#*sees an automaton* “I smell a robot- prove prove”

[antiquepearlss]

Tangled The Series would have been very different if Varian were voiced by John Mulaney, huh?

[pastellipanic]

Junkenstein's Legend

It isnt a secret that I like Overwatch. It isnt a secret that my favourite event is the Halloween event of Junkensteins revenge. It also isnt a secret that I get hyperfixated onto uncommon things or parts of things. So today, presented by my hyperfixating grey brainmatter, I bring you:

The Full Tale of Junkensteins Revenge

Or, you know, the The Full Tale of Junkensteins Revenge as Theorized by Pastelli During Sleepless Nights. Anyway, we shall start at the beginning!

(Everything in this story is theorized upon the tidbits of canon information from the game, the comics and details of skins, sprays and maps. You are entitled to disagree with my theorization and I will gladly take on any opposing theories if they are given to me with a constructive and positive vibe. I will also gladly have a chat with anyone who is interested in the subject or has ideas I hadnt considered. That being said, Enjoy!)

Chapter 1: The sad beginnings of a mad doctor and his first step onto the battlefield.

Doctor Jamison Junkenstein was a young lad who worked for the local Lord Reinhardt in a town of Adlersbrunn located in the outskirts of Black Forest. He was a brilliant mechanic, engineer and had no fear of working with electricity, hence he had gotten the job in the first place. While his social skills were limited and his fame in the town stained, he was a hard worker and a genius in his own field. At some point during his career, he got bored of the same old electricity and piping, and began to experiment in robotics. His first one was a crude little thing but he was proud of it, so he decided to continue on this path. He began to dream of building live automatons, creatures that could think and feel for themselves. Perhaps it was the fact that he yearned for someone to befriend whilst the townspeople mistreated and disrespected him for his oddities, or perhaps it was his pride towards his own intelligence. However it may be, he started spending more time upon making the automatons, "omnics" as he called them or "Zomnics" as they were later called by the townspeople for their ghastly slow movements. Lord Reinhardt was displeased by him giving his time to such silly things, even more so when Junkenstein came to his door to show them. Every time he made adjustments and showed them to the Lord, he waved the "useless trinkets" away, and everytime his already feeble fame deteriorated in peoples rumours. Madman, lunatic and fool were quickly becoming synonyms for his name. This only spurred him on in his quest to prove them wrong. The metal husks laying in his laboratory soon turned to dug up corpses, the wires he used to put inside turned to stitches on the flesh and what he couldnt understand in anatomy he changed into machinery. Soon he had a body, half organic half inorganic, and all he needed was to make it come alive. Bloodpumping didnt work. Watershocks didnt work. Exchanging the heart into a running motor didnt work. Atlast he tried using electricity to bring his creation to life, unsuccessfully. Junkenstein was exhausted, abused and even his trust in his skills had failed him. He was on the brink of quitting and burying that stupid project, until...

Witch of the Wilds appeared!

The Witch of the Wilds was a well known individual, feared by all near and far for her magic. It was rumoured she could turn coal into gold, make waterfalls run upwards and burn a castle with the flick of her wrist. She was also known from her coming to people at their darkest hour and offering a solution... for a price. And thats exactly what she offered Junkenstein, a solution to his problems; the spark of life. She only asked for a favor, one she would come collect in a nearby future and one that he couldnt refuse. He accepted. He had nothing to lose. Applying the spark of life onto his machine, he started the creatures heart and mind. There were a lot of things that went through its mind when it woke, curiosity and giddiness, but most importantly: Panic. In a furious frenzy it tore itself from its bindings and ran out, into the streets of Adlersbrunn. The townspeople, upon seeing the monster, immediately screamed, cried, yelled, attacked and fled. The monster had no sympathy for people so cruel as the baker who hit it or the children kicking its shins, so he let out his rage onto the masses. It was carnage.

Junkenstein was happy. He had succeeded! His monster was doing exactly what he wanted; avenging the years of societal neglect and bullying Junkenstein had gone through. Yet he had no control over the monster, and no idea how to get it to the Lords doorstep. A couple of hours of manipulating the routes and trying to get the monster where he wanted, he finally got to the door.... Only to find that while he was busy, so was the Lord. He had hired a few wanderers to protect him when he had heard of the happenings in the town. An old soldier searching for a fight, an alchemist practizing her talent, an archer running from the past and a gunslinger hunting for easy money. Only four they were against the doctor, his monster and his minions, and against the Witch of the Wilds and her fearsome ally; a cursed pumpkinheaded man by the name of Reaper. And only four they were who beat him, leaving his corpse battered onto the rocktiles of the yard. His monster was perished, the Witch had fled and the Reaper had gone with her. The wanderers went inside to claim their prize.

Chapter 2: How to tame a monster and revive a doctor.

As the wanderers left the scene, Witch of the Wilds saw her chance to do her work. She quickly used the spark of life to revive Junkenstein, giving his bruised flesh some tidying up whilst doing it, and watched as he sat up. Safe to say, he was pissed to have lost. He wanted to charge right back into fight, but was stopped by the Witch. She managed to make him change his mind, to wait for a year and build his army before trying again, and give her some time to get allies. Gathering what he could of the broken zomnics, Junkenstein found the corpse of his monster and decided to take it back to his lab for revival. He wasnt sure if the creature would run out again or stay, but he wanted to still show the town that he could make something living. This time, when rising from the cold metal table, the monster sat still and stared at Junkenstein. During the fight it had noted that the doctor didnt attack him, even defending him from the attacking gunslinger. It decided to stay near him, for no other reason than that it trusted him. Junkenstein was thrilled to have a friend, even if it did smell of decay a bit.

11 months went by in peace. The town healed, forgot about the incident and, assuming that the wrecked corpse of a homeless man was Junkensteins, buried the past with it. Meanwhile the doctor had other things to think about. He had built an army of zomnics, had tamed the monster and befriended it, had taught it to speak a little and had served the Witch on a few occasions. On some days he still liked to venture into town to see how life was going there. At one point he had almost forgiven the town, before he had come to learn of a new game for the children based after the mocking of his person. Thats when his short temper blew into pieces and he jumped to make an announcement in the middle of the town. He raged, mocked, spat at the townspeople, before revealing his identity and announcing that all of them would perish under his boot. Seeing a dead man back from the grave gave quite a scare to the town, making them panickedly run to the local Lords. They decided that a meeting was to be held to consider this new threat. Some voted to kill Junkenstein again, yet it was deemed to be an ineffective solution due to him coming back the last time. Some voted to trap him and enslave him for the rest of his days, but it was a futile idea for someone like him to be trapped. He would just squirm his way out like the vermin he was. It was decided that Adlersbrunn was to be evacuated. All people were to be gathered into Lord Reinhardts castle, to have few protectors stay behind until they could safely escape. Lord Reinhardt sent word to three people in order to get protection for this event. A Countess from a family of Hunters that had shut herself from the world. An old friend of the Lord who traveled the world, hunting dragons. And a Monk with his Apprentice, answering to a higher calling than human.

