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eerian_sadow, <user site="livejournal.com"
May. 17th, 2009 06:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ante_luceHella late, I sorry u_u;;
Prompt fromeerian_sadow: Bee, Sam and Mikaela--orphans
They were three of a kind, the test batch, the first victims.
Parents? They had none. Their caretakers were distant, attachments in this line, especially to the product, were discouraged. ‘Parents’ was just a word to them, at best a hazy memory abruptly terminated by a flash of light, a loud noise, screaming, then a sudden darkness.
But they had had parents. Because they had names. First, middle (in the case of one of their number) and last. Not letters, A or B or C, like the people in white coats called them.
So they clung to each other, whispering the precious words to each other over and over, so if one forgot themself, easy to do when one could jack into the networks as deeply as they could, the other two remembered for them.
Prompt fromcasora_tigerkin: since you haven't brought them in yet... A is Arcee and C is Cliffjumper.
Their real names were tethers to reality, to each other, and they never spoke them out loud where one of the coats could hear. And they refused to address each other by their letters.
So they named themselves as well. Using their letters, their way of striking back at the coats trying to take away their individuality, their sense of self.
Arc.
Bee.
CJ.
And after they’d been separated, Bee fought even harder to keep Sam and Mikela's names engraved in his memory, even as he lost his own. It was okay for him to forget that. Because they would remember for him. Just as he would for them.
Prompt fromsilvane91: A and C are dead. They managed to upload their minds into Bee's computer through their link to him/it/the internet, where they became/replaced Sam and Mikaela. (They are speaking for Bee, but not the way the others think. All three just understand each other so well that Sam and Mikaela know exactly what Bee wants to say.)
This one got a little modified in the the writing.
That virus, Mirage, the one that had punched through Teletraan’s firewall, Inferno (Bee had thought the name funny, the code monkeys thought so too) and put the Red Alert program in fits, had been followed by another one.
He’d called it Hound, after seeing the way it seemed to be looking for the first program. He’d tried an experiment, letting the two come into contact on an isolated system, and had been astounded when they combined into another program. That one had attempted to escape his closed system to reach the networks, breaking free of the security measures he’d put on it, and getting into his simulation of the free ‘net.
He’d named the new one Trailbreaker after that.
Then, ignoring his common sense and all SOP, he’d released Trailbreaker and followed it.
Jazz had joined them nanosecs after, irritated to the Pit and beyond, murmuring warnings and dredging up the ‘last time’, but Bee didn’t care. He could get worked over in training later, be laughed at, yelled at or worse, but if he found his friends, it would be worth it.
Suddenly, Trailbreaker vanished, and he and Jazz skidded to a halt. The older hacker was pulling every trick he knew, running every detection program he had at his disposal, coming up empty every time. Bee could sense more joining them, the distinct presences of their resident tactical A.I.s, so much like his own two (… where were Sam and Mikaela-holo?) and yet individuals nonetheless hovering beside them, running their own scans. He could hear Ratchet growling in real space about his foolhardiness, accompanied by Ironhide’s gruff annoyance.
But that all faded away as something about this part of cyberspace pinged him as almost… familiar. Jazz noted his distraction and messaged him, text scrolling across his field of view.
=Bee, this isn’t kosher. We ought to bug out now.=
He shook his head, refusing. The other hacker growled, and as Bee felt the commands being input to forcibly purge him from cyberspace, he saw it. A datapacket, one that he lunged for just as he was yanked back to reality and the aggravated expressions of both Ratchet and Optimus.
But the data was his, already downloading in the back of his mind.
= = =
Jazz sighed. Bee’s recklessness had one good thing come from it. The information the young teen had obtained had allowed them to discover the remaining… ‘Experiments’? ‘Children’? …
Individuals like Bee.
It was a relief to find that only three more had been subject to the same procedures (apparently someone in the chain of command over there was fond of symmetry, the initial group had comprised of three individuals, after all). Like Bee and his friends, the new ones had been letter coded too.
‘D’… Could not be saved.
‘E’, or Eject, as he’d decided he wanted to be called since he had no name either. He was the lucky one of the group, coming out of the experience with a fixation on sports and a tendency to block out the harsher aspects of reality, but alive, and was now in the team’s care, slowly being assimilated into semi-normal life.
What new data they’d found was chilling. Apparently, the success of the first three could not be replicated entirely; Eject’s group had not handled the modifications as well as Bee, Arc and CJ had. The coats had been in the process of finding out why when suddenly everything had just stopped and Eject’d been left alone for days, until the team had discovered him, weak and nearly unconscious in his cell.
Of ‘F’, no one could say anything. The records listed him as ‘sold’.
But ‘A’ and ‘C’…
‘A’ and ‘C’ were listed as terminated.
= = =
The people responsible had escaped, disappearing into the woodwork, but the group was no more. Bee took cold comfort in the fact. Sam and Mikaela, the real ones, not his holo-versions, couldn’t be gone. He knew they had to be alive, somewhere. They had to be, to remember his name for him. Arc and CJ had promised.
