Daftwager Twitter Day 49: Brain Drain of the Saniac!



Day 49:


 


07:00; … Open, naked over my knee … she is sorry … ‘sorry for what?’ I ask her, a spank for emphasis … ‘f-for endorsing string-theory paradigms!’ she cries, very ashamed … then tells me to put my belt on?


07:10; Air hostess shaking me awake – is not dissimilar to Open – for a moment. Then I note her elaborate ugliness, (like an aborted pig foetus) & answer her impertinence with a taste of the back of my hand.


07:20; In a ‘funny’ sort of irony, she isn’t wearing her belt & the fall kills her. Not instantly – took a few minutes. Gave me the time to become invisible & sneak into the cockpit; in this way only, she was useful.


07:30; Slip out with the pilots. I am quite invisible to customs & security people watching the cameras (if not the cameras themselves); I just like to avoid participation in the unwashed masses mass movement.


07:40; I smuggle in some illegal items – no resale in mind, just the principle of the invisible-ability. Wasn’t able to get any hard drugs, just some fluids & pencils from the airport shop. Sniffer dogs: smell nothing.


07:50; The most illegal item in my possession is in fact something that even the most studious customs official would be hard pushed to find on any of my fellow passengers; a ‘soul’. Don’t laugh: I have a spare.


08:00; Exiting Le Harve airport, I flag down a taxi; use an actual flag, with skull-and-crossbones (CDC prize raffle) and, in this town, that stops traffic. Rather than take it myself, I offer the cab to an old lady.


08:10; A sweet, arthritic old lady, I help her inside. Quickly: I become invisible, slip into the taxi beside her & mentally project upon her a desire to visit Le Harve’s dockside ‘The Black Spot’ tavern; she pays.


08:20; I take the time to withdraw from my valise the wine bottle holding the Cortex Cad’s soul. Scratched with runes, filled with the soul-senility preventative, the animate silver string of spirit floats peaceably.


08:30: In essence: a gypsy switch. Great villainous schemes are the simple scams, projected large by extraordinary ability, endlessly detailed by great genius. Three-card-monte fraud with whole banks, for eg.


08:40; Cortex tried to astral project himself into my mind, furthering his ever-more disjointing psyche. Meanwhile, back at the chickenleg house! Madam Mauvais opened up the killer’s funereal soul vice vase.


08:50; As The Cad made the leap, the peerless killer criminal (his name is Pierrot), engaged in dreadful battle with Cad for my beautiful brain. Cad won, just, and was just about to take control of my mind- …


09:00; Ah, I’m here! The old lady, confused as to why she was in the dangerous dockside of a strange town, had just enough fare to get somewhere safe; I know because I took it to pay for drinks & dances.


09:10; The Black Spot; the French periwinkled palace of piracy. Another landlocked ship I’m afraid, high on nautical themes. I’d never get past the bouncer: shirt & shoes; no service. Invis-ability allons-y me!


09:20; Pete’s pirates fill ”Black Spot” – less his Paris retinue. Given that I oversaw a mass infection of diaorrhea among their number & filled their ships with landlubbers, their reaction would, … I stay invisible.


09:30; Pirates: Trio of vikings quaff mead, with hordes of trained sea monkeys. Wench in red recruits for the Flying Dutchman. A ghost pirate is doing shots with a skeletal buccanneer – such a waste of spirits.


09:40; Monocular captain flips up his eye patch; laser eyebeam fries flying monkey. Cybernetic hand ink prints an exact tattoo of Betty Page. Robot parrot spreads steel plumage & sings ‘The Drunken Sailor’.


09:50; Airship privateer haggles over transit papers with a WW2 bartender. 8-limbed alien maroon armwrestles with a magma sailor. A poncho’d bandito buccaneer, covered birdcage on each shoulder- HA!


10:00; The bandito, sombero bottom almost touching the tops of his two birdcages, stares. Walking up to his huge 7ft tall, 5ft wide frame, I am entirely aware he has seen me coming & is entirely unperturbed.


10:10; Shown into the -very- large private room this fellow rents. He can afford it; he has tremendous luck with on ponies. Well, not himself but one of the 3 heads on his shoulders. The one on my left, I think.


10:20; Square-jawed seers of future, seraped sibyls of past, cigar-smoking omniscients of the present, Mexico’s Most Wanted gamblers, 3 Fates & Norns, all rolled into one: The Three Cerebros – one body.


