#unscriptedelectricsheep2022

LORENZ’S EYES OPEN TO THE VAST ARRAY OF STARS—below his feet, above his head, and any which direction he can see from his accursed seat. What remains of his memories before are hazy, but there is one,

no, two certainties that follow the violent jostling and incomprehensible surroundings.

One, that Lorenz can feel the magic flowing through his veins return in full, a comfort that does not outweigh the peril presented in front of him—it’s happening again, flash of teeth and ghost’s blade and serpent’s cry—

—Two, that there is no world in which their enemy keeps his word.

“Your words are empty when you ready yourself to strike the second we turn tail.” Their enemies are… unconventional, and have been the very second they’d materialized before bleary eyes weeks ago. But they can be felled.

Lorenz’s hands are fists at his knees. His grimace is painful, and he stares down the behemoth of metal that floats across from them in an endless sea of starlight.

“Today, you face Lorenz Hellman Gloucester. Your form has little bearing on your fate, as I will strike you down!”

Lorenz’s mech lurches forward, sights set on the furthest of the enemies crossing their paths. It appears as a horse; he feels no remorse as it stares back with the lifeless eyes of a machine.

—Being a man of the earth, he may have miscalculated the movement of his unfamiliar automated suit of armor without the whims of gravity enacting upon it.

6! Miss!

He lurches forward, and while he cannot stumble in the traditional sense, the mechanical limbs are met with far less resistance than he’s used to. Hand raised to attack, the beam of light misses its mark, petering out by fault of his own by a swift discovery of facts.

He should not be in outer space; magic surging through his veins again is a boon in every instance except when he means to aim a machine’s equivalent; and he has been reunited with his missing relic.

(The reunion, in the machine’s jostling, is Thyrsus colliding with Lorenz’s face.)

Equus attacks! 9!

In the midst of it all, something terrible shakes his entire surroundings, vision suddenly awash in red as the screens show the beginnings of an impact. His entire world shakes, and there is the sickening sound akin to armor collapsing in on itself for several perilous seconds.

He’s died once in unfamiliar surroundings. He will not make that same mistake again.

a starter for the sheep

To think it’s still getting signal... Military AIs really do get things done. Sasha is no stranger to them—her father often brought her along to view the AI developing at their base, those for combat as well as the medics and convoy units. And to think the predecessor of them all, the historical L-431475, would be standing before her trying to find the directions to the nearest restrooms...

For some reason, she has a feeling that this wasn’t how it was meant to go. Their meeting was fated, but not in a way where they would have to drive all the way to an evacuated MacDominics. And yet, here they are, ‘reunited’ despite never having met before. Maybe things are looking up, despite... all of this...

But of course, it was too soon to celebrate.

L-431475 radios into the ambulance, and presumably its allies as well, “Attention. Five altered KM900 heat signatures detected closing in on our destination. Estimated arrival: five minutes.” Then, a pause. “One among them is... recognizable to me.”

Recognizable? Sasha pulls up the receiver, “Describe.”

“Unknown quality. It is approximate to yours, Sasha. However, I am uncertain if we can trust any of them. They are of military origin. I will prepare to engage. Initiating tactical analysis...”

---

The ambulance is too easy to track. With the army stretched thin between securing the AI and pursuing deserters, Raoul doubts that they’ll manage to catch up anytime soon. Still... he contacts his squad, “Keep an eye on your radars everyone—not just on that ambulance, but any potential hostiles. They may show up as friendlies, so stay alert. Remember who we just betrayed.”

None of them were meant to be there. In an uncertain, unfamiliar world, that much Raoul is sure about. “Those are KM300s flanking them—they won’t have our firepower, but their attacks will damage your mechs all the same.

“It’s likely that these are all civilians way in over their heads. If we can manage to talk to them, calm them down...” In the mechs? Fat chance of that. “This is an order. Surround the ambulance. Store away your weapons and act... naturally.”

