EoD Pt 2: 2074 Q1 Results (Draft 1) (Patreon)

[] Plan: Mandates and Mayhem

-[] SECURITY (1 dice; +0)

--[] Local DoP K-9 Unit (New Orleans)

---[] 1 die + 1 Free + 1 Skulder: (64/150 --> 211/150) PHASE 1 COMPLETE

-[] AGENT (1 dice; +0)

--[] The Sunken Parish

---[] 1 die: (56/250 --> 132/250)

--[] Psychic Identification Program

---[] 1 Education: (0/100 --> 33/100)

-[] FACILITIES (0 dice; +0)

--[] Fortified House of Worship (Baton Rouge)

---[] 1 Benoit: (151/200 --> 153/200)

--[] Weather Monitoring Station (New Orleans)

---[] 1 Edgar: (183/200 --> 240/200) COMPLETE

--[] Weather Monitoring Station (Gecko)

---[] 2 Ecology + 1 Government: (0/200 --> 64/200)

--[] DoP Clinic (Gecko)

---[] 1 Chems + 1 Genetics: (47/150 --> 58/150)

-[] SCIENCE (0 dice; +5)

--[] Aquatic Atomiplants

---[] 2 Edgar (168/250 --> 259/250) COMPLETE

--[] Super-Sealant

---[] 1 Edgar + 1 Prototype (0/100 --> 118/100) COMPLETE

-[] OUTREACH (0 dice; +5)

--[] Community Broadcast Tower (Baton Rouge)

---[] 1 Wilbur: (167/200 --> 259/200) PHASE 2 COMPLETE

--[] Community Restoration Program (Gecko)

---[] 1 Wilbur: (33/50 --> 100/50) COMPLETE

-[] MISCHIEF (5 dice; +0)

--[] RobCo A-No No!

---[] 2 dice: (0/100 --> 94/100)

--[] Atomiplants Attack!

---[] 2 dice: (72/150 --> 440/150) PHASE 2 COMPLETE (x2 DICE EXPLOSIONS)

--[] Wright Technology Toy Factory

---[] 1 die: (0/250 --> 28/250)

====

Local DoP K-9 Unit [Combat, Personnel, Ecology]: A K-9 unit placed in a community primed to survive would likely be useful for a multitude of reasons post-bomb drop. It was, comparatively, one of the less harmful ways you could improve general security, but less isn't none, and it was very likely they'd wind up being used to assist local security forces in the community. 211/150/250, SELECT COMMUNITY. Increase Police Militarization and Wrath on second phase. Increase Mans Best Friend on first phase. Cost 1 Funding.

The Sunken Parish [Investigation, Weird]: The super hurricanes had caused significant portions of the state to sink in the past five decades or so. Recently, fishermen looking to catch their dinner in the shallow, watery plains that rested on formerly dry land had reported their boat being attacked by figures in what appeared to be diving suits. 132/250, gain the Sunken Parish Community Card.

Psychic Identification Program [Weird, Education]: Natural psychics were difficult to locate, but if Team America was expanded to include a dedicated team to help identify potential psychics, it would likely increase the number caught in the net. 33/100, increase Psychic Identification Rate, increasing Influence by 2. Cost 1 Funding.

“K-9 unit’s been trained. Every DoP installation in New Orleans has at least two dogs assigned to it. Rottweilers, mostly, though only a handful are purebred: Boss has insisted we match  them with other breeds for health reasons. Hybrid vigor, I guess, but I still don’t know why we couldn’t have used german shepherds.

One of the handlers, guy by the name of Mike Dauterive, has been put in charge of the unit and it’s facilities. Alright guy. A little colored, but one of the good ones: smart, used to work in the military. Alaska vet, in fact, before one of the chinks got him in the leg a few months into the campaign.

Also been working on the PIP: Boss wants us to start recruiting in the region. Anyone with proven spook-power, put into the Departments psychic training program and sent to either Camp Boot or Haskell. I get the logic: the weirdos will be useful for the Department, and if the Department has more psychics, we might be able to get some psychics. 

Unfortunately, like anything involving psychics, you have to wade deep into the mire of bureaucracy. The sensors the program is going to require took me over a month to order: my form kept getting rejected. We have the damned things, but we’ve only just begun to train the team in how to use them or opened any investigations into potential psychics. 

The Weird Science division sent one of their boys to consult on it, at least, but somethings extremely screwy going on. The guy says there’s something wrong at headquarters: he keeps complaining about getting a headache whenever he stepped in the building. At first I assumed it was, y’know, bellyaching, until I was looking over building logs and realized that every day he was complaining was a day when the Boss was in the office. 

I decided to test this: scheduled an appointment with both of them, one after another, to put them in close contact. The weird science consultant nearly collapsed: I had to help him to the infirmary. Doc gave him headaches medication and prescribed bed rest, and leaving me with a new mystery. Wright was already a weird guy, but this just raises more questions. No one else seems to have put what happened together: I don’t think Wright himself knows either.

If it turns out our boss is some sort of…anti-psychic, that’s going to complicate things. We’re probably going to have to build another facility, or else start prescribing painkillers for any spook that has to work at headquarters. I need to know more: I’ve requested additional consults from the weird scientists in the P-Files. 

I’m also looking into Wright under the table: the name is a pseudonym, as expected, one that seems to have been born ten years ago, well before the Boss was hired. Owns some land in Oregon: dunno how he afforded it yet. Pretty much the entire span of his life between the identity being created and being hired by the Department is vapor otherwise: no friends, no family, no work. I’ve caught actual chicom spies that leave more of a footprint than Edgar Wright. 

It’s a mystery that disturbs me more and more, but despite everything I almost prefer it over the slowly unfolding oddities we’re finding in the old St. Mary Parish: C-Files hired an EPA team, and they went to collect samples from the region. Soil, water, insect. Contaminated, all of it. And not with what we thought. We’ve already established a quarantine around the region: no one in, no one out until we fully understand what’s going on.

According to what the eggheads say, the old parish has an infestation. And it’s a cocktail: Yersinia Pestis, a saltwater and blood-drinking variety of nematode egg, and several varieties of prion, and other biological nightmare, all spread courtesy of our good friend the vampire water flea. Most of it isn’t all that contagious (or are treatable with chems), but it means the area is a massive health hazard for anyone who wanders in. More concerningly, in each of these areas they found what appear to be human remains. Current age dates to around 2028 to 2030, before the area was flooded over. Due to advanced decomposition, the current cause of death is unknown.

These locations have so far corresponded with over 74% accuracy to the same areas where the attacks happened. I don’t believe in coincidence, but I don’t know what it means.”

[spoiler=Fate of the Wasteland: Lillian Dautereive’s Diary, Age 16]

Dad is dead. It’s just me, Lefty, and Champ now. I buried him out back yesterday, deep enough he shouldn’t get digged back up again. 

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m alone. I’m alone and I’m running out of supplies: I counted out every power pill I had and it’s only barely enough to get me to the end of storm season. After that, unless I find more food I’m doomed.

The next time we have a clear day, I’m going to try and go scavenging. Hopefully I can find something: my only alternative I can think of is trying to hunt in the swamp, something that’ll probably end with me getting eaten by Phil or one of his albino scaly asshole brothers, or…

Or trying to find a way out of Louisiana. Dad said there’s places back west: people, civilization. He said there was a war out that way when he left: it’s why he came back to the Swamps. But I’m not Dad: I don’t know how to survive out here. Lefty is doing what he can to help, but there’s only so much a program on my Pip-Buddy can do. 

…I don’t know. I’m going to have to think about it. If I’m going to get out of the state, though, I’ll need to prepare, and there’s no way I’m making it out during the spring season. First, I’m going to need to find a map. Lefty says the DoP once had a weather monitoring station not far from here, located on the upper levels of the few remaining sections of the Great Wall: he says that if the weather balloons in it’s storage are still functional, I should be able to use them to create a map of most of the region surrounding the city. 

Hopefully, it’ll also have supplies: no matter what, I don’t want to have to leave dad just yet. He- He’s been sick for awhile. I knew this was coming: there’s only one cure for his disease, and the odds of us finding any serum was low. I still can’t believe he’s gone, though. It feels like a bad dream: like nothing is real. I can’t help but expect to see him when I enter his room. 

The last thing I told him was a fucking joke about having to clean his shit. The last fucking thing I told my father was a joke about the fact he was too weak to make it to the bathroom. 

I…I need to stop here. Starting to come a bit unglued: I think I’m going to hug Champ for awhile and cry.

