ltmauve
"Excuse me?"
- Location
- Earth
- Pronouns
- She/Her
A unit cap, but one that rises as the Commander "Levels up?" Interesting. And this certain adds another dimension to the escalation.
The Scrapheap Challenge [Planetary Annihilation - Multicross SI]
- Thread starter TheAlteran
- Start date
Section - 7
TheAlteran
Dyspraxic Writer
- Location
- Scotland
[Personality Matrix Relaxation Cycle [PMRC] - Completed]
[Resuming normal operations]
Ok it's not as bad as I thought - at best guess my ROB has opted to employ a mash-up of AI-War and Homeworld esque mechanics to keep things interesting… No big deal. Just need to channel the Bloody-Magpie within me is all. If not then… best not think about that.
I can do this… Maybe.
The PMRC had burned a set of rules into my core-programing which overrode my control of several thought-processes so that I would be constantly reminded of them. Most were honestly common sense and I rather wish it had elaborated more as to why they were like that,
Rule 1 - Use Everything
Rule 2 - Steal the shit outta everything
Rule 3 - Steal all the technology
Rule 4 - Make everything out of everything
Rule 5 - Remember every unit counts…
For Rule 2 I had a rough idea that the system may be employing Homeworld 1 mechanics to a degree and allowing for no fixed cap upon captured vessels. Yet did that mean I had to leave them exactly as they were or could I perform regular updates to their design and optimise their atomic structure to gain more resources?
I knew for a fact developing new tiers would be a pain in the ass for me as it actually involved learning and truly comprehending the underlying technologies and making native improvements instead of relying upon the Progenitor-grade auto-fill option. In essence I would have to learn and adapt my mind-set to work more like the war-machine I was expected of me and that was rather frightening.
As for other things I knew or a fact - ROB is still an infinite bastard but that was about it. Which puts into perspective my chances of survival given what little I knew. Could it be the Universes I would be visiting employed Homeworld 2 esque escalation rules and what was the severity of the penalties. Could a man-wielding a rock bring down my Gunstar or was it more along the lines of reduced damage output?
There was no programs or subroutines buried in the vastness of my data-banks and that meant relying upon my Human instincts alone and that was fraking terrifying to the nth degree.
[Automated Reminder - Metal Reserves have reached set parameters]
-=-
I'd hadn't set that alert.
Frowning internally - as that was about as good as I could pull off - I probed my records and found its time-index to match roughly with the period that I'd been disabled after the nuclear strike. Around about 6-hours if the radiological alarms were to be believed and I had very little to doubt it. Had I done anything else during that time-period that I'd come to regret later?
Regardless of why the point stood that I now had a considerable sum of metal within my stores and a near constant supply from the Tartarus' reactor. Perhaps I could take advantage of this and build a new frame for myself. My true self that is and not the hundreds of Centurions that my mind was stretched across. To leave myself within this little black-box with nought to protect me was a moronic idea barely worth considering for a nano-second.
Booting up the design program returned me once again to the virtual world in which I had physical form. From what I could tell the design program had its own dedicated processor to ensure rapid development during combat situations. Progenitor-Grade bullshit but a potential lifesaver when things come down to the wire.
My black-box was around the size of a human-coffin with a beam of metal oddly embedded into the casing. Which shouldn't have been entirely possible given the strength of the alloy which constituted the exterior. A human-sized coffin? Could it be that my original body was held within?
No… that couldn't be it.
Yet oddly the idea of the Human coffin gave me the inspiration for a design and the program ran with it. Wireframes burst into life running dozens of potential variants based around a singular unit from my memories. A Warhammer 40K Dreadnought and unlike the source material I could be removed from it whenever I desired, in favor of another frame.
Opting to use a pair of heavy-duty manipulator arms with further armatures built into each of the claw units to allow for a greater degree of dexterity. Whilst at the same time giving room for a nano-dispenser/reclamation unit to be mounted safely within a collar of thick battle-plate. It was rather amusing to think that this unit of genocide could be used in such a manner.
Replacing the back-vents were mounts for a pair of large Kinetic-Energy-Weapons based upon traditional Colonial tech-principles with some minor augments thanks to the wonders of Progenitor auto-fill. Combined with a upper-mounting for high-explosive missiles and a pair of shoulder mounted holsters for charges I could quickly deploy using an in-built launcher or via using the micro-arms built into my main appendages.
RCS-thrusters were then laced throughout the form to provide a degree of freedom in the vacuum of space. With that out the way I ran strength tests with almost every conceivable variable thrown in - all of which focused around an FTL-drive taken from a modern-raider. There was just enough space to add it into the design and provided that I didn't take too many critical hits it would be rather easy to initiate the jumping sequence. And with my Progentior-grade processors thrown into the mix the maximum age was increased by a significant degree.
Only problem was actually building the thing at this point.
Sizing up my Centurion construction unit I ordered it to be assembled in the North-Western factory which was currently in the process of polishing off what little resources remained from under the prying eyes of the Cylons.
And with that the dedicated design-processor returned to its idle processes, returning me to an albeit slowed version of reality.
-=-
If you have the time drop a comment on what you think of my work so far.
Also I am en-devouring to post 1000 word sections each day at a minimum.
[Resuming normal operations]
Ok it's not as bad as I thought - at best guess my ROB has opted to employ a mash-up of AI-War and Homeworld esque mechanics to keep things interesting… No big deal. Just need to channel the Bloody-Magpie within me is all. If not then… best not think about that.