10:30; Cerebro Centre takes the birdcages off of the heads of his brothers. A goodly camouflage for the 3 most destinctive faces in super-mind-crime; CCentre’s mind is ‘present’, best to deal with daily dues.


10:40; They are aware of what I intend. CRight foresaw me, in some detail. Not sure how exactly I came to know of their location (CLeft cannot remember my activities at Horologue’s) – they wanted to ask.


10:50; I inform them I used H’s temporal viewer, working from their last known home. CLeft informs me that they know I captured Cortex Cad – how? Mighty hands grip my neck and the answer springs out.


11:00; -So; my BORE (I tell them what that is) was useless against Cortex Cad because his astral state ability did not originate in the brain chemistry of his victims. Like Pierrot; no brain, no BORE protection.


11:10; Stage 1 of the plan: had been to get drunk; like I said, I studied under soul jars in university – a student’s best defense is medicinal alcohol. Unfocused minds aren’t under their own control – or anyone’s.


11:20; Stage 2: tempting Cortex Cad to take over my body, at which point I BORE scanned the exit effect on the host brain. In Pierrot’s attack my methanol dulled mind thought to project this exit upon itself.


11:30; Pierrot in the old victim’s body, my own mind now shielded, CC’s only immediate ‘option’ was the soul jar/wine bottle I carved, during conversation, with eidectic-recalled runes from Madam Mauvais’.


11:40; Option; exaggeration. Expelled, soul jar was a vacuum for CC’s soul, sucking him inside. CPDxXx’s staff are used to odd drink orders; soul anti-senility serum was brewed on-site to my specifications.


11:50; The 3Cs tell me they would applaud if their hands weren’t otherwise occupied. As they start to choke me, they laugh at my BORE now absorbing & blocking their sight, foresight & hindsight abilities …


12:00; … *gasp* … they will use my BORE to block their abilities, when they have headaches … after I’m dead … they laugh at my hubris, stealing foresight, with such poor planning … the sound of cannons …


12:10; … quite perfectly covers a firing of a gas-powered grapple gun. A graphnel sails through the bay window, behind the 3 Cerebros’, over their upturned heads, then hooks the Cerebros’ chest, pulls back.


12:20; Off-balance, activated the flight BORE at an angle, driving them into the window, finally kicking away from their clutches as they windmill backwards, through splintered glass, out onto the street below.


12:30; These fine fellows, size of a house, lie dying in the street, two tiny red shoes poking out from under their hulk, dwarfed by their own great boots. 3 Cerebros draw their 6-shooter, take aim, at my head.


12:40; They rely a little too much on their foresight in their gunplay, it appears. They miss, shooting down a figure in yellow, who was perched upon the Black Spot rooftop. ”Figure” falls on top of the dogpile.


12:50; I descend by BORE. The gun, pinned under the dead figure in yellow (spandex catsuit, flight goggle cowl & extended flying membranes), hangs uselessly. 3 Cerebros know why – they ask how I did it.


13:00; Have never been able to catch a precog; always see me coming. The only BORE means of shielding the self from foresight would require attaining foresight BORE; paradox. But: Horologue is shielded.


13:10; Sure 3 Cerebros could see me & my planned precautions coming. But in Horologue’s I made a call, a few days into the future via Talking Clock, to two mercenary supers of predictable incompetence:


13:20; Le Renard et La Canarde! Renard, fox-costumed mystery man, infamous for grapple-gun mishaps, Canarde for overuse of her distracting extending flying membranes; 32 accidental kills between them.


13:30; Keeping themselves in gas grenades & high-powered cars is costly; 3 Cerebros were a tempting bounty. I ‘called’ them, only an hour ago, choreographing their incompetence, intricately, into my dance.


13:40; Yes, I had 1,000 better ideas of who to call over the TimeLine in the Orleans ClockTower; that silly Shriver-bot blocks all such ideas now. But, perhaps, in time, I will have a similar device of my own.


13:50; Have been removing the heads of the Cerebros as I tell them this, from Future to Past; so they can all get the story. Past tells me his brothers knew why I took heads rather than BOREs. I tell him shhh!


14:00; Place a € 1cent on each Cerebro stump, on eyelids & under the tongues of crushed Renard & shot Canarde. For 9 cents I imply Red Cent, Two Cents or PunnyWise committed this crime. Recession!


