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[Silleh Boy]

Down that hatch you see a tunnel leading down, a tunnel that seems out of place in this forest, in this land that seems untamed by those that live within it. A tunnel, that bears rungs made of metal, rungs, curved panels that hold back the earth that this tunnel has been sunken into. Panels, that have sagged ever so slightly with the many years they have no doubt seen. Panels and rungs that while still gleaming, untouched by the corrosion that would have claimed lesser metals, are dulled by the grime that comes with use.

Awkwardly at first you descend, climbing down ahead of the man into the tunnel, a tunnel that is illuminated by failing, flickering lights. Lights, that have been replaced where they have completely burned out by cracking the tubes open, filling them with what appears to be glowing fungus.

This detail doesn't fail to rouse your curiosity, spurring your imagination onward as you envision the passage of these lesser- these people, crafty people using what is on hand for maintaining this place. Crafty and resourceful, survivors who's numbers are beyond your ability to envision.

There could be ten, twenty, a hundred, a thousand. There could be an entire civilisation of them, hidden beneath the soil, in tunnels forgotten by that what lives on the surface. Or they could be more recent, much like yourself. They could be left here, surviving in what manner they could, they could be little more than a small group hiding beneath the soil from the skies above.

Your eyes turn upwards briefly as you watch the man descending with you, then down once more as you gauge how deep the tunnel is, estimating that it must have been sunken into the ground at least a hundred meters.

A hundred meters down, to escape the surface world.

"Why do you fear the skies, why do they change like that, what happens when you are trapped outside?" you ask, your voice reverberating off the hard walls about you.

"I would have expected you to know, angel, though you clearly did not escape your fall unscathed," the man responds, though you get no answer to your question initially. "When the skies change, the clouds drive those that breathe them mad, causing visions of that what is not there to plague them. Those that escape the clouds recover from these visions. Those that do not, are rarely found intact."

You can hear, feel the fear in his voice as he talks of the skies, you can feel reluctance, unwillingness to further discuss this subject. It is unlikely that he knows much more, you tell yourself, opting instead to ask another question.

"Why do you call me 'Angel'?" you ask, pausing to step from the rungs, onto a cold steel plated floor at the bottom of the shaft, barely albe to make out the shape of a door here from the dull illumination provided by the ancient lights.

"You are one of the winged ones from the heavens above. You are angels," the man pauses, stepping from the ladder himself, one palm placed on the door as he pushes it open. The sound of metal grinding on metal, the scream of old hinges protesting fills the air as the man pauses, holding one hand up, the gesture one you recognise as telling you to stop briefly. "She is with me. I am taking her to see the Elder."

You can hear the slight shuffle of feet in this new tunnel, though you cannot see what those feet belong to. A new tunnel, this one arched, braced with metal girders, flickering lights illuminating it from above. There are two figures you cannot see, you tell yourself as you listen to the slight sounds they give off, the shuffling of their feet against the floor as they watch you follow the man along the tunnel.

Two figures that stand as unseen sentries to guard the doorway, to watch these peoples backs incase they are invaded from above. The man pauses, reaching down to push the second door open, a door that swings open with as much noise, as much protest as the first.

As that door opens, what sight greets you?
Do you have further questions for the man?

[RAM]

Aaaaargh! Tentacles!
"What is that thing!?!"

[Karnewarrior]

The door leads nowhere. A glass wall is in the way. However, somehow inside the wall, a golden mask simply floats, suspended by nothing, like a halluciniation. Under it's chin can be seen E.L.D.E.R written not by hand but by some strange manner of writing that leaves little room for error. the gold is flawless, nigh untarnished since it was made. It flickers oddly, too fast for the eye to truely see, yet slow enough to suggest it isn't quite tangible.

Ask the man "What is it, and where have I seen it before?"

[Nivim]

 In the background you here a slight sound you cannot place or quite name; a tinkling, a twittering, a chirping, and a grinding. It fills you with a curious sense of wonder and peace, but at the same time that dreadful and fearful instinct saying that "this is the enemy, this is wrong; destroy it!" You will hear what it has to say, and percieve very carefully for something to truly justify either feeling. Since you don't know what's right you're going to need the sharpest eye to find out! Luckily, attention to subtle detail comes easy, despite your lack of strength.
 In fact, in the darkness behind the glass and mask, you can see the faint shimmering of flowing stars, and can tell that it's part of what added to the feeling.

 Then, you notice there is in fact a bench to sit on while you talk. Perhaps you should take it.

