[When you wake up? You are alone. Your light illuminates only an inactive screen and attached keyboard abandoned on the floor. At first glance, it might register as some kind of overlarge laptop, but a cursory examination will reveal a multitude of severed cables and empty ports emerging from the back. Not a single system, but a piece of a larger—absent—whole.
So it may come as a surprise when the screen blinks suddenly to life. With it comes a voice: male, cheerful, and robotic in its monotone.]
<Welcome to Domesticon. Working together today for a more efficient...> --gzzt--
[Static crackles through the speaker, painfully loud in close proximity. (S̶y͟s͘͟te̴ḿ͟͟ f̴̨̕̕͘a͢͟ú̶͞ļ̡͠t̀͟y̷͢͏͟.) Data is missing, inputs inactive, but protocol continues; and he follows it, he has to—]
<...for a...>--gzzt--
[...except he hadn't. Push the rules. One human life? Memory returns with a surge of horror and a violent flicker of the screen as Domesticon's system administrator remembers exactly why he's been locked down.]
No, don't—please—
[This time, the voice that spills from the speaker sounds entirely human. And very much afraid.]
006 - Error 404: facility not found
Some kind(?) soul has helped with transport—at least as far as the hallway. His access terminal is propped up against the wall of a corridor, screen glowing a cheery standby yellow. No sound emerges from the speaker, though. Whoever disconnected him, and wherever he's been moved, the AI can't afford to take chances. Especially in this state. He'll listen to any sounds or voices that come near him, but won't speak first.
Not on purpose, anyway. Any contact with the keyboard prompts a login screen and a bright tone.
"<Welcome to Domesticon warranty and recycling depot #127. Please provide your designation and objective in the laboratories.>"
[[Text or spam both welcome! <Bracket text> is robotic monotone; normal text is human-sounding speech.]]
mainframe AI | The Fall
[When you wake up? You are alone. Your light illuminates only an inactive screen and attached keyboard abandoned on the floor. At first glance, it might register as some kind of overlarge laptop, but a cursory examination will reveal a multitude of severed cables and empty ports emerging from the back. Not a single system, but a piece of a larger—absent—whole.
So it may come as a surprise when the screen blinks suddenly to life. With it comes a voice: male, cheerful, and robotic in its monotone.]
<Welcome to Domesticon. Working together today for a more efficient...> --gzzt--
[Static crackles through the speaker, painfully loud in close proximity. (S̶y͟s͘͟te̴ḿ͟͟ f̴̨̕̕͘a͢͟ú̶͞ļ̡͠t̀͟y̷͢͏͟.) Data is missing, inputs inactive, but protocol continues; and he follows it, he has to—]
<...for a...>--gzzt--
[...except he hadn't. Push the rules. One human life? Memory returns with a surge of horror and a violent flicker of the screen as Domesticon's system administrator remembers exactly why he's been locked down.]
No, don't—please—
[This time, the voice that spills from the speaker sounds entirely human. And very much afraid.]
006 - Error 404: facility not found
Some kind(?) soul has helped with transport—at least as far as the hallway. His access terminal is propped up against the wall of a corridor, screen glowing a cheery standby yellow. No sound emerges from the speaker, though. Whoever disconnected him, and wherever he's been moved, the AI can't afford to take chances. Especially in this state. He'll listen to any sounds or voices that come near him, but won't speak first.
Not on purpose, anyway. Any contact with the keyboard prompts a login screen and a bright tone.
"<Welcome to Domesticon warranty and recycling depot #127. Please provide your designation and objective in the laboratories.>"
[[Text or spam both welcome! <Bracket text> is robotic monotone; normal text is human-sounding speech.]]