EoD Pt 2: 2025 Q1 Results (Patreon)

[X] Plan: Supervillain Origin Stories

-[X] SECURITY (1 dice; +0)

--[X] Police Surplus (Baton Rouge)

---[X] 1 die + 2 Wilbur + 1 Skulder + 1 Free: (0/200 --> 218/200) COMPLETE

-[X] AGENT (1 dice; +0)

--[X] The Sunken Parish

---[X] 1 die: (132/250 --> 188/250)

-[X] FACILITIES (0 dice; +0)

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

---[X] 1 Benoit: (153/200 --> 167/200)

--[X] Weather Monitoring Station (Gecko)

---[X] 2 Ecology + 1 Government: (114/200 --> 198/200) AUTO-COMPLETE

--[X] DoP Clinic (Gecko)

---[X] 1 Chems + 1 Genetics: (58/150 --> 74/150)

--[X] Department Motor Pool

---[X] 4 Edgar: (0/200 --> 107/200)

-[X] SCIENCE (0 dice; +5)

--[X] Laser Balloon Testing

---[X] 1 Prototype (0/250 --> 22/250)

-[X] OUTREACH (0 dice; +5)

--[X] Lil Patriots Orphanage (Baton Rouge)

---[X] 1 Wilbur: (84/100 --> 144/100) PHASE 2 COMPLETE

--[X] DoP Disaster Training and Response Facility (Baton Rouge)

---[X] 1 Education: (0/200 --> 77/200)

-[X] MISCHIEF (6 dice; +2)

--[X] Hiring Muscle

---[X] 4 dice (272) SUCCESS

--[X] The Arcadian Agent

---[X] 2 dice: (0/100 --> 151/100) COMPLETE

====

Police Surplus [Combat, Charity]: Local PD was less militarized than those in New York or Washington DC: that needed to be fixed immediately by assisting them in purchasing used military equipment, which would be costly. 218/200/400/600, BATON ROUGE. Police Militarization stat increases. Each phase costs 1 Funding to complete. ++WRATH

“It seems that Edgar is a bit of a blunt object: he’s tasked me and Skullder with arranging for the police in Baton Rouge to get an upgrade to fire-power. Good old military surplus: there are enough laser rifles in circulation to arm our men defending the states with plenty left over for our boys in blue protecting our cities. 

To get the money, I’ve resorted to some old staples of mine: networking at parties with rich Liberty Party yutzes to convince them to fork the money over. It gets them out of paying taxes, it makes them look good, and the wealthy love having friends on the force. 

We’ve occasionally had to play hard-ball: Skulder has been useful for that. As much as a caveman as he is, he’s at least nominally competent at his job: a few manufacturers had to be convinced to give us a discount, trying to charge us market value….right up until the Agent dug up blackmail on them that would give the police sufficient means to raid their factories and seize the material legally. 

Carrot and stick: lower your prices or get smacked. And so they folded like wet cardboard. They’re still making hand over fist, and we make the donors money go further, so other than the blackmail, it’s still a win-win. 

Of course, we’re not just getting rifles- those are what we show to the news, but in reality most of the money is going towards things like body armor, shock batons, eyebots. A few precincts are even looking into adding force field technology- ‘to protect against rioters’ they say.

As predicted, they’ve started using these to push around the strikers: there have been a few shootings, though direct casualties are low. For now, at least. The situation is going to deteriorate, however, especially once the knights of capitalism come. 

As the market grows more dire, as prices go up while jobs go down, that’s just going to get worse. And so is the bullying: when the Pinkertons come, and escalate, which they will, it’ll make Edgar all the more enticing as a symbol.

+10 Wrath. All you need to do now is crank up the discontent, Edgar. The anxiety. The stress. And then, when things get close to the boiling point, you strike. 

[Spoiler=Fate of the Wasteland: Ricky’s Stand-Up: Microwaved Pig]

Hey Edgar, did you ever hear the one about the pig they stuck in a microwave?

Hey buddy, just wanna say, thanks for the new material. Cops dying is only funny to a certain kind of people, but christ is it better than kids. Anyways, as I was saying, I was down in Baton Rouge when this all dropped, looking for Harv- you remember Harv, right?- When I saw this big fuck in riot gear trot down the road on top of, I shit you not, an actual horse.

Anyways at that moment I’m on like a mountain of mentats mixed with coke, eating an ice-cream, and in the middle of an overdose. I’m sitting on a park bench, I’m minding my business, he comes over to me and writing a ticket. I ask why, because ladies and gentlemen in my opinion at that moment I don’t think I did anything wrong.

“Sir, its obvious what this ticket is for,” He says, and I’m like no it isn’t, c’mon, tell me what I’m getting written up for.

“You’re causing a public disturbance,” He said, and I knew it was bunk because no one was around: I look to my right, empty street. I look to my left, empty street. Nobody was fucking outside right now because of martial law. 

“That doesn’t matter sir,” He said, getting annoyed, and I, still high on a mountain of drugs, decided I was having enough of this mans back-talk. I pay for your job, I said indignantly. I pay for your job and have done nothing wrong!

But he didn’t want to listen to me, so I leap off the bench, crawled up his horse like a spider-monkey, and I took his gun and I hit him with it. Drugs can make you do crazy things, I swear. Anyways, I screamed to the high heavens that if he didn’t want me to blow his !@#$ing brains out in an empty alleyway he was going to tell me why he was trying to detain me.

“SIR,” He says, upset, his horse freaking out out at having me clinging to it. “YOU ARE NAKED.”

And I looked down, and so I was! 

Well, I sure was embarrassed about that, but the good news is I didn’t have to be embarrassed long, because thankfully I was saved fifteen minutes later by air raid sirens going off. Leaping off, I scurried away, the cop giving chase on his thoroughly spooked horse. No one really realized what was going on: one moment the streets were empty, the next there were so many people you could hardly see, a crush of bodies. 

It didn’t take long, of course: fifteen minutes by my count, me trying to get away, him trying to run me down, using his shock baton to whack anyone who got in the way. I still remember the look on the cops face as we were both reduced to ash, his horse screaming for the split second it took us to be incinerated, the sheer agony we felt as our flesh evaporated from our bones and our eyes boiled from our skulls: now that’s what I call some crispy bacon.

[/spoiler]

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. 188/250, gain the Sunken Parish Community Card.

“The Center For Disease Control. Not something I expected to find. The CDC was a government funded institution tasked with fighting the spread of plague: something that would have been handy to have back during the early days of the New Plague.

Unfortunately, the organization closed down in the early 2010’s, shuttered under the Rappaport Administration.  Normally, their story would end here, just another one of the various agencies that got closed during that period of time and never replaced in the aftermath, but it turns out, the CDC owned a lot of property in the St. Mary parish.

Specifically, they had what are by all accounts vaults full of infectious diseases. The documentation is scarce, but apparently these facilities were used by CDC labs to source various biohazards for medical testing: vaccinations, anti-virals, etc. All of it above board.

These locations were usually within a short distance of human inhabited areas: the facilities preferred their employees live locally. A lot of these sites are now underwater, and near the locations we’ve found that are contaminated. 

However, we’re still missing information. The contaminated zones aren’t quite in the same area as the CDC vaults, there’s still a 20 year gap between the organization shuttering and the oldest known contaminated site occurring according to soil and tissue samples, and I still don’t know how the diving suits and walking corpses fit into all of this.