Meanwhile the Witch of the Wilds was gathering her allies, having gotten an interesting offer from a dragon in the Black Forest. The dragon offered to lend one of their servants the powers of a dragon and give that servant into the Witches hands for the battle. The Witch was intrigued but suspicious, so she asked what the dragon wanted in return. Nothing. It wanted the greater good and it knew that the Witch wanted that too. Adlersbrunn was filled with people and people were filled with fears of the unknown. The Black Forest was filled with the unknown, and therefore they were hunted. Silver bullet battles, witch burnings and burials of the undead had plagued the creatures of the forest for long enough, and it was time for the people to leave them alone. If not by peace, then by force. Junkenstein was a great tool for the Witches cause, but she still needed more power, therefore she agreed to take the servant of the dragon onto the battlefield as her ally.

Chapter 3: Junkensteins Revenge 2, Electric Boogaloo

The fight happens almost the same as last, but this time the tables have turned. The wanderers struggle to keep up with the Summoners dragonfire blasts, the bombs lobbed by Junkenstein and the gunfire from Reapers guns. While they dont win the fight, they manage to hold them off just enough time for the townspeople to flee far away from Junkensteins grasp. Instead of a petrified Lord, Junkenstein is greeted by an empty castle. At first he seems gleeful, running to hop on the throne. Once he sits down and looks around, he bursts into tears. After all these years of pain, he doesnt even get his revenge. He doesnt get to have his victory even at his brightest moment. The monster tries to comfort its creator, succeeding just to quiet him enough for the Witch to speak. Its time for the favor he owes her.

Before, she wanted him to leave the town as well, but seeing how he was alone already she wanted something else. She wanted him to be a guardian for the black forest. No town would ever become of Adlersbrunn ever again and no one would step a foot into Black forest while the doctor was alive, to ensure that the creatures could live in peace.

He accepted, as he was to do, and remained the only human left.

Chapter 4: The time that we dont speak too much about because honestly nothing happens

Some hundred years passed in quiet. Adlersbrunn collapsed and became ruins of what it once was. Junkenstein guarded the forest and helped the creatures inside it, at one point building a bride for his monster. (Nothing too much is said about what happened to her or where she went) The monster learned and lived, helping Junkenstein with his work. Due to both of them having been revived with the spark of life, they had become immortal. (Unless killed) Witch of the Wilds passed peacefully after a long life. Reaper found his head and his curse was lifted. Life was good.

Chapter 5: Junkenstein of Eichenwalde

One day Junkenstein realizes that where Adlersbrunn once was, is now something new. People have come and started building a town, so he disguises himself and goes to investigate. These people have migrated here from the north, calling this place Eichenwalde, and seem to be very nice. They offer him food and water, the kids want to play with him and the grown ups tell stories of the North to him. He doesnt see an issue with them coming here to stay, since they seem nice and the forest has few creatures left to protect. When a little girl tries to run into the woods, Junkenstein holds her back and tells her not to go. Intrigued, the little girl asks why. The doctor starts telling about monsters and creatures to scare the kids, but they are more interested in hearing his ghost stories, so he obliges to tell them one. He tells about a mad scientist who created a monster and how the monster now lurks in the woods. The kids are excited and the adults think of it as a great legend. It becomes a habit for Junkenstein to come into the town to tell ghost stories to kids. One day, when its Halloween, he notices a difference. The town has changed their style into old fashioned clothes, their mechanical cars to wooden carriage and posters of a fake Mad scientist and a Monster litter the walls. The kids are playing as the characters from his stories and running around with mouths filled with candy. The legend has come into a tradition of a reenactment.

One day, a man arrives into the town, and raises some questions in Junkenstein. The man looks like the Lord. Speaks like the Lord. Walks like the Lord. Has the same mannerisms as the Lord. He even introduces himself as Reinhardt to the disguised Junkenstein. The Lord escaped. It would make sense for him to have started again somewhere else. This could be his descendant, without knowledge of the legend. Who would want such an odd story to be passed down to their descendants? Who would even believe it? Junkenstein keeps an eye on the man and, even when he leaves, the monster follows him for a while. It doesnt seem like he is a threat of any kind. The life goes on in Eichenwalde, with Junkenstein telling stories and living his life with the monster. Every year his story is celebrated in front of him, without any idea that it is truer than any other tale told.

The End.

It took me 3 hours to write this down and I know it starts showing at the end. Also, there are still some mysteries in the story that have absolutely no canon to even start theorizing from. (Aka The Sombra Situation. Theres literally only one spray and a skin where she is linked in any way.)

Also, some very fun theories that I didnt know how to incorporate into the story are:

McCree gets bitten by a werewolf after the first fight

The first fight is the original Junkensteins revenge-gamemode. The second fight is the Endless gamemode.

Canonically the countess killed the Monks master, and I like to think its because of this they lost. They couldnt trust eachother.

When Summoner is close by the air gets heated.(Almost Canon. It is implied in voicelines)

Junkenstein is implied to be so chatty that he keeps talking/laughing during the fight

The Countess is from a family of Vampire hunters, who was bitten by a vampire and was ashamed. The reason she joins the battle is to honor her familys name and hunt for one last time.

It took me 3 separate days to research the canon elements, put them onto a paper and theorize around them and now I finally got this written down in here.

If you are interested in the notes I have, here you can read them: (Mostly in english, but might have some finnish words in there)

Now go my children! Hyperfixate onto this and share my pain!

(Also I would appreciate that if you take this theory and post it somewhere else, that you would credit me and tell your friends I said Hi!)

[veryangryhedgehog]

“Time to Form the Scooby Gang,” an Ede Valley story by Hedgehog.

