act25side

November 21st, 1099

7:11 P.M., H.A.M.H.R.R. Mission Elapsed Time 00:03:00

Brr... ugh...

Phooie, freezing around here. Asshats keep shutting off the heaters.

How many complaints am I gonna have to file before they realize we're here at night on overtime?

Hey, honey, what are you calling for?

Hold on... I'll speak to you outside.

What day is it today?

Um... nine days out from the project deadline. Progress is looking bad for us.

I won't be home today either, no.

Our anniversary...? Oof.

Sorry, it's been crazy the past couple days... I know, honey, you've been looking forward to that restaurant forever... I know, I know, I'm sorry.

The VP was touring Rhine Lab, so the egghead idiots on the Board have been going insane.

They're forcing every project to produce interim results immediately, or else we're SOL.

I'm not coming up with excuses, honey, it's just... Listen, I can't do today, I'll make it up to you some other time, I swear.

Hello? Honey, are you there?

...Shit.

If only something would just... <i>happen.</i>

Why won't the offices blow up? Why won't goons rob a bank? Why don't Trimounts's stupid city treads just snap in half...

Anything.

Night gradually sinks in. The office lights are set for another all-nighter, the shadow caging in this one pitiable researcher.

He gives a shiver. They say snow's coming in a few weeks. Someone bumps past him out of nowhere.

Okay, my fault for hoping.

Eventually, he shuffles his feet, stepping back into the high-rise. Just as he's stifled his urge to stay outside a little longer, an irritating droning noise emits from far off.

Catastrophe alarms, sounding with no warning. A PA demanding evacuation echoes through the streets. The researcher subconsciously leans to hurry his gait.

But suddenly, he notices everyone around him coming to a slow halt, all gazes drawn at once towards the sky.

With great skepticism, he lifts his head again.

—What the... hell is that?

A massive toroid, in sluggish revolution, rises up from behind the building.

In the dark, as mechanical devices unfold, the neon of the city that glares off the upper surface becomes one with the structure, metal luster shining too brightly for the naked eye.

It is so imposingly majestic, so impossibly elegant, that it could only be the stuff of the most beautiful dreams ever dreamt. It pierces through the clouds. And inexplicably... it rises still.

Some kind of... ring?

7:13 P.M., H.A.M.H.R.R. mid-flight

I'm very interested, of course, extremely interested.

Really? Well, that's swell! If our project can get Rhine sponsorship...

Take a seat, ma'am. Anything to drink?

Uh... plain water will be fine, Justin, sir.

Please, call me Justin Jr., even.

How about some wine? War took the Gaulish Empire, but I thank the troops for leaving us the best vineyards intact.

Please.

I-If you insist. Thank you.

Come in.

Director, your office phone has been ringing non-stop.

Tell them I'm busy.

You have... some friends of yours looking for you.

Mayor Benjamin, Councilman Chris, Deputy Phil, Commander Colette. Who else?

You have a Mr. Lewis. The one in charge of industrial sec.

Hmph.

They say—Who might you be, ma'am?

Ah, sorry! I'll wait outside!

Don't worry about it, no secrets here.

Go ahead.

Er, right.

They appear to be extremely unhappy with the articles you deposited at Plate Seven. They were under the impression the project was a more—'ordinary' one.

Commander Colette went to Mr. Lewis. I'm afraid all Plate Seven monitoring files will be lost by tomorrow.

The Mayor and Councilman have returned every case we've sent them over the past few years, and declared they'll no longer be seeking your aid for campaigns.

The Deputy made some very... radical statements. I hear he's gotten an emergency arrest warrant for the state prosecutor, and seems to be on the way here now.

I've notified Defense, but we can't keep them away for long.

And here I swore we got along well enough.

*sigh* How fragile a friendship is. Wouldn't you say, ma'am?

Justin, sir, I-I'm only here to ask you to invest, I don't think I should necessarily be in the loop on all this...

Aren't you curious, though? What could Rhine Lab have that scares these elites, and bureaucrats, and black suits in white gloves, so badly that they'd crawl out of bed in the middle of the night to get to work?

I... I don't know. A-A nanodroid that extends your lifespan forever... or something?

Nice idea. If someone came to me with a prospectus and technical prototype, you know I'd invest.

Ha... haha...

Um, I <i>am</i> wondering a little—

—why you'd call me up, of all people...

Have you ever heard of Stade syndrome, ma'am?

Huh? I-I've seen it in the files. A rare hereditary condition, I think?

Very rare, highly fatal, and extremely stubborn. Sufferers of it aren't usually expected to live beyond forty-five, and more than likely pass it on to their children.

I assume it was Rhine Lab that developed—

Look, no rush to win your potential sponsor over.

But, yes, fairytale ending, there's a miracle cure out for Stade syndrome, and while Rhine Lab had no involvement in the research, it goes without saying that many have reaped the benefits.

Pity it arrived a little late, is all. Old Justin Sr. died of organ failure from Stade syndrome three days before they finalized the drug.

Justin Sr.? He must be...

Sure was. And his son, Justin Jr., was informed out of the big wide blue, after struggling in fear for a decade and change, that he could live like a normal human thanks to the med.

Bam. The nightmare that plagued my family was gone. Like it never even existed.

Only later did I learn that the key element in the drug popped up when an intern researcher happened to mess up some reagents.

That's fate. Hah, that's how it goes.

I... um, well, at least you're free of the disease now.

Because of a random, dumb mistake?

The incapable might call it 'a twist of fate' and when the curtains are closed, pat themselves on the back for it, even.

They see it as a gift of chance.

But I—

I can't stand it. I <i>won't stand for it.</i>

I'll have this phenomenon safe and secure in my own hands. I'll grip it. I'll control it.

I'll dictate to it <i>where it goes.</i>

A Catastrophe alarm? Why does it have to be now...?

Justin, sir, we need to evacuate!

Ha, finally.

Justin Fitzroy Jr.

Well, if it isn't the Supreme Court, you've finally got me.

What is your pledge?

I pledge it will lead Columbia forth.

What guarantees that?

Is my participation not enough?

Your many 'friends' are dissuading me at this very moment.

They tell me Columbian law shouldn't allow your people continue in their unbridled ways.

If a mere fondness for sending out cases of money does unbridled ways make, then what, pray tell, do Kristen's actions sum to?

Justice, you told me that it's not for the protection of any sanctimonious 'ethics' that Columbian law works.