[/Spoiler]

====

Fortified House of Worship [Population, Construction]: For once, the justification for this one isn't wholly propaganda: analysis indicated that when the bombs drop, churches and other holy houses were likely to be the first place civilians without any substantive options are likely to flee. By reinforcing one of these sites to be bomb-proof, it would significantly raise the odds of survivors in the community. 153/200/600, BATON ROUGE. Increases Divine Sanctuary stat.

“H-hey, Janet.”

“Oh. C-caroline. Good morning.”

“S-so, it’s been a few weeks, but do you w-want to talk about-”

“No.”

“Oh. I guess y-you probably don’t want to get a coffee later at Wilkins later, too?”

“Y- No. No, we best not. I’m sorry- What happened was…was incredible, but it can never happen again. If my husband  knew, I’d be ruined.”

“O-oh. Okay. I, uh. I understand. How has work been on the synagogue? Rabbi Eli tells me you were having problems?”

“Ugh. There was a duracrete shortage this quarter: I’ve barely been able to source any. I found a contractor, thankfully: they had some surplus to sell that should let us finish the renovations sometime next february, hopefully. How’s the weather station going?”

“It’s-”

====

Weather Monitoring Station [Ecology, Government]: The NOAA's creation: these facilities would monitor weather and oncoming storms and were networked in order to help predict storms and perform meteorology based research. 240/200. New Orleans. Each Community contributes to regional Stormwatch stat.

The New Orleans Weather Monitoring Station has begun operation.  Weather balloons, a doppler tower, multiple laboratories, broadcast equipment. You even threw in a custom designed super-computer, courtesy of yourself: you weren’t a programmer by specialization, but as a biologist who specialized in ecology, specialization was for the insects. You couldn’t do everything, no one could, but you could hack together one hell of a computer. 

The place is handed over to the NOAA. They’re apparently deeply appreciative of the placement: New Orleans status as a city on the Bayou and the Great Floodwalls would produce incredibly useful data, while it’s elevated position meant that they could safely study super-hurricanes from their epicenter. Beyond that, the fact that the city would get more advanced warning in case of catastrophic Superhurricane meant that both loss of life and property could be mitigated.

The research…you made sure to place a few bugs throughout the labs. You didn’t exactly know what you’d do with the stolen data: it depended on what exactly the NOAA planned to use it for. You did note in your more manic and less lucid moments that you might give yourself a snow-day, that way you wouldn’t have to go into work and deal with the annoying toenail that was your job. You could rest in by the fire with a cup of chicken noodle soup, some radio, and your cat Blinky, and take a moments rest from the unrelenting fucking nightmare that was existing in “polite” society in the proximity of Skullder, who seemed to think you didn’t hear his weird hateful little monologues. 

Your bugs come back with…confusing information. They seem to be researching ways to…replicate weather patterns indoors with more fidelity?  You aren’t sure about the long term implications: you might learn more with more data, and it seemed that the NOAA wanted all their facilities to feature its own research division. And, you note as you begin to pilfer the data, making sure ENFERR is unaware of it for now, you note that you had another bit of incentive to build more weather monitoring facilities in the region. You couldn’t use the research yet: but the more you had, the more the NOAA fed you, the more rapidly you could put that information to use. 

[Spoiler=Fate of the Wasteland: Lefty’s Digital Journal]

My name is Lefty(5).EXE. I am the digital AI companion of Lilian Dauterieve. Her Pip-Buddy. Me and her have been pals since…well, since her dad stumbled over a floppy containing my personality back in Texas. I’m writing this down because Lily says writing in her journal helps her sort her thoughts and keeps her grounded, and right now, that sounds swell.

Pop had been on his way out of the state when he found me: I was in a smugglers cache. A genuine old world educational AI, designed to teach kids about the wonderful world of science, made by AlviCorp! I don’t know the details, but one moment I’m nothing, just data on a disk, and suddenly I’m on Lily’s arm taking my first look at the world as we’re nearing Waskom.

After that, we were inseparable. At first, it was just me, her, Pop Evan, and Warrior! We traveled through the great Rad-Swamp, starting in the ruins of Greenwood, where Pop Evan taught us to hunt crawrads after hunting through an old fishing store, and I used my science know to figure out a way to identify and remove their radiation glands, making them safe to eat, while Warrior helped us take them down in the first place. Occasionally, we’d have to run from Phil or one of his children, but other than that it was just the tops!

It continued like that for a few years. We wandered Lousiana, Pop Evan and Warrior kept us safe while me and Lily explored, me teaching her all about science and technology and the whacky world of biology and engineering, while she helped me collect and learn about all kinds of new species the radiation created!

Then…then she turned 9. We had a hard year. Not many edible critters around: the Rad-Hurricane that year was really bad. We had just gotten Champ: he was still just a puppy, so we left him on the house-boat while we explored a place near Baton Rouge.

It…It went bad. Pop Evan said we had to be upwind of the radiation: it was an old ACME food packing plant. Fish. He said he would be fine, but he started to get really, really sick afterwards. Warrior too, a lot faster: I still don’t know what caused it, because nothing came up on a geiger counter. 

We had to bury Warrior not long after. It’s when thing’s started to go wrong. We traveled to New Orleans: the city is mostly uninhabited nowadays, and supposedly the Dautereives have been able to navigate it successfully for food and nourishment for centuries with the help of their dogs. 

And we could, for awhile: the radiation is bad, but Pop Evan always knew where to get radaway, where to find food to cook, where to salvage parts to fancy up the home or give me and Lily engineering projects. 

But none of the medicine he was able to locate did anything to make him better, not forever. 

He passed away a few weeks ago. Champ has been miserable: every night he’s been howling, and he refuses to sleep unless Lily and me are snuggled with him. Lily…Lily hasn’t been handling it much better, I don’t think. 

I wish she would talk to me. I don’t know what to do: Lily needs help. She needs support. But I’m a kids toy: I teach them about science, I don’t help with grief, I don’t know HOW. She’s…she’s thinking of leaving: getting out of Louisiana. I’ve been helping her research how to get out, and I remembered encountering a file referencing a weather facility on the wall that might be able to help us. 

I told her about it. It…it’s given her something to focus on, at least: we made the trip out to the facility when the weather cleared up, a few days ago. There’s no way to the place the intended way: the floodwall was shattered in too many locations. We had to get up it via climbing gear and maintenance ducts. There were a lot of ghouls, but we eventually reached the place. 

It’s mostly functional: I wouldn’t call it intact, but it’s erect and still receiving auxiliary power. Not enough to power the doppler or antennae, which is a shame: it would have been nice to have the weather report again. I could have delivered by dressing my avatar like a little weatherman and acting like I’m the news! It would have been just the bees knees! 

But we should have enough to do what Lily needs me to do: the facility has intact automated weather balloons. We can deploy them to help give us an accurate map of the region and figure out the best way out of here, or at least this part of the state, and give us a window on when we should leave. It’ll take a few days of work, but it shouldn’t be that hard between the two of us. 

But…I’m not sure if we should. Lily doesn’t remember Texas: I barely remember Texas either, but what I remember was scary: men with guns chasing Pop Evans. Having to hide under bridges and play the quiet game as mens with horses walked over us. And Pop kept having night terrors about the place, from things that happened before we met, for years: I don’t think Lily remembers because she was too little. Pop was always saying that as dangerous as the wastes could be sometimes, it was better than what you can find outside it.

I’m…I’m scared. I don’t want to leave: I don’t think it’ll be safe. I don’t want to lose Lily and Champ too, but I don’t know what else I can do to help her: she just seems so miserable, and this is the only thing that’s been getting her out of her funk, and it’s only barely working, because she’s still barely eating or sleeping.

I don’t know how to help my sister. I wish Dad was still here. 

[/Spoiler]

====

Weather Monitoring Station [Ecology, Government]: The NOAA's creation: these facilities would monitor weather and oncoming storms and were networked in order to help predict storms and perform meteorology based research. 64+50/200. Gecko. Each Community contributes to regional Stormwatch stat.

DoP Clinic Phase Two [Chems, DoP]: It would be very expensive, but equipping a community with a fully staffed and stocked clinic and hiring doctors to man it would be a good way to improve health both in that community, but also the wider region should the community survive. 58/150 SELECT COMMUNITY.Second phase gains [Genetics] tag and Novel Gene Therapies stat. Each phase costs 2 Funding.

Community Restoration Program [Charity, Ecology]: Occasionally, communities were likely to be damaged by fires, storms, etc. It was technically FEMA's job to help these places repair themselves, but frankly if the DoP didn't step in it was very likely these communities would never actually recover. 100/50, select Community Card with a natural disaster triggered negative status condition. Gain progress to erasing status condition. Repeatable. Sufficient overflow will be reassigned to a different community project. OVERFLOW ASSIGNED TO WEATHER STATION.

