Mullet-verse Redux. Chapter 2
...I don't know binary. I don't even pretend to. I found a translator through Google. Bless you, intarweb, and your scads of trivial useless useful information!
Beta by lakidaa.
CHAPTERS: { Prologue }{ Chapter One }{ Chapter Two }{ Chapter Three }{ Chapter Four }{ Chapter Five }{ Chapter Six }{ Chapter Seven }{ Chapter Eight }{ Epilogue }
<-{ previous story: Midst Of Rough Earthliness } { next story: Harmonious Discourse }->
~2nd Chapter
Artificial intelligences are much like any other kind of intelligence in many basic, fundamental ways. For the most part, an AI lives, laughs, and loves, just like any other being. Such as in the case of Skeets S01101101011010010111010001101000.
Skeets had always greatly admired Ted's Bug. While not nearly as advanced as he was, through no fault of its own or its creator, he still considered it to be on the cutting edge of technology. A credit to its time.
The sleek lines and near-flawless merging of form and function were not to be scoffed at either.
But since his return to mobility in his strange new bug-shaped body, and in the wake of the OMAC invasion, it had occurred to Skeets that he wasn't getting any younger. For that matter, to many of the hairless apes roaming the planet, he was just so much scrap metal and spare parts.
So it was that, after Ted and Booster had tracked down some of the Bug's parts that had been scattered somewhere in France by Checkmate, Skeets made up his mind to go for it. He asked Bug's "father," Ted, for permission to spend more time with the ship and, after also getting an odd, confused look, was granted that permission. Now it was all a matter of wooing his blue beauty, which he had been working on in his every spare moment.
At least he had been until he heard the worried voice of Ted's other offspring, Junior, saying that they had a problem. Skeets had heard somewhere that it was conducive to the smooth running of a relationship to humor the younger siblings of the object of one's affection. And in any case, Skeets found that, when the boy wasn't in possession of paint, he quite liked Junior. The young human reminded him of the innocence of fledgling algorithms: uncertain of their place in the world, but eager to learn and be useful.
And also vulnerable to new, unknown dangers that they hadn't yet learned to avoid and block.
So when Junior recognized something as a problem, it was a good idea to take his observation seriously.
Uncomfortable with the thought of manipulating Bug's controls so early in their burgeoning relationship, Skeets politely requested that they drop below the thick clouds hiding them from sight. Then Skeets lowered Bug's rope ladder to Junior, who scrambled up it with all the grace and agility of his simian ancestors while they again rose above the cloudcover.
"Skeets!" Junior said breathlessly as he reached the top, pulling the ladder up after him. "Skeets, we have a problem. A big, big problem, only actually it's smaller, but it's still big and-and-and...." The boy stopped to gulp down calming breaths before blurting, "I think my parents got accidentally turned into kids with magic."
Skeets floated in front of him for a few moments, processing. It was entirely possible. There were recorded cases of humans (and in a few odd cases even machines) having their ages drastically changed. And there was no telling what kind of magical minefield Booster had created in the basement.
Not to mention the fact that Junior seemed genuinely rattled by something. The boy had grown up in close proximity to a flesh-eating zombie, was the son of a dead man and a man from the future, and thought having his hair singed by a laser was "cool." If he was thrown by something, then there was definitely something to his claim.
Moving closer, Skeets reached out and patted the boy's shoulder with one of his legs. Humans, especially the young ones, seemed to respond well to tactile reassurance. Sure enough, Junior let out a deep breath and seemed to relax somewhat.
"What do you propose we do about it?" Skeets asked.
Junior stared up at him for a few moments, clearly having had the vague notion that telling someone older than himself about the problem would instantly stop there being a problem. "...Get help?" he suggested uncertainly.
"Good idea," Skeets said, flying over to Bug's communication panel. Junior followed him and settled into one of Bug's seats. "Who are we going to call?"
Junior grinned. "I guess the Ghostbusters are outta the question, huh?"
If he had been capable of it, Skeets would have smiled. It was fairly easy to calm the young human. All that was needed was to drop a line from a recently viewed movie. "Very likely."
Sitting back, Junior scratched his ear, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Hey Skeets?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have the number for the Teen Titans?"
