#«?mem//EXO.BNRAM_SPI_1_CB_Reg_Write(1);/cl0v1$_v0?»

[banshee-v44]

The Banshee, The Faker, The Exomind Maker

/*******************CBoC 44 pseudocode for Status Register write***************/ void BNRAM_EXO_1_Status_Reg_Write ( uint44 data_byte ) { BNRAM_EXO_1_CC_Reg_Write(0); // Enable the EXO slave by toggling clarity control LOW BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_ClearTxBuffer(); //Clear EXO transmit buffer before sending command BNRAM_SPI_1_CBIM_WriteTxData(BNRAM_CR8T); // Set the write enable (CB0) bit //prior to write//Wait until EXO_DONE flag is cleared while((BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_ReadTxStatus() & BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_STS_EXO_DONE) != BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_STS_EXO_DONE); BNRAM_EXO_1_CB_Reg_Write(1); //CB0 is set high when CC is switched high BNRAM_EXO_1_CC_Reg_Write(0); //Re-enable the EXO slave BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_ClearTxBuffer(); BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_WriteTxData(BNRAM_WRSR_CMD); //Send Write Status Register instruction BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_WriteTxData(data_byte); //Send data //Wait until EXO_DONE flag is cleared while((BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_ReadTxStatus() & BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_STS_EXO_DONE) != BNRAM_EXO_1_CBIM_STS_EXO_DONE); BNRAM_EXO_1_CC_Reg_Write(1); //Terminate the write operation by toggling //clarity control HIGH }

________________________________________

Okay. That was annoying.

Banshee-44 didn't know who in the hell Clovis Bray thought he was, but he would be damned if the asshole executed a recall order on him.

The Vanguard Gunsmith paused a moment, literally, and set the auto-rifle he'd been at work on down on the counter before him. He cupped his metal alloy chin in a brilliantly designed and articulated hand and thought.

Well. He supposed that Clovis Bray thought he was...Clovis Bray. By all accounts he did what he wanted, when he wanted to. So that pretty much summed it up.

Banshee made a noise that sounded like a snort and focused his attention on the small gaggle of Guardians before him.

Would a group of Guardians be called a gaggle? Never thought of it before. Never? Maybe. He couldn't remember.

"Yeah, here ya go," the Exo mumbled, as he twisted to reach one of the Guardians' orders.

It took roughly thirty minutes for Banshee to make his way through the line of Guardians that had stacked up in front of his station. Where in the hell did they all come from? That was the problem in having his workstation right off the primary landing pad. He looked forward to the return to the old Tower.

The white and blue optics stared out across the Courtyard and upwards, to where the glow of acetylene torches and the sparks of welders lit up the early evening.

Holy hell, was it evening already?

Wait. Or was it early morning.

Banshee-44 consulted a datapad to check the time. It was indeed 1843 hours. He sighed, a mechanical sound. It wasn't that he didn't trust his chronometer's programming enough to rely on it for the time; it was that he didn't trust his fried RAM enough to remember the damn time.

A chime, something like a chime, definitely musical, but a kind of pretty sort of noise tickled his audio receptors. It was vaguely familiar somehow.

Oh. The recall order. That.

"Ain't like I wasn't gonna see you eventually anyways," the Gunsmith muttered.

He closed up his workstation and made his way through the maintenance walkways to the Hangar. Banshee took the back ways whenever he could. Being out among people...it was easier for him to forget where he was going. And why.

He was okay with being alone anyways.

He thought he was okay with it, at least.

The Gunsmith popped out into the Daito room. It was thankfully empty. Weird that they had a branded lounge in the space.

He ducked down into the airway and cast a glance at the journal lying on some nearby shelving. Oh. That. He wondered where he'd left it. He'd have to grab it on his way back through. If he remembered.

A few steps more and he was in the pit of the Hangar. He strode over to the Vanguard's Lead Shipwright, Amanda Holliday, and simply stood before her. He saw that she was elbow deep into a Sparrow, so he said nothing. Only stood with his arms folded.

It took Holliday several minutes before she realized that the Exo who stood before her was Banshee-44 and not some Titan. She'd spoken to him as if he were a Guardian, as she had assumed that's who it was. Being all still and stoic and non-responsive.

