At which point he will still be most useful acting as a therapist.
We have other high-end martial heroes. We have other high-end heroes for every category. But we only have one therapist.
DoofQuest- a Disney Villains Victorious CK2-Style Quest
- Thread starter Made in Heaven
- Start date
- Crossover
We have other high-end martial heroes. We have other high-end heroes for every category. But we only have one therapist.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
AAAAAAH
AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH
No more Technor therapy! We've got this amazing supervillain maniac and we've done so goddang little with him! THERE ARE THERAPISTS THAT AREN'T TECHNOR!
...No we don't actually. With Goofy on Council, Wendy on vacay, he is by our most useful Diplomat.
In which case the giant robot body is either irrelevant or actively detrimental.
Well unless we are diplomancing someone with a thing for giant robots. But how many of those can there be?
I mean, we are planning to fold him into black ops in a bit...
- Location
- USA
If someone wants therapy they can get it using their own personal, which is always an option.
Technor is too useful as a flex national action and quest hero unit now, especially with being fully powered and having high twenty to thirties in nearly every stat, plus being on board with our brand of evil.
Technor is too useful as a flex national action and quest hero unit now, especially with being fully powered and having high twenty to thirties in nearly every stat, plus being on board with our brand of evil.
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- Location
- Somewhere nearby.
This is the internet, that is a dangerous question
I see this as an absolute win. =D
A question, before I propose a potential lineup. Is Marco a potential candidate for the heroball? Or is he too mercenary?
That's a good point. Technor isn't the only therapist who's covered by our evil benefits package, he's just the most obvious one.
In theory I think he'd be, in practice, he, Janna, Tom, and Star when we get her are an obvious heroball in waiting.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
What about a temporary Black Ops team of Khan, Lizzy, Marco, and either Juniper or Mezmerella? It would give us a strong as heck heroball, leave Technor clear for the mech and diplomacy, and get Marco and Lizzy hanging out.
Only downside is the likely monetary cost, and we can mitigate that by writing in some Star-related nationals or just doing Supervillainy for quick cash, they should be able to rack up pretty easy crits on it.
Only downside is the likely monetary cost, and we can mitigate that by writing in some Star-related nationals or just doing Supervillainy for quick cash, they should be able to rack up pretty easy crits on it.
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BlueWerewolf25
The Dreamer
- Location
- Wouldn't You Like To Know?
- Pronouns
- He/His/Him
IMPORTANT NOTICE:
According to WOG, Marco is not a viable option for Black Ops Heroball... unless you want to pay his fee every single time.
Which, come on, do you guys really want to do that? I don't, personally.
According to WOG, Marco is not a viable option for Black Ops Heroball... unless you want to pay his fee every single time.
Which, come on, do you guys really want to do that? I don't, personally.
Last edited:
- Pronouns
- He/Him
On a temporary heroball that'll only exist for a few turns? Sure
You literally didn't add anything new with this important notice, I mentioned the monetary problem when I first brought the idea up
- Location
- Two hours away
- Pronouns
- He/Him
PUT MOUNT DOOFHAWK ON WHEELS AND HAVE THE OTHER THREE MEMBERS PUSH MALIFISHMERTZ AROUND!
- Location
- Somewhere nearby.
- Location
- Two hours away
- Pronouns
- He/Him
We can Greco-Roman some lava if needed.I thought we all agreed!
Magpy
Very Curious
- Location
- Australia, but actually USA (or is it?)
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I just noticed something common that the last series of numbers has, they can all be divided by 800 into a number with 3 decimal points but no more. I'm not sure if this means anything because I don't have much time to put into it, but it's just something I noticed
Interlude: Deep Purple
- Location
- Pennsylvania
"We deserve more."
The simple statement echoed in the dilapidated train car, shocking Woolter from his concentration. He felt a slight sting of irritation run through him as he stood back from the gas chromatograph. "What?"
"I said we should be getting more." his lab assistant elaborated without missing a beat. "What does he pay us now? Two, three grand a week? That's pathetic."
Woolter sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, his thoughts on the matter were similar. When the ram had approached him years ago with an offer that he found hard to refuse, he had expected big things. A chance for the recognition he was so thoroughly denied, the ability to demonstrate his talent- and more practically, the means to pay for his medical bills in the increasingly hostile economy. That ship had sailed a long time ago, and with his cancer fully in remission he had little reason to turn back now.
