The World of TAM

In a game design studio, co-workers are fixing the last bugs on a videogame called G.L.A.R.E. before taking a lunch break. Outside the widow of the studio multiple mushroom clouds appear. The first atom bomb hit the Earth at 23 hours, 36 minutes and 51 seconds before a total solar eclipse.

250 million years ago the 3 World War was fought between "The Elders" and "The Enemy", a war that caused the skies to fill with iron battleships and the ground to gleam blood red. This age turned into a mythological promised apocalypse.

In the wreckage of the 3 World War a game cartridge is found inside the first and last console that would mysteriously survive with an entire simulated multiverse, artificial intelligence and emotion, including the soul of a human: Abigail the 1st Incarnation.

Neither side won, both retreating to wait another century, but by that time the Earth had taken its toll and a sickness spread. The Great Infection - a disease that corrupted both mind, body and spirit - almost as if it had a will of its own.

A mandate of evacuation for the politicians to wait out the radiation - to hide in bunkers underground - until they could rule the world again. Above them, people turned on each other, fighting for the scarce resources that where left from humanities epitome.

It wasn't long until an armed rebellion infiltrated the government bunkers, acquiring technology and experimental medicine to try and cure their deteriorating corpses. They became mutations of their former selves, a mixture of grey tissue and wire frames - they became the Parasite Network.

The radiation sickness was transmitted to the aristocracy. Now they too needed the cure, and for that they'd go to lengths never imagined. The world leaders began by opening the borders; waves of refuges making their way inside these massive subterranean levels once build to fight against The Enemy.

With a labor and workforce of every citizen they  planned on rebuilding a new kingdom beneath. All thanks to the help of an Ominous Voice from a different time and space.

The Ominous Voice, a shadow that creeps in the corner of your eye as you read. Watching you unravel its secrets just to cut you open in your sleep.

The Elders burring the truth in each grave they dig up. History may have given them many names; the Arbitrary of Life; the Board of Directors; the Counsel of Curators; but in reality their purpose staid the same - rule eternally, unquestioned and feared. The cicle must never fall out of repetition, the simulation can never be unplugged.

The world beneath was separated in tree, just like it had always been above: Nobles to bade in riches; the learned few to aid those who didn't need it; and the less fortuned majority to suffer. A subliminal hierarchy hidden in the foundation that kept the large tunnels of this region from collapsing until it no longer did with a Parasite war breaking out between all infected classes.

Death was equally unescapable and unforgiving towards all humans, but Parasites were never dew to die. These wars would continue bellow, as alien species populated the above, recreating Earth, and living peacefully and harmonious, un-contaminated by the Great Infection.

Centuries of slavery and torture turned the advanced extra-terrestrials, Terraquian, into mindless hosts for the Parasite rule. Nowhere closer to the cure, the Parasites retreated to their saviour,  the Ominous Voice, their Dark Entity, but instead of an answer it grew silent. The sky cities crumbling into a desert of ashes.

Millenia had passed since humanity ruled Terra. And the knowledge of living underground, secluded from nature, was replaced by a warm golden sheen stretching in a holographic horizon. A beautiful lie worth billions of lives. There is nothing above us after all, and we are at the center of the universe.

This was a city of nations, of hope, ignorance  and forgotten sacrifice. Former war machines, turned into cages to fill out with endless supplies of test subjects, and who better to govern these cages  than the criminals who where once held behind those very bars.

The criminals cared for the outcasted majorities  as long as they could earn from it. They traded in bodies, some for pleasure, food and others for science. Humanity still needed to find a cure after all!

However, those who dared challenge these traditions where turned into fuel, avoiding overpopulation and the need of any court ruling altogether. Dead corpses burned into these war machines furnaces, a black smoke clogging the ceiling of each massive sewer leading further into this worlds hearth core.

A core that left a longing melody, an infinite rhythm, a successor, an incarnation to keep ones dreams stagnant and grey. Humanities ultimate lesson, so they may finally perish...

Some form of worshiper people of this millennium they found better time believing of a creature that does whatever it wants the Ominous Voice

Friend or Foe

Medimend a larger machinery made along side the smaller production line, meant to sustain and repair any damaged PotKins during the terraforming of the Inner Sector.

