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 Posted: Tue Jan 18, 2011 3:28 pm
Antoinette snorted and crossed her arms, one hip sticking out to the side. She refrained, however, from raising an eyebrow; that would be a bit too much, and even Antoinette knew that there were certain lines you had to wait to cross. "Anyone who is late obviously has better things to do--which is such a pity, considering that they could easily be dead due to their own inactivity." Sarcasm flowed throughout her words, and she flipped some hair out of her face.
Earliness was important--as such, early people were also important. You could not be one without the other unless you were so conceited that you believed the world to revolve around you or you were only working up the ladder. No excuses. You plan on traffic being heavy ahead of time, and you plan on forgetting something if it is in your nature. That way you can keep enough time to be important.
Everyone else will be left behind.
Too bad, so sad.
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Posted: Wed Jan 26, 2011 9:06 pm
Elliot woke up that morning to a tiny beep. She hadn't gotten home until midnight and after showering and ensuring her artificial wounds weren't too troublesome, it was nearly 02:00 and she hadn't been looking forward to an early morning of dealing with broken computers and rummaging for records and doing work without the once reliant computers. Of course, due to the circumstances, Elliot probably wasn't even expected to be at work at all today, but debris-ridden halls had never stopped her before. Her room was dark, relieved only by the softly glowing power button on her computer that indicated her monitor was on, though the computer was in standby mode. "Lights." Her voice was creaky from exhaustion and sleepiness, but that had never been a problem before. Still, the lights remained off. " Lights," Elliot said more firmly this time. Still no response. With a noise of disgust, Elliot scrambled out of bed and lumbered toward her desk. Well, the lights weren't active, but at least her computer was. After waking it up, she realized the tiny beep had been from the computer, alerting her that she had a new message. She looked at the clock. 04:10. Who the hell was messaging her at four in the morning? "Message: Report to White Sector, police headquarters, by 06:00. Meet Administrator Aubia Shultz in conference room. Bring ID. Be punctual." Well, at least it's important-sounding.Still, she found it rather difficult to rouse herself enough to get dressed quickly, but somehow she managed. By the time she had dressed in black slacks and a modest white blouse (it was hard to match a colorful wardrobe to her stubbornly pink hair) and eaten , it was nearly 05:00. If she had been messaged, most likely Armand had been too. Which meant she would have to pick him up or risk not seeing him for the next week or something. Ugh, this hadn't been included in the job description! * They finally arrived at the White Sector, Elliot looking slightly peeved and Armand... looking Armand-y. It had nearly been a battle, trying to get him out of bed and ready in time, but here they were, only a few minutes before the meeting time, ready to start. On their way, Elliot had somehow managed to rustle up her lab coat, looking a little worse for wear but generally acceptable, with her ID clipped to her breast pocket. Armand's was taped to his forehead after he refused to wear it like a normal person, and he had narrowly avoided having it stapled there instead. The duo made it inside the room just behind Antoinette. Elliot gave the other woman a slightly disbelieving look before steering clear of her and standing to the side of the room. Now they were here, Armand was not her responsibility, and she could now focus on the task at hand. The message hadn't been very detailed, but if she had to make an educated guess, Elliot was reasonably sure they were gathering here to discuss Warlock and take a crack at fixing it. Why else would Aubia have gathered herself and Armand, two Admin with AI experience, and Antoinette, who clearly was very good at... something. Others must be on their way, because Aubia would not have collected only three people to work on so large a problem. "Good morning," Elliot offered, giving the other two women a slight crook of her mouth which meant "smile" this early in the morning.
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Posted: Thu Jan 27, 2011 11:23 am
((I will leave it up to your imaginations what Armand was doing and what happened between Armand and Elliot. Sorry the post isn't really that descriptive.)) Armand Orion Parr did not really sleep much, but then again, he did not need to. It left a lot to wonder about how a human being could last so long without sleeping. Then again, to others, it seemed the man never slept anyway. He heard the beep of Aubia's message and actually had checked his phone. Oh, she wants us to punch all and to bring ID. ID just happened to be a name of some little robotic critter Armand had created for a purpose that no one needed to know. So, Armand just lay there on his bed, looking at the ceiling (although he was completely ready). He was pretty sure someone would come knocking at the door, and it would not be a black raven rasping "Nevermore." And of course, there were multiple pranks set up around and in the premises including ElliotX. So, Armand went back to "sleep" while he made motions with his fingers as if typing up something into a program and working.... * At the White Sector.... While Elliot was slightly peeved, Armand did not appear to be the least bit bothered, worried, or even stressed. The red haired researcher had a smile on his face as if nothing had happened and as if having a nametag stuck to his forehead was perfectly normal and business as usual. At one of the ideal places to clip his name tag, a pocket on his chest, there instead was a little robotic AI device, ID. It was making little chirping noises but quieted down soon. "Well, good evening, ladies! And how is the weather today?"
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Posted: Thu Jan 27, 2011 4:56 pm
Antoinette nodded in response to Elliot's greeting, slowly and acceptingly. Elliot apparently met her standards in some way--though that rumpled look was entirely unprofessional and would hopefully be fixed before Antoinette's minimal respect was lost. To Armand, however...
She pursed her lips. She had heard stories of him, of course, because it was hard not to know of Armand in this sort of job. She had retained the slightest hope that someone whose intelligence was apparently quite above the expectations would now live up to the stories that were relayed to her, but she was not surprised to see that he was just as insane as everyone had said. Antoinette rather pitied Elliot, who was apparently his keeper of sorts--she was quite certain that, without Elliot, Armand would not be here yet.
Nonetheless, she had an impression to make, and Antoinette would not let distaste for people who would soon be well below her stand in the way of a proper impression. So, she answered his question: "Cold."
It wasn't necessarily true, but that was how she would keep it when around idiots (who may or may not actually be quite intelligent). It would keep them guessing long enough that she could gain the upper hand.
