Posts: 8,310
Threads: 737
Joined: Aug 2008
Staff roles: Moderator
Doc headed for his office on the Battlestar only to stop and see the new offices for the new staff. He hadn't been at his office for a few days but had already viewed the reports of the new administrators. "Nice to see the eagerness," he thought, "it's been sorely needed around here."
Doc hung his robes on a hook he kept by his door and looked over his glasses at some of the paperwork on his desk. He then shook his head.
"Sanctions....more sanctions. Can't people just act right? My three children act better!" he said aloud to no one. He sat down, poured a stiff drink of Coalition Vodka, fired up his com system and went to work. As he did, a grin crossed his face. Taking a chunk of the pile on his desk, he placed some of it on that of Tanker...then Aurigae, then Zukeenee and the other new arrivals.
"There, that should break them in nicely," he said as he returned to his desk to work on his own set of sanction reports.
After completing his moderators duty for the day, Tanker continues on his search for this "Proverbial Admin Coffee". Along his way he hears sounds of hysterical laughter, the screams of the flood monster. and various other sundry sounds.
But the sound that really catches his ear is the sound of fresh coffee brewing.. "Coffee!" Tanker chuckles, "Just what I need". Just as the smell of it reaches him he spies the coffee maker in the corner of a little used galley, with no one in attendence. "Hmm, I've never noticed this being here before" Tanker mutters , "Though every passageway looks the same. No wonder they call it the Lost Battlestar. You can and will get lost in it"
Tanker pours himself a cup and takes a big gulp. "Man, I feel funny. My hands are starting to glow ," Tanker then collapses to the floor and passes out.
Hours, or is it days, go by and Tanker finally awakens and sluggishly stands up. Just now noticing an empty jar in his hand... "I wonder what this thing is for."
Zukeenee awoke with a start, nearly falling out of his seat. Where was he again? He was strapped into some sort of seat in the dark. He couldn't make out even the slightest detail of his surroundings. All he could feel was the worn, thin cushion of his seat and the cold emptiness surrounding him. All he could hear was a faint rumble in the background and the sound of his own breathing. The air was stale, like the recycled oxygen of a spaceship. As Zuke moved his head, he felt the texture of some sort of cloth as it shifted in his face. It's not just dark. I'm blindfolded, he thought. Why was he blindfolded? Zuke attempted to raise his hands to his face, but found that they were bound tightly behind him. As he struggled, he felt the safety harness over his chest, keeping him pinned to his seat.
How did this happen? Zukeenee tried to recall the events leading up to this situation. I was at home, getting ready for bed, and then... It came back to him. Two strange men had broken into his apartment, and before Zuke could get a good look at either of them, one whacked him in the back of his head with some sort of club.
Zuke leaned into his seat and allowed the back of his head to connect with the headrest. Yes, there sure was a lump there. It barely hurt, though. How long had he been knocked out? Hours? Days? He had no idea. Nor could he think of anyone with a motive to do such a thing. Zuke squirmed in his chair, trying to find a way out of the situation.
The faint rumble in the background stopped. There was a hiss, the sound of metal sliding on metal, and then footsteps. The footsteps stopped in front of Zuke, and he felt a pair of hands undo his safety harness. The same pair of hands grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him out of his seat. Zuke was led through a small doorway, down a ramp, and into another open space that felt and sounded much larger. The hands that had guided Zuke undid his blindfold.
Zukeenee was in a hanger. An enormous one, by the looks of it. Several small spacecraft of varying types were littered about the room's floor, many appearing as though they hadn't been used in ages. Zuke looked behind himself to see the man who had taken him. He was mildly surprised to see that it hadn't been a man, but a robot, like the automated dockworkers you see on the more advanced space stations. The robot was returning to the ship from which Zuke had just departed. It was an old, battered Rhino freighter, apparently modified for passenger transport, with the words "A.D.M.I.N. Taxi Service" hastily spray-painted on the side. Zukeenee suddenly began to understand who had taken him. He started to sweat.
"So, the new recruits are here," said a voice behind him. Zuke turned to see a man standing on a raised platform against the nearest wall. It was a man that everyone in the galaxy knew of, but few knew. Many were of the opinion that he simply didn't exist, but the evidence to the contrary stood right here, roughly a dozen yards in front of Zukeenee. It was Cannon, arguably the most influential member of the Autonomous Departmental Managers of Interstellar Navigation. Taking another look around the hangar, Zuke could see the other "recruits" that Cannon was referring to, each one stepping forward from the various freighters that had delivered them. Zuke recognized some of the newcomers as his peers from the Moderation Department. The others were also familiar to him, though he couldn't quite point out from where he knew them. They were all beginning to group up around Cannon, so Zuke joined them.
