You hear the metallic clank-thud of machinery somewhere off in the distance. Maybe a room or two away? Without being able to see anything it's hard to tell.
There's another sound too. Growling? That's a problem. Thankfully it also seems to be far off.
You assume that if you follow the floor for long enough you'll hit a wall, and you do, though with your face before your hand. Reaching along the wall--otherwise as cold and featureless as the floor--you eventually grab what feels like a lever of some kind.
It's a bit of a struggle, but the lever finally goes from the "down" to "up" position, with a loud clunk.
A set of three enormous lights overhead roar to life, though one blows out as it turns on, it's still more than enough to see.
You're in some sort of lab. One of the walls is lined with several hexagonal chambers, presumably one of which you stepped out of. The room's most dominating feature though is a computer. Several towers line one of the walls, there's an extremely large monitor, but it's broken, and it looks like the computer's been refitted to use a much smaller monitor of an older style sitting on a nearby desk. The monitor blinks, and there appears to be text on it, but you can't read it from here.
The computer emits a low tone, and rapidly scrolls through dozens--maybe hundreds--of lines of code, before displaying a flash of an image, which then corrects itself into another one
The computer plays a sequence of tones, and a voice--hollow, distorted, electronic--plays over the system's tinny speakers.
"Hello? Hello? I can't see you, Director, my cameras are off. Am I in the backup system? What's happened?"
You inspect your clothing, and yourself in general, for the first time since waking up. Looking yourself over in the dull glass of the larger monitor. You're a woman, tall, kind of lanky, and nondescript in most other respects, and wearing a plain black jumpsuit. No tags or other identifying features, save one, a serial number, 10015, stitched onto the uniform's left arm.
"A 10-0? You're in the wrong building, madam. No matter, clearly some disaster has occurred, I'm going to authorize you to take any equipment you can in order to, well, get me out of here first and foremost.
There's a map on the wall near the door, the room labeled ST-2 should have a stock of SES Suits and some weapons. Get one of the suits, and any weapons you think you'll need. You'll have a better command of the situation than I do right now, given that you have eyes and can move and all."
There is indeed a small scrap of paper clumsily nailed to the wall, overtop an older plaque. The plaque has faded, and your best guess is that the paper map (which appears to have been drawn with nothing more elaborate than a pencil) was a stopgap replacement.
There's nothing much remarkable about the large, broken monitor. You do find a large piece of sharp glass though, which you pocket. Could come in handy in an emergency.
The lights in the hallway thankfully seem to have been turned on by the switch from earlier, but it's incredibly dim, and it's becoming increasingly obvious that no one has been around this area for a very long time. The metal is rusting, and some parts of the ceiling wheeze dust down onto you as you pass under, it's rather unpleasant, all told.
You arrive in ST-2. A row of lockers lines the back of the room, off to the side, there is a gun rack, and while it is empty, there is a pistol of some sort on the floor, next to a handful of dark red plastic cubes.
The gun is empty, but at least you have it. It's silver, and of a strangely rounded construction. As you fiddle with it, you can't help but notice that where the clip would go on a more traditional handgun, there are eight small square holes in a removable piece of metal.
The cubes do nothing of note, though you accidentally crush one.
The cubes slot in perfectly with a satisfying clink. There are seven of them in total.
You slide the metal piece back into the pistol's handle. You're fairly sure it's loaded, but unless you shot it there'd be no way to know for sure, and that seems like it'd require using some of the cubes.
The gun feels heavy in your hand, but oddly familiar.
One, though, contains a suit. It's coal black, like your jumpsuit now, but it seems to be made of a thicker fabric. Next to the suit is a spherical helmet of the same color, there's a visor on it to protect the eyes (though this one's is cracked), as well as a camera of some sort directly above that, were roughly one's left eyebrow would be.
On the arms are some odd-looking pads, which have a variety of electronic jacks on them, and two buttons apiece. You can't tell offhand what these are supposed to do, and they don't seem to be hooked up to anything.
Everything else it seems, has been raided for parts.
You put the new suit on over your old jumpsuit. Inspecting the helmet again, it seems like there's a number of jacks on the back of this as well, of several shapes and sizes.
