Forget hiring dockworkers, its time for another clone! Hivemind this shit to the max!!!
Built To Last
- Thread starter We Just Write
- Start date
- Superhero
Let her build a large robot to fight endbringers. Or to redesign the endbringer shelters.
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
C: It's not just about the help. It's also about providing good honest work to the people of the docks.
Forget the workers. The only people you can rely on are yourselves. Imagine, an entire workforce made up of yourself!
Materials are readily at hand in the Boat Graveyard. Just send out a few scavenger bots to pickup recyclable materials that are just lying about the area. Sure there will be materials that may not be found in quantity, but it is likely that most things you would need would be laying in an alley somewhere where it was just dumped.
Activation 1-4
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
Getting an official bank account for our business finances was utterly uneventful, as was the PRT coming by to pick up the flashlights and radios. Soon after, Melissa and I were staring at the report that we had twenty eight thousand dollars in our account now. This sparked a quick discussion about moving to a permanent location sooner rather than later. So the next day I found myself gallivanting all over Brockton Bay (Berry in tow), while Melissa looked into getting a loan for starting up a proper factory.
Just in case, we'd made two more security robots to hold down the fort while we were out; wouldn't do for our temporary lab to get raided in the meantime.
Turns out, it was actually Danny who pointed me in the right direction. Apparently when a lot of the businesses in the Bay went under in the wake of the Dock Riots, their buildings had ended up de jure property of the Dockworkers' Association. Not that the Dockworkers' Association could actually use most of them.
So the next day after starting the search, I found myself looking at an abandoned factory. Apparently they used to make equipment for use on ships.
Danny noted, "I know this place isn't much, but... well, it isn't much."
Opening the door, I got a look at row upon row of derelict machinery.
"You kidding? All the stuff in there is a practical goldmine for recycling in the near term. Heck, I might even be able to repurpose some of it for my own use."
Danny chuckled, "Thought you'd like it. All the stuff left here doesn't appear on property valuations for various reasons, but for someone like you? It's a major selling point. Plus the adjacent buildings are just as full of abandoned tooling for you to salvage as your operations expand."
"...Thank you. You're being very generous and I'm not sure how to pay you back."
"By succeeding, and pumping some life back into Brockton Bay's economy. For so, so long there's been precious little available for legitimate income in this city. People find themselves henching for villains just to make ends meet, and you've got the possibility to change that."
I nodded as I thought.
"So how much to buy the abandoned factory?"
"Strictly speaking, I'd sell it for a dollar. That said, if you've got a few thousand dollars to spare, it would really help some people who are in a tight spot right now. Also it would pay to have the utilities reconnected, which is kind of important."
I thought for a moment.
"I can spare eight grand, no problem."
Two days later, we were ready to move. The factory's utilities had been reconnected, a heavy-duty truck had been hired to move the heavy machinery we'd built, and some basic habitation features - namely a bedroom, a shower, and a laundry area - had been added to the factory's office.
We'd just gotten the truck underway when the universe decided we'd been having things too easy. More specifically, the part of the universe who called herself Squealer.
We didn't even see her coming, our first warning being a screech of tires on asphat. Gerry shouted "INCOMING!", and then the suddenly-visible monster truck rammed into the trailer with all our machinery in it.
As the glowering Tinker backed up, Melissa - currently suited up in her armor - asked "What the fuck is your problem!?"
Squealer hollered over the vehicle's sound system "You're a Tinker in the Docks! That's Merchants turf, so you've got to pay up! Now hand over those machines!"
Yeah, no way in hell was that going to happen, giant mechanical arm extending from Squealer's rig aside. Melissa seemed to agree with my assessment, leaping onto the side of Squealer's truck and hanging on for dear life.
Squealer panicked and slammed her truck into reverse, even as the first three security robots opened up with their lightning guns on full blast. Melissa hung on through an abrupt two-point turn (which flattened some poor schmuck's car in the process), and punched through the passenger side window even as the maniac tore off at highway speed with Gerry, Berry, and Mary in hot pursuit.
I could only groan; Squealer had completely trashed the truck's trailer. All the machinery we had loaded was fine; it was built to take this sort of abuse, but we'd need to get a new truck out here, load the machinery on, it was going to be a huge mess.
As my armored fist smashed through the passenger window, Squealer shrieked and drew a pistol. Normally I wouldn't be worried - even my visor was more than rated for handguns - but Squealer was a Tinker, so who knew what that gun did. So I began clambering through the window in hopes of getting to her before she could line up a shot.
Then the passenger seat launched itself up, clocking me right in the jaw. I barely even flinched; benefits of being built to take an obscene beating. As the wayward ejector seat went tumbling through the truck's roof, Squealer stared slack-jawed.
"How is your fucking neck not broken!?"
I was thoroughly inside the truck's cabin by this point and still slightly worried about the pistol, so even as I lined up my electrolaser, I answered.
"I'm built to last!"
Then I opened up on Squealer with the taser beam, making her spasm uncontrollably in her seat. The truck swerved abruptly, and I had the barest moment to realize that may not have been the best of ideas before we slammed into a building at full speed.