"You are currently onboard an advanced warship which is stationed at the edge of the Omicron Delta system," Cannon said. "You are each light years away from your respective homes. I hope you said your goodbyes, because you won't be seeing them again any time soon." Cannon's platform lowed itself to ground level, putting him on equal footing with the recruits surrounding him. "The six of you have been chosen to become Administrators. You have been watched, you have been tested, and you have shown us that your individual skills can be of use to the A.D.M.I.N. team. You are to become the deities of Sirius and its neighboring sectors. You will assist us in setting and enforcing the rules of our universe."
Six more robots entered the hangar, each carrying a device which appeared to be some combination of a syringe and a staple gun. The robots approached the recruits and grabbed their arms. Before Zukeenee could react, the robot held the device against his immobilized arm and pulled a trigger. Zuke felt a prick, followed by a brief, intense pain, which quickly dissipated into a mildly unpleasant tingling sensation running through his entire body. He looked around at the others to see if they were getting the same treatment, but the simple act of moving his head made Zuke incredibly dizzy. "You're being injected with thousands upon thousands of nanomachines," Cannon said to the group. "The nanomachines are working to rebuild your cellular structure at a microscopic level, turning you into one of the most powerful beings in the universe. You will each have the ability to warp space around yourself and others, you will be able to hear everything that gets said in Sirius, and you will have the power to alter the fundamental laws of reality. It will take a few minutes for the machines to finish their job. Once they're done, the vertigo and numbness you're feeling will wear off."
The robots departed, and Zuke rubbed his arm, attempting to find out if the tingling sensation had worn off yet. "This power comes at a price, though," Cannon continued. "As Administrators, you have a new set of standards that you have to meet. We will strip from you every shred of sympathy, and drain you of every ounce of compassion for your fellow space pilots. We will turn you into a cold, unfeeling ruler, completely detached from the world around you. Your day-to-day life will be filled with tedium and torment, and you'll find a distinct lack of joy for your job as you wade through the ocean of tears and disapproval created by the very beings you exist to serve." Cannon smiled. "Of course, this won't all happen at once. You'll change over the course of time in the Administration. Some might take longer than others, but we'll hollow you out eventually. My advice is to hold on to your innocent cheerfulness as long as you can. You'll need it."
"With all that out of the way, it's time for you all to get to work," Cannon said, and he pressed a button on the wall behind him. A metal panel sunk inward, and then began to slide slowly inside the wall, revealing a doorway into an even larger room. Through the widening gap, Zuke saw literal mountains of paperwork and datapads, with automated forklifts rolling from pile to pile, picking up and depositing more stacks of rule violation reports. Giant holoscreens hung from the walls and ceiling, some displaying messages sent to and from every corner of Sirius, others monitoring specific ships and people. Pneumatic tubes crossed through the center of the room, carrying help requests from departments all over the warship, and dispatching replies to be delivered out to the space pilots who had sent them. A console on one side of the room displayed various statistics and spreadsheets describing open space, telling how many ships were active and giving readouts of the general traffic in space. A console on the other side of the room displayed charts and long lists of conversations being had on the Neural Net.
Cannon took a few steps into the room, then turned back toward the new Administrators. "This will be your new home. I suggest that you get very familiar with the tools and equipment here, because the majority of your job will involve them in one way or another. So make yourselves comfortable." Cannon grinned, and stretched out his arms to either side of himself, as if to present his surroundings. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the conspiracy."
The cryotube hissed open, cold air billowing out as the occupant came to full wakefulness. A thin claw of a hand gripped the door as the occupant pulled himself free of the tube. Turning to the medidroid the wretched figure asked,
"How long was I out?"
The medidroid did not look up from it's work as it sought to repair another of the figures compatriots. "90 Sirius standard days, you were quite badly damaged. However a total rebuild was not necessary, you are still, mostly, who you were before the damage was done. Your memory core was significantly damaged, all data from the event had to be removed. Without such removal full sanity would not have been possible."
Full sanity, now there was joke, standing as he was in a badly fitting hospital gown in the sickbay of the most powerful vessel this side of the galaxy. His arse itched.
"Where's my clothes and who's still around?"
The medidroid handed him his clothes, the man looked at the robes and ceremonial vestments and felt a flash of memory. Putting them on more became clear and the righteous fire began to burn once gain in the heart of Reverend Del.
"The Hoodlum unit was also badly damaged in the event. Working to rebuild it has taken me some time. It is possible it is dead. Units Gheis and Zelot are in the aft deck working, I believe. Unit Cannon is addressing the new recruits in the Administration module."
