Post by hawksmoor on Mar 7, 2015 10:25:19 GMT -5
Sentinel's #4
Uncanny Valley Pt. 1 – The Cloud
by BKole
“Elias, if you please,” Dr Anthony Ivo gestured towards the end of the room. Elias paused for a moment, his hand ruffling his greying hair.
“Ivo?” he asked.
“Yes, if you are unsure, I will gladly clarify. Please leave.”
Elias paused, his legs threatening to move out from him.
“You asked me to bring him here, straight from the Hospital. You helped me steal him to help him,” Elias said, recalling the capture and secretion of the mangled form of his Son from the Hospital.
Their car hard crashed.
They were aruging.
Elias closed his eyes in remembrance and shame.
“Now you want me to leave? No. NO. I am helping you. I am driving this, Ivo,” Elias said, stepping towards the plexiglass tunnel. Elias voice caught in his throat. His son, laying in a combination of gauze, and protective plastics, was a crumpled mess.
Half of his face was missing, his skull having been crumpled by the impact of a tree. His one of his legs had been severed under the knee, the other almost completely sheered off by the engine block. His right hand, his throwing hand, had evaporated before his eyes, as the steel of the engine cut through the car, and tore most of his chest away.
Then there was the fire. The fire that had sealed the wounds, burned away all else, and the explosion, which had in some obcene fluke, throwing Elias from the side of the car, and into a ditch.
Elias, on the other hand, was relatively unharmed. A few cuts, a dislocated shoulder. He looked as though he'd had a rough night on the town, not sat next to his son while he was almost vivisected by a crashing vehicle.
“You are interupting a delicate procedure,” Ivo said, hunching over the plexiglass, his eyes growing wider at the sight of every inch of Victor.
“No, Ivo, You...Victor,” Elias said.
“No, no. You see, Elias, I am the genius here, you are merely hands when I need them. My fingers, you see, they sometimes fail, but in this? I need purity of thought, of calm emotions. You are a roiling sea of turmoil and guilt. Away, while I fix your wrongs.”
“My...my wrongs?” Elias said. He took a daring step towards the Doctor. Ivo lifted his finger up and waggled it Elias.
“You have no choice,” he said.
Elias felt a hand clamp on his shoulder. He turned to see a flat, Red face. Two slits for eyes and a single slit for a mouth. A yellow arrow pointed towards its mouth, from the centre of its head.
“This...you?”
“Yes, yes. We can discuss my advancements in technology later,” Ivo said waving him away, “Tornado, remove him, and then return. I require your steady hands and, as always, indelible wit.”
Red Tornado dragged Elias towards the exit, the scientist staring at his son, as he clawed at the robotic hand crushing his shoulder.
--Sentinels--
Water lapping at Traci’s ankles brought her back from the brink. Her mind was spinning. In all her time as an Urban Magician, she’d never encountered anything with quite such force, quite such immense weight as the being that chased her down the corridors of ancient magic.
It killed Diablo, perhaps the most powerful magician she knew of. Perhaps the most powerful magician in the world.
It had killed Barda, the woman who had saved her from death at the ends of a Third World deity.
It had tried to kill her, to mangle her in its hands. To consume her magic and her body.
Despite sitting in forty degree heat, in direct sunlight, and warm ocean waters, she shivered.
She grit her teeth and forced herself to stand. Slowly, her bare feet sinking into the wet sand, her tracks odd because of the concrete and brick patterns which affect the bottom of them.
“Get to London, Find the Squire and get to the new Cloud Avatar,” she said quietly, “Or something like that. Jeez, I need some sort of chart for this.”
Walking up the beach, past the people revelling in the sunlight, sand and sea, she allowed herself a small, if wicked smile. She was going to save the world, perhaps, while these people continued their lives, unknowing of the world of magic and violence around them.
Of the Dead Gods who've come back to tame this world back to flames, and broken animals.
She stepped through the bright sunlight and the warm street concrete greeted her like a long, lost friend. Her toes sucked at it, as though it were the wet sand of the beach and she gave silent thanks to the secret Gods and minds of Perth itself. She walked a few hundred yards and found a secluded point in between some buildings, and some thick trunked Eucalypt trees. Kneeling down, she let the concrete suck at her fingertips again, and allowed it to pull her into its embrace, offering her secret words in a slight Australia accent, the country manifesting itself in her words, and her voice box, the spell a question, an offering of her culture, and the city, offering its own. A womb of air filled around her, as she sunk into the concrete further, to allow her breath while she travelled.
Falling into the arms of the city, Traci closed her eyes for the first time in what felt like days and allowed some of the stress of her attacks and revelations to seep out of her bones, and into the city itself. Being a city, Perth thrived off life, the interaction with the populace and eagerly siphoned off Traci’s aches, pains and stresses. Her body healed, slowly. The City lending her some of its strength, and her body taking some of its materials to repair her own damage. Her split lip, filled with insulation, the cuts on her arms scabbed over with dust. Her broken ribs were braced with scaffolding of fibreglass and bendable plastics. She sighed, and offered more spell thanks and holistic prayers to the city, for taking some of her burden, and putting some of itself in her.