The main Lightsource being the red glowing eyebeam, which also served as a font of "sunlight" for the PotBots during the night.

Their retractable tales could plug themselves onto any PotKin to recharge its solar batteries whenever sunlight was limited. They could also use their tales to restore any deviating PotKins back to their factory mode and prevent malware or sabotage from OSHU's competitors. 

Their feline and agile body, with spring like legs and sharp claws, meant Medimend could sprint, climb over any terrain, and even defend its assigned clients and PotBots alike.

Once the Parasite Wars began, the PotKin project for the betterment of the environment was shut down, the Medimend reintroduced as war machines to hunt and kill any one they deemed to be infected. 

With the factories destroyed the Medimend numbers began to decrease, yet some showed signs of "learning", reusing parts of broken machinery and their fallen kin to mend themselves.

Eventually the Great Infection - the virus that both affected machinery and organic material alike - altered the logic processor of the Medimend as well as other corroded devices now joining together as a faction of their own. 

The Lumin as they where now called had a new purpose, destroy any trace of the OSHU scientists that sentenced their kin to die for their wars. What started as an armed rebellion soon became a bloodlust hatred towards all of the OSHU's creations, including the PotBots, which the Lumin now understood to be destroying the natural habitat of this alien world, for the benefit of the human civilization, the true parasites of TAM.

The Lumin's tales to steal power from others, "injecting" a code onto its robot prey to render them immobilized as the virus downloaded and the batteries ran out. 

In a supernatural fashion, their eyebeams now literally sucked out the light from their surrounding environment. Killing that which did not belong in TAM, until all that remained was their own self destruction.

If the PotBots where to survive a Lumins tale, the virus would eventually glitch their self preservation systems until they auto destruct and their sapling is overgrown out of their heads within a couple weeks just for the Lumin to cut down these trees, to prevent the terraforming of TAM.

The Machine Tribes

Greenhouse of Words – The Archive Large outdoor libraries without any books, only forest as far as the eye can see. The Elders gather here to read ancient tree rings and hear their voices while seeking guidance before setting off to new habitable planets at risk. The Word PotKins are the most playful, focused on art, poetry, and song. They spend their days dancing and observing the flowers as they bloom and enjoy partaking in the annual competition between the 4 houses for who creates the most Pollen on a new planet. The Greenhouse of Words thrives during Spring on their home world, when winds carry their songs and pollen, the PotKins’ primary source of power.

Greenhouse of Wands – The Forge Copper coils summon lightning at night, while burning sunlight powers the facilities during the day. Here the Elders celebrate the creation of a new PotKin. Some are born with telekinetic abilities to bend metal and control fire and lightning. The Wand PotKins are the most labor-oriented, tending crops, harvesting fields, and sensing bad omens before they occur. Their roles range from farmers to bodyguards to civil engineers, typically involving direct physical work. The Greenhouse of Wands thrives during Summer, when the sun is strongest and their secondary power source is most effective.

Greenhouse of Cups – The Reservoir A great dam surrounds much of the PotKins’ home planet, and the Elders recreate this structure on new worlds to preserve resources against drought and contaminations. Cup PotKins possess the ability to heal injured species using their sap-blood, and some healed beings become their familiars. They are closely tied to the native life of their home world and perform sacred rites in worship of their Pantheon, others are scientists, astronomers or medics. This greenhouse thrives during Autumn, the rain season and the PotKins tertiary source of power. 

Greenhouse of Coins – The Seed Bank The central house where the Elders distribute seeds to PotKin before voyages to new planets. A PotKin’s body is created in the Forge, but it is only a vessel. At its core is a small spherical entity called a SapCap, resembling a seed with two retractable appendages and sensory organs. When a PotKin dies, the SapCap grows into a tree that may later serve as a guide for the Archive, sharing its story with the Elders. Coin PotKins specialize in trade and commerce and often travel with Word PotKins for intergalactic negotiations. Winter is the optimal season to preserve the seeds and SapCaps alike, the very soul of the PotKins.