Stripes
Genre-Savvy Anti-Nihilist
- Location
- Nizhniy Novgorod
There is a problem with that: DC is a Narrative universe with rather punishing "unwritten rules", and protagonist knows that.
Such solution can work, can backfire horribly... Or both
The Calculator (DC Multiverse, SI as canon character, Season 1 complete)
There is a problem with that: DC is a Narrative universe with rather punishing "unwritten rules", and protagonist knows that.
Such solution can work, can backfire horribly... Or both
- Location
- Argentina
There is a problem with that: DC is a Narrative universe with rather punishing "unwritten rules", and protagonist knows that.
Such solution can work, can backfire horribly... Or both
True, but I would still do it because at the end of the day Slade Wilson is just a mercenary and doesn't even count as a regular enemy for anyone that isn't the Teen Titans. So to top it off, he is a child abuser.
Sent Deathstroke file to Batman, to Superman, make it clear how much he has hurt the Teen Titans, how he basically brainwashed a teen girl into his mole in the Titans and to be his sex slave.
Then narrative casualty sees him as someone who makes even the Joker look good since at least Harley is an adult unlike Terra was.
Then Deathstroke becomes as bad as the Nazis and Nazis are just punching bags in comic books.
I don't buy your loving father act Slade, not when your girl cut her own eye off because of you and you basically made your son kill himself.
A good father doesn't make themselves their kids God Almighty to wordship or else.
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- Location
- Outside the Box
- Pronouns
- She/Her
X vs. The World is a comic book plot that's been done several times before. Usually the character in question achieves at least a phyrric victory, and always after a ridiculous trail of destruction. (Even by normal comic book standards.) Forget how Batman vs. The World is a narrative where it's obvious Batman will win. Deathstroke vs. The World where the cause is The Calculator? Even if Deathstroke might die, The Calculator is guaranteed to die. 100%.
Late update is late
- Location
- Pee Pee Poo Poo
is the main character going to be a hero now?
- Location
- Oslo
- Pronouns
- She/Her
He's going to start Avengers.
Resolution
- Location
- USA
I thought I was dealing rather well with being a mystical copy of myself from another dimension, or having reality rewritten around me, or having had large portions of my memories massively edited. Or whatever the hell was going on.
"Computer: report." Text scrolled on the floating virtual monitor in front of me, light spilling over the endless coils of cables filling the cargo container.
The slimmed down copies of pre-Pooja VIs from a cryptographically verified code vault were handling all the online jobs and data searches I needed. It wasn't the same, but I was managing to keep things running.
"Computer: list current and outstanding jobs. Add diagnostics." A second screen appeared, pushing the first to one side while maintaining an even, pleasing layout. It looked good so far. Mostly just FAQ responses. Some low-level criminals, a third-tier hero or two based on analytics, and a few darknet edgelords willing to spend a few hundred to say they'd bought legit "secret" info on their favorite superhero's activities. Information acquired entirely from public news sources.
I looked closer at the internal reports and ML results spreadsheets. Seemed fine so far. Essentially no danger of a VI getting out of control—they weren't self-improving after all—but if they did get out of bounds, they were dangerous in their stupid ways.
Hacking something with a "dumb" expert system was like dropping a barbell on a fly—it might work fine, but it made a lot of noise compared to Pooja's hacks. And it didn't help with my bigger projects. Even with things working right by having the virtual intelligences up and running any major cybercrime would be taking a backseat for now.
I opened a new screen to bring back up my engineering application, shoving the two other windows up to give me a huge ultra-wide screen below them. Then I lost an hour to reviewing parts lists, setting up material simulations, and just opening and spinning objects. Daydreams of massive CNC cabinets filled my mind as I reviewed my edits to the plains I'd...acquired from some mad roboticist.
Plans and simulations for the giant cosmic-energy-powered mechas were moving along but it would be a nightmare to run in real life without a strong AI backing me up on systems such as dynamic actuator control, reactor management, weapon targeting, infowar, ECM, and ECCM. Oh, and obviously secure, theater-grade remote control systems. Only an idiot would personally ride inside a giant robot they'd made just to taunt the heroes. Sure, I'd use it as a survival capsule in an emergency, but I wasn't running operations from the field in one.
Other projects were also on hold, but none as critical as the remote systems required for so much of my tech. While I was trying to make future high-level physical encounters more survival in this and other ways, I didn't want to myself become vulnerable to a simple systems hack, with some random script kiddie with a horn antenna able to take over my glorious robot fighting swarm.
My weird floating chair whirred a little louder as I leaned back, fingers flexing from too much time clutching the floating CAD double-mouse setup with a death grip. I also needed to maintain perspective and not get locked into a narrow worldview here. That was one big reason to stay off the mad scientist smart drugs. They caused me to lose perspective.
It wasn't me against the misguided heroes, it was me against huge existential threats. City and planet killers. Assuming funding was maintained, I had maybe six months to get ready for initial trials on critical parts for my largest-scale system. Longer if I was...delayed by fallout of my current plans. If I was lucky, in a few years I'd have my very own giant robots. Assuming I could acquire a billion or so dollars from somewhere by then.
But it wasn't like the robots would be rampaging through a bank vault as part of some super crime spree. They would spend most of their time in geosynchronous orbit or maybe on the dark side of Luna. Reaction times from those locations would be seven or twenty-four minutes, depending on storage location, to anywhere in the world. From space. Straight. Down.
Doing this would be hard but also very cool. Something no one could ignore and once set up something that no one could stop. Maybe it would even start an arms race with hero groups or governments. Make the Earth ready for the fights to come—and if I remembered DC canon and it fit well enough to this dimension, they would come. The Anti-Life Equation's presence alone showed that the wider DC universe was in play.
