cannot be said for your body, unfortunately. The most severe damage is to your motor systems. Half your body is too damaged to move at all, and the other half does not appear to be responding to you. It's likely some minor circuit damage due to exposure to the elements, but actual diagnostics are inconclusive. Durability has been heavily worn down, and there are multiple breaches in your skin. One of these breaches is submerged, allowing a fluid of some kind to leak into your body. Whatever it is is extremely cold, and your temperature regulator system is struggling to compensate. At least it's not broken. Your eyes are ruined, to put it simply. Not irreparably, your self-repair system is miraculously undamaged, but your vision will be spotty for days even in ideal cases. The same cannot be said for your broadcasting systems, which will require a complete replacement. Considering how close those are to your data banks, you are astoundingly lucky that only the radio was damaged.
Zero contact with your squad and with command will be a problem. Or the first will be, at the very least. Command's number of useful contributions to completing any of your objectives since activation can be counted on your fingers. If anything, having an excuse not to wait for their approval for every major decision will let you be more efficient. On the other hand, you would really like to speak with your team right now. At least to check their current status. You saw Curly and Quote both take heavy blows before you were knocked unconscious, but machine soldiers are built to be durable. They're probably both fine. Paren, Chevron, and the Commander can all hold their own, so they're not in any danger. Still, it would be nice to hear their voices. Even Paren's voice. Instead, you have to be content with silence and numbness until your automatic repairs have progressed further.
You wonder if the target has destroyed yet. You still aren't certain exactly how long you were unconscious, but it could be anywhere from seconds to hours. Maybe even longer, judging by the weathering damage you've suffered, but that doesn't make sense. Even if you're not anyone's favorite, your team wouldn't have just left you in the open while you were knocked out. Has something gone wrong? You can't imagine that everyone actually lost to…
To…
As you scour your recent memories, the agonizing reality becomes more and more apparent: your memory logs were, in fact, damaged. Not significantly, but you failed to process some more recent memories into long-term. To your dismay, you have managed to just barely miss every mention or sight of the thing your squad was fighting.
It doesn't matter. Nothing on this island could hope to actually win against all six of you at once. Rabid Mimiga are vicious creatures, not to be underestimated under any circumstances, but you could take two or three in a fight on your own depending on the circumstances. Only Quote and the Commander would be able to perform similarly, but Curly, Paren, and Chevron aren't incapable fighters. The Mimiga population on this island couldn't be more than a few hundred at most, and you were told that the majority of them hadn't yet become rabid. Even if every one of them had charged your squad at once, all they'd have done was kill themselves faster. It would be ridiculous for your comrades to all have been defeated by a single foe, even if you can't remember who it was you were fighting.
Answers come slower than you want but sooner than you'd expected when your eyes return to functionality. You're staring at the ceiling of a cave, layers of ice glistening brilliantly in some unknown glow. It's beautiful, the way the light catches against the frozen crystals and scatters across the brisk air. The sight is still indistinct and out-of-focus, but that does little to suppress its beauty.
You can hear running water. More than that, you can feel the water rushing around your body. The current's tug is harsh and strong, but only a small part of it. For the most part, the water around you is too shallow to take hold. You must have been swept up in the current during the battle and carried to wherever you are now. Further down the stream, you can see a massive lake dotted with small bits of ice. If you had been dragged any further, you would have ended up completely submerged. Between the temperature and the internal flooding, the possibility of surviving would be practically zero. You were very lucky to land on the shores.
You shiver at the thought of what could have happened to you, and then blink. Then again. Your movement has been restored, at least partially. You raise one arm and grope for something to support yourself on the frozen banks. It's almost revolting how slow and stiff the movement is. Still, you manage to find a protruding rock anchored strongly enough to the ground to support your weight and use it to haul yourself up.
Finally, you can take a good look at the cavern you find yourself in. The whole thing is coated in a thin layer of frost that sparkles ethereally in the light. The cave is illuminated by a pair of fluorescent lights placed just above a metal door leading into the cave. Their light is faint and barely reaches the small shore where you stand, but that only serves to make the gleaming traces even more beautiful. A small metal balcony overlooks the underground lake, which stretches perhaps a kilometer end to end. There are a few other natural entrances to the cavern, but none that you can actually use. All three as well as the one you presumably entered through are small and occupied by a constant stream of water rushing through them and feeding into the reservoir.
You're not sure how this works geographically. Geologically? You don't know the word, it wasn't relevant to your position. But all this water has to be going somewhere, and the lake doesn't seem to be getting any bigger. Maybe there's a pump somewhere down here funneling the water back somewhere else on the island? There is a man-made balcony here, so there must have been some reason to survey this place.
No matter the reason, it's another stroke of luck for you. Whatever's on the other side of that door must be connected to some larger facility. If you pass through it, you should be able to either find a way back to a regroup point or, better yet, repair your transmitter and get back in contact with the rest of your unit. And command as well, you guess.
Your first step forward is unsteady, both because of the icy ground and the stiffness in your joints. The ice beneath your foot cracks into splinters under your not-inconsiderable weight. The resulting cloud of diamond dust is scattered into the air around you, and you have no choice but to pause and appreciate the way it glitters in the frigid air.
Unfortunately, your time appreciating nature is cut short by a shrill shriek. A small swarm of bats, blue-furred and each the size of a human's head, detach themselves from the ceiling and take flight in your direction.
You turn and glare at the swarm. The Island's fauna are unusually aggressive and dangerous as a rule, though running into a swarm of cave bats now of all times is terribly unfortunate. With your current condition and their numbers, you can't disregard them as a mere annoyance like usual. At least your weapons are fully operational. All machine soldiers were made for battle, so it's only right to take pride in it. Maybe this wasn't misfortune at all. You were just handed a completely reasonable chance to vent some of your frustration.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
Primary Objective
[] Remove the threat posed by the Mimiga
[] Safely acquire the Demon Crown
[x] Obtain information regarding the creation of the Red Flowers, the Demon Crown, and the Island itself
[] Destroy the Island to remove it as a potential threat
Select one Primary Objective. All other objectives will be listed as Secondary Objectives. Secondary Objectives can be reassessed and even discarded if there is logical cause, but the Primary Objective must be completed at all costs.
Weapon Systems
Capacity: 50/50
Each selected weapon reduces your maximum Capacity by a listed amount depending on the weapon's level. Your maximum Capacity will determine how much damage you can take. There will be opportunities to upgrade weapons or obtain new ones later without reducing maximum Capacity, but these opportunities will be neither free nor common.
Two weapons at maximum can be carried for now.
[x] Machine Gun
-[] Level I (-10 Capacity)
-[] Level II (-12 Capacity)
-[x] Level III (-15 Capacity)
Standard-issue for lesser Machine Soldiers, but Curly is proof that advanced units can still bring out some special potential in it. Fires faster at higher levels. At maximum level, can propel the user via recoil.
[] Fireball
-[] Level I (-10 Capacity)
-[] Level II (-12 Capacity)
-[] Level III (-15 Capacity)
A heavy projectile which lacks much airtime but ricochets off of most surfaces and can crowd corridors or small areas to quickly clear out hordes or single, durable targets alike. Can cover a wider area at higher levels.
[] Rocket Launcher
-[] Level I (-15 Capacity)
-[] Level II (-17 Capacity)
-[] Level III (-20 Capacity)
An answer to all worldly obstructions, but an expensive one. Ammunition cannot be synthesized and must be assembled through scavenging. Becomes more destructive at higher levels.
Carries a maximum of ten rockets. Increased to fifteen at maximum level.
[] Bubbline
-[] Level I (-5 Capacity)
-[] Level II (-7 Capacity)
-[] Level III (-10 Capacity)
An energy-based weapon with projectiles that hang in the air after being fired. Good for setting traps and keeping space against opponents, but weak in inflicting harm. Projectiles last longer at higher levels and will cloud around the user defensively before firing out with greater range when burst at maximum level.
[] Snake
-[] Level I (-5 Capacity)
-[] Level II (-7 Capacity)
-[] Level III (-10 Capacity)
A bizarre weapon with shots that completely phase through anything in their way up to a certain distance, dealing damage as they travel. Great against swarms of enemies or foes with durable bodies. Gains increased range, damage, and speed with each level.
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File 1, Entry 2 - Boot Process
Lepidoptera
Mother of Monsters, Unverified Impuritas Civitatis
- Location
- Indeterminate Unknown
Machine Learning - File 1, Entry 2 - Boot Process
There are several prominent theories as to why the Island's fauna have grown in such an unusual manner. Consuming the Demon Flowers over their lifespan was ruled out once your squad found that the flowers are rare even on the Island. Long-term exposure over the course of generations is more plausible, but you doubt it. The Demon Flowers don't have the same effects that they do on Mimiga on other creatures. Chevron ate some on a dare from Paren once without any ill effects, even. Your bet is on whatever unique environment lets the Demon Flowers grow freely here also alters the wildlife. Paren complained that that was too vague to count as a valid guess, but she guessed that the wildlife are more dangerous because they have demonic ancestry so her opinion is hardly relevant here.
Stupid theories about origins aside, a bunch of cave-dwelling animals are hardly comparable to fighting Demons or rabid Mimiga. The Island's animal population might be stronger, but it's not smarter. There's no need for complex strategies against an enemy whose only course of action is to charge blindly towards you.
As the bats congregate, you draw your Machine Gun. They're the standard-issue weapon for Machine Soldiers, but in your squad the only others to use one are Quote and Curly. That doesn't make them comparable to the mass-produced soldiers even without taking into account their subsystems, but you were given further differentiation from the inferior models. It might not be as complex as Chevron's Snake and Bubbline are, pack as much firepower as Paren's Fireball and Missile Launcher, or have the sheer destructive capacity of whatever (possibly literally) unholy fusion of magic and technology Commander Syn's Nemesis is, but your Machine Gun is still an absurd weapon. A human who tried to fire it would lose an arm if they were lucky. For you, the recoil is enough to propel even the immense weight of a machine soldier. You complained about it at first. Having to fight just to keep your aim steady when firing even a few shots was inconvenient, to say nothing of firing at the weapon's top speed. Years of service have let you grow accustomed to the rifle's eccentricities, though. With a little creativity, those imperfections can provide some interesting advantages.
In your current state, it would be a poor idea to try any fancy maneuvers. Luckily, you won't need them. You draw your gun, point it at the bat swarm, and hold down the trigger. The muzzle flash is blinding to your damaged eyes. Between that and the shaking of your hands as you struggle to account for your injuries when controlling the gun's recoil, many of the bats are untouched by your first volley. Just as many are not so lucky and end up reduced to thin red paste. You narrow your eyes and fire again in the survivors, cutting their numbers even further. You wish you could take the time to appreciate the way the light scatters into a rainbow as it strikes the frozen air. This would be so much easier if you weren't so damaged. You need repairs. Active repairs. The conditions are too poor and you've received too much damage for your auto-repair subsystems to suffice, that much is clear. You pull the trigger in another short burst, clearing the swarm yet again. Only one bat remains, flying persistently towards you like you didn't just blow the rest of the colony into a fine red mist. Again.
The gun clicks. It doesn't matter, you have enough space to fabricate another full clip long before the bat gets anywhere near you. You wait as the ammo count climbs back up, far too slowly. You'll have time for maybe three shots by the time the bat gets within melee range. Normally you wouldn't care so much, it's only an animal, but you're already mostly broken. Your core components are exposed to the open air and worn down by who knows how much weathering. All it would take is a single unlucky hit to break you for good, and you refuse to die to a literal wild animal.
You shift your stance, feet digging into the earth as your grip changes and the bat draws closer. Just as it presents its oversized claws, hoping to rip into you, you swing your gun and slam it into the bat at full force. A more delicate weapon could never be used for something like this, but standard-issue Machine Guns are hardy. It's about the only real trait of note about the base models, and the modifications made to your gun have not undone that. Backed by fifty tonnes of machinery, the processed metal slams into the overgrown animal and sends it spiraling off to the side. It crashes into the cave wall and slumps to the ground, unmoving.
You holster your Machine Gun again, satisfied with the battle's conclusion, and try to ignore the rattling of your body as you do so. You really need those repairs.
…and maybe to clean yourself first. There is blood and bits of bat inside of you right now, and that only gets more disgusting the longer you think on it. Ew. At least there's water nearby.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\
You kneel carefully by the frozen lake, cupping the frigid water in your hands and splashing it against the bits of grime clogging your inner workings. You feel the water drain away at the few sparks of heat still clinging to your circuits. Part of you considers leaving it as is, not risking further temperature damage just for the sake of cleanliness, but there's something inherently revolting about that idea. The Commander would be worse about this, no doubt. The artificial skin fitted on machine soldiers of your model doesn't stain. It can't be dyed or colored through any method you know of, including blood. It also repels most forms of dirt and grime, remaining the same pristine unnatural white no matter how brutal a battle you've just been through. Despite this, the Commander is weirdly obsessive about being clean. They'd probably blow a circuit if they ended up in this situation.
You wonder what the point of the artificial skin was. They told you it was to make your model look more human, which you believe. You have to live with all sorts of stupid design decisions because somebody decided it was "more human" to include them. Like a sense of smell. Or the ability to feel pain. Or having to eat things for fuel. It's all ridiculous. But looking human strikes you as an odd goal, considering nobody could ever be fooled into thinking one of your model was a human. Your skin is too pale, your eyes are too glassy, not to mention the obvious external markings. You aren't a human, so why build so many features to make you seem like one?
Well, it doesn't really matter. You would be better off thinking about how to warm up. You can feel stiffness in your joints as you stand up from the pool, satisfied with your bathing. The door and balcony remains a tiny spec of human influence in an otherwise untouched cavern. If you're very lucky, they'll have something to held you fix yourself. At bare minimum, inside should be heated. Unless the heating system has broken. There's no evidence of anyone having actually used this place any time in recent history.
You trudge across the frozen ground to the balcony, pushing your numbing limbs with every motion. It's becoming apparent that you won't last in the cold. Unless you can find somewhere warm to stay, you will die with your mission incomplete. It's possible the rest of your squad already has. You have no idea how long it's been since you were separated. With your self-repair systems battling against environmental weathering, it could have been anywhere from days to years. The Island isn't that large, they would have found you before now if it was more than a week at worst. Unless they weren't in any state to search for you. Unless the situation has deteriorated in the time you were unconscious. Unless you are the last one left.
It's pointless to think these things, but that knowledge does nothing to halt the flow of possibilities from entering your mind. Your feet drag through the rock and sleet until you reach the balcony. Slowly, carefully, you grasp the guard rails and heave yourself over. The old metal creaks and groans under your weight before shearing in half with a horrid screech as you are halfway over. Only a quick twist in midair prevents you from landing hard on your exposed internals. The balcony whines in protest when you land on it. You freeze, completely refusing to move until the creaking stops. If the balcony falls at this point, it will dump you directly into the water. You cannot afford that.
You crawl across the rickety balcony, hoping not to upset its precarious anchoring any further. Once you have practically pressed yourself up against the frigid metal wall, you slowly rise into a standing position and try the door. It's locked, but a single measured slam fixes that problem and frees it from its hinges. As the balcony shakes under your feet once again, you slip through the open door and into the structure.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\
The building is in a state of horrible disrepair, but it's still heated. A cursory search of the first few rooms finds a few things of note. For one, bats and other critters seeking warmth like you were. They don't pose much of a challenge. Second are the gashes torn in the walls and the various devices lining them. Some look like engines, some like computers, and some you couldn't even begin to guess. Still, this whole place is clearly running off of emergency power. Unless there are more generators deeper in, but who needs that many generators? Though if this place were a power plant of some sort, it'd make sense. In that case, the facility was probably still powering itself. You can't imagine why they'd pick a location like this, though.
