The Ranger doffs his hat, then asks the question most important and most dangerous to him:
"So . . . why are the Boards ending?"
WhiteAlligator puts a hand to her forehead, and when she takes it away, all traces of a smile have left her face. She looks exhausted. "I can't . . . I don't . . ."
"You don't know?" says the Ranger. "You don't know? How can you not know?"
"Look. . .it doesn't really matter now--"
He takes a deep breath that does nothing to calm him. "Doesn't matter? My bricking life is ending and you don't know why?"
"Stop! I'm sorry, OK, I really am. But this wasn't my decision."
She sighs and adjusts her glasses. "And those who did make the decision don't know you've gained sentience. To them, you're just another line of ones and zeros. Again, it doesn't matter. You have the drives, and you can take them to safety. So do it."
"All right. All right." The Ranger bows his head. "I--I'm glad I could meet you, before the end."
"Nice to meet you, too."
The Ranger puts his hat back on and hugs his small black box to his chest.
I can save the Boards. I can save the Boards. That's what does matter. I just have to keep moving.
He turns to leave, but WhiteAlligator stops him.
"One more thing," she says. "There're a few more boxes you have to go through before you get to the user space. Don't stop in any of them, no matter what memories they bring back. And once you reach the users, keep heading in any one direction until you find a green door. Got it?"
Hey, I found it! Sorry, I haven't been rereading the parts..let me know when we're getting close to new parts.
Great! Did you read all the parts back on the LMBs? Because most of the "new" parts will be extended versions of those. I did manage to finish (kind of ) before the locking.
Not quite, I didn't go back probably the last couple days or so. I was too busy trying to keep up with the good-byes.
Great! Did you read all the parts back on the LMBs? Because most of the "new" parts will be extended versions of those. I did manage to finish (kind of ) before the locking.
Not quite, I didn't go back probably the last couple days or so. I was too busy trying to keep up with the good-byes.
Ah, OK. That means you'll be getting moar new stuff soon.
I saved most of the goodbyes as an archive, so I could read them and cry later.
The next box is empty, and requires the Ranger to turn his eye-light to its highest setting.
As he walks to the next doorway, he can't help noticing the nameplate on one of the stations.
Curious, he slows. None of the Mods had nameplates.
Carved into the wood of this one is the name Keighlian. Underneath, in smaller letters, are the initials S.M.C.
Something clicks in the Ranger's head. Keighlian . . . Super Mod Commander.
How did I forget about him?
Don't stop in any of them. The warning echoes in his mind.
He sighs, takes one more look at the nameplate, and moves on to the next box.
This one has a plate that reads cocodeville.
Again, it takes him a second to remember who that is.
"How could I forget?" he mutters, shaking his head.
"It's probably in your programming," says a voice from his hand. "I'd know about that. . . ."
The Ranger glances down at the box of drives, then quickly heads for the next doorway. "OK. Which one are y--?"
"Merlok 2.0, good sir," says the voice, cutting him off. "Do you want for Nexo powers or dubstep music?"
"No, thanks," the Rangers says, hurriedly checking the plate in the new box (Mojo_Sansibar) before moving on again.
He tries not to waste any more time, but he can't stop himself from reading the plates as he passes through empty box after empty box.
The names burn bright in his mind, and he knows he'll never forget them again: JungleDolphin. Oceanbella. Archette. Dizia. Sezmra. Tomium. ModeratorH. Shival_Mythran.
Countless others.
Merlok 2.0 sighs. "Whatever his taste in music, he seems a fine young lad. Reminds me of the knights, on their quests."
"To me he seems more like a ninja," says another, more robotic voice.
"No. No," says a third, sad voice. "He's most like me. Like me. Before I lost everything.
"Whoa, now." The Ranger opens the box to look at the three drives again.
All three are silent. "Pixal and Echo. Those are your names, right?"
The white and tan drives give off a soft glow as they say "Yes," in unison.
"Hmm." The Ranger closes the box. "Don't say things like that . . . Echo?"
"Yes, that was him," says the robotic voice--Pixal. "He's showing signs of depression, though how an artificial intelligence can have depression in any form goes beyond the scope of my current knowledge."
The Ranger stops in the doorway to the next room-box. "Would I be considered . . . artificial intelligence?"
"Yes," says Pixal.
The Ranger shakes his head. "Echo?"
"What is it? Is it?"
"I feel for you, buddy."
A few room-boxes later, the Ranger finds a lanky, humanoid bot sitting in a chair, working on a tablet.
Made of a dull grey metal, it looks incomplete, more like a framework than a full form.
Its face is featureless save for a single, glowing red orb in the center.
It doesn't look up until the Ranger is halfway to the next doorway. Then it tilts its head, the light in its eye flickering very slightly.
Its gaze roots the Ranger to the spot.
The drives rattle in their box, as if trying to warn him--or flee.
"Um . . . hello," says the Ranger. "Is this the user space?"