[Armok]

The door leads nowhere. A glass wall is in the way. However, somehow inside the wall, a golden mask simply floats, suspended by nothing, like a halluciniation. Under it's chin can be seen E.L.D.E.R written not by hand but by some strange manner of writing that leaves little room for error. the gold is flawless, nigh untarnished since it was made. It flickers oddly, too fast for the eye to truely see, yet slow enough to suggest it isn't quite tangible.

THIS!

[Silleh Boy]

The door opens to reveal a small room, a room from what cool air seems to rush forth to greet you, a room that compared to the dulled and worn tunnels that you have seen so far, seems pristine. The walls of this room are a cold, medical shade of white, bearing no signs of grime, no marks, no damage from the passage of time. Small ventilation grates are visible in them, keeping the room feeling cool and fresh, despite how far beneath the ground it is.

A monolithic slab of glass sits against the far wall of the room, one that seems to sparkle, to glow softly, then burn into life as you approach it, as the door behind you slams shut, as the screech of metal on metal tells you that you are locked in here. That the man who brought you here has not entered the room with you.

You do not feel fear however, as you know that this place, this room, this thing before you, are all familiar to you in some manner.

A mask burns into view before you as the lighting in the room dims, encased, hovering within the monolith before you, a mask of gold that you watch rotate, letters glimmering beneath it, fading into view as they seem to scroll in from the side.

E.L.D.E.R.

Those letters, that word, it makes sense now.

This is the Elder, this is what you were brought to see. This mask encased in glass, a mask that finishes rotating as a musical chime echoes about you. A mask that despite appearing to be made of metal, moves as if it was skin as it speaks.

"Warden-Ten. Please, have a seat," comes a voice, one with a deep, gentle tone, one that despite its artificial nature has you release a breath you were not aware you were holding in.

The hiss of the floor behind you doubled with the gentle whir of gears tells you that while the room bore no such furnishing when you entered it, that now, you at least have a place to sit. You are thankful for it, you realise as you sink down onto the hard surface behind you, for your feet and your joints ache from your time running through the forest so soon after your fall.

"Your form appears to be compromised, Warden-Ten," comes the voice of the Elder, followed by a slight whirring, a beep and a hum as a glowing light descends from above you. "Please be still while damage assessment is performed."

The light washes over you, bathing you with a warm glow that makes your skin tingle. A light that engulfs your entire body, a light that you can just barely make out the Elder through. For the brief moment that the light engulfs you, floods the room with its warm glow, you find yourself trembling.

You're afraid, not of the glow, of the scan that this thing is performing upon you, but of the results that it will find from the scan.

With a chime, with your eyes adjusting to the dark of the room as the glow fades, the Elder starts to speak once more.

"Warden-Ten, this facility is not equipped to correct the problems that have been discovered at this time," came the voice, followed by a brief pause. "Alternatives are available to lessen the damage in some areas, though these alternatives are hardly befitting of a Warden."

"What is the damage?" you ask, almost automatically, your voice seeming different somehow, authoritative almost.

"Many of your cybernetic systems, along with the redundant backups have been disabled. Your shoulder-ports are still active, though the wings that you were fitted with are not in a state where they may be salvaged and repaired."

You frown, reaching back to those stumps, stumps that flutter helplessly in response to your touch.

"List the problems. List the alternatives," you sigh, rubbing at your forehead as a dull sensation, pain, begins to blossom.

"Your neural-control relays are offline. Your bio-energy relays are offline. Surgery will enable them again. No alternative," starts the Elder, who pauses as you cringe, though when you have no response or input, it continues with the list. "Your wings are non-salvagable. Replacement wings are not available at this time as the status of the fabrication and cloning plant is unknown. Multiple alternative limbs are available for plugging into your shoulders."

"What kind of limbs?" you ask, curiously, while the term 'cloning' drifts through your mind in a manner that has you feel briefly unsettled.

"Limbs range from utility arms, to offensive arms, to defensive arms," the Elder states, before resuming the list of problems. "Your spinal ports are not in use, damage to them is minimal, though there are no on-site options for them at this time. Many internal systems for monitoring and regulating your body are offline. Surgery will fix them. No alternative."

You frown slightly, not liking the sound of surgery being the only option to fix some of these problems, though you do have one more question that you need answering immediately. "What does all this mean?"

"Due to your non-functional neural-relays, any cybernetics plugged into you will function less efficiently. You will have lessened fine control and awareness of them. Due to your non-functional bio-relays, you are incapable of generating offensive or defensive measures. Due to your damaged monitoring and control systems, you will not have control over release of adrenaline, release of endorphines-"

You cringe once more.

"I get the picture," you sigh, rubbing at your forehead as the pain in it continues to blossom.

