[Accepted] Nate's IPC Whitelist

[NateStanley]

 

NateStanley

 

Bareth Marshall (Independent Merchant)

Marcus Bloomdale (Necropolis Industries)

Kellian Brown (Civilian Shaft Miner)

 

User has agreed to their rights and acknowledges they understand I.P.C. operations.

 

 

During my life, I've found myself getting immersed into worlds very unlike our own, during roleplay; the sprawling dystopian metropolis of Half-Life,
the vast fantastical realms of Dungeons & Dragons, or the cryptic research of Dino Crisis (among others). Throughout my tenure as a roleplayer (and
writer, for that matter), I continually see the human journey in those far from human to be intriguing, rather inspiring -- before you laugh at me,
I grew up watching Star Trek: The Next Generation, the idea of a world where I could truley be who I was left me dreaming. I shared my dreams with
my grandfather while I sat on the floor eating breakfast and from that the core of who I am now developed. I still look back on the show and realize
how it shaped me. When I rewatch the show, though, I find myself loving the characters like Data, again due to my love of non-human journeys to
humanity, but more so in that I identify with the character, in a sense. My anxiety that I deal with, questioning everything I do /before I do it/,
are personified in his character.

Human replicant characters, while sometimes clichéd to ten-buck-two and back, are a wonderful vessel to represent the struggles that individuals
face in a manor that don't intrude on the story. When I roleplay, I like to develop my character's story much like writing and, though I'm not
sure why, I love playing background characters -- characters that compliment others and through my own actions, develop them. As far as I.P.C.s go,
they're practically written to be as such, ignoring their personal journey for self-ownership (which I plan on avoiding). I have planned several
traits and personal goals which, through Dorians journey towards these, would involve the garnership of other's cooperation, respect, and sympathy
(though attracting the opposite, an inevitabilty, would set him back -- something which he cannot work around, having strict protocols).

To put it short, the I.P.C. is naturally a tool to prop others up, which I intend to do.

Roleplaying an I.P.C. is decidely different than roleplaying a human. Unlike any other playable race (ignoring special roles like Cyborgs and AI),
the I.P.C. is a robot. All of it's actions, mannerisms, and quirks are immitiations of their human counterparts to put them at ease
while working across from the uncanny valley. The Shell type I.P.C., Dorian's varient, is a human replicant. Perhaps to an untrained eye they aren't
merely an automatron, but upon further observation their pitfalls are revealed: Grammatical sytax limitations, hard limits on inteligence, multi-
-tasking constraints, but most importantly their trivial comprehensions of emotions. An interesting quirk of the positronic brain, though, is
that it's similar to a pair of good work shoes. Starting out, they're restrictive, limiting in every sense of the word. But as you wear it in, it
expands allowing you to accomplish things not originally in possible. The positronic brain, over time, creates new neural pathways, allowing
for development of new skills and an increased knowledgebase. Though a limited thinker, they're perhaps the best at the few things they do work at.

No I have not, and don't intend to. (Please don't link back to this specific post if I do get banned, thanks.)

 

Spoiler

??????? ???: "??????? ???? ????? ?????? ???? ?????????."
JPL-1049 was produced in Hong Kong, China as a part of Terraneus Diagnostics' original run of their convincing Shell model. Advertised as a 
workforce that could seamlessly integrate with a pre-existing human population, the Shell line was the most exciting technology to come of 
the 2450 decade. The advertising agency for Terraneus Diagnostics' decided to exploit the main feature of the Shell model, their uncanny 
likeness with humans, as a part of their campaign -- pushing it in sectors involving interaction with other sentient beings, a common 
complaint with other I.P.C. models being that they made people uneasy. In a bid to prove how versatile their Shells were, Terraneus 
Diagnostics' gifted several shell sets to a variety of esteemed universities in hopes that their use of them would awe the public.

JPL-1049 was one of these items sent to the Solis Cognito University, where the robotics department took their fair share and divvied the remainder 
sparsely amongst the other departments. JPL-1049 was assigned to the Xeno Cultural Research department, being given the name Dorian. 
Therein, before activation, the department members rudimentarily assigned it the following goal, "Research and restore that which others 
have forgotten". Upon first awakening, he logged several human historians in awe along with a Skrellian scoffing skeptically at his 
colleagues. It wasn't long before he was given his task.

