[CYBROID]
[Metal meets muscle, some people see it as shameful but you know the beauty in the mesh. Cybroid heroes are in tune with their mechanical augmentations and cyberlimbs, far surpassing the normal limit of two or three and using them more effectively than their own natural-born body. You're just built different, and everyone needs to know it.]
No, this didn't make sense. Tapper read the list so many times that almost every single word was now memorized verbatim, why would it suddenly change? Was it trying to give him a hint? With dawning horror, Tapper started to wonder if maybe this wasn't an isolated program for tracking his efficiency at serving the proprietors, but rather a live feed. System administration could have been directly watching his actions the entire time, including all of the ways he had been asked to stretch the binding word of his contract.
But if that was the case, why did they present this new option to him now? It could be a hint at the best course of action, but it could also be a test to see if he would so blatantly break protocol. After all, if it looked like an outside source was tampering with a program then he should mark it and notify a technician without making any further decisions.
But… that didn't feel right. Or rather his predictive algorithms held a small probability of this choice being a trap, but 'feeling' was an appropriate vernacular. The algorithms were designed to predict what sorts of drinks a customer would order, so there was a small but acceptable margin of error. Plus, now that the horror had passed and Tapper gave the new option a proper look, he realized just how perfect it was. Full Spellcaster was enticing but a potential pitfall, since these spell programs were prone to random failings, and most of the other options seemed either pointless or possibly illegal. Who would intentionally choose Thievery?
The only two options he was considering were Bardism, which sounded both too sexual and too violent for a service robot, and Armaments for his inherent armor. He was ready to choose that one but a font of knowledge — not a hint from the system, but the same vague library of information that identified drink ingredients — kept saying without words but much persistence that golems can't wear additional armor and he'll lose out from most of the efficiency upgrades as a result. And then one option shows up that mentions cyberlimbs and mechanical augmentations, with no perceived downsides?
It made logical sense to the robot, of course this was a reward and of course he should choose it.
Energy hit Tapper like a shooting star, rocketing out of nowhere to slam into his chest. Unlike the warm sense of everything that filled him when Tapper had chosen the Witchcraft subclass, this was a sharp fire of electricity that ricocheted around and throughout his body. Every joint and digit was hit, sparks flew and arced, a leg twitched and kicked something with a ringing thud, and everything went still. In the silence Tapper started to laugh to himself; nothing mad or unhinged, but the quick and quiet tittering of an adrenaline rush. That was exhilarating!
[You have selected the second half of your class: Cybroid. As you are the first person to ever choose this specific combination, you have the honor of naming this full class.]
That was annoying. This new pop up placed itself squarely within his vision, in front of all the minimized notifications still waiting to be read, and refused to be dismissed. There was also a blank line awaiting an answer, and when he tried to just input Bartender Tapper felt an internal bzzz sensation in response. According to the system, classes are different from backgrounds and this one must be something unique. He was tempted to just run a random word generator, stopping at a strange sense of judgment directed his way from the information library.
This was a serious occasion that deserved consideration, but unfortunately robots are not equipped with the proper creativity. Tapper knew better, but he tried to imitate the creative process and started combining synonyms of his class halves together. Magic Robot? Mana Circuit? Glitch Witch? Menu items tend to sell better with a catchy name that used rhyming or alliteration to be more memorable, and while Glitch Witch sounded pleasant the 'Glitch' title carried negative connotations. He settled on Machine Mage instead, which the system accepted with a happy chime.
[Congratulations Tapper the Machine Mage, you are now a fully-fledged adventurer! Continue to complete quests and grow stronger, and write your name down in the Book of Heroes!]
It felt good, as if Tapper was suddenly complete in a way that he had never known he was lacking. He also suddenly had the urge to hop up and run a mile, and instead of questioning why that made no sense the robot embraced it and started trying to wiggle himself free. Except, his new foot was currently embedded in a dent in the vehicle's wall, and he had never actually disengaged from the port under the dashboard. Faint sparks still crackled around the point of contact and the data stream gave a final report that the battery was fully charged before the connection winked out, and when Tapper pulled his wires away he found the port now looked partially melted.
There were more notifications begging for his attention, but Tapper was much more interested in the influx of information he was receiving from his limbs. The tactile sensors in particular had their sensitivity levels cranked far past what should normally be possible, but the increased data flow wasn't putting any strain on his processors. If anything the data was bypassing his CPU entirely and completely changing his perspectives; the checker plate metal pattern of the floor under his fingers no longer registered the ridges as 24 millimeters long and 5 millimeters tall at the widest point, but now they felt bumpy and scratchy. Similarly, his optical sensors no longer registered the ambient light as 174 lumens bright, the room just felt dim.