"Warden-Ten, do you have any questions, do you wish to requisition equipment?"

You breathe deeply.
There are many things you could ask, that you could request.
The question is, what?

[TolyK]

You suddenly blurt out, "wait, what???"

[mcclay]

The question is : "What am I?"

[RAM]

Why are the alternatives not befitting of a warden?

[Silleh Boy]

It dawns on you that this is big, that through the haze of pain that you feel as your protesting mind resists the very concept of being forced to recall, that this could be what starts your memories unlocking. You shift slightly, struggling to take in everything that has been said so far, struggling to grasp the magnitude of all that has been said.

You know that this Elder, this thing hovering encased in glass before you, has answers to what you are, though it is unlikely to have answers to who you are. Your identity, your work, these things are aspects of you, though they are not you.

They are at least things that you can latch onto, familiar things that you can find your sense of self from by association. This both excites and terrifies you, as you know that there's a risk that the you that sees the world now, may hate the you that you become. You may be a terrible person, you may alternatively be something that suprises you, something that you are proud to be.

This is unimportant at the moment though, as your first priority is rediscovering what you are, who you are. Your second priority is get yourself once more in a fully operational state. Your third, you guess, would be to carry out whatever mission you had here, though the thought of some mission, some military assignment has you cringe. You know deep down that you are trained in evasion and aquirement, you are trained to observe, to catch others unaware.

You know deep down that your talents revolve around your ability to lie, to steal, to blend in with surroundings and crowds. You are uncertain if this makes you a bad person or not, as they are certainly talents that are ones that you could identify with directly as being so. They are also talents that could be used to save lives, to prevent bloodshed, to discover, to protect.

"What am I?" you ask, rocking back and forth slowly on the chair as you do so.

The Elder seems to spend a brief moment silent, that brief yet uncomfortable silence making you wonder if this was a good question to ask.

"You are Warden-Ten, Specialist of the Imperial Peace Corps," that response at least has you relax slightly, if only due to the fact that the word 'peace' was involved. "Your body is a clone, grown from the DNA of the original Warden-Ten. Your neural pathways are programmed with the experiences of every Warden-Ten that has been since the original. You are Warden-Ten."

It takes you a long moment to absorb this detail, recalling the callous manner in what you were abandoned on the surface. It makes sense, if you can be replaced, then you are expendable. It seems like a lot of effort to replace you though, that you are special in some manner.

"How many of me are there?"

"One is active at any time. In the event of a premature death, the most recent neural backup will be used in the creation of a new clone."

"What if there was a second one of me?"

"A second operational clone of a Warden is not permitted."

"Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically, with two of the same Warden active, the reaction of the Warden themselves would govern how they would handle this knowledge. Clone soldiers are programmed to handle this detail. Wardens are not."

You frown slightly, it's reassuring in a sense to know that even if you're not the original, that you're at least the only one, that you're in a sense the extension of a life that should have ceased long ago. You're unique in that sense, though it means that there's no other like you out there, no other Ten who would be able to assist in the restoration of your memories.

"Why are the alternative cybernetics that you can offer me, not befitting of a Warden?" you ask after a long moments silence.

"A Warden is known by their wings. Those wings provide additional benefits on top of flight, in that they amplify the abilities of the Warden, in that they provide clear visual identification."

"This doesn't answer my question. Why are the alternatives not befitting?"

"A Wardens wings are of the highest grade cybernetics. All this facility may offer is common tools, low end weapons."

You sigh, guessing that it's to do with being 'reduced' to using something beneath you. It seems a fitting response at least, given how you have noticed that you have a sense of supriority, that you feel you are better than what you perceive to be lesser beings.

"Do you have further questions?" asks the voice.
"Do you wish to requisition equipment?" it continues.

[RAM]

Request all available data on imperial peace corps activity and purpose in the region.

Accept surgery, do not replace wings.

[Armok]

Oooooh! I were wrong to doubt this'll be as awesome as your previous stories! This is really cool.

> Explain the damage to your memories, and see if it has some older backup of you to sync at least the fundamentals. Even if you don't go spreading your mind around, some audiovisual format logs may be more widely available.

> Postpone surgery 24 hours, use the time for research into your surroundings and situation. And without dopmine control you might need recreation as well.

> The extra time before the surgery might be useful for figuring out if there are any other changes you want to do as well. With some of the damage not being recoverable, you will wasn't to change you approach to the mission, and thus different body options will likely be optimal. Most likely, infiltration, which means you'll want to look like a typical member of the community you're going to infiltrate and that you'll want stealth capabilities.

