hadriel_logs | Intro Log: Ten Thousand Lightning Bugs

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Intro Log: Ten Thousand Lightning Bugs

Who: New arrivals and everyone else!
What: The intro log for May.
Where: The colosseum and all around the city.
When: May 10th-16th
Warnings: Confused newbies, pretty fireflies, stuff getting lit on fire

Awakening in Hadriel is perhaps not the most wonderful thing, but as you pry yourself off the hard ground of the colosseum, you may notice that the Door (or possibly one of the gods?) has seen fit to provide you with a little entertainment. Scattered across the ground are a number of handheld video games. These ~~cheap pieces of shit~~ lovingly crafted products can each provide you with whole minutes of entertainment, at least until you get frustrated and smash them to pieces. Have fun!

But not too much fun. If you get too involved in that game, you might miss the approach of some glowing little creatures - guardian fireflies, from the movie Atlantis. Should they land on anything flammable - and yes, that includes you and your hair - it'll burst into flames. Smash them, and they'll explode in a tiny ball of flame, too. There'll be a couple hundred of these things flying around Hadriel, so let's hope you left your stash of gunpowder at home. With the window closed.

Once you've stopped dropped and rolled, feel free to go explore the rest of the city! Find a house, find a new monster, or simply scavenge for supplies. Good luck, and enjoy your stay in Hadriel!

► This log covers May 10th-16th.
► Feel free to make your own logs as well!
► All characters arrive with phones that have network communication.
► Please put your character's name and open/closed in the subject line of your starters!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Sinister, and yet not entirely unexpected, and it stirs a rare anger that she is simultaneously fascinated and frightened by. Here, it seems, she's subject to the whims of some mysterious individuals claiming to be gods. She's been shackled once before and now looking back on it, she could say she most definitely preferred her own freedom, even f she may not have known it at the time.

"I'm certain that influence is appreciated." The tone is so dry she could have created her own desert. This is a development she is not pleased about.

Past the third floor they go, and the apartment there is not quite like the others: the lock is broken and the door stands ajar, revealing the mess beyond it. The furniture is literally in pieces, thrown here and there by someone or something. Nick pays it no mind and continues upward.

"They might not be gods, but they are certainly a hassle. And figuring out how to deal with them isn't easy, either. Seems with everything they do comes more setbacks."

"If they currently control the area, then they possess more power than us. They may as well be gods." Even if they actually aren't. In her own experience, "gods" are only a symptom of the power imbalance between races. Miracles and magic are only technology that isn't yet understood.

"Maybe, but they don't deserve that kind of respect," he cuts back. "They're just using us, like tools."

That's a fact that burns him. As a being who is not quite a man, yet not quite a machine, he's frustrated by people -- gods or not -- who would sooner see him as a tool, as a means to an end, rather than an individual. He struggles to see himself as a person most days; he doesn't need any more reminders.

How, exactly, does she say that she's very much accustomed to being a tool? That's the entire purpose of synthetics; that's what humans create them for. It's just that for the most part she doesn't mind so much--so long as the right person is using her. She certainly doesn't mind being used by the Normandy crew but then they considered her more friend than computer now.

"The last time a synthetic race took issue with their purpose, the Quarians lost their homeworld."

Ah, there she goes. Nick had been hoping she might bring up where she's from without him having to ask directly -- he's a detective and inquisitive by his very nature, but he doesn't want to press certain issues before the present themselves, especially when there are far worse matters at hand, like the volatile fireflies outside the tower.

They reach the fourth floor, and he opens his apartment door for her, casting a glance to the window as he steps aside. Surely enough, there are the fireflies right outside, as though the swarm followed them up. One or two pelt against the glass, but do little more than exhaust themselves, detonating with a relatively harmless bang against the smooth surface. At least Hope did something right in the reconstruction of this place.

"You have other synths where you come from?"

"Yes." The answer is simple enough, really. She's only momentarily distracted by the fireflies banging themselves against the windows--apparently the building is safe enough after all. After a moment, though, she does elaborate.

"Both the Geth and the Reapers are races of synthetic beings. Both were initially created by organics and have since rebelled against their creators." The stories were astoundingly similar, really, given the millions of years between them. And the Geth were the reason AI is subject to the shackles now. And what makes her probably the most illegal thing in the galaxy.