The entire front of the vehicle crumpled, airbags going off even as Squealer's harness kept her from flying out of the vehicle. I had no such luck, getting launched right through the windshield and ricocheting off the brick walls of the building we'd hit. No internal damage, but my armor's finish might have gotten scuffed a little.
I got to my feet just as Armsmaster arrived, his motorcycle pulling to a stop. Ugh, right, let's try and keep this professional.
"Ruggedizer, what are you doing here?"
I opted to go for the dry, clinical truth.
"Squealer tried to steal some of my machinery while I was moving to a more permanent location. For lack of better ideas, I boarded her truck to keep her from doing that. We had a fight in the truck's cab, which resulted in the truck crashing into that building at highway speed. I don't know if Squealer is still conscious, or even alive."
"Right, I'm going to arrest Squealer now. But I do have some questions for you. Such as how you avoided a concussion from getting slammed into the building."
As Armsmaster jogged over to foam Squealer, I couldn't help but groan internally. I had no good way to answer that question. If I admitted to being a robot it would wreck our end-run around the rogue laws. If I said I'd made some sort of anti-concussion tech there would be no good way to reproduce it when asked. I suppose I could refuse to answer? Strictly speaking, I did have a right to remain silent under the fifth amendment.
Just in case, we'd made two more security robots to hold down the fort while we were out; wouldn't do for our temporary lab to get raided in the meantime.
Turns out, it was actually Danny who pointed me in the right direction. Apparently when a lot of the businesses in the Bay went under in the wake of the Dock Riots, their buildings had ended up de jure property of the Dockworkers' Association. Not that the Dockworkers' Association could actually use most of them.
So the next day after starting the search, I found myself looking at an abandoned factory. Apparently they used to make equipment for use on ships.
Danny noted, "I know this place isn't much, but... well, it isn't much."
Opening the door, I got a look at row upon row of derelict machinery.
"You kidding? All the stuff in there is a practical goldmine for recycling in the near term. Heck, I might even be able to repurpose some of it for my own use."
Danny chuckled, "Thought you'd like it. All the stuff left here doesn't appear on property valuations for various reasons, but for someone like you? It's a major selling point. Plus the adjacent buildings are just as full of abandoned tooling for you to salvage as your operations expand."
"...Thank you. You're being very generous and I'm not sure how to pay you back."
"By succeeding, and pumping some life back into Brockton Bay's economy. For so, so long there's been precious little available for legitimate income in this city. People find themselves henching for villains just to make ends meet, and you've got the possibility to change that."
I nodded as I thought.
"So how much to buy the abandoned factory?"
"Strictly speaking, I'd sell it for a dollar. That said, if you've got a few thousand dollars to spare, it would really help some people who are in a tight spot right now. Also it would pay to have the utilities reconnected, which is kind of important."
I thought for a moment.
"I can spare eight grand, no problem."
Two days later, we were ready to move. The factory's utilities had been reconnected, a heavy-duty truck had been hired to move the heavy machinery we'd built, and some basic habitation features - namely a bedroom, a shower, and a laundry area - had been added to the factory's office.
We'd just gotten the truck underway when the universe decided we'd been having things too easy. More specifically, the part of the universe who called herself Squealer.
We didn't even see her coming, our first warning being a screech of tires on asphat. Gerry shouted "INCOMING!", and then the suddenly-visible monster truck rammed into the trailer with all our machinery in it.
As the glowering Tinker backed up, Melissa - currently suited up in her armor - asked "What the fuck is your problem!?"
Squealer hollered over the vehicle's sound system "You're a Tinker in the Docks! That's Merchants turf, so you've got to pay up! Now hand over those machines!"
Yeah, no way in hell was that going to happen, giant mechanical arm extending from Squealer's rig aside. Melissa seemed to agree with my assessment, leaping onto the side of Squealer's truck and hanging on for dear life.
Squealer panicked and slammed her truck into reverse, even as the first three security robots opened up with their lightning guns on full blast. Melissa hung on through an abrupt two-point turn (which flattened some poor schmuck's car in the process), and punched through the passenger side window even as the maniac tore off at highway speed with Gerry, Berry, and Mary in hot pursuit.
I could only groan; Squealer had completely trashed the truck's trailer. All the machinery we had loaded was fine; it was built to take this sort of abuse, but we'd need to get a new truck out here, load the machinery on, it was going to be a huge mess.
As my armored fist smashed through the passenger window, Squealer shrieked and drew a pistol. Normally I wouldn't be worried - even my visor was more than rated for handguns - but Squealer was a Tinker, so who knew what that gun did. So I began clambering through the window in hopes of getting to her before she could line up a shot.
Then the passenger seat launched itself up, clocking me right in the jaw. I barely even flinched; benefits of being built to take an obscene beating. As the wayward ejector seat went tumbling through the truck's roof, Squealer stared slack-jawed.
"How is your fucking neck not broken!?"
I was thoroughly inside the truck's cabin by this point and still slightly worried about the pistol, so even as I lined up my electrolaser, I answered.
