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Post by SceneMod on Jul 30, 2010 22:42:12 GMT -5
Day 14, secret laboratory, private thus far.
Mirage will find himself rather rudely awakened, as if someone has been poking around in his internals and accidentally shorted something, snapping him back into the land of the waking.
That's exactly what happened.
Mirage will find his hands and wrists bound to a series of four quarter-circle arcs attached to a servo-driven rig so that he can be twisted around into almost any position. Right now, he's hanging upside-down, spread-eagle. Most of his major transform joints have had braces applied to prevent him from transforming, but a few of the more subtle joints have been missed. Whoever has bound him up is definitely familiar with the concept of transforming robots but perhaps has never run into one quite so complex as Mirage.
On top of his original injuries, most of his motor and subspace lines have been crudely cut, but again, a few have been missed. He's been opened up, and it would be shorter to list what isn't exposed. Monitoring device lines are snaked into his internals. His radio has been removed entirely and is sitting on a folding tray nearby, along with other unidentifiable pieces of machinery. The whole place appears to be a laboratory. The architecture is ever so faintly reminiscent of ancient Cybertronian ruins, resonating even across universes, but there's something distinctly wrong about it all. The air smells of cleaning solutions, spilled fuel, and, oddly enough, sea salt, heavy, humid, and oppressive.
There are other rigs such as the one that holds Mirage. Pyrite is strung up in one, apparently quite unconscious. His head is open and lines from monitoring devices run inside. A third holds Bambi, also out of it. Monitoring devices are clustered near her, just the same, and more trays and parts and tools.
A tentacle snakes around from behind and a blunt-tipped probe taps at the edge of Mirage's empty spark chamber. A hissing voice remarks, "No coherent ectoplasmic sphere in this one. Sexual dimorphism, perhaps?"
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Post by Mirage on Jul 31, 2010 23:59:43 GMT -5
Mirage wakes abruptly, yes, and while its the accidental short that brings him back online, it's that invasive touch at his center that brings him past the flood of pain and rows upon rows of warnings and into the waking world. Instinctively, he tries to curl himself up in a protective gesture, an attempt cut immediately short by his bonds.
His optics flicker back on. Slowly, he casts his optics about as best he can without turning his head, his expression neutral and belying the pain he's in. Mirage hurts, hurts as he never has before, but if he wants to get himself out of this mess, get Pyrite and....Bambi! Oh, but Mirage had hoped, he'd truly hoped she was safely ensconced at one her digs. A chill hits Mirage. If he hadn't expected, if he hasn't taken this risk, they might never have found the little Dinobot, and given her attitude who would question if she didn't reappear when they wished to leave Pz-Zazz?
Finally, his optics attempt to light on his tormentor.
"Circuit play on the first date? My, my, but you are a kinky one, aren't you?" he says, tone flippant. Oh, there's pain in his voice too, but it's an undercurrent, but the defining tone.
Carefully, surriptiitously, Mirage tries his bonds. He also starts trying to run a checklist of what transform and subspace lines are still open, as well as checking to see if his self-repair ability is being negated.
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Post by SceneMod on Aug 1, 2010 0:27:35 GMT -5
Mirage's main motor lines are cut. He could sign his name, but chopping a log would be beyond him. Small objects could be summoned from subspace but nothing too large. His self-repair systems are working.
An odd figure hovers into view with a bulbous head, tentacles for arms, a bearded face, in green, lavender, grey, and orange, a scientist Quintesson to one who knows what such a thing is. The tentacles looks faintly slimy, and he seems part machine, part organic. He looks over and comments to someone just out of view, as if disgusting to make such an admission, "I am forced to admit that your conjectures may have merit, Venatorious."
A lanky figure steps into view, maybe a head shorter than Mirage, built on a very spindly frame. Mostly green, he's clearly been rebuilt for double-jointing and a small amount of expansion and retraction in his limbs, though nothing like Animated Shockwave. He, too, is part organic and part machine, and his face resembles some ferocious prehistoric fish. His flesh is streaked with silvery scars, most too regular to be the remnants of wounds. His hands don't match the rest of him and perhaps come from another species entirely, maybe a Lithonian. He vaguely resembles a Gatekeeper Quintesson with a yen for self-modification. He rubs his chest with his knuckles and comments, "Of course I do, Secutorious. Hear how the thing sounds almost sapient? Someone's stolen our technology and improved upon it. The language they speak is even some horrid pidgin of ours. Don't suppose you've cracked it yet?"
