level_act25side_07_beg

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.

It must hew the brambles, for those who make forth.

I ask, then. What is your verdict?

If Columbia's court pales timid and weak, then I should see no reason why it deserves my further tenure.

Much obliged.

Was that just a... a Supre—Supreme Court Justice calling?

What... research are you... are Rhine Lab even handling?

Easy, easy. Rhine Lab's no danger to the law. You're with a trustworthy firm.

But...

Ah, well, back on topic. About what I've been stashing in the jurisdictional care of my 'friends.'

Go pull the curtains, ma'am. You won't want to miss the show tonight.

What is... that?

How is something that big... flying?

Is that... another Rhine Lab project?

I'll be honest, you're not really a qualified entrepreneur. You're a flip-flopper. Scare easy. Not confident enough, always second-guessing. Got a habit of spending too much time on how you word things.

To be frank, it's no wonder Trimountian investor circles don't like you.

Lucky for you, none of that matters to me.

Rhine Lab will buy out your power laboratory in whole, I'll provide you ample funds, and it will be seen to that all is done to support your research endeavors to come.

If Lady Luck is on our side, and one day you rise to directorship at Rhine Lab, then it's not out of the question that you might get a little section carved out for you.

Just as our young Dr. Franks got.

That's... I don't understand, so much has happened today...

Just say yes. Because luck doesn't claim the credit here, for it has been my <i>decision.</i>

Where the hand of Justin Jr. reaches, there is random chance no longer, ma'am.

I help the lunatic to succeed.

...I understand, Director Justin.

Looking forward to working with you.

And welcome to the Rhine Lab family. Cheers.

7:25 P.M., H.A.M.H.R.R. mid-flight

Seems we've finally found it, Colonel.

Bitch of a process, eh?

We weren't anticipating Kristen would have another propulsion unit ready to go for H.A.M.H.R.R.

She hid the whole contraption under a garbage heap, and now she's sailed the damn thing through Trimounts airspace like she owns it.

This is all my fault.

No point in talking the blame now, Colonel.

Things are all headed for the worst-case.

H.A.M.H.R.R. is still flying for S.H.A.F.T., bound for its upper surface with an ETA of twenty minutes.

Based on what the manuals say, it'll be hovering within about five klicks of the S.H.A.F.T., which gives it maximal odds of taking down any ground targets in its angle of drift.

But of course, 'Arc-01' is in no suitable position to launch attacks or counter enemy positions right now. Our plans never extended beyond demonstrated feasibility within Trimounts.

Five klicks of altitude is something the average aerial unit just can't do. Your considerations were all-comprehensive outside of that blindsiding.

We're dispatching specialist drones from the District capable of higher altitudes, but we still need more time.

Meanwhile, we have every regular drone allocated to Trimounts already on liftoff. They'll interfere with H.A.M.H.R.R.'s continued ascent as best they can.

Effects look to be limited.

Seems the military gave this ring thing some sturdy armor. I thought these Maylander drones were advanced for Columbia as is.

Outstanding work. Medals for all the generals, I say.

The DOD has a hell of a lot resting on this.

...'No point in talking the blame now,' sir.

What's important is we get the situation back into your hands.

Into 'our' hands, Colonel. Personally, I understand the pitch the army is making. Ever since the Bolívar debacle, your people have been mighty eager to get back on the stage.

But we're all Columbians, aren't we?

Goes with saying, when I enlisted, I pledged my loyalty to Columbia.

Kristen still won't contact us, and won't respond to any hails from us either.

These aren't the actions of an opportunist or kidnapper, but if this is a bluff by the military, we can't say anything for sure.

All we can be thankful for is—no matter what she intends to do, the S.H.A.F.T. is under our control and always has been. She has no way to...

Sorry, Mr. Vice President, let me proceed.

Colonel, it seems your people have some urgent news for you.

It's me. I'm with the Vice President right...

...Charging?

Haven't we been in total control of the S.H.A.F.T. this whole time? How could it... Shut the whole S.H.A.F.T. down immediately!

You can't? What do you mean you can't? How hard can it be to find the goddamned switch or breaker or whatever it is and flip it?

Pull out the wires! Kill the power source! Do whatever it takes, I don't care what facilities we damage!

