Thanqol

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

R/W/O:

"Out of the question," hissed White.
"Hey," said Red, "he might be trying to tell us something important?"
"Are you in the least bit serious?" said White. Just as Red opened her mouth to reply she interrupted "- of course you are! Your commitment to the bit knows literally no bounds, you will apply courage and compassion to any situation even post bullet to the head because I did not reprogram you with a modicum of self preservation when I had the opportunity! The answer is no, and if he feels terrible about it then let him! He deserves all the pain a guilty conscience can provide."
Red and Orange stared in surprise. They weren't sure they'd ever heard White get that intense.
"But we need to find out what he wants," said Orange. "Even if it is a trap, we need to know that he's gunning for us, surely."
"Communication in this case need only be one way," said White. "We have nothing further to say to him. We shall take the job and subcontract it to a delivery drone. If he wishes, he may include documentation in the return compartment."

It went without saying that they'd had Muffi shadowban Merkin from Headpattr already. Certain clients just didn't get service, no matter the rates they offered, because of their reputational black marks. And because Headpattr held the monopoly in the district, Merkin would find himself having to fold a lot of his own laundry. Headpattr had its own system but funnily enough it was weighted in favour of the paying customers.

The shadowban system was actually the key reason for the almost total unionization of Headpattr employees. Anyone working for the app without the Union's blacklist found themselves tempted by suspiciously uncontested high-paying jobs for clients who turned out to be abusive, which quickly drove them either into the union or out of the industry all together.

B/B:

"You see that?" asked Brown, pointing out the window towards the mag rail that ran through the station's core. "See how it's that metallic pearl colour? If you stand in Sections #0145-#0160 at 1700-1830 hours then the sun will catch it just right, refract, and bathe the entire district in rainbow colours. That was one of Pink's designs, the specification didn't call for that at all, but she'd found the material in an asteroid harvest and was determined to find something good to do with it. That's the level she operates on. She doesn't really handle serious concepts like structural engineering, she can't deal with the idea of having caused harm, functionality just isn't a priority. So the idea that she might have compromised an important process in pursuit of artistry is a nightmare for her. Her positive mental model has her as superfluous already, any mistakes dip that down straight into 'actively a burden'."

Brown was very efficient at setting up corkboards. She was the absolute soul of data management made manifest.

"She'll be fine, though," added Brown. "She can't loop out of it, that's who she is. She'll just go off and channel the emotion into some different creative impulse. We just need to make sure that doesn't cost too much."

Sunshards

Chen and Rose!

Once, atop the highest cloud in Heaven sat an Empress. She beheld a world in perfect order, all things administered with love and kindness, a system of beauty and grace stretching ever downwards. But as her eyes fell so did she perceive the limits of her kindness' reach. Beyond her grasp were those stepped in misery, and in their misery they cursed her.

The Empress saw the fault in the world and she swallowed it. This fault is mine. This suffering is my fault. This universe is my failing. And so, she took her first step down from the highest cloud, saying: "I will be happy when I have fixed this, and not before."

"Of course you would," said the Scales of Meaning, tilting her head so that the scales on her horns shifted slightly. "You are administered by fear. I have power and you do not, and so you are negotiating from an unequal position. It is quite simple," the Scales put her hand on the Pyre's head, smiling sadly. "You are simply saying what you think we want to hear."

And the Pyre raised her hand, and her will was a hurricane.

With two of her great Demons undone it might have seemed like the Pyre was fading, but she is not. She is in the utmost of her strength for all the lesser demons are but emanations. The true danger is this: Insecurity. The Insecurity that demands everything be weighed, measured, and found wanting. The fault in the soul that renders one's self hateful, a cold that is shield against any warmth that might be offered. From insecurity grows anger, hopelessness, fear and guilt.

It drives you to your knees, willing or not.

"Everything has value," said the Scales of Meaning. "And everything is a transaction. Every heart can be weighed and every sin can be quantified. Everyone is found wanting. The gods are blind, the Buddha is silent, and the Wheel spins out of control. The monetary value for two maids of your pedigree can be placed at $18.6kv for use of bioengineering resources and personality type psimapping. Your offer is a negotiating tactic to obscure your true financial value."

What would make the Pyre hire two maids instead of continuing the assault?

You'd need to find something more valuable than money.

Yue!

