Wile E Coyote steps into your office with the dignity and bearing of a professional. Never mind the bear trap on his leg. No matter how many times you disable the fabled 'Hall of Traps', a few always seem to slip through when Coyote comes to report. He bears it with genteel stoicism.
"Doctor Doofenshmirtz, I've completed preliminary inquiries and am ready to make my report on new hires."
"Already?" You ask, pleasantly surprised. "It's barely October."
"I was inspired!" Coyote replied, pulling forth a manilla folder and laying it in front of you. "By my own circumstances, in point of fact. While I am now quite satisfied by my position, and very thankful I might add, I may have been a bit uncertain about the acquisition to start with. What got me through it was just how horrid my previous employment was, and the chance to work somewhere better. As such, I focused my efforts upon the requisitions of individuals I could locate who are not satisfied with their present employment. Some of them are recently resigned, others simply laboring in a state they feel to be unfair or unappreciated. I believe most of them hide at least some degree of hidden talent, 'diamonds in the rough', if you will, that could be of use to our organization."
"Sounds good!" You reply, finding no reason to fault the toon's logic. "Go on, go on, go ahead!"
"Let me see. First on the docket is an SFIT grad. Specialist in optics, good credentials, brilliant mind. He's spent the last few months working for Mr. Shere Khan and achieved, from what I've been able to gather, considerable success."
"Why's he leaving then?"
"Well…"
--
Shere Khan took a moment to shuffle the papers in front of him, eyes flickering over the notices. His claws tapped along the desk. This was a disappointing turn of events.
"Mister… I'm sorry, there seems to be a mistake here." Khan said, eyebrow raised above a piercing stare. "...Wasabi?"
His voice was like the purring of an industrial motor, a vast, overwhelming baritone that seeped in from your ankles and rooted you to the spot before you could even think.
"S-sorry!" The man in front of him practically yelled. He was broad-shouldered, well built with a fastidiously trimmed beard and a mop of dreadlocks, but right now he was practically cowering. "There was some sort of mistake in the system, I haven't been able to get it corrected. Th-that's my nickname. My real name is-"
Khan raised a single paw, claws just peeking out of striped fur. No need to force the boy to prolong things. "No matter. Mister Wasabi. Do you know why you're here?"
"I-is it because I sent in my resignation two days ago?"
Shere Khan allowed himself to relax a fraction of an inch into his armchair. "In part, yes. I simply wanted to know what it was about Khan Industries that made us no longer a suitable fit for you? Is it the benefits package? Perhaps you need more vacation days? You've done some excellent work for the company lately, so I would even be willing to negotiate a raise. Your work is moving apace, your reports are impeccable, and you display a level of sensibility I have found quite difficult to cultivate."
Wasabi swallowed nervously as he tried to keep himself from stuttering. Shere Khan was terrifying enough from a distance, but being less than five feet away from the CEO brought about a level of terror he didn't even know he could experience. The ancient reptilian part of his brain was screaming at him to run and hide, that there was a fearsome, deadly predator in the room, and he was incredibly tempted to give in.
The worst part was that he couldn't even be that angry with Mr. Khan! Ever since he had started working at Khan Industries, he was practically a perfect boss. A hefty sign-on bonus, a great retirement package, health, vision, and dental, even a couple weeks paid vacation in the tropics… but despite all that, Wasabi was more adamant than ever in his goal. "N-n-no, sir. I'll tell you the truth, this job is really taxing on my health. I've only slept eight hours in the past five days! Whenever I close my eyes I see plasma containment schematics! I'm pretty sure that half my blood has been replaced by coffee, and-"
Khan nodded shrewdly. "Ah. If that's the case, then I would like to personally apologize. I wasn't aware that my timetables were having such an effect on your personal life. Please take some time off, as long as you need to recover."
Damn it! Why… why wasn't he getting mad?! He was perfectly understanding about this?! That just made the feeling of guilt increase even more, and ratcheted up his nervousness three extra notches. That was supposed to be the acceptable explanation of why he was leaving! He couldn't just tell Mr. Khan that he scared the life out of him to the man… tiger's face!
"Aaahhh-aactually, Mr. Khan, I'm sorry, but I'm sure about this. I just think the job as a whole is too detrimental to my well-being to consider staying. I've submitted the work on my latest project, I've already found you a replacement, he's brilliant, better than me I promise, and I've filed all my notes in triplicate yesterday."
