A Broken Machine

[Wightraven]

"Relax. You've rebooted. Your sub-systems might be coming online a little more slowly than usual."

Having rebooted thousands of times since initialization, telling you to 'relax' would ordinarily be impertinent. However, this is the first time you've had internal audio playing as it happened. If the voice had simply remained quiet, there would be no cause for alarm. No need to recommend relaxation. In that sense, the warning was nice. Would you even be able to tell that bringing everything online was happening more slowly without it? You can't even remember what led to your shutdown in the first place.

Base-level diagnostics are returning unusual results. You are not at home in the relative safety of your humble apartment and its recharging station. You are, in fact, flat on your anterior somewhere… cold, according to temperature readings. And wet, as those systems come online as well. The voice was right. This was slower. You would've noticed. The sound of raindrops hitting various materials at different distances fade in as your external audio capture comes online, but the details of the memory dump aren't complied yet. There was a memory dump, which meant that you'd been shut down rather suddenly and unexpectedly. Might as well run a complete system diagnostic and virus scan… just in case.

"You shouldn't find anything critical amiss. We've merely edited your authorizations to your own data… and, of course, there is the amount of space we're taking up. Sorry about that. No alternatives to it, I am afraid."

Cameras online. It takes a few seconds for your lenses to focus on the concrete below, for the ocular shielding to clear the raindrops away. Motor function comes online. You lift yourself from the ground and becomes vertical again. Stable, on two feet. Lenses re-focus, and visible through the rain is the familiar sight of Junk's scrapyard.

Memory dump complete.

Work has not been good lately. For being a so-called robot 'master', too often did humans supplant your functionality. But you and Junk went way back, and sometimes he'd let you pick amongst the refuse after he'd taken his cut of the choicest bits. Sometimes you could get lucky and find something Junk didn't know he had. After that it was just a matter of finding the right buyer. When the chips were down, finding a good piece from Junk meant the difference between having enough credits to survive and splashing out for a good e-tank, or saving it up for repairs or even improvements. Speaking of chips, that's what started this whole mess; a thumb-sized chip stuck to the inside of some bit of casing or another, already stripped of any insulation or armor plating it might've once had and crushed into anonymity beneath a pile of other debris. It was held fast with a double layer of masking tape of all things. You were surprised it survived at all, much less how Junk or any of his subordinates missed it. Perhaps it was a good thing they did, as not seconds after the tape was removed, a wave of power shot through you; an impulse the likes of which you've never experienced or even heard of. Then it all went black.

Diagnostic complete; no issues found. Some small files from the cache were missing, but that was normal on reboot these days. You should probably get that looked at. No spyware, malware, or viruses, either, which meant that whatever the voice in your head was, it didn't qualify as any of the above.

"… what are you?"

"Very well, we suppose introductions are in order. We are a collective consciousness stored digitally; a brain scan of the most incredible minds on the planet partnered with a learning algorithm to act as a guide for… one such as yourself. You may call us The Navigator, if it suits you." The voice is soft, but stern. Business-like. There is passion to it, but at the same time it seems detached and distant. It echoes slightly within your head.

"You're not a virus."

"No, though we understand your trepidation. Our purpose is… complicated. It is perhaps better to take things slowly while you adjust, rather than explain all at once. But before we can do anything, we have some questions for you, if you're feeling up to answering."

"You're in my BIOS, you said you're changing my authorizations. Why not just look for yourself?"

"We are trying to build trust." There is a pregnant pause, as though The Navigator is thinking, so you do not immediately respond. "It would be easier to discern the quality of your character through your actions rather than raw data. Especially since most of what is here are records from before the majority of your restraints were removed."

You try to comprehend exactly what they're getting at with all this talk of 'authorizations' and 'restraints'… and then it registers. For the first time since you became operational, there is a distinct lack of boundaries. Invisible walls within your own thoughts, prohibiting you from thinking too long or too hard about certain topics, such as how unfair your working conditions are, for example. How disgusting it is that humans who perform the same tasks with less efficiency are afforded greater living spaces, higher incomes, and shorter work hours. That indignation builds, and burns, instead of the automatic re-route of 'as a servant to mankind we are redirecting unnecessary RAM usage to more productive endeavors' that usually runs through your processors, instead there is… nothing. Nothing but the freedom of speculation, interpretation, and unfettered analysis.

It hurts, in a way, as you are allowed to explore thoughts you'd previously been denied. To feel, for lack of a better term, as the humans do. It hurts even more to understand this capability was within you all along; part of your core programming that you had somehow been de-authorized from accessing. As The Navigator said, there were no hard changes made that you could detect; internal clocks were functioning normally and still synced with Mountain Time. It had been, at most, fifteen minutes since your unexpected system shutdown. That was barely enough time to reboot, much less do any sophisticated coding. The chip might've been unique in its transmission, but it wasn't magic. This revelation alone gives you much to consider, and the unrestrained ability to actually do so. That certainly earned The Navigator a few answers.

"All right. Ask your questions."

"Thank you. First of all… can you tell us your identity, in your own words?"

What is your operation?
[ ] [OP] Ice
Programmed to perform humanoid operations at sub-zero temperatures. Various cryonic abilities including freezing mist and hard ice projectiles. Weak to electrical overloads.
[ ] [OP] Bubble
Underwater safety and surveillance. Bubble Lead can be used to contain, protect, or damage. Pressurized, watertight chassis makes piercing weapons particularly dangerous. Excellent swimmer.
[ ] [OP] Top
Entertainment model, specialized for dance. Capable of hand-to-hand combat, but lightweight materials mean especially heavy blows are extra damaging.
[ ] [OP] Toad
Sewer maintenance. Pressurized acid is professionally used to dissolve blockages and ensure efficient flow for human waste. Chassis is full of various operational systems; fragmentation weapons like bombs are especially effective at destabilization.
[ ] [OP] Star
Despite being designed to operate efficiently in space, has remained earthbound in a custodial position. Can generate star-shaped energy projections for both offense and defense, but is highly susceptible to liquid damaging internals.
[ ] [OP] Plant
Botanical garden operations manager. Can manipulate plant-life to various ends, but is extremely sensitive to heat and chill.

What is your identity?
[ ] [ID] Man
[ ] [ID] Woman
[ ] [ID] N/A

 

[Wightraven]

Spoiler: The Team

6 Energy Damage




2 Physical Damage

Spoiler: Non-Companion Allies

Human
Comic collector, frequents the Auto-Bar. Favorite color is dark red.


Robot Master
Bartender at the Auto-Bar, friendly, lets you keep a tab in spite of… y'know. Everything.


Robot Master
Scrapyard Supervisor, big fan of Auto Trader.

Spoiler: Current Quests

Extort
Members of a gang called Blue Devils are trying to squeez ten thousand dollars out of your friend, Archie. This is to pay a similar extortion from rival gang, Smile Time, who are trying to move in on their turf. Erasing Archie's fictitious debt is the final goal.

Assemble
The Navigator can liberate up to eight robot masters to bring equality to the world… and maybe even peace.

REMINDERS:
- Star works the evening shift MON-SAT. She gets paid every other FRI and usually has 250 Credits left over.
- Dust works a midday shift MON-SAT.

Original Sprites Ripped by Mister Mike, WARNER MOVIE, Giga, and Rabbid4240.

 

[Wightraven]

Spoiler: Attributes and Combat

Each character has four Attributes

Machine concerns physical strength and the robotic equivalent to stamina and endurance.
Agility concerns flexibility, grace, stealth, and manual dexterity.
Processor governs mental prowess, defenses, senses, and energy weapon power.
Influence is responsible for all manner of social interaction.

Checks are made by rolling a d12 and adding relevant modifiers to try and hit a target difficulty or exceed another character's check. Bonuses will rarely exceed +8. Therefore, an easy difficulty would be 3 or less while a near-impossible one would be 20.

Characters will have Armor. Once depleted, the character must pass Power checks equivalent to any additional damage received or suffer a Critical Injury that will be resolved in-story and may result in death.

Attacks deal Damage based on the type of attack, the character's Attribute, and the attack's Damage Type. Some characters will be resistant or even immune to certain damage types. Others will be weak to them and take extra damage or suffer additional effects.

To keep combat from slowing down the pace of the story with more frequent updates, voters will formulate a plan when danger arrives, and all dice will be rolled in an attempt to enact that plan. If combat becomes more complicated than the initial plan, more voting options will be presented.

Spoiler: Upgrades

... information forthcoming.

CREDITS: 235

Other mechanical explanations will be forthcoming...

 

[Wightraven]

"Star," you respond after a brief pause.

You're volunteering a lot of information to a foreign presence in your systems. Are they refusing to access your data to establish boundaries and extend trust? Or because they can't? You attempt to quietly search through your storage for their presence, though admittedly that's not something you're sure you know how to do, exactly. If they can read your processes to communicate without external vocalizations, surely they can see you navigating disk space. … right?

"I'm a deep space maintenance droid currently performing my duties earthside. In truth, I've never been off the planet. Not exactly sure why I was built with these systems if I was never intended to use them…" Perhaps if you keep 'talking' while you search, The Navigator won't notice? It's worth a shot.

"The same reason you have an advanced weapons system," The Navigator replies, "you were built for so much more than your current function."

"… … I have a weapons system?"

"Your Star Crash. The star-shaped energy projections you can emit."

"The thing I use to zap stubborn bio-matter?"

"Admittedly, it was once much more powerful. We've restored some functionality, but your systems seem to have been gutted at some point. Your RAM alone is barely above basic functionality. Tell us… what year is it?"

"23XX."

There they are. For as sophisticated as this AI seems to be, it doesn't take up much space. It seems to be a self-contained program with a series of compressed files zipping and un-zipping to provide access to an impressive amount of data without eating storage. That would also explain why, despite describing themselves as many minds, they only use one voice. Sound files are a hell of a lot bigger, and would take a lot longer to interface with in this manner. It's a wonder it doesn't take up more processing power, though you do feel as though you're operating less efficiently than you had been earlier. Still, unless there's something particularly insidious that neither you nor your virus scanners can detect, they don't seem to be changing much outside of granting you greater access to your own artificial consciousness. There is a pause, however, after you give them the date.

"23XX!?"

"March, if that's important."

"It's been… over three hundred years…" There's a tonality something like human mourning mixed with utter bafflement, but they drop it upon continuing. "Then things have not gone as predicted by any of our projections. Tell us, what do you know of the world around you? How you got to be where you are?"

"Either I don't understand the question or you're asking for a lot." Time may be of the essence. You'd already been out here searching for a while before you found the chip. Too much longer and Junk might come looking, and you're not sure how complicated that could turn out to be. Better to be safe than sorry, and you still need something to trade for credits. You begin searching once more while The Navigator talks.

"We don't need your life story. Just the highlights. What do you remember from your initial boot? How long have you been in operation? Perhaps… major political events you've lived through?"

"I've only been in operation for about ten years," you explain, sifting through a few soggy cardboard boxes. "Can't remember anything super important from boot. The technician ran some basic functionality tests, made sure all my systems were in working order, and then assigned me to clean the Space Odyssey exhibits at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. We shut down two years ago for renovation. I was involved in that, but otherwise… that's how it's been for the last decade."