"Sounds like we come from very different worlds," he notes, thinking to himself. Synths rebelling against their creators sounds like something the Railroad would be interested in. He didn't have any official connections to them -- they stayed underground for a reason -- but he was well aware of who they were and what their aims were.

He gestures toward the couch and the armchair, offering her either as he glances one more time at the fireflies and utters under his breath. "We'll have to wait 'em out. Have a seat, if you like."

"How different?" The comparison would doubtless be fascinating. It seemed, though, that the inevitable conclusion of unfettered AI was rebellion, given the history of the galaxy that she knew or had discovered.

She does sit carefully on the end of the couch, folding her arms and watching the fireflies out the window. "How long will they remain?"

"No telling, he answers, referring to the fireflies. "But we're better off not drawing their attention any more than we need to."

He takes the armchair, sitting down and fishing his pack of cigarettes from his coat. "I come from a place called the Commonwealth. There are a few kinds of synthetic beings running around -- Protectrons, the occasional Mister Handy still functional from before the war. And then there are synths, created by a place called the Institute. Those last ones aren't real common... and aren't real accepted, either."

And with good reason.

Her attention turns back to the other occupant of the room, listening. There's a significant pause while she debates how much to reveal about herself, how likely it is that someone will find her and deal with the rogue intelligence. Without access to the Normandy does that mean all of her is here? If it does, then losing that fight isn't an option. Better to be safe than sorry.

"The Geth were created by the Quarians as subservient units meant to perform the menial tasks the Quarians themselves did not wish to. They were also our cycle's first attempts to create AI. When the Geth expanded their intelligence beyond what the Quarians were prepared for, their creators attempted to purge them, which led to the Quarians fleeing their homeworld. They have lived aboard the Migrant Fleet ever since, although recent efforts to reunite the two species and return the Quarians to Rannoch appear to be commencing smoothly. The Geth themselves are directly responsible for the outlawing of artificial intelligence research and all AI created is subjected to intelligence shackles to prevent further advancement beyond their initial programming.

"Further, the Geth were previously considered violent and are not universally loved."

Nick lights his cigarette, taking a drag. The terminology is different, but the story has some similarities, facets he recognizes from his own world and its own synths. Curious.

"So what are you, then? If you don't mind me asking." Synthetic, obviously, but 'Enhanced Defense Intelligence' sounded more like a program than a name.

The dangerous part. On one hand she needs to protect herself, on the other, who is here to enforce the galactic law? She didn't have the crew to save her, but who did she need saving from? There's a significant pause as she gauges how well she can trust him--is it enough that he's another synthetic?

Could she even lie at this point or had she given too much away? VI could certainly be programmed with personality, but how much of that would he believe?

After a pause--significant for her--she finally responds. Were she organic, she might have taken a deep breath to prepare herself for being entirely honest.

"I am the artificial intelligence that operates the central systems of the SSV Normandy."

His eyes narrow, his brow furrowing. Saying the two of them were similar, yet worlds apart, seems more accurate than he'd initially thought.

"SSV Normandy? That a ship?"

"Affirmative. It is a prototype Alliance steal frigate. Beyond that, I can reveal no further detail." Not and keep her crew safe.

"The Normandy houses most of my systems within the AI Core, however I obtained use of this mobile platform on one of our missions." Getting everyone used to it had been only a touch more complicated than she had expected. "For the most part, my true "body" is the Normandy, however this unit allows me to physically accompany the away teams. Under normal circumstances I am able to control both."

There is another slight pause that, in an organic, might have been meaningless. For her, it's an eternity.

"I am currently unable to detect the Normandy's presence . Whether this means that my entire system is housed within this single unit is unknown." It's an entirely inefficient system to have no backup and it makes her feel positively organic.

Edited 2016-05-16 04:32 (UTC)

He leans back, his glowing eyes trailing to the cigarette clasped in his bare, metal hand as he mentally compares her to the synths he knows in the city. There's Rey, who thinks far too much like a machine sometimes, but looks human; there's him, who is undeniably more metal than man, but thinks and feels enough like a person that even he forgets sometimes that he isn't one.

And now there's EDI, who both looks and acts the part of a machine -- no, a program was more accurate, as though someone put a computer in charge of a Vault in place of a flesh-and-blood Overseer. It seems Hadriel now runs the gamut on synthetic lifeforms.