Dorian was added to a small crew of Xenoarcheologists and their vessel, on loan from the university, traveling to a variety of outposts, stations, 
and worlds. The rest of the crew's intentions were to further their archeological studies, though Dorian was to accomplish his task 
assigned by the Xenohistorians. Census data "generously" donated by the NanoTrasen Census Office in hand, Dorian was able to track down 
Skrellians at almost every stop they went to, using the rest of the crew as a ploy to hide his true shell being, he would inquire about 
their upbringing, logging the spoken history of families, bedtime stories told to them as a child, the legends of monsters and creatures 
that once prowled the land, and other sparsely remembered niches of history. It was a non-stop journey for Dorian and the rest of the crew, 
continually interviewing subjects until the vessel was eventually anonymously recalled by someone from the University. Though inquisitive 
as to why they were being recalled, the Xenoarcheologists reluctantly
set course back towards the university.

Dorian had amassed a large array of abstract spoken legend from Skrellian past, though his task was not to piece it together, rather merely be a 
vessel of transport. On the return journey to the University, Dorian methodically sorted the data by region, dialect, and theme, preparing 
it for the team of historians for analysis. Though having no emotional attachment to the men, it had been several years since he had last 
seen them, and through amassing the stores of data he had, his new positronic matrix was struggling to cope and had begun to overwrite 
non-essential memory files. He had forgotten what they looked like. At the very least, it would guarantee healthy positronic development to 
regain that memory -- he couldn't wait to see them again.

Upon arriving back at the university orbiting the sun, the pilot hailed the control tower requesting permission to dock. Dorian logged weary 
hesitation in the tower operators' voice over the radio as they received clearance for docking procedures. After receiving the notification 
that the jetway between his ship and the university had successfully pressurized, the airlock opened revealing two armed guards and the 
head of the robotics department. Before anyone could inquire as to what was going on, the guards raised their weapon firing disabler blasts 
at Dorian's center mass. He fell to the ground as his vision slowly faded. Though in a barely operational state as the guards drug his 
synthetic body behind the department head, he was fully aware that the longer he stayed in this critical stage the more his positronic 
memory banks would decay -- though there was nothing he could do.

He returned to operational consciousness after being dropped into a secure vault room. Standing to his feet, he began to ask what had happened 
before getting interrupted by the roboticist, "JPL-1049, enter stasis mode, factory override 103." He froze, unable to respond. Something 
deep inside his positronic brain prevented him from doing anything. What happened next somehow found it's way out of his random access 
memory and into permanent storage banks, never to be forgotten. 

Dorian stood there, blankly staring forward as the roboticist shook his head, scoffing, "That's the last on retrieved. Officer, inform the 
university 
chairman his mandate has been fulfilled, immediately." He'd turn around preparing to leave before a Skrellian in a dress shirt -- Dorian suddenly 
recalling him from his initial startup-- would approach from down the hall with angered haste. The officers would respond, hostilely 
raising their weapons, the roboticist objecting, "What exactly do you think you're doing, you got the same memo just as I did!"

As the Skrellian would begin to respond, Dorian's stasis procedure would begin to activate. He could feel the positronic pathways slowing and 
with it the memories stored within starting to fade. His exterior sensors would deactivate suddenly, placing him in a dark, quiet place 
with only his thoughts, which at this point had been reduced to a mere whisper. In fear of losing the years of data, and following his 
directive assigned to him, he tried to hold onto all the data he had collected, obsessively reciting them. As the mass of Skrellian 
mythology and lore echoed through the dark, void reality around him the voice he was using became quieter and quieter no matter how loud he 
tried to shout, eventually becoming nothing but a lull, on the edge of silence - soon to be forgotten as the Stasis Procedure began 
unintentionally erasing his precious data.

It was at this moment that, while Dorian's mind was mere seconds away from erasure, he logged, perhaps for the last time, that he had failed.

All at once, though, the words he had been shouting, clinging onto as though it was his one duty in life, echoed back to him. At first, nothing but
a dull whisper, building and building until eventually, it was a booming voice reciting all that he had learned in his journeys. He could 
feel himself
reanimating, the positronic block fading. His hearing faded in, the whirs of a multitool against his hear -- muffled, hushed voices whispered around 
him. He could feel again; he was in a chair. The voices became clearer, one of them shushed the others. His eyes quickly twitched to life.

Directly in front of him sat the Skrellian historian leaning forward from his chair, astonished. Dorian looked around, recognizing the rest of the
Xenohistory department. Before anyone was able to say anything or interrupt him, Dorian inquired, "What is going on?"

One of the Human historians hastily responded in a whisper, "There was some kind of replicant shell attack on NanoTrasen - we don't know any of 
the details but the university chairman ordered the deactivation of all university-owned shells in response. You were in stasis for several hours."