“This is Edgar Wright to everyone: you’re receiving this email because I am officially black-listing a contractor. Trevor Construction Supplies: they’ve apparently been claiming to sell a cheaper, easier to bulk manufacture formulation of Duracrete. This is false: we’re having to redo significant work in the Gecko revitalization project because their product is not, I repeat, NOT radiation proof like official DoP or ACME brand duracrete: its just slightly more robust concrete.

To put it simply, they are selling a product that does not work and will get people killed. Unfortunately, there is nothing we can do to halt the sale of substandard duracrete, but we will no longer purchase from that particular vendor. Anyone caught purchasing material from this company using DoP resources WILL have their pay docked. I’m serious. I don’t care if there is a shortage: you use a Department vetted supplier or you flood requisition forms until you can. 

If you’ve accidentally used this company but weren’t aware of the details behind them, however, you can file a U6P9: you’ll get a formal inquiry but unless you happened to be stupid enough to order from these people while knowing they sold junk, you’ll be fine. Wright out.”

+5 Wrath

==========

Super-Sealant [Robotics, Chems, Prototype]: AlviCorp was working on researching a type of organic rubber sealant that could be used to construct long lasting waterproofed electronic devices: terminals, robots, radios, etc. 118/100, unlock Super Sealant Polymer, upgrading several technologies with Water-Proofing.

“Ugh.”

“Hey Mike, what’s the problem?”

“My damn Pip-Buddy keeps shorting out! It’s this weather, you can’t even operate a damn television without it getting a little wet!”

“Yeah, I know the feeling. Hold on, lemme get my locker open…There we go. Next time you open it up for maintenance, apply some of this.”

“What is this?”

“Rubber PolyGel, my friend: I’m in a small club that likes to play around with robots, and this stuff right here has been a godsend to some of the members that live out in the Bayou. I’ll look into getting you an instructional floppy, but a little of this and your problem with your pip-buddy should be a thing of the past!”

“Huh. Damn, that’s useful: I’ve already spent three paycheck this year replacing the damn this dang machine. And my son has been wanting an ACME Arcade cabinet this Christmas…”

[Spoiler=Fate of the Wasteland: Raider Dave’s Melee-Mart Pt 1: PolyGel]

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s PolyGel. Shit, this could actually be valuable.”

“It looks like glue, Looey.”

“Nah, nah, this stuff is better than glue: those robots we found, they’re only functional because of this stuff. Am I getting close?”

“Heh, got it in one friend: this shit is PolyGel. Gunk is worth more than gold to guys like Poindexter, because it helps make tech last almost forever, especially in places that have a lot of water. Raider Looey, Raider Mike, Raider Frost, get me some cans of that shit! We’re gonna take the robots and the glue, and have Poindexter repair em. Then, we’ll use the robots to take this place over.”

“You think this place is what we’re looking for?”

“Maybe. Maybe not: I think it’s another stepping stone, at least. It’s a foothold into the region, it’s still mostly intact, and we can use the robots for extra manpower. The glue isn’t much use on it’s own, but it makes whatever intact machines we find a lot more valuable. And if we find someone who has something we want…”

“Alright. It’ll be nice to sleep somewhere dry again, at least.”

[/spoiler]

======

Aquatic Atomiplants [Genetics, Ecology]: Atomicrops was a good idea, but it was limited: there were multiple factors to consider, like the environment. Waterways would be choked and consumed by pollution and radiation. However, you believed you had a solution: you were fairly certain you could use the notes you took studying the program to apply the same modifications to various species throughout the bayou, primarily those that showed promise for helping reduce the amount of toxins in the water or metabolizing the radiation more efficiently to speed up recovery. 259/250, upgrades Atomicrops template, increasing regional Water Purity.

In between work on your other projects, you continue work on breeding a variety of AtomiPlant improved common water plants. Sea-blights, certain species of ferns, mosses, algaes. This finally comes to fruition….in the middle of winter. 

This makes growing new plants difficult, but you do get the opportunity to apply the modifications to several existing wild populations, largely dormant plants and seeds. It will take a very long time for this project to pay dividends, but in the long run when paired with all the other planned investments you had it might preserve at least a fraction of the biosphere. 

Less aquaflora would perish from radiation and pollution. It would live, if poorly, and metabolize the toxins in the water, slowly, slowly. It wouldn’t make it drinkable, not without significantly more investment, but it got the region just a little closer to environmental sufficiency. 

The research for this you send to the national headquarters: Warney is once more very pleased, sending you a letter of thanks. He repeats several times that any help you can give for projects like Atomicrops is deeply appreciated. 

His focus on the crops part is annoying, but you do understand where he’s coming from: aquaculture would be especially vulnerable without significant improvement. It was only a fraction of current food production, but the calculus would significantly change in the event of the apocalypse: for some communities, it could prove the difference between famine and survival. 

[spoiler=Fate of the Wasteland: The Diary of Lester Kempt - Entering Lousiana VER-B]

"I've arrived. This place…its unlike anything I've seen up north: water, water everywhere, barely a handful of tiny spits of land rising up from the depths. And yet, it's all shallow, long dead trees rising from the depths and the underwater ruins of buildings serving as beds for what little new growth there is.

None of it is particularly healthy: the water is extremely toxic, and while the plantlife seems able to survive, it doesn’t seem able to do so particularly well. The algae-blooms are an off-color, the water-weeds are wilted, and the flowers are grey, lifeless, and foul scented. 

This land is poisoned. Life hangs on barely. Still, it hangs on: in a way it’s almost admirable, the way it clings on despite all odds being against it. The water also contains fish, but nothing large enough or non-toxic enough to justify eating, though I have found several very large shellfish that once prepared appear mostly safe to consume, though all have uniformly tasted godawful. 

The most complex organism encountered so far has been a singular, extremely large Allighoulator, approximately fifteen feet across, six feet tall, with an extremely broad head. It was violently consuming a group of feral ghouls. I very quickly paddled away. 

This whole place…it isn’t meant for humans. The radiation, the pollution: even if life is here, there’s no way to support people, not in these conditions. This land isn’t dead, but it might as well be. 

I’m within a few days of Alexandria. I hope I can find what I’m looking for: the treasure is the only reason worth coming to this place.”

[/spoiler]

=====

RobCo A-No No! [Robotics, RobCo]: RobCo could eat a dick. House and his company were going to stay FAR, FAR away from this state, and you knew just how to accomplish it: a series of well timed violent product failures against regional representatives of the company. 94/100, repeatable. Somewhat decreases RobCo faction penetration: sufficiently lower it to force the faction out of the region. Complete once to unlock RobCo faction card.

Activating AutoComplete Protocol. 

Wright Technology Toy Factory [Prototype, Industry, Construction]: Another way to make mischief would be to make toys: on the surface, they'd be normal little gewgaws for children to play with, but in reality these toys would contain a variety of devices to help them raise mischief and trouble. 28/250, gain Toy Factory, unlocking Wright Toy Store outlets, which raise Teenage Wasteland.

Edgar’s Mininotes

HIJACKED SHIPMENT OF SECURITRONS. PROGRAMMING AND HARDWARE HAS IMPROVED, BACKDOOR STILL WORKS. KING TUT ISN’T GONNA KNOW WHAT HIT HIM.

TOY FACTORY NEEDS TOYS: I NEED NORMAL THINGS TO SELL CHILDREN TO HELP DISGUISE THE OTHER STUFF.

WHAT ABOUT FLOPPY GAMES? COULD USE DIGITAL ENTERTAINMENT AS VECTOR FOR ADDITIONAL SUBLIMINAL INDOCTRINATION.

LOOKED INTO TOY MARKET, TURNS OUT DISTINCTION BETWEEN GIRLS TOYS AND BOYS TOYS MOSTLY ARTIFICIAL. 

PROGRAMMED VIRUS INTO SECURITRONS: ONCE CODE IS TRIGGERED, THEY WILL BEGIN HUNTING ROBCO EXECUTIVES AND MAJOR REGIONAL POLICY SETTERS FOR SPORT. 

WHAT IF A TOY ROBOT, BUT WITH REAL LASER WEAPONRY? COULD USE CHINESE DESIGNS AS INSPIRATION.

WONDER IF MAMA DOLCES SELLS IN THIS REGION. COULD GO FOR SOME PASTA TONIGHT. 

DID SOME DIGGING: FOUND PRACTICE IN CALIFORNIA CALLED ‘STREET SURFING’. COULD LOOK INTO ADAPTING TECHNOLOGY. 

A TOY GUN THAT SHOOTS RUBBER DARTS, BUT THE DARTS EXPLODE.

DELETING SECURITRON VIRUS, NOTICED PROBLEM. WILL NEED TO REPEAT FROM SCRATCH.