"I'm built to last!"
Then I opened up on Squealer with the taser beam, making her spasm uncontrollably in her seat. The truck swerved abruptly, and I had the barest moment to realize that may not have been the best of ideas before we slammed into a building at full speed.
The entire front of the vehicle crumpled, airbags going off even as Squealer's harness kept her from flying out of the vehicle. I had no such luck, getting launched right through the windshield and ricocheting off the brick walls of the building we'd hit. No internal damage, but my armor's finish might have gotten scuffed a little.
I got to my feet just as Armsmaster arrived, his motorcycle pulling to a stop. Ugh, right, let's try and keep this professional.
"Ruggedizer, what are you doing here?"
I opted to go for the dry, clinical truth.
"Squealer tried to steal some of my machinery while I was moving to a more permanent location. For lack of better ideas, I boarded her truck to keep her from doing that. We had a fight in the truck's cab, which resulted in the truck crashing into that building at highway speed. I don't know if Squealer is still conscious, or even alive."
"Right, I'm going to arrest Squealer now. But I do have some questions for you. Such as how you avoided a concussion from getting slammed into the building."
As Armsmaster jogged over to foam Squealer, I couldn't help but groan internally. I had no good way to answer that question. If I admitted to being a robot it would wreck our end-run around the rogue laws. If I said I'd made some sort of anti-concussion tech there would be no good way to reproduce it when asked. I suppose I could refuse to answer? Strictly speaking, I did have a right to remain silent under the fifth amendment.
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tenmachi
We don't talk about the other nine
So... This was a good chapter, for sure, but I feel like a perspective shift happened between Emmy looking over the trailer's damage and (I'm presuming) Melissa dealing with runaway Squealer.
I'm being vague about it because it's kind of hard to tell.. Might want to make it a little more clear who's who between Emmy and Melissa in those scenes?
I'm being vague about it because it's kind of hard to tell.. Might want to make it a little more clear who's who between Emmy and Melissa in those scenes?
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
C: There was a perspective shift, yeah.
GBscientist
The Empire's Greatest Mouse
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Just tell Armsmaster that Melissa's lack of injury as from "proprietary, trade secret" equipment in the suit. Even if they arrest her, she doesn't have to explain shit.
Activation 1-5
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
Ultimately, Melissa had simply refused to answer Armsmaster's question, and since he had no grounds whatsoever to hold her, my robot double went free. In the short term it was the right decision, but I had a sinking feeling that our increasingly antagonistic relationship with the Protectorate Tinker was going to come back to bite us eventually. As for Squealer, she lived, but with significant injuries. She was currently sedated in the PRT's infirmary.
No other villains saw fit to interfere with our move, so we managed to finish hauling our machinery to the new place the same day we started. Though the crash did make things take a couple hours longer.
The next day, I checked our business email. Offers from a few suppliers that the PRT recommended, a request for some ballistic plates for testing, and... huh, apparently the news wanted to interview us.
"Hey Melissa, want to take a look at this?"
Melissa looked up from her oatmeal - having been upgraded to run off food since she was first built- and remarked, "sure?"
Looking through the email, Melissa noted,
"You know, that could actually be a great opportunity to get our name out there. While they really want to ask about our altercation with Squealer, it wouldn't be too hard to throw in a few sales pitches."
I nodded,
"I for one really want to go."
Melissa thought for a moment.
"I understand, but realistically it should be me. Not only can I move around in the suit without getting tired, but if some asshole decides to take a swing at the interview I'm a lot more likely to survive."
I nodded sadly,
"Honestly, I'm getting really jealous of your super-durable robot body. You get to do all sorts of risky things without needing to worry about serious injury, and you've got backups to boot. Meanwhile I'm a squishy human with only one shot at life. You even got your own copy of our Tinker power, so what's the point of having me around?"
Melissa blushed. I didn't add that feature, so she must have put it in herself.
"I love you. You're cute and you care about me and... I don't want you to get hurt or feel bad."
I sat, stunned. "Oh. I... I love you too."
There was some silence, then Melissa spoke up.
"Emmy... I think it might be possible to move you over to a robot body, like what I'm using."
I thought on it for a moment.
"I can see how that could work, yeah. Definitely risky though, and I'd want lots of practice on animals first."
"In the meantime, we should probably finish up the rest of the PRT's flashlight and radio order. It'll do a lot to help with getting stuff set up."
Later that day, I was waiting at the factory with four of the security robots. The PRT was scheduled to pick up the rest of the order along with the test ballistic plates in a few minutes, while Melissa was getting ready for her interview in a bit.
Sure enough, there was a ring of the doorbell at the loading dock. I went over and there was a van with a few men in PRT uniforms that I didn't quite recognize.
Something about this didn't quite seem right, so I didn't open the door. But I did activate the intercom.
"Hello, I take it you're here to pick up the flashlights and radios for the PRT?"
The group's apparent leader replied "Yes, that's correct."