Among the damages are a few lower-quality Machine Soldiers. It's not exactly a surprise to see the inferior models trashed; your team is sent to clean up messes they can't manage often enough. They don't have any of the fancy details to make them look human like your model does, just a plain endoskeleton fitted with a simple black metal shell. Most of them are in pieces, torn irreparably apart with tremendous force. It's a shame; you are here for information gathering. One of them might have been able to tell you something useful. Like the date. Or where in the Island you are.
You don't get many information gathering missions. This was the first one in two years. Your squad is usually sent out to scout new territory, eliminate an important target, or just clear out all the enemies from an area. Technically you're also here to do all three of those things, but the main goal in coming to the Island was to gather as much information about it, the Demon Flowers, and the Crown, as possible. That, and making sure nobody else was able to do the same. The lesser models here weren't sent by Command, you know that much.
You spotted a bathroom earlier, so there were probably at least a few humans manning this place in addition to the Machine Soldiers stationed here. Mimiga and Demons would need it too, but they've never shown technology anywhere near what humans use. The bloodstains on the walls are from Mimiga, though, not humans. You haven't found any bodies from either so far. just the machines.
Third, and most fortunately, is a repair room.
Most of the parts there have been used up. Plenty of them don't match with your model. But they're there, along with instruction manuals and the proper equipment. It wasn't meant for a soldier to be using in themself, but it will do. You could speed along your recovery by days with these resources. Alternatively, one of the damaged soldiers looked salvageable. It would be easy to get it back into working order. It could be hostile, yes, but that's hardly an issue for you. Even damaged, you're more than a match for the inferior models. And you'll be the one fixing it, so you can always just take it apart again if it becomes a problem.
Either way, it'll mean progress. You'll be back with your team soon enough, you know it. You can hardly wait to put this all behind you.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
Following Orders
[] Satisfaction
You were made to accomplish the tasks set out before you, no matter what they are. What feeling should you have other than satisfaction at a job well done?
[] Indifference
It's not really important. You have to do as you're commanded, but that's it. It's just a chore like any other.
[] Penitent
A part of you died with each mission you carry out. It's the only way for any of the things you've done to be remotely acceptable, for you to hate them.
[x] Remorseful
You and your team have been asked to do horrible things. At least you can recognize that fact, even if you can do nothing to change it.
[] Resigned
You're doing what you're told, that's it. It's not as though there are any other options for you or your squad. It's best to just… not think about it most of the time.
[] Write-in
Spare Parts
[x] Repair Yourself
-[x] Core Systems
Ensures you aren't on the brink of death anymore, restores your repair features to full power, and should correct your eyes to some extent.
-[] Motor Systems
Clear away the effects of who knows how much environmental weathering, getting you back to full speed and strength physically.
-[] Subsystems
Higher-class Machine Soldiers are equipped with subsystems like Curly's shield or Paren's combustion. It'll take some time to boot up even then, but you can return your own to functionality.
[] Repair a Soldier
You need information on where you are and what happened here, not to mention what's been happening on the Island. Fixing the Machine Soldier would let it answer your questions. Depending on how things go, you can just take it apart again afterwards.
There are several prominent theories as to why the Island's fauna have grown in such an unusual manner. Consuming the Demon Flowers over their lifespan was ruled out once your squad found that the flowers are rare even on the Island. Long-term exposure over the course of generations is more plausible, but you doubt it. The Demon Flowers don't have the same effects that they do on Mimiga on other creatures. Chevron ate some on a dare from Paren once without any ill effects, even. Your bet is on whatever unique environment lets the Demon Flowers grow freely here also alters the wildlife. Paren complained that that was too vague to count as a valid guess, but she guessed that the wildlife are more dangerous because they have demonic ancestry so her opinion is hardly relevant here.
Stupid theories about origins aside, a bunch of cave-dwelling animals are hardly comparable to fighting Demons or rabid Mimiga. The Island's animal population might be stronger, but it's not smarter. There's no need for complex strategies against an enemy whose only course of action is to charge blindly towards you.
As the bats congregate, you draw your Machine Gun. They're the standard-issue weapon for Machine Soldiers, but in your squad the only others to use one are Quote and Curly. That doesn't make them comparable to the mass-produced soldiers even without taking into account their subsystems, but you were given further differentiation from the inferior models. It might not be as complex as Chevron's Snake and Bubbline are, pack as much firepower as Paren's Fireball and Missile Launcher, or have the sheer destructive capacity of whatever (possibly literally) unholy fusion of magic and technology Commander Syn's Nemesis is, but your Machine Gun is still an absurd weapon. A human who tried to fire it would lose an arm if they were lucky. For you, the recoil is enough to propel even the immense weight of a machine soldier. You complained about it at first. Having to fight just to keep your aim steady when firing even a few shots was inconvenient, to say nothing of firing at the weapon's top speed. Years of service have let you grow accustomed to the rifle's eccentricities, though. With a little creativity, those imperfections can provide some interesting advantages.
In your current state, it would be a poor idea to try any fancy maneuvers. Luckily, you won't need them. You draw your gun, point it at the bat swarm, and hold down the trigger. The muzzle flash is blinding to your damaged eyes. Between that and the shaking of your hands as you struggle to account for your injuries when controlling the gun's recoil, many of the bats are untouched by your first volley. Just as many are not so lucky and end up reduced to thin red paste. You narrow your eyes and fire again in the survivors, cutting their numbers even further. You wish you could take the time to appreciate the way the light scatters into a rainbow as it strikes the frozen air. This would be so much easier if you weren't so damaged. You need repairs. Active repairs. The conditions are too poor and you've received too much damage for your auto-repair subsystems to suffice, that much is clear. You pull the trigger in another short burst, clearing the swarm yet again. Only one bat remains, flying persistently towards you like you didn't just blow the rest of the colony into a fine red mist. Again.
The gun clicks. It doesn't matter, you have enough space to fabricate another full clip long before the bat gets anywhere near you. You wait as the ammo count climbs back up, far too slowly. You'll have time for maybe three shots by the time the bat gets within melee range. Normally you wouldn't care so much, it's only an animal, but you're already mostly broken. Your core components are exposed to the open air and worn down by who knows how much weathering. All it would take is a single unlucky hit to break you for good, and you refuse to die to a literal wild animal.
You shift your stance, feet digging into the earth as your grip changes and the bat draws closer. Just as it presents its oversized claws, hoping to rip into you, you swing your gun and slam it into the bat at full force. A more delicate weapon could never be used for something like this, but standard-issue Machine Guns are hardy. It's about the only real trait of note about the base models, and the modifications made to your gun have not undone that. Backed by fifty tonnes of machinery, the processed metal slams into the overgrown animal and sends it spiraling off to the side. It crashes into the cave wall and slumps to the ground, unmoving.
You holster your Machine Gun again, satisfied with the battle's conclusion, and try to ignore the rattling of your body as you do so. You really need those repairs.
…and maybe to clean yourself first. There is blood and bits of bat inside of you right now, and that only gets more disgusting the longer you think on it. Ew. At least there's water nearby.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\
You kneel carefully by the frozen lake, cupping the frigid water in your hands and splashing it against the bits of grime clogging your inner workings. You feel the water drain away at the few sparks of heat still clinging to your circuits. Part of you considers leaving it as is, not risking further temperature damage just for the sake of cleanliness, but there's something inherently revolting about that idea. The Commander would be worse about this, no doubt. The artificial skin fitted on machine soldiers of your model doesn't stain. It can't be dyed or colored through any method you know of, including blood. It also repels most forms of dirt and grime, remaining the same pristine unnatural white no matter how brutal a battle you've just been through. Despite this, the Commander is weirdly obsessive about being clean. They'd probably blow a circuit if they ended up in this situation.
You wonder what the point of the artificial skin was. They told you it was to make your model look more human, which you believe. You have to live with all sorts of stupid design decisions because somebody decided it was "more human" to include them. Like a sense of smell. Or the ability to feel pain. Or having to eat things for fuel. It's all ridiculous. But looking human strikes you as an odd goal, considering nobody could ever be fooled into thinking one of your model was a human. Your skin is too pale, your eyes are too glassy, not to mention the obvious external markings. You aren't a human, so why build so many features to make you seem like one?
Well, it doesn't really matter. You would be better off thinking about how to warm up. You can feel stiffness in your joints as you stand up from the pool, satisfied with your bathing. The door and balcony remains a tiny spec of human influence in an otherwise untouched cavern. If you're very lucky, they'll have something to held you fix yourself. At bare minimum, inside should be heated. Unless the heating system has broken. There's no evidence of anyone having actually used this place any time in recent history.
You trudge across the frozen ground to the balcony, pushing your numbing limbs with every motion. It's becoming apparent that you won't last in the cold. Unless you can find somewhere warm to stay, you will die with your mission incomplete. It's possible the rest of your squad already has. You have no idea how long it's been since you were separated. With your self-repair systems battling against environmental weathering, it could have been anywhere from days to years. The Island isn't that large, they would have found you before now if it was more than a week at worst. Unless they weren't in any state to search for you. Unless the situation has deteriorated in the time you were unconscious. Unless you are the last one left.
It's pointless to think these things, but that knowledge does nothing to halt the flow of possibilities from entering your mind. Your feet drag through the rock and sleet until you reach the balcony. Slowly, carefully, you grasp the guard rails and heave yourself over. The old metal creaks and groans under your weight before shearing in half with a horrid screech as you are halfway over. Only a quick twist in midair prevents you from landing hard on your exposed internals. The balcony whines in protest when you land on it. You freeze, completely refusing to move until the creaking stops. If the balcony falls at this point, it will dump you directly into the water. You cannot afford that.
You crawl across the rickety balcony, hoping not to upset its precarious anchoring any further. Once you have practically pressed yourself up against the frigid metal wall, you slowly rise into a standing position and try the door. It's locked, but a single measured slam fixes that problem and frees it from its hinges. As the balcony shakes under your feet once again, you slip through the open door and into the structure.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\
The building is in a state of horrible disrepair, but it's still heated. A cursory search of the first few rooms finds a few things of note. For one, bats and other critters seeking warmth like you were. They don't pose much of a challenge. Second are the gashes torn in the walls and the various devices lining them. Some look like engines, some like computers, and some you couldn't even begin to guess. Still, this whole place is clearly running off of emergency power. Unless there are more generators deeper in, but who needs that many generators? Though if this place were a power plant of some sort, it'd make sense. In that case, the facility was probably still powering itself. You can't imagine why they'd pick a location like this, though.
Among the damages are a few lower-quality Machine Soldiers. It's not exactly a surprise to see the inferior models trashed; your team is sent to clean up messes they can't manage often enough. They don't have any of the fancy details to make them look human like your model does, just a plain endoskeleton fitted with a simple black metal shell. Most of them are in pieces, torn irreparably apart with tremendous force. It's a shame; you are here for information gathering. One of them might have been able to tell you something useful. Like the date. Or where in the Island you are.
You don't get many information gathering missions. This was the first one in two years. Your squad is usually sent out to scout new territory, eliminate an important target, or just clear out all the enemies from an area. Technically you're also here to do all three of those things, but the main goal in coming to the Island was to gather as much information about it, the Demon Flowers, and the Crown, as possible. That, and making sure nobody else was able to do the same. The lesser models here weren't sent by Command, you know that much.
You spotted a bathroom earlier, so there were probably at least a few humans manning this place in addition to the Machine Soldiers stationed here. Mimiga and Demons would need it too, but they've never shown technology anywhere near what humans use. The bloodstains on the walls are from Mimiga, though, not humans. You haven't found any bodies from either so far. just the machines.
Third, and most fortunately, is a repair room.
Most of the parts there have been used up. Plenty of them don't match with your model. But they're there, along with instruction manuals and the proper equipment. It wasn't meant for a soldier to be using in themself, but it will do. You could speed along your recovery by days with these resources. Alternatively, one of the damaged soldiers looked salvageable. It would be easy to get it back into working order. It could be hostile, yes, but that's hardly an issue for you. Even damaged, you're more than a match for the inferior models. And you'll be the one fixing it, so you can always just take it apart again if it becomes a problem.
Either way, it'll mean progress. You'll be back with your team soon enough, you know it. You can hardly wait to put this all behind you.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
Following Orders
[] Satisfaction
You were made to accomplish the tasks set out before you, no matter what they are. What feeling should you have other than satisfaction at a job well done?
[] Indifference
It's not really important. You have to do as you're commanded, but that's it. It's just a chore like any other.
[] Penitent
A part of you died with each mission you carry out. It's the only way for any of the things you've done to be remotely acceptable, for you to hate them.
[x] Remorseful
You and your team have been asked to do horrible things. At least you can recognize that fact, even if you can do nothing to change it.
[] Resigned
You're doing what you're told, that's it. It's not as though there are any other options for you or your squad. It's best to just… not think about it most of the time.
[] Write-in
Spare Parts
[x] Repair Yourself
-[x] Core Systems
Ensures you aren't on the brink of death anymore, restores your repair features to full power, and should correct your eyes to some extent.
-[] Motor Systems
Clear away the effects of who knows how much environmental weathering, getting you back to full speed and strength physically.
-[] Subsystems
Higher-class Machine Soldiers are equipped with subsystems like Curly's shield or Paren's combustion. It'll take some time to boot up even then, but you can return your own to functionality.
[] Repair a Soldier
You need information on where you are and what happened here, not to mention what's been happening on the Island. Fixing the Machine Soldier would let it answer your questions. Depending on how things go, you can just take it apart again afterwards.
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File 1, Entry 3 - System Check
Lepidoptera
Mother of Monsters, Unverified Impuritas Civitatis
- Location
- Indeterminate Unknown
Machine Learning - File 1, Entry 3 - System Check
You're not an expert in self-maintenance. Especially not to the degree you need right now. If you suffered any major damage in the past, the engineers would fix you between missions. Anything less than that would be covered by the automatic repair systems. There hasn't been any reason for you to know these procedures beyond what protocol demanded.
You allow yourself a small grin. You were right all along to memorize those instruction manuals. Well, you and Quote, but he read all sorts of weird things for no particular reason. It was a lot more likely that the scout had just been bored and picked up whatever was on-hand than it was for him of all of your team to have actually followed orders to the letter. Paren had called it a waste of time, said that "There was no reason for anyone to spend their valuable time and energy learning something so useless". Well, now who's useless? If only you could see the look on her face right now!
You pause in your task of sorting through the various drawers and cabinets for useful parts and tools. You'll find them soon enough. Just after you get yourself back to full functionality.
Eventually, you close the last compartment and rise to your feet. A bag of whatever valuable objects you could scrounge sits in your free hand. Not as much as you wanted, but more than enough to take yourself off the brink of death. You take the bag with you as you traverse the broken-down building's empty halls until you get to a bathroom.