"Primal" had been his little trick to make some extra money on the side, and all it had taken was a few weeks of experimentation with the holicithias. It turned out that the chemical compounds that their mysterious employers had wanted concentrated could be utilized recreationally, after being extracted and crystallized, but between distribution fees, the sizable cut Doug took for himself and the 'dietary accommodations'', it left precious little for himself and Jesse to split.
"And what do you propose we do about it?" he asked rhetorically. He could keep up the charade for a while longer, as much as it physically galled him- a few thousand in cash every week was easy enough to launder, and more than he would get working whatever minimum wage job would accept him in today's economy. He could-
"Do something on our own! Come on man, what we're doing here is unique! You said it yourself, this isn't just something a crank dealer can cook up in his basement! Everyone from here to Sokyo wants a piece of it, and what does that get us? A few measly grand a month while that jackass makes off with god knows what." Jesse set down a beaker filled with a chunky purple liquid with a clunk. "Look. All I'm saying is that we need to do something about Doug."
"His 'employer' has so much influence in the government that he gets advanced warning of DEA raids. We've been down here for months without so much as a cop poking their nose in. We need to tread very carefully."
"I know a guy in Tundra Town. We can-"
"Is this going to be anything like the last 'guy you knew'? We barely escaped with our lives after that rabid wombat-"
"Look, Mr. Big's not into any of that psycho cartel shit. He's old school."
==
The frigid streets of Tundra Town were not the most welcoming on the best of days. The roads were vast, wide enough to accommodate the predator-sized cars that trundled down them without any care for the icy conditions, pockmarked by potholes and dangerously covered in black ice. The continual breakdown of the Zootopian climate systems had not been kind to the microbiome in recent months, though most of that paled in comparison to what was happening in Savannah Square.
A light icy mist descended over the buildings as the smell of cooking meat and wood smoke wafted through the air. While eateries of this sort had seen… 'protests' in other areas of the city, none would dare to lay a finger on one of Mr Big's fronts. Even the uninformed would be able to surmise that this area of town was not one someone could step foot in lightly. Snow-covered offices hawking advertisements for ambulance-chasing lawyers- quite literally in the case of the one boar who assured you he would get your money without a hitch- waited next to 24/7 liquor stores that offered quantities fit for an elephant. The brickwork of many of these buildings was crumbling, worn down by years of neglect and the continual winter, though the streets were strangely unmarred by graffiti. Even the rusted bus stop waiting next to a 'Dr Carver's Nuts' stand only held the usual advertisements for retrofitting one's apartment with personalized climate systems.
The defining feature of the entire block, as indistinct as it may have been, was the limousine lot that saw a surprising amount of foot traffic for a service that was in low demand. Even now, one of the interior offices glowed warmly with amber light as indistinct figures muttered behind closed doors, whispering secrets and exchanging handshakes as the night wore on, and no one paid any mind to the two sheep moving a wriggling sack from their car into the side of the building.
This was shaping up to be a lot like the wombat.
===
The crime scene in the Zootopian underworld had once been as varied as the myriad species that called it home. Recent political upheavals, such as the ever-increasing 'feral predator' epidemic, the former mayor Lionheart's involvement in the scandal, and the fringe following of prey supremacists rallying behind Mayor Bellwether's policies, had led to organized crime being consolidated under the aegis of one shrew.
Woolter maintained his stony facade even as the room started to fill with polar bears. The massive beasts, each of them dressed in neat three-piece suits, shuffled into the room one by one, the last near-reverently placing his hands on the hardwood desk and depositing his boss at the head of the room.
"So." Mr. Big spoke, his tempered, mumbling voice managing to dominate the room. "I understand you've got something for me?"
With a nod from Jesse, one of the polar bears ripped open the writhing mass of canvas and extricated a slightly bruised and bloodied ram, his eyes shrinking in terror as they took stock of the scene in which he found himself. With a single motion the tape was torn from his mouth and all of the room's occupants were treated to his panicked screams. His futile attempts to escape from his binds earned him nothing more than a smack on the head from one of the guards.
"Ah." Mr Big said softly, almost regretfully. "This one. I remember this one."
All traces of Doug's composure were gone, lost in the swift yet inevitable contemplation of his own mortality. "I'm not-"
"Now." Mr Big said, and Doug immediately went silent. "I'm gonna ask you just once, and if you tell me, we'll do it the easy way. Who gave the order?"
"What?! I don't know what you're-"
"Who. Gave. The order?" Big enunciated, leaning forward as the tiniest of creaks punctuated his statement.