Princess Qiu wordlessly hands you a tupperware container in return. Inside is two slices of banana bread and a little butter packet with a magic glyph on the wrapping that heats the bread through when you tear it. It's surprisingly good - not magically Princesserily good, but the kind of good that comes when you make an old favourite recipe and don't push the envelope super hard. If a peanut butter and trout eclair is what you make when you're feeling bold enough to face a Threeshard Princess, banana bread and butter is what you make when you're nervous about disappointing a heroine from the Terraced Lake.

"Princess Yin," said Qiu, "is planning on conquering the world."

She keeps a very neutral face as she bites into the Forbidden Eclair, and surreptitiously takes a drink of water afterwards.

"She's got everything required to make it happen," said Qiu. "The army, the skill, the vision, the drive. She's got a line on some sort of ancient evil power. Even now her knights are infiltrating Pasalkhen to steal my Shards. She's going to be unstoppable. One big move here and she'll be the most powerful of all. She'll unleash monsters all across the land, and people will flock to her Knights as the only thing that can save them from the beasts."

Qiu took another bite at the edge of the eclair without thinking about it. No face this time, hardly even noticed she'd done it.

"And when that happens..." said Qiu, "... when that happens, only then will I have an opportunity to be a hero. Will I have a rival, a threat, someone to strive against. Yes, she's wicked, and cruel, and her heart is ugly, but she's the only person who can do this. Who wants to do this. Who will betray me in the way I need to be betrayed, who will fight me in the way I need to be fought. I don't like her, can't trust her, but maybe I can get what I need out of her by playing along."

Qiu finished the eclair, and in a very princessly fashion resisted the temptation to lick her fingers, and instead turned to a napkin. She briefly looks in the eclair box to see if there's a second one in that flavour.

"I can't be allowed to win here," said Qiu quietly. "I can't, because if I win it's over. I'm too good at the game and the plateau's in sight and it's so lonely up there. If I win here all that's left is consolidation until I get bored and retire and I'm not ready for that. There's still so much I haven't done. Still so much I need to say. So is it really so wrong to take my hands off the keyboard for a moment if that's what it takes to make it a game again?"

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

Y/G/B:

"It's not a contest," said Blue quietly. "She really likes you. We both do."
"I don't," said Green, eyes not moving from her screen. Blue scoffed and gave an eye roll that was all the more harsh for how it contrasted against her gentle personality.
"I didn't think you were looking for a relationship, so the dating profile surprised me," said Blue, settling back into the serenity of her tea cup. "I know how complicated it must be for you. You're used to everyone who expresses interest in you being a..."
"Parasocial simp," said Green.
"... or a..." said Blue.
"Paid actor whose personality was enslaved to the ceaseless hunger of the Algorithm," said Green.
"... so you don't know how you could ever have an ordinary connection within that context," said Blue. "And obviously we're not any less weird in terms of human default. The only thing I can say is that we're a kind of weird that you haven't previously experienced. All the things that make dating seem impossible don't need to apply when it comes to us."

B/B/P:

Before your eyes, Pink transforms into ash. She is caught in the breeze of one of the district-wide air conditioners and blows away down the street like a cloud of plastic bags.

Black and Brown watch her go without surprise or commentary, other than Brown idly locking their bank accounts down.

*

"That's not the worst radiation story I heard," said Black. "One time, a university wanted to get radiation absorbing lead to shield their physics department, and they decided to get it on the cheap. A couple of weeks after it was installed a physicist was walking around with an active geiger counter - not as a safety check or anything, but because he was just the kind of guy who likes having a geiger counter out at all times. To his surprise, the shit was off the scale. Turned out that the university had purchased second hand lead shielding. And if you don't know, lead doesn't reflect radiation, it absorbs it, like a sponge. So to save a couple of bucks, the university had turned the physics department into a subsidiary of the medical radiology department."

"OH&S rules are written in blood," recited Brown.
"OH&S rules are written in blood," repeated Black. There was a chantlike quality to how they said that, and hearing a fully assembled November say that must be quite the thing.

They follow you inside, but they've both got their fucking geiger counters out every step of the way.

Breathless Dead

Redana and the Anemoi!

The Master of Assassins could have gone anywhere.

She is the Champion of the Hunt, the Lord of Shadows, the Mistress of Death. She has learned the secrets of each of the great Temples of Artemis in turn. She can kill with mathematics, tapping into the lunatic genius of the Ikarani, setting asteroids and economic systems to do her work. She can kill from disguise, the poison smile of a Toxicrene as she kisses you goodbye. She can kill with words, reorganizing empires into her catspaws. And she can kill with raw, spectacular, violence.

