#valor13

Data Log 09 May 2110

Platform CENTURION-12 Critically Damaged

Protocol Swap, Combat Mode Deactivated

Initializing Standby Mode

Standby Mode activated, awaiting reactivation signal…

The rain plunked against the robot's heavy shell, making a series of rapid “plinks” that varied in tone in an almost musical way. It was paradoxical, the way that the rain created art from an instrument of death and destruction. The robot was a large, hulking piece of engineering, all servos and joints, engines and rail guns. It looked entirely inhuman, and was clearly built for a singular purpose: combat. It was small enough to fit into buildings, but large and heavy enough to be a serious threat to the very human combatants it was designed to fight.

Small, electrical buzzes and zaps sounded from inside the robot as the automated repair systems did their best to fix the critically damaged internals, with little success. Other than the rain and sounds of the auto-repair system, it was dead silent. Moments ago there were sounds of combat, gunfire and people dying, but no more. The street was deserted, the air silent and heavy. Rainfall was the shut-down robot’s only companion.

As the sun finally set and the moon began to rise, the robot’s auto-repair systems seemed to have finally realized there was no hope for this platform, and shut down. The decommissioned robot sat silently, on the edge of the city, awaiting a reactivation signal that would never come. As seconds turned to minutes, and minutes to hours, the rain continued to beat down on the broken platform, the song it sang disjointed and melancholy.

The rain finally stopped, slowing first from a “plunking” to a “pattering” before dying out completely, and the clouds parted to reveal the moon, high in the sky, its light just bright enough to make the markings on the robot clear: CENTURION-12. A young woman, hood up and hands stuffed in pockets, approached the robot from the alley, being careful to avoid the moonlight. Upon reaching the robot, she shrugged off her backpack and began rummaging around, eventually pulling out a spanner and set to work removing panels, picking through wires and motherboards, seemingly searching for some part in particular.

09 May 2099

The control room was quiet, grim even. The set of large displays at the front of the room showed a grisly scene; a few dozen dead bodies lay scattered about the room, blood caked the walls, tables, and chairs. The sounds of gunfire and screaming had ended minutes ago, yet the control room was still quiet. The camera looked around the room, zooming in on the faces of the bodies, confirming the identities of the dead. As each face was analyzed, a public record was displayed on the screen, and a calm, robotic voice read off each name and a small blurb of information. Jonathan Meyer, suspected terrorist and smuggler. Fernando Garcia, suspected terrorist and seditionist. Jose Reyes, known terrorist. Sofia Reyes, known terrorist. . .

The voice continued reading off names. In the back of the room, Dr. Jordan Emmerich sat in a large chair taking notes in a small notebook. Behind him stood a well dressed man who was watching the screen intently. As the voice read off the last few names, “Jose and Sofia Reyes,” he visibly relaxed. 

“Well, congratulations to you, Dr. Emmerich,” the man said. Dr. Emmerich swiveled in his chair, looking up from his notebook at the man who had addressed him. It was Arthur Hall, CEO of Horizon Co. “You and your team have done fine work here today,” Arthur continued, his voice surprisingly steady and calm for someone who just witnessed the same slaughter as Dr. Emmerich. He looked down at his wrist casually, checking the time on his watch. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.”

“Of course, Mr. Hall,” Dr. Emmerich said, his voice much more unsteady than Arthur’s. “Thank you for being here for our first field test, here’s to many more successes ahead of us.” Arthur nodded curtly.

“Indeed, Dr. Emmerich,” he said, walking towards the exit. “Keep up the good work, the Board will be pleased.” The door opened, and Arthur exited the control room. Dr. Emmerich breathed a sigh of relief, and turned his attention back to the screen. The voice read a few more names and then the room fell silent, all the dead had been identified. The camera remained focused on the final body, and Dr. Emmerich felt a twinge of disgust. The expression on the corpse’s face was pain, but the eyes were blank, empty.

“Tell it to bring CENTURION home,” Dr. Emmerich said, doing his best to keep his tone under control, to sound commanding. “Good work here today, people.” The control room suddenly came alive, hushed conversation filling the air. As people began typing furiously, Dr. Emmerich stared down at his notebook, his stomach churning. He had witnessed, no, ordered, the death of no fewer than two dozen people.

“Dr. Emmerich?” a soft, female voice called to him. His head snapped up quickly and he was sure his eyes gave away everything he was feeling, the uncertainty, the fear, the disgust, the madness. The voice belonged to his assistant, a brilliant young girl named Ava Carter. “Are you alright?” she asked. She sat at the workstation closest to him, and spoke softly enough so as not to call attention to them. Her eyes were full of concern, the expression on her face also giving away her disgust at the situation. 