Having removed the suit, you notice a message scratched onto the metal in the back of the locker.
Remembering this number would probably not be a bad idea.
You return to the large room, and explain your situation to Daedalus.
"I see." Is that sadness in his synthesized voice? Resignation?
"If things are truly that bad I have no choice. I cannot stay here. Your SES Suit should have ample space for me to function as an onboard companion AI. I wasn't built for it, but I'm adaptable. If you take a look around, you should find some OCA uplink chips. They're squarish, blue, and should fit in the palm of your hand. Let me know once you've located them."
After a few seconds, there is a beep, and the monitor shuts off.
You insert the chip into the only slot on your helmet it'll fit into. Your visor lights up with a dim green glow, and Daedalus "logo" appears in small form in the top left corner of your vision.
You hear the helmet's camera turn on, and then, you hear Daedalus again, though his voice still sounds the same, it also now sounds like it's coming from directly between your ears.
"My goodness, it's much worse than I thought. No, no, I do not think there is a very high probability of any other survivors at all. It may well just be you and I, 10-0. Let me stretch my subsystems, I'll try to get your SES Suit's full functionality online as soon as I can. This thing is quite a marvel of engineering you know? It can withstand just about anything. Gunfire, radiation, extreme falls, dangerous environments. But, I ramble.
We should search the other rooms in this wing for any supplies we can find. I've been trying to back-read my logs prior to my shutdown, but they cut off at a certain date well before I was turned off, and the network has long been disconnected, so I can't remotely access any of the other computers in this facility either. So if you find any systems, there is a jack in the wrist compartment you can use to allow me to interface with them directly."
Daedalus fills your ears with chatter on the way there.
"That weapon you found, it's a Type-43 Infantry Plasma Discharge Pistol. Very powerful for its type."
The cafeteria is mostly empty. It shows rather few signs of ever having been such, in fact.
You search around, and you do find a few boxes of what looks like jerky lying behind what was once a serving counter. The jerky itself is nearly black, and rather hard, you're not entirely sure if it's safe to eat.
You don't find any other objects per se, but you do find some tape. You craft a makeshift handle around that sharp piece of glass from earlier. Perhaps now it won't break if you need to thrust it at something.
You pocket the remaining tape, never know when you might need to fix something.
ST-3 is empty.
ST-1 is disconcerting.
Bones. A pair of human corpses, long skeletized, with a blanket over them. Evidently, a makeshift burial, or they died in their sleep, it's hard to say. Either way, something's disturbed the remains relatively recently, several of the bones are nearby, others are missing entirely.
Daedalus chimes in
"If you can pick up one of the bones, I could run a DNA scan, perhaps finding out who they were. And how long they've been here."
Gingerly, you pick up the left skull and allow Daedalus to scan it.
He is silent for a moment, and then-
"13021, Dr. Robert Dropenstein. One of the head researchers here. He doesn't appear to have died violently, nor does the other. Giving my best guess, these skeletons are somewhere between four and seven hundred years old."
He pauses.
"You and I were asleep for a long time."
"Dr. Dropenstein and I worked together on occasion. He never trusted me, nor any of the other AI, but he was devoted to his work. I respected him in a way."
"Perhaps we should leave. It does not appear that there are any other supplies of use to us here."
Comments
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
"Hello? Hello? I can't see you, Director, my cameras are off. Am I in the backup system? What's happened?"
are we "Director"? do we have anything which would identify us as such?
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
You hear the helmet's camera turn on, and then, you hear Daedalus again, though his voice still sounds the same, it also now sounds like it's coming from directly between your ears.
We should search the other rooms in this wing for any supplies we can find. I've been trying to back-read my logs prior to my shutdown, but they cut off at a certain date well before I was turned off, and the network has long been disconnected, so I can't remotely access any of the other computers in this facility either. So if you find any systems, there is a jack in the wrist compartment you can use to allow me to interface with them directly."
"That weapon you found, it's a Type-43 Infantry Plasma Discharge Pistol. Very powerful for its type."
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead