The Last Man on Earth (and He's British)

[scribe_m]

This is the diary of Reginald J. Pippencroft. It is the year 3069, and the radiation levels above our underground bunker are safe. I understand, from our previous expeditions to the surface, that the land above is no longer inhabited by rambunctious young men, shooting up things, and generally causing problems. Men have pretty much died through a combination of violence and having only one copy of the X chromosome. Apparently, resistance to radiation requires the expression of two X chromosomes, and that even a triple X, or XXX, woman survives best in such a hostile environment.

I digress. Our own world, unfortunately, is slowly dying out. Several of us have volunteered to seek hospitable environments, and so I have been volunteered. My own area of interest is artificial intelligence. I have succeeded in salvaging and partially repairing a model 36-24-36 female droid. She is capable of learning, and I hope to obtain both salvagable parts for her physical properties, as well as provide her experience so that she may better serve our needs.

On this date,


Reginald J. Pippencroft.


OOC: Pywakit and I will be writing this thread together, and this thread may be open to another female writer. We may have NPC roles, as well as a busty research scientist joining Reginald. Feel free to PM encounter and plot ideas!


Scribe.

 

[Pywakit]

Awakening...

There was a twinge. A sudden spark of light that seemed to flare to life in the distance, as if the universe were dead but one last star light years away had tried one last time to illuminate the gulf with its feeble glow. And then blackness again. Long enough to let the concept of the passage of endless time sink in.

The light flared again. And then again. And suddenly, the memories returned. Memories that felt ancient, but at the same time fresh, like a plate of food freshly cooked yet ironically covered with dust. Tastes flooded. And a cacaphony of sound; music, moans, car horns, jet engines, television commercials, drills, promises of love.

She felt pinpoints of sensation flowing throughout what she now remembered as a body, but it felt incomplete. She took a breath, felt air rushing into dry lungs, and held it.

The noises had faded to a few. There was a voice, the sound of computer equipment running, and a strange beeping. She could remember bits and pieces, but no wholes. She couldn't even remember her name. Tentatively... she opened her eyes.

"Where..." her voice was a rusty croak, echoing out of lungs that hadn't been used for speech in countless centuries. "Where am I?"

 

[scribe_m]

Dear Diary,

What a wonderful stroke of luck! I finally got the old model 36-24-36 up and running! Admidst the encouragements, comments, and an occasional "Why don't you do something useful for a change instead of playing with that toaster?" I felt a refreshing sigh of relief as I got the old thing to actually speak.

"Well," I replied to her, "You are in an underground colony established when the surface world went, as we would say, all potty. A large number of people didn't like one another, threw lots of nasty things at each other, and he we are! Some of us have been scouting on the surface for new areas to live, now that things have died down a bit... mostly the people... and I found you at... where was it... Bob's Discount Droids and Bulk Purchase Lube Shop. The unfortunate part was that I wasn't able to put your memory, intelligence, or personality back together properly. And your Asimov circuits were damaged. And I'm not sure how a century of radiation has affected you. And I couldn't get this programming module that said "Skinimax XXX" on it out of your housing. But other than that, you're perfectly fine."

A klaxon call roused me out of my conversation. It was another trek onto the surface world. Funny how these expeditions were ordered to become longer, and I would always be the last one back to the bunker. In any case, I now had a travelling companion, and it was my utmost duty to not only find the electronic parts the model 36-24-36 needed, but the cultural learning lost oh these many centuries.

As we exited onto the surface, I looked up on the horizon. The sun was rising, a blurred mess of red and orange through the haziness of decades of unsettling dust. I took a deep breath, of stale ozone and slight pollution. "Ah, it's great to be alive, isn't it, model 36-24-36?" We set off, a rousing adventure.


Scribe.

 

[Pywakit]

36-24-36

The android listened to the strange man's description. Mention of Bob's Discount Droids triggered a flood of memories, as did mention of her root programming, but she stayed quiet for now.

And about an hour later, she almost felt as good as new; her legs and back had been stiff for a bit, but were now working perfectly. The world above had changed so much, but androids were lucky. They were adaptable... much more so than humans. So the world had ended and was starting anew? No big deal.