Her bubble dropped slower and slower into the depths of the city, seemingly travelling for only moments, yet when she opened her eyes, the air was cold, and damp. There was a temperature difference of nearly 40 degrees and her soaking clothing immediately began to stiffen into ice.
She shivered and pushed herself towards the nearest house, rounding an alleyway which held the remains of what appeared to be, a man made of Glass.
“What is this?” Traci asked. She knelt down next to him, running her hands over the suit. The city around her screamed, and Traci dropped from her crouch, to lean on one knee. She steadied herself with her hands, and vomited up shards of glass in thick, spolit petrol. The glass gently rattled as her vomit hit, and the walls tried to tell her their words without thinking about them.
debrisisdeadandcrushedthesuitisrumpledthrdoftheworlddeathdeathDEATHDeath
“What is this?” she asked again, trying to steady herself. The walls spoke to her, filling her mind with images. A young girl, in a hoodie with a phone, the being of light and glass before her, facing down a man, wearing the suit that now laid, soiled with rain on the ground. A larger man, full of hate and violence, a presence she'd seen attacking Diablo in Fawcett.
“Magog,” she said, quietly. She dropped herself into an awkward sitting position, bracing her back against the wall. She felt the sea water, turned to ice, now cling for protection against the brickwork of London.
“Hey,” came a voice. Traci shot her head around, an attack of vertigo, and a twinkling of lights in her eyes forcing her to look down, her head bobbing limp in unconsciousness for a second. She tried to call for protection from London, but Lond, around her, burned in fear. The Debris was dead, whatever that meant.
“Hey,” came the voice again. The redhead was crouching down next to her now, hands on her damp shoulders. “Hey, you Traci?”
“What?”
“You Traci Thirteen? Cool name, by the way,” the redhead said.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, “You Beryl, the Squire?”
“Not sure I go by Squire, but yeah, I'm Beryl. I was told to look for you, didn't think you'd turn up though, it's been like, a day of me waiting around for you to appear. Nice entrance. Very snazzy. Favourite part so far? Exotic vomit.”
Traci grinned, her lips still slick with hydrocarbons.
“I intend to please,” she said. Traci grasped Beryl's hand, squeezing it tightly, “Why were you told to look for me?”
“Tst. The data pointed me this way,” she said quietly, sitting down next to Traci and pulling her hoodie off. She offered it to the Urban Magician, and she took it like a raft in a sea of storms.
“Careful, that's pure Primani,” Beryl grinned.
“Dunno what that is, and I don't know what you mean. The data?”
Beryl nodded slowly, thumbing to the suit and glass.
“I stood here one even, and I saw that guy get shattered into a million pieces. I thought I was going Bananas, but it seems that the world is doing that instead. I've always been good with technology,” Beryl scratched her gooseflesh arms softly.
“Then the computers started talking to me. Wifi signals chatting away, technology just telling me everything. I can re-arrange bits and pieces, learned that while I was waiting for you today, and found this thing called the Cloud? Told me that, this guy, “she thumbed to the Glass corpose, “This guy was called Mr. Combustible, seriously, and that he was the Avatar of the Debris. Whatever that means.”
“So, full disclosure, because computers talk so much and the Cloud wants me to know stuff...you're an Urban Magician, with a Dad who, professionally, debunks myths, but, secretly, or, you know, not so, he is probably one of the better Urban occultists, with some kind of mega urban camo abilities. Less Urban magician, more Urban Druid. Warm?”
“Boiling,” Traci said, jaw hanging.
“Yeah. You, on the other hand, are full on Magician, rather than Druid. You Mum, and I say that with a U, is British, studied at Cambridge for a bit, before she took the Aleister Crowley train and became an Urban Shaman. She saw the Truth in your Dad, and your Dad saw the Balance of your Mum. They spent some time together, they loved, they married, they made you.”
“I killed my Mum,” Traci whispered.
“Your Mum, bless her, died in child birth. Not THAT uncommon in Urban Magi, to be honest. I've read papers, well, OK, I read a paper, and that was about forty minutes ago, but, details!” Beryl went on, “I am Beryl Hutchinson, and I know stuff about everything because computers tell me everything without asking if I want to know. This is my burden and my curse...” she poked her finges out behind her head. “Dark. Broody.”
“Like a Butterfly in a field of Cotton-Wool,” Traci countered. Beryl grinned.
“I've been sent to find you,” Traci said, “By the former God of Magic, Diablo Blacksmith. He was one of the Council of Shazam. Also, my friend, Barda, who was a Goddess. They're both dead, I think.”
Beryl let her own jaw hang out.
“So, Gods and Goddesses, Goddessi?, they're real?” Beryl asked.
“Sure, they even sleep together.”
“Like..buddies?”
Traci mimed kissing.
“Hrm. I think that's how the world was made and we got into this mess.”
Beryl grinned and patted Traci's shoulder.
“You are funny, and I believe we will now continue our relationship as friends. Shake on it?”
Traci grasped Beryl's hand and shook it.
“You're weird, but I like you. So...wanna do something mental and go to America to try and find the Avatar of Machines?”