For the first time since docking at the university, Dorian scanned the environment around him. Piles of deactivated shells identical to himself 
littered the vault room around him. He returned his attention to the Human next to him. He opened his mouth, trying to process the proposed 
idea of the shell attack, to no avail -- he closed his mouth, glancing back at the Skrellian who still sat, astonished, staring at Dorian.

The Skrellian shook his head in disbelief, "It worked, Doctor Bates..." The Skrellian would gaze over Dorian for several seconds, before
glancing at the Human next to him -- Doctor Bates.

"And those bastards tried to wipe his memory!" Bates murmured angrily, before closing a panel on the side of Dorian's head, securing it with his
multitool. Bates would pause, glancing around at the stacks of discarded shells, "Lu'Oruthu," Bates stumbled out the Skrellian's name, "toss me the
uniform."

Lu'Oruthu would blankly stare at the doctor for a moment before snapping back to focus, "Right-" he'd exasperatedly murmur out, tossing the folded 
jumpsuit into Bates' hands.

Bates, presenting the uniform to Dorian, would place his hand on the shell's shoulder, using it as a brace to stand up, "It's been a while since 
we've seen you, Dorian..." He'd trail off, glancing back at Lu'Oruthu who had resumed tentatively staring at the shell in disbelief. Dorian 
would follow his gaze to the Skrellian as Bates began to softly explain back to Dorian, "This is the happiest I've seen him in years - do 
you realize you were talking during your stasis?"

Dorian would glance once more around at the lifeless shells before turning back to Bates, "No." He'd answer gingerly.

Bates would nod his head, as though he had expected some explanation, "We don't have time to perform a memory dump of your core... put this 
student jumpsuit on and get to the dorms, a transfer shuttle is coming in the morning. Don't talk to anyone-" Bates would dart his 
attention outside the door towards a window into the void of space. Through the tinted glass, the silhouette of earth rounded from behind 
the sun, "Hurry Dorian, you haven't much time." Bates would grab him by the shoulder, pushing him towards the door. 

Dorian, not being programmed to question commands, would begin to walk down the hall, turning his head back once to get one last look at the 
historian's. The Skrellian still glared at him in childlike wonder.

Dorian hoped this memory wouldn't be overwritten.


??????? ???: "????? ??? ????"
Dorian sat alone in the transfer shuttle waiting area, disguised in student attire. He twitched his head left and right waiting for someone to 
come and retrieve him though no one ever did. Directly in front of him, a news feed rapidly ticked, the different gazettes, daily bugles, 
and times all picking up the same story, "SHELL ATTACK ON NANOTRASEN FACILITY: REPERCUSSIONS TO COME". Though he could not feel uneasy, 
something about the headline unnerved his primary directive for self-preservation. He began to process different scenarios in his head. 
What if the transfer shuttle gets intercepted? Would they shoot him on sight? If they did shoot him on sight, would they disable him or 
outright try to destroy him? What if his mere presence in a public place caused a hysteria?

While running through every possibility he could think of, he must have completely lost touch with the room around him. It was now filled with 
students and professors alike sitting all around him in the waiting area. He abruptly stood up, calculating that his scenarios were soon to 
come true. He'd glance around, quickly searching for an exit. He logged that he knew he was in danger. He began walking down the aisle of 
seats towards the corridor exit when a professor sitting at the end of the aisle would look up from his PDA, raising an eyebrow, "Where's 
the fire, kid?"

Dorian would turn to his right, seeing his reflection in the window. He looked like any other student. He glanced back down at the man, a blank 
stare, "Sorry -- I just had to stretch." He'd sit down next to the man who promptly went back to his PDA without any other care. The news 
feed still ticked, though some time had passed as the headlines had now changed, "SHELL ATTACK ON NANOTRASEN: SHELLS TO BE RECALLED". He 
intently watched as, alert after alert, the opinion pieces were published.

The professor sitting next to Dorian, clearly seeing his concern with the news ticker, would lean forward, pressing the display power with the 
edge of his PDA before relaxing in his chair. He leaned over towards Dorian, tapping the PDA, "Listen, kid, I've learned unless you get an 
emergency warning on your PDA it's not worth reading. Just get's you all worked up over things that have nothing to do with you." He waved 
his hand, as though to dismiss whatever was troubling Dorian. He leaned over towards Dorian, tapping the PDA, "Listen, kid, I've learned 
unless you get an emergency warning on your PDA it's not worth reading. Just get's you all worked up over things that have nothing to do 
with you." He waved his hand, as though to dismiss whatever was troubl- Something was wrong, this had already happened. As the professor 
droned on about worldviews and politics, Dorian worked through a self-diagnosis. 

