Captchalouging as it's understood by engineers is a relatively simple concept in theory but a difficult one to execute, due to the immense dataload on whatever computer systems operate each end. When the Capcha Corporation produced the first working units in the 70's, each end was literally a room. There was a bank of computers and a platform on which an object could be placed or received, depending on the room- earlier models were one-way. As the computer technology improved, so too did the speed and efficiency of transportation, until 1983, when a test object was sent to CIT from MIT and back. The only catch was due to the structural limitations, only simple, solid objects with relatively consistent internal structure could be sent: bricks, iron ore, water. Even wood was too complex.
Scientists developed a shortcut for this in the form of the Alchemiter, a machine that used a polyfoam compound, called a totem and shaped in a machine called a totem lathe, to synthesize complex matter in an easily replicable manner. By allotting a different material for each easily programmable component of the object, you could literally create anything in existence, given enough time and money.
The process went like this. Let's say someone want to create a metal cube with a sphere-shaped hollow inside it, and then within that they wanted a small rubber ball. They'd first take some polyfoam, commonly known as "grist", and put it in the lathe. Operating the lathe with a computer console, they would use the handy software to design a 3D model of whatever they wanted. The fine instruments on the lathe shape the mold into whatever form had been designed, to a remarkable degree of accuracy- enough to reproduce circuit boards. Once the shaping is done, there would have been produced the cube of grist with the sphere-shaped hollow inside it, and a small grist ball inside that. There are several ways of accomplishing this task- boring a hole and clearing out the hollow, then filling the hole as the robotic tool arms are withdrawn; or making the shape out of a stack of thin sheets punched with different-sized circles in the correct sequence. These methods are but two of many.
Now, the totem would be set on the Alchemiter's replication platform. Cutting-edge robotic technology uses the 3D model on the computer to replace the designated parts of the totem with the materials the user chooses. For simple materials like 7075 aluminum alloy- the metal in M16 rifles- it's a matter of having a solid block lying around. The computer takes an image of the molecular structure of the material and transmits the code as data to the receiving end of the system. This can be easy, in the case of base elements, or hard, like anything else.
The computer then "maps" the 3D image of the item, aligning each lowest-common-denominator cell a 3-digit coordinate. The number of cells is usually large for a person but small for a computer to process. in a 10,000 by 10,000 grid, there are one million cells, each with 3 5-digit coordinates and a 7-digit designation number- totalling some 25 digits per line, including spaces. 25 million individual characters, or bits, totalling some 3.125 gigabits of data. A bit of clever coding can reduce this number substantially, to around 350 megs of data. Each cell is designated a unique material code, a blueprint of what to be synthesized as on the receiving end, increasing the code's size significantly. The Captchalogue is capable of synthesizing almost any nonliving material, making machinery a snap- but forget about a new liver. The file is then uploaded into a server and designated a "captcha code," a quick-access number that corresponds to the item contained within the code.
The final figure allows the receiving Captchalogue unit to see a 3D model of intricately designed complex structures- not just data forms but a code that completely represents a physical item. The user only needs to input the short code from a card on his or her person, and the item will appear right in front of them, instantaneously constructed via a process that's way beyond David Strider's understanding or pay grade, aside from the fact that it involves satellites. It's an astounding concept, sending physical material in the form of data, but Dave relies on it every mission.
Such as facing an onslaught of lethal trolls with nothing but one handgun with one bullet on his person. He can see three, but he hears more, or it might just be the same shouts echoing in his head. His partner's enthusiastic gunplay behind him is making it hard to focus. He regrets using a textbook 3-shots-1-kill method on the previous three trolls when he could have most likely just shot them in the heads. Those big orange horns make it easy to aim.
As if to prove this point, he expends his last round on the leftmost troll, as they begin firing at him with their Chinese knockoff Berettas. The bullet finds the troll's cheekbone and he's yanked mid-stride, collapsing and sliding slightly as his corpse comes to a stop. Crackles pound Strider's ears as the remaining trolls burn through their magazines, and one or two rounds even hit his kevlar-protected chest. The pounding sensation is immensely painful- no punch or kick he's ever endured could compare- but he survives the onslaught. It's a good thing these bums have such lousy aim.
It takes physical effort to suck in air, as one of his ribs may be broken or at least cracked, but he breathes in and begins to run towards them. The pain in his chest ebbs as adrenaline takes over. He's dropped the spent Walther PPK behind him and his hands knife through the air as he gains speed. The trolls have tossed their guns aside as well and have begun to withdraw other weapons from their suit jackets. One equips himself with a small revolver, probably a knockoff as well, and the other takes out... is that a fucking mace?
Dave leaps into the air, willing the microcaptcha chip in his shades to send a request through the satellite for an item with the code Emi89dsn (he has this one memorized). As he's travelling through the air, he can already feel the grip hardening in his hand. He brings the fully formed blade down on the shoulder of the troll wielding the mace, slicing a good foot into his torso. Swinging the dying troll around using the sword as a handle, he uses the unfortunate thug as a shield for the volley of bullets that follows from the other troll, before using a foot to wrench the corpse off his sword and onto his partner. The still-living troll staggers under the weight of the corpse, and Dave uses this opportunity to stab through both torsos, striking the gun-wielding troll in the approximate location of his vascular organ conglomerate superstructure. His eyes lose their lucidity and then close, a trickle of orange blood escaping between his fangs.
Strider, assured of safety in his immediate future, turns around. The scene of carnage that greets his shaded eyes is too horrible to describe. He turns around again, reaches for a pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket, remembers he quit years ago, and swears somberly and quietly. All he can hear is Jade Harley's maniacal laughter and her M2's roar. Suddenly, though, the gun quiets and stops, and her laughter dies down. She shoulders the massive machine gun.