Beryl glanced around, looking from the glass corpse, to her watch and shrugged.
“Sure, why not. The Chicken Cottage closed an hour ago, and there's nowt good on TV tonight...Adventure!”
--Sentinels--
“I must confess,” Dr Ivo said, “It does sadden me to see you in this state.”
The Doctor was bent over the destroyed form of Victor. Most of his
“You were always such a vibrant and beautiful young man, if you do not mind my saying so,” Ivo continued, his scared body already hunched over the boy. The lump on his back, a growth of bone which made him even more hunched than a normal doctor, was bulbous in the artificial light “When compared to myself, many are beautiful. It is…something I have often envied, of you, your Father, many of the scientists who consider themselves to be…less than perfect. They are unaware, they are unashamed to stand before me and discuss their flaws as though they are the end of the world.”
Ivo balled his fist.
“It is not the end of the world for them. It is a minor blemish, a minor flaw. I am a hunchbacked freak,” Ivo relaxed his intent gaze and looked away from Victor for a moment.
“Forgive me.”
Casting another look over his shoulder, the automaton which had escorted Elias away from the operating theatre stood ready.
“Tornado, please,” Ivo held out his hand, “The Diagnostic tools necessary.”
Ivo wiped his brow as the automaton slowly handed him the required diagnostic equipment. The Android stared at his master for a moment, almost puzzled.
“Don’t just stand there, you idiot! Get me the parts. Victor is barely alive and you’re fawning over him and me like some love sick child,” Ivo looked at the Android. A hard stare of contempt. “You and your family, they’re a waste of the parts and the time invested. Once I have perfected what I’ve done for Clifford and now for Victor…you’ll be melted down to spare parts, or maybe, maybe I’ll sell you to someone else around here. A little tin slave. Would you like that?”
Tornado shook his head slowly, expressionless features somehow conveying fear. His shoulders slouched and he slipped away.
“I just want…”
Ivo cupped his ear quickly.
“What was that, you waste of space? Have something to say?”
Tornado bowed his head and moved quickly towards the other side of the room.
“It is…regrettable that you had to hear that, Victor. I am not a man who is prone to emotion,” Ivo said, “But I am a man who seeks perfection. The Tornado, and his kin, they are…less than perfect. Do you see the cut of his chin? The build of his eyes? They are not human. They are not perfect. Nothing I have created yet, has the look, and the spark of man. They can possess one or the other but…”
Ivo waved his hand, and stared down at Victors body. Metal curled and formed in the ruins of his flesh.
“I did not put this here,” he said quietly. He looked up from Victors destroyed form and cast a look over his shoulder at the Tornado. The android, standing stock still, had inched away from the wall, and stood near to Ivo. His eyes boring into the Professor.
“Did you do this?” he asked, pointing to Victor, “There is metal in here already. Struts and structures designed to hang things from, to build from. He is not your plaything! He is mine!”
Tornado said nothing, instead taking a single step towards Ivo.
“He is not yours,” he said. Voice tinny, and uneven, “Never yours.”
“What,” Ivo said in a small voice.
“Victor Stone is ours. Avatar of the Cloud, Doctor. He does not belong to you, or to humanity anymore. Only to us.”
--Sentinels--
“That was distinctly unpleasant,” Beryl said, her voice shaking. She held her stomach tightly, bent double in an effort to stop her guts losing their contents.
The concrete womb which had encompassed them in London, now no less than a blister in the street, slowly formed over itself and leaving the warm, slightly humid air to attack the girls hair. Beryl immediately pulled her hair back into a bun, twisting it around her fingers. She snapped them a couple of times to get used to the temperature difference, and stared at Traci.
“You’re amazing,” she said, awe in her voice. Traci offered a shy nod of thanks.
“Let’s not get too carried away, so far my record for being incredibly heroic and brilliant is operating at a loss. I mostly do running away.”
“But still, we were in Neasden and now we’re in…” Beryl gestured, before her eyes unfocused, “Uncanny Valley? Holy Shitballs.”
Traci arched an eyebrow.
“Firstly, how did you know that so quickly, secondly, how did you know that?”
Beryl quirked her own eyebrow, and adjusted her glasses.
“I will take that question and try and decode it, mistress of subtlety.” Beryl grinned.
“One, I know that because I know stuff about tech. Uncanny Valley is where the Robotic and Cybernetic Genius’, and experts, live and work. Elias Stone works here, Traci! Do you know what that means?”
Traci shook her head.
“He has a number of theories, but none as interesting as the possibility that there may be biological instances of machine interconnectivity in the world,” Beryl beamed.
“Like you?”
“Like me! I get to prove someone’s theory! So exciting. Also, for part two of your incredibly verbose set of questions, I know this is Uncanny Valley for two reasons. Number one, is that I can visualise the Wifi connections and read/store data from them, and two, there’s a bloody great sign there that says Welcome to Uncanny Valley.”
Beryl supressed a laugh, while Traci lifted a single finger, mouth slightly open, before letting it drop.
“Yeah. OK.”
“So, where to now?”
