Ú¿ÀÀÙ¿ ÀÚÙÄ Robot Protection Agency ÄÚ¿Ù³Ú¿Ùijij À¿Ú¿ Ú¿ÚÀ¿Ú Ú¿ÙijڿٳÄÀÙÚ Ú¿ÀÀÙÀ¿Ú¿À ÄÙÚ³³Ú¿³ÄÚÀÙ³ Ú¿ÀÙÙÚÙ¿ÀÙÀ ijÚÙÀ³Ù³ÄÚ¿ÀÙ Äij Ú¿ÀÀ¿ÚÀ ÚÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁÁ¿ ڳĿÙÀijÚÙÄ³Ú Ú¿³³ ÄÀ ¿Ú¿ ³ ³ ¿ÙÚÚÀÙij³Ú¿ÄÙ ÀÙÚÀÚÙÀÙÀ³Ú ³ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ ÚÙÀÀ¿Ù³ÄÀ¿ÙÚÄ Ú¿ÙÀÀ¿ÙÚÀ³Ú ³ ³ Ú¿ Ú¿ ³\ ³ ³ ¿ÙÀÚÀ¿ÚÙijÀÄÙ Ú¿ÙÀ À¿¿³Ù ³ ³ ³\ ³/ Ãij ³ ³ Ú¿ÙÀÚ³ÄÀ¿ÙÚij Ú¿ÙÀÀÙÚÀÙÚÀ ³ ³ ³ ³. ³. ³ ³. ³ ³ Ú¿ÙÀÀÙij³¿ÄÀÚ Ú¿ÙÚ¿ÙÀÀÙÚÙ ³ ³ ³ ³ Ú¿ÙÀÀÚÙ³ÚÄ¿Ù³ Ú¿ÙÀÚ¿ÙÀÚÙÀ ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ³ Ú¿ÙÀÚÄÀ¿Ä³Ú¿Ù ÚÚ¿ÙÀÚÀÙÀÚÙ ³ RPA microdevices Made in Barrhaven³ ¿ÙÚÀ³ÄijÄij³Ä ÚÀÙÚÀÙÚÙÀÚ¿ ÀÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÂÙ Ú¿ÙÀÀÚ³ÚijÄÚ³ ÚÀÙÚÀÙÀÚÀÚ¿ Ú¿ÙÀij¿Ù³ÚÀij Ú¿À ÙÀÄÚÄÚÀÀÚijڳÄÙÚijÙÀÚijڿ³ÄÙÚ¿ÄÙ³ÚÄ¿Ù¿³Ù¿ÚÙ³ÄÀÚ³Ùij¿ÚÄÙ³ÚijÚÙÄÙÀij1Ú³ÄÚÀÀÚ 0Ä1¿ÙÀÚ³ÄÚ¿³¿ÙijÚ0³³1ijÚÄÙÀÚ³Ä0Ú³ÀÙ³ÄÚ³ÄÙÚ¿1ÀijÚÀ³ÄÚÙ¿³ÄÀÙijÀ1ÚÙÄÚÄÙÚÀijÀÙ1³¿³ ³ÄÚ¿Ù³ÚÀ0Ù³ÄÀÚÀÙÄÚÀÙÚ³ÙijÚÀ1³ÄÚ0ÄÙÀijÙÀÙÚÚÙÀÚ0ÄÙÚÀijÀ0ijÙÀ¿³ÙÚÙÚÄÙ0ÙÄÚÀÙijÚÙÀÄ 1³0¿1Ä0À1³0Ú1Ù0Ä1Ú0Ä1À0³1Ä0Ä1¿0Ä1Ú0À1³0Ù1Ä0³1Ä0Ù100Ä1Ù0Ú1Ä0Ù1Ù0³1Ù0³1Ù0³1Ù0³1³ 101001100101111010100101011010010010101100100101011010100101010101010100101010 010101010111101010101001010101101001010100101011010011010101101010010110010101 010 101101 010 10 101010 0101 101 0100 101 010101 10 10 101 10 1 010 10 1011 0 10 01010 10 01 101 01 1 1 0 0 1 01 01 010 1 0 01 01 1 1 01 01 01 01 1 1 1 0 0 0 1 01 0 1 1 1 01 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 01 0 01 1 1 1 1 00 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 1 1 0 1 0 1 11 1 1 1 0 0 10 0 1 0 1 1 1 1 1RobotProtectionAgencyMonthlyElectronicMagazineÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ "z = z^2+c" -Benoit Mandelbrot 1996-1997, Robot Protection Agency. New Times Communications (RPA WHQ) @ 613 445 1326 1997, Robot Initiative Corps. ISSUE 4, June 22, 1997 .,;> RPAID: D33R3 <;,. CONTENTS CONTAINED 1. The Disturbance $ Triffid 2. Terror and Counter-terror $ Nowcaster 3. Quotes $ You..maybe! 4. Up side down $ Triffid 5. Sour Times $ Ruiner so... ..then ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 1. BLEEPING SICKNESS The phenomenon of video game induced nightmares and sleeping disorders has plagued relatively few since their major debut in the late seventies. However, psychological disturbances among todays pioneers of the information age seem to be increasing. What's more is that contrary to popular opinion, this problem cannot be blamed on the advance of technology, but rather the evolution of Mankind's intense, romantic art. 16.7 million colours, high speed RAM, texture maps ,bi-linear filtering and a million polygons are nearly irrelovent compared to the driving emotional forces which TRULY power todays video games. In the relentless efforts to push Nintendo to Nintendo 64, and Genesis to Saturn, perhaps more artistic ideals have been fulfilled than data busses expanded. In the beginning, there was Pong. And in it's pure simplicity, it gave us a vision. The black, plastic box was now not only an amusement device. It was our first taste of a concept we called "hyperspace". It was our friend. It was our enemy. It was our link to a surreal world of sense and nonsense, of order and chaos, of crippling boundaries and limitless freedom, all brought together in an artistic, kaliedescopic clash of machine-nature interface. Well, actually, it was black and white and it kinda blew. But light shone upon the sleeping Pong until one day, something sparked. So then, in the late seventies a game called Space Invaders was developed. And for the first time, the concept of GOOD and EVIL entered the user's mind. He was now a warrior. He now had purpose. He hated the enemy. Now, triumph was necessary and defeat was agonizing. His wasn't just fighting for a high score, but for his own moral values. The enemy HAD to die. In the early eighties, the debut of the NES / SMS popularized video games immensely, and made them an industry. The doors opened for these new artists and they went to work. What they came out with was side scrolling games where the 'avatar' would run, jump, dodge and shoot his enemies at a frantic rate. The enemies were bigger, better