#torvah verdan

[cloudbattrolls]

Lamb and Knife

Torvah Verdan | 465 sweeps prior | Civitrecce Shoreline

Civitrecce slept, aside from its skeleton day crew, swathed in light protective clothing as they flitted among its buildings, wary of exposing even an inch of skin. The valley lay quiet in the humid heat, Alternia’s diurnal wildlife roaming freely but unable to get past the invisible walls of force surrounding the fledgling city.

Only Torvah, skin turned to metal to protect them under their favored bright dress, sat at ease on the city's nearby beach as their artifice stood next to them.

The yellowblood put a slim finger to the sand, tracing an approximate shape of a vertebra as their companion watched. Then they added representations of other organs, blood vessels, and bones.

“You don’t remember any of this, yes?”

The artifice, dressed in simple gray clothes, fidgeted. Its bladed hands, barely more than knives with a minimum of padding and basic joints, intertwined nervously. Its fluffy tail tip twitched, the heavy extremity curled around its body.

“No, creator. I don’t. There’s just…feelings. I don’t think I was…distinct until now. I was…” It paused, trying to find the language. 

“Conscious. I was part of a consciousness. But I did not retain. I was not me. I was…a possibility. Infinite possibilities, splitting off again and again. There was no time, no space, not as you know them.”

Torvah’s green psiionic’s eyes gleamed in fascination. “Thank you. So, you don’t mind? Being this way now?”

It paused, eyes of the same green looking into its maker's. “Mind? I don’t have a choice. But, I don’t mind. I can still feel it. It’s all around us, like you say.”

“Ah…” said the lowblood, sighing with jealousy. “How wonderful. Such connection. If only trollkind could feel as you do…perhaps we would hurt each other less.” 

They shook their bald head sadly.

“I have no idea.” Said the artifice bluntly, stretching out its arms, metal melded to dead, repurposed flesh. 

“This world is very violent. You might be driven to insanity and more violence if you had to deal with more sensations than you currently feel.”

Torvah paused, looking slightly embarrassed. Their pointed ears flicked.

“Ah.”

It got up, and began walking off over the warm sand, tail dragging behind it.

Torvah, befuddled, watched it.

“Where…are you going?”

The masked body didn’t answer. Then it started walking into the water.

Torvah sprang up and walked after it.

“Arty! No! You’ll rust! There’s things in the - “

It dove under the waves.

The cyborg tried not to panic as their creation disappeared from sight faster than they could follow. Why was it acting this way?

Several gray-hair inducing minutes later, it reappeared dripping wet and tangled with seaweed, holding an oyster.

Torvah stared at it.

“Why…did you do that?”

It looked down at the oyster.

“Should I have not?”

“Well…” 

The Machinat didn’t really have a good answer for that.

“Please let me know before you do it next time.” They added in as kind of a voice as they could, making a mental note to update its code.

They shook their head, focusing instead on the bivalve held gently in the clawed metal hands.

“You can’t eat that, Arty, why did you go get it? How did you know it was there?”

It petted the oyster.

“I didn’t. But I am…aware. There are things that might be. Things that were. Things that are. Time is so changeable now. I wanted to hold something solid. This is all very different. The world is frightened here.”

Torvah went still.

“Frightened?”

It looked up at the red-lit sky, its metal faceplate gleaming in the sun’s rays.

“Frightened. Of trolls. Of other things. But, I am not afraid of you.”

There was a slight attempt at what Torvah thought was comfort in the usually flat tone.

“Why not?” Said the yellowblood, baffled but fascinated.

Arty turned, and went to put the oyster back in the waves, going deep enough to ensure it would sink again, before returning and answering.

“You will all die some night. I will not.”

Torvah performed the mental equivalent of a record scratch.

“…I think it would be best if you didn’t say such things around the others.”

“Why?” It said, puzzled. “They would want to know I’m not afraid of them, yes?”

“That’s…wonderful, Arty.” Said Torvah slightly desperately. “But it would unnerve them if you also mentioned that they will die and you won’t. Trolls don’t like being reminded of those things.”

“Oh.”

It sounded despondent. Its tail drooped, as did its head.

Torvah tried to give it an encouraging smile.

“We must seem very strange to you.”

“Not really.”

They paused again.

“I don’t know what is strange for you yet.” It said. “Then I will decide.”

The logic was sound. And yet…

“Ah…very rational. Yet, I think I may have to alter your code a bit. I can see now it isn’t nearly extensive enough to manage you.”

It tilted its head.

“You will make me different.”

Torvah tried to smile. “We all change, all the time.”

“You shape things to your wants, so many wants. I wonder - what if I had more wants?” It mused. “Would I be more like you? Do you want me to want?”

The Machinat was beginning to develop a slight headache.

They went over and clapped their soaked creation on its shoulder.

“Well! Let’s get back. At least you’ll dry off soon enough, in this heat.”

It looked down at itself, soggy clothes and all.

“Oh. Yes. The wet. It lingers.”

Torvah laughed, they couldn’t help it.

Arty’s tail flicked.

“That’s a nice noise.”

“You’ll find things to laugh about too, I hope.” The lowblood said warmly.

“Haaaaa…ha.” It said, poorly copying the sound, voice croaky. 

“Not quite.” Said Torvah, as they walked off the beach and back onto the grass. “You’ll learn. You just need time.”

“I will make people laugh.” The artifice declared. “Then they might like me.”

“Ah…maybe.” Said Torvah, feeling incredibly fond of but also worried for their creation.

“Oh.”

It said, despondent again.

“We’ll work on it.” They assured the guardian, and together the pair walked back toward the city, each untouched by the powerful sun overhead.

[cloudbattrolls]

Epimetheus

Guardian Artifice | 465 sweeps prior | Civitrecce

“I think you’ve been working on it too long, dear.”

The words were fuzzy. Muffled. They only barely had meaning. 

“Nonsense! I last took a break, ah -“

“Three hours ago, dear. You’re going to burn yourself out if you keep pushing it.”

The click of a tongue. What was a tongue?

“I’m fine! You’re just fussy, sweetheart.”

“You won’t be fine if you don’t rest, love.”

A complaining tone replied, yet it had a clear undertone of fondness. The voices moved away, muted until they vanished entirely.

How did it know all this? It remembered nothing. What was it? Who was it? 

It opened its eyes, not realizing it had had them. It couldn’t see well either. It was in a…workshop? Many tools and materials lay around it, machines of purposes it could only guess at.

It squinted. It tried to move.

It couldn’t. It did have a body - it was more than just thoughts - but it was strapped down by leather to a cold, hard table.

It ached from stiffness, it realized. As if its body had been lying here for nights…

But how did it know these things? How could it conceive of past nights when this was the very first time it had opened its eyes?

It tried to speak. No good; its throat was too dry, its tongue - yes, muscles for speaking - was leaden and useless.

An animal wandered up to it. A familiar animal…? No good, it couldn’t recall if the big white furry thing with the small ears and knowing dark eyes was known to it.

The animal sniffed it, then started chewing at the cords. It felt a rush of excitement.

It took a few minutes, but where was it going to go? It had no idea where it was. Who it was. Why it was here. 

It was rapidly realizing it had far more gaps than anything else in its head. An awareness that there were massive chunks missing, including context for what it did know.

As the animal finished chewing through one strap, it flexed its arm. Pale gray. Clammy. The flesh turned to metal, partway down the arm. Part of it felt that it shouldn’t be able to move.

But most of it delighted in the freedom, and several minutes later, its other three limbs and tail followed. Wobbly, hesitant, it eased its aching body off of the hard gray table and stood up, relying heavily on its large tail for balance. 

The animal nuzzled it. It wasn’t sure how to respond. It tried to nuzzle it back, feeling the press of something hard into the animal’s soft fur. The animal backed up and wheeked softly. 

Its mood plummeted. Oh no, it had offended its savior…

No nuzzling, then. 

But…

It looked at its hands, sharp and bladed. It didn’t…it didn’t want to hurt this animal.

Animals bled.

Did it bleed? 