Beryl allowed her eyes to unfocus again, standing stock still. Her lack of movement in itself was unnatural, completely unnerving for Traci, who was used to the natural rhythms of the city around her. After what seemed like forever, but was only in reality five minutes, Traci put her hand on Beryl’s shoulder. The Redhead shook violently, and fell into Traci’s arms a little, gripping her shoulders tightly, as her knees buckled.
“Oh. Wow, So,” Beryl gasped, “So, there’s been lots of weirdness around here. For the last few days, in fact, the weirdness has…ramped up a few levels. There's just...a phenomenal amount of data around this place.”
Traci nodded, holding onto her words.
“Welcome to my world,” she said, staring down at Beryl, “What sort of weirdness.”
“So, Cybernetic implants are behaving oddly. Powering down randomly, or powering up. They’re firing off, or deconstructing themselves. Machinery is acting in a distinctly human-like way, people are talking about Ghosts in Machines, and stuff.”
“Makes sense.”
Beryl eyed her unsteadily.
“Ghosts actually in machines? Does that work?”
Traci cracked a grin.
“You can see data, and computers tell you everything ever but ghosts make you feel weird? Tst. When this is over, I will introduce you to my Coven. We have Libromancers, Narcomists and Resource Mages.”
Traci paused and laughed. “Ghosts!”
Hauling Beryl over to a bench and seting her down very gently, the pair looked up into the clear, blue sky, becoming very aware of the scenery. The tech haven was centred in a huge valley, with very high sides, covered in foliage, and growth. The only way into the valley from the sides was by Cable Car, and the streets had automated cars, driving up and down for no discernable reason, as there was nobody to occupy them.
“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it? The way the technology and the wildlife have mingled.”
Semi-robotic and cybernetic animals roamed through the plastic and natural foliage. A lizard with a flexing optical wire tail ran across the concrete before them. It paused, looked with its eyes, and then with its tail, before skittering off into the ferns.
“This place is weird,” Traci said, “It doesn’t feel like any city I’ve ever been too before. It feels…false? Does that sound mad?”
Beryl narrowed her eyes in thought a little.
“False? What, like, synthetic, or, devious?” she asked.
“Like, right. So London, feels old, and, kind of regal? There’s a definitive smell to it, which is like dust and tea and hay. New York is vibrant and alive, and you can feel the light on you all the time, and the sidewalk is always spongey like Pizza crusts. This place, it feels…deeper than it is. Like there’s electricity underneath it, but it’s a false bottom. Like, there’s something hiding underneath that is just waiting to get out. To crawl up. It’s…making me feel really uneasy.”
Beryl put her hand on Traci’s, and gave it a little squeeze.
“You’re OK. That doesn’t sound crazy at all,” she said, quietly, “I get weird vibes off this place as well, but it’s really much more interesting, and beautiful, than it is weird.”
Beryl gestured grandly.
“How could anyone not love this place?”
A parrot, with cybernetic eyes landed quietly on the bench. The eye whirred into focus, staring at Beryl and Traci. Beryl leant forwards, hand out for the Parrot.
“Beryl,” she said, “I don’t think that’s a great idea.”
“Why?” she asked. The Parrot hopped onto her hand and nuzzled her wrist, eyes always focused on her. It hopped up her arms, and onto her shoulder, staring at her still. Its caw was a Nokia ringtone.
“Well, you know. Big Robot Eye. Staring at you. Probably connected to something else. Maybe someone watching?”
Beryl narrowed her eyes on the bird, unfocusing them. She snapped back to reality fairly quickly, her fingers dancing slightly over the Parrot.
“There,” she said, her voice husky and thick. She coughed to clear it, “I’ve rerouted the Wifi signal for the eye. The Data is streaming somewhere else, to one of my personal servers, rather than where it was designed to go, which, I would imagine, is someone in the Security industry here.”
Almost as if activated by that statement, a brilliant golden rocket tore from the top of a building, and hurtled towards them. Traci looked up, with Beryl locked in a state of curiosity and terror. Reaching into the ground with her mind, Traci threw up a concrete shield, which curled over the pair, like a thick, grey wave, paused at its crest before it broke. She expected the missile to explode on contact, instead it landed in front of them, with a clank of feet.
“Hey,” it said, its golden fingers peeling the concrete back down to a position where robotic, glowing eyes could focus on the girls, “You got any idea how much it takes t’replace this stuff?”
Traci said nothing. Beryl stared. The golden form before them was more shaped like a man, than a missile. A jutting bottom jaw, with a thick set, metal brow, and glowing red eyes. The man was certainly more Robot.
“Whassa matter, you can break into the most advanced scientific community on the planet and reroute my surveillance, but you’ve never seen a Robotman before?”
“Wha…Who are you?” Traci corrected. Beryl nudged her in the ribs.
“I think he just said,” Beryl hissed through the corner of her mouth. Traci shot her a confused look.
“Me?” the cyborg said, “What about you?”
“Yeah. Mum said never to talk to strangers, you know?” Beryl chided. The golden brow knotted slightly.
“Well, ya can call ya Mom from the cell. I’m Cliff Steele, Robotman, and protector of the Uncanny Valley. And you’re under arrest.”
