Chapter IV: Out of the Frying Pan and into the Sandbox

The story so far. Ellis Cobalt is an android with super strength and super brains. Cobalt’s a badass PI and a veteran of the robot wars. They have been framed for a crime they didn’t commit. And then they went on to do a whole lot of other crimes. Then they got stuck in an elevator. For a really long time. Some of which was in Spanish.
Of course, Ellis Cobalt remembers none of this, because every few minutes their entire memory is wiped and their personality is rebuilt from the ground up.
And they’re dying.
You are now chatting with a total stranger! Say something interesting other than: ASL?
Don't forget to Register a profile on iMeetzu to keep track of your new friends.
You: You have no memory of how you got here, what you’re doing, or even who you are. All you know are your surroundings. You’re lying on the (admittedly, plushly carpeted) floor of an expensive looking elevator, you’re riddled with bulletholes and you seem to have a whole bunch of wires, fibre-optics and circuit boards spilling out of the places most people keep their guts. Also, you’re in SO MUCH PAIN. What do you want to do?
Stranger: Hi
Stranger: Uh what?
You: You're in a bad way. What are you going to do?
Stranger: Umm... dude you're acting kind of weird, is everything ok?
Stranger: What kind of questions are these anyway?
You: I'm not the one lying riddled with bullet holes on the floor of an escalator talking to themselves. What do you do next?
Stranger: Umm... call for help?
You: You call out for help. Nobody answers.
Stranger: Try to stand up
You: It's unsteady, you wobble, and you have to hold all the wires and circuit boards to stop them tumbling out of your guts, but you manage it.
You: There's a green, flashing button by the door.
Stranger: Press the green button


They pressed the green button! They went and actually pressed the actual button! The green flashing one that was literally the only thing to do in the room!
Now I know how the monolith felt when the apes started hitting stuff with sticks.

You: The lift doors open onto a wide town square, although where you might expect the sky to be there are girders and hanging strip lights. In the centre of the square stands a rusting iron statue of a man, holding up an even more rusted looking sign with flickering bulbs around its edge. The sign reads “WELCOME TO TIN TOWN”. Walking around the square are numerous people, although from they all have a slightly jerky gate and plastic looking skin that makes you think they must be androids too. In front of the statue a single shaft of what looks like daylight in shining down onto the smashed up wreck of some kind of small, blue tank. Some androids have gathered around to look at it, but everyone is keeping their distance. A number of shops open up onto the town square, with neon signs and glitch, halting video screens in the windows advertising their wares. From here you can signs reading “Copper’s Write Electrical Store”, “Doc Osmium’s Repair Workshop”, “The Tin Memorial War Museum” and “Nicky Nickel’s Diner”.
Stranger: I didn't get the last part of your sentence, it didn't come through the chat

Ah. Well. That explains a lot. You’d think there’d be some sort of indicator or feedback to tell you if your message was only partially sent.

You: Where'd you get up to?
Stranger: I got everything up to the rusted looking sign
You: with flickering bulbs around its edge. The sign reads “WELCOME TO TIN TOWN”. 
You: Walking around the square are numerous people, although from they all have a slightly jerky gate and plastic looking skin that makes you think they must be androids too.
You: In front of the statue a single shaft of what looks like daylight in shining down onto the smashed up wreck of some kind of small, blue tank. Some androids have gathered around to look at it, but everyone is keeping their distance
You: A number of shops open up onto the town square, with neon signs and glitch, halting video screens in the windows advertising their wares. 
You: From here you can signs reading “Copper’s Write Electrical Store”, “Doc Osmium’s Repair Workshop”, “The Tin Memorial War Museum” and “Nicky Nickel’s Diner”.
Stranger: Go to Doc Osmiums Repair workshop
Stranger: Try to get repaired

Oh my God! Look at them! They’re seeing a problem, they’re seeing ways to address that problem and then using them!

You: Doc Osmium’s Workshop is identified by a bright neon sign with a flashing blue cross beneath it.
You: You push through a grimy glass pair of double doors to find yourself in an equally grimy reception area. 
You: Along a bench on your right sit a trio of almost-human looking androids, one with sparks coming out of its ears, one holding their right leg like it’s a newborn human baby, a third sitting quietly, but it has to be said, uncomfortably, with their head turned right around to face the wall behind them.
You: There is a bored looking receptionist bot behind the desk with a head like a toaster and an extensive beard of USB cables leading into the various phones, faxes, laptops and tablets littered around the desk.
You: As you approach it fixes you with a pair of bored headlamp eyes. “How can I help you?” it asks. 
Stranger: I need to get repaired. My body is full of bullets and my "guts" are spilling out
You: Suddenly the robot looks at you properly and a look of shock crosses their face. "Oh! I'm sorry! Please, go right on through to the surgery!" they say, pointing to another set of double doors.
Stranger: Go to the surgery
You: The surgery is not the temple to hygiene and sophistication you might have hoped for. The floor and every available surface is coated in a thin film of grease. There are desks and worktops around the walls covered in circuit boards, dismembered limbs and spaghettified piled of wiring, while the walls themselves have numerous blueprints, circuit diagrams and anatomical drawings pinned to them.
You: In the centre of the room is what looks like a medieval gibbet, a man-sized cage with yet more cables streaming out of it. Working by the gibbet is what you can only describe as a washing machine with human-like arms and a head coming out of it. As you enter, the human-washing-machine hybrid looks up and gasps. 
Your chat has been disconnected. Click here to chat again.

