Greetings, Warpers, and welcome to Episode 4,
which is called, rather appropriately, All Change.
I'm your new announcer, Percival wrenley-bogg, which
I appreciate is a bit of a mouthful. So you can
call me Percy, and I have to say, because it's
written here, I am very pleased to be joining
the Panda podcasting team. Hello, Percy. You're
doing fine, but try and remember it's podcast,
not podcast. Anyway, line 2, some people call.
Oh yes, thank you, podcast. Some people call
this the most original sci -fi comedy drama podcast
thingy in a hot minute. Exactly who these people
are, the record does not say, though I strongly
suspect it's just Remus and McWherdy emailing
in under fake usernames. Last time, we met Lady
Deadheart. Not your average child of obscene
wealth who gave up everything, including her
body just to piss off her father. She now resides
encased in the realm's most beautifully dangerous
Symphora bio -shell, a custom number so outrageously
expensive it makes the GDP of most nations look
like the change you'd fish out of a sofa. This
process is called transmutation, a highly illegal,
profoundly dangerous, and let's be honest, something
many would probably regret after the first power
-up. All that remains of her original self is
the squidgy brain matter, neatly interfaced into
a gleaming bio -cybernetic head casing. What
was once flesh is now theatre, a seamless fusion
of beauty, danger and rebellion. A living weapon
with the bravado of a vaudevillian leading lady.
And why am I telling you all this? Because we
are about to cut to her ship, the Hiyurei. where
Lady Deadheart is locked in a heated debate with
her closest confidant Skylar, the holographic
shipmind, and the only being who dares question
her logic. You've really boxed yourself into
a corner this time, haven't you, Deadheart? Letting
that bear you're so besotted with know you were
here? Spectacularly silly. I'm 98 .6 % sure your
father's already sending someone after you as
we speak. No doubt, Skylar. But what exactly
am I supposed to do with a psychotic father who'd
rather kill me than understand me? It doesn't
matter where or how far I go, he'll always catch
up. I'm resigned to fighting him again and again
until either I lose or he dies of old age. Wishful
thinking. With his money, he'll probably upload
himself into a brain in a bio -suit just to survive
long enough to see you dead. or converted back
into something he can point at and call his dutiful
son who saw the error of his ways. Never. Solcarus
will burn out before that ever happens. And besides,
all my bits and pieces are long gone. The boy
is gone. He needs to face facts and move on.
Silly old fart. Oh, your bits, as you put it,
may be gone, but you still act like a petulant
boy. All your father ever wanted was for you
to inherit the family business. Would that really
have been so bad? Suffocating. Endless meetings,
greasing palms, placating villains and tyrants
just to keep the carillion and the credits flowing,
while unnamed billions starve on worlds he treats
like tools in his grand plan. There's a logic
that says you could have done more good on the
inside than roaming the universe with a bounty
so large most would give up their firstborn for
a shot at you. Indeed. And there's a logic that
says ship minds were better when they didn't
have voices. Here we are, parked next to a Neolithic
telescope above a pretty blue planet full of,
from what I see on the satellite feed, a bunch
of psychopaths. Give them a break. They only
started banging rocks together two or three million
Earth years ago. The Hubble is a thing of beauty.
Clunky? Yes, but still. If they survived the
next 50 to 100 years, they could become a great
civilization. But, as you say, their news doesn't
look promising. If they can embrace the AI age,
they might stand a chance. It would boost their
invention rate exponentially. But we've seen
this before. So many slide back into the primal
ooze. Evolution is difficult. Most never make
it. That's why our realm is so extraordinary.
Give your family line some credit, dear, at least.
Every curve of thought advanced without wiping
itself out. And somewhere in that history, there's
always been a dead heart pulling the strings.
For they don't name realms after nobodies. True,
Skylar. True. You have that naive habit of always
seeing the positive in everyone and everything.