"I- I'm never going to say anything to you! You don't have any idea who you're dealing with! No idea of how high my connections are! If you-"
"Do you have a family, Doug?" Mr. Big asked.
Doug's struggling ceased as a sneer crept over his face. "I have a cause."
Mr. Big looked at him for a moment. "I see."
There was silence, for a moment. Doug gaped. Woolter suppressed a shudder of disgust. Jesse didn't.
"Ice 'im." the don intoned with finality.
The ram screamed as his death sentence was spoken, a sudden burst of adrenaline enough to wrench his way out of the polar bear's grip. "Woolter!" he shrieked frantically, attempting to scramble across the floor with his bound limbs. "He's going to kill me! You can't let him destroy what we've worked for! You can't sell me out to this- this Saddleback-"
One of the polar bears, Kevin- no, Dante, Woolter thought, growled, and slammed a clenched paw into Doug's face. Doug went sprawling across the floor, scrabbling ineffectually against his restraints. Towards Woolter.
Woolter thought about the work they had done. Unpleasant work, but all out of necessity. He didn't know the full extent of the operation, and he had never bought into the drek that Doug had peddled- all that nonsense about the 'cause' and how they had a duty to their species. All the weeks of condescension, the increasingly unreasonable demands, the refusal to acknowledge his genius- the sheer insult at being handed pocket change for what rightly deserved a Nobel prize!
His teeth clenched as he glared down at the ram, voice dropping into a growl. "Fuck you."
One of the polar bears hefted a wooden panel off of the floor, an icy, sub-zero chill filling the room. Doug's screams increased tenfold until they were abruptly cut off by a chilling splash and the sound of wood being dragged back into place. For a brief, terrifying moment, Woolter could hear the scratching of something desperately attempting to find purchase on wood, faint splashing, and then…
He failed to suppress a shiver. It was just the cold, he insisted to himself.
For the first time the don's attention shifted; waving them closer in an invitation he couldn't ignore.
"You've done me a great service on this day, delivering to me this thoughtless beast, this murderer. I am willing to overlook any… disagreements our organizations might have had. And to hear what now you would ask of me."
A what? What exactly had Doug gotten himself into? Woolter had admitted this plan was a bit risky- he had no way of knowing exactly how the 'don' would respond to his offer- but only in his most outlandish calculations had he considered a scenario like this. He was on the edge of something very big, he was sure of it- and all he had to do right now was play his cards right. Coming right out and asking for a reward was out of the question, but he could-
Mr. Big chuckled as the look of calculation crossed Woolter's face. "No no, none of that. I'm not here to trade with horses today. You've earned my friendship, and I'll owe you a favor. Vincent! Set a spot at the table for our new friends here. We'll talk over dinner."
==
"I hope you'll excuse the limited accommodations, Mr. 'Neisenberg', my usual line of nourishment probably isn't up to your palate. Here in Tundra Town we don't see too many who don't eat meat; and much as I'm hoping to change that, these are hard times. Now I can offer you the spirulina, I've got the makings of a nice salad or two, or if you're feeling adventurous, we've got this lovely little new plant steak straight out of the Sycorax labs."
The evening was rapidly turning into a rare opportunity. What had started as a rash and impulsive decision that by all rights he shouldn't have allowed himself to be talked into was quickly turning into something he could actually work with, at least for the time being- a far cry from the first 'partnership' he had forged in those early attempts to sell Primal. Aside from the obvious attempts to show dominance- understandable enough, considering he had walked into his seat of power- the shrew had been perfectly cordial with him.
"I'll have the steak." he answered after a moment. This would serve as a show of solidarity and satisfy some admittedly academic curiosity, drawing him closer to the mob boss until his own power base was secure enough to strike out on his own. Already his mind was alight with possibilities, new chemical reactions to remove the need for the plants, the least suspicious means of acquiring chemical precursors.
"Really now? You're an interesting man. Come, take a seat. Have a cannoli, they're my grandmama's recipe." The shrew situated himself at the head of the immensely long dinner table, seated on a miniature table of his own in place of a dinner plate. "Now let's talk business. The man who shot our family friend is dead, but that's not enough. I want the son of a bitch who gave the order."
"Mr. Big." Woolter cut Jesse off before he could say anything. "Neither of us know-"
Mr. Big held up his paws placatingly. "I know, I know. Like I said, you've done me a great service by delivering Doug. But now that he has, regrettably, gone missing, the two of you are likely to… rise to the top, as it were. Learning who might have orchestrated this whole operation would be… very valuable to me. Food for thought for the future. Now more importantly, what can I do for you? I want you to think long and hard about the favor I owe you- I'm a man of considerable influence after all. And I would like to consider this the start of a long partnership."