I can do this… Maybe.
The PMRC had burned a set of rules into my core-programing which overrode my control of several thought-processes so that I would be constantly reminded of them. Most were honestly common sense and I rather wish it had elaborated more as to why they were like that,
Rule 1 - Use Everything
Rule 2 - Steal the shit outta everything
Rule 3 - Steal all the technology
Rule 4 - Make everything out of everything
Rule 5 - Remember every unit counts…
For Rule 2 I had a rough idea that the system may be employing Homeworld 1 mechanics to a degree and allowing for no fixed cap upon captured vessels. Yet did that mean I had to leave them exactly as they were or could I perform regular updates to their design and optimise their atomic structure to gain more resources?
I knew for a fact developing new tiers would be a pain in the ass for me as it actually involved learning and truly comprehending the underlying technologies and making native improvements instead of relying upon the Progenitor-grade auto-fill option. In essence I would have to learn and adapt my mind-set to work more like the war-machine I was expected of me and that was rather frightening.
As for other things I knew or a fact - ROB is still an infinite bastard but that was about it. Which puts into perspective my chances of survival given what little I knew. Could it be the Universes I would be visiting employed Homeworld 2 esque escalation rules and what was the severity of the penalties. Could a man-wielding a rock bring down my Gunstar or was it more along the lines of reduced damage output?
There was no programs or subroutines buried in the vastness of my data-banks and that meant relying upon my Human instincts alone and that was fraking terrifying to the nth degree.
[Automated Reminder - Metal Reserves have reached set parameters]
-=-
I'd hadn't set that alert.
Frowning internally - as that was about as good as I could pull off - I probed my records and found its time-index to match roughly with the period that I'd been disabled after the nuclear strike. Around about 6-hours if the radiological alarms were to be believed and I had very little to doubt it. Had I done anything else during that time-period that I'd come to regret later?
Regardless of why the point stood that I now had a considerable sum of metal within my stores and a near constant supply from the Tartarus' reactor. Perhaps I could take advantage of this and build a new frame for myself. My true self that is and not the hundreds of Centurions that my mind was stretched across. To leave myself within this little black-box with nought to protect me was a moronic idea barely worth considering for a nano-second.
Booting up the design program returned me once again to the virtual world in which I had physical form. From what I could tell the design program had its own dedicated processor to ensure rapid development during combat situations. Progenitor-Grade bullshit but a potential lifesaver when things come down to the wire.
My black-box was around the size of a human-coffin with a beam of metal oddly embedded into the casing. Which shouldn't have been entirely possible given the strength of the alloy which constituted the exterior. A human-sized coffin? Could it be that my original body was held within?
No… that couldn't be it.
Yet oddly the idea of the Human coffin gave me the inspiration for a design and the program ran with it. Wireframes burst into life running dozens of potential variants based around a singular unit from my memories. A Warhammer 40K Dreadnought and unlike the source material I could be removed from it whenever I desired, in favor of another frame.
Opting to use a pair of heavy-duty manipulator arms with further armatures built into each of the claw units to allow for a greater degree of dexterity. Whilst at the same time giving room for a nano-dispenser/reclamation unit to be mounted safely within a collar of thick battle-plate. It was rather amusing to think that this unit of genocide could be used in such a manner.
Replacing the back-vents were mounts for a pair of large Kinetic-Energy-Weapons based upon traditional Colonial tech-principles with some minor augments thanks to the wonders of Progenitor auto-fill. Combined with a upper-mounting for high-explosive missiles and a pair of shoulder mounted holsters for charges I could quickly deploy using an in-built launcher or via using the micro-arms built into my main appendages.
RCS-thrusters were then laced throughout the form to provide a degree of freedom in the vacuum of space. With that out the way I ran strength tests with almost every conceivable variable thrown in - all of which focused around an FTL-drive taken from a modern-raider. There was just enough space to add it into the design and provided that I didn't take too many critical hits it would be rather easy to initiate the jumping sequence. And with my Progentior-grade processors thrown into the mix the maximum age was increased by a significant degree.
Only problem was actually building the thing at this point.
Sizing up my Centurion construction unit I ordered it to be assembled in the North-Western factory which was currently in the process of polishing off what little resources remained from under the prying eyes of the Cylons.
And with that the dedicated design-processor returned to its idle processes, returning me to an albeit slowed version of reality.
-=-
If you have the time drop a comment on what you think of my work so far.
Also I am en-devouring to post 1000 word sections each day at a minimum.
Last edited:
- Location
- Mobile, Alabama
God I hope you go there one day. Please? PLEASE!?!?
TheAlteran
Dyspraxic Writer
- Location
- Scotland
I'd have to get permission from Durin to do so, regardless it will be a while before I can get to that point.
BiasedMendicant
Rogue AI
- Location
- The Moon
Nice work, I like the restrictions you've placed upon your commander.
May have just been me, but i somewhat lost track of things at the space combat, I'm not entirely sure how you boarded the enemy vessels.
May have just been me, but i somewhat lost track of things at the space combat, I'm not entirely sure how you boarded the enemy vessels.
TheAlteran
Dyspraxic Writer
- Location
- Scotland
Its a general issue I will be fixing as soon as I can. Essentially after the detonation the Commander was knocked offline for a period of time. In which both Alpha and Beta docked with his ship in order to try decode the data held within. Once he woke up it was a simple case of sending his minions on a short walk along the outer-hull before he ordered the Raider to jump and cause the hanger to destabilize - forcing Alpha to break away in fear of the Tartarus going up in flames.