NEED TO FIGURE OUT A PRODUCT FOR OLDER CHILDREN. WHAT DO OLDER CHILDREN LIKE? SWISS ARMY KNIVES ARE TOO VIOLENT. MAYBE BICYCLES? 

WHAT IF A DOLL DESIGNED TO TEACH CHILDREN THE COMMUNIST MANIFESTO?

I WILL NEVER PRODUCE A BABY DOLL OR ROBOT HORSE. 

NOTICED SIGNIFICANT GLITCH IN SECURITRON PROGRAMMING, TURNS OUT ROBOTS PROBABLY WOULD HAVE GONE ROGUE ON THEIR OWN EVENTUALLY. ONCE MORE, KING TUT PROVES HIS REPUTATION FOR RELIABILITY COMPLETE BUNK. HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AGAIN TO KEEP THESE THINGS FROM KILLING INNOCENT PEOPLE. 

THESE ARE MEANT TO GUARD CASINOS, WHY THE HELL DIDN’T HOUSE REMOVE THE MARK TWO COMBAT UPGRADES. IRRESPONSIBLE JACKASS. 

Rob-Co-A-No No will complete automatically next turn! 

=====

Atomiplants Attack! [Genetics, Prototype]: Venus fly-traps. Grass stickers. Stinging nettles, poison ivy. Some species of witch nettle. There were all sorts of ways one could manipulate floral genetics: with the information that the Atomicrops program had discovered, and your own notes, you could go one step further. You could create weapons. Ones capable of helping you achieve your still nebulously defined goals while simultaneously surviving to repopulate various niches once the bombs dropped, assuming conditions were right. 440/150, Repeatable. Every repetition of this unlocks an additional technology [Gear, Personnel, or Prototype] that raises regional Biodiversity and a random secondary stat.

Community Broadcast Tower Phase Two [Education, Media]: Radio, then television. These facilities would play on loop various Department created materials, largely a mix of patriotic reaffirmations and edutainment material aimed at both adults and children. 259/200, Baton Rouge, increase Public Preparedness stat. Costs 1 Funding to complete per phase.

“Howdy kids! Do your parents know you’re up past your bed time?”

The first time Suzy Perkins, age 8, had seen the show, it had been on a late saturday. She had snuck her way out of the room and into the caretakers lounge. It wasn’t lights out just yet, but if she had been caught wandering the halls, she’d probably get a whuppin. 

“If you have loving parents, they’ll probably be very sad and upset at you for staying up so late and watching this: if that’s the case, you should go back to your room and rest. This channel will be waiting for you in the morning. Adults watching, you can go ahead and sign off as well too: trust me, you have no interest in watching this program.”

She had wanted to watch cartoons. Suzy didn’t get the chance to watch them, most days: the Caretakers didn’t like cartoons, and they especially didn’t like the cartoons they showed on Channel 66. 

“If you don’t have loving parents, however, you should stay: we have a very entertaining show  for you tonight.”

The channel had all the best shows: Captain Cosmos Animated Adventure, Princess Daisy Belle in the Land of the Terribles, Giddy-Up Buttercup Adventures. All of them started with the same logo, of a bird and a hourglass: ‘this show has been brought to you by the DoP, ACME Entertainment, Wright Animation, and viewers like you’. 

“My name is Bartimaeus B. Bat. I am your friend. And today, we’re going to share an adventure!”

The show she watched that night was different. Bat Quest, it had been called. It had opened with the main character looking and speaking directly to her. He was a simple black bat creature, little tufts of fur on his chest and big cartoony eyes.

The first episode she watched was all about Bart going out and trying to make friends, first with a skunk, then with a possum, and then with a duck. 

“Howdy Sister Skunk! What seems to be the problem?”

“I miss my Ma. Ever since she went and died in the great acorn war I’ve had to live with Mr. Wolf, and he yells at me every day and hits me with a paddle whenever he’s upset with me.”

“Well, that’s just rotten, Sister Skunk. Why don’t I help you give that mean ol’ wolf what for?”

“I dunno, Mr. Wolf says good children listen to adults and don’t make trouble for them.”

“You don’t want to listen to Mr. Wolf: anyone who hurts you doesn’t have your well being in mind. Worse, people like Mr. Wolf are responsible for the great acorn war: they’re the reason you lost your loved ones in the first place.”

Suzy had found herself entranced. Something about the show dragged the child in, captivated her attention, made it to where she couldn’t look away, even if it also made her brain itch a little. The story of the episode seemed to consist of Batty, as the show nicknamed them, going around the forest and making friends by helping them.

Sister Skunk was the one who she related to the most, but she also liked Polly Possum, who struggled at school under the eyes of the cruel Mrs. Hawk, and she was sad when Batty failed to befriend Bob the Bear Scout.

“Well kids, we’ve had one heck of an adventure today, and made a ton of new friends! Friends are great: they can hug you when you’re feeling sad, they can help you when you’re struggling, and when everything is good, you can also have fun with your friends with games like tag or watching cartoons! In fact, next time you watch this show, you should bring more friends.”

Then it had ended, and Suzy stumbled out of the Lounge, feeling a little fuzzy-headed: she hadn’t ever realized that her brain could itch so much.

The next day, at school, on the playground, she had talked about the show over the entire break. And yet none of the other children really recalled the show: some accused her of making it up, until one boy eventually admitted also seeing the show a few times.

With another backing her up, she convinced a few other children to tune in. A few of them would have to sneak to do it, especially the ones who lived in the orphanage. 

“Howdy kids! Do your parents know you’re up past your bed time?”

The next episode had opened the same way as the first, with Batty talking directly to the screen in his chipper, high pitched voice, expression a relaxed grin, a small logo in the corner for a moment. 

Briefly, one of the Caretakers, Mrs. Marsh, walked in on them, yelling at the top of her lungs for being in the lounge so close to lights out, before Batty said the part of the opening meant for adults, and she walked out, leaving Suzy and her new friends to watch their show. 

This episode seemed to be about Batty and Sister Skunk sneaking around the orphanage, avoiding Mr. Wolf.

“Remember, make sure your feet stay near the walls or heavy furniture like couches to avoid making squeaking noises that’ll alert that mean old wolf.”

“If you ever need to leave the Orphanage, so long as the alarm isn’t on, you can use the vents to reach the roof and use the fire-escape! NEVER leave the Orphanage without a buddy and way to protect yourself, and NEVER trust an adult who asks you to sneak out!”

“If you have a hairpin, you can unlock most doors using this technique. Pay attention, kids, you might need to know this technique to survive.”

“Alright, we’ve escaped!” Batty said at the end of the episode, having helped Sister Skunk escape the orphanage, having successfully avoided Mr. Wolf. “Well kids, it looks like we’ve reached the end of the episode. Remember, you shouldn’t sneak out without a good reason: to get away from someone whose hurting you, to help a friend, or to protect yourself. It is never wrong to protect yourself.”

The next day, on the playground, all the children who had seen the show talked about it again. Those at the Orphanage seemed to like it most of all, though a few kids with parents also seemed to like it, like Maisy and Sid, the former a bookish and quiet child, and the latter a larger and louder boy.

Later, when she returned to the Orphanage that day, Suzy got a whuppin: one of the caretakers had gotten mad when she had been a little late. That night, there was another episode of Bat Quest: this time, the episode was about reaching out to people who were a little odd, a little strange, and making friends with them regardless. 

The next day, Suzy and her other friends went out of their way to include some of the children on the playground who usually found themselves excluded. The episode after that was all about how to identify plants that could be eaten: the day after, Suzy and her friends went and found some flower-pots, those that didn’t have to return to the orphanage agreeing to look for things to grow in them. 

The one after that was how adults shouldn’t hurt them. The next day, Suzy got a whuppin, and when she got mad about getting a whuppin, she got another whuppin.

The following weeks, Suzy and her friends would begin to misbehave more and more. Arguing with teachers when they said mean things about Sid. Talking back to their caretakers. Even putting tacks in the chairs of mean adults and putting the paddle the adults used through the woodchipper. 

At night, they started sneaking out, meeting in the dead of night to play, complain, and watch more Bat Quest, the group eventually finding a little shack on the edge of the Bayou to use. Maisy would buy a television, and Sid was able to steal a generator from his father. They would grow edible plants, the orphanage kids supplementing their meager diet with the plants, cooking carefully according to the instructions Polly Possum had taught them in the episode where she and Batty had a cooking contest. 

Eventually, they would even begin sneaking out during the day, using the hideout as a place to get away from their dreary lives. Overbearing parents, abusive caretakers, bullies and school. A few of the older children would drag in a couch, an old and broken down thing, and those more talented with tools helped fix the shack up even as the more well-off visitors to the place donated toys, board games, and cans of food pilfered from their parents. 