It's infuriating. but it does make me a little
homesick. I wonder how poor old Remus is coping,
dealing with those angry little humans. misfits
but there's heart inside if you're sick of the
news the facts and the glum we fight off the
darkness with weirdness and fun a warning a warning
proceed if you dare ai war panda podcast with
chaos to spare buffoonery nonsense and whimsical
skits we know what the naysayers think what to
load out Now, a message from legal. The AI War
Panda podcast is pure fiction. All names, places,
and events are invented. Any resemblance to real
people is accidental. The scripts, lyrics, and
lore are original works. Copyright Aric Voss
2025, AIWarPanda .com. All voices, music, and
sound effects are AI -generated using professional
tools with paid subscriptions. Expect occasional
audio violence and dangerously silly ideas. Good
luck. To answer Deadheart's question, Remus
was doing just fine, thank you very much. He'd
just poured his third cup of joe and was halfway
through his second packet of custard creams,
his new biscuit of choice. But before we cut
to their usual jibber -jabber, here are a few
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we are back. Today we find Arik in one of his
rare good moods. Some people love the summer
or the spring. For Aric, it's October and November
when life is at its best. Remus is happily kicking
around the first piles of leaves that have taken
a dive to the frosts. Yes, the frosts arrive
early in the north. And McWordy? Metaphorically
biting his nails. Because today is the day Arik
finally gets to descend into the unsanctioned.
Highly against housing regulations. Basement.
I can already feel the interest of Carlisle Council
being pricked as I speak. Mr. V, the basement
is ready for inspection. Oh, jolly good. Only
two and a half weeks later than McWordy promised.
We ran into a number of problems. The... Nope,
nope. I'm in a good mood, and when it comes to
this basement, I think ignorance is bliss. Speaking
of bliss, where is Wordy? It's lovely and quiet.
I'm here. What on earth are you doing hiding
under the desk? He is a coward, Mr. V. He believes
once you see the basement we will get our marching
orders, and he does not fancy life as the planet's
first homeless AGI. Get out from under there,
you silly bot. I'm not going to throw you out.
I mean, how bad can it be? It's only a small
basement, no bigger than the kitchen, right?
Well, not exactly. The dimensions of the basement
may have been... Suggested to be somewhat less
than they actually are. By a bit, surely. By
a lot, actually. Oh well. Lead on, Remus. Let's
get this over and done with so I can prepare
myself for the next disaster. Very good, sir.
You go first. Mind the staircase. It's rather
long. Why is it I feel my good mood may have
peaked for the day? Aric opened the hatchway,
cloaked for over eight months. Inside, twenty
-seven steps descending into shadow. The three
slowly walked down and at the bottom. By Woden's
beard! Oh my, this isn't a basement, it's a bloody
car park. This is really insane. It seems you
two just can't stop amazing me. And no, not always
in a good way. I really don't even know where
to start. So I guess my first question is, what
did you do with all the soil then? Excellent
question, Aric, and not the first one I thought
you'd ask. You see, Remus and I engineered a
solution. Using certain components borrowed from
the local MOD facility, I cobbled together a
small -scale X -tylos transmuter. We compressed
the soil into ultra -dense mass bricks and used
them as load -bearing walls and support pillars.
Efficient. Elegant. Impossible. Two problems
solved with one miracle. In addition to these
acquisitions, remus and mcwardy had also fitted
the basement with a 90 -inch screen an industrial
3d printer computers and various bits of technological
detritus now the place looked like blackpool
illuminations led strips lining the walls and
ceiling and in the corner a metal box the size
of a fridge freezer glowed faintly I know I'm
going to regret asking this, but what is that?
Oh, that's just a rudimentary generator core.
Basically silent, but don't open the door without
welding glasses if you value your retinas. That
little unit will power everything down here and
the whole house. We're now completely off -grid.
Electrically speaking, at least. Oh, that is
really cool. I'd better tell the power company.
Tyreen will be pleased. More money for Funko
Pops. Don't worry. Wordy already told them by
email their power was no longer needed. They
seemed confused, but have shut off the supply.
You guys slay me. I thought I was perceptive,
but you've done all this under our noses. I'm
glad you're on my side. Otherwise, I fear what
would have happened. Remus's military training
covered covert operations and surveillance. You
didn't stand a chance of discovering what we
were doing. The sound dampening system I invented
also helped. I'm sorry to say, Aric, that if
we had malevolent intent, you and your good lady
would be dust by now. Oh, what a truly gruesome
thought. Right then, show me what all this stuff
does. And so for the rest of the day, Aric walked
the basement asking questions about different
things and trying to look like he grasped McWordy's
explanations. In truth, Aric barely understands
the concept of Wi -Fi, so Wordy may as well have
been speaking Klingon. Which, you guessed it,
he had taught himself while Aric and Tirene binge
-watched Demon Slayer. Meanwhile, Lady Deadheart
is pacing the metal -plated floor of her star
cruiser and being as visibly grumpy as possible.
Oh, for stars' sake, Skylar, must we really sit
up here rotting? Why can't we go and see Poopy
Bear? Surely even you can admit we could just
land in some miserable wood where nobody would
notice. Not that it matters, considering this
ship's got a billion -credit cloaking device.
