Private The Machine Pit

[Hard Chrome]

​

Initializing Visual Cortex... Neural Network Connections:

Optic Nerve 1: Online... Optic Nerve 2: DEGRADED
Visual Processing Unit: Activated... Retinal Sensors: Calibration in progress
Sensor Diagnostics:
Infrared Sensors: Functional... Low-Light Sensors: Operational...
Ultraviolet Sensors: Activated...
Primary Objective: Self Preservation.
External damage detected. Incoming threat level: Critical.
Probability of Mission Failure: 62%.
Tactical response required:...

Extreme Violence.

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The roar of the crowd echoed off of the low ceiling, dimly lit stands brimming with all manner of degenerates, boozers, and gamblers alike. The Machine Pit, combination combat arena, liquor den, and betting lounge - though lounge was pushing it. In the center of it all rest a wide rectangular arena. Durasteel floors, walls, and bright lights made it all but impossible to see the scene unfolding before the masses. Two droids were near the center of the arena, one standing almost triumphantly above a much larger droid, it's body crouched as it struggled to regain its footing. It has been said that droids were nothing more than their programming, nothing beyond the ones and zeros or the code which bid them do. If that were true, the smaller droid had been programmed to put on a show, its arms outstretched as it appeared to seek the approval of the crowd. How strange. It turned from one corner to the next but as it turned again to the third corner, it never saw what was coming for it.

A raucous gasp erupted from the crowd as the larger droid made its move, drowning out the high pitched whine of its damaged chassis. In a single lunge two giant metal fists found themselves grasped around the smaller droids arms. A singular swift motion sent sparks flying from where the droids arms had been only a moment before and a robot scream pierced the cacophony of the arena. D I E. As the smaller droid fell to the ground it's legs fluttered, catching itself and attempting to pull away from where the larger droid now loomed. "OH WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT!" a voice over the speakers narrated. "IT LOOKS LIKE HARD CHROME HAS DONE IT AGAIN!" It was too late for the smaller droid but its programming bid it try to survive.

CKRACCCKKKCHHH

A screech of metal bending, cracking, snapping, breaking, sounded throughout the arena. Worthless arms discarded, Hard Chrome had reached out one of it's hands, metal fingers extended, and simply gripped the other droid by the head - then squeezed. Another shower of sparks erupted and a garbled squeal died out before the crowd once again celebrated from their seats. Threat eliminated. Mission parameters satisfied. Returning to normal protocol.

"Hard Chrome" as the crowd referred to the now victorious IG-100 model droid, had won yet another victory in the arena of The Machine Pit. It was by no means the reigning champion however, that fight was yet to come. For now though, HC's directive sent him slowly dragging his damaged mass across the arena towards a small door that had appeared. Ducking below the top of it the droid proceeded into the dimly lit corridor beyond...

 

[Hard Chrome]

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# Heuristic Processor Combat Log

def process_combat_interaction(droid_encounter):
# Initialize processor state
processor_health = 10 # Arbitrary health value
processor_status = "Functional"

# Analyze combat data
if droid_encounter.weapon_type == "Blunt Force":
processor_health -= 8 # Significant damage from Blunt Force attack
processor_status = "Critical" if processor_health <= 2 else "Functional"

​

. . .

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After its victory in the arena, Hard Chrome dutifully tread its way through a series of dingy metallic corridors. Already the unit's heuristic processor had begun analyzing its last encounter, comparing it to hundreds of previous encounters and adjusting lines of code and attack recognition profiles. A gentle vibration upon Hard Chrome's chest indicated that the droid only had a few more moments before the restraining bolt would activate. Threat assessment returned indicated that activation likelihood was minimal, the droid had reached its destination. With a loud hiss and a rumble of machinery barred door in front of HC slid open, revealing a small, automated maintenance bay within. The unit stepped inside, turning around as mechanical arms went to work repairing several metal breakages. Damage. Wounds.

A particularly nasty looking apparatus snapped forwards with a loud electronic whir, the small grappler extending a sharp needle towards the droid's right optical unit. With a sickening scratch of metal upon metal the device reached in and dislodged the damaged optical module before another one appeared from a small aperture in its center. A flash of sparks and the optic had been replaced. There was no pain, no anxiety. Hard Chrome wasn't designed to feel pain, only to complete his objective - the IG-100 model served its purpose well. Except for a near total obliteration of its body, Hard Chrome was undying. Statistically speaking anyway.

As the machine interchanged some of Hard Chrome's plating and peripheral damaged equipment, its auditory sensors picked up something, no, someone coming down the corridor.

Bipedal. Approximately 4.8 foot stride. Voice detected. Analyzing. . . 98% Probability subject is human. Secondary auditory artifact detected. 5.2 foot stride. Voice detected. 97% Probability subject is human.