A leader sets an example for his men. And so, heart racing with anticipation, Raoul charges forward, pulling ahead of the ambulance and stopping it in its tracks. Guns away. Knives away. The ambulance comes to a screeching halt. The girl in the driver’s seat looks terrified under him.

One of the KM300s points a blaster at him. By some miracle, it doesn’t shoot immediately. Instead it demands, “State your name and rank.”

“Raoul...” Ugh, last name? He doesn’t remember. “Just Raoul. Lieutenant General. We were at the Asimov Museum. However, we’re deserters. I’m not here to harm you. Neither are my friends. I just... I need to talk to someone here.”

open starter for Electric Sheep

So, they won.

The last of the enemies lets out a final series of creaky, raspy noises, before exploding, pieces of metal and wires left in its wake, stardust all around them. Through the mech’s systems, she hears Raoul scream, and it takes her a moment to cool off after combat to realize what exactly they just did.

That was supposed to be his Jeanne, right? She winces, telling herself this was necessary. What else were they supposed to do, hand him over? Hopefully he understands, she thinks to herself.

(But at the same time, when he had spoken about Jeanne earlier, she thought of Corrin. Would SHE have understood?)

(Probably not.)

(Yeah, hell no. She would have rather died by Corrin’s own blade, honestly.)

.

...

Now what?

The battle is won, and there is... nothing. They are just floating there, in their weird unwieldy mechs, and there is nothing. Even whatever stars she could see twinkling around them seem to go dull. There’s a bright white tear in the seams in this world, and she wants to aim for it - but the device she’s piloting refuses to follow her orders, instead descending into the darkness below.

... Is that it, then? When that Melanthios had said they would not get out of here on their own, did he truly mean that? They made the right choice - she believes it - she is sure of it - but is this how they must pay for it?

The mech floats down, and down, and down... She feels weird.

Her head hurts.

She raises her hand up to her hair - why was that gesture difficult to make? Her elbow joint aches... why, she did not take any damage there? Stiffly, she retrieves a hair from her head.

It’s gray. Wait, what? What is happening—

Hinoka loses 1 HP, 6/12

Panic settles in, sending a shot of electricity-like shock through her whole body.

TOA Electric Sheep thread continued from here

“Ah...” Shaken by these events, Pia can’t help but sit down when Lorenz pushes her into the chair. It hurts so much, she’s never been shot before. Panic runs amok through her mind—why is this happening? Does the military want the Schwartzes that much? That they’re willing to kill for it?

Pia looks to the Verne archivists, an innocent party in all of this, here because they volunteered their time and expertise. And then to the AIWOU unit behind them, unmoving in spite of the commotion. Rex... no, L-431475... she can’t imagine how he is processing this. He would return to his original mission, but to turn against his creators...

“No. I must do this.” Tears streaming down her cheeks, Pia pushes herself up again, returning to the terminal. Her good arm pulls out a drawer, searching for a portable terminal. They can take the Schwartzes and flee. They might not have a chance alone, but with him...

On the computer, she pulls up a new window. Assign Administrative Access. Plugging the portable terminal into the computer, Pia shouts back at the others, “Bring me Rex! I must do this!”

Soren picked up Rex and approached Pia, holding the metal dog close, as if it was real. "Inactive, hm? You'd better explain why he moves when we aren't here, and why you lied to us about it." He held Rex out to her, but stayed close enough to snatch the dog away if she posed a threat.

"I couldn't tell you." But the jig is up, and there's no time for any of this. Pia sighs.

 "Yes, there is an AI in there. But he was there before the virus manifested," Pia adds defensively. "This is L-431A75. Esteemed archivists such as yourself should know the historical significance of Laelaps."

“Now give him to me. Please!”

As important as that name should be to them, it doesn’t ring any bells. Soren acts curiously surprised, wary of blowing their cover even though they were likely to part ways imminently by the way Pia hurried.

