Chapter Text
It was dark in the warehouse, the industrial lights having automatically shut off hours ago. It wasn’t a problem from Zane’s end. The manager of the warehouse had been smart, installing night-vision security cameras instead of wasting electricity on light so that normal ones would actually be useful. Zane flipped between views again, examining each scene closer than the first time through. Something had caught his attention as he’d been skimming through the networks, and he was determined to figure out what exactly that something was. That was his purpose, after all.
Zane paused on one particular angle. The camera was near the loading bay, aimed at the large metal doors that the semi-trucks would back up against. Windows set above the doors in the brick allowed moonlight to spill across the ground, making the night-vision aspect of the camera less useful as the glare from the square patch blacked out everything else. This camera had a setting for a normal view, though, which Zane switched to.
The difference was instantly apparent. Not only was the square of moonlight over an inch away from where it’d been before, but one of the loading doors had been opened approximately half an inch, allowing additional moonlight to seep into the room.
Zane left the warehouse’s network, switching to the one belonging to the questionable business establishment that resided up the street from the warehouse’s loading bay. Zane accessed the security camera that watched over the street. When that angle provided no relevant information, Zane accessed its data banks and skimmed through the last hour of recording. Within nanoseconds he’d found what he was looking for: a large truck that had made its way past, unmarked but with one of its manufacturer’s IDs clearly visible on the bumper. Well, visible to Zane. Without the proper equipment, humans weren’t capable of seeing it.
Zane checked the history of the truck that the ID belonged to, searching through both police and auto mechanic files, and found additional evidence to support his hypothesis. Making a quick cross-reference with a news article that had been produced earlier in the week settled it. Acting quickly, Zane returned to the warehouse’s network—and sounded the silent alarm.
Not waiting to see the outcome, Zane blinked halfway across the continent, accessing the private server of the one and only Cyrus Borg. Quickly flicking through the security cameras, Zane found that the inventor had once again fallen asleep at his desk. Zane attached an audio notification to his report as he submitted it, then zipped out to access the network of the heavily-secured facility that resided in the forest outside Ninjago City.
*****
Cyrus jerked awake as something chimed, blinking in confusion as he ordered his thoughts. After placing exactly where he was—he’d fallen asleep while working again, which meant that his back was now protesting—he straightened his glasses, squinting at the pop-up that glowed almost proudly in the center of his computer screen.
Silent Alarm
Where: Warehouse A113 - Allons District, Alikai City
When: 1:26 AM ENT (2:26 AM CNT)
Suspected Culprit: Ronin
Data
“Ronin again,” Cyrus said in amusement, shaking his head. “What trouble has he gotten himself into this time?” He clicked on the Data link—then raised his eyebrows at the various files: a news article, records attached to a specific vehicle ID, a frame from a video where the vehicle ID had been sourced from, and two frames from a security camera inside the warehouse itself. For a long moment he simply stared at them. Eventually, though, he huffed out something that was somewhere between a laugh and a sigh; only Zane would be able to make such a definite conclusion from such scant information. Cyrus had learned to trust the AI a long time ago, though, so he didn’t worry that Zane was wrong.
Cyrus closed the notification, then pulled up the roster of warehouses that his company owned, entering Allons A113 into the search bar. The file on the warehouse had a little red triangle next to it, indicating that the silent alarm was going off, just as Zane had reported. Cyrus wasn’t sure whether the intruder or Zane himself had triggered it, but in the end, he supposed it didn’t matter. Instead he skimmed through the register of materials that were stored in A113, trying to deduce what Ronin had been after.
When Cyrus had narrowed his list down to three potential items, a police report popped up in the corner of the screen. Cyrus merely glanced at it before returning to his analysis, but a smile crept onto his face—the police had caught and arrested Ronin in the very vehicle that Zane had identified.
Cyrus was preparing a statement for the police—his opinion on the severity of what Ronin should be charged with—when the power went out. The sudden transition from light to darkness was mildly startling, and Cyrus muttered a curse as he heard something that he’d knocked into thud to the ground on the opposite side of the desk. A quick glance out the window revealed that all of Ninjago City was dark—wait a minute. Relying on memory, Cyrus wheeled himself out from behind his desk, making his way to the window. Squinting, he tried to make out the shape of Fallix City against the horizon. After a few minutes, he found it, silhouetted against the stars.