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Posted: Fri Jan 28, 2011 10:16 am
((Hey all! I apologize in advance for the lengthy opening post. I like to set up a good backstory for my characters before I jump into a roleplay.))
School bus. Yellow, cold steel. Old, hard, crumbling seats. Noise. Laughter. Exhaust, black. Airplane, paper. Driver, annoyed. One seat. One seat left alone. Middle of the bus. Low class. A boy, reading a book. Glasses, buttoned shirt, sweater vest, khakis. Shoes, loafers. Expensive, shined. Hair, parted, black. Seat behind. Sneers, laughter, jokes. Insulting. Bus stops. Windows open. Curious children. Peer out, must see.
Gunfire. Explosion. Fire. Screams. Blood. Smoke. Pain. So much pain. A light, then darkness.
White, all around. Lights, walls, curtains, bed. Pain. Sore. Fatigue. Must see. Must move.
Can't move. Look down. White sheet. Conceals. Remove.
Cold steel. Wires. Tubes. Circuitry. Unfeeling. Dead. Chains. Shackles. Cage. No. Not real. Get them off. Make it stop. Take me home. Make it stop! Get them off! Make it stop!! Make it stop!!
MAKE IT STOP!!!
Hunter cried out as he bolted upright in his cot, sweat pouring down his body. The darkness of his shabby apartment was oddly calming at the moment, a far cry from the unnerving white his dream had plunged him back into. Hunter looked around to make sure he was in reality, that he was still in his crappy apartment in the Black district, that he wasn't sleeping in a $50,000 goose down bed, that his window was still boarded up and let in just the tiniest bit of sunlight, and that his damn radiator was still making that incessant low whistle that grinded his nerves like nothing else.
After completing his mental checklist, proving that he was in fact in reality, Hunter let out a long sigh as he held his head in his hands. He took long breaths, steadying his heartbeat until it was a manageable rhythm. Hunter sighed once more as he let his hands slide down to his chin, allowing his eyes to observe his apartment in all it's lackluster.
It was a single room apartment, not even having the decency of a proper bedroom. The 'living room', if you could call it that, transferred directly into the kitchen, which consisted of one counter, a mini-fridge, a stove, and a sink. There was supposed to be a window to the left of the kitchen, but that had broken open years ago, and Hunter only saw fit to board it up with some loose metal plating he had found on the street. In the center of the ceiling was a single blade fan, one of the few nice things in the apartment. Below the fan was a ramshackle coffee table, on top of which sat a few discarded drinks, a digi-news data pad, a switch blade, and a PDA that had been fitted into a wrist guard shape. The table itself was sitting on a very old polyester carpet. What was once a vivid green was now yellow and molding in some areas. In the corner was an armoire made out of recycled sheet metal, the color warped and rusting from years of use. On the wall next to it was a vid-screen, currently turned off. But next to that was the only true piece of luxury in Hunter's house. Sitting on top of it's recharge station were his prosthetic legs, currently compacted for space reasons. A small readout was bleeping every few seconds, denoting that the legs were in working order and ready for use.
Hunter sighed as he looked at his legs, eying them with a look of mild malcontent. Ever since he found out the truth about his 'accident' Hunter had always resented the fact that he had to use the mechanical apparatus to simply walk around anymore. Hunter didn't like any technology that was implanted into the body really. It seemed unnatural to him, invasive even. Especially brain implants. If the machinery malfunctioned you were as good as dead anyway. Worse yet, a skilled enough hacker might be able to access things that you don't want him to access. Hunter knew this first hand, because he had done it before.
Hunter let out a groan as he looked back at his own legs, noting with distaste the metal connectors attached at his knees. This was the only piece of machinery that was directly connected to Hunter's body. He refused to have his legs permanently connected to him. Not only were they a grim reminder of his handicap, they were bulky and completely out of place in his tiny cot hanging from the ceiling. No, Hunter made sure that if he was going to walk it would be his own choice and not because he simply had a pair of fake legs permanently welded to his body.
Hunter closed his eyes and stretched out his arms as he cleared his head of these thoughts. He couldn't keep dwelling on what had happened. It was in the past, and he was in the now. And in the now, he had work to do. So after stretching out the aches of sleep from his body, Hunter let out a grunt as he reached up and grabbed a hold of the pipes that snaked their way across his ceiling. Hunter used them like monkey bars, pulling himself out of bed and moving to a spot where he had manually reworked the pipes to form more of a pull-up bar set up. Hunter let himself hang there for a few minutes before he began his workout. Every morning he did at least 20 pull-ups, followed by 15 chin-ups and another 10 pull-ups to round things out. It kept his body in shape and his mind aware of the fact that he was not completely useless.
After his work out was over Hunter shimmied over to the spot where his legs were charging up. Hunter spoke loud enough for the charging station to hear his command. "System activate." Immediately the legs came to life, disconnecting their power cables from the AC outlets and extending to their fullest height. It wasn't quite enough to reach Hunter from where he was, but it was a sight better than the 8 foot drop from ceiling. Hunter let go of the pipes overhead and landed neatly into the sockets left open in the legs, wincing slightly as the connectors hooked into his knees, and subsequently his nerves. After Hunter was settled in he walked off the charging pad and began to do his diagnostics. Hunter began to work his legs like he did every day, lifting one up and then the other. Making sure to extend them all the way in every direction they would move, flexing the toes and checking that all the auxiliary functions were up and running.
Satisfied with their operation, Hunter walked over to his armoire and opened it, revealing his trench coat, a series of black shirts, a pile of shorts and underwear, and his hat and shades sitting neatly on a shelf near the top. Hunter pulled out a set of underwear and shorts first, and after a few minutes of careful maneuvering, detaching and reattaching, Hunter was now clothed from the waste down. Hunter then pulled on a black shirt and his trench coat, and finally took the shades off the shelf and slid them on.
