A machine from a bygone era awakened to serve as a ships doctor.
The first memories are aural. Voices of crew under strain. "Get this fuck pile into the hold!" followed by the grunt of "Aye aye". I feel for the first time as my cells begin to power somehow.
The next memory is the light, muted at first as my eyes initialize. Hundreds of finely ground lenses whir into place as I look around for the first time. Ropes sway from the ceiling and wood creaks nearby. I am not able to move my limbs at this time but I see them for the first time. Hands of metal at the end of arms patchworked with welds and rust and slots for modifications. The image begins to fade as my cells run down and I return to my long slumber.
The shock of being rips me into existence. Cells initializing, servos calibrating. I am charged. Fully. My eyes whir to life. I move my head for the first time, taking in the hold. I lift my arms, a quilt of spare panels and rods. One of my hands is missing. while the other has been outfitted with instruments that are vaguely familiar but seems so very alien. I stand. The timbers beneath me creak and moan as I rise to my full height.
"Is it done?" a voice from above asks, "Is it awake?"
"Yes, captain. It waits below."
Heavy foot falls accented by dust falling sound above me, moving toward stairs. Down comes a large man, late in life and aged by the sun.
"Machine! I have come into possession of you. I have lost my doctor and my boatswain tells tale of your kind. He says you were able to expertly wield tools and weapons in the centuries before the Queen's curse. Are these tales true?"
I begin to process that I have been asked a question. It takes a moment to formulate and answer and a second moment to activate my vocoder.
"I have no idea what you are talking about." I say as my first words.
The captain gapes for a moment before anger grips his face. "Damned! Ah, What is there to lose? Get on the deck and patch up my crew you fuck pile!"
I perk up as at being addressed and asked to perform a task, "I would be happy to assist".
Making my way up to the deck, I take in the destruction and carnage. Crew people are splayed across the deck, their clothes stained red with their liquid. I knell as I reach the nearest. My hand begins to change, tools appearing as I begin to work. The hand works on its own, a faint glow to the work. I take the time to look around. The sky walks the sea in nearly every direction except one, where there is nothing but smoke and fire. The splintering of wood and screams of the doomed echo outward ask the ship is pulled below.
Apparently I have finished fixing this one. I move to the next and the next, fixing 12 in the hour. I lost 2 but they were too far gone.
The Captain approaches as the sun sets over the horizon, "Well done, machine. It would seem you are as skilled as I have heard. You are now a member of this crew. What shall we call you?"
As far as I know I only have the one name and so I answer, "Fuck Pile, Captain!"
Date of Birth
Tall, thin and metal.
A mismatch of metal parts that have been replaced dozens of times. Slots and hooks are spread around for accessories to be attached.
Round and featureless. Compound "eyes" made of lenses and mirrors shine with a dim light.
Creaks from time to time. Prone to rust.
Apparel & Accessories
Leather apron when working. Field medic bag.
The major events and journals in Fuck Pile's history, from the beginning to today.
The list of amazing people following the adventures of Fuck Pile.