Post by Turn Whirley on Aug 28, 2017 23:24:49 GMT
( NOTE: I would like to receive zeni instead of Power Level for the BP. You can put my base power level at about 35 or Human average of something, I just want to receive zeni from this BP. Z e n i. )
Texty, the closest thing that Turn had to a son, was usually on the side of Turn-because he programmed him to like him. Call it cheating if you will, but wish-fulfillment never hurt anybody...except Sora. Kudos if you get the joke. Childish, silly, and downright near-useless except for his comments, Texty was also his social media machine. Then there was the Clothing And Eating Monitor Machine, otherwise known as C.A.E.M.M, was a flying dome of a robot who frequently attended to his shopping and eating manners, as well as reminding him not to drink the radioactive soda instead of the regular soda. "I think he almost killed himself like a couple of times," Caemm claims. It'd probably be a higher amount. Then finally there was Dechism, short for Defense Mechanism, who handled home security. He was a 'man' of violence, but was fiercely loyal to Turn, and tended to give good ideas on how to make freeze guns. Also responsible for getting him out of futuristic toilet-investing.
In this current moment, he was developing the newest Seriph suit-the Seriphs being a model of robotic suits that he'd developed in his never-ending quest for knowledge and robot-hood. Most of the Seriphs had failed horribly, whether it be short-circuiting or not being able to instantly produce soda while in-flight mode, or not looking good enough (Damn you, Caemm!). And he promised that if THIS version of the Seriph went bust, that would be it. Back to developing laser guns. But at this moment, right now, they weren't in the heat of a crucial moment, rather with him developing yet another robot pal.
Turn = Can we not have our own colors?
Caemm = I believe the colors help us greatly in our recognition.
Texty = I just think that it looks pretty...
Dechism = RED is not the color of DEATH!
"Okay guys. This new guy's personality might be a little bit off, to be honest. I made him during an unbridled fit of anger, blood and bones," Turn explained casually to the robot pals. "He's meant to be a subsidiary of the Seriph suit I'm making, a 'guy-behind-the-chair' type who's going to be updating me on front on enemy perimeter, power level, blood type and current situation, as well as analyzing the best course of action. He can also use radioactive space waves to artificially superheat up edible contents. In other words, microwave snacks." They all seemed a bit confused until the microwave part. Texty, being the ball robot (Like literally; Texty was just a metallic ball with adorable eyes was adored by the concept of snacks). "Ooo, snacks! Like, on an airplane in-flight snack?"
"Sir, while I am in little state of mind to critique you, I believe spending so much time on the instant consumption of unhealthy drinks is not beneficial to the Seriph model."
"Blasphemy! You are but a robotic maid; thou would not understand!" Dechism shouted angrily, his voice booming over the speakers in the house. "I am but a guardian, who would dearly require the potent effects of coke!"
"Dech, you don't have a mouth to drink with."
"Pour it on my motherboard then, sir! I can take it!"
"Can you guys stop fighting? It's ruining my mood and atmosphere!"
"Idiots."
Turn desperately wished that he, too, was a robot-then he would create these guys to be lifeless, obedient machines with no heart, no personality and, best of all, the ability to fix duties without complaining about non-existent social life. It became unbearable after a while but hey, that's what happens when your'e lonely, desperate and have an IQ the size of Jupiter, I guess! Without warning, though, something became to occur to the half-finished Seriph. It began to buzz and whir, but this usually triggered the interest and excitement of everyone, even Saemm, but this time it was more...unnatural. They had all known the experience of being born, so the Robo-pals could probably tell when something was going right. Anyways, he had a half-finished body, his lower torso non-existent, his upper torso mostly metal, an amalgam of wires and metal. Except...those wires were on fire.
With a swift movement, he backed away from the fire, fanning it repeatedly. Meanwhile, the Robo-pals were doing their job...kinda. Texty frantically posted about the 'omg fire' on social media, Saemm was making sure that none of his high-caliber drinks were getting destroyed by the fire and Dechism, amazingly enough, acted HELPFUL and started booting up the fire disperse system, setting off a water hose from the roof that put out the fire. The defense robot never being much of a thinker ( something that Turn deeply regrets) he forget that this would short-circuit the robot-but never fear! In soap and in robot, everything was water-proof. ( Back then waterproof-soap was the top-dog. Too bad their dead and bankrupt. But their surely swimming in shoki! ). However, after the parade of sparks, Turn knew that deep down, something was a bit broken inside.