and more. Our hero would upgrade himself with bigger guns, more 'lives', shields, armour, etc. This was war. Armed aliens invaded Earth, and Contra began. High school gangs ruled over an innocent city, so Ryan and Alex pulled out their metal bars and challenged the streets of River City Ransom. When Men weren't powerful enough, they merged with technology and became cyber-heros (Turrican, Robocop, Mega-man, Cybernator) Then, with the release of Street Fighter 2, we made a new discovery. Sometimes, it ISN'T the content of the game that counts. We started to like the FEEL of playing a video game. The complex reflex and concious reactions we use to defeat our artificially intelligent enemy is exhilerating. Ironically, just as the technology had adapted to convincing realism, our imaginations lost sight of it. The result was the tremendous popularization of graphically beautiful, immersing 'virtual-surreality'. Super Mario could have been the beginning of this genre. Mario 64 is perhaps the climax of it. Mario's 64 bit world is photo-realistic at times. But Mario and his enemies somewhat resemble schizophrenic, abstract art. And as odd as this reality may seem, we find ourselves IN it when we play. In Twisted Metal, we live the surreal fantasy of driving through a city, destroying all other cars on the road, in a disturbingly fast moving, colourfully psychotic way. While enduring the Tetris state of mind, an infinite bombardment of varying shapes come upon the user with ever-increasing speed. We set our minds working at a frantic pace to perform the useless and unending task of breaking down computer generated piles of shapes that are reconstructed effortlessly by the electronic foe, the Game Boy. We have been put to arbitrary work by the machine. This is the fabric of nightmares. The impossibly painful or frustrating situations we can find ourselves in while playing Pac Man, Doom, or Smash TV feed us. They are our enemies. We try to play ideally, flawlessly. Our running, killing, escapes, and manuevering are technological endorphins. Our video games can CAUSE adrenalin secretions, or replace them- directly, through our eyes and ears, giving the brain what it needs. But CAN our TV's cause endocrine imbalances? Can adrenalin shakes result from such surreal games? How much of an effect can countless fake deaths have on ones survival instincts? Can our machine interface experiences flash back at us, engulfing us with feelings of terror and loss of control over our world? The human mind is a marvel of science that could never be equalled in complexity by a computer. However, the specialized simple functions of our machines run circles around our brains. If machines can't make humans crazy by out-smarting us, they can by feeding us more than we can handle. Only Man is intelligent enough to drive himself to insanity. and video games are catalysts. _____________________ / / / triffid / $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ 2. THE TERRORIST AND THE COUNTER TERRORIST Terror is a powerful force. In the hands of the state it can be used to curb the population into doing what the ruling class wants them to do. In the hands of the disaffected individual or group of individuals it can be used as a tool to over throw an illegitimate government. The activities of terrorist groups show how a small group of people with a firm grasp of the psychology of terror can change the behavior of an entire country. The bombing in Oklahoma failed to produce any real political or social effect (for it's cause) in America because the bombing was not carried out as part of a coherent plan; it was an act of revenge. On the technical side the terrorists were not very advanced at all. They used a gas/fertilizer mixture as there explosive. Imagine the physical effect if they had used a sophisticated chemical explosive instead. It seems to me that such a chemical would be relatively easy to steel out of any number of the poorly guarded National Guard armories. In fact the methods and devices used by groups to carry out acts of domestic terrorism have so far been lacking in sophistication. The only