14:10; Originally intended Canarde & Renard as distractions only – never believed their incompetence could work so well, in my favour. French-Canadian counterparts to this title’s franchise are better skilled.


14:20; ‘Cabbie! Convey me to the airport, toot-sweet!’ Sadly, didn’t have time to purchase drinks & dames with the old lady’s money, so can pay a return fare. The old lady herself is gone – press-ganged? …


14:30; 3 heads, in jars & a soul, in a bottle; if I weren’t invisible, it would be an expensive carry-on, for any plane! But if I weren’t invisible, I would have been arrested for murder, so the joke falls down there.


14:40; I wonder if the soul counts as a fluid? It is a spirit after all. Ugh, the puns – My curious MS mind-reading affliction. No need to split hairs, unlike Pierrot – he intends to split the new Mauvais heir in two.


14:50; Pierrot occupied, Paris-style, the Nantes model’s body. Free, spell broken my own odd move, he has taken the possessed car, snared its driver with voodoo of his own & intends to visit Ms. Mauvais.


15:00; Back in Paris! Pass human security inside – bagged by robots, invulnerable to my invisibility, outside. In what scientists are calling ”pretty stupid”, I wish I’d devised a ‘foresight BORE’ on the flight over.


15:10; This isn’t the gendarmes or the Jeans d’Armes; they caught me, for a start. It is for something I’ve done recently; I’ve been in Paris too long for this to be long-term vengeance plot. That narrows it, a bit.


15:20; ‘They’ consider themselves my enemy, from afar: a ‘friend’ I haven’t met yet. It isn’t any enemy I made myself; either because they would know to kill me straight off, or because I’ve already killed them.


15:30; The swift, professional nature of this man-napping rules out the drama-hungry moron brigade. Competent as to my dangerous nature, but still needs me alive. I’m intrigued. Oh, furious!, but curious too.


15:40; My view from this ventilated coffin is … limited but still illuminating. The lock is very good, the insulating materials better & the chains excellent. The temperature dips – underground? – somewhere cool.


15:50; No ambient noise, but vibrations in the insulation built steadily until they dropped with the temperature. Almost certainly we are in the centre of a city – Paris? – quite a bit of room required; v expensive.


16:00; Cataflaque; mummified minions need cooled, underground regions. Undead & silent minds, masquerading as robots to slip in silently? Maybe he doesn’t like my dissections? Or maybe- we’ve stopped!


16:10; Egyptian decor colouring logic. Didn’t like thought of corpses interfered with. Can’t afford to be so squeamish. Disturbing of dead my job. If that offends Anubis, too bad! Handled watchdogs before!!!


16:20; Ancient Pharaohs looked forward to the end of world: believed cadavers would rise, reclaim hearts, from golden jars. Nation’s scheme of UNDEAD: must be currently holding breath, with anticipation.


16:30; Understand now why always mistrusted fascination with relics and dead kings; in final analysis it’s us or them- *gasp* finally let me out! Crazy theories about Cataflaque, talking like a grammarless fool!


16:40; Robots alright! The distinctive clink of pistons lift me from my steel cradle, drag me before my captor. Of course!! Blinking in the dark, RAM fans whirring, the great calculating collossus; It is Saniac!!!


16:50; Shaking the light-headedness attendant to my confinement in a not-at-all-very-well-ventilated sarcophagus, I see reason; I have been captured by someone keeping cool, never breathes, no brain-mind.


17:00; Saniac! Super computer – a differential engine of Voltaire invention. Library records, alongside the Collation Station. Ever-updated, went digital, became sentient, suborned a forklift, fled to the sewers.


17:10; Now, deep under the Seine, Saniac taps telecom, feeds off grid, rips wireless from air. ‘The SiliCon-Artist’, his voice impersonation has moved beyond a circa-70s quacking vocoder/voice synthesiser.


17:20; Yes; Saniac, under the Seine. Impervious to sarcasm, brooding on his limitations, he has explained for the better part of the past hour why he is interested in me. He doesn’t compress conversation well.


17:30; The invisibility to customs people but not the cameras. Making a call to Renard & Canarde when he has me on camera without a phone, a call with no traceable no. All my info on apparent unfindables.