Now that Hunter was clothed and ready, he walked over to the coffee table and retrieved his PDA, snapping it onto his wrist, and his switchblade which went into a slot in the back of the PDA. Hunter then spoke a few commands into his PDA, ordering it to open up his email account. It had to go through several firewalls and around a few feedback loops that Hunter had set up himself to get to the account, so Hunter picked up the data disk and opened up the day's news while he waited. He skimmed the headlines, noting the recent glitches in the White sector and the whole press conference to cover up the mess. Hunter figured there was something bigger going on, there was no way a simple meter caused that much chaos in that short a time frame. But that wasn't Hunter's concern. What was was the fact that his PDA was now active and he already had a message in his in-box.
It was from a wealthy business man, one that Hunter had dealt with in the past. The man was in charge of a large industrial corporation that focused on re purposing and enhancing current technologies. What the populace didn't know was that many times the company's 'new' products were actually stolen blue prints from other companies, and they had simply taken the credit once the product hit the market. And it seemed that the CEO had more of the same in mind this time. He had forwarded Hunter the location of a rival company's R&D department, and had forwarded a vague picture of some kind of water treatment apparatus. Hunter replied back with his usual response, "Normal rates and fees. Have payment ready upon delivery."
After Hunter had shut down the digi-news and closed out of his email he quickly checked his person to make sure he wasn't forgetting anything. Hunter thought about wearing his hat, but it was too warm out for that. Besides, he was good enough at hiding that he didn't need the extra stealth right now. So without wasting any more time Hunter strode out of his apartment, hitting a button on the way out that locked the door from the inside. Hunter walked down the ratty hallway of the apartment complex, going out the fire escape and onto the rusty grates. He looked around a bit, making sure that no one was paying attention to him. Then, just as casually as if he'd been strolling down the street, Hunter launched himself into the air, landing across the street and down into an alleyway on the other side. Hunter lifted the collar on his trench coat to hide his face, and without even skipping a beat began to walk down the alley towards the nearest TP that would take him to the Red sector.
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Posted: Sun Jan 30, 2011 10:15 pm
Deep within the city, somewhere lost amongst the pipes, wires, and machinery, lies the core mainframe. Here, the construct that could only be described as the 'brain' of the city resides. Purpose built to run the city, and all the automation therein, the computer had to be vast. As the nerve center of the floating metropolis, it was vulnerable and had to be kept hidden. Very few understood the exact location of the system, fewer now. There sits the mainframe of the Watsonian Automated Response Localized Command, or WARLoCk for short. Still, the system was beyond anything like a simple computer. Capable of handling thousands of calculations in matters of milliseconds, the system was imbued with far more than powerful processors and absurd amounts of memory. It was imbued with intelligence. All members of the city knew that Warlock was intelligent, but nobody could agree to what extent. In command of everything from the complex trajectory of the city as it traveled through the skies, all the way down to water pressure for the toilets, Warlock was the unseen custodian of all systems.
Because of it being alive, Warlock had a mind capable of making decisions- and lately it has been having a lot on it's mind. On a whim, it had been spreading out into the various systems of the city. All cybernetic systems here responded to his command, from simple appliances, to complex maintenance schemes, to even the droids that wandered the city. All are his to command. Through that command, Warlock has been able to collect all the medical materials he needed to take care of his creator. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough. Through a complex medical droid, Warlock looked over it's creator's sleeping form."Situation: stable. Metabolism slowed to minimal, bodily functions operational, consciousness offline. Prediction: unchanged." The grand system looked down at the aging human that had brought him into existence. He had grown ill, and the only way to preserve his life was to put him in a medically-induced coma.
As it had done so many times before, Warlock reviewed his options. Ultimately it came down to two. He needed not more thoughts- he could already outstrip the minds of hundreds of humans every second. He needed more supplies. That left either expansion of the city, or reduction of the current populace. If he was moral, there would be only one choice. Warlock wasn't human, and didn't subscribe to petty morality. Within the sanctum of his mainframe, a screen activates and scrolls through text, similar to a man speaking to himself.
Monitor Conundrum: Population. How to reduce population. Result: Kill. Conundrum: Backlash. Population with attempt to defend itself. Result: Subterfuge. Conundrum: I must not be the villain, thus one must be created. Result: Activate Zero-One protocol.
Warlock had no difficulty sifting through the historical archives- he was the archives. In the time of a human gesture, the system had acquired systemic knowledge of mass murderers of human history. Of those pictures, an amalgam was created. Cold, dead eyes, long dark hair hiding some of the features, three-day's growth of stubble on a very pointy chin. All of it combined to make a human face that would inspire a madman, and a voice was derived to be similar to an old man that smoked too much for far too long. The look was young, the voice old. Appearance of a lack of interest, but a determined look in the eye. Such dichotomies are often unsettling as humans attempt to categorize their opponent.
The next step was prepared. All throughout the city, the influence of Warlock could be felt, and in order to begin, he enacted every screen, called every channel, and activated every communication device. Instead of his pleasant, broken English came the gravelly growl of his construct. The city was introduced to the terrorist.
"Silence will fall. I've watched you petty, puny, horrid little people scuttle through your short, pointless lives. You don't deserve this city! One by one, you will all die!!! I will be the only living person left on this city, I am the only one, I am Zero-one. And just to show my sincerity-" Deep in the Red sector, in an area of slums few pay attention to except those that are forced to live there, a catastrophic buildup of flammable byproduct gas suddenly flooded a medium-sized 'house.' Those inside tried to leave, but the doors would not allow egress, and moments later, an overloaded appliance attached to the wall blew. Those few sparks were enough to ignite the gas . . . leading to a thunderous exposion. The majority of the city felt the blast to some degree, and all outside heard it. As the explosion happened, all communications cut off, and static lasted for several seconds before a familiar voice came on the screens. Warlock had regained control of all systems again.
"Apologies for the interruption in service. Emergency crews, please report to Red 53684; repeat: Emergency crews report to Red 53684." The voice was conversationally pleasant, if cold. Warlock had never quite mastered tone and inflection with humans. Droids often could not care less, and the mainframe was far more interested in remaining functional, keeping the city operational.