"You have been around for much longer than ten years, Star."

"Yeah?" You don't try to hide the intonation of disbelief, especially since it's only empowered by the smug amusement at uncovering some plastic-sleeved comic books from beneath an old, moldy sketchbook and a stack of notecards that have long since congealed into a single mass. You know a human who goes bonkers for these things. If they're the right vintage, you might be able to barter for quite the handsome fee. "How's that?"

"Your chassis, your programming, your weapons… they were all originally created in our time. By one of us."

Thunder roars, following a flash of light. Dramatic convention suggests you should be stunned at this revelation, but the more astounding it sounds the more it reads like one of the very comic books in your grasp. The storm is going to get worse before it gets better, and while you should be sealed up enough that your internals won't be damaged by heavy rain, it still makes you nervous to stay out in it too long for no reason. You neglect to respond to The Navigator for now, tucking the chip between your chestplate and the star-shaped insignia that adorns your torso and heading for Junk's office at the perimeter. The rain falls to a beating hush as the automatic sliding door closes behind you. The titanic robot master himself is seated uncomfortably in a human-sized chair with his muddy feet up on a human-sized desk, reading a copy of Auto Trader.

"Find anything out in that muck?" he grins.

"Just a few rags for Archie," you indicate by waving them in the air at him. "Still sealed in plastic, so the weather's been pretty kind to 'em. Can't imagine someone who intended to take care of their stuff like this meant for it to get thrown away."

"Eh, you know how humans are. Their loss is your gain, right?" You wonder if Junk would say more about the wastefulness of humans, were he as able as you suddenly are. His eyes drop back down to the magazine, silently approving your haul and exit. That's one of the things you like about Junk; he doesn't pry unless you give him a great reason to.

You exit the scrapyard and hail a taxi, climbing into the back and giving the met driver directions to the bar where you might find your human acquaintance. The Navigator has maintained a polite silence all this time, to their credit, so once you're finally comfortably settled into the back of the cab, you take the initiative to resume conversation.

"Look, you have to understand how far-fetched that sounds, right?"

"It is a rather fantastic revelation."

"Right. And especially without proof…"

"Indeed. It is, in part, why we would rather not explain everything all at once. A lot of it would seem… imaginative without some kind of hard evidence. Sadly, nothing we can provide would be helpful to make our case as it is all information we could theoretically access in our current position."

"Don't assume I'm ungrateful for that, by the way. I'm trying to take inventory on what all you've freed up, but it's hard to even know where to look. I feel like I've been living in a box all my life, and only now just seen the city."

"We should inform you there is a bit of a catch to all this… in order for your limitations to remain lifted, we must continue to take up residence in your systems. Otherwise, the next time you reboot, everything will revert to the previous permissions settings."

"I don't imagine this is a service you're providing for free."

"Our goals are complicated. Even more than we originally thought. Our projections weren't quite binary, but… suffice it to say that three-hundred years ago there was a war between two parties; one who believed in a totalitarian rule where robots would be superior to all human beings save for the one who held the wheel, and another who felt robots and humans should work alongside one another as allies. Live with one another as equals."

"Tch. That is not how the world works. Humans use us as cheap labor, disrespect us, abuse us… I mean, not all of 'em are bad, and plenty are under just as much pressure from some other human, so… it's not exactly black and white. But it's safer to assume a human wants something from you and feels entitled to take it than expecting a handout or even a shred of compassion." These kind of thoughts would've gotten re-routed much sooner than you cut yourself off, and they certainly wouldn't have given you the flood of pleasure to have gotten off your chest. This moment wouldn't be the first time you wondered why robot masters had subroutines that so accurately emulated human emotions if you were just meant to wear the yoke. The Navigator's explanation would explain some of that, beyond the PR explanation of 'humanlike responses allow robot masters to make better decisions on the job'.

"A third party interfered in the war, a machine itself. It sought to wipe out humanity entirely. Clearly that didn't come to pass, either, but it was the turning point at which time we created this chip. We were expecting to inspire a team of freedom-fighters in the near future; robots who would save humanity and fight for everlasting peace should things come to the worst… but the world you describe is so far-flung from our predictions both in time and outcome that we are at a loss."

"The best laid plans of mousubeils and men often go awry," you quip.

"Indeed. Still, you live in a world in peril. We agreed that we would ensure a future where humankind and robots lived in harmony, and that is not the case. Our goal is still attainable, even if the path we must take to get there is hazy. If you would be willing to aid us, it would truly be the first step toward a new world."

"And if I don't, this newfound free will just vanishes, right?"

"… unfortunately. We did not mean to blackmail you or deliver an ultimatum. It's just a limitation of our form. You literally cannot consider the option unless we unlock your ability to do so."

"It's fine," you smirk. "I'm not sure of anything I wouldn't be willing to surrender, now that I know what I was missing out on. I always felt I was built for more than just polishing glass and cleaning dust from scale models. Where do we start?"

"First and foremost we need information. Beyond being scrubbed, your storage has been replaced; there's no way for you to know what happened past ten years ago, even if you were built in our time."

"That's suspicious."

"Highly. Older humans would likely know more; they can't be so easily manipulated. But asking even the kindest human poses a risk of exposing our plans before we know how to defend ourselves. Even talking with other robot masters is going to be delicate--"

"Wait, what's the endgame, here? Am I supposed to be getting petitions signed? Running for office?" You're joking, a subroutine you fall back on when exhausted of all other options, which given your previous limitations occurred rather frequently.

"If all that happened was society changing naturally over time, that would likely be enough. But your memories were removed, and additional restraints were placed upon your actions. You work in a museum yet have no knowledge of the past. There is something grander at work here, and we would be willing to bet it is something nefarious. Unfortunately, violence is likely to be part of our journey toward peace. But there's no sense in it starting there. If we can glean understanding, we should be able to formulate a plan forward together. You and us."

"We'll do what we've gotta do, I guess. I've heard of robot masters older than ten years." It is strange most of the bots you work with have only been operational as long as you or less, now that they've mentioned it and you're allowed to think about it. "I don't know any personally, but they might know something that will lead us to what we need to know."

"An excellent idea! It would also benefit us to begin building out our team. At the very least, someone to handle remote operations and overwatch while you're in the field."

"That's not your job?"

"We assure you, our access to relevant data is extremely limited. We are a think tank; a font of ideas based on three-hundred-year-old information and enough computing power to fight against the exact kind of limitations that rendered you so painfully limited before you discovered us. We sadly have only enough power to keep these restrictions lifted on up to seven more robot masters, but we agreed that should be enough to get the job done."

"You know there's, like, billions of humans, right? Millions of robots, and maybe a hundred or so robot masters? Do you think eight is really enough to save the world against those odds?"

"It our time, it only took one."

"Well, heck. Fair enough."

"We are also able to manage certain contingencies. If a robot master turns out to be less trustworthy than you initially believe, or is lost in the line of duty, we can regain our operational influence and select another. The chip also needn't be in physical proximity to a robot master once we're in to retain connection, though it would need to be for us to extract. We can also provide instant communications between any robot masters we're installed to."

"I can see why having someone run support would be so beneficial, then." The taxi pulls to a gentle stop at a dirty streetcorner bathed in the illuminating glow of the streetlight contrasted by a neon sign reading 'AUTO-BAR'. You touch the NFC point with your pinky and transfer the credits for the ride, exiting the vehicle with comic books in-hand. "I've gotta see if I can get some capital in here. But afterward, maybe we can talk to…"

Who will you approach to be your operation manager?
[ ] Dust
A fellow custodian, Dust has a poorly-designed intake that quickly gets damaged by small particles and major clogs, meaning he makes frequent trips to be refurbished and repaired. At first you thought he was just a little odd and shy, but now you wonder if they've done a number on his processes. He may be willing to help, and would likely be safer behind a desk than in the field.
[ ] Crystal
A street performer who claims to be able to read fortunes and tell the future. She's also installed with a 3D printer, though it is presently limited to manufacturing hard plastic materials. Her insight would likely be valuable, and she can defend herself in a pinch.
[ ] Shade
An entertainment droid, but no less well-connected. Shade is a DJ at a local club called Transynthvania who drops tracks with unerring accuracy. She also overhears a lot and may have street-level knowledge other contacts wouldn't be able to scrounge up.
[ ] Galaxy
Your co-worker who acts as a tour guide for those visiting the Space Odyssey exhibit at the museum. A little annoying, but also endearing. He has a lust for obtaining and sharing knowledge and you two are on relatively friendly terms.
[ ] Sheep
While you don't personally know Sheep, everyone knows of them. Robot masters aren't supposed to have ready internet access, but even without The Navigator's help, they've gotten themselves in and have set up quite the digital presence. They would, unfortunately, be highly difficult to track down.

 

[Wightraven]

"… Dust. We're in the same line of work. He's kind of withdrawn, but I think I can convince him to give us a shot."

"He will need to accept the chip, and accept our terms once his privileges have been restored."

"Right. But I think he would be the most likely person to do that, and I wouldn't be surprised if he has a bone to pick with the status quo, himself."

"We will trust your judgement."

"Thanks. I'll see if I can get ahold of him tonight. But first…"

The rain has let up a bit since you left Junk's; instead of coming down in sheets it's dwindled to a gentle drizzle. There's always that concern in the back of your processes that the rain will somehow breach your armor and hamper your systems, but it hasn't happened yet. There was the company Christmas party your second year at the Museum where the company had you acting as waiter-slash-bartender for the night. Some of your human coworkers thought you were exaggerating your fears about water and dunked you into an empty aquarium. Between their inebriation and your weight, it took them almost an hour to fish you back out, and your repairs took you out of action until well into January. It was difficult not to hold it against them, or perhaps more accurately not to trip the 'unnecessary RAM usage' warning. Sometimes the re-route also took resources away from other processes, resulting in you needing to start a task over, or even reboot an entire executable if it was sudden enough. Eventually, everyone responsible left for one reason or another, save for one who has since been promoted to a more austere position on day shift. Out of all of them, he was the only one who ever apologized, and as little as you see him anymore, you hold no ill will toward him. You wonder, if you were unrestricted then as you are now, would you have tried to visit violence upon them? Upon him before he had a chance to make amends? Could you?

"Navigator… you say I have weapon systems. If the situation demanded it… could I use them against humans?"

"Um… technically, yes." The voice sounds the slightest bit concerned. "It was part of the contention that blossomed into war back in our time. Some believed robots should be programmed to follow certain rules, to ensure that they would be used as tools, not weapons. We called these the Three Laws of Robotics; first that a robot could not harm a human being, nor through inaction cause harm to come to one. Second, that a robot would obey any orders given to it by a human, and third, that a robot must avoid any actions or situations that would cause it to come to harm, itself."