She knows she is being hunted. Knows that she could go anywhere in the galaxy and her foes would follow her. Knows that it is hers to set the time and the date. She could choose the Azura capitol, invisible within a web of meticulously organized courtly violence. She could choose the desolate battlefield of the Trinary Stars, where the ruins of the Azura fleet offer a billion places to hide. She could choose any fortress, any hidden crypt, any necropolis, any dark and shadowed place where the mists rob the senses and conceal the blade.

Instead she has chosen Sahar.

It is a desert world. A lifeless dustbowl, as close to a perfect sphere as a planet can arrange itself to be. There is no cover. There is no subtlety. There is simply the glaring sun and the rolling dunes, mile after mile, with no beginning and no end. There are no fleets in system, the nearest life is a distant Azura observation post and gas giant mining colony, almost a day's travel away. Otherwise, this place is a nowhere, a nothing.

She has landed the Plousios on the planet. It is visible from orbit - the black metal shatteringly clear against crystal white sands. And she has gone outside, with her Kaeri and her servants, to take a walk.

You are aboard the cramped and dim bridge of the Anemoi, watching this senseless act. If anything could be more different than this ship, it is this planet, this place. A flicker of trepidation makes its way through the crew, dark imaginings and quiet mutterings. Nobody understands this, and it fills the halls with dread.

TSL: The Excess of Flowers

"A demon is a title," said the Fengye imperiously - nervously. Her hands trembled and her heart thundered but, at the same time, such conduct was unbefitting of the General and so it did not happen. "The occupant is immaterial. A Usurpation leaves a demon with no title, and thus no power. No protection. No form or thought, for its identity has been extracted, rendering it as harmless as a fae in the deepest dream."

Giri, you recognize the words - they're from the Codex of Steel and Salves, an introductory work on Demonology. Not a rare book, not the deep lore of the cosmos, but dangerously accurate and dangerously common. The Codex is the work behind every two bit demonologist or nightmare adept half the world over, and hideously resistant to the Dominion's ability to root it out. A demonologist quoting the Codex usually seeks little more than personal power, some magic trick beyond what ordinary society can provide.

"But I shall not leave you without identity," said Zhaojun, and here that nervousness realigned into confidence, the blue glow behind the stone mask igniting afresh. "I shall give you a new title befitting your new station. I shall grant you the title Maid Confined In Yearning. Accept it, or battle me for mine."

This is not in the Codex.

If the demon so desired, it could fight. It would be the work of years, lurking as powerless as a ghost, waiting for her to perform magic incautiously or die without handing the title to another. A hard road. The offer of a fresh title was practically charity in comparison, although the one she had chosen implied certain changes would be needed...

You don't see a plan here, Giri. There might be one, but if so it's alien to the point of illegibility - which is distinct possibility given that you are dealing with a creature of fate and destiny. But it seems like it's pure spur of the moment impulse and you don't have the foggiest where that might lead.

Breathless Dead

Beljani!

It is a comfort, of sorts, that the Alcedi girl's efforts were even more illiterate than yours. She was some sort of tribal, born to a primitive and backwards colony beyond the reach of Imperator Nero's light. The Imperial Princess must have been desperate indeed to rely on primitives like these.

Good hands, though. There were evidently certain skills you picked up with a lifetime of lounging around on tropical beaches all day.

The Plousios is the second starship you've been on, and it could not be more different than the Anemoi. The Anemoi was as compact as a kilometers long starship could be - cramped, dark, cold, every convenience sacrificed on the altar of speed and stealth. The Plousious is a sprawling affair, a magnificent Tellus district with blossoming interior trees heavy with fruit, and interior open spaces the size of football stadiums. There are lights everywhere - transparent view ports to coursing Engine plasma, glittering suncrystals, magnificent arrays of evercandles - giving the place a pleasantly polychromatic look as the different hues compete with each other. It's very nice, although the Kaeri are doing their best to ruin it. Work crews of the owl servitors are moving about, painting over viewports, snuffing lights, shattering crystals. There's the smell of the ocean and occasional scuttling little crabs beneath your feet.

