Difference between revisions of "Phase Q/System Lock"
(add contents) |
(edit) |
||
| (One intermediate revision by one other user not shown) | |||
| Line 3: | Line 3: | ||
Flying by: marshmallow, marshmallow, fish, cloud, leaf, compact car, tornado, leaf, finger, hot dog. | Flying by: marshmallow, marshmallow, fish, cloud, leaf, compact car, tornado, leaf, finger, hot dog. | ||
| − | “Well?” he asks the | + | “Well?” he asks the Tech. |
“We don’t know. There’s obviously a pattern here, and we’ve developed several schemas that match it to 97% at five minutes, but then it goes random.” | “We don’t know. There’s obviously a pattern here, and we’ve developed several schemas that match it to 97% at five minutes, but then it goes random.” | ||
| Line 9: | Line 9: | ||
“So?” says the Corporal. “What can we do with it?” | “So?” says the Corporal. “What can we do with it?” | ||
| − | The | + | The Tech flashes shame. “Well, we can weaponize it but unpredictably. Until we reach five nines or extensional control, it could just as easily backfire.” |
“But we can use it now?” asks the Corporal. | “But we can use it now?” asks the Corporal. | ||
| Line 17: | Line 17: | ||
The Corporal grunts approvingly, then flies off. | The Corporal grunts approvingly, then flies off. | ||
| − | A few thousand feet away, on a conveyor belt made out of living beasts that resemble a sheep-fish hybrid, a corps of | + | A few thousand feet away, on a conveyor belt made out of living beasts that resemble a sheep-fish hybrid, a corps of Triad soldiers monitor the conversion. A young Lieutenant jots down inputs and outputs on his marshmallow notepad, with a glowing cloudlight pen. |
Frogs that shoot artificial fingernails come pumping off the assembly line. Every once in a while, something else comes off instead. A door, a boobytrap, a fishing rod. | Frogs that shoot artificial fingernails come pumping off the assembly line. Every once in a while, something else comes off instead. A door, a boobytrap, a fishing rod. | ||
| − | With determination in his step, a senior officer marches up and down the assembly line. He picks up a frog gun, and studies its design. With a cross of pride and frustration, he takes it back to his makeshift office, a room constructed out of | + | With determination in his step, a senior officer marches up and down the assembly line. He picks up a frog gun, and studies its design. With a baffled cross of pride and frustration, he takes it back to his makeshift office, a room constructed out of love-o mags. |
| − | Squadrons of | + | Squadrons of Tirads fly in formation. Like a well-regimented flock of geese, they adjust their flightpaths, scanning ahead and below. |
Nearby, a new group of recruits learn to fly. Hopping, then jumping, they eventually manage to hover in air for a few seconds. A major struggle, the well-kempt soldiers try earnestly to concentrate on flying. Their uniforms look like some kind of effervescent jelly. | Nearby, a new group of recruits learn to fly. Hopping, then jumping, they eventually manage to hover in air for a few seconds. A major struggle, the well-kempt soldiers try earnestly to concentrate on flying. Their uniforms look like some kind of effervescent jelly. | ||
| − | + | Meanwhile, in a makeshift jail cell, a group of eight Triad squaddies struggle to hold down a giant fluffy yellow banana. | |
“Let me go!” says the banana. | “Let me go!” says the banana. | ||
| − | “Look what we got,” says one of the squaddies. | + | “Look what we got,” says one of the squaddies to an officer. |
| − | “What is it?” | + | “What is it?” |
“We don’t know, but it was near our bunkers.” | “We don’t know, but it was near our bunkers.” | ||
| − | “Have you | + | “Have you interrogated it yet?” |
“Yes, sir. So far it refuses to say anything other than ‘let me go.’” | “Yes, sir. So far it refuses to say anything other than ‘let me go.’” | ||
| Line 43: | Line 43: | ||
“Let me go!” the banana yells. | “Let me go!” the banana yells. | ||
| − | “Turn | + | “Turn up the heat,” says the officer. |