Uncanny Valley Pt. 1 – The Cloud
by BKole
“Elias, if you please,” Dr Anthony Ivo gestured towards the end of the room. Elias paused for a moment, his hand ruffling his greying hair.
“Ivo?” he asked.
“Yes, if you are unsure, I will gladly clarify. Please leave.”
Elias paused, his legs threatening to move out from him.
“You asked me to bring him here, straight from the Hospital. You helped me steal him to help him,” Elias said, recalling the capture and secretion of the mangled form of his Son from the Hospital.
Their car hard crashed.
They were aruging.
Elias closed his eyes in remembrance and shame.
“Now you want me to leave? No. NO. I am helping you. I am driving this, Ivo,” Elias said, stepping towards the plexiglass tunnel. Elias voice caught in his throat. His son, laying in a combination of gauze, and protective plastics, was a crumpled mess.
Half of his face was missing, his skull having been crumpled by the impact of a tree. His one of his legs had been severed under the knee, the other almost completely sheered off by the engine block. His right hand, his throwing hand, had evaporated before his eyes, as the steel of the engine cut through the car, and tore most of his chest away.
Then there was the fire. The fire that had sealed the wounds, burned away all else, and the explosion, which had in some obcene fluke, throwing Elias from the side of the car, and into a ditch.
Elias, on the other hand, was relatively unharmed. A few cuts, a dislocated shoulder. He looked as though he'd had a rough night on the town, not sat next to his son while he was almost vivisected by a crashing vehicle.
“You are interupting a delicate procedure,” Ivo said, hunching over the plexiglass, his eyes growing wider at the sight of every inch of Victor.
“No, Ivo, You...Victor,” Elias said.
“No, no. You see, Elias, I am the genius here, you are merely hands when I need them. My fingers, you see, they sometimes fail, but in this? I need purity of thought, of calm emotions. You are a roiling sea of turmoil and guilt. Away, while I fix your wrongs.”
“My...my wrongs?” Elias said. He took a daring step towards the Doctor. Ivo lifted his finger up and waggled it Elias.
“You have no choice,” he said.
Elias felt a hand clamp on his shoulder. He turned to see a flat, Red face. Two slits for eyes and a single slit for a mouth. A yellow arrow pointed towards its mouth, from the centre of its head.
“This...you?”
“Yes, yes. We can discuss my advancements in technology later,” Ivo said waving him away, “Tornado, remove him, and then return. I require your steady hands and, as always, indelible wit.”
Red Tornado dragged Elias towards the exit, the scientist staring at his son, as he clawed at the robotic hand crushing his shoulder.
--Sentinels--
Water lapping at Traci’s ankles brought her back from the brink. Her mind was spinning. In all her time as an Urban Magician, she’d never encountered anything with quite such force, quite such immense weight as the being that chased her down the corridors of ancient magic.
It killed Diablo, perhaps the most powerful magician she knew of. Perhaps the most powerful magician in the world.
It had killed Barda, the woman who had saved her from death at the ends of a Third World deity.
It had tried to kill her, to mangle her in its hands. To consume her magic and her body.
Despite sitting in forty degree heat, in direct sunlight, and warm ocean waters, she shivered.
She grit her teeth and forced herself to stand. Slowly, her bare feet sinking into the wet sand, her tracks odd because of the concrete and brick patterns which affect the bottom of them.
“Get to London, Find the Squire and get to the new Cloud Avatar,” she said quietly, “Or something like that. Jeez, I need some sort of chart for this.”
Walking up the beach, past the people revelling in the sunlight, sand and sea, she allowed herself a small, if wicked smile. She was going to save the world, perhaps, while these people continued their lives, unknowing of the world of magic and violence around them.
Of the Dead Gods who've come back to tame this world back to flames, and broken animals.
She stepped through the bright sunlight and the warm street concrete greeted her like a long, lost friend. Her toes sucked at it, as though it were the wet sand of the beach and she gave silent thanks to the secret Gods and minds of Perth itself. She walked a few hundred yards and found a secluded point in between some buildings, and some thick trunked Eucalypt trees. Kneeling down, she let the concrete suck at her fingertips again, and allowed it to pull her into its embrace, offering her secret words in a slight Australia accent, the country manifesting itself in her words, and her voice box, the spell a question, an offering of her culture, and the city, offering its own. A womb of air filled around her, as she sunk into the concrete further, to allow her breath while she travelled.
Falling into the arms of the city, Traci closed her eyes for the first time in what felt like days and allowed some of the stress of her attacks and revelations to seep out of her bones, and into the city itself. Being a city, Perth thrived off life, the interaction with the populace and eagerly siphoned off Traci’s aches, pains and stresses. Her body healed, slowly. The City lending her some of its strength, and her body taking some of its materials to repair her own damage. Her split lip, filled with insulation, the cuts on her arms scabbed over with dust. Her broken ribs were braced with scaffolding of fibreglass and bendable plastics. She sighed, and offered more spell thanks and holistic prayers to the city, for taking some of her burden, and putting some of itself in her.