"Phew! All done!" she chirps, dusting off her hands as if she's just finished baking a fucking pie.
"Oh, is that it? You don't have a few dozen more to kill?"
Jade's lips purse. "Hey, just be glad most of them came on this side. If you'd had to take out this many with that dinky little PPK-"
"Oh, we are so not having this conversation. Just no, don't you even-"
"I'm just saying, if you had been prepared-"
"We weren't even supposed to fight anyone! This was supposed to be intel-gathering, and that's it!"
"A good agent is prepared for anything!"
"Oh, so a good agent is anyone with a captchalouge network capable of an entire armory-"
"Oh, so that's what this is. You're jealous!"
"My dear, nothing could be further from the truth."
"You don't think I can do it on my own! You think I need some- some man, I'm sure- to tell me what to do and send me guns and save my helpless womanly ass. Alright, agent Strider, let's do it, right here, right now." The agent tosses her enormous gun aside, where it lands in a small lake of troll blood and causes a sizable splash.
"Jade, dear, please, calm down." Dave gently places his sword on the ground, and begins taking off his kevlar.
Jade uncaptchalogues the mechanical armor, leaving her in a form-fitting neoprene-styled bodysuit that seems to be the first layer of the uniform. She assumes an Aikido stance. "Scared? I'm not gonna hurt you. Much." She jibes, giving him a bring it motion with her outstretched hand.
Dave has no option- his pride is on the line. "Fine. But this wasn't my idea, and anyway, we have much more important shit to be taking care of." He assumed his natural fighting stance, learned from his Krav Maga instructor. "First to pin, then can we bloody get on with it?"
"Sounds good, champ." Jade quips, and takes a step forward. Dave has chosen an open stance, meaning their bodies are both facing the same way. From what he knows of Aikido, grappling would be the best way to win this fight. Any strike he attempts would most likely end up with his ass on the ground. He edges closer.
Jade strikes like a cobra. Before he can blink, she's within an arms length, sending an elbow towards his chin. Muay Thai? Dave barely has time to register, barely edging out of the way before her knee finds his stomach. All the wind is knocked out of him, but instead of throwing him and winning the impromptu match, she leaps backwards, assuming a catlike stance.
"I mentioned my Aikido, may have forgotten to mention my experience with Muay Thai and Wushu. Still wanna go?" She's grinning.
Dave reels slightly, regaining his balance. Aside from his weekend crash course in Krav Maga, he's got no formal fighting training to speak of. He's clearly outmatched, but that's never been a good enough reason for him to give up before.
He rushes at her, center of gravity low and base wide, attempting a tackle. She reacts as he'd expected her to- a sidestep into a surgical lunge for the back of his knee.
In the blink of an eye, he shifts weight and draws his body back, putting all his force into a side kick but hitting nothing. He's suddenly aware of a presence before him as his base is knocked away, sending him unceremoniously to the floor, and Jade Harley slides her lithe legs around his arm and neck in a textbook triangle hold. His breathing is restricted but she's not choking him. The match is settled.
As the excitement wears off slightly, she becomes aware of their position. Her thighs are around his neck, one of his arms in her grasp wrenched over her shoulder. She blushes slightly. "Do you give up?"
"Errgh- never!" grunts Strider ironically, face turning red.
"I don't know if this match was conclusive enough. Wanna pick one of these rooms and do a bit more grappling? I could lose the bodysuit, if you want." She grins.
An unfamiliar voice from the end of the hall sounds out. "Sounds fun. Mind if I come along?" In a split second both agents are back on their feet, any feud instantly forgotten.
The speaker is none other than the Spiderbitch herself, Vriska Serket, dressed in a beautiful blue satin evening gown adorned with a shining spiderweb pattern, with a zodiac symbol on the breast in red, to match her high-heeled shoes. Her long fangs are glimmering in a grin of such cruelty Dave begins to sweat- no, it was just from the fight. Be cool, Strider. She's tossing a handful of small blue stones up in the air and catching them, and as she begins to walk towards them, Dave begins to notice more and more just how unbelievably attractive she really is in person. He's seen the dossier, but her fine features, her graceful body, and her glowing eyes- especially the left one- are so compelling.
"Dave! Come on!" shouts Jade, slapping him across the face. "She uses mind control, remember? Don't fall for it!"
"Right." Said Dave, cognizant of and slightly embarrassed by the low, mocking laughter emanating from that slate-gray, perfectly smooth throat- GODDAMMIT DAVE THIS IS NOT THE TIME BE COOL BE FUCKING COOL!
But even as the two square off against the chuckling troll woman, there's a sound from behind. It's the enormous, long-haired male troll Jade was talking to earlier.
"Such conduct- at an event organized by a highblood no less- have you no concept of propriety?" he grumbles. He steps over the riddled corpses of the gunned-down trolls and he approaches the agents. "Who did this?" He points at the piles of bodies. His tone is relatively calm, but it's clear he's fighting back anger.
"I did!" replied Jade, turning to face him.
"In that case your opponent will be me. As much as I cannot stand such barbarism on a night such as tonight, it's my solemn duty as a blueblood to-"
"Oh would you just can it?" shouts Vriska from the opposite end of the hall. "You want to fight her cause you get off on it, everyone knows that."
The huge troll's face goes faintly blue and he begins to sweat. "That's not true!" he says, loud enough for the spidertroll to hear. Then he turns to Jade and repeats himself. "It's not true, you see, it's my solemn duty as a blueblood to-"
"Whatever!" shouts Jade, assuming her fighting pose. "Let's just fucking fight already!"
Dave is somehow able to facepalm and still keep his dignity.