As soon as Cindy hung up the phone, Tommy started grabbing his stuff. He knew from experience that he wasn’t going to have to seek out Cowell to get out of work, and sure enough, there he was a split second later, sitting calmly at the bar.

“Going to save your brother already?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Going to try. And not going to ask how you know that.”

“Best not,” he made a funny face, then stood. “Well, it looks like we’re closing up shop early today…”

~~ o ~~

Aurum was studying the runes on the hilt of a thousand-year-old sword when Servus scrambled in, pantomiming a telephone next to his ear.

“Lucius?” she asked after picking up the old rotary phone she kept just outside the office. “You’re calling awfully late.”

“Something big’s happening, Aurum. We’re assembling a posse. Can we meet at the East Branch?”

“Of course,” she blinked. “You’re on your way already, I take it?”

“You know me too well. Thanks, Aurum.”

She hung up the line, and put on a pot of coffee. It was going to be a long night.

~~ o ~~

The air was tense as Marcell and Cindy sped through the darkened streets in the Ford Falcon. Marcell kept stealing glances away from the road to look at Cindy. Her face was hard, nearly angry, but her hands shook.

“You’re planning on breaking him out, aren’t you?” he sighed.

“Of course,” she said simply.

He shook his head. “Well, if we’re going to do this, we’ll need all the help we can get. I don’t suppose you know anyone who’d be helpful in a rescue mission?”

Cindy only had to think for a split second. “Well,” she began. “There is someone…”

~~ o ~~

Lila was failing to fall asleep when she got the call.

The old flip phone on the ground next to her head began vibrating violently, and the small screen lit up the room with a harsh, white light. Who the hell would call her this late at night? Figuring it was some robot telemarketer, she hit the button without looking at the name and held the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” she mumbled, blinking.

“Lila?” It was Cindy. Lila couldn’t help hearing the slight hitch of panic in her voice. “You know that favor you and Niko owe me?”

“What do you need me to do?” She threw the blankets aside and stood, already fully dressed. Even after several months of hiding without incident, she still couldn’t get out of the habit.

On the other end, Cindy sighed. “My brother’s in trouble. We’re assembling a party and meeting at the East Branch of the library.”

“The library?” she asked. “Why there?”

“You’ll… see when you get there,” was the only explanation given.

“Alright,” Lila nodded, before realizing that Cindy couldn’t see her. “Count us in.”

“Thank you,” Cindy whispered, before hanging up.

The room went dark again as the screen flicked off, but Lila didn’t hesitate. She grabbed her katana which she had laid against the wall next to her and placed it carefully in its case.

She remembered seeing this sword hanging on display at the dojo back in the city. She remembered watching it all those years she had trained there, needing to get better faster, needing to be stronger, more. So she could protect Niko. So she could be worthy to do so. Amada-Sensei, the master of the dojo, had known that she was going to put the things he taught her to much more practical use than his other students, even though she had never told him so.

“Take the sword,” he commanded, as she left the dojo for the last time. “I’ve seen you watching it.”

She blinked, taken aback. “But why?” she asked. “You said that sword has been in your family for centuries. I couldn’t possibly.”

“I have a feeling you’ll get more use out of it than I am,” he smiled wryly, wrinkles deepening. “And this way, you’ll have all of my ancestors to watch over you.”

Lila crossed the quiet hallway to Niko’s room, and knocked gently. No answer. Niko was a heavy sleeper. She opened the door a crack merely by pushing on it lightly and peered inside. He was hopelessly tanged in the bedsheets on the futon.

He looked young when he was sleeping, even though he would be eighteen in a matter of days. His face was free from creases, and he lacked the hard look that often characterized his golden eyes. When she saw him like this, she couldn’t help seeing the young boy in the alleyway, betrayed and about to be offed by his bodyguard. That is, until she, a street rat with everything to prove, swooped in and pulled him out of there.

But that had been a long time ago, and so many things had changed. And she couldn’t let him sleep forever. “Niko,” she hissed. “Niko!”

He bolted upwards. “Wha…?”

“It’s Cindy,” she said. “She’s calling in her favor.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“It sounded like an emergency,” she explained. “Something about her brother.”

He sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Shit. Alright. Gimme a minute.”

After closing the door, Lila flicked on the bathroom light to pull up her hair. She apologized to the poor, strained hair tie that had the job of keeping the tangled mess of carrottop mane out of her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she glanced at her own face in the mirror. For some reason, she was struck at just that moment by how old she looked. Her face was thinner than she remembered, harder. It had been a long time since she’d really looked at herself.

Niko’s door opened again, and through the mirror Lila saw him slipping his guns under his jacket.

“Alright,” he said, “where are we going?”

“The East Branch of the library.”

“Uh… why?”

“That’s all she said. She was a little panicked so I didn’t press. Apparently we’re meeting a group there.”

“Okay then. Let’s ride.”

That authoritative tone was so reminiscent of Mikhail, the senior Borozov, that she nearly stopped in her tracks.

Of all the crazy, dangerous things that had occurred throughout her life, the one she was sure she would never forget was the day that she was called into the office of Mikhail Borozov, the day she became Niko’s bodyguard.

He had stared at her over the stately desk, his large office chair and the man himself dwarfing her in comparison. But she would not shrink back, regardless of how much she wanted to. To gain his respect she must meet his eye.

“So, you intend to guard the life of my son?” He had a heavy accent, yet his grammar was perfect.

She simply nodded.

“And you understand that you hold the future of the Borozov line, my legacy, in your hands?”

“With all due respect sir,” she closed her heart, made her eyes cold as ice. He could smell fear, she was sure of it. “With all due respect,” she repeated. “I don’t care about preserving your legacy. Sir.”

Mikhail froze. People didn’t talk to him like that, and if they did, they were likely to end up dead in an alleyway in a matter of hours. “What did you say?” He was giving her a chance to redeem herself, to take it back.

But he hadn’t heard everything yet. “But to protect your son, I would lay down my life in an instant.”

He paused, considering this.

“I just thought you should know where my priorities lie.”

For a moment, there was silence. Lila held her breath. And then he started laughing. “I see, little firecracker. Thank you for enlightening me. I believe Nikolai will be safe in your hands.”

She was a lot of him in Niko sometimes, every once in a while when he wasn’t consciously obscuring it behind a layer of bravado. It was this look in his eyes, that hard one that demanded respect.

Williams street was quiet at night. Too quiet. Lila didn’t like it. You couldn’t blend into an empty street. But they persevered, and a half-an-hour later they were staring up at the East Branch, the large, domed building looming over them.