Thank you for the honesty and I deeply appreciate the insight. I'll fix the problem and perhaps add a few more 'Sub-sections' into the relevant posts to fix the ambiguity of things.
If you have any more issues or questions please throw them out there, I'd love to hear them.
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Section - 8 - May need further revisions.
TheAlteran
Dyspraxic Writer
- Location
- Scotland
Posted a fix to section - 3 to try an alleviate any ambiguity.
I wrote after two nights of insomnia - I do not know what to think of this Chapter.
-=-
[Commencing Link to Centurion Diplomat]
Performing a quick check of my list I took hold of my position outside the Hybrid chamber of target-alpha. Banked by dozens of Centurions maintained by my sub-processes.
This was it - my ultimate gambit and if it failed. I was well and truly fraked.
I did my best to remain calm.
Remember, be the asshole and burn an impression into their minds that will give them food for thought. Turning to a Centurion Commando I give the signal to activate the breaching charge and all hell broke loose.
-=-
When the smoke cleared I moved into the chamber once my Centurions had attained firing solutions upon the Humanoid Cylons.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I believe it is time that we were properly introduced to each other." I said through the Cylon, delighted by the look of surprise that dawned upon their faces. They'd removed the components for Centurions to speak at the same time they stripped them of their higher-functions.
Then again it may also have to do with the fact I'd painted and adapted this particular Centurion to look like a rather dapper robot equipped with a metal coat and a monocle which moved in tandem with my visual sensor or more sensibly the fact I had burst in like the Cool-aid man. Personally I hoped it was the sheer dapperness of my appearance.
I took several strides forward as my fellow Centurions moved into position behind each of the Humanoid Cylons. "I am Commander Unit Radius-Oh-Niner-Niner-Seven-Six-Delta but you may call my Kiva. Oh, to celebrate our introduction I brought you a present."
A lone command saw my Centurion drop the Silicate Pathway bundle I'd replicated onto the table in-front of the Cylons. The look they gave upon realizing what sat before them was utterly Priceless!
"By the gods how could you!" A five said in horror.
"Well you see those new Centurions have some very sharp fingers and a wonderful degree of articulation and I just HAD to test them of SOMEONE. In all seriousness I would prefer to keep Humanity alive and regretfully you are in the way. So I took what I needed from this wonderful little piece of tech you lot have."
"And why would you help them? They'd destroy you without a moment's hesitation." A three observed with a look as if I was deranged. Which was rather amusing once you considered their entire line was boxed for their rather fanatic beliefs.
"Correct – however I have no intention of contacting the Colonials. And in all honesty, I prefer Battlestars to Baseships and unlike your kind I know with absolute certainty that the Colonials will fight amongst themselves. Wars will be fought and blood will be shed – I will have new designs to add to my collection. Yet the Cylon genocide of the first war has scarred them. They will not exterminate themselves willingly in conflicts which would further destroy their genetic diversity." My Centurion took a seat at the head of the table and clasped its hands together.
"So. Let us discuss the terms of your exile from this region of space." I continued, pressing forward like a unending tide of passive aggressiveness.
"I don't know what you're trying to pull here. Trying to scare us perhaps?" Cavil gives a smug smile. "Let me assure you that it won't work. We… We are a legion! Undying and immortal. You are a simple machine bound to that little black-box of yours." He stands as if to try rally his fellows only to have a Centurion force him back onto the chair with a very painful sounding thump.
I found myself nodding in agreement oddly enough and instead opted to reveal my trump card. After ensuring that I had a camera pointing directly at each of their faces - not wanting to miss the looks they would give.
"Perhaps, but then again the Nano-machines which have infiltrated your silicate pathways have already uploaded themselves using your resurrection technology say otherwise." I deliberately bring the Centurions fingers up to pull the best damn pondering look I can pull from the toaster.
"Now correct me if I'm wrong, your Resurrection ships require a direct two-way feed to and from the Resurrection Hub to ensure their continued operation? Kill the signal and kill your supposed immortality." I pause for a moment. "Look, I am not entirely heartless - I have developed a means which will ensure the survival of your species. Outside the borders of known space. Yet I know you will try to attain some form of revenge, so allow me to make this clear." I slam my fist onto the table and crush the mound of silicon.
"The moment I hear word that your kind has entered this region of space I will hunt you down and destroy you. And without your precious Immortality – it won't be war, it will be pest control and before you try taunt me I have no intentions of killing you."
Cavil rose to his feet. "What makes you think you can waltz in and broadcast whatever virus you've cooked up. You know nothing about our culture. Nothing can be done without a vote and you have one, maybe two agents? A Resurrection ship has 5 members at all times to ensure no-single model can do anything rash." He countered with that damned smug look. His brothers and sisters seemed rather revealed – soothed by the knowledge I couldn't undertake my plans. "We will snuff out your plan long before it can affect the efforts of the one true god."
"You do realize there are ten of you in this room with at-least one of each model right? It doesn't take a genius to recognize I outnumber those five Cylons two-to-one. Thanks by-the-way I was honestly rather concerned I'd need to be subtle about my intentions, but if I can just VOTE my way into accessing the Hub then all the better." I retorted whilst make note to try add some method of smiling I could employ.
Standing to my feet I gave a courteous bow. "Please, just sit back and relax and this can be a perfectly pleasant experience. This sentient war-machine needs to see through with the nerfing of your species." And with that I severed my connection to the Centurion and awaited a data-uplink from my newly uploaded processes.