I thought for a moment, racking my brain for a way to tell if these people were legitimate. The PRT hadn't given me any sort of passphrase or anything, so I'd have to verify manually.
"Can I have your names please? I just need to make sure you're the right people or we don't get paid."
The four men outside went still as statues, and I could swear I heard one of them mutter "damnit" under their breath.
Before the incredibly suspicious bunch could do anything even more damning, two actually labeled PRT vans rounded the corner. They immediately lurched to a halt, and the one in front disgorged six PRT troopers in full tactical gear. What followed was an incredibly lopsided firefight in which the four goons were almost immediately foamed and arrested.
Once the impostors were dealt with, I quickly verified that the new bunch were actually sent by the PRT over the telephone. That done, I arranged for the agreed-upon inventory to be loaded onto the second van, confirmed that the payment was currently being processed by the bank, and sent them on their way.
...Hey, if I tuned into the news right now, I'd probably see Melissa's interview. Would be nice to see how that went, and it would take my mind off the events that just transpired.
I promptly made my way to our impromptu living room, and turned on the television.
"-and do you have any thoughts on Squealer's injuries?"
Melissa shrugged,
"Not really? I hadn't meant for her to end up with all that spinal damage, but as far as I'm concerned she brought it on herself. I used the minimum necessary force to protect my livelihood, and if that happens to have caused severe injuries to a public menace, I really can't be bothered to care."
"I hear you're affiliated with the PRT. Would you like to expand on that?"
"They're one of our customers, and that's it. We have every intention of selling highly durable technology to the general public, in addition to government agencies. At present out product line includes flashlights, radios, water purifiers, camp stoves, and solar chargers compatible with the above. We're also willing to consider custom work if requested."
"Tinker tech isn't generally well-regarded in the commercial sphere, given its tendency to break without constant maintenance. What makes you an exception?"
"I am a Tinker specialized in ruggedization, redundancy, and most importantly reliability. All my products have a no-questions-asked lifetime warranty, provided that all major components are present when we get it back. Short of removing major components, I'd be genuinely impressed if someone managed to intentionally break one of my products, let alone by accident."
"That's... quite the vote of confidence."
The interview kept going for a few minutes, before the broadcast switched to a story about Boston's airport having trouble with all the Thanksgiving travelers. Apparently, it was only two days away. Huh. Needed to think about how we were going to celebrate that; we certainly had plenty to be thankful for.
No other villains saw fit to interfere with our move, so we managed to finish hauling our machinery to the new place the same day we started. Though the crash did make things take a couple hours longer.
The next day, I checked our business email. Offers from a few suppliers that the PRT recommended, a request for some ballistic plates for testing, and... huh, apparently the news wanted to interview us.
"Hey Melissa, want to take a look at this?"
Melissa looked up from her oatmeal - having been upgraded to run off food since she was first built- and remarked, "sure?"
Looking through the email, Melissa noted,
"You know, that could actually be a great opportunity to get our name out there. While they really want to ask about our altercation with Squealer, it wouldn't be too hard to throw in a few sales pitches."
I nodded,
"I for one really want to go."
Melissa thought for a moment.
"I understand, but realistically it should be me. Not only can I move around in the suit without getting tired, but if some asshole decides to take a swing at the interview I'm a lot more likely to survive."
I nodded sadly,
"Honestly, I'm getting really jealous of your super-durable robot body. You get to do all sorts of risky things without needing to worry about serious injury, and you've got backups to boot. Meanwhile I'm a squishy human with only one shot at life. You even got your own copy of our Tinker power, so what's the point of having me around?"
Melissa blushed. I didn't add that feature, so she must have put it in herself.
"I love you. You're cute and you care about me and... I don't want you to get hurt or feel bad."
I sat, stunned. "Oh. I... I love you too."
There was some silence, then Melissa spoke up.
"Emmy... I think it might be possible to move you over to a robot body, like what I'm using."
I thought on it for a moment.
"I can see how that could work, yeah. Definitely risky though, and I'd want lots of practice on animals first."
"In the meantime, we should probably finish up the rest of the PRT's flashlight and radio order. It'll do a lot to help with getting stuff set up."
Later that day, I was waiting at the factory with four of the security robots. The PRT was scheduled to pick up the rest of the order along with the test ballistic plates in a few minutes, while Melissa was getting ready for her interview in a bit.
Sure enough, there was a ring of the doorbell at the loading dock. I went over and there was a van with a few men in PRT uniforms that I didn't quite recognize.
Something about this didn't quite seem right, so I didn't open the door. But I did activate the intercom.
"Hello, I take it you're here to pick up the flashlights and radios for the PRT?"
The group's apparent leader replied "Yes, that's correct."
I thought for a moment, racking my brain for a way to tell if these people were legitimate. The PRT hadn't given me any sort of passphrase or anything, so I'd have to verify manually.
"Can I have your names please? I just need to make sure you're the right people or we don't get paid."
The four men outside went still as statues, and I could swear I heard one of them mutter "damnit" under their breath.