The mirror is cracked and dirty, but you can at least see yourself in it. Upon seeing your reflection, you can't help but flinch. You've seen much better days. The false skin covering your body has been torn off from most of your right half, showing the simple grey machinery beneath. It looks almost like a charred skeleton hidden under your fake flesh. The tears run across the left half of your face like scars, stopping just short of the tear streak-like markings under your eye that denote your model. Your eyes are both mostly intact, at the very least. Thin cracks run through the blue glass lenses, mimicking bloodshot vessels. Dirt and dust have accumulated on your pale, inhuman skin at points where the repellant layer was worn away by the environment. The only part of you that's stayed untouched is your hair, an uneven mess of jagged red halting just below your neck. Straightening it proved impossible a long time ago, as the self-repair systems always return your body towards a specific state. Even something like a change in hairstyle is undone overnight. To your disappointment, your cap is gone. It must have been lost somewhere when you were caught in the stream earlier.
You aren't properly capable of operating on the functions stored in your head. They're too delicate to work with in yourself even if you did have the proper training. Which you don't have in the first place. The best you can do there is just hope that the damage is minimal and let the automatic repair fix it.
No, your attention is instead directed lower, to the core systems sealed safely within your chest. Or formerly sealed safely, that is. Much like with your head, the right half of your inner workings has been exposed to the elements. Luckily, there's no rust. You don't know if you can rust, it's never happened before, but the idea has always disturbed you. You can't properly feel the inner workings of your body in the same way you can the outer layers, so if your insides started rusting you wouldn't know until it was too late. Or it could have started on the outside, letting you feel the closest thing to rot that a machine can experience creeping through your body.
But that didn't happen, so you're fine. Most of the damage here can be easily undone with what you have on hand. Rocks and bits of debris are lodged in various places within your insides, pushing things out of place or filling in dents. A pair of pliers takes to the task of removing the various foreign objects from your body. The small rocks and bits of metal are the first to go. With each small disturbance you remove, another dull ache fades from inside you.
Repairing a machine soldier is somewhere between an engineering job and a surgical operation. Neither of which are meant to be performed on yourself. Even with the mirror to help, it's still difficult to see the area you're working with. You nearly tumble over while pulling out a chunk of metal lodged into one of your engines at an unfortunate angle. It makes an awful screeching noise as you drag it out, leaving a faded burning feeling deep inside you. The chamber looks useless even with it removed, but you can't replace it yourself. You'll just need to wait for the auto-repair to do its work. There's some kind of red dust gathered around your primary batteries and the tubes connecting to them, but you can't seem to remove it with the tools you have right now and it doesn't look like anything you're familiar with. You'll have to leave it as well.
The feeling of having your hands inside your body, pushing aside tubes and circuitry and motors and shoving things back into place, is horribly uncomfortable. Your senses are dulled past the outermost layer of your body, the part of you that pretends to be a human, but you can still feel that you aren't supposed to be doing what you're doing. It only gets worse once you bring the tools in, every snip and wrench sending a horrible lurch through your body. This would be easier if the rest of you wasn't so damaged. You hadn't noticed earlier, but you aren't just slower than you should be, you're clumsier. A loss in precision in every little movement. Even if you had the parts for it, the more delicate repairs you need would be impossible.
It's not all unpleasant, though. That would be a bad sign. You can feel aches fading, the warmth slowly working its way back through your body. You don't have the fake skin coating the engineers used to cover you on hand, but you can still replace the plating that goes underneath it. With the protective casing applied, you look slightly less like a skeleton wearing a skin suit. Even if you're still mostly broken. How joyful.
You need to get back to work.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\
Clearing the rest of the complex is easier now that you aren't a single lucky blow away from death. Bats and critters are no threat in combat, especially not in tight spaces where you can easily bottleneck them. They're only animals, after all. No strategy or intelligence beyond rushing at anything that isn't them. It's not like they could even eat you if one somehow managed to down you. They're worse than the low-grades in that sense.
It's as you're clearing out the infestation that you hear a grinding from above you. Your attention snaps upward. You just barely catch sight of something descending with absurd speed before throwing yourself back, your worn servos forced behind their limits to take you to safety. You clang loudly against the metal floor as you land.
As you try to stand, your right leg, locks up halfway through the motion. The fall must have worsened the damage you've already taken. How annoying. It was barely anything, getting injured at all like that would be humiliating if your squadmates were here.
But they aren't. Your embarrassment will be restricted solely to you.
You rise more carefully, bracing yourself against your Machine Gun as you flare at the object that assailed you. It's a perfect rectangular grey box, a little taller than you. Its surface is ridged and etched with patterns and shapes you don't recognize but for smooth, raised corners and a single glassy red eye fixed in its center.
The eye follows you up off the floor. You glare back at it. The strange object does not respond to your attention, not even when you level your gun at it. It tried to crush you earlier, but now it's just sitting here.
The strange object rumbles and you react more in instinct than anything else. A hail of gunfire is suddenly shredding the unidentified stone's sole eye. It cracks, fractures, and finally shatters under your assault before it can move again. The dust of pulverized glass floats through the stagnant air. You stare into the now-empty socket, but there are no more answers within than you could find from examining its exterior. Maybe you should bring it back with you. The engineers back home would want to examine it. That will need to wait for the trip back, though. There's no chance of you carrying something so large in your condition.
You trudge past the monolith and further through the complex. There has to be a way out somewhere.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
A Way Out…
There's a few places nearby you can reach from here, if you've read the terminals here properly.
[] Labyrinth
Listed as an inhabited area that spreads throughout most of the lower Island. The lesser machines here marked it as too dangerous to traverse.
[x] Egg Corridor
Connected to the lower complex by an elevator, the Egg Corridor was constructed to run through most of the Island. It'll let you get anywhere quickly.
[] Deep Sands
A large cavern system that runs below another, similar systems with the Island. Listed as full of monsters, but also displayed signs of ancient civilization. You might be able to progress your main objective here.
[] Spine
A long tunnel from the Island's peak to its depths. Though no data is held regarding its danger, it would be risky to approach. Reaching the Spine would also be a long trip. Once you have found your way here, it would be easy to reach anywhere else on the Island.
You're not an expert in self-maintenance. Especially not to the degree you need right now. If you suffered any major damage in the past, the engineers would fix you between missions. Anything less than that would be covered by the automatic repair systems. There hasn't been any reason for you to know these procedures beyond what protocol demanded.
You allow yourself a small grin. You were right all along to memorize those instruction manuals. Well, you and Quote, but he read all sorts of weird things for no particular reason. It was a lot more likely that the scout had just been bored and picked up whatever was on-hand than it was for him of all of your team to have actually followed orders to the letter. Paren had called it a waste of time, said that "There was no reason for anyone to spend their valuable time and energy learning something so useless". Well, now who's useless? If only you could see the look on her face right now!
You pause in your task of sorting through the various drawers and cabinets for useful parts and tools. You'll find them soon enough. Just after you get yourself back to full functionality.
Eventually, you close the last compartment and rise to your feet. A bag of whatever valuable objects you could scrounge sits in your free hand. Not as much as you wanted, but more than enough to take yourself off the brink of death. You take the bag with you as you traverse the broken-down building's empty halls until you get to a bathroom.
The mirror is cracked and dirty, but you can at least see yourself in it. Upon seeing your reflection, you can't help but flinch. You've seen much better days. The false skin covering your body has been torn off from most of your right half, showing the simple grey machinery beneath. It looks almost like a charred skeleton hidden under your fake flesh. The tears run across the left half of your face like scars, stopping just short of the tear streak-like markings under your eye that denote your model. Your eyes are both mostly intact, at the very least. Thin cracks run through the blue glass lenses, mimicking bloodshot vessels. Dirt and dust have accumulated on your pale, inhuman skin at points where the repellant layer was worn away by the environment. The only part of you that's stayed untouched is your hair, an uneven mess of jagged red halting just below your neck. Straightening it proved impossible a long time ago, as the self-repair systems always return your body towards a specific state. Even something like a change in hairstyle is undone overnight. To your disappointment, your cap is gone. It must have been lost somewhere when you were caught in the stream earlier.
You aren't properly capable of operating on the functions stored in your head. They're too delicate to work with in yourself even if you did have the proper training. Which you don't have in the first place. The best you can do there is just hope that the damage is minimal and let the automatic repair fix it.
No, your attention is instead directed lower, to the core systems sealed safely within your chest. Or formerly sealed safely, that is. Much like with your head, the right half of your inner workings has been exposed to the elements. Luckily, there's no rust. You don't know if you can rust, it's never happened before, but the idea has always disturbed you. You can't properly feel the inner workings of your body in the same way you can the outer layers, so if your insides started rusting you wouldn't know until it was too late. Or it could have started on the outside, letting you feel the closest thing to rot that a machine can experience creeping through your body.
But that didn't happen, so you're fine. Most of the damage here can be easily undone with what you have on hand. Rocks and bits of debris are lodged in various places within your insides, pushing things out of place or filling in dents. A pair of pliers takes to the task of removing the various foreign objects from your body. The small rocks and bits of metal are the first to go. With each small disturbance you remove, another dull ache fades from inside you.
Repairing a machine soldier is somewhere between an engineering job and a surgical operation. Neither of which are meant to be performed on yourself. Even with the mirror to help, it's still difficult to see the area you're working with. You nearly tumble over while pulling out a chunk of metal lodged into one of your engines at an unfortunate angle. It makes an awful screeching noise as you drag it out, leaving a faded burning feeling deep inside you. The chamber looks useless even with it removed, but you can't replace it yourself. You'll just need to wait for the auto-repair to do its work. There's some kind of red dust gathered around your primary batteries and the tubes connecting to them, but you can't seem to remove it with the tools you have right now and it doesn't look like anything you're familiar with. You'll have to leave it as well.
The feeling of having your hands inside your body, pushing aside tubes and circuitry and motors and shoving things back into place, is horribly uncomfortable. Your senses are dulled past the outermost layer of your body, the part of you that pretends to be a human, but you can still feel that you aren't supposed to be doing what you're doing. It only gets worse once you bring the tools in, every snip and wrench sending a horrible lurch through your body. This would be easier if the rest of you wasn't so damaged. You hadn't noticed earlier, but you aren't just slower than you should be, you're clumsier. A loss in precision in every little movement. Even if you had the parts for it, the more delicate repairs you need would be impossible.
It's not all unpleasant, though. That would be a bad sign. You can feel aches fading, the warmth slowly working its way back through your body. You don't have the fake skin coating the engineers used to cover you on hand, but you can still replace the plating that goes underneath it. With the protective casing applied, you look slightly less like a skeleton wearing a skin suit. Even if you're still mostly broken. How joyful.
You need to get back to work.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\
Clearing the rest of the complex is easier now that you aren't a single lucky blow away from death. Bats and critters are no threat in combat, especially not in tight spaces where you can easily bottleneck them. They're only animals, after all. No strategy or intelligence beyond rushing at anything that isn't them. It's not like they could even eat you if one somehow managed to down you. They're worse than the low-grades in that sense.
It's as you're clearing out the infestation that you hear a grinding from above you. Your attention snaps upward. You just barely catch sight of something descending with absurd speed before throwing yourself back, your worn servos forced behind their limits to take you to safety. You clang loudly against the metal floor as you land.
As you try to stand, your right leg, locks up halfway through the motion. The fall must have worsened the damage you've already taken. How annoying. It was barely anything, getting injured at all like that would be humiliating if your squadmates were here.
But they aren't. Your embarrassment will be restricted solely to you.
You rise more carefully, bracing yourself against your Machine Gun as you flare at the object that assailed you. It's a perfect rectangular grey box, a little taller than you. Its surface is ridged and etched with patterns and shapes you don't recognize but for smooth, raised corners and a single glassy red eye fixed in its center.
The eye follows you up off the floor. You glare back at it. The strange object does not respond to your attention, not even when you level your gun at it. It tried to crush you earlier, but now it's just sitting here.
The strange object rumbles and you react more in instinct than anything else. A hail of gunfire is suddenly shredding the unidentified stone's sole eye. It cracks, fractures, and finally shatters under your assault before it can move again. The dust of pulverized glass floats through the stagnant air. You stare into the now-empty socket, but there are no more answers within than you could find from examining its exterior. Maybe you should bring it back with you. The engineers back home would want to examine it. That will need to wait for the trip back, though. There's no chance of you carrying something so large in your condition.
You trudge past the monolith and further through the complex. There has to be a way out somewhere.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
A Way Out…
There's a few places nearby you can reach from here, if you've read the terminals here properly.
[] Labyrinth
Listed as an inhabited area that spreads throughout most of the lower Island. The lesser machines here marked it as too dangerous to traverse.
[x] Egg Corridor
Connected to the lower complex by an elevator, the Egg Corridor was constructed to run through most of the Island. It'll let you get anywhere quickly.
[] Deep Sands
A large cavern system that runs below another, similar systems with the Island. Listed as full of monsters, but also displayed signs of ancient civilization. You might be able to progress your main objective here.
[] Spine
A long tunnel from the Island's peak to its depths. Though no data is held regarding its danger, it would be risky to approach. Reaching the Spine would also be a long trip. Once you have found your way here, it would be easy to reach anywhere else on the Island.
Last edited:
File 1, Entry 4 - Power On
Lepidoptera
Mother of Monsters, Unverified Impuritas Civitatis
- Location
- Indeterminate Unknown
Machine Learning - File 1, Entry 4 - Power On
None of the immediate options for your destination are especially appealing. You might have repaired some internal damage, but you are still far below your ideal functional capacity. The Deep Sands in particular, while a location you will need to survey eventually to ensure a total completion of your mission, sounds horrible. You are still riddled with holes and missing half of your outer casing, and wading through sand would be miserable.
You had a desert assignment a little over a year before your current mission. Even with all your pieces in place, sand gets everywhere. Even the Commander looked the slightest bit disconcerted by the grinding noises it made whenever he moved, which was the furthest in that direction of emotion he is capable of as far as you can recall.
Instead, you clear out a few more nests of local fauna in your way to the elevator. It's irritating how careful you have to be just fighting jumped-up animals. But undoing the repairs you just did would be even more irritating, and you still aren't operating anywhere near full capacity. At least what you have left is enough to make it to the elevator.
You ignore the smaller elevator just near the entrance to the room. It doesn't go the distance you need it to, and you've had unfortunate experiences with human elevators in the past. As it turns out, six machine soldiers weigh a lot more than six normal people.
Instead, you head to the large shipping elevator in the center of the room. There are a few crates lying around the cavernous, otherwise-empty space, but all of them are locked and you don't have the time or equipment to open them. There are scuff marks beneath the frost across the floor all around leading to the main elevator, meaning somebody's already dragged out anything of value here anyways. That's not what worries you. This place had to be inhabited once, and whoever was here clearly left a long time ago. No, the worrying part is what you find along with them.
Footprints.
And of course by footprints, you mean massive vaguely foot-shaped dents in the metal floor. They look like they belong to some sort of large animal, but their spacing says who or whatever it was that made them was bipedal. Something large, animal-like that walks on two legs and is strong enough to dent solid steel with its footsteps. Your first thought is that it must have been a rabid Mimiga. You know the little rabbits are on the Island. One of the larger rabid forms would be about the right size and strength. If the prints were more clearly-formed you would be able to tell for certain, but as it is the forceful indentations are too rough and worn down on by cold and time to be useful to you. It doesn't matter, because the prospect is ridiculous. Rabid Mimiga wouldn't have the sense to be moving anything, much less up an elevator where the stored supplies were obviously retrieved by somebody at an upper layer. They're purely uncontrolled killing machines, not discriminating between their own kind or enemies as they lash out. The moment a Mimiga eats a Red Flower, they're already as good as dead. The idea that one could think enough to act rationally like this…
…you really don't want to consider that possibility. You and your team have killed a lot of rabid Mimiga. It was never really easy, but you could at least feel a little less guilty about it than you would shooting an actual person. Not accounting for how often you all were the reason for them choosing to go rabid in the first place.