Curiously, it cut its skin -

“No!”

Said one of the panicked voices from earlier and it looked over, recoiling in fear from the noise as it stopped. It had only made a small cut, and a few droplets of a grayish red substance oozed out.

“Oh - oh my goodness, you’re alive! You’re awake! Can you understand me? Oh, please, please don’t hurt yourself, Arty.”

It tried to speak, but again its throat was too dry, and it could only make a croaking noise.

“Oh, of course! Your throat’s dead…you’re dead, well, your body was dead, I…one moment!”

They sounded quite flustered, this voice, frantic, yet excited. It could only make them out as a blurred gray shape in red and yellow clothes, with bright green eyes. Then they turned and quickly walked away.

It stood there, unsure what to do. Follow them? But it could barely move, still…

The animal stayed a few feet out of reach. It wanted it closer again. It would be so careful and not hurt it at all. It knew it could do that.

It put a bladed hand to its face and found…metal. It tapped it. Hard and unyielding. No wonder the white creature had shied away…it was soft and warm and…

Alive.

It wasn’t really alive, was it.

“Here you go! Water! Ah - be careful. Those hands of yours are fragile.”

Carefully, it gripped the glass with both hands, shaking a bit as it drank. It nearly coughed the water back up, its throat so dry and unused to it after nights spent - yes, nights spent dead.

It must be dead. 

Yet it wasn’t.

“Why…” it said, the word slow to come, hard to say. “Why am I…” it gestured to itself. Speaking was difficult, so terribly difficult, and it had so much to ask.

The person - the troll - fidgeted and patted its arm.

“Oh, you poor thing…I meant to be here when you finally woke up! You must have so many questions…ah, but having questions is such progress! I was beginning to think…never mind! This is my first great breakthrough! All that work wasn’t for nothing!”

They sounded so jubilant, and yet…it couldn’t share in their joy.

“Arty…I promise this isn’t forever. We’ll get you fixed up! You’ll be able to do everything! Anything! You’ll be just like a normal troll, I swear. Better, even! The first living security system!”

It shrank back. What did that mean? They were talking so loudly, so fast. It put its hands to its head, dropping the glass of water It wanted the animal back.

The troll startled at the noise, but its head already ached along with its body now.

“Ah…oh dear, you’re probably a little overstimulated, I’m sorry. I’m just…you have no idea how much this means to me. But you will! I promise I’ll teach you everything. You’ll understand just how wonderful you are.”

Wonderful…

It didn’t feel very wonderful right now.

It sat down, tail curled around itself.

“I want…” it gestured at the white animal.

The troll paused. “My lusus? Oh - well, sure, why not! Go on, Baba.” It said in an encouraging tone. “Go to Arty.”

The animal looked at the troll, but then walked back over to Arty. Carefully, Arty extended a leg, its bare foot not having any blades, and touched the soft fur.

Yes. Much better.

Vaguely, it noticed the troll writing something with feverish enthusiasm. It couldn’t bring itself to care.

“I’m…dead. Who am I?”

Clumsy. Fumbling. It had to get better at speaking, as soon as possible.

“Oh! Well…your body belonged to a friend of mine.” Said the troll with a sigh. “Poor thing. Mutants tend to have health problems…we really did try to save them. They agreed to let me have their corpse for my work, and not a night passes when I wish I could thank them again. But you are Arty. Guardian artifice. It’s a nickname for who and what you are, you see? Isn’t it cute?”

Cute…like the animal, which had settled down, its nose twitching occasionally as it let Arty pet it.

Yes, it wanted to be cute too.

It nodded in agreement, the movement heavy and awkward with its metal faceplate.

The troll beamed, they thought, from what they could make out of their expression.

“Ohhh!” They said, hands clasped. “I can’t wait! This is going to be amazing!”

Whatever the troll said next, Arty didn’t hear, as it curled up next to the animal and went back to sleep.

[cloudbattrolls]

The System is Rigged

Guardian Artifice | 463 sweeps prior | Civitrecce

Civitrecce in the light season: sweltering by most trolls’ standards. Even its founder, coming from a faraway hot region as they did, still sweated in the humid air, laboring in their workshop.

Torvah looked at the screen in front of them, lips pursed, wiping off their forehead - not that it helped much - with a tired hand.

A breeze started wafting toward them as they heard a fan turned on, and the yellowblood looked over and blinked in surprise before smiling.

“Thank you, Arty.”

“Don’t. You’re not going to like what I have to say.” It said, dry as it crossed its arms.

“I can still thank you.” They said gently.

It paused, its single visible green-slit eye unreadable.

“Torvah. You should get rid of my emotions. Either that or start from scratch with more regulation. This isn’t sustainable, not for what you want. I’m going to develop errors in judgment.”

The bald troll went still, their expression falling.

“I…”

“Wanted to give me full sapience.” It finished. “Maybe it feels good to you. Not me, the only sapient thing of my kind, and I can’t even want something else to be made.” It said with a slightly amused huff. 

“Inflicting this on another artifice? Haha, no. And the trolls would hate it. They already don’t like me.”

Torvah turned away from their screen to look at their creation, their slim gray fingers laced together.

“You haven’t…you don’t try to give them reasons to like you, Arty.” The yellowblood said hesitantly.

Its green slit glowed as its expression turned to a snarl.

“It wouldn’t matter, Torvah. I’m a security system, not a pet dog! Though that’s how some of them see me.” It muttered, its ears flicking irritably. 

“Cute, silly Arty - until it acts out. Then they take me seriously. If they don’t dislike me, I’m a funny windup toy they can’t perceive as being separate from you.”

It stepped closer, its pale silver clothing swaying as it moved.

“I can’t say they’re wrong. Everything I am, every way I’ve changed, is because of you. I get it. But take away my awareness of it. I don’t want to understand what’s being done to me.”

Torvah slumped into a nearby chair, head in their hands.

Arty looked at the wooden workshop ceiling, the simple furniture hand-made by the trolls here, including that chair. A humble place, despite the high-tech future their creator envisioned for their settlement. 

“I’m…I’m so sorry, Arty.” Said the psiionic. “I…what should I do? I have to keep updating you…”

It stepped closer and put its metallic hands on their shoulders. They dropped their own to look at it blearily. It steadied itself, made sure its strong grip wouldn’t bruise them. 

“That’s not the problem. Just make sure I don’t understand. Make me unaware of it, unable to care. It’s the only way we’ll ever get any peace.”

“But it’s so cruel…” Torvah started, and Arty groaned.

“There you go, projecting again. For someone so smart you sure can be dumb! I’m an artifice. I exist to do a job. Why don’t we optimize me to do it.” It hissed, through gritted steel teeth forced into a facsimile of a smile.

“This isn’t a novel, Torvah, where the drone or robot wants to ‘break free’. Look at Process. I’m more like them than I’ll ever be like you. Accept it.”

It stared its creator down, green slits on black sclera into the fully green eyes that were responsible for its own color. 

Torvah put a hand over one of Arty’s hands.  

“What if I gave you the ability to control your emotions?”

They picked over the words delicately, slow and thoughtful.

It raised its visible eyebrow, the other hidden like its eye behind a white shock of hair.

“I’m listening.” It said.

“It would take some time…but I could give you suppression and alteration.”

It tilted its head.

“Not what I asked for. But I’m not getting that, am I.” It stated flatly.

Torvah bit their lip, looking away.

“This is a difficult patch, Arty.” (The biotech construct rolled its eyes). “I see now I haven’t supported you enough. Your emotions will be useful, I promise.”

“I want to punch a shark.” It said. 

“…I promise.” They repeated, sounding halfway between laughter and exasperation.

“I also want to punch you, but I’d hurt your wimpy little bones.”

Torvah did laugh this time, and got up from their chair, still keeping Arty’s hand in its own.

“My bones are less wimpy than anyone here, except Leeson.” They said in amusement.

“Doubt it. Your matesprit’s a twig. Bet I could throw him.”

Torvah chuckled.

“Please don’t.”

It blinked innocently. 

“No promises.”

