First Contact

Chapter 83X - Book of the Dead - Random Prayers

The Following are Fan Creations Set During the Third Phasic War

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Worker Gibbons hate cube life. He just wanted to lie flat and die. But if he did so, his boss would probably fine him one day's credits.

"Say... you wouldn't happen to have those TPS reports done, would you Gibbons?" his boss said from behind him, making him jump as he always did.

"Um, no sir," Gibbons said wearily. "No way I get them done by five. At least four hours worth of them. And what with the current emergency-"

"Pish tosh, Gibbons, be a team player. Get those reports done or I dock your pay. I know you can do it."

"But the emergency - radio's telling everybody-"

"I don't care, man. Get me those TPS reports or else!" He stomped off.

Gibbons glanced at the news report printout.

- ALERT ALERT ALERT - TERRAN PHASIC SHADE (TPS) EVENT - ALERT ALERT ALERT

-DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES USE VIDEO RECORDINGS. TPS CAN BE STORED, TRANSMITTED, AND TRAVEL VIA AUDIOVISUAL MEDIUM. USE TEXT ONLY. ANISIBLE STATIONS WILL BE DESTROYED SHORTLY. THEY FEAR SALT, THE COLOR RED, AND IRON. BE STRONG AND WE WILL GET THROUGH THIS.-

- ALERT ALERT ALERT - TERRAN PHASIC SHADE (TPS) EVENT - ALERT ALERT ALERT

(MESSAGE REPEATS)

"GIBBONS! I don't hear that keyboard clacking! Where are my TPS reports?!"

Gibbons stared at his boss' office, the back down at the all-channels text alert. Then back at his boss' office. Resolved, he quickly acted. He unplugged his monitor, then typed by memory a string of commands going back to his teenage years as a wannabe hacker. He slotted an optical chip into his computer and began typing.

>COMMAND PROMPT MODE

- remote access torrentbit.com.local

- search: /mostpopular /filesizecorrupted /suspectmalware

- download tagged file destination d:/optical /readonly filename: TPS.rpt.exe

His computer began whirring, the cooling fan running as the computer struggled to download some massive file. Meanwhile he stood up and started disconnecting all monitors, displays, and readouts in the office. He swore he saw a flicker in the coffee maker's screen before hi unplugged it, and he shivered. Then he heard his OD pop open. He grabbed the optical chip, walked into his boss' office, and tossed it on the desk.

"There's the first one. I need to run out to get some more Valley Moisture soda if I'm to get the rest done. Be back in ten."

Gibbons' boss grunted at his worker's departing back. "That was fast," he replied. "Maybe you'll get it all done by seven after all!" he called after his departing subordinate.

Gibbons ignored him. He grabbed a old, raw iron crowbar from the maintenance closet, and smashed the office's locking mechanism from the outside so the door could not be opened. He didn't know if he'd make it home, but as he turned away a short scream from behind the jammed door put a smile onto his face that lasted him the rest of his life.

(As transcribed by LateralThinker13)

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"Listen up, you got two shitty choices. You stay in this room, holed up hoping someone comes along that is going to help before the shades get you or the hunger and thirst does.

Or you pick up a gun, a knife and a can of spray paint and walk through that door with me. Once you do though, you become "that guy" the one everyone's going to look to for help, and blame if it all goes wrong. The one it is going to feel like the Malevolent Universe is taking a personal interest in screwing with.

So what is it gonna be? Hope for the angels to come down and rescue you, or walk through that door into hell with me, and see if we can do some good before Armageddon arrives?" - Transcribed record fragment recovered from the Third Phasic War.

(As transcribed by Bergusia)

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[ VFX: a male voice, speaking with an accent that strongly indicates it was once in the United Council of Systems indoctrination/education system, but has since been exposed to a wide variety of outside influences, but no clear evidence of which of the dozens of former client species it might be. ]

"Yeah, it's really shitty out there. And none of us - none of us! - are prepared for it. There's Phasic Shades out there killing everyone. Terran Shades."

[ VFX: voice becoming increasingly anxious, while still trying to project confidence. ]

"There's Terran Phasic Shades everywhere, and I've got an overclocked nail gun, a couple tire irons, and four boxes of kosher salt. None of this makes any sense."

[ VFX: calmer, more commanding ]

"But surviving is my job. Helping others survive is my job. It's everyone's job; it has to be if we're actually gonna pull it off. And you gotta decide FAST what you're gonna do, or it ain't gonna matter. Once everything else is dead, they'll come for you until you are, too.