"No," Secutorious replies, selecting a different tool from the tray, probing lightly how one of Mirage's wounds is starting to repair itself. "But you draw large conclusions from scanty data. Improper for anyone. Especially improper for one of your caste."
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Post by Mirage on Aug 1, 2010 10:14:05 GMT -5
Almost sapient? Stolen our technology?
What...who are these creatures? They're speaking about Mirage as if he's not there, as if they don't care that he can understand him- or maybe they truly don't think him possessed of enough intelligence to notice the slight.
Mirage considers his options. Even if he got loose, he can't run, with his motor functions compromised. He can't transform, and he somehow doubts pulling a shiny ruby out of subspace will impress this lot. They do, however, seem after information.
It will be a very, very fine line Mirage will have to walk if he goes that route.
For now, he settles on another attempt at baiting.
"Oh come now," he scoffs, haughty as ever, "You went to all that trouble to catch me, and I don't even get the courtesy of a reprimand for my insolence? Tsk. Really, you do know how to make a fellow feel unwanted. I certainly will not be leaving you fellows a gold star on review."
Mirage smirks, and switches to Cybertronian, this time using a Kaonic dialect. Why? to drive home the point that he's paying attention to what's said. "If course, you seem the sort to waste an advantage even when it stares you in the face."
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Post by SceneMod on Aug 1, 2010 16:31:16 GMT -5
Venatorious moves to stand behind Secutorious - he's taller than Secutorious and can easily see over Secutorious's head, and that way, Secutorious cannot see Venatorious making faces at him. Gesturing at Mirage with a flourish of stolen fingers, he coos, "Hear what I meant about their bootleg tongue? See how lifelike it is? Such a charming specimen."
"Charming," Secutorious replies coldly, playing with the controls on the rig to send Mirage rapidly diving about, chin at head level with the Scientist, now. "The male reptiloid was higher priority for recovery. You know matched pairs sell better." His gaze drifts sideways, over at Bambi and then Pyrite.
"We'll get it," Venatorious assures breezily, with an arrogance that seems to typify him. Then, he tries to catch Mirage's gaze and points at him. "This specimen will do it for us."
Secutorious says something to his Gatekeeper in a language that Mirage might compare with Ancient Cybetronian, but the words and forms seem even older, more sibilant and hissing, more softly couched. Venatorious scowls but turns on his heels. He pulls a flask out of a drawer and taps a few keycodes into a machine and fills the flask with a liquid that looks very much like what Mirage ordered at X. He strides over to Mirage, trying to force-feed him the contents of the flask - which do smell heavenly - even trying to wrap his fingers around Mirage's neck and stroke his throat to force him to swallow. There is no reason he couldn't simply inject the cocktail directly, but he had better get the machine used to his place, starting now.
The cocktail isn't just what Mirage ordered, though. There are euphorants, sedatives, and tranquilizers mixed in - they won't do a bleeding thing for the pain, but they'll make Mirage feel giddy, complacent, and compliant. Or at least, they should. They may do absolutely nothing at all, even if he swallows it. Mirage is, after all, unlike anything they've even seen before, even if he seems much like a far superior model of Sharkticon and Allicon.
In the tone of a master addressing a dog, soft, calm, but commanding, Secutorious demands of Mirage, "Who constructed you? Perhaps that criminal, Mirdane?"
Ever the ghoul, Venatorious grins a ghastly grin with too many teeth and jibes, "It will burn you to no end if this specimen is a third party job, won't it?"
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Post by Mirage on Aug 1, 2010 21:34:10 GMT -5
The sudden motion sends a new wave of pain through Mirage's form and also makes his head swim more than a little bit. He winds up more or less optic to eyeball with one of his captors. Ugh, but they are terribly ugly folk. Mirage will snark at them all day long, but nothing is likely to make him try flirting as a weapon with these people even if it seem a prudent move.
Mirage frowns as he realizes that they wanted Grimlock for some reason, and that they think Mirage will just go and fetch him. Of course, given what Mirage saw of poor Pyrite's CPU... Mirage fears he could be made to do something like that against his will.
The drink does smell just as lovely as Mirage remembers, and he is in dire need of some sort of refuel. He needs energon, though, not the local fair. Wounded as he is, the mixer could do his systems some serious harm, never mind what's been added to the mixer. A bit of the mix does get into his mouth and down his throat before he jerks his head back, glaring at the scientist with clear disdain.
Mirage shivers slightly as the taste of chemical cocktail hits his systems. If that stuff gets forced down him... he is going to be very, very ill.
"First, I am neither an animal nor some wayward science experiment. I am and always have been a free mechanism of noble line, and no other being- organic or inorganic- built me."