Entering the necessary information, Skeets said, "Contacting them now." It seemed Bug's brother did have some sense. That would need to be encouraged, if only because that sense was contending with the combined DNA of the man who thought Kooey Kooey Kooey was a good idea and the man who once accidentally sent his team to a facsimile of Hell.
----------
Mikey glanced over at his fellow kidnappee, who was still futzing with his clothes. He looked shy, kind of geeky, and clearly wasn't aware that the tight blue suit looked good on him.
As well as the uneven, ruffled reddish-brown hair.
And the blushing. The blushing was downright cute.
"So where'd they nab you from?" Mikey asked, nudging him with an elbow as he settled next to him.
"Probably school," Ted mumbled, blushing again but also looking thoughtful. "It's kinda fuzzy."
"School where."
"Oh. Chicago."
Mikey tilted his head back to contemplate the ceiling. He only had a vague idea of where Chicago was. Ms. Szasz despaired at his geography skills, but he knew his way around Gotham so he figured he was okay. Wasn't like he'd ever get out of the city, anyway. According to Mr. Gordon a few doors over, once Gotham got its claws in you it never let go, not really.
"What about you?"
Startled out of his musing by the question, Mikey glanced over at Ted again. "Gotham City," he replied, a vague hint of civic pride in his voice, though more from a sense of obligation than any actual pride. "Probably school, too."
"So...." Ted groaned and crossed his arms over his chest, the suit forgotten for the moment. "That's not even in the same state. We could be anywhere."
"What about what that kid said?" Mikey remarked, running a hand through his hair. "'You're not supposed to be like that.' Be like what?"
Ted's eyes followed the movement of his hand for a moment before he said, "Maybe he meant your hair."
Frowning, Mikey dropped his hand and furrowed his brow in confusion. "What about my hair?"
"It...doesn't match."
The odd feeling that had been lurking on the edge of his consciousness prodded Mikey again and he reached up to press his hair down into his line of sight. What he had initially taken to be poor lighting turned out to be nothing of the kind.
"What idiot dyed my hair black?!"
-----
[ETA of chapter the third: ...eh? Plotted, but currently unwritten]
Beta by lakidaa.
CHAPTERS: { Prologue }{ Chapter One }{ Chapter Two }{ Chapter Three }{ Chapter Four }{ Chapter Five }{ Chapter Six }{ Chapter Seven }{ Chapter Eight }{ Epilogue }
<-{ previous story: Midst Of Rough Earthliness } { next story: Harmonious Discourse }->
~2nd Chapter
Artificial intelligences are much like any other kind of intelligence in many basic, fundamental ways. For the most part, an AI lives, laughs, and loves, just like any other being. Such as in the case of Skeets S01101101011010010111010001101000.
Skeets had always greatly admired Ted's Bug. While not nearly as advanced as he was, through no fault of its own or its creator, he still considered it to be on the cutting edge of technology. A credit to its time.
The sleek lines and near-flawless merging of form and function were not to be scoffed at either.
But since his return to mobility in his strange new bug-shaped body, and in the wake of the OMAC invasion, it had occurred to Skeets that he wasn't getting any younger. For that matter, to many of the hairless apes roaming the planet, he was just so much scrap metal and spare parts.
So it was that, after Ted and Booster had tracked down some of the Bug's parts that had been scattered somewhere in France by Checkmate, Skeets made up his mind to go for it. He asked Bug's "father," Ted, for permission to spend more time with the ship and, after also getting an odd, confused look, was granted that permission. Now it was all a matter of wooing his blue beauty, which he had been working on in his every spare moment.
At least he had been until he heard the worried voice of Ted's other offspring, Junior, saying that they had a problem. Skeets had heard somewhere that it was conducive to the smooth running of a relationship to humor the younger siblings of the object of one's affection. And in any case, Skeets found that, when the boy wasn't in possession of paint, he quite liked Junior. The young human reminded him of the innocence of fledgling algorithms: uncertain of their place in the world, but eager to learn and be useful.
And also vulnerable to new, unknown dangers that they hadn't yet learned to avoid and block.
So when Junior recognized something as a problem, it was a good idea to take his observation seriously.
