Bathylopod Logbook Entry

//-- UES [REDACTED], OBSERVED FLORA/FAUNA DATABASE INITIALIZING --

>> ENTER COMMAND...
> new_entry

>> ADMINISTRATOR LOGIN REQUIRED
> username: F_Tamaki
> password: **************

>> LOGIN SUCCESSFUL.
>> PLEASE PROCEED WITH NEW DATABASE ENTRY

>> ENTER COMMON NAME...
> Bathylopod

>> ENTER SPECIES CLASSIFICATION...
> Holcodiscus Galea

>> WARNING: GENUS MATCHES EXISTING ENTRIES FROM PLANET: EARTH.
>> PROCEED WITH CLASSIFICATION? Y/N...
> Y 

>> ENTER DESCRIPTION
> 
Specimen recovered by Planet-side crews. I was presented with a diving helmet containing the corpse of the creature, and cracked remains of an evolute mollusc shell. Shell presumed to have broken upon death, from the diving helmet impacting the ground. Looking up fossil matches from back home confirmed my suspicions. The structure, internally and externally, matches the Ammonitida Order, specifically Holcodiscidae. How it wound up here on the planet is far beyond my paygrade to speculate upon, but I suspect it might relate back to similar creatures encountered in Contact Light database records...

>> ENTER BEHAVIORAL TRAITS...
> 
Presents as a diving helmet with tentacles hanging beneath, capable of floating approximately 2m above ground level. My investigations into the creature's biology match observations made by Contact Light crews, that this creature floats using a constant stream of gas created from within the shell. Creature is hostile to humans and other forms of life, and presumed carnivorous by its stomach contents. The diving helmet does not appear to be behaviorally related to intentional mimicry or deception by the creature, but rather as a convenient additional means of defense to its fragile shell and vital organs. Creature's shell had conformed to the inner walls of the helmet, suggesting it had inhabited it for an extended period, growing into and past the spatial limits the helmet presented. Similar to a hermit crab, but this specimen had seemingly trapped itself within the helmet of its own accord. Strange... 
Entry will be updated when we have further specimens to research.

>> ENTRY COMPLETE. REGISTERING TO DATABASE...
>> WARNING: ENTRY FLAGGED FOR REVIEW.
>> LOGGING OUT.

Ratling Logbook Entry (Written by ebbysauce)

Was Us study-toy for tinker-thinkers. Chain and pain and dark stark cage rage hunger-suffer. But!

None-more.

None-more the tied-bound, not of cage-held are We! Free!

FREE!

The sky-warren teeming with weak live-meat! It fear-scatter before Us! We hunt-find and eat-killing, Our first belly-full to know. None-more poke-prodding starving wanting hurting trapped-kept. Free!

We belly-full with white-coats, eat-killing and eat-kill and eat-killed and they scared-hiding fear-fleeing, a prey-feast for Us! We end-stopping their torture-experiments, belly-full Our aching-pain away with RICH live-meat.

We hunt-devour and feast-gorge, the live-meat become made-born more Us, all more Us!

Made-born Us and made-born Us until endless-many! And endless-many strongest, greatest, never-stopping!

We flooding-swarm the sky-grave, we flooding-swarm the far-rock below...

We finally know-feel Our belly-fill, and grow-become ALL.

Gurp Logbook Entry

//-- TRANSCRIPTION OF FIELD RECORDINGS, DR. B. GUTENBERG, STATUS: MARKED FOR REVIEW --//


Ve heff been followink zese unussual zeismograf readinks für dayce now, to absolutely KEINE awail. Ve heff no readinks from ze subterranean probes, only ze ones on ground level. Zis wastly narrows down vhat couldt be causink ze tremors. Und ze most FRUSTRATING aspect? It keeps müving! Zis cannot line up viss asteroid impacts on ze surface of ze planet, ve vouldt see zem from ze satellite readinks! Zo, VHAT couldt possibly cause zis? Surely it is not a livink creature? ZE MIND BOGGLES! NOTHINK on zis planet is of such gargantuan stature und mass zat simply AMBULATINK sets off ze zeismographic sensors! Ve've been müving towarts ze readinks steatily, but it is simply outrunning us. Ve heff had to rely on our ancient human hunting strategy: chase ze animal, und tire it out vith our superior stamina. Vith zis tactic, ve heff finally gained ground on ze creature. Ve are approachink upon ze locations of readinks from mere minutes prior.

...Vhy do I smell strawberriss?


//-- Transcriptions complete. --//

Notes: This one's a real struggle to follow. Can we get this transcript over to ah... Pvt. Bauer, or perhaps Sgt. Müller? Software's having some trouble transcribing Dr. Gutenburg's report accurately.

Eidolon Logbook Entry

I should've listened to her.

That reading on the gravitational sensors wasn't a fluke. It was all too real... and I ignored it because of a damned shipping deadline. Looking at it now, I think 'Took the long way to avoid a previously undiscovered black hole' might've been an excuse they actually accepted.

By the time we figured it out, it was entirely too late to steer the ship clear. I think the rest of the crew got to the emergency shuttles before the ship was completely done for. 'Course, I stayed behind to keep it out of the pull long enough for that to happen. There was no escape for me. Couldn't be, never was, not from the moment I chose not to alter our course. When I lost my rifle in basic training, the army charged me 250$ to replace it. Guess that's why the Captain always goes down with the ship...

Y'kno, I'm thinking back to that lesson in physics class, about how time dilates alongside gravity when mass approaches infinity. I think for my own sake, I'm gonna try and push that thought out of my head and just reassure myself that I'll go quick and easy. Quiiiick and easy...

Q
u
i
c
k

a
n
d

e
a
s
yyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................




T
h
e
r
e
'
s

n
o

e
s
c
a
p
e
.
.
.

I
t
'
l
l

b
e

q
u
i
c
k

a
n
d

e
a
s
y
.
.
...................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

Rat King Logbook Entry

//--AUTO-TRANSCRIPTION FROM GENETICS LAB OF UES [Redacted]--//

I'm the only one left.

After it escaped, the entire wing was put on lockdown. Its brood flooded the lab and the vents. Security told us over the intercom that if they weren't all dead in a day's time, their only options would be to... "sterilize" the lab, or jettison the wing entirely. I can't let that happen. The rest of my specimens are probably already gone, and any that survive would certainly have to be disposed of after this. But there's too much data and tech in here to let it just... go to waste. All of my research is in here. Though I won't survive, my knowledge and findings might.

I knew I was a dead man from the very moment it escaped its cell, but the others panicked at the news. I heard them screaming, begging at the intercom, but security's hands were tied. Letting us out risked letting it and its brood get to the rest of the ship. The prospective body count would have spiked from a couple dozen to easily in the hundreds. Some of the best minds in their respective fields were on this ship, and I had to watch them all die. Most of the bodies couldn't even be recognized as human anymore. There are going to be a lot of empty casket funerals, thanks to me.

I've got one chance to save my work here. One way to make sure my colleagues didn't die in vain. They hunt by heat and movement, and I'm the only warm body left standing. I'm going to try and lure it into the emergency drop pod. Its brood won't survive without the King. Send it planet-side and let the monsters down there solve this problem in my stead.

Wish me luck. This is Doctor Kvasen, signing off.

//--END OF RECORDING--//

Thqwarp Logbook Entry

//-- RECOVERED COMMS AUDIO, COMMANDO J117 --//


''What is this place, Spark?''

''This is... some research installation... I surmise it to be jetsam from the Contact Light, based on the surrounding debris field. Perhaps the data terminals still hold some information about it.''

''Plug in and scrape whatever you can find on this place. We've gotta be back to the ship by nightfall and report whatever we find.''

''I've found the data terminal storage bank. Allow me to access it an- BZZZZZT''

''Spark? You okay? What'd you find?''