reason that they have achieved any effect at all is that America is mentally and physical unprepared to face an onslaught of domestic terror. Americans have never had to face road blocks on every high way and solders and police on every corner before. If the people in power and the people who support them want to make war on domestic terror than they had better figure out just how far they are prepared to go. If you try to use have measures to fight terror then all you do is provide your security forces with more red tape and the terrorists with a few more loopholes to exploit. Materially America has more than enough resources to fight domestic terrorism. Given that the government will not want to involve the armed forces in domestic troubles there are still a multitude of federal agencies with the investigators to do the intelligence gathering and the trained paramilitary tactical teams to act on the intelligence. The FBI, ATF, DEA, Secret Service, and the Customs Agency. The creation of new Agencies is not necessary; nor would it be necessary to increase the numbers of federal law enforcement officers ether. All that would be needed is to make a concerted effort to increase the level of professionalism present in the men already present and increase the amount of interagency cooperation. Rivalry between agencies must not be tolerated. They would need to have the ability to respond rapidly to a terrorist attack and that ability is crucial. Given that the mentioned standards can be met, the next big step is to introduce laws that allow the newly revitalized law enforcement agencies to act effectively. Obviously this is more easily said than done. But it is not impossible. Having said all that should be done to fight terrorism it is obviously necessary for the terrorist to do all that they can to work against the government developing an effective way of combating terror. The group should have the backing of a legitimate political group. This political group would be able to fight against the passing of any law that would allow the government to fight terror effectively. The terrorist group must also have a segment of the population in which to hide. If they can hide amongst the well to do, all the better because in searching form them the government will most likely anger many influential people. There is also the aspect of financial backing. The more money the better; With large amounts of money the terrorist can buy quality weapons in quantity. The terrorist must be well trained if he or she is going to be effective. Military training can be overdone. This is especially dangerous if the individual is intending to operate in a covert manner. The training should be paramilitary as opposed to military. There shouldn't be a great deal of trouble in finding an ex-special forces solder from any number of countries that would train people for money. Last of all it should be said that if the terrorist are well equipped and trained and posses of an fertile intellect than the will inevitably hold an advantage over the security forces. The terrorist can strike were ever and when ever he wants. The security forces must remain ever vigilant against attack. That is the great problem facing America today to apprehend the terrorists before they strike the government must be very aggressive in the pursuit of its goal and allow the federal police a free hand. The current government lacks the will to allow that power to the police and the judicial system as do the American people. NOWCASTER HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH 3. ! ! ! FUN QUOTES ! ! ! The following quotes originate from various characters in the Ottawa area. "You look like the guy from Beck." -Girl to Ruiner "That bus is broke." -Bus driver talking about own bus "This is the BEST light show I've ever BEEN TO!" -Guy doing lights "You know what's better than Transformers? Sex!" -Stripper, not even in our conversation "I used to work in a power plant." -Stranger, responding to our comment: "No, these aren't for sale." "Excuse me, but what the HELL are you doing??!!!" -Hostile girl, mad at me for wearing a walkie