05-19-2008, 12:40 AM
Heuristic Engramic Autonomous Tactical unit, attached Paragon Special Investigations division, operational log excerpt 17-05-08-2345:
My current squad mates and I race down the corridor of the Crey facility. The floor shivers under the heavy impacts of our point entity Emet's, Hero
License 45-680A3-F32, feet. In the 8.34 seconds it takes us to reach the end of the hallway I again compare the map obtained from city records with the
inertial map I have been plotting as we have advanced into the facility. There are major discrepancies between the two, and I prepare a file for forwarding to
the Fire Marshal.
We arrive at the end of the corridor, and find ourselves on a small balcony, above a somewhat larger landing. Below that is a large room filled with
equipment. Based on the EM interference with my systems I conclude that there is an 84 percent probability that the equipment is being used for High Energy
Physics research.
Emet lumbers to edge of the balcony and drops off it. There is a panicked shout 0.4 seconds later, along with the sound of a heavy impact and stressed metal.
I follow Emet over the edge, my jump jets firing for 0.5 seconds, slowing my decent and reducing the stress on my actuators to acceptable levels. Emet is
standing in the midst of a group of 12 Crey employees. 1, in a radiologists uniform, is unconscious beneath her feet, the others are recovering from their
surprise and starting to attack her.
Switching into hyper heuristic mode my tactical algorithms sort through the available targets and I lock onto a Crey Power Tank. I overload my limited fusion
plant and step inside the Tank's guard. My first attack strikes him in the helmet, denting the armour severely and staggering the pilot. My second blow
connects with his lower abdomen, folding him over and crushing several armour plates. I estimate a 76 percent chance that I have broken several ribs on his
left side.
My follow through, a rising left wrapped in glowing plasma, meets his head on its way down. He is snapped back upright and thrown off of his feet to land
heavily against the landing's railing. Correction, through the railing. I compute the force of impact, using my best estimate of the Tank's mass,
conclude that the railing was not up to standard and create a new OHSA report file. I also add a note to the PPD's study of the Crey Tank armour series.
It will require improved neck support to satisfy our safety standards before purchase can be approved.
The rest of our squad has arrived on the balcony and will defeat our opponents with a probability of 84 percent without my assistance. I turn instead to the
reinforcements that are arriving on the landing from below. 4 riot guards assisted by 1 woman in a severe, yet tasteful power suit come charging up the ramp.
My plasma conduits are still cooling from the previous attack cycle and will not be available for 3.4 seconds. Unfortunate, but not a major handicap. The
first riot guard reaches the end of the ramp and my outstretched arm at the same time. My force feed back sensors register the impact and I switch to my next
target. I spin and kick his partner in the stomach, adding a burst from my jets to the move. The man tumbles back down the ramp, impacting the remaining two
riot guards and sending all three into an undignified heap.
The woman fires on the run, two shots glancing off of my helmet. I respond in kind, my charged particle projectors whine and crackle as they shove streams of
highly excited elementary particles at my opponent. My aim is off, and I only graze her with 2 of the streams. Still it is enough to stagger her and 0.6
seconds later my chemical
sensors detect traces of burnt cotton, armour weave and flesh. I store the readings in a locked file, the exact chemical make up of Crey armour weave being
protected by patent.
Before she can catch herself, a trio of fire imps leap past my shoulder and onto the woman. Shrieking, she tumbles back down the ramp, and into the group of
riot guards who are still trying to untangle themselves. I glance back and note that the battle on the landing is over. My current partner, Farmin' Roy
Orbison, Hero License 37-429G3-T69, has moved to support me. I take 1.7 seconds to recalibrate my optical sights based on the projected and actual impacts of
my charged particle projectors, during which Roy heads down the ramp to assist his imps. I join him 0.9 seconds later, pausing only to tazer the recovering
riot guard at my feet.
Sweeping the laboratory for further hostiles takes 46.8 seconds. A further 71.3 seconds allows us to determine that the files Manticore has sent us for are
not accessible from any of the laboratory's terminals. We will have to head deeper into the facility.
20.36 minutes later we have found the server that contains the files Manticore requested. I recompute the probability that this is a legally sanctioned
operation, and again arrive at the conclusion that there is only a 23 percent probability that it is. However, the information we have obtained so far
indicates that Crey are conducting illegal and highly unethical research and my mandate to protect the innocent overrides my legal qualms.
It is unfortunate that we cannot use this information to prosecute Crey Industries. I estimate a 97.6 percent probability that Crey lawyers will successfully
be able to discredit the information and prove that the experiments were done without the knowledge of Crey's management.