New recruits eh? More fuel for the great fire, more tools for the conspiracy. Del stormed out, muttering a prayer as he did so, pondering at the medidroid's use of the word "i". Droids were not supposed to have a sense of self.
Saint Del is considered a holy healer of diseases of children, but also as a protector of cattle.
Sitting in his small room in the Temple of the Damned, silently plotting on his plan on how to make the world a more grumpy place, Jansen took a sip of his coffee. It wasnt an ordinary coffee as its ingredient was the sweetest Zoner tears ever shed, cooked over the fire of the eteral flames of Flood.
While drinking this hot refreshment he thought about all the reports he had to process in the last few months, the whole time since he had been kidnapped and brought to this strange place. He looked around the room, searching for an answer as to why all this had to happen, he looked around and then he realized something.
There have been those that had to be burned in the fires deep within the Temple, but there also had been those that had behaved perfectly fine, those that he could congratulate and those that made him proud. While thinking about all these great moments he realized why he had been sent to the Temple, he realized that he had to protect those poor and innocent people from all the dangers that lie in their way.
With all that new enthusiasm he emptied his cup of coffee and stood up, he started to walk over to his door, just to fall over his chair, while falling down he blamed Blodo for being such a bad architect. I mean, which other architect would forget the windows in a room?
But even this little incident couldnt stop him from moving out of his room, right ahead to the Command Center, back to his duty.
Little did he know that this time, said duty was the christmas decoration of the biggest tree he ever saw...
Garrett Jax turned in for the night after spending several hours in discussions with fellow ADMINS over Player Owned Bases. Immediately after lying down on his Zoner tears filled mattress he fell asleep.
That’s when the dream began.
Garrett found himself in a preschool. Dozens of children ran, skipped and jumped about upon the swings, slides and merry-go-rounds littered throughout the vast playground. Scattered among the children, were daycare providers watching over the children, breaking up minor spats and disciplining the occasional unruly tot. All in all, it was a pleasant time for all.
The next moment, one of the daycare providers brought out a new toy. It was a Constructor Set. All the kids saw it and cheered.
“A new toy,” they cried. “Hooray!”
Every child was given the opportunity to play with their own personal Constructor Set. Garrett watched how each child reacted as they took their toy, examined it and put it to use.
Some children were quite responsible. They took the Constructor set, played with it, and turned it into a building that produced various objects and performed multiple tasks. These children would cooperate with others they found, and everyone involved benefited.
However, other children were far less responsible. They used their Constructor Sets to create buildings that attacked kids they didn’t like as they passed by. Some would place these buildings where a large number of kids played, so as to hurt as many children as possible.
Then there were the children who didn’t want anyone to play with the Constructor Sets. Each time they would find a Constructor Set, they would stomp it into the ground and break it. Some kids persistently tried to rebuild their structures, only to find these same children stomping down their efforts again. Eventually, these kids got so angry they stopped building. Some even left the playground.
Soon, the irresponsible children were ruining the fun for all the kids. Children began crying to their daycare providers. They began demanding rules be made for the use of these Constructor Sets. Some children even claimed that these Constructor Sets should be taken back. They even got mad at the toy manufacturers who designed them.
From out of the mob of children, a voice could be heard, “This is the Final Nail.”
Everyone turned to see the child that spoke those horrible words. The child didn’t appear angry or sad. Just apathetic.
Another child chimed in, “Final Nail.”
And then another and another. Soon, all the children were chanting in unison, “Final Nail. Final Nail.”
They quickly surged upon the daycare providers and overwhelmed them. Soon, not a daycare provider could be seen in the great crowd of young people. When they finished off the providers, they looked around and observed Garrett standing off in the distance. As one body, they rushed at him, roaring and screaming and crying at what had happened to them.
Scared for his life, Garrett tried to run but his legs were frozen in place. The screams were getting closer. He searched his pockets for the only thing that could save him. Where was it? He reached into his pockets, one by one, each coming up empty. The crowd of disgruntled youth was almost upon him. At last, in his last pocket, he found the red button marked Server Lag.
He pushed the button just before the first child caught him. Instantly, the child flew off 20K and disappeared. Another child started jittering from side to side, then he too disappeared. The rest of the kids ran all about him wildly, trying to hit him, but missing. Finally, they tired of the effort and gave up.
Garrett woke up in a sweat. It was just a dream. Thank God. Enough sleep for tonight, he thought. Time to see about fixing that base issue.
Widow wakes up to a strange noise in the room and groans, rolling over and hitting the ‘snooze button on the alarm “It’s before mid-day…. Why am I doing this to myself…..”