For a second, Wasabi met Khan's steely gaze and felt as if it was piercing into his soul. It took a supreme amount of effort not to faint on the spot, and he was sure that-
"A man of conviction. I respect that. Very well, my boy, I accept your resignation."
Oh thank god. Now, all he had to do was get out of here, and maybe he could move halfway across the country before Khan learned the gossip from his coworkers. He started to rise from his seat.
"However."
Wasabi's face turned an entirely unnatural shade of chartreuse.
"Surely you can't think that I'm going to let you leave without a little severance package."
The massive tiger rose from behind his desk, walking straight towards him without so much as a creaking floorboard. Wasabi's heart went into overdrive.
Shere Khan reached inside his suit jacket, and Wasabi's unconscious body hit the floor with a thud.
The last thing Wasabi saw was the massive, predatory form of Shere Khan looming down over him, fangs opened wide in an expression of shock, a golden watch still resting in his palm.
"Oh dear."
---
Wasabi
Stewardship and Learning hero, graduate from SFIT, expert in optics
Pragmatism: Low
Quirkiness: Medium
Instability: Low
Tolerance for Nonsense: Medium
Plasma Blades: Sharp
Fastidiousness: High
Anxiety: Extremely High
---
"...Let's say it was Workplace Safety." Coyote replies after a moment.
"All right then, next?"
"This one was slightly out of my remit sir, but I felt the need to bring him to your attention. I feel as though it will strike a chord with you."
You slouch slightly less, interested.
"Hans Rotwood is currently the principal of Millard Fillmore Middle School."
"Wait, what? A principal? Why would I be interested in a schoolteacher?
"Well you see, this principal was once a distinguished professor at the Institute of Hoboken, until his cockamamie theories got him thrown out of every reputable establishment in the world."
You frown. "...What are you implying?"
"Oh, no no sir, you misunderstand. He was thrown out for his theorems on the existence of mystical creatures!"
"Sounds like a real whackdoodl- oh. Right. Magic is real."
"Yes sir. For all we know, we may be looking at a brilliant scientific mind simply lying in wait."
---
Rotwood tumbled out of his office, heedless of the young child leaping out of his way. They should have learned by now, always leave a clear path in front of Principal Rotwood's office.
The man's ginger-brown hair was frizzy, unkept, set above a face that had begun the long wrinkling of age. The man wore a green tweed jacket and a single monocle, clearly attempting to look the part of the distinguished scholar. The appearance was rather spoiled by the way he scrambled and flailed through the halls, gangly academic limbs struggling for purchase on the waxed tiles.
"Out of mine way!" Rotwood hollered in a thick Bavarian accent, pushing past a few of the school miscreants and bursting through the front doors. He had been fast- record time, too- it had to be-
There! Hans caught a glimpse of white disappearing around a corner and chased after it. The yellow brick of the uninspiring building in which he worked faded into the towering glass and steel of New York, but he would not let that deter him! He rocketed around the corner, blithely disregarding traffic lights and working himself up to what would likely be a dislocated hip sometime in the next few hours, but still he pressed on. As he rounded the bend he saw its snowy flank- yes! A unicorn!
The creature tried to slip into an alley, but it was not fast enough! It did not know these roads like Rotwood did. Rotwood knew this city. He was streetwise, he could improvise, he was hip to the jive as the kids would say. And he knew that this alley was a dead end!
Rounding the corner, Rotwood leapt forward and wrapped his arms around the unicorn's neck. He had it! He would tame the beast, he would ride it triumphantly back, he would prove to all and sundry his theories were-
The horse's head fell off.
Underneath it was the face of a very angry man with a thick beard and teeth made for grinding cigars to a pulp.
"Hey, what's the big idea?"
"But but but… you… were a unicorn…"
"It's a costume ya knucklehead! We're on our way to a party!" The man gestured at the rear half of the outfit. "It's October, if ya hadn't NOTICED."
"I-I-I-I… oh." Rotwood sighed. "I am zorry, gentlemen. Eet was my mistake. I vill go." Rotwood picked up the horsehead, dusted it off, and handed it back to the man, who glared at him all the way until he rounded the corner. Then, after a moment, the man pulled his cloven hooves out of the costume.
"Whoof." The satyr in front sighed. "Dat was a close one."
---
"So you think he'd take an offer then?"
---
Rotwood sighed as he performed the slow walk of shame back to his office. The mocking laughter of children was so familiar at this point it was almost comforting.
Almost.
---
"He would consider it."
