Journal: Entry for Nebhead

I wrote this on wotmania after far too much caffiene and far too little sleep, an hour or so before RAFO launched. I quite liked it, and thought it would be a shame to lose it to the void.

Starring:
.....Nebhead, as himself
.....Rebekah, Jacob, Avendesora, TaskmasterJack, Sidious, ironclad, Aemon and Fanatic-Templar, as The Igor ballerina display team
.....ReadAndFindOut.com, as The Frankensite
.....Assorted wotmaniacs, as The Mob


It was, Nebhead giggled to himself as he sipped from his seventh can of red bull, the perfect night for the deed. Lightning flashed, thunder crashed, and the rain plastered his clothes to his skin as he slowly winched the conductor, bowing in the wind, above the crazed roofing of his tower. Task accomplished, he picked up his drink and, still giggling, ducked back through the window into the relative warmth of his labatory.

The room was alive with activity, as Igor's of various shapes and sizes scuttled, piroutted and plie'd their way around the room, in stark contrast to The Site. It was strapped to an operating table in the center of the room, and Nebhead moved over to it and started pushing cables and wires back into it's casing from where they had spewn.

"They told me I was crazy" he muttered to himself, taking another pull from the can. "Crazy! I'll show them who's crazy now". He giggled again, sat down into a work chair and pushed himself over to a bank of consoles along one wall, the chair spinning wildly in circles as he went. Nebhead pulled one of a multitude of keyboards over to him, and stared glassily into one of the screens.

"10,303 lines of code!" he shrieked triumphantly. "70, 845 words!". Cackling, he spun again to face the behemoth on the table, and the Igors who regarding him expectantly. "Jacob! Aemon! Hook up the cables! Jack... Jack the tutu goes around your waist, not your head. How many times do I have to tell you?! Go sort yourself out!". Jacob and and Aemon spun over to one side of the wall, and started heaving heavy electrical cables to the Site.

"Avendesora, check that all primary posts are ready. Sidious, Fanatic-Templar...". Nebhead was interrupted by a loud battering sound from the large oak doubledoors which were the only way in or out of the labatory. They had been plaguing him for weeks, and had been at his door for the last few hours, camped there, desperately trying to get their hands on the site. Well, it was almost time. They'd be getting the site soon, oh yes! Nebhead giggled again. "Sidious, Fanatic-Templar, go prop up those doors. Don't want the Mob in here too soon, eh?"

Nebhead's gaze fell on the remaining Igors, who regarded him mournfully. "Rebekah, ironclad... this is a special occasion worthy of celebration. Go get me some pie. In fact, pie all around!". Nebhead smiled to himself again. Few things were better than pie.

Spinning back to his bank of monitors, a slew of figures caught his attention. "AIEEE!" he shrieked again. "It's time, it's time!". Dashing over to the Site, he helped the Igor's connect the final few cables, and started the final calibrations and safechecks on the console embedded in the Site's chestplate. Check's over, he took a deep breath, slammed the plate closed, and stepped back to regard his handywork.

And he was pleased.

A fresh round of hammering broke his attention, and, barely sparing a glace for the Igors who were all now lined against the door, holding back the horde, span back around to the monitors and hit a final button, executing the last subroutine. There. It was done. All that was left to do was to pull the lever...

Striding across the room, Nebhead pulled on his rubber gloves and lowered a pair of smoked glass lenses over his eyes. Draining the last of his drink, he braced himself against the wall and heaved.

The circuit breaker snapped down, and the room was blasted with a bright white light as lightning arced into the labatory, along the conduits and slammed into the Site, which jerked convulsively. For an endless second the roar of thunder pounded around the room. Monitors and screens exploded, sparks flew from the databanks around the edge of the room. And then it was silent. The air was filled with a smokey haze, and Nebhead's ears rang hollow with the sound of his footsteps as he cautiously moved off the wall and towards the center of the room. Nebhead could see the huge bulk of the Site still on the table, and past that the gap where the doors used to be; they had been blasted off their hinges, just charred fragments remaining. Shapes, Igor and Mob alike, groaned on the floor.

A creaking groan snapped Nebhead's gaze back to the table. The Site was moving! It sat up, snapping the restraining bindings as if they were string. Nebhead backed slowly away. It had worked!

The site heaved itself up off the table and, slowly, ponderously, shambled out of the labatory.


It was alive!