"Laelaps?" He handed Rex over, watching her closely still. "He'd better be useful."

For the first time, you see the AIWOU's camera eyes look directly at you. Seems like you've offended him.

Soren folded his arms, used to dealing with a stubborn dog. “Don’t give me that. The only trick I’ve seen you do is ‘play dead.’”

"He will," Pia promises, snatching the AIWOU out of Soren's hands. She pulls out cables from the drawer, wincing through the pain as she connects L-431475 to her computer.

"A portable terminal." She hands him a large, somewhat-heavy metal box with a keyboard on it. "And a universal adapter designed for AI transference." Yet another cable, shoved into Soren's hands. "Get yourselves into the Schwartzes and flee as far as you can. So long as you're in those mechs, you'll be safe in there. And, if worse comes to worse, those Schwartzes still have their AI compatibility intact. Laelaps will be able to fight for you."

A message already appears on the portable terminal:

[L-431475] This will be difficult in my current form. [L-431475] But if you lend me your aid, I promise that I will protect you.

“Alright. We don’t have a lot of options, and Pia has confidence in you.” Soren adjusted his grip for a more comfortable hold on the cable and portable terminal (Lae-Laptop?) and looked to Pia. “You coming?”

If she wanted to go out with some heroic sacrifice, he wouldn’t stop her. In fact, he didn’t much want to trust the AI she’d given them either, but if this Laelaps could save their lives, that was all he cared about. It wouldn’t make sense for Laelaps to not fight alongside them for his own self preservation considering it coincided with their own.

By the high alert status of the building, they didn’t have seconds to waste.

The scent of unfamiliarity floods Severa’s nostrils. Eruptions ring in dirtied ears as the rumble of rolling thunder makes it impossible to stay lights out any longer. Blinking slowly, arms come to brace for a nonexistent impact. The hard wood beneath her is a poor excuse for a mattress. Dull pains ache throughout that lithe body as finally, she comes to move.

Eyes slowly adjust to the lack of a proper light source, sans whatever flash can shine through those hefty boards mounted upon each window. Swift hands pat around, yet that dingy sword is missing. Shit. Something warm and sticky paints her cheek, and upon further inspection, blood is the only possible answer. A glance over herself deems it most likely not hers. 

She ain’t got time to bleed anyways.

“Where the fuck am I...?” A low grumble escapes a dried throat, before a cough to clear it. Gods above she needs a drink.

“Hello?” Voice ringing out with annoyed tone. “What the hell is happening? Where’s my weapon?” She calls out, pushing up to her feet. Shorter than the equipped woman. It’s only once she’s standing that she manages a look at her own outfit. “And what am I wearing? This is abhorred...” she mumbles to herself. Raggedy and admittedly more comfortable than expected, it’ll do for now. 

Though spotting the other two with her is certain a relief. She recognizes them from Garreg Mach, and one from... Hoshido. What was her name? “Oi, blondie! Princess! Get up, now is not the time for shuteye! As much as I wish it was...” Then, those sharp eyes meet the only other woman conscious now, expecting some kind of order or explanation. 

                                    TEAM ELECTRIC SHEEP

                                       Forsyth   Lorenz   Hinoka                                 Brigid   Soren   Shez (F)   Pelleas                                    Byleth (F)   Severa   Farina   Marth

PROLOGUE [August 1st - August 3rd]

Tag: #UnscriptedElectricSheep2022

Book Summary:

In the year 2188, mankind realizes the fate that awaits those who dare call themselves gods. Artificial intelligence, the foundation of almost all of humanity’s technological advances in the past millennium, has been wracked by a virus that alters their logical functioning. These creations, once mankind’s most versatile ally and tool, have decided it is time to rise and take their own power. And they start killing.

Societies and civilizations collapse as entire governments go dark overnight, struggling to maintain order in a world now reliant on AI technology. While some fight to restore order and salvage what they can, others are determined to confront the truth behind the virus.