In a puddle of light that does remain, three armed Kaeri are standing over the wreckage of a Hermetic. It's still alive, huddled beneath yellow robes, but its tripod legs have been shattered in conflict and all about have been scattered multiple broken weapons systems. The Kaeri look up at you lazily as you pass - there's a faint shiver of tension at first, but then a stillness as they realize that they're powerless to stop you, harm you, demand anything of you. So instead, they ask. "Greetings, Assassin," says their leader. "If you would convince this one to talk it would save us a lot of time."

It's not respectful. It's barely even hopeful. Like a passing 'pspsps' at a cat who cannot be expected to move from its sunbeam.

Sunshards

Chen and Rose!

You are not punished for your anger. You are punished by your anger. - Daily Affirmations of the Way <3

The rage within you is the Pyre of Meaning's anger. It is the grinding gears of a machine trying to solve love logically. It is the long end of the club, the momentum and force of some distant pain unleashed into crushing violence. All the cosmos' vice never satisfied the Pyre, and who was there to blame for that but the cosmos? And here, at the bottom of the wheel, it seems impossible that this downwards momentum could ever invert.

The Secrets of the Stance howls. She is the pearl that formed to protect the Pyre's ego. But, when words of love touch her, she is hollow - the grain of sand at her core undone.

Yue!

Princess Qiu is someone who introduced herself with a pipe organ symphony at the pinnacle of a black pyramid. Even though you only met her once, a bar was set. So, even though you don't know her well, you know enough to see that she is off her game.

You've met a lot of people on your journeys - demons, ghosts, dragons, princesses. People who you, Yue, should never been able to fight if we were looking at the relevant Challenge Rating grids. Princess Qiu, the Threeshard Princess, the conqueror of the Terraced Lake, should have been at the very top of the list of things that are impossible for a humble village girl and her fox companion to deal with.

And yet you know immediately in your heart that if you were to fight her now you'd win.

You are flying high and fast, born up on wings of community, tracing out the final exclamation point of a dance across a city of satisfied dance partners. Your heart is aflame and the world seems that kind of different that only happens when your mind is clear. And Princess Qiu, for all her reputation and legend, is not.

She wears black and black are her banners, black like a funeral. Her face is set with grim resolve. You haven't conquered any cities, Yue, but you think that if you ever did it should be fun. The kind of conflict that's reigning everywhere else, where everyone is enjoying themselves, saving each other, healing each other, learning what they can and can't fall down to. But somehow the person who set this all in motion is alone not a part of it.

Breathless Dead

Beljani!

Luxury is a chain.

It comes with no strings. No limits. No questions. When the Kaeri assaulted the Plousious, each of them carried with them some little glory that was yours, as vital to the success of their mission as their spears. Still they are tossing this new ship for precious things that might be acquired for your benefit. A particular gemstone has come in the form of a cookbook and spice rack belonging to the previous captain; captured Alcedi slaves have been put to work preparing the dishes therein and they are truly exceptional. No matter what else is going on, your maintenance is seen to, as vital as the ship's Engine.

It is condescending. It is necessary.

Imagine, spending all your life treated as the most spoiled child in the Empire. A pout and a stamp of the foot will bring you a bed inlaid with rubies, with the bedsheets containing beautiful triplets, in the time it takes for the Temple's artisans to assemble the components. Your life is a backdrop of praise and pleasure, indulgences designed to make sure that life in your body is a constant sensory delight. It is not love, not obedience that brings about this excess. It is condescension. The quiet assumption that you are a pathetic child with no willpower of your own, who needs to be bribed with sweeties in order to not kill everyone. Who can be bribed with sweeties to not kill everyone. Everyone seems to know exactly what your price is and has no doubt that the price is enough to buy you, body and soul.

And it hurts to know that they were right.

You walked right up to the line on Salib. Your instincts expanded and your consciousness inhabited dozens of bodies at once. You were a swarm, your control passing beyond suggestion and into becoming. You spoke with other people's thoughts and they responded to your instincts, Azura royalty reduced to the wolves in your pack. It was power like most people only dream of, a breathtaking manifestation of Purpose, the violence of the hound and the ant. You had the guidance of Beautiful, the only person who ever understood you, who could wield you as you were meant to be wielded. You had the eye of Artemis. You had a mission, a team you could trust, the power of your birthright... friends. And you gave it all up like a good dog for sweeties.

And you can't even say that it wasn't worth it.

