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

[Enkidu]

"Quite." He tritely affirmed. "Which is precisely why, Sir, I require a particular degree of none D-movie grade insanity could come into practical application here - exploding pets tend to look poorly upon those who provided the aforementioned commodity. And as for now? Now friend, you may relax, enjoy, set up, arrange your affairs, explore the expanse of workstation allotted to you and redecorate it's decorum accordingly."

"Which brings me to a particular query of interest; what, friend, tickles your fancy more? Substance abuse, constructing leviathans or fiddling around with adorable felines? Which, Jack, panders most to your (no doubt unique) creative methodology?"

---

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

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(Links pending redevelopment).

[Remnant]

"Ehh, I don't feel like doing any work.. Though since I 'am' being paid.." sighing.

"Substance abuse, whats this about? Shoving poison into peoples veins, and seeing what it does? Come now, don't say its not your style, I'm pretty sure it is. If I get bored of whatever you are running now, I'll create something which everyone would regret I have done later. Perhaps I'll even regret it as well. After all, whats a little science without bad effects that comes with it? I believe this was even a 'particular' trait to a certain someone I know"

"I'd much rather see things personally before I decide if you don't mind. I'll take a walk around, no need to show me around, I can butt into peoples work in peace that way."

[Enkidu]

"...An that Sir, is exactly what my ears required of you to say; do not be lead, fly."

"You may do what you will, indeed, that's the entire point of possessing a department as anti-polar as this one; you need not be driven towards a particular specialisation, so long as I, and indeed, Autoine, occasionally receives the odd impression of your being, well, you know, 'helpful' at the odd integer."

"...Enjoy yourself Jack; it'll be a pleasure to see what you do when you do actually labout - something stunning, surely?"

*And with the grace of acrobat, Achille slipped from his arm.*

"You're very much on your own now, ami - enjoy it whilst it lasts, oui?"

---

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

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[The_Normal_Anomaly]

Benny returns to the room he has set out as his in the research deck. A cramped room, filled brimming with boxes of scrap parts from various devices found across space, looking something like the work of a crossbreeding of a Lane Hacker and a Junker. There is one central desk, covered in various lengths and colors of wire, with a bizarre assortment of tools. Many of the tools seem to be home made, and there are a few that no obvious purpose could even be guessed about them.

As he walks across the floor, a strange sticking sound can be heard with each lift of his feet. There is a mixture of leaked coolants, lubricants, and conductive fluids on the floor. He never particularly cared about this hazard, as he is perpetually wearing boots rated for exactly such slip and, in some extreme cases, electrocution hazards. The slick across the floor makes the dim ceiling light cast an eerie glow across the whole room. Everything is tinged a dirty shade of cyan from the malfunctioning light.

"-Neh. . ." he grumbles, a little disgusted by how far he has allowed himself to fall.

"I used to create wonders back then, as a university student. I got attention, I got interest, I got . . . things. Now though . . . I just exist to produce things for simpletons-They don't even know the power they could have!" he thinks to himself. He run a hand across the garbage on his desk, almost like a man looking for a gold nugget among grass.

"Hahaha-haha . . . not for long . . ." he stifles the laugh with a hand, looking to the door as though worried someone might be listening on the other side.

He grabs a metal stool from a nearby corner and slides it over to the table, plopping his datapad on top of some random things. He begins to go over some basic neuralnet research, looking for ideas for a device to build. Something that might be able to show these complacent fools a taste of his true potential. Various weapons of mass destruction come up, classic and modern.

"A simple nuclear device . . . I could have done that in college. It must be something much more . . . interesting. But . . . what would send the right message?" he ponders, as he continues reading. Hours pass as he reads through articles, reviews mathematical concepts, and also sneaks in some pleasure reading on the side. All the while compiling notes and ideas.

[The_Normal_Anomaly]

=========================

"Hours have passed."

"I remain indecisive."

"I must decide."

"If I don't"

"They will not see it."

"My greatness."

"I must show it to them."

"Make them all see . . . "

"Me."

=========================

Benny still sits, hard at "work" on his project of finding a suitable project to reverse the trend of his failing self-worth. Explosion, irradiation, electrocution, combustion, contamination . . . these are the words he now finds himself occupied with.

"I wanted to do so many great things. Great things require power." his id reminds him, as he begins running projections for his latest concept. Must ensure it has enough capacity for fatality to meet the exact level of his needs for power . . . for fear.

"Talking has never worked for you Benny-boy. Its not what you are good at. This-this is your real talent. Lets not keep the world waiting . . ." that inner voice tells him, more persistent than before.

A small giddy giggle comes from Benny when he sees the results of his most recent projection. He is making headway into the percentage of casualties he can create, modifying existing devices to suit his particular needs better. After all, its easier to threaten a space station than it is to threaten a world.

[The_Normal_Anomaly]

"Yes, yes . . . make sure that nobody can have thing things you can't have. Why should they get it? Because they worked for it? Because they built it? Because they have a right to it? What about your rights? You have the potential to make such better use of it all . . . isn't that worth something? Worth more?"

He lifts his datapad in the air, going over information regarding a potential radiation fallout scenario on a space station. Its not fatal fast enough at present projections however to really be a threat. Its just a way to make sure that anyone who would care to return would face some very significant issues, the first among which would be an almost impossible to deal with level of radiation. However, the particular schematics he found are quite dated, ancient even in the new, bizarre sense the word has taken in Sirius.