One of the squaddies reaches for an instrument, crafted out of some kind of material that looks like soft plastic but feels tougher than steel. Another squaddy sharpens the instrument with a marble slab. The first squaddy then jams the instrument into the banana. | One of the squaddies reaches for an instrument, crafted out of some kind of material that looks like soft plastic but feels tougher than steel. Another squaddy sharpens the instrument with a marble slab. The first squaddy then jams the instrument into the banana. | ||
| Line 55: | Line 55: | ||
“Let him talk,” says the officer. | “Let him talk,” says the officer. | ||
| − | “Stop, stop! Listen,” says the banana, bleeding multicolor juice. “You got me, I admit it. You found me. I’m not really a banana.” | + | “Stop, stop! Listen,” says the banana, bleeding multicolor juice. “You got me, I admit it. You found me out. I’m not really a banana.” |
The officer gestures toward the soldier with the instrument, who digs in again. | The officer gestures toward the soldier with the instrument, who digs in again. | ||
| − | “Ahh! Stop! Stop!” | + | “Ahh! Stop! Stop! I was just fooling around.” |
“Who are you?” asks the officer. | “Who are you?” asks the officer. | ||
| − | “I’m a | + | “I’m a Flowriser.” |
| + | |||
| + | * [[Phase Q/Free Fly|Free Fly]] | ||
| + | * [[Phase Q/Tubeworks|Tubeworks]] | ||
{{Phase Q}} | {{Phase Q}} | ||
Latest revision as of 14:31, 5 October 2015
The Corporal studies the forms.
Flying by: marshmallow, marshmallow, fish, cloud, leaf, compact car, tornado, leaf, finger, hot dog.
“Well?” he asks the Tech.
“We don’t know. There’s obviously a pattern here, and we’ve developed several schemas that match it to 97% at five minutes, but then it goes random.”
“So?” says the Corporal. “What can we do with it?”
The Tech flashes shame. “Well, we can weaponize it but unpredictably. Until we reach five nines or extensional control, it could just as easily backfire.”
“But we can use it now?” asks the Corporal.
“Well, yes, technically we can.”
The Corporal grunts approvingly, then flies off.
A few thousand feet away, on a conveyor belt made out of living beasts that resemble a sheep-fish hybrid, a corps of Triad soldiers monitor the conversion. A young Lieutenant jots down inputs and outputs on his marshmallow notepad, with a glowing cloudlight pen.
Frogs that shoot artificial fingernails come pumping off the assembly line. Every once in a while, something else comes off instead. A door, a boobytrap, a fishing rod.
With determination in his step, a senior officer marches up and down the assembly line. He picks up a frog gun, and studies its design. With a baffled cross of pride and frustration, he takes it back to his makeshift office, a room constructed out of love-o mags.
Squadrons of Tirads fly in formation. Like a well-regimented flock of geese, they adjust their flightpaths, scanning ahead and below.
Nearby, a new group of recruits learn to fly. Hopping, then jumping, they eventually manage to hover in air for a few seconds. A major struggle, the well-kempt soldiers try earnestly to concentrate on flying. Their uniforms look like some kind of effervescent jelly.
Meanwhile, in a makeshift jail cell, a group of eight Triad squaddies struggle to hold down a giant fluffy yellow banana.
“Let me go!” says the banana.
“Look what we got,” says one of the squaddies to an officer.
“What is it?”
“We don’t know, but it was near our bunkers.”
“Have you interrogated it yet?”
“Yes, sir. So far it refuses to say anything other than ‘let me go.’”
“Let me go!” the banana yells.
“Turn up the heat,” says the officer.
One of the squaddies reaches for an instrument, crafted out of some kind of material that looks like soft plastic but feels tougher than steel. Another squaddy sharpens the instrument with a marble slab. The first squaddy then jams the instrument into the banana.
“Ahhh! OK! Stop!” screams the banana.
The squaddy keeps digging, deeper and harder.
“Stop! Stop! I’ll talk!” says the banana.
“Let him talk,” says the officer.
“Stop, stop! Listen,” says the banana, bleeding multicolor juice. “You got me, I admit it. You found me out. I’m not really a banana.”
The officer gestures toward the soldier with the instrument, who digs in again.
“Ahh! Stop! Stop! I was just fooling around.”
“Who are you?” asks the officer.
“I’m a Flowriser.”
Phase Q: An interactive adventure.