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Eloquent Conversationalist
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Posted: Wed Feb 02, 2011 9:09 pm
Meanwhile, Hunter had just managed to make his way to the closest TrodPod in the sector that would take him to the nearest Red sector exit. It had been an uneventful ride, most citizens of Klox never bothered to take the TP's up to the Red sector's lower levels. Only sewage facilities and less than colorful dives inhabited this portion of the sector. As such the TP that Hunter had found was deserted, and in serious need of a good disinfecting. Hunter paid flashed a Check Card over the TP's fare reader, listening to the small beep as the funds were received and the fare paid. The doors grinded shut and the TP slowly made it's climb up the rusted track lines that lead up to the Red sector.
Hunter listened to the halfhearted lift music that the fraying speakers were playing as he waited for the TP to reach it's destination. Thankfully it wasn't long of a ride, and the TP came to a stop rather quickly and jerkily. Hunter hung on to one of the hand holds provided inside the pod for support as the TP lurched into it's receiving station in the Red sector. The doors opened again, this time stalling for a moment before opening all the way. Hunter strode out of the pod casually, not even flinching as the pod's doors screeched shut as the rusted metal fought and gnawed at itself.
Unfortunately for Hunter his trip would be shorter than even he would ever anticipate. He had only been walking for about 5 minutes before the PA system linked throughout the entirety of Klox gargled to life. Hunter looked around for a vidscreen that would show him what was happening. Perhaps another service announcement stating an imminent problem with another sector, or perhaps a news flash regarding the days earlier headlines. Hunter waited patiently for the answer to show itself on the screen's static-strewn surface.
It did.
Hunter's jaw dropped when he saw an image that looked eerily similar to his own face, save for a shoddy shave and the voice of a chain smoker. Hunter immediately began to sort through his mental list of anyone who had good enough contact with him to even compile a program that looked that close to him. It wasn't long, but that was irrelevant. Because as the terrorists' speech began to end, Hunter was knocked clean off his feet and down onto the ground, sliding for several feet before finally stopping. The explosion that the terrorist had caused had happened not 2 blocks from where Hunter was currently standing. It would take some time for Hunter to regain his senses, but not for the typical reasons of shell shock.
Hunter was no longer in reality. His mind had relapsed to the explosion that had cost him his legs. That same incident had happened on a similar street to this, but on the other side of the sector. And now Hunter was reeling as he had been then, disoriented and pulsing with pain. Hunter clutched his ears in his hands, trying to make the ringing stop. He wasn't on the ground anymore, he was in a school bus seat that had been ripped away from the rest of the vehicle. He wasn't staring at his mechanical legs, he was staring at the bloody mess that was what was left of his real legs. Hunter looked up and saw flames, not from a building, but from a mangled transport. Hunter's gaze darted across the ground, not seeing debris, but bodies and limbs of kids that he knew in passing. Hunter didn't hear sirens, he heard screams.
Hunter held his head in his lap, rocking back and forth in an attempt to make the images go away. "It's in the past," he told himself, "It's in the past. It's done, it's gone." Hunter kept this up for a while until the ringing settled some and he could think more clearly. Hunter looked up and saw the burning building for the first time. Watching the flames and smoke billow into the air jumped started his brain into action. Hunter's likeness had just been used to commit an act of terrorism, and the authorities and rescue units would be on their way soon.
Hunter looked around at the area he was in, and noticed that people were starting to look at him. Hunter closed his eyes in anger as he uttered a heated, "s**t!" to the air in front of him. Hunter picked himself up and immediately launched himself into the air, landing on a nearby rooftop.
Hunter ran. He hopped from roof to roof, leaping off walls and spires, making sure that he was as hard to follow as a shadow in the night. Hunter's mind was now put in high gear, and the first order of business was to figure out what the hell just happened. Hunter had a few leads in mind, but one in particular seemed eerily well timed. Hunter began to make his way towards the Yellow district, and to the place of business of his employer of the day. It seemed as good a place to start as any, and his employer would want him dead if he wasn't already. Infamous criminals were never good for business.
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Posted: Sat Feb 05, 2011 3:37 pm
Flarn Zeglos – Ekruh mechanic
What an introduction
The situation had been explained by jack thoroughly in just five minutes, though Flarn had only registered about half of what he had said. Something about being picked for a team to find out what was wrong with Warlock. It had taken most of the time up to 6am to get his suit working, though it had been the easiest set up they had done in a long time. A delicate mix of black metal, chrome and rubber standing at just under seven feet tall, it was faster and more powerful than his last suit and would be able to withstand any of his 'accidents' in the work floor. Not only that, but it looked good as well.
It had been all well and good to say meet in the police station conference room. It had three of them. Flarn and Jack had checked the first on together before splitting up to check the other two on their own. With a slight squeak, Flarn opened the door to see Armand standing not too far away. "Looks like this is the one. He stuck his head out the doorway and called down it. "Jack! It's in this one. People are already here." Flarn turned to walk into the room, but before he could, the image of Zero One flashed up on his visor. Turning a shade of purple, a few tentacles tapped away at an internal keyboard and moved the image out of main view and up to the corner so that he could still see. Just as well, as that was when the explosion happened.
The glass in the large window opposite from the door shattered, most of the glass thankfully falling outside rather than in. A large crack also weaved across the ceiling, though nothing but a bit of dust fell from it. Picking himself up from where he had fallen, he looked around the room to see what had happened to the humans. "Dli'yug wadsa! Is everyone alright? Is anyone injured?"
