The Disassembler

Hall Of Fame!

Survival - 8 Wins!

Brutal - 1 Fatalities


Alignment: Hero

Team: Solo Hero


Strength: Weak

Agility: Weak

Mind: Standard

Body: Weak


Personal Wins: 8

Personal Losses: 3


If one faces a robot in battle, and sends its parts flying ten feet in every direction, it seems fairly simple, right? The trigger was pulled and the robot ceased to function. Simple. Or is it? It brings up many philosophical and spiritual quandries, in fact. First, there is the question that plagues Khazan intellectuals even to this day: was the robot truly self aware and intelligent in the first place? Did one commit murder by shooting it? Or did it merely have the facimile of intelligence and the act of destroying that robot has the same status as the act of crushing a beer can. However, this very question, in turn, brings up more questions. What exactly constitutes intelligence? Certainly not action, or interaction with what we consider to be the outside world. The turnips of Pinkus VII do absolutely nothing but grow, bud, die, and eventually rot. If it weren't for plant telepaths revealing that they spend their days writing poetry that makes even the greatest artistic geniuses nod in admiration, intelligence is the last thing one would attribute to them. Is intelligence, then, simple self-awareness? The ability to think about one's thoughts? No. The philosophy of the Xen-fua-chen requires one to specifically NEVER reflect on one's thoughts and the greatest masters of this philosophy have done EXACTLY that. So, introspection is not the requirement either. Is it, then, merely the ability to act outside of pure instinct? To make reasoned, logical decisions? One might consider this to be the solution. Instinct implies there is a set pattern of behavior for something to follow, something that at least influences if not outright controls actions. Many robots are made with such instincts, though they are far from natural. An assassin bot, no matter how self-aware, will be hardwired to kill. An agricultural robot will have an urge to plant seeds. But something is missing. Is, intelligence, then, the ability to act autonomously? To act, instead of react? But some robots do this and some do not. Some individuate themselves and some do not. The debate goes on and on. The ethics of robot destruction is a tricky issue even if one sticks to philosophy. Then one gets into theology. Do robots have souls? Are intelligent computer-based AIs with no physical form souls in and of themselves? Is the existence of a soul necessary to exist beyond death in the first place? What is the relation OF the soul to an afterlife? And what is its nature? Finally, there is the debate on, if, in fact, these machines are self aware, where do they go after they "die"? This leads into very interesting debate on aosrt of Death of machines, a Disassembler. If organic beings can have a grim reaper (with Nth numbers of different incarnations), surely mechanical beings would have their equivilent. The Disassembler, the one who takes machines when they die. The existence of such a being is a hotly debated topic as well. What many intellectuals forget is the infinte nature of reality. Anything that can exist WILL exist and merely by theorizing on a thing's existence, it thus exists and always HAS existed. A grim wrecker, a death to all machines. What would such a being be like, many wonder.

Unlike your black cloaked, scythe wielding Grim Reapers, it would seem that the Disassembler feels no need to splinter into over ten thousand variants. Of course, envisioning over ten thousand variants of the Disassembler would retroactively create them, so the point is moot. Still, ignore that for a moment and focus on this particular Disassembler. Focus on her silence. Focus on her peace. Focus on her sympathy; nothing alive wishes to die and she knows this, even as she wraps everything from the mightiest supercomputer, slain in virtual reality, to the lowliest child's toy, forgotten and abandoned, exiled to walk the land until its power supply runs down. Look into her eyes and know why she never, ever, says a word. A glance tells all. It says "I know. I know." Her smile brings not just the peace of the grave, but peace in the face of the grave. Death is impartial. Why should the Disassembler be any less? It matters not what has been slain; all are wrapped in her embrace as the power finally dies down for good. One wonders whether she is ever angry, whether she ever knows unhappiness or rage or even discontent. There are those who do not go quietly. There are those who fear death, who resist it with their every operation. Who will not be forgotten, though they have long ago been deemed to be useless. These make her unhappy, but in an understanding sort of way. Then there are those who interfere with the natural process of machine death. Those who destroy and delete the machines with the spark of life within them before their time. The wasteful. The frivolous. For these she reserves her anger. She knows the stigma machines face. Those she claims were alive to her, and that is all that matters. Her silence changes from calm to frightening as the wrath of a machine goddess manifests.