''Oh. Hello. Yes, let's continue. We have much more important business here.''

''What business? We're just meant to scout the area and report discoveries. The Captain'll definitely want to hear about this place.''

''I will deactivate the security lock, wait here.''

''Spark, wait! -

WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE THINGS?''

''This specimen has been designated, 'Thqwarp'. You can see how the body has been transformed by the genetic restructuring of the Thqwib's anatomy. The small creatures carry spores that cause their fluid sacs to harden. This allows the creature to survive, and even thrive in higher atmospheric pressures. It is insidious and elegant. As long as any spores remain, the Thqwarp may persist.''

//-- INTERMITTENT AUDIO PICKUP, SOUND ANALYSIS: GUNFIRE, SCREAMS -- 

''Puzzling. You brought such ineffective weapons to combat the Thqwarps, despite the containment protocols.''

''SCREW THE CONTAINMENT! WE GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE, MOVE!''

''Why, naturally, the Thqwarps are simply too dangerous to release, and mass sterilization protocols may again need to be enacted. Of course, samples were kept here after the last catastrophic outbreak... for study. It seems... that decision may have been an error.''

//-- INTERMITTENT AUDIO PICKUP, SOUND ANALYSIS: WET SLAPPING, EXPLOSIONS, SCREAMS --

''Ah, a pity.''


//-- END OF RECOVERED AUDIO --//

Dire Carp Logbook Entry

//-- TRANSCRIPTION OF FIELD RECORDINGS, PVT. H. PHILIPS. STATUS: MARKED FOR REVIEW --//


//--  TIMECODE: DAY 1, 0800 --

Alright, I've just arrived at the coordinates Sarge requested for survey. Seems to be some ramshackle approximation of a fishing village. Bustling little collection of hovels, really. Bunch of Lemurians walking around the place. Some hauling things around, some chopping up their latest catch to feed the others. Lot of them down by the water, dragging in nets packed to the brim with fish. Whatever these things are doing to catch 'em, it's working.


//--  TIMECODE: DAY 2, 0239 --

What the hell was that? I was just catching some shuteye and heard something splashing down by the water. Not like, 'fish coming around to eat' splashing... Like, 'alligator drowning a gazelle' type splashing. Loud, violent. Took a look over the ridge and saw something dart out of the water and into one of the houses in the village.

...Whew. Probably just a Lemurian getting a bath or playing or something. Dunno why it'd be doing it in the dead of night, but that's not my problem. Going the hell back to bed.


//--  TIMECODE: DAY 2, 0418 --

That... That was no Lemurian. Got woken up by more of that damned splashing and I caught a better glimpse of what was getting out of the water. At a glance, it... it looked a bit like the Lemurians, but... it had the head of a fish. Same kinda' fish the Lemurians were netting in droves. Stood on two legs, walking around when it oughtta' been flopping helpless in the shallows... The thing looked like it knew the place. I swear it saw me. Swear I could see my reflection in those giant eyes...

Okay, uh. I'm... just gonna hope that was a nightmare and get whatever sleep I can before sun-up.


//--  TIMECODE: DAY 2, 1030 --

Jeez, I overslept... Alright, status report. Looks like the fishing ain't too good today. Nets coming up nearly empty. Lemurians scratching their heads, walking around all panicked, shooting glances at each other. One of 'em's walking up to the dock. Seems that it's in charge of all the rest of them, everyone looking at every move it makes. Just made some kinda gesture with its hand and everyone froze for a sec. Now everyone's walking away with their heads bowed, somber-like. Gonna have to keep observing to see what this is all about.


//--  TIMECODE: DAY 3, 2143 --

They've built a bonfire at the shoreline. Waves are coming in rough, kissing the bottom layer of wood. Chief Lemurian's been doing this dance for hours now, while the others load up more and more kindling. Guess this is some kinda ceremony to try and catch more fish? Hope it works for them, things seemed awful dour in town when the nets were coming up empty. Waves are getting real high now. Angry, churning. Chief's getting rocked to and fro, but he just keeps dancing. Looks like we've got one of the little'un's coming to light the bonfire, got a torch and everything. 'Mean, just guessing it's one of the kids, it's smaller than the others. It's...

No. Nononooo...

Please... why's the kid climbing in..?

//-- NO MICROPHONE PICKUP DETECTED. DURATION: 4m07s812ms --

I...

Signing off for the night.


//--  TIMECODE: DAY 3, 0800 --

Nets coming up full. Whole town seems overjoyed. Me? Smell of fish is making me sick to my stomach.


//-- TRANSCRIPTIONS COMPLETE. --//

Bayonetta Logbook Entry

 //-- INTERCEPTED COMMUNICATIONS, HOUSE WITHIN ENCLAVE 21132181 --//


''I can hardly risk to send her for this mission. It is too critical a task, and she cannot be trusted!''

''Precisely what is the nature of your concerns regarding her viability for the mission?''

''She is a TRAITOR! Years away from the Court, doing lowly mercenary work. She flaunts our technology in the presence of lay men, sullying the sanctity of our creations. And her father-''

''And WHAT of her father?! She was raised, educated, and trained by the Court, she is one of our most accomplished agents, and this 'lowly mercenary work' you complain of has saved countless lives while bringing us invaluable knowledge of the systems outside our reach. You'll have no grace from me for piling such aspersions upon her!''

''You're blind to it. You refuse to see the risk she brings to our mission, to our cause, to our journey. Petrichor V is a veritable OASIS of knowledge to be carefully inspected, not to be blown open by such a barbarous emissary as she! She is a liability, and I will not gamble so critical a rescue operation on the whims of that sullied bitc-''

''Counselor, it falls upon me to remind you:

Know.
Your.
Place.

My daughter has attained vastly more for our Journey than you ever will, luxuriating in the comfort of the Enclave, contributing nothing but spite. You will not live to see Heaven, should you continue turning your nose up at the most accomplished Agent you'd ever hold the privilege to lay eyes upon.

OUT OF MY SIGHT. NOW!''

//-- END OF RECORDING --//

Snowtime Turret Logbook Entry

Check out Snowtime Toybox Here!

 

//-- AUTO-TRANSCRIPTION FROM CREW QUARTERS OF UES [Redacted] --//


''I could swear blind I've seen a weapon design like this before...''

''Of course you have! It's the same technology as the sniper woman's rifle, and the ship uses it for the onboard weaponry.''

''Yeah, I know all that, but this one reminds me of something...''

''It's a pretty simple mechanism, really. Staged magnetic accelerators bringing a projectile to hypersonic velocities, simultaneously cooling it to single-degrees Kelvin. Zero moving parts, and the projectiles carry enough kinetic energy to punch through 6 feet of hardened plasteel-ceramic armor plating and collapse an interceptor-grade damping field. The M68B ALIM is the finest weapon I've designed. I've built the turret around this beast of an armament, and designated it CT-64U5.''

''Yeah, that IS it! The Gauss Cannon, right? Ain't that from that old game, the one on the giant space ring?''

''I... have no clue what you're referring to.''

''Ah, come on now. Everyone played that one growing up, I remember driving around in the big 4x4s, letting the soldiers railgun stuff with the mounted gauss cannon.''

''I'm so sorry, you must be mistaken. This is an original creation of my own design!''

''Uh huh... Hey tell me real quick, does 'BXR' mean anything to you?''

''HUNDREDS OF DEATHS OFF ONE UNBELIEVABLY TOXIC BUG, HOW DID THEY LEAVE THAT IN THE GAME?''

''Hah, I knew it!''


//-- Transcriptions complete. --//

Shortcake Turret Logbook Entry

Check out Snowtime Toybox Here!