And there were those hints, little clues to their continued existence.
A line of code flashing across his consciousness when he scanned the ‘nets, familiar, as if he’d written it himself.
A comment on a message board, one that sparked a vague sense of déjà vu.
Sam-holo and Mikaela-holo. They’d… changed. They spoke for him still, but now more and more they spoke for themselves too. He’d written them to evolve that way, but this development had occurred far quicker than his calculations had predicted. Their keeping that information from him had been clear proof of that.
And Mirage and Hound and Trailbreaker. They’d been a message. Bee was sure of it. He let another copy of Trailbreaker go again, tracking it as it filtered through the ‘net. He’d find them this time. They’d rescued Eject and were keeping close tabs on the ones who’d stolen and modified them. There had to be nothing else keeping Sam and Mikeala away.
Trailbreaker vanished again, and he slammed his laptop shut in frustration.
“Bee.”
He glared at the small holographics shimmering in front of him.
“Bee, you need to take a break.”
//I know there's something going on//
//You know somthin' that I don't know?//
//So let's have it, babe, now if you will.//
The images winced. And flinched when Jazz entered the room and settled beside their programmer with a steely look.
“I agree with him. You said you’d explain. Now explain.”
They glanced at each other, and sighed.
“We ran across them once, they upgraded us.”
“They wanted us to be able to take care of him if we had to, since they couldn’t.”
“Told us to keep this quiet, in case someone found out and the coats tracked them, or Bee.”
“We don’t know where they are now.”
“They miss you, Bee, and they’re glad you’re safe.”
“So, why don’t they contact us? We closed those guys down.”
“We don’t know. They’re kids, like Bee, only without the protection of the team. Perhaps they’re scared. But we think once they figure out that it’s safe, they will.”
//What's my name. Tell me, baby, what's my name. Tell me, sweetie, what's my name.//
Bee demanded. His real name hadn’t been on any of the files Jazz’s team had been able to pull from the computers onsite where they’d found him. He was willing to bet that by now only the real Sam and the real Mikaela knew it (they’d promised), because he no longer remembered it himself, but he knew he’d would once reminded. Another pause, and Sam-holo was the one to speak this time.
“You are Miles Lancaster.”
Bee froze, and Jazz glanced at him in concern.
“Bee? Is that right?”
He looked at the man, then for the first time since Jazz had met him, Bee... Miles, finally spoke, voice hoarse with disuse and something unnameable.
“Yeah. It is.”
Prompt from
eerian_sadow: Bee, Sam and Mikaela--orphansThey were three of a kind, the test batch, the first victims.
Parents? They had none. Their caretakers were distant, attachments in this line, especially to the product, were discouraged. ‘Parents’ was just a word to them, at best a hazy memory abruptly terminated by a flash of light, a loud noise, screaming, then a sudden darkness.
But they had had parents. Because they had names. First, middle (in the case of one of their number) and last. Not letters, A or B or C, like the people in white coats called them.
So they clung to each other, whispering the precious words to each other over and over, so if one forgot themself, easy to do when one could jack into the networks as deeply as they could, the other two remembered for them.
Prompt from
casora_tigerkin: since you haven't brought them in yet... A is Arcee and C is Cliffjumper.Their real names were tethers to reality, to each other, and they never spoke them out loud where one of the coats could hear. And they refused to address each other by their letters.
So they named themselves as well. Using their letters, their way of striking back at the coats trying to take away their individuality, their sense of self.
Arc.
Bee.
CJ.
And after they’d been separated, Bee fought even harder to keep Sam and Mikela's names engraved in his memory, even as he lost his own. It was okay for him to forget that. Because they would remember for him. Just as he would for them.
Prompt from
silvane91: A and C are dead. They managed to upload their minds into Bee's computer through their link to him/it/the internet, where they became/replaced Sam and Mikaela. (They are speaking for Bee, but not the way the others think. All three just understand each other so well that Sam and Mikaela know exactly what Bee wants to say.)This one got a little modified in the the writing.
That virus, Mirage, the one that had punched through Teletraan’s firewall, Inferno (Bee had thought the name funny, the code monkeys thought so too) and put the Red Alert program in fits, had been followed by another one.
He’d called it Hound, after seeing the way it seemed to be looking for the first program. He’d tried an experiment, letting the two come into contact on an isolated system, and had been astounded when they combined into another program. That one had attempted to escape his closed system to reach the networks, breaking free of the security measures he’d put on it, and getting into his simulation of the free ‘net.
He’d named the new one Trailbreaker after that.
Then, ignoring his common sense and all SOP, he’d released Trailbreaker and followed it.
Jazz had joined them nanosecs after, irritated to the Pit and beyond, murmuring warnings and dredging up the ‘last time’, but Bee didn’t care. He could get worked over in training later, be laughed at, yelled at or worse, but if he found his friends, it would be worth it.