Her bubble dropped slower and slower into the depths of the city, seemingly travelling for only moments, yet when she opened her eyes, the air was cold, and damp. There was a temperature difference of nearly 40 degrees and her soaking clothing immediately began to stiffen into ice.
She shivered and pushed herself towards the nearest house, rounding an alleyway which held the remains of what appeared to be, a man made of Glass.
“What is this?” Traci asked. She knelt down next to him, running her hands over the suit. The city around her screamed, and Traci dropped from her crouch, to lean on one knee. She steadied herself with her hands, and vomited up shards of glass in thick, spolit petrol. The glass gently rattled as her vomit hit, and the walls tried to tell her their words without thinking about them.
debrisisdeadandcrushedthesuitisrumpledthrdoftheworlddeathdeathDEATHDeath
“What is this?” she asked again, trying to steady herself. The walls spoke to her, filling her mind with images. A young girl, in a hoodie with a phone, the being of light and glass before her, facing down a man, wearing the suit that now laid, soiled with rain on the ground. A larger man, full of hate and violence, a presence she'd seen attacking Diablo in Fawcett.
“Magog,” she said, quietly. She dropped herself into an awkward sitting position, bracing her back against the wall. She felt the sea water, turned to ice, now cling for protection against the brickwork of London.
“Hey,” came a voice. Traci shot her head around, an attack of vertigo, and a twinkling of lights in her eyes forcing her to look down, her head bobbing limp in unconsciousness for a second. She tried to call for protection from London, but Lond, around her, burned in fear. The Debris was dead, whatever that meant.
“Hey,” came the voice again. The redhead was crouching down next to her now, hands on her damp shoulders. “Hey, you Traci?”
“What?”
“You Traci Thirteen? Cool name, by the way,” the redhead said.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, “You Beryl, the Squire?”
“Not sure I go by Squire, but yeah, I'm Beryl. I was told to look for you, didn't think you'd turn up though, it's been like, a day of me waiting around for you to appear. Nice entrance. Very snazzy. Favourite part so far? Exotic vomit.”
Traci grinned, her lips still slick with hydrocarbons.
“I intend to please,” she said. Traci grasped Beryl's hand, squeezing it tightly, “Why were you told to look for me?”
“Tst. The data pointed me this way,” she said quietly, sitting down next to Traci and pulling her hoodie off. She offered it to the Urban Magician, and she took it like a raft in a sea of storms.
“Careful, that's pure Primani,” Beryl grinned.
“Dunno what that is, and I don't know what you mean. The data?”
Beryl nodded slowly, thumbing to the suit and glass.
“I stood here one even, and I saw that guy get shattered into a million pieces. I thought I was going Bananas, but it seems that the world is doing that instead. I've always been good with technology,” Beryl scratched her gooseflesh arms softly.
“Then the computers started talking to me. Wifi signals chatting away, technology just telling me everything. I can re-arrange bits and pieces, learned that while I was waiting for you today, and found this thing called the Cloud? Told me that, this guy, “she thumbed to the Glass corpose, “This guy was called Mr. Combustible, seriously, and that he was the Avatar of the Debris. Whatever that means.”
“So, full disclosure, because computers talk so much and the Cloud wants me to know stuff...you're an Urban Magician, with a Dad who, professionally, debunks myths, but, secretly, or, you know, not so, he is probably one of the better Urban occultists, with some kind of mega urban camo abilities. Less Urban magician, more Urban Druid. Warm?”
“Boiling,” Traci said, jaw hanging.
“Yeah. You, on the other hand, are full on Magician, rather than Druid. You Mum, and I say that with a U, is British, studied at Cambridge for a bit, before she took the Aleister Crowley train and became an Urban Shaman. She saw the Truth in your Dad, and your Dad saw the Balance of your Mum. They spent some time together, they loved, they married, they made you.”
“I killed my Mum,” Traci whispered.
“Your Mum, bless her, died in child birth. Not THAT uncommon in Urban Magi, to be honest. I've read papers, well, OK, I read a paper, and that was about forty minutes ago, but, details!” Beryl went on, “I am Beryl Hutchinson, and I know stuff about everything because computers tell me everything without asking if I want to know. This is my burden and my curse...” she poked her finges out behind her head. “Dark. Broody.”
“Like a Butterfly in a field of Cotton-Wool,” Traci countered. Beryl grinned.
“I've been sent to find you,” Traci said, “By the former God of Magic, Diablo Blacksmith. He was one of the Council of Shazam. Also, my friend, Barda, who was a Goddess. They're both dead, I think.”
Beryl let her own jaw hang out.
“So, Gods and Goddesses, Goddessi?, they're real?” Beryl asked.
“Sure, they even sleep together.”
“Like..buddies?”
Traci mimed kissing.
“Hrm. I think that's how the world was made and we got into this mess.”
Beryl grinned and patted Traci's shoulder.
“You are funny, and I believe we will now continue our relationship as friends. Shake on it?”
Traci grasped Beryl's hand and shook it.
“You're weird, but I like you. So...wanna do something mental and go to America to try and find the Avatar of Machines?”
Beryl glanced around, looking from the glass corpse, to her watch and shrugged.
