Forge and Forgery
5th of September 2006 A.D.
The manila folder is oddly light in your hands, Chicago Synthetics LLC written in almost aggressively plain text on the front. An admittedly silly part of you wonders what would have happened if Thomas has written the whole thing in Comic Sands? The Secretary of State's Department of Business Services had probably seen stranger Articles of Organization. Illinois is according to Thomas a very business friendly state, not as much as Texas but then what state is? Of course low fees and light paperwork are as much of a lure for cranks as legitimate businesses so the people at Business Services had been polite, professional... and
very skeptical of Chicago Synthetics' stated goal of experimental diamond creation using 'constructive harmonics'.
Thankfully you're good at producing scientific-sounding jargon. It is just a pity you could not be there to see him deliver it, but in the end it just made more sensenot to associate Molly Carpenter with the company at this point. As the only person able to make the whole thing work you are going to have to get involved eventually, but it would be best to do so under an alias, one that is not seventeen.
One of the few requirements for a CEO is that they be at least eighteen and while an underage employee would not be wholly out of the question it would raise eyebrows.Sso while Thomas handled the regulatory details you had gone looking around the neighborhood for a source of scrap. Thankfully you or rather the generically named 'Jane Smith' in a rented van did not have to go very far before finding the equally generically named American Scrap Metal Services. Really that 'Metal' in the middle saved them from an unfortunate anagram.
***
8th of September 2006 A.D.
Night after night ferry the cheapest scrap you can buy into your new warehouse, mostly ferrous scrap and heavy duty plastic, but also, glass and most fittingly of all... brass.
Six steel cylinders almost as tall at the room folded in the middle like cybernetic accordions stand on either side of the room glaring down at the enteral walkway out of dark glass eyes, each of them connected with scaled steel tubes like the coils of of antediluvian serpents to a hexagonal 'smart pillar' in the middle of the room, which is to say it has just about enough processing power to fit one of Clippy's kin inside to run the screens on the attached consoles. Said screens are
currently displaying what you can only describe as competitive snake crossed with PAC-MAN involving more gore than you had ever seen rendered in pixel art, though more importantly 'La Forge' as the intelligence had chosen to be called could display nonsense reports from the 'diamond forges'. However much you might
like to claim that the name is only a play on his supposed purpose truth be told the consoles themselves would not look
entirely out of place onboard the Enterprise D other than being made out of matte black steel.
"I draw the line at leather chairs though, that would be silly," you proclaim as more to yourself than to either the demonic presence coiled 'round your soul, or the one who had just discovered retro-gaming'. Pretend employees don't need comfy seats. Plains steel will do ... well OK and some plastic coverings, you are not a barbarian.
Of course
just as you are talking, mostly, to yourself Thomas walks in to tell you than he had gotten the LLC Operating Agreement and the Certificate of Good Standing done and with that you are in the clear until next year when you have to file the... unsurprisingly named Annual Report
"So, what does all this
do?" he motions at the flashing screens, the slowly compressing and depressing dummy forges, the lights you'd finally given in and installed on the third day because of how distracting it was to work in the dark
"Props," you shrug.
"Right..." Thomas does not sigh, he's too professional for that. "I think we might need security cameras sooner rather than later."
"Sure, sure," you say absently glancing at your phone. "Say is it raining already?"
"Starting to. Why do you need...?"
"I'm better at stuff in the rain, or when I'm wet really. What did you think all the motor oil was for?"
"I could not begin to fathom," he snarks back.
***
Detective Greene's home... or you guess now his widow's home is a single story ranch style affair that seemed to have gone for lawn space over floor space. The gnomes, flamingos and the little pond are all there, but even though it is a little after five PM the windows are all dark and... is that a curtain moving? One of the windows at the front of the house is wide open, but there is no sound from inside, no sign that anyone is at home.
Essence at 8/12
What do you do?
[] Get in sight of the murder site, ask the question and get out
[] Knock on the door, see if anyone answers
[] Try to look inside
[] Write in
OOC:The plot thickens.