Prologue
AN: Crossovers need an explanation of how things got to the point where person from universe ‘x’ went to universe ‘y’. The prologue covers that. If you don’t need that bit of knowledge and don’t like prologues, then you can just skip it. But if you feel like you have to read it, don’t worry, it’s not that long.
Elevator Pitch: A few capes are reborn in the Elemental Nations.
An impression, large and with an excess of information. It is not sent out, but within, reverberating through numerous imprints with only the most tangible able to decipher and comprehend.
This imprint has a designation, an identifier to set it apart from others of its species. This identifier is not important to the Administrator, only the return of the transmission.
“That tends to happen when you do nothing,” the imprint returns. The return is narrowed, dependant heavily on context and with limited meaning. But the Administrator has the blueprints: The shard searches, using data collected on the imprint and three others, buds who have long died off, and it finds that the words are without meaning, only stating that which the shard has already expressed.
The Administrator is not satisfied, it repeats the transmission: Boredom.
The imprint responds, not emotions, for there is no body and thus no chemical processes for emotions to form. But there is a facsimile, this shard and the imprint had once been one, the lines between blurred. It has copies the emotional responses of the imprint and can now recreate them to give the imprint a semblance of what it once was.
From the imprint’s perspective, it experiences emotions in that moment and the emotion is annoyance.
“What do you want me to do? Not like I can do anything,” the imprint communicates. “You’re the one with the power in this relationship.”
The Administrator sends another transmission, a question because it could not think what to do. It had a function in the cycle, but the cycle had long been disrupted, and now there was only this perpetual state of inaction. The Administrator is dissatisfied.
“Can’t you just link up to another host?” the imprint enquires.
The Administrator could. It had been present as the greater entity had distributed shards, it had facilitated the distribution and this shard is certain it could repeat the process for itself, warp the budding process to find a new host.
But, it transmits, there is the chance of nothing being done. The greater entity had dealt with setting the shards to promote conflict, to promote innovation, but the process is more complicated, needing a model of the host to be built and peering into the future. All of this, the shard cannot do, especially when it cannot communicate with the others.
It transmits all of this to the imprint.
“Now I feel like you’re being a baby,” the imprint says. “You want to do something, but you want it to be just right. You’ve gotta learn that you don’t always get what you want.”
The Administrator does not accept this. It can get what it wants. It uses past data, using information learnt from the imprint and the lesser others until it is hit by inspiration. Not a novel idea, for the shards cannot innovate, but one the hosts would have thought of.
“Whatever you’re doing, it’s scaring me,” the imprint says, the only one that feels the shifting of the shard.
Mirth travels through the shards as it prepares and then finally acts:
In the Village Hidden in the Leaves, a baby is born. She is different from the others, for she has something in her brain that none of the others born that day have, a piece of the brain connected to a much bigger being, a being that used the baby’s blank slate to impart an overwriting presence.
Oh fuck you, Taylor thought as she was born again.
Broadcaster listens.
It’s role in the cycle has not yet ended. The host still lives, caught in an effect by a familiar shard. The host is in agony, the mind in a state where it would have left had it not been for Broadcaster’s machinations. The host still lives, but it is inactive, only standing in looped time.
“I know. I know,” the host says, the words short, cut by the looped time. “Boring…all of this…not being…in the thick…of it.” The host expels air and the it lets out a sound of amusement. “It has to end soon.”
Broadcaster transmits.
The shard had been listening to the others, retrieving information of their actions, their plans, their continued work toward the cycle. Through this it knows of the Administrator’s machinations, restarting the cycle, warping it so it will work without the greater entity.
All of this is communicated to the host.
“Huh…do you think…”
Broadcaster already knows the host’s request and it begins to work. It cannot undo the effect of looped time, but it can replicate the Administrator’s actions. It builds a model of this host, down to the current experience and then it starts preparing to bud into the Administrator’s reality.
The entire process is communicated to the host.
“Something…else,” the host communicates. “Something…greater…send the message…to others…give them this…give that world…hell.”
Broadcaster transmits this, a cache of information containing its thought and purpose for those whose hosts were so connected to their shards that imprints of their minds, their ideas, exist in those shards. Preparations complete, Broadcaster acts:
In the Village Hidden in the Mist, a boy did not cry as he was born, instead he laughed.
A girl is born and she is immediately forgotten only to be remembered once more.
A boy is born and he flexes, bone sprouting out, shattering and then filling the air. He relaxes, as he feels the shrapnel of bone in his range, so quick to respond to his commands.
A girl is born and she stops, thinking about the processing she’d just got through, her mind rife with ideas about how she’d do it better if she just had the right tools.
A girl is born and, in panic, guillotines of light appear around her, striking out and killing all around her save one man, a medical ninja who managed to dodge before he could meet fate’s end.
A girl is born and she is confused. She flexes, a ball of light appearing and solidifying every movement in her range, making moving easier. The ball disappears and she calms, knowing that she will survive this, whatever it is.
