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
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]