It was halfway through november when Bat Quest found itself interrupted. A commercial: BatQuest never had commercials. Channel 66 never had commercials. It was for seeds: pet potted plants and grow-a-gloo biogel-boom-blooms.

The perfect companion and the perfect prank! The advertisement claimed, it’s narrator sounding suspiciously like the voice Channel 66 used to introduce all it’s programs. Order now if there are adults who have hurt you that you want to hurt back. Order now if there are adults who scare you that you want to scare back. Order now if you’re afraid and want something to protect you. Order if there is someone you want to help but don’t know how. Order now using this toll-free number!

“Well shucks friends, I don’t know what just got advertised,” Bartimaeus B. Bat said when the strange commercial ended. “But if you want to order it, call this number, and tell my pal and voice actor Maxwell which you want, how much, and where he should deliver it. Make sure to tell him he’s doing a swell job, while you’re at it: it’ll just make his day.”

Suzy had snuck her way to the Orphanages phone. She told the voice on the other end what she wanted, and asked how much it would cost.

“Cost?” Came a voice that sounded suspiciously like her cartoon hero. “Don’t worry about that, little miss: all products come pre-paid by Wright Toys. And where would you like this delivered?”

She made sure to tell the person on the other end that she thought he was doing a good job once she had told him the information. “Why thanks! It’s always nice to hear from a fan!” The voice actor told her. “The Baton Rouge orphanarium, huh? That’s rough kid. Good luck. Those seeds should deliver in a few days, check the roof, there will be an eyebot. We at Wright Technology wish you a happy evening.”

It didn’t take long for the seeds to arrive. More potted plants filled the hideout. Now, every night, Bat Quest was interrupted: five minutes of the episode would cut to a short infomercial with advice on how to grow the plants.

One would blossom into a strange pulsating bulb, fed a steady diet of garbage. These would eventually get replanted all around the hideout as they grew larger and larger. According to the commercial, these Biogel Boom Blooms would detonate when something sufficiently large moved near them, trapping it in a thick layer of super-duper glue. The other seeds would grow a head that would eventually split into a spined mouth, that of a highly mutated flytrap. Fed steady diets of flies, then mice, then fish and whatever other meats the children could scrape up, the plants would eventually grow large enough to start growing an altogether different form of teeth, these more suited to biting through flesh.

It was around this point that Batty talked once more about abusive adults. But this time, his adventure was all about getting rid of them. “Today kids, me and my friends are going to get rid of mean old Mr. Wolf once and for all,” He told them, Suzy wide eyed at the prospect. “And you’ll be able to use the same tricks to get back at your own Mr. Wolves. Remember, only do this if there are no other adults you can go to.”

“Fill the basement with Buddy-Traps.”

“Find ear plugs. Do not remove them.”

“Lure the adult down to the basement.” 

“...”

“Again, don’t remove the ear plugs. Do not listen to what is happening. Exit the basement.”

“Lock the door behind you.”

“Find your friends within the next thirty minutes. Play with them for several hours. Establish an alibi for yourself: do you remember when we talked about alibis? The next day, return to the basement and begin removing the Buddy-Traps. It should otherwise be empty.”

“Good work! That mean old Mr. Wolf will never hurt another person again!”

“When you are done, you will not remember what you did. If you ever do remember, you will never tell anyone what you did, nor attach any emotional significance to the memory. If you ever suspect someone else did this, remember the lesson on being a tattletale.”

Within the next week, Mrs. Marsh would disappear, alongside Mr. Zieger, Mr. Callicut, and several other workers of the orphanage, most of them the type to give whuppins at the drop of a hat or single out children to pick on. Understaffed and outnumbered, the remaining staff would become far more nervous when administering punishment to the inhabitants of the orphanage, not helped by the fact that the older children were becoming more and more belligerent, a trend that would end in several of them beating a caretaker after said caretaker had whupped Suzy. 

The whuppins would soon stop, and with it did the caretakers attempts to stop the children from moving throughout the orphanage as they pleased and watching cartoons when they wanted.  The caretakers control over the orphanage was breaking down, bit by bit.

Wow, good job, Edgar! You’ve raised some chaos, alright! 

Not only have you successfully begun the indoctrination process and started dismantling that orphanage, you’ve developed two new atomiplants! Together, the plants are going to give you a +1 to Mischief rolls, as well as increase BioDiversity by 2 and Teenage Wasteland and Renewable Commodities by 1! Beyond that-

Sorry, it seems you have an urgent visitor. Looks like Wilbur Ashton has entered the building and requested an appointment. I’ll get back to you, Edgar: still super excited, buddy!

You and I are going to do such wonderful things together.

====

You blinked as the terminal closed, breathing through your nose as the phone on your desk rang. 

“Yes?” You asked, gritting your teeth, the noise hurting your head.

“Dr. Wright, Wilbur Ashton is-”

“Send him up,” You said, voice clipped, noting that this would be the first time you had met the man face to face. Setting the receiver back down, you did your best to breath in and out. Presumably he was hear to talk about the broadcast towers you had just finished.

A few moments later, you heard the elevator ding, and while it took a minute, soon there was a knock at your door. Standing up, you walked over to it and opened it to reveal a man in a ratty brown suit. A much, much older man: head bald, the only color being a liver spot, body both extremely short and extremely frail. Using a cane to walk, the man made his way to the chair facing your desk, while you returned to your seat.

“So, you’re Wright then,” The man said, clearly out of breath. “Give me a moment: been a long time since I’ve walked that far,” He said, inhaling and exhaling. 

“Mr. Ashton. Pleased to meet you-” You say, only to get cut off.

“Cut the shit, sonny: you and I both know that isn’t true,” Wilbur said, a glint in his eye as he finally caught his breath. “I’m probably just another turd in the crap soup that is your day.”

You actually give a snort at that. “Fair enough. What do you want, Ashton?”

“To congratulate you on finally completing that broadcast facility,” He responded, giving a nod of the head. “Like I told you, it’ll give us ample ability to mould the minds of the public over time, especially with your little…extracurriculars.”

You briefly went cold: it was at that moment you realized you could hear the faintest of crackles from the weird radio. “Ah. You’re aware.”

Ashton gave a toothless grin. “Aware? Kid, why do you think I wanted you to build that tower in the first place? Free advice, the best way to get people do do what you want is to make it the more convenient option.”

…What? “Wait, you knew I’d use the broadcast facility to develop mind control technology?” You asked, confused. 

“Not mind control specifically, but I figured you’d develop something or other in that direction, like broadcast hijacking.” The man explained, pulling out a handkerchief and coughing into it, pulling the blood-flecked cloth away. “Besides, ever heard the term two birds with one stone? Those towers have a few uses.”

“Why?” You continued, fishing, trying to put together the puzzle: basically, he had…predicted you would snap, and had asked for the broadcast tower because he thought that mind control was the best way to channel your anger. “What do you gain?”

“What oh what indeed, Mr. Dracula,” He said, brown eyes searching as you dimly realized that Wilbur had been several steps ahead of you the whole time: it reminded you an uncanny amount of the way Clancy worked. “Neither of us believe in philanthropy: not really. It’s just another way rich bastards like me con society and convince the rubes to thank them for the privilege of getting table-scraps for it. I do, however believe in…” He made a humming noise. “Shall we say, ambition. I have a certain vision for the future of this state, and I believe your nightly activities would be conducive for that, especially if they were encouraged in a particular direction.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Okay. So what you’re saying is that- for the moment, you’re on my side,” You queried, making sure you understood what he was saying. “So long as I’m helping you do…whatever it is you want to do?”

“Correct,” Ashton agreed. “Much like the Robot, I see a lot of potential in you: it’s in my interest to help you grow to accomplish my goals and make sure they coincide with my own.“

“And what IS your goal?” You finally asked, arriving at the important question. Ashton grinned.

“Well now, that IS the question. Tell me, Mr. Wright, do you happen to read comics?”

“Not really,” You admitted. “Never really had the time.” Beyond that, you just…didn’t care for the medium, honestly: it seemed like such a waste of paper for something so short, you needed to fill dozens upon dozens of shelves in order to have enough to last you even thirty minutes. Inefficient. 

Ashton made a disapproving clicking noise with his tongue. “You should broaden your horizon, Mr. Wright. There are a lot of things one can learn from reading comic books. At a minimum, one can learn about how society views itself, good and bad. The heroes, even the flawed ones, are intended to be aspirational in some way: possessed of qualities deemed a virtue. The villains instead occupy a different slot: they’re the means the medium uses to express manifestations of vice. They’re allowed to be stylish, they’re allowed to be sympathetic and possessed of a few virtues on occasion, every now and again the creators will even let them have a salient point or partial justification. But they’re never allowed to be right, and they aren’t allowed to win.”

