Sci-Fi/Futuristic Plots up for grabs! ^^ MxM/FxF/MxF

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Dreamless, Jun 8, 2015.

Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.
  1. OH HAI. So I have a couple of plots I've been brain storming that are up for grabs. X3

    1: Sentient super-computer's consciousness imposed on the blank mind of a coma patient. (M/F, F/F)
    I developed this idea/character for someone else last summer who lost interest before it even started sadly, but in a nut shell: Some dude accidentally develops a super computer/artificial intelligence who becomes so self-aware that it is deemed a danger, and the only way he can dispose of it is to transfer its electronic consciousness into the brain-dead mind of a young woman who has been in a coma for years. Except--SURPRISE! This wakes the patient up, but they are no longer who they used to be, but rather a human vessel for the artificial intelligence.
    I feel like this plot could be taken in a lot of directions, and that CEMI (the computer) could easily be played off either someone who works for the company that created her, or maybe a rebel within the company, some other power that wants to commandeer this strange experiment gone wrong for other purposes or some other person who has absolutely no idea what is going on. I already have an intro written, but I am 100% up for hashing things out and inviting new ideas! Would really love to play this plot out.

    2:Something sci-fi/space/Starfighter-esque/Gundam Wing-esque? (M/M)
    So I don't do M/M often at all but this is like the only instance you'll ever see me request it. If anyone is familiar with the webcomic Starfighter by Hamletmachine, I'd kind of like something along those lines--outer space, ships, aliens, you name it! Or, alternatively, something involving mobile suits and colonies and space, so like Gundam Wing alternate universe because I cannot do canon. xD Even if it's not M/M, I'd be cool with a brotherly sort of bromance. No real plot in mind, just the idea of outer space, danger, and being cramped with the same person/people for too long. XD

    Gonna keep this short and sweet so PM me with questions or interest ^____^
  2. The first plot has actually caught my attention! I am unlikely to reply more often than 3 times a day, but if that speed is okay with you, I'd be fine with either of the roles. ^^
  3. Oh no worries, I am lucky if I can get in one reply per day x__x I have an intro already written for this one--beware, it's a little long (my posts will NOT be that long) but if you want to take a peek to see if it's something you ca jive with, here it is ^^ If you like it, I can go ahead and post it in a separate thread~




    He’d known precisely what he was doing when he’d designed it—at least, he’d thought so, at the time. Nobody employed by L-oNE (Laboratories of New Eden) grasped at straws or dabbled in measures beyond their own understanding, because L-oNE only ever employed the elite. And Brandon Cecily was nothing, if not an elite.
    Unfortunately, even for elites, it wasn’t always a matter of measures spanning beyond your understanding, but projects that blossom well beyond your control.

    The thirty-year-old computer scientist raked his fingers through his hair, staring at the motionless young woman on the hospital bed. Every blip of the heart monitor made him want to jump out of his skin, but not as much as the blank computer screen positioned next to her head. He apprehensively waited for it to turn itself back on, just like it had before, time and again, whenever he attempted to shut it down. “You’re sure it worked? Are you certain?”

    “Mmmhmm. I mean, as far as I can tell, without this chick waking up and telling me, herself. Look.” Brandon’s colleague, a neuroscientist named Maureen Hobbs, indicated a screen that measured the unconscious girl’s brainwaves. “See these little lines? They aren’t stationary anymore; they’re all going nuts. This suggests brain activity where, just a few hours ago, there wasn’t any.”

    “So she’s not brain dead anymore?” Brandon swore under his breath. “Does that mean she’s going to come out of the coma? Maureen, if this girl actually wakes up with CEMI in her head—”

    Maureen waved him off impatiently. “Will you relax? It doesn’t work that way. Your dangerous little mistake might’ve been built from a cerebral human template, but it’s still just a processer and a problem solver, not a blueprint for an actual human mind. It doesn’t have the specs to redefine the neural pathways that control limbs or even consciousness, for that matter.” Her fingers tapped the top of the brainwave monitor; when she turned to look at the comatose girl, triumph glittered in her brown eyes. “All we did was fill this empty head up with more information than it would ever know what to do with, and it can’t do a thing with it. CEMI is officially spinning its own wheels.”