---
'Professor' Hans Rotwood
Learning (and Occult???) hero with experience in the humanities and an obsession with proving the existence of magical beings
Pragmatism: Medium
QuirkiKookyness: Medium
Instability: Medium
Tolerance for Nonsense: High
Self-Worth Issues: High
---
>THE LEGACY CARRIERS ARE TRANSMITTING NEW DATA.
Alan watches the lines of code cross his high-definition monitor. The information requires a degree of interpretation, but is otherwise stating the facts as they are. ENCOM was severely set back by the viral surge and their efforts to slow them down, but Master Control has already moved on to his next major operation.
Whatever "ENCOM Legacy" was, it was going to be something big.
Alan blinks, having to take a step back and walk away from the computer. Programs can go on indefinitely when they have specific directives, but his eyes can only take so much strain before he has to take a break. With a few keystrokes, he sends a new task for TRON.EXE to idle.
He had been staying in Nevada. It was away from ENCOM's direct sphere of influence, and with the proper safeguards he could stay off their radar. The high crime was a mixed blessing, keeping prying eyes looking elsewhere until the National Guard was activated to re-establish law and order. The world was watching Nevada when Sinatron made a public play for Las Vegas, giving the MCP an excuse to dump his web crawlers all over the Nevada serverspace.
There were several close calls. Old recognizers being repurposed to act as light scouts and skim the networks under the pretense of hunting viruses. Local outages where network access was cut or intermittent without immediate cause. ENCOM was coming closer to finding him.
DoofOS was a partial solution. He has multiple computers running in tandem, alternating operating systems to influence different parts of the web and "cover more ground", as it were. Programs he transfers to Doofenshmirtz's grid are more secure, but harder to walk back and affect the MCP's assets. If ENCOM didn't catch his programs in the middle of a hacking operation, then his next electric bill would be all of the clues they needed to find him.
Alan's phone rings. Recognizing the number from his recent history, he picks it up.
"Bradley Cybersecurity Consultations. Mister Coyote, I presume?"
---
"This next individual has been difficult to get a hold of, but considering our continued interest in the areas of computers and artificial intelligences I put in the extra effort to establish contact."
"Oooooh, who is it?"
"Alan Bradley."
"…I have no idea who that is."
"He was a notably talented programmer who worked with ENCOM for some twenty odd years. Respected in his field as a security specialist."
"Worked? Did he say why he left?"
"Not in so many words, but ENCOM is known for having a rather cutthroat work culture. It would not surprise me if he resigned under less than favorable circumstances. To my knowledge he hadn't been pressured to sign any non-competition agreements, though of course ENCOM's NDAs are famously hellish. He's been active as an independent cybersecurity consultant for some time now."
"Why was it so hard to contact him?"
Coyote gives a half shrug. "The man was polite on the phone, but something of a recluse. With his skills I imagine he could have stayed hidden if he did not want to be found. He did, however, have good things to say about your work on DoofOS."
Ah, DoofOS. Your amazing operating system that beguiles all with its ability to operate. You were able to hit the ground running while ENCOM was stalling with those updates, but the first thing they did after jumping that hurdle was take the lead again.
"He did?"
"Why yes, he did! He described the architecture as being far less restrictive than ENCOM's proprietary systems. The compatibility issues are negligible, so he was able to learn how to code in DoofOS relatively quickly."
"You think he'll be willing to come on board?"
"He seems to be a very private sort of person, but ENCOM has never been generous with its severance packages. He'll need to come to the table with someone eventually, whether that's us or one of the smaller firms."
---
Alan Bradley
Learning hero with strong digital focus. Knows the ins and outs of network design and security.
Pragmatism: Medium
Instability: Low
Tolerance for Nonsense: Medium
Programming Skills: High
Secrets: ???
---
"All right, some good options so far. Who're you gonna tell me about next?"
"Actually sir, I hope you don't mind, but I took the liberty of inviting this next applicant to interview in person. I thought it ideal."
"Hmm, okay. Who is it?"
"If the narrative sense I've been working on developing is correct, he should be should be arriving any sec-"
"Heya."
Wile leapt 12 feet into the air, which was, unfortunately but inevitably, just enough to leave him embedded in the ceiling. You cluck sympathetically.
"I like yer buildin'."
You look at the man in front of you. He seems like your classic greaseball mechanic, stained coveralls and heavy boots over a prodigious gut and fiery red hair. The man wore a simple trucker's cap, emblazoned with a red 'R', which meant-
You gasp. "Roddy Blair, King of Lairs?!?!"