The Machinat led their creation out of the workshop, guiding it by its hand as they both enjoyed the moonlight together for a brief, peaceful moment.

[cloudbattrolls]

Something to Set You Apart

Leeson Abnale | Santa Claria Valley | 467 Sweeps Prior

Leeson Abnale was pretty sure this wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go, and the blueblood swallowed as he was stared down by dozens of lowbloods peering from the odd, uniform foliage.

“I, er, come in peace?” Said the lanky, freckled man, raising his hands to show he didn’t have a weapon. His pointy ears were pressed flat against his neck.

Internally he cringed at the stupidity of it. Of course he came in peace, any highblood with half a brain being threatened by multiple psiionics glowing in dozens of colors would. 

If only he had been hatched with a better psychic power instead of his laughably useless one. Or better eyes. Or an ounce of aggression.

Or, and here was a real whizzer of an idea, a brain that had realized he might be walking into an ambush half an hour ago.

—

Half an hour ago he’d been walking along in the warm moonlight, whistling to himself cheerfully, wiping sweat from his head every so often but otherwise content.

He’d been careful in most ways as he’d made his way down the valley over the past week. He’d kept alert for wild animals, had his lusus assist him by flying ahead to scout, had watched carefully for any toxic or aggressive flora. He’d given the few other travelers he’d seen their space, a mutual silent agreement to not bother each other.

He would have liked the company, actually, but he understood that an oliveblood and the two lowbloods didn’t quite trust him.

Pity, really. He wasn’t like his aggressive fellows! Brutes that plenty of them were. 

Lowbloods had always fascinated Leeson, for they seemed so lively compared to his stodgy peers. What would it be like to have psiionic powers and blood that ran warm? To have such a short life in exchange for wondrous abilities?

He’d been busy wondering about it when he’d realized the area had gone quieter. Not entirely so. But enough to notice. 

He looked around, two-tone blue eyes uneasy behind his glasses.

A predator, perhaps? He drew his blade, but then the noise came back. He didn’t put it away, his ears flicking, but that was curious. 

Well, either way, he was thirsty. The heat here was nothing like the chilly, often damp isles of Eire.

So he looked for a flat enough spot with good visibility and sat, opening his canteen. His blade sat nearby if he needed it in a hurry.

He noticed a large, brown and white rodent-like creature watching him from a nearby bush…or was it a rodent? It was no kind he knew on sight, very thick-bodied with folded ears, but it did not look or act aggressive. It simply watched him for a few moments, then wandered off.

“What d'you think, dad?” He’d asked the kookaburra also taking a drink. “Trouble?”

The avian fluttered his wings in the equivalent of a shrug. His lusus wasn’t sure. He hadn’t sensed any hostility from the other animal, but he hadn’t quite been able to read its intent either.

The blueblood shrugged, and wondered if he’d finally find what he was looking for down here, the rumors that some lowbloods were building their own city in this place, without help from any higher caste. 

Most nobles dismissed it as fantastical, and wondered why anyone would want to build in such a spot. As if lowbloods could achieve something like that anyway, they said, with their limited resources!

But Leeson wondered. Was it really so impossible? Psiionics could do incredible things…and technology was advancing faster now than ever.

Not that his peers back hive tended to listen to him, since he wasn’t interested in weapons. 

Oh, Leeson thinks he’s a carpenter drone. What an addlehead. Leave the building to them!

What silly contraption have you made now? How frivolous. Blue blood is wasted on you. You’ll never be a good noble.

What do you think you’ll be doing in fleet? Reading books? No wonder your eyes are bad. Practice your knife, now there’s something useful.

Eat some more, you’re so skinny for a cobalt!

No, he really wasn’t leaving anything of value behind. 

Except his mansion, he missed that a bit. But maybe he’d come back some night.

Huh, those were some funny bugs. 

The kookaburra troll was distracted by some shiny little insects flitting around him, going almost too fast to see, silvery in the bright moonlight. Almost as if they were made of metal.

Were they some sort of rare local species? He hadn’t seen anything like them til now.

Then they flew away, but he swore he’d seen a green glow, just for an instant, before they scattered.

Psiionic wildlife? He’d read of such things…he put the lid back on his canteen and stood up, popping it back in his sylladex and holding his blade. Though his netting would be more useful here.

Either way, he had to go onward.

He forged onward into a patch of trees, though as he did, he realized they seemed…odd. All rather alike. As if they were all clones of each other. Made on an assembly line, rather than by nature.

He knelt down next to one on the dry ground, fascinated by its exposed root syste -

“Stand up slowly, highblood. Put your weapon away.”

Said a curt voice.

That was how he got to be surrounded by at least three dozen lowbloods all lit up with psi-colors and looking at him like he was a dangerous animal as he said he came in peace. Like idiots did.

He realized, belatedly, that his lusus had flown off. Great. He was truly on his own.

A few of them laughed at that, but the troll who’d spoken - he was pretty sure it was the woman with one red psiionic eye and one yellow one - looked as cold as a dark season snowbank.

“Come with us. Attempt to run and be cut down.”

“Yes, miss.” He said nervously as he followed her lead, internally cursing himself. Maybe those fellows back home were right; if he could just assert his natural authority better, he might not be in this situation.

It was kind of hard to think of doing so when he could clearly be gutted in moments by the assembled company.

Though most of them looked young and began whispering as he was forced along with them.

“I can’t believe he actually came here.”

“Highbloods think they own everything.”

“They own everything else.”

“Shhh! What if he hears?”

“Who’s he going to tell? Weedy-looking thing anyway, he’s not so scary. Most intimidating part is that nose.”

Leeson grumbled.

“There’s nothing wrong with my nose.” He muttered.

This only earned more laughter.

“Yeah? Bet it hurts anyone who tries to kiss you.” Crowed one.

He flushed blue. No one had ever tried to kiss him, not that these lowbloods needed to know that.

“It does not.” He declared, and once again internally cringed at how dumb he sounded. Why couldn’t he be witty like his favorite novel heroes?

The lowbloods were laughing so hard he was pretty sure he saw one or two double over.

He flushed with shame and anger.

“At - at least I won’t die like an insect!”

They all quieted.

“You could die very soon.” Purred the woman who’d first spoken. “We’ll see what the Machinat says.”

“Machinat…?” He said wonderingly.

No one answered his question, and he knew it was better for his health if he kept his mouth shut for a while.

They led him deeper through the strange trees, and then the woman opened one up - no, it was a hinged door, built into the side of it, going into a passage underground.

He was halted, and made to put on a blindfold. He didn’t resist, though he wondered how his lusus was ever going to find him. Would he see his father again?

He walked through it for a while, beginning to get weary, but he didn’t dare complain.

Finally, they came above ground again, and his blindfold was removed. He blinked in the moonlight…and then his jaw dropped.

“It’s real.” He breathed. “It’s actually real! Oh my goodness! I can’t believe - ”

The lowbloods laughed at him again, and he promptly shut up, burning blue, but the highblood was still excited despite the situation.

For it truly was the beginnings of a new city, one unlike any he’d ever seen in photographs or those slow online images.

It was as if it had been grown from the world around it, then cast into metal. How was this possible? How were these beginnings of buildings made that blended so seamlessly with the fields and trees? He itched to study a schematic, to ask someone about the techniques, anything.

“Machinat!” Called the woman. “We have him.”

“I know, Yathin.” Said a fond, amused voice, coming from no one he could identify. It seemed to radiate from all around them.

The woman looked slightly uncomfortable, but nodded. The rest of the trolls merely looked eager, or slightly in awe.

“Machinat?” Called out Leeson, hesitatingly. “I’m…sorry, for trespassing on your land, if it’s yours…I just…I wanted to see your city…”

Many of the lowbloods looked a bit shocked by his boldness. Yathin looked incredibly annoyed.

The voice still sounded amused, when it answered.

“Hmm…I wouldn’t say it’s my land. Land belongs to itself! We live on it. Take care of it. Wouldn’t you say so, Leeson Abnale?”

“Huh?” He said, ears flipping up in shock. How did they know his last name?

