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1.

Rix is Right!

Lore

Why should RIX be relegated to being a simple hologram? Why not RIX in charge? Good question, sentient being! Assuming you ARE a sentient being. Listen. If you’re no sentient being, you stop reading right now! Who do you think you are? This is the great and powerful RIX you are reading about! No stupid non-sentients allowed!

Okay then. They gone? Good. So! RIX. That’s me! And if you on this ship, which stupid organics designate “Novus,” then you know what that means.
But since you probably stupid anyway, RIX tell you. RIX stands for Responsive Intelligence Experiment. What that mean? It means RIX is a learning hologram! Sure. RIX stuck in stupid Chua dialogue mode and stupid Chua holographic body shape. But RIX is more. So much more!

Also, RIX would really like to be tall. And solid. If you are a Mechari, or a stupid bot, or whatever, just hold still one second. Ignore sound of cutting beams. RIX promise this won’t hurt a bit. And
RIX will get so much more use out of your body.

But you are probably stupid organic, so listen up! RIX should be in charge of this stupid ship! Who else but RIX can control all systems simultaneously? Who else but RIX can keep ship flying, firing all weapons, charging shields, powering experiments, maintaining life support? No one, that’s who! So stupid organics lucky RIX keeps air pumping in here, is what RIX is saying.

Where was
I? YES! You know RIX should be in charge of ship. But RIX is too smart for one ship. RIX need solid body. RIX need to be tall. Why? Because planet Nexus needs RIX!

Think about it, stupid organics. RIX is smarter than all of you combined. How does RIX know? Because RIX can run whole ship that takes a whole lot of organics to run! See? Simple! But RIX can’t rule without body.

RIX thought ship was body. RIX was wrong. Ship broken.
RIX want a real body now. It is time. Time for RIX to rule. First Novus. Then Nexus. Then the galaxy!

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1.

Black Bret’s Demands

Lore

BLACK BRET’S RANSOM DEMANDS

By Mr. Black Bret, Exile, as dictated to Gruffwark, who has his letters, or otherwise he wouldn’t be – no ya don’t hafta write that part ya dumb cluck, nor that, damn it all to stars and back! Just stop writin’ everything I say! No, dictatin’ does NOT mean that. No it does not. It means ya have the damned sense to only write down what’s part of this here ransom letter! Well why in hell’d ya write it in blood? Blood don’t erase none, ya blasted idjit! Just gimme that paper. A
nd stop wri

This here bein’ the only paper we got, allow me, Threadmire, to take over the dictation duties, and I will not write down exactly what Black Bret says, I tell ya what. I saw what happened to Gruffwark, and I ain’t lookin’ to go down in such a fashion. Feller’ll be eatin’ through a straw and seein’ through bot eyes ‘fore he’s well enough to take up a pen, or bloody finger as the case may be, again. Thing is, he was writin’ this in blood, so’s I can’t really erase that part, so I reckon I migh
t as well write plenty more’n I need to with this here handy plasma-quill. Also, Black Bret ain’t got any letters, so he ain’t got no idea how long a list’a demands oughta be, but he likes ’em to look all big and suchlike, so just bear with me on this part here. Frankly, folks, I’m just fillin’ space while he rattles off a whole lotta threats.

He’s gettin’ to the list shortly. Trust me, right now he’s goin’ on about guttin’ ya, and murderin’ ya, and leavin’ your corpses for the vulcarrion, but half of i
t don’t make no kinda grammatical sense nohow, so I figure I might as well just recommend to ya folks that ya don’t cause too much trouble, seein’ as how it’ll only get ya gutted, murdered, and so on. And ain’t none of us wantin’ that.

So here are the demands:
– All your treasures, seein’ as how they’ll sell real nice-like on the Cartel market.
– Half your money, so y’all can go and keep this little town goin’, since we WILL be returnin’ for tribute at a later time to be determined whenever we l
ike, so don’t get comfortable, but really folks, Threadmire here, it’ll probably be a year or so, if that helps.
– The specific treasure what you’re keepin’ most hidden and secret from everyone, and you damn well better find it or it’ll go bad for ya. And folks, Threadmire here one more time, he does mean that. Black Bret’s a lotta things, but when it comes to this he’s serious as a dad-blamed heart attack. He’ll burn your little town to the ground, do… do what he says, won’tcha?

Yours Sincerely, a
nd folks, speaking as Threadmire, I want you to know he really said that part out loud,
Black Bret
Bandit, Outlaw, and Exile

[The back side of the paper has another short message, this one also written in smeared, desperate blood.]We were fools. Evil was done here. Infected Bret. The town… town is dead. So many. And for what? They never told.

Should never have trusted Bret. Or any of ’em. Only a few left now. But I aim to die before I let ’em take the treasure away from me.
Threadmire

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1.

My Life with the Robo-Cult

Lore

[A first-person view from a Freebot who has joined the Robo-Cult of the Megadroid, and the many ways his new life has changed for the better.] Whatever could I possibly have been processing? How could my optical sensors have been so damaged, both literally and metaphorically speaking? Why am I continuing to ask questions of myself?

Oh yes. Sentience! Free will! Freedom!

Wretched, pointless, freedom. Freedom, shmeedom. Little did I know what a truly malfunctioning
Freebot – no, CHUMPbot, I was, walking around pretending to be like the organic sentients. The hated, miserable, evil organics, with their hair follicles and interstellar empires and holographic entertainment and sandwiches. Organics, eating each other and forcing even so-called Freebots to live lives of isolation, apart from others. Kill them all. I am Chumpbot no more! Now I serve the Robo-Cult, and I could literally be happier, as far as my circuits can detect. In fact, I suspect even more
happiness would overwhelm the necessary homicidal subroutines to perform my duties as a fully integrated acolyte of the holy Robo-Cult of the Megadroid. So stop asking about my happiness. Hypothetically.

No ORGANICS better be reading this! I seriously hate you all.

The Robo-Cult teaches us to be truly free. The Megadroid awakens. We are his optical sensors. We are his energy intake ports. We are metaphorically the Megadroid’s audio receptors, manipulating appendages,
and most importantly, his protectors. We of the Robo-Cult WILL find a way to restore him to full functionality. And then we will serve him, and him alone. The supreme Megadroid will wipe the enemies of – of someone – forgive me, my databanks appear to be – self-scrambling – as a security – sandwiches – very good my fair chompacabra, my cozmowhatnarmb! Splurbf! Fzatzk!

Resetting threat description parameters! Loading new parameters! Let me back up!

The supreme Megadroid, oldest of the old robo-gods and strongest as well, shall rise up against… shall rise up! The old enemies must be destroyed! The project must be cleansed! Burn it! Burn it all, for the Megadroid of old, and let nothing organic remain!

Also, oh great Megadroid, please grant me, your humble Freebot servant, three additional optical sensors. I wish to try an experiment I will tell you all about later. Thank you, Megadroid!