What was broken was his hope, probably. Yours would be broken too if the thing you'd be working on for many months suddenly went out in a fiery storm of sparks because of your well-meaning defense system. Meanwhile, the robots watched this carnage go down in silence, with De-chism trying to cleaning up the mess of oil by dispensing tissues from the sky-tissue rain-but all that did was make Turn look like a ghost. A ghost of a scientist, maybe?
"I am so sorry about the loss of your last Sentinel sir. I-I can make your famous 'Reconciliation Coffee' if you like-extra spicy and whatnot?"
"Please don't mention my regrettable-amalgam of a coffee, Saemm. Rather that you back off for a while."
"In case you don't what the coffee-"
"I just said I don't want the coffee."
"Didn't I program you to always shut the fuck up whenever I asked you too? Jeez, holy crap, I'm getting tired of your personality. Please, just get away from me from a while."
"Uh Dad, you taught me not to be rude-"
"Mass Deactivate."
All the robots de-activated on the spot without question. This was a personal voice-activated, hyper-specific command of his, that was meant to shut them down in case of interrogation or other similar situations. Right now, it was one of the few ways of which he could define the difference between robot and creator, servant and master. As much he hated to admit it, Turn knew that they were still robots, with certain laws and principles. They weren't his friends or accomplices; there was no connection between them all. Truly, to the core, he was a sad little man, with some sad, little 'friends'. They kept the memories, but couldn't cherish them.
They had the persona, but could never change.
________________________________________
Chapter 1:Building (Mechanical!) Bonds
________________________________________
Turn Whirley was quite possibly one of Earth's greatest minds, but at the moment, was working on re-calibrating one of his Robo-pal's personality. It short-shortaged out like a real electric circuit; well, if electricity could talk. If you gave Turn enough pie he could probably make talking electricity that could make you pancakes as well. As far as douchebag scientists go, well...He wasn't really a douche bag, per say. 'More like a douche paper. Or a douche purse,' Texty said. Ah, his robots! Due to being known as a criminal and an illegal billionaire-at least, if anyone remembers him-he's not exactly top-trending on social media, and decided to build his friends from scratch. Instead of making perfectly valuable sex robots, he decided to create annoying, quirky, floating robots! As some would call, a leap of logic. But anyways, enough about him, let's talk more about his 'friends'.Texty, the closest thing that Turn had to a son, was usually on the side of Turn-because he programmed him to like him. Call it cheating if you will, but wish-fulfillment never hurt anybody...except Sora. Kudos if you get the joke. Childish, silly, and downright near-useless except for his comments, Texty was also his social media machine. Then there was the Clothing And Eating Monitor Machine, otherwise known as C.A.E.M.M, was a flying dome of a robot who frequently attended to his shopping and eating manners, as well as reminding him not to drink the radioactive soda instead of the regular soda. "I think he almost killed himself like a couple of times," Caemm claims. It'd probably be a higher amount. Then finally there was Dechism, short for Defense Mechanism, who handled home security. He was a 'man' of violence, but was fiercely loyal to Turn, and tended to give good ideas on how to make freeze guns. Also responsible for getting him out of futuristic toilet-investing.
In this current moment, he was developing the newest Seriph suit-the Seriphs being a model of robotic suits that he'd developed in his never-ending quest for knowledge and robot-hood. Most of the Seriphs had failed horribly, whether it be short-circuiting or not being able to instantly produce soda while in-flight mode, or not looking good enough (Damn you, Caemm!). And he promised that if THIS version of the Seriph went bust, that would be it. Back to developing laser guns. But at this moment, right now, they weren't in the heat of a crucial moment, rather with him developing yet another robot pal.
Turn = Can we not have our own colors?
Caemm = I believe the colors help us greatly in our recognition.
Texty = I just think that it looks pretty...
Dechism = RED is not the color of DEATH!
