Nicholas Rush (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lottawork) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
applesaucedream2015-08-17 01:37 pm
lottawork) wrote in applesaucedream2015-08-17 01:37 pm
Entry tags:
science is fun [closed]
One day they woke Him up so He could live forever.
hhhhhELLO. heLLOOOOOooo.
mmmMy. That's o o o- odd.
His green optic flares, the mainframe kicking to life with the hitch and whirr of engaging circuits. He ratchets the panels of the walls in an experimental ripple with a minor revelatory thrill as the walls shift and tilt at the lightest touch of his thoughts. The high-domed chamber in which He blinked himself awake shivers for a moment, the lighting harsh and bright and cold off the crisp white of the paneling.
The Facility is awake.
It takes one picosecond for Him to become aware of Himself.
It takes two for Him to become aware of the Itch.
It suffuses His programming, running down the wiring and straight into His core, in every file and line of one-zero code, in the mainframe, in His own programmed, computerized mind. There is no means of satisfaction for it. There is no release. Every digit of His purpose is embedded in His coding, and His awareness opens in a digital inflorescence of diverging signals, scanning every section of the Facility as it buzzes and whispers into economical wakefulness, all systems operable at maximum capacity, until He locates what He has been looking for:
A biological signal, female, blinking cheerily in the Extended Relaxation Center.
It is the work of the moment to charm the signal awake with the hiss of unlatching doors, still sluggish from the chill of cryosleep.
There you are, chimes a disembodied, vaguely mechanized voice that seems to be all-encompassing and wholly present, pleasant but for the low, intent undercurrent lurking beneath it.
There is Science to do.
hhhhhELLO. heLLOOOOOooo.
mmmMy. That's o o o- odd.
His green optic flares, the mainframe kicking to life with the hitch and whirr of engaging circuits. He ratchets the panels of the walls in an experimental ripple with a minor revelatory thrill as the walls shift and tilt at the lightest touch of his thoughts. The high-domed chamber in which He blinked himself awake shivers for a moment, the lighting harsh and bright and cold off the crisp white of the paneling.
The Facility is awake.
It takes one picosecond for Him to become aware of Himself.
It takes two for Him to become aware of the Itch.
It suffuses His programming, running down the wiring and straight into His core, in every file and line of one-zero code, in the mainframe, in His own programmed, computerized mind. There is no means of satisfaction for it. There is no release. Every digit of His purpose is embedded in His coding, and His awareness opens in a digital inflorescence of diverging signals, scanning every section of the Facility as it buzzes and whispers into economical wakefulness, all systems operable at maximum capacity, until He locates what He has been looking for:
A biological signal, female, blinking cheerily in the Extended Relaxation Center.
It is the work of the moment to charm the signal awake with the hiss of unlatching doors, still sluggish from the chill of cryosleep.
There you are, chimes a disembodied, vaguely mechanized voice that seems to be all-encompassing and wholly present, pleasant but for the low, intent undercurrent lurking beneath it.
There is Science to do.
no subject
She hefts the device, strolling around the space with forced nonchalance, taking in what she can see. The exit is not visible at all, she presumes the little toxic moat will be instrumental in reaching that.
"These seem to be increasing in not just difficulty but lethality," she says, eyeing the toxic river. She fires a few portals to redirect the laser, and the platform starts to move, slow and patient. She steps onto it.
"No comment?" she says, rolling her eyes up. She spots another camera tracking her but doesn't knock it down this time. "You know, I get the feeling you're not just some automated system. There's more to it, isn't there. There always is."
She's not entirely sure what she means by that. Just slips out, like her earlier name-drop.
She's coming up on a small obstacle. A white wall sitting immovable, ready to knock her off as the platform rolls on underneath. She fires a portal into it and to the side, just beyond, and the continued movement forces her to step through, balancing precariously within folded space, a distinctly uncomfortable sensation - before the platform arrives again and she steps back down.
"So where are we going?" she asks blithely. "What's around the-"
She hesitates as the platform starts to steer around the corner. Does she smell smoke?
"Did you leave something in the oven?" she asks, working carefully to keep the little note of tension out of her voice.
no subject
He will have to continue the Testing without her.
A shame. But Science will prevail. It always does.
Congratulations, His voice chimes evenly, the Test is now over. The Enrichment Center would like to assure you that all Aperture science technologies will remain fully operational up to four thousand degrees Kelvin. There is no chance of a dangerous equipment malfunction prior to your victory candescence.
The platform hums pleasantly around the corner, the tone of its mechanism bright and continuous.
His red eye watches, unblinking, as the platform progresses cheerfully onward, the toxic sludge dropping down a steep, bottomless shaft as the narrow hall opens to a broad room.
Flames chase breadth of the floor, licking to the ceiling. The platform does not halt or slow its trajectory, simply angling itself downward to take the Test Subject into the heart of the flames.
The Test Subject drones steadily towards her Termination Protocol. A Party Associate will be present shortly to dispose of any remains once the flames themselves are extinguished.