"This thing might kill me . . . must take risks. You always play it safe, sissy. You are getting old. You might as well die if you can't make just this one station recognize the truth. Power takes the risk that the weak wont. They. Are. Weak." he internally assures himself, feeling a vigor in the idea that he might finally see the rapid ascent to success that he has so long been denied.

He lets out a long, almost suffering kind of sigh. Idly he starts to count the wires and pieces of debris across his workspace. He smiles gently, remembering his time at the university. His classmates, the way he could almost always show up anyone of his nearest competitors. He is taken by nostalgia for such a better time in his life, before he had gotten the chance to try, to fail.

"I'll have to be willing to kill people . . . which is bad. Is it really worth it? To go through with it, I'll hurt so many people . . ." he thinks, mouthing syllables from the last sentence, running a sort of moral calculus in his head, trying to find an answer.

"They would hurt you. They hurt themselves. You could solve all of it for them. You need to take your place. If they don't die . . . I die . . ." his calculations are cut short by this thought. It is almost as though he will obtain success or death, and neither are unacceptable conclusions.

The mental calculus continues "He will recognize you are his superior. They all will, and so will he. And I do want recognition . . . more than anything You have nothing, you could gain everything."

He looks up at the door, almost as though he was afraid someone might be reading his thoughts from right outside the door. He looks around, to double check that he was alone. The answer he found simultaneously caused him the joy of security and a certain kind of sadness.

He was alone.

[The_Normal_Anomaly]

Dr. Conway abruptly stands up, walking over to one side of the room and pulling down one of his numerous boxes of old work. Piles of devices built out of idle energies over the years. Each box a metric of time wasted. The sheer volume of space taken up by these little side projects makes even clearer to him just how much he needs to have a goal. But perhaps, these little trinkets could finally find a use now.

He rifles through his 'trash' looking for things of use, getting a mental image of what he has done. This box is some of his most recent work, and it gives him despair to see just how disjointed and useless his labors had become.

"I should take a break . . . build something simple, just to keep my hands working. But what?" he says aloud, pausing to take notice of the bizarre acoustics his little workshop offers. He thinks back, across the energy pets and his door-busting gun, coming up with few outstanding commitments for any building projects. He finally comes across one idea however.



"I did promise to make a gift for my new boss, but never got around to doing it. I suppose I should get that done before . . . I take more dynamic actions here." he thinks, as he opens up another file on his datapad, a list of schematics for potential small arms he has pondered over time. Going through, choosing one within a few minutes, he moves over to the doorway. "That'll do the trick, I think."

He opens the door and proceeds to the fabrication areas, to begin working on getting this little object built.

[The_Normal_Anomaly]

"I wonder how I can increase output . . ." ponders the doctor aloud, as he steps into a machining area of the fabrication section of the deck. He hunts around for a few moments, finding the machine he was hunting for. He inputs some production data values, making sure to set slightly particular tolerances and other variables. Can't have loose parts on a gift, now can we?

"I wonder . . . I need to shoot this thing myself. I might as well get some fun out of it before it gets wasted sitting in his desk forever." he considers, almost thinking of simply keeping the thing for himself instead of giving it away. His slightly hostile attitudes subside though into a more solid direction. "No, I can always make more. This . . . is about seeing things through. Finally reaching my ends." his thoughts command, and put a punctuation mark against his uncertainty about the future of this.

He watches as checklists are run and he double checks that all data is set correctly before initiating this particular end of the construction.

[The_Normal_Anomaly]

After some time, the white clad man tromps back into his familiar enclave with an odd sidearm. Flipping those old lights on and sitting back down at his desk, he grows introspective about his circumstances.

"I wonder how much excess the others engage in. I was never forced into this tiny shack, I chose it. I've never been in Robert's office, and I've generally been a bit busy to bother Achille in his. I need to gain more, show I'm capable of competing with the big boys."

Doctor Conway taps away at his datapad, creating a message to his esteemed colleague about the little device he had just made for him.

======================================================

Sender: Doctor Devious
To: Achille Augustin Nadeau
Re: Remember that first thing I said I would do for you?

I recently completed my most overdue project for you, however I'm ready to present the completed product to you. That is, if you happen to still be interested.

======================================================

[Enkidu]

"Buzz. Buzz. Wirr! Buzz". Jolt after jolt.

Creeping around the desk beyond the cusp of his left ear, the Burgundian’s PDA oscillated with a dogged, deranged persistence, jumping, nudging and splashing at his drool trail.


“Sacre freaking merde…” The restive brain swore, hands swatting at the hornet before consciousness and common sense informed him what the irritant was. “…porcine putain de mere…” He mumbled, cussing incoherently as the nape of his neck thudded into the desk lamp. “Imbéciles…”

Administrator Nadeau was not a man reputed to bear great restraint in the face of sleep cycle interruptions.

Avariciously thumbing the holoscreen as if digits were spurs, the pensive man scrolled through the (decidedly impertinently) brief transmission as though it was some tawdry free magazine palmed to him in the street.

“Oh. Conway.”

For a deliberative instant Achille considered completely disregarding him and flinging the tactless device into the next office over, but the dread of the man actually interrupting him physically nudged him beyond laziness.

==============================================

Sender: A.A.N.
To: Conway
Re: Remember that first thing I said I would do for you?

No, Devious, interest cannot be stimulated when I have not the iota as to what the subject material happens to be. Provide me with a finished product instead of abstraction and then repeat the query.

Violate my inbox again at a more workable, procreative time. Say six hours. Minimum.

P.S: Be aware that the entirety of this facility does not operate on Manhattan Mean Time +4, Conway.

===============================================

A hefty groan, and the head burbled back to its lodgement.

---

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).