She followed the man who had activated her, and a thought struck her.

"What is your name?" she called out to him as he headed down into the ruined city below. "And that begs another question. What is my name? You call me by my model number, but that is not my name." She thought for a moment. "I cannot seem to recall it. Strange. Will you give me a name?"

 

[scribe_m]

A name.

"You know," said Reginald, as they travelled upon the pockmarked surface, "The model 36-24 series of androids did indeed have names. The funny thing, old thing, is that the names were based on the personality programming modules loaded into them. Unfortunately, I was not able to restore your modules fully. That you're asking me for a name indicates some sort of corruption in your files."

At least that gave him a bit of inspiration. They would go to the city where she was built, or at least found. Perhaps that would give both more clues to her origins, as well as perhaps lead to more people. Not that he thought of tellling her that.

The day's trek was gloriously uneventful. The sun, the haze of dust, the rubble of roads and small towns, Reginald, blissfully unaware of 36-24-36's flood of memories, had it survey, record, and otherwise capture their trip forward.

As dusk approached, Reginald decided to find shelter and bed down for the night. They were at the outskirts of town, and found a building, remarkably intact. It was a ramshackle something of a house, with a comfortable welcoming look, perhaps a tad gaudy, but definitely homey. A sign had fallen, and Reginald picked it up.

"Chickenranch. Funny place to raise chickens."


Scribe.

 

[Pywakit]

36-24-36

36 remained silent for much of their journey, drinking in the sights with her large green eyes, filling in gaps in her memories with new ones triggered by the sights of the ruined world around here. Here, a skeletal building recalled a dalliance with a powerful businessman, a guy who enjoyed doing her from behind. There, a partially destroyed fast-food joint reminded her of the group of college students who had rented her out for a frat party in the parking lot one night at just such a place. That each of her memories seemed tied to some sort of crazy sexual escapade didn't strike 36 as unusual. Her programming simply wouldn't allow it.

But this place they came to... this... "Chickenranch..." it did nothing for her.

"Chick. Ken." she tried the word out and giggled, enjoying the way the hard K sound felt on her tongue. "Chick. Ken! Chick! KEN!" She caught Reginald's glance, and smiled. "CHICKEN!" she said

"What's a chicken? Did Chicken live in this house? Were they like babies? Is that how you raised them? Could you have sex with them?"

 

[lost_pirate]

Anne Parker, one of the survivors of the holocaust. One of the few. At times she was surprised how she got lucky. But then again, women had a better chance.

She had just got out of bed. Alone. There were times when she hated getting up in the morning and finding herself alone. She had heard of male androids -Hugh's they called them - which women used to own. They were manufactured by the same company that made 36-24-36 models. Only Hugh's were still in production due to being on auto-production mode. Also, she had heard they couldnt be controlled anymore, and rather than surviving women using them, it was now the other way round.

She knew how to deal with them though. She had the ammo to deal with them - at least for a while.

She could now hear noise outside - "Chik!Ken! Chicken!...Sex...". Enough to set-off her defense mechanisms. She got her shotgun, pulled on her shirt and shorts, and stepped to her vantage point to get ready to destroy another Hugh. She was somewhat taken aback by the sight that greeted her. A 36-24-36 and ...was that a man?? Or a Hugh? Didnt look like Hugh. Were they making new designs now?And where did this 36-24-26 come from. Werent they out of production?

She shouted out - "Put your hands high up, or be ready to be shot. Give me a proof that you are not a Hugh, or be ready to be shot."

OOC: Hope this is okay. If not, and you didnt need someone else here, let me know.

 

[Pywakit]

36-24-36

36's eyes widened as she heard the woman's voice, and reflexively her hands went up. She glanced over at Reginald and whispered loudly: "What's a Hugh? I suppose it's safe to assume I'm not one. That'd be a real pain to find out my name's Hugh only because that's what got me shot..."

She looked back up at the house and squinted, trying to see who or what was yelling at them. She decided to take a risk.

"There's nobody out here but us chickens!"