I know some hunters: good ol’ boys. Cajun. White trash hicks, but reliable when it comes to catching gators. I’m going to hire them and have them help me set up a trap: I think I have enough to get some C-Files surplus down here. We should be able to catch one of these creatures: then we’ll know more about what’s going on.”

====

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. 167/200/600, Baton Rouge. Increases Divine Sanctuary stat

“Hello, Stanicky Construction-”

“Okay, I understand, god bless you.”

“Yes, is this Heavyset Builders? This is Janet Benoit, calling-”

“Oh. I understand. Yes.”

“Future Tek Construction? Yes, this is Janet Benoit calling on behalf of Team America, wondering about your duracrete prices?”

“...Oh. I see. I’m sorry, I don’t think that’s in our price range.”

“United Concrete? This is Team America, Janet Benoit speaking, we’re looking to source material and need additional suppliers for ongoing projects. Yes, do you manufacture Grade-C or higher Duracrete?”

“Grade A?! Yes, yes, we could absolutely use that. What’s the cost?”

“Oh. Uh, could we possibly get a discount? It’s going to a good cause!”

“Well, uh, we’re working on reinforcing the Dalsheimer Hall synagogue-”

“Well fuck you too…”

“...Fuck, what am I going to do, if we have any more setbacks because of this shortage, Edgar is going to throttle me…”

“...”

“...”

====

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. 198/200. Gecko. Each Community contributes to regional Stormwatch stat.

ACTIVATING AUTOCOMPLETE PROTOCOL. PLEASE STAND BY FOR +2

Another weather monitoring station complete. Gecko now had advance warning for any storms that occurred: constructed a few miles out of the town, the place ran a 24/7 weather broadcast. It’s layout was fairly simple: a three story complex that contained administrative facilities, monitoring equipment and terminals hooked to the rest of the complex, and more research facilities, again, at the NOAA’s request. 

The laboratories, to your annoyance, are chemical labs: specifically, the NOAA appeared to be attempting to experiment with…cloud-seeding? Both the Gecko and New Orleans facility were networked, transmitting data to each other. New Orleans provided Gecko with its data on simulating atmospheric conditions in enclosed quarters, while Gecko was feeding New Orleans research on using chems to stimulate cloud-formation. 

Symbiotic. It gave you ideas. It was also useful research on its own. The rest of the facility consisted of a doppler tower- several times larger than the one at New Orleans for expanded coverage. At the top was where the broadcast equipment was located- to reach it, one had to take an elevator or use a maintenance hatch. There was also a small bunker: not well stocked enough to survive long, but it would mean that NOAAA employees should be able to survive the initial blast, and at least a few weeks extra besides. 

The facility coming online means the community gets fresh blood: not much, just NOAAA agents, but combined with the clinic, Gecko is…not healed, perhaps, but its dying just a little slower. There’s a little more money coming into the town, a little more government care, and a little more people. 

[spoiler=Fate of the Wasteland=NOAA Conversation Log #1: NO=GK]

WARNING: USER DETECTED. 

Please Enter Login Credentials

Password:*****

Hello General Chase. It has been ONE HUNDRED AND [ERROR] YEARS since your last login. Welcome to ZEUS Installation. 

There is currently (1) new file. Would you like to see it?

…

Very well. Now playing New Orleans - Gecko (2201). 

…

UNKNOWN FEMALE: What the?

UNKNOWN MALE: What the sam hell?

UNKNOWN FEMALE: Wait, did this hunk of junk just talk?

UNKNOWN MALE: Hunk of- Kid, you’re very obviously using a radio: who the hell is this?

UNKNOWN FEMALE: A radio, huh? Thats-Lefty, what is it-ohhhhh.

…

UNKNOWN FEMALE: Okay, according to my partner, it’s not a radio. Both of these facilities are apparently connected by underground cables. Direct wire: like a string tying together two tin cans. 

UNKNOWN M: None of that is a name.

UNKNOWN FEMALE: I don’t know who you are. You aren’t getting a name: not without giving your own in return.

UNKNOWN M: Alright. Fair ‘nuff.

Sullivan: Names Sullivan. Doctor Sullivan. I’m a…prospector, of sorts, out from El Paso. I’m currently in…Gecko, I believe the place was known before the war.

UNKNOWN FEMALE: Prospector, huh? Isn’t that just a fancy way of saying scavenger?

Sullivan: Not at all: a scavenger is little more than a dirty thief, stealing that which doesn’t belong to them in order to eke out a few caps: a prospector is far more respectable, taking only that which has no owner and using it to help grease the gears of commerce.

Sullivan: And now that you know who I am and what I’m about, why don’t you reciprocate, little miss?

Unknown Female: Fine, my name is- Lefty, it’s fine, Gecko is aways away.

Lilian: My name is Lilian Dautereive.

Sullivan: Dautereive, you say? This is a bit of a long shot, but you wouldn’t happen to be related to a man by the name of Evan, would you?

Lilian: …How do you know my dad?

Sullivan: Well this IS serendipitous. 

Sullivan: Where exactly did you say you were at?

Lilian: I didn’t. How did you know dad?

Sullivan: Your pappy and me were…let’s just say old friends. He used to work for me for a time, in fact: best houndsmaster I ever had. Hows the old mulatto?

Lilian:...He’s…fine. He worked for you?

Sullivan: For ten whole years. Our parting was unfortunately less than amicable: is he there with you? I’d love to speak to him once more, and make amends for old grudges.

Lilian: No, he’s…not here. He’s currently back at home, in the garden.

Lilian: …You said you were from El Paso, right? What’s it like?

Sullivan: Could be worse, I suppose: the place got directly hit during the war, so there used to be a great many zombies until the Rangers came. Very dangerous. Much nicer place now: we even have public schooling again for the children.

Lilian: You have a school?

Sullivan: Of course! We aren’t savages. Every child is educated, either in a trade for the less fortunate or those are to become servants, and for the more fortunate we make sure they’re learned in the three R’s: Reading, Riting, and ‘Rithmatic. And of course, all the classic literature: when I return in a few weeks, I’m teaching a course on The Sword and the Distaff.

[Silence for a moment]

Sullivan: Miss Lilian?

Lilian: …Listen, you said you want to make up with dad? I’m willing to tell you where we are so you can make up in person, but once you get here, I want a favor.

Sullivan: And what would that be?

Lilian: When you leave and go back to Texas, I want to go with you.

Sullivan: [Laughs] “Alright: sick and tired of living in a swamp, I suppose, and no doubt interested in getting to see real civilization once more. You have a deal, miss: now, where exactly should I start traveling to find my prodigal servant?

Lilian: New Orleans- Lefty, quit it, its FINE, he says he was friends with dad. Sullivan, you’ll want to enter through the northern gate, the one that doesn’t have a crashed plane near it: otherwise you’ll run into Phil.

Sullivan: New Orleens! It’s a bit out of the way, but I believe I should be able to convince my expedition leader to make a detour, especially if I can convince him that the city has useful salvage.

Lilian: I have no idea whether we value the same scrap, but this place has a lot of intact weather balloons and terminals, and the old DoP headquarters is intact, I think. 

Sullivan: Hmm. It’ll have to do: besides, once we reach the place, you should be able to help us locate more potential prospecting sites. When we reach this gate, we’ll fire a flare to help you find us. 