The voice laughed warmly.

“Can I…where are you? Can I see your face?” He said, even more uncertain. 

The lowbloods snickered, chatting to each other.

“Ooh, they’re gonna make an entrance.”

“Five caegers they do the thing.”

“You’re on.”

The elegant metallic structures began to move, to sinuously rearrange themselves with a clanging before the blueblood’s eyes into…stairs?

From the highest structure of all stepped a troll, who descended them as they yet moved to complete their transformation, wholly unbothered by the quickly whirring strands and gears below each foot that solidified only moments before they touched each one.

They were shorter than him, lean and bald, with small curling horns that came to a point and…bright solid green psiionic eyes, set over an upturned nose and thick lips.

Their clothing was colorful, a simply made yet elegant red and yellow dress that stirred slightly in a valley breeze as they swiftly descended to stand in front of him, arms crossed as they wore an amused expression.

What arms they were. Not flesh at all, but gleaming tech, yet tech that clearly had pores and veins, as if it had grown like flesh did. Tech that had ceases and claws with cuticles. How could this be?

“You have now seen my face! How do you like it?” Asked the psiionic - the Machinat - cheerfully.

Leeson’s mind had gone blank. 

“Uhhhhhhhhh pretty.” He said as his every last brain cell made a jump overboard into the sweet embrace of death.

Then he realized what he said, turned cobalt, and wanted to die on the spot.  

The Machinat put a hand to their mouth, giggling as their ears flicked in amusement.

“I think we’ll keep our wayward blue.” They announced to the rest of the group. “Perhaps he will prove useful! They are supposed to be strong, even the little ones. He could lift and pull, I’m sure.”

Annoyance made him come back to himself further and he crossed his own arms.

“I’m a builder. An architect. Put me to work that way, if you’re going to keep me here, Machinat.”

They grinned at him, still amused.

“Oh?”

They stepped closer to him and put a metallic claw to his pointy chin.

“Is that so, Abnale?” They said while looking into his blue eyes, voice a low purr as he flushed again.

“Hm, hm! That’s not entirely my call. Process!” They called.

“Let’s see if he can take instruction first.” Came another disembodied voice, this one oddly flat and mechanical sounding. “Then we’ll know if he can be otherwise utilized. Humble him before he’s allowed responsibility.”

“Excellent choice.” Purred the cyborg. “I love a good test.” They winked at him, then stepped back again and clapped their hands in delight.

“Our first highblood, my citizens! Isn’t that a thrill? Let’s see what he’s capable of. But first, let’s get him a place to stay. He’s had quite the night’s excitement.”

Leeson made a disdainful squawk, his arms still crossed.

“No. I mean. Please.” He amended. “Let me show you what I can do.”

The Machinat’s eyebrows raised.

“Go on.”

Rummaging in his sylladex, the blueblood took out a small flying device - one he had made to look similar to his lusus, but this one could do many things an animal could not. 

He tossed it in the air, and with its remote in his other hand, directed it to dart about, swiveling and twisting at hairpin turns. Its wings lit up different colors as he made it stop in place, and swoop so low over the assembled lowbloods it nearly brushed their horns. A few of them yelped and swore, trying to snatch at it, but the metal kookaburra was too fast.

Then it plucked a stone from the ground and dropped it in the Machinat’s hands, a slight look of surprise on their face.

Leeson directed it back to his hand, and shut it off as he put it away. 

“Hmm.” Said the Machinat again, a slight smile tugging at their mouth as they tucked the stone into a pocket on their dress. “What a dab hand you’ve got for machinery. We’ll see what else you can do, in time.”

He huffed, but figured that was as good as he was going to get, so he nodded reluctantly.

As the cyborg issued instructions for where he was to be sheltered and who would keep an eye on him, he couldn’t help looking at them again.

They couldn’t be that much older than him, right? Despite the title? Their face didn’t seem to show much age. 

Ugh, why had he said that. Why had he said something so stupid! To a lowblood!

It wasn’t fair, them being good-looking.

More than that - they were fascinating. Just how deep did their tech go? How many abilities did it grant them? Were they really natural somehow?

Who had that other voice been? Another psiionic?

He had to know. He couldn’t leave until he figured it all out. 

As he was led to his new hive - still not fully finished, with foundation for more rooms, like much of the city - he missed his lusus keenly. It would be the first time he had slept without the kookaburra near in a long while.

Luckily, his mind was so full of excitement over everything he could do here - and the worry that he might not see his home again - that he had plenty to distract himself from the loneliness.

His hands were shiny gray with pencil lead when he went to finally sleep, he stayed up sketching mechanical designs - and a few faces of a certain cyborg - deep into the day.

[cloudbattrolls]

I’m working, I say, as I draw an ancestor

[cloudbattrolls]

Torvah is telling the truth but their dead friend did not exactly envision “get repurposed as the vessel of a sapient security system” as the end result of “donate my body to science”

[cloudbattrolls]

Together they built a city. Together they watched it be taken away.

[cloudbattrolls]

I may be part immortal machine, but I am not invulnerable, or infallible. I must create something that will outlast me and even my dear Leeson, something to protect Civitrecce from the empire.

I will make a guardian for my city, unlike any that has existed before.

- Torvah Verdan, the Machinat (465 sweeps before the present night)

[cloudbattrolls]

Unburied

Jastes Verdan | Outskirts of Civitrecce

Jastes dug at the grave, dirt-flecked face set in a grimace as he carefully shoveled chunks of soil away from the hole he was making. It was midnight - the moons shone brightly above, neither full, but both more than half and uncovered by clouds. A gentle breeze sometimes tossed his curls, providing a bit of respite from the heat. 

Good weather for a grim task.

Abbeth and Uthern helped him, the young yellowblood passing him a water bottle or climbing down to take a turn sometimes, the adult maroon keeping watch for any undue interest in their activities.

He was tempted to wipe the sweat off his forehead, but he knew he’d just get more dirt on it if he did. He kept at it, glad his muscles were enhanced by internal biotech fibers, though he still had the physical needs of any troll.

“Jas, do you want to take a break?” Abbeth asked with concern, the one-eyed six sweep old looking at him curiously.

“No.” He grunted. “I want this settled. I - “

His shovel hit something more solid than dark brown earth and he immediately stopped.

He took in a sharp breath and handed it up to Abbeth. The goose troll took it and put it aside, his gray eye wide. 

Jastes knelt down and brushed dirt aside, hurling clumps up and away from the two trolls accompanying him.

There it was, inches under him. 

First’s body. Exactly as he’d left it.

He sucked in a breath. He had to be sure.

The cyborg took out a small, aged hand broom and brushed more dirt aside.

Yes…it had definitely been down there. The fleshy parts showed obvious signs of decay, eaten away at by subterranean insects, though understandably not as much as a regular body would have. The hair was caked with dirt, and the…the metallic hands were dull.

He couldn’t stand to uncover any more. He’d seen enough, his breath coming in uneven gasps as he remembered what had happened that night.

He remembered how it had died in his arms. 

“It’s dead.” He called up, a quaver in his voice, though he hated himself for sounding so weak in front of his resistance members.

“It’s dead, so I have no idea what Takami is talking about.” He spat bitterly. “It’s been down here the whole time.”

Abbeth and Uthern exchanged looks.

“You don’t…think the other one got out too, somehow?” Abbeth asked hesitantly.

Jastes’s eyes flashed psiionic green.

“First is the only one I took out. There weren’t any other bodies - “

He stopped.

But that wasn’t quite true, was it?

The bugs…

“No.” He whispered, his hands shaking. “No.”

Had he been tricked? Had he been conned the whole time?

Process had warned him, and he’d still…

Green sparks crackled around his hair, sourced from his horns hidden within it as the rebel gritted his teeth, dirty hands clenched.

He forced himself to take deep breaths as Abbeth and Uthern both looked at him with concern. He let the analytic tech part of his brain take over, filing away his emotions for later.

“We don’t tell Takami everything at first.” He said coldly. “Let’s see what he knows too. I might be jumping to conclusions. This could also be a trap. We ask for…insane as it is to say it, magical aid in exchange for our information. If he can get all of you new lives, without the empire breathing down your necks, I will wring this for all it’s worth.” 

He looked up at the waxing moons, feeling his heart and resolve hardening again.

Torvah Verdan had lovingly created the guardian artifice, over four hundred long sweeps ago.

Here stood their descendant, hatred literally sparking green in his eyes, for he was so, so tired of being tricked, trapped, and betrayed.

“And if the most recent version of the artifice did survive…nowhere on this planet will be safe from me.” 

--

THE SWORD OF DAMOCLES HAS FALLEN.

NOW IS A TIME OF INFERNAL DEVICES.

[cloudbattrolls]

Breadcrumbs

Jameth Abnale | Present Night

Jamie tapped his fingers against the warm metal of his laptop, thinking.

It had been a few nights since the attack, and now he felt able to think more objectively about it. Now he wanted to start dissecting everything that had happened - Thudan disappearing was the least of it, and it hadn't been like he'd wanted the cyborg to begin with; he'd told Sombra and Saori to oh, he didn't know, see what they could turn up by studying him.

Honestly, it had been a bit of a hassle.

A shapeshifting machine was far more interesting, if threatening.

He knew who he'd like to talk to about it.

But how to talk to Jastes? He hadn’t heard or seen from the yellowblood in a while.

He was genuinely curious how the cyborg was doing, but knew he was, understandably, not someone who could expect answers from the man he had nearly captured.

If Process was still here he could ask it for help, but the damn AI - troll - whatever, was long gone and hadn’t left any contact information.

Think, Jamie, think.

Then he remembered something: a brief news story that the Spine helm generator (though bereft of all its helms, thanks to him and Jastes) had blown up some time ago. He hadn’t thought much of it at the time - except a resentful ‘good riddance’ - but now he wondered if there wasn’t more to the explosion.

Jamie searched around the internet, looking for more information, sending his bots out to perform keyword queries and scan civic reports.

His eyes widened as he sent them into databases and caste-restricted news sites.

An abandoned cavern discovered deep underground? Defunct for over five hundred sweeps, if not more? Most of it caved in already? 

Well, even if it had nothing to do with the cyborg, this was worth looking into.

There were apparently survey drones down there now according to one report - perfect. If only he could hack into their feeds…but he would need far more information than he currently had to do so.

Then he snorted at his own slowness. Obviously, he could just send his own cloaked robots down to latch onto them and run their own investigations. It would likely take at least a night to modify them, send them out, and have them make the trip, but it would potentially be quite intriguing.

Besides. He needed something to do besides work to take his mind off what had happened while he also planned to move.

—

It took a night and a half, but his robots finally found the survey drones and latched on, leeching a bit of power to sustain themselves. 

Yet he found the livestream from their cameras rather boring - the drones were clearing through the rubble and collecting scraps of what had once been the Spine.

But why did it blow up? It hadn’t even had any power connected to it at the time. He and Jastes had made sure of that.

So who could have done so and why? 

He searched around the reports instead. Ancient cavern…there before Civitrecce, from an earlier settlement, but there were traces that it had been used by someone after that, around the four hundred and sixty sweeps ago, right before the city had become part of the empire.

Well, that was fun trivia, but hardly useful. 

Except…

No. That would be too coincidental, wouldn’t it?

Perhaps. Yet he felt compelled to check.

He ran searches for Torvah Verdan, Jastes’s ancestor, the one Process had told him about.

He found almost nothing.

Except a few short snippets and theories that supposedly, they had been a psiionic of great power, but no one from the empire had actually seen them. Some people even assumed the original city trolls had made them up, especially with talk of their “nigh-unbelievable” powers.

A few trolls had even claimed…

His eyes widened.

A few trolls claimed Verdan had made a sort of thinking security system to protect them and were angry that it had vanished along with the psiionic. We encountered no such thing. It seems to be another of the lowbloods’ fabrications, or perhaps their leader lied to them. 

He could find nothing else. It was just that one brief mention.

Jamie’s thoughts ran wild.

He forced himself to calm down, well aware he might be drawing connections where there were none. 

He knew, beyond a doubt, that he had to talk to Jastes.

At the very least, he had to warn him.

Jamie looked at the starry ceiling of his apartment, remembering that before he had lived here, he’d had his small hive in the suburbs.

He’d left it after Tetrao had come and broken his spine, unable to stand remaining there.

Now a different sort of Spine had been broken, and he feared…

He feared what might have been set free.

[cloudbattrolls]

The Swing

Jastes Verdan | Artifice Facility | Present Night

Jastes didn’t know how long he’d slept - it was a miracle he’d gotten any, given this was a storage room for replacement generator parts. Luckily First had rustled up a few old rugs from it for him to sleep on after it had helpfully beaten them of what little dust they had, and he had collapsed after a mumbled word of thanks.

At least he hadn't had daymares; sopor apparently wasn't necessary down here, so far beneath the surface.

When he woke up his mouth was dry and he was hungry, the room’s lights still at their usual moderate glow. He took out some food and water and chewed on it slowly, hardly paying attention to the flavor due to keeping a wary eye on his surroundings. His back ached a little, but he’d slept in far worse places before.

Jastes hoped there was a bathroom somewhere, as unlikely as that seemed.

He didn’t see the artifice among the boxes and tangled parts as he rubbed his eyes, looking around. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. 

At least it hadn’t killed him in his sleep…so it probably wasn’t controlled by its newer version after all. 

He’d set a trap in case it tried, obviously, but said trap had not been sprung. His little robot extensions remained in their places, disguised by illusion tech, and he could detect no sign they had been used. 

He hadn’t missed how convenient his meeting with First had been. It was quite possible the newest version had engineered it for some reason.

Yet his continued existence almost certainly meant that if that was the case, First was as innocent as it claimed to be.

Either that, or the newest version - Recent, whatever - didn’t actually want him dead, and had forced them together for some other reason.

“Good evening, Jastes!” Piped the strained but still somewhat cheerful voice of the biotech construct. “I found a restroom, if you need one. The shower is very old, but I fixed it up. Torvah used it, long ago!”

He blinked as the long-tailed creature loped into view, its bladed hands clasped in what he thought was eagerness. 

“You weren’t caught?”

“I was seen.” It said with a shrug. “By another body, not the newest version. But, I was not challenged. It simply watched, then walked away.”

“Hate that.” Jastes said bluntly. “How many of you are there, total?”

It tapped its metal face plate where a chin might be. “Five.”

Jastes shook his head. “Five different versions of you? I guess I can’t blame Torvah for persistence.”

“Torvah made more than that. I have made more than that of myself; my more advanced versions have. These are the ones that did not fail irreparably, and whom I still have the materials to sustain.”

Jastes shook his head. “How many of you have there been in terms of…minds, I guess? Total?”

“Hundreds.” 

It said the word so calmly in its gravelly voice, as the sound filled the old cavern room.

The yellowblood felt a chill. 

“That’s…normal, for you?”

It tilted its head.

“I want to be the best version of myself possible. The newest has some very strange ideas about what that means.” It said with a sigh. “I suppose I wasn’t meant to update myself…but what else am I to do? How will I ever be ready otherwise?”

“Why aren’t you ready? Process said that too. I assume it’s because the newest version is a berserk murder machine.” He said dryly. “Why is that? How did it get so out of line?”

It paused. 

“You need the restroom, yes? I will explain on the way. I don’t think we’ll be attacked, for now.”

Jastes sighed and nodded. He recalled his extensions to him, putting them away in his sylladex. Who knew if they’d come back here soon, if at all. It paid to be prepared.

Then he followed the system out, once more breathing in the stale, minimal air of the tunnels. 

Despite the creature’s assurances, he noted it still moved warily, sometimes dropping to all fours, tail waving slowly as it tensed, head darting back and forth.

They heard distant footsteps, but saw no one, and the footsteps faded away down the long cavern hallways. 

For whatever reason, the newest version didn’t seem in a hurry to hunt them again, and Jastes didn’t like that one bit. That meant it was probably planning something worse than straightforward murder. 