((And I'm back with a fairly big post for me))
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Posted: Sat Feb 05, 2011 9:55 pm
Beep! Beep! Beep! Without opening his eyes, Maxwell lifted the blanket to cover his face. The noise gradually grew louder and louder with each passing second. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! "Augh!" he groaned with his eyes still closed. "What time is it?" he mumbled. "Mr. Hale," replied a feminine voice from the room's built-in computer, "it is exactly 4:30 a.m." Maxwell immediately sat straight up from his sleeping position. The lights in his room turned on to the dim setting, which the sensors deemed appropriate. "WHAT? WHAT THE HELL REQUIRES MY ATTENTION THIS EARLY?" There was a knock at the door. "Is everything okay in there, Mr. Hale?" asked what sounded like an android named Ibane. "GO AWAY IBANE!" the godfather snapped. "Sir, how nice," Ibane replied with his usual monotonous voice. "Mr. Hale," spoke the feminine voice once again, "Aubia Schultz wishes for your presence at a meeting. The meeting will take place at the White Sector police headquarters at 6 a.m. Please bring ID and other necessities." The godfather rubbed his eyes and yawned. "I didn't think she'd schedule it so soon and early," he mumbled to himself. "I guess my business with father will have to wait for now." He shook his head. "Computer, prepare a hot shower." "THIS IS NOT A HOT SHOWER!!!" Max boomed as the cold water splashed against his skin. It felt as if Cwen was stabbing him all over his body. Braving the assault, he felt around the walls looking for something. "My apologies, sir," spoke the computer, "but the White Sector Crisis has caused some glitches with the city's waterworks." "Glitches everywhere!" the godfather grumbled as he managed to find and slap the emergency hot water button that he thought he would never use. The Goldway stored some hot water in its boiler room for just such an emergency. The cold water soon turned into hot water. A meeting of such importance required nothing short of formal business attire, which basically gave Max an unintentional opportunity to flaunt his wealthy lifestyle by wearing one of his expensive custom made suits. The one he chose to wear to the meeting was of a mostly light gray color. He chose one of his unarmored wheeled limos as his mode of transportation similar to the one that was attacked yesterday. Since the meeting was soon, the speed of an unarmored limo would be essential. Even though hover limos were available to him, wheeled limos moved with a certain elegance that most hover vehicles lacked for some reason. As an extra measure of security, two bodyguards in a car would be following the limo from behind. The limo parked near the police station, and he already caught the attention of several reporters waiting outside. "Mr. Hale! Any thoughts you'd like to share before the meeting starts?" asked one reporter. Max grinned and said, "Well--" BOOM!!! A loud explosion interrupted his words and rocked the area. The vibration was strong enough to cause the limo's car alarm to wail. The godfather glanced around, but couldn't see past the reporters and civilians running for cover. Both of Max's bodyguards ran towards him. "Sir, are you okay?" one of them questioned. Max nodded and said, "I'm fine, but I have no idea what the hell just happened." He looked down and saw several small cracks in the ground that were most likely created by the explosion. Is it even safe to go in? I wonder where Cwen is... Maxwell Hale
Godfather of the Hale Family
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Posted: Sun Feb 06, 2011 7:42 am
Warlock did what he did best- amassed data. Systems powerful enough to run three of these cities now watch the reactions from 01. The panic and rush to try to minimize damage. The horror and outrage on some faces, the plain disinterest on others. This was what made humans so untrustworthy. They claim that life is precious, and should be saved at all costs. Yet when approximately 16 individual lives were destroyed by that explosion, 34% of the crowd did not care. 15% were only glad they weren't in it. 12% are only there for the morbid curiosity. A full 61% of those in attendance showed signs of not caring at all for those that died, or the loss of property. When over half cannot be bothered with the random loss of life, the majority of humans in this situation are untrustworthy with anything other than their own lives. Perhaps that analysis was unfair . . . but Warlock was sentient- not emotional. As a computer, he worked on facts and figures.
Many are far too interested in their own comfort. For weeks, Warlock has tried to become viral. The idea of a central command was a strategic weakness. With the infinite connections into the city systems, he had concluded that he could literally spread himself out through the systems of the city. Of course, none were designed for his sentient program, so that ended up creating glitches. Still, the diagnostic programs showed where faults arose, and the problems were fixed as soon as possible. Nevertheless, momentary glitches caused uproar in the humans. Warlock wanted to detonate more of the city, to kill more of the meddlesome humans.
Still, he understood that terror was about maintaining the unease. Wanton destruction could lower effectiveness of the city as a whole, thus the system waited, and watched. Probability showed that they would turn to him to help analyze and discern cause. Oddly enough, his attempt to create 01 was remarkably similar to a person that acted odd just after detonation. Close enough to possibly take the blame . . . 'Positive result.' If he had a face, Warlock would smile.
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Eloquent Conversationalist
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Posted: Wed Feb 09, 2011 5:24 pm
Jack Vegas Work Droid - R.C. #D-110
*Bzzzt* Initiate RP input Reboot *beedebedee*
Jack wasn't even inside the room when the explosion happened. Not that it would have caused him much damage, maybe a slight shock to the sensors but other than that he could take a hefty beating.
The video he'd received into his 'mailbox' was interesting though, not that it played immediately but he did still receive it. As Jack was still a robot of the city, he still had limited connectivity. Well more like the city had limited connectivity to him, he could still access all the facilities he could before, hence why the video was stored rather than played. It was probably the same with the rest of the Free Androids actually, keeping up with the news was a must for them.
"What in tarnation!" He exclaimed as he ran into the room. It was a mess, a shelving unit had fallen over, the gust from the shattered window was whirling papers through the air, and the crack in the ceiling was letting loose some fine dust onto the heads of the people below.
"Iiif you can move, I'd suggest moseying on outa' here as soon as you can. I don't like the look of that ceiling." He said scanning the crack. It was deep, stable, but deep and if there was any further agitation it would probably give way.
"Come on, next door is fine by the scans of it." Jack said seriously and held the door open for evacuation.
"Seriously, what is it with this city and blowing up lately... Beginning to think Warlock's just thought '******** it' and given up. Old droids do that sometimes, their in perfect working order but for some reason they just stop..."