Hell, I had systems trying to track down that Blue Beetle suit right now. The Young Justice team didn't apparently exist yet, so there was that to look out for. If I remembered correctly, the setting for both was usually a slightly futuristic USA. Which, depending on where you went, was what it looked like right now.
I might not have much time but I couldn't just sit back and depend on some half-remembered cartoon and comics plots to defend the Earth. And I'd be hounded by the so-called heroes from all sides just for putting death bots in orbit. But then, no one know what I was planning yet. What I was capable of by simply not acting like a cackling supervillain. The element of surprise might yet be mine.
So yes. By developing the systems I already had, enhancing my use of the cosmic energy systems I'd...acquired—and assuming Pooja didn't go all Skynet on everyone—I had a real chance to be a major force for good in defending the Earth. As unlikely as it was that the heroes would see it that way, maybe I could at least get some people on-sides the first time I took out an alien army with a fifty-foot tall, orbitally inserted robot.
I shut down the programs and safe'd my workstation, then double-checked my maintenance applications. All good. My current super suit was packed away and stored. The Cosmic Energy reactor was disassembled and turned off, making it undetectable via the same means I'd used previously while acquiring the tech in the first place. All my various guns, large and small, were oiled and packed away. Ammo was safely stored, as well as my many, many explosives.
The automated FAQ email system was still running, but I didn't have...I didn't have anything but those simple VIs ready, and it couldn't run the more complicated parts of the consulting business. I'd cleared a pile of consulting requests but that would be just about it cash flow wise. About the level of a moderately successful indie mobile app. Enough to keep my mercs employed for a while. Contingencies to close those down were also prepped and ready, with generous severance plans.
For now, I needed to be distant from the illegal operations of The Calculator. Even if I couldn't come back to this, I still had several seed plans to get back on my feet. Legit business that would make me enough to bootstrap things. Technologies I could sell. That sort of thing. Just not AI. People got weird about that, and there was the whole licensing thing. Which I obviously hadn't done with Pooja.
Those plans were for later. For now, I had to put back on an old identity. The one I had once thought was my reality.
"So, if I am reading this correctly, at the time you worked for TriD as a programmer?" said the woman in the expensive suit.
"That's right," I said.
"And Deathstroke, an international terrorist and violent criminal, attacked your place of business?"
"Yes."
"So you fled, as instructed by emergency services. But then you kept running because..."
"I had been hired to do industrial espionage by another company. I thought he was after me and my life was in danger."
"I understand," the expensive suit said, leaning back in her chair. Her office overlooked the busy Los Angeles streets. Not the best lawyer in town, but right up there, and smart enough to save some money by not splashing out overpriced downtown offices.
"And now you want to work a plea deal. Immunity from prosecution regarding any crimes committed by you in relation to this Deathstroke situation in exchange for everything you know about the operation he was after, who hired you, and what you did at TriD?"
A fabrication, carefully constructed to stand up to all evidence Oracle and the police had found. Just not the stuff implicating The Calculator which Oracle already suspected was false. This would set the record straight. Sort of.
"Correct," I said.
"I think we can do this. I will take this statement you've given me and we'll go from there. Do not leave town. Do not talk to anyone about this. We'll start once you pay the initial fees and retainer. My secretary will give you the paperwork."
"Excellent. So. Uh, what are we looking at?"
"Hmm?" the expensive suit said, looking up from her laptop.
"Time."
"Jail time?" she asked, apparently confused. "No. That is very, very unlikely."
She leaned across her desk. "Let me be frank. You are a victim of the larger crime here. There is a difference between running around wearing spandex, waving guns, blowing up buildings, and...this. It is clear from your statement that you were in fear of your life from an international criminal organization. Let me repeat that so you remember it during deposition: you are a victim of supercrime and were in fear for your life. You also are volunteering valuable information by turning yourself in.
"Very minor white collar crime against a now bankrupt tech startup is not the priority. TriD doesn't even exist anymore to sue you. These are minor computer crimes on the level of unlawful access, hacking, and fraud. The police and FBI are doing all they can against so-called supervillains and international supercrime, and the DA will jump at the chance to get this sort of first-hand information. I don't like making absolute statements, but I can safely say that you will not spend a day in jail. Likely you'll be required to have a formal statement taken downtown, but then you walk out again. You did the right thing coming forward with this."
I nodded and leaned back in the office's pillowy client chair. Sure, it was dangerous, but more dangerous was leaving the police with questions. This way, I could wrap everything up nicely for both the police and the superheroes watching from the shadows. It all made logical sense and explained everything satisfactorily, so no one would look any further into my old identity. And when that identity disappeared again, people would just assume I'd moved overseas or gone into witness protection or something.
In any case, my new lawyer was right. Superheroes didn't go after white collar crime. I wouldn't show up on anyone's lists. Except possibly Batman's notes in the Justice League case logs. But that was likely already the case. This helped obfuscate things. It was safer than just disappearing, because my face, fingerprints, and likely DNA were already in the system, already backed up in places that just weren't safe for Pooja to have hacked. Like Batman's databases.
This would wrap up those files and take my name off the lists of suspicious persons related to the TriD case and the WSTC hacks; not to mention several buildings blowing up, a stolen yacht blowing up, and a storage facility and major freeway blowing up.
I shook the lawyer's hand and left the office, getting into my secretly armored sedan at the curb. After checking the car's security system, I took out a pair of green shades and clipped them onto my round glasses as the car's electric motor started up and it drove itself into the midday L.A. traffic.
And that was it. Part one of my plan was in motion. Unfortunately, this was the easy part. The next, getting a racket started that would net a few hundred million dollars in less than a year while generating a grass-roots movement to get humanity to embrace rapid changes in human abilities and technology; yeah, that one would be rough. But if it all worked, I would finally be back in business as The Calculator.