“Sure, why not. The Chicken Cottage closed an hour ago, and there's nowt good on TV tonight...Adventure!”
--Sentinels--
“I must confess,” Dr Ivo said, “It does sadden me to see you in this state.”
The Doctor was bent over the destroyed form of Victor. Most of his
“You were always such a vibrant and beautiful young man, if you do not mind my saying so,” Ivo continued, his scared body already hunched over the boy. The lump on his back, a growth of bone which made him even more hunched than a normal doctor, was bulbous in the artificial light “When compared to myself, many are beautiful. It is…something I have often envied, of you, your Father, many of the scientists who consider themselves to be…less than perfect. They are unaware, they are unashamed to stand before me and discuss their flaws as though they are the end of the world.”
Ivo balled his fist.
“It is not the end of the world for them. It is a minor blemish, a minor flaw. I am a hunchbacked freak,” Ivo relaxed his intent gaze and looked away from Victor for a moment.
“Forgive me.”
Casting another look over his shoulder, the automaton which had escorted Elias away from the operating theatre stood ready.
“Tornado, please,” Ivo held out his hand, “The Diagnostic tools necessary.”
Ivo wiped his brow as the automaton slowly handed him the required diagnostic equipment. The Android stared at his master for a moment, almost puzzled.
“Don’t just stand there, you idiot! Get me the parts. Victor is barely alive and you’re fawning over him and me like some love sick child,” Ivo looked at the Android. A hard stare of contempt. “You and your family, they’re a waste of the parts and the time invested. Once I have perfected what I’ve done for Clifford and now for Victor…you’ll be melted down to spare parts, or maybe, maybe I’ll sell you to someone else around here. A little tin slave. Would you like that?”
Tornado shook his head slowly, expressionless features somehow conveying fear. His shoulders slouched and he slipped away.
“I just want…”
Ivo cupped his ear quickly.
“What was that, you waste of space? Have something to say?”
Tornado bowed his head and moved quickly towards the other side of the room.
“It is…regrettable that you had to hear that, Victor. I am not a man who is prone to emotion,” Ivo said, “But I am a man who seeks perfection. The Tornado, and his kin, they are…less than perfect. Do you see the cut of his chin? The build of his eyes? They are not human. They are not perfect. Nothing I have created yet, has the look, and the spark of man. They can possess one or the other but…”
Ivo waved his hand, and stared down at Victors body. Metal curled and formed in the ruins of his flesh.
“I did not put this here,” he said quietly. He looked up from Victors destroyed form and cast a look over his shoulder at the Tornado. The android, standing stock still, had inched away from the wall, and stood near to Ivo. His eyes boring into the Professor.
“Did you do this?” he asked, pointing to Victor, “There is metal in here already. Struts and structures designed to hang things from, to build from. He is not your plaything! He is mine!”
Tornado said nothing, instead taking a single step towards Ivo.
“He is not yours,” he said. Voice tinny, and uneven, “Never yours.”
“What,” Ivo said in a small voice.
“Victor Stone is ours. Avatar of the Cloud, Doctor. He does not belong to you, or to humanity anymore. Only to us.”
--Sentinels--
“That was distinctly unpleasant,” Beryl said, her voice shaking. She held her stomach tightly, bent double in an effort to stop her guts losing their contents.
The concrete womb which had encompassed them in London, now no less than a blister in the street, slowly formed over itself and leaving the warm, slightly humid air to attack the girls hair. Beryl immediately pulled her hair back into a bun, twisting it around her fingers. She snapped them a couple of times to get used to the temperature difference, and stared at Traci.
“You’re amazing,” she said, awe in her voice. Traci offered a shy nod of thanks.
“Let’s not get too carried away, so far my record for being incredibly heroic and brilliant is operating at a loss. I mostly do running away.”
“But still, we were in Neasden and now we’re in…” Beryl gestured, before her eyes unfocused, “Uncanny Valley? Holy Shitballs.”
Traci arched an eyebrow.
“Firstly, how did you know that so quickly, secondly, how did you know that?”
Beryl quirked her own eyebrow, and adjusted her glasses.
“I will take that question and try and decode it, mistress of subtlety.” Beryl grinned.
“One, I know that because I know stuff about tech. Uncanny Valley is where the Robotic and Cybernetic Genius’, and experts, live and work. Elias Stone works here, Traci! Do you know what that means?”
Traci shook her head.
“He has a number of theories, but none as interesting as the possibility that there may be biological instances of machine interconnectivity in the world,” Beryl beamed.
“Like you?”
“Like me! I get to prove someone’s theory! So exciting. Also, for part two of your incredibly verbose set of questions, I know this is Uncanny Valley for two reasons. Number one, is that I can visualise the Wifi connections and read/store data from them, and two, there’s a bloody great sign there that says Welcome to Uncanny Valley.”
Beryl supressed a laugh, while Traci lifted a single finger, mouth slightly open, before letting it drop.
“Yeah. OK.”
“So, where to now?”