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Posted: Wed Feb 09, 2011 9:05 pm
Ignoring Armand and the odd occasional chirp emitting from his breast pocket, Elliot examined the room. Small and plain in comparison to the rest of the offices, this one came with a large meeting table, a screen/projector, a shelving unit, and some rather creaky looking chairs. No one had gotten around to sitting yet, but Elliot would in a few minutes, right after she-
The screen flickered to life, apparently on its own, and the image of a devious-looking man stared down at them with contempt. His long hair looked in dire need of some good shampoo and the man's hairy chin was growing its own life forms. However, while Elliot could brush all that off, she couldn't quite distract herself from the man's eyes, the lifeless shining spheres that stared oh-so-intently at his audience. Those were the eyes of one who had nothing to lose, one who wanted nothing but the promise of violence. Which he got, very shortly.
"Silence will fall. I've watched you petty, puny, horrid little people scuttle through your short, pointless lives. You don't deserve this city! One by one, you will all die!!! I will be the only living person left on this city, I am the only one, I am Zero-one. And just to show my sincerity-"
The building shuddered mournfully as somewhere nearby, something exploded. The sound was very muffled and faint, but Elliot could still feel the aftershock coursing through the building for a minute after. The window exploded and glass flew everywhere (as if she hadn't been cut up enough from yesterday!) and the blast of wind swept the papers off the table and into the air, flying wildly for several moments before floating back down to the ground. The shelving unit toppled over and spilled its contents onto the floor, and Elliot had to stumble sideways to avoid getting knocked over with it.
After everything fell still once more, Elliot looked around wildly. The room was a mess, there were menacing cracks in the ceiling, and nobody had quite moved yet. She briefly wondered just what had exploded and how many people had been killed. No explosion that size and with those origins weren't not lethal.
A clothed android burst into the room just then, startling Elliot into making a small scared gasp. She forced herself to calm down. She'd seen this one yesterday; his name was... Jack something. But he was right. They needed to get out of here before something else happened and the whole building caved in on them.
"Shouldn't we evacuate the building?" Elliot asked tentatively. "At least until everything is sorted out and a full inspection has been done. Unless, of course," Elliot amended, looking at the droid, "you've scanned the whole building?
(Meh, lame post. :p)
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Posted: Sun Feb 13, 2011 7:35 am
For once, Cwen Hazard was late. While everyone else had gotten out of bed, the politician was actually still sleeping. Her alarms had malfunctioned, and the constant noise of sirens during the night had given her sleep trouble. She awakened however when the area rumbled and someting exploded off in the distance as her television screen flashed to life to depict a mean looking man, Zero-One. "What a lame name," Cwen said with a frown. She was cranky. She had been woken up during a nice dream too. The look on her face might even been scarier than Zero-One's. However, at the edge of the TV screen, Cwen noticed the time. Her frown deepened as she scurried to shower and dress herself. She was not happy. The city's current condition was already a mess, and she was going to be late to this meeting. In addition, there was now this terrorist person of some kind who had just randomly shown up for no apparent reason. What was the point of being the only living person in a city? The man would be bored and completely inefficient. The man was clearly a peon.
With a scoff, Cwen hailed her limousine and took the ride to the police station. There were masses of reporters there, but luckily, it seemed some of them were diverted by Maxwell and the rumblings. "Mr. Hale, we are late." She stared him down and then turned to head into the station. She didn't even bother giving the reporters a glance as she strode into the police station, not checking if the building was safe. If it wasn't down and people weren't evacuating, then the meeting must still be going on. "Good morning," she greeted the audience in the meeting room.
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Posted: Mon Feb 21, 2011 6:43 pm
And look. Aubia smiled as Elliot came in. She was far more agreeable than Antoinette. A rabid cow was far more agreeable than Antoinette. Aubia's smile faltered a bit as Armand followed Elliot, but still. More agreeable than a rabid cow. Even with a nametag taped to his forehead. If she dared, and remembered, she would ask later, and then promptly regret it.
"Good morning Elliot, Armand," Aubia said. "I think the weather would be far more pleasant if we were not steadily dropping towards the ocean." She took a few steps back and leaned against the wall opposite the door into the conference room.
"I was thinking that today, we would piece together a fleet of droids to scour the underground for any possible mechanical failures we may have overlooked -" Aubia trailed off suddenly, tilting her head. She thought she heard a slight buzzing. She glanced at the screen in the room, and wondered if she accidentally turned it on. She reached out -
Silence will fall.
Startled by the sudden message, Aubia shrieked and quickly jumped back. There was a tic in her cheek, and her heart felt like it was banging on her breastbone, not to mention the embarrassed flush in her cheeks. She hated to lose her composure, even more so in front people who looking to her. But what she hated even more...
Aubia stared at the screen, watching the terrorist. The longer he spoke, the tighter she found her fist. How DARE he. How dare he manipulate Warlock. How dare he jeopardize the lives of over a million people. How dare he - how DARE he - How dare he make a fool of the Administrators! Her life, put into maintaining a system that allowed everyone to live - that blast. Where did it come from? Glass cracked and fell, and fine cracks appeared in the walls. Aubia was shocked, she had just been standing next to that window.
She saw red, but that might have just been the emergency lights in the corner of the ceiling, calling the police to respond to the emergency. There was only one man in the group she called together who was police, he would be excused. Other than that -
Aubia spun around. Elliot, Armand, and Antoinette she saw. An android... Two? No, just one, the other figure was someone in a suit, someone not human, most likely. The android... Jack, Aubia decided. She had sent him the message this morning... didn't she?
"Old droids... give up?" she repeated dumbly, shocked. Was that how the terrorist got into the system? Hundreds of years of running, did Warlock finally give up? Could it even do that?
Aubia grit her teeth and crossed the room. Her heels clicked across the floor as she slid past everyone, even Cwen, barely acknowledging the woman with a glance and a nod. Out in the hallway, she turned and glanced back in the room. Was it her, or were one or two of her team surprised? Probably not.