"So listen up, you got two... REALLY shitty choices. One, the least-shitty, you stay holed up in this room, and hope someone comes along to help before the shades get you, or the hunger and thirst does, or your mind breaks. I'll send someone to come find you when it's safe, get you out of here... if I live that long. I promise I'll do that much, no matter what."

[ VFX: sterner, like a harsh manager ]

"Or the other, shittier one: you pick up that rebar... a machete... fab up a paintball gun with iron oxide salt loads, or a one meter prybar... and you walk out that door with me. Cuz once you do that, you become a Revenger. You're 'That Guy', the one everyone's going to look to for help, and the one they blame if it all goes wrong. The one it's gonna feel like the Universe itself is taking a malevolent glee in screwing. You're here in an outdoor equipment storage unit. So, like...what, you're a groundskeeper?"

[ VFX: mostly silence, with sounds of rustling clothing indicating movements of some kind ]

"Is that a yes? Whatever. Point is, tall grass gets cut first. That's obvious to anyone who's ever seen a lawn. The Universe screws the brave and the strong worst and first, cuts them down first because they're the tall grass. And you're gonna have to screw it back, because that's what you do.

"You're gonna have to do unto others... do it harder, faster, better, stronger than it's doing to you... and you can never let up. Because if you don't come correct, if you don't give it everything you have and a bunch that you don't, everybody dies. But the Universe will let you die last, watching everyone else die first. A coward dies a thousand deaths, a hero only one. What matters in the end is if those deaths made a difference.

"So what is it gonna be? Hope for the local militia to ride up and rescue you? Pray to Enraged Philip, or the Battalion of One, that they will come smite these enemies so you don't have to? Huh? Or do you walk through that door into hell with me... and see if we can fuck these bastards up, do some serious good sending these things back to whatever hell they came from, before all the bad gets done to us?"

"..."

[ SFX: the lull in talking lets continuous background noises of horror and war increase in the background ]

"sigh Alright. Good talk."

[ SFX: sounds of movement and equipment clattering ]

[ VFX: the same voice that has been talking drops in volume and timbre, going from commanding, quasi-inspirational tones to fervently-whispered prayer ]

"Come to me now in my time of need, Saint Jenkins, patron of the berserk charge. Guide my hands this day, make my aim straight and true, that I may gank these mobs and partake of thy blessing of the fried chicken of victory. In the name of the DPS, and the Tank, and the Healer. Buffs plz!"

[ SFX: sounds of door opening, the battle sounds suddenly louder. As the door slams shut, the last thing heard is a loud, animalistic shout of "LEEEEEEEROOOOOYYYYYYY!" before the door slams shut ]

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[ VFX: the anxious whimper of the sophont that had been the speaker's unresponsive target, slowly diminishing to end in a decidedly aggressive grunt. ]

[ SFX: The hum of a nanoforge. Items being moved, picked up, used for test-hits against nearby objects. Hook-and-loop straps being adjusted. Thumps of body armor being tested for fit. Chambering of rounds. The ringing clang of iron against iron. Soft electronic beeps that trigger various Dogboi and Goodboi howls. Finally, a satisfied, decisive 'hrmph'. ]

[ VFX: a new hushed, but clearly audible female voice, speaking an entirely different language, a native one rather than any kind of common tongue. The recorder's translator helpfully starts generating a text log, translated to ConFed Standard. ]

"I wish I knew what he had been saying. Took a hit to the head a couple days ago that damaged my translator, so I was only catching a couple words here and there. Think I got his point, though. Nothing I didn't already know. Everything is fucked... actually, it's so very far past fucked that there isn't a word to express just how fucked that really is. He believes he must go fight, even if it's a forlorn hope. And, I guess... he thinks I do, too.

"My... my... my friends are p-p-probably dead. My family, t-too. My husbands. My wives. Our children... oh, holy Tlornux, my babies."

[ VFX: choked sobbing ]

"I think that only I still breathe this day, though I pray that isn't so. If today is my day to join them, I shall bring an honor guard of enemy dead... or undead, I guess... with me, like none ever seen or dreamt of before. Hulvuzad's walls will shudder under the weight of my name and my deeds.

"My only consolation now... the only reason I can find to give me the will to choose the harder path of fate... is that dying to a Shade is mercifully quick. They inflict no cruelty or torture to their victims. Their unholy hunger cannot be sated... but at least they do not... play... with their... their food... like the Atrekna, or their Dwellerspawn, or the PAWMs. When I fall, it will be mercifully quick, and then I shall see my loves once more.