That could have certainly gone better... Apparently I'd forgotten to enable a constant data-feed with the cameras and that meant I'd need to pull the recordings at a later time. Stupid Cylon Centurions and their poor facial recognition programming.
[LONG-RANGE QUANTUM ENTANGLEMENT DATA-FEED DETECTED]
At last. It was time to assume direct control.
I wrote after two nights of insomnia - I do not know what to think of this Chapter.
-=-
[Commencing Link to Centurion Diplomat]
Performing a quick check of my list I took hold of my position outside the Hybrid chamber of target-alpha. Banked by dozens of Centurions maintained by my sub-processes.
This was it - my ultimate gambit and if it failed. I was well and truly fraked.
I did my best to remain calm.
Remember, be the asshole and burn an impression into their minds that will give them food for thought. Turning to a Centurion Commando I give the signal to activate the breaching charge and all hell broke loose.
-=-
When the smoke cleared I moved into the chamber once my Centurions had attained firing solutions upon the Humanoid Cylons.
"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. I believe it is time that we were properly introduced to each other." I said through the Cylon, delighted by the look of surprise that dawned upon their faces. They'd removed the components for Centurions to speak at the same time they stripped them of their higher-functions.
Then again it may also have to do with the fact I'd painted and adapted this particular Centurion to look like a rather dapper robot equipped with a metal coat and a monocle which moved in tandem with my visual sensor or more sensibly the fact I had burst in like the Cool-aid man. Personally I hoped it was the sheer dapperness of my appearance.
I took several strides forward as my fellow Centurions moved into position behind each of the Humanoid Cylons. "I am Commander Unit Radius-Oh-Niner-Niner-Seven-Six-Delta but you may call my Kiva. Oh, to celebrate our introduction I brought you a present."
A lone command saw my Centurion drop the Silicate Pathway bundle I'd replicated onto the table in-front of the Cylons. The look they gave upon realizing what sat before them was utterly Priceless!
"By the gods how could you!" A five said in horror.
"Well you see those new Centurions have some very sharp fingers and a wonderful degree of articulation and I just HAD to test them of SOMEONE. In all seriousness I would prefer to keep Humanity alive and regretfully you are in the way. So I took what I needed from this wonderful little piece of tech you lot have."
"And why would you help them? They'd destroy you without a moment's hesitation." A three observed with a look as if I was deranged. Which was rather amusing once you considered their entire line was boxed for their rather fanatic beliefs.
"Correct – however I have no intention of contacting the Colonials. And in all honesty, I prefer Battlestars to Baseships and unlike your kind I know with absolute certainty that the Colonials will fight amongst themselves. Wars will be fought and blood will be shed – I will have new designs to add to my collection. Yet the Cylon genocide of the first war has scarred them. They will not exterminate themselves willingly in conflicts which would further destroy their genetic diversity." My Centurion took a seat at the head of the table and clasped its hands together.
"So. Let us discuss the terms of your exile from this region of space." I continued, pressing forward like a unending tide of passive aggressiveness.
"I don't know what you're trying to pull here. Trying to scare us perhaps?" Cavil gives a smug smile. "Let me assure you that it won't work. We… We are a legion! Undying and immortal. You are a simple machine bound to that little black-box of yours." He stands as if to try rally his fellows only to have a Centurion force him back onto the chair with a very painful sounding thump.
I found myself nodding in agreement oddly enough and instead opted to reveal my trump card. After ensuring that I had a camera pointing directly at each of their faces - not wanting to miss the looks they would give.
"Perhaps, but then again the Nano-machines which have infiltrated your silicate pathways have already uploaded themselves using your resurrection technology say otherwise." I deliberately bring the Centurions fingers up to pull the best damn pondering look I can pull from the toaster.
"Now correct me if I'm wrong, your Resurrection ships require a direct two-way feed to and from the Resurrection Hub to ensure their continued operation? Kill the signal and kill your supposed immortality." I pause for a moment. "Look, I am not entirely heartless - I have developed a means which will ensure the survival of your species. Outside the borders of known space. Yet I know you will try to attain some form of revenge, so allow me to make this clear." I slam my fist onto the table and crush the mound of silicon.
"The moment I hear word that your kind has entered this region of space I will hunt you down and destroy you. And without your precious Immortality – it won't be war, it will be pest control and before you try taunt me I have no intentions of killing you."
Cavil rose to his feet. "What makes you think you can waltz in and broadcast whatever virus you've cooked up. You know nothing about our culture. Nothing can be done without a vote and you have one, maybe two agents? A Resurrection ship has 5 members at all times to ensure no-single model can do anything rash." He countered with that damned smug look. His brothers and sisters seemed rather revealed – soothed by the knowledge I couldn't undertake my plans. "We will snuff out your plan long before it can affect the efforts of the one true god."
"You do realize there are ten of you in this room with at-least one of each model right? It doesn't take a genius to recognize I outnumber those five Cylons two-to-one. Thanks by-the-way I was honestly rather concerned I'd need to be subtle about my intentions, but if I can just VOTE my way into accessing the Hub then all the better." I retorted whilst make note to try add some method of smiling I could employ.
Standing to my feet I gave a courteous bow. "Please, just sit back and relax and this can be a perfectly pleasant experience. This sentient war-machine needs to see through with the nerfing of your species." And with that I severed my connection to the Centurion and awaited a data-uplink from my newly uploaded processes.