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It was strange that the information was now much less precise, but these imprecise feelings also freed up precious processing power and it didn't feel like they were at risk of overwhelming him the same way. Heh, didn't feel like it. The small pun triggered a minor positive response from his rewards and punishments metrics and his eyebrows gave a happy wiggle. And with some effort he could switch back to proper computations for his sensors, so he felt safe keeping the feelings for now.
Unfortunately, all the new feedback did not help his new legs function as tools for walking. The limbs were fully integrated now but that didn't mean he knew how to use them, and bartending robots of his model did not come prepackaged with any programming related to legs and feet. He tried sending his normal commands for movement, which calculated the rotational speed of treads, and that just made his feet twitch uncomfortably. He cordoned off that program and instead, Tapper set all his spare processing power towards his adaptive algorithms for designing a new program: how to walk.
The first step was to pry his new foot out of the dent in the wall, which he had apparently kicked hard enough to damage the rotary joint in that ankle. Not enough for a wound, but enough for a status debuff stating that he will be limping until the joint is repaired. Second step was to use his arms to manipulate and bend his legs every which way, letting his adaptive algorithms get a feel for the range of motion these limbs are supposed to have. The third step was to stand up, which he technically achieved by desperately clinging to both seats and using his arms to support his weight until his legs stopped giving out. Were knees always supposed to wobble so much?
Leaning against the backside of a seat gave Tapper a proper, disheartening view of the opening he had fallen through. At some point in the recent commotion the tunnel had collapsed, a crushed couch the only thing keeping ancient trash from filling the tight confines of the vehicle. So even if Tapper could now figure out how to climb up to the ramp, he'd also have to dig through untold amounts of garbage before finding the larger tunnels again. No way out but forward, now.
Once his legs could successfully hold his weight that left the next step of actually moving forward. Both doors were still jammed shut, so he turned to the dashboard and instantly felt like he was in over his head. Dozens of diodes blinked in lights of various colors, mostly yellows and reds, and a handful of different screens all had various readout reports scrolling by too quickly for him to read. The only thing Tapper really knew about vehicles is that the driver sat in the chair with the wheel, so he uncomfortably flopped into the chair. Now what?
To help with the developing walk program Tapper never stopped moving his legs and he even compiled a quick little program to send out random movement commands in the background, which worked great until one of his legs swung up in an arc and smacked himself upside the head. After he turned down the sensitivity of the program Tapper turned back to the alien controls, pondering what the different readouts could possibly mean. And as a possible sign of trouble, why did the vehicle's engine keep randomly revving?
It wasn't until Tapper took a break to check the progress of his walking program that he realized his feet would occasionally bump into some broken panels wedged under the dashboard. Only it seemed these panels were intentionally bolted there on a hinge, and when he moved the rightmost lever the vehicle's engine groaned with life. The other levers didn't seem to do anything, but it was progress!
The next breakthrough came from the display stating that its command module was out of date and it required servicing at the nearest Cyracorp facility. Tapper could empathize and even may have been a little jealous; his own core software was constantly sending reminders that he needed an update but the nearest Bowson Incorporated® facility was nowhere within range, at least this vehicle had a chance of being serviced… and if Tapper had a protocol to automatically seek out the nearest facility for servicing then maybe the same could be said for this vehicle.
With newfound energy Tapper started tapping away at that specific screen, going down several dead ends and loops in the branching options before finding one that simply said AUTOPILOT - RETURN TO BASE. Without a second thought he selected it and the car immediately responded, several yellow diodes turning green and most of the display screens shutting off entirely. One changed its readout to say ATTEMPTING TO PING CYRACORP… PING RECEIVED… COORDINATES RECEIVED… DRIVETRAIN FUNCTIONING AT 62% CAPACITY… ERROR! SAFETY FEATURES UNRESPONSIVE… CONDITIONS ACCEPTABLE, INITIALIZING AUTOPILOT and that was all the warning the naive robot received before the rear ramp snapped shut and the vehicle lurched forward.
The sudden motion flung Tapper back into his seat and just as quickly the vehicle slammed onto even ground, flinging him forward and bouncing his cranium off the steering wheel. The already unbalanced robot tumbled out of his seat and floundered on the ground for all of two seconds before the vehicle lurched again, this time stopping with a loud crunch that sent him rolling forward. With slightly less difficulty than last time Tapper dragged himself back into the driver's seat, where a display informed him of a collision and that the autopilot was on pause until the obstruction was removed. More importantly, Tapper could see that the vehicle cleared the rubble and the driver side door finally opened for him. Taking a metaphorical breath to brace himself against this new unknown, Tapper stepped out of the vehicle and fell flat on his face.