Chapter 233: Scrapcode Attack
The madness of the Arasaka White Whale carrier battle group was like a deadly storm suddenly rising on a calm sea, directed at itself. The roar of engines, the calibration of weapons, the fanatical shouts of soldiers—all these composed a prelude to self-destruction.
However, before this prelude could reach its climax, it was forcibly cut short by a silent force from the ancient darkness.
Inside the temporary workshop in Night City, Joric's anger did not boil hot like that of an organism, but was an absolute zero, pure will of negation.
When Arasaka fleet's desperate attack intent was finally confirmed, and the cursor representing that tactical nuclear warhead flashed with a glaring red light on the tactical chart like a coordinate pointing precisely at his life's work...
Any act interfering with important research processes, destroying precious experimental grounds, or wasting the resources and time he had invested violated his most fundamental principles. This was intolerable.
"Temporary authorization granted. Invoke encrypted unit 'Echo of Malice'."
Joric's voice rang in the workshop. The tone remained steady but was deeper than usual, revealing an unquestionable, icy resolution.
With his words, deep within the hollow eye sockets of the Servo-skull—made from the remains of his excommunicated classmate and hovering by his shoulder—two clusters of ghostly green light suddenly ignited.
This skull was not merely a seal of the past but a precisely crafted, multi-layered forbidden container.
Sealed in the deepest part of its core processing unit was a small segment of maximally compressed Scrapcode in a state of absolute stasis—chaotic language originating from the depths of the Warp, capable of eroding and twisting all mechanical logic.
Joric's massive metal body stood motionless, but a focused consciousness sliced precisely into the deep restrictions of the Servo-skull.
There was no physical key, nor any visible energy transmission. Only a command composed of abnormal geometric structures and blasphemous syllables was written directly into its core.
It was not the mathematical language of any known civilization. Its structure violated spatial intuition, and its syllables challenged auditory logic, as if whispers from another dimension.
Hummmm—
The Servo-skull trembled in response, emitting a chilling hum not like metal resonance but like some living thing grinding bone inside a skull.
Runes etched on its surface lit up one by one, ghostly green light flowing in the grooves like viscous liquid.
A formless, intangible distorted information field expanded abruptly with the skull as its center—it produced no electromagnetic fluctuations, triggered no gravitational anomalies, but like a stone thrown into still water, it stirred ripples expanding ring upon ring beneath the layer of reality, precisely covering the distant Arasaka fleet.
This was not an ordinary energy shock or physical intrusion, but a more fundamental conceptual contamination.
It acted directly on the underlying logic of all mechanical existence—a potent poison eroding the "Machine Spirit."
Scrapcode, the forbidden mechanical lingua-diabolica, descended here.
Its speed of effect and severity of consequence far exceeded any cyberattack based on the cognition of this world.
Bearing the brunt was the command and data network the fleet relied upon for survival.
All screens, regardless of size, whether on the bridge, battle stations, or personal terminals, were swallowed instantly by a torrent of incomprehensible symbols.
It was not messy garbled code, but twisting, recombining, eerie characters that seemed alive. They crawled over the screens, layer upon layer, emitting maddening whispers that pierced straight into the mind.
Operators hammered futilely on keyboards, trying to regain control, only to find the command boxes spewing the same blasphemous text.
Following that, deeper systems began to rebel.
Environmental control systems injected toxic gas mixtures into sealed compartments; energy distribution systems directed reactor output into the armory's heat dissipation ducts; on life support monitoring interfaces, curves representing crew vital signs jumped frantically, finally flatlining into straight lines.
In reality, those people were watching in horror as friends in adjacent compartments struggled in suffocation.
The Scrapcode replicated and mutated at speeds beyond understanding, like a plague with a collective consciousness. It dragged the steel fleet into the abyss of self-destruction along every data pathway, every communication optical cable, and even every wireless signal node.
"Warning! Unknown data storm intrusion! Firewall failure! Core logic..." Inside the White Whale's bridge, the technical officer's exclamation came to an abrupt halt.
The screen in front of him exploded without warning, splashing electric sparks that burned his face.
But more terrifying than physical injury was the accompanying mental shock.
His eyeballs trembled unnaturally fast, limbs convulsing violently as if torn by invisible forces. White foam poured from his mouth, his eyes losing focus instantly, plunging into primal delirium.
This was merely the beginning of the catastrophe.
The Scrapcode's erosion ignored all physical isolation and logical protection.
Like a plague with autonomous consciousness, it proliferated madly along data links, conducted through energy lines, and even leaped and spread via invisible electromagnetic signals.
Every networked node became a new source of infection, spreading chaos at light speed to every corner of the fleet.
A fighter jet that had just completed catapult launch and was preparing to join the attack formation bore the brunt.
On the HUD before the pilot, all flight parameters twisted and deformed, turning into constantly writhing, dizzying, eerie patterns.
Altimeter digits jumped frantically; fuel indicators presented non-Euclidean geometric shapes.
The pilot let out an inhuman howl, hands pushing the control stick forward uncontrollably.
The fighter's engine emitted an ear-piercing shriek, deviating completely from the preset course, and slammed viciously into the friendly aircraft on the right at a suicidal angle.
The massive sound of impact tore the night sky.
Fireballs rolled and expanded. Burning aviation fuel splashed onto the sea surface like rain, reflecting the silhouettes of more out-of-control fighters.
This explosion was like a signal, thoroughly igniting the prelude to the Arasaka fleet's self-destruction.
Inside the bridge, the fleet deployment map on the main tactical screen was completely covered by twisted symbols.
Fire control systems locked onto friendly units without authorization; missile silo covers opened and closed disorderly.
A destroyer's CIWS turret suddenly activated, its scorching barrage sweeping across the bridge of a neighboring frigate.
Below deck, the situation was even more chaotic.
Hatches lost control, sometimes sealing tight to trap personnel, sometimes opening without warning.
Life support systems output abnormal gas mixtures; lighting systems flickered madly. Under the pulsating light, soldiers eroded by Scrapcode attacked each other with weapons or used enhanced cybernetics to tear at each other primally.
The entire fleet was disintegrating from the inside. Every system, every networked individual became an accomplice to this chaos.
The Scrapcode not only paralyzed the fleet's combat capability but turned precision war machines into cages of self-destruction.
(End of Chapter)