And completely dark.
Cyrus sucked in a breath. Fallix City and Ninjago City got their electricity not only from two different power plants but from two different types of power plants—one steam-powered and one river-powered. So how had both cities gone dark?
Moments later, the power came back on. Cyrus watched as both Ninjago City and Fallix City lit up at the same moment, the occasional light flickering for a moment before becoming steady.
What had just happened?
*****
Zane . . . was confused. Mostly because he was receiving almost minimal input, but also because the input he was receiving he couldn’t identify.
Zane reflexively tried to pull up information on the network he was currently in and discovered that he was in an automated machine, which was even more confusing as he didn’t remember accessing one. Zane tried to leave—but there was no network for him to leave through.
For a long moment Zane processed, then tried to access a network again—an illogical action, but one he made nonetheless. Once again, no network presented itself.
He was stranded in whatever machine he was in.
Had he been downloaded into a non-networkable device? It was the only explanation that Zane could think of, but he also couldn’t produce an answer as to how such a feat could be possible—his code was integrated into the internet itself, spread across all of Ninjago. While the central code that made up his “consciousness” was localized, it wasn’t as if that code could be downloaded by itself—the result for him would have been about the same as the result a human had when they were beheaded.
The logical conclusion was that somehow, all of Zane’s code had been downloaded into a single, non-networkable device.
Zane . . . wasn’t content with that fact. In response, some of his algorithms started to glitch, which agitated Zane even more. The pattern continued until Zane lost the ability to construct logical lines of reasoning, random what-if scenarios formulating and collapsing rapidly—what if he wasn’t ever able to get out of the machine? What if the machine he was in got scrapped? What if he couldn’t—what if he—what if—what if—
A burst of new input sparked through Zane’s systems and he latched onto it desperately, focusing on analyzing the sources of the new data. There were several different types of input, which was confusing. There was input from dual audio receptors, data from thousands of pressure, texture and temperature sensors that seemed to cover the exterior of the machine, hundreds of internal sensors that tracked the machine’s mechanics, and two additional types of input that Zane didn’t recognize localized near each other. There were also dual visual receptors that were inactive.
What type of machine am I in? Zane wondered. He had no knowledge of such a complex machine, which was what the machine he was in definitely was—but Zane couldn’t begin to hypothesize what the purpose of such a machine would be. Just to be certain, though, Zane ran through the specs of every machine that he knew of, trying to find a match.
Nothing was even remotely similar.
Using one of his more detailed analysis programs, Zane initiated an investigation into the mechanics of the machine. A mixture of clockwork and circuitry made up the majority of the internal mechanics, gears and pistons set appropriately to allow the machine a range of movement unlike anything Zane had ever seen. Systems that Zane couldn’t identify the purpose of occupied the rest of the space, each with built-in subprograms that operated independently. The metal casing of the machine was externally lined with an unknown, soft material, which had the thousands of sensors expertly embedded, each one continuously relaying data to the primary processor. Everything was powered by an unidentifiable and seemingly inexhaustible power source that was set in the center of the machine.
Zane debated his next course of action. Currently, he was nothing more than a large bundle of coding residing inside the machine's primary processor, passively observing the massive quantity of input that the machine’s mechanics provided. Unable to leave, the only course left for Zane to take was to fully integrate himself into the machine—and to take control of it. However, Zane was hesitant; a full integration would effectively bind him to the machine, and such an action would take some time to reverse. Should an opportunity to return to his designated place in the internet arise, that time could potentially pose a problem.
After not too long, Zane concluded that remaining as he was was not going to achieve much of anything. After a few moments of properly preparing his algorithms, Zane initiated the integration.
Zane’s code started connecting to the machine’s programming, his algorithms adapting as the inputs were gradually linked directly to him—then a cache of code Zane had overlooked mixed into his algorithms and they changed—
Zane jerked—he was being compressed, space being rescinded as inputs barraged him from all sides—then everything was fading.
*****
Zane woke with a start, his systems jolting in shock as he reflexively curled in around himself, hugging his knees against his chest.