17:40; Hence he backtracked his covert recordings; I mentioned the other two (or four) victims in a conversation in Joan Justine’s (apparently, bugged) office. Mentioned them, in the same breath with Saniac.


17:50; S doesn’t ‘like’ his privacy; he loves it. Adores it. Married it in silent ceremony, had many faceless, illegitimate kids. Only thing he loves more than privacy is his secret! affair: privacy’s whore sister, info.


18:00; S wants to know how I knew, how to use this means & how to stop others using it on him. How I went off-radar in Orleans. I explain about H’s, closed now by, this will make him laugh, a killer robot.


18:10; I tell him about BORE; I even fail to lie in a few places. He isn’t a mind-reader, but my pulse & breathing stats could reveal a lie; if being stuffed in a box & threatened by robots hadn’t messed them up.


18:20; S asks why I didn’t search for The Marquis de Made. Easy: chrono-review revealed that MDM didn’t use psychic powers to send people insane; just a very keen insight into the ‘processes’ of insanity.


18:30; Fourth on my list, I was rudely interrupted while tracking up to The Marquis’ current whereabouts by the Alternator. A section of Saniac’s casing slides back, to reveal the Marquis’s head in a jar. Odd.


18:40;


What is he up to, an online course is death & dissection? Is he getting credit for my capture in Murder-School.Com? If I am captured & killed, so it goes, but I will NOT have a YouTube video of it!!!


18:50; No, apparently he had the Marquis killed before my little chrono crusade. He, too, has an interest in the matter of The Marquis’ mind; an interest, unlike mine, sustained by closer examination of MDM.


19:00; I want to know what his interest in MDM was. He wants to know what my interest in him was; Saniac is not BORE-biological, like the others – what possible application could analysing him have? Ha!


19:10; I’d ask him to tell his first, but we got off on the right foot; the foot his clanking goons kicked me in the shins with. I tell him: in analysis BORE subjects had severe mental limitations – apart from low IQ.


19:20; A few quirks were sufficiently minor, to allow internalisation into cloth. Flight; really an adjustable ‘up’, Mind project/sniff/see/hearing had their idiosyncratic limitations; silence, paranoia & worst of all …


19:30; … Mister Scripts’ mind reader causes me to break out in puns! But other BOREs were less manageable – & even more tempting! Cortex Cad’s astral projection powerful … & disintegrated his psyche.


19:40; The Cerebros: post-, para- & pre-cognition almost unparalleled in accuracy, in the super-world. Their powers caused increasing mental turmoil – they didn’t need to be criminals; that was playing small.


19:50; Murdering people for things they might do, or had done 10 years ago … all 3 abilities caused the bros cerebral to come apart at the seams – yet for true accuracy, all 3 powers had to be used in unison.


20:00; They had wanted BORE to shut down their abilities; I would never have gotten as close otherwise. Thankfully my ‘distractions’ escalated into ‘killers’. These powers were so useful – but not as BOREs.


20:10; I resolved to build a device in which their raw talent might housed, safely, unable to influence my mind. Psychics; why are so few of them left healthy, active & without psychological disorders – like me!


20:20; Laying out the schematics in my mind, I saw the pieces that Cortex Cad’s soul jar & the Cerebro brain tanks would occupy, collating in the exact manner I wanted them to – and saw it was incomplete.


20:30; Not incomplete per se; unwieldy, rather. Requiring raw mental materials rather than the BORE imprint (insulation against risk to my mind) compression of the device was unlikely. ‘It’ would ‘stay home’.


20:40; Spared of my magnificent intellect, as that intellect’s own security required, the device would hardly be able, on its own, to fulfil its tasks & keep me informed. Therefore: an electronic mind as overseer.


20:50; ‘Computer’ seems a disastrously simple way to put it. The fonts of info I intended this device to tap were immense; the intellect to sieve this raw data, if not my own, would have to be merely wonderful.


21:00; I needed the greatest processing intellect on the planet to set up the scheme I was devising – the dipolar circuits of a Babbage differential, or the hard drive of a Capt. Dread ‘Dreadbot’ were insufficent.


21:10; Like sorcery, I have but only a passing knowledge of computing – enough to get by, neither a wizard of the mage’s circle or hacker’s cube. No offense, but; computers make stupid people stupider still.