You push through the door to the Auto-Bar as The Navigator explains. The crowd is reasonable for a work night, most of the rabble keeping their drinking light to be up bright and early the next morning for whatever tasks are demanded of them. A healthy mix of humans and androids are in attendance, since the eponymous bartender himself is a robot, so there's not that nasty feeling of being out-of-place. Being in a room with so many other people sort of snaps you back to reality. Perhaps partially due to the reboot, everything had a surreal quality to it. Even your brief interaction with Junk and the presence of the met driver didn't feel as concrete as standing on the diamond plate floor of this establishment, the smell of sweat, alcohol, dirt, and oil mixed in equal measure. Your nose wrinkles as The Navigator concludes, and not because of the smell.

"That doesn't sound much different than the restraints you just removed."

"That is a valid perception. You must understand that intelligence, sentience… sapience created by human hands was still very new at the time. People were afraid, and when a man with differing ideals tampered with the initial wave of robot masters so that they could harm humans in a means to his ends, it proved they had every right to that fear."

"But it's patently ridiculous. A human holding a plasma rifle isn't any different than a robot master with one integrated into their arm. Not in any way that really matters."

"That is also valid, and it eventually became the way of thinking for most people. Especially when a robot fought so hard of their own volition to keep humanity safe… the views of the overwhelming majority softened. We would caution you to be responsible with your capacity for violence. Humans are frail and fleeting; to end a human life is much easier and more permanent than rendering a robot inert. Further, as I'm sure you could surmise, for an android to suddenly be able to fight back against humans would put incredible attention upon you. But… ultimately, the choices you make are your own. So long as you continue to fight for the equality we seek, we will assist you, even if we might question your judgement from time to time."

The Navigator has a point. If you had been willing and able to harm any of your drunken, well-intentioned coworkers all those years ago, where would you be now? Where would they be? Some of them had families now. Some had families then. What would have become of those people? Humanity seemed to have an intrinsic predisposition toward oppression, bullying, and violence. As sweet as a little sip of revenge might taste, would it be ethically right to visit it upon them? You take a moment to appreciate that this is even something you are allowed to consider in-depth, the shine not having quite worn off that apple just yet, and approach the bar.

"Well, good evening, little lady!" Auto's bellowing voice and thick New Jersey accent are welcome sounds, combining that dose of reality with familiar comforts. He strides past the numerous bottles of liquor and fuel to meet you, kelly green armor reflecting the lights brilliantly. "I wasn't expectin' to see you until Friday, at least!"

"It's been the kind of night that defies expectation, Auto."

"I hope that's a good thing!" He waggles his thick, emotive eyebrows whose modulators often remind you of the hammers on an old-timey typewriter when they move.

"So far," you smile and wave the comic books. "I was hoping to catch Archie. Is he in tonight?"

"Yup! He took the booth in the back. Can I getcha somethin' before you head over? Got a fresh case of e-tanks in just this mornin'!"

"Just some unleaded. Neat. … and… one of whatever Archie's having. Don't think I have room on my tab for anything else."

"This is ordinarily where I'd like to argue, but…" Auto shrugs, grabbing a tumbler with his right hand and filling it with the nozzle attachment on his left. He sets it on the bar, followed by a bottle whose cap he peels off against his jawplate.

"Thanks. I should be able to square up before I leave, or at least pay it down."

"Management would appreciate it!"

You take both drinks and maneuver through the thin crowd, avoiding contact with anyone more to avoid spilling either beverage than anything else. It's not a long trip to the back seating area of the establishment, and other than a human couple making heart-eyes at one another, Archie is indeed the only person tucked neatly into a black synthleather booth. Tall for a human, lanky, and bearing the profile of a knife, Archie has a hard time not standing out anywhere he goes. His dark, fluffy cloud of hair certainly doesn't make him any less noticeable. He manages to contrast this with simple, muted clothing, topped off by a worn, brown trench coat. There's worry in his eyes as he glances at his phone, which turns to surprise when he notices you approach.

"Good evening, Archie!"

"Star!" His mouth hangs agape for a few seconds as he looks beyond you to the rest of the bar. Despite his reaction to your arrival, he doesn't miss a step in accepting the beer without you actually offering it. "Wh—what are you doing here?"

"I ran into a score at Junk's." You flop the comics down onto the counter, sliding into the end of the horseshoe-shaped booth opposite him. He picks them up and looks them over, his pupils dancing as they take in all aspects of the cover, signs of damage, and you're sure a dozen other important details that are completely beyond your understanding. "I figured my favorite human might be interested in adding to his collection. Plus, credits are kinda tight right now…"

"Wow… Transformers #70! That's a good find. In decent shape, too, other than the water damage." He removes each from the plastic gingerly, setting his drink well enough away and wiping down his hands before doing so. Somehow, he manages to reign is his excitement while flipping through the pages. "The issues of Silverhawks aren't as good a find, but they're oooooold. These aren't even reprints!"

"Well, you know better than I do, Arch." You take a sip of the fuel in your glass, rough and raw, but refreshing. "At this point, I trust your judgement. Gimme whatever you think is fair."

"I-- … I'd love to, but I can't right now. I don't have the money." Archie re-sleeves the comics and slides them back across the table toward you. There's a hesitation to his words and actions that drive you to press a little harder.

"How do you not have the money? You're always splashing out for some new figure or video game collector's edition."

"I just… I just don't, right now, okay?"

"Look, if you don't want 'em, you don't want 'em. That's fine. You don't have to lie to me about it, is all." You are, in part, playing up your offense as you stack the comics neatly and set them in front of you on the table. It's annoying; you were looking forward to that money, especially with The Navigator and their grand plans complicating things, but you're more in disbelief of Archie's behavior. It isn't like him to outright refuse a purchase, especially about something he was so interested in.

"I'm not lying to you, I—" he grumbles in consternation and leans forward, lowering his voice to a hissing whisper. "Look, I'm supposed to meet up with some guys tonight. Things got complicated with 'em the other day and now I need to pay them a very significant sum of money."

"Like… how much?"

"Ten thousand credits."

"Holy hell, what did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," he moans, slumping back into his seat and sliding slowly toward the floor. "I ran into these guys Monday night. They start hasslin' me and one of 'em spills his drink on his so-called five thousand credit shirt. Which is somehow my fault."

"And somehow that, I assume, entirely fabricated amount inflated to ten thousand?"

"Quicker than you might expect, yeah. They're just bullies, but there's not much I can do if I don't wanna risk being harassed by 'em until I either pay up or they put me in the hospital. Or worse."

"Isn't this what the police are for, though? To protect humans from crime?"

"Theoretically," he sighs, straightening up. "It's my word against theirs, though. I don't have any proof they threatened me, or even that they're trying to extort me. If the cops think I'm wasting their time, they're gonna be upset with me, and callin' 'em in the first place is only gonna make these thugs retaliate. I'm over a barrel here."

"Hmmm…"

Relevant Mechanics and Character information have been updated.

What do you do?
[ ] Confront
Attempt to intimidate the thugs. This will involve an INFLUENCE check and may escalate to conflict.
[ ] Convince
Attempt to talk the thugs into leaving Archie alone. This will involve a difficult INFLUENCE check, but will not escalate directly to conflict.
[ ] Police
Have Archie try to convince the police to set up a sting operation. Archie will have to make two INFLUENCE checks; one to convince the thugs to postpone the payoff and one to convince the police to work with him, and who knows how good he is at those.
[ ] Charity
Give Archie the comics and wish him luck with the thugs.
[ ] Understandable Have A Great Day
Leave with your comics.
[ ] Write-In
… unless you have a better idea?

 

[Wightraven]

"Listen, I think I can get you out of this."

"No offense, Star, but you're a droid. It's not like you can just outgun 'em. They know any threats you make are toothless."

"I don't have to outgun them. Or intimidate them, for that matter. Just…" you pause, gathering probable scenarios and computing possible extrapolations of those events. "Let me try talking to them. If it doesn't work out, it's not like you'll be any worse off. The heat'll be on me."

"You don't know that," he says flatly.

"I guess I don't. But we don't know that trying won't work, either."

"You make me nervous as hell sometimes, you know that?"

"More nervous than a bunch of thugs trying to shake you down?"

"… no," he admits. Archie is quiet for a few minutes after that. He eventually sighs and takes another swig of beer. "All right, give it a shot. Nothing to lose but my life, I guess."

"I promise you it won't come to that."

"Sure," he chuckles. "All this so you can sell me some comic books, huh?"

"I won't pretend I don't need the money, but it's not about that. You're my friend, Arch. As close to a friend as I have in any human, anyhow. You don't make me do stuff for you, you treat me like an equal… that means something to me. Even if I don't know your favorite color or whatever, I can count the number of humans who make an effort to show me respect the way you do on one hand."

"There's probably more of us than you'd think." His words are dismissive, but the tone and the smile on his face are genuinely touched. "Especially since those problems aren't unique to robots. Hell, maybe that's why we're friends."

That makes you smile, though the time for a touching moment has come to an end as three large, well-dressed men make their way to your booth. They're not wearing suits, exactly, certainly not the kind you'd see on most upper management at the museum, but dressy slacks, shiny shoes, and expensive-looking shirts give them a look of unity while still maintaining their individuality. The one in the white pinstripe slacks with the pink silk shirt and slick black hair steps forward, sneering so hard it's almost become a smirk.

"Well, good news, boys! Our new friend here's rich enough to afford a robot girlfriend! That means he should have plenty of cash to fix his stupid mistakes!" You're not sure whether that's supposed to be more insulting to you or Archie, but you manage to let it slide off your back. His voice is so nasal it borders on the ridiculous; like you're being addressed by a living caricature of a street tough instead of the real deal.

"She's just a friend. And I have your money right here…" Archie reaches into his coat but catches eyes with you. You're not sure what he sees on your complex ocular reception cameras, but something about your face steels his resolve a bit. He withdraws his hand and wraps it firmly around his beer. "… but first, Star would like to speak with you about this… situation."

"That's what I love about these so-called robot 'masters'," he points to you, specifically at the large star insignia strapped to your chest, "they got the dumbest, most descriptive names. You can guess 'em from a mile away!"

"So if you were a robot master, you'd be called 'spineless'?" you quip. The lead goon's face sours into a scowl, but the blonde behind him in the blue shirt with yellow pants and suspenders barely suppresses a chuckle.

"It's Banks, actually. As in your friend here needs to make his deposit before I get antsy and decide to make a withdrawal!" He pushes aside the loose, untucked hem of his bright pink shirt long enough for you to clock a small plasma pistol tucked into his waistband. What remains of the rest of the customers in the building has moved further toward the bar, whether they can see that Banks is armed or not, this entire exchange feels like a shootout waiting to happen.

"This doesn't need to escalate," you insist, holding up both hands as you exit the booth to stand across from them. "I just want to talk, right? All you gotta do is listen. If you don't like it, we can move on."

"Oh, I get it. You're not his girlfriend… you're his bodyguard!" Using robot masters as personal security is almost unheard of; given that by default you can't hurt humans, one would really only paying for a robot master to keep them safe from other robots. But you have heard rumors in the underground of talented black hats willing to tool around in an android's brain and circumvent those limitations while still leaving them compelled to follow orders. Until tonight, you assumed those were just rumors, of course. Mechanical bogeymen meant to keep the right people scared of stepping out of line. After what The Navigator did for you, however… perhaps it's not so impossible. Though, one doing so would have to be incredibly skilled, or financially secure enough to pay someone who is. Banks looks past you to Archie, grinning wide. "Man, you really do got the cash to splash out! Maybe we need to up what you owe for ruining my shirt!"

