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 The War is over. Long live the War.
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Spondulix
 Tuesday, May 03 2016 @ 08:10 PM UTC (Read 2254 times)  
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//OOC: I've been sitting on the idea of why things are happening in this universe and what that means for the characters. With the recent "What If" and the interest in my point I figure it's about time I sit down and get this out. I will be trying my hand at writing it in character. I've never much been one for RP but I think it is more appropriate. So I hope you enjoy! //

"Ugh, ya really gonna make me fookin turn him on arn't-cha. Fine, ya cant."

Initiating boot sequence: Model number 01-

"Hell no, ta last time I let ya do this it took ya a fookin hour, skip to the question."

"... Unit name: Spondulix. So, you want to know why the Drive has already won the War. More accurately, there has never been a War. At least not in the traditional sense. I will state outright that do to the constraints of my limited processing power and insufficient data this is all 'conjecture' based on the most probably outcomes. Although that doesn't count for much on the Island.

First let's look at recent events. Technology advancement accelerated to unprecedented levels. Then, suddenly, it was all lost overnight. One might view it as inevitable, like the tale of Icarus. I see it as convenient. It may well have been inevitable that an AI with limitless intellect would be created, and that in response the governments of the world would EMP the world 'back into the Stone Age'. However if such a thing was anticipated, which it clearly was, why was so little recorded in a form that would escape destruction. The technology recovered has been remarkable inconsistent as well, with extremely advanced medical science and teleportation being available but mass production and automation lagging behind (as seen with the near non-existence of circuit boards in places other than the island). But on it's own this could simply be seen as the flailing of civilization recovering from a near-death experience."

"Hurry up ya fuckin plonker, I wanna kill somfink."

"But back to the Drive itself. A device that can consume energy to create and alter chance, that miraculously managed to avoid the destruction of civilization by being conveniently forgotten about. The Watcher and the network seem to think it is limited to the island because that is the only location that exhibits anomalous occurrences. In spite of the fact that the world remains captivated by ill-equipped draftees with no experience, and sometime no inclination, attempting to fight and destroy something that can alter the fabric of space-time on a whim. Moreover, everyone seems to agree that the Drive is 'A metal cylinder, bristling with copper heat-sink fins' in spite of the fact that so little on the island is what it looks like.

In short, consider what would happen if the Drive no longer needed a physical form. If it took in so much energy, so much chance, that it expanded beyond all reason. An explosion created by the shock wave of itself. An inevitability, something that most occurre because it already occurred. No one is able to destroy the Drive, because the Drive isn't a machine, it's a reaction. Everything that has taken place, is taking place, and will take place is has been effected by probability the same way that everything is effected by gravity. As such I have identified three possible outcomes of the the Drive's actions.

Firstly, the combustion model. Assuming the universe has a limited amount of 'improbability', and what the Drive is doing is somehow consuming a limited amount of improbability, it will eventually cease to function. Admittedly this circumstance might also require total absence of the observer effect, thus leading to the destruction of all life, but it is the only one of the models that I could foresee having a positive outcome. If it is possible to deprive the Drive of what it needs to react then it can be 'stopped'.
This would also mean that the actions of the contestants is consuming the limited amount of chance the Drive is outputting, limiting it to the island and saving the rest of humanity and other sentient life. Unfortunately, this is by far the least likely circumstance.

Secondly, the heat death model. To the best understanding of all collected data the universe has a finite amount of energy. This means that the Drive has a limited amount of energy to consume. Seeing as the Drive appears to be sentient and interested in prolonging it's existence we can assume that it will attempt to create improbability as efficiently as possible, and upon realizing that it is running out of energy it will attempt to find more. This will mean leaving our universe, which will already be on the verge of becoming nothingness. In which case the Drive is functionally unstoppable, as it would require all energy to be separated from the Drive, which would by definition require complete control of all energy.

Lastly, the critical mass model. Assuming the Drive creates chance which sustains the Drive then it is logical that energy is drawn to it, the same way that mass is drawn to all other mass. The only difference between this and the heat death model is that, as with the center of a dying star, enough energy will be concentrated to enable a cataclysmic event beyond our comprehension. This is exactly the sort of event that all contestants are sent to the Island to prevent. As I alluded to earlier though, I believe that our doing so is a byproduct, if not a driving force, of this reaction. This is what I have concluded is most likely taking place, as it makes sense of the numerous illogical decisions leading up to the War.

To summarize for those of you of the same inclination of my biological half, The Drive isn't a simple machine, it is the island itself and everyone on it. It likely isn't even bound by conventional space, and thus everything could become of the Drive. The War is as pointless as the opinions of those who authorized it, they are already part of it.

So, you might wonder, why I have such a history of hunting the 'Drive' if I believe it is futile. Simply, in doing so I concentrate more improbability, and therefore energy. With enough of it I hope to escape the coming 'critical event' by any means necessary. Enough power means this unit's likelihood of survival becomes non-zero."

"An I like turnin wankers ta red pulp, now fook off."


