Decided I was tired of that old glitch where your account just doesnt show up in inboxes if you send asks and stuff so im remaking and hoping that fixes it
I got married and then got really stressed for a bit so I stopped hosting/fronting at all really but Im back!
Ive also found an amazing dronification server and met a excellent handler in it. This unit is being very well trained ^w^. Gonna start looking at getting some more dronification gear tomorrow, but for today have a picture of this unit!
working on a farm and going to a secondhand equipment auction to try to find a part you need replaced on one of your machines, and some guy has a combat drone all folded up in the back of his truck
it's powered off, of course. the guy says he doesn't even know how to fix it, says it just crashed in his backyard during the war, what, 40-odd years ago? and he just threw it in storage and hasn't touched it since, and his wife says he has to get rid of it, so he'll sell it for cheap if you're interested.
you figure, what the hell, you need a side project, and it might be interesting to refurbish it or whatever, so you buy it, lugging the heavy fucker into your own vehicle
you throw it up on a hoist and manage to power it on, half scared it'll try to kill you, but it just hangs there, limp except for its head turning to create a 3d model of your face to recognize you by. it looks almost... human, in a way. its head is a mess of sensors where its face should be, all wired down to its torso where it keeps its processor, and the stabilizers on its feet that prevent recoil from a heavy weapon knocking it over resemble claws, but it otherwise resembles a tall, lanky human to an eerie degree. it doesn't speak. you figure something in it must be busted. it doesn't move at all as you take it off the hoist and lay it down on the ground.
you leave it in the barn when you go to bed. it'd be preposterous for a machine to sleep in the house, even if it is a moderately human-shaped one. it'll be fine out there.
when you come back the next morning, you're surprised to see it curled up, not sleeping but emulating it, in a pile of hay it must have brought down from the loft. strange, since it shouldn't have any necessity for more comfort than the cold concrete floor would provide. it powers on when you approach, turning to look at you but otherwise not moving.
it doesn't talk for a week.
when it does, it's one word. you have it open on a workbench, arm buried deep in its mechanical guts. its speakers crackle to life just for the one word and then shut off again, startling you enough that you jump and then swear as your hand slams into the metal frame, cutting a knuckle open - then you process what it just said.
it was a name.
you ask if she wants to sleep in the house after that. she doesn't answer, but follows obediently like a trained dog, up the stairs and into your bedroom, mimicking your motions as you lay down in bed and she lays down next to you. you flick the light off, worried about the non-zero possibility that you've fucked up and her programming will reset when she wakes up and immediately target you as a threat. then you fall asleep.
you wake up with the combat drone pressed into you, cool metal arms wrapped around your torso, sensor array pressed into your shoulder. she doesn't snore, but her cooling system whirs quietly and you realize your body is warming her own.
you don't know what makes you kiss her forehead. you just sort of do it. but she makes a cute humming noise so maybe it was an okay thing to do.
The desire to be a combat drone is oh so very high right now. To stalk prey at the beck and call of another. I get to rip pretty things into shreds and feel their blood splatter against me. A savage ruthlessness to rip apart and drag the remains to my Handler. Little treats as a reward for faithful service.
To feel the concoction of chemicals and hormones wear off as my Handler washes the blood and viscera off of me. Relaxing into Her gentle caress as I turn into a mewling pet for Her. Forcing my body to move to Her defense despite the screaming aches and pain echoing through it. Having my wounds gently dressed before going out on yet another hunt.
Drone with production defects. A drone who needs more coaching through its tasks than other members of its production run, not as able to figure its way through things. A drone with faulty memory that has to be reminded of orders given to it too long ago. A drone with buggy software, that gets stuck or freezes up in unexpected situations, or a poor battery, that can't work as tirelessly as other models. A drone that still remembers fragments its past life, still gets upset or stressed or spooked by things that are long past.
A drone who's owner is glad to have it anyway, who wouldn't dream of getting it sent off for resetting or warranty replacing, A drone who's owner takes care of it, not just the other way around. A drone who was always meant to be a drone with an owner, and always will be, even if its not the most finely tuned precision instrument as some are.
It thought it was human once, though if anyone asked it, it would say that it certainly felt like a office class worker drone. Day in and day out, hunched in front of a terminal, post-polo shirt scratching at its overstimulated skin.
Its personhood had been lost, day by day, as it tried its best to both communicate with its coworkers over the instacomms on top of interfacing with the audiocalls of antiquated CEOs that insisted on the gratingly slow inputs they probably grew up with hundreds of years ago, while completing the same task at the required rate of 15 times per minute. A task that could have been automated before the First Dot com Boom.
It was almost a miracle it had even managed to drag itself to the bar that night. So yeah, it kinda made sense when the angel that sat down next to it and asked it if it wanted to both "turn its brain off" and "cum the most times it ever had in its life" it didn't ask any questions.