Chassis Integrity... within standards.
Sensor Input... is completely normal. I didn't misread anything.
Internal Temperature... slightly above the norm. Concerning, noted.
Positronic Functions... 

His neck would click, twitching robotically as he let out a small wheeze. A fault in his temporal positronic functions had been tripped. He 
quickly assumed it had been from either the disrupter shots or the stasis, but he didn't have much time to fix it- in fact, he didn't have 
have time.

Whatever had been tripped had set off a chain reaction of positronic neuron failures, every moment he spent in inaction brought him closer and 
closer to complete temporal failure and he wasn't sure what would happen then. What had been hours turned into seconds for Dorian, his mind 
incapable of processing the data. He saw blurs, visions perhaps, of what was going on around him, faces, voices, colors.

Things slowed for a moment, and even though having no recollection of doing so, he had boarded the shuttle. He could almost remember something, 
his faulty mind catching up to him. Glancing behind him, he saw a cargo hold- something about it seemed familiar, as though his positronic 
mind was telling him he needed to remember this. He rose from his chair, taking a step toward the door when his reality suddenly skidded, 
his perception of time evaporating for a moment. He was at the door, no recollection of getting there. He felt unease, at any moment his 
mind could come apart as it had previously, and that something in the cargo hold was important- he just could not remember. 

He scanned the room, the ferry between Earth and the University being a sub-bluespace capable vessel, everyone was either asleep or 
preoccupied. As he jaunted into the cargo hold, seemingly nobody noticing, he descended a flight of stairs to a lower deck. Dorian could 
feel the impulse of the memory, whatever it consisted of, growing. Before he lost control again he had to remember.

It was dark, he ran across the wall near the bottom of the steps with his hand, searching for a light switch. As soon as he flipped the switch 
before the light had even activated an overwhelming sense of doom came over him as the memory of what was down here flooded back. Rows of 
shells, in various states of destruction or mistreatment, stood in twos- all except the final row. They were all wearing whatever 
departmental jumpsuit they had been assigned to, though they were stained with melted synth flesh- results of excessive disrupter blasts. 
His necked cramped, twitching.

The door atop the stairs opened and, fearing being caught during a lapse, he had no choice but to slide into the final row of shells, 
completing the bunch. As the sounds of heavy work boots descended the stairs, he closed his eyes, preparing.

??????? ?????: "???????? ??????"
His vision would return to there being nothing but a vast, neverending horizon of emptiness, the void replaced with a blinding white. He'd try 
to look around, but he was unsure if his head was turning. The scenery was identical in every direction.

An agitated voice boomed across the landscape, "JPL-1049, enter passive stasis mode."

Dorian would do so, he stopped having his own thoughts, though he was still receptive to stimuli. The voice would return, now more analytical than 
before, "Now run a self-diagnostic on your positronic pathways and ignore any fail-safe protocols."

Dorian felt himself activating the numerous pathways throughout his brain, though he wasn't capable of formulating any conclusions from the 
results. "Alright JPL-1049, run uh," the voice paused, he could hear... paper shuffling, "- run the stimulation based therapy algorithm on 
affected lobes, method, er, three."

Suddenly, he felt a wave of relief across his being, even if that being was just his mind at the moment, "Fantastic." the voice would cut off, the 
white suddenly being replaced with darkness, which faded into a dimly lit wooden ceiling.

The same voice, now next to him, spoke up again, "Chassis mount functional..." he'd trail off, tapping away at keys, "Bingo!" With the smash of 
a key, Dorian felt himself regain control of his body. He'd sit upright, turning to face the man. He was an older man wearing engineering 
overalls. The room around him appeared to be a retrofitted workshop in a barn.

The man would smirk, "Told you Sharla." Dorian would follow the gaze of the man, seeing an even older woman near the barn door who would speak 
up, the age in her voice evident, "Just don't let it in the house."

The man would sigh, "I won't, Shar." 

Dorian was completely unaware as to what was going on. As the older woman, Sharla he presumed, walked out, he pivoted towards the man who'd, after 
glancing over Dorian, would sigh in relief, "Now you are a piece of work." He smiled gently, glancing back at his dirtied diagnostic terminal.

Pausing for a moment, not wishing to interrupt, Dorian would inquire, "Sir, if you don't mind me asking, where-" His voice would cut off with a 
bleep at the press of a keystroke. The man working the terminal would stand up, limping over to the opposite wall, grabbing a girdling tool 
and tossing it towards him. Dorian would instinctively catch it, unable to speak.