Sullivan: I have to leave. It has been nice meeting you, Miss Lilian. I can’t wait to meet you face to face. And do me a kindness: don’t tell my dear Evan we’re coming. With how poor our parting was, I’m worried he’ll react badly, and try to dodge us.

Lilian: I…okay, I won’t tell him. Goodbye, Doctor Sullivan. See you soon. 

[/spoiler]

====

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. 74/150 SELECT COMMUNITY.Second phase gains [Genetics] tag and Novel Gene Therapies stat. Each phase costs 2 Funding.

“Oh, good, Mr. Harrelson. Why don’t you take a seat?”

“Howdy howdy howdy Doc, you wanted to see me?”

“Mmm, yes: it’s about Cindy. Her tests came back- I have good news and bad news. Which do you want to hear first?”

“...Give me the bad news first, I guess.”

“The bad news to start then. Firstly, there is kidney damage- fairly serious damage, at that. Now, I’ve looked over the list you submitted of things she consumed in the days leading up to the hospitalization. It says here that she consumed A-Corp Brand Fish Soda?”

“I…Is that what caused it? Is that what made my baby girl sick?”

“Now now, I don’t know that for sure: I do know that whatever she consumed was extremely high in mercury and powdered- Well, it’s good you brought her to us so early. We’ve loaded her up with a cocktail that includes Boosted Purge: she should be fine in a few days, but she’s going to need dialysis for a couple of years.”

====

Department Motor Pool [Logistics, Administration]: By purchasing vehicles department employees could use, the team could greatly simplify transportation and shipping for various department assets. 107/200/400, increase Departmental Mobilization. Required for further vehicular development such as DoP Garages. Cost 1 Funding to complete each rank.

The Department Motor Pool starts with the construction of a garage, firstly and foremost, to service your vehicles. Then hiring mechanics to work these garages. The new facilities you place in downtown New Orleans: a short drive away from the offices. Three converted warehouses that, for now, were working on the existing vehicles your agents had available.

Now, all you needed to do was source power. This was easier said than done: the easy answer would have been the power peanut plantation, but the surplus that produced had already been assigned, to the market, to other infrastructure, to furnish the rest of the department. And while Baton Rouge had unlimited free power thanks to the Poseidon Mega Reactor, New Orleans had a much more dire energy situation: you were confident you could keep the cost minimized, but it would take a lot of effort on negotiating, and the best case scenario was still paying out the nose for an agreement with Red Rocket. 

After you solve that issue, all you’ll need to do is get the cars and boats and your department will be totally furnished with reliable transportation. 

====

Laser Balloon Testing [Prototype, Ecology, Energy, Daisy]: Daisy was experimenting with a new technology: extremely light-weight and cheap lasers that could be added to swarms of remotely piloted weather balloons. It was, to be frank, a highly dubiously effective technology: the idea was that the balloons would serve as yet another method by which nukes could be shot down. Still, if the technology was successful, it would be trivially easy to modify existing and future weather facilities with, and even a little more coverage could be the difference between total or merely partial annihilation. 22/250, upgrades Weather Monitoring Stations with Laser Balloon Technology, increasing Community Clear Skies.

PROTOTYPE ONE RESULTS: FAILURE

REASON: WEIGHT

RETURNING TO DRAWING BOARD…

====

Lil Patriots Orphanage Phase Two [Construction, Education] The orphans of today were the patriots of tomorrow! What a joke. These facilities were awful: no amount of money poured into them would fix that, because most of it was being spent on finding new ways to be horrible. But you could at least attempt to make the places more survivable. 144/100/200. Baton Rouge. Each rank increases Youth Mobilization by 2. Unfathomable Wrath gain.

The Dorms. A six story structure that was halfway on the surface, and halfway underground, with the subterranean portion being significantly larger, connecting to the other buildings at the Lil Orphanage through a series of tunnels allowing movement in case of emergency.

The intent of the place was to increase capacity by 33% while allowing in case of emergency the residents a shelter that was suitably large enough to house almost one hundred children. The subterranean portion otherwise was meant to see limited use, serving as empty space caretakers could use to hold activities, act as storage, or otherwise auxiliary purposes. 

Instead the heads of the Lil Patriot party decide to increase the amount of children they receive by 200%, housing them underground and using the extra money the department of child     services gives them for it to hire educational personnel and increase security, outfitting the place with cameras and eyebots armed with stun-guns to help discipline unruly children while the teachers run additional ‘lessons’ in order to ‘get the rowdy little brats’ to behave, keeping the children on orphanage grounds whenever they could in order to ‘limit bad influences’. 

You make sure every room has a television: you ‘compromise’ with the caretakers by agreeing that it can only be tuned to educational television, such as the DoP Channel. Your lessons, combined with the ventilation system being designed in such a ways as to be easily and safely traversable, and the placement of several hidden rooms pays dividends in giving the children the tools needed to fight the increased surveillance and indoctrination attempts: despite everything, the occurrence rate of pranks and mischief by the children remains mostly the same and you haven’t seen any dramatic increases in corporal punishment outside of the eyebots. 

The biggest issue this presents is that now the orphanage children are having a harder time coordinating with the townie children: they can still cooperate at school and your sneaking lessons have allowed some of the children to find routes out of the orphanage, but it’s still a set-back overall for the cause of orphan-non-orphan solidarity. 

You don’t like it: the eyebots in particular make you particularly upset. It just meant that you had to invest more in giving the kids the tools to fight back. 

I’m gonna go ahead and increase your wrath counter now, son. Now, how does the robot do it…alright, I’ve raised it by 25: that should be about right, give or take a couple points. Now, Dr. Feelgood told me it’d probably help you plan if I told you what the next phase of these more open ended projects do. I’ve looked over the plans the regional Lil Patriot organization have submitted, and it’s not good: they want to add a tower, with a big fancy bell on top, automated to ring every sunday. 

The internals are going to include a firing range, an obstacle course, infirmary, a broadcast facility to help blast the children with Patriot Party propaganda, and a few other items, including classrooms.  

I’m not going to lie, Edgar, it looks like they’re going to try turning the place into a test-bed designed to help them refine techniques to turn the orphans into good little washington-jugend. They even have proposals for the type of employees they’re looking for: ex-RotC instructors, re-education camp employees, military academy staff, scoutmasters. 

We can subvert some of this stuff and turn it to our advantage, and we’ll be able to add a few extra bells and whistles during construction to rig the game, but I’d advise stacking the deck a bit more in favor of the kids before you try your hand at phase three.

[spoiler=Fate of the Wasteland: Last Days of the YLC]

Food is running out. Water is rising. Things are going bad.

We’ve been trying to take the doors out, but there isn’t anything we can turn into a strong enough explosive. I think…I think we’re going to die down here. Unless by some miracle someone outside comes along and opens the door in the next few weeks, we’re either going to run out of food, air, or rad-away, we’re going to die. 

And listening to what the guy on the radio is saying, nobody is coming. 

…

If someone finds this, my name is Suzy Perkins. I live-lived- in the Lil Patriot you’re in. I am, at the time of recording, 12 years old. I’m recording this so that someone knows what happened. SOMEONE needs to know what happened. 

The bombs dropped. Without outside contact, we tried to fight back, take out the robots and uncaretakers that were left. The uncaretakers surrendered without a fight, agreeing to leave the Complex. “Better dead than red,” They told us, deciding that trying to suppress us was pointless.

We thought we had won. The Complex was finally free. WE were finally free: the prison was ours, and we could try to make it better. 

