Test mode for using more than just the Drop-In option.
Pocket System
- Thread starter theaceoffire
- Start date
- Crossover Fantasy
They spent last layover repairing a lot of shit, and figuring out what's still working, what's working now, and what needed new kludges to semi-work now, or just not make a mess of things. One of the things in among those three was the method of insertion into a new realm. That they're testing in minimalist mode to see if they got it right. It was literally the whole talking point of the last chapter of the previous jump. And the System fixing was three updates running the previous jump. ... So~ yeah...
{edit}Also, no, no you're really not "in for a treat" with the bliss of knowing nothing about Marvel. If Ace knows their Lore, you're about to see why you saved a lot of money by not spending it on comics. ... And somehow DC is worse, in terms of stupid plot lines/dumb shit the characters get up to.
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- Location
- Here
Man, rich people really live differently. This place is really far away from everyone else, and it's just one of his random country homes... Why do people need more than one house to begin with, much less dozens of them? Sheesh!
not a rich bastard. But I believe the term summer home gives context.
The primary residence is where they stay most of the time.
The other homes are effectively the rich aholes means of staying in specific cities, instead of hotels or motels, and allowing their rich friends to bum off them when they're in the area.
HK47: Exclamation: "I approve".
HK47: Statement: "Why are they called assassination modules if they are not to be used to kill meatbags?"
Well, going way back in time. Cities used to be where most of the services and fun were, but were also polluted and full of disease.
So, as a noble(thus able to afford it), you'd have a mansion in the city so you could attend court, the parties, and all that. Then you'd have a home out in the country, where you could go to recuperate from said parties, get out of the pollution, away from the disease, and all that.
Not to mention getting away from revolts, unrest, and all that. It's also similar to the POTUS having a home home, and the white house - they are probably owners of productive lands somewhere, so need a place for meeting with the King(or such) and still a place to manage their holdings.
Then go forward into the future. Lack of AC and all that, you get the Summer and Winter home - head north for summer, south for winter, same as birds. Hell, in Florida they're called "Snowbirds". Mostly older. They can't take the cold anymore, so come south.
But all this is just 2 houses. So let's keep increasing the wealth, so the marginal cost of an additional palace isn't that much. You get into Kings and Emperors, they can end up with multiple properties just from inheritance. The various members of the family may not be able to stand each other, so they end up spreading out. I've heard tales of Kings and Queens just really liking this spot or other and building a palace there - but their heirs just keep the place, and build even more.
It can also be a power thing - the palace/castle in the province anchor's the King's claim to it.
These days, it's often just so they have a dedicated place they can stay while they're there.
Or are our souls a mix of ceaseless tangled frequencies?
- Location
- Here
Jeremiah Wickles had been relocated to one of his local homes near the hospital. It was one of his smaller estates, as in you could reach the front door by walking instead of being driven, and honestly it was the FIRST time he had ever visited it in person.
Not that it was unlived in, no.
He had set up a policy at some point WAY back when, after a disastrous experience where he didn't have enough towels available, that every one of his… However many houses he owned by now, that all of them would have a small family living there full time.
Oh, they'd all had to go through his rigorous (paranoid) background checks and security policies of course, and he'd set up small outside apartments for each location for said house sitters so he wouldn't have to put up with them if he ever decided to actually STAY at one of those places, but in general it fixed the biggest issue he was concerned about at the time: His homes not being 'lived in'.
Officially, all these people 'lived' at their apartments.
Unofficially, they were paid to professionally and silently 'live' in his homes to ensure they were comfortable, that all the facilities operated to perfection, that any needs were stocked and kept. That visitors could be well pampered if desired and impressed at the same time.
The fact that no one ever wanted to actually visit Jeremiah Wickles didn't matter, he had a standard he wished to keep up no matter how his actual life had ended up.
All those annoying bits aside, the house sitting couple had returned to their external residence and his staff had swept in, ensured everything was cleaned and secured and swept for traps and bugs (both literal and spying equipment), and just generally prepared the place for his pathetic arrival.
Jeremiah Wickles was in a wheelchair, and had a cast, and was NOT happy. Not without the endless amounts of powerful drugs that he had been previously enjoying.
They were apparently not safe for use during transit, which was pure malarkey! In HIS day, you'd drink an extra beer and hope it'd keep the pain away while trying to finalize another business deal... And if you were fast enough, you'd hopefully be drunk enough to not feel the hangover from the PRIOR night's activities!
Back when things were easier to understand. And everything hadn't been so scary.
His attention was caught by his head of personal staff, Charlotte. "Sir, the facility has been secured and we will be moving you to the tertiary main bedroom suite for medical oversight."
About fucking time. "And I can get the good drugs again?"
She didn't smirk because she was a professional, but he could almost TASTE her amusement. "Yes sir."
Fine. "Let's get it done then. Everything feels too hard right now…"
The female security staff stood at the ready as they passed by down the halls. All talented, all sent to top schools and given high level training, and all beautiful… A policy he had set up decades ago, when his perversions were focused more towards beauty than profit.
Not that he ever treated them poorly. If they failed to meet his personal requirements, or if they wished to retire or some such, his staff had a widely known reputation out in society and were eagerly sought out by those without the funds or talent to gather and grow such a group themselves.
You treat your people well. VERY well, period.
After all, such policies had cut down the number of infiltrators by 12% and reduced the number of 'unlucky accidents' by 4% alone, and to Jeremiah Wickles that was worth the costs of directing his growing rage outside his home.
When had he stopped caring about such things? On building up his foundational worth and power instead of tearing down the worlds of others?
Focused only on keeping himself safe, of stopping threats to humanity, feeling endless fear and rage and helplessness… It all felt like a growing and endless nightmare.
It was too much. "...Did the kitchens have apple slices?"
Charlotte hummed as she walked by his side, her people pushing his chair through far too wide hallways and being busy about the much too large place. "There were a few options available, obviously, but I have had a shipment of Sekai Ichi Apples hand delivered from the Aomori prefecture in Japan less than an hour ago. I am sure sir will be satisfied."
He hummed happily at the thought. "I haven't been to Aomori in… In quite some time. Had a major situation to handle near there, in the Iwate Prefecture I think, back when… When…"
When had it been? It was so long ago, and it hurt to think about it.
Why did everything always have to hurt? "...I'd like some slices after I wake up."
She thankfully didn't say anything about his issues. "Yes sir."
It was a bit harder to focus for a few minutes, but soon he was moved to a new massive bed and was hooked up to the medical equipment once more…
The cold soothing feeling of liquid filling his arm brought relief as the medications made things softer again. And without that ring of pain, remaining awake became far more difficult… "Stay? Just… Just for a little while."