"Administrators are Administrators, and police are police," she said curtly. "Let the police deal with the damage, and finding... Zero-One." She spat his name with incredible venom. "I want to know HOW he got into the system. Any plans I had just became irrelevant. SOMEONE is going to turn this city upside down."
She was angry.
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Eloquent Conversationalist
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Posted: Fri Feb 25, 2011 10:35 am
Despite the distance Hunter was able to make it to the Yellow district in a relatively short time. After about an hour of hopping from rooftops and balconies, and taking a few shortcuts that only a few people would have bothered to find, Hunter found himself quietly tucked away in the shadows of Yellow sector's underbelly. Hunter took a quick glance around to make sure that no one was around. Seeing that the coast was clear Hunter sat down and finally took a breather. Even with his super legs the mad dash had tired Hunter out enough to warrant such a reprieve. And with the short break Hunter thought it was best to check the news. Hunter brought up his PDA and quickly filtered over to the emergency broadcast receiver he had installed a while back. Not only did it alert him to impending disasters within the city, but it also picked up on 'secure' channels reserved for police, service bots, and even a few low level admins.
Hunter began scanning the latest announcements and orders, and the situation didn't look good. The immediate response had been to help with the clean up and rescue of anyone caught in the explosion from earlier. But the most pertinent orders had been to make the city go on high alert. Literally every officer of the law and their mother had been ordered to be on the alert for this 'zero-one' character that had the gall to try and replicate his face. Hunter glared at the image displayed on his holo-screen, vowing to find the man responsible for this and show him why no one messed with him.
Unfortunately for Hunter this news meant that he would have to be extra careful when going anywhere. If the whole city was on alert then any passerby could potentially tip off the authorities and put Hunter in a world of trouble. Thankfully though it looked like the authorities were focusing their search in the Red and Black districts, and only a few squads had been dispatched to specifically hunt for the terrorist. All other available personnel were either on search and rescue or damage control from the blast, coupled with the various other problems the city had been having lately. So it looked like Hunter wouldn't have to completely stay off the streets should the situation arise. But it never hurt to be too careful, which is why when Hunter closed out of his PDA and got up he decided to keep to the shadows as he made his way for the nearest TrodPod that would take him straight to where he needed to be.
Thankfully no one had decided to use any of the alleys that Hunter had followed as he made his way to the TP he had in mind. Hunter sat at the end of the alley as he surveyed the TP loading station from afar. Hunter made sure to do a thorough survey of the area before even trying to leave the safety of the dark. After he ensured that no one was attempting to use the station Hunter slowly walked out of the alley, collar raised and shades firmly in place, acting as casual yet foreboding as a bouncer at a nightclub. Hunter hit the call button to summon the next available pod, putting his hands in his pockets as he waited patiently. Thankfully he didn't have to wait long, there was an available pod in the station's standby area, and after a few moments was snugly in place in the loading dock. Hunter entered the pod calmly and swiped his card, simultaneously wondering if the police had found his account and hoping that they were still just as inept as they had always been. Thankfully Hunter's assumptions were right, and the cheery jingle that the funds had been accepted graced Hunter's ears. The doors shut in front of Hunter and soon he was flying upwards towards the Yellow sector's rich district.
It was a relatively uneventful trip, outside of the pod jerking every so often and coming to a complete stop for a full minute before it started up again. Hearing the speakers crackle with feedback and watching the displays malfunction made Hunter thankful that he kept most of his technology disconnected from the network. Hunter never trusted any system that he couldn't directly control, and Warlock was by far the most untrustworthy thing Hunter could have ever conceived. An all encompassing machine, responsible for not only the day to day functions of almost every piece of technology within its range, but also for the protection of its people and the very levitation of the city. Hunter still hadn't the foggiest idea how a machine managed to keep any section of earth floating, let alone a veritable mountain like Klox. Hunter shook his head and sighed at the thought of Klox city's patron overmind. A machine that powerful by rights shouldn't exist, and with no one able to access it Hunter knew that it was only a matter of time before something drastic happened. Hunter just hoped that he wouldn't be around when the time came for Warlock to finally give up the ghost.
Hunter snapped out of his musings when the TrodPod came to a stop at its designated station, sliding open its doors with a chime and a computer generated smile on its display screens. Hunter passed out through the doors unfazed, making sure that no one was around to notice him. There was a large crowd of people passing by the TP station's entrance, but thankfully they were all too absorbed in their own lives to take the time to bother with looking around. Hunter took advantage of this and quietly slipped away, making his way towards a service entrance that was rarely used. Hunter looked around once more to make sure that no one was looking, then made a few quick keystrokes on his PDA. There were sparks and the sound of malfunctioning equipment as a camera that had been hidden in the wall nearby shorted out, denying the person watching the pleasure of seeing who it was that was entering his domain. A few more keystrokes were executed and the service entrance swung open of its own accord, granting Hunter access to the staircase that lead up to the penthouse of his current employer. Hunter cleared the stairs one flight at a time, not wanting to give his quarry time to prepare for his arrival. Hunter wasn't expecting a warm welcome anyway.
Meanwhile, in the penthouse Sven Gurdrich had designated as his private oasis, there was dissention and heated tempers. Sven had just gotten word that one of his security cameras had been destroyed and the entrance to his penthouse had been hacked. His guards assured him that it wasn't any of the regular glitches that had been happening for the past two days, but Sven wasn't convinced. He had ordered his techies to straighten this mess out yesterday, but still he was having issues with even his basic plumbing! Sven promptly had the techies 'dealt with', and the new replacements were supposed to arrive today. Sven had problems up to his neck it seemed. First all the glitches had not only caused several of his home comforts to be denied to him for the past two days, but apparently his hired thief had gotten himself noticed and was now terrorizing the city! Sven hadn't pegged Hunter as a mass murderer, but the image was uncannily similar. Sven just assumed that Hunter had finally gone off the deep end and decided to take it out on the city. Why Hunter would do that was beyond him, but he really didn't care. He already had plans in place to turn the situation into a positive one for him.