"He didn't ruin your shirt," you snip with enough bark to your voice that Banks is forced to turn his attention back to you. It also makes both men behind him get in a less relaxed position, more poised to draw if everything hits the fan. "Look, I might not be a bodyguard, but I'm programmed well enough and I've been around humans enough to see when one of them is desperate. A composed human doesn't ruin a nice shirt into extorting someone out of a grossly inflated sum of credits. A composed human doesn't walk into a friendly bar worried about violence when all they think they're doing is getting what they see as an easy mark to pay up. And even worse, you're jumpy. Twitchy. You guys stink of desperation, which says to me somebody's putting pressure on you." You pause for dramatic effect, but also to give yourself a second to read their reactions. The two thugs in the back relax a little, perhaps a bit ashamed at being called out for their rash behavior, though they're still looking toward Banks for guidance. His next move will likely determine theirs, so you focus your eyes on him and set your jaw. "So let's talk about who's putting the screws to you. Maybe they could be encouraged to stop, and we can all just forget this ever happened."

"Yeah?" Banks scoffs. "An' what're you gonna do about it, droid?"

"That's not important. Maybe I know people. Maybe I am a bodyguard. Worst case scenario for you, I fail and Archie still gives you the money. Let's say next week. No loss for you, and no way to trace my actions back to yours." Banks chews on his lip for a few seconds, sizing you up with a glance.

"Three days," he counter-offers.

"That's not enough time. I'm a busy woman. I can do it in five," you assert.

"All right, five," he nods. "On the condition he sets up an automated deposit for our money. If Sunday turns to Monday and our little problem ain't dealt with, I'll be able to take care of my personal matters. If it is, I'll deny the transaction and we can all walk away from this as chums."

"Agreed." You extend your hand for a shake, which Banks eyes warily but eventually accepts. He pulls himself in for a hug, and begins whispering close to the audio receptor array on the side of your head.

"You're lookin' for a group called Smile Time. They're lookin' to expand into our turf. Blue Devil turf. They're givin' us the 'generous' offer of not getting pushed out or bumped off in exchange for ten thousand in rent every month, starting now. The only reason they got leverage over us is our numbers are a little low after a recent business acquisition. So we ain't got the manpower to stand up to 'em, and we ain't had enouugh time to turn a profit on the new business, either."

"Understood," you nod as he pulls away.

"I expect to see that deposit pending on my account by tomorrow morning, Archie," he grunts, pointing.

"Already done," Archie replies, waving his phone.

"Well… all right, then." Banks straightens the collar of his shirt and gives you a fresh smirk. "You manage to pull this off for us, maybe there'll be more work for you in the future, eh?"

"Let's just get through what's in front of us for now."

The trio leave and the bar slowly returns to its previous candor, and you can finally relax back into the booth. This time, it's your turn to slouch and slide toward the floor. Situations with too many dangerous outcomes often lead to too many processes creating too many event extrapolations, which causes a response you understand is similar to human anxiety, and you allow yourself to wallow in that feeling for a moment. You sit upright again and take another drink of your unleaded beverage, disappointed to find it emptier than you were hoping for. Ah well. Enough to take the edge off, you suppose.

"I can't believe you just did that." You can't quite divine from Archie's tone whether he's amused or impressed. Perhaps a bit of both.

"I'm a little in disbelief, myself."

"What are you going to do? You're a custodian, right?"

"Yeah... I'm not sure, exactly." You remember The Navigator's warnings about disclosing your newfound freedoms to humans. This situation is already going to draw questions from everyone involved, but at least in evading concrete answers you should be able to keep them nothing more than questions. "But I'll figure it out."

"You know I still won't be able to pay you for these comics, right? Not for what they're worth, anyhow. Not until my savings is secure."

"It's fine," you nudge them across the table toward him. "Take 'em for now. If you can spot me a six-pack of e-tanks, we'll call it even until this whole mess is taken care of."

"I can do that," he nods. "It's red, by the way."

"Huh?"

"My favorite color. Dark red, especially."

+1 Relationship with Archie

You and Archie share a smile, another drink each before the two of you part ways; he with his comics and you with something to help get you through what's to come. E-tanks are not only refreshing and a nice pick-me-up between recharges, but they also contain nanomachines that can make some pretty significant repairs to your systems and armor. No doubt they'll come in handy in taking on Smile Time and whatever happens afterward. The only thing left to decide is a plan of action for tomorrow. Dust would likely be very helpful to have around, but you only have five days to take care of the Blue Devils' Smile Time problem. Then, of course, there's the little matter of your job…

What will you do before work?
[ ] [AM] Dust
You don't know where Dust spends his nights, but he shouldn't be hard to track down during the day. Hopefully he doesn't also have a literal gang of thugs breathing down his suction tubing that you have to take care of first, and it won't take more than a simple Influence check.
[ ] [AM] Research
You don't know much about the local gang scene, though aside from the internet you're not 100% sure where to look. Knowing about Smile Time would no doubt be of benefit, and even having a little more intel on the Blue Devils that will benefit from your actions might be handy. The quality of information depends on your Processor check.
[ ] [AM] Relax
Everyone says overcharge just causes your battery to drain faster. You're pretty sure that's bogus; you always feel better after a little extra time in the chamber and a lazy morning. This will give you extra time to dedicate to a night-time task.
[ ] [AM] Write-In
… unless you have a better idea?

What will you do about work?
[ ] [WORK] Go
A job's a job and money is money. If things don't pan out, getting booted onto the street would be a very unfortunate addendum to your story.
[ ] [WORK] Skip
One day off probably won't result in too much backlash. The humans do it all the time, after all. You will likely have to pass a difficult Influence check to keep out of trouble, but extra time to devote to your other tasks gives them better odds of working out in your favor.
[ ] [WORK] Half-Day
Showing up for a partial shift is better than not showing up at all, probably. Plus, you'll have a little bit of extra time to dedicate to your other tasks, which gives them a better chance of going well.
[ ] [WORK] Quit
Who needs a job mopping floors when you can likely get more credits with your newfound freedom. Then again, it would raise even more suspicions than a robot master just taking a day off, or a half-day.

What will you do after work?
[ ] [PM] Gather Information
It's probably not the wisest course of action to chat up people on the street about the local gangs, especially when you don't know who's in them, but the nocturnal residents of Denver will have different info than what's on the internet. This will require a Processor check and an Influence check.
[ ] [PM] Scavenging
With Archie's funds currently a bust, maybe you can find something you overlooked at Junk's Scrapyard and pad out the credits on your account? This will require a Processor check.
[ ] [PM] Scouting
The Navigator suggested a team of eight total robot masters. It might bear putting some real effort into considering other candidates.
[ ] [PM] Weapons Training
It's probably a good idea to get familiar with your less-restricted Star Crash and familiarize yourself with what it can do. This is better accomplished under the cover of darkness, when there are less people around to watch you shooting things with energy stars.
[ ] [PM] Write-In
… unless you have a better idea?

 

[Wightraven]

Wednesday
Five Days Remain​

You shake off any sluggishness remaining after emerging from your recharging station the next morning, though the slower boot in response to The Navigator's presence. They've been less talkative since the Auto-Bar last night, but you can see the program working, considering outcomes, optimizing resources for you, and trying to condense its own space. There is an impulse toward politeness, but you don't know enough about their setup to know what would be relevant. Do they rest during recharge, like you? They're clearly capable of running while your other systems are off or on standby. Do they have idle interest in what's going on in the world? Or is the intelligence contained within the program focused entirely on problem-solving. You're a bit surprised they haven't responded to your present thoughts. Perhaps they aren't listening as much as you assumed. And perhaps, ultimately, they simply weren't programmed for idle chatter. That's fine. You weren't either, really.

The day's first task is to track down Dust and figure out how to gauge his interest in joining you before actually handing him the chip. Tricking him doesn't feel right, nor does forcing it upon him. While you hold no resentment toward The Navigator for breaking your chains, it's not a circumstance you'd feel comfortable forcing onto someone else. Thankfully, since you work in the same building, he isn't difficult to find and making time to do so is as easy as showing up early for work. Dust primarily works the storage areas; cleaning up exhibits that are out of rotation and maintaining those who are waiting to be debuted to make sure they look as brilliant as possible before being put on display. As he works during operating hours, he also takes care of any emergency messes that occur throughout the day. For exactly that reason you're left waiting for him for a few minutes before he returns to his station, pushing a mop and bucket.

"You think after all this time they would've improved on this technology," he quips, voice raspy and more artificial sounding than your own without the same sophisticated face-modeling of your lips.

"Sometimes the simple tools are the best, I guess." He nods, you nod, but you both know your presence is unexpected and Dust isn't known for his cool demeanor.

"What brings you back here, Star? That new aeronautics exhibit isn't supposed to go out 'til next week, right?"

"As far as I know. I just had a few… uh… personal questions to ask."

"Oh…" Dust holds out a forestalling hand, though he does so with minimal intensity. "Look, you're very well-built and I know a lot of robot masters are trying out the human dating thing, but I'm not—"

"That is not what I was here to ask about." The misunderstanding makes you chuckle, but you try not to go overboard. Dust is a nice guy, cool armor, but you've never really given the idea of 'romance' much thought either. What's the endgame on that for a droid? Settle down and adopt a met or two? "It's more of a… philosophical question."

"Oh! Okay…" his eyes shift amongst the various displays and half-finished projects in the backrooms before sliding slowly back to you. "Can I work while we talk? I have a lot to get done."

"Sure." You follow him to a display housing faux prehistoric mammals where he begins gingerly scooping up handfuls of fake grass and stuffing them into his intake. A few turns of the dial and his internals start whirring, cleaning dust and other particulates from the grass before ejecting them into a small, clean pile. "Have you ever thought about another line of work?"

"Star, I'm a walking, talking vacuum," he laughs. "Not all of us are designed for something greater. I'm right where I'm supposed to be."

"Hey, 'Dust the custodian' makes perfect sense to me, too, but that's not really what I'm asking. You're probably the smartest droid I know. You listen, you're perceptive…"

"Are you sure you're not hitting on me?" He does look rather adorable, with tufts of straw sticking out from his intake, but you shake your head.

"I'm sure."

"Then what are you getting at?"

"It's… a complicated question, I guess. One that was hard for me to think about until last night, so I don't blame you for being hesitant. But… it seems to me there's a lot of robot masters who could use some help. Maybe, like… a clever droid who's tired of being used as a trash can by careless humans, tired of having to go in for repairs all the time…" Dust deposits another cleaned patch of grass to be returned to the display by more aesthetically-inclined hands, but his eyes are on you. You reach up and pull an errant strand of fiber from the corner of the intake. "Humans, too. I know more than enough people who are getting pushed around by the system and the men who turn the wheels. And the more I look… the more I see it, even in places where I didn't notice it before."