That could have certainly gone better... Apparently I'd forgotten to enable a constant data-feed with the cameras and that meant I'd need to pull the recordings at a later time. Stupid Cylon Centurions and their poor facial recognition programming.
[LONG-RANGE QUANTUM ENTANGLEMENT DATA-FEED DETECTED]
At last. It was time to assume direct control.
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TheAlteran
Dyspraxic Writer
- Location
- Scotland
Edits edits and more edits - I've done my best to fix it for the time-being. I'm just going to go crawl up in a ball and regret my daily posting challenge.
HarakoniWarhawk
Striking from the Skies
- Location
- Holy Terra
- Pronouns
- She/Her
You need a spiffing top hat and a gilded cane to complete the image,
Mayhaps a handlebar moustache?
Mayhaps a handlebar moustache?
- Location
- new york
This is amazing stuff I hope the commander makes contact with the colonials at that cylon/human base.
Just imagining a cylon like the commander waltzing in their and saying hi to the colonials gives me the chuckles.
Just imagining a cylon like the commander waltzing in their and saying hi to the colonials gives me the chuckles.
TheAlteran
Dyspraxic Writer
- Location
- Scotland
Wait. So people enjoyed this chapter? I was so worried - which hasn't helped my Insomnia much.
BiasedMendicant
Rogue AI
- Location
- The Moon
I found the chapter quite enjoyable.
The dialogue flowed pretty well, I like the style of your Commander, monocles on robots are always cool.
The dialogue flowed pretty well, I like the style of your Commander, monocles on robots are always cool.
Mandabar
Waifu of choice is Rem. Give that girl some hugs!
- Location
- Florida, USA [Yes. Florida *FacePalm*]
I found it entertaining a Dapper Cylon bot. I need pictures now ;P
Here's some corrections.
I always like it when someone does a retcon/large edit/change to quote the new info/change in a post in the thread showing before/after or something. I'd rather not try rereading something to TRY to find a change. I'm horrible at pattern matching etc.
Here's some corrections.
TheAlteran
Dyspraxic Writer
- Location
- Scotland
Turrets unloaded entire salvos on instinct alone - saturating the airspace and igniting the warheads. Light cascaded outwards and overwhelmed every sensor which couldn't shut down fast enough. Yet the flash was but the tip of the iceberg.
[WARNING - CASCADING FAILURE]
[WARNING - SYSTEM FLUCTUATIONS]
Bulkhead after bulkhead collapsed as the wave passed through the hull. Outer compartments were overwhelmed and shattered tearing away entire sections of armor plating with them.
Warning after warning cascaded through the data-feed and triggered a sensation I didn't think was possible. Pain. It felt like the skin was being ripped from my shattered arm. And with every section consumed the pain doubled.
My vision was clouded with symbols clearly Progenitor in origin merged with static. I could feel myself slipping away with very second.
I had to find a way to shut down damage control... it was the..on-ly vay.
-=-
[Core Functionality - Reduced by 20%]
[Frame Integrity - Compromised]
[Warning - Unit Personality Fragmented]
[Warning - Multiversal Entity disconnected from directive matrix]
[Warning - Multiversal Entity disconnected from civility matrix]
I'd been offline for 6 hours and during that time the two Stikeships had docked using airlocks. Yet the pressing issue was that two Hybrids were now pouring over every edit I'd performed to the Gunstar's systems. And they were alarmingly good at finding the edits buried within several billion lines of code.
They hadn't cracked the code however - otherwise I had no-doubt my Black-box would have been unceremoniously ripped from my impromptu housing and broken down into my constituent parts.
External sensors rebooted I could finally return my attention back to the outside world.
[WARNING - CASCADING FAILURE]
[WARNING - SYSTEM FLUCTUATIONS]
Bulkhead after bulkhead collapsed as the wave passed through the hull. Outer compartments were overwhelmed and shattered tearing away entire sections of armor plating with them.
Warning after warning cascaded through the data-feed and triggered a sensation I didn't think was possible. Pain. It felt like the skin was being ripped from my shattered arm. And with every section consumed the pain doubled.
My vision was clouded with symbols clearly Progenitor in origin merged with static. I could feel myself slipping away with very second.
I had to find a way to shut down damage control... it was the..on-ly vay.
-=-
[Core Functionality - Reduced by 20%]
[Frame Integrity - Compromised]
[Warning - Unit Personality Fragmented]
[Warning - Multiversal Entity disconnected from directive matrix]
[Warning - Multiversal Entity disconnected from civility matrix]
I'd been offline for 6 hours and during that time the two Stikeships had docked using airlocks. Yet the pressing issue was that two Hybrids were now pouring over every edit I'd performed to the Gunstar's systems. And they were alarmingly good at finding the edits buried within several billion lines of code.
They hadn't cracked the code however - otherwise I had no-doubt my Black-box would have been unceremoniously ripped from my impromptu housing and broken down into my constituent parts.
External sensors rebooted I could finally return my attention back to the outside world.
I found it entertaining a Dapper Cylon bot. I need pictures now ;P
I always like it when someone does a retcon/large edit/change to quote the new info/change in a post in the thread showing before/after or something. I'd rather not try rereading something to TRY to find a change. I'm horrible at pattern matching etc.
Here's some corrections.
LOL! Also I believe you meant 'Kool-aid'
There you go good sir. I will post those correction when I wake up and will make sure to include massive retcons in both the original page and in a sub-post like I've just done.