It had been days since the last real night’s sleep. Between the amount of complaints that had come in and planning a wedding there wasn’t time for sleep. She grumbled something about being too nice and Looks over to the corner, seeing a pile of paperwork that seemingly grown overnight, she sits on the edge of the bed, and makes a mental list of stuff that needs to be done today. After yawning she decides “Nothing is happening until I have at least 4 cups of coffee this morning….”
After putting a dressing gown on, with every intention of not doing anything, she makes the mistake of looking at the top piece of paper. It was the approval for her name change, she grins and replaces the name card on the door with a new one that clearly states Miss Dauntless. Seeing the second task was simple she sat down. 8 hours later, after flicking off the alarm that had been presumably been going all day, she stumbled out of the room looking much like a zombie, “…… coffee…….”
She wandered down the corridor, trying to find any sort of caffeinated beverage. She yawns as she wonders when the minions and endless supply of coffee she was promised was going to eventuate.
Posts: 8,310
Threads: 737
Joined: Aug 2008
Staff roles: Moderator
Doc was half asleep as he poured the first cup of coffee from the pot of it he had just brewed. Miss Dauntless wasn't far away looking for some herself and Garrett didn't look so hot either.
"Mornin" he said to them, standing with his personal coffee mug still in his morning robe, "coffee first. I'll think of breakfast shortly."
He then wagged his finger, "Never start your day without coffee." He then gave a snicker, "I once said that and a smoke but since I don't do that anymore....."
Miss Dauntless nods a hello and mumbles "coffee is breakfast......" She would be useless until the caffeine kicked in again. She realizes she hadn't even had a smoke today and shrugs, helping herself to the coffee as it was far more important.
10 minutes later she started the conversation up as if it never dropped off, seeming a little bit more lively she poured another cup of coffee "Don't smoke anymore, huh?" Nodding in approval she adds "Nicely done.... I think I might try again next year."
The situation was serious. The entire staff of A.D.M.I.N.S. assembled together to deal with the looming crises before them. The consequences of many recent decisions piled up, one after another, until finally the entire fabric of space and time was in jeopardy of irreparable harm.
Garrett Jax pounded his fists upon the table in rage. “This is unacceptable,” he shouted. “My fellow admins, look at what we have done.”
He pointed to a giant monitor hanging on the wall. The monitor displayed the names and comments of countless ‘members’ of the community. Lesser life forms, they were, incapable of rationale thought. Apparently, they gathered together in herd like mentality to express themselves concerning their miserable state of affairs. Anger, tears and sarcasm permeated their every word. For the Admins, there was nothing more enjoyable than hearing the cries of anguish from these lesser ones.
Garrett pressed a button on the table and a comment was highlighted. “Look at this,” he said, drawing the attention of the others. “Do you know what this is? This is a comment by one of the members of the community actually expressing appreciation for a recent decision made by the Staff here.”
Gasps were audible from among the Admins.
Garrett continued. “And this isn’t the only one. There are dozens of these posts scattered about, all saying ‘Thank you’ to the Admins.”
Murmurs and discontent spread throughout the room as the Staff quickly absorbed what all this meant for them.
“That isn’t even the worst of it,” Garrett said. Silence overtook the room. “The worst part of this whole thing is: Some are beginning to think that we are actually LISTENING to them.”
One of the Admins nearly stumbled over in shock. One spilled his coffee all over himself and swore loudly. Yet another went over to a Moderator and kicked him for no good reason. All of them began arguing with one another on how to resolve this grievous concern.
One Admin spoke up. “We still have the Final Nail threat, don’t we?
“Final Nail?” Garrett scoffed. He pointed again to the giant monitor. “You know what these plebs are saying about the Final Nail now? They are making a joke of it. The Final Nail—Armageddon, and they are just laughing it away as if it were nothing.”
Threats and screams filled the room. This was an outrage. Everything had turned upside down. An Admin went over and gave the Moderator another swift kick. His cries of pain had the same effect as Synthesized Weed, calming everyone down for a moment.
Garrett took advantage of the silence to raise a question. “What are we going to do to rectify this matter?”
From above the din of chaotic deliberations, a few words were heard above all others. Update Six, Phantoms, Server Lag.
After several minutes, Garrett finally spoke. “Okay, I think we have some solid ideas here to fix this situation. We need to be careful on whatever we decide. This trend of happiness cannot be allowed to continue. Let’s all get out there and bring the pain.”
With that, the Admins left the room. Each one, kicking the Moderator as they walked out.
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![[Image: Del1.png]](http://i14.photobucket.com/albums/a344/Spiderjerusalem1979/Del1.png)
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