Woolter thought.
==
"Beautiful." Liv Amara gushed, turning the translucent purple crystal over in her hands, raising it to the light to examine with a magnifying glass. "And so impressive, too! You're a very talented chemist, Neisenberg. Do you have any idea how hard it is to organize an organic compound with a high molecular weight into a crystal of this clarity?"
"...very hard?" Liv's assistant, a somewhat androgynous blonde man with a perfectly symmetrical face asked.
"Very hard!" Liv affirmed. "I took a couple semesters of organic chem back at SFIT. It was never my best subject, I'll admit- I never really could wrap my head around alkene chemistry. It took me… well. Me a month to get through this one lab where we were supposed to purify benzoic acid- and my end result was nowhere near as impressive as this. What's your secret?"
"Our procedure is strictly proprietary." Woolter took the complements to his craft without so much as a smile. As deserved as his recognition was, he was here for business at the moment. "But I can assure you there is nothing else like it on the market. We are the only ones with the technique at the moment, and it can be upscaled considerably-"
"Come on. Little hint?" Liv interrupted. "Just for curiosity's sake."
He contemplated for a moment, deliberately phrasing things in the vaguest possible terms. Even if she were an accomplished chemist, the description of one step out of context would hardly be conducive to replicating it herself. "The presence of a certain catalyst makes it possible for a stereospecific reaction to take place at a certain step in the process."
Liv chuckled. "Just as well, you'd probably lose me if you went into any more detail than that. These NMR reports are fascinating though- while we weren't able to nail down the compound exactly it seems to resemble an organophosphate of sorts. If you're not producing this from scratch, then are you coming to me for aid in the synthesis of the… 'precursor'?"
"No, I've formulated a workaround for that. Given the difficulties in acquiring and producing the 'precursor' I've come up with an alternative pathway with far more easily acquired chemicals. As I'm certain my contact let you know, I'm more interested in setting up a network for distribution."
"Wait a second." Chris piped up again. "If it's 99.1% pure, then why is it purple? There shouldn't be anything in it to make it purple!"
"Rayleigh scattering." Liv answered at the same time Woolter said "My proprietary process". The two looked at each other for a second.
"Anyway!" Liv brought the conversation back on track. "I admit that I wouldn't be completely averse to your little proposal. I think I could set you up with everything you're looking for- supply of precursor chemicals, lab space, and more importantly, a chance to get your product further than the west coast."
"Wait, you're a sheep." Chris interrupted again. "Why do you call yourself Neisenberg?"
Woolter gave Chris his most withering stare. "I'm adopted." he said sarcastically.
"Oh. Okay!"
"And what would the specifics of our arrangement be?"
"Well, you're reluctant to talk about your 'process' and I can understand that, but tell me- how much do you think you can produce in a week, provided the proper materials? Two, three hundred pounds?"
That number was, in all honesty, a conservative estimate. Doug had them pumping out a third of that and they were working out of a dismal rail car with scavenged medical equipment, and that was factoring in the inefficiency of the plants themselves. Four weeks from seed to bulb, assuming the conditions were optimal. Streamlining the chemistry should quadruple their yield, not that he would say that out loud- better to underpromise and overdeliver. "Four hundred will work."
"Good! Now… after materials, overhead, distribution fees, and my own fee… how does ten percent sound to you? Provided in Sycorax stock, neatly laundered."
Woolter's teeth clenched. Academically he knew that this scale was far more than he would ever make working under Doug, but the thought of being underappreciated like this…
"No." he practically growled. "I want thirty percent!"
Thirty percent was insane, there was no way she would agree to that, but he should be able to haggle her up to a far more reasonable fifteen. It might be playing a bit harder than he intended to coming in, but this partnership would go nowhere if he allowed himself to be walked over like this.
"Hmm…" Liv considered for approximately fifteen seconds. "Okay. Thirty works."
"Whoa whoa whoa, wait a second." Jesse interrupted Woolter's train of thought. "What the hell is this?"
"Jesse, she just agreed to our offer."
"No, no, I want to know what she gets out of it. Thirty percent is insane. What, are you gonna keep us locked up in a lab somewhere? Watch us 24/7 and break our kneecaps if we step out of line?"