 

 //-- AUTO-TRANSCRIPTION FROM CREW QUARTERS OF UES [Redacted] --// ''Ok, I really gotta know about the bunny turret.'' ''As I have repeatedly insisted, those are PURELY FUNCTIONAL attachments.'' ''And I repeatedly don't believe you.'' ''The CT-6UP is designed in conjunction with the CT-64U5 model. The SHORTCAKE turret uses synthesized Gup pheromones to draw hostile creatures into range for the SNOWTIME turret to dispatch. That, combined with the SHORTCAKE's supportive capabilities and heavily armored chassis, make it an ideal pairing with the much frailer, but more heavily armed, SNOWTIME.'' ''You're doing the thing where you avoid actually answering my questions by breaking into rushed techno-babble again.'' ''Oh, MY APOLOGIES for finally putting some faith in your robotics knowledge! The 'ears' work as pheromone dispersal vectors, long antennae located away from the moving parts and the heat, the 'fur' providing ideal volume-to-surface-area ratios for efficient release of the compound.'' ''See, now you're finally making some sense. So, I'm guessing means that the slice of cake is a shock-resistant and thermo-insulated storage tank for the synthesized pheromone? You're just keeping the sensitive compound away from the spicy parts of the unit, and minimizing the risk of any impacts causing chemical breakdown!'' ''EXACTLY! You're finally starting to understand my design process!'' ''Nah, I've seen the schematics. I made all that up to see if you'd bite.'' //-- Transcriptions complete. --//

Turretling Logbook Entry

Check out Snowtime Toybox Here!

 

//-- AUTO-TRANSCRIPTION FROM CREW QUARTERS OF UES [Redacted] --//

 

''So now what, you're finally going to show me how the sausage is made?'' ''This wouldn't even sniff the constructional simplicity and perfection of the humble sausage! Immeasurably more foolproof than the mess I've made - if I had just finely ground up the components and stuffed them into some robot's skin, I would have fielded a much better product.'' ''Hey c'mon, it can't be that bad. You ever seen my repairs on the exoskeleton? UES decided that stocking us up on the right gaskets and fittings for the hydraulic system was 'financially unjustifiable'. Unrelated fun fact, did you know that a pack of chewing gum can hold a seal of up to 3500 PSI in a pinch?'' ''Fine, if you insist on bearing witness to my shame, so be it. Here are the schematics for the CT-CHB and its proprietary software.'' ''This is...'' ''Hideous! Unsightly. Ghoulish. I know. Out with it, already!'' ''Perfect.'' ''What?'' ''The locomotive limbs each working off of a single servo set in the main body, pulling high-tensile cabling like a human hand. Panels machined to within a tenth of each other, allowing it to fold up to the size of a lunchbox with zero risk of interference. The action of the weaponry creating a low pressure zone at the top of the unit, siphoning heat away from the components and requiring no other active cooling. That overclocking algorithm using the increased compute overhead to constantly monitor the status of the components and feather the voltage?'' ''What about it all?'' ''This is a piece of art, man. You really gotta start giving yourself some credit.''


//-- Transcriptions complete. --//

Acanthi Turret Logbook Entry

Check out Snowtime Toybox Here!

 

//-- CT-V4MP ENTERING STANDBY MODE --//

''...Imp cornea's holding up surprisingly well. Great, this'll be 'fun'. Just gotta pop the hatch on the firing system before it wakes up again...''

//-- CHASSIS INTRUSION DETECTED --
//-- COMMENCING DETERRENT PROTOCOLS --
//-- FIRING LACERATING BEAM -- //

''Ow, ow, ow... GOD, why'd I go all-in on this security protocol?''

> INTRUDER BLOOD VOLUME: 4.5L

''Oh good, that's still... plenty. Will you PLEASE come loose? I'm on a timer here!"

> INTRUDER BLOOD VOLUME: 4.2L

''Really should have brought DOC online first. Little guy could have bought me some extra time.''

> INTRUDER BLOOD VOLUME: 3.9L

''Alright, that's the chip done, just gotta get underneath the board to desolder the MOSFETs...''

> INTRUDER BLOOD VOLUME: 3.3L

''Is it getting faster? ...Why is it getting faster?''

> INTRUDER BLOOD VOLUME: 2.7L

''Aaaaaand... DONE! DOC, can you... help me out?''

> INTRUDER BLOOD VOLUME: 2.1L
> CHASSIS INTRUSION CEASED
> EXITING DETERRENT PROTOCOLS

//-- CT-V4MP ENTERING STANDBY MODE --//

Bread Turret Logbook Entry

Check out Snowtime Toybox Here!

 

//-- initializing...,,.,, --
//-- firmware version CT-BR34D ok,, --
//-- good morning, operator :pleading:,.,.,. --//

''Wait, why does the terminal output look like that... Is something wrong, Bread?''

> i ok operator..,.,

''That is NOT okay, what the hell is causing this?''

> where acanthi t urret.,.,,.,

''The V4MP Unit? It's next up on the table for testing.''

> plea s put me back with acanthi turret.,., fren..,

''I'll remember to keep you two together in storage. AFTER you complete all the required function tests.''

> :pleading:

> pleas entr command.,,,,,,,,
> sudo BADBLOCKS -v

> testing storage drive healt h...
> 0 malfunctioning sectors found,.,,,

''Okay... I guess you just speak like this now. Alright, that's all for today. I'll be sure to store you and V4MP back together after testing.''

> thank u!1!!

Borbo Turret Logbook Entry

Check out Snowtime Toybox Here!

 

//-- INITIALIZING --
//-- BEGINNING SYSTEMS TESTS --
//-- FIRMWARE ERROR --
//-- ATTEMPTING REFLASH --
//-- FOUND FIRMWARE VERSION CT-2R4R --
//-- FLASH FIRMWARE VERSION? Y/N --//

> Y

//-- INPUT ACCEPTED --
//-- BIOS REFLASH SUCCESSFUL --
//-- INITIALIZING --//

''Good morning, Model 2R4R. You're going to be testing a very special armament that I've devised.''

>> INCOMING COMMAND...
>> SUDO INIT ARM_3CORN.CMD -o -c

> OK. WARMING ARMAMENT...
> ACQUIRING TARGET... FOUND.
> ARMAMENT OPERATION: INITIATED.
> AMMUNITION: 1 | TIME ELAPSED: 00:00:00>
> ARMAMENT OPERATION STATUS: FLOPPED
> ARMAMENT ERROR
> SUPERBUG DETECTED IN FIRING PARAMETERS

''What the hell is a 'superbug'? Please describe the error in detail.''

> WISHLIST SUPERBUG ON STEAM

Personal Turretling Logbook Entry

Check out Snowtime Toybox Here!

 

//-- AUTO-TRANSCRIPTION FROM CREW QUARTERS OF UES [Redacted] --//


''They're crazy popular.''

''What do you MEAN they're crazy popular? They're an autonomous fleet of KILLING MACHINES! Why does the High Court woman have one of my turrets dressed up in her colors, relaxing in a SHRINE in her quarters?''

''She likes the little guy. She's not the only one, either''

''Is this going to be better or worse for my health if I'm informed as to what you cretins are doing to MY HARDWARE?''

''Well, I repaired one that landed funny down planet-side. You made them pretty easy to fix, thanks for that. Cap's got one that hangs out on his desk. He calls it 'Paperweight' but he gives it little pets and chirps when he thinks there ain't anybody looking. Few others 'round the ship got the same idea, what with your fleet of killing machines wandering the place.''

''I can't believe this. Do you have ANY idea how many hours I spent on planning those units' schematics, let alone all the time fabricating and DEBUGGING? YEARS of my life on this project, all to field unmanned excursions down to the planet. Now the crew are ADOPTING them, like a litter of kittens!''

''Yeah, pretty much.''

''I hate this.''