"No," says the bot in a calm, even voice.
It compresses its tablet.
The Ranger swallows.
"What are you doing here, Ranger?" says the bot, standing up from its chair. "Didn't you get the message I sent you earlier?
"You sent that message?" asks the Ranger. The drives' rattling increases. "Why?"
The bot takes a step forward, and the Ranger takes a step back.
"That is a disturbingly user-like question to ask," says the bot. "I recieved word that the Boards were to be shut down. The Program clearly states that, if they are shut down, the Ranger is to be terminated. Your usefulness is at its end."
The Ranger opens his mouth to retort, but no words come out.
"I'm sorry," says the bot, "have I not made myself clear? You seem . . . confused."
The Ranger blinks. CONfused. Heh.
"Confused doesn't even begin to cover it," he says. "But I don't care anymore. My usefulness continues. CONtinues. In a CONtingency plan."
The bot tilts its head again, but says nothing.
The Ranger stops smiling and clears his throat. "So, if you'll just let me pass through to the user space, I'll be on my way."
The bot expands its tablet, swipes the screen six times to the left, then compresses it, all without looking away from the Ranger.
His hands shake trying to hold the drives still. "Well?"
"I'm afraid I can't let you do that, Ranger," says the bot. "The Program explicitly states that you are not allowed to leave your box. Furthermore, you appear to have adopted the characteristics of a user."
The bot shakes its head. "It's unfortunate, that you should go rogue now, of all times. We left you alone for too long, I suppose."
The Ranger tightens his jaw, hiding the box of drives under his cloak. "'Go rogue'? Like the movie? What do you mean? And what's wrong with being like a user?"
"It's wrong because you're not a user. You have become a danger to the Program, and you must be terminated."
The bot advances until it backs the Ranger into a wall.
The Ranger takes a hand off the box of drives to feel along the wall for the doorframe, but all he finds is a vertical energy pipe. He grips it tightly.
The bot continues to stand there threateningly, but it doesn't appear to do anything.
"So," says the Ranger, "how's the termination going?"
"Nowhere, yet. Other bots are on their way here to help me detain you and override your decision-making code."
The Ranger shifts the box under his cloak and shrugs. "In that case. . . ."
With a surge of motion he rips the pipe from its fastenings on the wall and brings it crashing down like a quarterstaff on the bot's head.
Aside from a satisfying clang, though, the attack does nothing more than dent the pipe.
The bot looks up at the pipe, then back down at the Ranger.
"You really shouldn't have done that," it says quietly.
The Ranger stares at the bot. "OK," he says weakly.
Then he shoves it back with the pipe and runs for the doorway.
He makes it out--into a box with another bot in it.
"Brickity brick," he mutters, running to the next box before the new bot even looks up.
He passes through half a dozen more bot boxes and arrives in what can only be the user space, where a group of ten bots is waiting for him.
Oh, come on . . . not now. . . .
The Ranger switches off his eye-light and tries not to let the vastness and brightness of the space distract him from the bots. None of them have made a move yet, but their single red eyes are flashing, and they're standing in arrow formation that points toward him. The Ranger adjusts his grip on the pipe.
"Any advice?" he asks the drives.
"They appear to have set themselves up like bowling pins," says Pixal. "An odd choice."
The Ranger takes a deep breath and steels himself.
Then he launches himself toward the bots.
With a crash of metal his staff connects with the first bot's torso frame, bending it backward. The bot stumbles and falls, and its fellows spread out to give it space to land.
Confused, the Ranger watches as their flashing eyes calm to a steady, crimson glow.
"What are they doing--?"
"INCOMING!" Merlok yells as the nine bots suddenly rush forward.
The Ranger holds out his staff horizontally, knocking over the first two bots in line, but the three behind grab onto the staff and don't let go. Growling, the Ranger tries to pull it back, the strength of his one arm against their six.
As the other bots move out of formation to surround him, he desperately kicks at the three bots' knees.
"A little help?" he says loudly, struggling to keep hold of the staff. It starts to fold in his hand.
"You only had to ask!" says Merlok. "Now hold up your shield! Initiating Nexo scan!"
"I've diverted some of the large amounts of energy in this space to your lower legs," says Pixal, ignoring Merlok. "Kick the join between the bots' ankles and their knees. Their weakest point is there."
The Ranger slams his heel into the joint at one bot's shin. It shatters with a spray of sparks, and the bot collapses, letting go of the staff.
"Well, that would've been nice to know earlier," mutters the Ranger, teeth clenched.
He fells the other two bots holding his staff and turns to face the six that were closing in behind him.
"You don't have a shield, do you?" says Merlok sheepishly. "My mistake. I'll help you the other way, then."
Hard electronic music starts pounding from the box of drives.
"Thanks," says the Ranger, wincing. Brick, but that's distracting. . . .
The bots simultaneously clap their hands, and blades unsheathe from their wrists.
I was too busy trying to keep up with the good-byes. 