talkie headset. "Phat! Yeah, Phat! Phat, man! My name is Phat!" -Guy smoking a strange cigarette "Did you hijack a plane?" -Girl, curious how I got an Air Canada sticker HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHITHERE GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGOODBYE 4.BLOODY RECOLECTIONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN what does your brain do under low oxygen conditions what do you think when you slip into a tranced daze of half sleep with a high fever what images burn into your subconcious at the precise moment that your head hits the concrete where are you when you awaken from three hours of rapid eye movement sleep to an agonizingly loud clock radio tuned to ninety three point nine ? ............pound...pound...pound..open wide. I see the ceiling. I hear the world. A lot of sound. Ringing...red. Red dots, red specs, red lines, red words, red repitition. There's just red, everywhere. Nothing is moving. Everything is sitting still, waiting for me to come back alive. I get up and the world reanimates. I feel strange, but confident. * * * Slowly, aware of the sound, I creep toward the menacing staircase. The sound has kept me awake for some time now. When I focus on the sound, all I see is teeth- small dogs maybe, steam, and a blank wall, all pushing forward to me. Relentlesly. I remember to reach for the light. There is no light. I warn myself, but I am too late. I am covered. I have no voice. Awe, no. I disappeared again.    The insides of my elbos are rubber. I want to stretch them- but when I do I loose the comfort they gave me. Where am I? There is a persistant vibration, iterating through my reflex arc. My brain feels warm. My hair is on fire, I'm sure of this much. What the...... Where am I? No, really, where am I? ! ! ! Homer was standing in the corner of a well lit, cubical corridor. On the ground in front of him lay a 10 guage shot gun. He was smiling, but he was shaking with fear. Bart announced with a loud voice, the reason why the sky is fading to a greenish colour. I should have known- it's not all that complicated. But for some reason the scientific evidence seemed to be incomprehensible to the crowd outside. They started to get angry. One of them threw an ice pick through the window. At this, Homer regained his confidence and casually made his exit out the shattered window. Oh, no. He fell to his death. OH NO! We will ALL fall to our deaths! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA...AA...aa...a? ...uhm...aa..a....aaa OK then, nevermind. I'm alrightttt t t t t t t t t t iiiii i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i iiii i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i 5. Where It's fairly obvious that I am a dead human being. Right now my body is most likely lying somewhere, like in a forest, or maybe a coffin. The point is that whatever I am now... a soul? Is somewhere new. I am in hell, I'm assuming. I don't have any actual evidence to prove my location, but it's something I can sense. To be more precise, however, I am in a bathroom stall. If this really is hell it's nothing like I've ever imagined. I never would have thought that it would be such a normal place. What's a more normal sight than a bathroom stall? For some reason I have a wallet in my pocket. The contents of the wallet are; a credit card, and a photograph of myself. Just as I returned the wallet to my pocket a message came over some sort of PA. "I would just like to remind you all that you are here forever." Yep, this is Hell alright. The message made it painfully clear about my present and future place of residence. I never thought it would be what this is. I leave the amazingly normal looking bathroom stall to find an amazingly normal looking public washroom. There is a row of stalls and sinks and one huge mirror. There is a garbage bin, a soap dispenser and a paper towel dispenser. There is nothing "hellish" about this place. I look in the mirror and I see myself. There are a couple differences in my appearance however. I have the words "Liar" and "theif" printed on my forehead. I do NOT remember asking for