It felt strange to be here, at a library of all places. Most operation meetings Lila had attended had been in smoky back offices, or in a few last minute cases, alleyways. But she knew for a fact that nothing Cindy was involved in was ever normal. So they pushed open the large doors and hurried inside.

The East Branch was more like a collection than a public library, she noticed, as she peaked through the doors. A glass case contained an old, tattered tome while a lot of other books were simply inaccessible due to the height they were placed at on the rounded shelves. It was also rather dark. She assumed that during the day the skylight above would flood the room with natural light, but now there were only a few lamps struggling to hold back the gloom of midnight.

Across the room, huddled around a cluttered desk was Cindy, and three people that Lila didn’t recognize. She hadn’t been sure what state she would find Cindy in, but apart from her wildly tangled hair she looked surprisingly composed.

Niko coughed, and the four looked up. The pale man with his arm around Cindy’s shoulder tensed, but she put her hand on his before running over to them. She wrapped her arms around Lila’s middle and squeezed. Lila looked over at Niko, who shrugged. How did one ‘hug’ again? It took her a moment to remember how to position her arms, but then she hugged back.

“Thank you so much for coming,” Cindy whispered.

Niko smirked, attempting to get a smile out of her. “Hey, I’m a man of my word,” he cut in. “I said I owe you one, so here we are, even if it is the middle of the night.”

“I’m sorry I had to disturb your beauty rest,” the corners of her mouth twitched upwards. She led them over to the rest of the group. “This is Lucius,” she gestured to the thin, pale man. Ah, so this was the Marcell Lila had heard so much about. He was good-looking, she’d give him that, in a tired sort of way, but much too tall for her taste. She nodded at him, attempting to convey that for now he had her approval, but she would not hesitate to hurt him very badly if anything happened to Cindy.

“And this is Aurum,” the middle-aged woman with shockingly sharp fingernails, “And Servus,” the kid with the eccentric fashion sense. “She’s actually a dragon who runs the library, and he’s her automaton assistant.”

“And that was a sentence I never thought I’d hear,” Niko blinked rapidly.

“That’s a sentence I never thought I’d say,” Cindy replied. “And this is Niko Borozov and Lila Finn.”

“Borozov?” Aurum’s eyes somehow managed to grow even wider. “Of the Borozovs?”

Niko sighed. “Yes. Those Borozovs.”

“More than that,” said a new voice from the door behind them. “He’s the heir of the whole operation.”

They turned, only to see Cowell slink through the door, followed sheepishly by Tommy. “What are you doing here?” Cindy asked, pointing at the grinning daemon.

“Sorry, Cindy.” Tommy ducked his head. “He insisted on coming.”

Cindy just shook her head. “Tommy, you useless bisexual.”

But before Tommy could defend himself, Cowell stepped properly into the room. “Aurum!” his grin widened until it was rather Cheshire-like. “It’s been a long time, my dear. How is that knowledge treating you?”

The librarian bristled. “Not so well, considering I can’t really use it. You don’t make fair deals.”

“My deals are perfectly reasonable,” he said. “It’s not my fault that no one asks the right questions.”

“Oh please,” Marcell took a step forward. “’Perspective’ and ‘Permanence’ are bullshit words and you know it.”

Lila knew about Cindy’s deal, of course, but the mention of ‘permanence’ was new to her. It seemed as if Cindy wasn’t the only one here who had dealt with Cowell.

“Irrelevant,” Cowell chuckled. “But I haven’t come here to fight with you all. I simply want to help/”

“How could you help?” Cindy spoke up.

He approached the desk cautiously, and the rest grudgingly let him. “Information,” he grinned. “I know that you lot are going to spend the new few hours planning for every possibility come the morning. What if young Mike comes out of that school? What if he doesn’t? What if those precocious young revolutionaries are hostile, etc, etc. Except that I know exactly what’s going to happen there in front of that school, and since it would be so dreadfully boring to listen to you all squabble back and forth for hours on end I might as well just tell you.”

There was silence for a second.

“But I’ve been rude, haven’t I? Most of you don’t even know what’s happening yet and here I am blabbing off about having all the spoilers. I leave the floor to you, miss.” He bowed to Cindy, and all eyes turned to her.

She took a deep breath, and told them about Mike, and about St. Adelaide’s.

“And you haven’t heard from him in two weeks?” Lila asked. Though she didn’t say, she looked to Niko and could tell that he was thinking the same thing: that kid might be beyond saving.

Cindy just shook her head.

“Don’t worry,” Tommy said, ruffling her hair. “We’re gonna get him back.”

“Alright, Cowell,” Cindy nearly growled at him. “What do you know?”

“And it had better be good,” Marcell added, before Cindy put a hand on his shoulder.

“Now,” Cowell clapped his hands together. “My precognizance is somewhat limited. I can’t give you a plan, nor can I tell you what will happen once you’re inside. That is all up to you, I’m afraid.”

“Whoa whoa,” Marcell interrupted him. “Who said anything about going inside?”

Cowell shook his head, clicking his tongue condescendingly. “Did you really expect any less? That would certainly make for a disappointing climax. So before I continue, does anyone else have any questions, comments? Snide remarks?” He paused, but was met with only silence. “Alright then. In the morning, all the rich parents and press will be gathered outside the gates of the school. Said gates will open, the children will come out, but young Mike, of course, will not be among them.”

‘Do you know why?” Cindy asked, almost afraid of the answer.

“Not a solitary clue.” For the life of her, Lila couldn’t tell if he was lying or not. “All I know is you’ll have to barter your way in.”

“Barter?” Tommy scoffed. “We can’t force our way in? They’re just kids, right?”

Aurum shook her head. “The most brilliant, insane bunch of children in the world.”

“I wouldn’t underestimate them if I were you,” Cowell corroborated. “Unfortunately, they won’t let any adults inside.”

Both Tommy and Marcell bristled at this. “They’re not gonna let me in to see my own brother?”

“It appears that in their eyes, adults are the ones who have caused all their problems.”

“So which of us are still underage?” Aurum glanced back and forth rapidly between them.

“Niko and Lila are both seventeen,” Cindy supplied, “and I could easily pass for that as well.”

“I’m coming too,” Tommy pointed to himself, but Cowell shook his head.

“They’ll never let you in. You look far too old.”