"Second, if you want that boorish, graceless lout, you might try simply asking me to fetch him, rather than forcing the issue. You lot may have followed me about, but you really have no idea as to my true opinions or motivations."
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Post by SceneMod on Aug 1, 2010 22:08:19 GMT -5
"Nonsense. Ex nihilo creation is reserved solely for Unicron," Secutorious scoffs, and he swivels to glare at Venatorious, who has now made a mess on the floor.
The Gatekeeper looks sullen, but he sets the flask aside on a tray and fetches a shop vac to clean up the floor under the rig. He comments idly, "Gather two robots of sufficient quality, and you walk, but there's a few small repairs to make, first." He looks over at the Scientist. "I really think this one might be able to survive my old Brocken Spectre unit."
"Since upgrading to Novaya Zemlya, you have broken more good slaves with that tricursed Brocken Spectre unit..." Secutorious snaps warningly, wagging a tentacle.
Venatorious snatches up a logic probe and gestures at Mirage's CPU, insisting, "Just look at the neural architecture. Theory is for you Scientists, but I know application, and I know compatibility when I see it." He beams down at his hands. "Besides, the specimen is pretty enough that it'd sell, even as just a warm body, if the Brocken Spectre unit does burn out its little mind."
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Post by Mirage on Aug 1, 2010 23:21:58 GMT -5
"You say that as if Unicron were the only god extant," Mirage contradicts softly, watching his captors carefully.
Mirage's lips quirk at the conditions of his earning his "freedom." Only a fool would trust these creatures to keep their word. Even if they did allow him to "walk," they're certain to leave strings upon him that Mirage might find it difficult to cut.
"What do you consider a 'quality specimen'?"
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Post by SceneMod on Aug 2, 2010 18:58:56 GMT -5
Secutorious jacks a datapad into Mirage's head and starts trying to rummage about in Mirage's mind, trying to get a sense of Mirage's software. Despite his reservations, if the software compatibility looks promising, he just might try installing the Brocken Specter unit in this strange robot, after all. Such a field agent would fetch a very high price.
To Mirage, it'll feel rather like a mental assault.
While Secutorious works, Venatorious answers, "No drones. No cyborgs. No transorganics. Turing-quality sapience emulators, at the very least, with marketable abilities or skills. Anyway... god or not, Unicron is the only thing in this universe that can be scientifically proven to be older than it. Makes you think, or it would, if you actually could think."
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Post by Mirage on Aug 2, 2010 21:43:54 GMT -5
Mirage gasps and tries to strain away from the extremely invasive and pervasively intimate violation of his mind, but he really can only struggle so much- physically, at least.
Secutorious will find that Mirage has some very high quality firewalls and anti-virus equivalents, and that some of those are quite adaptable. Sure, the Quintesson will break through and get his information, but it will not be nearly so easy as the scientist might expect. Mirage isn't passed out, after all, which means he can divert attention and energy to actively fight the invasion as best he can.
Through gritted teeth, Mirage growls out, "You keep insisting that I am incapable of independent thought. Your bloodhound kept tabs on me and mine for chaos knows how long; you should know better."
"But maybe you're just so conceited you think all robotic species are nothing more than machines. Terribly shortsighted of you in... my... opinion...damnit!"
Secutorious might just be a bit perplexed by what he sees in Mirage's software. The complexity of Mirage's core programming is equal to, perhaps even excels, that of an organic's brain, with sub-routine upon sub-routine layers upon layers of code that reads more like DNA sequencing than binary. There are specific protocols for Mirage's cloaking and holo systems, integrated seamlessly with the base code. It would, in fact, be almost impossible to separate them from the base, and it's obvious that Mirage wouldn't be the same individual at all without his ability. Even though his power levels are quite low, Mirage's vitals are still strong, and his body is working quickly to repair his injuries.
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Post by SceneMod on Aug 2, 2010 22:08:25 GMT -5
Secutorious murmurs, "A challenge," and he does not seem entirely displeased. He pokes and pries at Mirage's mindspace, sending in dozens of attacks, like probing tentacles, teasing out the secrets in the sacred space's of Mirage's mind.
He cannot read the language in which Mirage's mind is written, but something of the cadence and rhythm is familiar; something of the structure strikes a chord. However, all of him is so very much more than the Scientist had ever expected. There is something of awestruck wonder about his face as he works, prodding and probing.
Most of all, he is curious how, in the very assembly code, in the oldest of machine language, how does Mirage do calculations? If introducing Quintesson software would cause a fatal divide by zero error, that would be disastrous, but if this machine's software is structured similarly enough that he could handle the software without being driven mad, without burning out his processors...