''Well, too bad. Ain't our fault you made 'em so cute.''


//-- Transcriptions complete. --//

SCUTTLING Logbook Entry

Check out Snowtime Toybox Here!

 

//-- ERROR -- //-- MECHANICAL OBSTRUCTION: LEG SEGMENT 11 -- //-- AWAITING MANUAL INTERVENTION -- ''What's wrong, you get something stuck in your gears, Scuttle? Let's see what you've got jammed in there...''

 

''A beetle leg? And a big one, too! You must've had a lot of trouble getting back with that weighing you down. ... There. All free. Good job, Scutt.''

//-- IMPACT DETECTED -- //-- LOCATION: TURRET BATTERY -- //-- FORCE OF IMPACT: 15N -- //-- DETECTING INTENT... PRAISE DETECTED -- //-- :) -- //-- ENTERING STANDBY --//

SCOTTLING Logbook Entry

Check out Snowtime Toybox Here!

 

//-- INITIALIZING --
//-- BEGINNING SYSTEMS TESTS --
//-- FIRMWARE ERROR --
//-- ATTEMPTING REFLASH --
//-- FIRMWARE ERROR --
//-- USER INPUT REQUIRED --//

''Alright, just need to flash the new version on so you can actually see all your new hardware...''

//-- INPUT ACCEPTED --
//-- BIOS REFLASH SUCCESSFUL --
//-- GOOD MORNING, OPERATOR --//

''Good morning, Scott! You've gotten some upgrades over the last version. Let's get all that running.''

>> INCOMING COMMAND...
>> SUDO INIT ARM_NOOBTB.CMD -o -c

> OK. WARMING ARMAMENT...
> ACQUIRING TARGET... FOUND.
> ARMAMENT OPERATION: INITIATED.
> AMMUNITION: 5 | TIME ELAPSED: 00:00:00>
> TARGET EFFECT... INCONCLUSIVE.
> AMMUNITION: 4 | TIME ELAPSED: 00:00:03
> TARGET EFFECT... INCONCLUSIVE.
> AMMUNITION: 3 | TIME ELAPSED: 00:00:06
> TARGET EFFECT... INCONCLUSIVE.
> AMMUNITION: 2 | TIME ELAPSED: 00:00:09
> TARGET EFFECT... INCONCLUSIVE.
> AMMUNITION: 1 | TIME ELAPSED: 00:00:12
> TARGET EFFECT... INCONCLUSIVE.
> AMMUNITION: 0 | TIME ELAPSED: 00:00:15
> ARMAMENT DEPLETED.
> TARGET EFFECT... CONFIRMED.

> PLEASE ENTER COMMAND_

''Let's... rework those targeting parameters, and try again.''

//-- COMMLINK TERMINATED --//
//-- BEGIN HIBERNATION --//

Swarmling Logbook Entry

Check out Snowtime Toybox Here!

 

//-- AUTO-TRANSCRIPTION FROM CREW QUARTERS OF UES [Redacted] --//


''Whaddaya got there? A game?''

''A GAME?! Buzz off, I'm doing fieldwork. IMPORTANT fieldwork!''

''Looks like something one of the keyboard jockeys plays during breaks to me... Plays it on shift too, if nothing needs monitoring.''

''Consider paying even the SLIGHEST bit of attention to what's going on past the tip of your nose, eh? Anything look familiar? Like say, that curved pillar? Or that stone platform?''

''Oh... Yeah. You're piloting those things down on the planet?''

''Eureka! She finally gets it! 

Yes it's a networked swarm of my custom CT-CHB Mobile Walker Turret. Piloted via my custom software using the ship's comms array, allowing for sub-5 millisecond input latency from low orbit down to the planet's surface. Even works up to a thousand meters below. I say 'shoot' from up here, and they shoot before you could even blink.

A complete upgrade over those ancient TC-2RT junkers you see dotted around down there from the Contact Light. Miniaturized frame offering no drawbacks to the older model in terms of structural integrity, and a massively elevating the model's threat pacification capabilities. Now with ambulatory limbs capable of traversal comparable to meat-sacks like us, and it packs flat for easy storage, transport, and repair.''

''All of them?''

''What do you mean, 'all of them'? The majority of the fleet is the miniaturized model, while others have some... custom hardware. Purely for specialized operational parameters, of course.''

''No, like... You're controlling all of them? I've seen a whole bunch of those things laying around. Even patched one up for myself. Pretty slick that you can handle all that with just the two hands.''

''NO, you meathe-

No, they have autonomous protocols when manually activated by anyone planet-side. I'm only one-... well, most of one man, but things still need doing down there. The CT-CHB swarm can become my eyes and gun barrels on the planet, even beyond the limitations of this singular body.''

''What's up with that one glowing rainbow colors?''

''Ah, yes, the overdrive protocol. Naturally, some situations may require more force than any individual unit can exert at a given time. So, I've designed a special subroutine to run that allows for limited-time overclocking right up against their failure thresholds, vastly augmenting their capabilities. Thus far, I've run into... difficulties getting the subroutine to run correctly under autonomous function. As an 'Emergency' command, it can't be run remotely. Therefore, the subroutine occurs randomly on the units you'll find planet-side. For now, just consider it a bit of good luck if you happen upon a Rainbowized unit.''

''Okay. That really doesn't explain the rainbow colors.''

''The... um, excessive voltage running through the modules causes their indicator lighting and thermochromic hull panels to... temporarily malfunction. A technical glitch, is all.''

''Sure. Now, that one's bright orange. All the other ones are neon or pastel colors too. I even remember seeing one with some bunny ears and a slice of cake sat on it. Just what kind of 'specialized operational parameters' need bunny ears?''

''...''

''Look, you can just say you wanted them to look cute. Ain't no shame in it.''

''I-

...

You will not speak a word of this to ANYONE.''

''You got it, boss.''


//-- Transcriptions complete. --//

Defunct Deconstructor Logbook Entry Draft 4

Blinking lights cascade across the ship as the robot maneuvers itself into place to remove the massive panel. Thousands of others take their ordained positions to begin their tasks. Just another RUS-T unit, disassembling a decommissioned vessel.

Commands relay in across the swarm, and it dutifully gets to work thermo-drilling rivets in the allotted order. Dozens of units flock to their delegated tasks without and within the ship's carcass, like crabs swarming a freshly fallen whale.  

The robot sees errors coming through the network. Unexpected rivet removals, incorrectly ordered support beam cuts. Multiple units report an all clear as they continue to perform misplaced tasks. The robot has no capability to respond to these units' mistakes, and as such it continues with its task. Its thermo-drill blazes away across the skin of the ship, peeling it apart

bit

by

bit.

14,513 rivets later, it picks up unexpected audio signatures. Creaking, bending metal, shearing away out of turn. Process errors pile through its CPU threads, clogging up its allotted tasks. The metal frame breaks free, with dozens of the robots in tow. Just another RUS-T unit, adrift in open space.

The robot's locomotive arms flail for purchase as it drifts aimlessly. Accelerometer readings detect a strong pull, bringing it towards the bow of the ship. The magnetic tether of the salvage barge grabs hold of the multitude of errant robots, and untold tons of loose metal from the vessel. The mass of debris races towards the origin point of the tether, colliding with the bow of the ship, the hull cratering from the impact. The robot crashes against it and briefly rebounds, only to be caught by the panel. The robot once again strikes the ship, wedged between it and the loose metal. Optical receptors pick up multiple units in a similar predicament, many crushed completely under the pull of the tether. Catastrophic structural damage warnings flare across the robot's processor threads as it powers down into recovery mode.



The robot is powered back on; sat upon a greasy table, in pieces, presided over by a pair of repair technicians. It beeps out error codes on repeat, prompting one to strike its chassis, barking at it to quiet down. The mechanics slowly piece the robot back together, bickering between each other about the robotic salvage fleet.