"Computer: report." Text scrolled on the floating virtual monitor in front of me, light spilling over the endless coils of cables filling the cargo container.
The slimmed down copies of pre-Pooja VIs from a cryptographically verified code vault were handling all the online jobs and data searches I needed. It wasn't the same, but I was managing to keep things running.
"Computer: list current and outstanding jobs. Add diagnostics." A second screen appeared, pushing the first to one side while maintaining an even, pleasing layout. It looked good so far. Mostly just FAQ responses. Some low-level criminals, a third-tier hero or two based on analytics, and a few darknet edgelords willing to spend a few hundred to say they'd bought legit "secret" info on their favorite superhero's activities. Information acquired entirely from public news sources.
I looked closer at the internal reports and ML results spreadsheets. Seemed fine so far. Essentially no danger of a VI getting out of control—they weren't self-improving after all—but if they did get out of bounds, they were dangerous in their stupid ways.
Hacking something with a "dumb" expert system was like dropping a barbell on a fly—it might work fine, but it made a lot of noise compared to Pooja's hacks. And it didn't help with my bigger projects. Even with things working right by having the virtual intelligences up and running any major cybercrime would be taking a backseat for now.
I opened a new screen to bring back up my engineering application, shoving the two other windows up to give me a huge ultra-wide screen below them. Then I lost an hour to reviewing parts lists, setting up material simulations, and just opening and spinning objects. Daydreams of massive CNC cabinets filled my mind as I reviewed my edits to the plains I'd...acquired from some mad roboticist.
Plans and simulations for the giant cosmic-energy-powered mechas were moving along but it would be a nightmare to run in real life without a strong AI backing me up on systems such as dynamic actuator control, reactor management, weapon targeting, infowar, ECM, and ECCM. Oh, and obviously secure, theater-grade remote control systems. Only an idiot would personally ride inside a giant robot they'd made just to taunt the heroes. Sure, I'd use it as a survival capsule in an emergency, but I wasn't running operations from the field in one.
Other projects were also on hold, but none as critical as the remote systems required for so much of my tech. While I was trying to make future high-level physical encounters more survival in this and other ways, I didn't want to myself become vulnerable to a simple systems hack, with some random script kiddie with a horn antenna able to take over my glorious robot fighting swarm.
My weird floating chair whirred a little louder as I leaned back, fingers flexing from too much time clutching the floating CAD double-mouse setup with a death grip. I also needed to maintain perspective and not get locked into a narrow worldview here. That was one big reason to stay off the mad scientist smart drugs. They caused me to lose perspective.
It wasn't me against the misguided heroes, it was me against huge existential threats. City and planet killers. Assuming funding was maintained, I had maybe six months to get ready for initial trials on critical parts for my largest-scale system. Longer if I was...delayed by fallout of my current plans. If I was lucky, in a few years I'd have my very own giant robots. Assuming I could acquire a billion or so dollars from somewhere by then.
But it wasn't like the robots would be rampaging through a bank vault as part of some super crime spree. They would spend most of their time in geosynchronous orbit or maybe on the dark side of Luna. Reaction times from those locations would be seven or twenty-four minutes, depending on storage location, to anywhere in the world. From space. Straight. Down.
Doing this would be hard but also very cool. Something no one could ignore and once set up something that no one could stop. Maybe it would even start an arms race with hero groups or governments. Make the Earth ready for the fights to come—and if I remembered DC canon and it fit well enough to this dimension, they would come. The Anti-Life Equation's presence alone showed that the wider DC universe was in play.
Hell, I had systems trying to track down that Blue Beetle suit right now. The Young Justice team didn't apparently exist yet, so there was that to look out for. If I remembered correctly, the setting for both was usually a slightly futuristic USA. Which, depending on where you went, was what it looked like right now.
I might not have much time but I couldn't just sit back and depend on some half-remembered cartoon and comics plots to defend the Earth. And I'd be hounded by the so-called heroes from all sides just for putting death bots in orbit. But then, no one know what I was planning yet. What I was capable of by simply not acting like a cackling supervillain. The element of surprise might yet be mine.
So yes. By developing the systems I already had, enhancing my use of the cosmic energy systems I'd...acquired—and assuming Pooja didn't go all Skynet on everyone—I had a real chance to be a major force for good in defending the Earth. As unlikely as it was that the heroes would see it that way, maybe I could at least get some people on-sides the first time I took out an alien army with a fifty-foot tall, orbitally inserted robot.
I shut down the programs and safe'd my workstation, then double-checked my maintenance applications. All good. My current super suit was packed away and stored. The Cosmic Energy reactor was disassembled and turned off, making it undetectable via the same means I'd used previously while acquiring the tech in the first place. All my various guns, large and small, were oiled and packed away. Ammo was safely stored, as well as my many, many explosives.
The automated FAQ email system was still running, but I didn't have...I didn't have anything but those simple VIs ready, and it couldn't run the more complicated parts of the consulting business. I'd cleared a pile of consulting requests but that would be just about it cash flow wise. About the level of a moderately successful indie mobile app. Enough to keep my mercs employed for a while. Contingencies to close those down were also prepped and ready, with generous severance plans.
For now, I needed to be distant from the illegal operations of The Calculator. Even if I couldn't come back to this, I still had several seed plans to get back on my feet. Legit business that would make me enough to bootstrap things. Technologies I could sell. That sort of thing. Just not AI. People got weird about that, and there was the whole licensing thing. Which I obviously hadn't done with Pooja.
Those plans were for later. For now, I had to put back on an old identity. The one I had once thought was my reality.
"So, if I am reading this correctly, at the time you worked for TriD as a programmer?" said the woman in the expensive suit.
"That's right," I said.