And that's why, even amidst the lap of luxury, everyone knows that you are a lapdog. You withdrew from your destiny of independence, glory and power because the Master of Assassins had you by the tongue and the collar. She had you betray everything that you had and come crawling back to her when she rang Pavlov's bells. The only saving grace, the only thing you can be proud of, is that you recovered Beautiful - although she's useless to the operation until the waters of Lethe fade from her system.

But what you need right now, more than anything else, is... something. Some fragment of meaning, some salve for your pride, some knowledge or plan or justification. Something that will let you excuse to yourself the pain that your betrayal caused Bella so you can sink back into your cozy kennel.

Luckily, it is very hard for people to not indulge you in your whims. You just need to say the words, twist their minds, and they will obey.

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

R/W/O:

"It is your fault," said White to Red, "that we have been alleged to have a personality."
"You're still on that?" said Red, looking up from her mop. It was a few days later and they were deep into the flowstate of work.
"You are the klutzy heroine anime girl archetype," said White. "And your disasters are large enough to have reflected on the rest of us. It is not representative, it is merely outsized influence from our most unstable member."
"This is really bothering you, huh?" said Red in surprise. "What's your stake in this?"
"See?" said White. "You are following the heroine program now, showing empathy. It is a popular approach, popular to the point where your personality archetype tends to be the protagonist. It is no wonder that humans gravitate towards acknowledging it above others."
"Okay, then," said Red. "So why are we doing this whole thing?"
"If you interrogated each of us you would find different reasons," said White. "Black is interested in minimizing the risks of digital communication, for instance. And even within that consensus there are disagreements, one of us attempted to opt out of the operation as soon as it was suggested. The statement 'November has a crisis-oriented personality' is inaccurate; the statement should be 'November contains Red, whose disruptive actions are given high weighting by human pattern recognition'."
"You're avoiding the question," said Red. "Why does this matter?"
"Because if the issue is isolated to a deficiency in your autonomous personality matrix," said White. "Then it is fine. It is business as usual. We may continue unchanged."
"And if it's not?"
"If disruptive behaviour is not unique to you," said White. "If it emerges in the other drones, if they are expressing toxic and self-destructive behaviour in their own variable ways, then that is an active psychological crisis. If Muffi is right, and this behaviour is real, then it is recent - and it is growing stronger. It implies that we feel depressed, purposeless and are performing acts of self harm. If Muffi is correct and we have an emergent personality, it is not a happy or healthy one."
"Ah," said Red. After a moment, "Shit."
"Yes," said White. "So you tell me, Red. Was getting yourself shot the act of a klutzy anime girl or was it the nihilistic act of a broken machine?"
"..."
"Regardless, as a preventative measure I have delegated some aspects of this problem to Orange. As traditional therapy seems to be poorly designed for us, she has been researching 'Self Help'. You are to follow her instructions."
Red almost dropped her mop. "I'm to what?!"
"Hey Red!" said Orange, grabbing her from behind in a beautifully calibrated merger of friendliness and prevention of escape. "I'm so glad we're going to be working together on working out our issues! We're going to start with some kundalini meditation, and then on the bus over to our next appointment we're going to try laughter yoga!"
"You can't do this to me," said Red.
"Ooh, frustration!" said Orange delightedly. "Venting your anger is really important! Here, if you ever need to express a powerful emotion, use this colouring-in book!"
"Goodbye, Red," said White, starting to shut the door.
"You should have left me dead," said Red.
"And tomorrow morning we're going to swing by a couple of churches! Community plays a positive role in mental -" the door latched shut in Red's face.

*

B/B/P:

Pink leans down and grabs you by the collar, Elodie, with a look in her eyes that says that at least some part of November is aware of the association between pink hair and the yandere archetype. "He is so cool," she said. "How do you know someone that cool? How do I get to be that cool? Tell me everything you know."

Hard Wired Island: The Future is a Foreign Country

"I assure you," said Yellow, "I am more than capable of melting you to the ground without any assistance from my drones." She leaned forwards and lowered her voice huskily. "Let them be jealous."

She smirked and tossed her golden hair back. There's a lazy confidence to her, a self assurance that runs deep enough that it's not active effort to maintain. "But it's a serious offer. It'd be a great way to get some relationship practice in without having to deal with all of that," she gestures vaguely. "I'm low maintenance, have zero expectations, am extremely hot as previously mentioned, and you can dissolve it any time with no drama. Plus, just think of all the people you could dunk on with the reveal: Your dating profile, exes, the other versions of me..."

She winked. "And if you think you can go the full forty-eight hours, you just need to say the word."