Before the incredibly suspicious bunch could do anything even more damning, two actually labeled PRT vans rounded the corner. They immediately lurched to a halt, and the one in front disgorged six PRT troopers in full tactical gear. What followed was an incredibly lopsided firefight in which the four goons were almost immediately foamed and arrested.
Once the impostors were dealt with, I quickly verified that the new bunch were actually sent by the PRT over the telephone. That done, I arranged for the agreed-upon inventory to be loaded onto the second van, confirmed that the payment was currently being processed by the bank, and sent them on their way.
...Hey, if I tuned into the news right now, I'd probably see Melissa's interview. Would be nice to see how that went, and it would take my mind off the events that just transpired.
I promptly made my way to our impromptu living room, and turned on the television.
"-and do you have any thoughts on Squealer's injuries?"
Melissa shrugged,
"Not really? I hadn't meant for her to end up with all that spinal damage, but as far as I'm concerned she brought it on herself. I used the minimum necessary force to protect my livelihood, and if that happens to have caused severe injuries to a public menace, I really can't be bothered to care."
"I hear you're affiliated with the PRT. Would you like to expand on that?"
"They're one of our customers, and that's it. We have every intention of selling highly durable technology to the general public, in addition to government agencies. At present out product line includes flashlights, radios, water purifiers, camp stoves, and solar chargers compatible with the above. We're also willing to consider custom work if requested."
"Tinker tech isn't generally well-regarded in the commercial sphere, given its tendency to break without constant maintenance. What makes you an exception?"
"I am a Tinker specialized in ruggedization, redundancy, and most importantly reliability. All my products have a no-questions-asked lifetime warranty, provided that all major components are present when we get it back. Short of removing major components, I'd be genuinely impressed if someone managed to intentionally break one of my products, let alone by accident."
"That's... quite the vote of confidence."
The interview kept going for a few minutes, before the broadcast switched to a story about Boston's airport having trouble with all the Thanksgiving travelers. Apparently, it was only two days away. Huh. Needed to think about how we were going to celebrate that; we certainly had plenty to be thankful for.
- Location
- Someone else's head
You know, when this fic started with a singlet protagonist, I was vaguely wondering if that would last or not, considering how much of your system's writing ends up having at least plural-adjacent themes.
Having a divergent partial upload in a separate body as a secondary protagonist, even without any deeper ongoing connection, is an interesting way to explore similar themes around identity with a very different situation.
Having a divergent partial upload in a separate body as a secondary protagonist, even without any deeper ongoing connection, is an interesting way to explore similar themes around identity with a very different situation.
Interlude: PRT
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
"Ruggedizer was entirely correct to be suspicious of those four men who showed up."
Director Piggot nodded,
"Well yes, that was obvious from the moment I heard of the impostors. Tell me something I don't know."
Deputy Renick flipped the page,
"Apparently, the four of them are a bunch of low-ranking Empire flunkies who thought conscripting a Tinker into the Empire would get them a promotion, or at least a significant bonus. This kidnapping attempt of theirs wasn't sponsored by the higher-ups, as far as the interrogators can tell."
Emily snorted in disdain.
"I highly doubt Kaiser would have signed off on it, considering how brazenly stupid the attempt was. Did they come up with this plan while drunk by any chance?"
Renick replied, "Yes, actually. All four of them were subjected to a breathalyzer test shortly after their arrest. The lowest blood alcohol content among them was 0.09. Apparently they were at a bar when they concocted the scheme, swung by a costume store and a van rental business, and then proceeded directly to Ruggedizer's factory."
Director Piggot groaned, the stupidity of regular humans could cause far more problems than Capes, sometimes.
"At the very least they shouldn't be worth the Empire's time to bust out of jail, considering how much of a liability they've proven themselves to be."
"That seems quite likely, yes."
"Any good news?"
Director Renick turned the page of the report, and passed it to Emily. Emily began to read. Ah, apparently it was the testing report for the ballistic plates Ruggedizer sent in.
Visual inspection indicated a rigid plate covered in apparently self-healing semirigid foam. Impact testing with a pneumatic ram indicated that the foam backing drastically lowered blunt force trauma sustained by the wearer. Gunshots up to and including a 40mm cannon failed to penetrate, though at the upper end of the range the wearer would definitely be feeling it. Meanwhile the foam on the front acted to catch fragments from bullet impacts, and keep them from flying off to cause injuries elsewhere.
Meanwhile incendiaries seemed to have negligible effect, with the inside of the armor remaining at almost exactly room temperature even with a kilogram of burning thermite on the outside. Same went in reverse for a dunking in liquid nitrogen. And yet those troops who'd worn a set of the plates remarked that they didn't overheat anywhere near as much as when they wore their regular armor. Apparently, the greater the temperature gradient, the more the foam resisted heat transfer; it also locked down on heat transfer if either side of the plate significantly exceeded human body temperature. Blatant Tinker bullshit, but Emily would take it.
As for what it took to actually break one of these plates... well, if anyone was casually throwing around equivalent attacks to multi-kilogram shaped charges, the troopers had bigger problems.
