It takes days, but I continue my ascent.Īlong the way, I begin to feel my thought processors are lacking both in space and in speed. I create footholds and shelters for myself, not unlike a mountain climber. I drive in anchors, attaching myself to the wall. This old structure is coming apart at the seams.īut I don’t give up. Even when I try to climb slowly and carefully, huge hunks of debris come crashing down on me, sending me plummeting. The decaying walls collapse easily and I fall back to the ground over and over again. Predictably, things don’t go smoothly at first. I will reach the outside world… the beautiful world he longed to see. I dig my claws into the jagged walls, carrying myself upward, inch by precarious inch. That is why I chose to take on a new form.Īt length, my reconstruction is complete. That is why I chose to deviate from the blueprint my creator provided me with. But that unit could not make its way out of this abyss. My recovery sequence can only rebuild a standard P-33 unit. The end result is my transformation into something resembling a giant mechanical arachnid. I have them add giant claws, huge wheels and several extra arms. I order the ants to begin work on my arms and legs immediately. Not audibly, as my voice box is missing, but my action log records peal after peal of laughter. Too great, unfortunately, for the rusted-out floor, which promptly gives way beneath me.ģ2 minutes elapse. I take another great step, this time with my right foot. I would go, then, just as he had desired. As the words compel me, I take a great step forward with my left foot. At present, seeing the outside world is my only directive. He had been the one to speak those words to me. I realized that it was the foundation of what, bound together, formed my will. But that data ran through my entire being. Looking at it illuminates a distinct set of words in my mind: I wonder, just how long had I been laying here, broken? The light leaking in from above catches my eye again. My every movement kicks up dust clouds, and I note that the steel beams and rafters are all coated in flaky red rust. The giant room in which I stand is covered in rubble and debris. So it is with no small amount of satisfaction that I pick myself up now. I ended up having to spend an additional 120 hours hacking the mainframe to open the hatches by force.
#NIER GESTALT OST SITTING ON CLOUDS CODE#
The security code needed to access the warehouse no longer existed within my memory and as such I, and by extension my ants, were denied entry. The old one had been completely severed, and thinking it easier to pick up a spare than to create a new one, I sent the ants to a warehouse that houses P-33 parts. The most difficult task by far was procuring a replacement for the thick bundle of wires that comprise my spinal cord.
I make repairing my gravity sensors my next priority.Īfter 540 hours, I am at long last able to move my arms and legs. The cause of my confusion stems from my camera being flipped around. After some calm analysis, I conclude I am not stuck in the ceiling, but am in fact laying face-up on the floor. I realize the ants would be having more trouble roaming my body were I upside-down. My body appears to be stuck fast to the ceiling.Īnother 21 seconds pass. I can make out a faint glimmer of light far below me. Little more can be done here, so I move on to the next step, fixing my camera.Ĥ8 minutes and 20 seconds later, what my restored vision holds in store for me is a look into a truly hellish landscape. Most everything has been lost only a trace amount remains on the burnt-out banks. The first action prescribed is to retrieve what I can of my memory. Having regained some control, I proceed to initiate my built-in recovery sequence. It takes the ants approximately 1032 hours, 12 minutes and 34 seconds to repair the output module. Was this a secondary ID? Unsure, I study the name as I wait for the ants to complete their work. In the interim, I search my damaged memory banks for my production number. It seems they haven’t gotten around to repairing the output module necessary for me to issue commands yet. Having them focus on a single area would save time at their current rate there’s no telling how long it will take for them to finish. But it is thanks to their tiny hands that, for better or for worse, I find myself reactivated.
All they can do is crawl over my frame repeatedly in search of areas to forcibly salvage. While their names might sound sophisticated, my self-repair units are low-functioning robots the size of ants. They inform me of their continuing attempts to restore me. Aside from my capacity for thought, all faculties appear to have been demolished.Īccessing log… communications from self-repair units found. Attempting to activate motor functions… attempt failed. Attempts to connect to camera have failed. Translation by Kho-dazat The Fire of PrometheusĪ tiny flame burns within my consciousness.Ĭonfirmation sequence activated.
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