Post by murasaki on Mar 18, 2017 0:37:39 GMT
Late evening, Gorben Weiss Exhibition Hall, Sanctuary.
Soft electronic music drifted across the grand space of the room as idle chatter from attending patrons served to enhance the cacophony within, echoing strangely despite the best efforts of the sound dampeners around the hall. As bodies swayed and jostled as people gathered and socialized near the front of the hall, the already-large stage at the room's far end had been extended forward, upon which sat a transparent cube stretching fifteen meters in each dimension with a single door at the back leading into a three-by-five-by-five meter mantrap -- the whole thing had been created & carted in exclusively for tonight's event. Behind that, giant curtains hid the rest of the stage from view, but there was clearly activity going on back there.
Individuals from all across Sanctuary's high society and high offices were in attendance, clothed and personified in a variety of manners; some had show in the latest fashions or in their own trends, appearing merely out of curiosity or boredom, while others entered in stricter dress codes, attending the expo for business purposes. For a few, it could have been both. Socialites, tech mongers, city and state officials, self-made millionaires, and more packed the room to half capacity. The exhibition hall's climate controls were working overtime to keep the room at an acceptably comfortable level, as numerous bodies and equipment threatened to heat the room to uncomfortable temperatures in no time.
Raised platforms with rather nice fold-out chairs were provided to give better viewing angles for all, though those near the front would have the best seats in the house. Behind the curtain, the place was almost a literal circus; while tech crews set up their equipment and monitored the various systems, handlers kept various exotic creatures sedated, "actors" from a failed riot a week ago were lined up to be mag-locked where they stood, and managers barked orders as they tried to bring some order to the chaos ensuing around them.
It was hard to believe that the corporation hosting this grand event didn't even exist two years prior.
As the night wore on, the refreshments settled, and the mob grew restless. Technical difficulties were slowing the opening act, but the crew were not about to botch their debut demonstration. Finally, after ensuring that things could proceed without too much going sideways, the ringleader pushed his way past the curtain and into the limelight.
Clothed in a sharp, silver-trimmed, azure-hued dinner jacket over a white undershirt, jet-black trousers, and muted steel blue tie, he slid effortlessly to the microphone that rose up from theatre floor near the front, tapping a steady rhythm as the lights dimmed, the music dropped to a whisper, and several spotlights blasted down upon him. It was perhaps a bit old-fashioned to use such a device, but appeal won out over function; he still had the portable mic by his ear once he walked away from the floor model. Given the dramatic pause in the atmosphere, even a small cough was enough to garner the attention of the few that had not noticed the change in the air.
Opening pleasantries and a bit of self-depreciating humor only just won over the crowd's souring mood; once it was certain that most of their audience wasn't about to walk out, the announcer noted "Now if you would like to take your seats, we at TRiLance International Incorporated would love to introduce you to our vision of the future of Sanctuary's civil protection and military force." Inside the clear box behind him, the floor parted ways for an oblong white pod about the size in length (and twice the width) of a twin-sized bed that rose through the opening, the contraption tilting towards the audience; murmurs began drifting through the air, uncertain whispers about what the man could mean by such a bold-faced claim...
Even without the hearing piece built into my aural sensors, I could likely have heard the babbling idiot through my stasis pod. It was my quiet place, my cradle, and it was now being shown off like prized art or a newborn child. Not that I knew nor cared much about such things; my mind at that time was full of combat algorithms and every law related to proper civilian action within the city-state's borders. That was, after all, what they had "built" me for.
The hatch cracked open, revealing to me a muted prison, through which I could see (once my eyes were opened) the gawking onlookers. They would have trouble seeing me for a time, though, given that the steam from the pod obscured me, but even through the protective screen I could hear the stunned silence as they laid eyes upon me for the first time. Several pregnant moments passed, broken only by the occasional jeering laugh and the announcer still talking up a storm.
That was in turn broken by the woman's voice in my head, directing me Alright girl, let's start this show off with a bang. A single beep in acknowledgement was the only reply needed.
As I lifted my right arm, its form began to shift, elongating and exposing bare metals beneath my pale mauve exterior; the fusion engines inside my chest began to churn out power, engaging the cooling systems, which in turn opened ports around my back that pulled and jetted super-heated air out in a smoke-like curtain. Countless mechanisms altered the limb's form as a dummy target raised from the floor several meters away, the sound akin to an car's engine revving at wildly differing speeds. Searing plasma vented from the narrowed appendage, magnetic fields within it quickly condensing the super-heated clouds into an edge more deadly than any swordsmith could hope to achieve.
I propelled myself forward with an abrupt jerk, ventilation systems screaming like a flock of enraged eagles as I devoured the distance between myself and the target. Three cuts -- snick-snick-snick -- and the dummy fell to pieces, at least one of them burst into flame; the plasma blade sliced perfectly straight, searing each carved portion with creation's flame. The crowd broke was awestruck as I came to a sliding stop, but then two more targets -- both with mock weapons in their 'hands' -- appeared to either side. The arm altered shape again, molding the edge into a shorter baton-like shape, extinguishing the super-heated gases in the process. The entire change took less than a second, allowing me to react quickly to these new 'threats' -- one jab to the left, stabbing at the dummy right below the nonexistent Adam's apple, and a sweeping blow to the right, checking the target doll where its shoulder would be. Both fell back with two loud cracks in quick succession, sparks issuing from where the power maul impacted.
It was like something out of an action movie, and many of the patrons were soaking the spectacle in with glee, if not bursting into applause. Within the cage, though, boredom was reigning supreme. I was aware of part of the agenda for tonight, and every bit of it could be deemed unnecessarily excessive. All in the name of garnering the budget to mass-produce more combat dolls. Now if these monkeys knew how I functioned... not that I knew about that skeleton in their closet.
