Dyerect(Direct) V(5): Chaos of the Uranium Jacket

5• System Diagnoses sabermetrics

Day 3 of the system diagnoses. The transition of Richie into a cybernetic lifeform.

A steady beeping sound, James eventually reports its analysis via eigenvalue statistics.

The creation of a new lifeform is born to endure and manipulate bad human race. "I will have to shut down the system now, due to some technical support issues!" James puff inside his thoughts, a heavy guttural voice cut in.

VOICE: System shut down! System shut down!

Electricity starts crackling... electrocuting around the chamber engulfing it with it high power intensity, shattering the shards.

What James was suspicious of has happened.

Richie automatically glide through the large steam perambulator tubes down to the floor. He tends to be awake from the cryo sleep activation. Being containing an irate minotaur significantly down his spine: he glance at James which he scans for both positive and negative confirmation with eyes by his cybernetic nervous system a complete-AI supercomputer.

"Unbelievable!" James retorts having the total clue about Richie new lifeform which is impossible! Like how can transforming a human into an solar stance or light which have  hundred percent meltability against all odds metals change into a cybernetic lifeform human.

It means something wrong.

Richie huffs in a ravenous manner. "My core is starving." Wanting to devour off the non addictive soggy supplementary.

James roll his eyes, "What the? Richie thank God everything is successful you're now a." He pause and walks close to Richie. "Is everything okay?" He asks blandly.

Richie snort a force of exertion moving through his body as he make an audible inhalation, tentatively stepping back.

James shocks seeing Richie behaves in a strange manner. "Richie where are you going? It's me James."

He glance at him, incredulously to his words he emphasize James by his facial expression. "I don't know you!" He sound in robot beta wave tone.

"Huh?" James snort.

"I said I don't know you!" This time he sound in problematic  impulse response... with his frequency modulator pile-up his voice begins buffering like a network signal processing, as his nervous system indefinitely corrupt, like something resemblance to ethical hacking; containing threatening virus has snarl up in his interior nervous taxonify stationery system.

Computerized voice: System Diagnoses fail! I repeat System Diagnoses fail!

The voice speaks from Richie operating system which houses his CPU encasement containing his encapsulations data all of a sudden changes into red light field. James Villardi runs to the lab emergency room as he press the a red button as an alarm starts blaring. But Richie persists and keep moving forward heading towards the lab main facial recognition system.

"No I can't let Richie go outside to be another problem to the city while Professor Neuron is already another problem." James shoot him a pointed stare.

He quickly rush Richie at the far corner side. " Richie you can't--"he punch James sending him flying away slumping the ground... he turn to see James lying down cautiously.

128HOURS LATER: The Soothing Shores

Consciousness first returns to him in the form of a sound, a chugging, rumbling drone that merges perfectly with the throbbing pain in his temples. An engine, he realize as his thoughts begin to cohere. He is out at sea. Despair washes over his groggy senses and, resigned to the worst, he open his eyes.

Light floods his consciousness with pain, and he clamp his eyes shut again. A few rapid blinks later, his vision starts to adjust. Blurred shapes begin to coalesce into recognizable images as he struggle against the nausea in his gut, caused either by the pitching and rolling of the ship or by the overpowering smell of stale tobacco and engine oil.

He is in the hold, lashed tight to a hard wooden chair. In front of him is a folding table with another chair, currently unoccupied, across from him. He make out the shape of the crate containing the artifacts to the left of the other chair.

Two figures stand opposite to him, studying him with interest. One of the figures steps forward, and he realize with distaste that it is Bernhart Edelmann.

Bernhart leans on the table, peers down at him, and speaks

"Dr. James Villardi," he drawls, looking pretty pleased with himself. "You've been a hard man to catch, and a persistent annoyance to us. But all your hard work is for nothing. You're ours now."

"If I'm so annoying, why not just kill me?" James ask.

His eyes narrow. "I've had the same thought myself. However, in consultation with Edgar Lehrer here, I have decided that we may still have a use for you."

James heart sinks at the name and at the realization that he know the other person in the room. Scarecrow-thin, freakishly tall, and always meticulously groomed in all respects except for his wild, untamable straw-colored hair, Edgar Lehrer  is a self-proclaimed scholar, humanitarian, and civilized man. He is also one of the Gestapo's most feared and cruel operatives, a figure of terror across Europe and beyond. And this nightmare scarecrow now paces slowly toward him, shrugs his long leather coat off and drapes it across the back of the chair opposite, and then sits down with great delicacy.

Edgar runs his hands through his unruly mop and peers up at Bernhart.

"Thank you for your assistance, Edgar Obersturmführer," he intones, precise in his pronunciation like a fussy old professor. "You may leave us now. The good doctor is going to tell me some stories."

With Bernhart gone, the world shrinks to just James and Edgar facing off across the folding table with the engines of the Runes of Serendipity chugging in the background—a sinister and foreboding ambiance.

"Oh dear, Dr. Villardi," he begins. "What a pity it had to be like this. We connoisseurs of history really ought to work together, don't you think? When people of learning turn on each other like this, it really is the end of civilization."

"I know you and what you do," James reply. "There's nothing civilized about any of it."

Edgar studies him for a moment.

"I suppose I am a ghoul to you," he says. "But know that I do not enjoy it. For our culture to progress, blood must be shed. It was always thus. Though your simplistic morality will doubtless not see beyond the obvious. Nonetheless, let us hope that you cooperate, so you will not have to become...uncomfortably familiar with these things that you have heard that I do."

James stay silent. He chuckles.

"You must despise me," he says. "But I do not reciprocate. I admire you. As I said, I am a connoisseur of history. I know your work. I know you are a scholar of repute and distinction. I know all about you and your remarkable specialisms."

James wonder, for a moment, what specialisms he might be thinking of. "He must mean my skill with languages."

While all Scientist have to know a few languages, language learning has always been entirely natural to him. James can communicate effectively in about a dozen living languages, both famous and obscure, and he have mastered multiple ancient scripts and languages as well. It's given him an edge in many difficult situations.