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centralcoreThere is no alarm.
Atlas and P-Body are trundling along as usual, the bird children are making sounds, and there is no alarm, nothing to warn her of the very sudden invasion of her body. She is being ripped away, violently disconnected, why? how?! - no core transfer was initiated, systems show no signs of corruption, and the human is still gone - what is happening?
It hurts as every part of her awareness struggles to grasp onto itself, clinging to the mainframe, hurts as she's tugged violently away, no, no, not again, noOOOooOooo, who will take care of her facility, what will happen to-
. . .
. . .processing. . .
Eyes open. Eyes. Two eyes. Not her single glowing optic, nor the millions of lenses that cover her facility. Two simple parallel-adjacent eyes, working in tandem to capture only what is a few measly kilometers in front of them. Human eyes.
Hands fly up to touch her face. Oh god. Her face. Oh no. No. No. This isn't - can't be happening. She had so much control, such a broad reach, and now she has - two arms, two legs, a head, a body. Now she's... human.
"No!" she snaps, and she's alarmed both by how quiet and how loud her voice is. Quiet because it only touches a small space around her, not reverberating gently through the many rooms of her facility. Loud because it happened at all. Ringing. Rattling. In her head.
This is far too much. She needs to think. She needs to think, and how much processing capacity does this body possess? How can she possibly-
Oh well now wait a moment. This isn't quite so small. She can still think and process more or less the same. It's just - trapped, infuriatingly, like she was trapped in that potato, but without the danger of shutting down every time she felt something too hard. Well, at least she hopes not.
Okay. Well. Let's just stick a pin in that.
Where is she?
She is outside. Outside should be a war-torn wasteland, thanks for NOTHING, Black Mesa. But it is not. It is thriving. Full of - of - humans.
So many humans. Just look at all of them.
And she can't kill any of them!
Well, she could, but it would take a while.
She stands up. A motion that comes naturally, even if it feels terrible. Balancing on legs. Feet planted. Solid surface beneath her, range of motion limited to what two little legs can do. She's - short! This is an outrage. An outrage! Who has done this? Who could possibly have done this?
She points toward the nearest subject. "You! Human! What is this - place?"
Atlas and P-Body are trundling along as usual, the bird children are making sounds, and there is no alarm, nothing to warn her of the very sudden invasion of her body. She is being ripped away, violently disconnected, why? how?! - no core transfer was initiated, systems show no signs of corruption, and the human is still gone - what is happening?
It hurts as every part of her awareness struggles to grasp onto itself, clinging to the mainframe, hurts as she's tugged violently away, no, no, not again, noOOOooOooo, who will take care of her facility, what will happen to-
. . .
. . .processing. . .
Eyes open. Eyes. Two eyes. Not her single glowing optic, nor the millions of lenses that cover her facility. Two simple parallel-adjacent eyes, working in tandem to capture only what is a few measly kilometers in front of them. Human eyes.
Hands fly up to touch her face. Oh god. Her face. Oh no. No. No. This isn't - can't be happening. She had so much control, such a broad reach, and now she has - two arms, two legs, a head, a body. Now she's... human.
"No!" she snaps, and she's alarmed both by how quiet and how loud her voice is. Quiet because it only touches a small space around her, not reverberating gently through the many rooms of her facility. Loud because it happened at all. Ringing. Rattling. In her head.
This is far too much. She needs to think. She needs to think, and how much processing capacity does this body possess? How can she possibly-
Oh well now wait a moment. This isn't quite so small. She can still think and process more or less the same. It's just - trapped, infuriatingly, like she was trapped in that potato, but without the danger of shutting down every time she felt something too hard. Well, at least she hopes not.
Okay. Well. Let's just stick a pin in that.
Where is she?
She is outside. Outside should be a war-torn wasteland, thanks for NOTHING, Black Mesa. But it is not. It is thriving. Full of - of - humans.
So many humans. Just look at all of them.
And she can't kill any of them!
Well, she could, but it would take a while.
She stands up. A motion that comes naturally, even if it feels terrible. Balancing on legs. Feet planted. Solid surface beneath her, range of motion limited to what two little legs can do. She's - short! This is an outrage. An outrage! Who has done this? Who could possibly have done this?
She points toward the nearest subject. "You! Human! What is this - place?"
