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Unallocated Space

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[OOC:] Activity [Aug. 11th, 2010|04:38 am]
Unallocated Space

No, this comm will not be being purged.
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(KR08 Series, Milliways-Compliant) Santiago, Chile, 2009 [Sep. 26th, 2009|09:08 pm]
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None of the people outside the plane knew the gratitude of the man inside the plane once they finally touched down. The plane, the private jet, taxied to a stop and the press took this as their chance to start photographing. As the door opened, the flashes went off, nearly blinding Kitt Knight as he descended the plane's stairs.

He was greeted by the cultural attache - the man who had requested his presence in the first place. And with smiles and greetings, the two men and the bodyguards waded into the crowd of reporters who shouted questions in Spanish. CNN reported discreetly to the side, their camera perfectly capturing the man who tried to shove through the crowd, a knife held tight in his right hand.

Kitt Knight felt himself pushed back, shoved away from the oncoming attacker by the strong hands of the bodyguard. Then he heard a sound. A sound he'd heard many times before. A sound he'd heard as recently as the year before. He had a cold feeling, a flash of dread, and then he felt nothing at all.

Civilians screamed as he fell, blood spreading around him on the tarmac. Still alive, someone called as police were dispatched to the rooftops nearby. Within an hour, Kitt Knight was back on his private jet, attended by the best medics the Santiago hospitals could provide.
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(Pegasus) It's a front stoop for a reason. [Apr. 9th, 2009|10:20 pm]
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The porch was swept, the stairs were clean, the kitchen and bathrooms sparkled.

That left him sitting outside, his head in his hands, his hair in his face, thinking. He knew what he'd been asked to do, and he had a few ideas, but... But he was him. And nobody would listen to him. They might listen to Marcus, but they wouldn't listen to him, and he wasn't sure if they'd listen to Marcus, either.

Maybe he should--

No. No, he couldn't. He barely survived the first time.

At least it was pretty outside. And at least he could enjoy the sunset.
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(KR08 Series, Milliways-Compliant) Remember those sixteen-hour days? [Feb. 6th, 2009|09:44 pm]
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Bonnie rubbed at her eyes as she pushed open the door to the lab she'd been working in for nearly twelve hours. There was a coffee machine not far away, and that was her goal. She already had one hand in her pocket, counting out change by touch. Coffee. The drink most worthy of worship. And the drink that would hopefully keep her awake a little while longer. She still had code to figure out, to rebuild, to try to decipher.

Goddamn Graiman. Or Breeland. Or whomever he really was behind all those layers of coding. It looked terrible, it made very little sense. There was no wonder the kid was so messed up with that clutter, but she'd already started to make headway. That meant she had to keep going. But it was sheer luck the kid wasn't critical.
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(KR08 Series, Milliways-Compliant) Then the morning comes. [Feb. 2nd, 2009|01:53 am]
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The door opened.

It wasn't much of a door. Just another door in the Los Angeles facility. Of course, on the other side of that door, there was supposed to be a supply closet. There would be a supply closet again.

But after that door opened, there was a man standing there, tall and regal-seeming, with a modern suitcase pulled behind him. His clothing wasn't quite modern, but it seemed to fit on his frame somehow.

And there was no-one there to greet him. Not that he expected anyone. He just hoped that someone would notice him before the -- security guards, was it? -- did. Unfortunately, it was a member of security who rounded the corner ahead just then.

"Ah, hello," said Trent.

The security guard heard, "Zg, gdkkn."

"...How did you get here?"

"Czlm. Zg... Bonjour?"
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(KR08 Series, Milliways-Compliant) A Barstow in her natural habitat. [Jan. 30th, 2009|10:23 pm]
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Not much had changed from twenty years previous. True, the terminal she sat in front of now had many more colours than two, but sometimes, she missed having that old interface. No damned pictures on everything, no GUI -- everything was text, and everything was so much simpler to bend to her whims instead of everything being "user friendly."

She wasn't a friendly user. She was a programmer. She was a scientist. An engineer, a mechanic. She didn't need a help file. She just needed...