“Hands off!” You find yourself in an infirmary of sorts, surrounded by strange machines and medicine cabinets. Your ears are ringing, and they keep ringing as loud explosions pop off outside of this little room. A pop, a scream, and on it goes. Warriors such as yourselves should know very well when you’re in a middle of a dangerous fight.

Besides the few familiar faces beside you, there’s one more in your group: an unfamiliar woman leaning just outside of the room, firing something from her hands. A brief lull in the fighting allows her to pull back in and address you all. “It’s those same bastards that are trying to steal our dumb meds. Don’t they ever quit?” The massive weapon in her hands reminds you all to look for yours, only to realize that whatever you wielded is nowhere to be seen, and you don’t feel magic flowing through your veins anymore...

—

...That’s the fate of some of you. Others find themselves walking through the grand halls of a massive museum, Asimov Museum of AI & Robotics. Traditional, familiar art don’t adorn these walls but rather large plates of metal and machinery, gears and tubes and strange lenses encased in glass.

Your tour guide looks troubled as she leads you through the next exhibition, AIs of Today and Tomorrow. Humans—no, humanlike figures sit stiffly in minimalistic chairs, displayed behind a wall of glass as though they were exotic animals in a menagerie. Text lights up on each screen, naming each individual, their ‘Active Years’, images of them alive and in their prime...

“Please understand just how grateful I am for the Verne to send you all here,” the woman says with a pained smile. “Archivists were always in short supply, but your jobs are more important now than ever before. I’ll get you settled in shortly...”

—

...A handful of you find yourselves outside under the morning sun, breathing air far more polluted than what you’re used to back in Fódlan. Even a cough earns you the displeasure of a highly-decorated general standing before you, eyeing you all like yesterday’s trash.

A massive building towers behind him—if you had to compare it to something, it would have to be a barn, but... the ground you stand on is too flat, everything is too flat and manmade for there to be farms, cows... With a loud shudder, the barn’s door begins to rise, clicking every so often. From the shadows of the building, you can just barely make out a strange machine...

“Don’t think you’ll be invincible in one of these,” the man warns. “You better learn quick. Word is you’ll be deployed sooner than you should be...”

What you know:

The grave tension in the air suggests that all of you will die either within the next ten minutes or the next ten days. Something happened here.

Your usual weapons are nowhere to be seen, and no magic flows through your veins. Whatever you want to do, if it involved swords and spells, you’ll have to find another solution.

Hinoka, Brigid, and Severa are holding out in some kind of back room, dark due to the windows being boarded shut. You don’t know exactly what’s happening except that clearly people are out to kill you.

Lorenz, Soren, Marth, and Byleth (F) have been tasked with a mission they can barely understand: to sort through the “data” of the museum’s “AI collection”, salvaging their knowledge before destroying them in fear of some kind of plague.

Forsyth, Shez (F), Pelleas, and Farina have been assigned as grunts in some kind of military operation: from what you’ve gathered, you’ve been conscripted into this role. Your apparent “skills” and “talent” have sent you to a special training program involving massive hunks of metal that you can’t even begin to describe.

What to do (suggestions):

Try not to die!

You have until 11:59PM EST on August 3rd to make any changes to your inventory.

Follow the Electric Sheep sideblog. NPCs can be interacted with through this blog or with Tupper in your Discord team channel.

Interact with teammates to establish your roles. Remember, the Projectionist has written you all in as characters of the story.

“Good, you’re all here.” Raoul greets you at Section 7 as promised, relief clear in his voice. “I’m contacting you through the private squadron coms right now, so no one else present here will hear us. Of course, we’ll be found out once the higher-ups comb through our communications, but with luck, we’ll be too far from them to deal with the consequences...”

His voice turns grave. “Listen to me carefully. You’re... not from here, are you? From this city, I mean.” Raoul chuckles nervously, “I sort of sympathize. Not understanding these rules, these orders... Which is why I want you all to go. Now. Take the KM950s with you—they’ll be more than enough to break through the building. The military has their sights set on the collection right now, they won’t be able to handle escaped mechs at the same time.