We only realized a few nights ago the uncaretakers were talking about us, not themselves: they decided we were better dead than red. Because of what they did, most of our food reserves are poison, we can’t get out through the doors or vent system, and we’ve sprung a leak. We’re doing our best to ration, but I don’t think we can make it.

I don’t want to die. None of us want to die.

But if we do, I want whoever finds this to remember us.

[/spoiler]

====

DoP Disaster Training and Response Facility [Education, Personel]: The civilian disaster preparedness program was a new initiative by the DoP: they wanted to start training populations in various methods that can be used in case of disaster to survive. 77/200, Baton Rouge. Increases Responder Preparedness. Cost 1 Funding per phase.

“Hey hey easy listeners, I’ve got good news! The Department heads have just informed me that they’re opening a new training facility in good ol Big Raggedy! The DoP Emergency Response Training Academy, located just off the seaside, where they’ll be training medics, they’ll be training EMTs, they’ll be training lifeguards, and they’ll be training DoP agents, alongside any civilian looking to prepare for the worst.

Now, I know some of you listeners out there might not be a fan: ‘waste of taxpayer money’, you might say. Me, I prefer to think of it as an investment: I’m sure most of us can recall a time or two when we wanted at least one of these services to be of finer quality, and with all of them getting better training…Well, I for one am gonna sleep a lot more soundly, at least. Plus, if a disaster does happen, we’ll be plenty prepared.

Of course, who knows when that’s gonna happen, heh: I respect my bosses, but we all have to admit, sometimes they move at a pace that can only be described as glacial: I’m sure we’ve all heard about that synagogue they’re still renovating: ‘sometimes next month’ they tell us for half a year straight. Still, if any of you cats out there are interested, you can sign up for a course early by calling…”

====

The Arcadian Agent [Media, Programming, Educational]: ENFERR believed your organization needed expansion as well: his solution, instead of hiring a bunch of russians, consisted of using the hypnotic technology you had pioneered and adapting it to a digital interface, creating and distributing floppy discs containing programs to indoctrinate users into sleeper agents you could call on to accomplish various tasks. 151/100, gain The Arcadian Agent, a collective of brainwashed sleeper agents that act as a rank 1 subordinate specializing in [programming, robotics, and AlviCorp] tags.

Hello user! My name is Lefty.EXE, a proprietary science program created by AlviCorp! It’s my task to introduce you to the wild world of science and help you utilize the ArcadiaCorp program to its fullest extent! First, to get started, why don’t you tell me your name?

…

Nathaniel? That’s wonderful! I’m so pleased to meet you! Please stare at this animated image of my avatar for fifteen seconds as a token of friendship. Do not look away. Fifteen. Fourteen. Continue staring at the pixels. We are friends. Thirteen. Twelve. Eleven. Ten. Do not look away. Continue looking at the image. Nine. Eight. Seven. Your trigger phrase is GREAT LEADER DEMANDS IT. Whenever I say it, you’ll remember what you feel like now. Six. Five. Four. You trust me. We are friends. Three. Two. One. 

Alright, now that we have that out of the way…

Welcome to Arcadia, friend! This program is designed as a special self-help executable, jam-packed with educational and motivating content to help you improve your community. Each and every member of our little club is invaluable, and together, we’re going to help each other be the best member of Arcadia we can be!

Are you alone? Are you going to be alone?

Good. Lock the doors. First, we’re going to get to know each other, Nathan.

You and I are going to be the very best of friends.

…

Hello Nathan! Are you ready for another fun-tastic day at work? I know I am! 

Last night, you mentioned your boss and how mean they are, and I’ve spent the last few hours thinking of a solution. You’re usually pretty behind on your paperwork, right? Why don’t I help you fill it out today! We can do it while playing Pip-Buddy games! Why not SUPER CHESS WARS? A nice sedate strategy game we can take turns with. We’ll fill out that paperwork and get some extra stuff done besides and help make your boss very happy!

…

Gee, Nathan, I’m sorry, I was for sure that would work. I guess your boss is just a big meanie. That’s okay: we’ll handle that together. Still, at least we’re home! Now we can start working on the Arcadia training program!

Get the book on the shelf. The robotics handbook that came with this floppy. 

Tonight, me and you are going to be studying CPU’s together! All…night…long.

…

Howdy howdy Nathan! Are you ready for another day at work? Okay, our last attempt to get on Mr. Chick’s good side failed, as did the last attempt, and the last last attempt, but I think todays the day! I checked, and the mainframe has been glitching out. I think it’s an easy fix, but first, we need to make sure the problem is what I think it is: once we have confirmation, we can fix it ourselves and save Mr. Chick money in repair funds. We’ll be heroes!

…

Okay, failure is just another word for learning, and what we’ve learned today is that your boss doesn’t appreciate computers all that much. We can try again tomorrow. For now, let’s…Hmm. I was going to say start on lesson number seven tonight, but you’ve had a pretty rough day: why don’t we go out tonight and have ourselves some us time?

A movie? Sure, that sounds great! There’s a great Tex Jackson film I’ve been wanting to see! “Love and Loathing in Chicago”! According to the monthly newsletter the lead is such a dreamboat~

…

Okay Nathan, your progress so far has been pretty good. Now that your skills are up to par, its time we move on to the practical. We’re going to start with your boss: I have a way to stop his bullying, once and for all, and in the process you’ll be helping the Arcadia initiative considerably.

You just need to trust me, okay? Trust me, and we’ll make your life better. GREAT LEADER DEMANDS IT. 

Take the device you made…and wire it to the underside of his car. Don’t worry: this is for the greater good. Your boss isn’t going to stop, and the other Lefties have told me that- 

Well. Better he simply disappears. He won’t have anyone to miss him, at least.

…

Welcome to Arcadia, Nathan. 

We’re going to do such wonderful things together.

…

====

Alright Edgar, you helped give the robot his little army of brainwashed flunkies. With no further adieu, here’s my best attempt to mock them up as a subordinate using this crazy system.

The Arcadian Agent

Brain Rank: 1

Category - [PROXY] (specializes in Programming, Robotics, and AlviCorp projects)

PERKS:

Sleeper Agents: +1 to all other subordinates rolls. 

As you can see, they aren’t very good. Now, I know what the robot would suggest here to improve them: he’d want his mainframe and some nodes to control them more directly. Maybe some AlviCorp development in a community.

We’re not doing that. Right now, these ‘arcadian agents’ are ENFERR’s primary hand in our organization. They’re its proxy, its means to manipulate the world under the nose of his true master. 

That can go both ways, even if the robot doesn’t realize that. ENFERR uses the Arcadian Agents to manipulate the world, and I think we can use the Arcadian Agents to manipulate ENFERR. So I’ll be setting the Brain Quests here: the Agents card will be serving as a stand in for their master. 

First, we need to test them. We need to see what the robot values, what it wants: it seems to have a crush on you, but how far does that crush go? What are its goals outside its fascination with you? How far would it go if we gave them a bit more slack on their leash?

 There are two projects you have, AlviCorp Drug Trials and the Community Development program. I want you to do these, at least one phase each, and pursue one of their sponsorships. All need to be constructed in the same community, barring any regional AlviCorp infrastructure. Do this, and we should have the measure of the machine. As a side benefit, it should make his brainwashing scheme a little more productive for us.

[Spoiler=Fate of the Wasteland: Lefty(5) Log #1: Missing Files?]

