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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