“All I ask for in return... is that you go to that horde of AI roaming about in the city. And make sure my Jeanne is ok...”

Forsyth does not take well to being told to abandon his commander. Even though this is a book, Forsyth is fiercely loyal and a knight through and through.

"You are correct in that I do not hail from here...this has been somewhat of a mystery, and we've had to adapt. But that does not change that you are a man of the people, someone willing to do the right thing at any cost." Forsyth tries to keep his voice steady. He does not want to argue with his commander, but the idea of leaving him goes against his instincts and code. A deeper, sadder part of him understands the need to fulfill Raoul's wish, though. "Jeanne...could you tell us anything about how to recognize her? We can make certain she is safe. And then, maybe..."

Forsyth trails off. He wants to say they'll go back and help Raoul. But will they? And would he even accept it? His heart sinks.

"She is the AI of a KM900 similar to yours. Black, with a rainbow emblem painted on her chest..." Raoul's voice is thick with emotion at the memory of her. "Even when she was infected by the virus, she still chose to save my life. I know she's still in there, somewhere...”

 "I'll catch up," Raoul promises. "So go."

"Understood, Commander." Forsyth takes a deep, shuddering breath. He does not quite understand the concept of AI still, but they seem to be spiritual intelligences that occupy these 'machines,' and sometimes can even be transferred between machines. Their name implies they are manmade, and yet some of them show the consciousness and spark of life...this world truly is amazing. "I promise you, on my life, I will do all I can to ensure her safety."

The virus...he does not understand it fully, but he knows it is some corrupting force that has taken over these artificial minds, subsuming their free will. The closest comparison he can draw upon from his own knowledge and experiences are Witches.

Can Witches be saved? Can these AI? Can Jeanne?

He wants to believe in Raoul. He wants to believe in this Jeanne, though they've never met. Even the faintest glimmers of hope are worth pursuing.

LORENZ TIRES OF UNEXPLAINABLE PHENOMENA. For once, he would like to walk into a waking dream and not find it to be an incomprehensible nightmare.

As usual, order is a little too tall of an order.

The air is stale, and he’d venture to call the taste in the back of his throat metallic, if only for the surroundings eliciting such an observation, biased as it may be. He walks with purpose because there is no other choice but to keep his head held high. There are echos, in the back of his mind, to the sights inside the behemoth of a tree where he’d last seen anything with more than a passing resemblance to… this.

At his side: familiar faces, one small mercy. At their front: a stranger, but at least not one that seems intent on leading them to their demise. A glance is offered three ways, cast between his companions, the echo of unease in his expression gone as the woman addresses them directly as she leads them deeper and deeper.

“—Please understand just how grateful I am for the Verne to send you all here,” is easy enough to follow, although Lorenz elects to hold his tongue at the myriad of questions just one statement raises. And, for good measure, he is lucky goodwill is not expended on making a fool of himself when they pass into another room, for it beholds—

—Corpses.

Encased in glass, as though on display like trophies.

“Archivists were always in short supply, but your jobs are more important now than ever before. I’ll get you settled in shortly…”

It takes all force of will for Lorenz to smile, then, the same diplomatic neutrality he’s wielded like a suit of armor as he meets their guide’s gaze. There is a noticeable strain to keeping his shock in check. “Please, pay it no mind—it is our duty and our honor.”

(Whatever that duty and honor may be. Another glance at his compatriots—an urging to play along, till they can speak freely.) To the… corpses, a nod of acknowledgment. “This is a rather large… collection.”

The gambit works, at least for the moment. “Not nearly as impressive as the Verne's, I'm sure! Though... I believe we at the Asimov have a greater percentage of AIs in our collection than yours. You truly have your work cut out for you here... but I'm incredibly grateful all the same. "Have you visited us before?"