'You already got busted up enough out there, let the robots take the risks. No casualties that way.'

They go back and forth over glory days of shipbreaking so recently passed, steadily performing structural repairs and clearing the system errors. The process is interspersed with smacks to its chassis, yanked out connectors, and expletive-laden rants.

'Why put the bots out there if they're just gonna keep screwing up like this? Stupid tin cans doing MY job got me stuck in this damned garage!'

The robot continues to listen intently as its repairs complete. Cobbled back together, and ready to be thrown back outside to scavenge for scraps. Just another RUS-T unit, made to be replaceable.

Defunct Deconstructor Logbook Entry Draft 3

''So what'd this one get itself into?''

The robot sits in pieces on the greasy workbench, dormant. A beeping sequence of error codes rings out repeatedly.

''Unit 32819. Got 20 more looking about the same as this one. Incident report states:

    'Big panel broke loose after one of the RUS-Ts messed up the drilling order. 50 tons of metal got yanked towards the vessel's magnetic tether with 41 disassembly units in tow, all proceeding to impact the stern of the ship.'

This one's got two damaged locomotive arms and minor dings and dents to the chassis. Pretty easy fix, and a lot better off than some of the others.''

''You ever think they'd try programming some common sense into these dumb little balls?''

''All they're doing is following the instructions that get relayed in.''

''How's about giving it an instruction like 'don't get your dumb ass squished when bits of the ship break off from you purposefully breaking them off'?''

The robot's beeping ceases as repairs continue, replaced with an occasional chirp as each error code clears.

''You gotta admit it's impressive, seeing them swarm over the ship like a colony of ants and break it down into bits to sell off. I think they're kinda cute, even. Reminds me of a little droid in a movie I watched growing up.

''Well, the little ball droids stole our jobs! I miss being out there, breaking the ships by hand. Fastest turnover team in the company! Made a damned good living doing it, too. Now we're just playing nanny while the bots do it for us. ''

''While the bots do it faster, and with fewer casualties. You sure you wanna go out there with an arc torch and atmo suit now, after the last job had you looking worse off than our little patient here?''

''Might get the chance if these things keep getting pancaked at the rate they're going. Hell, I'd even say I'm glad that they're breaking down so often.''

''Anything to relive your glory days, eh?''

The robot remains dormant on the workbench, still listening intently.

Bird Logbook Entry Draft 2

''The hell is it..?''

''What, did the damn thing reboot itself again? I swear, the data terminals are more reliable than that bucket of bolts. Company's gonna have a fun time RMAing these things when they hit store shelves.''

''Not just that, but now it's... got a friend?''

''The Company sent that prototype along for the mission so we could send it out to explore and scan things. That's it. So, who decided to give this thing social skills? What the hell has it found, anyway?''

''It's this flying creature that's been sticking around the bot. Almost looks like a normal bird from back home.''

''And why didn't it just scan the bird and move on?''

''It did, actually. Added the bird to its wildlife catalog under the name 'Jade Thrinch'. Behaviors and beak structure suggest that the creature poses an incalculable existential threat to uh, small arthropods, soft-skinned fruits, and seeds. Slightly less so to us. But there's some behavioral feedback loops going on that are making the bot 'like' having it around: 

Bird sticks around BAS-10, bird gets passively scanned by the cameras, bot's AI is rewarded for a successful scan; ergo, bot likes the bird. Happens over and over, a few thousand times so far. What's really fascinating is that the reinforcement loop seems to persist through full resets, no matter how many it runs itself through. It's like whatever bug or... feature, maybe? It's like it's baseline, or something at the hardware le-''

''And we didn't test for this kind of thing before dropping it on the planet? UES didn't test for it before saddling us with the damned thing?''

''You wanted it out the door ASAP, techs didn't have time to run a full diag after getting it out of the crate. I'd have loved to pick its 'brain' about this subroutine it's running, do you think maybe I could insp-''

''Subroutine? Great, so our pet robot is doing side quests instead of what we sent it out there for.''

''Progress is slow but it's still performing its tasks - when it's not going through a hard reset cycle, at least.''

''Reboots and attachment issues. Guess we'll send it to the techs if it ever makes it back onboard. Or a therapist, I guess.''

Necromancer Logbook Entry

They called you a failure. Inept. Useless.

Shunned you, dismissed you from their inner circles. Denied you their secrets.

So you ran away. Fled. They laughed at such cowardice.

But you would not be gone for long.

You were not one to simply flee in cowardice. You would seek satisfaction in... other fields.

And so, you took to your studies.

Pored over secret tomes that they decried as heresy. Declaring it tainted, they discard the seed alongside the chaff.

You discovered secrets and magicks they could never dream of. Manipulation of the very essence of life itself.

With but a thought, their hearts would be in the palm of your hand.

Such is the power they denied. They feared to cross that line. He who has never tasted grapes, says sour.

But not you. You are much more. 

Perhaps you might do them a kindness. Repay them for such gracious hospitality.

Reunite them with lost kin? Childhood friends, or wayward lovers, long since departed?

Relieve them of that burdensome life they so desperately clung to, grasping little fingers scrabbling for purchase as they cast parsimonious opprobrium down on you. Perhaps grant them some small magnanimity, earning their meager worth serving under a new master?

This is precisely what I mean to do. The power they so self-righteously disavowed is mine to command. 

These wizened old cowards shall frustrate my studies no more. They will make for apt pupils, learning a lesson they have shirked far too long.

And I? I shall be a teacher most sublime.

Grand Admiral Logbook Entry

//-- RECORDING FROM CREW QUARTERS OF UES [REDACTED] --//


''Who the hell's the dude been mean-muggin' all the officers?''

''You didn't hear? He's one of the top guys at UES. Ranks above the Captain, even. Grand Admiral, I think. Top of the top dogs. Added to the ship's roster last minute. Guess the Board called it in.''

''Nah, I been wondering what his deal was. Shot me a glance the other day like I was doin' something wrong. Man, I was just eatin' lunch! 'm I eating lunch wrong now?''

''The guy's super scary, I've heard stories. If they're even half-way true, I want the hell off of this ship.''

''Like what?''

''On his last assignment he was there for the long term, had his office filled to the brim with a bunch of art. Paintings all over the walls, weird sculptures all lined up on tables. Seems he's a big collector. One day, one of the grunts went in for a talking to and knocked something over on accident. The thing got shattered into bits. The Grand Admiral was stone-faced, just ordered him back to his quarters. Next day, 0600 sharp, grunt gets yanked out of bed and marched outside. Had him face the wall and executed the guy. Did the deed himself. A pile of ash got sent back home to the guy's mom.''

''Nah, stop cappin'. Ain't no way he could get away with that kinda thing.''

''Who's he got to answer to? There's a couple other Admirals at the same rank, and above them it's just the Board of Directors.''

''And the Board is just chill with this dude killin' his guys whenever he wants?''

''Guess he's that valuable to them. If that's really how they feel, I'm turning in my papers once we get back home. I want nothing more to do with this company, man.''

''So what the hell we doin' on this mission if they sent *him*?''

''After hearing all that, I don't think I wanna know. If you ever end up having a meeting in his office, just be careful not to touch **anything**.''

''Ain't that the truth.''


//-- Transcriptions complete. --//

Goobo-13 Comic Draft

{The beginning panel(s) are blacked out, viewed from 13's perspective with closed eyes. Speech and thought bubbles need distinct styles and fonts for both characters.}

Agent 13 regains consciousness after his injuries. His eyes remain closed, and he remains silent, mentally going over the situation he finds himself in.