Beryl allowed her eyes to unfocus again, standing stock still. Her lack of movement in itself was unnatural, completely unnerving for Traci, who was used to the natural rhythms of the city around her. After what seemed like forever, but was only in reality five minutes, Traci put her hand on Beryl’s shoulder. The Redhead shook violently, and fell into Traci’s arms a little, gripping her shoulders tightly, as her knees buckled.
“Oh. Wow, So,” Beryl gasped, “So, there’s been lots of weirdness around here. For the last few days, in fact, the weirdness has…ramped up a few levels. There's just...a phenomenal amount of data around this place.”
Traci nodded, holding onto her words.
“Welcome to my world,” she said, staring down at Beryl, “What sort of weirdness.”
“So, Cybernetic implants are behaving oddly. Powering down randomly, or powering up. They’re firing off, or deconstructing themselves. Machinery is acting in a distinctly human-like way, people are talking about Ghosts in Machines, and stuff.”
“Makes sense.”
Beryl eyed her unsteadily.
“Ghosts actually in machines? Does that work?”
Traci cracked a grin.
“You can see data, and computers tell you everything ever but ghosts make you feel weird? Tst. When this is over, I will introduce you to my Coven. We have Libromancers, Narcomists and Resource Mages.”
Traci paused and laughed. “Ghosts!”
Hauling Beryl over to a bench and seting her down very gently, the pair looked up into the clear, blue sky, becoming very aware of the scenery. The tech haven was centred in a huge valley, with very high sides, covered in foliage, and growth. The only way into the valley from the sides was by Cable Car, and the streets had automated cars, driving up and down for no discernable reason, as there was nobody to occupy them.
“It’s beautiful here, isn’t it? The way the technology and the wildlife have mingled.”
Semi-robotic and cybernetic animals roamed through the plastic and natural foliage. A lizard with a flexing optical wire tail ran across the concrete before them. It paused, looked with its eyes, and then with its tail, before skittering off into the ferns.
“This place is weird,” Traci said, “It doesn’t feel like any city I’ve ever been too before. It feels…false? Does that sound mad?”
Beryl narrowed her eyes in thought a little.
“False? What, like, synthetic, or, devious?” she asked.
“Like, right. So London, feels old, and, kind of regal? There’s a definitive smell to it, which is like dust and tea and hay. New York is vibrant and alive, and you can feel the light on you all the time, and the sidewalk is always spongey like Pizza crusts. This place, it feels…deeper than it is. Like there’s electricity underneath it, but it’s a false bottom. Like, there’s something hiding underneath that is just waiting to get out. To crawl up. It’s…making me feel really uneasy.”
Beryl put her hand on Traci’s, and gave it a little squeeze.
“You’re OK. That doesn’t sound crazy at all,” she said, quietly, “I get weird vibes off this place as well, but it’s really much more interesting, and beautiful, than it is weird.”
Beryl gestured grandly.
“How could anyone not love this place?”
A parrot, with cybernetic eyes landed quietly on the bench. The eye whirred into focus, staring at Beryl and Traci. Beryl leant forwards, hand out for the Parrot.
“Beryl,” she said, “I don’t think that’s a great idea.”
“Why?” she asked. The Parrot hopped onto her hand and nuzzled her wrist, eyes always focused on her. It hopped up her arms, and onto her shoulder, staring at her still. Its caw was a Nokia ringtone.
“Well, you know. Big Robot Eye. Staring at you. Probably connected to something else. Maybe someone watching?”
Beryl narrowed her eyes on the bird, unfocusing them. She snapped back to reality fairly quickly, her fingers dancing slightly over the Parrot.
“There,” she said, her voice husky and thick. She coughed to clear it, “I’ve rerouted the Wifi signal for the eye. The Data is streaming somewhere else, to one of my personal servers, rather than where it was designed to go, which, I would imagine, is someone in the Security industry here.”
Almost as if activated by that statement, a brilliant golden rocket tore from the top of a building, and hurtled towards them. Traci looked up, with Beryl locked in a state of curiosity and terror. Reaching into the ground with her mind, Traci threw up a concrete shield, which curled over the pair, like a thick, grey wave, paused at its crest before it broke. She expected the missile to explode on contact, instead it landed in front of them, with a clank of feet.
“Hey,” it said, its golden fingers peeling the concrete back down to a position where robotic, glowing eyes could focus on the girls, “You got any idea how much it takes t’replace this stuff?”
Traci said nothing. Beryl stared. The golden form before them was more shaped like a man, than a missile. A jutting bottom jaw, with a thick set, metal brow, and glowing red eyes. The man was certainly more Robot.
“Whassa matter, you can break into the most advanced scientific community on the planet and reroute my surveillance, but you’ve never seen a Robotman before?”
“Wha…Who are you?” Traci corrected. Beryl nudged her in the ribs.
“I think he just said,” Beryl hissed through the corner of her mouth. Traci shot her a confused look.
“Me?” the cyborg said, “What about you?”
“Yeah. Mum said never to talk to strangers, you know?” Beryl chided. The golden brow knotted slightly.
“Well, ya can call ya Mom from the cell. I’m Cliff Steele, Robotman, and protector of the Uncanny Valley. And you’re under arrest.”