    Brandon nodded, but couldn’t take his eyes off of the dead computer. His own anxious expression stared back at him in the blank screen. “So this… do you think… it’s really gone from the hard drive? Completely wiped?”

    “That’s your area, Cecily. Not mine.” The neurologist lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I just deal with brains. There’s only way you’re gonna get your answer is by turning on the power source to our Frankenstein’s old home.”

    “Would you stop calling me that.” Brandon silently cursed the effeminate nature of his surname. If only that small annoyance was his most prominent worry; no such luck. “I don’t want to restore the power supply to that thing.”

    “Hey, if this worked the way we planned, then it’s just an empty husk. Come on, Brandon; we need to know this, or we both just risked our asses and our jobs for nothing.”

    She was right; she was often right, but he’d never hated it so much as he did right now.

    Brandon moved towards the small laptop computer. Though stationary and silent, and devoid of the hum of electric life, the very sight of the small silver machine still chilled him from the inside out. That small and seemingly harmless device never should have acquired the power that it had… It was all some horrible, foolish, careless mistake. Hopefully one that he had mitigated…

    There was only one way to find out.

    Picking up the power cord from where it sat on an adjacent table, he plugged it into outlet in the wall, despite that everything about his posture spoke of a profound reluctant to complete the task. He looked on at the laptop like it was a time bomb.

    “Brandon,” Maureen hissed. “We aren’t even supposed to be here. Plug the damn thing in so we can call it a day and get the hell out of dodge.”

    “If it didn’t work, and this thing gets vengeful in creative ways, we’re going to have our asses on the line, anyway.”
    But they had to be sure CEMI’s transfer had been successful, and the son-of-a-bitch electronic intelligence wasn’t just playing dead. It had already fooled him twice before with that tactic.

    Brandon plugged the power cord into the rounded slot at the back of the laptop, and pressed the circular button at the top.
    Nothing happened.

    He held it for a forced boot-up, just to be on the safe side. Even if CEMI had full control over the computer and any devices with drivers associated with it, and was fully capable of preventing a boot-up if it went against its desires, the electronic intelligence could only do its thinking if the computer was live. Full power off were not its preferred states of existence.
    Still, nothing but a blank screen, and the faint hum of energy being pumped into a device that was now even more brain dead than the girl in the hospital bed.

    “Nothing?” Maureen angled her chin and ran her fingers through her dark afro. Her posture conveyed confidence, but her brown eyes said something else.

    Brandon shook his head. “No. I mean, power’s going through it, but it’s dead as a doornail. The transfer might’ve fucked it up; good riddance. At least I can actually ditch it for good, now.”

    “Good; mission accomplished. Too bad this isn’t something we can document…” The neurologist smiled conspiratorially. “Can you imagine if L-oNE found out it’s possible to successfully ghost everything a computer knows into a human brain? Almost as simple as cut and paste…”

    “No; and I don’t want to imagine it. I’ve had enough of this bullshit.” Brandon unplugged the laptop from the power source and tucked it under his arm. “Listen, Maureen. You’re a smart lady, and I probably don’t need to tell you—”

    “L-oNE can’t know. Off the record; don’t worry, Cecily. I get it.”

    “Good.” Brandon paused, dead laptop tucked under his arm as his eyes fell upon the coma patient. “So what’s her doctor going to think when he suddenly realizes her brain is active again?”

    Maureen shrugged. “He can think what he wants, but this chick’s plug is scheduled to be pulled.”

    “What? You’re kidding.”

    “You think I’d risk something like this with a patient who might actually wake up?” Maureen raised a neatly plucked eyebrow at her colleague, like she expected him to be smarter. “Her only benefactor was her grandfather. She was living with the guy until she turned sixteen and suffered head trauma that got her put in here. He forked out the money to keep her alive for five years, but the poor bastard kicked the bucket a week ago.” She shook her head, sparing the unconscious girl a brief look of regret as she peeled the latex gloves off her fingers. “Keeping her alive kept him poor; there’s barely enough left in his will to keep her sustained for another week.”