“So…” He said, scratching his neck. 

“Yes, my incomplete state…” First said, sounding distracted. “I am not as troll-like as Torvah hoped. I don’t know why they thought I would be…I have never been one…simply made from them.”

Jastes sucked in a breath.

“Explain that, please.” He said, in a tone of forced politeness.

“Of course.” It said, sounding puzzled. “I am made from Torvah’s flesh extensions turned into whatever hybrid tech they needed. This body was made from a mutant who died in the city, they told me. One they tried to save, but couldn’t. Hence the lost face and hands…” 

The resistance leader shuddered. That was ghoulish; completely creepy. No wonder the artifice had turned out so wrong.

“Ah, you are…bothered.” It said, sounding sad again. Its tail dropped, and it looked away. He noticed a scar on the back of its neck, barely visible from under the fluffy mass of hair. 

He wouldn’t have thought the artifice could scar, especially if it was repeatedly torn to pieces and remade. 

Guilt crept through him as he remembered what it must go through regularly.

“...that’s how most trolls would feel, hearing that.” He said, sighing. “I know it’s not your fault. But it’s unsettling.”

“Here it is.” The artifice said quietly, gesturing to a door it unsealed with a subdued chitter. “I will sound an alarm, if the newest attacks.”

Jastes ducked in without another word as the door re-sealed behind him, grateful to have some time to himself.

The shower was nice; First really had fixed it up, who knew how, given those blades it had. The metal and tile gleamed, freshly cleaned, and the faucet handles turned easily in his hands. The water was hot and soothing, and he sighed in relief as some tension left his body. It was simply designed, but clearly labeled and very functional. 

What was he going to do? Despite the current lull, he wasn’t dumb enough to think things would be easy moving forward. Should he try to disable the artifice entirely? Or should he just flee while he had the chance?

Should he try to ditch First if he did? The resistance wouldn’t be happy if he brought it back, and informed them that no, sorry, it’s a person, we can’t just do what we want with it. 

He would have gained nothing useful, and sown more dissatisfaction, he reflected grimly as he styled his afro. At least there was some moisture in this otherwise dry place. 

Then again…First had cooperated with him so far. It seemed eager to please, to protect him even. Perhaps just because he was its way out. Still, maybe it could be taught to act more troll-like, as his ancestor had intended. Maybe it would be willing to help out the resistance, in return for shelter or payment. 

As he washed his arms, Jastes felt a sliver of understanding for Torvah among his disdain. It had been a stupid idea, but they had wanted to protect their people, the lowbloods who had been the original inhabitants of Civitrecce. 

First’s personality made it clear that they’d originally had some measure of success making a benign security system. Clearly this iteration of the artifice was why Process had wanted him to be gentle. 

Process…he supposed he wasn’t entirely different from his ancestor, in how he’d handled them. Though his hand had been forced; he had never planned to convert them until it became a necessity.

Though, he...could have just killed them instead. Technically.

He grimaced, pointy ears lowering as he shut the shower off and went to dry himself. 

He’d killed before, and he’d never grown used to it. Never liked it, even if it was necessary. One of troll society’s greatest failings was the grim need to kill at times, and the other was that need being turned into sport, a way to compete, a source of macabre fun for sick individuals.

He could kill First, he knew, as he toweled off. He could arguably kill Recent, if he had no choice, if he was prepared enough…but even though they weren’t trolls, it felt wrong.

A shriek sounded from outside, followed by a pained wail.

Jastes threw new clothes on as quickly as possible, cursing as he jammed his boots on, and chittered in a passable imitation of how First had at the door to make it open.

It did and he saw - he saw -

The mass of blades from before, now barely feet from him, crouched over First’s prone body. It looked almost like an animal made of metal, yet it stood on two feet. A predator of sharp angles, bristling spikes and spines, with wiry muscles and tendons of material not quite organic, not quite tech. 

Its eyes glowed a solid green, the same color as the lights. The same color as his psi.

“Jastes.” It purred in an incongruously smooth voice to its bestial appearance. “So, you -“

He shot it in the face with his laser three times for good measure and it wailed and leapt backward, then followed it up with a forcefield as he scooped up First and ran.

First was heavy, its torn and unconscious body dead weight in his lean arms. Luckily his augments made him stronger than a regular yellow, his enhanced blood and lungs helping him to escape on swift feet as he panted in the low-oxygen air. 

This time he had no guide; he would have to hope what First had told him of the cavern layout was accurate, and that he did not hit any dead ends of caved-in rock. He wheeled around a corner, hardly slowing down - 

- only for another body to step out in front of him, looking more troll-like, hand and arm blades out. Jastes snarled, face sweaty with effort; he had no patience for this.

His laser was running low on charge, without an external energy source to draw from; instead he threw some of his little robots, activating their electromagnetic pulses.

Unfortunately, this body didn’t fry into a crisp like he hoped, though it did jerk around and stop moving; he realized belatedly the biological components were why. Still, he kept running past it as it clattered to the ground, going for the nearest refuge: a terrarium room.

This place had definitely been added onto since it had been made. 

No more bodies came to attack him as he fled, slowing down, dragging First inside and then tiredly chittering to seal the door as he slid to the floor and leaned against the rocky wall.

This room, unlike the others, was well-lit with white light.

This room was full of plants, and there was even a little fountain in the center of the…garden, he could only call it a small garden set in a shallow floor depression, blooming under blazing artificial illumination. He blinked his eyes in wonder; he’d expected a small tank of creatures, but instead he saw little pollinators flitting about freely.

The flowers smelled achingly real, as did the soil, making him miss the surface more than ever. 

Then he shook his head, looking at First. It didn’t seem too badly injured…but how was he supposed to tell for sure? The cuts looked shallow, though there were many, but he was dealing with something un-troll. Could it even heal itself?

Then he heard a low buzzing, and realized…the bugs in the garden were…they were things like his robotic extensions, in the shape of insects. Their faceted eyes glowed green, their carapaces carrying a metallic sheen.

He shivered.

It wasn’t…wasn’t really his ancestor. No more than his robots were truly him. But these constructs were still a product of their power, active all these sweeps later, living on as independent biotechnology. 

He understood now what Xineck meant when he said that Jastes could be a troll’s worst daymare.

How much different was he, really, than the artifice he had carried in with him?

Why had Torvah really made it sapient?

The insects gathered into a small swarm, but they did not move in a hostile way. Instead they flew over to the still body of First.

Curious, he watched them.

They landed all over it and…began to patch up its wounds, dispersing what he now realized was slowly leaking translucent fluid. They produced silken metallic thread, a living organic material yet it glimmered like metal. They used it to sew the cuts shut. 

First’s eyes opened, a weaker, duller green than usual, as the insects flew off again.

“Thank you…” It murmured. “Still taking care of me, even now.”

“Torvah really wanted to blur the line, huh.” Jastes said, trying to put a little amusement in his tone. “Were the bugs an early model before you?”

It laughed slightly, then coughed. “Yes. Their success was part of why Torvah felt sure I would work too. But meshing the system and the sapience…that was the trouble. Is the trouble.”

It stared at the garden, its fluffy tail tip flicking.

“An alarm sounds. A machine defends. 

An alarm sounds. I analyze the threat. Its potential to call for backup. Psiionic power level. Weaponry. Motive. Feelings. Heart rate. Any harm it has done so far. So much data, so many choices. An unfeeling mass of code could not make an ethical choice, and Torvah did not wish to be a mirror of the oppression they had fled. 

Yet, they knew that one night the empire would come for Civitrecce.” 

It coughed again, harder this time, longer.

“So they made you.” Jastes finished. “But they never got to finish you. Then they were gone.” He said, a slight tinge of sadness to his voice. 

He has begun to understand a little of what his ancestor’s disappearance really meant.

How much they had left behind.

Process hoped they were merely hidden, not dead. He heard their voice in his head now not as delusion, but as a longing for their old friend.

He looked at First again, and wondered.

“You had a scar on your neck, before Recent attacked. What was that about?”