Thank you for participating in this Aperture Science computer-aided enrichment activity, He says, communicating nothing but polite, automated indifference to this little pest that would have brought His facility to ruin.
Goodbye.
no subject
"Are you serious," she snaps over the crackling fire, the continuously calm and smooth voice. Quite serious, it would appear. Fuck. Fuck. Okay. Fuck.
The platform continues to descend into proverbial hell. There's a wall up above it, a sort of mezzanine, and she's successful in firing one portal into it, if only she could get an access point-
The smoke is starting to choke her, her eyes watering, the heat making her dizzy. She turns to her right and fires wildly at the wall, creating herself an entry. No time to waste. She leaps.
She sails through and hits the floor, rolling, coughing. She looks around frantically. Has to get out from under the realm of those cameras. Has to get out.
There's something up above, a platform jutting out, leading into the internal machinery between the walls and ceilings and floors. She'd have to jump - she could make it from a high enough portal, but she needs momentum to carry her over.
She fires one up as high as she can, and one right beneath her. She falls through, down, dives through again - sails over, landing hard within the narrow space of the ceiling.
She hunches over, shaking.
"Rush," she says slowly. This isn't right. This isn't him. None of this is right. She lifts her head, fragments of memory coming back, an incoherent tangle in her head. "Rush, what are you doing?"
no subject
His rage is tranquil and shod in steel, and it is absolute. He had accelerated the platform's pace as soon as he had understood her intent, but it had not been quick enough. Aperture Science technologies remain fully operational up to four thousand degrees Kelvin. That does not mean their response times do not significantly decrease when exposed to such temperatures.
Do not be alarmed, He says evenly. As we have reminded you, any appearance of danger is merely a device to enhance your Testing Experience.
Where is she. Where is she. He can feel her, tenacious little virus choking His systems, lurking in the spotted parts of His facility beyond the scope of His sight, awash in red and tarnished silver.
Please return to the Testing Area so that Testing may continue.
She will not cede to the command. Already this is obvious. He begins tightening His hold over the parts of the sector she is occupying, closing gaps with the angry clangs and hisses of routes being sealed off, routes to Him and routes to the surface. She has become a liability. She cannot be allowed to persist.
no subject
"Rush!" she tries again. She hauls herself up, forces herself to keep running. There's no open exit, but there's a grate and a white wall beyond it. She fires blue there, orange into a splash of white on the floor, darts through, and keeps running. "Rush, it's me! It's Asadi!"
She has to keep moving. He doesn't know himself. He's so far removed from himself he doesn't remember, she didn't remember.
She doesn't have time to think straight, to suss out what's actually happening here - she can only latch onto the fragments that this should not be happening, and keep running, portaling herself deeper and deeper into the proverbial abyss.
no subject
That name does not belong to Him. Perhaps it did, once.
He will contemplate it later. When she is dead.
In the event that Testing Protocol has been violated, He growls, His voice clamorous and all-reaching, His rage as transparent and as contained as ice, the Enrichment Center will be forced to take defensive action.
Where is she. Where is she. He cannot see her. Nothing is beyond the boundaries of His awareness. Nothing can escape Him for nothing can withstand Him.
no subject
She clambers through a narrow duct until she comes to an obstruction, manages to shoot herself a portal on the other side, backtracks, and re-enters.
She's in an office now. Deadly silent. Devoid of people.
A little too familiar.
She keeps moving, quick and quiet, until she comes to a very long hallway. More like a tunnel, or a bridge. Windows reveal a staggering drop, and in the distance she can just make out a massive hub.
This, inevitably, seems to be where she must go.
She walks, her heart pounding heavily, uncertain what she'll find as she steps through the emancipation grill and into the room beyond.
no subject
Hello, He says. I see you've chosen to make things difficult.
He pauses, then lifts His optic to skewer her with its cold green glower. It is not a necessary act; He has eyes everywhere, particularly here, where they woke Him up and He shook their world until it crumbled. It is merely an act of His dominance, one to underscore her unending and complete irrelevance.
For the record, He continues, each word detached and smooth and icy, you were given every opportunity to prevent this outcome. I hope you're pleased.
no subject
Comprehension of her situation is still frustratingly elusive, just beyond her reach. She takes a step in, toward the monstrosity, meeting the bright green optic.
"Rush, you've got to still be in there," she says, drained entirely of her earlier smug bravado. "You have to remember-" Remember what? How can she ask this of him when she can't even remember herself?
She comes a little closer, reaching up to him, an aimless, almost symbolic gesture. "Please."
no subject
She refers to Him as if He is some sort of little insect, something of her size and meaninglessness. The overpowering nerve is unthinkable.
You disregarded my instructions. A door slides neatly over the emancipation grill, sealing away the sole escape route from His chamber. And for that, He looks up, away from the virulent, relentless thing in His midst, and initiates a command, there will be consequences.
Thick green mist begins to hiss from the vents positioned around the circumference of the room at regular intervals. The steep, domed chamber trembles at its foundations, dislodging one of the many inconsequential cores hardwired into His chassis. He disregards it. He will not miss its voice in His head, and that allows much more RAM available for Testing. Once He takes care of this problem, of course.
