Freeport 10's Research Deck: Commonwealth Research and Development Wing.

[Enkidu]

Achille laboriously waggled a slender index; by way of interruption. Whether it proved functional or not made little difference, for he'd already opened his mouth. "Woah, Sournois, calm your frustration before it overwhelms you to the point of sending you flying into the nearest available receptacles, oui? I'm not demanding divinity; clearly you can take as long as you require, so long as you actually get something done, of course."

“...Anyway, for the sake of remaining suitably motivated it’s probably in our collective interest to lay that petit particular to the roadside, and instead focus upon the immediate.”

He coughed dryly, by way of diversion. The Good Doctor clearly wasn’t the only one ill-at-ease with the inherent impracticalities that a benign hard field implied. But yet again, that was what the grin was for.

“....However, what is impossibility when compared to ingenuity, eh? Devious, permit your aspirations to air themselves. Remember, you are a genius, a Greek God, a divinity among lesser men as is everybody else assembled within this rather expansive retreat of ours; or at least, I assumed so anyway. Did you never watch cartoons when you were an infant, no? Never been indoctrinated to believe in your aspirations – yourself even? Come on man, you’re a bloody Machiavellian ba<expletive>stard (or so you think yourself), and a man who holds my utmost respect, as do all of you, women and men. So, time to live up to it, oui?”

And with that he delivered The Good Doctor a considerable thump of encouragement.

“...So Sournois. Remember, this is your dream, your goal, your reason to be; in short your field. What’s that I’m alluding to you may query? Well Sir (I would reply): nothing more than the reality you paint yourself with. You are a man of science (unless I’ve entirely misjudged you) and despite your occasional tendency to bungle you overtly aspire to be some sort of felonistic master criminal. In short, you want attention; recognition. Think of Fort Bush, eh, and Hard Hands? Why did you do it; because you desired the focus you’ve found lacking throughout most of your life. Think of your pseudonym – why not merely Benny Vergillio or Vergillio Conway, eh? Again, the aforementioned.”

“...Sir, you are one of us. You desire focus, and you will receive. If this project... ah, scheme proves successful, then I’ll be happy to paint your name across every pamphlet pertinent to it. So go break the laws of physics hmm, and fulfil your dreams.”

“...You may merely look at Sir Rheinhart for guidance, Doctor. Earnst is a virologist for crying out loud, but already he’s consciously deliberating the practicalities of animating accurately the physical life actions, mannerisms and all possible fields of movement for an advanced mammal (a cat, by the way Earnst). So, if you wish to be you can be, look to your workfellows.”

He smiled syphly, rolling his jaw. “Oh, ah, Earnst... return the PDA to The Good Doctor over here before he walks into your front. Merci.”

“...And as for Mrs Perez, well cheri, you do possess a woman’s intuition, don’t you? You appear organised enough.”

---

THE SYNDIC LEAGUES
(A co-operative of Rheinland's outlawed trade unions, determined to take the underworld for themselves.)

Information | Recruitment | Message Dump |
Feedback | Diplomatic channel

(Links pending redevelopment).