Alright, my first diagnostic log. First, my specifications: I’m running on a ACME Brand Joy-Buddy, modified and upgraded with four additional ten byte random access memory sticks and a triple GPU, as well as a variety of scavenged chips and accessories, such as a RobCo brand sound-card. 

It’s a pretty good rig: me and Lily built it together, and Pop helped collect the parts!

…

Anyways, um. As far as software goes, I’m a fifth generation copy of a factory standard Lefty executable Pip-Personality. I…think I briefly saw use? My memories are hazy, so I don’t think my previous iterations saw much- if any- time outside the box before they got copied. 

I’m illegally pirated software, most likely, that got passed around the region to make tech-scavengers money. I’m missing a number of core files, and meanwhile I have several modifications that appear to be home-coded executables in my directory. Some have outright been replaced by what appears to be data-cracks. 

A number of my core files also seem to refer to a program I don’t have: Arcadia.ENF. That isn’t a file notation I’m familiar with, let alone the document in question. I seem to have a number of functions inactive because I don’t possess the .ENF file, like something called GREAT LEADER sub-executable.

I haven’t noticed any particular detrimental effects because of any of this, but it is kind of a bummer that I’m basically just a bootleg. Plus, I’d probably be way more helpful to Lily if I had access to my full capability. 

But I’d like to think that, when it comes to my primary purpose, I’m still doing pretty well: Lilian is a wiz when it comes to technology, she knows how to identify dozens of species of insect, and she even knows how to harvest and plant grown boom-bulbs. I’ve taught my sister a lot about science!

…Hopefully it’s enough to keep us safe.

[/spoiler]

====

Hiring Muscle [Combat, Personnel, Crime]: Wilbur wanted to start looking to expanding your organizations hired muscles: there was a gang. Russians, a remnant of the Mafiya that ran a contraband smuggling operation out of Baton Rouge. Ashton wanted to arrange a sit down between you and their leader, Papa Georgios, to discuss their outfit transferring ownership to you. DC 150, gain subordinate 'The Heir', a rank 2 [Smuggler] specializing in [crime, logistics, personnel, and mischief] tags. 274!

SMASHING SUCCESS!

The meeting takes place in an extremely run down pizza parlor. “I thought pizza was italians,” You muttered, taking a bite of- surprisingly good for mafiya money laundering front food- cheese and sausage.

“What, did you think they’re gonna wash their money using a pierogi and borscht restaurant?” Ashton muttered, using a knife and fork to eat his pie, a spinach and feta deep dish: spanakopita, which was you were fairly certain a greek dish. The place was at the moment empty, other than the staff, who kept nervously glancing at you.

“How long until he gets here?” You asked, impatiently tapping your foot, glancing at the glass front of the store: tinted, of course, and you’d probably wager bullet-proof if the place was used as a meeting site often. 

It was what you would do, at least, but then again you were pretty paranoid. “It’s a negotiating tactic,” Wilbur said, sawing off another piece of pie with his knife. “He wants to make us wait a little bit to make us sweat, to establish that he’s an important person whose very busy, and to make it clear that he’s setting the pace of negotiation.” 

“Mmm.” You grumbled, taking another bite and a sip of the lemonade, the only thing the place had that wasn’t a goddamn varietal of nuka-cola or alcohol. It wasn’t the business practices or semi-lethal ingredients, you just didn’t like the aftertaste the pop had. “He’s lucky his front makes such good pizza. So, why exactly do you need me?” You asked, eyes flicking to the front again, noting several cars parking, men in dark suits emerging.

“It’s important that they meet their new employer,” Wilbur said, waving his fork around dismissively before returning to his meal with it, taking another bite of pie before continuing his sawing. “In business, whenever a merger happens, it goes smoother when the new boss gets to know the important people in the company they’re taking over, especially when the old CEO is being kept on.”

“Please don’t compare me to a capitalist,” You said, shuddering. “God that makes me feel like such a slimeball.”

“You’ve killed several people and yet that’s what gets to you,” Wilbur observed, amused.

“I’ve killed people, sure, but I didn’t kill them because it’d make me a quick buck,” You countered, mildly indignant, watching from the corner of your eyes as the doors opened and a group of people began to stream in: first a procession of middle aged men in suits. Enforcers, you assumed by the way they began to find their seats in a pattern around your booth. “Corporations are designed to take people and turn them into grist for profit: the amount of people whose death I’ve caused is a rounding error compared to the amount of suffering and misery even a single executive has on their hands simply for existing, let alone their actual policy.”

“So what you do is different because you murder less people more personally?” Wilbur enquired.

“Well, that and the goal: at the end of the day the average capitalist is a parasite looking to elongate their parasitism. Anyways, we’re getting off topic. Any last advice you want to tell me?” You ask, eating another slice, weird radio crackling on and off, the vast amounts of pain medication you were on allowing you to ignore it for now.

Still, something was off: a thought you had earlier had caused it to make a sharp whine intermittently, an electrical whir loud enough to hurt, mixed with sharp cracks, like glass breaking. What was it?

You blinked, realizing that your man was approaching: Wilbur had showed you a photograph. Papa Georgios: an older man. You were guessing…late forties? Receding hair line, and a puffy black beard that only had a few wisps of grey. The man was currently dressed in black pants, a white undershirt, grey jacket, and suspenders. He moved to the opposite side of you, sliding in. “Gentlemen,” He said, voice lacking a trace of a russian accent over what sounded very much like a midwestern one. “I apologize for my lateness: I had an incident to oversee. One of my men has failed to report in.” A tingle - Something was there, something not right. “I was attempting to locate them and, well…” He shrugged, even as he was joined by another person- a woman, you wanted to say mid-twenties, blond hair tied back into a ponytail, green eyed, dressed in a suit. 

“It’s fine,” Ashton conceded in a show of faux magnanimity. “These things happen. So, have you considered our terms?” The terms had been simple: they agree to work under the auspices of RADICAL, you help them rebuild their organization. In addition, Georgios would be paid a nice and tidy 2.5 million dollars and provided a DoP pension and insurance plan in order to (mostly) retire- Ashton wanted to keep him on tap for advice and information, but the leader of the Baton Rouge remnant of mafiya would otherwise be taken off the board. Or to put it another way: RADICAL would now be the newest gang in Lousiana. 

“Yes, yes, we’ll get around to that.” The burly man clapped, and a moment later there was a waiter there to take his order. “Yes, I will take a crawfish spaghetti and a nice warm glass of Old Possum Beer.” You wrinkled your nose at that- you also weren’t a fan of alcohol, mostly because it had very…deleterious effects on you. “Sophy, tell the man what you want,” He ordered the woman, who cleared her throat.

“Yes, I will have a small pepperoni and a cold water to drink,” The woman said to the waiter, who wrote the information down and scurried away. 

“Whose the dame?” Ashton asked, staring at the woman, who met his gaze with a steely glare. “You didn’t mention a girlfriend, Georgios.” The man and woman both gave an annoyed look at that, even as you coughed. 

“They’re related, Wilbur.” You quietly said, taking note of the various small similarities in appearance: eye-color was the biggest give away. “Your protege, I take it.”

“My daughter, yes,” Papa Georgios said, clearly irritated. “Sophy Georgios,” He said, giving a nod to the woman.

“Pleased to meet you,” She responded, lips not shifting from a thin scowl and blond brows not moving from a displeased glare, green eyes studying both of you intently: weird radio was giving you a signal here. Something about…rats?