An idea. A thought. A hint at what she needed to do.

She knew what the end product needed to be. But God damn Charles Graiman for developing these kids.

Goddamn him for not having a clue of what he was meddling in. Where to start, how to get there, and then leaving her to clean up his mess.

Damn him.

And damn her for thinking ill of the dead.

Sighing, she let her head drop down on her arms, crossed in front of the keyboard. "S'a good thing you're dead, Charles," she muttered, "or I'd kill you."
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(KR08, Milliways Compliant) Fighting a stone. [Jan. 24th, 2009|09:40 pm]
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He was quiet and patient as he set up Karr's chipset. He settled it into the casing he'd had heatformed, and one at a time, he fixed screws at the corners. It was a proper CPU now, not just a chipset, unprotected. It was, perhaps, unfair, that he was going so slowly, reassembling the chipset, given that it meant Karr remained in a sensor void. He could almost hear the raging, the anger, inside that little protective box.

Unfortunately, he couldn't muster up a hint of concern for the AI. After all he'd done, Kitt thought there were worse fates than a cluster of minutes in a sensor void. No matter how long they appeared to stretch.

He placed the CPU on the chair seat once more, watching the indicator light slowly blink. Still there, still conscious, still functioning.

"Perhaps I'll teach you something yet," he murmured before stepping away, changing forms, and entering the darkness of the world within the CPUs. He'd known of it for years, for his entire life, and he had no fear of it, even in facing the maddened AI that waited for him.

Now. Kitt faced him, unflinching as he faced the nebulous anger and attacks focused upon him. You and I have quite a lot to discuss. And I am in no mood to put up with your bad attitude. I don't want to have to confine you, but if you make me, I will.
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(KR08 Series, Milliways-Compliant) When All Is Said And Done. [Jan. 22nd, 2009|01:24 am]
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((Set long after previous threads.))

He walked through the LA installation in silence, the techs glancing at him, then leaving him be. They gave him a wide berth because now they could tell - a part of him was indeed like his father. And his father was known by reputation alone.

When Karr glowered, people left him alone. While Kitt had no such expression, the set of his shoulders made it plain. Smalltalk was not so welcome.
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(KR08 Series, Milliways-Compliant) She has the same training you do. [Jan. 19th, 2009|11:40 pm]
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Rose hadn't ranted at Ben, for all she'd wanted to. It wasn't him that needed ranting at. The truth was, it wasn't anyone who needed ranting at. She understood their misgivings about putting her in the field. She would be an unknown factor.

She was still the only one out of all of them that could understand the mindset of someone like Torres, though. Her training and her history was both a hindrance and a help, and they were only letting it be a hindrance.

But Rose knew very well that there was at least something she could do, and she had the idea that she could do it. She did need to talk to the two newest family members, though, and so far, she'd been able to find neither.

If she could leave Ben alone for long enough to talk to them.

She'd finally decided to at least go down to the kitchen and use getting a snack as an excuse to look. Maybe that would do.
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(KR08 Series, Milliways Compliant) Night Before [Jan. 19th, 2009|07:12 pm]
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After this, before this.

There was an armchair in the guest room (actually a pair of armchairs over by a table, not to mention a desk and chair), and Mike was halfway between curled and sprawled in it.

He'd said something, once, and the malformed memory was occupying most of his thinking.

At least he was sure now what he'd said-- he didn't know where he was, or who he was speaking to (primary suspects were Karr and La Latina), or even why... well, no, he could guess why he'd said it, but couldn't remember. Didn't know. They were words in a vacuum.

"Of course they don't treat you like a person. They don't want people, they want weapons that can think. And that's what we are-- killing machines."

Mike was starting to get a headache from poking the holes in his memory, holes he usually tried to ignore. He wasn't getting anything more than the words. Maybe there'd be some kind of answers on the tag in his arm, maybe he'd never know. It used to be he didn't care about not knowing, but now... lately, it seemed like it he needed to know. Like it would be safest to know.
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