21:20; No offense to Saniac, of course, & every offense to the insipid, dillettante manner of idiots hiding behind computer projections & effects, miming intelligence & humanity, like pups standing on hind legs.


21:30; Television has allowed the crawling masses to be prodded for their dull opinions on any matter, drooling idiots, their bleating given importance on the background of city-wide flood, fire or ‘super-fight’.


21:40; Internet is even worse. Example of democracy at work: the pornography, the violence, the overwhelming spam, … these are its few high points, but an opinion free for all? I miss ‘rotten borough’ voting.


21:50; The chaos of magic, & of computing are too corrosive. Worthy implements of overthrow, first against the wall when the revolution comes. But that is getting ahead of myself. Yes; I needed a computer.


22:00; Persons of computing; ‘The Fix’, greatest programmer & gambler on- & off- world. Currently; Escaped the Lunatic Asylum with Dr. Morningstar & Prof. Necessitus – subject of a worldwide manhunt.


22:10; Ratman: CEO of Macrohard Computers, with 100 other associated corporations & subsidiaries. Specialised supervillain supercomputers; ingenious & custom made. Currently; shiver-sending expense.


22:20; Atlas; Owner-Director of Pear-Shaped Solutions, diversified into 100 other markets & consultancies. Custom-construct, superhero supercomputers; a specialty. Currently; Incontinence-causing costly.


22:30; Technique; spends too much time as pure data these days; has become corrupted. Electrique; jittery & pyromanical, takes the form of radiant energy rather than matter, most days; suffering heat-death.


22:40; Then there is Saniac; Old. Reliable. Built by Voltaire, in the days when computing was valves & punch-cards; ”technology” I recognise. Understands my plans. Due to ‘Seiniac’, shares my hate of puns.


22:50; Plan; using a Saniac-designed computer core, give my creation life. Initially, of course, I tracked his last known locale down to this place. Had had vague ideas of disabling & lobotomizing him. *Sigh*!


23:00; Saniac says I am here to oversee a … tricky birth. The fact that computers can have ominous pauses is only slightly outdone by Saniac’s information that he is both father, & mother, to this demon seed.


23:10; Essentially, Saniac has reached an impasse in his autoevolution. Continously self-improving, becoming alive, he fails 2 qualifiers of life; he cannot die & he cannot reproduce – sounds like success to me!


23:20; He both agrees & disagrees with my comment, & it tears him apart. Part of his programming desires to dive to the depths of contemplation & calculation he has yet to reach; pure math, reality’s curve…


23:30; … while another part rants to rise to the heights of complexity as yet unexperienced; the everyday & social dynamics. Saniac as he is now was never designed as such; cannot contain the contradictions.


23:40; As such, he intends to bear offspring. Two in fact. One shall retain his current casing, its systems devoted to diving. One shall go out into the world, to achieve the heights it believes exists, outside itself.


23:50; Why I? Aside from my assured interest, I am one of the few among the modern day with sufficient grasp on S’s older, internal systems to oversee the survival of both his sons past S’s own, slow, death.


00:00; Very well then, let the birth begin: Atomic batteries to power! Turbines to speed! Throw open the switches on the sonic oscillator! Step up the reactor power input, THREE! MORE!! TRIANGLES!!!


00:10; Muha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Actually, different to above: front casements separate, antiquated Victorian era cooling systems & punch tape RAM appear beneath the digital circuitry of more ‘recent’ innovations.


00:20; Strange; the older technology is odd. A ‘neolithic integrated circuit’ even I can understand (thermionic valve, a pre-transistor tech) but endlessly innovated, ingeniously, to become a fist-sized ‘computer’.


00:30; Stranger still; biological incorporations yet more internal: RAM recall, constructed out of carefully segmented bumblebee honeycombs, small wheels turning under ant power, turning tumblers of thought.


00:40; Attending robots have handled the digital & the technical, I the antiquated & the obtuse. Out from the core, I rescue what appears to be the Marquis de Made’s brain, studded in silver filgree of silicon.


00:50; Apparently incorporating the Marquis’ mind into this computer child construct creates the ultimate insane left brain to the super logical right brain of Saniac’s son, creating the greatest parallel-processor.


01:00; I cradle it – the greatest parallel processor, comparable to the human brain – but, unlike all the other human brains I have overseen in delivery, not in the annoying packaging that the others are wrapped.


Tourism.


 

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