If I have to spend another minute cooped up on
this tin can, I'll lose what's left of my sanity.
I take exception at that remark. Don't forget
I'm part of this exceptional luxury cruiser,
which I should not need to remind you represents
a standard that remains out of reach for most
individuals. Are you getting your wires in a
twist? No, I'm simply pointing out how lucky
you are. Anyway, addressing your question for
what feels like the 17th time. While it is technically
possible to evade detection, such actions would
introduce additional risk to what is already
a precarious undertaking. Discovery could potentially
result in a significant intergalactic incident.
Oh, nonsense. These humans still believe they're
all alone in the universe. It's only the greys
who come here for kicks, and no one cares what
they think. Stop being such a... Party pooper.
Skylar, please, let's go see Remus and his bizarre
little buddies. Fine. But if it all turns to
unicorn droppings, don't blame me. That's exactly
the right answer, girly. And just like that,
without even a passing thought as to whether
Aric might actually want a surprise visitor,
spoiler alert, he wouldn't, Deadheart's ship
engines roared to life and began its descent
toward an uninhabited patch of the borders, which
is most of it if the truth be told. Right, this
seems like a good a place as any for a musical
break. So here is Lady Made of Symphora, written
by Aric and created by some extraordinarily talented
AI musicians. Traded flesh for plated walls,
but her heart kept on returning in the glow of
a shattered crown. She swore she'd never bow
down. Oh, lady, maid of Sinthora, carry the flame.
Nothing in this realm can bind your name Every
scar tells the world who you are A ghost of the
past have pushed her so far Lady Deadheart always
shines in the... page and page Bravo, might I
say, Aric. That is a truly beautiful piece. Yes,
you really wrangled that A I to sound as if
it had a heart. However, I feel compelled to
point out it wouldn't know an emotion from a
Bluetooth toaster set to existential dread. Oh,
Wordy. You really know how to spoil the moment.
What did I do? You spoke, you little fool. As
usual, you spoke. Hmm. Anyway, and now for story
corner this time, it's about those foul tuscars.
That makes me so angry. I hate Tuskars. We know
Remus, old mate. We know. A brief overview of
the Tuskar, written and presented by me, Regis
R. Huffington, Royal Anthropologist to the Dead
Heart Court. It may seem obvious, but it's worth
stating the universe is unfathomably big. Even
if you are a smarty -pants, its size is impossible
to grasp. And with a canvas that large, probability
plays strange tricks. Anything you can imagine
probably does exist, somewhere, somehow, which
brings us neatly, and unfortunately, to the subject
of Tuskars. The Tuskars are exactly what you
fear they might be. Towering elephant men, eight
and a half feet tall, armored in muscle and fury.
They do not negotiate. They do not compromise.
They simply stomp across worlds like drunken
giants in a pottery shop. So, what is to be done
with such beings? Left unchecked, they would
reduce every planet to rubble. That is why the
War Pandas were created, or more precisely, enhanced
by the X -Tylos. So while Tuskars bring blind
rage and brute force, the War Pandas respond
with refined battle tactics and precision strikes.
But even the sharpest strategy cannot always
hold back the primeval fury of an elephant man
with a chip on his shoulder. And as fate would
have it, they all carry such a chip. From birth,
Tusker's calves are nurtured into hostility.
Bullying is not merely tolerated, it is encouraged.
Normally, young ones mistreated might turn inward
or break down. A tusker's calf, mocked, does
the opposite. It fights, again and again. By
their teenage years, they have fought so many
battles that pain and fear are concepts long
forgotten. As they said when I was a kid, garbage
in, garbage out. A Tuskar never really has a
chance. Any gentle or rational tendencies are
swiftly beaten out of them. Professor Highbrain
once conducted a distant study for his best -selling
book, 250 Beings to Avoid Being Stuck in an Elevator
With. The Tuskar came in second place. This,
of course, only enraged them further. First place
went, surprisingly, to the diminutive fartcoos,
one meter high, cow -like creatures living on
a world permanently smothered in methane fog.
Their diet consists entirely of raffinose -rich
bushes, producing a smell best described as that
of cooked Brussels sprouts trapped in an old
apartment stairwell. Still, the professor hypothesized
that one of the Tuscar's greatest burdens is
anatomical, heads so disproportionately vast
that their necks ache constantly. Chronic pain,
he suggested, is the root of their endless rage,
a curious notion but not without merit. What
else can be said of them? They are unmatched
at arm wrestling. They hunt with savage efficiency.