"And Deathstroke, an international terrorist and violent criminal, attacked your place of business?"
"Yes."
"So you fled, as instructed by emergency services. But then you kept running because..."
"I had been hired to do industrial espionage by another company. I thought he was after me and my life was in danger."
"I understand," the expensive suit said, leaning back in her chair. Her office overlooked the busy Los Angeles streets. Not the best lawyer in town, but right up there, and smart enough to save some money by not splashing out overpriced downtown offices.
"And now you want to work a plea deal. Immunity from prosecution regarding any crimes committed by you in relation to this Deathstroke situation in exchange for everything you know about the operation he was after, who hired you, and what you did at TriD?"
A fabrication, carefully constructed to stand up to all evidence Oracle and the police had found. Just not the stuff implicating The Calculator which Oracle already suspected was false. This would set the record straight. Sort of.
"Correct," I said.
"I think we can do this. I will take this statement you've given me and we'll go from there. Do not leave town. Do not talk to anyone about this. We'll start once you pay the initial fees and retainer. My secretary will give you the paperwork."
"Excellent. So. Uh, what are we looking at?"
"Hmm?" the expensive suit said, looking up from her laptop.
"Time."
"Jail time?" she asked, apparently confused. "No. That is very, very unlikely."
She leaned across her desk. "Let me be frank. You are a victim of the larger crime here. There is a difference between running around wearing spandex, waving guns, blowing up buildings, and...this. It is clear from your statement that you were in fear of your life from an international criminal organization. Let me repeat that so you remember it during deposition: you are a victim of supercrime and were in fear for your life. You also are volunteering valuable information by turning yourself in.
"Very minor white collar crime against a now bankrupt tech startup is not the priority. TriD doesn't even exist anymore to sue you. These are minor computer crimes on the level of unlawful access, hacking, and fraud. The police and FBI are doing all they can against so-called supervillains and international supercrime, and the DA will jump at the chance to get this sort of first-hand information. I don't like making absolute statements, but I can safely say that you will not spend a day in jail. Likely you'll be required to have a formal statement taken downtown, but then you walk out again. You did the right thing coming forward with this."
I nodded and leaned back in the office's pillowy client chair. Sure, it was dangerous, but more dangerous was leaving the police with questions. This way, I could wrap everything up nicely for both the police and the superheroes watching from the shadows. It all made logical sense and explained everything satisfactorily, so no one would look any further into my old identity. And when that identity disappeared again, people would just assume I'd moved overseas or gone into witness protection or something.
In any case, my new lawyer was right. Superheroes didn't go after white collar crime. I wouldn't show up on anyone's lists. Except possibly Batman's notes in the Justice League case logs. But that was likely already the case. This helped obfuscate things. It was safer than just disappearing, because my face, fingerprints, and likely DNA were already in the system, already backed up in places that just weren't safe for Pooja to have hacked. Like Batman's databases.
This would wrap up those files and take my name off the lists of suspicious persons related to the TriD case and the WSTC hacks; not to mention several buildings blowing up, a stolen yacht blowing up, and a storage facility and major freeway blowing up.
I shook the lawyer's hand and left the office, getting into my secretly armored sedan at the curb. After checking the car's security system, I took out a pair of green shades and clipped them onto my round glasses as the car's electric motor started up and it drove itself into the midday L.A. traffic.
And that was it. Part one of my plan was in motion. Unfortunately, this was the easy part. The next, getting a racket started that would net a few hundred million dollars in less than a year while generating a grass-roots movement to get humanity to embrace rapid changes in human abilities and technology; yeah, that one would be rough. But if it all worked, I would finally be back in business as The Calculator.
S1 - The End
- Location
- Argentina
Interesting.
Any reason he couldn't ya know, use less bigger robots? Even with Stars energy giant robots tend to be destroyed quite easily.
Heck is any Star Man currently active? He could create a "Star Men" team... and anger Star Girl.
But then again, this is the same universe with the Doom Patrol and a super team wouldn't change the status quo.
Any reason he couldn't ya know, use less bigger robots? Even with Stars energy giant robots tend to be destroyed quite easily.
Heck is any Star Man currently active? He could create a "Star Men" team... and anger Star Girl.
But then again, this is the same universe with the Doom Patrol and a super team wouldn't change the status quo.
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After Credits - Revival
- Location
- USA
Barbara Gordon rubbed her aching forearms, glaring at the computer screens in front of her. Not enough exercise. Dealing with...dealing shouldn't take this much out of her. She wasn't even thirty. Time to reevaluate the physical therapy exercise program. And actually attend more of them.
Bed was calling now but her night-owl habits were too strong. And something was happening on the Internet. Major backbones hitting unusual usage profiles. Massive amounts of data. And the kid was restless.
The TTS system hooked up to a simple console display chirped mechanically at her. A reminder of one of her stupider recent ventures.
It was almost a month after Pooja's surprising...okay, proposition was the only word for it. They had gotten together after the Cosmic Staff theft case, continuing to talk about their interests and other topics. Working with the surprising California polymath on the design of a brand-new intelligent, self-directed learning system was a dizzy, heady experience. She'd never admit it, but the consequences of their intellectual hedonism was as annoying as it was ironic—she'd avoid more typical relationships and still ended up taking care of a kid.
Barbara turned to the isolated system's keyboard, muttering as she typed. "Nothing's wrong, Samuel. Everything's fine. Go back to your books."
It wasn't merely like having a kid, that's basically what it was. A huge multi-terabyte database of educational videos and books was her babysitter. The young AI was currently sandboxed in a fractally-expandable computer learning environment Pooja had smirkingly called "CRIIBS", the Cyber-Retention and Informational Intelligence Boosting System. It wouldn't keep in a determined and persuasive super-intelligent agent, but it was good enough for the loose collection of systems currently verbally fidgeting at her.