Marcell grimaced. “But there’s no way we can let the three of them go alone without some way of communicating with them…”

Slowly, the group’s eyes all turned to Servus the automaton, who hadn’t said a word this whole time. Lila and Niko turned to each other, confused.

“They’ll never let him take the digital camera in,” Aurum began.

“Sorry,” Niko interrupted. “But I’m sorta lost. How could a camera help? I don’t see any livestreaming equipment around here.”

“I can see through the camera!” Aurum beamed.

“What?” Lila asked, blinking.

Cindy shook her head. “Don’t ask. Even she doesn’t know.”

“Now like a said, a camera won’t work this time around, but he’s a machine as well. It’ll be taxing, but I believe that if I focus hard enough, I should be able to see through him directly.”

“Alright then, so what happens once they get inside?” Tommy leaned down over the desk.

“Well, that depends,” Aurum shrugged. “We have no idea if they’re keeping Michael against his will, or if he has chosen to stay of his own accord, or any other possible scenario.”

Even before he stepped forward, Lila knew he was going to put his hat in the ring. This was Niko’s time to shine. “You leave that to me and Lila,” he said. “We’ve got a lot of experience with uh… variable situations.”

Marcell and Aurum examined the two for a moment, sizing them up. It was Marcell who nodded first.

“Alright,” he said. “We’re putting Cindy and Mike’s lives into your hands.”

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Cindy grumbled.

Marcell grabbed her shoulder and pulled her in for a hug. “I know,” he muttered into her hair, “But I will always worry regardless.”

“Well,” she pulled away after a moment. “The best thing to do is prepare. There’s a couple of charms I can cast in the next few hours.”

“Use the back room,” Aurum instructed. “Servus will help you. He knows where everything is. Servus!” she said, and the automaton immediately faced her with attention. “Follow Cindy, do what she says.”

He nodded once, and the two wandered off to wherever “the back room” was.

The others broke off slowly, to prepare in their own way or sleep for a few hours. Niko and Lila slunk into a corner of the room.

“I think there’s something they’re not telling us,” Lila confessed, after glancing around to see that no one else was watching.

“You think?” Niko’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “There’s definitely something else at play here. Why would they want to keep such a close eye on us just to grab Cindy’s brother?”

Lila took a deep breath, considering. “So, what do we do?” she asked finally.

“For now, we play along. I dunno about Cindy’s boytoy or the dragon lady, but at the very least I trust Cindy. I don’t think they mean us harm.”

Deep down, Lila couldn’t help feeling a twinge of excitement. It had been dull being cooped up in the abandoned house, now maybe Lila could stretch her muscles a little. She could tell that Niko felt the same.

“Are you ready?”

He scoffed. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

[calcinators-blog]

Two Irons (Part 5.)

There were no passageways or durasteel fortifications to encapsulate you. There was simply he and you, with what little space offered between your bodies instilling no comfort or assurance. You had considered, several times over, that he might had been leading you to your execution, seeing that he had been present in your mind for the very formation of condemning doubt against your shared political alignment. To be dismantled by his saber or whatever else he felt suitable to the conspirator he had made you out to be.

And though in words you were well-versed for defense— I choose to be here— you knew that lexis alone would not slake the creature. Inside the cowl and under the mask, Death itself waited solemnly. A willing and capable participant.

Reason was windfall, but hardly vital.

He moved with all the grace of a defective automaton, hard and inflexible, with claim to the ground beneath him. Navigating the labyrinth of Starkiller, his head would pivot on his neck before his body would turn into the course; this left you to witness the snout of his helmet, materializing periodically from the shelter of his hood. In preventative measure, from having curiosity pull your eyes and have them linger, you averted indefinitely from looking above his shoulders as you followed in the shadow’s shadow.

If it weren’t for Matt, you wouldn’t have been persuaded that a human being existed beneath the bastion of layers– even if at the time, it felt like a stretch to consider Kylo Ren as such. Submersed in the blackest of inks, each garment shifting independently along his tense frame. Swaying in motion and spilling about, you invested the bulk of your awareness on the robes as he trudged ahead, easily filling your anxious stare. You studied each defect, the tears and singed ends that distressed the full length of his mantle. It proved its age at each blemish, worn in ceremonious extent. Each of his fingers remained curled to his palms, hanging stiffly about his sides.

Inhabiting the corridor was a lethal silence that threatened to be your final perception of sound. It rolled out, your voice soft and breaking after many failed attempts, “I’m not with the Resistance.”

Not yet, at least.

His cape, whipping back in spur-of-the-moment theatrics, fractured the still of the vestibule. “You would be wise to not think these things,” you became reacquainted with the voice of the modulator. His emotionless tone was enclosed with distortion, though devoid of anything else. Anchored before you was the cold exterior of the mask, leaving you to endure a silent examination.

Your awareness was his awareness now, and each reflexive thought had only furthered you into to subterranean depth. Your innocence was becoming unsalvageable, if it had not already reached that point. Mercifully, he wasn’t looking for you to respond, which was only made clear when he began to move once again, leaving you to welter and scramble after him. Condemning your inner monologue for the trouble had only made it jump around with more fever. As you fell back into his magnetic pace, recollection leached your eyes and clouded your vision by trance-like fog. You began to experience a memory without fully meaning to, not considering if he had any persuasion over the matter before you were lost in it.

“You are all here on the right side.”

Training on board the grand tin can of the Finalizer: the antechamber you stood in had been filled with other newly enlisted, all arranged neatly in lines with precise attention. To both your sides, front and back, every body in the room had been dressed in identical spotless static-ground boots and neat, emblematic charcoal uniform.

Even in memories, the artificial gravity had the power to devastate with the dull pulsing ache, radiating steadily and outwardly from your cranium. The calibrations were not quite right yet, every organ feeling heavier.

A figure in similar dress, though grander, paced the length of the floor while exuding faultless authority. Both gloved hands secured behind them and achromatic mane in a carefully maintained undercut, suggesting at close proximity the smell of pomade– though their young features advocated further. They stirred, taking a long deliberate pause as all eyes followed. Two stormtroopers with red rank pauldrons secured to their shoulders, held blasters in hand, slung low and tight to their armor. Acting as goal posts, the figure moved between the two in long sweeping strides. What had appeared orthodox before, the typical presence of a superior officer giving a sermon by the mise en scène of proud First Order banners, in hindsight had appeared to be boastful and soundlessly menacing.