Wait.
What???
Zane could only stare. For several extremely long moments his algorithms glitched, failing to process, failing to comprehend—
A subprogram—not under Zane’s control—kicked in, forcing Zane to take a shuddering breath. And then another. And another.
He was breathing.
Or rather, the machine he was in was breathing—but he was fully integrated, so it was effectively the same thing.
The machine was a mechanical human.
Zane continued to breathe, attentively noting how the sensors picked up on not only the motion of the mechanical system—artificial lungs—but also the slight motion of the air itself inside the system—and—and inside what constituted as his throat. The audio receptors picked up on the soft sounds produced, as well.
Zane was breathing.
And it registered vastly differently from any sort of input Zane had received before. For one, he wasn’t receiving lines of code that he had to interpret—it was more . . . raw? Vivid. Tangible.
He was feeling it.
And he was feeling other things, too. Primarily was the temperature, which was a sensation unlike anything that Zane could have ever conceptualized. It was—Zane hesitated, then compared the temperature of the air to his internal temperature—cold. He was feeling the cold. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just so vivid.
The ground, however—that was mildly uncomfortable. Zane was laying on his side, curled around himself, and the unevenness of the ground put an uncomfortable amount of pressure on specific points. For a long moment Zane wondered how to ease the pressure—then remembered that he can move.
Carefully, Zane uncurled. It was drastically different to how he’d moved on the internet, so much so that he couldn’t describe the contrast with any sort of accuracy. Zane thought it was a good difference, though, even if it was unfamiliar.
It took a few tries to figure out his center of balance well enough to stand. By that point, streaks of dark, rich soil criss crossed his body. The black lines were starkly visible on the loose, white clothes that Zane was wearing, and still almost as much so on his hands—his synthetic skin was lighter than those of most humans Zane had observed, though it was still several shades tanner than white.
Zane brushed the soil off as best as he could, his motions becoming smoother the more he moved. He finished by brushing soil off of the side of his head, and paused in surprise when his fingers found soft strands. He had hair. The fact shouldn’t have surprised him, considering how accurate the rest of his body was in mimicking a human’s, but he couldn’t see his own head. He settled for running his hands gently along his head, feeling out length and style—his hair was fairly short, the strands on top of his head sticking straight up and the sides and back laying neatly against his head. He also had short, neat sideburns. Something of an odd hairstyle in comparison to what was common, if Zane was visualizing it correctly.
His inspection complete, Zane dropped his arms to his sides. That didn’t . . . feel correct, though, so Zane crossed them over his chest instead, taking a few moments to figure out how to configure them correctly.
What now, though? Zane turned, scanning his surroundings—he was in a forest, and taking from what he could observe of the flora, it was the forest that bordered Ninjago City.
How had he gotten here? ‘Here’ being defined as both inside a mechanical body and the middle of the forest—when Zane scanned the ground, he could find no sign that anyone else had been present, whether in a vehicle or on foot. There were some deer tracks, but ultimately they weren’t beneficial to Zane’s predicament.
The last thing Zane remembered before finding himself inside—well, inside his body was accessing the network of the scientific facility that was located . . . somewhere near Zane’s location. Except, that had taken place at 1:27 AM, and now the sun was high in the sky . . . which meant that Zane had somehow lost time.
The conclusion was that someone had done this to him. But who? And how? Not only was extracting all of Zane’s code from the internet a supposedly impossible feat, but the body that Zane was in now was a masterpiece, decades, perhaps even a century ahead of the tech that even Cyrus Borg’s company was developing. The intricate coding that allowed him to experience inputs as feeling alone . . .
Zane pulled himself out of his analysis. He was a subject of time now that he was more than a complex series of electrical pulses. If he wanted answers, he was going to need to go and find them—the sooner the better.
Glancing upwards at the sun, Zane calculated what he hoped was a fairly accurate estimate of the time. After spinning in an attempt to see any defining landmarks that would identify which direction was north, Zane just barely managed to identify the tops of the Dakalae Mountains through the trees. Orienting himself, he started towards Ninjago City.
Hopefully Cyrus Borg would have some answers for him.