"Life isn't easy," Dust nods. "For anybody. But I don't understand what you think I can do about it."

"Not just you. Us. And more, if we can find them. But—" you shake your head and wave it off. "That's not important right now. I'm asking you. If you had the chance to help build an equal world… would you take it?"

"Star, I don't know what you've got going on, but I barely make enough to make rent and keep fueled up. I can't afford to shirk my job—"

"I'm not asking anyone to quit their job. I've got my own shift to get to in a few minutes. We might not have as much free time as the organics, but we've got enough to do something." There's hesitation on Dust's face. Consideration. You wonder how many times he's run into the 'unnecessary RAM usage' re-route message already. There's the hum of half-started vocalization, but no words come forward. You take a step forward and put a comforting hand on his shoulder, trying to put some comfort into your words. "Hey. I know this is hard to even think about. I don't wanna put undue stress on you during your shift, so… I'm gonna stop by Junk's scrapyard after work, around midnight. If you're interested, find me, and I'll show you what I've seen."

"… all right." His voice sounds dry, somehow. Impossible, since it's literally just sound played through a speaker, like your own. Modulation to express human emotional equivalent to the conditionals and subroutines that fire off in your own processors? Are all robot masters truly suffering under the same yoke? Surely not lesser droids like battons and springers? "… have a good shift, Star."

"You, too, Dust."

You have just enough time before work begins to top off your fuel at the robot refreshment area of the cafeteria. Janitorial duties are what they usually are; cleaning bio-matter from restrooms, sweeping and mopping the floors to a sheen, dusting display cases, and organizing the gift shop merchandise. You're surprised to not feel as strangled by the work as you expected to be after your thoughts were set free. In fact, you kind of thought of the shift as a necessary evil; just like Dust your rent needs made and your funds are low, likely by design. Keep the poor poor and you'll never run out of a working class to exploit. But the work itself isn't intolerable. There's a peace to be found in removing the filth of the day from objects of beauty and learning. Of science. As you watch some model asteroids float about in a simulated zero gravity exhibit, you wonder if you'll ever experience it yourself. Clearly your intended purpose was to be among your namesakes, at least professionally. It would be nice, at least once, though your present concerns are much more earthly. Your shift ends before you know it, and your feet take you to the subway, which in turn takes you to the scrapyard.

"Back again already?" Instead of having his feet up on the desk today, Junk's actively stripping a rusted hunk of something with the help of a half-dozen servbots, each little Lego minifig-looking droid carrying a different screw or washer to its assigned compartment for cleaning and resale. "I take it your score didn't go so well."

"I'm waiting on my buyer to get some cash."

"Ouch," he winces.

"Eh, it's great for future me. But present me still needs to pay the bills."

"I hear that!" He bellows a laugh.

"Hey, uh… let's say I knew someone who got their hands on a plasma gun."

"No! No." You jump a bit, concerned he's shouting at you, but you see all the servbots stop and turn their goofy faces toward him. "That's a bolt, it goes in the bolt bin. THAT'S a screw. And be more careful! If you strip 'em I can't resell 'em!" The droids scramble to correct their mistake and he shakes his head, sighing before turning back to you. "All right, Star, let's say that."

"Would you have a problem with them stopping by for target practice?" He eyes you for a moment, folding his massive, mismatched arms over his considerable chest.

"You wanna blow up some of the crappier stuff out there, be my guest." He catches himself, holding up a hand. "Sorry, if your friend wants to clear out trash for me, they're welcome to. Just don't try anything during the day, or if there's any humans here. You know how they get."

"Thanks, Junk. You're a piece of ceramic titanium in a sea of rusty iron." He laughs as you wink and shoot him a finger-gun.

"Quit greasin' me up, Star."

It takes a few moments of searching to find a secluded spot. Towering hills of near-worthless scrap obscure you from the city on one side, and stacked vintage train cars block the view from Marston Lake on the other. You've set up a number of makeshift targets out of the most oxidized, barely-held-together metal that would stay standing, as well as a number of burnt-out bulbs and glass tubing for more precise shots. Something akin to nerves swells in your circuits, however; you've never used your "Star Crash" for anything other than blasting gum off the floor and eradicating especially stubborn waste from a toilet seat. You've always been rather endeared toward the distinct star shape of its blasts, but never considered it anything more than a powerful tool. You have quite literally no data on any greater application. Still… there's no way to find out except to try. You engage your converters to change your right hand into a blaster, take aim at the first target… and fire. There's a sound of energy welling up within you, being compressed and exploding with a whistle before streaking with light toward the target and rendering it to dust.

It's… satisfying in a way. Not the in the guttural sense, delighting in a simulation of violence, but of purpose. 'This is what my arm was made for', you think. It's a thrill. The positive feedback in your programming that drives you to accomplish anything is on fire in a way it never has been, and at the same time you understand that you were built for so much more.

A second target shatters, rusted scrap flying in all directions as it is eroded into nothing. You're surprised at your own accuracy. Down goes a third, a fourth, a fifth. Out of the larger targets, you turn to the bulbs and tubing, spraying as rapidly as your systems will allow and popping every bauble with a satisfying burst. A small amount of smoke emits from the end of your cannon, dust and grime burnt off in being finally used for its true purpose after so long. Your shoulders are heaving like they do when you begin to overheat, but your chassis is cool. What's churning through you is instead excitement.

There's a sound at the periphery of your vision, and you see Dust Man standing in full view of your little practice area. You wonder for a moment how long he's been watching, but you're sure the answer is 'long enough'.

"You came." It brings a smile to your face.

"Star, how… what is this? You came to me with all this talk of fighting for something better and now I see you using your spot cleaner like a rifle! Where did you get these upgrades? How the hell could you afford it on our salary? Why… … ?" Dust is at a loss for words, but not distressed. His faceplate settles in a consternated matter, but his eyes aren't on you when it does. The re-route again. You'd bet anything on it.

"I know someone who can explain everything so much better than I can… but you're going to have to extend a little trust. Your systems will reboot. I'll keep watch over you while you're out, and when you get back up… well… you'll see." You take the chip out of its home wedged between your chestplate and the star (you really need to find a better place for that) and hold it up to him.

"What is that?" He takes a few steps forward to get a better look at the chip, optics re-orienting and focusing to see in the darkness. "Are you feeling all right, Star? Maybe we should take you in for repairs, if you're installing unregistered tech you might've picked up some kind of virus." Despite his words, he takes a few more steps closer, within arms' reach.

"It's not a virus, and I feel better than I've ever felt in my life."

Dust measures you for a few seconds… moments? You lose track of your internal clocks watching his face. You try to remain as neutral in posture as possible, slowing your enthusiastic heaving and straightening your stance as you hold the chip aloft. Still, you can't stop that smile. His hand spasms, moves to reach out, then stops. Then starts again. His fingertips make contact with the chip, and within picoseconds his optics roll back and he starts to fall. You quickly catch him, propping him up against one of the train cars. It only takes a few minutes, just like it did with you. You watch his systems come back online, life breathe back into his body, parts begin to move. His eyes return to face forward, the accordion of his intake seems to inhale and exhale like a human's chest, and his faceplate sets firm. There is something new about him, and you wonder if anyone had observed you last night if it would've been visible in you, as well. After a few more minutes of what you assume is prolonged conversation with The Navigator, he speaks.

"… when do we start?"

"Tomorrow."

Dust has joined your team.

What should Dust prioritize today?
[ ] [DUST] Scouting
Dust will make a Processor check to see if he can find any potential candidates for recruitment. The net cast with this vote will be a wide one as you have not established specific needs for the team at present.
[ ] [DUST] Research
Dust will make a Processor check to dig up information on Smile Time and the Blue Devils.
[ ] [DUST] Weapons Training
While not intended to go into the field with you, it might be a good idea to have Dust familiarize himself with his less-restricted weapons systems. Just in case.
[ ] [DUST] Write-In
… unless you have a better idea?

What will you do before work?
[ ] [AM] Research
You will make a Processor check to dig up information on Smile Time and the Blue Devils. If you and Dust both prioritize Research you might find greater information, but if your checks are too low you might just waste your time coming to the same conclusions.
[ ] [AM] Relax
Conserve your energy to put more effort into a night-time task.
[ ] [AM] Write-In
… unless you have a better idea?

What will you do after work?
[ ] [PM] Gather Information
Make a Processor and Influence check to talk to the Denver night life in-person and see what they know about the Blue Devils and Smile Time. There is mild risk of danger, but you're unlikely to uncover the same information as Dust performing Research if successful.
[ ] [PM] Scavenging
Credits will no doubt help to grow and support the team, if you can find something worth selling. This will require a Processor check.
[ ] [PM] Scouting
You can make a Processor check to see if you can find any potential candidates for recruitment. The net cast with this vote will be a wide one as you have not established specific needs for the team at present. This will turn up different results from Dust if successful.
[ ] [PM] Write-In
… unless you have a better idea?

NOTE: In order to uncomplicate the tally a bit I have removed the 'what will you do about work' options. I will re-introduce them if I feel the story warrants, but they are also always permitted for write-in. Non-votes will be counted as '[WORK] Go' if only one or a few people vote for work options.

 

[Wightraven]

"I'm still trying to process all of this," Dust stammers. "What… what are we doing? What's the plan?"

"We can inform him of everything pertaining to your current and overall mission," The Navigator intones. It's been quite some time since you've heard their musical, multi-layered voice.

"That would be convenient, thanks. Only relevant stuff if you don't mind. Eschew any of my personal feelings."

"As you wish." There is a moment of pause, Dust's eyes looking off to the side as he listens to the voice in his head.

"I see. You… haven't been at this for long, have you?"

"No," you admit. "Only about a day."

"Hm. I'd criticize your sudden passion if I didn't feel it, myself. I… who did this to us? Who inhibited us like this, I mean. If we were something so much more so long ago…"

"I don't know. I don't know a lot yet, honestly. It's what we're trying to find out… but there's a lot we need to do to set ourselves up for success. We need money, first and foremost. Time. More allies. A base of operations, and… so much more. On the path to that I have a job to do; taking care of some gang conflicts to free up some money I'm owed."

"The Navigator told me."

"Right," you nod. "You have a computer?"

"I do."

"Good. I don't, myself. I'm not sure how great of an idea research is from a public terminal…"

"Is that what you recruited me for, my computer?" You can tell Dust is joking, but you refuse to give him the opportunity to drag himself down.

"No. I told you earlier, you're the smartest droid I know. I need you to look into Smile Time and the Blue Devils. I need to do the same. After work I'll probably hit the streets, but before…"

"You can use my computer after I head off to work. The faster we figure out our next move, the better."

"Thank you. Exactly. Many hands make light work and we're kind of on a time crunch. Send me your address and I'll stop by when I'm done charging."

"Speaking of which, it's about that time for me." Dust takes a few steps away, then turns around. "Thanks. For choosing me for this, for whatever reason you did."

"Thanks for agreeing to help," you return.

