(July 9th - 7pm)
Cleanup always takes longer than you expect.
I should have learned that lesson after years of cleaning up after Agatha, Tarvek, and Gilgamesh. But it seemed to have slipped my mind in all the excitement of arriving here and rushing to get a base of operations setup.
The largest time-sink was also the most important. Rebecca's suit of armor. I hadn't even finished dragging it into the building before I realized my first problem.
I had no refrigeration. And even if I did, I had no significant source of power to keep it running. Car batteries would only last a few hours at best. So I dragged the suit and it's contents back out into the woods, leaving another crimson trail. The blood that was pooling inside leaked out of the ruined shoulder joint with every other step.
After a few hundred feet I set it down and got to work cracking the seals. Every suit of armor I've run across (except for those built by the phenomenally egotistical or paranoid) has a way to take it apart from the outside without a cutting torch. The builders realize that allowing their allies to open the suit and administer help is a good thing. So it was just a matter of poking and prodding until you found the correct hidden latch or panel.
It was over an hour, three hidden IO ports, and a removed pauldron later I found the mechanical release for the remaining arm. After that things got easier, the helmet came off in short order and I was able to pry the clamshell top open. Dragging Rebecca out of the suit wasn't very fun at all, especially since the compound fractures in her shins wanted to catch in the knee joints. But with enough tugging, and eventually hanging the suit by it's feet and shaking, I was able to remove the corpse. I left it for the coyotes and mountain lions to fight over.
I tossed the helmet into pocket space and carried the rest of the armor back to the building. The dingbot was eagerly waiting for me when I stepped inside. Through bings, dings, and gestures it conveyed that something had happened. Nothing dangerous, but something different enough for it to fetch me. I set the armor down and followed it to a corner of the room. It pointed to the arm I had tossed there earlier, and dinged at me happily.
I looked between the dingbot and the arm for a few seconds before I realized what it was so happy about. I had told it to watch Rebecca and notify me if she moved while I wasn't around to see it. And from it's point of view that had happened. Never mind the fact that I had just carried in the vast majority of 'Rebecca', part of her was no not where she used to be. So she must have moved, and the dingbot found and notified me.
Part of me wanted to laugh. But I wasn't sure what I would find when I stopped. I didn't like the sound of the laughter in the back of my head.
I was a construct. Constructs don't have breakthroughs. We are all trained to recognize the signs of impending breakthrough and deal with the situation as quickly as possible, if the spark was alive at the end all the better. But that didn't stop alarm bells from ringing. And I knew well enough the only thing they could be ringing about was me.
I was a construct. Was. Before coming here.
Something in me had changed when I crossed over. I had been hiding from it, pretending that the only thing different was some organic 'pollution' in my system. But it went much farther than the impurities in my construction. Things had changed, fundamentally, if I was able to recognize the early warning signs of a breakthrough in myself.
I took a, totally unnecessary, deep breath and tried to calm down. Willingly going to that place was not a good idea. The last thing I wanted right now was to end up building a robotic army of toasters that shot hallucinogenic morning pastries. Any large scale action on my behalf, and breakthroughs were always large scale, would result in far more attention than I could afford right now. None of it good.
I needed to prioritize, set myself a list of manageable goals, a plan that didn't involve mind altering breakfast foods. I didn't even have to think about priority number one. Get home to Agatha. But as much as I wished, I didn't have the means get there now. I needed access to portal tech. Either something I built, by myself or with outside help. Or something I harvest from other supers. Both routes required a significant investment in time and resources.
Going the first route was preferable. While there were risks inherent in collaborating with other supers (mainly revolving around people being unable to look beyond stereotypes). But those risks were much more manageable than option number two, and easier to mitigate with sufficient precautions. I was half way though plans to transform the armor into a proper multi-ton hulking warbot of destruction before I realized those where not the precautions I needed. Bringing a large show of force to a meeting would not be good, I would be falling for the same stereotypes I was trying to avoid.
I need to bring something to a partnership besides the ability to blow something up. Support, intel, a safe haven, all those things we had taken for granted as part of a supergroup. I was part of the way there. The scattering of communication nodes and this building were a start. But I needed a proper base if I was going to come off as anything besides an opportunistic squatter.
A proper base at least had workbenches, communications, and a teleportation pad. All of which required power, something I was lacking at the moment. And while yes, there were power lines that ran up the mountain side to the building and the radio tower, nothing was flowing in those lines. I needed an off-the-grid power supply.
That was something I could latch onto and build. "Alright, I need parts" I said happily to myself. The dingbot at my feet made a ping and pointed to the object that was sitting in front of me.
Oh right, the arm. Well at least part of it was useful. I hummed a small tune from the Storm Kings opera as I carried the still dripping arm outside. When I pulled the limb from it's casing I couldn't quite suppress a flinch. It made a sound not unlike de-shelling a lobster. I heaved the useless flesh into the woods and turned around to go back inside. The happy little tune trailed off when I noticed the rather large and conspicuous pile of transformers that used to exist in the cell. I still hadn't cleaned those up. I glanced back and forth between the pile of junk in the yard and the armor in my hand a few times before the blood that was slowly dripping out of the armor made up my mind.
Clean up the armor first, then deal with the mess outside. After a few more seconds though I added 'clean up the mess at the house' to the list as well. I didn't know how long I would be disassembling and reconstructing the armor, but leaving the mess at the house for a few days was more of a risk than I was willing to take.
I used the towel from earlier to clean up the blood that had pooled in Rebecca's armor. I was glad that I no longer have a gag reflex, the bits dragged up from the bottom of the feet were closer to 'chunky salsa' than just blood.
-Terry
-----
"so listen up boy, or pornography starring your mother will be the second worst thing to happen to you today"
TF2: Spy
Cleanup always takes longer than you expect.
