The World Assembly Strangers' Bar

[Kardashev III Civilization]

Something fairly big but low on the ground, with many, many legs under its segmented body, scampered into the Bar, aiming for the two men. On its back was a small green snake. When the multilegged monstrosity, which the hivemind had dubbed "arthrosylvan", stopped next to Johan's barstool, he bowed down to pick up the snake. As he set it on the bar counter, it turned its head to look at Ahume, and very dark green writing appeared on its scale-like leaves: WOULD THIS WORK?

LaPointe peers over at the multilegged monstrosity, then reaches across her table to take the magazine out of her fellow corporation’s hand. When the man protests, she points over at the pair of plant-based lifeforms.

“That is just bizarre,” says the man, after a moment.

The machine swivels the sensor cluster atop its mast toward LaPointe, still shining several other sensors in Johan's direction. It reverses, turns slightly and drives toward the two corporate entities, stopping again uncomfortably close to LaPointe. The mast extends to get a better view of both LaPointe and Roth. The only communication the machine offers is a single soft, high-pitched chirp, followed by the very quiet hum of a cooling system inside its shell.

[Living Corporations]

The machine swivels the sensor cluster atop its mast toward LaPointe, still shining several other sensors in Johan's direction. It reverses, turns slightly and drives toward the two corporate entities, stopping again uncomfortably close to LaPointe. The mast extends to get a better view of both LaPointe and Roth. The only communication the machine offers is a single soft, high-pitched chirp, followed by the very quiet hum of a cooling system inside its shell.

The man stares down at the machine, then holds out a hand. “I’m HealthMart,” he says with a smile. “Who might you be?”

“It’s just a machine,” answers LaPointe.

“You can’t say that for sure.”

[Kardashev III Civilization]

The machine swivels the sensor cluster atop its mast toward LaPointe, still shining several other sensors in Johan's direction. It reverses, turns slightly and drives toward the two corporate entities, stopping again uncomfortably close to LaPointe. The mast extends to get a better view of both LaPointe and Roth. The only communication the machine offers is a single soft, high-pitched chirp, followed by the very quiet hum of a cooling system inside its shell.

The man stares down at the machine, then holds out a hand. “I’m HealthMart,” he says with a smile. “Who might you be?”

“It’s just a machine,” answers LaPointe.

“You can’t say that for sure.”

The machine produces a slender mechanical limb from its chassis, extending it toward HealthMart parallel to his own arm. The mast swivels again, now to face him.

"Just a machine," says LaPointe's voice, mimicked perfectly from somewhere within the body of the robot.

[Living Corporations]

The machine produces a slender mechanical limb from its chassis, extending it toward HealthMart parallel to his own arm. The mast swivels again, now to face him.

"Just a machine," says LaPointe's voice, mimicked perfectly from somewhere within the body of the robot.

“Told you,” says LaPointe. “It’s a machine with a tape recorder.”

HealthMart gently grips the mechanical limb and attempts a handshake. He doesn’t know how fragile the machine might be, so it’s a bit more tentative than is typically considered professional. “So, are you your own person, or is someone training an autonomous robot?”

[Kardashev III Civilization]

The machine produces a slender mechanical limb from its chassis, extending it toward HealthMart parallel to his own arm. The mast swivels again, now to face him.

"Just a machine," says LaPointe's voice, mimicked perfectly from somewhere within the body of the robot.

“Told you,” says LaPointe. “It’s a machine with a tape recorder.”

HealthMart gently grips the mechanical limb and attempts a handshake. He doesn’t know how fragile the machine might be, so it’s a bit more tentative than is typically considered professional. “So, are you your own person, or is someone training an autonomous robot?”

"Person...training."

The telescopic arm produces a needlelike projection and attempts to stick it in the palm of HealthMart's hand. Instead, as the needle's tip touches his skin the ACME weapons nullifier turns it into a small blob of cotton candy. The machine lets out another chirp and ejects a capsule onto the floor behind it. The flooring begins to dissolve almost immediately, forming a pool of grey liquid.

