Interlude I

I feel like doing some character expounding without storytelling.

Icard's the kind of guy who pays zero attention to death, destruction, immoral activities, so long as it doesn't interfere with him.  He wants to do his own thing, and doesn't give a fig what other people think or what the world is doing.  He tried dating once, and locked all his nerdy, geeky, computer stuff in the closet so he could focus on giving his all, but it was for the wrong girl.  At present, he's old, and by now has figured out he's married to his work.

Why does he hate black?  I dunno yet.  It scares the bejeezus out of him, but he doesn't completely lose it unless he's wholly surrounded by black (if you notice in the hallway, there is a light at the end of the tunnel).

Where is his laboratory?  It's all underground (literally, not metaphorically).  Not secret, just not very well-known.  His project is government-funded, all missing tax dollars that are spent unnoticed.  No, he doesn't have "connections" in el gobierno, just somebody very powerful who's very interested in what Icard intends to construct.

What is ARKHOS?  ARKHOS is a computer, a shining example of advanced artificial intelligence.  All of his "software" are programs for the various aspects of a person, i.e., voice intonation.  Wouldn't all this information storage and software running slow him down?  Not at all.  Icard is a genius programmer.  If an engineer constructs a random moveable object, Icard can program the object to move, with the most efficient multi-bit processing and self-automated clocking.  Haha, then again, this is all science fiction, so if you are a computer genius reading this, forgive my random jargon spitting.  I don't believe machines can become self-aware, but even if they can, it will not happen in my tale.  For now.  Maybe.  I dunno.  But at present, I can tell you the main motive behind ARKHOS's actions is self-preservation.  Not preservation of his creator.  Not preservation of any beautiful damsels in distress.  Computers are selfish.  Just kidding.  It's all part of the programming and the intention of the project as a whole.  Obviously if Icard gives him an order, ARKHOS must obey.  Or will he?

Day 5

Sometimes I want to write movie scripts.  I always visualize my stories in my head like a movie, with dramatic camera shots and lighting, but putting it down in narrative is most frustrating, because it's up to the reader how they see it in their head, and I'm afraid I can't get down everything I want to, or else the description would begin to drag.  Oh well...
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Repeated incorrect password attempts.  The ARKHOS security program running on that computer--hidden under a firewall--sensed the external hacking.  ARKHOS set a secondary passlock in place and alerted its physical twin still sitting in Icard's pocket.

For Icard, "hastening" down the hall was actually just a snail's pace, one foot barely in front of the other.  Small dots peppered his vision, and his right foot refused to land properly, jabbing sharply when weighted.  He had not gone far when a soft chirping and movement began in his pocket.

"What is it?" he murmured, and reached for his phone, only to realize his phone was fried and thoroughly silent.  In the other pocket, ARKHOS had self-activated.  When Icard extracted the cylindrical ARKHOS, the top had already swiveled open to reveal camera-like lens.  The lens adjusted to the darkness and focused on Icard's face.

"Unauthorized attempted access at your personal terminal," the mini-computer reported.  Icard was oddly pleased that ARKHOS had remembered the intonation program.

"Who is it?  Can you see him?"

"I am avoiding internet access to maintain firewall protection, so I am unable to identify.  It is a man, possibly not older than thirty, brown hair, brown eyes, wearing black, unable to judge height or weight."

"I trust you've put in extra measures?"

"Yes.  I have installed a second passlock, and am sending data to your backup terminal, concurrently erasing the files on this terminal.  He has deactivated the primary passlock.  I will not be able to protect all files at his rate of decoding.  I suggest intervention."

"Damn it all."  Certainly his staff upstairs would have alerted the police or fire department, but the authorities would not be here in time to stop the intruder from accessing his jealously guarded files.  Icard retracted his few steps and searched Coulton, placing ARKHOS on the ground.  A second handgun, although Icard couldn't tell if it was loaded or damaged.  It would have to do for visual effect, as he had never used one before, and didn't know if he could.  It felt awkward in his hands that were meant for keypads and buttons.

"Allow me."  From the sides of the container, spindly limbs extended, each with three clasps as fingers.  Lens trained on the weapon, the clasps deftly checked the magazine and held it up for barrel inspection.  "It is in working condition and loaded.  Please keep the hammer cocked."

The pair thus made their way through the scorched corridor, ARKHOS sitting on Icard's shoulder like a parrot, finger clasps hooked onto his lab coat, eye lens scoping ahead.

429 words.
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Haha, so far avoiding man to man conflict.  Stay tuned for next week's episode :P.

Day 4

Back!  Haha!

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“Well, crap my pants.”

CHEVY KARUSSIN, self-marketed explosives expert, surveyed his own creation with a flashlight, having destroyed the existing lights.  Frosty sprinkles of glass and curled smoking metal scraps dotted the hallway.  The interior of the restricted corridor was comparatively cleaner, the force of the blast absorbed mostly by the bulletproof glass.  Whatever alarm that might have sounded at the fire was now silent, and certainly anyone in proximity was dead now.  Karussin tossed aside the two bomb shields–double layer protection for that close range explosion–and entered the corridor.

The cul-de-sac corridor led to a single doorway a few meters down, bright lights inside still gleaming.  His long legs easily crossing the distance, Karussin peered in, congratulating himself for wearing sunglasses.  It was a rather large and strange bedroom.  One half contained a flat bed, dresser, and closet; the other half displayed a computer desk, filing cabinets, and shelves of terabyte storage disks–everything painted white with Christmas lights strung beneath them.  The sheets on the bed were neatly tucked in, the pillows fluffed, the dresser and closet shut and bearing no decoration or forgotten accessory.  On the other side, the computer desk was barely visible, its metal face peering through paper mountains and book piles.  The shelves and cabinets were equally well-dressed.

Karussin cleaned the desk in one shove, the paper swooshing in great cascades to the floor.  Now for his secondary job: computer hacking.  Hooking up his palm-sized notebook to the desktop, he opened up his own decrypting program, as well as iTunes.  Theme music was necessary.

***

Icard awoke to the sound of Rammstein in the distance, eyes blurry and ears ringing.  He couldn’t breathe properly–something heavy crushing him.  He blinked several times and saw the wrinkled edge of Coulton’s tie.  Unable to push the heavyweight Coulton aside, Icard dragged himself out.  Jagged shrapnel punctured Coulton at several points, his back completely scorched.  He was most certainly dead, but that was the last thing concerning Icard.

Darkness everywhere!  The explosion had blown out the lights, and a stifling dread was crawling up his spine.  There was a faint light down the hall, in the direction of the restricted corridor, the source of the music.  Ignoring the pain shooting up his leg, the pounding in his head, and the burns on his arms, Icard hastened towards the light.

394 words.