Don't leave me alone in this far too large world.
Her voice was stability as things faded to black. "Of course sir. We shall stand guard."
He didn't cry, he wasn't entirely sure he remembered how to do so honestly, but he did smile slightly as wakefulness left him to slumber.
~~~Pocket System~~~
Hours after Jeremiah Wickles fell into slumber, John Doe woke up and determined a few things:
First of all, this Body had nearly NO alterations to the brain or whatever. For obvious reasons, this was a stealth operation he was running for testing purposes afterall.
Secondly: In most 'normal' people, the memories of their Soul were secondary to the ones recorded in the brain matter.
That meant that without certain drugs, meditative trances, or other such situations? The Body ran the show.
So even without the Soul of Jeremiah Wickles running the joint, the MEMORIES of that man had a HUGE impact when John was running the show and NOT high as hell. Unfortunately.
…Sigh.
Anyway, the workaround for future deployments was easy enough: Have his MInd run through his Soul when connecting next time.
That way he could continue to use an unaltered Body without needing to drastically update the brain and stuff, as the combined might of his Soul and Mind would let him better keep track of himself while getting things done.
Theoretically.
Oh well, that was why you had to run tests and stuff like this in the first place. The memories would be carefully duplicated and stored for reference and comparison when leaving this Realm, so this pseudo merging of Jeremiah Wickles and John Doe wouldn't warp his own personal existence when this was all over…
Thus tolerating this situation now was fine. Mostly.
…Hmm. Maybe this would go smoother if he deliberately facilitated this process? Or at least that would give some more detailed testing data… Yeah, let's go with that.
John focused, not on assuming a more dominant expressionism of his core self, but more towards ensuring that the remaining memories Jeremiah Wickles could better 'merge' or 'blend' with his true beliefs and such.
After all, letting the memories of a broken and angry old man direct John to do things immoral or field by rage?
Unacceptable.
Breathe in.
John Doe felt calm.
Breathe out.
Jeremiah Wickles began to stir and sit up. "Grmph."
Charlotte walked in the room with perfect timing as usual. "Good morning, Sir."
Hmph. "Could be worse…" Sigh. "Sorry, Charlotte… Still waking up. Might need some coffee, if the meds allow it."
She hummed as one of her assistants moved a self supporting table tray over the bed as food began to be placed down. "Perhaps tomorrow, Sir. But I do have a lovely blend of tea this morning, and some fresh apples that are ready to be sliced as you wish. The chefs have also prepared a small selection of breakfast options, for variety now that you have left the hospital."
Oh, how lovely! "I always do so enjoy having small amounts of many things, it brings back more memories…" Like that quaint little cafe he used to visit back in…
Then he saw the spread of options before and his smile froze. And turned wry.
All of it was 'healthy' stuff.
Maybe even vegan or vegetarian. No meat? Sigh.
From what he could tell, these seemed to be mostly medicinal breakfast dishes, he really should have seen that coming. And the variety was to find which one he could tolerate best during this recovery period. "...Well, it did certainly bring back memories."
Seriously, something like this happened the LAST time he visited the hospital… Which was happening more and more often the older he got.
THIS time however, he didn't throw a fit. Sure, Charlotte would have tolerated his childishness like the professional angel she always was, but recent events had somehow given Jeremiah something lacking over the last few years: Perspective.
That said… "Are you sure these are all a 'selection of breakfast options'?" He pointed at four basically identical oatmeals. "I'm pretty sure there are a few duplicate choices here."
Charlotte's smile didn't dip an inch, if anything, her smug professionalism kicked up a notch at his lack of blind grumpiness. "Oh, nutritionally ALL these new dishes are identical of course… But the focus here is on texture, temperature, and alternate seasoning options. Some things can be amazing when cold or warm, chunky or smooth, and so forth sir!"
Damn girl, you were FAR too perky and alert for this ungodly hour. Even if the actual time was likely midafternoon or something, it FELT like it was early in the damn morning. "...Can I still have an apple slice first?"
Cheerfully humming, she instantly had one of her food grade knives in her hand and was carving at a glistening apple that looked mouth watering. "Yes sir, though I hope you try a few of these before filling up on only fruits…"
Oh, he would. Hell, the kitchen would probably make the bland goo somehow delicious anyway, it just FELT like a chore to eat small bites of nearly identical choices like this. "Fine. And I can feed myself woman, don't force yourself like this over an old grump like me! Just place things in reach of my left and I'll be fine."
Without even a pause she somehow shifted the sliced apple wedge to one edge of the tray while standing to one side, carefully cleaning her juice-covered hand with a cloth. "I'm sure, sir. Would you prefer live ambient music performance or something from the digital library to be played?"
Jeremiah waved that away. "Ambient nature with meditative music please. Nothing jarring or too loud if you could."
Now come to me, you little slice of apple heaven!
…Mmm. DAMN that's good! Crisp, slightly cooled, and that flavor…
And it was gone. Crud.
Oh well, he was going to have to taste the other stuff eventually anyway. "Soon as I get better, I'm eating nothing but meat ever again! Barbeque and roasts, all day every day."
Charlotte didn't even play along, though she did humor him with a polite smile. "I'm sure, sir."
…Sigh, yeah. He'd probably end up eating more of that healthy stuff they'd been making for him over the last few years.
But a man could dream, damn it! Beer and roasts, wine and steak!
Where had his youthful days of everyone going out and eating a feast surrounded by friends go!? When drinking absurd amounts was considered a talent instead of a flaw!
Why, when HE was in his prime, those whipper snappers had to bow in acceptance when fools dared to challenge his might at the competitive eating stage!
…Though that had earned him a gut back then that had required professional trainers to work off.
And probably caused a few of his medical issues, the less severe ones before THIS last horror show.
…Where were they now? Jim 'Stout' Higgins, didn't he pass away three years ago? He still remembered going to little Stacy's funeral, still beautiful in his memories despite her advanced age.
And Paul 'The Bear' Bronson, how long had it been since they wrote to each other… Or since any of those few that lived this long bothered to respond to his attempts to contact them.
After all, many of them got shackled to a woman and brats, raised a family and all that. Gave up the strive for profits and the struggle for market share, or let it atrophy in their dwindling stock shares instead of focusing on proper growth and such.
Not like him! Jeremiah Wickles had climbed mountains to grow in wealth and power, and once he claimed that top… He used the bodies of his competitors to make a NEW mountain to climb!