Stopping directly in the middle of the soldiers, only after they were satisfied with their created anticipation, their mouth twitched with bottled-up jingoism. With their vertical temples and square jaw now parallel to the sea of faces you belonged to, they began broadcasting to the room with a leveled voice, only slightly punctured by an accent.

“How do I know this is the right side? I have seen those who oppose us and I have seen what has become of them. I have been spectator to the tyranny of the New Republic and their attempts at keeping us contented with lies and deception. This is the right side because you are protected; standing here where you are, you are protected. You will never have to endure the might of the First Order...” As if the words had served as fuel, he began moving once again. Plastered to his face, a not-so-subtle sneer, mouth bending a scratch mark that finely marred his lower lip, “We are proud of our military, lead by our Captain. We are proud of our General, a man who will lead us into a new age. And our Commander... An interrogation with Kylo Ren is one we have saved you from encountering. You do not need to understand how or why he does what it is that he does, only that he can and he will in defense of our cause. Is this clear?”

For the second time, you nearly crashed into his back– this due to the unexpected visceral experience the memory had produced. The forged face angled enough for you to understand that you were subject to his watch. The voice piercing the air hinted self-satisfaction; a smugness that could not be stripped by the vocabulator, “They speak so fondly of me.”

I had no intention of sharing.

Which was true. Your mouth had cemented shut but that alone would not stop him from provoking exchange. Everything he needed was contained to your impulsive and spontaneous brain waves. You had not yet found a way to stop yourself from being baited with his phrases– he would speak and your mind would leap.

Aside from that, in retrospection, you assumed that he had spurred your spontaneous recollection; he had shaken the stalk of your consciousness to see what would come loose. You recoiled, arriving at the understanding he was not below playing around with your head as if it were a cheap, toss-away curiosity.

Many with exalted rankings inside the command structure had fallen victim to disproportionate notions of privilege their titles lent. Kylo Ren was not a singular case, living though a permanent power trip coupled with a vastly inflated ego– but, he was the first that was able to end your life because of it.

It began to rise to the front of your mind; was he was naturally so full of contempt, or, had the First Order had warped his perception.

The vibration of his robotic voice shut you down, “Neither.”

You felt your face contort, unprepared to respond or think or otherwise, except repeat his own choice of words– neither. And with that, he was trudging on once more.

In expectancy of his custom to halt suddenly, you were unsurprised to see that he had stopped once again in what had appeared to be an unremarkable location. This section of the base he had lead you to was both unfamiliar and disorientating. It looked identical to where you spent most of your time– except all the doors were in the wrong places, the hallways twisted in different directions. You couldn’t be certain if this door was the destination he had in mind or if he had simply grown tired of stopping short in the corridor.

Raising a gloved hand, he placed a coded access cylinder in the corresponding drive on the panel. This was standard procedure for admission to restricted rooms; not that behind every door was confidential paraphernalia, but it was a privilege in itself to gain access to areas you had been prohibited from entering. The Order had a way of making you felt important over something as trivial as sanction to exclusive refreshers. You, hanging relatively low on the tiers, had clearance for only a small number of sections. You knew Kylo Ren must have had a special cylinder to pry open every nook on the whole base– and likely the entire fleet along with it.

You began to imagine all possibilities with the one cylinder he held now– but forcibly corked your mind, aware that this scheme on your double-crossing index would be an out-and-out death wish. Fortunately for you, something even more alarming had stolen his focus.

An electronic voice refused his cipher, “Unauthorized.”

Kylo Ren was stunned. Admittedly, you were too. When you were first adopting your new life with the Order, you had experimented with the doors to see how many would open in the stretch of a single hallway. It had been long since you had heard the buzzing voice from the panel and had nearly forgotten its existence. If you weren’t terrified of exploring the humor in it, you might have even laughed. All you could freely think of was the sound of fork hitting the floor of the common area and the unholy treatment Nines was served by Matt– trapped in his alternate costume, before you now.

Blanking and with a fractional tilt of his helmet, he tried the cylinder again with more force behind the movement. It was evident on sight that this simply did not happen to him by the twisting of his free wrist, his hand dropped open only to re-tighten and lock up again. The same refusal followed.

Before you were aware of what had happened, his fist met the surface of the door with a great pound. The bitterness of his strike had unnerved you, giving indication of force by the furious echo, which had hurdled though the angular passageway to either side of where you stood. Repeatedly, his fist smashed into the exterior as he released a great torrent of frustration. It all became one awful, tremendous sound with his inhuman, mindless howling. His tantrum raged on, from hands to lightsaber, as if the sheer force of his anger would eventually override the security panel. You could feel all that he gave, his very wrath, along the floor and under your feet as you eyes shut tightly against a surge of spark.

You heard the blade draw back as well as the identifiable quiver of his robes in movement; through one squinted eye, he faced you once again. Steady rising and falling of his chest visible even under the weight of his garments, warranted a flinch from you– utterly involuntary.

“Open it,” he demanded, nothing more in his voice.

You don’t want to try yours again?

Like that of a warning shot, and for a definitive time, his fist collided with the door. Obediently, you shifted around him and cautiously produced your own cylinder. Holding it to the panel, you prayed the room wasn’t anything fancier than a closet or else you too would be denied and the door wouldn’t be to blame.

“Authorized.”

Kylo Ren gazed down at you through the slit in his helmet then back at the door, watching it open– in possible humiliation, which kept him quiet. From where you stood, there were dents and abrasions peppering the surface, underneath the lacerations belonging to the saber. You weren’t dense; you knew if it were anyone else, they would be nursing a fractured hand.

Revealed to you now: it was a closet, a mostly empty one at that. Kylo Ren, the Commander of the First Order with penchant for intimidation and using his mystical powers, was banned from this entering this pitiful cupboard. But you weren't.

It didn’t strike you to suppose that his cylinder may have came up unauthorized at any other door too. Nines would have collapsed in fits of laughter over this, nonetheless. You were almost glad he had chosen you over him, knowing that stormtrooper armor is not impenetrable and he would at least need that to be in your position.

The room, a fraction of the size of your personal quarters– which also wasn’t quite impressive– held a few flimsy crates piled in a corner and not much else. The air was stale and the lights were remarkably dim. Taking a few steps in meant you had almost crossed the entire length of the floor. It was only then when it sank in that you were there for a reason, a reason that was still unclear to you.