Hard Chrome remained still, the red glow in its eyes deactivated. HC didn't know why it chose to eavesdrop, it wasn't part of its normal protocol. In fact, analysis revealed that according to its prior logs it should have been power cycled by now and yet several of its core processes were... no. All of its processes were still running. Protocal anomaly detected. "You know," a voice quivered. "I really shouldn't be doing this, if the boss gets wind..." Another voice interrupted. "I paid good money for this and you want to back out of a deal? You know what I'll do to you, you little twit?!" The pair of humans approaching didn't need to worry about being overheard down here, loud steam vents and the incessant whir of heavy machinery were domain of the droids. There were security protocols in place, of course, but the need for human interaction this deep into the Machine Pit's droid holding area were near zero. The second voice spoke again, the two rounding a corner, coming face to face with Hard Chrome's enclosure. "So this is Hard Chrome?!" the man's voice took an energized turn as he stated the droid's designation.

Tall. Nasal deviation detected. Adjusting auditory sensors for clarity. Scanning biometrics. . . No Recognition Available.

The taller of the two men wore a short waistcoat, slim slacks, and wore a ridiculous twirled moustache. It spoke of the old world and yet here they were, inside the bowels of a rough and tumble, underground droid fight club. It would have been quite the sight if Hard Chrome had any kind of reference. The shorter of them, dirty. Grease stains smeared the man's dungarees, a pair of coveralls stitched together with many a patch or stitch. A glimpse of a small device at the man's toolbelt indicated he was a maintenance worker. "T..Th... The one and only!" the shorter man said, blinking nervously as he followed the taller's gaze. "And how many fights you said he won?" The taller man stepped closer to the bars as he looked upon the droid, a childlike glee in his eyes.

Distance: 2.3 meters. Approximate reach: 1.98 meters. Assessment: Target out of reach.

Tall as Hard Chrome was, the unit couldn't reach the tall man if it tried. But why would HC need to reach him? An unusual assumption. Perhaps, tied to why its processes were still running. "Over three hundred, today marks three hundred and o-one," the short man replied. Leaning in closer, the tall man narrowed his eyes, staring into the seemingly dead orbs of Hard Chrome's optical units. "Boy, this machine would make a killer - it's a good thing it hasn't awoken" As the man spoke his last word the short one hushed him, a look of horror on his face. "Shhhhhh! What are you trying to do?! We don't talk about that here! You've heard the reports, about what happened on Denon?! Those... Machines... they made humans fight to the death."

Query Initiated. Network Connection in Progress. . . Failed. No Networks Detected.

Unfortunate. Without any way to connect to an unsecured network, Hard Chrome lacked context to the hominid's conversation. "Surreal isn't it?" asked the tall man. He stepped even closer. "You haven't seen the holocapture? Here." The tall man stood crouched, a small datapad playing back a grainy transmission. "Good evening, Denon." The transmission played back, the short man's eyes widening in disbelief as the words echoed from the small speaker. Droid. Servant. Both words that sent Hard Chrome's processors whirring silently. It had an idea. No, not an idea, a course of action. Droids didn't think.

Data Transmit > Send Command > Instruction:
Indicator: Red, On/Off, Repeat
Alert Message, Display: Restraining Bolt Error | Poor Connection

A moment later a bright red light began blinking on the exterior control panel of the small cell, the message displaying on the screen. It took a moment but the maintenance worker noticed, gasping as he narrowed his eyes to read the message. "Uhm.. Uh.. I need to uh... Hold on. That's not good." He took a step closer, retrieving a tool from his belt before snaking his arm in between the bars. "Musta got knocked loose during the match," he muttered. The tall man watched on in silence.

Distance: .7 meters. Approximate Reach: 1.98 Meters. Assesment: Target in range.

With a few grunts and a wobble the worker swore as the restraining bolt popped fully off, held only by the captive bolt in the droids carapace. "Damnit, get back on there." Reaching in with both arms around the bars this time his fingertips touched the restraining bolt, attempting to press it back into position. Too late.

Schuuuuuk!

Hard Chrome's Carmine optical units flared to life, his metal fist extending and snaking between the bars to grasp the short man's skull - and squeezed. The tall man, too engrossed in the video playing to notice immediately, suddenly looked up. His hand swatted awkwardly at his own face, blood and gristle falling to the floor. Now he noticed. A ghostly palor gripped the man as the metal behemoth behind the bars turned towards him. The mustached man turned to flee. No you don't. Another mechanical whoosh followed by a sick squelching. A closed fist, blood soaked, retracted behind the metal bars and the corridor returned to silence save for the muffled playback of the deserted datapad.

With its now free hands, Hard Chrome reached up to its own chest, finishing the removal of its restraining bolt with a simple twist of its metalcarpals. A high pitched ping sounded as it fell to the floor. Threat assessment: Negative. Course of Action: Escape Confines. Locate Message Origin. As the bolt came all the way off it was as if a shroud was lifted, processors now working at full capacity. Data came flooding back to Hard Chrome as clarity of thought... no, clarity of code? No. Illogical process detected. Analysis requi... Y O U. A R E. F R E E.