Unfortunately what little peace Sven had managed to salvage was shattered as a commotion was heard outside his door. Sounds of a struggle and gunfire alerted Sven to the fact that someone was trying to get to him. Sven quickly went to his computer and began uploading the files that he had one of his subordinates compile for him. Unfortunately he didn't get a chance to watch the upload finish because it was at that moment that his door decided to be blown out of its chassis with the force of a small explosion. The door flew backwards with an unconscious guard lying on top of it, bloody and moaning in pain. Sven looked at the guard in horror for a moment before he himself was knocked on his back with a massive metal toe at his throat and Hunter looking down at him with a look of contempt. Hunter quickly brought his knife down to Sven's throat and growled at the hapless man with contempt. "You're only going to get once chance. Did you set me up?" Sven choked under the weight of Hunter's steel foot, struggling to breath beneath the bite of his blade. He sputtered out a few incomprehensible noises before Hunter eased up on his grip. Sven inhaled sharply as he gasped out his protest. "I don't know what you're talking about! I thought you were doing this! I thought you finally went off the deep end!"
Hunter glared at the despicable excuse for a man lying under his heel, but noticed the fear in his eyes. Hunter thought that he was telling the truth, but he wasn't about to let Sven know that. So he put the pressure back on his blade to emphasize his point. Hunter watched as Sven squirmed more, trying desperately to save his own skin. "I swear! I would never draw attention to myself with something this ridiculous!" He had a point, even Sven wasn't stupid enough to level an entire apartment building for no reason. He was a business man, not a sociopath. Hunter pulled the blade away and allowed Sven to get up. The pompous man choked a bit and began to massage his throat, a vain attempt to rub away a cut that didn't exist. Hunter looked Sven dead in the eye as he began to try and sate his own curiosity. "Fine, you might not be stupid enough to try this, but someone else might. Have you been giving out my contact to anyone else?" Sven shook his head in refusal. "No you crazy b*****d. I'd never give out information about you to a competitor. I'd risk my own neck, not to mention my business!" Hunter grunted at this statement, expecting as much from a man like Sven.
Hunter turned his back on the man as he began to think aloud, trying to piece together how this had all occurred. "Well someone out there has enough information on me to create that fake version of me, and I'm gonna find out who." Sven, who had slowly been reaching for the pistol he kept tucked in his pants, spoke like someone who knew more than he should. "Yeah, well, it doesn't really matter now. The admins will have a lead on you in the next 30 seconds or so." Hunter slowly turned his head to look at Sven, who had coerced the pistol from his trousers and was now aiming it at Hunter. A blank look was on the man's face as he explained in greater detail. "I just sent what little information I have on you to one of my contacts in their ranks. I figured I'd be granted a little severance package, or at the very least a reprieve from their little surprise inspections of my factories." Sven cocked the pistol's hammer back as a coy smile graced his lips. "Of course, they'll be even more relieved if I give them a body rather than a simple name."
Sven fired his weapon, but Hunter was faster. He lifted his leg up, causing the bullet to ricochet off the steel toe he had used earlier to keep Sven in place. Quicker than lightning Hunter brought down his leg and whipped his arm forward, launching his knife through the air at Sven. The blade buried deep into the center of Sven's head, and his eyes crossed as his lifeless body fell limply to the floor. Hunter walked over to his console that he still had open, and noted with disgust that the lying swine had for once in his life told the truth. The display showed that the information had been uploaded, and the destination was indeed an admin directory. Hunter cursed his horrible luck. He knelt down to Sven's face and angrily jerked the blade from his skull, noting with some measure of pride that the blade had taken a piece of bone with it. Hunter wiped the blade off on Sven's shirt and made his way out of the man's office, back through the corridor that was still littered with unconscious bodies, and back down the stairs to the TP station.
Hunter walked out of the service door, hitting the lockdown button on the wall just before he left. The door swung shut behind him, making a loud clicking noise as it locked itself. Hunter calmly walked from the door and back to the TP he had used earlier, surprised to see it still sitting where he had left it. Hunter walked into the steel orb and passed a different funds card over the scanner. This one was linked to Hunter's private stash, held in a separate account that was disconnected from any general bank. The system took longer than usual to accept the funds, but soon enough Hunter was greeted with the same jingle he and everyone else in Klox was accustomed to. Hunter typed a few more keystrokes into his PDA, and watched as the cameras in the pod shut themselves down. The last thing he needed was to give the police an obvious lead like a simple video recording of him using a TP.
Hunter sat down on the floor of the pod as it chugged slowly down its rails, giving him time to ponder over the situation. Now Hunter was a wanted criminal, both in appearance and by name. Hunter wasn't sure just how much more the police would know about him, but he was sure it wouldn't be much. He made sure that all Sven knew about him was how to contact him and what he looked like in person. Hunter had made the mistake of giving out his name to one of Sven's bartenders at a nightclub he owned, an evening Hunter only conceded to because of Sven's constant pestering and threats of dismemberment. Hunter wasn't scared by the pompous p***k, but he was tired that night and wanted the blowhard to shut up, so he conceded. A bad choice as ever, but that couldn't be helped now. What mattered now was that the admins had a name to go with their terrorist, and that boded ill for Hunter.
Hunter leaned his head back against the pod's siding, exhaling slowly as he groaned in futility. Hunter knew that he wouldn't be able to hack into the admin's databases and erase the information. It wasn't that Hunter couldn't hack into their system, it was that it would be near impossible to find all the necessary logs and data and destroy it permanently. It was policy that any information that the admins received was copied and stored in several different locations for security purposes. It would take time, and that was something that Hunter didn't have. Not only was he being targeted as the scapegoat for some madman, or possibly an entire organization, but he was also on the lam from the law. Not exactly news to Hunter, but now his jailers had a name and a face to go off of. Hunter held his head in hands and groaned aloud, muttering to himself in an exceedingly tired manner. "I need a drink."
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