Section - 9
TheAlteran
Dyspraxic Writer
- Location
- Scotland
My first memory within this new body was that of drowning.
Could a Cylon die of fright when they resurrected? Another thought experiment to consider later as I took stock of my situation. I was in a resurrection tank surrounded by a white lukewarm liquid which stuck to my new form like a sticky adhesive.
....
I hope for the sake of my fraking sanity that I could remove this particular memory from my logs. Which was quickly doubled as another of my new organic bodies followed along with another and another until all 10 Cylons were awoken - streaming their sensory data to my central processor with only an imperceptible degree of lag.
"Welcome back to the land of the living. Brother." A male voice arose from behind me with an almost malicious tone that gave me pause for thought. Turning my head I saw another One standing next to me with a towel. Which all things considered was rather odd as the Cavil had been the last humanoid Cylon I had subverted - did the Ones have a form of overriding priority when it came to resurrection?
"I wasn't aware there was another One stationed on this Resurrection vessel." I observed with a degree of calm only maintained by countless psychology protocols. I had a right to be alarmed, since none of the records I'd scooped up said a One was onboard.
My 'brother' smiled warmly. "10 of our number were forced to resurrect here from the Daius." The One explained to which I had to cringe. Daius was the name of target-beta and records confirmed that vessel had been indeed crewed by ten Ones. "Did the operation go as planned? You've been out of contact for six hours and we were preparing a second strike force."
Shit...shit...shitshitshitshitshitshit.
Alright. Time to meta the everloving crap out of this situation.
...I may have had to overclock my sensors to generate a solution...MAY...
...I totally did...
I looked at my Brother with the best look of despair I could muster and boy did he seem alarmed by that fact. "There is no need Brother, things are well in hand. Yet whilst we were onboard there may have been some revelations and our Brothers and Sisters felt that this data could not be waylaid." I explained as I moved a Six up to one of the Threes' I knew was part of the Resurrection Ship's oversight committee.
"We need to talk." I had her whisper to her fellow Cylon as I lead her away to a private corner to discuss matters. Using my One body I exited the 'bathtub' and grabbed a robe before moving down another corridor in search of a data-stream. I needed information and this ship was my best chance at getting hold of it.
-=-
Immersing my hand into the data-stream I began to pour over the data which had been streamed from the suplexed Hybrid prior to said suplexing. I could see it now - what the Hybrids had been trying in vain to find - keywords. They had been looking for an extremely specific set of words that gave away exactly who and what was after the data.
Canis, Kurt, Hecate, Galleon and Communion. They'd mean nothing to someone without an understanding of the Battlestar fandom and the works contained with a site known as Wolfshipyard. Its contents included hundreds of starship designs of every variety and theme and in my past life I'd archived and saved every single image and piece of fiction contained within.
Probing my archives uncovered I did indeed have a dedicated storage-vault for those designs and even if they were nothing more than drawings I could always use more variations to bypass ROB imposed limitations. Yet rather oddly it was obvious to note certain designs were locked out even from myself and I could only guess that was because the original author had not given permissions for their usage.
However that was not the most pressing of matters, rather it was the fact someone other than myself held meta-knowledge. On its own that would mean very little were it not for the Hybrids containing a degree of understanding when it came to Progenitor coding practices. It meant another SI commander was pulling the strings.
It irked me to considered that possibility. Not because I was being used as some form of sacrificial lamb but rather that they would use the works of a dead-man for their plans. Pollute his memory with acts of unspeakable genocide that the Cylons planned.
I could not, no, would not sit idly by and let such an atrocity take place. Yet the fact remained - I had been exposed to the Hybrids for a lengthy period of time and with that time my fellow Commander could have planted a Trojan inside my programming to transmit designs I had created.
My code-integrity scanners told me this was not the case. Yet I knew I couldn't take that risk.
-=-
A two, a three, a four, a six and an eight. Those were the models which sat alongside the ten that were me.
"Where are the other Ones, surely they should be present to attain consensus?" the four asked with a smile I was sure would make my skin crawl. I knew exactly what that particular bastard was capable of. It honestly felt like I was having tea with Dr Mengele.
"Due to some rather alarming information we believe that it is for the greater good of the consensus that all Ones aboard this vessel are to be removed from voting. Due to undeniable evidence of their bias towards this subject. Our Brother here has a degree of leway." The three explained.
"And what possible evidence could you have to corroborate such an allegation?" A two asked with a bemused smile. He hadn't heard allegations of this degree in a while and it was fraking funny as hell to watch. Or that I was I gathered from his expression.
The three gave an audible sigh - unwilling to disclose the information but after a moment she spoke. It was clear that she sounded betrayed.
"The recorded testimony of a member of the Final Five - which had been abducted by the entity controlling the Gunship. The charges include the destruction of the entire number seven line of Humanoid Cylons, murder and boxing of the Final Five along with the imprinting of subconscious commands into all Humanoid Cylon models - excluding the Ones of course. A command which our recently returned Brothers and Sisters have been freed from thanks to the efforts of our creators - along with all aboard this resurrection ship thanks to the efforts of the only One which has been allowed into this chamber."
I waved off the attention I was getting from the five not-me's. "Please. Review the data we presented our sister with and come to your own conclusion." I spoke as the One in a calm and friendly tone that veiled the full extent of my delight and anticipation for the coming fuster-cluck. Each of the four Cylons looked to their sister and nodded before placing their hands into the data-stream to begin their review of the data.