This... This armor would save so many lives. And the price Ruggedizer was asking was quite reasonable. Shame PRT ENE's discretionary spending for the next month was just about tapped out.
...Well, when in doubt, kick matters up the chain of command.
A decision made, Emily Piggot began composing a message to head office. A message that basically amounted to a sales pitch by proxy for Ruggedizer's armor plates. After all, if everyone got the new armor, her troops would benefit too. Not to mention that they could hardly justify denying her funding to get armor from a Tinker who lived right here in Brockton Bay.
Still, even as Director Piggot pressed send, some deeply cynical part of her chided her for believing Costa-Brown would be reasonable. Piggot hoped that part of herself was incorrect, but just in case she started coming up with contingency plans.
Director Piggot nodded,
"Well yes, that was obvious from the moment I heard of the impostors. Tell me something I don't know."
Deputy Renick flipped the page,
"Apparently, the four of them are a bunch of low-ranking Empire flunkies who thought conscripting a Tinker into the Empire would get them a promotion, or at least a significant bonus. This kidnapping attempt of theirs wasn't sponsored by the higher-ups, as far as the interrogators can tell."
Emily snorted in disdain.
"I highly doubt Kaiser would have signed off on it, considering how brazenly stupid the attempt was. Did they come up with this plan while drunk by any chance?"
Renick replied, "Yes, actually. All four of them were subjected to a breathalyzer test shortly after their arrest. The lowest blood alcohol content among them was 0.09. Apparently they were at a bar when they concocted the scheme, swung by a costume store and a van rental business, and then proceeded directly to Ruggedizer's factory."
Director Piggot groaned, the stupidity of regular humans could cause far more problems than Capes, sometimes.
"At the very least they shouldn't be worth the Empire's time to bust out of jail, considering how much of a liability they've proven themselves to be."
"That seems quite likely, yes."
"Any good news?"
Director Renick turned the page of the report, and passed it to Emily. Emily began to read. Ah, apparently it was the testing report for the ballistic plates Ruggedizer sent in.
Visual inspection indicated a rigid plate covered in apparently self-healing semirigid foam. Impact testing with a pneumatic ram indicated that the foam backing drastically lowered blunt force trauma sustained by the wearer. Gunshots up to and including a 40mm cannon failed to penetrate, though at the upper end of the range the wearer would definitely be feeling it. Meanwhile the foam on the front acted to catch fragments from bullet impacts, and keep them from flying off to cause injuries elsewhere.
Meanwhile incendiaries seemed to have negligible effect, with the inside of the armor remaining at almost exactly room temperature even with a kilogram of burning thermite on the outside. Same went in reverse for a dunking in liquid nitrogen. And yet those troops who'd worn a set of the plates remarked that they didn't overheat anywhere near as much as when they wore their regular armor. Apparently, the greater the temperature gradient, the more the foam resisted heat transfer; it also locked down on heat transfer if either side of the plate significantly exceeded human body temperature. Blatant Tinker bullshit, but Emily would take it.
As for what it took to actually break one of these plates... well, if anyone was casually throwing around equivalent attacks to multi-kilogram shaped charges, the troopers had bigger problems.
This... This armor would save so many lives. And the price Ruggedizer was asking was quite reasonable. Shame PRT ENE's discretionary spending for the next month was just about tapped out.
...Well, when in doubt, kick matters up the chain of command.
A decision made, Emily Piggot began composing a message to head office. A message that basically amounted to a sales pitch by proxy for Ruggedizer's armor plates. After all, if everyone got the new armor, her troops would benefit too. Not to mention that they could hardly justify denying her funding to get armor from a Tinker who lived right here in Brockton Bay.
Still, even as Director Piggot pressed send, some deeply cynical part of her chided her for believing Costa-Brown would be reasonable. Piggot hoped that part of herself was incorrect, but just in case she started coming up with contingency plans.
Expansion 2-1
We Just Write
Blatantly Plural
- Location
- New England
- Pronouns
- Plural
Much to our surprise, Danny invited Melissa and I over for Thanksgiving. After a moment to think on it, we asked if it would be alright if we showed up early to help with the cooking; the idea of entirely imposing on the Heberts just didn't feel right, given how much they'd already done for us. Danny said yes, and we agreed to show up at nine in the morning.
We showed up exactly on schedule, though not without incident. Apparently their front porch had a bad step, and Melissa's high density resulted in her putting her foot right through it. Danny and Taylor apparently heard the crunching noise from inside, since we heard rapid pounding footsteps, followed by the door being flung open.
Danny dropped the shotgun as he chuckled with relief.
"Oh, it's only you two. Sorry, but when I heard the crunching noise I assumed the worst."
Melissa sighed as she hauled herself up.
"Sorry about busting your porch. If you want we can fix it?"
Taylor shrugged.
"Sure?"
Meanwhile, Danny shook his head.
"We've been meaning to fix that step for ages and just not gotten around to it. It would be wrong to impose on you for something like that. You could have been seriously hurt."
Melissa countered,
"But you've helped us so much already. It feels wrong not to pay that back somehow."