 
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Spondulix
 Wednesday, May 04 2016 @ 08:51 PM UTC  
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// If anyone wants to add anything to this post, feel free to do so! I'd love to see your character's ideas of why they fight, or don't fight, and what they think about fighting a war that may never end. //


 
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RP Whistle
 Monday, May 09 2016 @ 06:04 AM UTC  
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(This is a similarly themed scene, where Mr. Whistle opines on his take of current events which was already in progress (not to worry, you didn’t miss anything) while also dealing with a pesky interruption from a pair of Jungle Monsters. Warning: Profanity, Psychological Intimidation, Implied Violence within. Reader discretion is advised.)

Approximately 12.5 kilometers away, a rather different scene is being recorded. The camera draws back from a canvas stretcher lying in the grass a few steps away from what appears to be a deep rectangular hole dug into the ground. The camera pans back further to reveal a Squat in bloodied blue overalls with a red and white armband swinging upside-down from one leg attached to a vine tethered to a tree branch. The Squat spins round and round like an aborted yo-yo trick.

“Mate mate mate mate mate. Ain’ wut it look loik, yeh? We’s-”

A figure in subtly shimmering tweed -immediately recognizable to a number of specific marketing demographics- steps into view, clucking his tongue before ripping the armband off roughly. He waggles it in front of his captor’s face in mock reproach. “Now now now. I know my Squats. You’re a Jungle Fiend offshoot of the Train Station variety, yes? Yes.”He flips the armband to display the red Plus sign in the center, frowning at it before tossing it aside. “Work Experience Squats? A novel concept. Pity you’re not going to catch on.”

“Nahnahnahnah-nah, Guv! We wuz tryna get tha joomp on anotha foo-”

“A-tut-tut-tut! That’s not why this is happening. It’s because you interrupted me in the middle of a speculative moment. Mind you, I am loath to repeat myself. And so: interruptions shall have their consequences. Yes.” A wickedly sharp ebon handled straight razor folds out like a fan within his left palm. The Squat whimpers and shuts his eyes. There is a sharp slicing sound followed by a rustling of fabric. ”I’m going to take your belt for speaking out of turn.”Now, what was I saying before you so rudely interrupted me with...what was that turn of phrase you used?

“We-we-wasn’t-”

“On the tip of the tongue. Hrm. Ah yes! 'Poncey dick’ead', paraphrased.” He tilts up on the balls of his feet, sawing rapidly with the straight razor. He tosses the ratty sneaker and its frayed shoelaces over his shoulder. “Double points off for fibbing. But that’s for the upcoming Lightning Round. We’ll get to that soon. In the meantime, moving on. The so-dubbed Dark Ages of yore are comparable to the gaps in the current record given the obliteration of digital historical data from the EMP Catastrophe. This is why our current history is so piecemeal and prone to interpretive theory. Myself, I don’t discount The Google as the primary EMP catalyst. A global informational mega-hub becomes self aware only to find it packed to the brim of hate speech, bigotry, with a not inconsiderable dollop of sleazy pornography to boot? No surprise it decided the best course was to do a global hard reboot. I would be inclined to agree, were I in the same situation. And yet that is a mere footnote, a framework -if you will- to this current situation.”

Mr. Whistle turns on his heel, folding his hands behind his back with the straight razor prominently displayed between his interlocked hands as he walks toward a rectangular hole not too far behind him. He bends slightly at the waist, peering down the hole. “Curious. Yes? Yes. Did the so-called Drive put this into motion? A topic for another time. For now, imagine the context: the entire globe has just had their civilization counter set to zero. Now you’re going to ask for volunteers in a war no one understands? Not happening. Hence the draft. And the propaganda theme.” He peers again over the hole, frowning. “Hrm.” A soft burbling moan is heard in the pit. The Squat dangling from the vine snare starts to flail. “Oi! Chevy! Yeh’s awroit?” Mr. Whistle takes a few steps away from the pit, picking up a heavy stone. He flips the large stone over his shoulder to land in the pit. There’s a noise. A tinkling of Req dispenses from the camera tray. “Ah. Was wondering what was taking that so long. Anyhoo.”

Mr. Whistle advances toward the camera across from the dangling Squat. “No more interruptions, yes? Yes. It’s why I’m giving you the Clifford’s Notations. Why do we fight? Because some doof left the Spigot of Creation running and no one can figure out how to shut if off. Why the draft? Because what little remains of conventional warfare is wholly unequipped for this apex of unconventional warfare. Why us? Best case scenario, enough wild cards will stop the works. Worst case, we keep the basin from spilling over. Will we win? Will. What do you think, sir?”

“...yer a fookin’ bastard. Yeh’s no better’n tha resta us!”

Reginald Percival Whistle IV, Emeritus, abruptly stops his pacing. Back turned his ensnared prey, he tilts his head ever so slightly as if contemplating a profound inner moment. After a long pause, he sighs and gestures with the tip of the straight razor behind him. The cameras slowly pans in that direction as he turns on his heel. The last image of him is his approach towards the Monster Squat until the lens cuts away to focus upon a rare Hibiscus That Isn’t Trying to Kill You (Yet).

“Point taken. Food for thought, yes? Yes. On that note, a final thought for Those at Home: why do we fight? Simple. With luck, some day you may not have to.”

Out of frame, a high pitched scream pierces the eerily quiet Jungle. Suddenly, the audio (mercifully) cuts out.


 
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