A few got hurt along the way, sometimes profit requires a bit of sacrifice, but he was GOOD at ensuring that such sacrifices were made by OTHER people when possible, and his bank statements were self evident of those results!
He DEFINED wealth! Judges and politicians danced to his every whim! Power formed his throne, and he was one of the only ones qualified to sit upon it!
…High up on that throne.
Where 'good ole boys' like Paul Bronson couldn't come visit. Or wouldn't.
Absently taking another bite, something soft and a bit spicy, his thoughts began to grow more maudlin.
That throne, where he felt everyone was aiming to topple it.
That throne, where whispers and fears caused him to lash out and rage and fear and hurt others.
That throne, which he had strove for. For his entire life. To the detriment of all other goals and possibilities.
Looking at his own throne, his own shackle, and comparing it to his 'foolish' long lost friends?
Both dreams had tied them all down. Restricted them, needed nurturing and sacrifice and hard work. Was that price worth such said cost?
Jeremiah was sure that their wives, children, and grandchildren would say yes.
Just as he was sure that his own power, wealth, and fame would say nothing.
"Sir?"
He blinked… Oh? "Well, would you look at that?" He carefully touched his cheek with a slightly weak smile. "I DO remember how to cry! That's… That's good."
Jeremiah didn't look directly at Charlotte. "I'm afraid I may have been slightly distracted from my wonderful breakfast… Probably a side effect of the medication. Let the chefs know to make this again tomorrow so I can accurately review the dishes, if you could Charlotte."
"...Yes sir."
…Sometimes the world felt a little too big. "Could I have another apple slice, please?"
"Yes sir."
Good.
Not that it was unlived in, no.
He had set up a policy at some point WAY back when, after a disastrous experience where he didn't have enough towels available, that every one of his… However many houses he owned by now, that all of them would have a small family living there full time.
Oh, they'd all had to go through his rigorous (paranoid) background checks and security policies of course, and he'd set up small outside apartments for each location for said house sitters so he wouldn't have to put up with them if he ever decided to actually STAY at one of those places, but in general it fixed the biggest issue he was concerned about at the time: His homes not being 'lived in'.
Officially, all these people 'lived' at their apartments.
Unofficially, they were paid to professionally and silently 'live' in his homes to ensure they were comfortable, that all the facilities operated to perfection, that any needs were stocked and kept. That visitors could be well pampered if desired and impressed at the same time.
The fact that no one ever wanted to actually visit Jeremiah Wickles didn't matter, he had a standard he wished to keep up no matter how his actual life had ended up.
All those annoying bits aside, the house sitting couple had returned to their external residence and his staff had swept in, ensured everything was cleaned and secured and swept for traps and bugs (both literal and spying equipment), and just generally prepared the place for his pathetic arrival.
Jeremiah Wickles was in a wheelchair, and had a cast, and was NOT happy. Not without the endless amounts of powerful drugs that he had been previously enjoying.
They were apparently not safe for use during transit, which was pure malarkey! In HIS day, you'd drink an extra beer and hope it'd keep the pain away while trying to finalize another business deal... And if you were fast enough, you'd hopefully be drunk enough to not feel the hangover from the PRIOR night's activities!
Back when things were easier to understand. And everything hadn't been so scary.
His attention was caught by his head of personal staff, Charlotte. "Sir, the facility has been secured and we will be moving you to the tertiary main bedroom suite for medical oversight."
About fucking time. "And I can get the good drugs again?"
She didn't smirk because she was a professional, but he could almost TASTE her amusement. "Yes sir."
Fine. "Let's get it done then. Everything feels too hard right now…"
The female security staff stood at the ready as they passed by down the halls. All talented, all sent to top schools and given high level training, and all beautiful… A policy he had set up decades ago, when his perversions were focused more towards beauty than profit.
Not that he ever treated them poorly. If they failed to meet his personal requirements, or if they wished to retire or some such, his staff had a widely known reputation out in society and were eagerly sought out by those without the funds or talent to gather and grow such a group themselves.
You treat your people well. VERY well, period.
After all, such policies had cut down the number of infiltrators by 12% and reduced the number of 'unlucky accidents' by 4% alone, and to Jeremiah Wickles that was worth the costs of directing his growing rage outside his home.
When had he stopped caring about such things? On building up his foundational worth and power instead of tearing down the worlds of others?
Focused only on keeping himself safe, of stopping threats to humanity, feeling endless fear and rage and helplessness… It all felt like a growing and endless nightmare.
It was too much. "...Did the kitchens have apple slices?"
Charlotte hummed as she walked by his side, her people pushing his chair through far too wide hallways and being busy about the much too large place. "There were a few options available, obviously, but I have had a shipment of Sekai Ichi Apples hand delivered from the Aomori prefecture in Japan less than an hour ago. I am sure sir will be satisfied."
He hummed happily at the thought. "I haven't been to Aomori in… In quite some time. Had a major situation to handle near there, in the Iwate Prefecture I think, back when… When…"
When had it been? It was so long ago, and it hurt to think about it.
Why did everything always have to hurt? "...I'd like some slices after I wake up."
She thankfully didn't say anything about his issues. "Yes sir."
It was a bit harder to focus for a few minutes, but soon he was moved to a new massive bed and was hooked up to the medical equipment once more…
The cold soothing feeling of liquid filling his arm brought relief as the medications made things softer again. And without that ring of pain, remaining awake became far more difficult… "Stay? Just… Just for a little while."
Don't leave me alone in this far too large world.
Her voice was stability as things faded to black. "Of course sir. We shall stand guard."
He didn't cry, he wasn't entirely sure he remembered how to do so honestly, but he did smile slightly as wakefulness left him to slumber.
~~~Pocket System~~~
Hours after Jeremiah Wickles fell into slumber, John Doe woke up and determined a few things:
First of all, this Body had nearly NO alterations to the brain or whatever. For obvious reasons, this was a stealth operation he was running for testing purposes afterall.
Secondly: In most 'normal' people, the memories of their Soul were secondary to the ones recorded in the brain matter.
That meant that without certain drugs, meditative trances, or other such situations? The Body ran the show.
So even without the Soul of Jeremiah Wickles running the joint, the MEMORIES of that man had a HUGE impact when John was running the show and NOT high as hell. Unfortunately.
…Sigh.
Anyway, the workaround for future deployments was easy enough: Have his MInd run through his Soul when connecting next time.
That way he could continue to use an unaltered Body without needing to drastically update the brain and stuff, as the combined might of his Soul and Mind would let him better keep track of himself while getting things done.
Theoretically.