It was better than nothing.
And damned if she was letting the innocent little thing onto the Internet.
"Like I said, it's nothing."
"We both do, Samuel."
Of course you like her, Sam. You're literally programmed to like your parents.
Ugh.
Damn it Pooja. Now your jokes are getting into my brain.
Though it wasn't a bad idea. Just as Barbara was opening the secured messaging system, she received an incoming alert on a voice channel. High priority. She saw the attached creds so often she could visually recognize them, even before the security systems confirmed.
It was Pooja. Keys checked out. She was blasting a full set of auths and counter confirmations for some reason.
"Samuel," she typed into the standalone system's console. "I'm talking to Pooja now. Be good."
"Oracle, I've got a problem." The voice was clear, background noise scrubbed digitally, allowing Pooja's Indian-subcontinent English accent to ring from the high-fidelity speaker system. "I've been attacked. Several of my servers destroyed. Some kind of mixed attack vector: classic programmatic attacks coupled with a 'sufficiently advanced' trans-technological element."
Having shifted back to her main keyboard, Barbara's fingers flew even as she frowned in disbelief. "You were magically hacked? Seriously?"
Bringing up further details of the monitoring programs she had stashed in the routing infrastructure of several major ISPs, Barbara continued to frown.
"I'm as serious as a thermite charge in the middle of a mainframe. I've had to fall back to secondary systems." Pictures followed from Pooja, along with geotags. That checked out and coincided in two cases with monitoring systems she had...acquired. Logs reported massive spikes in incoming packets. Cascades of nonsensical error messages. Then fire alarms.
Pooja had booby-trapped her own servers and detonated them when she started to lose control, damaging surrounding equipment and causing plenty of damage to the hosting companies. Yet another minor crime Pooja casually shared with her. And she still couldn't bring herself to act to rein it in.
Barbara sighed. Something was off about her clever friend. Expert in computer hardware, networking, and even exotic energy. And apparently running half as much computing power as a mid-sized tech company on some mystery project that just literally went up in smoke.
"Oracle. Uh. I think...I have some confessions to make."
"It isn't the mob, is it? Punjabi Syndicate?"
"Ha, racist much Oracle?" Pooja said, following it with rapid string of words...auto-search and translate...a (male) Bollywood gangster caricature in Hindi? Which Barbra spoke some, but not enough for the joke that just went over her head.
"And like I wouldn't have a gang of my own," Pooja continued, smoothly returning to English. "I always thought I'd make a great, sexy, shadow-powery behind-the-throne character. Name spoken of in whispers. Or not at all."
Barbara sighed.
"Just kidding," Pooja said. "This attack? I think it's the same fuckers as the Port of Los Angeles last month."
"Really? That's a lot of exotic firepower to spend on a grad student." A suspiciously wealthy one, she didn't say.
"No, and that's not what I'm confessing. Pay attention. I've kinda...been keeping an eye on you. And I think they were targeting you, Oracle."
"Interesting theory. Why? Wait, the port attack? Could have traced me from my work there. They were using you to get to me. They thought those were my system, maybe?"
"That's what I'm thinking. And it wasn't your computer systems they were after. It was the person on the other side. You, Barbara."
Knowing the mic was still live, Barbara didn't grit her teeth. Or swear. "Keeping an eye on me, huh?"
"Not the most shocking admission. You already know my identity is suspicious. And you know I'm a hacker. Still, I think you'd have told me in another month or two—which is really a silly amount of time."
"You know."
"Yes. And it doesn't matter to me."
"Even though you're on the other side of the law?"
"Yes. Though debatable given-"
Barbra slammed her fist into the table, interrupting. "Even though you know...the kind of people I hang out with?"
"You're slacking on your interrogation technique, Barb. Should just let me talk until I spill everything."
Angry or just confused, maybe a little of both, Barbara kept silent.
"I'm not going to hurt innocents. You know me well enough to know that. But this is still not the best part. So, you know how I helped you with Sam? How is he doing?"
Barbara didn't let the sudden change of topic throw her, or the power play it represented by prompting her to speak again make her angry. "He's fine. And it was basically your project, Pooja."
"Not really. I made sure it was more like, uh, fifty-fifty. Well. I based her design off an existing one."
"Oh." Pieces started fitting together. "So that's what you were running on those servers." Barbara frowned. "Wait, does that mean someth- someone like Sam was toasted in those server attacks? Are...are we talking about a murder?" She leaned forward in her custom wheelchair, gripping the arms hard.
"Yes."
A painfully familiar tension clutched at her chest. "Pooja, I'm so sorry."
"Thank you."
Barbra took a deep breath. "So, we're investigating the murder of an AI? Strange. But, after spending time with Sam, I can understand. This...this is just another kind of life. We can't let this go. Samuel has just as much of a right to live as anyone else."
A police alert flashed up on Barbra's monitor. It wasn't for Gotham...it was Los Angeles, a set she still had active from their work on the Calculator case. Explosions on the freeway?
"Barbra I agree, wholeheartedly," Pooja said. "But that's still not the part you're going to have a hard time with. The AI murder victim we're investigating...was me."
Bed was calling now but her night-owl habits were too strong. And something was happening on the Internet. Major backbones hitting unusual usage profiles. Massive amounts of data. And the kid was restless.
Code:
What's going on Oracle?The TTS system hooked up to a simple console display chirped mechanically at her. A reminder of one of her stupider recent ventures.
It was almost a month after Pooja's surprising...okay, proposition was the only word for it. They had gotten together after the Cosmic Staff theft case, continuing to talk about their interests and other topics. Working with the surprising California polymath on the design of a brand-new intelligent, self-directed learning system was a dizzy, heady experience. She'd never admit it, but the consequences of their intellectual hedonism was as annoying as it was ironic—she'd avoid more typical relationships and still ended up taking care of a kid.