That's when Taylor remarked,
"If you two keep trying to out-polite each other, this will keep going forever. Please come in."
So, we came in. We helped with cooking for a good three hours, everyone enjoyed a good meal, and then we sprung our little surprise.
I started.
"Danny, Taylor. We made gifts for you."
Danny answered, "Huh?"
Meanwhile, Taylor's reply was a suspicious "Why?"
"When I got my powers and went into that fugue... you two put everything on the line for me. Not to mention that you've been really really helpful with getting me started. It feels wrong not to pay that back somehow, so we made a watch for each of you."
With that, Melissa fished out the cheap-looking wristwatches we'd made for them. One was red and the other was black; the idea was for them to go beneath notice.
As Taylor looked over the red watch, she asked, "...Why a watch specifically?"
Melissa answered, "Because each of them contains a concealed panic button, and hiding it in a watch lets you bring it everywhere without arousing suspicion. We're worried about something horrible happening to you, maybe because of association with us. Those watches will let you notify us of your exact position and need for rescue if stuff starts going badly, so we can bail you out."
The Heberts both nodded seriously, then Danny asked
"So how do we activate the panic button?"
I spoke up,
"Hand me the black watch, and I'll show you."
The Tuesday after Thanksgiving was a big day for us; we'd be interviewing our first hires today. Danny had come through for us big time, finding a secretary, a couple marketing guys, an accountant, and a few dockworkers to handle shipping and receiving. With the thirty assorted orders we'd gotten at our makeshift website over Thanksgiving break, we were optimistic about our business prospects.
To save time, we'd opted to interview everyone all at once. So we'd shuffled some chairs around to convert the factory's old meeting room into a makeshift auditorium.
To our relief, everyone got here on time. Melissa would be presenting in our Ruggedizer identity, while I would ostensibly be non-Parahuman.
As everyone sat down, I greeted them.
"Hello, welcome to our name-pending business. I'm Emmy, the company's legal cover meaning we don't get sued for being run by a Parahuman. This is Ruggedizer, the Tinker who's actually designing all the products we're selling."
A skinny black man in a blue business suit nodded, then asked
"Guessing you need our help handling the more company-related parts of running a business? I'm Ferdinand, by the way."
Melissa nodded,
"Yeah, we need a secretary to screen calls and make official correspondence. Someone to keep track of the money, some people to market my products, and a few people to handle the loading docks. Won't be much manual labor in that last one, but we need some people who can actually think to keep track of the robots."
One of the Dockworkers - Kurt, I think his name was - asked "So, you're not going to automate our jobs away?"
I chimed in,
"Aside from needing the help, a big part of the reason for hiring locals is to breathe some life back into the local economy. We're not going to be hoarding endless wealth for its own sake, which means we're not acting purely to profit. So no, we won't automate your jobs away. We might introduce some automation to make your jobs easier, but not to do away with you entirely."
After a moment, a thought popped to mind,
"Also, we fully expect and encourage you to unionize, organize, that sort of thing. If we're doing something awful or stupid, we want to be told. Starting pay for each of you is thirty dollars an hour, though we're open to negotiation there. Also, hours are nine to five, excepting weekends. No overtime, period."
The female marketing agent raised her hand.
"Er, why no overtime, exactly?"
Melissa answered.
"If nothing else, because Emmy and I live here, at the factory. We want to have some private time to ourselves."
Eventually, the interview wound to a close. We decided that we'd hire everyone Danny found for us, and we set about figuring out what everyone would need to do their jobs and getting that set up.
A few hours later, Rose (the secretary) informed me,
"Emmy, there's a call from the PRT. It's about the ballistic plates."
I accepted the call.
"Hello, this is Emmy speaking."
"This is Deputy Director Renick. I've got some good news and some bad news. The good news is that we're extremely impressed with the body armor. The bad news is that most of the extra funding we asked for to buy it got withheld, so we'll only be able to purchase thirty sets at full price."
"Ah. That's... That's something at least. Are you looking for a discount?"
"If you're offering, though we're willing to favor-trade to partially offset the cost on your end. Thoughts?"
An idea clicked into place.
"If the Wards have some spare time, can they come over and let us take a look at their powers? From what we recall, Tinkers can sometimes develop technology based on another Parahuman's abilities, and we want to see if that holds for Ruggedizer too."
"That sounds reasonable enough, though I'll need to swing it past Piggot first."
And that's how Vista and Kid Win ended up scheduled to come over for a few hours on Friday.
We showed up exactly on schedule, though not without incident. Apparently their front porch had a bad step, and Melissa's high density resulted in her putting her foot right through it. Danny and Taylor apparently heard the crunching noise from inside, since we heard rapid pounding footsteps, followed by the door being flung open.
Danny dropped the shotgun as he chuckled with relief.
"Oh, it's only you two. Sorry, but when I heard the crunching noise I assumed the worst."
Melissa sighed as she hauled herself up.
"Sorry about busting your porch. If you want we can fix it?"
Taylor shrugged.
"Sure?"
Meanwhile, Danny shook his head.