"Jesse-"
"Why would she even bother doing this if not for the money?! After all those chemicals, paying off the dealers, paying off the cops- how's she going to turn a profit if it's not at our expense?!"
Liv merely chuckled in response to the outburst. "No, no, nothing of the sort. Take whatever days off you need, so long as I get the product, skim some off the top and sell it for yourself if you like- it doesn't really matter to me." Liv smirked as she reached into the Poultry Palace bucket on her desk, taking a bite out of a French fry. "I have someone you can talk to for distribution. And… it's not about the money. It's about sending a message."
"And getting results!" Chris added.
"Good boy." Liv patted Chris on the head.
The woman's behavior was setting Woolter's teeth on edge, but he pushed it off to the side. He could deal with some awkwardness in favor of an opportunity.
He had never been one to pass up on an opportunity.
===
Primal distribution has increased massively nationwide! There is a lot of money moving around the underworld!
The simple statement echoed in the dilapidated train car, shocking Woolter from his concentration. He felt a slight sting of irritation run through him as he stood back from the gas chromatograph. "What?"
"I said we should be getting more." his lab assistant elaborated without missing a beat. "What does he pay us now? Two, three grand a week? That's pathetic."
Woolter sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, his thoughts on the matter were similar. When the ram had approached him years ago with an offer that he found hard to refuse, he had expected big things. A chance for the recognition he was so thoroughly denied, the ability to demonstrate his talent- and more practically, the means to pay for his medical bills in the increasingly hostile economy. That ship had sailed a long time ago, and with his cancer fully in remission he had little reason to turn back now.
"Primal" had been his little trick to make some extra money on the side, and all it had taken was a few weeks of experimentation with the holicithias. It turned out that the chemical compounds that their mysterious employers had wanted concentrated could be utilized recreationally, after being extracted and crystallized, but between distribution fees, the sizable cut Doug took for himself and the 'dietary accommodations'', it left precious little for himself and Jesse to split.
"And what do you propose we do about it?" he asked rhetorically. He could keep up the charade for a while longer, as much as it physically galled him- a few thousand in cash every week was easy enough to launder, and more than he would get working whatever minimum wage job would accept him in today's economy. He could-
"Do something on our own! Come on man, what we're doing here is unique! You said it yourself, this isn't just something a crank dealer can cook up in his basement! Everyone from here to Sokyo wants a piece of it, and what does that get us? A few measly grand a month while that jackass makes off with god knows what." Jesse set down a beaker filled with a chunky purple liquid with a clunk. "Look. All I'm saying is that we need to do something about Doug."
"His 'employer' has so much influence in the government that he gets advanced warning of DEA raids. We've been down here for months without so much as a cop poking their nose in. We need to tread very carefully."
"I know a guy in Tundra Town. We can-"
"Is this going to be anything like the last 'guy you knew'? We barely escaped with our lives after that rabid wombat-"
"Look, Mr. Big's not into any of that psycho cartel shit. He's old school."
==
The frigid streets of Tundra Town were not the most welcoming on the best of days. The roads were vast, wide enough to accommodate the predator-sized cars that trundled down them without any care for the icy conditions, pockmarked by potholes and dangerously covered in black ice. The continual breakdown of the Zootopian climate systems had not been kind to the microbiome in recent months, though most of that paled in comparison to what was happening in Savannah Square.
A light icy mist descended over the buildings as the smell of cooking meat and wood smoke wafted through the air. While eateries of this sort had seen… 'protests' in other areas of the city, none would dare to lay a finger on one of Mr Big's fronts. Even the uninformed would be able to surmise that this area of town was not one someone could step foot in lightly. Snow-covered offices hawking advertisements for ambulance-chasing lawyers- quite literally in the case of the one boar who assured you he would get your money without a hitch- waited next to 24/7 liquor stores that offered quantities fit for an elephant. The brickwork of many of these buildings was crumbling, worn down by years of neglect and the continual winter, though the streets were strangely unmarred by graffiti. Even the rusted bus stop waiting next to a 'Dr Carver's Nuts' stand only held the usual advertisements for retrofitting one's apartment with personalized climate systems.
The defining feature of the entire block, as indistinct as it may have been, was the limousine lot that saw a surprising amount of foot traffic for a service that was in low demand. Even now, one of the interior offices glowed warmly with amber light as indistinct figures muttered behind closed doors, whispering secrets and exchanging handshakes as the night wore on, and no one paid any mind to the two sheep moving a wriggling sack from their car into the side of the building.
This was shaping up to be a lot like the wombat.