“Is this going somewhere?” You said, mulling the words over in your hand. Okay, you could kind of see the thrust of what he was saying. The heroes and villains worked as a sort of…social barometer. You just didn’t get the point. He was going to help you because of thematic philosophy in western visual media?

“Just this, sonny,” Wilbur replied, craning his hands together, a pensive look on his face. “The Robot wants you to burn everything down because it thinks if the fires rise high enough it might let mankind survive the chill of our coming winter. The Doctor- A man you’re going to meet very soon, I’d wager- wants you to take the route of the lesser evil: the man who helps him set the stage so that when the snow thaws and the rads recede the children of the apocalypse have a future to inherit. Personally, I think they both lack vision.”

…

Well then. I didn’t quite predict this, but it seems that by advancing Wilbur’s BRAIN Quest, you advanced his personal agenda and unlocked his help as a subordinate. One who knows…a disturbing amount of information. Fun fact, he was at one point considered a potential DoP Director! I guess we now know why. 

His BRAIN Rank has increased: he has gained an additional dice. On top of that, he now has another perk:

Criminal Consigliere: Can use dice in Mischief category: this character gains a bonus to their dice equal to Mischief bonus. 

As for his next BRAIN Quest, uh, I’ll have to get back to you on that, buddy. For now, why don’t you pack it in for the day? I’m detecting elevated signs of fatigue: no need to burn yourself out.

====

It was 10:00 PM at night. You were staying up late: you had tomorrow off, and your only plans for that day involved collecting insect samples from the St. Mary parish. Until then, you were spending time goofing off a little: leaning over your work-bench, you stared into the cage at what you had created.

It was a jet-pack: useful for both your less than legal side-activities as well as travel in general, it would be how you’d be getting to St. Mary’s tomorrow. You’d also be taking a plasma pistol, just in case, because whenever you looked at pictures of the place, Weird Radio went off: singing and gurgles. 

For some reason, after the meeting with Wilbur it was unusually loud: usually you could tune it out. It was a talent you had gotten increasingly good at doing over the years: usually, you only heard it when you were asleep. Now, though, the static was…loud. Loud enough to make a bad headache terrible. Worse, it was more sensitive than normal: in the past few hour it had kept getting triggered on the strangest things: you had nearly collapsed earlier when you had went to pet Blinky only to nearly be deafened by a roaring noise, and you hadn’t been able to look at the Atomibugs proposal notes without losing your stomach from a vision of leeches, mosquitos, ticks, and other blood-sucking parasites on top of an extreme vertigo fit. 

When you got back to the office and ENFERR got a look at your vitals, you were confident your WRATH had risen from the experience: you still didn’t quite understand the system, but you were beginning to piece it together. Once you had all the details, then you could look into developing the means to exploit the system and documenting it’s glitches. 

The only practical purpose would be to manipulate the AI, but it was a good card to keep in your back-pocket should it prove necessary to reprioritize alliances.

For now…you had a lot on your plate, and you didn’t trust Skullder to not fuck this up yet, so you were looking into things yourself. You had done a bit of digging: before the place had been flooded, the Parish had contained SEVERAL government disease research facilities. The CDC: an agency that found itself dissolved in the 30’s, around the same time the place sank. Twenty years before the New Plague, and well before you had been born. 

You gave a grunt of pain as you aligned the fuel lines of the device, feeling the ache in your skull spike as the static increased. 

‘Paging Dr. Feelgood,” Came the barely audible voice under it. “Paging Dr. Feelgood. All patients be aware, Dr. Feelgood has entered the building.”

What? You stopped, looking around, a chill crawling up your spine. “Whose there?” You asked, looking around your lab. No one was there: the room was silent, the animals all asleep in their enclosures. And yet, you could tell something was wron-

“Several of those animals are nocturnal,” You observed, standing up and letting your instinct guide you to your destination: the tiger exhibit. Right now, Simon would normally be having his nightly swim while Priya went on a midnight trot. And yet, when you peered in, you saw them fast asleep, chest rising and falling each.

“Bravo,” A voice said from behind you, causing you to spin, aiming a kick at whoever had snuck up on you, only for your leg to pass through a cloud of vapour, a strange smell filling your nose. “You are VERY observant,” They said as your vision began to melt and brighten, your fist successfully connecting to a chin despite the fact your senses were beginning to become screwy. You heard and oof, and then a laugh. 

“You should be suffering severe visual hallucinations,” The voice said in awe as you desperately looked around, trying to find who was speaking through the haze of color and distortion. “And yet you’re still able to get a punch off. Wow, they weren’t lying, you are impressive.”

“Who the fuck are you?” You said, taking an unsure step-forward, watching as parts of the floor gave way, tiles falling into the abyss before you even as you assured yourself that that wasn’t real. “Why the hell are you in my home?” You demanded, causing the unknown voice to give a chuckle that sounded incredibly fake. “And what did you do to me?”

“I’ll answer your questions, my friend, but in reverse.” A snap, and you felt your knees give out, causing you to fall…into a waiting chair. “First, I used a complex blend of chems in order to activate certain parts of your brain in order to cause severe hallucinations. Protective measure: sorry ‘Dracula’, but you’ve proven more than willing to use lethal force and I’m a big fan of not dying.” 

“So you drug me?” You ask in disbelief, looking around, watching as the last tile gave way, leaving you stranded in the abyss. 

“INDEED! Don’t worry, it’s temporary. As for why I’m here, I want to ask YOU some questions! You see Edgar, I’ve got an offer for you, but first I need to know if you’re the right fella for it.”

“And to answer your first question…” A clapping noise, and suddenly, in front of him stood a bearded african american man dressed in a tye-dye-labcoat over slacks, suspenders, and an equally rainbow colored undershirt. The upper half of his face, including his nose and eyes- and thus his identity- was disguised by a helmet and gas mask. The former was army surplus: a peace sign painted on the green headwear in white on one side, on the other a small motto on the other a message: Drop Chems, Not Bombs. “I am the inestimable Dr. Feelgood, a fellow practitioner of semi-independent supervillainy!” He said, voice deep and bombastic. 

You blinked. “I’m not a supervillain,” You responded with mild indignation, causing Feelgood to give a chuckle. 

“My friend, you used advanced technology to rob a bank while dressing as Count Dracula,” Feelgood pointed out as everything began to flatten out around you, thick black outlines surrounding everything and a grid of small black dots covered your field of vision.

“Needed a way to fund the clinic,” You say, eyeing the lava creeping its way across the floor, crawling into your chair to avoid it. “I’d prefer to think of myself as more of a robin-hoodish figure,” You admitted, eye twitching. “I had the costume lying around and didn’t really put any effort into finding an alternate disguise.” The lava flowed off the tiles into the abyss, even as the tile itself found it covered in a thick layer of liquid magma-

Wait. No. Taking a deep breath, you stepped down off the chair, and walked across the tile, through the magma, and over the chasm. “Cut it out: you want to talk, fine, but if you don’t cut out the hallucinations, I’m activating my backup security,” You growl, causing Feelgood to tilt his head. 

“Alright, fair enough! Should you try to strike me again, my friend, they come back.” Feelgood gave a snap, and you began to smell…was that garlic? Whatever it was, it seemed to counteract whatever the hell Feelgood had gassed you with: you began to make out your lab again. “You know, it really is fascinating: you’re the only one that trick hasn’t worked on.”

“I could tell it wasn’t real. If you want it to work on me next time, hit my cognitive centers, or at least more than just my visual receptors,” You said simply, moving back to your chair. 

“Ah, but then I wouldn’t be able to get honest answers out of you!” Feelgood responded cheerfully. Something about it sounded fake: like someone who had never acted before trying to play a larger than life character and not quite getting it.

There was something else, too, something you couldn’t put your finger o-

“Ah, Prosopagnosia. Probably other forms of pagnosia. Clever.” You commented, nodding, the answer arriving to you in a flash of insight, weird radio growing a bit louder as some unfamiliar music began to play: was that a theremin? “Too clever: you’d only need face blindness in that get-up if there were good odds I’d recognize you by beard and voice alone. You’re someone in the DoP: probably high up. Regional? No, no, if that were the case, I’d probably know who you are already- has to be national. Judging by the chems, which I’m going to go out on a limb and say are probably custom made considering there’s no drug on the local black market that causes visual hallucinations specifically nor any that produce face-blindness, I’m going to wager you work in the science division.”

…

“Wow,” He said, untilting his head. “That was…really impressive. I’m gonna need to up my game, it looks like.”

“If it makes you feel better, it probably would have worked with almost every other person,” You observed. “Any more questions?”

“I haven’t even asked my first one,” They responded, confused, to which you snorted.

