About Fissionpig
Fissionpig is an eth generation music reactor which takes the nuclei of rare unstable elements, and bombards them with cube-waves. This causes them to split into a salmagundy of synthetic material previously unknown to science. This system is housed in two geopolitically separate chambers (for psycho-security considerations).
Alpha stage elements are generated by the triple-obfuscating Vealotron 3000 unit – which is not principally housed in Kent. This produces a non-linear stream of alpha-numeric particles which is sent backwards into another future. This stream is picked up by the primary receiving funnel of the Beta-stage of the reactor…
This unnecessarily convoluted and positively Daedalian set of modulators and modernators is collectively known as the Silverpants Music Machine. Whilst not operating underneath the river Wye, this machine transmutes the Vealotron 3000 particles into Zanzi-Noize, Howl-Functions and Audiomogg.
Although fundamentally non-provable, the residues of this reaction are thought to be in some way beneficial to organic life. As a consequence the unfathomably opulent Mallard Foundation has ensured that the widest distribution of this material is achieved by using a zero-price policy. This very data-portal is the nexus by which the Mallard Foundation is administering this improvement. They hope Fissionpig somehow immeasurably benefits your existence in the future, present and past.
About Captain Silverpants
Those rare few who are privileged enough to witness the workings of the Silverpants Music Machine at first hand are often surprised by the complete lack of noise. Entering the primary reaction chamber they are confronted with complete silence. Even their own breathing is attenuated to nothingness by the walls of pure absorbitum. The all-pervading sense of isolation and loneliness send many scrambling to the exit, desperate for human contact once again. Those brave souls who continue however may, if they are lucky, glimpse him. For hunched beneath a vast array of knobs, switches and cables sits a man. A man created, entirely artificially, by the Silverpants Music Machine itself. A man whose purpose within this labyrinth of technological horrors is unclear. A man whose real name can never be known. A man known only as Captain Silverpants.
He seems distracted. Buttons are pressed, seemingly at random. Strange shapes appear on the glowing panels near his hands. He wanders off, muttering to himself and returns some time later with a bird’s nest of cables and components. As he nears you, his face is illuminated by the light of the panels, and for the first time you can see him properly. The shock sends you, half-running, half-falling, for the door. It won’t open.
He is near you now, looming over you. There is madness in his eyes. A demented desire to consume, to possess. There is nowhere to go. You scream, but the walls absorb the sound.
About Vealotron 3000
The first Vealotron – the venerable 76 – was hastily assembled during the little known Kent Canine Crisis at height of the Cold War. Filling two innocuous looking tower blocks and a controlling shed in South London, its primary purpose was to track local dog movements which were suspected of being enemy agents. After the Rovergate scandal of ’81 the colossal Vealotron 76 was mothballed into a disused Tube tunnel near Elephant & Castle.
Some 14 years later, a newly built secret government infra-acoustic listening post began to pick up some strange signals from directly below the station. The abandoned, rat eaten, Vealotron was somehow trying to communicate. The authorities quickly dismissed the signals as seismic activity, but only a few days later the Vealotron 76 was seen to emerge from a military railway depot over 300 miles north, in Manchester.
Later exiled to Oregon for high treason, a Professor ‘White’ claimed to have worked on the project to decipher the signals. Although his speech was reduced to confused mumblings by the high energies of the project, White appeared to be repeating “There are dogs… underground…”
Being the only canine-sensitive technology still available, the Vealotron was rebuilt into a smaller but radically more powerful system in the late nineties. The Vealotron 1200 was housed in a discrete micro-brewery in southern Manchester. Fed experimental high-strength fuels the modernised device was set to work. Government files suggest that no sensible results ever came from the 3 year project and the Vealotron was scheduled for demolition. But a little known side effect of being able to influence past waterfowl migration patterns was noticed by the then embryonic Mallard Foundation and the Vealotron’s core components were purchased for a token 99 pence.
Believed to be re-housed at the co-ordinates of a powerful magnetic anomaly in Essex, the components were installed into a semi-rigid robotic shell and run through billions of developmental iterations.
It is said the Vealotron 3000 became dimly self-aware in August 2005. Apparently it was even possible to maintain a semi-coherent conversation with the capricious machine before its recondite outputs were embedded forever into the Fissionpig reactor, 5 days later.