Oh well, that was why you had to run tests and stuff like this in the first place. The memories would be carefully duplicated and stored for reference and comparison when leaving this Realm, so this pseudo merging of Jeremiah Wickles and John Doe wouldn't warp his own personal existence when this was all over…
Thus tolerating this situation now was fine. Mostly.
…Hmm. Maybe this would go smoother if he deliberately facilitated this process? Or at least that would give some more detailed testing data… Yeah, let's go with that.
John focused, not on assuming a more dominant expressionism of his core self, but more towards ensuring that the remaining memories Jeremiah Wickles could better 'merge' or 'blend' with his true beliefs and such.
After all, letting the memories of a broken and angry old man direct John to do things immoral or field by rage?
Unacceptable.
Breathe in.
John Doe felt calm.
Breathe out.
Jeremiah Wickles began to stir and sit up. "Grmph."
Charlotte walked in the room with perfect timing as usual. "Good morning, Sir."
Hmph. "Could be worse…" Sigh. "Sorry, Charlotte… Still waking up. Might need some coffee, if the meds allow it."
She hummed as one of her assistants moved a self supporting table tray over the bed as food began to be placed down. "Perhaps tomorrow, Sir. But I do have a lovely blend of tea this morning, and some fresh apples that are ready to be sliced as you wish. The chefs have also prepared a small selection of breakfast options, for variety now that you have left the hospital."
Oh, how lovely! "I always do so enjoy having small amounts of many things, it brings back more memories…" Like that quaint little cafe he used to visit back in…
Then he saw the spread of options before and his smile froze. And turned wry.
All of it was 'healthy' stuff.
Maybe even vegan or vegetarian. No meat? Sigh.
From what he could tell, these seemed to be mostly medicinal breakfast dishes, he really should have seen that coming. And the variety was to find which one he could tolerate best during this recovery period. "...Well, it did certainly bring back memories."
Seriously, something like this happened the LAST time he visited the hospital… Which was happening more and more often the older he got.
THIS time however, he didn't throw a fit. Sure, Charlotte would have tolerated his childishness like the professional angel she always was, but recent events had somehow given Jeremiah something lacking over the last few years: Perspective.
That said… "Are you sure these are all a 'selection of breakfast options'?" He pointed at four basically identical oatmeals. "I'm pretty sure there are a few duplicate choices here."
Charlotte's smile didn't dip an inch, if anything, her smug professionalism kicked up a notch at his lack of blind grumpiness. "Oh, nutritionally ALL these new dishes are identical of course… But the focus here is on texture, temperature, and alternate seasoning options. Some things can be amazing when cold or warm, chunky or smooth, and so forth sir!"
Damn girl, you were FAR too perky and alert for this ungodly hour. Even if the actual time was likely midafternoon or something, it FELT like it was early in the damn morning. "...Can I still have an apple slice first?"
Cheerfully humming, she instantly had one of her food grade knives in her hand and was carving at a glistening apple that looked mouth watering. "Yes sir, though I hope you try a few of these before filling up on only fruits…"
Oh, he would. Hell, the kitchen would probably make the bland goo somehow delicious anyway, it just FELT like a chore to eat small bites of nearly identical choices like this. "Fine. And I can feed myself woman, don't force yourself like this over an old grump like me! Just place things in reach of my left and I'll be fine."
Without even a pause she somehow shifted the sliced apple wedge to one edge of the tray while standing to one side, carefully cleaning her juice-covered hand with a cloth. "I'm sure, sir. Would you prefer live ambient music performance or something from the digital library to be played?"
Jeremiah waved that away. "Ambient nature with meditative music please. Nothing jarring or too loud if you could."
Now come to me, you little slice of apple heaven!
…Mmm. DAMN that's good! Crisp, slightly cooled, and that flavor…
And it was gone. Crud.
Oh well, he was going to have to taste the other stuff eventually anyway. "Soon as I get better, I'm eating nothing but meat ever again! Barbeque and roasts, all day every day."
Charlotte didn't even play along, though she did humor him with a polite smile. "I'm sure, sir."
…Sigh, yeah. He'd probably end up eating more of that healthy stuff they'd been making for him over the last few years.
But a man could dream, damn it! Beer and roasts, wine and steak!
Where had his youthful days of everyone going out and eating a feast surrounded by friends go!? When drinking absurd amounts was considered a talent instead of a flaw!
Why, when HE was in his prime, those whipper snappers had to bow in acceptance when fools dared to challenge his might at the competitive eating stage!
…Though that had earned him a gut back then that had required professional trainers to work off.
And probably caused a few of his medical issues, the less severe ones before THIS last horror show.
…Where were they now? Jim 'Stout' Higgins, didn't he pass away three years ago? He still remembered going to little Stacy's funeral, still beautiful in his memories despite her advanced age.
And Paul 'The Bear' Bronson, how long had it been since they wrote to each other… Or since any of those few that lived this long bothered to respond to his attempts to contact them.
After all, many of them got shackled to a woman and brats, raised a family and all that. Gave up the strive for profits and the struggle for market share, or let it atrophy in their dwindling stock shares instead of focusing on proper growth and such.
Not like him! Jeremiah Wickles had climbed mountains to grow in wealth and power, and once he claimed that top… He used the bodies of his competitors to make a NEW mountain to climb!
A few got hurt along the way, sometimes profit requires a bit of sacrifice, but he was GOOD at ensuring that such sacrifices were made by OTHER people when possible, and his bank statements were self evident of those results!
He DEFINED wealth! Judges and politicians danced to his every whim! Power formed his throne, and he was one of the only ones qualified to sit upon it!
…High up on that throne.
Where 'good ole boys' like Paul Bronson couldn't come visit. Or wouldn't.
Absently taking another bite, something soft and a bit spicy, his thoughts began to grow more maudlin.
That throne, where he felt everyone was aiming to topple it.
That throne, where whispers and fears caused him to lash out and rage and fear and hurt others.
That throne, which he had strove for. For his entire life. To the detriment of all other goals and possibilities.
Looking at his own throne, his own shackle, and comparing it to his 'foolish' long lost friends?
Both dreams had tied them all down. Restricted them, needed nurturing and sacrifice and hard work. Was that price worth such said cost?
Jeremiah was sure that their wives, children, and grandchildren would say yes.
Just as he was sure that his own power, wealth, and fame would say nothing.
"Sir?"
He blinked… Oh? "Well, would you look at that?" He carefully touched his cheek with a slightly weak smile. "I DO remember how to cry! That's… That's good."