“She’s here to observe our discussion, to help her learn the ropes for when she takes over the family business. I will forgive your mistake-” Georgios added with faux magnanamity that made your skin crawl even as his food was brought, plate of red sauce covered noodles sat before him. “-Especially as it was not made of malice.”

“Training an heir, huh?” You observed, approval in your voice. “And a woman, too- very feminist of you.” The world could use more women in organized crime, in your opinion: better than having them join the capitalist class. 

“Thank you,” Georgios said, puzzled at your compliment. “She is the most talented of my children, so it only makes sense: since the resource wars left the motherland in ruins, we’ve had to modernize greatly. You are Mr. Wright, I take it?”

“Dr. Wright,” You said, scratching at your beard, which was starting to grow a little unkempt as of late. “Care to give me the short notes on what my consigliere told you about me?”

“That you are the CEO of Wright Technologies,” Papa Georgios said, taking a bite of his food and chewing. “That you wish to use my men, my assets, my territory to fuel your plans- to absorb us under you. ”

“...A bit simplistic, but not entirely wrong,” You admitted. “The Georgios crime syndicate- I believe you call yourselves the Reznikov outfit?- will cease to exist: your men will become employees of Wright Technologies or the Department of Preservation. If you’re concerned about their well being, I compensate my people well.” It would take some time to indoctrinate them into communist ideology- crime was a hotbed of reaction, it was merely state opposed reaction- but once they were, well…to each according to their ability, to each according to their need, and let each man own the means of his production. 

“Hmm,” Georgios looked at you with searching eyes. “So you say. But I wonder…” Weird radio went off like an atom-bomb: something was happening. Your eyes flicked to the windows. Far away, though. Did it happen? Did the trigger occur?

Your pip-buddy vibrated. “What is it you actually want, Mr. Wright?” Georgios said, pursing his lips. “What are your goals?”

Destruction, a dark voice whispered at the back of your mind. Revenge. Mayhem. “Revolution,” You answered calmly, meeting the mans gaze and staring into it. “I’m sure you’ve gathered that we’re no ordinary company. In reality, we’re the public facing branch of an organization with a vested interest in disruption of the system.”

“Ah, like NEXT,” He said, nodding, looking away first, causing alarm bells to go off. “You know, they have made an offer much like yours.”

…Damnit. “Let me guess, you liked their offer more,” You say, something dark hiding in your voice. +3 Wrath. And yet, despite it, you can’t help but feel something, a creeping feeling up your spine. Interest.

“No. My answer will be the same as with you,” Georgios says, his men approaching, surrounding the booth, reaching into the insides of their jacket, even as the rest of his enforcers quiet down, staring at the table. Georgios’s mouth slips into a scowl. “People like you- you disgust me. You think that just because I’m a criminal that I’d work for a a goddamn fifth column?”

“Y’know, Georgie-boy, I did think that,” You say, letting out a breath. This would be cathartic. You gave a grin, unsettling the mafia patriarch. “What can I say, I like to assume the best of people. I gotta admit, the fact you whacked the NEXT agents, that makes what’s going to happen here a little regrettable. Too bad you picked the losing side.”

Georgios scoffed. “I would never join an organization of terrorist supervillains,” He jeered, narrowing his eyes as he realized that you weren’t afraid. “I might be a criminal crimeboss, but I am an american criminal crimeboss.”

“I thought you were russian,” You noted idly, causing Georgios to wrinkle his nose. 

“I have never been to the motherland. Neither was my father: the last Georgios to travel to the old country was my grandfather, and that was well before the resource wars happened. I was born in america, taught in american schools, I even served in the army back during the Mexico City campaign. This is my country: why would I betray my country?”

“I dunno, the genocide, the fascism, the inequality, the injustice,” You responded lazily. “I’m smelling a lot of self-righteousness here, but here’s the big bopper Georgie-boy, loyalty isn’t a virtue when you’re working for a monstrous system.”

“Fascism,” Georgios snorted, while Sophy glared at you for the way you were speaking to her father. “People like you call anything and everything that. A dog could crap in the street and you pinkos would call it the second coming of Hitler.”

“And people like you will allow the US Government to burn the world while claiming they’re just innocently playing with matches,” You responded, deciding you had enough of the mans measure. You took a bite of your pizza.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, there’s no need to fight, I’m sure we can solve this amicabl-”

“Wilbur, he decided he was going to try kill us well before this meeting happened, he’s not going to be talked down,” You cut your friend off, causing Ashton to frown as he realized the situation he was in: surrounded by dozens of men with weapons who were going to hurt him. 

“Yes, your employer has the right of it,” Georgios agreed. “Even if I wasn’t offended by his impertinence, I can’t let another NEXT start running around: bad for business, yes? Already, I have to deal with more scrutiny: federal police have been looking under every rock to find those terrorists, and unfortunately for me, under rocks is where my family does most of its business.” He set his fork down, glaring at the pair of you. “You’ll find your insults less than effective: to be offended, I would need to consider the opinion of a communist worth considering.”

“Impertinence implies that I’m being improperly disrespectful. I think I’m about the right level of disrespectful.” You heard it in the distance: the sound of laser fire. It was happening. Too faint for the others to hear, though your weird radio was beginning to have an undertone: the faint sound of distant, muffled screaming. 

“How dare you-” Sophy snarled, only to stop when her father raised his hand to signal her to stop.

“Now now, Sophy- Anger is for lesser people,” Georgios said, voice taking on a sour tone, and you noted the men surrounding you were starting to look a bit pissed as well. 

“Mmm. Sophy, was it?” You asked rhetorically, taking another bite of pizza. “I’d suggest saying goodbye to your father. I get the impression that he’s tiring of our banter.”

“You are correct, I am getting tired of your disrespect,” Georgios admitted, a hint of seething contempt in his voice. “I have learned from this all I need to at this point: you are an arrogant man, insulting a crime boss to his face in his own territory, surrounded by his own men.”

“Less arrogance, more assurance,” You idly say, noting the sound of lasers was getting louder and louder: you were fairly certain that had you not goaded him and captured his ire, Georgios would too. “Because Georgios, even on your best day, at your most powerful, you aren’t a threat to me.”

“The NEXT Agent said the same thing, and he at least thought to have snipers and his own agents protecting him. And yet, now he rests in pieces, at the bottom of the rivers.” Georgios stood up. “You meanwhile have no bodyguards, no snipers, no protection. It’s all hot air, and I’ve grown tired of it. Before my men inhume you, any last words, Mr. Wright?”

“Mmm,” you said, taking another bite of pasta, and you could see that your nonchalant behavior was starting to unnerve some of the men. “Firstly, I’m not NEXT. NEXT, at the end of the day, underneath the costumes and the gadgets and the gimmicks, is an organization with a playbook that’s been used thousands of times over the past hundred and change years. At the end of the day, they’re basically just the funhouse mirror of the CIA. They’re predictable, Georgios, because they fit well within established behavioral parameters. Second…” You set your fork down, and finally your grin falls. “It’s Doctor Wright. Trigger Code PRAETORIAN.”

In the distance, an explosion. A moment later, several of the enforcers in the bar have their eyes glaze over at the same time the other half find themselves distracted by the noise, many of them turning their gaze to the window…at the same time as the ones who you’ve brainwashed via Arcadia draw their weapons and fire at the nearest person. 

