>>5561516>>5561427>>5561376>>5561321>>5561256>>5561236Still trying to process exactly what you’re experiencing and how it relates to an ancient command code, you consider the strange little intelligence’s offer. As pressed as you are for time, you are already rather unnerved with the access it has to your systems. With just the encrypted channel you opened, the little scamp has connected to your visor’s display, helmet’s speakers, and apparently even your nanite controller if it’s somehow fixing dead pixels - you cannot imagine what ‘letting in’ the entity would involve. Its fickle emotional state and limited capacity to speak also fail to fill you with confidence - not to mention the stark difference between its scrawled avatar and whatever <span class="mu-i">that</span> thing is on your HUD.
Still, if it can see through whatever is censoring your vision and use its questionable artistic talents to depict what’s inside… maybe it’s worth maintaining your current level of connection. You decide to evade the question for now, and instead attempt to convince the mind/AI-fragment/ghost-in-the-shell (whatever it is) to help you as is.
You glance back at Eyes-of-Night, hoping her stubborn attempts to bypass the censoring system would continue to distract the ‘guardian’ AI for at least as long as it takes to rescue your friends. She appears to have roped WEAVY into the process now, the poor drone having to report error after error as Eon fires rapid requests for information its way.
“Mister? You hear me?” The synthesised voice once again emanates unsolicited from your earpiece. “You called help! I came. Strange box you play in.”
You aren’t quite sure what to make of that, but the stilted speech matches that of a young child so you excuse it's nonsense for the moment. Right now you need to put into practice your diplomacy skills, or lack thereof. If only Kiro were with you right now to help instead of lost somewhere inside the anomalous vessel - though you suppose if he were you wouldn’t need to go into the wyrm-bitten thing in the first place.
“I heard you, little guy.” You moderate your usually stern and commanding tone to something more appropriate for talking to a small person, hoping it's the correct approach. You start out with some introductions to ease into the diplomatic game. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Dallas.”
“D-Dalse?” The voice stutters, trying to mimic the sound. “I know you. You DA-13125. I’m PD-113. You made me sad. Your box made me feel hungry. Then you were mad.”
You blink, trying and failing to parse its meaning. “Playing in boxes? Wanting to be let out and then in? Are you actually a cat or a bird or something?” You chuckle at your own joke, hoping a little levity might lighten the mood. “And those are command codes, not names. My name is Dallas, do you have a name? I could give you one if you like - how about Polly?” You chuckle again.