> Remember that no matter what you do to your body, the only thing that'll last long than the mission might be silly embarrassment, for soon you'll have another one. Don't worry about your looks to much.

[Silleh Boy]

"Surgery," you breathe the word with a sigh, hands moving to rub at your exposed arms briefly, inwardly telling yourself that it's not as bad as it sounds, even if deep down, you hate going through it. "Is this facility equipped to perform it?"

Your question has the Elder pause for a moment, flickering almost imperceptibly as the golden mask displayed before you shrinks, zooming out to make space for various graphs that join it on that clear glass display. They are too much for you to take in at this time, impossible for you to quite grasp the meaning of with how overwhelmed you are feeling with everything by this point.

"Summarise it for me, please."

"This facility is only equipped with basic first aid protocols. Full repair given the extent of your damage, would require visitation of a fabrication and cloning facility. It is possible for minor repairs to be enacted, bringing your relays back online, though they would operate at a sub-optimal capacity."

There is a brief pause once more as the graphs fade, as the mask once more enlarges to fill the display, as it waits patiently fot your next question.

"How long would recovery from bringing those relays back online take?"

"As this facility is not equipped, unlike a cloning facility to carry out full scale-"

"How long!" you huff as you raise your voice, one hand moving up from your arms to press to your forehead once more, to massage it gently as you feel it beginning to throb with that blossoming pain.

"If your shoulder ports will permit it, they may be brought online within five minutes. Recovery from this would be signifigantly faster than surgery, though it would take upwards of thirty minutes more for your body to adapt and accomodate. The level of damage that you are operating under would be dealt with by fabrication and cloning by synchronising neural backups and bringing a new body online for you."

You frown slightly.

"So if you cannot bring the relays back online via my ports, then how long would my recovery time be for surgery itself?"

"Twelve to twenty four hours, depending on how invasive."

You start to rock back and forth slowly as you look away from the golden mask before you, from the Elder that waits patiently for your next question. It has told you how it can fix minimal damage, it seems, how it can offer sub-par externals for your shoulders, though it hasn't told you anything that helps you find your sense of self.

This requires more direct questioning.

"I need some information, as I believe my memories have been compromised at some point during my arrival here. Does this facility have any backups that could be used for synchronisation?"

"Only authorised facilities have access to Warden neural backups."

"Is there any media on me, any public information that could be used?"

"All references to Wardens in public files relating to history and the media are carefully censored as to protect the Wardens. As the elite of the Imperial Peace Corps the Wardens are granted this ambiguity to protect them from their enemies."

You frown as you draw your arms about yourself once more. "Then, can you at least tell me about the purpose of the Imperial Peace Corps and what they do in this region?"

"The Imperial Peace Corps is the right hand of the empire, their duty is to ensure the safety of the populace, to maintain order, to mediate and when all other options are exausted, to neutralise threats to the empire and its citizens. The Imperial Peace Corps is composed of soldiers, scientists and engineers, they are sent where possible to assist in the founding of new colonies."

"That doesn't-"

"In this region of space they maintain the border between the empire and mediate when hostilities rise between the empire and the divergent groups."

"Divergent groups?"

"The Divergent groups of humanity, clans, groups who inhabit their own regions of space, groups who did not take the same path that the empire did. There has been much hostility over the centuries, relating to the choices that have been made by the empire to openly augment and clone its populace."

"Why?" you ask, almost dumbly.

"The empire seeks to create a utopia for its citizens, this creates tensions with the other groups due to their cultural differences. While the Imperial Peace Corps seeks to avoid war, hostilities do arise, do lead to the creation of prison planets such as this one."

The enemy... Those people, it was no wonder you viewed them as such.

"Prisoners are either sent back to their respective factions as part of political attempts to ease hostilities, or they are rehabilitated. Rehabilitation is only carried out when their faction does not care for their return and when they are prepared to consent to such measures. Rehabilitation, upon completion, permits for the new citizen of the empire to be relocated to a colony befitting of the talents they possess and to start a new life with the support of the various groups that have been formed for this task."

It dawns on you that you may have been sent here to fix whatever is happening with this planet, to save those on it that wish to be saved.
Do you have further questions still?
Do you wish to consent to one of the two forms of attempted repair?
Do you have a plan?

[TolyK]

Do you have a plan?

nope.

[Armok]

> These identity problems will just make things complicated, ask if the facility is equipped to put in artificiality generated placeholder data for the reminder of the mission.

> Given that the ELDER is  so uncertain, the largest factor in determining between the repair options are likely in personal affinity, and without your memories you have just as little data on that. You should probably simply try out the different options in VR and see what feels best.