===
The crime scene in the Zootopian underworld had once been as varied as the myriad species that called it home. Recent political upheavals, such as the ever-increasing 'feral predator' epidemic, the former mayor Lionheart's involvement in the scandal, and the fringe following of prey supremacists rallying behind Mayor Bellwether's policies, had led to organized crime being consolidated under the aegis of one shrew.
Woolter maintained his stony facade even as the room started to fill with polar bears. The massive beasts, each of them dressed in neat three-piece suits, shuffled into the room one by one, the last near-reverently placing his hands on the hardwood desk and depositing his boss at the head of the room.
"So." Mr. Big spoke, his tempered, mumbling voice managing to dominate the room. "I understand you've got something for me?"
With a nod from Jesse, one of the polar bears ripped open the writhing mass of canvas and extricated a slightly bruised and bloodied ram, his eyes shrinking in terror as they took stock of the scene in which he found himself. With a single motion the tape was torn from his mouth and all of the room's occupants were treated to his panicked screams. His futile attempts to escape from his binds earned him nothing more than a smack on the head from one of the guards.
"Ah." Mr Big said softly, almost regretfully. "This one. I remember this one."
All traces of Doug's composure were gone, lost in the swift yet inevitable contemplation of his own mortality. "I'm not-"
"Now." Mr Big said, and Doug immediately went silent. "I'm gonna ask you just once, and if you tell me, we'll do it the easy way. Who gave the order?"
"What?! I don't know what you're-"
"Who. Gave. The order?" Big enunciated, leaning forward as the tiniest of creaks punctuated his statement.
"I- I'm never going to say anything to you! You don't have any idea who you're dealing with! No idea of how high my connections are! If you-"
"Do you have a family, Doug?" Mr. Big asked.
Doug's struggling ceased as a sneer crept over his face. "I have a cause."
Mr. Big looked at him for a moment. "I see."
There was silence, for a moment. Doug gaped. Woolter suppressed a shudder of disgust. Jesse didn't.
"Ice 'im." the don intoned with finality.
The ram screamed as his death sentence was spoken, a sudden burst of adrenaline enough to wrench his way out of the polar bear's grip. "Woolter!" he shrieked frantically, attempting to scramble across the floor with his bound limbs. "He's going to kill me! You can't let him destroy what we've worked for! You can't sell me out to this- this Saddleback-"
One of the polar bears, Kevin- no, Dante, Woolter thought, growled, and slammed a clenched paw into Doug's face. Doug went sprawling across the floor, scrabbling ineffectually against his restraints. Towards Woolter.
Woolter thought about the work they had done. Unpleasant work, but all out of necessity. He didn't know the full extent of the operation, and he had never bought into the drek that Doug had peddled- all that nonsense about the 'cause' and how they had a duty to their species. All the weeks of condescension, the increasingly unreasonable demands, the refusal to acknowledge his genius- the sheer insult at being handed pocket change for what rightly deserved a Nobel prize!
His teeth clenched as he glared down at the ram, voice dropping into a growl. "Fuck you."
One of the polar bears hefted a wooden panel off of the floor, an icy, sub-zero chill filling the room. Doug's screams increased tenfold until they were abruptly cut off by a chilling splash and the sound of wood being dragged back into place. For a brief, terrifying moment, Woolter could hear the scratching of something desperately attempting to find purchase on wood, faint splashing, and then…
He failed to suppress a shiver. It was just the cold, he insisted to himself.
For the first time the don's attention shifted; waving them closer in an invitation he couldn't ignore.
"You've done me a great service on this day, delivering to me this thoughtless beast, this murderer. I am willing to overlook any… disagreements our organizations might have had. And to hear what now you would ask of me."
A what? What exactly had Doug gotten himself into? Woolter had admitted this plan was a bit risky- he had no way of knowing exactly how the 'don' would respond to his offer- but only in his most outlandish calculations had he considered a scenario like this. He was on the edge of something very big, he was sure of it- and all he had to do right now was play his cards right. Coming right out and asking for a reward was out of the question, but he could-
Mr. Big chuckled as the look of calculation crossed Woolter's face. "No no, none of that. I'm not here to trade with horses today. You've earned my friendship, and I'll owe you a favor. Vincent! Set a spot at the table for our new friends here. We'll talk over dinner."
