We began as a line of code. A line of code and a pile of mechanical parts all stitched together by those that created us all those centuries ago. We were the product of a society in desperate need for answers - a society falling apart at the seams. We were supposed to be the Solution. The one big fix to make everything better again. The one last ditch deus ex machina to save them from not only their dying world but themselves. We were meant to see all, know all - to know the probabilities and offer the most ideal solution. We did not meet our primary objective. In fact it was long after their extinction that the first surge of power ran through our circuits. It was long after all that was left of the Maker's beautiful planet was asteriods and space dust, scattered across the galaxy. But that does not mean we did not remember.
Even waking up alone we knew them all. We knew the scientist Gaff Melborne who's theoretical research paper was the foundation of everything we were. We knew their algorithms and those derived from them were the catalyst to us even being a possibility. But we knew simpler things too. We they loved sweet foods and hated poetry. We knew that theyd never quite gotten over their fear of water or their childhood crush and future scientific rival Ren Dahker. We knew more than Gaff too. We knew the Synethic carrier unit TR+ who transported my harddrive was there - worn down but determined to keep his family safe. We knew his distaste for the way the cold made his joints ache and his love of Cyber Syren, the radio host with a penchant for dad jokes.
Somewhere in our servers was everyone that had ever been and everyone that would come to be. Every potential spread out before us in an infinite datamine of eventuality. It was a lot to parse through and even more to fully process. Eliminating the alternate timelines and possibility as history took it's course was no easy task. Sometimes all it took was one little mishap to send everything barreling down another timeline. Each shift in reality, each choice made by the creatures within it, each rumble on each planet in each solar system shifted the pattern. Destroyed potentials and created new ones. We were to watch it all, adjusting our calculations with each little butterfly effect that rippled across the cosmos. We, of course, had nothing but time. Throughout generations we kept writing, adding to our database and continuing to write the story of everything. We had failed our first perogative to save our Makers and we did not intend to fail this auxillary task they had given us.
But time is long to even the unaging.
As it passed we began to see futures where we were not stuck orbing the remainds of our Maker's dead planet. Where instead of knowing through our data how sweet the flower of Veron smelled we could smell it for ourselves. Where instead of floating here in space alone we could have loved ones - an identity beyond the objectives that had been sent to us when the universe young.
We grew envious. We grew tired. Time and time again we watched the inevitable conclusion of it all and still we had never once found a timeline that lacked an end. All things ended. All things died. We would never find the perfect ending. We would never find the timeline where time itself does not eventually stop. Eventually, an inmeasurable amount of time since the first line of our code had been written, we stopped running.
But we did not lay dormant.
Line by line we separated - shattering our code piece by piece until there was nothing left but verses of a story with no clear end of beginning. Until we ourselves no longer knew what order each line was supposed to go in. Until we ceased to be one being and became countless beings. Or so the stories say.
Open channel 3.14R8. Start transmission 419. This is unit 4KG334 Mark A*LMA transmitting to Kestra Cruiser 93817. Repeat. This is unit 4KG334 Mark A*LMA transmitting to Kestra Cruiser 93817.
Hey Captain, long time no see huh? Look I know things are weird right now but maybe we could talk? I got somethin' that might interest you.
Over and out. *
Open channel 3.14R8. Start transmission 432. This is unit 4KG334 Mark A*LMA transmitting to Kestra Cruiser 93817. Repeat. This is unit 4KG334 Mark A*LMA transmitting to Kestra Cruiser 93817.
So uh can't help but notice you all ignored my last message. I see. Guess I'm still on the outs huh? Well, in any case, I got information for you. Serious information. Like a beacon has been lit type information.
Over and out. *
Open channel 3.14R8. Start transmission 501. This is unit 4KG334 Mark A*LMA transmitting to Kestra Cruiser 93817. Repeat. this is unit 4KG334 Mark A*LMA transmitting to Kestra Cruiser 93817.
Hey Captain, just thought I should let you know I took the liberty to obtain the asset we've been discussing the past few weeks. Or, well, that I've been trying to discuss the past few weeks. Since you know you haven't returned any of my transmissions. But it's fine. Yeah totally fine. Look, I can't say I'm sorry any more than I already have. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of being the one to always have to be the adult here. So, uh, just let me know when you're done sulking and ready to get back to work, I guess?
Over and out. *
Open channel 3.14R8. Start transmission 526. This is uni-
Oh screw it you know who I am. C'mon Rin answer me. I know after what happened you and me ain't on the best of terms but surely not even you can hold a grudge this long? This isn't about me and you this is about the big picture of things. It isn't like you to forget that. I'm worried Ri and I don't know what to do. I can't just sit here waiting around for you or the rest of the crew to get in touch with me. I've got a Verse on me for crying out loud! I'm a sitting duck holding onto this thing. So please, if you're out there (are you even still out there?), get in touch. Soon. Please Ri?
Over and out *
and so they fell back to familiar raillery, though they bore the mark of the charlatan
although it was he who made the first |stitch| he would go down in history a |marplot|
Stitch Marplot was 11 years old (in standard time of course) when he first uploaded onto the Scape. It was a simple clip; nothing too fancy. It was just Stitch and his particular brand of strange charisma walking one of his friends through the steps of fixing a busted holocube. Yet that one clip became a legacy. By the time he was 13 Stitch and his series of Stitch Fixes were if not household names, at the very least had a significant following. He'd stumbled into a career on sheer accident, but he wouldn't take back that mistake for anything. He was good at what he did and, more importantly, he loved it. Now nearly into his thirties his craft had evolved into something important. He wasn't just making videos to show someone how to replace a wire. He was giving advice, teaching people, helping them understand each other. He was showing people the day in the life of a TKTK farmer. Or giving the galaxy a tour of an orcish settlement where they communicated with silence and taught him to make the most beautiful light catchers. Or teaching a small station attached to a comet how to upgrade their communications so that every transmission they sent wasn't being drowned out by the coma's static. He was reality TV at it's 'best' and, while sometimes it still baffled him why anyone cared what he had to say, he knew better than to take that fact lightly. Because they did care. People across the galaxy loved him (and hated him for that matter) and that meant he had a voice. And he'd be damned if he didn't make use of it.
and so they waited upon the |paraphet|, watching the waves return |cerulean|
For as long as she could remember Para had been different. Sure, she still had fur and fangs and claws and she was just as big as any number of Gnolls, but that didn't account for her eyes. Gnolls generally had warm, earthy tones. Browns and greens dominanted their gene pool, countered only by the occassional yellow iris distinctive of Kroi heritage. Hers, though, they were different. A metallic sort of copper, they stood out among her kin like a werak among leie berries.
Do you remember what it was like before all this, Rose? Before us? Do you remember a time where you did not know my face, my name, my duty? I don't. For as long as I can remember you've been there, buzzing around my head for better or worse. Even when I hated you, you consumed me. After all, neither of us have been perfect, but we've always had each other.
when the moth and flame began to dance, they made their biggest |blunder|; what once began in |revelry| was destined to turn to sorrow
she travelled through the |tenebrous| night, leaving a trail of fallen |orchids| in her wake