I'm just their cute-looking little showpiece, after all.
Soft electronic music drifted across the grand space of the room as idle chatter from attending patrons served to enhance the cacophony within, echoing strangely despite the best efforts of the sound dampeners around the hall. As bodies swayed and jostled as people gathered and socialized near the front of the hall, the already-large stage at the room's far end had been extended forward, upon which sat a transparent cube stretching fifteen meters in each dimension with a single door at the back leading into a three-by-five-by-five meter mantrap -- the whole thing had been created & carted in exclusively for tonight's event. Behind that, giant curtains hid the rest of the stage from view, but there was clearly activity going on back there.
Individuals from all across Sanctuary's high society and high offices were in attendance, clothed and personified in a variety of manners; some had show in the latest fashions or in their own trends, appearing merely out of curiosity or boredom, while others entered in stricter dress codes, attending the expo for business purposes. For a few, it could have been both. Socialites, tech mongers, city and state officials, self-made millionaires, and more packed the room to half capacity. The exhibition hall's climate controls were working overtime to keep the room at an acceptably comfortable level, as numerous bodies and equipment threatened to heat the room to uncomfortable temperatures in no time.
Raised platforms with rather nice fold-out chairs were provided to give better viewing angles for all, though those near the front would have the best seats in the house. Behind the curtain, the place was almost a literal circus; while tech crews set up their equipment and monitored the various systems, handlers kept various exotic creatures sedated, "actors" from a failed riot a week ago were lined up to be mag-locked where they stood, and managers barked orders as they tried to bring some order to the chaos ensuing around them.
It was hard to believe that the corporation hosting this grand event didn't even exist two years prior.
As the night wore on, the refreshments settled, and the mob grew restless. Technical difficulties were slowing the opening act, but the crew were not about to botch their debut demonstration. Finally, after ensuring that things could proceed without too much going sideways, the ringleader pushed his way past the curtain and into the limelight.
Clothed in a sharp, silver-trimmed, azure-hued dinner jacket over a white undershirt, jet-black trousers, and muted steel blue tie, he slid effortlessly to the microphone that rose up from theatre floor near the front, tapping a steady rhythm as the lights dimmed, the music dropped to a whisper, and several spotlights blasted down upon him. It was perhaps a bit old-fashioned to use such a device, but appeal won out over function; he still had the portable mic by his ear once he walked away from the floor model. Given the dramatic pause in the atmosphere, even a small cough was enough to garner the attention of the few that had not noticed the change in the air.
Opening pleasantries and a bit of self-depreciating humor only just won over the crowd's souring mood; once it was certain that most of their audience wasn't about to walk out, the announcer noted "Now if you would like to take your seats, we at TRiLance International Incorporated would love to introduce you to our vision of the future of Sanctuary's civil protection and military force." Inside the clear box behind him, the floor parted ways for an oblong white pod about the size in length (and twice the width) of a twin-sized bed that rose through the opening, the contraption tilting towards the audience; murmurs began drifting through the air, uncertain whispers about what the man could mean by such a bold-faced claim...
Even without the hearing piece built into my aural sensors, I could likely have heard the babbling idiot through my stasis pod. It was my quiet place, my cradle, and it was now being shown off like prized art or a newborn child. Not that I knew nor cared much about such things; my mind at that time was full of combat algorithms and every law related to proper civilian action within the city-state's borders. That was, after all, what they had "built" me for.
The hatch cracked open, revealing to me a muted prison, through which I could see (once my eyes were opened) the gawking onlookers. They would have trouble seeing me for a time, though, given that the steam from the pod obscured me, but even through the protective screen I could hear the stunned silence as they laid eyes upon me for the first time. Several pregnant moments passed, broken only by the occasional jeering laugh and the announcer still talking up a storm.
That was in turn broken by the woman's voice in my head, directing me Alright girl, let's start this show off with a bang. A single beep in acknowledgement was the only reply needed.
As I lifted my right arm, its form began to shift, elongating and exposing bare metals beneath my pale mauve exterior; the fusion engines inside my chest began to churn out power, engaging the cooling systems, which in turn opened ports around my back that pulled and jetted super-heated air out in a smoke-like curtain. Countless mechanisms altered the limb's form as a dummy target raised from the floor several meters away, the sound akin to an car's engine revving at wildly differing speeds. Searing plasma vented from the narrowed appendage, magnetic fields within it quickly condensing the super-heated clouds into an edge more deadly than any swordsmith could hope to achieve.
I propelled myself forward with an abrupt jerk, ventilation systems screaming like a flock of enraged eagles as I devoured the distance between myself and the target. Three cuts -- snick-snick-snick -- and the dummy fell to pieces, at least one of them burst into flame; the plasma blade sliced perfectly straight, searing each carved portion with creation's flame. The crowd broke was awestruck as I came to a sliding stop, but then two more targets -- both with mock weapons in their 'hands' -- appeared to either side. The arm altered shape again, molding the edge into a shorter baton-like shape, extinguishing the super-heated gases in the process. The entire change took less than a second, allowing me to react quickly to these new 'threats' -- one jab to the left, stabbing at the dummy right below the nonexistent Adam's apple, and a sweeping blow to the right, checking the target doll where its shoulder would be. Both fell back with two loud cracks in quick succession, sparks issuing from where the power maul impacted.
It was like something out of an action movie, and many of the patrons were soaking the spectacle in with glee, if not bursting into applause. Within the cage, though, boredom was reigning supreme. I was aware of part of the agenda for tonight, and every bit of it could be deemed unnecessarily excessive. All in the name of garnering the budget to mass-produce more combat dolls. Now if these monkeys knew how I functioned... not that I knew about that skeleton in their closet.
I'm just their cute-looking little showpiece, after all.