Whatever. Like you said earlier, it's not worth thinking about. There are other large creatures around. The Island is full of monsters of all kinds. You can't get caught on one unlikely possibility.
Watching the footprints out of the corner of your eye, you step onto the central elevator and start fiddling with the buttons. It doesn't take you that long to figure out which one leads to the floor of the Egg Corridor. From there, you should be able to go somewhere. The maps you were able to get working say it stretches horizontally across the whole Island, and that means more options for where to go. More range you can keep your eyes on, a higher chance of finding something or someone.
The frozen-over elevator lets out a great, echoing creak as it grinds to life. It slowly ascends the sleet-stained scaffolding rails that guide it up towards the darkness where the room's sputtering fluorescent lights don't reach. Contrasted to the ground below, covered in frost that glints and shines like ground-up diamonds in the artificial glow, you feel like you're descending from the Heavens in reverse. Leaving behind the peaceful, quite cold and venturing into the unknown darkness. That's stupid though, because you know that the structure below is full of wild animals that want to kill you and a chill that seeps into your body and sucks away the sparks of life that keep you moving. The only peace down there would come as a life as an unmoving hunk of scrap, entombed along with all the lesser models in a wintry coffin.
The mechanical whir of the elevator drones on. You're a couple feet up now. The platform stutters and stops every once in a while, accompanied by a clean cracking noise at the sight of bits of ice falling off the underside. Face blank of emotion, you step over to the rails and scrape away some of the accumulated ice as best you can. The chunks tumble down and shatter into endlessly fine particles on the hard ground below. It would be beautiful if you had the mind to care about those things. Instead, you continue clearing the sleet from the rails leading the platform up into the place where light doesn't reach.
The elevator drifts up a few more feet. A thunderous clank sounds out and you jolt, scanning for what horrible malfunction might have made that noise, but then the elevator begins to move faster. Not especially quickly, and it makes a horrible grinding noise as it goes, but it's only a minute later and the ground below is a gleaming speck in the dark. The only illumination near you comes from a few tiny lights attached to the platform. Their dull glow is as withered and heatless as everything else down there. But they're enough to see by, so you can't complain that much.
You stare up. Only darkness returns your gaze. The elevator rails climb up and up and out of view. Scaffolding extends from them, reaching out in a thin metal web to anchor onto the cavern walls that you can barely catch sight of. Some of the supports are encrusted by a thick layer of rust. Others are dented, bent, or simply missing pieces. The platform creaks as it passes them by.
By the time the cavern walls have narrowed enough to be close enough to touch if you walked over to the elevator's edges, you are extremely bored. There might be bats or other small or large animals nesting in the unused elevator shaft, though, so you can't risk waiting through it in low-power mode. So you have no other choice expect be bored. The wall opens up into a platform a little ways up ahead, but then the elevator passes it by. It must be connected to a different station. You glare at the destination that isn't yours as you pass it by.
At least the long elevator ride gives you some time to get your memories in order. You hadn't thought that you received any memory damage in your initial checks, but further investigation tells you that some things are missing. Things that you would really prefer that you remembered and didn't forget. The gaps in the logs taunt you with their total lack of information.
There's nothing you can do about it now. Dedicated repairs might be able to restore access to some lost memories, but you don't know how and can't perform those on yourself besides. All you can do is pick through your thoughts as the elevator rattles upward.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
Memories…
Pick two to focus on.
[] Base
The place where you and your team were created and where you would return between missions. Humans would call it your birthplace or maybe home, but neither of those words feel right.
[x] The Island
You moved through here with your team for days before something went wrong, searching for information to fulfill your objective.
[] Mimiga
Sapient, rabbit-like humanoid creatures who seem to pop up everywhere. Consuming the Red Flowers which originate on the Island will turn them into mindless killing machines, and you and your team are often tasked with rooting them out as a result.
[x] Your Team
-[x] Chevron and Paren
They never went anywhere on their own. It was honestly really annoying because of how much harder it made organization.
-[] Quote and Curly Brace
You could never quite understand those two, but they got along well with everyone.
-[] Commander Syn
Your superior officer, always jovial and happy to work.
None of the immediate options for your destination are especially appealing. You might have repaired some internal damage, but you are still far below your ideal functional capacity. The Deep Sands in particular, while a location you will need to survey eventually to ensure a total completion of your mission, sounds horrible. You are still riddled with holes and missing half of your outer casing, and wading through sand would be miserable.
You had a desert assignment a little over a year before your current mission. Even with all your pieces in place, sand gets everywhere. Even the Commander looked the slightest bit disconcerted by the grinding noises it made whenever he moved, which was the furthest in that direction of emotion he is capable of as far as you can recall.
Instead, you clear out a few more nests of local fauna in your way to the elevator. It's irritating how careful you have to be just fighting jumped-up animals. But undoing the repairs you just did would be even more irritating, and you still aren't operating anywhere near full capacity. At least what you have left is enough to make it to the elevator.
You ignore the smaller elevator just near the entrance to the room. It doesn't go the distance you need it to, and you've had unfortunate experiences with human elevators in the past. As it turns out, six machine soldiers weigh a lot more than six normal people.
Instead, you head to the large shipping elevator in the center of the room. There are a few crates lying around the cavernous, otherwise-empty space, but all of them are locked and you don't have the time or equipment to open them. There are scuff marks beneath the frost across the floor all around leading to the main elevator, meaning somebody's already dragged out anything of value here anyways. That's not what worries you. This place had to be inhabited once, and whoever was here clearly left a long time ago. No, the worrying part is what you find along with them.
Footprints.
And of course by footprints, you mean massive vaguely foot-shaped dents in the metal floor. They look like they belong to some sort of large animal, but their spacing says who or whatever it was that made them was bipedal. Something large, animal-like that walks on two legs and is strong enough to dent solid steel with its footsteps. Your first thought is that it must have been a rabid Mimiga. You know the little rabbits are on the Island. One of the larger rabid forms would be about the right size and strength. If the prints were more clearly-formed you would be able to tell for certain, but as it is the forceful indentations are too rough and worn down on by cold and time to be useful to you. It doesn't matter, because the prospect is ridiculous. Rabid Mimiga wouldn't have the sense to be moving anything, much less up an elevator where the stored supplies were obviously retrieved by somebody at an upper layer. They're purely uncontrolled killing machines, not discriminating between their own kind or enemies as they lash out. The moment a Mimiga eats a Red Flower, they're already as good as dead. The idea that one could think enough to act rationally like this…
…you really don't want to consider that possibility. You and your team have killed a lot of rabid Mimiga. It was never really easy, but you could at least feel a little less guilty about it than you would shooting an actual person. Not accounting for how often you all were the reason for them choosing to go rabid in the first place.
Whatever. Like you said earlier, it's not worth thinking about. There are other large creatures around. The Island is full of monsters of all kinds. You can't get caught on one unlikely possibility.
Watching the footprints out of the corner of your eye, you step onto the central elevator and start fiddling with the buttons. It doesn't take you that long to figure out which one leads to the floor of the Egg Corridor. From there, you should be able to go somewhere. The maps you were able to get working say it stretches horizontally across the whole Island, and that means more options for where to go. More range you can keep your eyes on, a higher chance of finding something or someone.
The frozen-over elevator lets out a great, echoing creak as it grinds to life. It slowly ascends the sleet-stained scaffolding rails that guide it up towards the darkness where the room's sputtering fluorescent lights don't reach. Contrasted to the ground below, covered in frost that glints and shines like ground-up diamonds in the artificial glow, you feel like you're descending from the Heavens in reverse. Leaving behind the peaceful, quite cold and venturing into the unknown darkness. That's stupid though, because you know that the structure below is full of wild animals that want to kill you and a chill that seeps into your body and sucks away the sparks of life that keep you moving. The only peace down there would come as a life as an unmoving hunk of scrap, entombed along with all the lesser models in a wintry coffin.
The mechanical whir of the elevator drones on. You're a couple feet up now. The platform stutters and stops every once in a while, accompanied by a clean cracking noise at the sight of bits of ice falling off the underside. Face blank of emotion, you step over to the rails and scrape away some of the accumulated ice as best you can. The chunks tumble down and shatter into endlessly fine particles on the hard ground below. It would be beautiful if you had the mind to care about those things. Instead, you continue clearing the sleet from the rails leading the platform up into the place where light doesn't reach.
The elevator drifts up a few more feet. A thunderous clank sounds out and you jolt, scanning for what horrible malfunction might have made that noise, but then the elevator begins to move faster. Not especially quickly, and it makes a horrible grinding noise as it goes, but it's only a minute later and the ground below is a gleaming speck in the dark. The only illumination near you comes from a few tiny lights attached to the platform. Their dull glow is as withered and heatless as everything else down there. But they're enough to see by, so you can't complain that much.
You stare up. Only darkness returns your gaze. The elevator rails climb up and up and out of view. Scaffolding extends from them, reaching out in a thin metal web to anchor onto the cavern walls that you can barely catch sight of. Some of the supports are encrusted by a thick layer of rust. Others are dented, bent, or simply missing pieces. The platform creaks as it passes them by.
By the time the cavern walls have narrowed enough to be close enough to touch if you walked over to the elevator's edges, you are extremely bored. There might be bats or other small or large animals nesting in the unused elevator shaft, though, so you can't risk waiting through it in low-power mode. So you have no other choice expect be bored. The wall opens up into a platform a little ways up ahead, but then the elevator passes it by. It must be connected to a different station. You glare at the destination that isn't yours as you pass it by.
At least the long elevator ride gives you some time to get your memories in order. You hadn't thought that you received any memory damage in your initial checks, but further investigation tells you that some things are missing. Things that you would really prefer that you remembered and didn't forget. The gaps in the logs taunt you with their total lack of information.
There's nothing you can do about it now. Dedicated repairs might be able to restore access to some lost memories, but you don't know how and can't perform those on yourself besides. All you can do is pick through your thoughts as the elevator rattles upward.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
Memories…
Pick two to focus on.
[] Base
The place where you and your team were created and where you would return between missions. Humans would call it your birthplace or maybe home, but neither of those words feel right.
[x] The Island
You moved through here with your team for days before something went wrong, searching for information to fulfill your objective.
[] Mimiga
Sapient, rabbit-like humanoid creatures who seem to pop up everywhere. Consuming the Red Flowers which originate on the Island will turn them into mindless killing machines, and you and your team are often tasked with rooting them out as a result.
[x] Your Team
-[x] Chevron and Paren
They never went anywhere on their own. It was honestly really annoying because of how much harder it made organization.
-[] Quote and Curly Brace
You could never quite understand those two, but they got along well with everyone.
-[] Commander Syn
Your superior officer, always jovial and happy to work.
Last edited:
Announcement - Weekly Updates
Lepidoptera
Mother of Monsters, Unverified Impuritas Civitatis
- Location
- Indeterminate Unknown
I think I'm going to try and release an update for this story every week from this point forward, at least as long as writing for it remains less challenging than my other projects. So look forward to that in the future! And of course if you haven't, do check out the other things I've written! Some of my projects get more attention than others, but everything I make I fully intend on seeing to the end.
File 1, Entry 5 - Data Retrieval
Lepidoptera
Mother of Monsters, Unverified Impuritas Civitatis
- Location
- Indeterminate Unknown
Machine Learning - File 1, Entry 5 - Data Retrieval
As the elevator continues its slow, grinding ascent, you retrace your steps back from your last intact memories. You follow your squad's sweeping path through the Island as you scoured it of anything of the slightest interest. It was a more interesting mission than what you were usually assigned.
The Island had been in the periphery of many of your previous missions. It was only logical that eventually you would be sent to the mysterious origin place of the Red Flowers. The floating Island predated all existing records, and while there was evidence that multiple large civilizations had at some point been present on it there were no remaining members of those civilizations left. Just Mimiga and ruins that people abandoned. Chevron suggested that there might have been a Mimiga empire on the Island, and then went on to suggest that they were the ones who created the Island in the first place. You let him know exactly how stupid that suggestion was. The Mimiga are and always have been an underdeveloped people. They don't have the magical or technological capability to create something like the Island and never did.
Naturally-occurring magical phenomena aren't unknown, but they are extremely rare. What's more common are magic-adjacent life forms like most Monsters, sapient creature like the Mimiga or Demons, and abnormal plant life like the Red Flowers. All of these tend to cluster near places like the Island, implying some line of correlation between them. Apparently that's not important though, so your team's investigation was purely about what was on the Island and how much of it could be taken or replicated.
You had been dropped off on a clear area near the west side of the Island, just on the surface's edge. The landing zone was lightly forested, dotted with treasure troves of information all within walking distance. The remnants of structures from all throughout history were found quickly. Though "all throughout history" isn't exactly correct. There was a notable gap between the older structures, typically carved from stone and sometimes cut from the Island itself, and the metal buildings that were built in later and clearly constructed by visiting teams like your own investigating or attempting to settle the Island. You were the only one to find this interesting. Curly and Quote were clearly trying to pay attention when you were explaining but were both starting to zone out. Paren just told you that it was all meaningless for the mission outright. Chevron said the same thing, just in a nicer way. Syn, as usual, didn't have anything to say.
This elevator is one example of an old structure left within the Island. It matches the make of the newer constructions put together by the other forces present on the Island at the time, but it's way too old to have actually belonged to anyone who was present so recently. Or maybe they built this early on in the incursion but abandoned it? It's not really important. Other factions were sent at the same time as your own mission, but the Island itself was more of an obstruction than those things. A proper Machine Soldier could wipe out thousands of those mass-produced units. Instead, it was just traversing the Island that caused the most trouble.
Most of the important parts of the Island aren't on the surface. They're inside it, nestled somewhere in the intricate cave systems that fills the floating landmass completely. You don't know how much of it has been explored. The maps held in the facility that you woke up in seem extensive, but they're missing paths that you remember. What's more interesting is how much of it is filled with buildings. The facility connects to the Egg Corridor, both entirely constructed areas. Whoever was operating down here must have been well-equipped. They also were wiped out by someone else a long time ago. It wasn't your team, you can tell that much. The signs of damage are more in line with animals than gunfire. Paren definitely wasn't there judging by the lack of gaping holes in the walls and smoking wrecks in the place of anything she thought looked at her funny.
Your route through the island took your team across the surface first, eventually meeting a cliff face too sharp to scale. There was also a bit of resistance from the local population and other invaders, but it was so easily overturned it was hardly worth noting. More of the difficulty came from just getting around the cave network within the Island. You can recall the path that the team was meant to take. A slow, methodical sweep based on existing maps that would eventually circle back to the surface near the opposite end of the Island. There were certain rumors regarding magical artifacts and technologies that you were supposed to verify and retrieve if possible. The strange machine that nearly crushed you earlier was one of those, you're sure of it. You can recall seeing other constructs like it along the way. The Sand Zone and Labyrinth were both part of the planned route, but you don't have any memories of either place. Either the plan changed for some reason or you've lost the relevant memories.