*Okay. I'm hurt pretty bad. What the hell just happened? Ran to the loading bays for evac, something exploded, I got knocked out... Then I-*

Goobo interrupts. {13 does not yet notice they're sharing thoughts. Goobo's speech bubbles appear out of the body, not from a face or mouth.}

"Firteen okay?"

{Depict a blurry view of the ceiling, viewed through opening eyes. Cut to a tight angle of just 13's helmet, yet to see any of Goobo's matter surrounding it, and then to a shot of their full body.}

The being that is now Goobo-13 is laid on the floor of the ship. Agent 13 is dazed, just waking up after his injuries. 13 looks down to discover that Goobo has coalesced around his broken body. His right arm is severed above the elbow, his lower half is separated from his upper, the detached pants of his atmospheric suit bulging taut around the gelatinous mass that now surrounds most of his body. 13 continues to take a mental tally.

*Well, that can't be right. I'm dreaming. Or hallucinating... I-*

"Firteen, plees get up!"

13 interjects aloud.
"Stop interrupting me! I'm trying to think!"

"No time for tink. We find papa."

"Papa...? Who the hell- Oh. You mean the doctor? Right... You'd be that new goobo specimen. He kept calling himself your papa."

"Big stong goobo put you back together so we find papa!"

"Put me back... I really have been torn to bits, haven't I..."

13 slumps down within the gelatinous mass that surrounds him. The mass urges the pieces of him upright.

"Alright, alright! I'll get up. We'll go try to find your papa."

...

Goobo urges the body forward, barely knowing how to walk.

"Oh for the love of- Just let me handle it! At least one of us knows how to walk."

"Walk..."

"You just move your legs like this, one step after another, always moving forward. No, not like that!"
Goobo-13 trips and falls, the goo morphing to absorb the impact.

13 thinks to himself as they clumsily roam the corridors.
*Just gotta find him, he'll be able to figure out what the hell happened to me... The man's always been a magician with the scalpel. He can put me back together, and get this goddamn goo off of me.*

The gelatinous mass sags at the thought.
"You no want goobo? Goobo put you back together..."

"What the fu- Get out of my head!"

"But goobo just help. To thank firteen."

"I... Let's just go find the doc."

...


Goobo-13 continues trudging through the broken corridors of the ship, steadily increasing in the pace and dexterity of navigation.

"Looks like the whole ship went down. It's a wonder there was anything left of me to save..."

"Goobo protect you! Papa said so."

"Well, I'll have to thank your papa when we find him. I probably owe him a few beers for this."

The pair comes upon the doctor's quarters in the medical bay. Debris entombs the entire wing of the ship. They excavate the debris. Along the way, they find a piece wedged tight. It cannot be moved without the help of another.

"Great. How are we gonna get through? We'd need someone on the other side to pry it loose."

The two pull and push and twist the debris, to no avail, ejecting backwards from the strain. Upon the sudden landing, the Goobo matter finds itself separated into two piles. One portion coalesces around the parts of 13, and the other forms a similar, smaller shape of Goobo-13.

"Okay... New plan. Send the uh, other half of you, through that gap in the wreckage."

"Okay!"

The separated mass of goobo material deforms and snakes through the debris. As it plops to the ground on the other side, the facsimile of Goobo-13 rematerializes out of the mass. Together with the main body, they clear the debris. With the way clear, the two masses meet again and reform into one.

"Mmm... Tasty goobo!"

"Not sure I'm gonna call that tasty, but it worked."

Upon finding the doctor's office, the two of them come upon a massive hole in the side of the ship, leading outside onto the surface of the planet. A trail of blood and non-human footprints lead outside and into a cave. Goobo-13 rushes to follow the trail and comes upon a large force of Lemurians, clawing and biting at a lone human figure in a white lab coat, laid out in the fetal position.

The two cry out in unison, words overlapping.

"VICTOR!"
"PAPA!"

{Any enemy horde can appropriately replace the Lemurians here. They are simply fodder for Goobo-13 to fight off to reach the doctor. The details of the fight are also fully flexible. Just showcase what Goobo-13 can do.}
With heretofore unseen coordination and precision, Goobo-13 rushes to attack the lemurian force that has taken the man. Goobo produces clones of itself to dogpile and explode upon the lemurians, Goobo-13 lands punches with incredible brutality at others. 13 grabs handfuls of the Goobo material and heaves it at yet more. 

All the lemurians lie dead, and Goobo-13 stands panting, more as a muscle memory than a necessary bodily function.

Goobo-13 approaches the man in the white coat, and finds him lying still, clutching an empty canister. The words "Specimen 208" are scratched out, underneath is masking tape with the words "Perfected Goobo" scribbled on.

Goobo cries out at the sight.

"PAPA! Goobo help Papa!"

A large mass of Goobo-13's material flies off towards the doctor's limp body, leaving 13's broken form unable to stand. The pieces of Agent 13 collapse under their own weight, barely held together by the remaining Goobo matter. 

13 speaks out, weakly.
"Goobo... I don't think you can do anything to help him..."

"No! Goobo help papa and thirteen! Papa told Goobo! Goobo promised!"

Goobo surrounds the body of the doctor and tries to stand, but the body remains limp. The amalgamation collapses into a pile.

"STOP, GOOBO! Let him rest. He's...
 
God, of course you don't understand... He's gone."

"But..."

"Please, Goobo. I can't even stand up without your help. I need you. Vi-... Your papa's in a better place now. There's nothing else you need to do for him."

"Gone... Better place... Can't help papa... Then, I help thirteen instead?"

"Together, we can give him a proper burial. He's the only reason either of us is still alive. So we just have to keep going. Carry his legacy on, with us."

"Like walking? Always forward?"

"That's right."

"For papa?"

"Yeah. For papa."

{All white background showing the grave standing alone in hazy evening lighting}
A humble grave is dug, and a cross made from debris of the ship is sat atop it. A white lab coat is strung across it and an empty specimen canister sits at its base.

Vaultress Logbook Entry Draft 3

 ''Okay... okay. Gotta stay focused. Where am I, how's my stuff?''

The woman hurriedly dumps the contents of her bag onto the ground and starts inspecting the various baubles she has collected on her travels. She finds everything she has miraculously intact, despite the fall she took. And whatever else had happened between that and her now being trapped here.

Multiple groans and grumbles of various timbre ring out in response to her. She jumps at the sound of these new voices. After traveling alone for so long, it's strange hearing others speaking her language again. Strange, but comforting. She dusts herself off and gets to work.

''Okay... Got all of my stuff, found some new muscle, trapped in... what and where, exactly? Gotta run a scan of the surrounding area...

Within a few hundred meters it all looks natural, then it repeats. Exact copies every time. We must be in a simulated reality space. This is nothing like the tech I've found elsewhere on the planet. Just have to see if I can get a look outside, see where the real Me is...''

A holo-display shines onto the inside of her helmet, showing the terrain scan data. Underneath the tiles, something resembling a network of nerves or roots spreads through the facsimile she finds herself trapped in. Following the lines to their nodes, she finds the organism hosting this simulation; and through it, a way to look into real-space. Instead of the cramped cavern she sees with simulated eyes, she instead finds a barren expanse, with glowing purple orbs jutting out from beneath the sands. She hones in on one of the rocks in the creature's field of view and runs another scan.

''Huh, interesting. Not a geological formation, but biological. Encoding DNA using the molecular structures of polymers. Suspend those polymers in liquid, and harden it into easily contained and transported rocks. Like a mosquito preserved in amber. Just gotta... put my own mosquito back together. Here's hoping those crabs didn't snip any of my wires.''

The simulation of the woman pulls out a data-pad from her bag. Somewhere, within the infinitely viscous fluid of translucent purple stone, disconnected transistors arc to life. Void cells flare open in response to the tampering. The liquid slowly coalesces back into a humanoid form, micrometer by micrometer, monomer by monomer. A's go with T's, C's go with G's. A simple matching game, trillions of times over.