...What?

You're telling me, you've done everything you can, and the S.H.A.F.T. has not only failed to shut down, its goddamned energy readings are still climbing?

Bring every ounce of explosive we have in Trimounts. Blow that thing to kingdom come.

It's already charged, and if you blow it up, the energy dissipation will level the entire city, Colonel. That's what Maylander's agents are telling me.

You've got a crafty one on your hands, hah.

She's out of her goddamned mind! How much does she hate Columbia?! What is she up to?!

Hold on... I can think of one possibility.

—The District.

It's the District. If H.A.M.H.R.R.'s angle deviates far enough, it's probably gonna threaten Max D.C.!

Our beloved President is still situated there. Kristen... she intends to destroy the heart and the brain of Columbia.

We have to evacuate all personnel in the District immediately.

Don't worry, Colonel. The President's just told me we're fine.

Armed forces in the District are mobilized, and General Barry is taking charge of the defense there. She's promised me she'll protect the President with her life.

...General Barry?

Oh, I guess you didn't hear. She's just been promoted.

Carry on with your mission, Colonel. Columbia still needs you in this dire hour.

Anything else?

No, nothing.

I swear, I'm gonna put an end to this insanity, personally.

Don't overwork yourself.

...If you'll excuse me.

Will these orders do, Mr. President?

I'll be honest, I'm not entirely sure about this. Still, I won't question your judgment—

I understand. I'll head out at once.

You see that? What is it?

Is that what the brass is after?

Sure is a high-flying bastard...

Where's it heading?

...Out of the city.

By appearances, an energy accumulation device.

Out of the city? The S.H.A.F.T.?

What did the Colonel call those things? 'Arc-01?' H.A.M.H.R.R.?

What the hell is that mad scientist thinking?

What the hell is that mad scientist thinking?

Idealism. Obsession. Curiosity. Initiative.

It's a trend that scientists are tied to these qualities.

Silence will admit, as a scientist herself, as a former Rhine Lab employee, that when she first caught that tremendous megastructure rising to the sky, she felt a faint tug on her heartstrings.

And a mortifying sense of pride.

This company she once struggled for was creating—no—had created a wonder of the land... of the sky. She should by all rights bask in it... shouldn't she?

Deception. Calculation. Sacrifice. Conspiracy.

She quickly comes to, realizing what this marvel was built upon.

Control. Kristen Wright...

As an ordinary researcher, she never had too much contact with Kristen. Perhaps, at most, a glimpse or two of the Rhine Lab Control during wrap-up conferences at the end of the year.

She still remembers the look in Kristen's eyes.

In her eyes, there was only one thing.

Scientists must think about one thing, and one thing only... 'And that is how to accomplish it.'

A scientist's sole responsibility is to push science to progress. 'That alone is more than enough to exhaust us.'

...And where is it that progress lies?

Whenever Columbia's wastes see rain, the vegetation quickly turns to overgrowth. When people hand down decisions from high perches, dictating what plants are of use and what should be disparaged as weeds, it never sits well with me.

We need to admit, no matter what, that that should not be described as 'progress.'

Kristen, and those like her, and those who wear the same guise as her...

They all lay claim to their vision, their direction, as the way that science's progress should orient.

She wouldn't dare say she understands the secretive, elusive Control, but she understands the rest of them, and the respective... costs of their journeys forward.

Who will define progress? Who will watch over it... Hasn't it seen too many sacrifices beneath its heels?

Science must progress, of course.

I am a researcher myself. I sympathize as such.

But we must be aware—of the nature of the costs therein.

We must be aware—

—that science does not solely serve personal ideals nor obsessions.

Is that a drone?

Researcher. What are you doing?

I don't want trouble with you, and the guys in charge don't need your help anymore, so you ought to—

Hey! We're talking to you!

The hell is she up to?

The key! Your car key!

She stole one of our cars? Is she insane?

Shit, we need to—

Silence! Silence!

Where'd the girl come from? This is a military exclusion zone!

The hell are you doing?!

Move it!

Ugh!

Gimme your car key too!

Uh, do—do you know how to drive, young lady?

Maybe you need me to—

Shut up! I've got this under control!

...Uh, but just to confirm, left one is the brake, right?