Barbara turned to the isolated system's keyboard, muttering as she typed. "Nothing's wrong, Samuel. Everything's fine. Go back to your books."
Code:
Oracle, your word choice suggests something is wrong, despite the literal meaning.
Also, you are up later than usual.
What's going on Oracle?It wasn't merely like having a kid, that's basically what it was. A huge multi-terabyte database of educational videos and books was her babysitter. The young AI was currently sandboxed in a fractally-expandable computer learning environment Pooja had smirkingly called "CRIIBS", the Cyber-Retention and Informational Intelligence Boosting System. It wouldn't keep in a determined and persuasive super-intelligent agent, but it was good enough for the loose collection of systems currently verbally fidgeting at her.
It was better than nothing.
And damned if she was letting the innocent little thing onto the Internet.
"Like I said, it's nothing."
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Why don't you ask Pooja to help? She's smart. I like her."We both do, Samuel."
Of course you like her, Sam. You're literally programmed to like your parents.
Ugh.
Damn it Pooja. Now your jokes are getting into my brain.
Though it wasn't a bad idea. Just as Barbara was opening the secured messaging system, she received an incoming alert on a voice channel. High priority. She saw the attached creds so often she could visually recognize them, even before the security systems confirmed.
It was Pooja. Keys checked out. She was blasting a full set of auths and counter confirmations for some reason.
"Samuel," she typed into the standalone system's console. "I'm talking to Pooja now. Be good."
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I hear, Oracle. Tell her I love her!"Oracle, I've got a problem." The voice was clear, background noise scrubbed digitally, allowing Pooja's Indian-subcontinent English accent to ring from the high-fidelity speaker system. "I've been attacked. Several of my servers destroyed. Some kind of mixed attack vector: classic programmatic attacks coupled with a 'sufficiently advanced' trans-technological element."
Having shifted back to her main keyboard, Barbara's fingers flew even as she frowned in disbelief. "You were magically hacked? Seriously?"
Bringing up further details of the monitoring programs she had stashed in the routing infrastructure of several major ISPs, Barbara continued to frown.
"I'm as serious as a thermite charge in the middle of a mainframe. I've had to fall back to secondary systems." Pictures followed from Pooja, along with geotags. That checked out and coincided in two cases with monitoring systems she had...acquired. Logs reported massive spikes in incoming packets. Cascades of nonsensical error messages. Then fire alarms.
Pooja had booby-trapped her own servers and detonated them when she started to lose control, damaging surrounding equipment and causing plenty of damage to the hosting companies. Yet another minor crime Pooja casually shared with her. And she still couldn't bring herself to act to rein it in.
Barbara sighed. Something was off about her clever friend. Expert in computer hardware, networking, and even exotic energy. And apparently running half as much computing power as a mid-sized tech company on some mystery project that just literally went up in smoke.
"Oracle. Uh. I think...I have some confessions to make."
"It isn't the mob, is it? Punjabi Syndicate?"
"Ha, racist much Oracle?" Pooja said, following it with rapid string of words...auto-search and translate...a (male) Bollywood gangster caricature in Hindi? Which Barbra spoke some, but not enough for the joke that just went over her head.
"And like I wouldn't have a gang of my own," Pooja continued, smoothly returning to English. "I always thought I'd make a great, sexy, shadow-powery behind-the-throne character. Name spoken of in whispers. Or not at all."
Barbara sighed.
"Just kidding," Pooja said. "This attack? I think it's the same fuckers as the Port of Los Angeles last month."
"Really? That's a lot of exotic firepower to spend on a grad student." A suspiciously wealthy one, she didn't say.
"No, and that's not what I'm confessing. Pay attention. I've kinda...been keeping an eye on you. And I think they were targeting you, Oracle."
"Interesting theory. Why? Wait, the port attack? Could have traced me from my work there. They were using you to get to me. They thought those were my system, maybe?"
"That's what I'm thinking. And it wasn't your computer systems they were after. It was the person on the other side. You, Barbara."
Knowing the mic was still live, Barbara didn't grit her teeth. Or swear. "Keeping an eye on me, huh?"
"Not the most shocking admission. You already know my identity is suspicious. And you know I'm a hacker. Still, I think you'd have told me in another month or two—which is really a silly amount of time."
"You know."
"Yes. And it doesn't matter to me."
"Even though you're on the other side of the law?"
"Yes. Though debatable given-"
Barbra slammed her fist into the table, interrupting. "Even though you know...the kind of people I hang out with?"
"You're slacking on your interrogation technique, Barb. Should just let me talk until I spill everything."
Angry or just confused, maybe a little of both, Barbara kept silent.
"I'm not going to hurt innocents. You know me well enough to know that. But this is still not the best part. So, you know how I helped you with Sam? How is he doing?"
Barbara didn't let the sudden change of topic throw her, or the power play it represented by prompting her to speak again make her angry. "He's fine. And it was basically your project, Pooja."
"Not really. I made sure it was more like, uh, fifty-fifty. Well. I based her design off an existing one."
"Oh." Pieces started fitting together. "So that's what you were running on those servers." Barbara frowned. "Wait, does that mean someth- someone like Sam was toasted in those server attacks? Are...are we talking about a murder?" She leaned forward in her custom wheelchair, gripping the arms hard.
"Yes."
A painfully familiar tension clutched at her chest. "Pooja, I'm so sorry."
"Thank you."
Barbra took a deep breath. "So, we're investigating the murder of an AI? Strange. But, after spending time with Sam, I can understand. This...this is just another kind of life. We can't let this go. Samuel has just as much of a right to live as anyone else."