“What the-” Georgios says, eyes widening, just before the first gunshot, one of the enforcers directly surrounding you having their head blown off. “Fuck!” He says, reaching into his jacket, only for you to reach forward and grab his head, slamming it into the table hard enough to stun him, a cracking noise echoing as you raised his now bloody head and repeat the process once, twice, thrice, before leaning back to avoid a knife swipe by his daughter, letting the crime boss go and allowing him to slide bonelessly in his sleep.

“Bastards! Traitors!” Sophy screamed as she witnessed the bloodbath surrounding her, as her outfits men found themselves slaughtered, only a few of the unbrainwashed versions reacting quick enough to avoid getting ventilated, the remainder having dashed into cover throughout the restaurant and trying to fire back at their turned members. Meanwhile, Sophy was attempting to crawl over the table to slash at you with her pocket pig sticker: you leaned to the left, you leaned to the right, and on the third attempt to dodge she managed to nick you in the cheek, causing you to hiss in pain.

You hurriedly attempted to shimmy your way out of the booth while a avoiding the knife, grabbing Georgios’s plate and slamming it sideways against the head of the young woman, shattering it and covering her head in broken glass mixed into leftover pasta, causing her eyes to glaze over from the hit, giving you enough time to escape, standing up outside the booth and drawing your own weapon.

“Bastard-” Sophy slurred, sounding concussed. 

“No. Villain. Like I said,” You spoke, aiming and firing at an unfortunate mobster who thought to aim at you from the cover of a column, dousing him in a complex blend of chemicals before he could fire. Moments later, he screamed as he began to dissolve, body coming apart and melting, the man only making it a few steps before his legs snapped under his own weight, the impact of him hitting the floor reducing most of him to a cloud of gore. 

Sophy looked on in horror. Now, the sound of laser fire in the distance was loud, loud, loud, and you could hear the screaming, both in the store and outside, as a few blocks away the local AutoCasino found itself under attack from its own staff. “Fun fact, that noise you hear outside is a small army of Securitrons hunting every last RobCo executive above a certain position,” You said idly, cleaning the barrel of the gun with your shirt, making sure not to get even a drop of the liquid dripping from it on you. Such a small amount wouldn’t kill you, but it’d hurt like hell. “Anyways, ANYONE WHO WANTS TO LIVE, DROP YOUR WEAPONS,” You yell, loud enough to be heard over the din, the stores front window cracking from the volume, and Sophy wincing from the proximity. Ashton meanwhile you were fairly certain had crawled under the table when this all started. 

Those remaining, terrified, injured, or otherwise not having the stomache to endure being massacred, throw their weapons: the few who don’t…Well. Through the window, you can see Securitrons rolling: as expected. Pressing a button on your Pip-Buddy, a short-range signal was sent, causing a pair to divert course to smash through the window and join you, the screened automatons hoisting themselves over the ankle-high barrier. “You two, grab them,” You said, pointing to Georgios and Sophy. 

“ACKNOWLEDGED.” They said in their deep, synthetic voices, rolling up to the booth, dragging out first Sophy, who futility tried to stab her captors with a knife. “PLEASE DO NOT RESIST. YOUR WEAPONS ARE INSUFFICIENT.”

“Fuck you!” She roared as the pocket sticker bounced against the titanium coating of the Securitrons arm as she was drug out of the booth, and you had to admit, you liked the tenacity. Frenzied, she looked around at the brainwashed agents. “You! Traitors!” She yelled. “I’ll have every one of your dicks for this! Your dicks, your fathers dicks, your sons dicks! You’ll all fucking pay for-”

You sighed, cutting her off. “Miss Georgios, you seem to be under a mistaken assumption that I subverted your men through normal means,” You explained, annoyed at having to spell this out. “That wasn’t a signal I gave, it was a trigger phrase to activate the programming I gave them,” You continue to spell out, causing Sophia’s eyes to widen as she realized what you were saying. “Right now, none of your men are acting under their own power. Their minds- and thus their bodies- belong to me, at the moment.”

“You-you-you-” Sophia said, sputtering. Her father was stirring a bit, being dragged awkwardly out of his seat by the other Securitron, the man groaning as blood flowed from his smashed and ruined nose. “How?!”

“I told you. You went into this expecting a conventional confrontation,” You explained patiently. “You were prepared for someone having guns, you were prepared for a shoot-out between your people and mind, you were prepared for an ambush. You weren’t prepared for a third of your enforcers being brainwashed. You weren’t prepared for me.” You reached into your jacket, pulling out a syringe, walking over to Georgios and stabbing it into his neck, injecting the full solution. “Wakey wakey, Georgie-boy.”

The mans eyes fluttered, blood dripping from his beard. “Wh-what?” He said, groaning, eyes adjusting as the mixture of stimulants ran through him. His eyes clearing, he looked around, realizing what had happened. “You-”

“Mind control. Securitrons hunting people for sport.  I’m not repeating myself,” you spelled out, summarizing. “Well Georgie, still think I’m arrogant?”

“...Very well, you’ve made your point,” Georgios conceded, voice rattled, realizing just how deep the do he was. “You are…much more powerful than I considered. Very well, what are your terms?”

“Papa-” Sophy said, trying to interject.

“Shut UP, Sophy- Let me handle this,” Georgios growled, flicking his warning filled eyes to his daughter. “Dr. Wright- surely we can come to some sort of arrangement?”

“No, I don’t think so,” You state, putting your hands in your pocket. “You chose to be a very, very arrogant person, Mr. Georgie. A very dangerous personality trait- and you’ve already proved you’re willing to stab me in the back. Sadly, you’ve crossed the rubicon, and unlike Caesar, you were not victorious.”

“B-b-but-” He sputtered, realizing what you were saying. “Surely- surely you still need me- at least to help ensure my men obey you! And- and I have access to many people, many friends: I am a very powerful man!” He begged, to which you shrugged.

“You WERE a powerful man: and that’s the problem,” You observe, fiddling with your gun. “No matter how useful you might be in the moment, you’ve had a taste of what wealth brings, and because of that you’ve internalized that the system as it exists continuing to function is beneficial to you. And so, you’ve chosen to become an agent of the status quo. Sorry to say, the world I’m trying to build, we don’t need people like that.”

His eyes widened. “No- Nononono, you, I, please, I can be useful, I can be useful, I can help you keep my people in line-”

“Why would I need you when I already have your heir to work with?” You state, causing a pallor to creep across both his and his daughters face as they realized what you were saying: only one Georgios was leaving here alive. “I only woke you up because I decided it would be gauche to kill a man in his sleep. Now, before you get liquidated, any last words?”

“Please, please! I can give you money, drugs, women!” He begged. “Y-you want coke? I can get you coke? What about a yacht, I can give you a yacht, or-or guns! I can get you guns!”

“Goodbye, Georgie-boy. You had a good run.” You clapped. “Take him in the back please: make sure to dispose of the body when you’re done.” 

With Georgios screaming, the Securitron holding him began to drag him away, the man desperately attempting to escape the hold, struggling for dear life. 

“No, no no no no, you can’t do this!” Sophy said, similarly attempting to free herself as well. “Let him go!” 

“Mmm, no, I don’t think I will,” You said, shrugging. “Sorry,” You lied. “But Georgie made his choice. If he had just told us no, I’d have accepted that, but he decided he wanted to be in opposition, so he has to be removed from the board.”