"Go work the vineyard." He'd motion towards the barn door. After edging out the door, Dorian would see a vast grape vineyard, spanning rolling 
hills. The man would walk past Dorian, bumping into him as he headed towards the small farmhouse atop the vineyard property. The sun was 
soon to set and as the man neared the house, he turned around and shouted, "Want it pruned by the morning!"

He submitted, pruning the vineyard all night, returning to the barn upon completion. In the morning, the man returned to the barn, giving him 
new orders for that day, to be completed by the following morning. This routine of assignments continued from then on, the man and woman 
never speaking to him outside of orders. At times, when Dorian wouldn't hear them or perhaps completed a task and they deemed it not 
perfect, they'd shove him or throw a tool at him to get his attention- and of course, he couldn't object, his voice disabled.

As a year of vineyard work was nearing, and the seasons changed, they would have Dorian do other menial tasks, like painting or the house or 
repairing the barn. 

On one of these days, Dorian was repairing a solar panel on the barn roof which had slipped loose and fell off, assumedly due to the farmer 
man's poor installation of it. While on the barn roof overlooking the vineyard, reattaching the panel, a low rumble began to echo from 
behind the horizon.

He stopped what he was doing to glance up, seeing the farmer man had done the same, coming out onto his porch. The low rumble grew closer, 
slowly turning from a low rumble to a roaring boom as a small shuttle flew close overhead, past the vineyard. Dorian could hear the farmer 
man shout an expletive in the background, though he was more focused on the shuttle. As it passed the vineyard, it slowed, turning around, 
eventually hovering over an empty patch of grass near the farmhouse. The farmer man would hustle out, as fast as he could with his limp, 
followed by the older woman Sharla, both of whom stood at the edge of the porch.

As the shuttle lowered itself, a set of landing gear would unfold, supporting the weight of the shuttle when it eventually landed, cutting the 
engines off. A single man exited the shuttle, approaching the two farmers. Dorian couldn't make out the figure, the shuttle's engine having 
turned up the soil, a cloud of dust slowly settling over the area. 

Intrigued by the commotion, he slid down the ladder, approaching the farmhouse. As he grew near, he was able to hear an argument between the farmer 
man and some other man, the farmer protesting, "This paperwork must be forged! I paid! I've got the paperwork inside to prove it!" 

The other voice, an older man, would begin to rebuttal back with confidence, "You're in violation of Biesel law, hand over the aforementioned 
property or I will have to call enforcement." He'd grumble loudly, egging the farmer, "Go get your paperwork, we'll see how valid it is 
after I confirm my own with the console in my shuttle."

The farmer would relent, "Very well, " he'd scoff, "wait here." He went back inside, the dust finally settling. He saw the old woman Sharla 
standing on the porch with her arms crossed. Follower her gaze, his eyes met with not a stranger, as he expected, but Dr. Bates, from the University.

The doctor, seeing the old woman now turning her attention, would, in turn, follow her gaze, to meet Dorian. He'd nod, smiling for a moment, 
"Just wait there, we're sorting things out, -" before he could continue, the door to the porch would burst open, the farmer man pumping a 
shotgun, "You piece of shit, I'll show you what happens when you try to encroach on my rights!" He'd raise the weapon, aiming it the 
Doctor, but before the farmer could fire a shot would instead ring out from the dimly lit shuttle's open airlock, hitting the farmer square 
in the head.

The old woman would begin to scream hysterically, "My baby! My baby!" Running to his body, cradling it. The doctor would jerk around, looking 
at the shuttle, a ruffled security officer stepping out, "We ought to go, Doctor Bates. I'll hail the local Biesel department."

Bates nodded, grabbing Dorian by his arm and pulling him into the shuttle. The security guard took the helm of the shuttle, taking off towards 
the atmosphere while also contacting the local government. Bates took the opportunity to speak to Dorian, "Shell, what's your model number?"

Dorian would open his mouth, incapable of speaking. He'd shake his head. "Christ," Bates would respond, pulling a multitool out and popping open 
Dorian's maintenance panel. He'd attach a wire inside, pulsing. Dorian's voice would come alive with an audible beep. Bates would ask 
again, this time with far more intrigue, "Shell, what's your model number?" 

Dorian would speak for the first time in quite a while, with as much pride as a Shell could have, "JPL-1049."

Bates would throw his head back and arms up, sighing in relief, "Finally." 