"If this record is ever found, let the future be certain that in this war, I may have been killed, but I never knew defeat. The fact you are listening to it is proof of that. You, now hearing my voice, are the spoils of victory for which I now pledge to win, or die in the attempt.

"Heh. Hahahahahaha! HAH!"

[ VFX: nearly a quarter-hand of laughter - ranging from joyous, to terrified, hysterical, to sobbing, breathless, to gasping - interspersed with attempts to say a word starting with 'vvv'; it eventually settles down into labored, gasping breathing punctuated by snorted bursts of laughter ]josei

"Hoooo. Damn. 'Victory or death, either is fine!' HAH! Sorry... sorry about that. Absurdity attack. 'Victory or death, either is fine.' How profoundly simple and profanely complex six words can be. Fitting that this ancient battle mantra, which served the Lemurs for millennia, will now serve me in this war against them.

"I understand now. I understand everything. This whole... insane, impossible, irrational, illogical... THING! is the punch line to a joke that very, very few will ever hear or understand. But I did. I heard it. I get it. Which probably means I've gone pants-on-head bugfuck insane. That might actually come in handy. To handle crazy shit happening, being crazy is probably the only way to stand a chance against it.

"But time is running out. Remember me, my many-times-great-grandchildren. Remember us all. And know you were loved by the trillions who gave everything they had, so that you could have your today, and its tomorrow, and every day after until the Heat Death takes the last of everything.

"I'm putting this record somewhere safe. The future we save MUST know of the past that saved it. It MUST know that we... the ones who came before... knew very well what it would cost to ensure a future where life once again flourishes. And so you know that we paid that price gladly.

"You're worth every single bit of that price, and so much more. If you remember nothing else of what is in this record, just remember that single statement. The idea of you is worth everything to us, and so we now pay that price in order to receive you in the fullness of time.

"My people believe that, so long as a name is spoken, the named is never truly gone. Whatever you are, wherever you are... if a J'tar'ka of questionably sound mind may ask a boon of you... please speak my name sometimes, that I may continue to be long after I am gone. Speak it wherever and whenever you are, so that, wherever or whenever I am, I will receive the strength to ensure your future.

"My name is Wuugndra Ax'mnev, and I love you."

--Combat telemetry voice recording, discovered in rubble during reconstruction following the final TPS Breakout Event in System RH-8162. Dated to the last fifth of the Third Phasic War (confidence: 85%) Fate of either speaker has not been determined.

(As transcribed by daviskendall)

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To the port of [REDACTED] rode a stranger one fine day Hardly spoke to folks around him didn't have too much to say No one dared to ask his business no one dared to make a slip For the stranger there among them had a magac on his hip Magac on his hip

It was early in the morning when he strode into the port He came walking from arrivials slowly lookin' all around He's an outlaw loose and running came the whisper from each lip And he's here to do some business with the magac on his hip Magac on his hip

On this planet there was an outlaw by the name of Dee Tanie Many men had tried to take her and that many men were dead She was vicious and a killer though a youth of [REDACTED] And the notches on her pistol numbered one and nineteen hundred more One and nineteen hundred more

Now the stranger started talking made it plain to folks around Was an Earthling wouldn't be too long in town He came here to take the Devil back alive or maybe dead And he said it didn't matter he was after Dee Tanie After Dee Taniee

Wasn't long before the story was relayed to Dee Tanie But the Devil didn't worry men that tried before were dead Twenty thousand men had tried to take him twenty thousand men had made a slip Twenty and one would be the Earthling with the Magac on his hip Magac on his hip

The morning passed so quickly it was time for them to meet It was twenty past eleven when they walked out in the street Shades were watching from the vidscreens every-body held their breath They knew this scary Earthling was about to meet his death About to meet his death

There was forty feet between them when they stopped to make their play And the swiftness of the Earthling is still talked about today Dee had not cleared leather fore a bullet fairly ripped And the Earthling's aim was deadly with the Magac on his hip Magac on his hip

It was over in a moment and the shades had gathered round There before them lay the body of the Devil on the ground Oh she might have went on living but he made one fatal slip When he tried to match the Earthling with the Magac on his hip Magac on his hip

Magac Magac

When she tried to match the Earthling with the Magac on his hip

Magac on his hip

--- Audio file found after the 3rd Phasic war during cleanup of a Free Servitor panet.

---WARNING DO NOT PLAY THIS AUDIO FILE WHERE THE DEVIL MIGHT HEAR--- DEE MAY TAKE A PERSONAL INTREST IN YOU---

(Transcribed by TheOtherGUY63)

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Thank you to everyone who contributed to this.