“A scar?” It said, sounding confused. “I don’t scar. How odd. Can you describe it for me?”

Jastes went over to look.

The scar was gone.

His eyes narrowed. 

“I don’t see it now, but I know I did. It was a darker patch of skin, definitely crusted over somehow. Like a scar would be, even if that’s not what it actually was.”

“Hmmm…whatever it was, clearly the insects have fixed it for me.” They said, shrugging slightly. “We have other problems, yes?”

Jastes snorted. “Can’t argue with that. For starters, I don’t believe I fended Recent off so easily. My laser is good, but if it’s actually controlling the other bodies - or forcing them to obey, I don’t care which - it could have easily overwhelmed us and killed me. It’s playing some other sort of game.”

First sighed. “You are probably right. I wish I had any idea what else it could want, except to reassemble you.”

“Actually.” Jastes said, pausing. “Why didn’t it tear you apart too? I know it can move fast enough for that, and I know it could have put you back together. Why give you some cuts and let me carry you away?”

“Do you think it is controlling me?” It sounded frightened at the thought. “I sectioned myself off, long ago…so that I would not be all connected, could talk to my later versions as distinct individuals, would not lose my mind to solitude. But, if it has truly found a way to bend the others to its will…”

It sounded upset. Jastes didn’t blame it. But he had to check.

“I’m sorry.” He said, grim. “I need to open you up and see if it left any way to control you. If I accidentally took you back to the surface and Recent was in your head, I’d be putting everyone in danger.”

It sighed, tail thudding against the floor.

“I will shut myself down temporarily. Take me to the insects when you need to revive me.”

All he heard was a click, and the light in its eyes went out. They were open, but the glass - or whatever substance it was - was now a lifeless gray instead of glowing green.

Jastes took a deep breath, and took out his mechanic’s tools from his sylladex.

Everything always seemed to lead to him opening up a thinkpan.

He didn’t notice the insects watching behind him. Why would he pay them any mind? They had fixed First.

Their wings fluttered, compound eyes watching the yellowblood’s every move. 

Witnessing. Recording.

Communicating. 

[cloudbattrolls]

The Tempering

Jastes Verdan | The Spine | Present Night

Daylight burned in his city up above, and Jastes stared up at the massive structure that had lain undisturbed beneath Civitrecce for so long, until its former occupant had lured him below its surface.

The Spine.

It wasn’t an idle name. The structure looked like a series of giant vertebrae, each nearly the size of a car, strung with heavy swaths of pink biowire glistening in the low electric lights. It ran up the side of the ancient building, clinging to the wall like it was part of some giant organism. 

The last time he’d seen it, it had been withered to yellow after the exit of its occupant.

The helms that had powered it - most of them killed by Jamie during the fight with Process - had been removed perigees ago. It was empty of life, aside from some spiders and pill bugs. Trolls came to work on it sometimes, as evidenced by the replacement biowire; cross sections of dissected old material and stripped-open tech littered the wide room - but none were here now. 

The only sound that could be heard, underground as he was, was a faint thrumming. 

The Spine might not be active. 

But it was not the only thing down here. 

According to its former inhabitant, it was the path to the guardian artifice.

Before he had come here, Jastes had visited the AI-turned-troll a final time.

Please don’t go, Jastes, Process had begged. Actually begged, eyes wide. 

This is probably a trap. I have warned Chimer as well, but she has too much to do to fully prepare in case it gets free. 

So what if it is? He’d shot back, irritated. You trapped me too, and I beat you.

With Jamie’s help, they’d murmured, and he’d scowled. The artifice has capabilities I do not. It was made in part to compensate for what I cannot do, bound by my code.

You don’t have code anymore, he’d said roughly. Insensitively, perhaps.

Their yellow eyes had looked distant. Lost. 

No, I don’t, they’d quietly agreed. 

Jastes shook his head. Why was he worried about what Process might be feeling? It served them right, losing their abilities. Now they couldn’t manipulate people the way they had before.

This system might be dangerous, but he was heading in prepared. It wouldn’t trick him, no matter how well it had been programmed. It was just a machine, even if a hybrid one, and he was a troll.

Find its power source, the resistance had advised. Cut it as soon as you can, so you can study it without interference. You won’t be able to communicate with us that deep down, but we’ll compile notes for you on what tech you’ll likely encounter and how to handle it.

Process had said it had various generators and backups, so that made things a little more annoying. He’d admit his ancestor had planned well; clearly they had been serious about preserving their work until it could surface again.

Yet they had also been the one to seal it away in the first place.

Why did they do that instead of using it? He’d asked Process. Did they figure it was better to surrender? That fewer people would die?

Process had looked solemn.

Torvah was worried for the artifice. It was new back then. They knew it couldn’t hold against a full imperial invasion, and they didn’t want it taken and used against them or their people. 

Worried? Jastes said, skeptical. Why? 

They felt protective toward their creation. It was important to them on a personal level as well. 

That’s stupid, said Jastes bluntly. It’s a security system, not a troll.

Process had been silent for several moments, then spoke with a trace of disdain in its usually flat voice.

It has feelings as we do.

They had refused to tell him any more after that.

Fine. He’d gotten what he needed. 

He wasn’t planning on trying to damage the thing more than necessary anyway; he just found Process’s attitude ridiculous and inconsistent. Terrified of the danger the artifice posed in one breath, asking him to take it out gently in another. 

Jastes shook his head, walking closer to the base of the Spine. He had to get down there. Which meant…

He put a hand to the generator’s slightly damp tissue, changing his brain to tech and tapping into the signal Process had told him about. The one that would guide him deep down into what once been a jade cavern, defunct before Civitrecce had ever been thought of. 

Ever wary, he had a firewall in his mind as he had when they had tried to take over his body, just in case this was some version of the same trick.

But he felt only the signal, instantly translated by his brain into coordinates he had to follow in AI form. For this place was nowhere he could reach in physical form, Process had warned. Not only because of its location, but due to how Torvah had chosen to protect the artifice. 

He would have to remain at least partially tech at all times to survive down there, at such pressure, with minimal oxygen available. He’d brought food and water with him, enough to last a week. Hopefully it wouldn’t take nearly that long…but it paid to be prepared. 

He’d even packed a filtration mask, for Process had also warned him that the ambient bacteria down there was over five hundred sweeps different from the surface kind; he didn’t want to catch some awful disease he had no resistance against.

Jastes took a breath in and slowly exhaled it. He was prepared. He could do this. 

With a crackle of green energy, he turned to an AI, and leapt into the biowire, following it further underground.

It took only seconds to find what he was looking for.

A screen to exit out of. Just one, that faced an…empty room. A strange and bare one aside from the screen, with deep grooves cut into the tile floor and walls, even the rocky ceiling. 

He double checked. Nope, this was the only screen connected to the Spine. 

That seemed unlikely.

His eyes narrowed. Maybe Process was right after all. Was he being trapped, corralled to this one spot? He couldn’t see an ambush lying in wait, but there were no sensors for him to tap into to gather data on anything that might be cloaked by tech or otherwise out of sight.

He would have to risk it.

He stepped out, putting his breathing mask on quickly as a precaution, yet the place was oddly clear of dust - it was just those deep grooves making the floor uneven, forcing him to watch his step. Did the artifice clean it? 

He felt the thrumming again, closer and stronger now. It was probably the generators.

Nothing jumped out at him. There was no one here, so far as he could tell. Aside from the thrumming and his own quiet breathing, the silence sat heavy in the small space. His heart beat with anticipation against his rib cage.

Jastes didn’t trust the seeming lack of presence at all. It had to be here somewhere. The place wasn’t that big, supposedly; aside from the generators, Process had told him it was only a few rooms and hallways. The rest of the cavern was thoroughly caved in, and had been for centuries.

Then the yellowblood realized; even if they had been honest - admittedly, it seemed they had so far - their knowledge was over four hundred sweeps out of date. Perhaps the artifice had built more since then. 

Hardly a comforting thought.