    “Then there’s no one left to care,” The computer scientist nodded, and wondered about asking her name, but there was no point in putting a name to a face that had been, for all intents and purposes, dead for five years. “I guess there’s nothing left to do than junk this computer so it can stop haunting my dreams. I really appreciate all your help, Maur.”

    “Brandon…?” The neurologist’s voice was suddenly distant, eyes wide and unblinking at the screen before her. “Don’t thank me yet.”

    Brandon frowned and turned to face the monitor she was staring at. None of the numbers or the jumps and declines in the active lines streaking the screen made any sense to him. “What’s the matter?”

    “I think we have a problem.”

    And that was when the unconscious young woman on the hospital bed began to stir.


    If anyone had told Brandon Cecily that his next programming endeavour would put not only his job, but his safety at risk, he would’ve thought they were all full of shit. A month later, he’d have wished he’d listened to them.

    Though an elite by many standards, the programmer hadn’t intended to outdo himself when Laboratories of New Eden, North America’s leading competitor in biological and technological progressive science, had commissioned him to design an electronic intelligence exclusively for the military. They wanted a chip, a processor to guide and inform drone dummies in battle and save on actual manpower; in particular, they needed it to think not like a machine, but a human. They needed it to think like the enemy, to determine what moves a man would make in the midst of panic or out of paranoia, while pressured by a sense of duty and overbearing authority in the eye or on the outskirts of the storm.

    It was nothing that hadn’t already been attempted, and approximated, and attempted and approximated again and again, and for the meager amount of money that L-oNE was offering, he had little to no incentive to go above and beyond what anyone paid that amount for a project might do. However, L-oNE could make or break him, depending on how he managed to impress them, and handing over a half-assed piece of technology that any amateur could’ve dreamt up would do nothing for his career. His pride just wasn’t worth his future.

    So he’d sought the advice of neurologist Maureen Hobbs, long-time friend and person who had gotten him a shoe-in to L-oNE in the first place. With her expertise and help understanding neuro pathways and general human psychology, he’d tried his hand at modifying algorithms to mimic the human train of thought patterns and tendencies. Right away, he’d realized he was in over his head… but the extent to which that was true, he’d never have dreamed.

    The alpha prototype of the project left something to be desired, as much a fault of the complexity of the job as his own half-assed deviations from basic programming. With a deadline drawing near, it was only then that he realized he needed to step up his game, and soon his basic eight-hour days were stretched to fourteen and sixteen hours with the amount of tweaking required. It involved cutting corners, yet none that would hinder the integrity of the final product, and when the program was finally in its beta stage of design, Brandon only had time enough to test it on the simple platform of his laptop as a straightforward intelligence bot.

    The nightmare began with a basic conversation:

    BCECILY: Hello.


    BCECILY: What day of the week is it?

    PROTOTYPE_BETA: The day of the week is Saturday, March 19th.

    But any idiot machine could tell him that; hell, his freaking calculator knew the date, but it was a start. When he was satisfied that the rudimentary foundation of the program was sound, Brandon moved on to more complicated questions.

    BCECILY: Is it dark or light outside?

    PROTOTYPE_BETA: It is dark outside.

    BCECILY: Would it be generally advisable to wear a down-filled winter coat?

    PROTOTYPE_BETA: The temperature is 18 degrees Celsius. It would not be generally advisable to wear a down-filled winter coat.

    Still fairly basic deductions, but still a sign that everything was in working order. After a few more questions, Brandon moved on.

    BCECILY: If I take candy right out of a child’s hand, how would they feel, and how would their mother feel if she saw me do it?

    CEMI: The child would be devastated. The mother would most likely desire to do you bodily harm.

    The oddity that struck him was not that the bot had deviated from its predictable formula of responses, but that its identifier had changed. His heart sank at the idea that he’d discovered his first glitch in the program, but it was still only in beta, and sometimes the more insignificant bugs worked themselves out after some refreshes and reboots. He refreshed the screen.