I am brought our of my musings by a shout and the whine of high velocity slugs ricocheting off of Emet's body. A large group of Crey security have arrived
and are intent of preventing us from escaping the facility. We meet the charge head on, Emet bearing the brunt of the attack. Crey security is learning, they
know that she will require a significant amount of fire power to disable and that splitting their fire will simply allow her time to pound many of them into
the floor.
I spot 3 Paragon Protectors in the swarm, and angle my way towards them, smashing aside 2 Vigilants and a Mob Specialist before I reach my target. I attempt to
engage the Protector, but he sways easily out of the way of my fists. He spins lightly in place, driving a set of metallic claws into my torso. My armour is
insufficient to deflect
or blunt the attack and his claws penetrate deep into my mechanisms. Several key components are ripped loose as he twists the claws before pulling them out of
my chest. I stagger, back up gyroscopes coming on-line and attempt to gain some space with my charged particle projectors, but even at point blank range I
miss. My damage must be more severe than initial estimates indicate.
His next blow strikes my helmet, slicing into the armour and shearing off a vent, but failing to penetrate anything vital. The follow up attack gashes my
right arm, damaging the armour, and cuts deeply into my right thigh. The leg seizes as the actuators are destroyed. My situation worsens as my movements
cause already damaged coolant lines in my torso to break and my fusion plant goes into emergency shut-down.
I am spared further damage from the Paragon Protector when there is massive explosion behind us. The fire fight has catastrophically damaged the equipment in
the room, and it was volatile. My opponent and I are picked up by the blast wave and thrown away.
My systems shut down before I land, and it is roughly 3.5 minutes before my low level damage control systems are able to reboot my core processors. I awaken
to find a woman, who's outfit indicates she is a member of Crey's investigative branch standing over me. She is tugging at my helmet, and 10.2 seconds
later succeeds in wrenching it free.
She sneers at me as she draws her pistol from inside her suit jacket. My repair systems will require a further 5 minutes to bring my emergency battery bank to
limited combat capacity, and damage reports indicate that my fusion plant will require a visit to a properly equipped repair depot to reactivate. I am helpless
before her.
She pauses, pressing the machine pistol against the thin armour protecting my main processors. "You know, it's too bad about the equipment you've
destroyed," she says. "But, you have given us so many new samples to study we should make up the loss. Don't be upset, if there's anything
worthwhile in your design it'll be out and helping the people of Paragon as part of our next Tank upgrade."
Her already unpleasant expression changes for the worse, and I compute a 56 percent chance that she is enjoying the feeling of power she has over me. I may be
wrong though. My ability to extrapolate subtle human emotions is quite limited at the best of times.
"And if the Countess is feeling forgiving, your friends might just be sedated before we put them through the microtome," she says.
Unfortunately for her it is at this moment that an unexpected power surge fills my circuits. I do not hesitate and activate my primary combat systems, dumping
every erg I now have into them. The overstressed actuators in my arms slam my fists into either side of the woman's head with all the force they can
produce. There is a sickening crunch and the pistol drops away from my head.
Pushing the body off of myself I latch onto the wall and begin hauling myself upright. Off to the side is a haggard looking Emerald Blast, Hero License
87-237A3-E32, Provisional. She is cradling Mr. Whiskers protectively to her chest as she moves unsteadily towards me. I reach my feet, and thankfully have
enough functioning gyroscopes to maintain my balance.
As I bend to retrieve the remains of my helmet I note that my repair systems have finally brought my battery bank on-line. "Statement: Reserve power has
been restored. Your continued support is no longer necessary," I say.
Emerald nods, but does not say anything. She is focused almost entirely on Mr. Whiskers, whom she is petting. Close observation indicates the doll has been
slightly singed in several places. Based on her psychiatric profile I estimate at 98 percent probability that Emerald is worried about the damage Mr. Whiskers
has sustained.
"Statement: The damage to your companion appears superficial. It is likely a quick visit to the appropriate facility will restore him to fully
operational status with a minimum of effort," I say.
She looks up at me and smiles brightly. "Yeah, Mr. Whiskers is tough. No business suited goon is enough to hurt him," she says. "But I do
wish he'd be a bit more careful. Making me worry like that wasn't very nice."
The last is directed at the doll, which she is still cradling against her chest. It never fails, even an inanimate object gets more attention than I do.
As we pick our way over the rubble of the lab to rejoin our squad mates I once again regret that my design team did not get out of their lab more. Or had at
least thought things through better. Still, things could be worse, with a likelihood of 42 percent. All of our squad mates are still standing, if the worse
for wear, when we rejoin them, and we still have files to deliver to Manticore.
--
The more Sturgeon's Law becomes an understatement of the dire state of
the Internet, the smaller a value of epsilon separates a set of
wireclippers from a perfectly-tuned content filter.
