Consciousness shifted, a darker edge moved over Blacks mind, from elf to Necron.
His mind reached out, connecting via the datalink to the place known as the Matrix, his neural cortex acting as CPU, SPU and datachips.
His requirement for a hardware deck, gone some 2 years ago.
<<<Welcome to Oakland CFS RTG Telecommunications Grid>>>
Oaklands grid resembled a combination of archaic buildings of gigantic proportions and immense oak trees, the paving slabs of the first square rippled under electronic seismic force of his landing. The atmosphere around him had the consistency of a liquid or gel, ripple like bubbles opened around his head feeding him infomercials and pay for use subscriptions.
Ignoring them Necron turned, looking for his data quarry, identifying a potential trail the war-machine thundered across the cities LTGs.
IC - Neura Flux
Moderators: arcanus, Otto, Black
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Black
- Runner
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- Joined: Fri Jan 09, 2009 3:29 pm
Necron ignored the constant commercial bombardments as he followed the trail across the virtual city.
Despite concentrating on his objective Necron was still aware of Black and his goals.
As he moved from node to node the dark icon knocked up a quick database of information for Angel and Drake...
'Op-Centre'. Upon reflection Necron/Black thought the title a little cheesy, but it was hard to shake the phraseology that had been ingrained into him by Transys.
Op-Centre was a sub-basement in an old warehouse on the corner of 6th and Embarcadero East, just on the southern side of the Nimitz Freeway.
Not long after finding themselves rooted in Oakland, Silk and Black had acquired the dilapidated half of the warehouse that had once been a local Fed-Ex distribution centre.
It was ideal, or more precisely, the secure sub-basement was. The building had power, illegally rooted from neighbouring properties, and the sub-basement's armoured door was ultra secure.
Not that many people ventured down there anyway. Although this was gang territory which tended to discourage non-locals, even the gang members preferred not to enter. It was something to do with the VITAS III warning notices plastered on the outside of the property.
The truth was the building was healthy, Silk had had the place checked out. Safe of course was a different word. Structurally the building was in need of some TLC but that just went to enhance the local's lack of desire to trespass.
On the 'system' the building was owned by a small courier firm that on paper had all but gone bust. The fact that the company never did a minute of trading was besides the point.
Black and Silk had spent the last two years making sure the place remained anonymous and building up a rapport with the local gangers, helping them out with a few things that were beyond their capabilities.
Black got the impression that Silk was building himself an army and had wondered if this was his way of alleviating any guilt he felt about having to abandon the Signs gang in Chicago, what was it now, two, three years ago?
For Black it was almost second nature. This sort of thing was what he had been created and trained for. Infiltrating an area, building up a network of contacts and safe houses. It was like working for Transys Neuronet again. Only this time he got to choose the place, the people, the jobs. This was better.
Ten metres below the ground, Caliburn Black lay on one of the bunk beds he and silk had liberated from the Naval Base on Alameda.
Angel and Drake were dining on some of the ration packs from the larder out in the main room prior to retiring for the evening.
From a small data-socket on the wall at the head of Black's bunk a micro-fine cable led to the induction datajack on the side of the elf's head.
Mentally engaging with the matrix, Necron surged forth through the local system.
In the main room the bank of monitors flickered on causing Angel a moment of concern until the image of Necron appeared on the brightening screens.
"Mr Angel, Mr Drake" The virtual creature greeted the two men sat at the small table.
"I am going in search of the footage from the camera overlooking Site 3. All of the information we have gleaned so far is on this computer."
With that all but one of the monitors went blank. The remaining image showed the Necron standing in the Virtual representation of Englewood.
Rapidly the dark machine advanced on the camera's location.
Despite concentrating on his objective Necron was still aware of Black and his goals.
As he moved from node to node the dark icon knocked up a quick database of information for Angel and Drake...
'Op-Centre'. Upon reflection Necron/Black thought the title a little cheesy, but it was hard to shake the phraseology that had been ingrained into him by Transys.
Op-Centre was a sub-basement in an old warehouse on the corner of 6th and Embarcadero East, just on the southern side of the Nimitz Freeway.
Not long after finding themselves rooted in Oakland, Silk and Black had acquired the dilapidated half of the warehouse that had once been a local Fed-Ex distribution centre.
It was ideal, or more precisely, the secure sub-basement was. The building had power, illegally rooted from neighbouring properties, and the sub-basement's armoured door was ultra secure.
Not that many people ventured down there anyway. Although this was gang territory which tended to discourage non-locals, even the gang members preferred not to enter. It was something to do with the VITAS III warning notices plastered on the outside of the property.
The truth was the building was healthy, Silk had had the place checked out. Safe of course was a different word. Structurally the building was in need of some TLC but that just went to enhance the local's lack of desire to trespass.
On the 'system' the building was owned by a small courier firm that on paper had all but gone bust. The fact that the company never did a minute of trading was besides the point.
Black and Silk had spent the last two years making sure the place remained anonymous and building up a rapport with the local gangers, helping them out with a few things that were beyond their capabilities.
Black got the impression that Silk was building himself an army and had wondered if this was his way of alleviating any guilt he felt about having to abandon the Signs gang in Chicago, what was it now, two, three years ago?
For Black it was almost second nature. This sort of thing was what he had been created and trained for. Infiltrating an area, building up a network of contacts and safe houses. It was like working for Transys Neuronet again. Only this time he got to choose the place, the people, the jobs. This was better.
Ten metres below the ground, Caliburn Black lay on one of the bunk beds he and silk had liberated from the Naval Base on Alameda.
Angel and Drake were dining on some of the ration packs from the larder out in the main room prior to retiring for the evening.