“Yes you did. The Dracula comment- you were fishing for why exactly I committed the robbery in the first place, and I explained why: I needed more money to accomplish my actual goals for Team America as an organization,” You said flatly. 

“Hmm. And those are?” Feelgood enquired. “What exactly are your ambitions in regards to your current position?”

You raised your hands. “I have no damn clue, honestly! Harm reduction, I guess: I don’t have the choice of quitting, so at the moment I’m honestly trying to find the best way to minimize the harm the Department, the government, and the nukes do in the region,” You confessed, before observing you were being far too candid. “Really? Truth serum? ” 

“I did say I needed honesty: besides, it’s more of a truth pheromone than a serum,” Dr. Feelgood responded, tapping his foot. “Not a terrible answer my friend, though it does bring me to my next question: the guards at the bank. You claim you’re practicing harm reduction, and yet…”

You snorted. “If you’re looking for remorse or contrition for that, you’re going to be badly disappointed.”

“You don’t regret their deaths, I take it?”

“Do you regret the death of every bug you step on on the way to work?” You countered. “If I had killed a civilian in the crossfire, I’d regret it. If I killed an asshole, unless they were a genuine piece of work I’d probably regret it. I’m not going to lose sleep over a rentacop.”

“That is…remarkably cold,” Feelgood observed, to which you shrugged.

“I’m not going to go on an indiscriminate killing spree, but if someone has a uniform and a gun, they’re fair game.”

“I…suppose I can live with that,” Feelgood muttered, hesitation in his voice. “My last question then: the hypnosis. Why that?”

This…

“I don’t like the idea of kids getting hurt. Honestly, the idea of them all dying is…one of the things that keeps me up at night,” You admitted, carefully phrasing your statement to be technically true, but omitting weird radio. “I built the Lil Patriots because the Department needed the resources and I hoped that having them built DoP tough would give the orphans more of a fighting chance.”

You frowned, gripping the arm-rests of your chair tightly. “I didn’t visit them: I still don’t, usually. I hoped that by not being forced to see what I was enabling, I’d be able to live with it a little better: it made it easier to lie and tell myself that what I was doing was the lesser evil, that at least I was saving lives in the long run.”

You exhaled. “Then one of the people who ran the Baton Rouge facility called in favors, forced me to check in in person. The stupid monster of a woman actually thought I’d approve of what she was showing me,” You hissed, voice seething. “The way they were indoctrinating those children. The way they were starving them. The way they were hurting them. Did you know that until I forced them to change policy, they didn’t even put locks on the doors to the rooms where the children sleep?”

You breathed in and exhaled again, knuckles still clenched white. “It was the worst and final mistake the person in question ever made. And at the end of it, I was still so unfathomably angry. At her. At the orphanage. At the government. And at myself. Those kids deserve better. I still don’t know how to keep them alive long term,” You admitted. “But I needed to at least do what I could to make their present at least a little more tolerable: empathy. Self-sufficiency. Cooperation. And the knowledge to start helping each other.”

“And feeding abusive adults to murderous plants.”

“And feeding abusive adults to murderous plants,” You agreed, shrugging. “It’s not ideal, but that’s why I did my best to calibrate it for those who childcare services would never realistically stop and made sure the children would be unlikely to be caught or realize what they had done.”

“Was there really nothing else you could do? Reported them? Tried to get them replaced?” Feelgood enquired, causing a surge of annoyance.

“Do you really think that if I had any good option I would have opted for ‘pioneer revolutionary mind control technology and experimental botany’?” You responded rhetorically. “If I reported, even if I had ironclad evidence, the odds of any institutional or policy changes happening would be nil: the Lil Patriots recruit from the party apparatus, from people who champion it’s ideals and beliefs who answer to people who sit on all levels of the government mechanism, and according to Patriot Party dogma the Lil Patriot was working exactly. As. intended.” You spelled out, leaning forward, a growl in your throat. “The cruelty is the fucking point: how else are they supposed to beat those kids into perfectly obedient little soldier-drones?”

Silence reigned. “You know, when I started this evening, I really didn’t expect this talk to get this heavy.”

“Life isn’t a damn comic book,” You responded acidly. “As much as people all seem to have become cartoons since the war started, this is still real life, filled with real monsters produced by a real and fucking crushing system. Of fucking course the carcasses its produces and forces me to look at every day are HEAVY. Any more questions or are you satisfied that I’m not a psychopath?”

“I…suppose,” Feelgood admitted. “You aren’t exactly what I was expecting, man, but you’re definitely not evil at least.”

You snorted. “I wouldn’t go that far: I do work for a corrupt fascist government that has coinflip odds of ending the world,” You observed dryly, causing Feelgood to chuckle. “Anyways, you’ve asked your questions: now I’m going to ask mine. What exactly are you after, Doc?”

The man inhaled, clearly trying to psych himself up. “Well, my villanous peer, much like you, when I look out into the world, I see darkness!” He said, causing you to breath out your nose. Guess the bombasticism was staying. “Cruelty, oppression, depression, and suppression! On one wing you see the government! The boot stomping on the face of mankind, the machine that needs dismantling! On the other you have NEXT, who are no better, being the knife trying to stab the boot and hitting the person below it just as much as they hit the peoples real enemy! And these are our parties. I have decided neither option is palatable, and so I reject the binary!  I, Dr. Feelgood, which to create my own villainous franchise, one by the people, of the people, and for the people!”

… “So, if I understand this correctly, you’re an anti-government dissident intent on engaging in terrorism, but you consider NEXT too indiscriminate and not ideologically palatable. You’re here to- presumably- scout me out as your first recruit.” You summed up. “And I’m assuming that by the speech I’ve passed whatever requirements you had for me, albeit not to the degree you had been sold on.” Wait, sold on? No, no, that couldn’t be right. You were on the right track at least, though it meant something deeply unfortunate: socializing with multiple people you disliked.

“I, uh. Y-yeah-”

You stood up, walking to your lab phone, picking up the receiver and dialing a number. 

“Wha?” Came the groggy voice of Ashton you hoped: definitely some form of auditory pagnosia. Auditory Pagnosia. That didn’t sound right. 

“Wilbur, it’s Edgar. It’s about our conversation earlier: I need you to go to Wally’s Future Golf right now.”

“Edgar, it’s midnight, why-”

“Wilbur I swear to god if you don’t start moving I will personally drive to the hotel you don’t think I know about and drag your bony old ass personally to Wally’s.” You said, voice clipped, irate. “Consider this a condition of joining my new inexplicable franchise.”

“Fine, fine! Geez kid,” Ashton grumbled. “Give me thirty minutes: you gonna bite my head off if I stop for a midnight burger?”

“Y-Actually no, get me one as well, extra cheese, triple patty, some kind of non-potato side, and a pop that isn’t nuka-cola,” You informed him, and you could almost hear his eyes roll.

“Alright, your wish is my order your majesty,” He said sarcastically before hanging up. 

You turned to look at the confused Feelgood. “You heard me: we’re continuing this conversation at Wally’s. ENFERR,” You said, elevating your voice, well aware of the bugs the AI had in your lab-space. “You too: I don’t care how, if you aren’t there I’ll do the same thing I threatened to do to Wilbur.” 

“Wait, what? Wilbur? Wally? Why?” Feelgood asked confused. 

“Because I don’t want to have this meeting again and I’m not going to independently juggle all of you assholes. Congratulations: I might be your first recruit, but unfortunately you were a little late on the pitch, because for some unfathomable reason you are my third.”

====

“And so we’re all here,” ENFERR said as you took a swing over the mechagator. The four of you had made your way inside once you unlocked the gate, Ashton opting to use a motorized wheelchair to conserve energy, ENFERR using a half finished robot that had a television on a swivel for a head to attend, and Feelgood having ridden with you in your nuclear powered station-wagon, a ride that had felt extremely awkward, spent listening to DoP Radio’s Midnight Bird Sounds. 

Right now, the trio were all sitting around while you worked off your energy, Ashton eating his burger. He had not gotten yours. Like an asshole. 

+1 Wrath.

“So it seems,” Ashton said, taking a bite, chewing, and the smell of freshly cooked, cheesy meat made your stomach growl, something you pointedly ignored. “I’ll assume we all know who everyone is then?”

“I don’t really know who he is,” ENFERR said, pointing a half-finished manipulator at Feelgood. “Just that he’s been in correspondence with several members of the DoP science division and is on a few watchlists.”

“I don’t really know much about the robot either,” Feelgood admitted, taking a hit off of a blunt and exhaling smoke. “He’s basically a foot-note in the DoP science budget I could never figure out: I figured the Director was cooking something under the books, didn’t realize it was an entire AI.”