==
"I hope you'll excuse the limited accommodations, Mr. 'Neisenberg', my usual line of nourishment probably isn't up to your palate. Here in Tundra Town we don't see too many who don't eat meat; and much as I'm hoping to change that, these are hard times. Now I can offer you the spirulina, I've got the makings of a nice salad or two, or if you're feeling adventurous, we've got this lovely little new plant steak straight out of the Sycorax labs."
The evening was rapidly turning into a rare opportunity. What had started as a rash and impulsive decision that by all rights he shouldn't have allowed himself to be talked into was quickly turning into something he could actually work with, at least for the time being- a far cry from the first 'partnership' he had forged in those early attempts to sell Primal. Aside from the obvious attempts to show dominance- understandable enough, considering he had walked into his seat of power- the shrew had been perfectly cordial with him.
"I'll have the steak." he answered after a moment. This would serve as a show of solidarity and satisfy some admittedly academic curiosity, drawing him closer to the mob boss until his own power base was secure enough to strike out on his own. Already his mind was alight with possibilities, new chemical reactions to remove the need for the plants, the least suspicious means of acquiring chemical precursors.
"Really now? You're an interesting man. Come, take a seat. Have a cannoli, they're my grandmama's recipe." The shrew situated himself at the head of the immensely long dinner table, seated on a miniature table of his own in place of a dinner plate. "Now let's talk business. The man who shot our family friend is dead, but that's not enough. I want the son of a bitch who gave the order."
"Mr. Big." Woolter cut Jesse off before he could say anything. "Neither of us know-"
Mr. Big held up his paws placatingly. "I know, I know. Like I said, you've done me a great service by delivering Doug. But now that he has, regrettably, gone missing, the two of you are likely to… rise to the top, as it were. Learning who might have orchestrated this whole operation would be… very valuable to me. Food for thought for the future. Now more importantly, what can I do for you? I want you to think long and hard about the favor I owe you- I'm a man of considerable influence after all. And I would like to consider this the start of a long partnership."
Woolter thought.
==
"Beautiful." Liv Amara gushed, turning the translucent purple crystal over in her hands, raising it to the light to examine with a magnifying glass. "And so impressive, too! You're a very talented chemist, Neisenberg. Do you have any idea how hard it is to organize an organic compound with a high molecular weight into a crystal of this clarity?"
"...very hard?" Liv's assistant, a somewhat androgynous blonde man with a perfectly symmetrical face asked.
"Very hard!" Liv affirmed. "I took a couple semesters of organic chem back at SFIT. It was never my best subject, I'll admit- I never really could wrap my head around alkene chemistry. It took me… well. Me a month to get through this one lab where we were supposed to purify benzoic acid- and my end result was nowhere near as impressive as this. What's your secret?"
"Our procedure is strictly proprietary." Woolter took the complements to his craft without so much as a smile. As deserved as his recognition was, he was here for business at the moment. "But I can assure you there is nothing else like it on the market. We are the only ones with the technique at the moment, and it can be upscaled considerably-"
"Come on. Little hint?" Liv interrupted. "Just for curiosity's sake."
He contemplated for a moment, deliberately phrasing things in the vaguest possible terms. Even if she were an accomplished chemist, the description of one step out of context would hardly be conducive to replicating it herself. "The presence of a certain catalyst makes it possible for a stereospecific reaction to take place at a certain step in the process."
Liv chuckled. "Just as well, you'd probably lose me if you went into any more detail than that. These NMR reports are fascinating though- while we weren't able to nail down the compound exactly it seems to resemble an organophosphate of sorts. If you're not producing this from scratch, then are you coming to me for aid in the synthesis of the… 'precursor'?"
"No, I've formulated a workaround for that. Given the difficulties in acquiring and producing the 'precursor' I've come up with an alternative pathway with far more easily acquired chemicals. As I'm certain my contact let you know, I'm more interested in setting up a network for distribution."
"Wait a second." Chris piped up again. "If it's 99.1% pure, then why is it purple? There shouldn't be anything in it to make it purple!"
"Rayleigh scattering." Liv answered at the same time Woolter said "My proprietary process". The two looked at each other for a second.
"Anyway!" Liv brought the conversation back on track. "I admit that I wouldn't be completely averse to your little proposal. I think I could set you up with everything you're looking for- supply of precursor chemicals, lab space, and more importantly, a chance to get your product further than the west coast."
"Wait, you're a sheep." Chris interrupted again. "Why do you call yourself Neisenberg?"
Woolter gave Chris his most withering stare. "I'm adopted." he said sarcastically.
"Oh. Okay!"
"And what would the specifics of our arrangement be?"