The closer to the present you follow your route, the spottier your memory becomes. At first it's just tiny moments, the blink of an eye's worth of time absent, but the gaps grow larger and larger until you can barely keep track of where you've been. Hours of travel missing, taking you from a day of sampling ancient ruins to a hike through an underground jungle to more walking through lifeless caverns. Then the gaps grow further, and all you can piece together are glimpses.
-the Filthy water pouring through mounds of miscellaneous trash, its murky brown color reflecting the rot and rust that clings to every surface with all the tangible contempt of the-
-brilliant moonlight cast above sweeping silver clouds drawn into the Island's wake, an ocean within the sky making a second horizon far above the-
-pristine white stone marred by cracks and fractures, marked by the years it has endured. The pillars feel like teeth closing around-
-Curly, wincing as Quote pulls a bright silver arrow from her arm. Paren's laughter and the sound of explosions fill the air-
-"Mere machines cannot hope to"-
And then nothing but a haze of gunfire and light. Sometime after, you woke up. Your later memories had moon and sunlight though, so your team must have made it to the Island surface. But then you ended up all the way down here, so that's not really that helpful.
You consider putting your fist through the passing cavern walls only to notice a strange eye-shaped carving. It feels like it's staring at you as the elevator platform slowly passes it by. These things are everywhere on the Island, to the point that when Chevron joked that they might be naturally-occurring you actually considered it. On seeing the pictures you sent back to Command, their specialists claimed that there are no marks on any of the eye structures that would indicate as to what tool was used to make them. It still seems ridiculous that they would just be sprouting out of the walls, but the functions of magic-infused locations are a mystery. It's why you're here in the first place.
That, and all the things you need to kill here. You would rather not think about that part if at all possible.
Instead, your attention latches onto the final moments you can remember. Fighting something that remains frustratingly obscured to your recollection. Frustrated enough to break out a dictionary for the description, apparently. You sound like the Commander.
The Commander will be fine. That fact would be clear to any member of your team. Curly Brace and Quote occupy more of your thoughts, having been damaged as you were in what you can recall of the battle. Somehow, you're most worried about Paren and Chevron. The other two would do just fine on their own. Quote is literally built to operate solo when required to. Curly picked up some reconnaissance abilities for some reason as well. Chevron and Paren, meanwhile, don't do well when separated.
It's not that they're weak. They're not! But the two are… Chevron doesn't like the word damaged. Paren was calibrated incorrectly in her construction, and that mistake was worsened by some damage she took in an early mission. Even since she's been especially unstable. She's never been dangerous to any of you, but you wouldn't trust her in a social situation. Chevron was damaged similarly, though in the opposite way. He has issues making decisions on his own, so he really needs to be paired with somebody else. Having to run her ideas through somebody else tends to slow Paren down enough to make less terrible decisions most of the time, and Chevron can perform as well as anyone else when he's properly directed. They work well together, but if they got separated…
Well, at least Paren would be easy to find. You'd just need to follow the sound of fire.
There's no fire up ahead, but the light at the top of the elevator shaft has come into focus. It's harsh and artificial, the mark of another underground facility. You stare at the platform above as it draws closer and closer. It looks cleaner than the ruins below. Soon, the elevator platform grinds to a halt in a tidy but dimly-lit room. A massive, echoing clang sounds out as it stops. You stumble, not having expected the slow-moving platform to have carried that much force.
The room is wide and mostly empty, lit by a few lamps affixed to either side of a massive door in the center of the opposite wall. The floor is a metal grate, its off-white material matching the metal plating on the walls. Maybe this color is what the corridor is named after, and not an actual egg. Judging by the similarly-shaded shipping crates strewn about the corners, it seems more like a cargo transportation zone than anything to do with eggs.
The loading door looks like it'll be difficult to open, but a quick scan of the room reveals a smaller door beside it. You prepare to leave the room, but stop just as your hand closes on the handle. You don't know what's going to be on the other side of the door. Somebody was in the lower facility, and they took something out of it and brought it to one of the upper floors. It might have been here. Not only that, but this place looks much more well-maintained. It might still be in use.
If there are foreign elements based here, you have an obligation to remove them. It'll be difficult on your own, but not impossible if you're smart. You had no trouble accessing the lift and the door isn't locked, so whoever might be on the other side isn't expecting an attack. You have the element of surprise on your side. As long as you are careful and-
Somebody screams. It's not a voice you recognize, that's your first thought, but it is a scream nonetheless. Your fingers sink into the doorknob's metal with an awful screech that you hope nobody noticed.
Sounds of distress are a good thing for your mission, even if they unfortunately confirm that the Corridor is occupied. A distraction will only advantage you further.
But it sounds like whoever's screaming needs help.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
A Scream
[] Don't be baited.
This isn't a member of your team, it isn't your objective, so it's not your problem. Just move through as you would normally.
[x] Move Quickly
This endangered person presently a limited window of opportunity to retrieve whatever information they might have.
[] Write-in
As the elevator continues its slow, grinding ascent, you retrace your steps back from your last intact memories. You follow your squad's sweeping path through the Island as you scoured it of anything of the slightest interest. It was a more interesting mission than what you were usually assigned.
The Island had been in the periphery of many of your previous missions. It was only logical that eventually you would be sent to the mysterious origin place of the Red Flowers. The floating Island predated all existing records, and while there was evidence that multiple large civilizations had at some point been present on it there were no remaining members of those civilizations left. Just Mimiga and ruins that people abandoned. Chevron suggested that there might have been a Mimiga empire on the Island, and then went on to suggest that they were the ones who created the Island in the first place. You let him know exactly how stupid that suggestion was. The Mimiga are and always have been an underdeveloped people. They don't have the magical or technological capability to create something like the Island and never did.
Naturally-occurring magical phenomena aren't unknown, but they are extremely rare. What's more common are magic-adjacent life forms like most Monsters, sapient creature like the Mimiga or Demons, and abnormal plant life like the Red Flowers. All of these tend to cluster near places like the Island, implying some line of correlation between them. Apparently that's not important though, so your team's investigation was purely about what was on the Island and how much of it could be taken or replicated.
You had been dropped off on a clear area near the west side of the Island, just on the surface's edge. The landing zone was lightly forested, dotted with treasure troves of information all within walking distance. The remnants of structures from all throughout history were found quickly. Though "all throughout history" isn't exactly correct. There was a notable gap between the older structures, typically carved from stone and sometimes cut from the Island itself, and the metal buildings that were built in later and clearly constructed by visiting teams like your own investigating or attempting to settle the Island. You were the only one to find this interesting. Curly and Quote were clearly trying to pay attention when you were explaining but were both starting to zone out. Paren just told you that it was all meaningless for the mission outright. Chevron said the same thing, just in a nicer way. Syn, as usual, didn't have anything to say.
This elevator is one example of an old structure left within the Island. It matches the make of the newer constructions put together by the other forces present on the Island at the time, but it's way too old to have actually belonged to anyone who was present so recently. Or maybe they built this early on in the incursion but abandoned it? It's not really important. Other factions were sent at the same time as your own mission, but the Island itself was more of an obstruction than those things. A proper Machine Soldier could wipe out thousands of those mass-produced units. Instead, it was just traversing the Island that caused the most trouble.
Most of the important parts of the Island aren't on the surface. They're inside it, nestled somewhere in the intricate cave systems that fills the floating landmass completely. You don't know how much of it has been explored. The maps held in the facility that you woke up in seem extensive, but they're missing paths that you remember. What's more interesting is how much of it is filled with buildings. The facility connects to the Egg Corridor, both entirely constructed areas. Whoever was operating down here must have been well-equipped. They also were wiped out by someone else a long time ago. It wasn't your team, you can tell that much. The signs of damage are more in line with animals than gunfire. Paren definitely wasn't there judging by the lack of gaping holes in the walls and smoking wrecks in the place of anything she thought looked at her funny.
Your route through the island took your team across the surface first, eventually meeting a cliff face too sharp to scale. There was also a bit of resistance from the local population and other invaders, but it was so easily overturned it was hardly worth noting. More of the difficulty came from just getting around the cave network within the Island. You can recall the path that the team was meant to take. A slow, methodical sweep based on existing maps that would eventually circle back to the surface near the opposite end of the Island. There were certain rumors regarding magical artifacts and technologies that you were supposed to verify and retrieve if possible. The strange machine that nearly crushed you earlier was one of those, you're sure of it. You can recall seeing other constructs like it along the way. The Sand Zone and Labyrinth were both part of the planned route, but you don't have any memories of either place. Either the plan changed for some reason or you've lost the relevant memories.
The closer to the present you follow your route, the spottier your memory becomes. At first it's just tiny moments, the blink of an eye's worth of time absent, but the gaps grow larger and larger until you can barely keep track of where you've been. Hours of travel missing, taking you from a day of sampling ancient ruins to a hike through an underground jungle to more walking through lifeless caverns. Then the gaps grow further, and all you can piece together are glimpses.
-the Filthy water pouring through mounds of miscellaneous trash, its murky brown color reflecting the rot and rust that clings to every surface with all the tangible contempt of the-
-brilliant moonlight cast above sweeping silver clouds drawn into the Island's wake, an ocean within the sky making a second horizon far above the-
-pristine white stone marred by cracks and fractures, marked by the years it has endured. The pillars feel like teeth closing around-
-Curly, wincing as Quote pulls a bright silver arrow from her arm. Paren's laughter and the sound of explosions fill the air-
-"Mere machines cannot hope to"-
And then nothing but a haze of gunfire and light. Sometime after, you woke up. Your later memories had moon and sunlight though, so your team must have made it to the Island surface. But then you ended up all the way down here, so that's not really that helpful.
You consider putting your fist through the passing cavern walls only to notice a strange eye-shaped carving. It feels like it's staring at you as the elevator platform slowly passes it by. These things are everywhere on the Island, to the point that when Chevron joked that they might be naturally-occurring you actually considered it. On seeing the pictures you sent back to Command, their specialists claimed that there are no marks on any of the eye structures that would indicate as to what tool was used to make them. It still seems ridiculous that they would just be sprouting out of the walls, but the functions of magic-infused locations are a mystery. It's why you're here in the first place.
That, and all the things you need to kill here. You would rather not think about that part if at all possible.
Instead, your attention latches onto the final moments you can remember. Fighting something that remains frustratingly obscured to your recollection. Frustrated enough to break out a dictionary for the description, apparently. You sound like the Commander.
The Commander will be fine. That fact would be clear to any member of your team. Curly Brace and Quote occupy more of your thoughts, having been damaged as you were in what you can recall of the battle. Somehow, you're most worried about Paren and Chevron. The other two would do just fine on their own. Quote is literally built to operate solo when required to. Curly picked up some reconnaissance abilities for some reason as well. Chevron and Paren, meanwhile, don't do well when separated.
It's not that they're weak. They're not! But the two are… Chevron doesn't like the word damaged. Paren was calibrated incorrectly in her construction, and that mistake was worsened by some damage she took in an early mission. Even since she's been especially unstable. She's never been dangerous to any of you, but you wouldn't trust her in a social situation. Chevron was damaged similarly, though in the opposite way. He has issues making decisions on his own, so he really needs to be paired with somebody else. Having to run her ideas through somebody else tends to slow Paren down enough to make less terrible decisions most of the time, and Chevron can perform as well as anyone else when he's properly directed. They work well together, but if they got separated…
Well, at least Paren would be easy to find. You'd just need to follow the sound of fire.
There's no fire up ahead, but the light at the top of the elevator shaft has come into focus. It's harsh and artificial, the mark of another underground facility. You stare at the platform above as it draws closer and closer. It looks cleaner than the ruins below. Soon, the elevator platform grinds to a halt in a tidy but dimly-lit room. A massive, echoing clang sounds out as it stops. You stumble, not having expected the slow-moving platform to have carried that much force.
The room is wide and mostly empty, lit by a few lamps affixed to either side of a massive door in the center of the opposite wall. The floor is a metal grate, its off-white material matching the metal plating on the walls. Maybe this color is what the corridor is named after, and not an actual egg. Judging by the similarly-shaded shipping crates strewn about the corners, it seems more like a cargo transportation zone than anything to do with eggs.
The loading door looks like it'll be difficult to open, but a quick scan of the room reveals a smaller door beside it. You prepare to leave the room, but stop just as your hand closes on the handle. You don't know what's going to be on the other side of the door. Somebody was in the lower facility, and they took something out of it and brought it to one of the upper floors. It might have been here. Not only that, but this place looks much more well-maintained. It might still be in use.
If there are foreign elements based here, you have an obligation to remove them. It'll be difficult on your own, but not impossible if you're smart. You had no trouble accessing the lift and the door isn't locked, so whoever might be on the other side isn't expecting an attack. You have the element of surprise on your side. As long as you are careful and-
Somebody screams. It's not a voice you recognize, that's your first thought, but it is a scream nonetheless. Your fingers sink into the doorknob's metal with an awful screech that you hope nobody noticed.
Sounds of distress are a good thing for your mission, even if they unfortunately confirm that the Corridor is occupied. A distraction will only advantage you further.
But it sounds like whoever's screaming needs help.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
A Scream
[] Don't be baited.
This isn't a member of your team, it isn't your objective, so it's not your problem. Just move through as you would normally.
[x] Move Quickly
This endangered person presently a limited window of opportunity to retrieve whatever information they might have.
[] Write-in
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File 1, Entry 6 - Execute Program
Lepidoptera
Mother of Monsters, Unverified Impuritas Civitatis
- Location
- Indeterminate Unknown
Machine Learning - File 1, Entry 6 - Execute Program
The fact that somebody is clearly in distress is meaningless to accomplishing your mission. The voice you hear screaming on the other side of the door does not belong to a member of your team. The chance that they can provide some insight into the Island that you couldn't find elsewhere is tiny. You are not required to save them, and doing so would be at an unknown risk to yourself.
That said, you would still like to. You have easily enough room to determine a justification beyond that. The vast majority of the forces on the Island are hostile, so a conflict involving them could provide you an advantage. If it's a human in danger, you may even be able to interrogate them if you keep them alive. Furthermore, the area still having power is odd in contrast to the obvious disrepair of the lower facilities. Information regarding that would be much more easily obtained from a person rather than independent observation.
There. Perfectly logical, mechanical justifications for what you're about to do.
You turn the door handle, only to realize with a flash of irritation that you crushed it earlier. Frowning, you instead take a step back and hurl yourself bodily into the obstructing door. The horrible shriek of metal bending fills the air as you burst into the Egg Corridor, scanning your surroundings for any sign of the scream you heard.
The Egg Corridor is a bizarre place. As the name might imply, you have entered a single long passage that extends as far as you can see to your left and right. "As far as you can see" is not actually that far, and the scaffolds, shipping crates, and other metal boxes that fill the room in organized blocks limit how far you can actually see. The corridor is completely packed too; the crates stretch from wall to wall and completely cover the floor in most places. It's impressive considering the sheer size of the room, a three-dimensional labyrinth built by incident, geometric layers upon layers made with the sort of mindless, intentless disorganization that stands opposed to the very idea of purpose. Most of these crates can't be accessed anymore, not stuck between more boxes or under towers of metal. Scaffolds and platforms have been built over the boxes, leading through the maze and out to the doors lining the walls.