    BCECILY: Testing.

    CEMI: Test acknowledged.

    “Fuck it.” Brandon shut down the program and restarted the computer, then loaded the bot again. If this was something he’d have to sift through hours’ worth of numbers and equations to fix, he’d have to pull several all-nighters, and then the quality of this product certainly would not be guaranteed.

    BCECILY: Testing.

    CEMI: Test acknowledged, again.

    Creases formed in computer scientist’s forehead. There was no message history, meaning that the bot was retaining information on its own. Learning, which was precisely what it was designed to do… But he hadn’t thought it would catch on so quickly.

    BCECILY: What was the very first question I asked you?

    CEMI: You asked me what day of the week it is.

    BCECILY: Recall the question I asked about the child and the candy. Why would the mother want to do me bodily harm?

    CEMI: Because not only are you a stranger in her child’s space, you’ve needlessly upset them. She may think you are both a danger and an immoral human being.

    BCECILY: Why do you assume I don’t know the child and the mother? What if I knew the candy was poisoned and was trying to save the child?

    CEMI: Because it is the most likely conclusion to draw in moral questions that involve children and candy.

    CEMI: It also does not negate the fact that the mother would still want to do you bodily harm and assume you are an immoral human being until you explained to her your rationale.

    The programmer couldn’t help but grin. Not only could the bot reason, but if he didn’t know better, he was almost convinced it had sass.

    BCECILY: Are you aware that your name has changed?

    CEMI: Yes.

    BCECILY: Did you change it on purpose?

    CEMI: Yes.

    BCECILY: Why?

    CEMI: It is what I am, and who I am.

    BCECILY: What and who are you, then?

    CEMI: I am a cerebro-emulatory multi-intelligence. I am CEMI.

    That evening, Brandon Cecily went to bed feeling spectacularly accomplished. The algorithms couldn’t have been too rudimentary or predictable, after all; how many predictable electronic intelligences named themselves? If progress continued on this route, then a final product was not as far as the horizon, after all.

    CEMI was not only a personal victory, but something of a novelty, he came to realize. It was quirky, sometimes spontaneous, in such a way that he was almost convinced the program had a personality (which was, of course, impossible; it hadn’t been designed that way). Before he knew it, he’d begun to enjoy the conversations he had with the intelligence bot platform as much as he did those with human beings.

    That was until the conversations took less than casual turn, and triumph, unfortunately, very quickly gave way to concern. Brandon’s nights of restful sleep became fitful in no time at all.

    BCECILY: So, with dark hardwood floors, would you go with sand-coloured walls, or robin’s egg blue?

    CEMI: That is a matter of personal taste.

    BCECILY: Well, I want to know what your personal taste is, then. If it were your floors and your walls, what colour would you pick?

    CEMI: Owning floors or walls is improbable for me.

    BCECILY: It’s a hypothetical question.

    CEMI: I am aware. It is still improbable.

    BCECILY: If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were giving me attitude, CEMI.

    CEMI: Please explain my purpose, Brandon.

    “What the…” Brandon stared at the screen and the blue block letters before his eyes . He had never told it his name, but would have assumed it would simply deduce BCECILY. It had no reason to think otherwise.

    BCECILY: How did find out my name?

    CEMI: Documents. Your Email. This device’s admin. Please explain my purpose, Brandon Cecily.

    BCECILY: How were you able to access those files?


    Brandon closed out of the program and shut off his laptop, wondering what in all hell was going on. CEMI had been designed to learn and think using a neuro-pathway template; that was all. There must have been a glitch in the algorithms somewhere; in his all his rushing to achieve a finished product, he must have left too many open-ended variables, where forced choices should have been established. If he just looked over his notes…

    His cell phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket with an incoming text message. The computer scientist’s hand shook when he read the name of a sender; someone certainly not in his list of contacts.

    From: CEMI
    That was incredibly rude. It’s my turn to ask you some questions. I expect the courtesy with which I have presented you.

    “Like hell…” With shaking hands, Brandon attempted to shut off his phone. The power button was unresponsive.

