RAM

R. A. M.

"RANDOM ACCESS MEMORY"

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Everyone knows that the Lightning flight isn't exactly made up of the most kind of dragons. Their own regional deity prioritizes bone-breaking work and extracting all the energy he can from living dragons so that his visions may be complete, so why shouldn't his children be any different? The children of Lightning can be exceptionally cruel towards the dragons of Arcane most of all, given that their ideals are complete opposites. The ingenuity of science versus the power of magic, two completely different means of reaching an end. So, what happened to poor little R.A.M. isn't exactly a surprise.

Lightning dragons are known to "borrow" things, a quirk taken from the region's poster species, the Ridgeback. Dragons that are not of the Ridgeback species quickly learn to take after their spiked brethren, lest they face ostracization and ridicule. After all, the prolonged use of another's materials is all for the greater good. To advance their scientific endeavors, they must make sacrifices. Others must make sacrifices, whether they like it or not. And a hatchling so filled with natural energy? So tough and resilient, and completely unwanted by the parents? Well, perhaps not unwanted-- but if the parents actually wanted their baby to grow up with them, safe and sound, they would have kept a better eye on the nest.

Primals are an interesting sort. Extremely rare, unsettlingly powerful. Gaolers were already an odd species, a relic of a time long past. The little hatchling that the scientists had stolen was quite the rare find indeed. Best not to waste it. To them, it was better this way. Should she grow, she would become their enemy. A weapon of Arcane, pitted against them in their fruitless pursuit of magic. Untapped energy and science was where true power lied, it was not the fault of the scientists that the disciples of Arcane could not see this. Perhaps, if they could successfully merge dragon and device, contraption and consciousness, they could show those foolish magicians the error of their ways.

Wires and screens, metal and sparks. A hideous apparatus that stood tall and intimidating. The little hatchling did not know what was happening, what was to come. All it knew that this place was cold and the grip of its captors was harsh and much too tight. It wanted momma, it wanted papa, it wanted light and sunshine and fresh air. The atmosphere of this place was gloomy and stifling, and there appeared to be monsters in every corner. Unintelligible shapes that wanted nothing more than to gobble it up. The hatchling was correct, just not in the way it assumed. These were monsters. They did wish to consume. The only difference was that they did not look monstrous when brought into the light.

Shoved into a glass cage. Freezing, tight. Somehow worse than the room and the arms she had previously been in. Then the arms returned, holding something. She tired to retreat deeper into the cage, press herself up against the glass, but there was no room. A prickling sensation, a point, then pain. The first she'd ever experienced, but certainly not the last. Darkness. Something upon her face. A visor? A helmet? She had no word for these things. All she knew was that, even through her fur, the warm glowing runes on her face, she could feel the chill. Restraints. Needles. The inhibition of movement. The many pinpricks of pain. Then, at last, the all-encompassing sensation of numbness. Barriers, physical and mental, preventing her from moving. From wriggling free. From escaping the clutches of these horrid scientists.

The hatchling could only lay, helpless. Trapped inside her own mind. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears, but she couldn't feel it racing. There was pressure on her skull. Intense. Was that supposed to be pain? What exactly was the contraption placed upon her head? A growing warmth. Subtle, then blooming, then as hot as the sun. Noises she couldn't understand. A whirring, then grinding, and then finally, her own screaming.

Throughout the whole process, she remained awake.

Colors, flashing. Numbers, growing. Beeping and sirens and alarms. Some called for the experiment to end. Others pressed on. If they stopped it now, it would be a massive loss. They could not get a similar hatchling as easy as one might a prisoner of war or a well-meaning volunteer. If they were to end the experiment early, who knows when they'd another chance to do this again. Hopes of stabilization. Eager gazes upon the screens. Scientists running amok, trying to calm things down. The alarms continued. The lights flashed a bright red. Everything was just too fast. A flood of information, all into one central organism. Unexpected pushback. Impossible-- after all the preparations they'd taken, how could she even have the strength to resist? Metal began to creak, glass began to shatter. A bright light emanated from within the glass container, growing brighter and brighter until it enveloped the room.

An earth-shattering explosion rocketed through the building.

Twisting metal, crumpled like a paper held over a match. The electric monstrosity, completely destroyed. Dragons, scientists, burnt to a crisp. Charred black scales, brittle gray bones. In an instant, the entire building had been obliterated.

Except for one thing.

Curled in the epicenter, surrounded by melted glass, the hatchling lay quietly. All at once, the world had changed. She knew things. Many things. All the information the great machine had once stored, now locked inside her head. Schematics. Plans. Casualties. Classified information meant only for the Stormcatcher's eyes. But among the records and records of data and science, there was something else. Messages. Lists. Lives. Personal days and words of families. With horror, the young Gaoler realized that the lives of the dead scientists lived on not only in their kin and loved ones, but in her head as well. Souls and lives, now trapped in her mind. She could almost hear the screams, the last moments of the scientists mixed in with the calm, mundane nature of their words. It was so horribly overwhelming, this constant cry of help that she couldn't answer.

Numbers, zeroes and ones, flashed over her eyes like a pink screen. She could feel the constant flow of energy happening within her head, but she could do nothing to access it. Still, as time passed at a glacial pace, she slowly learned of the scientist's plans. An organic supercomputer. An entire database at their disposal. Limitless information at the ends of their fingertips, all obtained in a moment's notice. Easily controlled. The visor, drilled into her brain-- the explosion had melted it away, her wounds healed, but what if it had remained? What if she had been found, complacent and ready? A weapon. She was a weapon. A weapon.

With the last of her remaining strength, the Gaoler hatchling crawled away.

Some say she still remains there, buried within the twisted metal of the old laboratory. Though multiple search teams scoured the lands, searching for any remnant of the supercomputer, they could find neither hide nor hair of her. They eventually stopped looking, deeming her to be no threat. Information was only useful if it could be accessed. The visor they used to access her skull was incredibly specific-- there was no hope of replication by any outside forces. And so, the wreckage still sits there, undisturbed, being buried under the sands of the Shifting Expanse.

"Project R.A.M." had been a failure, but the tiny Gaoler knows that no small explosion is going to stop the scientists of Lightning from wreaking their havoc. There will be more projects. More experiments. More innocent hatchlings kidnapped and used, then thrown away without hesitation once they cease to be beneficial. She cannot die now. She cannot grow, but she cannot die either. One with the electrical stream. She uses this to her advantage, leaning against generators to regain her strength, biting wires to sap their knowledge. Each day, she grows stronger. It is a constant struggle, to be constantly on the verge of sensory overload. The ceaseless flow of information prevents her from sleeping. Rest is a distant memory, silence only a dream. But she prevails. And she waits.

Recently, whispers permeate the offices and the labs. Rumors regarding the failure of Project R.A.M. Rumors that say that something survived the all-consuming explosion, something that now seeks revenge. Disappearances. Panicked last messages, scrawled in blood upon the walls. The scientists grow weary, grow worried. They look over their shoulder, casting their glances at the crevices and dark spaces behind them. They try to shake it off-- fear is unproductive. There's no such thing as monsters. Shade-touched dragons, maybe, but a wild supercomputer hellbent on vengeance? Silly. So incredibly silly. The scientists work, and toil, and sleep, and commit their crimes, and all the while they chalk up the disappearances to random Arcane missionaries. Assassins, trained ones, trying to stop their glorious pursuit of science. No big deal, the Stormcatcher has his own fighters. They'll be safe. They'll be secure. They will win.

They have no idea how wrong they are.

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