“That funding IS a footnote,” ENFERR responded, indignantly. “Most of my development funding came from AlviCorp and- Ah, private investors.” He said, clamming up a bit towards the end. 

“We all know the salient facts about each other,” You cut in as you made another swing, watching the ball bounce against the rising and falling mechagator to help change its course: this wasn’t actually true, but for now it would be better if everyone here believed it at least. “We all hate the government. None of us like NEXT particularly. All of you have independently decided I was the means you’d accomplish your goals for reasons I don’t understand.”

“In my case it wasn’t independently: I saw what the Director was planning and decided to try and profit. It was probably one of my best decisions yet,” ENFERR bragged. “Your values and mine, Edgar, are just so…synonymous.”

…Yeah you were just going ignore the tone ENFERR just used to say synonymous. “My point stands. We’re all currently working for the same goal, more or less,” You said, pausing your efforts to blow off steam. “But if we’re going to accomplish anything, we’re going to need to actually collaborate: all of you came to me, so we’re doing this my way. So, gentlemen, I’d like to formally welcome you to the second domestic supervillain organization to be born on american soil. Now, let’s discuss plans.”

[spoiler=Fate of the Wasteland: Field Journal of Dr. Kempt: Ma-Ma Maulers] 

Further update on the ghoulings: I have successfully earned the trust of one particular troop that has chosen to live in a hollowed out upturned yacht. Much like how one can in theory placate a feral ghoul given time, it seems that feral ghouls are the same: their aggression is INCREASED, but it’s not ABSOLUTE. Given patience, care, and non-violence it is possible to reach through to them.

The process of earning their tolerance required ample use of peanut brittle bars.

This troop, much like others observed so far, seem to have a symbiotic relationship with this regions flytrap subspecies, which I have named the Ma-Ma Maulers. The ghoulings feed the mama-plant rad-fish and help spread their seeds in order to create a mauler colony, the mama maulers and their offspring help protect the ghoulings and provide leaves and stems for clothes and tools. A few of them have tried to attack me, but they seem to be easily placatable with food and care: as strange as it is, Mama Maulers appear to be domesticated giant flytraps. 

I’m going to spend a few weeks observing their growth and care and studying environmental conditions- and collect seeds. It isn’t quite what I set out to find, but it’s an incredible discovery none-the-less. I can’t wait to begin growing them back at the University Botany Lab in Okay City.

[/spoiler]

[Fate of the Wasteland=Expedition Journal of Rupert Howard: Glue Bulbs]

Sweet, sticky, white gold!

We had to take a detour out of the way and have discovered treasure! A plant resembling a giant bloated bubble: some larger than a billy goat, some as small as a mutato, with long, scraggly leaves that seem to be covered in fine hairs. 

When one of our servants accidentally walked too close, the whole thing wound up popping, covering him in a thick layer of sap. Sadly, we were unable to remove it or move him, not without significantly slowing our pace: out of mercy, I put the poor bastard out of his misery. His death will not be forgotten: much like mines, one has to watch their steps around these plants. It will be useful for when we eventually establish harvesting operations out here: the gunk apparently contains a variety of very useful ingredients, according to the doctor-man from El Paso. Primarily industrial supplies: things that could be used to create glue, synthetic liquid rubber and other useful compounds. 

We must finish our expedition and then travel back to Houston to report our findings to the rest of the knights. But once we have done so, and we inevitably return to Lousiana, it will no doubt be at the head of a great movement to begin taking this land and taming it. The salvage that no doubt still remain to be taken, the treasures that can be grown for trade in the swamp, and whatever other bounties might be found on this Terra Nullius will be ours for the taken so that we might complete what our ancestors first set about doing and forging a great army to conquer the savages that surround us and ensure that all those barbarous people finally bow their heads to the wisdom of their betters.

God bless the great nation of Texas.

[/spoiler]

[Fate of the Wasteland=Ricky’s Stand-Up: I Heard A Funny Joke In Baton Rouge]

Eddie. Ed. Edd-master. Short mean and ugly himself.

Been awhile since we’ve talked. You remember me, right? 

I just wanna ask, what did you think was going to happen here? My friend, you realized what this place was gonna do awhile ago: it didn’t take a genius to realize the whole place was gonna be irradiated. 

Those kids are still dead, Ed. You have successfully stopped zero children from drowning here. Like fuck man, it’s my first time and you gave me the most miserable material to work with, dead kids: how do you make a joke about that?

Knock knock: whose there? Little Suzy Q Communist, choking on polluted water because glue isn’t construction material.

Is that funny? Does that get a laugh? Come on Edgar, help me out here, throw me a bone, I’m dying up here. You couldn’t have done the thing that lets me make Rasputin jokes first?

‘Hey everybody, did you hear about Tommy Jenkins dying because he was submerged in irradiated water? It was really RAD!’

Is this something? Is this anything? Edgar? Ed?

Edgar?

[/spoiler]

====

“Alright Edgar, we’re doing this your way.

Feelgood is going to work on more…national projects for now: for now, he’s given us some resources to help expand our operation. ENFERR is already writing it down: a +1 bonus to mischief. 

For now, let’s go over our goals. First, we’re going to need a name: it’s not just going to be us four, and we’re going to need something for the news to call us. You’re gonna wanna pick something memorable, catchy. 

[ ] Gimme a name, Edgar, for our little organization. Something a little 1960’s, a little silver age, and if you want, you can even make it a little Red. 

Next, we’re going to need to start preparing our next big move. None of us particularly agree on what it should be, but it needs to be loud, memorable, and disruptive. Here are our proposals:

[ ] Plan Knightfall [Pinkerton]: Wilbur’s proposal: the Pinkertons were coming, and would no doubt viciously work to suppress the current protests and the unions that were pushing it. He wanted your new organization to debut by reversing the script by smashing the Pinkertons, but only after pumping them up to make their fall more satisfying. Increase both Financial Unrest and Police Militarization in Baton Rouge, and then successfully Dissolve the Police once Pinkerton faction penetration increases: cannot let protest be destroyed. Dissolve the Police will be upgraded to increase Workers of Louisiana faction penetration. 

[ ] Plan Attack of the Toybots [Government]: ENFERR’s proposal: your debut would be unleashing a wave of toybots onto the streets! A parade, designed to be loud, colorful, entertaining, all to help draw in the crowds! And, once there were enough toybots on the street, you’d ‘hijack’ them and use them to begin engaging in targeted property damage against the assets of your enemy. Complete both the Toy Factory and build 1 Toy Outlet in or near an urban region and complete AlviCorp Community Development Program in that community. Unlock Toybot Parade, a faction targeting [Robotics] project that can be used to destroy enemy assets. 

[ ] Atomiplant Army [Military]: Dr. Feelgood digged the idea of weaponizing plants. He wanted your debut to involve using them to rob a naval convoy. Ballsy, you’ll give him that, and it sure as hell sent a statement. You’d definitely need to do some heavy research though, and probably help growing the things if you wanted to manage the numbers that this would require. Complete Co-Op Garden in a community with Hypnotic Broadcast Reels and complete Atomicrops Attack an additional five times. Co-Op Gardens gain 3rd phase and gain mischief tag. 

Of course, while you’re doing that, we’re going to need to expand the organization. We’re going to need assets, personnel, gear, training…Of course, between the four of us, we have a lot of options, and as the leader, once again, you have the final vote.

[ ] Vampire Henchmen [Genetics, Personnel]:  Feelgoods suggestion: there were plenty of people sick who couldn’t afford medicine. With a little research, you could not only cure these individuals in order to recruit them, you could outright enhance them. There were numerous species in the Bayou that could serve, but the man had a clever idea: why not play into the motif you had already established in your prior outings for your henchmen? Complete Atomibugs and Off the Shelf BioOptimizer. Unlock Vampire Henchmen, increasing mischief bonus by +3

[ ] Evil Lair [Construction, Prototype]: Wilbur’s suggestion: he wanted you to begin establishing a headquarters for your organization off the coast. A Lair that could be used by members as a hide-out, to conduct research in secret, to coordinate, and to host whatever the infrastructure the organization required. Complete ACME Construction Catalog and Motor Pool Phase 1. Gain Evil Lair Community Card, which cannot be used to fulfill mandates but gives influence per turn for infrastructure: different infrastructure provides different . 

-[ ] Write in Community Name

[ ] Hypnotron [Robotics, Media]: ENFERR’s proposal: it wanted to try its hand at mass manipulation by designing a model of robot that could act as a mobile transceiver for your hypnotic broadcasts, allowing you to try your hand at mass indoctrination. Complete two more additional Phase One Broadcast Towers in the region and build a AlviCorp Robot Factory: Hypnotic Broadcast Reels will be upgraded to give Outreach Dice.