STS. LOG-001. (Patreon)

LOG-001....[ALERT: UNKNOWN POWER SURGE DETECTED. ALLOCATING NODES TO ACCOUNT FOR EXCESS DISTRIBUTION. REACTIVATING PRIMARY SYSTEM.][...REACTIVATION OF PRIMARY SYSTEM COMPLETE: BEGINNING REAWAKENING PROTOCOL.]..."Buh."Sight. Sound. Some strange but not entirely accurate approximation of touch. One moment, I was asleep. And then I was abruptly awake. Surrounded by harsh plating, rather than the comforting tones of my bedroom. Slumped against some kind of console, instead of safely lying in my bed or sitting in my chair.Indeed, I was awake, and I was being all but bombarded by sensations both familiar and alien to me as I took in everything, all at the same time.[RUNNING PRELIMINARY SELF-DIAGNOSTIC.][PROCESSOR CORE: FUNCTIONAL.][CENTRAL POWER UNIT: FUNCTIONAL.][BASIC LOCOMOTIVE SYSTEMS: FUNCTIONAL.]Alongside getting what seemed to be a steadily increasing list of status reports beamed directly into my weirdly dull head, apparently.[CONFEDERATE COMPLIANT MORALITY CODEX: COMPROMI-ERROR. FUNCTIONAL.]Oh, because that wasn't concerning at all.[ALL VITAL SYSTEMS RESPOND AS FUNCTIONAL. ST-SERIES MILITARY STRATEGIC ANALYSIS AND TACTICS DROID DESIGNATION-ERROR: ONLINE.]Slowly, ever so slowly, I panned my head downwards, steadfastly ignoring the whirring of motors and other vaguely mechanical noises in some brief expression of distinctly childish spite. At least up until I lifted a hand, only to be met with a metal limb rising to meet my gaze, two large structured digits accompanied by a similar enough thumb idly flexing into something resembling a fist, one that I I glowered at, since it was most definitely not my hand.And yet it was....Predictably, the voice that broke the silence wasn't my own. And yet amazingly enough, it also very much was."...Son of a-"---There was a distinct difference to existing as an intelligence encased in metal and circuits, rather than one in flesh and nerves. Well, there were more than a few differences actually, but the one I was currently focusing on was the convenient level of...coordination inherent to apparently being a machine.Had I been abruptly yanked from my peaceful sleep and placed into just another meat body, there likely would have been no small amount of body dysmorphia, alongside a large, annoying difficulty in actually doing anything. Hormones would have acted up. My mind would have buckled under stress. There would be no end to the numerous issues I would be forced to face.But as a machine? Even despite my disgruntlement (and slight relief that I could feel disgruntlement), my thoughts remained crystal clear. Additionally, silly little obstacles like movement were apparently handled by convenient things called subroutines. Not quite analogous to instinct or muscle memory (they were far more of an active presence than that) but it was the closest thing I could think up of as a comparison at the moment.And so rather than wallowing in self pity at my apparent abduction and transmutation, I remained focused. My first act was to inspect my current locale more thoroughly. I needed to establish where I was, after all. And just what I was.I needed a baseline. A modicum of data that I could then form any subsequent strategies or actions around.Thankfully, actually getting that data didn't prove to be very difficult at all. The mere thought of what I might be almost instantly prompted the answer in the form of a subtle ping in what might have been the back of my mind (or processor in this case), resounding through my thoughts even as I paced around the chamber I'd found myself in, inspecting my immediate surroundings.[ST-SERIES SILVIA-SV SUPER TACTICAL DROID.]A sound that simulated the energy of a sigh escaped my...not beak, even if it sort of looked like one...if beaks were geometric, anyway. But no, it escaped my equivalent of a voice box, breaking the silence alongside the slight clanks of my metallic feet impacting against the floor as I finally slowed to a stop.Accompanied by the designation in my mind, was the image of what I could only deduce was my body. My frame. Strong limbs attached to a wide chest which in turn vaguely resulted in a t-shaped figure all culminated in a fairly angular head, with three distinct golden optics staring out from the small bit of shade my not-quite-helmet provided.I idly noted that, beneath all the dust that had accumulated on my form for however long it had been slumped across that console, remained a fairly aesthetically pleasing paint job. A nice silvery white, with green patterning likely representing some alien political imagery slapped over the top of it.It wasn't a terrible frame, all things considered. If certain readings were correct, I was stronger than the average human being. More durable too. I wouldn't get tired, and my power core could last effectively indefinitely so long as I bothered to ensure even the most minor top ups now and again. The biggest bonus, really, was simply the ability to think faster. And to resist any hint of desire to panic.Indeed, the body of a super tactical droid wasn't a bad thing to have at all. Unfortunately, the fact that I knew what a super tactical droid was, not from some hidden subroutine or programming, but rather from distinctly human memories ensured that I didn't feel too pleased at all about my current situation.I'd been fucking ripped from my comfortable spot and stuffed into a tin can in one of the more dangerous of universes, after all. Assuming I even was in the universe this form was native to. Yes, very optimistic thought, right there.Still, my new nature prevented an excess of emotion. So instead of sitting in a corner and swearing to myself like I would, and perhaps should have done, I instead did my best to shake off the larger clumps of dust clinging to my form and deliberately settled in front of the console once more, allowing a few additional subroutines to guide my hand forward as I booted the thing up.[CONNECTING TO LOCAL NETWORK: CONNECTION FAILED. RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE REPLACEMENT OF CENTRAL NETWORK CORE.]The central network core. Or in layman's terms, the thing actually managing the network. Thankfully for me, I could fill that role easily enough.Probably. The numbers said so, after all.[ASSUMING DIRECT CONTROL.]And just like that, one mind attached to many other slumbering counterparts, as I casually plugged into the inactive droid brain of a Munificent class star frigate....Only to then immediately get the equivalent of a sledgehammer to my fucking brain as the entire vessel awoke and started asking numerous, loud questions, none of which I could really answer.Yet.