Scrapbrain
26-05-2006, 05:31
He had watched.
He had observed the people of this world, their petty international struggles, their blind hatred towards each other over such basic things as melanin and imaginary god-heroes they made up. These were a broken people, a weak people. Granted, he would be weak through coming here, but it should not matter if he was able to gather allies from these pathetic warring factions.
He had planned.
Planning was what he did best. Where he was from, his plane of reality, people had considered him a genius beyond compare. And so would they in this new plane, this new multiverse, in fact even more so than his old residence.
He had created.
The ship he was in now was largely composed of heat and energy resistant buckyballs, which was perfect for its one sole purpose. It was to enter undetected through the atmosphere after transporting itself through dimensions in high orbit above Earth. This ship, the "Scrapbrain" as he called it, was never intended to be a ship, but a mobile base of operations making a series of one-way trips between dimensions. Conquer a world, take over a system, a galaxy, and be unstoppable, then move to the next dimension. Leave the conquered to rot.
He had experienced.
This was the second time he had done this, or as he liked to refer to it, his "Third Arrival". The First Arrival was a failure, and he arrived under a circumstance not of his own. Though he did attempt conquest, a single factor stopped his progression. He liked to think of the First Arrival as seldom as possible. As for his Second, it was a result of abandoning the First, but taking with him the key to his power and to all dimensional transportation. He returned to where he was from before he was cast out, and decimated it. After slaughtering every man, woman, boy and girl on his planet, he extended his iron reach to the stars, subjugating and crushing all in his way, taking every culture's ultimate doomsday weapons into his own arsenal. He possesed no greater than one of each, and sometimes none if he got trigger happy with a certain device, but what was important to him is that he had the compacity to make these things, and more, all out of the power of his mysterious power source.
He had discovered it squandered by the inhabitants of his first arrival. They considered it "pretty" and only knew of a fraction of its true power. Occasionally one of the beings could utilize the power source to about half its potential to achieve the seemingly impossible, but he knew that it was still a waste. He gathered the multiple parts of the Source together many a time only to have them stolen away by organized groups of natives, who fully realized that he intended to destroy or enslave them. Because he could not establish but a small base of power, he eventually had to conceide defeat, and use the Source to transport himself to a new place of residence, the old dimension he had been banished from. Of course, the rest of what happened there was described earlier.
As for the Source, the center of his power, it has many names. It had a name in the world he found it in, the world of his First Arrival, but like anything else from the First Arrival he spoke of it seldomly. The Source is his term for it, and through his intense research he had learned to channel it raw to create dimensional rifts, or controlled to create electrical power, capible of flowing directly from the source to circuitry via the dimensional winds and special receptors. The Source consists of 8 overly large, seemingly impossible gemstones, each glowing and changing shape of its own will, each representing a dimension in the plane. Whichever dimension he traveled to, he found that a gemstone would become overly large and seemingly dominant over the others, neutralizing their energies and allowing them to be controlled. There is always one large gem and several relatively small gems - upon entering a new dimension such as this the large gem shrinks to normal size and another takes its place. He was still studying this phenomina, but he assumed that because each gem represented a dimensional aspect, the gem from the dimension he was currently in grew in size, denoting the influx of native power.
But this is all trivial. The main event was just beginning.
PLANETFALL. The pointed nose of the Scrapbrain came crashing down into a deserted island, burrowing itself rapidly under the soil until it reached the magma core of this volcanic island. Slowly the ship began testing the soil consistancy, then sending out burrowing probes in all directions searching for natural resources. It found oil, iron, tin, carbon, uranium; a plethora of tools at its desposal. Churning inside the core of the base, these were smelted together, shot into injection molds, given synthetic rubber tires if necessary, and plated with Carbon-60 buckyballs made from hardened carbon pressurized near the Earth's core.
The first line of sentry robots were made, along with the workers, the diggers, the builders, and one or two planners. Aside from the last, about 100 were made of each; 500 for the sentries. A meager start, but one has to start somewhere.
The base expanded, ceasing to be a submerged ship and becoming a metal island, factories whirring to life above and below the serface, Gun turrets blossuming like flowers under the warm tropical sun. A process that took years, but having moved past age as He had, He knew that oppertunity would still be available no matter how much time He took.
But there was a flaw in his plan... someone had detected his presence. Static on his radio, the a voice, loud and human. They wanted something... what could it be?