"Hey there, Ban," she called out as she straightened her back. Holliday worked her shoulders up and down, stiff from the repairs. "Need somethin'?"

It was unusual to see the Gunsmith in her domain, though not out of the ordinary.

If he had the plating to do so, Banshee would have blinked at her. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Wasn't urgent. Just wanted to ask a favor."

Holliday's eyes widened in curiosity and one eyebrow arched at the words. Him asking a favor was not typical. Whatever it was, it was going to be a good one. "Uh, sure, Ban. Whatcha need?"

The Exo nodded toward the rear of the hangar bay. "A ride."

"A what?" At that, Holliday stood up, and somehow avoided the boom that held up the Sparrow. "You need a ride?" She sounded incredulous.

"Hmm-mmm," he grunted.

An awkward pause followed.

"I can fly myself," he added, his arms held open in something between a shrug and a friendly surrender. "You don't have to worry about ferrying me around."

Holliday's mouth worked open and closed a few times before she managed speech. "No...I mean...it's okay, I don't mind...it's been a while is all." It had been, what, months? since Banshee had borrowed a ship. He hadn't needed to borrow one back at the old Tower since he had a transport vessel. It was destroyed in the Red War, unfortunately. Holliday thought it was a shame. He kept it in decent nick seeing as how he generally forgot he had it. "You going international or domestic?" she joked. Her initial surprise had faded to nothing.

"International," he responded. It was a long running joke that indicated he needed to a ship capable of leaving the atmosphere. "Gotta errand that requires it."

Banshee thought it best he leave the details to himself. Commander Zavala wouldn't take kindly to his excursion and neither would Holliday, come to think of it.

"That's been a while. Not since before the war," the Shipwright commented. She stretched both arms over her head and stepped out from her workshop. Banshee followed her around to the other side, where she stood with hands on hips. "Got a Hawk you can borrow. She's over yonder." Holliday motioned across the deck to a Hawk bearing Vanguard colors. It was without offensive armament, however.

"Sold." Banshee tilted his head at Holliday and nodded. "Thanks."

"Sure." She turned to go back to her project, hand in the air as way of goodbye. "Don't forget to top off the tank when you bring her back."

Banshee made a short, sharp noise that was a laugh and made his way to the ship.

________________________________________

He'd taken liberties with his flight plan, as his destination was strictly forbidden under current Vanguard policy. Banshee doubted that any claim of not his having forgotten Commander Zavala's explicit order would be believed. A little of what they once called jiggery-pokery was necessary.

Banshee had told the Vanguard's favorite Guardian that he would visit the Clovis Bray AI at some point. Said Guardian had helped to rebuild what had turned out to be his own weapon. It was one hell of a sword. Huge. Stupidly overpowered.

Felt comfortable in his hands. Good, even. Like it belonged.

Still, the Guardian had been the one to piece it together. It was theirs by rights.

He knew from the scouting reports that the giant Exo head that housed the AI was deep in the ruins of Bray Exoscience. The only safe LZ was at a communications array in Charon's Crossing. He'd have to be inconspicuous.

There was some EVA gear in the Hawk. And a tarp that he could use as a makeshift cloak. He'd seen how some of the Guardians dressed, even the ones that weren't New Light. It could get pretty rough by his eye, but he wasn’t big on fashion as a rule.

Banshee pulled a RJSV-99-40 Sparrow out of the Hawk's vehicle stores and mounted up. The ride from Charon's Crossing to Cadmus Ridge was brief, but the journey through Cadmus Ridge into Bray Exoscience was choppy due to the Fallen.

He ignored the arc bolts that chained past his helmet and kept the throttle floored. He deftly maneuvered past Dregs and Vandals, bumped a very angry Captain out of the way, and sped into the jagged entrance to Bray Exoscience.

One magazine and a few dead Fallen later, Banshee had a spacious office and lab area to himself.

On the main desk he spied a figure that looked a little too much like himself and scattered papers. The topmost paper was a drawing, like an artist's render...

He found himself with one hand on the desk, head bowed, the other hand on the back of the chair, his A/R still clutched between fingers which trembled.

