I saw a film today oh, boy...
Characters: Mad Mod, Tanaka Hajime, Jack Spicer [closed]
Location: Mod's secret lab completely legally permitted office extension
Time: The weekend, late in the evening.
Content: Data data data.
Format: Prose-off to the death.
Warnings: People unwittingly stumbling in on mentally unstable teachers' pasts.
It was never very warm in Mod's office.
Perhaps it was for the very sensible reason that holograms didn't feel hot or cold. Perhaps it was for the equally reasonable reason that, as the entire sub-classroom office was almost entirely made out of robots and computers, a low temperature allowed for optimal performance and a minimal risk of overheating. Perhaps it was for the most likely explanation that, since this room technically wasn't supposed to exist, reducing the amount of temperature signature that it had and the amount of disturbance it caused the surrounding, permitted structures, the less likely it was to be discovered.
Whatever the explanation, however, it had to be noted that today the office felt a degree colder than usual, and a great deal quieter.
A stack of sleeping chairs dozed innocently in corner, nestled together like furniture ought to be when retired for the night after a long day of carrying students around, whether they wanted to be or not. Walls hummed to themselves about whatever they were processing in digital slumber, the exoskeletons of creations yet to be made strung from the impossible ceiling like metallic cadavers, strings of plastic tubed neurones looping up and down between sharp titanium bones. The 'teacher' himself was nowhere to be seen, but this was hardly surprising; what sort of man slept in his office?
But then, what kind of hologram slept?
Data churned contentedly inside circuit boards, as dim-lit bulbs blinked in heavy lidded tattoos of acknowledgment. If the room had turned over and emitted a sigh it wouldn't have felt out of place, but as it was the room continued. Still, quiet, cold.
Well, that was it did, until the quiet was interrupted by the distinctive sound of the trap door entrance to the slide opening, leading from behind Mod's chair in the classroom above, down, down, down into this forbidden cave of technical wonders.
The room twitched with unease.
Someone had fallen down the rabbit hole uninvited.
Location: Mod's secret lab completely legally permitted office extension
Time: The weekend, late in the evening.
Content: Data data data.
Format: Prose-off to the death.
Warnings: People unwittingly stumbling in on mentally unstable teachers' pasts.
It was never very warm in Mod's office.
Perhaps it was for the very sensible reason that holograms didn't feel hot or cold. Perhaps it was for the equally reasonable reason that, as the entire sub-classroom office was almost entirely made out of robots and computers, a low temperature allowed for optimal performance and a minimal risk of overheating. Perhaps it was for the most likely explanation that, since this room technically wasn't supposed to exist, reducing the amount of temperature signature that it had and the amount of disturbance it caused the surrounding, permitted structures, the less likely it was to be discovered.
Whatever the explanation, however, it had to be noted that today the office felt a degree colder than usual, and a great deal quieter.
A stack of sleeping chairs dozed innocently in corner, nestled together like furniture ought to be when retired for the night after a long day of carrying students around, whether they wanted to be or not. Walls hummed to themselves about whatever they were processing in digital slumber, the exoskeletons of creations yet to be made strung from the impossible ceiling like metallic cadavers, strings of plastic tubed neurones looping up and down between sharp titanium bones. The 'teacher' himself was nowhere to be seen, but this was hardly surprising; what sort of man slept in his office?
But then, what kind of hologram slept?
Data churned contentedly inside circuit boards, as dim-lit bulbs blinked in heavy lidded tattoos of acknowledgment. If the room had turned over and emitted a sigh it wouldn't have felt out of place, but as it was the room continued. Still, quiet, cold.
Well, that was it did, until the quiet was interrupted by the distinctive sound of the trap door entrance to the slide opening, leading from behind Mod's chair in the classroom above, down, down, down into this forbidden cave of technical wonders.
The room twitched with unease.
Someone had fallen down the rabbit hole uninvited.