You only have a moment to take it in, though, as you take off running towards the source of the sound. The metal containers clang loudly with each step. Their surfaces bend under your feet, buckling against the weight of your body hammered into them for only a scant moment before pushing off to the next. Each step is stiff and without dexterity, but the force alone is enough to propel you. In a span of moments and a trail of dented crates, you land on the other side of a wall of boxes and atop a wide platform.
The place you stand on now is a far cry from the mess of boxes at your back. The ground is solid and whole, divided cleanly against the barely-organized structure behind you. More importantly, it marks what might be the corridor's end. The opposite wall is metal of the same off-white color as the rest of the corridor, decorated only by a pair of protruding windowless cubes that must be rooms judging by the doors placed on each one. It's overwhelmingly functional above all else, lacking any aesthetic appeal. But it's all secondary to the other occupants on the platform.
The first is a Mimiga. The rabbit-person is short even for their species, likely a child. Mimiga are more rabbit than human in terms of body shape, though their size and the fact that they stand on two legs would make mistaking one for a common animal impossible. This one wears a plain green shirt over its body and has tied some of the fur on the back of their head into a single messy tuft with a red hairband. Their eyes are dark and narrowed as they yell at the other individual, gesturing frantically to try and make up for their lacking height. They're not displaying any of the signs of having consumed the Red Flowers at the moment. Your hand twitches towards your gun at the sight of a Mimiga so close, but stops when you take in the person they're yelling at.
You don't know if person is the right word. The other creature standing on the platform is some sort of boxy rectangle, wider than it is tall and rounded on the edges. Its body is slate-grey and marked with small scuffs and scratches. Whether it's made of metal or stone is unclear. Two boxy legs protrude from its bottom, and the rounded nubs emerging from the vertical slots on either side of the creature might be arms. Its face is slightly set into its body's surface, composed only of two overlarge eyes and a wide mouth set into an irritated frown.
"Well, I don't want to! What's the point of putting all this effort into some silly plants!"
The Mimiga's words echo in empty air as your feet crash against the ground. The creature opposite her stops, whatever response it was about to spit back halted by the abrupt sound of your arrival. It turns slowly to look at you, surprise quickly replaced with bored irritation. That boredom morphs as quickly into abject shock the moment it lays eyes on you. The mimiga, too, whips around towards you. They jump back with a shriek the moment their eyes meet yours.
"Wow!" The creature says, its voice cheerful and without concern. It exudes a certain level of detachment the way it talks with so much levity. "You're one of those soldiers from surface. I didn't think there were any of you left."
"R-robots aren't r-real!" the Mimiga stammers, a far cry from their earlier passionate objections. Their eyes don't leave your body as they speak. You glance down, remembering suddenly that you are still damaged. Not just in the ways that you can't possibly forget, the grinding imperfections that you feel in every movement, but also in the ways you don't care for. The artificial skin covering your body remains torn open. To a truly human body, it would be like having half of their flesh peeled back to show their skeleton underneath. You are fortunately free of all those gross meat parts, but the comparison is there.
The creature, whatever it is, doesn't care. "Yep! That's one of 'em right there!" They indicate towards you with one of their nub-arms, confirming your earlier observation. The lack of fingers that you can see would make them rather ineffective limbs, though.
"You have seen others of my model?" you say, demanding confirmation. Your voice is smooth and cold, without any intonation or touches of personality. None of the pride you feel in your judgement seeps through. This thing has information that you could use. Not necessarily about your squad, but at least related to the other machines on the Island.
For as promising a start as it was, the answer you receive is disappointing. "I dunno. It's not like it's my responsibility to check that sort of thing. Not that it matters, since I've gotta do my job now. Orders are orders, after all."
Those last words are spoken with a note of tired resignation overcoming the odd creature's careless attitude. You barely have a moment to think what their job may be before the creature starts running towards you.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
Balrog
[x] Fight
You're a machine designed for combat. If they're going to do their job, then you'll do yours.
[] Retreat
You're damaged, and you don't know how strong your opponent is. It's safer to retreat.
The fact that somebody is clearly in distress is meaningless to accomplishing your mission. The voice you hear screaming on the other side of the door does not belong to a member of your team. The chance that they can provide some insight into the Island that you couldn't find elsewhere is tiny. You are not required to save them, and doing so would be at an unknown risk to yourself.
That said, you would still like to. You have easily enough room to determine a justification beyond that. The vast majority of the forces on the Island are hostile, so a conflict involving them could provide you an advantage. If it's a human in danger, you may even be able to interrogate them if you keep them alive. Furthermore, the area still having power is odd in contrast to the obvious disrepair of the lower facilities. Information regarding that would be much more easily obtained from a person rather than independent observation.
There. Perfectly logical, mechanical justifications for what you're about to do.
You turn the door handle, only to realize with a flash of irritation that you crushed it earlier. Frowning, you instead take a step back and hurl yourself bodily into the obstructing door. The horrible shriek of metal bending fills the air as you burst into the Egg Corridor, scanning your surroundings for any sign of the scream you heard.
The Egg Corridor is a bizarre place. As the name might imply, you have entered a single long passage that extends as far as you can see to your left and right. "As far as you can see" is not actually that far, and the scaffolds, shipping crates, and other metal boxes that fill the room in organized blocks limit how far you can actually see. The corridor is completely packed too; the crates stretch from wall to wall and completely cover the floor in most places. It's impressive considering the sheer size of the room, a three-dimensional labyrinth built by incident, geometric layers upon layers made with the sort of mindless, intentless disorganization that stands opposed to the very idea of purpose. Most of these crates can't be accessed anymore, not stuck between more boxes or under towers of metal. Scaffolds and platforms have been built over the boxes, leading through the maze and out to the doors lining the walls.
You only have a moment to take it in, though, as you take off running towards the source of the sound. The metal containers clang loudly with each step. Their surfaces bend under your feet, buckling against the weight of your body hammered into them for only a scant moment before pushing off to the next. Each step is stiff and without dexterity, but the force alone is enough to propel you. In a span of moments and a trail of dented crates, you land on the other side of a wall of boxes and atop a wide platform.
The place you stand on now is a far cry from the mess of boxes at your back. The ground is solid and whole, divided cleanly against the barely-organized structure behind you. More importantly, it marks what might be the corridor's end. The opposite wall is metal of the same off-white color as the rest of the corridor, decorated only by a pair of protruding windowless cubes that must be rooms judging by the doors placed on each one. It's overwhelmingly functional above all else, lacking any aesthetic appeal. But it's all secondary to the other occupants on the platform.
The first is a Mimiga. The rabbit-person is short even for their species, likely a child. Mimiga are more rabbit than human in terms of body shape, though their size and the fact that they stand on two legs would make mistaking one for a common animal impossible. This one wears a plain green shirt over its body and has tied some of the fur on the back of their head into a single messy tuft with a red hairband. Their eyes are dark and narrowed as they yell at the other individual, gesturing frantically to try and make up for their lacking height. They're not displaying any of the signs of having consumed the Red Flowers at the moment. Your hand twitches towards your gun at the sight of a Mimiga so close, but stops when you take in the person they're yelling at.
You don't know if person is the right word. The other creature standing on the platform is some sort of boxy rectangle, wider than it is tall and rounded on the edges. Its body is slate-grey and marked with small scuffs and scratches. Whether it's made of metal or stone is unclear. Two boxy legs protrude from its bottom, and the rounded nubs emerging from the vertical slots on either side of the creature might be arms. Its face is slightly set into its body's surface, composed only of two overlarge eyes and a wide mouth set into an irritated frown.
"Well, I don't want to! What's the point of putting all this effort into some silly plants!"
The Mimiga's words echo in empty air as your feet crash against the ground. The creature opposite her stops, whatever response it was about to spit back halted by the abrupt sound of your arrival. It turns slowly to look at you, surprise quickly replaced with bored irritation. That boredom morphs as quickly into abject shock the moment it lays eyes on you. The mimiga, too, whips around towards you. They jump back with a shriek the moment their eyes meet yours.
"Wow!" The creature says, its voice cheerful and without concern. It exudes a certain level of detachment the way it talks with so much levity. "You're one of those soldiers from surface. I didn't think there were any of you left."
"R-robots aren't r-real!" the Mimiga stammers, a far cry from their earlier passionate objections. Their eyes don't leave your body as they speak. You glance down, remembering suddenly that you are still damaged. Not just in the ways that you can't possibly forget, the grinding imperfections that you feel in every movement, but also in the ways you don't care for. The artificial skin covering your body remains torn open. To a truly human body, it would be like having half of their flesh peeled back to show their skeleton underneath. You are fortunately free of all those gross meat parts, but the comparison is there.
The creature, whatever it is, doesn't care. "Yep! That's one of 'em right there!" They indicate towards you with one of their nub-arms, confirming your earlier observation. The lack of fingers that you can see would make them rather ineffective limbs, though.
"You have seen others of my model?" you say, demanding confirmation. Your voice is smooth and cold, without any intonation or touches of personality. None of the pride you feel in your judgement seeps through. This thing has information that you could use. Not necessarily about your squad, but at least related to the other machines on the Island.
For as promising a start as it was, the answer you receive is disappointing. "I dunno. It's not like it's my responsibility to check that sort of thing. Not that it matters, since I've gotta do my job now. Orders are orders, after all."
Those last words are spoken with a note of tired resignation overcoming the odd creature's careless attitude. You barely have a moment to think what their job may be before the creature starts running towards you.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
Balrog
[x] Fight
You're a machine designed for combat. If they're going to do their job, then you'll do yours.
[] Retreat
You're damaged, and you don't know how strong your opponent is. It's safer to retreat.
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File 1, Entry 7 - Find
Lepidoptera
Mother of Monsters, Unverified Impuritas Civitatis
- Location
- Indeterminate Unknown
Machine Learning - File 1, Entry 7 - Find
There is not entirely a lot of time to think about what to do as the strange creature barrels towards you. They're fast in spite of their absurd appearance, and each step they take leaves a slight depression in the metal floor. Without really thinking your brain compares their footprints to the ones you saw in the facility below. They don't match. That's one answer you won't be finding so easily.
You roll to the side and whip out your gun as the creature closes in. They stop sharply and turns towards you just in time to be shot in the face. The air is filled with the quick, steady drumbeat of gunfire. The lifeless fluorescent light of the Egg Corridor is overwhelmed by silvery blue flashes. You take careful steps backward as you hold down the trigger, keeping your aim steadily on your bizarre opponent. The gun's ammunition is half-emptied and your back is nearly up against the cargo crates forming the back wall when, instead of dying horribly like most things that are shot that many times, your foe turns and jumps into the air.
You have no option but to stare at the massive metallic rectangle soaring through the air. Their nubby arms flail wildly, inexplicably turning a trajectory that should have had them landing far short of you into a perfectly-aimed movement by way of some physics-defying propulsion. They float clumsily a few metres further in the air than they should've, like one of the cartoon characters you've spied on Chevron and Paren's stolen stash of videos flapping their arms to fly. It's utterly absurd. In the time it takes for you to determine that yes, that actually happened and your central processes are not more damaged than you thought they were, your enemy is almost directly on top of you.
A frantic dive just barely saves you from being crushed under the disinterested creature's bulk. There's no sign of exertion or injury on its face when they turn towards you, not quickly but still with far more precision than something so large and unwieldy should be capable of. They could definitely move much faster if they wanted to. If they had, you would have been destroyed already.
You grip your gun harder than is necessary when you fire your next rounds. That shouldn't be right. You're still so much slower, so much weaker than you were. If you were in your right condition, this impossible creature wouldn't be a deadly threat. They would have to take you seriously instead of charging forward with a bored expression. Bored and somewhat irritated? It's hard to tell with just eyes and a mouth to emote, and you have always had little ability to read expressions. It wasn't a useful skill to program into a soldier. Your squadmates learned quickly enough, but the ability still eludes you.
The creature jumps a second time. When they start to flutter in midair, you rush forward and under them then abruptly turn to the side. Their clumsy flight can't counteract their own momentum, leaving you with a safe distance between yourself and your foe.
…except that's not what happens. Defying all logic for a second time, your opponent turns midair and slams into the ground within arm's reach of you. The shock of the impact of their body against the floor ripples through your damaged legs, sending you to the floor. Your eyes meet the stony attacker's, finding them is devoid of interest as before. You're certain that, in that moment, they could rush forward and crush you without any chance of escape if they really wanted to.
You fire wildly, not bothering to take the time to aim properly at this distance. Your opponent lets out a strangled cry as the spray of bullets wash against their face. Metal clanging follows the echoes of gunfire, signaling your scrambling retreat to the creature. The trigger remains held down all the while.
Any sign of disgruntlement on your target's face is gone when you have made safe distance. When they run towards you again, you try something different. Whatever this thing is, they're stronger than you right now. That, and smart enough to speak. Wearing them down slowly and hoping that they don't change strategies or get lucky and manage to hit you would be a poor course of action. A plan that relies on so much chance is completely invalid. You'll need to improvise.
You grab the door of one of the crates beside you by its hinges and tug. It snaps off, leaving you with a rectangular sheet of metal in one hand. Carefully planning out your movements to compensate for your lacking agility, you throw the sheet at your opponent and then jump towards it. Your improvised projectile lands straight on the blocky attacker's and bounces off with a metallic clang. In spite of having reacted to nearly a full magazine of machine gun fire with only mild irritation, being struck with a large metal door elicits a cry of distress from your enemy.
Really? That's what manages to actually shake them? Not getting shot repeatedly, but throwing a door?
Your confusion nearly distracts you. The path of your leap follows the improvised projectile, keeping it between you and your foe's line of sight. It bounces out of the way just in time for you to land on the blocky creature's head and unload your Machine Gun straight down. You fire until the gun clicks empty, then kick off and jump to a safe distance.
Your enemy stares at you, wincing over their now-obvious irritation. They look at worst a little more scuffed up than they were before. Disappointing, considering you were hoping to cause significant damage with that attack. Your gun is empty now as well, and it will take time for it to fabricate more ammunition. You keep its barrel trained on your target regardless.
"Seriously?"
The creature speaks again, sounding both upset and utterly exasperated. They don't sound like somebody who's just been shot several times. It's like this is all just a massive inconvenience.
"Jeez. You're way tougher than those other robots. I'm not dealing with this right now, but don't think I'm gonna forget you!" they yell. With those final words the being flexes its stubby feet and leaps straight up. The movement is blindingly fast, a wave of wind splashing against your front in its wake. The creature goes straight through the ceiling, punching a rough hole through what must be layers and layers of metal and earth. You stare blankly at the hole. That…
How strong was that thing really? And you might have survived, but you've definitely thinned their patience with you. A second encounter should be avoided at all costs. You lower your gun, taking an unsteady step forward. Why forward? There's no clear direction for you to go.
A coldness you hadn't noticed settling into your frame is slowly fading. The creature had said that you're nothing like the other machine soldiers they fought. Found you to be too much trouble, too much effort to destroy. That means they can't have met any of the rest of your squad. Any one of them would be your superior right now. They must all still be safe, from this threat at least.
Your eyes remain fixed on the hole in the ceiling. What sort of strength does that take?
Something moves out of the corner of your eye. First slowly, then dashing away just as you turn towards it. Still on guard, you react the same way any soldier of your caliber would.
Your gun is still in your hand, partially reloaded in the brief pause since you emptied its chambers. Your arm moves before your head does, taking aim and firing a single round towards the potential threat. That readiness is rewarded with a groan of protest from your arm. The fight must have worn on your still-damaged motor systems. A squeal of pain followed by short, sharp breaths tells you your aim wasn't disrupted, though. You turn to look at what it is you shot and see the Mimiga from earlier lying on the ground and clutching their leg.
