Winning Options:
[X] Mel makes a permanent cloud storm over the city.
[X] El finds ways to entratain Mel.
What does El do?
-Train Magic
-Go Dumbster Diving for funds
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El today is going to have a busy day. Very busy. It has recently noticed an emerging pattern. Its mistress, bless her... heart(?), has the patience of a racoon overdosing on adrenalin, and the attention span of a butterfly. This is probably because whatever she is clearly shouldn't be this close to Reality. That is the only logical conclusion its matrix reaches. Either that, or she has a Adhd equivalent, and imaginina g aserious version of her is sparkinducingly scary, as such, it does not. Learning a trick from its crafters, it decides to ignore the worrying possibility, simply moving it under the rug, and hoping it isn't real.
Either way, today in addition to its usual itinerary in the Dump, it has decided to spend some amount of time interacting and, hopefully, entrataining its mistress. After all, that is nominally its purpose, right?
"What would you like to do?"
"I'unno."
"..."
Thank Mistress for search engines.
"Would you like to go eat something?"
"Yeeeeesss. Sweeeeets."
"I was thinking more like an actual meal, even if you apparently don't need them."
"*Gasp* How do you know?"
"You haven't eaten. I don't even know why you suddenly like sweets so much."
A ratty, unched small figures approach you as you play tricks. "Here, this is all I have. What you are doing makes me happy. Take it and, if you can, please make the next one warm." You're sure a firework as warm and beautiful as yours has never been seen by her.
"No real reason. Hey, after that, what are we doing?"
"..."
Once more, search engines come to the rescue.
"What about playing some kind of game?"
"What kind?"
"I was thinking-"
"Tag! Marco Polo! Hide and Seek!"
"-Monopoly, or something more tranquil."
"Oh. That's also fine. So long as we're doing something."
So you both march towards the city center. Faceless masses hide you well enough, you figure, mostly because you don't think anyone is actively searching for you. Talking to the Ice Cream parlor is a bit hard.
"We don't serve your kind here."
"Away, vagrant. You'll scare the real customers away."
This one doesen't even look at you. Her sight is firmly fixed upon her phone's screen, but it knows securety has been calles, and soon enough they'll be thrown out.
"Why didn't we stop at the ones before?"
"They had lacking foodstuff. Eating it might have given you health issues."
"If you say so."
"Maybe not to you, but to the avarage homo sapiens. I can't in good faith encourage those businesses."
It's only half lying. And it has marked the names down, both of employees and firm. Should it ever make it big... Well, they're not the first on its list, nor are they even close to the top, but still. These one might do with an increased mortage, it balances... Inflation shall serve as a good reason, yes-
"I wanna something to eat."
"Yes, mistress. This way."
Guided by the web, and a nice old lady it asked directions to, you finally reach someone willing to service a bot. They're not happy about it, but given there's nobody else here at this hour of the morning, it manages to get its mistress' food.
"He was nice."
"Yes, he was."
The accusing looks have apparently gone unnoticed. It doesen't know what Mel would have done, and it's not particularly willing to try and find out. Blood is hard to wash off of its chassis' model, after all, and brain matter is even worse. That is why it likes laser so much.
[-200 credits]
They leave nothing behind.
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Today is a stormy day for all of this city. You'll make damn sure of it.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing!"
There's just a tiny problem.
"Where are you going?"
"Nowhere!"
Your contractee has been following you around. That's odd! It usually doesen't do that! It just goes around and do... stuff! Why is it staying with you! You have to mess up the sky, and you know it'll stop you!
"What would you like to do?"
"SorryIhavetogotothepottyGoodbyeSeeyaLoveyaSeeyouLater!"
"You don't go t-"
Pfft, you lost it. Finally. Now, it's time to get to work. You tuck your sleeves in, get your tongue out in that cute way you saw in that one cartoon, and get to painting the sky. There shall be clouds! Pink clouds, that will make it so the Sun doesen't get in your eyes in the morning! And when it rains, it won't be water, but sweets instead! Mwahahah!
Actually, let's make sure the clouds look threateningly enough. It wouldn't do for all the men in stuffy black clother and wearing sunglasses to not notice it. A horse there, a tentacle here, and just a touch of different colours there. Some more tentacles, for good measure, and maybe a change in scenery when night comes around.
Perfect.
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The sky over the biggest city of the world changes in less than an hour.
That has not happened in centuries. Parks large enough to have microclimates suddenly shift in weather. Where before there was a burning sun, perfect for getting tanned, there's now shade. Where before parties were held, now people are worriedly looking up to the stars. The air is controlled, and specific chemical and development-affecting drugs are to be constantly kept in check and distribuited by the most important players. It has been so for centuries. The climate is to stay the same every year. A controlles half random pattern, that takes into account the big players' birthday, almost as national holiday in a time when even the weather has been forced to obey the will of man.
Rain fills the roads for the first time in millennia.
Graphs over all the continent are off the charts, and many cite an unnatural fluctuation in the wather pattern.
And that doesen't even begin to cover the actual skies of the city.