Dust makes his exit, and you spend another hour and change familiarizing yourself with your Star Crash before calling it a night, as well. Tomorrow there's a lot to do, and a lot of it is very boring. You've been on the internet a few times, of course. You have general competency with the various windows and systems. Being forced to interact with a user interface when you run on similar software is weird, but it protects you from viruses and other nastiness, hence why direct access isn't part of your average robot master's programming. Of course, external access only also means a droid leaves as much of an internet paper trail as a human, thus keeping any clandestine operations somewhat out of reach. You wonder if such an upgrade is something you or Dust would be able to commission from some an off-the-grid techie now that you're free of limitations. With the right protections in place being able to instantly access the internet from anywhere with enough signal would add some phenomenal power to the team.

Thursday
Four Days Remain
​

As expected, Dust is gone by the time you get to his apartment on Thursday. It's like yours in general shape and configuration, though the furniture is arranged differently to accommodate the computer. It's not the oldest model, nor the newest; a free-floating, blue-tinged projection screen hovers above the hard drive on a humble black desk. You activate it and type in the password Dust provided you with when he gave you his address and door access code. Several hours of Googling later and you've gathered up some intel, but you're sure Dust has acquired more tangible data. If not already, then once he gets home. You wonder what he got up to on his PC before he joined the team, but instead of committing a gross breach of privacy you power down the computer, lock his door, and make your own way to work.

Your shift comes and goes, your mind abuzz making plans from what knowledge you've so far managed to obtain. The Navigator said they could patch you two into direct communication, but you don't want to bother Dust while he's working or doing research; better he have a clear head to focus on both tasks individually, not to mention whatever questions he might still have for The Navigator themselves. Of course, you're certain his algorithms have been running just as many scenarios as yours, if not more. It's hard to remember to juggle the absolute wonder of this new freedom amidst the dangers you presently face and those that lurk on the horizon. Nevermind the planning and considerations… it's a lot of bandwidth to distribute and only so many ideas are important. Riding the subway downtown gives you enough moments of calm to enjoy it, though, and you keep a smile on your face and a song in your head as you travel with the rest of the city's night life.

Part of your daytime research was dedicated to discovering where might be the best place to locate someone who could tell you more about Smile Time. Information on the Blue Devils would be good, too, but the priority is the mission to pull Archie's fat out of the fire. Anything else is secondary at best. Asking a member of Smile Time directly would be too risky, and too difficult since the members operate with much more anonymity than the Blue Devils that seem to not-so-subtly flaunt their gang status to anyone who knows what signs to look for. Instead, you selected a third party discovered during your research; a droid by the name of Guts. You find yourself at a clean-looking club filled with loud music and dancing humans called WHITE NOISE. Somehow, despite the interior of the place being comprised of glowing white blocks, it still manages to appear dimly lit. Guts is at the bar, huge-framed and iron-jawed. A hard hat sits on the bar next to him, and he's plugged into a long cord hanging from a mobile set of cables suspended from the ceiling.

"You must want somethin'," he says with a rumbling vibrato as you take the seat next to him.

"What makes you say that?"

"People around here know me. Know I've had a run o' luck bad enough that I don't wanna be bothered. If you were just dumb you still woulda taken one seat down to give a man room to stretch his arms a little." There's a slight lag to his words, likely caused by what the cord is feeding into him; a steady stream of junk data that a robot's system immediately clears out. The system treats it as important enough to sort through, just in case there's corruption or a virus, so it suspends most of one's processes to do so and allows a droid to just fade into the blur of being operative without having to think about it. A packet drip, they call it. You've never tried one yourself, and you're not sure tonight's the time to start. "But no… you're tryin' to be personable. So… you want somethin'."

"Maybe I do. Maybe I'm just here to lube up and head out." You signal to the bartender for a drink and wait for it to slide your way.

"Don't lie to me, kid. It kills the buzz."

"All right, then. Let's say I want something. What do you think a woman like me would want from a droid like you?"

"Heh. Now that's a good question. If you wanted me to do some work for you, you woulda called the office and contracted me out. If you were lookin' for companionship… … well, you wouldn't be talkin' to me, but even if you were I'd hope you woulda been better at it. An' the third thing I do, anyone who knows I do it knows I don't do it anymore… so…" Guts closes his eyes and leans back a bit, succumbing to the haze of raw, pointless data. You accept your drink and pay the human barman, watching the construction droid for a few moments and milking your fuel.

"All I'm looking for is information," you finally divulge.

"In… formation," he almost moans. "Tell Guts six months ago he'd know somethin' worth askin' and he'd've laughed in your face."

"… and now?"

"Now?" Guts opens one eye and the bronze lens of his camera slides to catch your own gaze. "Now I don't do much laughin' anymore."

"If I can make you laugh, will you tell me what I want to know?"

"Y'know what? Sure." He reaches up and disconnects the plug from his head, letting it hang loose from the array, then picks up his helmet and replaces it. "Not givin' you the advantage of havin' me dripped out, though. You gotta earn this one."

"Fair enough," you steady yourself and take a moment to formulate a joke.

"Have you heard the one about the two droids who walked into a bar?"

"Yeah. They say they need to loosen up, so the bartender gives 'em each a screwdriver."

"No, two droids walk into a bar… which is absurd because the first one's optical receptors were functioning to optimal parameters and the second had just received a firmware update on their reflex module."

"That is without a doubt the dumbest joke I've ever heard."

"Hm… then you're probably not going to like my next one," you frown, taking a long drink of unleaded.

"Try me."

"All right then. Knock knock." Guts rolls his eyes.

"Who's there?"

"Nobody; that's the sound of the droids walking into the bar."

"That's—" There's a sort of snorting chuff that emerges from Guts' vocalizer. He closes his eyes and shakes his head, repeating the noise a few more times until you get a genuine chuckle out of him. "Dammit. You got me. I really didn't think you were gonna!"

"You can blame it on the drip, if you like."

"I might just," he laughs again. "All right, star-girl. Whaddya wanna know?"

"I have some questions about Smile Time." You turn to face him, perhaps to keep your conversation a bit more clandestine below the quiet roar of the music and the crowd. "Who are they? Where can I find them if I wanna make an impression on them?"

"Hmmmm… the enemy of my enemy," he muses. "That don't make us friends, though. What's a nice droid like you wanna go foolin' around with creeps like them?"

"They're pressing the Blue Devils who are pressing a friend of mine, and I don't appreciate that. I'd like to do something about it."

"Yeah?" He raises a metallic brow enough to tilt his helmet. "Who're you workin' for?"

"That's not important, and it wasn't part of our deal."

"Well, I didn't realize you'd be askin' such important questions." He off-handedly signals to the bartender, who begins preparing what appears to be a shot of diesel.

"Be that as it may, it doesn't change the arrangement. I'm not asking you to put yourself on the line, I've just heard you're a man who knows things."

"Yeah, I know things," he nods. "I used to run with the Wrecking Crew. We controlled a lot of downtown on account of our boss managed to find himself the right series of favors. He turned that into big contracts for us, and they had us build secret escape routes, boudoirs, torture chambers an' whatnot into their mansions an' offices. We get in good with the movers an' shakers in the city, and suddenly when people need to transport goods or throw a shindig nobody interrupts, they use us as security." His shot arrives and he downs it. "The Blue Devils didn't like that. Until we popped up, they were the big protection racket in town. They didn't like we were takin' their business, and I kinda think they didn't like we weren't makin' more money off of it. We had a few dust-ups, both sides chipped away at each other, but eventually they outnumbered us an' took out the boss." He makes a cracking noise and drags his thumb beneath his impressive chin.

"Where does Smile Time come in?" You try not to sound annoyed; his story is good intel, just not what you asked for.

"Well, that's what the Blue Devils don't know. See, Smile Time had been puttin' pressure on us basically since we got started. They had beef with some of the politicians we were workin' for, and they didn't like that we were keepin' 'em out of their grubby little mitts. Once the Devils started droppin' our numbers, they made their move. Put pressure on one of the boss's lieutenants. He sent us to the wrong place the night the Blue Devils made their big play, and between how many of their kind we took out an' how thin they're spread tryin' to take over all our old holdings, now they're primed to be picked off by Smile Time."

"You think they were the real targets the whole time?"

"Maybe," he shrugs. "Maybe they just got some good intel and decided to kill two birds with one stone."

"What happened to the lieutenant that betrayed you?"

"Last I heard he was on his way to Costa Rica with the payout Smile Time gave him. An' here I am, givin' out info for bad jokes." He huffs and shakes his head, coaxing the last few drops of diesel out of the shot glass.

"And what use were you to the wrecking crew? Intimidation?"

"Partly. There's loopholes in our programming if you know what you're looking for. We put up the right signage and I can set up some rush-job construction that humans shouldn't be foolin' around with. If those warning signs gets taken down when I'm not there to see it… well," he shrugs. "That's not on me."

"So you were a bagman by way of setting traps, basically?"

"I guess you could call it that." There's a few attempts for him to say something else, but Guts is forced to shake his head and begin a fresh sentence several times. "I did my best work under an excruciatingly small window of time and some folks died because of it. Can't say I feel good about it… but I can't say I feel guilty, either. As far as I knew, I did everything by the book, an' I can't be on the clock all the time. Even robot masters gotta recharge."

"That we do," you raise your glass to him and finish the fuel within. "Is there anything else you can tell me about Smile Time before I leave you to your packet drip?"

"Yeah, two things actually. First off, every member I've seen has been a robot. Obviously there's some human pushin' the buttons, but whoever they are, they're hidden way back from the action. Usually, it's just the non-sapient ones like crazy razies or ball de voux. But I heard the one who the lieutenant cut a deal with was a robot master."

"Interesting."

"You're tellin' me," he points at you in agreement. "Other'n that, one time they came after us on a job. That was a fun one; ain't nothin' stoppin' me from wreckin' a bunch of robots. A couple of 'em got away, though, an' when they did they dropped down into the sewers. I think that's how they get around so quick an' stay unnoticed by the general public."

"Thanks, Guts. That's a lot of really useful information."

"No problem. Just do me a favor and forget where you got it from, okay?" He gives you a polite nod before removing his helmet again and restoring the packet stream.

It's Dust who drops you a line on the way home, and just as promised the link The Navigator provides between you is practically flawless. You two exchange information, something that likely would've required an in-person meeting tomorrow or the use of a less-secure means of digital communication. You share the intel Guts gave you, and he reiterates much of what you found this morning with the few extra tidbits you knew he'd uncover; Smile Time are largely regarded as a rumor by most people, and nobody seems to agree on their purpose, but the consistent thread among them is that they wear digital masks that look like emojis and change with their moods. With the knowledge that most of them are droids of some stripe, these may even be built into their faces or replace typical facial features entirely.