Jeremiah didn't look directly at Charlotte. "I'm afraid I may have been slightly distracted from my wonderful breakfast… Probably a side effect of the medication. Let the chefs know to make this again tomorrow so I can accurately review the dishes, if you could Charlotte."
"...Yes sir."
…Sometimes the world felt a little too big. "Could I have another apple slice, please?"
"Yes sir."
Good.
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- Location
- United States
I was about to ask how John got so good at acting but this makes sense.
Also, who gave you permission to make my eyes wet? It sounds far to much like my grandpa after his stroke.
- Location
- Sol;Terra;EU;D;NRW
Well, someone is not having all the funs, despite getting the really good apples.
I heard that the really got japanese stuff happens to be strawberries and milk tho.
Probably a sideeffect of wagyu, for the milk quality I mean.
It would be horrific if that would turn out to be the reasson for the good strawberries too tho. 🤔
The ladies are probably bored... or refitting the hiring and education processes to implement regarding the local workforce.
I heard that the really got japanese stuff happens to be strawberries and milk tho.
Probably a sideeffect of wagyu, for the milk quality I mean.
It would be horrific if that would turn out to be the reasson for the good strawberries too tho. 🤔
The ladies are probably bored... or refitting the hiring and education processes to implement regarding the local workforce.
- Location
- United States
Japan has so little land for agriculture that they instantly lose on the international market if they try to sell standard quality stuff just due to bulk prices elsewhere being better.
So instead they focus 1000% on quality and brand hype. It doesn't matter if a farm can only grow 100 units of fruit a year if each unit sells for 1000x the regular price.
To keep the test pure they can't mess with anything. The infiltration modules they are using are to let them spy on and analyze reality without being detected.
Huh, that is a reference I did not expect.
If people are confused, remember the Muppet Christmas realm?
Yes, but also, I don't get the reference.
To me, it felt like a wuxia cultivator genre joke.
- Location
- Sol;Terra;EU;D;NRW
I honestly expect them to Rube Goldberg those Assasination Protocols because thats what sneaky folks would do that want to help.
- Location
- Cambridge MA
It feels like it could totally be in John-influenced Jeremiah's tendencies to, after another failed assassination attempt he traces back to Friends of Humanity, publicly announce that Friends of Humanity isn't getting another cent even over his dead body, and then get Hank McCoy and Xavier to start an anti-aging pharmaceutical company and invest in them.
(They've got several super-intelligent mutants, genetics experts, and mutants with slowed aging, in particular Beast/McCoy.)
(That seems like a good mix of self-interested, spiteful, and something John would approve of.)
First steps during recovery.
- Location
- Here
Jeremiah found himself feeling far better over the following days than expected… And emotionally, much lighter.
How heavy had hatred been weighing upon his mind? How burdensome had fear born down upon his back?
As the days passed and he regained (And even exceeded) his usual level of energy and ability to move about (Aside from the broken arm, of course), he found himself feeling far more relaxed and carefree than he could even remember being over the recent years…
So of course that couldn't last. "...You must be kidding me, Charlotte."
Her cheerful smile seemed heavier due to the actual push table in front of her COVERED in paperwork. "I don't understand sir."
He squinted at the piles… No, they were still there. "I've been gone less than a few weeks! How did SO MUCH pile up already?"
She hummed, shifting piles to one side. "This group covers the recent policy changes you submitted two days ago, this one covers financial redistribution obligations after you decided to change how we invested the 'cookie jar' funds, these two stacks cover communications with legislators and judicial contacts that wanted to follow up with prior discussions, this stack over…"
Jeremiah held up a hand, stopping her. "One moment."
Had he done this?
Not directly. But he somehow knew he trusted those who had. Something like his conscience, and his two shoulder angels. "Bring them to my side…"
No, that was far too many pages of paper. "Scratch that. Do you still have that secured tablet ready with the digital copies as an option? Working through that mess with one arm would be exhausting."
She blinked, mildly surprised. "It will be ready in twenty four minutes, sir."
Good. "Until then, what other business? I assume that if I have recovered enough for paperwork then other needs must also be met."
A rare look of disapproval crossed her eyes as she glanced at something on her note list… And skipped over it. "In investment news, the Nasdaq has…"
Time passed comfortably as he fell into a familiar routine of adjusting stocks and investments and bonds and all sorts of things, slowly growing his empire despite the already sturdy foundations.
By this point, it was less about his endlessly growing wealth and more about the warm joy of being in his element. Of knowing what was going on, and feeling a sense of power and control over his direction in life.
"...Afternoon appointment is on schedule and we should be ready to go live by then..." But eventually Charlotte was forced to return to the top of her now covered note sheet. "And finally, unfortunately: We have a Mr. Trask attempting to contact you once more. I assume about gathering even more funds for his big robot toy plan."
Hmm? "Trask? Bolivar Trask… That greasy asshole who kept telling me how he was going to 'improve the human condition' and all that, 'protect humanity' and 'save the world', but always needed 'Just a little bit more funding' and such?"
She sniffed. "Indeed, sir."
God, without the constant screams of terror and hatred filling his brain it was FAR easier to see how money hungry this young privileged asshole was. "I kept feeling something was off about that brat BEFORE my brain tried to kill itself a half dozen times! Hell, ignoring his social agendia entirely, the project itself was a HUGE waste of investment, not to mention a bloody PR disaster…"
Damn it all, what had he been THINKING back before his heart failure!? "God, I feel like such a moron… 'Oh Mr. Wickles, the big scary mutants are coming! We better build REALLY BIG ROBOTS!' Expensive ones too, from what I can remember."
He failed to notice a subtle relaxing in Charlotte's stance as she hummed. "Shall I put him aside for now sir? Until you fully recover, at least?"
Hmm. "No, Trask is the sort of brat that would take anything less than a punch to a face as a 'Yep I love your idea' or worse." Also, something felt… Off about his past memories.
Even as obsessed as he was over his new found fellow 'compatriots' with Friends of Humanity, it was downright WRONG how much he was willing to invest in such a terribly thought out plan.
For one thing, even IF giant robots were the best design choice, wasn't Trask obsessed about each robot being able to do basically ANYTHING!?
From what he could remember after dozens of pitch sales and meetings and subtle digs to invest more, these stupid toys were supposed to fly and swim and dig and punch and launch missiles and…
Specialization existed for a reason. It traded variety and flexibility for drastically lower costs, simpler designs, greater stability, and easier manufacturing.
If you tried to make something like a Thneed in real life, then you'd just end up with a mess that does EVERYTHING in a horrifically inefficient and expensive way.