Clouds made of air vapour condensed enough to be impassable by planes or drones; clearly shaped cluods, that even blind people can recognize as clearly as normal bodied people; water filled with glucose and one as of yet unnamed beneficial sugar-flavoured nutritional supplement; the sky itself has changed in colour, much like the clouds themselves, and is in a constant flux, as if deciding which dress it wants to wear, and the list of impossibilities go on.
Many have already decleared the end of the world is approaching, and this time something has spit in the face of the science upon which the world order is based. Numbers seem to not have as much of a value anymore, and the bottom line means little when your slaves can simply drink the rain instead of taking their daily chemical cocktail.
Also, the streets are flooded. Centuries of rain being more a myth than a reality in the gigantic city, thanks to the controlled weather, have made much of the draining system effectively unnecessary, and it only remains to clean the streets of blood. It is not sufficient for even a small precipitation.
Heads are turning, and most of the corporate world is looking around to point fingers, and attempting to find a scapegoat. It's safe to say that most cults are about to be asked some rather pointed questions. Maybe the most recent wave of human sacrifices had some actual effect.
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A group of serious men wearing black and sunglasses at night is currently crowding around a screen.
"How is that possible?"
"It doesen't make sense."
"This is..."
"What are we supposed to do?"
"Kill it?"
A beat of silence passes.
And then guns fire from all around.
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A group of people wearing white coats and safety goggles is reading off of a script.
"The movements match up."
"That makes no sense."
"Well then, you know what that means."
"Joe was fucking right, that is what that means."
"What about Clarck's third law?"
"What about Einsteins'? What about Newton's?"
"Well now, you're asking for a pissing match."
"You know that if you want to, you can still take the easy way out."
Centuries of marginalizing religions, and even the internal corporate wars to cut down to size the church with humonguous atheist pro campaign over generations are about to cost society. What?
And then the air is filled with gas and laz fire.
It's most brilliant minds.
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A group of men wearing religious garb is gathering at a secret bar.
"What do we do about this?"
"We can either condemn it or claim it."
"I say we unionize."
And then the bar is filled with gunfire.
A figure wearing a full black vest, and holding a pendant with a bright purple eye at its middle barges into the bar.
"Hey bitches, guess who was- urgh!"
Apparently the eldritch cultist, whose worship is based loosely around Lovecraft, is recognized by most religions, both legal and illegal, as public enemy number one.
"Fuck off Joe, and die in a fire!"
"You still die the same as all of us!"
"*Scornful Snork*"
And then they go right back to gunning each others.
But once the enemy leadership is eliminated, they immediatly begin to squabble for power once more.
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You are just about to shape some clouds in a nice signature of your name and a smiling face when your little robot finally catches up to you.
"What was that?"
"Nuttin!"
"Are you sure?"
"Uh-hu. What were you goinf to do now?"
"The usual runs around the dumb, looking for something to sell."
"Ok then. Get to it."
"As you will."
Tanration, if you did it now, everyone would know immediatly. Maybe that's not such a good thing? Maybe it is. Still, it's a matter for another day. Now that robomom is gone, you can lurk around watching the TV all day. They just replaced it, after all. The last one was rather crunchy.
"-nd once you cross the city's legal border, the Moon turns back to its normal colour! It's God's Wrath upon this city of Sin! We must-"
"And that was a concerned citizen of the City, calling from the suburbs close to the border. What do you have to say, Mr. CorporateDrone?"
"First of all, that's not my name, and you know it. Second of all, you should not be looking up at the sky. Get back to work. Even if the world is ending, you still have your debt to pay, and your food to afford."
"I don't know how much the masses will be willing to put up with, mister."
"History teaches that the masses have lost their power. Another Bloody Week may be in order."
"Hear that, listeners? Worrying times ahead, that's for sure! And now we- "
*Bzzt*
Oh, it's doing that weird static again. How boring.
"We know it was you. Tell us how."
What is this, another braindead detective story? You don't understand the plot.
"This is our last time asking, now-"
And then you bite down. If it's gonna be stupid, it might as well be eaten. This one is much more crunchier than the last one. It also tastes vaguely like iron, and you can smell some fruits' in there as well. How nice of them, to add condiment!
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El is once more unto the streets. At this time of the night, there is nothing but silence.
[22]
Silence and the few new additions to the Dump that come every night. This time it seems like it's a damaged leg prothesis. A couple of weeks back, this would have been an upgrade for itself. Now it is just another part to be repaired and sold at the black market.
+2k Credits.
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That done, El decides to do a little experimental research with its newfound powers. Sure, as a machine it has all the patience it could ever need, but even its matrix is abuzz, stirred by the possibilities of what bona fide magic could do.
[78]
What magic can do is, apparently, finish its repair process and get it back to its formal body. At least now it's less inconspicuous.
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Balance: +1.800 Credits.
What to do now?
[]Mel: Eat Research (El's) Laz weaponry.
[]Mel: Organize a network of differently grown people (Child Network of firends)
[]Mel: Write-In
[]El: Check on the nosy neighbour.
[]El: Figure out how to shoot magical Lasers. Reliably.
[]El: Write-In