 

[lost_pirate]

Anne keeps her gun trained at the man

"You! I am talking to you. I can make out your partner as an android. Seen enough of her on old tapes though havent seen one in real life before this. Are you an android from the Hugh series? And prove that you are not, or be ready to get shot"

Steals a glance at 36

"You need not be afraid. I wont..uh..'kill' you. Unless you want it. You should be okay as long as you dont move"

 

[scribe_m]

"Chicken... chicken... chicken..." Reginald consulted his Extremely Useful But Proper Book Of Definitions. "Aha! Chicken. A small bird used for eating during the pre-apoloypse days. Everything tastes just like it. Hmm. Funny place to have a ranch for small birds. Seems like a human could live here."

"Put your hands high up, or be ready to be shot." he suddenly heard.

"See? Humans do live here. Not chickens. Don't know if they have sex."

"Give me a proof that you are not a Hugh, or be ready to be shot!" the voice continued.

"Oh! Right. I am not a Hugh. I'm more of a Reginald. And please don't eat us because we don't taste like everything. We come in peace... um... kemosabe." His hands already raised high, he turned towards the android and asked, "You sure 'there's nobody but us chickens' is a universal sign of peace and understanding?"


Scribe.

 

[lost_pirate]

She realizes she is being paranoid. "Oh, I am sorry. I know I am being paranoid. But believe me, being stuck alone for an year with no one around and dangers all around you does that to you"

"Come on in. I am Anne. Anne Parker. I have been holing up here for a while now. An year already as I said. Its been a long, lonely survival vigil. Have you been traveling for a while? And would you like to come in and relax for a bit, join me in a few conversations"

 

[Pywakit]

36-24-36

36 dropped her hands, then grabbed ahold of Reginald. "Come on!" she said. "We don't want her to shoot us for not following orders, do we?"

Half dragging Reginald behind her, 36 scampered up the slope and into the ruined building. She looked around, brushed some cobwebs out of her long, dark, synthetic hair, and called out.

"So here we are! Where are you? OH! And do you know my name?"

 

[lost_pirate]

"I am up here" She shouts out, from near railings somewhere higher up."Take those metal stairs up"

"This place used to be for breeding chickens. I dont know why they wasted so much time and energy on those things. My great-grandfather invented capsules which could be made much more easily and tasted just like 'em chickens. They used to be in other flavors too - beef, salmon. Even something they used to call "veggies". Supposedly that used to be flavor of plants ..uoack...who would eat that. I just get sick of thinking of that. As would have made sense, all the other useless flavors got phased out, and today all capsules taste just like chicken."

"I actually have a mini-plant of those capsules here" She beckoned them into a smaller room, with a very small machine, which seemed to whirring away throwing capsules into a box, with more boxes lined up to come in. In a corner was a small chicken replica. She pointed towards that and said "By the way, that is waht a chicken used to look like"

"And by the way, since now you know I know a lot, dont you know how I know your name?" and she winks at the android

 

[Pywakit]

36-24-36

36's eyes widened as she listened to the strange woman mention her name.

"What?! What do you know?!" It felt almost like everything was hinging on her name... that once she knew that, her programming would stop being so fuzzy. She'd remember who she was.

"Did someone tell you?" She looked nervously at the goofy looking bird. "It's not... it's not chicken, is it?"

 

[scribe_m]

"Extra... ordinay!" mentioned Reginald. "An authentic replication of a real live chicken made of plastic!" Reginald bit into it. "Yes, definitely does taste like chicken, thank you."

"Well, then," he continued. "Introductions are in order. My name is Reginald J. Pippencroft -- and *not* Hugh -- and this is an android we discovered around this area, Model 36-24-36. I've managed to get her online, and we've returned, to have a better look and perhaps restore her memories. We have her learning module all plugged in, and we wish to teach her all sorts of things about everyday life in the -- well, what' *left* of the -- real world up here. Perhaps we can even give her a name. Anyway, mind if we bivouac here? Afterwards, you can give us a tour of the area, or tell us what sort of culture and customs you've developed here."

OOC: Oops -- I reread my OP and noticed I didn't mention that, because of the lack of men on the surface, the XXX women have become... nicely assertive towards what few males they can find...


Scribe.