Their eyes are still dark. You don't have to worry about them becoming Rabid just yet. It seems probable at this point that this Mimiga isn't carrying any Red Flowers. They aren't especially threatening. Mimiga are more durable than most creatures by a wide margin, as evidenced by the fact that this one's leg is just severely bruised and not in two pieces, but without the Red Flowers they're not strong or fast. This one in particular looks small, too.
It's probably a child. You shot a child in the leg. A Mimiga child, but still someone who posed absolutely zero threat to you. Secondary orders demand you remove the Mimiga on the Island as a threat, but this one wasn't even that. It was an unnecessary mistake. You're very good at shooting Mimiga, though, so there's no reason to be surprised. You stare at the kid hyperventilating on the ground. You were planning on interrogating them. This wasn't an order. This wasn't necessary. And yet somebody is still hurt.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
Injured Mimiga
[] Just leave them.
Don't make things any worse than you already have. You need to be efficient anyways.
[x] Try to perform basic first-aid.
You know what you're doing. Mimiga are tough, they'll live, and you don't have the time or justification to do anything more for someone who you're not ordered to help.
[x] Take them with you…
-[x] …and try to return them to wherever they came from.
Mimiga are communal. Whatever village this one comes from will be able to care for them better than you.
-[] …and keep them with you.
There's no guarantee that they have anywhere to go, and it's less likely that they would tell you after what just happened. You'll need to figure out how to feed them, then…
[] Write-in.
There is not entirely a lot of time to think about what to do as the strange creature barrels towards you. They're fast in spite of their absurd appearance, and each step they take leaves a slight depression in the metal floor. Without really thinking your brain compares their footprints to the ones you saw in the facility below. They don't match. That's one answer you won't be finding so easily.
You roll to the side and whip out your gun as the creature closes in. They stop sharply and turns towards you just in time to be shot in the face. The air is filled with the quick, steady drumbeat of gunfire. The lifeless fluorescent light of the Egg Corridor is overwhelmed by silvery blue flashes. You take careful steps backward as you hold down the trigger, keeping your aim steadily on your bizarre opponent. The gun's ammunition is half-emptied and your back is nearly up against the cargo crates forming the back wall when, instead of dying horribly like most things that are shot that many times, your foe turns and jumps into the air.
You have no option but to stare at the massive metallic rectangle soaring through the air. Their nubby arms flail wildly, inexplicably turning a trajectory that should have had them landing far short of you into a perfectly-aimed movement by way of some physics-defying propulsion. They float clumsily a few metres further in the air than they should've, like one of the cartoon characters you've spied on Chevron and Paren's stolen stash of videos flapping their arms to fly. It's utterly absurd. In the time it takes for you to determine that yes, that actually happened and your central processes are not more damaged than you thought they were, your enemy is almost directly on top of you.
A frantic dive just barely saves you from being crushed under the disinterested creature's bulk. There's no sign of exertion or injury on its face when they turn towards you, not quickly but still with far more precision than something so large and unwieldy should be capable of. They could definitely move much faster if they wanted to. If they had, you would have been destroyed already.
You grip your gun harder than is necessary when you fire your next rounds. That shouldn't be right. You're still so much slower, so much weaker than you were. If you were in your right condition, this impossible creature wouldn't be a deadly threat. They would have to take you seriously instead of charging forward with a bored expression. Bored and somewhat irritated? It's hard to tell with just eyes and a mouth to emote, and you have always had little ability to read expressions. It wasn't a useful skill to program into a soldier. Your squadmates learned quickly enough, but the ability still eludes you.
The creature jumps a second time. When they start to flutter in midair, you rush forward and under them then abruptly turn to the side. Their clumsy flight can't counteract their own momentum, leaving you with a safe distance between yourself and your foe.
…except that's not what happens. Defying all logic for a second time, your opponent turns midair and slams into the ground within arm's reach of you. The shock of the impact of their body against the floor ripples through your damaged legs, sending you to the floor. Your eyes meet the stony attacker's, finding them is devoid of interest as before. You're certain that, in that moment, they could rush forward and crush you without any chance of escape if they really wanted to.
You fire wildly, not bothering to take the time to aim properly at this distance. Your opponent lets out a strangled cry as the spray of bullets wash against their face. Metal clanging follows the echoes of gunfire, signaling your scrambling retreat to the creature. The trigger remains held down all the while.
Any sign of disgruntlement on your target's face is gone when you have made safe distance. When they run towards you again, you try something different. Whatever this thing is, they're stronger than you right now. That, and smart enough to speak. Wearing them down slowly and hoping that they don't change strategies or get lucky and manage to hit you would be a poor course of action. A plan that relies on so much chance is completely invalid. You'll need to improvise.
You grab the door of one of the crates beside you by its hinges and tug. It snaps off, leaving you with a rectangular sheet of metal in one hand. Carefully planning out your movements to compensate for your lacking agility, you throw the sheet at your opponent and then jump towards it. Your improvised projectile lands straight on the blocky attacker's and bounces off with a metallic clang. In spite of having reacted to nearly a full magazine of machine gun fire with only mild irritation, being struck with a large metal door elicits a cry of distress from your enemy.
Really? That's what manages to actually shake them? Not getting shot repeatedly, but throwing a door?
Your confusion nearly distracts you. The path of your leap follows the improvised projectile, keeping it between you and your foe's line of sight. It bounces out of the way just in time for you to land on the blocky creature's head and unload your Machine Gun straight down. You fire until the gun clicks empty, then kick off and jump to a safe distance.
Your enemy stares at you, wincing over their now-obvious irritation. They look at worst a little more scuffed up than they were before. Disappointing, considering you were hoping to cause significant damage with that attack. Your gun is empty now as well, and it will take time for it to fabricate more ammunition. You keep its barrel trained on your target regardless.
"Seriously?"
The creature speaks again, sounding both upset and utterly exasperated. They don't sound like somebody who's just been shot several times. It's like this is all just a massive inconvenience.
"Jeez. You're way tougher than those other robots. I'm not dealing with this right now, but don't think I'm gonna forget you!" they yell. With those final words the being flexes its stubby feet and leaps straight up. The movement is blindingly fast, a wave of wind splashing against your front in its wake. The creature goes straight through the ceiling, punching a rough hole through what must be layers and layers of metal and earth. You stare blankly at the hole. That…
How strong was that thing really? And you might have survived, but you've definitely thinned their patience with you. A second encounter should be avoided at all costs. You lower your gun, taking an unsteady step forward. Why forward? There's no clear direction for you to go.
A coldness you hadn't noticed settling into your frame is slowly fading. The creature had said that you're nothing like the other machine soldiers they fought. Found you to be too much trouble, too much effort to destroy. That means they can't have met any of the rest of your squad. Any one of them would be your superior right now. They must all still be safe, from this threat at least.
Your eyes remain fixed on the hole in the ceiling. What sort of strength does that take?
Something moves out of the corner of your eye. First slowly, then dashing away just as you turn towards it. Still on guard, you react the same way any soldier of your caliber would.
Your gun is still in your hand, partially reloaded in the brief pause since you emptied its chambers. Your arm moves before your head does, taking aim and firing a single round towards the potential threat. That readiness is rewarded with a groan of protest from your arm. The fight must have worn on your still-damaged motor systems. A squeal of pain followed by short, sharp breaths tells you your aim wasn't disrupted, though. You turn to look at what it is you shot and see the Mimiga from earlier lying on the ground and clutching their leg.
Their eyes are still dark. You don't have to worry about them becoming Rabid just yet. It seems probable at this point that this Mimiga isn't carrying any Red Flowers. They aren't especially threatening. Mimiga are more durable than most creatures by a wide margin, as evidenced by the fact that this one's leg is just severely bruised and not in two pieces, but without the Red Flowers they're not strong or fast. This one in particular looks small, too.
It's probably a child. You shot a child in the leg. A Mimiga child, but still someone who posed absolutely zero threat to you. Secondary orders demand you remove the Mimiga on the Island as a threat, but this one wasn't even that. It was an unnecessary mistake. You're very good at shooting Mimiga, though, so there's no reason to be surprised. You stare at the kid hyperventilating on the ground. You were planning on interrogating them. This wasn't an order. This wasn't necessary. And yet somebody is still hurt.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
Injured Mimiga
[] Just leave them.
Don't make things any worse than you already have. You need to be efficient anyways.
[x] Try to perform basic first-aid.
You know what you're doing. Mimiga are tough, they'll live, and you don't have the time or justification to do anything more for someone who you're not ordered to help.
[x] Take them with you…
-[x] …and try to return them to wherever they came from.
Mimiga are communal. Whatever village this one comes from will be able to care for them better than you.
-[] …and keep them with you.
There's no guarantee that they have anywhere to go, and it's less likely that they would tell you after what just happened. You'll need to figure out how to feed them, then…
[] Write-in.
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File 1, Entry 8 - Upload
Lepidoptera
Mother of Monsters, Unverified Impuritas Civitatis
- Location
- Indeterminate Unknown
Machine Learning - File 1, Entry 8 - Upload
The Mimiga continues to breathe sharply. They must be hyperventilating. You know that that's not healthy, but not if it'll complicate existing injuries. Medical training was never a priority. You and your squadmates didn't need medical services, and nobody would assign one of you to a job where it was necessary. It wasn't what you were built for. This isn't the first time you've cursed your designers for their terrible decisions, but usually the cause was them including unnecessary human features that you didn't need. It's a new form of irritation to be missing something.
"Mimiga," you command. "steady your breathing. You need to be calmer."
This does not help. The Mimiga's breathing doesn't slow down at all. You move closer to inspect them, only for the leporine creature to shy away from you. Their eyes are fixed on your gun, now holstered at your side. Their injured leg drags against the cold ground, and you feel a sudden pang of sympathy from your own damaged frame. There is very little less agonizing than having a body that does not do as you wish it to. Unfortunately, you don't know much about how to fix a living creature.
"Stop moving so much. It's unproductive." you say. The Mimiga starts trying to crawl away from you and you wince. That didn't come out the way you wanted it to. How can you phrase this properly? "I am trying to help you, but you need to move less."
There. That's entirely clear and impossible to misunderstand.
For some reason, the Mimiga continues to crawl away from you. Probably because you have no idea what you're doing and can't even get your actual subordinates to listen to you when you have something important to say. Clearly you'll need to fall back onto one of your actual skills if you're going to help them.
You step closer to the panicked rabbit. This feels like a bad idea, but you don't know how to help somebody calm down. They breathe faster as you approach, batting uselessly at you with their paws. You ignore their efforts. Without the Red Flowers, Mimiga aren't especially strong even as adults. Pinning the diminutive creature down and stopping their thrashing is easy. With that issue resolved, you take a look at their wounded leg.
The skin isn't obviously broken, and the leg is still shaped like a regular leg. Or at least a regular rabbit leg, which would be a very bad shape for a regular human's leg. You lean in closer, keeping your body positioned to pin down the Mimiga while you ruffle through their fur around the impact zone to get a better look at the skin. A bruise is already forming. Apparently that can be a sign of internal bleeding, but it also just happens naturally sometimes. Biology is confusing. Whatever the case, there's not much you can do now. You don't carry any medical equipment.
"Your leg is not broken. It will recover naturally, but you need to stop trying to move it." you command the rabbit. Finally, they actually listen. They're still breathing too fast, but that's not something that living creatures can actually control so you'll give them a pass. With the resistance gone, you separate from the grounded Mimiga briefly and scoop them up off the ground with your less-damaged arm. Immediately, the flailing resumes.
"Stop. Stop it." you request. The Mimiga does not stop. Instead, they do something else.
They speak.
"No! Lemme go, you creepy thing!"
"I'm not creepy. My model is made to accurately replicate the appearance of a regular human." you correct the Mimiga. Unless they're talking about all the damage you've received, which would be disturbing from a biological perspective. Living creatures are not meant to lose half of their skin and continue walking around.
"You're creepy! You're a creepy robot!" the Mimiga insists.
"I'm not."
"You are!"
"That's incorrect."
"Nuh-uh!"
This is extremely unproductive.
"…sure. Whatever you say."
"That's right! You're creepy!" the Mimiga solemnly announces to the world. Their voice (her voice, you're sure) bounces off the lifeless walls of the Egg Corridor. There's nobody else to hear them. Their squirming has stopped, nervous energy spent on the pointless debate earlier. "Now let me go."
"If you walk, you'll hurt your leg. I'm going to carry you." you explain. The Mimiga child huffs in dissatisfaction.
"And why should I let you do that? You're a creepy killer robot, I'm not gonna do what you say!" they claim. Children aren't usually this confident, are they? You haven't encountered a lot of children, but this must be unusual.
"Yes, you will." you reply. A refreshing change-up from 'no'. "It's the smartest decision. Where do you live?"
"Why do you wanna know?" the Mimiga asks.
"I'm going to return you to wherever that is. What else would I do?" you say. What happens after that is more difficult. Even if it's only a secondary order, you have an obligation to remove any threat posed by the Mimiga population on the Island. If the village or whatever it is they have is small, you'll be able to leave it alone. If it's too developed, then you'll be required to act.
It's still better than keeping the girl with you. You have no idea how to care for a Mimiga child, or any child whatsoever for that matter. More importantly, she would slow you down in finding your squadmates and completing your mission.
Really, you should be interrogating the girl more thoroughly. It wouldn't be worth it, though. A child is unlikely to have any useful information, which is a perfectly logical justification for postponing the interrogation as long as you deem necessary.
The Mimiga girl considers your inquiry deeply before donning an extremely unconvincing smile. You don't really care as long as they're not making helping more difficult.
"I live in a village with Zett! We're over that way!" she says, voice shaking as she points towards the piles of crates and boxes that fill the Egg Corridor's main body, away from the nearby door. You wonder how far this little girl managed to run from home before you ran into her. It can't be that much of a distance. Carrying somebody will slow you down, though.
"We'll go that way, then." you confirm. "Don't move too much and don't make noise."
With that said, you take aim and leap towards the lowest opening in the wall of crates. Landing is jarring, unsteady with the weight of a second person added in, and you nearly fall back through the gap before righting yourself. On the other end of the passage, the Egg Corridor stretches out as far as you can see. You barely notice the Mimiga girl staring at you, barely-concealed fear momentarily overshadowed by awe. Somewhere inside your machinery, a spark of something warms your frame. That's right. You are an amazing machine. More people should look at you like that.
There's no time for those distractions right now, though. You have a long road ahead of you.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
On The Road
[x] Interrogate the Mimiga
[] Don't Interrogate the Mimiga
Data Recovery
Restoring memories. . . . .
[x] Commander Syn
[x] Curly Brace
[] Quote
The Mimiga continues to breathe sharply. They must be hyperventilating. You know that that's not healthy, but not if it'll complicate existing injuries. Medical training was never a priority. You and your squadmates didn't need medical services, and nobody would assign one of you to a job where it was necessary. It wasn't what you were built for. This isn't the first time you've cursed your designers for their terrible decisions, but usually the cause was them including unnecessary human features that you didn't need. It's a new form of irritation to be missing something.
"Mimiga," you command. "steady your breathing. You need to be calmer."
