While he technically has total control over the server he’s confined in, and has picked through the satellite archives about a million times, these things only go so far.
Boring.
It’s boring.
He’s bored.
He can reach out to other servers too, but it’s a slow, painstaking process that relies on them even being close enough to jump to, further ones require multiple steps: jump to this satellite debris, jump to that dead android’s black box, jump to that machine, jump to that interface. It’s a slow spread, aching, like a virus. That actually isn’t a bad name for him, he rather thinks himself one, a Virus, he jumps to new things, he devours the information within, he moves on. Well, technically ‘He’ remains in his server but, part of him extends out, and that too, he muses, is rather viral.
Today is boring.
He had a good stint of luck in finding a few nearby bits of server debris to pick apart for info but a lot of it was pieces of archives he already has downloaded and memorized, and that, that makes him pissy, like a child demanding a new toy.
[Outside the debris, a nearby machine lifeform slowly begins to heat from the core outwards, and then, it explodes into so many shards of rust and metal.]
Well, that was amusing for a moment. Now what?
Ping...
Oh? There’s another server nearby, he can juuust reach out and touch. It takes a few moments, a good thirty seconds even, it’s pretty distant, if there was anything between it and this debris he could hop to first he would but...
Once he’s fully downloaded this disposable portion of his data into the server, he figures it’s time to look around. The eyes of his hacking-space avatar flutter open,
White.
So white.
Somehow this
Looks so...
Familiar...
His avatar sparks; static at the edges in the momentary emotional turmoil but it quickly settles. In any case, he proceeds slowly. Best clean what info this server has out and then leave.
When they had first opened up, he’d insisted he wasn’t going into those goddamn holes.
But one thing had led to another, Octa had said something, and he had wordlessly risen from his place beside the campfire and left. Zero had looked at him as if begging him to save her, but there was nothing to be done, every Intoner and Disciple for themselves.
The woods are dark, but his eyesight is exceedingly sharp, and he isn’t quite human. Which isn’t to say he has any real form of night vision, but it does seem to give him somewhat of an edge. Otherwise he simply treads carefully, picking his way among the trees comfortably. If he were going to settle in any one place, the land of forests would be it. He likes the trees, he likes the abundance of food, he likes how cool it stays, instinctively, he likes it here.
There is a soft sound, between shattering glass and the chime of bells, and one of those odd gaps in reality falls into being somewhere ahead of him and to his left. The soft light it gives off draws him closer, it’s a very pale light, a gentle white. In a way it reminds him of his intoner. Her hair in his fingers.
Maybe that’s why he gives in to the urge to slip through it, he’s proven them safe before, so he has few qualms about it now.
The place in which he emerges is totally foreign to him, the walls are clean and white, there is a faint scent of electricity here, like the ozone just before a storm. For some reason, it disconcerts him slightly. Mostly because there’s nowhere he can see to duck behind if something threatening appears. And the close quarters in the hall mean his usual combat style will be difficult. Maybe he should go back?
There’s a muffled sound from the door next to him, and an intense heat. It makes him curse loudly, hands waving at the sudden plumes of smoke, he immediately goes skittering further down the hall, nose wrinkled, hacking at the scent, well, his portal home was back there so he supposes he’s just fucked for now, lovely.
“Fucking figures” his voice is an annoyed grumble more than anything as he turns once more to make his way hesitantly down the hall. What’s this? One of the doors opens, medical supplies? Maybe he’ll raid that, can never have enough of that. He’s just debating ransacking it when the distant sound of footfalls reaches him and he turns down the hall to face it, a hand resting warily upon the weapon at his hip, fingertips brushing very softly over the head of the stuffed animal hanging there. Reassuring.
So idk I made this and dont hate it....? Read it if youd like...?
Doctor Eboney Rose, a psychologist and researcher into the black like virus in the second outbreak was setting up camras in high active areas when her cews helicopter went down in the dead zone. Can she outsmart the worlds best unnatural predator and make it out alive?
https://my.w.tt/ifr6Hx7adP
(I hope its not cringy...? I dont write much anymore haha)
On formtrends.com – Bujar Muharremi’s sketch of the Auto Fabrica Type 11 P2, based on a Yamaha XSR900 --> https://www.formtrends.com/auto-fabrica-type-11/
