Dungeon of the ENDLESS™ is a Rogue-Like Dungeon-Defense hybrid game, in which your team of heroes must protect the generator of their crashed ship while finding their way out!
Just ten or so meters away, Mantovani stopped and remained behind a container. The sower did not appear to have noticed. once more he silently thanked R5 tormanca for his advice on steath and infiltration, although Mantovani too often used it for less than important things than exposing terrorist cells and destroying enemy base camps.
After fiddling with his bracelet, a nearby camera was deactivated. Being the it guy pays off sometimes.
He drew in a breath.
"Halt all activity immediately and remain stationary!"
He held out one hand palm up and kept the other in his cloak, around his gun.
'try to run away now pin ball'
Updated 6 years ago.
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A simple "Order confirmed" was the only notable action of the machine. Otherwise it simply seemed frozen from one moment to the other, howering in place. One metal arm was extended to interface with a crates touch scream, not quite there and now also stopped in motion. The machine wouldnt even need to note the gun to know that this isnt a good situation.
"How can it help you?"
The sower was wheighting his options. Without the faintest idea of what this cunning human wanted it didnt make sence to atack him directly, but this man did follow him through a considerable amount of systems. It made sure that its pneumatic piston was selected for the still hidden multi-tool arm.
The drone, saved as 7-4-1-N-7-3-D in the database, was obviously of sower origin, no marker or logo showed that, rather than the build of the machine. Another group could have made it look like a sower though. The metal hull of the machine was smooth and seemed to be sturdy as the number of dents and scratches are minimal.
"This Units purpose on this ship is to assist in the maintenance of systems during transit and to assist exploration efforts planet-side. It can be used in other laborious tasks if requested so! It has been added to this expedition as an additional appliance. "
The machines answer was surprisingly short, either it felt like specific information was not requested, or it couldnt/wouldnt share it. Then it asked in return: "That information wasn't classified in any way, why was it asked?"
"In case of abnormal behavior, it should receive a proper checkup, none of such has been requested till now. Please relay your concerns to personnel capable of requesting a checkup. An unscheduled checkup can interfere with important tasks"
The sower started to interface with the crates again, ignoring Mantovani on the outside, while struggling on the inside questioning if there is anything it can do but keeping its charade and what was going on. Why would the human care for a random drone, for this one in particular, so much that they follow it onto an expedition into uncharted space?
She shrugged. "Depends on what you are trying to hit. If you're trying to hit that moon, we can do that from anywhere in the system. Kinetic bullets will take a few centuries to get there, and the energy beams will be defocussed and just a light show. If you want to hit anything on the moon, or, say a Riftborn currently doing a hyperbolic fly-by, you'd need to aim a bit better. And then it's a question for our weapons expert. I can only recite the manual at you."
"Even proper trained crew should do their work regarding to schedule. Is it an emergency?"
The sower seemed to mostly ignore the man now, continuing to float from one crate to the other, comparing its manifest with the ships. Convincing itself to do that was easier than convincing itself to do nothing despite this odd human being a not fully clear threat. It took a while before it figured out an answer that could fit a drone of lower computational power, as it pretends.
"Avoiding? Negatory, avoidance can only occur if a meeting was predicted. No schedule to encounter you have been uploaded to this units database. It is simply following its duties. This Unit wasn't designed for proper social interaction with crewmembers, possibly insulting behavior is not done on purpose."
"The lack of easily read power systems in the approach path makes it rather difficult to say what's safe and not on that satellite."
Alice chose her words carefully as to not offend their pilot. She didn't question Ylona's skills but if anyone knew the Saviour's capabilities it was her engineer thanks to the gifts the Dust had granted the woman. Approaching such an unknown target was risky.
"I would not advise shooting at it either, Captain. It has been dormant but that's the sort of thing that could evoke a hostile response from whatever armaments it has."
"Well that all depends on their systems. It mostly ignored the probe so I'd be surprised if we got much of a response from a low powered beam." Alice stated, "Though if you truly want to know everything there is about this installation you'll find a way to get me to the surface."
"If you just want to send on-off blinky signals with a flashlight", Ylona guessed what this discussion was about, "We might as well just use the main comms array to hail them on radio. It probably needs less energy than out laser banks, too."
"I want to discern the range and intensity of this phenomenon before sending any of my crew down there. Firing a depleted laser could accomplish that better than sending any signal, but..."
The Captain trails off, momentarily deep in thought before asking Skeler:
"Did you happen to record the internal status of this probe between launch and when it lost power on the moon, sister? Preferably along with a visual feed?"
That the conversation had moved past him would normally not bother λ. He would be quite happy to wait in place for days until he recieved an answer. Or someone finally pushed him out of the way. Typically, it was the second option. However, λ's mind was so preoccupied on his research that it was sharpening his response time into something almost normal for this universe.
"Pardon-me-Chief-Custodian-Valorum. If my assistance is not required, will I be dismissed? I have... responsibilities to attend to."
Mantovani stopped his following the drone. His muscles relaxed and his heart rate slowed. Letting out a sigh of relief, he finished his pursuit.
"I see... well then continue as normal. As an upstanding member of the horatio species, the greatest in the galaxy, my pride demanded me to fulfil my duty as an IT officer to the utmost of standards. Even if you are a robotic being with no such cares or opinions, i apologize for any inconveniences i have caused. good day"
Mantovani proceeded to walk towards on of the stair ways leading up to the main decks. 'what in the prime's grace did i just say?' thought Mantovani to himself.