"We've been meaning to fix that step for ages and just not gotten around to it. It would be wrong to impose on you for something like that. You could have been seriously hurt."
Melissa countered,
"But you've helped us so much already. It feels wrong not to pay that back somehow."
That's when Taylor remarked,
"If you two keep trying to out-polite each other, this will keep going forever. Please come in."
So, we came in. We helped with cooking for a good three hours, everyone enjoyed a good meal, and then we sprung our little surprise.
I started.
"Danny, Taylor. We made gifts for you."
Danny answered, "Huh?"
Meanwhile, Taylor's reply was a suspicious "Why?"
"When I got my powers and went into that fugue... you two put everything on the line for me. Not to mention that you've been really really helpful with getting me started. It feels wrong not to pay that back somehow, so we made a watch for each of you."
With that, Melissa fished out the cheap-looking wristwatches we'd made for them. One was red and the other was black; the idea was for them to go beneath notice.
As Taylor looked over the red watch, she asked, "...Why a watch specifically?"
Melissa answered, "Because each of them contains a concealed panic button, and hiding it in a watch lets you bring it everywhere without arousing suspicion. We're worried about something horrible happening to you, maybe because of association with us. Those watches will let you notify us of your exact position and need for rescue if stuff starts going badly, so we can bail you out."
The Heberts both nodded seriously, then Danny asked
"So how do we activate the panic button?"
I spoke up,
"Hand me the black watch, and I'll show you."
The Tuesday after Thanksgiving was a big day for us; we'd be interviewing our first hires today. Danny had come through for us big time, finding a secretary, a couple marketing guys, an accountant, and a few dockworkers to handle shipping and receiving. With the thirty assorted orders we'd gotten at our makeshift website over Thanksgiving break, we were optimistic about our business prospects.
To save time, we'd opted to interview everyone all at once. So we'd shuffled some chairs around to convert the factory's old meeting room into a makeshift auditorium.
To our relief, everyone got here on time. Melissa would be presenting in our Ruggedizer identity, while I would ostensibly be non-Parahuman.
As everyone sat down, I greeted them.
"Hello, welcome to our name-pending business. I'm Emmy, the company's legal cover meaning we don't get sued for being run by a Parahuman. This is Ruggedizer, the Tinker who's actually designing all the products we're selling."
A skinny black man in a blue business suit nodded, then asked
"Guessing you need our help handling the more company-related parts of running a business? I'm Ferdinand, by the way."
Melissa nodded,
"Yeah, we need a secretary to screen calls and make official correspondence. Someone to keep track of the money, some people to market my products, and a few people to handle the loading docks. Won't be much manual labor in that last one, but we need some people who can actually think to keep track of the robots."
One of the Dockworkers - Kurt, I think his name was - asked "So, you're not going to automate our jobs away?"
I chimed in,
"Aside from needing the help, a big part of the reason for hiring locals is to breathe some life back into the local economy. We're not going to be hoarding endless wealth for its own sake, which means we're not acting purely to profit. So no, we won't automate your jobs away. We might introduce some automation to make your jobs easier, but not to do away with you entirely."
After a moment, a thought popped to mind,
"Also, we fully expect and encourage you to unionize, organize, that sort of thing. If we're doing something awful or stupid, we want to be told. Starting pay for each of you is thirty dollars an hour, though we're open to negotiation there. Also, hours are nine to five, excepting weekends. No overtime, period."
The female marketing agent raised her hand.
"Er, why no overtime, exactly?"
Melissa answered.
"If nothing else, because Emmy and I live here, at the factory. We want to have some private time to ourselves."
Eventually, the interview wound to a close. We decided that we'd hire everyone Danny found for us, and we set about figuring out what everyone would need to do their jobs and getting that set up.
A few hours later, Rose (the secretary) informed me,
"Emmy, there's a call from the PRT. It's about the ballistic plates."
I accepted the call.
"Hello, this is Emmy speaking."
"This is Deputy Director Renick. I've got some good news and some bad news. The good news is that we're extremely impressed with the body armor. The bad news is that most of the extra funding we asked for to buy it got withheld, so we'll only be able to purchase thirty sets at full price."
"Ah. That's... That's something at least. Are you looking for a discount?"
"If you're offering, though we're willing to favor-trade to partially offset the cost on your end. Thoughts?"
An idea clicked into place.
"If the Wards have some spare time, can they come over and let us take a look at their powers? From what we recall, Tinkers can sometimes develop technology based on another Parahuman's abilities, and we want to see if that holds for Ruggedizer too."
"That sounds reasonable enough, though I'll need to swing it past Piggot first."
And that's how Vista and Kid Win ended up scheduled to come over for a few hours on Friday.
verycoolname
Not actually cool
Just going by their specialties, Kid Win is going to get along great with Ruggedizer. Here's hoping that Armsmaster doesn't get too jealous about the Wards liking her more than him.
ok love this story keep up the good shit
RCB probably always denies PRT ENE funding for anything outside the bare minimum, just on general principle. Gotta keep the cauldron boiling to see what turns up.