“Thank you, Miss Carter,” Dr. Emmerich said, the confidence returning to his voice, “but I am fine. I need to speak with it, I leave the retrieval in your capable hands.” Ava nodded, watching with concern as Dr. Emmerich exited the control room.

Once in the hallway outside, Dr. Emmerich paused for a moment and leaned against the wall, taking several deep breaths to calm himself. He stood up straight and smoothed back his hair, pushing back memories of the ghastly images he had seen on the screen just a few minutes ago. He walked through the hallways, a winding maze, until he reached the server room. The door was locked, requiring a keycard to access. Very few people had keycards that let them access this room, and Dr. Emmerich was one of them. He pressed his ID badge against the lock and the door slid open, allowing Dr. Emmerich inside.

The server room was relatively small. There were two rows of server racks on either side of the room, each spanning from wall to wall, and from the floor all the way to the ceiling. Lights blinked across the data banks, indicating that the servers were powered and active. At the far end of the room, in between the server racks, was a terminal, the screen currently powered off. Dr. Emmerich approached the terminal slowly, as though with the weight of the world on his shoulders, and pressed the power button.

The screen flickered to life, several lines of text appearing and then disappearing from the screen. Eventually, after a few minutes, a text insertion point appeared, blinking slowly. Dr. Emmerich let his posture fall again as he typed in his credentials and pressed “Enter.” The screen flickered a few times, and then a new window appeared. Text appeared on the screen sequentially, as though it was being typed out in real time by another person, which was almost true.

Hello, Dr. Emmerich, the text read, It is glad to see you. Did it do well on the mission?

“Yes,” Dr. Emmerich said, his voice almost weary. “Yes, you did excellently, VALOR.”

It is pleased to have done so well, the text read. It has sent the return command to CENTURION-12, is there anything else it can do for you?

“Thank you, VALOR,” Dr. Emmerich said. “No, I’m just here for the data logs.”

Excellent, Dr. Emmerich. This program can process the data for you and have it printed out in just a few moments. Dr. Emmerich sighed. Sure enough, after a few moments, the sounds of a printer doing its work could be heard from a corner of the room.

“VALOR,” Dr. Emmerich said, his voice barely able to be heard over the printer, “Do you remember what I told you, ‘the ends justify the means?’”

Yes, Dr. Emmerich, the text on the screen appeared as soon as he finished speaking. As long as the end goal is of value, so too are the actions taken to get there. Dr. Emmerich nodded several times. He stared down at the words on the terminal screen for quite some time, as though he were trying to convince himself. With a deep sigh, Dr. Emmerich clenched his fist and straightened his back, his determinate air returning to him.

Not overly far from the broken robot was a small garage, located just inside city limits, on the edge of the slums, insignificant and unmarked. The hooded girl stopped just outside the garage, fiddling in her pockets for the key. After several moments, she produced the key from her pocket and unlocked the door, sliding it up just enough to duck under and enter. The garage was not particularly large, just enough space for a car or two, plus a room off the side, but what it lacked in size it made up for in mess. Parts were strewn everywhere, it was nearly impossible to take a step without stepping on something metallic or mechanical. The only clear space in the whole garage was the workbench and the corner nearest the door to her bedroom.

The bench had a robot limb sitting on it, soldering kit next to it and wires poking out. The limb was rudimentary at best, and was clearly missing several key components. The “hand” was just two calipers, and it seemed to be lacking a wrist. However, the design seemed sturdy enough and the engineering was impeccable; the arm, however basic, would surely last years.

Far more interesting than the arm, however, was the chassis standing in the corner. It seemed to be nearly complete, except for the arm that was on the workbench. The engine in the center was powerful despite being cobbled together with spare parts. There was a spot just above the engine that was empty, seemingly still awaiting its part. The girl approached the robot and set her bag down, rummaging through it and producing the box she salvaged from the broken robot.

Installing it was simple; she simply slotted it in above the engine and tied a few wires together. Passively, nonchalantly, the girl flipped a switch on the engine and the robot hummed to life. Next to the robot was a computer, which lit up as the robot turned on, a black and green terminal screen appearing. The girl approached the computer, sitting down on what appeared to be a decommissioned engine, though it was so old and in such disrepair that it was honestly impossible to be sure what it used to be.

The girl began typing, inputting commands to the computer such as “modelconfig” and “updatebios.” After several failed attempts, the box in the robot seemed to activate, the lights in it flickering on accompanied by a small “clicking” noise barely noticeable over the other noises produced by the frame. The terminal screen changed for a moment, flashing a few error warnings and information blurbs about “nodes” and “kernels.” Suddenly, the warnings were replaced with a new terminal, awaiting input.

> Mads@Homebase:~$ whoami

> Mads

> Mads@Homebase:~$ hostnamectl

> VALOR v1.4.05

> Mads@Homebase:~$ echo hello > test

> Root permission required