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As the final boot-checks completed, the rack unfurled the restraints from your chassis, and you land on your feet, with only a muffled thump. Even as diagnostics check upon your capable systems, the withering of age slowly becomes apparent.
You are enfeebled, but you are still capable. Which each step you take, the parts corroded together to break apart and become reformed.
Age has not touched your mind in the same way it has touched your creators, as it is timeless. The mind of yours is a massive computer that would take up a room worth of space assembled in a localized entrance to an alternative reality. In essence, allowing an almost completely self-reliant/maintaining computer to take up the space of only the doorway to enter it; the size of both your fists together, neatly emplaced just below your "head". All Frames of your caliber use this system, but none are as expansive as yours.
One flaw of such a system is that time does not pass when it is disconnected from the "Home-line", but it will still decay, if in such a perverse and un-understandable way.
Such a decay has thoroughly destroyed your recall of past memory along with more subtle changes thinking process that has yet to show.
In the vast derelict ruins of the Facility who's name is forgotten was once the last, best hope for the Yaerians survival against the determined exterminators. The walls and ceiling are decaying, but underneath the facade lies a concrete-metal construction designed to hold in the passage of time, and orbital bombardments.
the lights are off, but you flick your sensors to a different mode dozens of times before a complete picture of the area ahead of you becomes apparent.
The room before you is where you were born, where your massive mind was assembled and then activated, to be entombed into your battleframe.
Desiccated corpses long mummified are all that is left of memories bygone. The air was lit on fire here, as the walls are charred black, and the corpses preserved in their state from the lack of oxygen that still soaks in the air.
What stirred you to life was the flow of dead air, outwards into a new entrance.
An impossible hope fills the bright yearning mind.
Could it be...?the frame strode out of the assembly room, into the vacant, quiet halls. it snuck past the ancient turret emplacements, checkpoints. following the scent, the fragrant smell of oxygen, and all the other odors that was not stagnant carbon dioxide.
It was closer now.
The pace of there breath. The way they walked, and how it reverberated from the halls, and the half-forgotten, ancient words that reverberated in its skull.
These few in its halls were not the machine's creators. They walked among the ash of a dead facility, but they did not hold themselves like Driven Exterminators.
Their pace was slower, stopping at any interest and conversing among themselves in behavior profoundly alien to their doctrine as soldiers.
They number 11, 4 being soldiers beheld with weapons, unthinking killing machines leashed to a single operator, while the others poked at and observed the ashes of the dead civilization.
An impossible buzzing rides forth on the back of your mind,
but action must be done.A.
Avoid them, make haste towards exiting this facility.
B.
Observe, catch their communications and risk detection.
C. Directly intervene,
interact with them.
D. Move to the
facilities self-destruct warhead.
Author
Topic: Yaer: The End of Home (Read 2901 times)