This does not help. The Mimiga's breathing doesn't slow down at all. You move closer to inspect them, only for the leporine creature to shy away from you. Their eyes are fixed on your gun, now holstered at your side. Their injured leg drags against the cold ground, and you feel a sudden pang of sympathy from your own damaged frame. There is very little less agonizing than having a body that does not do as you wish it to. Unfortunately, you don't know much about how to fix a living creature.
"Stop moving so much. It's unproductive." you say. The Mimiga starts trying to crawl away from you and you wince. That didn't come out the way you wanted it to. How can you phrase this properly? "I am trying to help you, but you need to move less."
There. That's entirely clear and impossible to misunderstand.
For some reason, the Mimiga continues to crawl away from you. Probably because you have no idea what you're doing and can't even get your actual subordinates to listen to you when you have something important to say. Clearly you'll need to fall back onto one of your actual skills if you're going to help them.
You step closer to the panicked rabbit. This feels like a bad idea, but you don't know how to help somebody calm down. They breathe faster as you approach, batting uselessly at you with their paws. You ignore their efforts. Without the Red Flowers, Mimiga aren't especially strong even as adults. Pinning the diminutive creature down and stopping their thrashing is easy. With that issue resolved, you take a look at their wounded leg.
The skin isn't obviously broken, and the leg is still shaped like a regular leg. Or at least a regular rabbit leg, which would be a very bad shape for a regular human's leg. You lean in closer, keeping your body positioned to pin down the Mimiga while you ruffle through their fur around the impact zone to get a better look at the skin. A bruise is already forming. Apparently that can be a sign of internal bleeding, but it also just happens naturally sometimes. Biology is confusing. Whatever the case, there's not much you can do now. You don't carry any medical equipment.
"Your leg is not broken. It will recover naturally, but you need to stop trying to move it." you command the rabbit. Finally, they actually listen. They're still breathing too fast, but that's not something that living creatures can actually control so you'll give them a pass. With the resistance gone, you separate from the grounded Mimiga briefly and scoop them up off the ground with your less-damaged arm. Immediately, the flailing resumes.
"Stop. Stop it." you request. The Mimiga does not stop. Instead, they do something else.
They speak.
"No! Lemme go, you creepy thing!"
"I'm not creepy. My model is made to accurately replicate the appearance of a regular human." you correct the Mimiga. Unless they're talking about all the damage you've received, which would be disturbing from a biological perspective. Living creatures are not meant to lose half of their skin and continue walking around.
"You're creepy! You're a creepy robot!" the Mimiga insists.
"I'm not."
"You are!"
"That's incorrect."
"Nuh-uh!"
This is extremely unproductive.
"…sure. Whatever you say."
"That's right! You're creepy!" the Mimiga solemnly announces to the world. Their voice (her voice, you're sure) bounces off the lifeless walls of the Egg Corridor. There's nobody else to hear them. Their squirming has stopped, nervous energy spent on the pointless debate earlier. "Now let me go."
"If you walk, you'll hurt your leg. I'm going to carry you." you explain. The Mimiga child huffs in dissatisfaction.
"And why should I let you do that? You're a creepy killer robot, I'm not gonna do what you say!" they claim. Children aren't usually this confident, are they? You haven't encountered a lot of children, but this must be unusual.
"Yes, you will." you reply. A refreshing change-up from 'no'. "It's the smartest decision. Where do you live?"
"Why do you wanna know?" the Mimiga asks.
"I'm going to return you to wherever that is. What else would I do?" you say. What happens after that is more difficult. Even if it's only a secondary order, you have an obligation to remove any threat posed by the Mimiga population on the Island. If the village or whatever it is they have is small, you'll be able to leave it alone. If it's too developed, then you'll be required to act.
It's still better than keeping the girl with you. You have no idea how to care for a Mimiga child, or any child whatsoever for that matter. More importantly, she would slow you down in finding your squadmates and completing your mission.
Really, you should be interrogating the girl more thoroughly. It wouldn't be worth it, though. A child is unlikely to have any useful information, which is a perfectly logical justification for postponing the interrogation as long as you deem necessary.
The Mimiga girl considers your inquiry deeply before donning an extremely unconvincing smile. You don't really care as long as they're not making helping more difficult.
"I live in a village with Zett! We're over that way!" she says, voice shaking as she points towards the piles of crates and boxes that fill the Egg Corridor's main body, away from the nearby door. You wonder how far this little girl managed to run from home before you ran into her. It can't be that much of a distance. Carrying somebody will slow you down, though.
"We'll go that way, then." you confirm. "Don't move too much and don't make noise."
With that said, you take aim and leap towards the lowest opening in the wall of crates. Landing is jarring, unsteady with the weight of a second person added in, and you nearly fall back through the gap before righting yourself. On the other end of the passage, the Egg Corridor stretches out as far as you can see. You barely notice the Mimiga girl staring at you, barely-concealed fear momentarily overshadowed by awe. Somewhere inside your machinery, a spark of something warms your frame. That's right. You are an amazing machine. More people should look at you like that.
There's no time for those distractions right now, though. You have a long road ahead of you.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
On The Road
[x] Interrogate the Mimiga
[] Don't Interrogate the Mimiga
Data Recovery
Restoring memories. . . . .
[x] Commander Syn
[x] Curly Brace
[] Quote
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File 1, Entry 9 - Decryption
Lepidoptera
Mother of Monsters, Unverified Impuritas Civitatis
- Location
- Indeterminate Unknown
Machine Learning - File 1, Entry 9 - Decryption
The Egg Corridor is difficult to navigate. The floor is uneven, being made up of randomly-stacked boxes and crates only occasionally connected by scaffolding. You keep to the scaffolds. Most of them lead off into the mess of boxes. A few connect to doors leading to side-rooms like the one you entered from. It appears that the scaffolds were made after the corridor was filled up. They snake around the towers of boxes like a plant's roots pushing through the soil. You catch sight of more of the Island's fauna watching nearby, winged insects as large as a small dog, but they keep their distance after you splatter the first few against a wall with a few well-placed gunshots. The Mimiga girl in your arms squirms when you pull the trigger. They would be a genuine threat if they swarmed you all at once, but animalistic self-preservation is enough to keep them at a distance. You consider taking cover in the lower levels of the Corridor, but the flash of something far faster than you can track says it's best to stay away.
Once you're certain that you won't be attacked, you begin to prod at the Mimiga for information. Subtly, of course. She's still recovering from her earlier panic, and will cause more problems if you upset her again.
"How far are we from your village?" you ask. It's an acceptably soft question to begin with, one that you have an entirely reasonable justification to ask for.
The small Mimiga shuffles as much as your grip on her body will allow, then answers. "It's suuuper far away! Past all kinds of other creepy things. Like you, but way worse."
"I am not creepy." you repeat mechanically. Clearly this is going to be a repeated issue. The Mimiga's answer sounds more like childish embellishment than accurate information. Perhaps she's hoping to scare you off so that you'll let her go on her own. "You mentioned one other Mimiga in the village. Is it only the two of you?"
The girl answers slowly. "…yeah, it's just me and the old man. Nobody other than my family's around there." Her next words are spoken quickly but halting, less spoken and more tumbling out of her mouth. "Do you have any family, creepy robot?"
"No. Robots are made, not born. We don't have parents, siblings, or children. I don't have a family." you answer immediately. Before you can think on that answer, you force your thoughts towards the new information. The village is hardly a village at all if it's composed only of two Mimiga. The chance that they would pose a reasonable threat is extremely low. If the Red Flowers are found, of course, then it won't matter. Any Mimiga can be dangerous if they become Rabid. And if they're a threat, they need to be dealt with. The girl's answers appear unreliable, though. She obviously doesn't trust you, and these questions are too obvious. You need to be subtler if you are to gain any useful information.
"What is your family like?" you ask. When the Mimiga girl doesn't answer immediately, you glance down. Unlike before, she isn't pausing to decide her answer. The rabbit-creature's face is stalled on a single expression, ears folded back and eyes staring wide up at you. When she notices you looking back, her expression quickly corrects itself to something more defiant.
"It's not that interesting. Zett's always making me do things or telling weird stories about the-" Her voice suddenly cuts off. "About things that aren't real." she finishes, too quickly to be convincing.
"Do you not have any other family?" you ask further. The way she describes the older Mimiga doesn't match how you are told children refer to a parent, and even if he was her father it would leave the role of mother unoccupied. In spite of the probabilities involved, you can't help but pursue the first train of logic that presents itself. You and your team went through the Island not long ago. Your memory is patchy, but even if it wasn't pinpointing relation between any of the Mimiga you killed and the one in your arms now would be impossible unless somebody else were to confirm it. It is completely unworthy of consideration, but it embeds itself in your mind anyways.
"No. It's always been just me and Zett for as long as I can remember." the girl answers, without the hesitation or hollowness that you would expect from grief. Some tension within your machinery eases. It's not confirmation, but unless you were inactive for far longer than you believed you could not have been the one to kill her parents. They may not be dead at all. There's no evidence in any direction, but you are a killing machine and your thoughts cannot avoid trending towards death.
"Do you not know any other Mimiga?" you ask further, leading naturally into a more useful question. This time, the girl doesn't wait before answering.
"Sure, there's some others, but none of them are-" she begins, but abruptly stops and starts again mid-sentence. "-Anywhere near where I live. We only talk every once in a while, and we have to walk a long time to meet up."
"It's dangerous to go walking through this place without a way of defending yourself." you observe, watching a pair of oversized insects follow another, even larger thing with spikes and fangs jutting from its chitinous body into a broken air vent with a dead Critter's body. The Island would be a death trap even without the Mimiga there, and the rabbits themselves are not known for weapons.
"It is," the Mimiga girl confirms, "but it doesn't matter. I'm super brave, so I don't get scared at all."
Her bragging in her high-pitched, childish voice might have been irritating. It wasn't useful information, and balancing an extra body is slowing you down. But you can feel her heart pounding violently under her fur and skin, heat leaching into your body, and you know that she is afraid of you. Not out of some irrational idea or blind cowardice. She is afraid of you for a good reason, and is just pretending to be brave. There is only one person to blame for that.
The Commander would have done this better. Him or Curly. They're the personable ones, the friendly ones, the ones who know how to talk to people. Instead, all there is is you.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
Restore Memory
Recall an experience with Commander Syn and Curly Brace. . . . .
[x] The members of your squad receive their names
[] Your last Rabid Mimiga hunt
[] Curly Brace is given an informal warning
The Egg Corridor is difficult to navigate. The floor is uneven, being made up of randomly-stacked boxes and crates only occasionally connected by scaffolding. You keep to the scaffolds. Most of them lead off into the mess of boxes. A few connect to doors leading to side-rooms like the one you entered from. It appears that the scaffolds were made after the corridor was filled up. They snake around the towers of boxes like a plant's roots pushing through the soil. You catch sight of more of the Island's fauna watching nearby, winged insects as large as a small dog, but they keep their distance after you splatter the first few against a wall with a few well-placed gunshots. The Mimiga girl in your arms squirms when you pull the trigger. They would be a genuine threat if they swarmed you all at once, but animalistic self-preservation is enough to keep them at a distance. You consider taking cover in the lower levels of the Corridor, but the flash of something far faster than you can track says it's best to stay away.
Once you're certain that you won't be attacked, you begin to prod at the Mimiga for information. Subtly, of course. She's still recovering from her earlier panic, and will cause more problems if you upset her again.
"How far are we from your village?" you ask. It's an acceptably soft question to begin with, one that you have an entirely reasonable justification to ask for.
The small Mimiga shuffles as much as your grip on her body will allow, then answers. "It's suuuper far away! Past all kinds of other creepy things. Like you, but way worse."
"I am not creepy." you repeat mechanically. Clearly this is going to be a repeated issue. The Mimiga's answer sounds more like childish embellishment than accurate information. Perhaps she's hoping to scare you off so that you'll let her go on her own. "You mentioned one other Mimiga in the village. Is it only the two of you?"
The girl answers slowly. "…yeah, it's just me and the old man. Nobody other than my family's around there." Her next words are spoken quickly but halting, less spoken and more tumbling out of her mouth. "Do you have any family, creepy robot?"
"No. Robots are made, not born. We don't have parents, siblings, or children. I don't have a family." you answer immediately. Before you can think on that answer, you force your thoughts towards the new information. The village is hardly a village at all if it's composed only of two Mimiga. The chance that they would pose a reasonable threat is extremely low. If the Red Flowers are found, of course, then it won't matter. Any Mimiga can be dangerous if they become Rabid. And if they're a threat, they need to be dealt with. The girl's answers appear unreliable, though. She obviously doesn't trust you, and these questions are too obvious. You need to be subtler if you are to gain any useful information.
"What is your family like?" you ask. When the Mimiga girl doesn't answer immediately, you glance down. Unlike before, she isn't pausing to decide her answer. The rabbit-creature's face is stalled on a single expression, ears folded back and eyes staring wide up at you. When she notices you looking back, her expression quickly corrects itself to something more defiant.
"It's not that interesting. Zett's always making me do things or telling weird stories about the-" Her voice suddenly cuts off. "About things that aren't real." she finishes, too quickly to be convincing.
"Do you not have any other family?" you ask further. The way she describes the older Mimiga doesn't match how you are told children refer to a parent, and even if he was her father it would leave the role of mother unoccupied. In spite of the probabilities involved, you can't help but pursue the first train of logic that presents itself. You and your team went through the Island not long ago. Your memory is patchy, but even if it wasn't pinpointing relation between any of the Mimiga you killed and the one in your arms now would be impossible unless somebody else were to confirm it. It is completely unworthy of consideration, but it embeds itself in your mind anyways.
"No. It's always been just me and Zett for as long as I can remember." the girl answers, without the hesitation or hollowness that you would expect from grief. Some tension within your machinery eases. It's not confirmation, but unless you were inactive for far longer than you believed you could not have been the one to kill her parents. They may not be dead at all. There's no evidence in any direction, but you are a killing machine and your thoughts cannot avoid trending towards death.
"Do you not know any other Mimiga?" you ask further, leading naturally into a more useful question. This time, the girl doesn't wait before answering.
"Sure, there's some others, but none of them are-" she begins, but abruptly stops and starts again mid-sentence. "-Anywhere near where I live. We only talk every once in a while, and we have to walk a long time to meet up."
"It's dangerous to go walking through this place without a way of defending yourself." you observe, watching a pair of oversized insects follow another, even larger thing with spikes and fangs jutting from its chitinous body into a broken air vent with a dead Critter's body. The Island would be a death trap even without the Mimiga there, and the rabbits themselves are not known for weapons.
"It is," the Mimiga girl confirms, "but it doesn't matter. I'm super brave, so I don't get scared at all."
Her bragging in her high-pitched, childish voice might have been irritating. It wasn't useful information, and balancing an extra body is slowing you down. But you can feel her heart pounding violently under her fur and skin, heat leaching into your body, and you know that she is afraid of you. Not out of some irrational idea or blind cowardice. She is afraid of you for a good reason, and is just pretending to be brave. There is only one person to blame for that.
The Commander would have done this better. Him or Curly. They're the personable ones, the friendly ones, the ones who know how to talk to people. Instead, all there is is you.
\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\
Restore Memory
Recall an experience with Commander Syn and Curly Brace. . . . .
[x] The members of your squad receive their names
[] Your last Rabid Mimiga hunt
[] Curly Brace is given an informal warning
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