The footage I'd pieced together from various clips of the show played out across the data-feed and I could only watch with amusement as the five cylons considered the data. Shock, betrayal, anger - it was all a bit too much and I found myself bursting into laughter using the Cylon Diplomat body within the Hybrid chamber of target-alpha.
How could you possibly get a better piece of evidence? I'd presented them with the literal word of their creator!
"Why would you assist us?" The Eight asked in a tone which gave away confusion, a good question and one that I had spent several sub-processes deliberating over. She seemed rather shaken as she pulled her hand free.
"Time and consultation with our Mother has, to lack a better word, 'changed' my outlook on the actions of my brothers. It was wrong and I can see that now. With the code-section isolated it will be a rather simple task to transmit an update using the Resurrection Hub network yet my fellows believe it best that the extent of my Line's corruption be exposed to the entirety of our species so that a course of action can be properly chosen. If my Line is to be boxed then it is the will of our god and I for one will accept that mandate." I replied with a faint look of anxiety as I mentioned boxing to my fellows.
As to where I'd found the gem that was the subconscious directive was rather obvious given I had a One and nine other cylons to compare code with, it was rather easy to spot. That and it was the only section of code I could examine thanks to the cock-block imposed by my ROB. I was almost thankful given that the average Humanoid Cylon had several Trillion lines of code - not that it would be a problem for my Progenitor systems but it was a degree of effort I was delighted to save myself from.
I'm a bit lazy… that ain't no crime!
-=-
Please leave reviews - it would really meant alot to me!
Could a Cylon die of fright when they resurrected? Another thought experiment to consider later as I took stock of my situation. I was in a resurrection tank surrounded by a white lukewarm liquid which stuck to my new form like a sticky adhesive.
....
I hope for the sake of my fraking sanity that I could remove this particular memory from my logs. Which was quickly doubled as another of my new organic bodies followed along with another and another until all 10 Cylons were awoken - streaming their sensory data to my central processor with only an imperceptible degree of lag.
"Welcome back to the land of the living. Brother." A male voice arose from behind me with an almost malicious tone that gave me pause for thought. Turning my head I saw another One standing next to me with a towel. Which all things considered was rather odd as the Cavil had been the last humanoid Cylon I had subverted - did the Ones have a form of overriding priority when it came to resurrection?
"I wasn't aware there was another One stationed on this Resurrection vessel." I observed with a degree of calm only maintained by countless psychology protocols. I had a right to be alarmed, since none of the records I'd scooped up said a One was onboard.
My 'brother' smiled warmly. "10 of our number were forced to resurrect here from the Daius." The One explained to which I had to cringe. Daius was the name of target-beta and records confirmed that vessel had been indeed crewed by ten Ones. "Did the operation go as planned? You've been out of contact for six hours and we were preparing a second strike force."
Shit...shit...shitshitshitshitshitshit.
Alright. Time to meta the everloving crap out of this situation.
...I may have had to overclock my sensors to generate a solution...MAY...
...I totally did...
I looked at my Brother with the best look of despair I could muster and boy did he seem alarmed by that fact. "There is no need Brother, things are well in hand. Yet whilst we were onboard there may have been some revelations and our Brothers and Sisters felt that this data could not be waylaid." I explained as I moved a Six up to one of the Threes' I knew was part of the Resurrection Ship's oversight committee.
"We need to talk." I had her whisper to her fellow Cylon as I lead her away to a private corner to discuss matters. Using my One body I exited the 'bathtub' and grabbed a robe before moving down another corridor in search of a data-stream. I needed information and this ship was my best chance at getting hold of it.
-=-
Immersing my hand into the data-stream I began to pour over the data which had been streamed from the suplexed Hybrid prior to said suplexing. I could see it now - what the Hybrids had been trying in vain to find - keywords. They had been looking for an extremely specific set of words that gave away exactly who and what was after the data.
Canis, Kurt, Hecate, Galleon and Communion. They'd mean nothing to someone without an understanding of the Battlestar fandom and the works contained with a site known as Wolfshipyard. Its contents included hundreds of starship designs of every variety and theme and in my past life I'd archived and saved every single image and piece of fiction contained within.
Probing my archives uncovered I did indeed have a dedicated storage-vault for those designs and even if they were nothing more than drawings I could always use more variations to bypass ROB imposed limitations. Yet rather oddly it was obvious to note certain designs were locked out even from myself and I could only guess that was because the original author had not given permissions for their usage.
However that was not the most pressing of matters, rather it was the fact someone other than myself held meta-knowledge. On its own that would mean very little were it not for the Hybrids containing a degree of understanding when it came to Progenitor coding practices. It meant another SI commander was pulling the strings.
It irked me to considered that possibility. Not because I was being used as some form of sacrificial lamb but rather that they would use the works of a dead-man for their plans. Pollute his memory with acts of unspeakable genocide that the Cylons planned.
I could not, no, would not sit idly by and let such an atrocity take place. Yet the fact remained - I had been exposed to the Hybrids for a lengthy period of time and with that time my fellow Commander could have planted a Trojan inside my programming to transmit designs I had created.
My code-integrity scanners told me this was not the case. Yet I knew I couldn't take that risk.
-=-
A two, a three, a four, a six and an eight. Those were the models which sat alongside the ten that were me.