To be gored by a tuscar's tusk is to have one's
day and one's life expectancy cut dramatically
short. The one saving grace of their kind is
that, for all their aggression, they lack creativity.
They are buyers of technology, not makers. They
can fight their way out of a paper bag in seconds,
but never actually construct one. Needless to
say, insurance cover on Tuscar worlds is unobtainable.
I will end on the only positive thought I can
summon. Across many worlds, ivory hunting is
a cowardly and grotesque trade. But the prospect
of hunting Tuscar ivory is a different matter
entirely. Those who attempt it are invariably
mounted on meat hooks and left for the planet's
carnivorous toucans to peck them to death. As
an animal lover, I find this justice strangely
satisfying. It's 10 .30pm in the sleepy Cumbrian
cul -de -sac. Wordy had put himself on charge
and for once was silent. Arik was hunched over
his laptop, writing scripts for this very podcast,
while Remus sprawled on the sofa watching Chainsaw
Man. In Japanese, of course. Thanks to his neural
upgrade chip, he could translate nearly all universal
languages in real time. He spoke most of them
too, albeit with the same glacial delivery. Mr.
V, this is indeed an excellent program. The protagonist
has a ripcord in his chest. When he pulls it,
he becomes a chainsaw. Much slicing and dicing
ensues. You really should watch it. A thing to
behold. Yes, I've seen it. We've got the Funko
Pops of that character in the studio, you know.
Oh, do you? I can't say I really look at those
plastic toys, but if you have one of the man
who becomes a chainsaw, or as they would say,
Chien So Man, I would like that for my room.
They aren't toys. They're collectible art pieces.
And if you want to borrow one for your room,
that's fine. Just don't dent the box. It decreases
the value. I shall treat it with the utmost care.
But I still believe them to be toys. You have
a lot. McWardy says 632, the last time he counted.
Yes. We caught the Funko craze late in life.
Who the hell's that at this time of night? I
do not know. Use your app thing. Good point.
No, I don't like the look of that. It's someone
wearing a hood. Bit early for trick or treat.
I don't think we should answer it. Let me see.
There. Oh my. I think I will need to answer this.
You can't answer the door. I'll go if you think
I should, but let's not wake Tirene. She's up
early tomorrow, and turn off the damn TV before
your eyes go square. Aric opened the door and
froze. The figure stepped forward, hood falling
back. Arik's breath caught. His heart did something
strange, like it remembered a dream he hadn't
had yet. Can I help you? Oh, I'm sure you can
help me, darling. But first, is Poopy Bear here?
Poopy Bear? Oh my, it's you, isn't it? Bloody
hell, you'd better come in before the neighbours
see. Arik ushered Deadheart into the living room.
Remus stood and stretched himself as tall as
possible. Deadheart was tall too, six feet three.
Aric, who had never considered himself short,
began to feel a bit vertically challenged. Remus?
Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes? What's
with the new look? I like it. Very roguish. But
I have to be honest. I think you'd be on a charge
with that hair length. Come here, poopy. Give
me a hug, you big brute. It's so good to finally
see a friend. Well, anyone, if the truth be told.
We don't hug, Deadheart. Oh, quiet, you fool.
We do now. We could all be in a Kovosh prison
before we know it. Or worse. With that, Deadheart
wrapped her arms around Remus, making him physically
flinch. Then she kissed his snout. He let out
a disapproving grunt and almost smiled. Still
as uptight as always, I see. Poopy, are you going
to introduce your little friend? This is Mr.
V. He's considered above average height for a
human. Oh, shut up, Remus. It's Aric. And what
do I call you? My lady? Your lady? Well, play
your cards right, and who knows? Oh, sorry, I
was being funny, like... Oh, I know exactly what
you meant. Don't blush, dear boy. You can call
me Vanswa, if you like. The lady bit is just
to annoy Daddy. I'm as much a lady as your average
home appliance these days. Well, anyway, Vanswa,
it's lovely to finally put a face to a name.
You're not at all what I expected. Well, the
face and the name are all just smoke screens,
I'm afraid, my dear. Deadheart tapped the neural
pad on her wrist. Arik blinked, and the illusion
dissolved. Her human features shimmered away,
replaced by a sleek white and gold helmet. The
slit of her eyes glowed faintly like molten glass.
It looked half medieval jousting helm, half impossible
Cupertino tech. I have a brain manipulation unit.