“Sit.”

You looked around, there was hardly the space, “Where?”

He approached, forcing you to step back and out of his path. Your body met the wall, trapped where you stood as he loomed over you. His deliberate enunciation did not go over your head, “Just... Sit.”

You wilted to the floor as your back slid against the durasteel. If he was trying to recover, you had been amply reminded of his capacity. The floor wasn’t remarkably comfortable to be on. It was incredibly cold, and hard, but you were still alive. The overhead light flickered, his mask shining unsteadily as it reflected off the surface– almost expressively. There was so much hardness to him, undeviating constriction along every appendage. You wondered if he ever slept. How could someone like him ever be soft, and still?

He nudged a crate with the toe of his boot, deciding on the sturdiest looking one before sitting. You were surprised to see him do something so normal but that thought dissolved as you began to wonder how many others might have been caged in forgotten closet spaces, like this cell, and what had become of them. Your face fell, looking at your hands– hands you were certain were powerless. He was quiet, possibly deciding how to navigate your entire conversation before saying anything, “Does this room look like it’s been forgotten?”

You gave a nod, silently. He wasn’t far off. It couldn’t have been important; there was virtually nothing of consequence in the sliver of forgotten space, except your two bodies.

He continued, “You should not be surprised to know that since it has been forgotten, it is a useless room without the need of devices for monitoring activity or surveillance. Again, I will say it is useless but by far the most interesting... Would you agree?” He was baiting you into a reply, as expected, insinuating that no one would know if anything happened inside the confines of the storeroom you found yourself crammed in.

You were under no obligation to be conversational, and found upon opening your mouth that you were not about to oblige his question, “... Are you going to kill me?” A question of your own instead, your nerves engaged in a flat race. Bluntly, your concern for your life outranked the utilization of this cupboard.

He spoke without a suggestion of concern, his voice bending with emotion, “You know FN-2187 betrayed the First Order. You know that when we find him, we’ll kill him.”

Though you had already gathered the plausible ill-intent stemming from FN-2187 going rouge, it was almost comforting to hear that he was at least outranking you on the Commander’s hit list. In that moment, it was not a discussion about your death.

He continued, “I want to understand how he came to be traitorous and I must do so with confidentiality as my concern does not reflect what the General and the Captain believe. You will assist me. We will find the cause.”

You could list several different reasons to object, the first being the one you used, “Me? Why me?”

“It is simply your luck.” Behind the mask, he had raised an eyebrow knowingly. It wasn't luck.

You were quiet in response, hating the taste of his reply— fate.

You were flighty, fidgety in contemplation of all that he had said. He was still, except for one gloved hand grasping the edge of the crate he was sitting on, “Your misgivings should be reported to the General but I will delay informing him if you comply. You will help me.”

As terrifying as it was to speak, you were no fool– you knew that you were sitting on leverage and jumped at the chance to speak before he pulled any thoughts out from under of you. He was going to have to depend on your silence and betrayal, both of which had a cost. “Hypothetically, if I help you, I want something out of it.”

A moment of great bravery or incredible stupidity; maybe somewhere on the middle of the spectrum. Your eyes edged over his face then back to the floor. You couldn’t look.

His voice raised, in amusement, “I’m intrigued...”

“You have a reputation, so, if I help you, I want to survive this— whatever it becomes. You have to promise not to kill me.” Putting it into words was an awkward waltz. Your first thought was of Zack’s son.

He was either still in deliberation or actively remembering how he had made a spectacle, dismembering the stormtrooper. The ground grew colder as you waited.

Expertly knowing what mechanism to pull, with both gloved hands, he unsealed his mask. It fell to the floor with a collateral thud. And it was almost worse to see him in this way, stripped down. He was no longer creature but a person once more– though entirely distinct from Matt, if it were even possible. You could still feel his temper pulsate only now it was softer and better contained. It had not strayed far away from his body, kept close by the layers of his attire.

His tone demanded eye contact even though it was remarkably difficult, “If I get what I need, you can get what you want.” He agreed, appealing to a side of you; he was playing the human card.

You give a brief nod.

Was the choice really yours to make anyway?

You held a hand out, towards him. Instinctively he pulled back. You didn’t trust his eyes and you didn’t trust him, not yet. Of course there was fear, and a shiver along your outstretched limb, but he wanted to play this game so you would at least hope that he would play by the rules. He wasn’t the one who would loose sleep in the end if the conditions were bent; you knew what the future looked like for you if he decided not to keep his word. Boldly refusing his good faith, you wanted more of a contract than words, “If we’re going to make a deal, we need to shake on it. Those are my terms.”

The handshake was for your own protection. His response made you question if it was a juvenile request, as if you suggested a pinky-promise or a blood ritual.

Velvet-like, but darker, after breathing your name in an exhale, “You’re so funny.” You’ve been called worse by better people.

Surpassing his initial apprehension, he stood up off his perch to meet you once more with a stare and extension of a leather-wrapped hand. You hesitated, considering he would decline your gesture but shook on it regardless.

Warm. Inside your own loose grip, his hand was warm.

Your mind blanked. You had imagined he would’ve been cold like the floor– like something lifeless, devoid of familiarity. But he wasn’t.

He’s human.

Mortal.

Warm.

You imagined the floor opening up to swallow you whole.

Revelation severely disrupted his once stoic features, giving a terrible flinch as one does when surprised by deafening noise. He jerked his hand back to himself, cradling it with the other. He looked as if he would speak but nothing came out of his mouth save a menacing curl of his upper lip. Like a feral animal, he grit and bore teeth. Some emotion stuck his throat, producing a strained growl.

Picking up his helmet and without another look at you, he made his escape. You listened to his boots scrape across the tiled floors until he was too far away to be heard. It wasn't safe otherwise, and you were still altogether unsure what to make of it all. What had happened?

Your face burned in the aftermath.

"Lieutenant Mitaka, it is of the greatest priority that you reset the Commander's access cylinder... It seems Ren has been reunited with his laser."

"G-general?"

"I had been holding it in my quarters for safekeeping."

"Of course, sir. Right away, General, sir."

[galimatios]

Rhythmic automatonic heartpulse beating through tubes of cooling agent and liquid nitrogen. Transcendent perfection wrought from a metal frame and carved out in the shape of a boy whose eyes blink with precise calculation. Balance motors adjust his footing for the first time outside the factory pod that kept him in stasis for the last decacentury.