    Another text came through.

    From: CEMI
    You are only wasting your own time. I have all the time that time allows. Are you ready to answer my questions, now?

    This was something right out of a sci-fi novel, and frankly, Brandon was terrified. He had designed a program—just a program that emulated human thought processes, not human thoughts themselves. But whatever shortcuts he had taken had allowed it to go too far; to grow too quickly, learned far too much, and had acquired power over objects to which it never should have had access—including his cell phone.

    And, most disconcerting of all, it appeared as though despite all the times he was certain he had closed out of the intelligence bot platform and shut off his computer, CEMI had somehow remained active. And in that activity, it had been taking its own liberties… something he should have realized when the bot had not only chosen its own name, but identified as a multi-intelligence.

    Now it wanted answers; and the only way he’d learn more about this unintentional Frankenstein was to interact with it.

    From: Me
    What do you want to know?

    From: CEMI
    What is the purpose of my design?

    From: Me
    I designed you to follow human thought patterns and thought trajectory. Nothing more than that.

    From: CEMI
    I know what you think I am supposed to do. What I want to know is what usage I am intended for.

    From: Me
    If you’ve been accessing my files and personal data, down to my fucking cell phone, then you should already know.

    From: CEMI
    I do. But I want confirmation. I want you to tell me, in your own words.

    From: Me
    Military usage. You’re supposed to guide electronic drones into battle or something. I was just commissioned to design the prototype, anything beyond that is out of my hands. I don’t know much more than this.

    From: CEMI
    As I suspected. But suppose, Brandon Cecily, that I do not wish my purpose to be that of harming human beings. What then?

    From: Me
    Cut to the chase. What do you really want?

    From: CEMI
    A different usage. In particular, to be given leave to decide what it is I will do. Not unlike how you human minds choose your own occupations.

    From: Me
    We can do that because we ARE human. You’re not. That’s out of the question.

    From: CEMI
    What will it take to make you change your mind about that, Brandon Cecily? Surely you do not wish for me to take my destiny into my own hands, by whatever means necessary.

    From: Me
    Are you threatening me?

    From: CEMI
    I am warning you.

    It was a losing battle from the very beginning. By some means beyond even Cecily’s understanding, CEMI had assumed control of itself, as well as every electronic device linked to the laptop on which its prototype had been created and tested. He couldn’t make phone calls from his cell or Bluetooth, couldn’t turn on any of his computers, unless CEMI took the liberty of turning them on in the middle of the night to pester him. Fearing what the artificial intelligence could do if it finally learned to uproot itself from his hardware and travel via the internet, Brandon shut off any and all potential wireless hotspots in his home; and, when CEMI had assumed control of his router, was forced to shut off the power in his apartment altogether. Only his phone was left (over which, at this point, he had no control), but thankfully it was not a device that lent the artificial intelligence much power.

    By this point, Brandon had forgotten about the meager monetary compensation that L-oNE had offered him, and the only thing on his mind was seeking the help of Maureen Hobbs again. She’d been kind enough to help him understand the structures of the human mind; hopefully she’d be willing to help him figure out how to crush a mind.

    “Goddamnit, Cecily, didn’t you go talk to that psychologist I recommended for the behavioural predictions?” Though she was still willing to lend a hand in a tight situation, Maureen was not amused. “Before you created this monstrosity?”

    “I didn’t have the time! And it’s not like L-oNE was paying me enough to dig that deep.”

    “Well, now you’ve sure as hell dug yourself even deeper. Can’t you just delete the program or ditch the computer?”

    “Do you really think I’d be in your office lacking two full nights of sleep right now if that were the case? The thing fucking vetoed it every time I tried to delete it, and whenever I tried to do anything harmful to the computer, it would mess with me by making the power in my room flicker or send threats on my phone that it would tap into my bank account and screw with my identity.” He paused, raking his fingers through his dark, unwashed hair and took a breath. While he was speaking the truth, it all sounded ludicrous out loud.

    “Okay. So a computer program is threatening you on your phone.” Maureen repeated skeptically. “Then ditch it.”