'am i losing my edge? are my talents at speech and intuition failing me?'
finally making it to the midship corridor, he began to stare angrily at the walls.
'This damn place is devoid of inspiration. its too confined and its causing my anxiety to flare up like an erupting volcano. A maintenance drone being self aware and trying to rat me in to my enemies, i swear, what was i thinking!? I need some time elsewhere to refresh.'
Mantovani made his way back to the armoury to hand in some 'special items' before heading out to the bridge.
"There must be something going on that can pull me out of this pilgrim creativity prison."
Updated 5 years ago.
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Looking up to the hesitant Riftborn, Valorum gestures and replies:
"Very well then; you are dismissed."
Turning back to Skeler, he continues:
"If you were recording the status of your probe's battery, it should show when its estimated time of operation began to shorten. If it was measuring the distance to the moon as well, then we'll have an approximate range of the phenomenon that we can test."
Finding a secluded place to pray aboard the Saviour had been an ordeal, but Mazatl endured.
He knelt gingerly on the bare deck of the hold, ignoring the warning throb of pain in his knee for the moment, and hastily unfolded the embroidered cotton manta protecting his ceremonial implements. Nestled in the center of the colorful blanket was a shallow bronze bowl, the outside surface thick with sacred geometrical engravings. Mazatl picked it up and ran the pad of his thumb along the delicate, stylized symbol of the feathered serpent that coiled around the rim; the mechanisms within hummed to life as he did so. Satisfied, he set the censer back down on the manta and left it to heat up.
Next was a fist-sized silken pouch; he undid the ties and briefly inhaled the sweet fragrance of dried eden incense petals that emanated from it, then set it aside as well. After that, a narrow binder of pre-cut paper strips, and a sheathed ritual knife with a handle decorated with intricate jadeite mosaic. He'd allowed the ship's armorer to take his daisho and the ceremonial armor of his old order, but the ritual knife was an article of faith—he refused to relinquish it. Mazatl tore off five strips of the paper and laid them out on the deck in a loose fan pattern.
The air above the censer had begun to haze with heat, so he poured out a handful of the eden incense and cast it into the bowl. Within moments, the dry orange petals had withered and begun to blacken, and Mazatl took a deep breath of the sweet, herbaceous smoke that coiled upwards from the censer. Immediately, his mind felt sharper—a blade whetted upon a water-slick stone. Even in death, the beauty of those pale orange flowers was hardly diminished; instead, like a warrior's death poem, the smoke rising from the blackened leaves only served to make their passing more poignant.
Tonatsi forgive him, he was waxing poetic. Perhaps that was why eden incense was not the traditional one used for such sacrifice—its effects on the mind were unsuitable for reverent meditation upon the divine. But he'd used the last of his proper incense days ago, so eden incense would have to do, and he would simply have to try harder to focus. Chastened, Mazatl added more petals to the censer, then unsheathed the ritual knife. The obsidian point felt right nestled against the hollow of his left palm; he shivered in anticipation.
"Hail to our father, hail to our mother," he began, voice low and steady. "Hail to Tonatsi, who caused the yellow flowers to blossom, who scattered the seeds of the Hissho, as he came forth from paradise."
Without hesitating, Mazatl pressed the point of the knife into the flesh of his palm. Blood welled up under the glassy blade, and he pulled it away and flicked a few drops into the bowl.
"Hail, you whose flowers wither not, who pours forth blessings in abundance. Accept my heart, accept my blood, offered freely."
Mazatl set the knife on the unfolded manta and clenched his hand, encouraging the wound to bleed. Once his palm was suitably bloody, he plucked up a strip of the paper and pressed it to the wound. The paper drank eagerly, and when it was soaked through and glistened red, he cast it into the censer. A thick, coppery tang mingled with the sweetness of the blue smoke as the paper began to crackle. When the first offering had turned to ash, he soaked another paper and added it to the bowl, repeating the prayer, until all five strips had been burnt. The wound in his hand had begun to clot by the last one, and he had to scratch at the forming scab to dislodge it.
He was about to begin the final verse of the prayer when there was a noise behind him, as of someone scrabbling about in the hold. Mazatl turned to glance over his shoulder.
λ's thoughts left the bridge before his frame did. He needed his samples back. For that he needed access to the armory, but no one seemed to see the importance of the situation. None of the crew wanted to make time for λ. But that was a trivial problem for an independent being like himself. λ could always make his own Time.
Thoughts of Weaving, Orthogonality, of Strings and the fundamental laws of a universe kept his mind so busy that he almost missed the crate that seemed to materialize in front of him. His arm clanged off the steel as he passed. Returning momentarily to the physical and temporal space around him, λ was caught off guard by something. That one was not a crate. Crates did not have focused yellow eyes. Lifeforms did.
And a strange one at that, λ did not recognize the species. The Lifeform also seemed to be looking at him rather intently... The sharp features remined λ of other sharp Lifeforms he had met before. Ones built for killing and consuming. The gaze made λ... uncomfortable.
"The Yellow Eyed Lifeform. I do not threaten you. I am not flesh and thus not agreeable to eat. I want only to pass."
The newcomer worried λ in another, more significant way. Did The Lifeform know about his plans? λ hoped he not been discovered so soon...
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