the words being etched into my skin, but they're there nevertheless. I also notice that I look somewhat deformed. I verify my appearance with the photograph in my wallet and I see that I look very different now. It's not that I am no longer recognizable, but the me I see in the photograph is not the me I see before me in the mirror. I used to consider myself attractive but now I'm completely grotesque. I look older than I actually am (or would be) and my skin looks like it had been severely burned in some places. In hope of being able to scrub the words off of my forehead I turn the tap-handle. I was hoping that water would pour onto my hand but I was wrong. What came out of the tap was some strange dark green mud. Just after wiping the mud off of my hands two large, malformed men with the word "Murderer" on their forheads enter the washroom and I quickly leave. Outside of the bathroom is a large, long corridor. The corridor is a perfect white. I had always imagined everything in hell being a deep red, I never thought that I would see anything in hell being this bright, it's almost cheery. My eyes burned at the sight of the corridor as I step fully into it. The corridor is such a contrast to the dark, fear-inducing, and somewhat depressing public restroom I was just in. The floor, the celing, the walls, right to the end of the hall, are white. Except for one small deviation. Near the end, above or close to the door is a black dot. It's the only thing that is messing up the happy whiteness of this place. I walk towards the door to this place and the black object takes an odd shape. As I approach it I see that it is fixed to the celeing just in front of the door. When I reach the point directly in front of the object I see very clearly what it is. The object is a video security camera. Thoughts about this device begin to hit me, what is it doing in this corridor? There's nothing here. All in all the camera seems very strange to me. I forget about the camera for the time being and push through the big doors. I move into what is past the corridor and I am suprised by what I see. I see in front of me, the most normal sight in the world. I see before me, something so normal, that I am totally doubting whether or not I'm in Hell. I now suspect, that I am either in heaven (which would be an enourmous shock) or I am still a living, functioning human being and I somehow lost time and the whole situation regarding the gun was a product of my brain. What I see, is the interior of a shopping mall. No lake of fire, no satanic markings plastered over every flat surface, no blood and bones, nothing hellish. Nor is there anything heavenly for that matter. There are just regular looking stores in a normal looking mall. All around me I see things I've seen in every mall I've ever been into. Some trendy store called Dynamite that is blasting bad dance music. The Body Shop with its nausiating odor permeating my skin and suffocating me. The lame trendyness of The Gap, Le Chateau and Club Monaco, selling nothing other than clothes with the stores name on them at high prices. Stands in the middle of mall corridors that are selling stupid looking clothing and jewelry and trinkets. HMV dictating what the coolest new music is. Bookstores selling generic, predictable "bestseller" hardcovers and extroardanary prices. A food court with talking garbage cans and bad food. Flourecent lighting that affects the brain and large plants crouding all the corridors. As IF this is really hell. There is not single a sinister element to this place, it's just a shopping mall like any other. After a closer look I can see beyond the endless rows of stores and see something new. Something that went unnoticed due to the flashiness of the mall's surface. After a look above I see dozens of security cameras pointing in every direction possible. The entire mall must be covered by the view of whoever's watching. Every move every single one of the shoppers here makes is being watched. Suddenly I feel very uneasy about being here. I look along the walls and see something that completley reaffirms my feelings about whether or not I am