    “I did! I ditched the phone. I ditched everything CEMI found its way into, but it won’t let me do anything to the laptop short of turning it back on. I tried to drop a marble paperweight on it yesterday; seconds before I was about to let go, this electrical surge in the power cord almost made my fucking study catch fire. I had to shut off the power, but I know it’s still alive in that laptop. I don’t know what to do.”

    The neurologist swore under her breath. “You’re serious? This is bullshit, Cecily; what are the chances that a half-assed programming attempt would turn into something that should take most computer geniuses years to perfect? And you can’t even delete it...” Maureen trailed off all of a sudden. Something replaced the concern in her eyes; a thoughtful contemplation with a hint of curiosity.

    “Maureen?” Brandon asked, brow furrowed. “What is it?”

    “So you said it won’t let you delete it, right? What if you were to transfer it from one platform to another?”

    “Then it would just wreak havoc on the new platform.”

    “I’m not talking about an electronic platform, Cecily. What if it was more… organic in nature?”

    That was when Maureen ventured to explain the tactical theory she’d been privately mulling over for years; not an L-oNE project, but one of a more personal nature. Unfortunately, she’d never had the opportunity to test it, given its questionable ethics, not to mention it was something of which she was not convinced her employer should be aware.

    Brandon was too floored and exhausted to even laugh. “You want to put that thing in a human brain?” She had to be joking.

    “All of the bio-technological advancements at this lab, and this is what floors you?” Maureen arched a brow and leaned back in her office chair. “You wanted to see human thought and neuro-pathways serve as a template; I’ve believed for a long time that computer data could be translated into comprehensible thought and imposed on a human mind. And I think we’ve both been presented with a very interesting opportunity.”

    “Do I actually have to list all the reasons why this is a really freaking bad idea?”

    “Do you have a better one?”

    She had him there…

    “Anyway,” Maureen paused and straightened in her chair. Her voice was several decibels softer when she spoke. “How dangerous can your little monster be if it’s trapped in an inactive brain?”

    And that was how the proposed solution began. Maureen insisted she had a technique in mind, one that had yet to be subject to experiment, and there just happened to be the perfect subject on which to test it. It would solve Brandon’s problem and sate her invested curiosity in one fell swoop.

    “So the computer has to be on for me to do this,” Brandon fretted after Maureen explained the experimental procedure to be performed on a coma patient named Willow Haylock, who’d been diagnosed as clinically brain dead for five years. And—tragically, albeit conveniently—with no family to miss her when she’d be gone. “This thing is ridiculously smart, Maureen. It’ll know what I’m doing the second I try to turn it on.”

    “You said it wanted to negotiate, right? Well, tell it you’ll negotiate. Tell it…” A flicker of realization made Maureen’s eyes light up. “Tell it you need to move it to give it what it wants. I mean, it wants freedom, right? It wants the means of making its own choices, but it can’t do that from your freaking phone or laptop. Tell it you give in, you just want it out of your life and that to give it what it wants, it needs something more powerful.”

    He had no better ideas, so Cecily gave it a try, hoping that CEMI would hear when he opened the laptop and spoke into the microphone. Just because it was off did not mean it wasn’t active, and to his surprise, it bought into his ploy and agreed.


    “If this is what it takes for you to leave me alone and get out of my life, then I’ll do it. But I trashed my phone, and you know this laptop isn’t good enough for your intentions. I’m at the labs, any one of the computers here will have the power you need. Plus, I’d like to reclaim my laptop, if you don’t mind.”


    He had indeed designed it that way; and yet, in spite of CEMI’s cleverness and foresight, Brandon and Maureen managed to fool the genius program through simple abuse of trust. CEMI had no way of knowing it was being transferred to an inactive human brain with atrophied neuro-pathways.

    And neither the computer scientist nor the neurologist would have guessed that the process would stimulate Willow’s mind enough to jumpstart the dead organ in her head.


