cout<<"Turing Van Allen \{D3\}"<<endl();

#include<iostream>
#include<cmath>
#include<string>
#include<tesla>

int main()
{

string FirstName = "Turing";
string MiddleName = "Lovelace";
string LastName = "Van Allen";
int age = 17;
int district = 3;
char gender = "M";

// getAppearance defined below

do
{

cout<<"Input number of sentences in appearance section. Must be 10 or greater.\n";
cin>>int appSentences;

}while(sizeof(appSentences)<10);

/*
We are what they call 'mirror twins' — it is an accurate descriptor, for when we stare at each other face to face, it is exactly like gazing into a pond on a clear, calm day. Between the both of us, everything is the same — but backwards. We do not write with the same hand. Neither of us is right, neither is wrong — we just are two sides of the same coin. Each of us, half a unit. Together, we are whole.

From the day we were born, we have always worn everything the same way. We do not go out of our way to match, but it was always easier to share our clothing between us. Black t-shirts are ideal, as they conceal the oil and grease stains picked up from the workshop, and hide the miles of wavy black hairs that spring from our heads at the slightest provocation (unless we have tied it back for the day, to keep it away from gears and circuits and moving parts.) As a result of spending most of our days — and nights, as time is a human construct and irrelevant to machinists and programmers — we are pale and perpetually slim.

Our long face matches our long limbs and long bodies and long hours spent working in tandem, hidden away from the world outside. We are tall — gawky, and often teased by our little sister to watch out for door frames (although at six-foot-three we have managed to avoid walking into any.) There is too much of us, we think, for there to be any way to gain muscle, or weight, or any kind of bulk. We are fed enough, and yet we will always be ruby-on-rails-thin and wiry as Creation without its shell.
*/


// getPersonality defined below

do
{

cout<<"Input number of sentences in personality section. Must be 15 or greater.\n";
cin>>int perSentences;

}while(sizeof(perSentences)<10);

/*
Twin Telepathy does not even begin to describe our connection. We do not think in I or me or him or mine or his. It is, was, and has always been ours and us and we. The truth is, we have known each other and been around each other for long enough to know what the other needs without much of a verbal cue. Most find us peculiar for our muteness, but when we are by ourselves, there is seldom any need to speak, and we prefer to do away with the unnecessary and the inefficient. If we can convey a paragraph with a flick of our wrist, why bother to open our mouthes at all? It is a waste of time, energy, and oxygen. Entirely unnecessary.

In company, where people don't understand us, we are just as uncomfortable as everyone else — but are able to take solace in the fact that there are two of us working in tandem, that if it comes down to it, we have each other's backs. Being two instead of one makes it easier, but we cannot help our anxiety in crowds. Perhaps because we are so used to being in each other's company, we feel uneasy around people we do not understand fully or trust completely.

We prefer the company of machines to company of other people. Computers are predictable, and do exactly as they are told — so long as they are told the right thing. There is a beautiful dependability there; there is consistency and there is logic. If it is not responding the way that we expect it to, this is because we have told it the wrong thing. It is elegant in its predictability, and while it is not always simplistic, it is far more comprehendible than the fallacious tendencies of the human mind.

Logic is at the very root of all that we do. Perhaps this is why we seldom disagree, why we never argue: we think along the same logical track and always reach the same conclusion. Sometimes it is hard not to feel superior to the world around us, when we have so obviously worked out the ideal way to take it in, to navigate through it. We have trouble empathizing with others, and try as we might we just can't seem to understand people who do not exist within our sphere.
*/


// getHistory defined below

do
{

cout<<"Input number of sentences in history section. Must be 15 or greater.\n";
cin>>int hisSentences;

}while(sizeof(hisSentences)<10);


/*
We were born in midsummer, and despite the heat, clung together for dear life — our infant vow never to be separated. Our parents have a photograph of us as infants, curled up together under the same tattered blanket, each sucking on the other's thumb. We spent the first two years of our lives hardly speaking at all; as a result, our parents expected us to be slow learners, but this did not turn out to be the case at all. We were never particularly fond of the language of the masses, and, as toddlers, developed our own primitive method of communication. Twinspeak, as it turns out, is not particularly uncommon among small children, but it was the first of several languages that the pair of us would develop together. The remainder, of course, were designed to be interpreted by machines.

If we believed in fate — we do not — then we would be at liberty to say that destiny handed us a fairly normal childhood, which we were entirely determined to alter in the interest of peculiarity. We never had many friends aside from one another, and spent most of our early childhood finding new ways to baffle mother and father. This usually took the form of dismantling anything we could get our hands on — with or without any apparent tools — although occasionally consisted of incredible feats of teamwork: hoisting ourselves onto the kitchen counter, then climbing to the top of the cabinets as a pair. We are told that we were frustrating and worrisome at that age.

Eventually, we were joined by a pink, screaming infant girl: our little sister. We did not care much for her at first; her constant wailing so frequently broke our concentration. In time, we grew to understand and appreciate her constant distractions, however, as our preoccupied parents would rush immediately to quiet the fussy baby, letting we two quiet twins to retrieve our screwdrivers that had recently been confiscated for trying to take apart the radio yet again. As we grew, she grew, and became the only other person to successfully enter our circuit. Of course, we are far closer to one another than to our little sister; that much is undeniable and immutable. Yet she is our bridge between the world we have created for ourselves and the one that surrounds us; she is the translator, the diplomat, the negotiator, and a pair of nimble fingers that can fit into much smaller places than ours. Our sister is not part of we, but she does belong with us.

Our interest in all things electronic — circuitry and programming in particular — grew exponentially as we aged, and by the time we were nine or ten, we began work on our project. A massive undertaking, we have not finished or perfected it yet, but every day we are closer and closer to completing Creation. We work in secret, as we don't suspect many of the officials — district, capitol, or otherwise — would take kindly to our off-the-books project. Most days, we assemble and repair electronic components for pay; at night, Creation is the only task we work on. We cannot recall quite how the idea for Creation struck us, but our artificial life form now boasts whole libraries of source code and, by our estimates, enough wire to encircle the district at least twice. We do not have an intended purpose for Creation once it is finished; rather, we prefer to build for the sake of building, to add something to this less-than-perfect world rather than chip away at it, decrement by decrement.
*/

// codeword below

cout<<"<img src="http://i41.tinypic.com/16h2ibt.png">"<<endl();

// notes: since Tesla and Turing are going to be RPed together
// in first person plural ("we", "our", etc)
// their bios are identical.

// FC is Christopher Arundel

// does this look hideous i bet this looks hideous