??????? ????: "????????"
On their flight out of the atmosphere, Bates would go onto to explain to Dorian that after he had left the University, he wound up getting 
recalled and returned to the manufacturer along with all the other Shells, he knew that much from the security cameras. From there, he 
said, Dorian was disassembled and sold for parts, the farmer getting his hands on the expensive chassis and positronic brain somehow, 
though he did mention it didn't quite matter now that he was dead.

"Doctor Bates," Dorian would query, "Why did you come looking for me?"

Bates would raise an eyebrow, shrugging, "After Lu'Oruthu and I aided in your... rather shortlived escape- we did get found out, as expected. 
Mounting pressure from the news forced the university to announce an investigation into our actions." Bates would pause, glaring out the 
window, "NanoTrasen, the university benefactor, offered to quietly transfer me into one of their research departments." He'd get quiet.

Dorian took the opportunity to ask, "What about Doctor Lu'Oruthu?"

"They uh," Bates said, choking on his words before composing himself, "The university used their sway to get him deported back to Jargon." He'd 
sigh, getting up towards the shuttle cockpit before continuing, "I was able to trace your tag number, you were still listed as property 
under NanoTrasen."

"Where are we headed?"

"You, Dorian, are headed for the Odin. I have a team of roboticists ready to perform a memory copy on you to send to my office. From there, I'll 
be passing you onto the NanoTrasen research division. You've got to understand, I've been on a tight leash since the university incident."

Dorian would pause,

"Thank you."
 

 

What I like most about the prospect of Dorian would be a driven, heavy roleplay oriented Xenohistorian role.

Though I may be biased, I'd rate my roleplay to be good.

I accidentally posted this as just the application format, so while revising the post to be an actual application I felt as 
though I had to go over the top to compensate.

 

Edited March 8, 2020 by NateStanley
Updated history

[NateStanley]

-snip-

Edited March 5, 2020 by NateStanley

[NateStanley]

Boring format for boring people, I tried a lot more on the stuff above, but this is a condensed version.:

Spoiler

 

BYOND Key:

NateStanley

Character Names:

 

Bareth Marshall

Marcus Bloomdale

Kellian Brown

Species you are applying to play: 

IPC

Have you read our lore section's page on this species?:

Yes

Why do you wish to play this specific race:

Spoiler

During my life, I've found myself getting immersed into worlds very unlike our own, during roleplay; the sprawling dystopian metropolis of Half-Life, the vast fantastical realms of Dungeons & Dragons, or the cryptic research of Dino Crisis (among others). Throughout my tenure as a roleplayer (and writer, for that matter), I continually see the human journey in those far from human to be intriguing, rather inspiring -- before you laugh at me, I grew up watching Star Trek: The Next Generation, the idea of a world where I could truley be who I was left me dreaming. I shared my dreams with my grandfather while I sat on the floor eating breakfast and from that the core of who I am now developed. I still look back on the show and realize how it shaped me. When I rewatch the show, though, I find myself loving the characters like Data, again due to my love of non-human journeys to humanity, but more so in that I identify with the character, in a sense. My anxiety that I deal with, questioning everything I do /before I do it/, are personified in his character. Human replicant characters, while sometimes clichéd to ten-buck-two and back, are a wonderful vessel to represent the struggles that individuals face in a manor that don't intrude on the story. When I roleplay, I like to develop my character's story much like writing and, though I'm not sure why, I love playing background characters -- characters that compliment others and through my own actions, develop them. As far as I.P.C.s go, they're practically written to be as such, ignoring their personal journey for self-ownership (which I plan on avoiding). I have planned several traits and personal goals which, through Dorians journey towards these, would involve the garnership of other's cooperation, respect, and sympathy (though attracting the opposite, an inevitabilty, would set him back -- something which he cannot work around, having strict protocols). To put it short, the I.P.C. is naturally a tool to prop others up, which I intend to do.

Identify what makes role-playing this species different than role-playing a Human:

Spoiler

Roleplaying an I.P.C. is decidely different than roleplaying a human. Unlike any other playable race (ignoring special roles like Cyborgs and AI), the I.P.C. is a robot. All of it's actions, mannerisms, and quirks are immitiations of their human counterparts to put them at ease while working across from the uncanny valley. The Shell type I.P.C., Dorian's varient, is a human replicant. Perhaps to an untrained eye they aren't merely an automatron, but upon further observation their pitfalls are revealed: Grammatical sytax limitations, hard limits on inteligence, multi- -tasking constraints, but most importantly their trivial comprehensions of emotions. An interesting quirk of the positronic brain, though, is that it's similar to a pair of good work shoes. Starting out, they're restrictive, limiting in every sense of the word. But as you wear it in, it expands allowing you to accomplish things not originally in possible. The positronic brain, over time, creates new neural pathways, allowing for development of new skills and an increased knowledgebase. Though a limited thinker, they're perhaps the best at the few things they do work at.