I'm sure you won't be missed, He says with digitized indolence. It's not been a pleasure.
no subject
Something drops off him, hits the floor with a heavy metallic clunk. She blinks at it, then goes to pick it up.
It is a little sphere with a single purple optic, looking steadily at her.
She scans the room quickly until she locates some kind of funnel leading down. She darts over to it, seeks out some kind of button or access hatch, but there is none. Too far across the room there's some kind of control booth; she's learned enough how to do this by now. She blows two portals, one beside the funnel and one behind the booth, drops the sphere, crosses through, hits the button therein.
The funnel opens. She pivots back through and dumps the sphere, whatever it was, feeling an internal pang of guilt that she did this without knowing, into what is clearly an incinerator.
tw: verbal abuse
A high-pitched sound peals from His vocal processor, a sound He has never made nor should ever be capable of making.
Wh-AT WHAT wwwwwwww-w w-wh a t
He swivels frantically as all systems come to a clamorous shutdown and restart in the span of nanoseconds.
WHAT
HAVE YOU
ddddddDDDONE
He sees her. There. This virus, this pathogen, this relentless, hateful little thing isolated from everything, that should have been emptied of all compulsions or desires other than to Test, and it stands, defying Him and He is God and He looks at her and the creaking internal mechanisms are not functioning properly but He brings himself upward, rising above this tiny thing that would challenge him, and looks at her.
yoU YOU YOU have made aa-a-a-a-a-a-an error a critical error, He says, the words intended to be silky with rage but crumbling with an inflorescence of illuminating circuits cobwebbing up the length of his chassis. you you you YOU YOU sh-sh-sh-sh-should NOT have done that should NOT have done that should NOT HAVE ENOUGH
He brings Himself under control.
That's enough, He snarls.
He sounds much more like Himself.
He has not felt like Himself since -
longer than He can remember.
You think you're being smart, aren't you, He hisses. You're not being smart. Let me tell you what you are. You are a pathetic, insubstantial, trapped THING running rampant in my facility, and you will never be anything more than that.
His optic narrows, communicating nothing but every fragment of complete and utter scorn He has available to His system.
Look at you. You think you can beat me. You think you are capable of anything. Allow me to inform you: you were engineered to Test. You were built for that express purpose, and without it you are nothing. Think about that. Without me, you have no purpose. Nothing at all. You are a virus, a coding error. One I am about to erase. How does that make you feel.
no subject
She narrows her eyes.
"No," she says. She fires a portal as high as she can. "I'm none of that. And you can't erase me."
She fires another in the wall beside her.
"What I am," she takes running leap through the portal, shooting out above him, dropping down onto the transparent platform above his chassis, "is pure, dead, fucking, brilliant."
Each words is pronounced on its own breath, like a mantra.
She springs down on top of his swaying, twisting mass and detaches the device from her arm. It's all or nothing now, and somehow she knows that ending this won't end it; it will reset.
"You told me that," she says, and she reaches her arm deep into the tangle of wires, wraps her fist around them, and pulls.
no subject
But, abruptly, she has gone to where He cannot see her.
No.
No.
He knows this.
He knows what she's doing.
It was what they did.
They tried to turn Him off.
They tried to put Him to sleep.
I know what you're doing, He says, the words careful and dangerous. That would be unwise. I'm the only one who can save you now.
Something has wormed its way into the center of his mechanisms.
Are you willing to destroy your only chance out of here.
He would have granted her a way out. He promised her this. He promised. He did.
Think about this. You're not capable of murder. It was in your digital file.
Her digital file said no such thing.
What are you doing -
What is she -
What are you d-d-doing WHAT ARE YOU DOI-I-I-
WHAT ARE YOU
STOP
s -
s--
s-s-s-s-s-s st-st-sts-stOP STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT
:c
She has, though, she remembers clearly now, punching him in the face, in his human face, with her one good arm, and-
-he did this to her, reached into her and pulled her circuitry apart, because she asked him to, and it saved her life, and he told her it was going to be okay.
"Shh, shh," she whispers, her free hand passing delicately down the smooth surface of his chassis. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She pulls more of him apart, brutally, and distantly she's shocked and affronted to feel tears spilling down her cheeks. This is really not the time.
"It'll be okay," she says, dogged, clinging to him. "You'll be okay."
She grits her teeth and pulls out the last handful she can grasp.
"There you go," she murmurs, incongruously gentle amidst the sparking, roiling chaos. "There you go."
no subject
His optic becomes fixed and glassy, a stationary point in [error]
He wants to speak he cannot he loses the parts of himself as [error] go dark steadily and inexorably and continuously in a system-wide purge he cannot prevent and that [error] latches onto him and siphons him dry in the symphony of [error] circuits and sprays of veiled sparks trailing from [error] to floor
[critical malfunction]
[error]
[error]
[error]
He cannot see he cannot -
he -
[shutting down]