in hell. Along the walls are many huge grey men, that look as though they have been constructed of clay. By walking close to one of them I notice the word "security" engraved into their chests. They are the mall security cops, here to maintain order, I'm assuming. They are a very frightening presence, dozens of huge clay beings threatening everything just by being there. I think it's time for me to find a door. I search the mall extensivley for what seemed like days. I won't stop looking until I find a way out. After looking I have found a door with a glowing red "exit" sign above it. I try to push the door open, it doesn't move. I try to pull the door open and again it doesn't move. This is the only exit I can find and apparently it's locked. I can't leave, I can't escape. I am right near a row of payphones, I go up to one to use it. The words "Dial any Number for Complaints Desk" flash across its screen. I dial a 0. "Hello, complaints, what's up?" "uhhh..I can't leave" "Deal with it, sucker" *click* Oh no, that's it? That's no help, I'm still here. I might as well do something since I'm probably here for the rest of all time. I could get some food, or watch a movie, or maybe find somewhere to sleep. First I want food. In the food court I buy a hamburger and nothing else from A&W. I use my charge card to pay for it, I don't know how I'm actually going to pay for it when I have to. Now I want to see a movie, I might as well do something as long as I'm here. At the one theatre I can find in the mall it would appear that the only movies playing are Booty Call and Fools Rush In. I believe I will see Booty Call to begin with. I pay for my ticked with the card and I sit through two agonizing hours of unfunniness. Upon leaving the movie theatre two clay men grab me and ask me about my debt. Since they know I can't pay it with actual money they take me deep below the mall to some room that is completly red and dark. The clay men each hit me with their fists and bring me back to the normalness of the mall. I've never felt such pain before. I guess that's how things get paid for in this mall. I guess that's something that everyone else here has gone through. Right now I really feel like just lying down and going to sleep. After searching, I find a place that is almost ideal for that particular activity. I drift off into sleep until I feel a violent pain in my back. A clay man kicked me in the back and told me I was not permitted to sleep. I am so tired, I can hardly walk, but I am not allowed to sleep. For the first time I notice the other "shoppers" tired looks. I notice their tired psychotic movements and slow reactions to thing. Many of these dead souls, I suspect, haven't slept in years, maybe decades or centuries. I look at all the deformed people, and I look at my portrait photograph. I want to know why everyone is so twisted looking. I think another call to complaints is in order. At a payphone I dial a 245-1965. "Hello, complaints, what do you want." "Well, I'm wondering why I'm completely deformed, can you give me an answer?" "Nope, sorry, deal with it su..." and the voice was cut off by a blast of line noise. "It's what's inside that counts" said a new and different and evil sounding voice. Nothing could have made everything about this place more clear than what was just said to me. Why this is a mall, why everyone is so ugly, everything. This is a hell, everyone has been here. I know now that this isn't my first time here. We've all been to hell. You have too, I've seen you. "You were the brightest of them all but you designed a shopping mall" -Compulsion: Mall Monarchy ============================================================================== _____ ____________ |__-__| | __ ___ | |__-__| | *\ / * | |---**| | | |* IBM| | ------ | ||||||| |____________| |||||||_________/____\ reboot is murder. 1997, Robot Initiative Corps. end. -- Ruiner, sysop: New Times (613)445-1326 H/P BBS ...future culture... Writer for FHG, iXHS, and RPA [robots are incapable of error] PGP Fingerprint: 80 DC AE 73 6D 26 03 C6 BD 3A 50 C6 87 BC 37 B9 Rui...@plateau.jammys.net d...@freenet.carleton.ca