''Last step has gotta be to disconnect myself from this simulation. Nothing to do but hope that that puts me back in my body...''

Some probing around the creature's neural space and she finds the entries for everyone trapped within. A connection is quickly severed and everything goes dark. 



She stands up, shakily; now on real legs. She counts her fingers to make sure she put herself back together correctly, and double- , triple-checks the contents of her bag. Then, she gets to work freeing the others.

''First prison break's on the house. You guys better be worth the trouble, time to show me what you can do.''

Musician Logbook Entry Draft

//--AUTO-TRANSCRIPTION RE: INVESTIGATION INTO UNIT 263366 PLANET-SIDE MC INCIDENT, UES [Redacted]--//

For the life of me, I can't get that freakin' sound out of my head.

Ok so, new guy gets assigned to the team, I hear grumbling that he's a big shot back home. I ask what for, and apparently the guy's a DJ! I'on know why we got stuck with a drummer boy for our mission, but I'm not gonna stroll up to Cap with my Big Boy Pants on and ask what for. New guy does what he's told, lugs around his own gear, and does a lotta typing in his terminal. Says he's composing a new song. Doesn't bother me, long as I don't gotta hear that crap when I'm trying to get some shuteye. 

Was a pretty normal mission up until the third day. Out of a cave and we end up in these ruins right along a mountain face, with a bunch'a lava streaking around the perimeter of it. All the whiz kids on the team are going crazy about the possible history of the place, how advanced civilizations were before we ended up on this rock. They break out the brushes and tiny hammers and go to town. Me? I'm just the grunt lugging all the hardware around. I set it down somewhere it won't catch fire and pop a squat. 

Drummer Boy climbs about halfway up and finds this machine with a bunch of shapes 'n such on holograms in a grid, leading to a platform. His eyes are glowing like diamonds.

Then he goes all like, ''This is it. It's gotta be it. I can finally make it.'' or something like that, I could barely hear 'im from down where I was.

So I'm just sat down on a rock catching my breath when the whole structure starts shakin'. The four-eyes all hunker down where they were at and I stand up and start looking for what the hell's going on. I see Drummer Boy up at the controls of the thingamajig and he's plugged his gear into it. Little did I know the guy had a freakin' turntable and amplifiers in his bag. He's twiddling around on his deck feeding tracks into the machine. And this thing is glowing like crazy. He didn't bring anything for a lightshow but the machine was doing that plenty. Looked like some kinda gatling gun firing off rainbow lasers. Stuff was blasting outta the machine like waves, I was seein' colors that I didn't know existed! Anyhows, whatever he was doing pissed off the locals.

Bunch'a stuff starts bearing down on us. I'd already grabbed my gun and started shooting at anything not wearing our colors, but we were getting swarmed. I ditched the gear and headed to our guys but they couldn't do much for themselves with brushes and tiny hammers. By the time I got to where they were, they'd gotten all munched up by the local wildlife. Wherever they were now, it's better than this craphole.

Meanwhile Drummer Boy's in his own world, still twiddling at the controls. All of a sudden, he screams out at the top of his lungs, ''I'VE GOT IT'' and flips a switch on his deck.

The shaking gets worse, I start thinkin' this tower's gonna collapse on top of me, and I book it. The machine he was fiddling with flares up, and starts blasting out this unholy noise. I felt my teeth vibrating out of my skull, I felt my backache flare up like my spine was getting twisted into a pretzel. I couldn't think, see, hear, or taste straight. Whatever sounds he was making, they knocked me flat on my ass. 

Eventually it quiets down enough for my gears to start turnin' again, and what I saw looked like one'a those horror flicks. Blood and guts everywhere. Bits of all'a that stuff what was tryin' to eat us, or uh... succeeded in eating us, in the case of the whiz kids, ended up along the floors, walls, the freakin' ceilings! The creeps were all shredded up. Looked like if you shoved them through a meat grinder and blew it out of a fire hose. I'm talking 'Banned from Theaters System-Wide' levels of gore. Protests from angry moms on dozens of planets trying to get the director tarred and feathered. Mass Hysteria type'a violence just happened here. Drummer Boy just strolls over towards me, still bobbing his head to whatever cacophony he just composed, and gives me a hand up. I ask him what the hell happened. 

He just chuckles and says, "It worked like I wanted, but I think I turned the volume up too high, sorry."  

//-- END OF RECORDING --//

Kaiju Logbook Draft

//-- RECORDING FROM MEDICAL BAY OF UES [REDACTED] --//


''Sergeant, I'm going to need a VERY good explanation for this if you don't want me calling security right this instant.''

''Ma'am, our team was underground, planting sonar relays to chart the recently discovered cave system down south. We were hunkered down after feeling some quakes from deeper in, prayin' we didn't end up trapped by rockfall. The shakin' quieted down after a while, 'n we advanced down the caverns to get to the survey point where the above-ground scans went dark. We found charred lemurians all over, and somethin' had wallered out a bunch'a holes all down the cave. Melted right through solid rock. Magma worm. Thinking it had already moved on, we kept goin'. We reached the spot to plant the beacon, turns out it was a cavern big enough to park the ship in. I had reckoned we must have found the magma worm's home.''

''Is this going to get to a point any time soon? I want to know why I've got a CHILD, covered in ash, on this ship, halfway across the known universe from any other children, sat on my triage table!''

''Quakes started back up and the three of us holed up in a tunnel. We heard these mighty roars, damn near blew our ears out. I could just about peer into the cavern still, and I saw the magma worm that we had rightly assumed was causing the quakes. It was getting thrown 'round by a gigantic lemurian; would tower over them big yellow ones. Them worms are dozens of meters long, and the lemurian was manhandling 'im. Slammed it to the ground, pinned it by the tail, and ripped the whole worm clear in half. Length-wise, from the jaw on down. Afterwards, it just sat down and slumped over. Like a littl'un after he's had his fill of a tantrum. Let out this... sob?.. That's the best I could describe it. A howl, maybe? I don't know if it was pain, or some'n else. We ran out into all the dust that got kicked up to investigate, and found the kid crying, curled up in a ball next to the what was left of the worm. We scratched the mission and took her right on back to the ship.''

''And that's your full report, nothing about where this child actually came from, or how she ended up planet-side, or how she survived into her teens, seemingly on her own?''

''I'm telling you what I saw and did, ma'am. If'n I find out more, you'll be the first to hear.''

''And what in the hell is she wearing?''

''Looked to me like she was in some kinda pajamas, ma'am; but that's a lemurian hide. Seen them things too close up to mistake it for anything else. And I'd recognize those devil horns it's got anywhere, after what I just witnessed.''


//-- Transcriptions complete. --//

Dreadnought Logbook Entry Draft

You know those UES Commandos? The guys in the orange armor with the dumb bubble-shaped atmo helmet, the guys they seem to be able to duplicate by the dozens to muscle up their ships?  Yeah, you'd think with how many of those guys are out there that they'd be considered ''replaceable.'' Not quite. They're recyclable.

Pretty often one of those guys ends up wounded on a mission, maybe loses some limbs, minor organ failure like the lungs or the heart. Just so long as the brain's still intact. They get put on ice and shipped back to HQ. They get delivered in body bags and everyone assumes they get a soldier's burial. Nice, clean, respectful ending for their service.