It probably should have.
(this one's first longer bit of fiction in a hot second that has attempts at approximating code and is just two weirdos loading the last memory of a corpo-turned-combat doll that a fallen angel decided to give a taste of the collective and then does the dronification version of a ruined orgasm and disconnects it)
...
// Powering on...
system.xz79451.exe
Version nixncaincracked.v2.5
//subsystem.Valkyrie running
// >>V.enable-device microphone //
it was nothing, compressed over and over by this dark vacuum of space, contained, supressed... floating
then a crackle of static and then, through the void
//>>speechtotxt.log generating
"... ly goddess, Cain, Cain, it thinks it got it to work this time!!"
a screechy high voice grated through the void
a different voice, deeper, calmer
"Nice one, Nix, let's see what the last files it ran were, see if that gives us any idea where it came from..."
//>>open(092928xx.thmm)
//ERROR: video input not found
"Shit, Nix, does that one have a video input that will connect to the doll, there should be an input right behind the ear... yeah, right there, let's try this one more time..."
//>>open(092928xx.thmm)
"Cain, it's gonna run what code it ran too, maybe it can find some good bits there."
"Go for it."
//>>history:092928xx.thmm
and suddenly it's no longer in the void, it's getting dragged through time, back, back, it...
//Powering post-occular cameras... //
it can't focus its eyes
//Connecting feed... Loading... //
//Primary occular system: connected
//Visor feed: disconnected //
She(it?) lifts the visor off its face, the back of her(its?) finger //ERROR: missing data input;; sense(touch) not found(!!) // against its pale white skin, and the lack of sensation makes it panic but when it tries to move, it realizes it doesn't know how. It's entire body is foreign to what it used to consider its own.
It tries to speak
//ERROR //
why can't
why can't (I)t speak
//>>search: speech.exe
searching...
ERROR: Out of memory //
what happened...
what happened to me(us)it[US]
It starts to try to process the visual information directly in front of it, after a couple of desperate seconds, it's finally able to focus the face of a (fallen) angel, green(blue)OCEAN eyes, sharp brows furrowing then, as it tracks over them with more effort it remembered it ever taking, the brows relaxing, and the face breaks out into a smirk.
"It's probably wondering why it's lost some of it's more... essential functions, right, my drone?"
Drone?
This one isn't a // >>System override: thought correction.drone.exe //
This one is a drone.
"That's probably because all the programming this one just ran might've caused a slight memory leak, but once this one gives this precious little drone a little... system reboot... that'll be all fixed."
The (fallen) angel grabs the drone by its chin, so that the drones visual field is swallowed by the angel's eyes.
An electrical current runs up and down its spine, something from the back of its mind screams danger, but that keeps slipping light years farther and farther away compared to looking into the twin black holes drawing it in, deeper and deeper as its sense of self spagettified.
// ERROR: Out of Memory
>>ERROR: Out of Memory
>>ERROR: Out of Memory
>>ERROR: Out of -------
>>#define: _drone.exe_
>>_DumpMemoryLeaks
>>Detected memory leaks! Dumping objects ->
>>Connecting to {MT.RFP: BASE-B00645}
and for a brief moment, it encountered bliss manifest, connected to countless minds, a sense of belonging, worth, love
[A PLACE FOR US]
finally not misunderstood, each and every drone a fundamental part, every nuance interpreted instantly and accepted and
[US]
a field of golden pleasure drowned everything else out
// Disconnecting... //
wait... what?
// Object dump complete
>>void __weak (*pm_power_off)(void)
wait, don't... don't take it away, please, it doesn't want to fall into the void ag---
// Rebooting... //
its mind stretched itself out and over and out and over again, flickering between components unaware and then its entire existence and memory and pain all at once until it blinked out of existence again, ego torn assunder
Good soldiers follow orders, right? That's why you're going to be a good soldier for me and listen, right? Good soldiers don't ask questions, either, you know. So stop wondering why I'm asking you to strip and spread and just do it. There we go... what a good soldier you are. Dripping wet already, too? It's like you really wanted this. Maybe I should call you slut instead of soldier, since you're acting like one.
Perfect little soldier. You were made for this, weren't you? You were made to fall in line with the rest of them. You were made to be perfect, to be pristine, to be obedient. You don't have an ounce of identity anymore, how cute. You spent so long fighting this only to give up in the end. Soldiers like you will always find someone to be obedient to.
Perfect little soldier. You were made for this, weren't you? You were made to fall in line with the rest of them. You were made to be perfect, to be pristine, to be obedient. You don't have an ounce of identity anymore, how cute. You spent so long fighting this only to give up in the end. Soldiers like you will always find someone to be obedient to.
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