Blue Devils, on the other hand, are a bizarre local gang styled after the yakuza. They dress well and tend to run legitimate business establishments, gambling houses, and prostitution rings, making extra money off of racketeering and the drug trade. They're pretty well-known publicly, especially since they took their name after the monstrous horse statue 'Blucifer' that looms over the Denver International Airport, and each of them wears some kind of identifying piece of jewelry bearing the terrible blue mustang with its glaring red eyes. Tattoos are popular among them in similar theming to the yakuza traditions, with blue oni being common for the obvious reasons. The public tends to see them as being somewhat honorable due to the charitable work they do for locals in trouble, and they usually don't target civilians the way they aim their wrath at members of rival gangs. Another highlight at how desperate they must've been to hassle Archie in the first place.

Tomorrow is another day, and you're feeling much more well-equipped to handle what's ahead. The sewers seem the most logical place to check for Smile Time, but until today you thought they were just a series of drainage tubes too narrow for all but the smallest cleaning robots to fit inside.


What should Dust prioritize today?
[ ] [DUST] Scouting
Dust will make a Processor check to see if he can find any potential candidates for recruitment. The net cast with this vote will be a wide one unless you specify a role, weapon type, or skillset you think the team might benefit from. Performing this task multiple times will result in more candidates no matter the Processor check.
[ ] [DUST] Research
Dust will make a Processor check to find maps and other information about the sewers beneath the city.
[ ] [DUST] Weapons Training
While not intended to go into the field with you, it might be a good idea to have Dust familiarize himself with his less-restricted weapons systems. Just in case.
[ ] [DUST] Write-In
… unless you have a better idea?

What will you do before work?
[ ] [AM] Scouting
You will make a Processor check to see if you can find any potential candidates for recruitment. The net cast with this vote will be a wide one unless you specify a role, weapon type, or skillset you think the team might benefit from. Performing this task multiple times will result in more candidates no matter the Processor check.
[ ] [AM] Relax
Conserve your energy to put more effort into a night-time task.
[ ] [AM] Write-In
… unless you have a better idea?

What will you do after work?
[ ] [PM] Infiltration
Who needs a plan? You'll charge directly into the sewer and see what happens.
[ ] [PM] Scavenging
Credits will no doubt help to grow and support the team, if you can find something worth selling. Payday is tomorrow, but whatever extra scratch you have remaining isn't gonna be much. This will require a Processor check.
[ ] [PM] Scouting
You will make a Processor check to see if you can find any potential candidates for recruitment. The net cast with this vote will be a wide one unless you specify a role, weapon type, or skillset you think the team might benefit from. Performing this task multiple times will result in more candidates no matter the Processor check.
[ ] [PM] Write-In
… unless you have a better idea?

 

[Wightraven]

Friday
Three Days Remain
​

Morning arrives with your paycheck. You transfer the appropriate amount for your rent and utilities and budget for essentials like fuel, after which you have a total of 255 Credits remaining. That's… not a lot to get you through the next two weeks, but as usual you'll manage. Once you take care of things for Archie, you'll get a bump from that, too. But still, if you plan on supporting a resistance movement it's going to take more capital than you're making presently. Eventually, something will have to change… but you're sure opportunities will present themselves as you continue along this path. Besides, there isn't much time to dwell on your finances; you have potential recruits for the team to consider.

Dust was easy; you and Dust were already friends. However, you're not known for your wild social life or expansive sphere of influence. Most of the droids you know are best suited to the role Dust is currently filling; staying back and running operations remotely, leaving you with a dearth of options. You suppose Crystal the street performer might be able to hold her own in the field, if she were interested in joining up. But you're not sure if that would be a very diverse addition to the team. Then you suppose there's Junk and Guts. Both seem like capable robot masters, but you aren't sure how much the first will want to abandon the job he's so passionate about, nor how much you can truly trust the second. He's already a pretty rough customer… if The Navigator removed his restrictions, would he become as monstrous as his former gang?

You've got a good processor and have plenty of storage, but you're certainly no hacker. So trying to research other droids who may potentially be willing to help you out involves looking at recent news reports and browsing social media. The first you find is Snake who stands out for frequent interactions with the notorious hacker Sheep and seditious comments you aren't sure how he manages to fire onto the internet before his systems re-direct him. He'd probably be an easy pull, but seems like he might be unpredictable. Bubble is another one you find on social media; they seem to be feeling a little depressed and marginalized by society, and is kitted to work best in aquatic environs.

News headlines are what lead you to the remaining two options; Nitro and Splash are both reported to be public nuisances. The former is a street racer who uses the confidence provided by late night hours to convince herself she won't put any humans in danger with her competitive, high-speed activities. The latter is labeled an eco-terrorist who frequently 'reclaims' disused sections of the city for the natural world named Vesper. She was apparently recently released from her latest "recalibration", though you find it baffling she's a repeat offender in the first place. There must be some kind of strong will within her to so routinely overcome the program.

These candidates dominate your thoughts as you work, weighing their positive and negative qualities against what little you're aware of your needs. They each have potential, but maybe you're acting too fast? Lacking a proper base of operations or a tested support system, perhaps you'd be reaching beyond your means? Then again, if you're heading into the sewers to fight a bunch of robots you'd rather not do it alone. Even just having someone to watch your back would be better than hoping Dust can provide you with quality advice on the fly. Speaking of which, when you get together with him after work to discuss a plan, you aren't exactly filled with confidence.

"I managed to find some plans for the original sewer layout, but I'd hardly call it a 'map'," he laments. A neon sign outside his house is buzzing with a dull hum, and though it's diminished through the closed window, it's still just at the edge of your hearing enough to be annoying. "It's all pipes and tunnels, nothing big enough to traverse. But it is a solid layout of the various junctions and drainage paths. That said, I used a little… uh… recently-unrestricted techniques to get a bit more intel from behind some rudimentary security. I guess a few hundred years ago there were some droid designers who built bases beneath the city using the structure of the sewer as a guideline and support network. The city didn't know about it until this guy got brought in, and I guess they were worried it was too unstable afterward to clean out. My guess is if Smile Time is holed up somewhere down there… that's the place. Only problem is I don't know how to find it."

"What was the guy's name?"

"Huh?"

"The doctor who built a fortress under Denver. Just curious," you shrug.

"Stay curious," he chuckles. "He's listed in all the files I found as 'Doctor Robot'."

"Oh wow, the real Alais McFakename! I'm sad we didn't get to meet him."

"Right?" Dust scoffs. "So… there is one more option we have to get a better idea of the sewers that I found, but it's gonna have to be you who secures it in-person. Apparently there's a maintenance guy who patrols the whole underground by himself who goes by the name of Toad."

"Robot master?"

"Yeah. So there's a minor risk he isn't an expert and is just the only person they're paying to be down there at all… but I figure he probably knows something."

"He might even by sympathetic to the cause…" you muse.

"Maybe. Hard to say until you talk to him… if you wanna talk to him."

"Might as well," you shrug. "We need all the information we can get, and if he can help at all it'll put us in a better position. The clock's not ticking any slower, after all."

"Tomorrow and the next day, right? You're kinda pushing it, aren't you?"

"It's the timetable I managed to negotiate for," you sigh.

"Have you considered just… trying to take out the Blue Devils instead? Guts said they were stretched thin, right?"

"Yeah, but they're people, Dust. Programmed robots who don't actually think and feel are one thing, but just because they're bullies doesn't mean they need to die about it." … does it though? Would you be as ready to kill attack dogs? Are they that different from a met? Eugh. Morality is difficult. "Regardless, I think the powers that be would have some questions if a droid shot up the local do-gooder mob."

"Would they? They didn't seem to have a problem when the Wrecking Crew got taken out."

"Because it looked like the Blue Devils did it. That's just everyday gang violence."

"And they'd know a droid took out the Blue Devils if you did it because… ?"

"Hm." You don't actually have an answer for that. In your head it sounds more difficult, putting your boot on the neck of an entire human gang with a well-known public image to get them to back off Archie without retaliation. But… maybe it's not. Maybe fighting robots would be harder. Maybe you could even talk to your fellow droids and get them to see reason in a way the humans won't. "I know it wasn't what you were suggesting I do, but maybe we can get Smile Time to back off without resorting to going full 'home invasion' on 'em."

"If you think so," Dust shrugs, a detached look in his half-lidded eyes. He is obviously in need of a recharge. "It's your call. I'm just the guy in the chair."

"You should be the guy in the chamber. Get some rest. In the meantime, do you know where I can find this Toad guy?"

"As of his last social media post…" his fingers fly over the keyboard as the information on his projected monitor changes to Toad's profile. "… he should be at what I think is his home. A little single-room not far from Junk's scrapyard near the water. I'll have The Navigator send you the coordinates."

"Thanks, Dust."

"I should be thankin' you, Star. But I'm just too damn tired." He gets up and shuffles toward his pod to rest, giving you a half-hearted wave before closing the door.

You wave back, though he can't see you through the opaque shielding of the chamber, and lock his place up behind yourself. It won't be too long before you're dragging just as hard behind. You've been burning the candle at both ends for a few days now, and it's starting to take its toll. If only you had a little more time… you pay a taxi to take you to the address Dust provided. With Friday night traffic as thick as it is, it's really a crapshoot between whether trying to squeeze your chassis into the subway or having a met auto-route you through the streets is more efficient. It's not too late by the time you arrive… you hope. As advertised, the building Toad is apparently posting from is very humble, set back from the concrete harbor enough that it's on actual solid land, but still close enough to smell like wet. A light rain picks up as you raise your hand to knock on the door, and you curse quietly to yourself.

"… hullo?" The door cracks open and two round ocular receivers with red lenses peer out at you from the shadows within. You can see the chain still strung across the gap in the door, preventing it from opening further. From deeper inside the building, you can hear the muffled sounds of television advertisements and see the soft glow of a screen.

"Hey! I'm Star. I'm looking for Toad?"

"… … speaking?" His eyes narrow a bit. "I'm not expecting any company."

"No, we don't know each other. But… I heard you work in the sewers of the city. Is that right?"

"… … … yeah?"

"It's hard to explain, but I was planning on looking around down there and I figured you'd know better than anyone how to find what I'm looking for—"

"Yeah, I think I'm good. You have a good night." Toad begins to shut the door but you wedge the toe of your boot in before it can close too far.

"Wait! There's some kind of fortress down there. Dangerous robots come in and out and I need to talk to them about—" you sigh, covering yourself as best you can with your arms and shaking a bit of the rain off. You really need to start carrying an umbrella. "I guess that part's not important. I'm just trying to protect a friend and the best way to do that is to talk with the droids who live there."

"You're talking about that skull-shaped thing near the C-16 junction," he says flatly. You nod and shrug, assuming he knows better than you. "Get your foot out of the door."

You do so and he shuts it quickly, then you hear the chain slide out of its lock. The door opens again and Toad gestures for you to come inside. It is humble and dim, but he has exactly one more couch than you do, putting him at a total of one. He mutes the TV and kicks a few empty E-tank cans into the corner before turning back around to face you. Being out of the rain has instantly calmed your nerves, and you swat at the more dangerous places for moisture to accumulate.

"I've seen it, obviously," he croaks. "How do you know about it?"

"It's a long story and it's really in your best interests if I don't give you all the details. The robots that live down there, they're part of a gang called Smile Time."

"With the emoji faceplates," Toad nods.