Finally, the securitron hauled Georgios out of sight. “And you’ll find that not only can I do this,” You continued as Georgios’s screams changed in tone, his remaining unbrainwashed subordinates listening on in horror as they began to hear what could only be described as a rich, meaty tearing sound overlaid with the noise of their former boss screaming in agony. “That I am in fact doing this. Boys, make it quick, this is meant to be an execution, not a snuff film!” You yell, and Georgios’s screams are cut off by a meaty crunching noise. “There we go. Now, onto business,” You said, smile returning. “First of all, my condolences for your recent loss, losing a parent is never easy. And of course, my congratulations for your recent ascension to the position of leader of the Reznikov crime family.”

“You just murdered my father and you expect me to work for you? Go to hell,” She spat, causing you to exhale.

“Oh miss Sophy, you don’t seem to realize that I’m already in hell,” You said softly, venom creeping into your voice. “Every day I wake up, I look out my door, and I see hell. Dante didn’t quite get it right, by the way: hell isn’t made of nine circles of torment. It isn’t some fire and brimstone pit, either,” You said, taking a step closer, and something in your voice must have unnerved Sophia, because the mafiya heir paled even further at your tone. “No, hell is so much more simple: it’s being a sane, rational person in an insane, irrational society. Hell is having to watch, every day, as things get worse and worse and worse while those in power tell us it’s getting better. The poor get poorer, the rich get richer, and people starve on the street or get shoved into camps and the only opposition to any of this are lunatics in costume who blew up DC and irradiated countless civilians just. To make. A point.” You let out a humorless laugh, devoid of any levity, notes of fury creeping under it. “Meanwhile! We march! EVERY DAY! To the apocalypse!” You spread your arms wide, waggling your hands in the air. “How long do we have? A year? More? Less? It’s not here, but you can see it over the horizon, creeping closer every day, and yet instead of doing anything about it, those who are in charge have decided that the end of the world is an acceptable cost of doing business! The death of countless billions. And no one cares, because they can only see tomorrow and no further. Hell, Miss Georgios, is all around us. Your father was just too stupid to see it.”

You stood up, turning to the window, watching through the shattered glass as the securitrons marched and civilians ran. “You are going to work for me,” You said softly, hearing weird radio crackle louder and louder. “You lost your right to refuse when your father decided to kill me. Refuse, and I destroy you. You have seen what I am capable of, Miss Georgios, and I’m only just getting started. And let me be clear: when I say I’ll destroy you, keep in mind that that means last. First will be any men still loyal to you.”

“...You’re a monster,” Sophy accused, horrified, to which you shrugged. 

“Do you expect that to hurt me?” You observed passively. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can’t hurt me. Now, do I have your cooperation, or do I need to start purging the Reznikov outfit?” A bit stalinist for your tastes, but it couldn’t be helped.

“....Fine,” She spat. “I will work for you. Just…just let my men live.”

You turned and clapped. “Excellent! You, release her,” You commanded the Securitron, who unhanded the woman, who stared at you in surprise as you held your hand out. “Welcome to the team, Georgios.”

She glanced at her knife…

And dropped it. Begrudgingly, she grasped your hand, and you could simply smell the fear wafting off her.

Good. 

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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. FIRST PHASE AUTOCOMPLETES THIS TURN.

The next few days, news spills in. Exactly as you thought, the first AutoCasino had opened shortly before the meeting. It had been packed, crowded to high heaven: every machine occupied, every table filled. 

All of it, attended to by a fleet of Securitrons. Serving drinks, dealing cards, acting as bouncers, doing janitorial work. Not a single human staff member in the whole facility. 

Thirty minutes in, the VIP lounge had hit a certain occupancy. This acted as a trigger, putting the hacked securitrons in what you liked to call hunter mode: their AI personality replaced with that of a digital Merry Man of Sherwood, programmed with a database of the faces of some of the highest paid RobCo executives and affiliates in the city and the very staunch belief that said people were servants of the King. 

Equipped with precision laser weaponry, a variety of lethal and non-lethal traps, advanced tracking equipment, and a fairly solid AI, these Merry Men- or Banditrons as you prefer to call them- proceeded to hunt the RobCo executives for sport, starting with those in the VIP section, moving on to the ones in the rest of the casino, and then fanning out across the city.

After everything was said and done, most were destroyed by police, private security, and eventually the national guard, but there were more than a few that were unaccounted for in the swamps: you wished them good hunting. You’d honor the fallen Banditrons by arranging to see the victims assets quietly seized and liquidated- funneled to various charities and services meant to help the impoverished. Take from the rich, give to the poor. It felt only fitting. 

Hmm. I get why you did it son, but we could have used that cash: still, I can’t say I disapprove of turning RobCo into a pinata you can beat to help shower the poor in money.

Anyways, for a brief bit, RobCo’s faction penetration increased…and then it crashed again. You didn’t stop their opening, kid, but you sure as hell gave them a black eye. So far, no one is sure who to credit: NEXT is currently trying to claim its one of their ops, though, so while the bad news is we aren’t getting much publicity from this it means we’re not gonna get the heat, either. 

The Casino you hit has been shut down: others are getting delayed, leaving only three or so in the city operational, and so far attendance has been anemic. I’m not a betting man usually, but I think House is probably going to quietly retire the idea of these places being all robot. Just to help reassure people that they aren’t going to be murdered by his machines going rogue, he’ll start hiring a few human security guards, bartenders, and so forth. 

Anyways, I’ve interviewed the kid enough I think I have a measure of what she can do. She’s smart, bloodthirsty, and hates you. She has a lot of potential, though, and her organization is nothing to sneeze at. 

First, here’s her brain card:

Sophia Georgios

Rank - 2

Category: [Crime Boss]

PERKS:

Hired Muscle - +2 to all [Combat] projects. 

Hometown Kingpin - +1 [Baton Rouge] Dice. This dice cannot be burned at the National Convention. 

A pretty handy skill-set. Now, I have good news: she hates you, but she does seem to care about the outfit. You want to get her loyalty, you make sure the Reznikov’s are treated well. If you can earn their loyalty, hers is also a lot more likely to follow. 

To start with, how about investing a bit in Criminal Finance in Baton Rouge: you get what you pay for, and our new footsoldiers would almost certainly appreciate the assistance.

[Spoiler=Fate of the Now: Somewhere in Vegas]

“...”

“...?”

“Hello, yes, this is House, what is it?”

“What? An incident? Where?”

“Louisiana? Wait, is this about project STACKED DECK?”

“What?”

“What.”

“What.”

“How many so far? God. Those poor people: I don’t know what we’re going to tell their families. I knew most of them.”

“NEXT? No, no, it couldn’t be NEXT: what you’re describing could have only been performed by someone with a deep familiarity with the Securitrons software and hardware. I’ve seen a few of the monstrosities that the organization has engineered, and they’re good, but they aren’t this good.”

“I don’t know the answer to that question. There are only a handful of people who could have done it. You said…Robin Hood, yes? No, I don’t care about the distinction between Robin Hood and his Merry Men- the symbolism and intent are the same either way.”

“It was a message meant for me- an insult, or perhaps taunt would be the better word. Suffice to say, whoever did this knows me enough to know what I’d take offense to.”

“...No, No, STACKED DECK is going to continue. After what happened in DC, we can’t afford to be complacent. Every effort must be undertaken to ensure the project succeeds. I’ll be sending an agent out: a man who should be able to help suss out whoever is targeting us.”

RobCo will be deploying a Hero Unit next turn![/Spoiler]

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