...perhaps Venatorious has seen truly, but then, Venatorious sees more than most.
Venatorious sneers at Mirage and says softly, bitterly, "When you sup upon a draught of a black hole's sweetest ambrosia and tear down the walls of space with your bare hands... you will be almost equal to the least of us, machine." He turns away, drawing his arms across his chest. In the land where the five faces rule, the man with a thousand faces is a servant.
Secutorious ignores his Gatekeeper's theatrical sulking. The fellow has entirely too much free will, and someday, Excisionata will remove those troublesome pieces of his mind. Instead, he uploads the basic drivers for the Brocken Specter unit directly into the parts of Mirage's mind that seem most devoted to his cloak and holograms. Just one little problem - they're all in a language Mirage doesn't speak.
This should be interesting.
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Post by Mirage on Aug 2, 2010 22:50:55 GMT -5
Mirage hisses as the alien software is forcibly uploaded into his mind, a long drawn out sound that is one of both pain and confusion. It's different, almost too different, and he can't make heads nor tails of any of the coding. His optics cycle down and shutter, and outward expression of his turning all his attention inward toward what is really another mental attack.
His self-repair and adaptability protocols are doing instinctively what he can't do knowingly, searching out the odd similarities in the new software and syncing them with his existing technology. And there are similarities, the odd lilt and syntax here, the cadence there, a turn of phrase so familiar as to be completely alien.
He still can't understand one whit of the actual meat of the upload, but he can tell what it's doing to his systems. It's... attempting to rebuild his cloaking protocols, redirect them to make his tech so much more... polished....
But he lacks the proper hardware. That much is painfully obvious. Is gaining an advantage such as this worth the risk of enduring whatever these creatures might do to him?
Not that Mirage has much choice, really.
"Thanks ever so much for the horrible headache. But software is only half the package, I think, and I'm not one who enjoys elective surgery," he grits out, optics still shut tight.
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Post by SceneMod on Aug 2, 2010 23:09:08 GMT -5
"You learn to live with it," Venatorious leans in near Mirage's audio and says quietly. "You learn to love it." He idly runs his fingers over his own scars, those neat, orderly scars. "Crave it. Beg for it."
Mirage has not gone mad or flatlined! Secutorious looks pleased as punch, even giddy, and he chastises, "Cease fraternising with lower orders of lifeforms, Venatorious. It is time to engage in a celebratory chuckle."
The Quintessons do, indeed, chuckle, looking at Mirage's readings. Then, Venatorious pads off and unlocks a drawer, retrieving something very small, a round disk that shines like a circular rainbow. In the middle of it, there is a dark shadow that is moving. The shadow looks at once familiar and alien, like something out a dream, haunting and hunting - is it looking at Mirage? Is it looking like Mirage? Is it a mirror to look into, or does it look back and look into? He sets it down carefully on the tray, smiling fondly down at whatever he sees captured in the arc of the rainbow.
Secutorious leaves Mirage's mind alone for a moment, instead searching his body again, looking for a likely setting-place for such a jewel.
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Post by Mirage on Aug 3, 2010 18:04:31 GMT -5
Mirage's optics open just a crack, and he cuts them toward Venatorious. "I think not. I am not you, mongrel, but ten times better, and I. Do Not. Beg."
His optics close again and Mirage forces his body to relax as much as possible in his bonds. He needs to ease the strain on his servos. Mirage knows there is pain coming to him, more pain then he is currently feeling; given the attitude his jailers have shown, they certainly won't bother to numb the area for the modification. The more tense he is when it happens, the less balanced of mind, the worse off he will be.
He cycles his ventilation, counting the spaces between "breaths" and pushing himself past the pain he's all ready feeling. He's only partially successfully, as a large chunk of his mind is still taken up with trying to understand the new software- and make sure it doesn't crash his systems before it's fully integrated.
That smooth expanse of exposed white chestplate probably looks rather inviting- if a bit cliched.
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Post by SceneMod on Aug 3, 2010 19:13:09 GMT -5
The Brocken Specter unit needs to go inside. Outside would be far, far too exposed for such a delicate piece of machinery.
For a first pass, Secutorious tries to set the Brocken Specter unit into Mirage's spark chamber. There's nothing in there, and given that it is an empty space that does not appear to do anything, it looks rather inviting for placing new pieces of hardware. It's even nicely round and all!
Venatorious, looking like the cat that ate the canary, notes mildly, "And now there's a piece of me inside you; my thoughts in your pretty little vacant noble head."
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