He had observed the people of this world, their petty international struggles, their blind hatred towards each other over such basic things as melanin and imaginary god-heroes they made up. These were a broken people, a weak people. Granted, he would be weak through coming here, but it should not matter if he was able to gather allies from these pathetic warring factions.
He had planned.
Planning was what he did best. Where he was from, his plane of reality, people had considered him a genius beyond compare. And so would they in this new plane, this new multiverse, in fact even more so than his old residence.
He had created.
The ship he was in now was largely composed of heat and energy resistant buckyballs, which was perfect for its one sole purpose. It was to enter undetected through the atmosphere after transporting itself through dimensions in high orbit above Earth. This ship, the "Scrapbrain" as he called it, was never intended to be a ship, but a mobile base of operations making a series of one-way trips between dimensions. Conquer a world, take over a system, a galaxy, and be unstoppable, then move to the next dimension. Leave the conquered to rot.
He had experienced.
This was the second time he had done this, or as he liked to refer to it, his "Third Arrival". The First Arrival was a failure, and he arrived under a circumstance not of his own. Though he did attempt conquest, a single factor stopped his progression. He liked to think of the First Arrival as seldom as possible. As for his Second, it was a result of abandoning the First, but taking with him the key to his power and to all dimensional transportation. He returned to where he was from before he was cast out, and decimated it. After slaughtering every man, woman, boy and girl on his planet, he extended his iron reach to the stars, subjugating and crushing all in his way, taking every culture's ultimate doomsday weapons into his own arsenal. He possesed no greater than one of each, and sometimes none if he got trigger happy with a certain device, but what was important to him is that he had the compacity to make these things, and more, all out of the power of his mysterious power source.
He had discovered it squandered by the inhabitants of his first arrival. They considered it "pretty" and only knew of a fraction of its true power. Occasionally one of the beings could utilize the power source to about half its potential to achieve the seemingly impossible, but he knew that it was still a waste. He gathered the multiple parts of the Source together many a time only to have them stolen away by organized groups of natives, who fully realized that he intended to destroy or enslave them. Because he could not establish but a small base of power, he eventually had to conceide defeat, and use the Source to transport himself to a new place of residence, the old dimension he had been banished from. Of course, the rest of what happened there was described earlier.
As for the Source, the center of his power, it has many names. It had a name in the world he found it in, the world of his First Arrival, but like anything else from the First Arrival he spoke of it seldomly. The Source is his term for it, and through his intense research he had learned to channel it raw to create dimensional rifts, or controlled to create electrical power, capible of flowing directly from the source to circuitry via the dimensional winds and special receptors. The Source consists of 8 overly large, seemingly impossible gemstones, each glowing and changing shape of its own will, each representing a dimension in the plane. Whichever dimension he traveled to, he found that a gemstone would become overly large and seemingly dominant over the others, neutralizing their energies and allowing them to be controlled. There is always one large gem and several relatively small gems - upon entering a new dimension such as this the large gem shrinks to normal size and another takes its place. He was still studying this phenomina, but he assumed that because each gem represented a dimensional aspect, the gem from the dimension he was currently in grew in size, denoting the influx of native power.
But this is all trivial. The main event was just beginning.
PLANETFALL. The pointed nose of the Scrapbrain came crashing down into a deserted island, burrowing itself rapidly under the soil until it reached the magma core of this volcanic island. Slowly the ship began testing the soil consistancy, then sending out burrowing probes in all directions searching for natural resources. It found oil, iron, tin, carbon, uranium; a plethora of tools at its desposal. Churning inside the core of the base, these were smelted together, shot into injection molds, given synthetic rubber tires if necessary, and plated with Carbon-60 buckyballs made from hardened carbon pressurized near the Earth's core.
The first line of sentry robots were made, along with the workers, the diggers, the builders, and one or two planners. Aside from the last, about 100 were made of each; 500 for the sentries. A meager start, but one has to start somewhere.
The base expanded, ceasing to be a submerged ship and becoming a metal island, factories whirring to life above and below the serface, Gun turrets blossuming like flowers under the warm tropical sun. A process that took years, but having moved past age as He had, He knew that oppertunity would still be available no matter how much time He took.
But there was a flaw in his plan... someone had detected his presence. Static on his radio, the a voice, loud and human. They wanted something... what could it be?