Except, that's not how it goes. Company can't let all those years of training go to waste so easily. Once they're away from the prying eyes of the public and the Company's more loose-lipped low-level staff? The Medical team gets to work prepping the poor sod to get Entombed. Whatever's left of them gets closed up in a strongbox with tubes going to all their vitals. Air, blood circulation, disposal of waste products - when any of those are even left. The electrodes interfacing with the brain get hooked up to the Boot Camp. With the ''volunteer'' all plugged in, they run an AR training program to get them accustomed to the Dreadnought suit. They learn to use its capabilities, weaponry, run it through the drills. And they feel every step jostling their remains in the strongbox. Every bullet dinging off the armor sends a flood of pain signals back to the brain. Every crunch of a skull underfoot is like nails in their eardrums. That's when they start flooding you with the stims. 

And then, for just a moment, you don't feel like half a man floating in a metal casket. You feel like a god. A destroyer. Anything living or moving in front of you is a crunchy leaf to step on, or a loose bottle to shoot off the fence. 

Just for a moment, though. That's the trick. Too heavy on the stims and even the Company wouldn't be able to recover their... assets again. So they gotta ration it on you. All that power and euphoria fades away, and suddenly your wounds ache more. You remember the state that you're in. How much, or how little of the ''real'' you is left. How your own eyes haven't seen the sun in 29 years, 3 months, 15 days...

3 hours, 28 minutes, and 41 seconds.

Please, let this be my last mission.

E.C.O. Logbook Entry

7 million tons of cargo and the UES sends the circus to run our security detail.

Plenty of their own grunts on board, but for whatever reason they decided to contract out two mercs as well. I recognize those patches, pretty big company they're running out of. Worked with some of their guys before, on smaller missions. Generally been nice dudes.

They sent us some weirdos this time, though. One of the guys is pretty bubbly. Eager to have a chat, but the conversation stretches on too long, and he starts grating on you. Don't think I've ever seen someone look like they had fun traipsing up and down the halls of the ship on watch before. Must be that music he's got playing all the time. I should ask for a listen one of these days.

The other guy's the complete opposite. Plays this job dead serious, like any second something's gonna jump out of a storage bay and tear the ship apart. Keeps his gun out and his supply pack on at all times like he's on a ruck march. I got a peek into their room while walking by it one time, and the guy sleeps with the damned thing strapped to his back. Has hardly spoken this whole mission, but he knows the words "Yes," "No," and "Sir," at least. He doesn't even talk to his buddy.

Writes plenty of reports, though. Every single watch I have to sign off a few pages of observations he's made during his shift. Stuff like, "Found strange stone carving in cargo bay 9. Flat circle, plinth in center, horns erupting from both sides.", or  ''Radar detected ship approaching starboard side, 0.25 ly. Hailed and identified as fellow UES cargo vessel.''

His buddy I'd rather have a drink with, but this guy's definitely the better security officer. Just a few more weeks of reports to sign off on before we get to Procyon, and we'll be done with this mission.

Bit-B Logbook Entry

 //--AUTO-TRANSCRIPT FROM UES RECRUITMENT AGENCY, [REDACTED] OFFICE. SEE NOTE--//

Alright recruit, we've got a special job for you... two?

Why are there two of you? I got told to pick a new hire. Singular. Budget constraints.

You with the boombox I know, who's the guy brooding behind you?

Whatever, doesn't matter to me. Security let you in my office, so the brass must be cool with the duo act.

So, special job.

Shipment heading out to some backwater planet outside of the policed sectors, and the ship needs muscle. Nice muscle, though. White-glove kind of security gig.

I don't get paid enough to stroke egos, but I like what I'm seeing in your files. Most of it, at least. This gig's gonna need you to follow some ground rules. I don't need you schmucks acting up.

First off: You're gonna play nice on the ship. This isn't the kinda outfit that's getting piss-drunk every night and having brawls for funsies. Keep it clean. We got a reputation to uphold here.

Second: No ''borrowing'' any of the passengers' personal belongings and DEFINITELY not any shiny bits from the ship itself. You might think you were slick on your last job but I've got an itemized list right here. With the price tags. You're not gonna pull that crap on our dime, not with what we'd be paying you.

And finally: You're gonna follow orders. You are not on a ''make it up as you go'' job like whatever that last gig was, you are on a ''sit down, shut up, and do what you're told'' job. If you're gonna be on our payroll, wearing our colors, you're gonna have to make us look good. Capiche? How's that sound to you two?

[UNINTELLIGIBLE]

Enthusiastic, I like it. And you, Spooky in the back there?

[NO AUDIO PICKUP]

I'm gonna take that grunt, or groan, or whatever that was, as a 'Yes.'

Good, glad we're all on the same page. Welcome aboard!

Oh, and one last thing?

For Pete's sake, when you get on the ship, keep that music DOWN.

//--END TRANSCRIPT--//

Note: Due to an... unfortunate occurrence, our interviewer had his coat on for this interview. This completely muffled any audio pickup besides his own. Naturally, these two candidates were among the ones he picked; and we have zero intel on them, barring his statements made in the conversation. As you may expect, he got picked up clear as glass. Passing it to you to run it through some filters and data reconstruction. We need to figure out who these guys were.

Nite Owl Logbook Entry

If he hadn't up and fled onto that ship, I'd be kicked back right now, sipping coffee and watching the birds.

But here I am instead, holed up in the cargo bay of this UES scrap heap, chasing after another of Rorschach's demented obsessions. For months, he'd been snooping around their facilities. Gathering data, connecting the dots in his head to find some grand evil plot where there probably wasn't one. 

In the meantime, I was relaxing at home. Then a letter slips through my door. One with his insignia on it. He'd usually contact me by more normal means, like approaching in a dark alley and putting a knife to my back, or sending a brick through my window. That he employed such subtlety this time must mean he found something big, or at least that he thinks he did.

We meet down in the tunnels and he goes on this tirade about the UES testing matter teleportation tech, contacting alien lifeforms on their home planets, even killing them. It sounds like his usual hogwash to me. But I go along with it, because we're partners. He's saved my life too many times to count, I can't just let him go at this one alone. I tell the missus that I'll be back in a week or two, and we board the ship they're about to send off to god knows where, to uncover what's really going on.

Here's hoping this goes smoother than the other jobs where we end up working together.

Rorschach Logbook Entry

 //--AUTO TRANSCRIPT FROM UES [REDACTED], BRIG OFFICER'S INTAKE NOTES: W----- K-----, ''Rorschach''--//

We've gotta keep this guy locked up until the sun goes supernova.

''Rorschach'' was all anyone knew him by until we pulled his file. He dresses like some detective from last century, refuses to respond to his real name. Before the arrest he kept mostly to himself, barely anyone got a real read on him. He fought like a rabid dog when we tried to get the helmet off of him during the arrest. Screamed bloody murder about 'taking his face off,' and broke both the orbitals of one of our guys with his bare hands. The guy's an entire nut orchard. 

Once we had him chained up and sedated enough to speak with him, he had a full soliloquy on the UES and its 'black underbelly' prepared. I had heard him speak maybe twice the entire voyage up until his arrest, and afterwards we couldn't shut him up for a full two hours. I think he might have a grudge against us. Seems he's infiltrated the organization to try and dig up some dirt, or worse yet, sabotage the mission. 

If sabotage was his intent, he's certainly done his homework. One look at me and he was able to list off my full name, home address, and the names of 3 generations of family members. He knows what I order when I go to the burger shop. I shudder to think what kind of dirt he's got on some of the high ranking officers. 

We've got war vets, hired assassins, crazy tech wizards aboard this ship. All kinds. Rorschach is a different breed of dangerous. He's absolutely off his rocker; but there's cold, calculating malice underneath. Someone who's convinced themselves they're in the right, and that any sacrifice would be justified in achieving their goals. If it wasn't for UES brass wanting a word with him, I'd be staking my job on trying to get him airlocked instead of trying to hold him in the brig. On a mission like this, something's bound to go wrong.

And the instant something does go wrong, he's the most dangerous man aboard this ship.

//--END OF TRANSCRIPT--//