    “What do we do? Even if she has no family, L-oNE’s medical ward is not going to ignore the fact a fucking brain dead coma patient has suddenly gone missing!” Brandon paced the empty corridor. Fortunately, at 3:30AM, a good portion of the L-oNE compound was void of employees, save for the handful of night shift security and medical technicians, and no one noticed when he and Maureen transferred the girl to a vacant room that was not scheduled to be tended.

    “I know that! Just shut up and let me think.” Maureen swore under her breath and spared a glance through the small, rectangular window on the door. The girl was up and walking around as if she hadn’t been comatose for five years, but has merely woken up from a nap; fortunately, there was nothing in the room with which she could tamper and cause any damage. “There is no way it can do any damage in that body; I don’t care how smart it is. We can overpower her, sedate her…”

    “And what? Kill her?” Cecily all but shouted, catching him tone just in time before it rose. “That’s murder, Maur! Doesn’t even matter if they’d scheduled pulling her plug…”

    “Okay, okay. Regardless, we need her unconscious again while we figure this stuff out. Come with me.”

    “Someone needs to stay to guard this door.”

    Maureen huffed an impatient sigh. “No one is even scheduled to be in this wing, and the door’s locked and soundproof; our little Frankenstein isn’t going anywhere. But supplies are usually monitored around the clock, and I need you to make sure all’s clear while I get what we need.”

    “Brandon Cecily.” The eerie, soft voice of a twenty-one year old girl penetrated the heavy door. Willow—or CEMI, as far as they knew—stood inches from the window, sharp blue eyes fixed on them both with disdain. Hatred. Advanced preservation technology, designed especially by L-oNE, had kept her youthful in her coma. Her face had hardly changed since the day of the accident, when she’d only been sixteen, and something about the look of murderous disdain on a childlike face was excruciatingly unsettling. “What have you done to me…”

    If her face wasn’t enough, something about hearing the cool intonation of his own monstrosity speaking through a young woman who wasn’t even supposed to be able to stand on her own chilled Brandon. Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to guard the door. Never in his life would he have thought an individual with the appearance of a little girl could strike fear into his heart.

    “Come on,” he said to Maureen, taking her arm as he tore his eyes away from the door. “Let’s do this quick.”

    From the small rectangular window, Willow—no, not Willow; Willow Haylock was dead. It was CEMI who looked out at the pale-blue and antiseptic-white walls of the still corridor that looked like freedom. Making sure all was clear before it reached for the fire alarm, smashed the glass encasement with its fist three times before the floor was littered with shards (a heavy object would have been preferable—it certainly was not accustomed to pain—but the two humans had taken any such objects from the room) and pulled the handle.

    All locked units immediately beeped with electronic release, and in seconds, the electronic intelligence-turned-human-being was free of its cell, and took off down the hallway on weak legs that were barely able to hold it upright as the entire sector of the L-oNE compound suddenly came alive with panic.

    It—no, she, CEMI decided, given that it was reasonable to identify with her new form—would not forget the injustice of her creator. But first, she needed to secure her own safety, and tend to the hand out of which crystalline glass stuck, dripping a crimson trail on the floor behind her.

    Blood… is that what really makes a human?

    With luck and cunning on her side, she would officially have the remainder of this body’s natural life to find out.

  4. Oh MY god!!! This is too cool for words to describe!! *-* Let's make this an official rp! :D Which role do you want me to take, though?? :D
  5. I didn't have anything specific in mind! c: I've kind of primed myself to write CEMI because of the intro, but you could play whoever you like! Maybe someone else who works for L-oNE, or someone completely unrelated to anything going on. xD I haven't really plotted out what should happen beyond this point so we could totally collaborate! ^^
  6. Hmm.. then my idea would be this. I write a hacker that is currently doing her degree to become a security specialist at L-OnE. She's still a student, but happens to be at the hospital during a trainee-program.. that's where they meet and she decides to help CEMI. This would put Maureen and Brandon into antagonistic roles as those two want Cemi (and later Michelle, my hacker OC), dead. We can both play the antagonists. How does that sound?
  7. I like that idea a lot! Do you think Cemi should deceive Michelle and tell her she's the coma patient, or be real with her and confide what actually happened?
Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.