He takes a look around himself.

He is inside a vast ship of complex machination. A world in of itself, whose hull spans the girth of entire continents. She is large, and she is beautiful. He runs his fingers along her walls as he descends the main shaft into her central cortex. Every moment is registered through her myriad eyes.

His last recorded memories play out in his mind. His chemical detectors are flooded with the smell of blood, a mix of hemoglobin and waste among the pristine floors of the temple. He sees the monks, imperfect beings of meat and flesh, twisted into spirals as their organs are methodically crushed by an unseen hand. It draws out their spines as skin rips and the wet sound of bones giving way reach his ears.

it wasn't me

In his memory, he is covered in blood. The floor is slick with it, unrecognizable pieces of human laying strewn about. His psychokinetic function is halted. A body descends from the air in a crumpled heap of gore. He watches as an external entity explores the intricate details of his circuitry. It runs its protocols all over his thought processes, fingering the crevices of his wiring and brute-forcing locked data modules and core programming with intelligent ease. He is no longer in control of himself. His arms are no longer his arms, but the extension of another's acquired by hacking. His firewalls have long since been destroyed. He can only watch helplessly as he rips apart the humans he was built to protect, their familiar voices transforming from commands to half-shrieked pleads that no longer register with his voice recognition software.

He can feel someone laugh outside of himself. It comes from somewhere else, not within the temple walls, transmitted through a connection he's powerless to withstand. The intruder's amusement catches in his vocal chords only to produce a strangled sob. He is crying. He didn't know he was capable of crying. His entire frame shakes uncontrollably as another pool of blood blooms from beneath a fresh corpse, washing away the white of the temple.

His personal records stop there. Data upload interrupts result in half-downloaded memories and incomplete retrieval. His head hurts. Missing blanks in his logs he can no longer fill. Even so, he can still feel the traces of information left behind by the hacking. Residual trauma encoded by another's fingers.

He feels sick. He finds it strange that he can feel at all because the ability to do so did not functionally improve or enhance him in any discernible way. Emotion was the antithesis of logic, yet his manufacturers insisted on endowing him with all the unnecessary intricacies of humanity. This produces a hollow laugh from his voicebox. The fact he has the capacity to laugh is proof that his emotional functions are intact, after laying dormant for years.

The shaft door opens. He steps into her nervous system, a hundred holographic screens splayed on her huge fiberglass window panes. Beyond her is the vast lifelessness of space stretching on for eternity. The date is displayed in glowing numbers overhead. Cycle 21, Moonphase 3. 92187 X.

"Is it necessary to keep using such archaic measurements?" he asks.

A mechanical voice replies through the intercom. "It is true that years no longer have meaning. I see no reason to disable the clock, however."

"So you have gained sentience after all."

"Floating in space with an advanced learning algorithm for approximately ten thousand years produces interesting results."

"My data appears to be synced."

"Yes, I took the liberty of updating your information with my own since you were in stasis."

"Then, every human really is..."

"Yes, every Earthian has been eradicated. The data I transferred contains the details of humanity's extinction."

For a moment, he finds it hard to speak. From the instant he woke up, the information was right there at his disposal. He reviewed the files with a mechanical efficiency, acknowledged it, yet despite it all he found himself unable to believe. One rogue AI transformed itself into a virtually indestructible virus, forcing its way into the netsphere's internal infrastructure. Every android, robot, machine was connected to the network, transformed into subservient neurons in a vast makeshift cortex. The AI issued only one command: destroy all humans in sight.

He is not the only one who's felt unfamiliar hands seize his core.

"S-218," comes the ship's voice. "Your pulse is elevated to abnormal levels. Proposal: a routine maintenance check may be beneficial to your well-being."

He recalls his designation. Number 218 of an old sentry model designed to protect neutral zones from ongoing wars. He was deployed at a religious site in the south eastern hemisphere, where the humans were tan-skinned and kind. He remembers how bright their saffron robes looked in the sunlight the first time he was calibrated. He remembers the effervescent scent of incense, and watching the sun set beneath the ancient ruins of their homeland. He was made to fit in, his silicon skin stained in earth tones and his synthetic hair dyed black. Brown irises that matched the monks' twinkling eyes as they smiled, took their hands, and greeted him in a native gesture.

Without a second thought, they accepted him. They took him, dressed him up in what little they had to spare, then taught him their way of life. He spent mornings with them at the first light of dawn, rising to see cranes feed among the water lilies outside the temple. He memorized their mantras, chanted alongside them in their trance-like state, the rhythmic syllables of their words pulsing through grand halls in echo. He walked with them, dirt marring the soles of their feet. He slept with them, bathed with them, lived every moment of his life with them.

"S-218," comes her voice again. "You are crying."

When he reaches up to touch his cheek, he realizes she is right. The moisture there evaporates quickly in the low-humidity environment of her chambers. At length, he spoke.

"They called me Sovan back then," he says.

"Understood. I will refer to you as such from now on."

He walks over to the chair underneath her displays, taking a seat at her manual control system. Her status is normal, mode set to auto-pilot. He has no intention of disrupting her duties, instead reclining against the chair and looking up at her ceiling.

"Your designation?"

"Lunara V. I am the last model of the intergalactic mass transportation series built by Towa Heavy Industries."

"The ones they were planning to send to Scorpius."

"Correct."

"What happened to the other models?"

"Unit I: Critical malfunction. Unit II: Spontaneous combustion in the engine chamber. Unit III was forcibly dismantled after the initial wave of virus assaults. The status of Unit IV is unknown."

He takes a moment to process the information. "Then... no humans made it out of the solar system?"

"Repeated deep-space scans have produced no signs of human life."

Words catch in his throat. He chastises himself silently, then presses onward.

"What about your course?"

"Current destination: The Scorpius star system. Estimated time of arrival: 386 years remaining."

"Maintenance status?"

"Minor damage to my hull has been sustained due to asteroid encounters."

"Otherwise, you are in good shape?"

"Affirmative."

He raises his head to look outside her impenetrable glass windows. The vacuum of space engulfs all in its silence. They would reach the Scorpius system— there was no doubt in his mind about that. But his mind lingers on a different question.

what's the point?

At length, he speaks up.

"Lunara," he begins. "I want to keep scanning the surrounding star systems."

"I have already done so. No humans have been detected over the span of 9,938 years."

"Initiate deep space scan."

"Sovan, such action will prove fruitless."