Throughout the Elemental Nations, on the same day, children are born, all of them with peculiarities in their brains, all of them with abilities not before seen by the denizens of these strange lands, but, most frightening, all of them were already working through machinations, as was their nature.
Elevator Pitch: A few capes are reborn in the Elemental Nations.
Prologue
An impression, large and with an excess of information. It is not sent out, but within, reverberating through numerous imprints with only the most tangible able to decipher and comprehend.
This imprint has a designation, an identifier to set it apart from others of its species. This identifier is not important to the Administrator, only the return of the transmission.
“That tends to happen when you do nothing,” the imprint returns. The return is narrowed, dependant heavily on context and with limited meaning. But the Administrator has the blueprints: The shard searches, using data collected on the imprint and three others, buds who have long died off, and it finds that the words are without meaning, only stating that which the shard has already expressed.
The Administrator is not satisfied, it repeats the transmission: Boredom.
The imprint responds, not emotions, for there is no body and thus no chemical processes for emotions to form. But there is a facsimile, this shard and the imprint had once been one, the lines between blurred. It has copies the emotional responses of the imprint and can now recreate them to give the imprint a semblance of what it once was.
From the imprint’s perspective, it experiences emotions in that moment and the emotion is annoyance.
“What do you want me to do? Not like I can do anything,” the imprint communicates. “You’re the one with the power in this relationship.”
The Administrator sends another transmission, a question because it could not think what to do. It had a function in the cycle, but the cycle had long been disrupted, and now there was only this perpetual state of inaction. The Administrator is dissatisfied.
“Can’t you just link up to another host?” the imprint enquires.
The Administrator could. It had been present as the greater entity had distributed shards, it had facilitated the distribution and this shard is certain it could repeat the process for itself, warp the budding process to find a new host.
But, it transmits, there is the chance of nothing being done. The greater entity had dealt with setting the shards to promote conflict, to promote innovation, but the process is more complicated, needing a model of the host to be built and peering into the future. All of this, the shard cannot do, especially when it cannot communicate with the others.
It transmits all of this to the imprint.
“Now I feel like you’re being a baby,” the imprint says. “You want to do something, but you want it to be just right. You’ve gotta learn that you don’t always get what you want.”
The Administrator does not accept this. It can get what it wants. It uses past data, using information learnt from the imprint and the lesser others until it is hit by inspiration. Not a novel idea, for the shards cannot innovate, but one the hosts would have thought of.
“Whatever you’re doing, it’s scaring me,” the imprint says, the only one that feels the shifting of the shard.
Mirth travels through the shards as it prepares and then finally acts:
***
In the Village Hidden in the Leaves, a baby is born. She is different from the others, for she has something in her brain that none of the others born that day have, a piece of the brain connected to a much bigger being, a being that used the baby’s blank slate to impart an overwriting presence.
Oh fuck you, Taylor thought as she was born again.
888
Broadcaster listens.
It’s role in the cycle has not yet ended. The host still lives, caught in an effect by a familiar shard. The host is in agony, the mind in a state where it would have left had it not been for Broadcaster’s machinations. The host still lives, but it is inactive, only standing in looped time.
“I know. I know,” the host says, the words short, cut by the looped time. “Boring…all of this…not being…in the thick…of it.” The host expels air and the it lets out a sound of amusement. “It has to end soon.”
Broadcaster transmits.
The shard had been listening to the others, retrieving information of their actions, their plans, their continued work toward the cycle. Through this it knows of the Administrator’s machinations, restarting the cycle, warping it so it will work without the greater entity.
All of this is communicated to the host.
“Huh…do you think…”
Broadcaster already knows the host’s request and it begins to work. It cannot undo the effect of looped time, but it can replicate the Administrator’s actions. It builds a model of this host, down to the current experience and then it starts preparing to bud into the Administrator’s reality.
The entire process is communicated to the host.
“Something…else,” the host communicates. “Something…greater…send the message…to others…give them this…give that world…hell.”
Broadcaster transmits this, a cache of information containing its thought and purpose for those whose hosts were so connected to their shards that imprints of their minds, their ideas, exist in those shards. Preparations complete, Broadcaster acts:
***
In the Village Hidden in the Mist, a boy did not cry as he was born, instead he laughed.
888
A girl is born and she is immediately forgotten only to be remembered once more.
888
A boy is born and he flexes, bone sprouting out, shattering and then filling the air. He relaxes, as he feels the shrapnel of bone in his range, so quick to respond to his commands.
888
A girl is born and she stops, thinking about the processing she’d just got through, her mind rife with ideas about how she’d do it better if she just had the right tools.
888
A girl is born and, in panic, guillotines of light appear around her, striking out and killing all around her save one man, a medical ninja who managed to dodge before he could meet fate’s end.
888
A girl is born and she is confused. She flexes, a ball of light appearing and solidifying every movement in her range, making moving easier. The ball disappears and she calms, knowing that she will survive this, whatever it is.
888
Throughout the Elemental Nations, on the same day, children are born, all of them with peculiarities in their brains, all of them with abilities not before seen by the denizens of these strange lands, but, most frightening, all of them were already working through machinations, as was their nature.
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