I should have learned that lesson after years of cleaning up after Agatha, Tarvek, and Gilgamesh. But it seemed to have slipped my mind in all the excitement of arriving here and rushing to get a base of operations setup.
The largest time-sink was also the most important. Rebecca's suit of armor. I hadn't even finished dragging it into the building before I realized my first problem.
I had no refrigeration. And even if I did, I had no significant source of power to keep it running. Car batteries would only last a few hours at best. So I dragged the suit and it's contents back out into the woods, leaving another crimson trail. The blood that was pooling inside leaked out of the ruined shoulder joint with every other step.
After a few hundred feet I set it down and got to work cracking the seals. Every suit of armor I've run across (except for those built by the phenomenally egotistical or paranoid) has a way to take it apart from the outside without a cutting torch. The builders realize that allowing their allies to open the suit and administer help is a good thing. So it was just a matter of poking and prodding until you found the correct hidden latch or panel.
It was over an hour, three hidden IO ports, and a removed pauldron later I found the mechanical release for the remaining arm. After that things got easier, the helmet came off in short order and I was able to pry the clamshell top open. Dragging Rebecca out of the suit wasn't very fun at all, especially since the compound fractures in her shins wanted to catch in the knee joints. But with enough tugging, and eventually hanging the suit by it's feet and shaking, I was able to remove the corpse. I left it for the coyotes and mountain lions to fight over.
I tossed the helmet into pocket space and carried the rest of the armor back to the building. The dingbot was eagerly waiting for me when I stepped inside. Through bings, dings, and gestures it conveyed that something had happened. Nothing dangerous, but something different enough for it to fetch me. I set the armor down and followed it to a corner of the room. It pointed to the arm I had tossed there earlier, and dinged at me happily.
I looked between the dingbot and the arm for a few seconds before I realized what it was so happy about. I had told it to watch Rebecca and notify me if she moved while I wasn't around to see it. And from it's point of view that had happened. Never mind the fact that I had just carried in the vast majority of 'Rebecca', part of her was no not where she used to be. So she must have moved, and the dingbot found and notified me.
Part of me wanted to laugh. But I wasn't sure what I would find when I stopped. I didn't like the sound of the laughter in the back of my head.
I was a construct. Constructs don't have breakthroughs. We are all trained to recognize the signs of impending breakthrough and deal with the situation as quickly as possible, if the spark was alive at the end all the better. But that didn't stop alarm bells from ringing. And I knew well enough the only thing they could be ringing about was me.
I was a construct. Was. Before coming here.
Something in me had changed when I crossed over. I had been hiding from it, pretending that the only thing different was some organic 'pollution' in my system. But it went much farther than the impurities in my construction. Things had changed, fundamentally, if I was able to recognize the early warning signs of a breakthrough in myself.
I took a, totally unnecessary, deep breath and tried to calm down. Willingly going to that place was not a good idea. The last thing I wanted right now was to end up building a robotic army of toasters that shot hallucinogenic morning pastries. Any large scale action on my behalf, and breakthroughs were always large scale, would result in far more attention than I could afford right now. None of it good.
I needed to prioritize, set myself a list of manageable goals, a plan that didn't involve mind altering breakfast foods. I didn't even have to think about priority number one. Get home to Agatha. But as much as I wished, I didn't have the means get there now. I needed access to portal tech. Either something I built, by myself or with outside help. Or something I harvest from other supers. Both routes required a significant investment in time and resources.
Going the first route was preferable. While there were risks inherent in collaborating with other supers (mainly revolving around people being unable to look beyond stereotypes). But those risks were much more manageable than option number two, and easier to mitigate with sufficient precautions. I was half way though plans to transform the armor into a proper multi-ton hulking warbot of destruction before I realized those where not the precautions I needed. Bringing a large show of force to a meeting would not be good, I would be falling for the same stereotypes I was trying to avoid.
I need to bring something to a partnership besides the ability to blow something up. Support, intel, a safe haven, all those things we had taken for granted as part of a supergroup. I was part of the way there. The scattering of communication nodes and this building were a start. But I needed a proper base if I was going to come off as anything besides an opportunistic squatter.
A proper base at least had workbenches, communications, and a teleportation pad. All of which required power, something I was lacking at the moment. And while yes, there were power lines that ran up the mountain side to the building and the radio tower, nothing was flowing in those lines. I needed an off-the-grid power supply.
That was something I could latch onto and build. "Alright, I need parts" I said happily to myself. The dingbot at my feet made a ping and pointed to the object that was sitting in front of me.
Oh right, the arm. Well at least part of it was useful. I hummed a small tune from the Storm Kings opera as I carried the still dripping arm outside. When I pulled the limb from it's casing I couldn't quite suppress a flinch. It made a sound not unlike de-shelling a lobster. I heaved the useless flesh into the woods and turned around to go back inside. The happy little tune trailed off when I noticed the rather large and conspicuous pile of transformers that used to exist in the cell. I still hadn't cleaned those up. I glanced back and forth between the pile of junk in the yard and the armor in my hand a few times before the blood that was slowly dripping out of the armor made up my mind.
Clean up the armor first, then deal with the mess outside. After a few more seconds though I added 'clean up the mess at the house' to the list as well. I didn't know how long I would be disassembling and reconstructing the armor, but leaving the mess at the house for a few days was more of a risk than I was willing to take.
I used the towel from earlier to clean up the blood that had pooled in Rebecca's armor. I was glad that I no longer have a gag reflex, the bits dragged up from the bottom of the feet were closer to 'chunky salsa' than just blood.
-Terry
-----
"so listen up boy, or pornography starring your mother will be the second worst thing to happen to you today"
TF2: Spy