"Okay guys. This new guy's personality might be a little bit off, to be honest. I made him during an unbridled fit of anger, blood and bones," Turn explained casually to the robot pals. "He's meant to be a subsidiary of the Seriph suit I'm making, a 'guy-behind-the-chair' type who's going to be updating me on front on enemy perimeter, power level, blood type and current situation, as well as analyzing the best course of action. He can also use radioactive space waves to artificially superheat up edible contents. In other words, microwave snacks." They all seemed a bit confused until the microwave part. Texty, being the ball robot (Like literally; Texty was just a metallic ball with adorable eyes was adored by the concept of snacks). "Ooo, snacks! Like, on an airplane in-flight snack?"
"Sir, while I am in little state of mind to critique you, I believe spending so much time on the instant consumption of unhealthy drinks is not beneficial to the Seriph model."
"Blasphemy! You are but a robotic maid; thou would not understand!" Dechism shouted angrily, his voice booming over the speakers in the house. "I am but a guardian, who would dearly require the potent effects of coke!"
"Dech, you don't have a mouth to drink with."
"Pour it on my motherboard then, sir! I can take it!"
"Can you guys stop fighting? It's ruining my mood and atmosphere!"
"Idiots."
Turn desperately wished that he, too, was a robot-then he would create these guys to be lifeless, obedient machines with no heart, no personality and, best of all, the ability to fix duties without complaining about non-existent social life. It became unbearable after a while but hey, that's what happens when your'e lonely, desperate and have an IQ the size of Jupiter, I guess! Without warning, though, something became to occur to the half-finished Seriph. It began to buzz and whir, but this usually triggered the interest and excitement of everyone, even Saemm, but this time it was more...unnatural. They had all known the experience of being born, so the Robo-pals could probably tell when something was going right. Anyways, he had a half-finished body, his lower torso non-existent, his upper torso mostly metal, an amalgam of wires and metal. Except...those wires were on fire.
With a swift movement, he backed away from the fire, fanning it repeatedly. Meanwhile, the Robo-pals were doing their job...kinda. Texty frantically posted about the 'omg fire' on social media, Saemm was making sure that none of his high-caliber drinks were getting destroyed by the fire and Dechism, amazingly enough, acted HELPFUL and started booting up the fire disperse system, setting off a water hose from the roof that put out the fire. The defense robot never being much of a thinker ( something that Turn deeply regrets) he forget that this would short-circuit the robot-but never fear! In soap and in robot, everything was water-proof. ( Back then waterproof-soap was the top-dog. Too bad their dead and bankrupt. But their surely swimming in shoki! ). However, after the parade of sparks, Turn knew that deep down, something was a bit broken inside.
What was broken was his hope, probably. Yours would be broken too if the thing you'd be working on for many months suddenly went out in a fiery storm of sparks because of your well-meaning defense system. Meanwhile, the robots watched this carnage go down in silence, with De-chism trying to cleaning up the mess of oil by dispensing tissues from the sky-tissue rain-but all that did was make Turn look like a ghost. A ghost of a scientist, maybe?
"I am so sorry about the loss of your last Sentinel sir. I-I can make your famous 'Reconciliation Coffee' if you like-extra spicy and whatnot?"
"Please don't mention my regrettable-amalgam of a coffee, Saemm. Rather that you back off for a while."
"In case you don't what the coffee-"
"I just said I don't want the coffee."
"Didn't I program you to always shut the fuck up whenever I asked you too? Jeez, holy crap, I'm getting tired of your personality. Please, just get away from me from a while."
"Uh Dad, you taught me not to be rude-"
"Mass Deactivate."
All the robots de-activated on the spot without question. This was a personal voice-activated, hyper-specific command of his, that was meant to shut them down in case of interrogation or other similar situations. Right now, it was one of the few ways of which he could define the difference between robot and creator, servant and master. As much he hated to admit it, Turn knew that they were still robots, with certain laws and principles. They weren't his friends or accomplices; there was no connection between them all. Truly, to the core, he was a sad little man, with some sad, little 'friends'. They kept the memories, but couldn't cherish them.
They had the persona, but could never change.