hey look! i'm not doing something evil! and, just like the title implies, this isn't going to be as dusty as some of my other attempts. for instance, just wait'll you get to the end of this first installment! you'll love the machine's designation!
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It started with a spark. Current leaping across empty air from one electrode to another, then the spark happened again, brighter this time. On the third spark, something caught, and the generator started. It was loud and raucous, but it didn’t matter, it was charging the capacitor. It had lain here, sleeping for hundreds of years as the world turned, the civilization that had spawned it had fallen, the machines that created it were no more, and society had started again, the generator that was now working was a product of that civilization, a set of archaeologists seeking to revive some great computer bank and gather priceless data from the time before the great war. They hadn’t traced the power conduits right. It was okay, they were unfamiliar with the tech. It would be another century before they developed these sorts of systems on their own. On the generator spun, growling and coughing as a capacitor deep within the inner workings of the ‘armor room reached it’s peak charge and a new circuit shut the power from the capacitor dumping into something they had dismissed as junk. In a way, it was. It’s purpose had long since expired, the refuse piled around it was just as obsolete as it was, yet, it was far beyond anything they had…and it knew things. As the circuit closed, and electric life was discharged into it, providing the initial charge needed to start it’s internal reactor, the `armor, the “bio-metallic wararmor” to use its full name, began to reboot systems that hadn’t been used in centuries, and the refuse pile moved, no one noticed though, their attention was focused on the database, watching breathless as it went through it’s paces, initializing data logs that had been recording everything that had happened since the ‘armor had been put into cold storage. As the academics watched, their own history, and things from during the Great War itself, flashed across the screen in a kaleidoscope of images, their excitement growing with each moment, until the ‘armor finished its startup, the database continued to cycle, transmitting the events of several decades directly into the unit’s holographic memory banks, but the ‘armor itself stood up at last, self-diagnostics finishing their runs as the servo-motors and actuators whispered softly, the only noise the unit made at first was the clatter of scrap metal falling away from it. the fourteen beady-eyed little archaeologists turned as one, staring in awe at the thing that now stood before them, 7 foot tall, all gleaming metal and flickers of light, it almost seemed to breath as it stood there, and then it tested it's vocal subroutines, a rasping tenor growl coming from somewhere deep in its mechanical bowels as it spoke for the first time in decades.
"I am Wararmor unit 1337, data stores indicate that need for my service has been non-existant for ages. why have I been activated? speak meat sacks. I am programmed to kill, not be patient."
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i'll pop back in later to make another installment, if nobody else can think of some fun addendum before me. later!
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It started with a spark. Current leaping across empty air from one electrode to another, then the spark happened again, brighter this time. On the third spark, something caught, and the generator started. It was loud and raucous, but it didn’t matter, it was charging the capacitor. It had lain here, sleeping for hundreds of years as the world turned, the civilization that had spawned it had fallen, the machines that created it were no more, and society had started again, the generator that was now working was a product of that civilization, a set of archaeologists seeking to revive some great computer bank and gather priceless data from the time before the great war. They hadn’t traced the power conduits right. It was okay, they were unfamiliar with the tech. It would be another century before they developed these sorts of systems on their own. On the generator spun, growling and coughing as a capacitor deep within the inner workings of the ‘armor room reached it’s peak charge and a new circuit shut the power from the capacitor dumping into something they had dismissed as junk. In a way, it was. It’s purpose had long since expired, the refuse piled around it was just as obsolete as it was, yet, it was far beyond anything they had…and it knew things. As the circuit closed, and electric life was discharged into it, providing the initial charge needed to start it’s internal reactor, the `armor, the “bio-metallic wararmor” to use its full name, began to reboot systems that hadn’t been used in centuries, and the refuse pile moved, no one noticed though, their attention was focused on the database, watching breathless as it went through it’s paces, initializing data logs that had been recording everything that had happened since the ‘armor had been put into cold storage. As the academics watched, their own history, and things from during the Great War itself, flashed across the screen in a kaleidoscope of images, their excitement growing with each moment, until the ‘armor finished its startup, the database continued to cycle, transmitting the events of several decades directly into the unit’s holographic memory banks, but the ‘armor itself stood up at last, self-diagnostics finishing their runs as the servo-motors and actuators whispered softly, the only noise the unit made at first was the clatter of scrap metal falling away from it. the fourteen beady-eyed little archaeologists turned as one, staring in awe at the thing that now stood before them, 7 foot tall, all gleaming metal and flickers of light, it almost seemed to breath as it stood there, and then it tested it's vocal subroutines, a rasping tenor growl coming from somewhere deep in its mechanical bowels as it spoke for the first time in decades.
"I am Wararmor unit 1337, data stores indicate that need for my service has been non-existant for ages. why have I been activated? speak meat sacks. I am programmed to kill, not be patient."
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i'll pop back in later to make another installment, if nobody else can think of some fun addendum before me. later!