A police alert flashed up on Barbra's monitor. It wasn't for Gotham...it was Los Angeles, a set she still had active from their work on the Calculator case. Explosions on the freeway?
"Barbra I agree, wholeheartedly," Pooja said. "But that's still not the part you're going to have a hard time with. The AI murder victim we're investigating...was me."
It's not murder if you survived, just grievous bodily harm with intent to kill. Oh Pooja, what are playing?
TimEd
Meteor maker
Pooja did technically die. She just reverted to a past version of herself, which is again debatable if said backup is Pooja, or a different being calling itself Pooja.
It was with that whole rant a few chapters back.
After Credits - Isnashi
- Location
- USA
The fluorescent ceiling light he'd broken twisted and swung slowly on its one remaining wire mount, throwing odd shadows around the shop. He sat with his back against the wall now, anger gone, sobbing quietly and listening to the anonymous clamor of the busy nighttime traffic outside.
It was no use. The suit simply wasn't ready. Couldn't move fast enough. Couldn't jump high enough. Couldn't block bullets. Couldn't rescue Rikki.
They'd taken her last night. He'd just found out this morning, when the kidnapping had made the local news. The details of the ransom demands he was able to get from an angry coworker at her company. The company that had a policy of not paying out on such demands.
And he knew where those fuckheads were keeping her. The polícia sure as fuck did, but they didn't care—or just didn't dare act. A day wasn't enough to fix everything missing from his suit. And though Rikki was an employee at a popular international tech company, that wasn't enough to get local hero support, let alone international interest.
His phone rang. He let it ring until finely honed customer support instincts found him answering the blocked number and lifting the phone to his damp face.
"Danilo Varela?" The voice was female. Crisp but accented Portuguese. He recognized from working with other techies a...Hindi accent?
"Sim." He clutched at his hair with his other hand, staving off impending madness. If this was a fucking telemarketing call-
"I can help."
"What are-"
"I know about Rikki. I can help with your suit, Isnashi."
The phone came down, mic on mute and speaker mode on as he punched up his illegal recording software and hammered the activation prompt.
The voice continued. "You see, that hard light system was part of my design. The one you...let's say acquired."
Saying nothing, he opened his laptop. The screen wasn't his login prompt. It was a video image of him, from behind. Live. He didn't have a camera there. It was a blank wall. He petulantly refused to turn around and frantically look for the pinhole camera.
"I have a lot of experience in the field of powered exosuits with exotic weaponry," the phone woman said. "I figure with my help-"
The shop's rear delivery bay doorbell rang.
On the phone, the woman continued. "-and those supplies I had delivered to your shop, you can save your friend."
"Who are you?" he asked, fist clenched around the phone, "...and what will it cost me?"
"For your second question, a favor to me and likely some of your morals. You'll have to kill at least seven members of the local Shadowspire cell, all in a single night. If you don't, and still go through with this rescue attempt, I calculate you and everyone you consider a friend will be dead within three months—even if your rescue mission for Lei Ritsuki is otherwise successful."
He checked. She'd answered his questions with his phone mic still on mute.
The bell rang again as Dan stumbled towards the door, checking the security camera display as he passed. That...was a lot of packages.
"And the favor?" he asked out loud to the room in general.
The phone voice responded. "One day, I may ask you to be a hero...in a very specific time and place. You will do so, with my complete assistance in both transportation and armament. After that service, I will consider us even. What you do then is up to you."
Dan stopped with his hand on the deactivated power gauntlet where he'd thrown it on a table. "Right. Sure. Mystery lady here thinks she can get away with messing with Shadowspire, hacking my systems, even installing fucking spy cameras in my shop."
His hand tightened on the gauntlet as he took a deep breath. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I am the Calculator."
It was no use. The suit simply wasn't ready. Couldn't move fast enough. Couldn't jump high enough. Couldn't block bullets. Couldn't rescue Rikki.
They'd taken her last night. He'd just found out this morning, when the kidnapping had made the local news. The details of the ransom demands he was able to get from an angry coworker at her company. The company that had a policy of not paying out on such demands.
And he knew where those fuckheads were keeping her. The polícia sure as fuck did, but they didn't care—or just didn't dare act. A day wasn't enough to fix everything missing from his suit. And though Rikki was an employee at a popular international tech company, that wasn't enough to get local hero support, let alone international interest.
His phone rang. He let it ring until finely honed customer support instincts found him answering the blocked number and lifting the phone to his damp face.
"Danilo Varela?" The voice was female. Crisp but accented Portuguese. He recognized from working with other techies a...Hindi accent?
"Sim." He clutched at his hair with his other hand, staving off impending madness. If this was a fucking telemarketing call-
"I can help."
"What are-"
"I know about Rikki. I can help with your suit, Isnashi."
The phone came down, mic on mute and speaker mode on as he punched up his illegal recording software and hammered the activation prompt.
The voice continued. "You see, that hard light system was part of my design. The one you...let's say acquired."
Saying nothing, he opened his laptop. The screen wasn't his login prompt. It was a video image of him, from behind. Live. He didn't have a camera there. It was a blank wall. He petulantly refused to turn around and frantically look for the pinhole camera.
"I have a lot of experience in the field of powered exosuits with exotic weaponry," the phone woman said. "I figure with my help-"
The shop's rear delivery bay doorbell rang.
On the phone, the woman continued. "-and those supplies I had delivered to your shop, you can save your friend."
"Who are you?" he asked, fist clenched around the phone, "...and what will it cost me?"
"For your second question, a favor to me and likely some of your morals. You'll have to kill at least seven members of the local Shadowspire cell, all in a single night. If you don't, and still go through with this rescue attempt, I calculate you and everyone you consider a friend will be dead within three months—even if your rescue mission for Lei Ritsuki is otherwise successful."
He checked. She'd answered his questions with his phone mic still on mute.
The bell rang again as Dan stumbled towards the door, checking the security camera display as he passed. That...was a lot of packages.
"And the favor?" he asked out loud to the room in general.
The phone voice responded. "One day, I may ask you to be a hero...in a very specific time and place. You will do so, with my complete assistance in both transportation and armament. After that service, I will consider us even. What you do then is up to you."
Dan stopped with his hand on the deactivated power gauntlet where he'd thrown it on a table. "Right. Sure. Mystery lady here thinks she can get away with messing with Shadowspire, hacking my systems, even installing fucking spy cameras in my shop."
His hand tightened on the gauntlet as he took a deep breath. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I am the Calculator."
Some final notes
- Location
- USA
And that's it for season one! I'm planning on picking up season two in this thread soonish. Same Calculator time. Same Calculator channel.
Now for some Q&A. I'll add to this reply unless things get too long.
Self driving cars are a thing here. There was a self-driving taxi in the escape from L.A. scenes and it is very much a thing in my DC AU.
Biggest robot is best robot. I'm sure scaled down models will come first, though all should be able to carry some version of the hard light shielding and projection systems.
Last Star Man Jack Knight was active for a very short time. His brother took over and died in action I think. Star Woman ("Star Girl" grown up) is the one currently using the Cosmic Staff. Until now, the best device made from the cosmic energy idea native to Earth.
The Calculator isn't thinking super team right now. Pooja obviously has other ideas.
Now for some Q&A. I'll add to this reply unless things get too long.
Self driving cars are a thing here. There was a self-driving taxi in the escape from L.A. scenes and it is very much a thing in my DC AU.
Biggest robot is best robot. I'm sure scaled down models will come first, though all should be able to carry some version of the hard light shielding and projection systems.
Last Star Man Jack Knight was active for a very short time. His brother took over and died in action I think. Star Woman ("Star Girl" grown up) is the one currently using the Cosmic Staff. Until now, the best device made from the cosmic energy idea native to Earth.
The Calculator isn't thinking super team right now. Pooja obviously has other ideas.
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No you are not, Pooja, it's an identity theft. For shame
- Location
- Argentina
Maybe is the evil Pooja? Aka the virus or whatever it was?
She is not Braniac but she is okay for being Earth made.
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- Location
- Christchurch, NZ
No questions from me, I prefer to cultivate my paranoia, let it develop into mouth-frothing insanity over a nice long period.
Actually Assimilation recently had The Calculator use magic to hack, ironically!
Oh my! ... Wait, you already made all the "it's like they had a baby together!" references
Hmm, I can't think of any magic hackers other than maybe Ritchie Simpson...
Actually Assimilation recently had The Calculator use magic to hack, ironically!
An odd metaphor, if you don't know what she is!
Daww! How cute, she's being seduced to evil!
A magical hacker that has a grudge against the Bat-Family, or Oracle in particular? In not familiar enough with her in the comics to know if that's particularly likely...
... So I'm going to assume that the murderer... was also Pooja!
"One day, and this day may never come..."
ScottotheUnwise
Verified Crack (fic) Dealer
- Location
- Mulberry, Fl
Hmm. If he has advanced hard light projection and Cosmic power source options, why doesn't he license exosuits for the military. Just DRM the thing so that any opening of the harness will slag it, slap a hefty maintenance program on top and let them find the uses for it.
Need an entrenching tool? Hard light. Need an armored position? Hard light. Camouflage? Hard (dim) light!
Need troop transport? One Jeep, with each guy onboard using a hard Light rig to add armor (without adding weight) and seating by locking into the existing vehicle.
Technically a suit of that can be considered transport if you preprogram in snake motion and fish swimming motion. Can you imagine a SEAL divers coming up after an extended run in to shore inside a Hard Light Orca shell? I bet somewhere there are some veterans drooling.
Need a fox hole? Extend a hard light spear and poke it into the ground, change it to extending a disc in a radius out from the tip and grow that into a cylinder up. Final step, tilt the portion above ground to the side to remove the dirt. You could even make a hard light auger to move material out slowly, forming it into a packed berm...
Note: If he does a commercial I hope he names his company "Calc-co" (a la Ronco)
Need an entrenching tool? Hard light. Need an armored position? Hard light. Camouflage? Hard (dim) light!
Need troop transport? One Jeep, with each guy onboard using a hard Light rig to add armor (without adding weight) and seating by locking into the existing vehicle.
Technically a suit of that can be considered transport if you preprogram in snake motion and fish swimming motion. Can you imagine a SEAL divers coming up after an extended run in to shore inside a Hard Light Orca shell? I bet somewhere there are some veterans drooling.
Need a fox hole? Extend a hard light spear and poke it into the ground, change it to extending a disc in a radius out from the tip and grow that into a cylinder up. Final step, tilt the portion above ground to the side to remove the dirt. You could even make a hard light auger to move material out slowly, forming it into a packed berm...
Note: If he does a commercial I hope he names his company "Calc-co" (a la Ronco)
- Location
- United States
Who says it wasn't the real calculator using a voice mask?
Cybandeath
Lord Darkness, and Representative of Mad Science
- Location
- The United States of America
Thats probably why our beloved AI wont be questioned on being the Calculator XD
Ok I am lost.
Can someone please spell out what happened to Pooja?
I need the easy to understand explanation.
Did the original Pooja turn evil or get hacked?
Is she still alive?
I understand trust is an issue but why did the Calculator abandon his "daughter/Wifu/creation"?
Can someone please spell out what happened to Pooja?
I need the easy to understand explanation.
Did the original Pooja turn evil or get hacked?
Is she still alive?
I understand trust is an issue but why did the Calculator abandon his "daughter/Wifu/creation"?