"The hell is that," Banshee hissed to the empty room. He turned his head away from the dark, shrouded figure sketched onto the yellowed paper.

He stepped into the private lab and took note of the open hatch to his right. It seemed like he should go that route, so he did.

The inert, deactivated Exominds slumped across equipment, crumpled onto the floor, and in pieces scattered throughout marked the journey. Banshee moved slowly, wide, bright eyes taking in everything and nothing. It was surreal. It was goddamn surreal. But it was his past. Or so he was led to understand.

He stepped into an antechamber of sorts. Sealed hatch to his right and ahead. Couldn't go through those. He glanced to his left.

And nearly jumped.

"I'll be damned," he breathed. It was an enormous head, an Exo's head, unlit eyes dispassionate and lifeless. So it was true. The AI really was inside of a giant Exo. The head of one, at least.

A squad of BrayTech security frames kept watch, some armed with RPGs, some with A/Rs. Standard BrayTech fare. They appeared oblivious to his approach.

Banshee-44 took a few cautious steps closer to the construct and stopped at the threshold. He pulled off his helmet and stared at it. If he'd been built to have pseudo-eyelids, he would have blinked long and hard at the head. As he didn't, his optics merely glowed. It made his gaze seem hard and intense.

After a moment, he stuck his free hand in the air in a half-hearted wave at the giant Exo. "Uh." He cocked his head to one side. "Yo."

[banshee-v44]

@clovisbraythefirst

When I first did the Glassway strike in Beyond Light I wondered where the Radiolarian fluid went, but I all makes sense now.

[banshee-v44]

Clovis Bray tagged me in some weird psychological test thing.

@clovisbraythefirst

the fruit-and-flower tree

you bring joy to others. you nourish others. you are, in a way, a tiny world in your own right. you are well-acquainted with the concept of balance—you depend on others but are alright with being depended on, too.

[banshee-v44]

clovisbraythefirst​:

The signal is sent. It splits between star dust and reforms on Earth on a single fixated point, to a single fixated Exo.

Read More Now!

Ooookay...at least he wouldn’t be talking to a freaking huge ass head, but still...

...was this guy roasting him over his clothes?

If Banshee-44 could have squinted at his...original, he would have. As it was, he simply stared, optics bright, and pointed to the Clovis Bray Exomind frame and then back to himself. Then looked to the giant head, then to the Exo, then to the head once more before he cocked his head to the side.

“You’re talkin’ about my clothes,” he replied flatly. Banshee took a moment’s pause to glance at what he was wearing. He still had on the EVA suit and the makeshift cloak. He quickly shed bits and pieces of the EVA suit in the antechamber just outside of what was called Creation, and soon he stood before Clovis in what was his usual kit. He absently tugged at the scarf, the layered jumper, even the drape in the pants before he looked back to the other. 

“You know, this is pretty much what I remember wakin’ up in,” he explained in a mumble. “Scarf and shirt and skants. After a while everythin’ else just added itself.”

He took further steps into the chamber and set the EVA helmet, which he still held, onto a nearby table. He considered the auto rifle for a moment before he slung it over a shoulder. A well-worn credo echoed from the recesses of his memory: never give up your gun.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Banshee called out, as he turned to face the Clovis Exo. “Saw that statue or whatever in the office.” He held his hands in the air and approximated the height and width of the figurine to indicate he meant the 3D model and not the sketch. “I’m kinda dressed like it.” Banshee raised his shoulders in a shrug. “And I used to be you? Right? So this right here —” and with that Banshee performed a spin “ — are your sartorial choices.”

It wasn’t that Banshee ever felt uncomfortable with the way he dressed or that he stubbornly held onto the fashion he’d remembered being rebooted in. It was that, stood before the admittedly elegant and lissome form of Clovis Bray’s full Exomind frame, Banshee thought he seemed shabby. Dull. Pedestrian.

Wait. Where the hell did the word lissome come from? Never mind sartorial?

In true Banshee-44 fashion his thought process skips backwards to the mention of a granddaughter.

“You seen Elsie?” he asked himself bluntly. 

Clovis was going to have a hell of a time navigating his former mind after forty-four reboots.