"Well, you're reluctant to talk about your 'process' and I can understand that, but tell me- how much do you think you can produce in a week, provided the proper materials? Two, three hundred pounds?"
That number was, in all honesty, a conservative estimate. Doug had them pumping out a third of that and they were working out of a dismal rail car with scavenged medical equipment, and that was factoring in the inefficiency of the plants themselves. Four weeks from seed to bulb, assuming the conditions were optimal. Streamlining the chemistry should quadruple their yield, not that he would say that out loud- better to underpromise and overdeliver. "Four hundred will work."
"Good! Now… after materials, overhead, distribution fees, and my own fee… how does ten percent sound to you? Provided in Sycorax stock, neatly laundered."
Woolter's teeth clenched. Academically he knew that this scale was far more than he would ever make working under Doug, but the thought of being underappreciated like this…
"No." he practically growled. "I want thirty percent!"
Thirty percent was insane, there was no way she would agree to that, but he should be able to haggle her up to a far more reasonable fifteen. It might be playing a bit harder than he intended to coming in, but this partnership would go nowhere if he allowed himself to be walked over like this.
"Hmm…" Liv considered for approximately fifteen seconds. "Okay. Thirty works."
"Whoa whoa whoa, wait a second." Jesse interrupted Woolter's train of thought. "What the hell is this?"
"Jesse, she just agreed to our offer."
"No, no, I want to know what she gets out of it. Thirty percent is insane. What, are you gonna keep us locked up in a lab somewhere? Watch us 24/7 and break our kneecaps if we step out of line?"
"Jesse-"
"Why would she even bother doing this if not for the money?! After all those chemicals, paying off the dealers, paying off the cops- how's she going to turn a profit if it's not at our expense?!"
Liv merely chuckled in response to the outburst. "No, no, nothing of the sort. Take whatever days off you need, so long as I get the product, skim some off the top and sell it for yourself if you like- it doesn't really matter to me." Liv smirked as she reached into the Poultry Palace bucket on her desk, taking a bite out of a French fry. "I have someone you can talk to for distribution. And… it's not about the money. It's about sending a message."
"And getting results!" Chris added.
"Good boy." Liv patted Chris on the head.
The woman's behavior was setting Woolter's teeth on edge, but he pushed it off to the side. He could deal with some awkwardness in favor of an opportunity.
He had never been one to pass up on an opportunity.
===
Primal distribution has increased massively nationwide! There is a lot of money moving around the underworld!
- Location
- Germany
Hmm, so Doug - the guy who most likely came up with the Nighthowler Toxin and the apparently the only one in the "processing plant" who even knows who his ultimate boss is - got sold out to Big (and properly iced for being a fucking prey supremacist) by Jesse and Wolter who created the Primal Drug as a "recreational" offshot for some quick money and appreciation of their genius and got approached by Sycorax for it while getting a *sizeable* cut outta it (seriously, 30% of the profits laundered into Megacorp stocks is not a bad deal at all)?
Not bad - after all, this might weaken Bellwethers Nighthowlering angles while putting it under someone less zealous and more pragmatic.
Not a bad development at all, especially since Sycorax jumping in as distributor would most likely assure some additional QA and therefore less unfortunate incidents for users.
Not bad - after all, this might weaken Bellwethers Nighthowlering angles while putting it under someone less zealous and more pragmatic.
Not a bad development at all, especially since Sycorax jumping in as distributor would most likely assure some additional QA and therefore less unfortunate incidents for users.
Bellwether is somehow being defeated without the players having to do anything
This is setting off all kinds of alarm bells in my head.
The update was delightful. Seeing Zootopia's degradation was interesting. The insight into the crime scene was enlightening. The chemist chatter was fun- I bet MiH had fun with that.
But I am seriously concerned.
Small correction, Jesse and Woolter used the favor from Mr. Big to get into contact with Amara. Which implies interesting things about politics on the western coast.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uc-LJMydLlk
For those who don't recall these criminal masterminds...
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
When you are a vicious fool whose power relies almost entirely on a secret conspiracy that most of your own people would kill or exile you over, you are very susceptible to misfortune and unfavorable circumstance.
The world will defeat you, in the end.
- Location
- Germany
*shrugs*
So Mr. Big (and through his clandestine agreement probably SK as well) might have an "in" into the Primal trade now? Fine by me if that is the case
Funfact:
In the German dub, Woolter and Jesse are even voiced by the same VAs as their inspirations from *Breaking Bad*...so a double reference