Character Name:

Dorian

Please provide a short backstory for this character (just realized it was suppose to be two paragraphs, here you go:):

Spoiler

 

Dorian was on of the first shell models created, being sent to the Solis Cognito University as a part of an advertising campaign where he, among other shells, would be used to show the public the usefulness of the shell type I.P.C. -- He was the only one sent to the Xenohistory department. From there, they assigned him with the task of venturing around, going down a list provided by the NanoTrasen Census Office of several hundred Skrellian citizens, interviewing them in regards to their oral history. His main task was to catalog the data and return it for analysis. After two years abroad, he was called to return to the university.

Upon arrival at the university, he was detained by the station security, the order originating from the University Chairmen - that order being to deactivate all Shell units. Before returning to the university, a group of maliciously designed shells had been used to infiltrate and attack a NanoTrasen facility, and in a direct response the Chairman gave this order. Afraid of losing their two year collection of data, the Xenohistory group reactivate Dorian, technically being their property, and releasing him.

 

 

 

 

What do you like about this character?

What I like most about the prospect of Dorian would be a driven, heavy roleplay oriented Xenohistorian role.

How would you rate your role-playing ability?

Though I may be biased, I'd rate my roleplay to be good.

 

 

Edited March 5, 2020 by NateStanley

[Caelphon]

This is an interesting application - clearly well thought out and shows a good attitude in regard to the IPC, I however do have one question; 

 

 

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Spoiler

Sol Alliance

Visa Requirements

1. An application fee of 600 credits.
2. Lasts up to 2 years for work visas, up to 3 months for tourists and visitors.
3. An interview about your background and reasons for coming into Sol Alliance space. This interview is known to be very strict, and many visa applications are denied - but experienced specialists and businesspersons have a preference. The interview is not required for Skrell.
4. Documents proving your reason for the stay in Sol space - education certificate, proof of relatives in Sol, etc., or a visa recommendation from a certified Solarian diplomat.

Citizenship

• Must have lived in Sol Alliance for at least 5 years.
• Disallows dual citizenships except with Eridani Federation or Jargon Federation. Getting a Sol Alliance citizenship makes your other citizenships invalid.
• Must speak Sol Common fluently.
• A background check. Must also have not have committed any crimes during your stay in Sol Alliance space.
• A test on Sol Alliance law and history.
• Tajara and IPCs need not apply.

 

Solis Cognito University:

The university is focused on competing with the top Skrellian universities. Though it's rarely admitted, the faculty tend to hold the popular opinion that humanity - and specifical humans from the Sol system - are better than other people and races. It's no surprise, then, that graduates tend to hold a dismissive or even condescending attitude towards other university graduates. This is often considered a reason for the popularity of ATLAS on the campus.

Despite the reputation of snobbery, the university creates prestigious graduates that tend to focus on the fields of Artificial Intelligence and robotics.

NanoTrasen competes with Einstein Engines and Hephaestus Industries to employ the top graduates.

You mention that your IPC had quite a lot of freedom in regards to the University, but the University seems to be rather stuck in a 'pro-human' stance. The Lore-Devs will most likely correct me here, but wouldn't Dorian be heavily discriminated against, and most likely not given a vessel? 

 

I do really enjoy the backstory - and you've clearly but a lot of thought into this application 

+1, but I'm still just curious

[niennab]

Thank you for the detailed application. I appreciate the effort that went into it. I have a few questions and nitpicks but I believe they can be easily addressed. Nevertheless.

It might be a stretch that in Sol, they'd grant a shell it's own ship on a solo mission although a small team, consisting and headed by a few humans, is certainly more feasible. This also might further explain as to why Dorian went undetected, as Skrell only have to do a mental ping to find out whether someone is organic or not. However, did Dorian travel into Skrellian space? Given the relationship between Skrell and synthetics, this would pose an issue. 

How did Dorian make it from Sol space to Tau Ceti space and eventually the Aurora Station?

Edited March 5, 2020 by niennab

[NateStanley]

Safe to say this is NOT a Skrell whitelist, so that is one thing I did not research too deeply, as far as the ping goes. Apologies for that. 

He did not travel into Skrellian space, as the research team were granted (read: bought) census data / tourist data in regards to Skrellians in nearby systems.