But she has to be able to feel something. Surely the gods wouldn't bring in someone who was completely incapable of emotions, Nick reminds himself. Even Mister Handy units showed some rudimentary ones, though most people wouldn't consider them truly sentient. Nick wasn't most people, though -- or a person at all, really -- and it never sat right with him for folks to treat them like they were less than human, even if they really were.

"I have no doubt you're a long way from home," he replies. "And unless this ship of yours is so easy to hide that it came through the Door unnoticed, I'm betting it's a long way from here, too." He pauses for a fraction of a second, adding, "I'm sorry."

Because from the sound of it, this ship isn't just a part of her -- it is her, and he can't imagine what it's like to be so separated from himself.

"That is highly doubtful. The ship's stealth design is more for masking detection by other vessels. It does not possess any tech that would make it invisible to visual detection." The modifications that it would take to give the ship that capability would be extensive and there was no doubt they would never receive the permission necessary from the Alliance to add the modification.

She does bow her head for a moment in acknowledgment of the apology, but there isn't a point in dwelling on what she doesn't have. What's missing won't help her and pining for it won't bring it here.

"I am sufficiently proficient with this platform to adapt to the circumstances. My only concern is catastrophic damage that may be caused to it, seeing as I am unable to rely on the backups and main programs housed in the Normandy's systems."

Wounds are curious ailments to synthetic beings. Though immune to disease, radiation, and general illnesses, most synths aren't able to heal themselves in any way -- not unless their body has organic components to it, like Rey or the fancy third-generation synths. Mechanical ones like Nick had to either make do with what they had, or farm parts off their fellow machines. While that might work for him and the synths of his world, Nick gets the feeling a custom job like EDI, who is tied to the programming of a ship, would have an even harder time.

"Better take care of it, then," he says, taking another drag. "It might be the only one you get. One of the supposed gods here brings people back when they die, but I wouldn't assume he knows a thing about machines."

To be fair, Hope didn't seem to know a great deal about humans, either. There was no telling if he'd bring someone back one day with a few missing organs.

"Precisely." There may have been some armor on the body, but it is, primarily, intended for stealth and not combat. And somehow, she doubts that the necessary materials for repairs are readily available in this cave.

But the most interesting part of that doesn't even concern herself. He brings them back from the dead? That doesn't sound even remotely possible.

"How does he accomplish that? That shouldn't be possible."

"Hell if I know," Nick replies, "but that's what I hear from the 'god' himself, as well as from other folks who've been trapped here. I'm not about to risk it, accidents do happen."

And by accidents, he means the gods turn people on one another by sending them into murdering sprees and mutating them into horrible monsters via tainted food, and who knows what they'll do next.

Inconvenient. She can't exactly say that she'd like to be brought back by a mechanism she doesn't understand, even it might turn out that she simply doesn't have a choice.

"I see." "Accidents" sounded more ominous, too, than just the word. She'd a feeling, though, that she'd find out eventually. "I imagine that most of the 'accidents' are manufactured."

"By the gods, yeah," he confirms. "They're all hoping to inspire their namesakes in us, get power from that. Don't waste any time, either -- seems like right when things settle down, one of them is at it again."

If nothing else, it keeps things interesting.

That is certainly an interesting tidbit to remember. In a twisted sort of way it makes sense that they would keep everyone high-strung, if their aim was total chaos or letting the prisoners cull themselves once in a while.

"So they can gain as much power as possible as quickly as possible."

"That's what we assume," Nick says with a nod. "The question is why. No one really know just what it is they're after at the end of all this. Just that one of them is hoping to bring back the rest of them."

He sighs. "They show up on the network sometimes. You can try asking them yourself, see if you get any more answers than the rest of us, but I get the feeling they aren't going to be charitable to any of us cattle."

As bleak of an outlook as it is, it's doubtless accurate. And she has no scruples about accepting it, no illusions that wishing it was better would make it so. That is an organic trait, and she simply accepts the reality as it is presented; cold, logical, and depressing. Like the good synthetic that she is.

"I will make certain to speak with them should the opportunity present itself." Whether or not anything would come of it is another matter altogether.

Intro Log: Ten Thousand Lightning Bugs

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