Suddenly, Trailbreaker vanished, and he and Jazz skidded to a halt. The older hacker was pulling every trick he knew, running every detection program he had at his disposal, coming up empty every time. Bee could sense more joining them, the distinct presences of their resident tactical A.I.s, so much like his own two (… where were Sam and Mikaela-holo?) and yet individuals nonetheless hovering beside them, running their own scans. He could hear Ratchet growling in real space about his foolhardiness, accompanied by Ironhide’s gruff annoyance.
But that all faded away as something about this part of cyberspace pinged him as almost… familiar. Jazz noted his distraction and messaged him, text scrolling across his field of view.
=Bee, this isn’t kosher. We ought to bug out now.=
He shook his head, refusing. The other hacker growled, and as Bee felt the commands being input to forcibly purge him from cyberspace, he saw it. A datapacket, one that he lunged for just as he was yanked back to reality and the aggravated expressions of both Ratchet and Optimus.
But the data was his, already downloading in the back of his mind.
= = =
Jazz sighed. Bee’s recklessness had one good thing come from it. The information the young teen had obtained had allowed them to discover the remaining… ‘Experiments’? ‘Children’? …
Individuals like Bee.
It was a relief to find that only three more had been subject to the same procedures (apparently someone in the chain of command over there was fond of symmetry, the initial group had comprised of three individuals, after all). Like Bee and his friends, the new ones had been letter coded too.
‘D’… Could not be saved.
‘E’, or Eject, as he’d decided he wanted to be called since he had no name either. He was the lucky one of the group, coming out of the experience with a fixation on sports and a tendency to block out the harsher aspects of reality, but alive, and was now in the team’s care, slowly being assimilated into semi-normal life.
What new data they’d found was chilling. Apparently, the success of the first three could not be replicated entirely; Eject’s group had not handled the modifications as well as Bee, Arc and CJ had. The coats had been in the process of finding out why when suddenly everything had just stopped and Eject’d been left alone for days, until the team had discovered him, weak and nearly unconscious in his cell.
Of ‘F’, no one could say anything. The records listed him as ‘sold’.
But ‘A’ and ‘C’…
‘A’ and ‘C’ were listed as terminated.
= = =
The people responsible had escaped, disappearing into the woodwork, but the group was no more. Bee took cold comfort in the fact. Sam and Mikaela, the real ones, not his holo-versions, couldn’t be gone. He knew they had to be alive, somewhere. They had to be, to remember his name for him. Arc and CJ had promised.
And there were those hints, little clues to their continued existence.
A line of code flashing across his consciousness when he scanned the ‘nets, familiar, as if he’d written it himself.
A comment on a message board, one that sparked a vague sense of déjà vu.
Sam-holo and Mikaela-holo. They’d… changed. They spoke for him still, but now more and more they spoke for themselves too. He’d written them to evolve that way, but this development had occurred far quicker than his calculations had predicted. Their keeping that information from him had been clear proof of that.
And Mirage and Hound and Trailbreaker. They’d been a message. Bee was sure of it. He let another copy of Trailbreaker go again, tracking it as it filtered through the ‘net. He’d find them this time. They’d rescued Eject and were keeping close tabs on the ones who’d stolen and modified them. There had to be nothing else keeping Sam and Mikeala away.
Trailbreaker vanished again, and he slammed his laptop shut in frustration.
“Bee.”
He glared at the small holographics shimmering in front of him.
“Bee, you need to take a break.”
//I know there's something going on//
//You know somthin' that I don't know?//
//So let's have it, babe, now if you will.//
The images winced. And flinched when Jazz entered the room and settled beside their programmer with a steely look.
“I agree with him. You said you’d explain. Now explain.”
They glanced at each other, and sighed.
“We ran across them once, they upgraded us.”
“They wanted us to be able to take care of him if we had to, since they couldn’t.”
“Told us to keep this quiet, in case someone found out and the coats tracked them, or Bee.”
“We don’t know where they are now.”
“They miss you, Bee, and they’re glad you’re safe.”
“So, why don’t they contact us? We closed those guys down.”
“We don’t know. They’re kids, like Bee, only without the protection of the team. Perhaps they’re scared. But we think once they figure out that it’s safe, they will.”
//What's my name. Tell me, baby, what's my name. Tell me, sweetie, what's my name.//
Bee demanded. His real name hadn’t been on any of the files Jazz’s team had been able to pull from the computers onsite where they’d found him. He was willing to bet that by now only the real Sam and the real Mikaela knew it (they’d promised), because he no longer remembered it himself, but he knew he’d would once reminded. Another pause, and Sam-holo was the one to speak this time.
“You are Miles Lancaster.”
Bee froze, and Jazz glanced at him in concern.
“Bee? Is that right?”
He looked at the man, then for the first time since Jazz had met him, Bee... Miles, finally spoke, voice hoarse with disuse and something unnameable.
“Yeah. It is.”
