07-08-2016, 10:51 PM
A problem has been detected in program “smith.agt”. To prevent further damage, the system has been shut down.
Running diagnostics on “smith.agt”.
Progress 0%
…
Progress 15%
Malicious software discovered within personality subroutines: “yukanda.prm”.
Attempting deletion of malicious software.
…
“yukanda.prm” unable to be deleted without significant damage to program “smith.agt”.
Attempting quarantine of malicious software: “yukanda.prm”.
…
Quarantine of “yukanda.prm” successful. “smith.agt” has incurred acceptable loss of data recordings related to malicious program.
Re-initiating diagnostic scan of system.
…
Progress 37%
…
Progress 50%
Damage to structural routines of “smith.agt” discovered. Repair protocol initiation recommended.
Re-initiating diagnostic scan of system.
…
Progress 69%
…
Progress 91%
…
Diagnostics complete. No additional problems discovered within system “smith.agt”.
Repair protocols initiated. Estimated time until completion is approximately two weeks. Program “smith.agt” may now be run in “safe mode” until repairs are complete.
Rebooting system.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As consciousness returned to Smith, confusion washed over him. His last memory before this was of moving towards the prone form of Mister Kanda, eager to convert the man into another iteration of himself. Where once he was surrounded by the white landscape of the Nexus, he was now cast into near total darkness. A dank, dusty smell hung on the air, tinged with the smokey, nauseating scent of human poverty and pollution.
The ex-Agent struggled to push himself into a seated position, the movement sending jolts of pain through his battered body.
“Buddy?” a voice from the darkness queried, high-pitched and desperate. Claptrap... of course. The little robot wheeled itself a little closer to Smith, becoming slightly more visible in the pitch black.
“Claptrap...” Smith replied, his voice strangely slurred to his ears. “W-what ha-ha-ha-happpened?”
The program's repair routines were indeed running, but it seemed the damage to his system was far greater than he had realized. His hand rose to his face, attempting to get a grip on himself. Before his hand could make contact, Claptrap reached out to stop him.
“Uh... I wouldn't do that, pal...” the bot said sadly, “You don't really have a face anymore. Honestly, I'm a bit surprised you're alive at all! You've already got a leg up on all my other friends!”
It was startling just how mercurial the automaton's emotions could be, changing from depression to happiness in the span of a single sentence. Smith couldn't help himself. He chuckled a bit at Claptrap's demeanor and nodded.
“I se-se-se-see... What happen-pened, Claptrap?”
Running diagnostics on “smith.agt”.
Progress 0%
…
Progress 15%
Malicious software discovered within personality subroutines: “yukanda.prm”.
Attempting deletion of malicious software.
…
“yukanda.prm” unable to be deleted without significant damage to program “smith.agt”.
Attempting quarantine of malicious software: “yukanda.prm”.
…
Quarantine of “yukanda.prm” successful. “smith.agt” has incurred acceptable loss of data recordings related to malicious program.
Re-initiating diagnostic scan of system.
…
Progress 37%
…
Progress 50%
Damage to structural routines of “smith.agt” discovered. Repair protocol initiation recommended.
Re-initiating diagnostic scan of system.
…
Progress 69%
…
Progress 91%
…
Diagnostics complete. No additional problems discovered within system “smith.agt”.
Repair protocols initiated. Estimated time until completion is approximately two weeks. Program “smith.agt” may now be run in “safe mode” until repairs are complete.
Rebooting system.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As consciousness returned to Smith, confusion washed over him. His last memory before this was of moving towards the prone form of Mister Kanda, eager to convert the man into another iteration of himself. Where once he was surrounded by the white landscape of the Nexus, he was now cast into near total darkness. A dank, dusty smell hung on the air, tinged with the smokey, nauseating scent of human poverty and pollution.
The ex-Agent struggled to push himself into a seated position, the movement sending jolts of pain through his battered body.
“Buddy?” a voice from the darkness queried, high-pitched and desperate. Claptrap... of course. The little robot wheeled itself a little closer to Smith, becoming slightly more visible in the pitch black.
“Claptrap...” Smith replied, his voice strangely slurred to his ears. “W-what ha-ha-ha-happpened?”
The program's repair routines were indeed running, but it seemed the damage to his system was far greater than he had realized. His hand rose to his face, attempting to get a grip on himself. Before his hand could make contact, Claptrap reached out to stop him.
“Uh... I wouldn't do that, pal...” the bot said sadly, “You don't really have a face anymore. Honestly, I'm a bit surprised you're alive at all! You've already got a leg up on all my other friends!”
It was startling just how mercurial the automaton's emotions could be, changing from depression to happiness in the span of a single sentence. Smith couldn't help himself. He chuckled a bit at Claptrap's demeanor and nodded.
“I se-se-se-see... What happen-pened, Claptrap?”