"Ahh, ya've heard of me."
"Well of course!" You declare. "You are famous in the lair building community! You like my building???"
"Yeah." He says in a matter-of-fact tone. "It's got a unique profile, good color coordination, and that real sign of handcrafted work. Heck, don't get me starhted on the traps!"
"Ohhh." You demur. "It was nothing really."
"Don't sell yerself short. That there's real bespoke craftsmanship, I can tell you take pains with yer work."
"You're too kind. You know, no offense but, I must admit. I always imagined the King of Lairs being a bit more… colorful?"
"Please Doctor Heinz, I'm ah professional."
"Fair enough I suppose. But ahh, why exactly are you here, Mr. Blair? Don't you have enough projects to be getting on with in 'Sokyo?"
"Welp, you'd think so. But it turns out, most of the new influx from Saint Canard ain't exactly good fer business. Getting supervillains ta pay fer things isn't the easiest 'a prospects at tha best a times, no offense. And I especially don't like the odds with those psychos."
"Don't you make lairs for heroes too?"
"Oh I make lairs fer everybody, but most heroes these days don't have the funding." Blair admits. "I don't care what ya do with 'em. As long as ya pay me on time and have yer permits in order, everything else is tha government's problem."
"Can I see some samples?"
"Well. Ya gotta understand, due to confidenteeality, I can only show ya lairs that've already been infiltrated. Not a big selection there, point a personal pride fer me, and what is available ehhh, not my best work. But I've done for all the greats. Baron Von Steamer? Me. Shego's creepy black spire? Mine. The Eyrie Building? ...not mine, actually, I put in a bid but Davie insisted on doing things in-house. Heck, I even built the Awesome Cave, although, if ya ever see Boss Awesome, tell 'im I thought of a much betta secret base name like three days after I left."
"Well Mr. Blair, I'm a big fan of your work, and I'm quite impressed, but at the moment I'm looking for something of a long-term contract. Are you willing to put in that sort of investment?"
"Hrrmmm." Roddy rubs his beard for a moment. "Tell ya what. Start me out with whatever sorta remodeling ya need done around here. Ya pay me on time, I like the look of the place, we can put a contract together fer some more regular work."
"I can't say the chance to work alongside you isn't tempting. Thank you for coming Mr. Blair, I appreciate it."
"Please. Call me Roddy."
---
Roddy Blair, King of Lairs
Top of the Line, super-sensible Super-Architect and Stewardship Hero
Pragmatism: Medium
Quirkiness: Low
Instability: Low
Tolerance for Nonsense: High
Blue Collar Wisdom: High
Professional Pride: High
If hired, Roddy will expect his first action to relate in some way to super-construction.
---
"Oh! And lastly sir, there is one more thing I would like to bring to your attention."
"Another candidate?"
"Not exactly." Coyote replied. "Tell me; are you familiar with 'Smarty Mart'?"
"The discount department store bulk retailer?"
"Yes sir. I looked them over whilst on my search for disaffected individuals. Through a series of improbable, comedic coincidences I shan't go into now, I ended up speaking with the owner."
"What, the Martin Smarty, owner and founder of the Smarty Mart empire?"
"That's right."
"I can't imagine he's looking for new employment."
"No, but he is looking for new ventures. Martin has expressed an interest in acquiring a stake in our Doofenshmirtz Evil Megamarts."
"What, so he can rename them to something boring? Pass."
"Oh no sir, he liked the name."
"What, really?"
"Yes, he said something about it 'having character' and 'market differentiation'. I wouldn't know. He seemed to be more focused on the supply chain and advertising side of things. Felt there was money we were leaving on the table and branding he could help us leverage. He even offered to do some consulting in return for an interest."
"Huh, sounds oddly reasonable. I'm used to most corporate people being all sneaky and duplicitous."
"Hmm. Well he has a number of shiftless and by all accounts undeserving heirs."
"There we go, that's the legally mandated degree of blech." You reply. "All right, I'll think about it. Good job Coyote, why don't you go ahead and take a week off? I was expecting this to take a lot longer. I'll have decisions to move forward with when you get back."
Special extra: Stewardship Action: Collaborate with Smarty Mart unlocked! Includes Martin Smarty as a part-time Stewardship hero!
Choose Two:
[ ] Wasabi
[ ] Hans Rotwood
[ ] Alan Bradley
[ ] Roddy Blair, King of Lairs
There will be a six hour moratorium on voting.