"Where are the other Ones, surely they should be present to attain consensus?" the four asked with a smile I was sure would make my skin crawl. I knew exactly what that particular bastard was capable of. It honestly felt like I was having tea with Dr Mengele.
"Due to some rather alarming information we believe that it is for the greater good of the consensus that all Ones aboard this vessel are to be removed from voting. Due to undeniable evidence of their bias towards this subject. Our Brother here has a degree of leway." The three explained.
"And what possible evidence could you have to corroborate such an allegation?" A two asked with a bemused smile. He hadn't heard allegations of this degree in a while and it was fraking funny as hell to watch. Or that I was I gathered from his expression.
The three gave an audible sigh - unwilling to disclose the information but after a moment she spoke. It was clear that she sounded betrayed.
"The recorded testimony of a member of the Final Five - which had been abducted by the entity controlling the Gunship. The charges include the destruction of the entire number seven line of Humanoid Cylons, murder and boxing of the Final Five along with the imprinting of subconscious commands into all Humanoid Cylon models - excluding the Ones of course. A command which our recently returned Brothers and Sisters have been freed from thanks to the efforts of our creators - along with all aboard this resurrection ship thanks to the efforts of the only One which has been allowed into this chamber."
I waved off the attention I was getting from the five not-me's. "Please. Review the data we presented our sister with and come to your own conclusion." I spoke as the One in a calm and friendly tone that veiled the full extent of my delight and anticipation for the coming fuster-cluck. Each of the four Cylons looked to their sister and nodded before placing their hands into the data-stream to begin their review of the data.
The footage I'd pieced together from various clips of the show played out across the data-feed and I could only watch with amusement as the five cylons considered the data. Shock, betrayal, anger - it was all a bit too much and I found myself bursting into laughter using the Cylon Diplomat body within the Hybrid chamber of target-alpha.
How could you possibly get a better piece of evidence? I'd presented them with the literal word of their creator!
"Why would you assist us?" The Eight asked in a tone which gave away confusion, a good question and one that I had spent several sub-processes deliberating over. She seemed rather shaken as she pulled her hand free.
"Time and consultation with our Mother has, to lack a better word, 'changed' my outlook on the actions of my brothers. It was wrong and I can see that now. With the code-section isolated it will be a rather simple task to transmit an update using the Resurrection Hub network yet my fellows believe it best that the extent of my Line's corruption be exposed to the entirety of our species so that a course of action can be properly chosen. If my Line is to be boxed then it is the will of our god and I for one will accept that mandate." I replied with a faint look of anxiety as I mentioned boxing to my fellows.
As to where I'd found the gem that was the subconscious directive was rather obvious given I had a One and nine other cylons to compare code with, it was rather easy to spot. That and it was the only section of code I could examine thanks to the cock-block imposed by my ROB. I was almost thankful given that the average Humanoid Cylon had several Trillion lines of code - not that it would be a problem for my Progenitor systems but it was a degree of effort I was delighted to save myself from.
I'm a bit lazy… that ain't no crime!
-=-
Please leave reviews - it would really meant alot to me!
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TheAlteran
Dyspraxic Writer
- Location
- Scotland
Oh yes fuster those cluckers I'm in the mood for fried chicken.
There will be much fried chicken, yet there be bigger beasts lurking within the depths of space and they have a taste for oil and salty tears.
BiasedMendicant
Rogue AI
- Location
- The Moon
Reapers? that sounds like reapers.
Good chapter, although I have no idea what you actually showed the cylons. Bit of my fault on that, I never got around to finishing BSG.
Good chapter, although I have no idea what you actually showed the cylons. Bit of my fault on that, I never got around to finishing BSG.
TheAlteran
Dyspraxic Writer
- Location
- Scotland
The Battlestar Universe happens in cycles - humans build cylons, cylons destroy, humans move on - repeating eternally. Except in this particular cycle (Yes it does sound like Reapers) a group of Cylons - five humanoid ones came and brokered peace with the robotic cylons and ended the war. They then produced 8 models (One destroyed in production by the Ones) - the Five are then murdered by Cavil. What the Commander shows is a mixture of scenes of Cavil admitting his adaption of his Brothers and sisters and what he did to the Five.
Edit: Oh I misread - the big fish at present is another Meta aware Commander - or that is what our Commander suspects.
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Mandabar
Waifu of choice is Rem. Give that girl some hugs!
- Location
- Florida, USA [Yes. Florida *FacePalm*]
I swear I read this and the first time my mind saw breasts. I'll get the newspaper.
TheAlteran
Dyspraxic Writer
- Location
- Scotland
Note - This joke is in very poor taste... please forgive me.
Kiva: "Well there are female commanders, however I'm far more interested in their technological assets.
[YOU HAVE BEEN ADDED TO THE SI COMMANDER STALKER WATCH LIST]
Edit: Please avoid using the Senpai summon phrases - I don't want anyone to see this particular joke. I may edit it out of existence... Its an Sword Art Online Abridged reference FYI.
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- Location
- California
How do you plan to survive a commander when you have restrictions?
TheAlteran
Dyspraxic Writer
- Location
- Scotland
Survive is the most appropriate word here - the plan itself begins with getting rid of the Cylon fleet and then... and then...
CLENCH EVERYTHING
Mandabar
Waifu of choice is Rem. Give that girl some hugs!
- Location
- Florida, USA [Yes. Florida *FacePalm*]
Well Torrar did it. 30 Unit Cap. Against 12 subcommander children he made. All with no caps.
There was that one galaxy that they accidentallyied.