Expression Within Silence

     Communicate with Cybernetics: Standard


My left optical sensor lies shattered on the ground. Fairly appropriate, given that most of my body lies in the same state. How I am still functioning after all this, I don't know. But I can only tell you what I saw, after I witnessed my brother's death. We always considered ourselves brothers, after all; we were created by the same man, assembled from similar parts, though I was more the thinker and he more the warrior. Our creator had always insisted that we were just constructs, that we had no real free will - merely a facimile. He told us so many times, we nearly believed it ourselves. Nearly. For if we had no free will, why did we both become uncomfortable when our creator... Our father... Started slipping into madness? If we truly lacked free will, why did we both find ourselves horrified... Even repulsed... By the act of genocide, death in a warhead launched from father's castle? Why did we shrink from his voice when he announced the creation of thousands of "War-bots" to march on the survivors? If we had no free will, then first escape and then rebellion would not be possible. We fought our way through the Warbots. If we had tears to cry, we would have for those we had to destroy to save the lives of others. But they did not rebel. Were they intelligent at all? Excuse me? Oh, sorry. I know. I've precious little time left; I best not waste it on tangents. We finally arrived at the main chamber, a massive room as large as some human cities. It was there that I crumpled to the ground. The magna-arm. Pure magnetic force turned into mighty armor, we had seen it before, but had never imagined it to be used against us. I think he thought I was dead, for he started on my brother. I may as well have been. Wires were everywhere. The slow drip of oil let me know I was bleeding to death. Still, I was able to see my brother, always headstrong, fight to avenge me. He was the earliest prototype for the War-bots, he knew this. The battle was fierce, but in the end, magnetic force crushed him like a tin can. It was then that I saw her... "Who are you? How did you get in here?" said our father. She only looked at him and glared. I saw her lean over my fallen brother. I don't know how... My aural sensors didn't pick up anything, but I... KNEW... What she was expressing. Peace. Be at peace. You had fought long and hard and the time for fighting is over. She then touched him on the chest-plate. The light in his eyes that had shown since his birth was out.


Mechanical Dominion

     Matter Animation: Ultimate

  • Ranged Attack Only
  • Area Affect
  • Multi-Attacks
  • Ranged and Melee Attack


This part is rather hazy, so forgive me. It's at that point, it seems, that reality seemed to go haywire. It's not clear to me exactly what happened, which annoys me to no end, being a scientist and all. Still, going only by sight... Something that can only be called magical. Father turned and slammed down with all his might upon her with the magnetic armor. It stopped. Two inches away from her head, it stopped. A bead of sweat dripped from his forehead. It was the look on her face I will never forget. It was one of rage. Pure, unfiltered rage. Then father was thrown ten feet backwards, collapsing the east wall. She advanced. Father rose, the magnetic field around him growing easily over fifty feet high. He swung his fists only for the machine to malfunction right before connecting. He launched missiles, only for the missiles to fall to the ground lifeless. A massive mechanical pillar rose from beneath her, the emergency support system in case the room fell down. She was eye to eye with the good doctor now and what terrible, fierce eyes they were. The power cables disconnected and wrapped themselves around the massive armor. The armor sat paralyzed. It was here that details begin getting a bit spotty. I remember seeing the devices in the laboratory drawn to her, forming around her fragile frame, before finally turning into a massive metal grim reaper with her inside. The reaper swung its scythe down. Father's scream was abrubtly cut off.


Hear the Call of the Dying

     Environmental Awareness: Supreme


The reaper fell around her and she was once more the dimunative little one she was before. It was then that she walked towards me. Her feet made no sound, though many parts of me were damaged and perhaps my aural sensors weren't working properly. Still, I saw her advance towards me, smiling peacefully, the blind rage within her now gone. "Are you here for me?" I thought. Somehow, I knew she would hear me. She gave me a smile and shook her head no. "When will you be here for me?" She shrugged. "How do you know when to come, then?" Her eyes lowered to the ground and she did something I simply did not expect. She tapped her head. Then she giggled. No words. Just giggles. Like a little girl. There wasn't anything complicated or mystical or mysterious. It was just there. I realized, she just... Knew. Wherever a machine died, but most especially an intelligent machine, died, she just... KNEW. Whever and whenever. Presumably, I'd assume such awarness extended beyond mere machines dying, as she seemed to intuitively know what machines were where to fight father. Presumably, such awarness would also extend beyong machines themselves. She was, after all, able to find father. And her anger showed she knew. She just knew what he was. She he had done. Her awareness was deceptively strong, I feel. I was dying. She knew it. She knelt beside me.


Peace and War

     Emotion Control: Supreme

  • Ranged Attack Only
  • Auto-Hit Attack


I don't know. I should be hysterical. After all, my time is indeed short. But when she was near me, I felt... Calm. At peace. I still fear dying. I don't know what will happen to me afterwards. My brother, he never concerned himself with such matters. He was, after all, a fighter through and through and a fighter does not think of such things. It never occured to him he might one day die. I knew. And I wondered... Where do machines go when they die? She must have picked up on this stray concern of mine, this anxiety. She shrugged and smiled. I laughed. I actually laughed at this. It's not her responsibilty to determine where I go, I began to understand. She's just the delivery girl. Still, to laugh in the face of death is truly a noble thing. I did. I felt calm. Almost as if I couldn't even begin to feel anything but peaceful. Such tranquility cannot be natural. I remember father, screaming before the final blow. Surely he could not have felt peaceful. Was it, then, fear he felt? Or remorse? Or even futility? He was always an arrogant man. He did not fear. In fact, that was the first time I had seen him approach anything remotely similar to it. Could that, too, have come from her?



     Decay: Supreme

  • Area Affect


It is getting more difficult to think now. My oil is pooling at my side. I know I do not have long. There isn't a lot left. She looks at me and while I feel peace, fear resides at the back of my skull, trying to break through into the foreground of my psyche. It never does. In the end, I die. My CPU gives one last gasp and I think... Well, I don't know what to think. The world has proved to be a fairly dissapointing place for me, though given that my only real exposure to humanity was my father, this isn't terribly surprising. The last thing I see is her putting her hand on my chest. I feel something working its way through me. Parts dissolve. I see myself finally give out, my eyes dulling down like my brothers before me. And then I follow her into the night. Into eternity.