So I’m on a roll here. (Yeah okay, this was not the first player of the night, but I feel like this blog has an optimum level of people wanking on the floors of lift shafts, so I’m going to skip it unless it’s particularly well written masturbation or it moves the plot forward in some way). It only takes me a few more people incapable of asking anything except my gender before I find this person:

You: You have no memory of how you got here, what you’re doing, or even who you are. All you know are your surroundings. You’re standing in a room that looks half garage, half Frankenstein’s laboratory, and a spaghetti of cables is spilling out of your guts.
Stranger: Hello
You: What looks like a medieval gibbet, a man-sized cage, stands in the centre of the room with cables streaming out of it.
Stranger: okay
You: What do you want to do?
Stranger: go on
Stranger: well i have cable coming out of me like our of my stomach
Stranger:?
You: Working by the gibbet you spot what you can only describe as a washing machine with human-like arms and a head coming out of it. It looks up and gasps.
Stranger: hello washing machine person
Stranger: wason
You: “Oh dear! Look at the state of you! Please, get into the diagnostic cage immediately and let’s take a look at you.” the washing machine person says.
Stranger: well i will will listen to the washing machine person

I like it when Ellis listens to the sensible NPs.

You: "Hello, I'm Doc Osmium. I run this place," the doctor says, pushing you towards the cage. "Do you have anything in your pockets?"
Stranger: pleasure to meet ya doc and no i dont have any trousers on
Stranger: ehhhyyyy

Because there always has to be one.

You: Doc Osmium looks down at you. You are wearing a shirt and trousers, but they're so riddled with bullet holes you're not exactly lying.
You: You're also wearing a beige raincoat, and the pockets of that do seem to bulge somewhat. Want to check your pockets?
Stranger: okay let me pull out whatever is in my pockets
You: Your pockets contain a digital camera, an ID badge that reads NAME: Ellis Cobalt PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR’S LICENSE: 161228020382 A notepad and pen A gun with TURING written along the barrel A digital camera An ID card for an overweight, middle aged man named Clagg Masterdon. A credit card under Clagg Masterdon’s name with a balance of $6 trillion.
You: The notepad reads: TAKE LOTS OF NOTES YOU DIDN’T KILL HIM. YOU DID KILL THE DETECTIVE GUY.
Stranger: wow that is one hell of a pocket find
You: "I know what you mean. You wouldn't believe the things I put in my pockets and forget about," Osmium says, running a blue torch over you.
Stranger: hahaha your a funny guy doc
You: The doc gets out a blow torch. There are stitches. A circular saw and other painful looking things as your insides are tucked into your, well, insides....
You: Osmium says, “Well, I’ve at least managed to get your insides back on your insides and all connected together in the correct manner. But it looks here like your positronic net has been well, pretty skew-whiffed to say the least. Looks as if some manner of EMP has blasted it to smithereens. Of course, your brain is trying to repair itself, but every few minutes it seems to completely degrade and reboot from scratch.”
Stranger: well thanks for the stitch up doc but what we going to do about my positronic net ?
Stranger: anything we can do
Stranger: or am i going to forget

What a good question. Look at the detective asking the good question!

You: Osmium frowns. “I’m afraid I can’t fix it. What I suggest is you use that notepad of yours. Keep thorough and detailed notes of anything you think you might need to remember for more than a minute or two.”
You: They pass you the notepad and pen back. "You might want to make a note of this conversation for instance."
Stranger: okay i will write it down
You: What do you write?
Stranger: thats a good question
Stranger: net thing fucked
Stranger: brain restarting constantly
You: “There is one thing I would suggest,” Osmium says. “I’m always busy here but I do keep an optical sensor on the news.
You: The robot reaches over and turns on an antique cathode ray TV set apparently being used as a shelf.
You: A news bulletin appears.
You: “Police are asking for any information connected to the whereabouts of Ellis Cobalt following the shoot-out and double murder at Clagg Masterdon’s apartment this morning. Cobalt was hired to guard Masterdon, the trillionaire owner of Utopolis Tower. However they are believed to have murdered their client before gunning down two squadrons of police-bots responding to a call at the scene. During the fight Detective Jack Haggart, who was just three years away from retirement, was also killed.” A photo appears on the screen of a thin, high cheekboned and completely bald head, the word WANTED in giant red letters beneath it. The face looks exactly like the picture on your ID for Ellis Cobalt.
Stranger: fuck did i, did i actually kill someone
You: "Your notepad says you didn't kill one of them. But did kill the detective guy," Osmium points out.
Stranger: ohhh crap well then maybe the dectective guy killed clagg and then i killed him
Stranger: thanks for the point out doc

Since we’ve got a cooperative and sensible player I decide to give him special powers over all future players to come.

You: "Perhaps, with a little remodelling, we could avoid further unfortunate run ins with the law? I’m offering facial reconstruction. This one is on the house." he says.
Stranger: wow doc that should fix my issue
Stranger: then i can get to the bottom of this
Stranger: with out being excused
You: "Sure. What do you want to look like?"
Stranger has disconnected.

Oops. There goes that random brain rewiring thing again. Oh well, I guess those new powers over Ellis's destiny will just be given to some random. I’m sure Ellis’s next personality will be totally fine with being stranded in a hanging cage while a human-washing machine hybrid rips their face off. Definitely no way that could be misinterpreted with disastrous results.