Uncomfortable with the thought of manipulating Bug's controls so early in their burgeoning relationship, Skeets politely requested that they drop below the thick clouds hiding them from sight. Then Skeets lowered Bug's rope ladder to Junior, who scrambled up it with all the grace and agility of his simian ancestors while they again rose above the cloudcover.
"Skeets!" Junior said breathlessly as he reached the top, pulling the ladder up after him. "Skeets, we have a problem. A big, big problem, only actually it's smaller, but it's still big and-and-and...." The boy stopped to gulp down calming breaths before blurting, "I think my parents got accidentally turned into kids with magic."
Skeets floated in front of him for a few moments, processing. It was entirely possible. There were recorded cases of humans (and in a few odd cases even machines) having their ages drastically changed. And there was no telling what kind of magical minefield Booster had created in the basement.
Not to mention the fact that Junior seemed genuinely rattled by something. The boy had grown up in close proximity to a flesh-eating zombie, was the son of a dead man and a man from the future, and thought having his hair singed by a laser was "cool." If he was thrown by something, then there was definitely something to his claim.
Moving closer, Skeets reached out and patted the boy's shoulder with one of his legs. Humans, especially the young ones, seemed to respond well to tactile reassurance. Sure enough, Junior let out a deep breath and seemed to relax somewhat.
"What do you propose we do about it?" Skeets asked.
Junior stared up at him for a few moments, clearly having had the vague notion that telling someone older than himself about the problem would instantly stop there being a problem. "...Get help?" he suggested uncertainly.
"Good idea," Skeets said, flying over to Bug's communication panel. Junior followed him and settled into one of Bug's seats. "Who are we going to call?"
Junior grinned. "I guess the Ghostbusters are outta the question, huh?"
If he had been capable of it, Skeets would have smiled. It was fairly easy to calm the young human. All that was needed was to drop a line from a recently viewed movie. "Very likely."
Sitting back, Junior scratched his ear, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Hey Skeets?"
"Yes?"
"Do you have the number for the Teen Titans?"
Entering the necessary information, Skeets said, "Contacting them now." It seemed Bug's brother did have some sense. That would need to be encouraged, if only because that sense was contending with the combined DNA of the man who thought Kooey Kooey Kooey was a good idea and the man who once accidentally sent his team to a facsimile of Hell.
----------
Mikey glanced over at his fellow kidnappee, who was still futzing with his clothes. He looked shy, kind of geeky, and clearly wasn't aware that the tight blue suit looked good on him.
As well as the uneven, ruffled reddish-brown hair.
And the blushing. The blushing was downright cute.
"So where'd they nab you from?" Mikey asked, nudging him with an elbow as he settled next to him.
"Probably school," Ted mumbled, blushing again but also looking thoughtful. "It's kinda fuzzy."
"School where."
"Oh. Chicago."
Mikey tilted his head back to contemplate the ceiling. He only had a vague idea of where Chicago was. Ms. Szasz despaired at his geography skills, but he knew his way around Gotham so he figured he was okay. Wasn't like he'd ever get out of the city, anyway. According to Mr. Gordon a few doors over, once Gotham got its claws in you it never let go, not really.
"What about you?"
Startled out of his musing by the question, Mikey glanced over at Ted again. "Gotham City," he replied, a vague hint of civic pride in his voice, though more from a sense of obligation than any actual pride. "Probably school, too."
"So...." Ted groaned and crossed his arms over his chest, the suit forgotten for the moment. "That's not even in the same state. We could be anywhere."
"What about what that kid said?" Mikey remarked, running a hand through his hair. "'You're not supposed to be like that.' Be like what?"
Ted's eyes followed the movement of his hand for a moment before he said, "Maybe he meant your hair."
Frowning, Mikey dropped his hand and furrowed his brow in confusion. "What about my hair?"
"It...doesn't match."
The odd feeling that had been lurking on the edge of his consciousness prodded Mikey again and he reached up to press his hair down into his line of sight. What he had initially taken to be poor lighting turned out to be nothing of the kind.
"What idiot dyed my hair black?!"
-----
[ETA of chapter the third: ...eh? Plotted, but currently unwritten]