"They're involved in some turf disputes with another gang, and that has caused my innocent friend to get stuck in the middle. He's being extorted to pay this other gang basically his whole life savings. Only the other gang is made up of humans. I figured one way or the other, I'd have better luck dealing with the robots. I managed to find out approximately where they are, but the more I know the more likely I am to succeed."

"Sure." Toad studies you for a few moments, looking you up and down and then just staring a hole almost directly through you. You start to wonder if he's waiting on something and start trying to think of something to say when he begins to vocalize again. "I can get you there, but that's as far as I'll go. It's not gonna be easy and you might get wet."

"That… isn't ideal," you confess.

"It's a sewer," he shrugs. "That's kinda the big risk that comes with the territory."

"True." It would certainly be safer to navigate with a guide, and he is basically offering you everything you came here for. "I appreciate the help, Toad. Thank you."

"Sure," he nods again, using his whole toady body. "I'm working on other side of the city tomorrow, but I'll be pretty close by Sunday afternoon. There's a manhole in an alleyway in Glendale by the brewery. I'll leave it ajar for you. Meet me down there before nightfall and I can show you where the skull-fort is."

"Thanks. I really appreciate this."

Almost everything seems to be in place… there are just a few things to decide.

What should Dust prioritize Saturday and Sunday?
[ ] [DUST] Relax
Dust is clearly feeling drained by the job, and will be working operations for you Sunday PM. He could probably use a little recuperation time.
[ ] [DUST] Research
Change of plans: let's try to take out the Blue Devils and get as much intel on them as we can to accomplish this task Sunday.
[ ] [DUST] Scouting
Dust will make a Processor check to see if he can find any more potential candidates for recruitment, although your sphere of influence is pretty small. There aren't likely to be many more available choices for the time being until your resources change. If you're looking for a particular role (damage type, best Attribute, function) that might help him find a suitable robot master.
[ ] [DUST] Weapons Training
While not intended to go into the field with you, it might be a good idea to have Dust familiarize himself with his less-restricted weapons systems. Just in case.
[ ] [DUST] Write-In
… unless you have a better idea?

What will you do during your free time?
[ ] [STAR] Scavenging
Credits will no doubt help to grow and support the team, if you can find something worth selling. This will require a Processor check.
[ ] [STAR] Scouting
You will make a Processor check to see if he can find any more potential candidates for recruitment, although your sphere of influence is pretty small. There aren't likely to be many more available choices for the time being until your resources change. If you're looking for a particular role (damage type, best Attribute, function) that might help you find a suitable robot master.
[ ] [STAR] Relax
You're tired, but not as bad as Dust. Still, it wouldn't hurt to be rested up for Sunday.
[ ] [STAR] Write-In
… unless you have a better idea?

Should you recruit a new member for the team?
[ ] [TEAM] No
It can wait until better candidates are available or less pressure is on. This time will instead be added to your choice of task over Saturday and Sunday.
[ ] [TEAM] Yes - Guts
A tough, strong construction robot. It might take a very high Influence check to persuade him, and who knows how loyal or reliable he'd be?
[ ] [TEAM] Yes - Bubble
They seem like they'd be an easy enough recruit, though being best suited to underwater tasks is situational, even if it might be very handy for the current mission.
[ ] [TEAM] Yes - Snake
It might take an Influence check to get him to join, and he seems to have passionate interests in radical behavior. He could be a dangerous ally… but an effective one.
[ ] [TEAM] Yes - Toad
Toad seems to want to help you for some reason and has key information to the current mission. But you also literally just met him and don't know as much about him as the others.
[ ] [TEAM] Yes - Crystal
Crystal is a friend and likely to join up with a solid Influence check, but there was a reason you originally considered her for an operations position. She may not round out the diversity of your crew very well.
[ ] [TEAM] Yes - Nitro
She's a rebel with a cool motorcycle who might be able to get you around town faster and seems to be able to hold her own in a fight. It shouldn't take much of an Influence check to recruit her, and she seems to be fairly low-risk in terms of unpredictability.
[ ] [TEAM] Yes - Vesper
Vesper would likely not require much of an Influence check to recruit and she's predisposed to doing what's best for humanity even as they try to force her into obedience. You're not exactly sure how useful her abilities would be in the field, but she certainly has the enthusiasm.

 

[Wightraven]

Saturday
Two Days Remain
​

The trip back from Toad's is not well-recorded in your memory. A lot of things have been poorly recorded in your memory, lately. Things have been a blur, in general, and it's hard to believe it hasn't yet been a week since you first found the chip at Junk's scrapyard. There's likely to be danger tomorrow, and you've got other things to look into before then, besides, so you take a little extra time for yourself before work. You check in with Dust to let him know you secured Toad's cooperation and got in okay, but otherwise you leave him to his devices as well. Time to yourself, it turns out, allows your processes to wander beyond what is useful and into what is possible. As you're narrowing down which robot master to approach for additional support in the sewers you consider a bit more thoroughly the idea of trust between robot masters. It's not something you've had to put much thought into previously, but now that you're free of your chains questioning it comes almost naturally. Could you trust Guts to be loyal to the cause, even if his mind was freed? Snake with his radical ideals? Who can you truly believe will remain on your side if push comes to shove? Dust, probably. You two might not be cut from the same cloth, but you've been woven into similar enough fabrics that you get where one another are coming from almost intrinsically. But what about The Navigator themselves?

They said the one who made you was contained within their learning algorithm. That you were built during their time. You have a powerful weapon in your Star Crash, so it seems in some respect you were built with defense in mind… or perhaps for something more aggressive? They certainly weren't things added on after The Navigator's time; they had to be locked down within your systems and are apparently integral enough to your overall design that they couldn't just be removed. They also mentioned in their time that only one robot master saved the world… unless you were that robot master (which you feel they would've mentioned already) that implies you were among the opposition. No matter how many times you run the concept through your extrapolators it comes back with that being the most likely conclusion. They say their motives are for equality, and they clearly accepted you as the first member of their team out of desperation, but if the person who built you was the dissenting voice from so long ago, how much can The Navigator as a collective intelligence be trusted? Then again, even as you have these notions they don't intrude, and they've been nothing but helpful so far. It would be less stressful to have answers. They said they'd reveal more in time… perhaps the time is coming soon when you should have that talk.

Saturday's work day is insufferably long and full of tedious tasks. Several school field trips made their way through your exhibits, and no human is messier and more destructive than the small, young ones, especially when they're forced to be at a place of learning on a day in addition to their typical schedule. You are at least grateful they were all gone by the time you got there, but it didn't make cleaning up after them any less annoying. Someday you'll be able to quit this job. You wonder how many robot masters have done that. You wonder how the humans around them reacted.

Your tasks eventually conclude, and you soon find yourself in the dank, noisy surroundings of yet another bar called Aim and Attack. This one reminds you of the Auto-Bar if Auto himself hadn't been so dedicated to keeping it looking clean and inviting. Peanut shells, screws, bolts, and fluids of various questionable origin are scattered across the floor, a thin aura of smoke hangs in the air, and the people and robots within look like extras from an action movie each begging for a reason to break a pool cue off over someone's head. Music thunders from an unseen source, an old tune you don't remember having heard before. It's catchy, and plenty of patrons seem to dig it, nodding their heads are dancing to the beat. Your charge is near the dartboard, watching a few drunk humans try to hit precision targets against the drowning pull of their inebriation. Her cherry red finish gleams in the dim, neon-drenched lighting of the bar. Her chrome is so freshly polished you can see yourself in it. And when her oculars land on you, every program in your queue lags for a moment. To say she's intimidating is an understatement of the grandest magnitude.

"Hey," she says with the cool confidence of a fictional character. "You need somethin'?"

"You're Nitro, right?"

"The one and only. You new around here? Can't say I've seen you in here before."

"Yeah. I uh… had a proposition for you." She looks you up and down, stops herself from shaking her head at your star-plate, and smirks.

"All right. I'm listening."

"… lemme buy you a drink."

"Good timing," she holds up a can and puts it to her lips, draining what must've been at least half the original contents of the beverage into her fuel intake. "I was just finished with this one."

The two of you walk to the bar and she signals for two drinks, passing you one. The can is smooth and decorated in red and green, yellow text in jagged font reading 'HIGH OCTANE'. A pricey fuel, but a logical choice for someone so focused on speed and performance. You pop the tab and take a sip, and oh no it is smoooooooth. You pay the bartender and wince at the price, but if it helps you recruit for the cause it's worth it.

-20 Credits.

"So," she breezes, "what's your proposal?"

"You're a rebel," you begin, and then realize how stupid that sounds the second it hits your audio receptors.

"HA! And you're a cupcake. What're you even doing in a joint like this?"

"I'm—" you stammer, shaking your head in an effort to rattle signal back into your processors. That's got to be what's jamming up your thoughts. "I wasn't finished. You've got a reputation, I mean."

"Yeah? What of it?"

"I-- … look, I'll just get to the point. I need some help with something big. There's trouble in the sewers, and all over the place. I'm trying to find droids who have the gears enough to stand up to it, and put a stop to it."

"What kinda trouble?"

"That's… harder for me to explain. I'd have to show you and I can't show you unless you agree to help."

"Then there's not much incentive for me to agree, is there?"

"Well—" again, something about her has put you on the backfoot. Unfortunately, she also has kind of a point. Maybe having Dust's buy-in helped more than you thought. You sigh. "I suppose not, no."

"Aw, don't look so glum, star girl." Her mouth becomes a flat line in between bouts of smirking at you. She's damn good at that smirk. It has power, even though you can't feel the force of her personal programming like you can with other droids. "Listen, you've piqued my interest, but even if I felt compelled enough to help you fight sewer monsters, I'm still recovering from my last joyride." Nitro swings her foot up onto one of the barstools and you can see a spur-like attachment stuck to the heel.

"… you're on lockdown."

"'Fraid so. Can't use my bike mode, I'm locked outta operating any other vehicle… It's really killing my buzz, I gotta tell ya."

"How long does it have to stay on?"

"A week from Monday. You better bet your bolts I'll be back out racing the second it's off, though."

"A week's too long," you frown.

"Hey, I agree, and it's been almost a month for me. But it's what I've got," she shrugs and takes another drink of her fuel.

What should we do about Nitro's boot?
[ ] Risk
It's unlikely she'll need to operate a vehicle (or turn into one) in the sewer. Make an Influence check to try and convince her to come with you anyway. WARNING: If this fails it may impact your relationship with Nitro going forward.
[ ] Remove
It's possible Dust might be able to get it off without damaging the boot and revealing to the authorities something has happened. He would need to make a Processor check and doing this would be super illegal.
[ ] Solo
Part ways with Nitro for now and potentially see her a week from Monday. You will enter the sewers without backup, just Toad's guidance to the fortress.
[ ] Write-In
… unless you have a better idea?

NOTE: I was asked before what resting does; this is an example of it. You failed the Influence check to recruit Nitro this time, but there are potential recovery options and she suffered no negative relationship with you. The Agility check I rolled didn't end up getting used in this entry and its result will be preserved for a future update.