[Congratulations! You are now the Main Hero!]
Name Brains Level 27 Type Revenant (Zombie) Class Love Guru
STAMP Summary
Spiritual Magnificent Technical Great Aethereal Bad Mental Good Physical Poor
[Primary objective: Stop the demon lord]
[Override, primary objective: Pick up girls]
[Secondary objective: Stop the demon lord]
Brains stood still, incredibly still. He stood still like standing was an Olympic sport and the main still-stander had suffered spontaneous broken legs syndrome out in the parking lot and he was the reserve. He did not move very much while also upright, is the point.
[Achievement get! This Line is Not Moving Very Fast, is It?]
He blinked, as if trying to wipe away the glowing text in the corner of his vision. He was overwhelmed with information.
". . . error . . . contact . . ." The data-slate had suddenly turned on its speaker. ". . . error . . . ghost . . . contact . . . notice." The monotone simulvoice became more understandable to Brains with each repetition.
Brains slowly, absentmindedly reached over and pressed through the alert. It sounded out a final time: "Fatal error: machine ghost conglomerated. Contact your local Voc outlet on short notice." Then all was quiet.
Brains considered what came next, then Jack's wishes. He did not know where to start, but he eventually settled on finding a nicer resting place for Jack upstairs.
"Useful objectives," Brains muttered bitterly. He shook his head, turned, and went up the stairs.
Past a second, wooden door at the top, there was a small apartment. It was surprisingly, almost impossibly clean yet strewn with half-built computers, drones, toasters, and a dozen more of their kind of all sizes—electronics haphazardly attached to every one.
Brains halfheartedly picked through piles. Whomever had lived here was enthusiastic but frighteningly incompetent when it came to tinkering. Almost none of the things would ever work, even in theory, and those that did likely would fry or catch fire.
Brains brightened a bit when he found a gaming console, and was immediately disappointed when the top opened to reveal a waffle press. Excellent craftsmanship, though. Evidently a terrible idea also; parts of the plastic were melted onto the plate.
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
Brains sighed, and fished out his data-slate again. A red light was on. He had two notifications.
It beeped and stated: "Seven minutes ago: Translation 'Zombie' compiled."
Brains eyebrows raised. He had not realized it when he read Notification(s): 2.
"Five minutes ago: Small, faint power source nearby, likely mobile."
His eyebrows shot up all the way. "What, a power source?" he blurted.
"Power source type unknown," the data-slate unexpectedly replied. Though obvious—in hindsight—once he noticed the microphone was on.
"Where is it?"
"Invalid input."
Brains sighed. Backward, discount Siri. "Where is the power source?"
"Left, four meters."
Brains turned and found a closet. It was virtually barricaded by junk. One good kick later and he opened the closet.
Inside the closet, and wearing a maid uniform, was a young woman staring directly at him.
Brains, to his credit, did not scream like a little girl and run away. Instead he subvocalized something that sounded like a cat made it and took a step back.
The woman did not move. If standing still were an Olympic sport, she'd take gold.
"H-Hello? Are you OK?"
No reply.
Brains, in lieu of where he would usually ask Jack, turned to his data-slate and asked, "Is she OK?"
The data-slate buzzed, its camera focused, then replied: "Pleasant words of caution: Referring to an inanimate object as she can be a sign of mental illness, social isolation, or severe inebriation. Please review your actions."
He grimaced in annoyance. "I'll work on it. Now, is she OK?"
"Unit is overall functional; killswitch damaged. Conclusion, 78% probable: unit suffered a machine ghost conglomeration, which then reached dangerously close to realness after being left uncorrected."
"She is a machine?"
"Machines are not people and are not referred to with people pronouns. This is the third time you have done so. Please seek professional treatment from either: a psychologist; a therapist; a counselor; a linguist; a speech coach; or an optometrist."
"Shut up about that." Brains rapped the data-slate. "If she . . . if the unit is functional, can I flip an 'on' switch or something?"
"The unit may be reactivated, but that is ill-advised, as it would likely realize a machine spirit shortly after."
Brains considered the consequences for a moment, realized he did not care or know what anything around him did, and said, "I know what I'm doing. Reactivate the unit."
The data-slate buzzed. "Humanoid machines usually have the access slot on the back, often in the spine."
The closet was too small to really maneuver the robo-maid. Brains awkwardly grabbed its sides and pulled it out. It was lighter than it looked, and oddly lukewarm. He spun it around.
He waved the data-slate and thus its camera in circles. "Where's the slot?"
"Upper spine, between the cervical spine and thoracic spine, 51% probable."
"I can't see it," he said
"It lies under the synth-skin. Make an incision."
Brains stopped, frowned, then shrugged. "With what?"
"A sharp implement."
"I think I can begin to see why your previous owner is dead."
Brains decided he stopped caring, and grabbed a toaster with jagged edges and threw it against the wall. He snatched a decently sized chuck. Then began his crude attempts at surgery. On fifth try he overcame the problem of making the cut properly and in the right place sheerly by virtue of scraping.
[You gain 1 rank in Skill:Ghetto Surgery]
Once more he took the flat cable from the data-slate. With his sleeve wiped off the access slot and popped off its cover. He clicked in the cable, and feverishly flew through data-slate menus. It was laughably easy now that he could understand what it all meant—he even effortlessly added the "Zombie" lexicon. He tapped one last key and look at the report:
Voc Cybertech All-purpose Maid, Type A-6, S#1005667: Reclaiming preservation chemicals, reloading data into memory, reviving non-essential systems: 0% (Est. 3m)
[Achievement get! It's Alive!]
[You gain 2 ranks in Skill:Technolizing]
[You leveled up!]