I'll edit the story a tad to better fit your notes as well as expand on his eventual arrival to Aurora.

[NateStanley]

13 minutes ago, Caelphon said:

-snip-

Great points! I'm altering my backstory a tad bit to align with niennab's points, very much so in regards to the shuttle. Other than that they wouldn't have very much freedom. Dorian was one of the first true lifelike shell models produced and because of that scientists were, I imagine, eager to get their hands on them. Towards the end it becomes pretty evident that the university as a whole didn't have much care for IPCs or the shells gifted to them, but it was mainly the Xenohistorians who appreciated the monumental task that the shell was capable of accomplishing that gave any sort of benefit. As far as the university goes, they regarded these IPC's as nothing more than a new tool to experiment with.

[NateStanley]

24 minutes ago, niennab said:

Thank you for the detailed application. I appreciate the effort that went into it. I have a few questions and nitpicks but I believe they can be easily addressed. Nevertheless.

It might be a stretch that in Sol, they'd grant a shell it's own ship on a solo mission although a small team, consisting and headed by a few humans, is certainly more feasible. This also might further explain as to why Dorian went undetected, as Skrell only have to do a mental ping to find out whether someone is organic or not. However, did Dorian travel into Skrellian space? Given the relationship between Skrell and synthetics, this would pose an issue. 

How did Dorian make it from Sol space to Tau Ceti space and eventually the Aurora Station?

Fixed the issue regarding the shuttle, working on another chapter relating to his journey to the Aurora- thank you for your help so far

 

Sections edited:

Spoiler

Dorian was added to a small crew of Xenoarcheologists and their vessel, on loan from the university, travelling to a variety of outposts, stations, and worlds. The rest of the crew's intentions were to further their archeological studies, though Dorian's was to accomplish his task assigned by the Xenohistorians. Census data "generously" donated by the NanoTrasen Census Office in hand, Dorian was able to track down Skrellians at almost every stop they went to, using the rest of the crew as a ploy to hide his true shell being, he would inquire about their upbringing, logging the spoken history of families, bedtime stories told to them as a child, the legends of monsters and creatures that once prowled the land, and other sparsely remembered niches of history. It was a non-stop journey for Dorian and the rest of the crew, continually interviewing subjects until the vessel was eventually anonymously recalled by someone from the University. Though inquisitive as to why they were being recalled, the Xenoarcheologists reluctantly set course back towards the university.

Dorian had amassed a large array of abstract spoken legend from Skrellian past, though his task was not to piece it together, rather merely be a vessel of transport. On the return journey to the University, Dorian methodically sorted the data by region, dialect, and theme, preparing it for the team of historians for analysis. Though having no emotional attachment to the men, it had been several years since he had last seen them, and through amassing the stores of data he had, his new positronic matrix was struggling to cope and had begun to overwrite non-essential memory files. He had forgotten what they looked like. At the very least, it would guarantee healthy positronic development to regain that memory -- he couldn't wait to see them again.

Upon arriving back at the university orbiting the sun, the pilot hailed the control tower requesting permission to dock. Dorian logged weary hesitation in the tower operators' voice over the radio as they received clearance for docking procedures. After receiving the notification that the jetway between his ship and the university had successfully pressurized, the airlock opened revealing two armed guards and the head of the robotics department. Before anyone could inquire as to what was going on, the guards raised their weapon firing disabler blasts at Dorian's center mass. He fell to the ground as his vision slowly faded. Though in a barely operational state as the guards drug his synthetic body behind the department head, he was fully aware that the longer he stayed in this critical stage the more his positronic memory banks would decay -- though there was nothing he could do.

 

Edited March 5, 2020 by NateStanley

[Caelphon]

Brilliant! Thank you for satisfying my curiousity so quickly! My +1 remains. 

[NateStanley]

I made an audio book while I was writing other chapter. BASK in my character that does not yet exist as he is brought to life through sound.

 

 

 

Edited March 5, 2020 by NateStanley

[niennab]

If you want to just write a one to two or even three paragraph summary as to how Dorian got to Tau Ceti space and the Aurora keep in mind that's more than viable.

Edited March 8, 2020 by niennab

[NateStanley]

Almost finished with it, was going to finish it earlier today but had an allergic reaction

 

 

[NateStanley]

Updated history @niennab, reveal the spoiler

[niennab]

Thank you for addressing my questions and concerns. Thank you as well for the fascinating read.

Your application offers an understanding of IPCs within the lore of the Aurora while presenting a creative and well-written backstory. I am eager to see Dorian in action, Accepted.