Jeremiah winced. "Shit, I've been basically investing into the robot equivalent of Dr. Kotch's cure all medication, didn't I? 'My robots will scan genetics on the fly and adjust their components to counter them and…' blah blah blah…"
He tried to run his hands through his hair, but of course one arm was in the cast. "Fuck, just the genetic scanner ALONE could have made me profit hand over fist in the medical scanner, not to mention the adjustable plates that could resist various forces… Wouldn't that basically redefine the entire concept of earthquake proofing a building's infrastructure!?"
But no! "Instead this asshole designs a billion different profitable products and HOT GLUES them into a giant money wasting robot! And I just… Went along with it!?"
Charlotte seemed to be holding back a grin. "What would you prefer to do then, sir? If you truly wish to 'punch him in the face', I can have it arranged."
Heh, it wouldn't even be the strangest thing he would have asked her to do. Still… "I've invested too heavily in this project. FAR too heavily… Ever heard of the 'sunk cost fallacy'?"
Her amusement vanished as she nodded.
Yeah, fair enough. She was after all his most competent assistant. "Well, I've basically funded this whole damn project solo by now. Pretty sure the other 'investors' are only putting in a fraction of what I've burned on it so far."
She looked expressionless. "Then shall we continue to fund his…?"
Hmm? "Oh no, fuck that brat."
That got a raised eyebrow and some confusion. "Sir?"
Jeremiah snorted. "Like I said, I've invested too much. It's all mine now. Get our lawyer teams on it, take everything that little boy owns. ESPECIALLY the things he supposedly DOESN'T own! I'm sure he's been skimming off the top and feeling smug about it this whole time, asshole feels like the sort of infernal prat that would get off on that sort of shit."
Her smile was evil and beautiful. "I'll organize it immediately."
Good. Fuck you brat, taking my money.
He blinked as one of her people walked swiftly in with… A heavily reinforced tablet. "Oh, right. I still have to do all this paperwork."
He received a compassionate but unyielding smile. "Yes sir."
Shit. "Fine, hand it over and I'll get started."
Stupid massive financial empire. And this shit was AFTER simplifying the running of this mess!
~~~Pocket System~~~
A completely DIFFERENT secretive organization (Less pro-mutant terrorism and more pro-profit nihilism) was ALSO confused at the moment. "What do you mean, 'He got better'?"
The agent sighed as she checked her notes. "Since I've been let go, it's hard to confirm anything without being too obvious that I'm digging for information… But from my friends in his staff, the new ones who don't know better than to talk work with me, he's already more active than he was before the heart attack. Like I said, he got better."
But how!? "That old bastard died on the medical table. Seven times! I know this for a fact because I drank a celebratory shot of very expensive alcohol for each one!"
He stood and began pacing behind his desk. "His survival was unlikely and unfortunate, but I was assured by many professionals, including those OUTSIDE of our organization, that he would NOT make a full recovery!"
The words 'horrendously large amounts of brain damage' had been passed about, it had been VERY convincing!
She hummed. "To be fair, he IS showing significant alterations to his behavior. Just… Not a loss of ability."
He stared at the window. "Explain."
A nod. "The target has emotionally regressed towards his younger years, from what I've gathered. Similar to those who become more childlike after heavy head injury, but he still displays some 'ticks' and behavioral habits that my profile of him listed, if to a lesser degree."
…Could he work with that? "Is he more susceptible to manipulation? I know he was growing more and more uncontrollable and further extreme politically as his health deteriorated…"
It had been to an excessive degree towards the end too, as that old man shifted from 'uncaring sharklike businessman' to 'angry old racist end times prepper'.
His agent sighed. "Unclear. Direct interaction with the target is limited to his head of staff, Charlotte Clearwater, and her personal teams. Even the kitchen staff has been personally selected and vetted by her, and she does NOT compromise when it comes to her responsibilities."
No, no she did not. It was his personal opinion that this particular exasperating woman was the sole reason why Wickles Industries hadn't fallen into hard times despite the many medical issues of their aging founder.
How an old bastard like Mister Jeremiah 'Fuck You' Wickles had somehow raised, trained, promoted and then TRUSTED any woman to have such high amounts of influence over his entire financial domain was beyond most people's ability to understand, especially considering some of the hatred that asshole spewed out over the years.
But he had, and 'Lady Clearwater' ran that old kingdom of companies like a Queen over her domain.
It was to the point where he and other organizations had spent the last few months developing long term cooperation plans to hopefully work with the woman when her old asshole of a boss finally kicked the bucket.
Because by this point, both those public AND 'private' forces in the dark just assumed she'd inherit everything. All signs pointed to that, at least.
Assuming of course that the old man wouldn't just let it all crash and burn out of spite instead of passing anything down.
Which wasn't off the table, but thankfully unlikely…
But no.
The asshole not only survived, but he was RECOVERING.
And that was complete bullshit!
Glaring at the wall harder, the head of the company tried to fit this new news into his existing plans and found himself failing to do so without significant replaning required. "Don't push any harder, your connection to the inside of that mess will only become more valuable over time. I'm increasing your work budget, so feel free to throw some get-togethers and offer help out to others financially if it will help improve your social status among your contacts."
She nodded. "Will do! And I'll let you know immediately if anything new comes out of it."
He waved that off. "No, use the dead drops like usual. We can't risk them 'spilling' information deliberately to smoke out agents like yourself, don't change your patterns for now please."
A few more pleasantries, a bit of a bonus for her finding this out so quickly and hopefully letting his teams get ahead of the ball on this whole disaster, and she was gone.
He fell into his chair, and growled at the desk. "Fucking old bastard, of COURSE you would fuck up at kicking the bucket just to make life harder for the rest of us! Shit."
Not to mention the budget issues that this would cause.
Forgetting the costs of spinning up some of the older 'no longer required' projects and some such required to keep an eye on that old man and this whole mess, he now had to scrap some expensive steps that were supposed to help forge future connections with the new 'Lady Clearwater'!
Connections that would NOW come off as offensive instead of consoling and helpful as intended.
…At least he could earn some good will and some benefits by passing along information about this entire shit situation to his competitors and rivals, assuming they hadn't heard yet.
Or take advantage of them instead, if fully unaware… Yes, that could work!
A slick grin began to form as he reconsidered a few options… Perhaps he could find some silver linings to this mess despite it all!
Happily humming, he flicked on the television in the corner for background noise while he carefully began to make some plans and… And…
Jeremiah Wickles was on TV, shot from one of his lavish bedrooms and apparently giving an interview.
Live on TV.
Being interviewed.
Right now.
What. The. FUCK!?