From a small data-socket on the wall at the head of Black's bunk a micro-fine cable led to the induction datajack on the side of the elf's head.
Mentally engaging with the matrix, Necron surged forth through the local system.
In the main room the bank of monitors flickered on causing Angel a moment of concern until the image of Necron appeared on the brightening screens.
"Mr Angel, Mr Drake" The virtual creature greeted the two men sat at the small table.
"I am going in search of the footage from the camera overlooking Site 3. All of the information we have gleaned so far is on this computer."
"Enter your name to gain access. Feel free to add anything I have missed." The Necron's guttural tones vibrated off the thick stone walls. "I hope not to encounter any resistance, however, I can never be sure. If there is anything you require of me whilst I am here, type it on the silver keyboard."See the Forum Database!!
With that all but one of the monitors went blank. The remaining image showed the Necron standing in the Virtual representation of Englewood.
Rapidly the dark machine advanced on the camera's location.
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arcanus
- Site Admin
- Posts: 1775
- Joined: Wed Dec 26, 2007 7:18 pm
Throughout the archaic buildings threads of violet light flickered across the virtua streets, akin to old style telephone wires that used to run between buildings.
Standing upon a square amongst the Net IDs of various smaller corps, Necron analysed each thread with predatory interest.
'There you are'
As soon as he stepped into the square a series of multilayered transparent screens morphed into existance, creating a barrier between a snooper and the corp IO Gateways.
The flash or transmission of ID, real or false and the Firewalls dropped away, accessing the sub-layers of this grid, Necron opend an IO tube, a gateway of light within the middle of the square.
Stepping through he rocketed along the tunnel, until he arrived at the CCTV Node.
Standing upon a square amongst the Net IDs of various smaller corps, Necron analysed each thread with predatory interest.
'There you are'
As soon as he stepped into the square a series of multilayered transparent screens morphed into existance, creating a barrier between a snooper and the corp IO Gateways.
The flash or transmission of ID, real or false and the Firewalls dropped away, accessing the sub-layers of this grid, Necron opend an IO tube, a gateway of light within the middle of the square.
Stepping through he rocketed along the tunnel, until he arrived at the CCTV Node.
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arcanus
- Site Admin
- Posts: 1775
- Joined: Wed Dec 26, 2007 7:18 pm
Something About The Sword
The dark robotic form stood upon the edge of a broken landscape.
Great steel skeletons lay across frayed pixelated terrain, green balefire hissed from his eye sockets as he seemed to take some grim pleasure in the entropy of a section of wildnet before him.
Areas of early Matrix that had suffered from real world economic collasp or decay.
Spinning he fired a stream of green energy roaring from his staff, his gunmetal deathshead illuminated to be if possible even more menacing.
It just floated there, goading him, a remnant of a former life.
Necro had no patience for such religated notions or genetic inheritances, the viral code of his 'Slaughter' Program, washing around the object as it weren't there.
Grumbling Necron growled and pondered as to whether there was such a thing as a Matrix Exorcist.
Great steel skeletons lay across frayed pixelated terrain, green balefire hissed from his eye sockets as he seemed to take some grim pleasure in the entropy of a section of wildnet before him.
Areas of early Matrix that had suffered from real world economic collasp or decay.
Spinning he fired a stream of green energy roaring from his staff, his gunmetal deathshead illuminated to be if possible even more menacing.
It just floated there, goading him, a remnant of a former life.
Necro had no patience for such religated notions or genetic inheritances, the viral code of his 'Slaughter' Program, washing around the object as it weren't there.
Grumbling Necron growled and pondered as to whether there was such a thing as a Matrix Exorcist.
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arcanus
- Site Admin
- Posts: 1775
- Joined: Wed Dec 26, 2007 7:18 pm
The Land of The Young
The landscape was expertly sculpted a great Neolithic causeway extending between pure emerald green hills rising from a Saxon ocean.
He stood beside his great iron black skeletal alter-ego, this was no magical quest images came to him via a trideo format, a rolling series of images showing him images of Scottish clansmen meeting in ancient battle, of the ever annoying sword floating within a stone chamber, of giant ogrish creatures shrouded in mist and fog, of a woman with flaming red hair and a deep south accent, of stirrings within the oceans of Britannia.
“I’m not Carnun or Cardinal†he said to the Druid like man upon his right
The man dressed in a tartan tunic, overlaid with a black cloak and broach depicting Danu, his blonde beard plaited, Celtic tattoos adorning his face.
“Are you telling me or yourself†he replied in a thick scots accent
Necron growled, in annoyance
“This place looks more like Ireland than Caledonia, the sculpture didn’t do his homework†he retorted churlishly
“Are they so dissimilar and never more closely linked†replied the druid as he began to stroll back
This left two halves of the same young coin standing watching the images.
He stood beside his great iron black skeletal alter-ego, this was no magical quest images came to him via a trideo format, a rolling series of images showing him images of Scottish clansmen meeting in ancient battle, of the ever annoying sword floating within a stone chamber, of giant ogrish creatures shrouded in mist and fog, of a woman with flaming red hair and a deep south accent, of stirrings within the oceans of Britannia.
“I’m not Carnun or Cardinal†he said to the Druid like man upon his right
The man dressed in a tartan tunic, overlaid with a black cloak and broach depicting Danu, his blonde beard plaited, Celtic tattoos adorning his face.
“Are you telling me or yourself†he replied in a thick scots accent
Necron growled, in annoyance
“This place looks more like Ireland than Caledonia, the sculpture didn’t do his homework†he retorted churlishly
“Are they so dissimilar and never more closely linked†replied the druid as he began to stroll back
This left two halves of the same young coin standing watching the images.