-- Anthony de Boer
My current squad mates and I race down the corridor of the Crey facility. The floor shivers under the heavy impacts of our point entity Emet's, Hero
License 45-680A3-F32, feet. In the 8.34 seconds it takes us to reach the end of the hallway I again compare the map obtained from city records with the
inertial map I have been plotting as we have advanced into the facility. There are major discrepancies between the two, and I prepare a file for forwarding to
the Fire Marshal.
We arrive at the end of the corridor, and find ourselves on a small balcony, above a somewhat larger landing. Below that is a large room filled with
equipment. Based on the EM interference with my systems I conclude that there is an 84 percent probability that the equipment is being used for High Energy
Physics research.
Emet lumbers to edge of the balcony and drops off it. There is a panicked shout 0.4 seconds later, along with the sound of a heavy impact and stressed metal.
I follow Emet over the edge, my jump jets firing for 0.5 seconds, slowing my decent and reducing the stress on my actuators to acceptable levels. Emet is
standing in the midst of a group of 12 Crey employees. 1, in a radiologists uniform, is unconscious beneath her feet, the others are recovering from their
surprise and starting to attack her.
Switching into hyper heuristic mode my tactical algorithms sort through the available targets and I lock onto a Crey Power Tank. I overload my limited fusion
plant and step inside the Tank's guard. My first attack strikes him in the helmet, denting the armour severely and staggering the pilot. My second blow
connects with his lower abdomen, folding him over and crushing several armour plates. I estimate a 76 percent chance that I have broken several ribs on his
left side.
My follow through, a rising left wrapped in glowing plasma, meets his head on its way down. He is snapped back upright and thrown off of his feet to land
heavily against the landing's railing. Correction, through the railing. I compute the force of impact, using my best estimate of the Tank's mass,
conclude that the railing was not up to standard and create a new OHSA report file. I also add a note to the PPD's study of the Crey Tank armour series.
It will require improved neck support to satisfy our safety standards before purchase can be approved.
The rest of our squad has arrived on the balcony and will defeat our opponents with a probability of 84 percent without my assistance. I turn instead to the
reinforcements that are arriving on the landing from below. 4 riot guards assisted by 1 woman in a severe, yet tasteful power suit come charging up the ramp.
My plasma conduits are still cooling from the previous attack cycle and will not be available for 3.4 seconds. Unfortunate, but not a major handicap. The
first riot guard reaches the end of the ramp and my outstretched arm at the same time. My force feed back sensors register the impact and I switch to my next
target. I spin and kick his partner in the stomach, adding a burst from my jets to the move. The man tumbles back down the ramp, impacting the remaining two
riot guards and sending all three into an undignified heap.
The woman fires on the run, two shots glancing off of my helmet. I respond in kind, my charged particle projectors whine and crackle as they shove streams of
highly excited elementary particles at my opponent. My aim is off, and I only graze her with 2 of the streams. Still it is enough to stagger her and 0.6
seconds later my chemical
sensors detect traces of burnt cotton, armour weave and flesh. I store the readings in a locked file, the exact chemical make up of Crey armour weave being
protected by patent.
Before she can catch herself, a trio of fire imps leap past my shoulder and onto the woman. Shrieking, she tumbles back down the ramp, and into the group of
riot guards who are still trying to untangle themselves. I glance back and note that the battle on the landing is over. My current partner, Farmin' Roy
Orbison, Hero License 37-429G3-T69, has moved to support me. I take 1.7 seconds to recalibrate my optical sights based on the projected and actual impacts of
my charged particle projectors, during which Roy heads down the ramp to assist his imps. I join him 0.9 seconds later, pausing only to tazer the recovering
riot guard at my feet.
Sweeping the laboratory for further hostiles takes 46.8 seconds. A further 71.3 seconds allows us to determine that the files Manticore has sent us for are
not accessible from any of the laboratory's terminals. We will have to head deeper into the facility.
20.36 minutes later we have found the server that contains the files Manticore requested. I recompute the probability that this is a legally sanctioned
operation, and again arrive at the conclusion that there is only a 23 percent probability that it is. However, the information we have obtained so far
indicates that Crey are conducting illegal and highly unethical research and my mandate to protect the innocent overrides my legal qualms.
It is unfortunate that we cannot use this information to prosecute Crey Industries. I estimate a 97.6 percent probability that Crey lawyers will successfully
be able to discredit the information and prove that the experiments were done without the knowledge of Crey's management.
I am brought our of my musings by a shout and the whine of high velocity slugs ricocheting off of Emet's body. A large group of Crey security have arrived
and are intent of preventing us from escaping the facility. We meet the charge head on, Emet bearing the brunt of the attack. Crey security is learning, they
know that she will require a significant amount of fire power to disable and that splitting their fire will simply allow her time to pound many of them into
the floor.