How heavy had hatred been weighing upon his mind? How burdensome had fear born down upon his back?
As the days passed and he regained (And even exceeded) his usual level of energy and ability to move about (Aside from the broken arm, of course), he found himself feeling far more relaxed and carefree than he could even remember being over the recent years…
So of course that couldn't last. "...You must be kidding me, Charlotte."
Her cheerful smile seemed heavier due to the actual push table in front of her COVERED in paperwork. "I don't understand sir."
He squinted at the piles… No, they were still there. "I've been gone less than a few weeks! How did SO MUCH pile up already?"
She hummed, shifting piles to one side. "This group covers the recent policy changes you submitted two days ago, this one covers financial redistribution obligations after you decided to change how we invested the 'cookie jar' funds, these two stacks cover communications with legislators and judicial contacts that wanted to follow up with prior discussions, this stack over…"
Jeremiah held up a hand, stopping her. "One moment."
Had he done this?
Not directly. But he somehow knew he trusted those who had. Something like his conscience, and his two shoulder angels. "Bring them to my side…"
No, that was far too many pages of paper. "Scratch that. Do you still have that secured tablet ready with the digital copies as an option? Working through that mess with one arm would be exhausting."
She blinked, mildly surprised. "It will be ready in twenty four minutes, sir."
Good. "Until then, what other business? I assume that if I have recovered enough for paperwork then other needs must also be met."
A rare look of disapproval crossed her eyes as she glanced at something on her note list… And skipped over it. "In investment news, the Nasdaq has…"
Time passed comfortably as he fell into a familiar routine of adjusting stocks and investments and bonds and all sorts of things, slowly growing his empire despite the already sturdy foundations.
By this point, it was less about his endlessly growing wealth and more about the warm joy of being in his element. Of knowing what was going on, and feeling a sense of power and control over his direction in life.
"...Afternoon appointment is on schedule and we should be ready to go live by then..." But eventually Charlotte was forced to return to the top of her now covered note sheet. "And finally, unfortunately: We have a Mr. Trask attempting to contact you once more. I assume about gathering even more funds for his big robot toy plan."
Hmm? "Trask? Bolivar Trask… That greasy asshole who kept telling me how he was going to 'improve the human condition' and all that, 'protect humanity' and 'save the world', but always needed 'Just a little bit more funding' and such?"
She sniffed. "Indeed, sir."
God, without the constant screams of terror and hatred filling his brain it was FAR easier to see how money hungry this young privileged asshole was. "I kept feeling something was off about that brat BEFORE my brain tried to kill itself a half dozen times! Hell, ignoring his social agendia entirely, the project itself was a HUGE waste of investment, not to mention a bloody PR disaster…"
Damn it all, what had he been THINKING back before his heart failure!? "God, I feel like such a moron… 'Oh Mr. Wickles, the big scary mutants are coming! We better build REALLY BIG ROBOTS!' Expensive ones too, from what I can remember."
He failed to notice a subtle relaxing in Charlotte's stance as she hummed. "Shall I put him aside for now sir? Until you fully recover, at least?"
Hmm. "No, Trask is the sort of brat that would take anything less than a punch to a face as a 'Yep I love your idea' or worse." Also, something felt… Off about his past memories.
Even as obsessed as he was over his new found fellow 'compatriots' with Friends of Humanity, it was downright WRONG how much he was willing to invest in such a terribly thought out plan.
For one thing, even IF giant robots were the best design choice, wasn't Trask obsessed about each robot being able to do basically ANYTHING!?
From what he could remember after dozens of pitch sales and meetings and subtle digs to invest more, these stupid toys were supposed to fly and swim and dig and punch and launch missiles and…
Specialization existed for a reason. It traded variety and flexibility for drastically lower costs, simpler designs, greater stability, and easier manufacturing.
If you tried to make something like a Thneed in real life, then you'd just end up with a mess that does EVERYTHING in a horrifically inefficient and expensive way.
Jeremiah winced. "Shit, I've been basically investing into the robot equivalent of Dr. Kotch's cure all medication, didn't I? 'My robots will scan genetics on the fly and adjust their components to counter them and…' blah blah blah…"
He tried to run his hands through his hair, but of course one arm was in the cast. "Fuck, just the genetic scanner ALONE could have made me profit hand over fist in the medical scanner, not to mention the adjustable plates that could resist various forces… Wouldn't that basically redefine the entire concept of earthquake proofing a building's infrastructure!?"
But no! "Instead this asshole designs a billion different profitable products and HOT GLUES them into a giant money wasting robot! And I just… Went along with it!?"
Charlotte seemed to be holding back a grin. "What would you prefer to do then, sir? If you truly wish to 'punch him in the face', I can have it arranged."
Heh, it wouldn't even be the strangest thing he would have asked her to do. Still… "I've invested too heavily in this project. FAR too heavily… Ever heard of the 'sunk cost fallacy'?"
Her amusement vanished as she nodded.
Yeah, fair enough. She was after all his most competent assistant. "Well, I've basically funded this whole damn project solo by now. Pretty sure the other 'investors' are only putting in a fraction of what I've burned on it so far."
She looked expressionless. "Then shall we continue to fund his…?"
Hmm? "Oh no, fuck that brat."
That got a raised eyebrow and some confusion. "Sir?"
Jeremiah snorted. "Like I said, I've invested too much. It's all mine now. Get our lawyer teams on it, take everything that little boy owns. ESPECIALLY the things he supposedly DOESN'T own! I'm sure he's been skimming off the top and feeling smug about it this whole time, asshole feels like the sort of infernal prat that would get off on that sort of shit."
Her smile was evil and beautiful. "I'll organize it immediately."
Good. Fuck you brat, taking my money.
He blinked as one of her people walked swiftly in with… A heavily reinforced tablet. "Oh, right. I still have to do all this paperwork."
He received a compassionate but unyielding smile. "Yes sir."
Shit. "Fine, hand it over and I'll get started."
Stupid massive financial empire. And this shit was AFTER simplifying the running of this mess!
~~~Pocket System~~~
A completely DIFFERENT secretive organization (Less pro-mutant terrorism and more pro-profit nihilism) was ALSO confused at the moment. "What do you mean, 'He got better'?"
The agent sighed as she checked her notes. "Since I've been let go, it's hard to confirm anything without being too obvious that I'm digging for information… But from my friends in his staff, the new ones who don't know better than to talk work with me, he's already more active than he was before the heart attack. Like I said, he got better."
But how!? "That old bastard died on the medical table. Seven times! I know this for a fact because I drank a celebratory shot of very expensive alcohol for each one!"