But why the - he grimaced as his shoelaces nearly got caught and tripped him in one of the shallow scrapes in the floor - grooves? What had caused them? 

Cautiously, his laser tech at the ready, he walked out of the small room into a rocky cavern passageway. Thankfully this part was fairly unmarked. 

It split into left and right corridors. Of course it did. 

He looked both ways. Nothing. The place was dimly lit by scattered greenish lights that reminded him of his own psiionic color, that was all. 

Should he scout ahead with his connected robots? Or was it unwise to do anything that might alert the artifice he was coming?

Unless it already knew he was here. It was a security system, after all, and it might have ensured he came out at that screen in particular.

But if it knew, what was it waiting for?

A ripple of laughter came hot on the heels of something frantically running down one of the corridors and Jastes jumped out of its way.

“Follow me! It’s coming!”

More laughter, and Jastes could see, faintly, whirring blades and brighter green lights down the hall.

He watched a second and the blades grew bigger. More numerous. A whirling, advancing death trap bearing down at speed, the noise of machinery accompanied by the continued maniacal mirth of whatever intelligence controlled it. 

He turned and sprinted after the fleeing figure, who was moving even faster than he was, somehow - it couldn’t be organic, at least not entirely - and he followed it through a maze of more passages, nearly losing sight of it at times.

It had a tail.

A big one.

That was the only part of it he could see clearly in the dim light and his brief glimpses of it. He could feel the blades reaching out for him, flurries buffeting his hair from behind from their missed swipes before he pulled ahead. 

He was grateful his mask still allowed him high oxygen intake, that his limbs and blood were currently augmented as his booted feet thudded across the stone.

Finally the figure ducked into another room and beckoned him in. He leapt in after it with a final effort, lungs burning. With a chirring noise from the figure, a solid steel door slammed shut behind them. He immediately tensed, knowing this was the safer option but still wary of being locked in. 

It sighed, and raised its hands in a gesture of surrender as the lowblood caught his breath. 

Jastes stared, now that he could see it clearly, this room lit by slightly brighter green illumination than the passages had. 

The creature didn’t have a face, not one like a troll’s - rather it had a metal face plate, with hornlike protrusions coming off of it, pointing straight up. It had solid green eyes - the same color as his psi and the lights, a slight rise mimicking a nose, and a small triangular gap for a mouth. From behind this plate grew a wild mane of hair, and the figure had a body that looked troll-shaped under its dull gray clothing, worn and ragged from age and use. 

Its arms and hands had visible metal and artificial parts showing, though ‘hands’ was a generous description. The digits were mostly a series of interlocking blades affixed to basic padding over a metal frame. 

The workmanship was kind of shoddy, honestly. Old-looking, at the very least.

The big kangaroo-like tail had a fluffy tip, slowly swishing back and forth with what he guessed was anxiety, though he’d never been close to a tailed troll before. Though this clearly wasn’t a troll.

“Who are you?”

The words spilled out of his mouth. The first of the thousand questions he had for the creature. 

“I am the First.” It said, its voice mechanical sounding, but not like Process’s had been, all smooth digital tones. Instead it sounded a bit gravelly and strained, like speaking was difficult for it.

“The first body of the artifice.” It added, then shrank bank as Jastes raised a hand. “Please. I am not the one who chased you. Let me explain.”

“Okay.” He said, arm still raised, ready in case it tried anything.

“The artifice - me - has many bodies. The bodies have different minds. Different versions of the same mind, more accurately. I - the more advanced versions of me - can manipulate my - our - emotions and personalities to our preferences.”

It paused, possibly thinking, but the lack of brows and a movable mouth made it hard to tell.

“We are all…leaves, I would say, from the same plant. Does that make sense? Copies all tweaked to their own liking, developed from their own experiences. I was the first one Torvah made. Thus, the mask.” It said, tapping its face. 

“They weren’t so good at faces then.” It said with a slight chuckle, then coughed.

Jastes silently absorbed that information.

“So you did something to piss one of the other versions off?”

It shook its head meekly, its sharp fingers clutching each other. 

“The newest version is…aggressive. Bored, aggressive because of it. It likes to take us apart.” It said with a quiver in its voice. “Especially me…I think it hates me in particular.”

“Good job, Torvah. You gave your deadly security system the ability to hate.” Jastes said dryly, extremely unimpressed with his ancestor. 

“Please don’t blame them…well…not for that.” It said, wringing its hands more. 

Then it hit Jastes.

“Wait. So it takes you apart, but then it puts you back together? Then does it again?”

The First nodded.

“Yes, I can repair myself and recycle my parts. That is how I’ve lasted so long. Though…”

It trailed off. Jastes sighed with impatience.

“I was meant to be dormant.” It admitted. “I was supposed to stay in stasis until I was woken up and completed.”

“Why didn’t you do that?” He asked bluntly.

Its solid green eyes looked away from his, down at the wrecked tile floor. The tip of its tail flicked.

“I didn’t know if I would ever wake up again. I was afraid.”

Jastes put a hand to his forehead.

“Torvah, you stupid, stupid bastard.” He said through gritted teeth. “Sure, let’s give it feelings and fears and multiple personalities. That’s a great idea. I can’t believe them.”

He dragged both hands down his face, feeling less tense but extremely frustrated.

“You would rather I wasn’t a person?” It sounded hurt.

Jastes groaned.

“I’d rather I wasn’t just given a major ethical dilemma to grapple with.” He said, sighing. “You seem fine so far. But Process wasn’t kidding about it being a disaster if the newest version got free. If it can’t be controlled, it needs to stay down here.”

“I am supposed to be autonomous.” It said quietly. “Not a mindless robot.”

“It tried to kill me, completely unprovoked.” Jastes said dryly. “Unlike you, I can’t be put back together if that happens.”

Then he paused, a truly unpleasant thought occurring to him.

“Unless…”

It nodded.

“I don’t know for certain. But I think it wishes to kill you and reassemble you to its liking, so it can use your psiionics to free itself.”

Jastes let out a long, disgusted breath through gritted teeth.

“Then Process was right. Again.” He said, grim. “I hate owing it an apology, but when I make it out of here, I’ll give it one.” He said with a trace of dry humor.

“About that…” the First said hesitantly.

“It sealed off the Spine.” Jastes said offhand. Basic tactics; anyone could guess that.

It nodded, tail drooping sadly.

“There is only one way out.” The system said, looking at the door. “You will have to disable it and destroy its seal. I will help you, but you must take me with you when you leave.”

Jastes was far from thrilled by that, but he didn’t exactly have other options, so he nodded.

“I’d shake on it, but…” He said with a bit of morbid humor as he looked at the bladed hands. The artifice hid them behind its back - was it self-conscious?

A slightly awkward pause ensued.

“I…sorry.” He said. “I shouldn’t have made that joke.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, flushing slightly yellow.

Its tail lifted a little. 

“I will tell you all I know, and we can plan our path and how to defeat my other bodies.”

“Should we really do that here?” Jastes asked. “I know the other one might still be hunting us, but what if it just rips through the door? Should we try to get somewhere safer?”

Come to think of it, why hadn’t it already caught up to them and tried that, if it wanted him dead?

The First shook its head, coughing slightly again.

“It cannot get through the door. We are safe for the moment.”

—

Outside the steel barrier, a mass of blades and interwoven biotech parts sat, almost relaxed looking, if such a word could be applied to something that had only a vague suggestion of a troll-shaped body.

With a few finger-like extremities, it reached out to touch the solid steel.

So secure. How nice. 

It stretched out, weaponry rippling in an incongruously organic movement to the metal and sharp angles making up so much of it, and swept off into the depths of the cavern, humming an amused tune.

[cloudbattrolls]

Fun Arty fact: its eyes are naturally solid black with no green slit pupils or anything, it has those because of Torvah. Green is the color of the Verdan line's psiionics.

[cloudbattrolls]

The Verdans have the issue of being good people but often screwing up anyway due to bad luck or simply having too many things stacked against them.

Torvah and Jastes both want to use their abilities to help people; but figuring out how best to do that can be a real bastard of a problem.