I spot 3 Paragon Protectors in the swarm, and angle my way towards them, smashing aside 2 Vigilants and a Mob Specialist before I reach my target. I attempt to
engage the Protector, but he sways easily out of the way of my fists. He spins lightly in place, driving a set of metallic claws into my torso. My armour is
insufficient to deflect
or blunt the attack and his claws penetrate deep into my mechanisms. Several key components are ripped loose as he twists the claws before pulling them out of
my chest. I stagger, back up gyroscopes coming on-line and attempt to gain some space with my charged particle projectors, but even at point blank range I
miss. My damage must be more severe than initial estimates indicate.
His next blow strikes my helmet, slicing into the armour and shearing off a vent, but failing to penetrate anything vital. The follow up attack gashes my
right arm, damaging the armour, and cuts deeply into my right thigh. The leg seizes as the actuators are destroyed. My situation worsens as my movements
cause already damaged coolant lines in my torso to break and my fusion plant goes into emergency shut-down.
I am spared further damage from the Paragon Protector when there is massive explosion behind us. The fire fight has catastrophically damaged the equipment in
the room, and it was volatile. My opponent and I are picked up by the blast wave and thrown away.
My systems shut down before I land, and it is roughly 3.5 minutes before my low level damage control systems are able to reboot my core processors. I awaken
to find a woman, who's outfit indicates she is a member of Crey's investigative branch standing over me. She is tugging at my helmet, and 10.2 seconds
later succeeds in wrenching it free.
She sneers at me as she draws her pistol from inside her suit jacket. My repair systems will require a further 5 minutes to bring my emergency battery bank to
limited combat capacity, and damage reports indicate that my fusion plant will require a visit to a properly equipped repair depot to reactivate. I am helpless
before her.
She pauses, pressing the machine pistol against the thin armour protecting my main processors. "You know, it's too bad about the equipment you've
destroyed," she says. "But, you have given us so many new samples to study we should make up the loss. Don't be upset, if there's anything
worthwhile in your design it'll be out and helping the people of Paragon as part of our next Tank upgrade."
Her already unpleasant expression changes for the worse, and I compute a 56 percent chance that she is enjoying the feeling of power she has over me. I may be
wrong though. My ability to extrapolate subtle human emotions is quite limited at the best of times.
"And if the Countess is feeling forgiving, your friends might just be sedated before we put them through the microtome," she says.
Unfortunately for her it is at this moment that an unexpected power surge fills my circuits. I do not hesitate and activate my primary combat systems, dumping
every erg I now have into them. The overstressed actuators in my arms slam my fists into either side of the woman's head with all the force they can
produce. There is a sickening crunch and the pistol drops away from my head.
Pushing the body off of myself I latch onto the wall and begin hauling myself upright. Off to the side is a haggard looking Emerald Blast, Hero License
87-237A3-E32, Provisional. She is cradling Mr. Whiskers protectively to her chest as she moves unsteadily towards me. I reach my feet, and thankfully have
enough functioning gyroscopes to maintain my balance.
As I bend to retrieve the remains of my helmet I note that my repair systems have finally brought my battery bank on-line. "Statement: Reserve power has
been restored. Your continued support is no longer necessary," I say.
Emerald nods, but does not say anything. She is focused almost entirely on Mr. Whiskers, whom she is petting. Close observation indicates the doll has been
slightly singed in several places. Based on her psychiatric profile I estimate at 98 percent probability that Emerald is worried about the damage Mr. Whiskers
has sustained.
"Statement: The damage to your companion appears superficial. It is likely a quick visit to the appropriate facility will restore him to fully
operational status with a minimum of effort," I say.
She looks up at me and smiles brightly. "Yeah, Mr. Whiskers is tough. No business suited goon is enough to hurt him," she says. "But I do
wish he'd be a bit more careful. Making me worry like that wasn't very nice."
The last is directed at the doll, which she is still cradling against her chest. It never fails, even an inanimate object gets more attention than I do.
As we pick our way over the rubble of the lab to rejoin our squad mates I once again regret that my design team did not get out of their lab more. Or had at
least thought things through better. Still, things could be worse, with a likelihood of 42 percent. All of our squad mates are still standing, if the worse
for wear, when we rejoin them, and we still have files to deliver to Manticore.
--
The more Sturgeon's Law becomes an understatement of the dire state of
the Internet, the smaller a value of epsilon separates a set of
wireclippers from a perfectly-tuned content filter.
-- Anthony de Boer
![[Image: smile.gif]](http://www.ezboard.com/intl/aenglish/images/emoticons/smile.gif)