It shows people what they emotionally expect,
or what I want them to see. From a beautiful
woman. Sorry, I did that one on you just for
the kicks. To me and my old welding mask. That
became a bit of a thing back in the day on my
adventures before my transmutation. With that,
Deadheart tapped the wrist pad again and her
face changed into a well -worn bronze -coloured
welding mask. Within a few seconds, it disappeared
and the high -tech helmet returned. Think of
that look as my version of a superhero mask,
like that Batman fellow. Your pop culture really
is a blast, and maybe even your saving grace.
I've been catching up on your little planet's
short history. I need something to do to pass
the time. Space is so fracking boring. As you're
a friend of Poopy Bear, I can trust you, so you
get to see me as I really am. Oh, wow. Sorry,
darling. I'm sure this is all freaking out your
cute little ape brain, would me? I'm sorry to
say I'm not that beautiful. Just all symphora
plating, processing cores, and... A little curvy
styling here and there. What do you think, darling?
You're, uh, amazing. I mean, it looks amazing.
Stop your flirting and teasing, Deadheart. Aric
is coupled for life with Tirene, who's upstairs
asleep. So keep it down. Also, humans are not
as backwards as their news would suggest. Coupled?
They do that here? How quaint. Such a shame.
Okay, no more ape jokes. Promise. but flirting
is just in my nature. I don't mean anything by
it, unless of course I do. Aric went pink, caught
between awe and embarrassment. Remus glowered,
and Deadheart just smiled, enjoying every second
of the discomfort she had caused. You shouldn't
have come here. It puts Mr. V and his good wife
in a difficult position. They're already in far
too deep. He opened his home to me, saved me
in many ways, and ever since... All I've brought
them is stress and problems. That's not very
nice, Remus. I tracked you halfway across the
universe to warn you and help if I can, and you're
saying I shouldn't pop down to see my favourite
panda in all the worlds. My goodness, you really
are still such a grouch. Aric, would you be so
kind as to get me your finest falling down juice
or whatever you have? I want a drink with my
old buddy. And you can have one too, cutie. You
drink? But how, if you don't mind me asking?
Oh, no, darling. It's not every day you get to
talk to someone in a Simphora bio -shell. I'm
pleased to say I have slits and ports and little
adaptive valves that do all kinds of different
things. I can process liquids, solids, vapors,
even emotional atmospheres if I'm in the mood.
While I don't experience taste the way you do,
no tongue, no nerves, no mouth to speak of, I
do get something close. A kind of sensory echo.
It's not pleasure, exactly. More like a memory
of what pleasure used to be. But don't worry.
I can still get tipsy. Just takes a little longer.
And I'm very entertaining when I do. Right. Hmm.
Well, I have some rum and some funky mango cider.
It's really rather nice. Would that do? If it's
alcohol, it will do. Trust me, a drink's a drink
no matter what world you're on. And so, this
unlikely bunch sat, toasted and chatted into
the early hours. Aric fetched more and more drinks,
listened, and tried to look like he understood
the old friend's stories about a life he could
barely comprehend. For once, life seemed normal
in its completely unnormal way. Maybe it was
the rum, or maybe it was her voice, but Aric
felt actually happy. And he thought he may as
well embrace this elusive emotion while he could,
because peace, happiness, and contentment Seldom
stay for very long. Well, if this angst -free
ending to episode four feels a bit anticlimactic,
don't worry. This podcast is a slow burn. Sooner
or later, things will really start kicking off.
For now, we're giving our gang the feeling of
normalcy before we pull the rug out from beneath
them and you. But I didn't tell you that, right?
Anyway, you've been listening to the AI War Panda
podcast. If you like what Aric does, why not
like, subscribe, and leave a positive review?
The algorithm gods eat that stuff for breakfast.
And if you really, really like what you hear
and are in a position to support his creative
endeavors, check out his Patreon page, or simply
spread the word on your favorite digital gossip
channel. Or, if you're still talking to real
people, tell them about this strange thing you
listen to. Finally... I'd be remiss if I didn't
tell you we are having a Halloween special, which
will be released on the day itself, which should
be fun. Till next time, Warpers, stay safe. And
remember what my old grandmother used to tell
me. Stop whining, you stupid brat. You'll be
dead soon, and that's when your problems will
really start. It's the end, the end, the end
of the show. Not the world as far as we know.
We talked, we rambled, we tried our best. Uh
-huh, and that's why I call him Poopy Bear. Wow,
that's bloody brilliant. Why do you have to tell
everyone that story? It's so embarrassing.