He stood and began pacing behind his desk. "His survival was unlikely and unfortunate, but I was assured by many professionals, including those OUTSIDE of our organization, that he would NOT make a full recovery!"
The words 'horrendously large amounts of brain damage' had been passed about, it had been VERY convincing!
She hummed. "To be fair, he IS showing significant alterations to his behavior. Just… Not a loss of ability."
He stared at the window. "Explain."
A nod. "The target has emotionally regressed towards his younger years, from what I've gathered. Similar to those who become more childlike after heavy head injury, but he still displays some 'ticks' and behavioral habits that my profile of him listed, if to a lesser degree."
…Could he work with that? "Is he more susceptible to manipulation? I know he was growing more and more uncontrollable and further extreme politically as his health deteriorated…"
It had been to an excessive degree towards the end too, as that old man shifted from 'uncaring sharklike businessman' to 'angry old racist end times prepper'.
His agent sighed. "Unclear. Direct interaction with the target is limited to his head of staff, Charlotte Clearwater, and her personal teams. Even the kitchen staff has been personally selected and vetted by her, and she does NOT compromise when it comes to her responsibilities."
No, no she did not. It was his personal opinion that this particular exasperating woman was the sole reason why Wickles Industries hadn't fallen into hard times despite the many medical issues of their aging founder.
How an old bastard like Mister Jeremiah 'Fuck You' Wickles had somehow raised, trained, promoted and then TRUSTED any woman to have such high amounts of influence over his entire financial domain was beyond most people's ability to understand, especially considering some of the hatred that asshole spewed out over the years.
But he had, and 'Lady Clearwater' ran that old kingdom of companies like a Queen over her domain.
It was to the point where he and other organizations had spent the last few months developing long term cooperation plans to hopefully work with the woman when her old asshole of a boss finally kicked the bucket.
Because by this point, both those public AND 'private' forces in the dark just assumed she'd inherit everything. All signs pointed to that, at least.
Assuming of course that the old man wouldn't just let it all crash and burn out of spite instead of passing anything down.
Which wasn't off the table, but thankfully unlikely…
But no.
The asshole not only survived, but he was RECOVERING.
And that was complete bullshit!
Glaring at the wall harder, the head of the company tried to fit this new news into his existing plans and found himself failing to do so without significant replaning required. "Don't push any harder, your connection to the inside of that mess will only become more valuable over time. I'm increasing your work budget, so feel free to throw some get-togethers and offer help out to others financially if it will help improve your social status among your contacts."
She nodded. "Will do! And I'll let you know immediately if anything new comes out of it."
He waved that off. "No, use the dead drops like usual. We can't risk them 'spilling' information deliberately to smoke out agents like yourself, don't change your patterns for now please."
A few more pleasantries, a bit of a bonus for her finding this out so quickly and hopefully letting his teams get ahead of the ball on this whole disaster, and she was gone.
He fell into his chair, and growled at the desk. "Fucking old bastard, of COURSE you would fuck up at kicking the bucket just to make life harder for the rest of us! Shit."
Not to mention the budget issues that this would cause.
Forgetting the costs of spinning up some of the older 'no longer required' projects and some such required to keep an eye on that old man and this whole mess, he now had to scrap some expensive steps that were supposed to help forge future connections with the new 'Lady Clearwater'!
Connections that would NOW come off as offensive instead of consoling and helpful as intended.
…At least he could earn some good will and some benefits by passing along information about this entire shit situation to his competitors and rivals, assuming they hadn't heard yet.
Or take advantage of them instead, if fully unaware… Yes, that could work!
A slick grin began to form as he reconsidered a few options… Perhaps he could find some silver linings to this mess despite it all!
Happily humming, he flicked on the television in the corner for background noise while he carefully began to make some plans and… And…
Jeremiah Wickles was on TV, shot from one of his lavish bedrooms and apparently giving an interview.
Live on TV.
Being interviewed.
Right now.
What. The. FUCK!?
verycoolname
Not actually cool
This is amazing and I love it.
- Location
- Sol;Terra;EU;D;NRW
Wickles gonna give to Trask.
A knuckle sandwich that is, not even in the kisser but where it really hurts.
Yay.
Now reading between the lines and only slightly from notes that surely dont exist in reality...
Chance of Charlotte being a mutant is not zero.
A knuckle sandwich that is, not even in the kisser but where it really hurts.
Yay.
Now reading between the lines and only slightly from notes that surely dont exist in reality...
Chance of Charlotte being a mutant is not zero.
Yeah, it looks like someone was manipulating Wickles into making bad investments, via some kind of mental attack. Especially, given the noted shift in past behavior mentioned. John is obviously a bit to close to figure things out. No systems being able to detect prior manipulation, that's no longer around. Though whenever whoever it is tries to 'correct' their own attempts, they're in for a big surprise. And I doubt that going after the court process would help there either. Xavier himself might pick up on some clues on it happening. Or one of the other powerful psychics. Especially if John!Wickles mentions it in the press conference. Which is presumably him talking about suing Trask over the 'bad investment'.
- Location
- Paradise, Hawaii
So.. "Jeremiah 'Fuck You' Wickles" is giving an Interview as a Statement, to the Public.
No 'He did not say that' shenanigans interpolation happening from this.
This says it best.
Plot to Derail Human Supremist is a GO! With a Fuck You to Boot and a kick to Jolly Good.
No 'He did not say that' shenanigans interpolation happening from this.
This says it best.
Plot to Derail Human Supremist is a GO! With a Fuck You to Boot and a kick to Jolly Good.
The best and funniest part of all this? It could easily be explained away as 'near death experience clarity'... and if those looking to off him run into the mind control theory and come to the conclusion that somehow what they were using to off him ended up combining with the mental manipulation method in mad science sort of way to cure him
And for some reason I want to see Trask's reaction on his very punchable face.
And for some reason I want to see Trask's reaction on his very punchable face.
- Location
- Australia
This is great but I really hope he changes his "insert" function for future worlds so he doesn't basically bodyjack others.
Maybe he could just keep projecting a "static" body so he doesn't have to keep adjusting his mental age and NOT try to retroactively convince the world that he'd always existed. After all, for the period of time that he stays in the worlds he doesn't really need it most of the time, so shutting it off unless need should save a lot of power and this way he could still be himself.
Maybe he could just keep projecting a "static" body so he doesn't have to keep adjusting his mental age and NOT try to retroactively convince the world that he'd always existed. After all, for the period of time that he stays in the worlds he doesn't really need it most of the time, so shutting it off unless need should save a lot of power and this way he could still be himself.