"Recorder machine, training person."

[Living Corporations]

"Person...training."

The telescopic arm produces a needlelike projection and attempts to stick it in the palm of HealthMart's hand. Instead, as the needle's tip touches his skin the ACME weapons nullifier turns it into a small blob of cotton candy. The machine lets out another chirp and ejects a capsule onto the floor behind it. The flooring begins to dissolve almost immediately, forming a pool of grey liquid.

"Recorder machine, training person."

Even if the weapons nullifier weren’t there, HealthMart would have been unharmed by whatever was in that needle- living corporations can only be injured financially or by other corporations... usually also financially.

“You’re recording me, so you can train someone else?” asks HealthMart.

LaPointe looks down at the dissolved bit of floor. “You know, that’s a hazard. Even if that stuff isn’t toxic or otherwise dangerous, it’s a slip hazard. It’s a shame I don’t have any lawyers left- I could turn this into one hell of a suit...”

HealthMart shoots a glare at her. “You’re a vulture.” He turns back to the machine.
“Look, uh? Don’t use anything LaPointe says for training purposes. She’s an ambulance chaser and a bad influence in general.”

[Kardashev III Civilization]

Even if the weapons nullifier weren’t there, HealthMart would have been unharmed by whatever was in that needle- living corporations can only be injured financially or by other corporations... usually also financially.

“You’re recording me, so you can train someone else?” asks HealthMart.

LaPointe looks down at the dissolved bit of floor. “You know, that’s a hazard. Even if that stuff isn’t toxic or otherwise dangerous, it’s a slip hazard. It’s a shame I don’t have any lawyers left- I could turn this into one hell of a suit...”

HealthMart shoots a glare at her. “You’re a vulture.” He turns back to the machine.
“Look, uh? Don’t use anything LaPointe says for training purposes. She’s an ambulance chaser and a bad influence in general.”

"Recording you. Training someone else to be person."

The machine emits a beam across the grey pool, which begins to swell into a large bubble. The telescopic arm retracts, reaches into a compartment on the machine's body, and sticks a metal cylinder into the side of the 3-foot wide bubble.

"Hazard, bad influence."

[Whovian Tardisia]

More chirping is heard as a dog-shaped robot darts out from underneath a small shrine. The small reception dishes in the place of its ears swiveled back and forth as it looked at the new curiosity.
<Origin unknown> it remarked, its voice somewhat high pitched and tinny.
<Initiating database search> The dog began to make several odd noises as it began an admittedly out of date connection process.

Its owner swiveled in his stool, and upon noticing the new device, was also rather intrigued.
"Don't go poking me with that, I don't think I'm quite what you're looking for." he quipped to the probe.

[Living Corporations]

"Recording you. Training someone else to be person."

The machine emits a beam across the grey pool, which begins to swell into a large bubble. The telescopic arm retracts, reaches into a compartment on the machine's body, and sticks a metal cylinder into the side of the 3-foot wide bubble.

"Hazard, bad influence."

“Who are you training?” asks HealthMart.

LaPointe is clearly more interested in the puddle- bubble, now- of mystery substance. “What is that stuff?” she asks. “I hope you have the MSDS ready for it, and probably also the Prop 65 warning. Nah, definitely also the Prop 65 warning.”

((OOC: Prop 65 jokes are very region-specific gold and I will fight anyone who says otherwise.))

[Kardashev III Civilization]

"Recording you. Training someone else to be person."

The machine emits a beam across the grey pool, which begins to swell into a large bubble. The telescopic arm retracts, reaches into a compartment on the machine's body, and sticks a metal cylinder into the side of the 3-foot wide bubble.

"Hazard, bad influence."

“Who are you training?” asks HealthMart.

LaPointe is clearly more interested in the puddle- bubble, now- of mystery substance. “What is that stuff?” she asks. “I hope you have the MSDS ready for it, and probably also the Prop 65 warning. Nah, definitely also the Prop 65 warning.”

((OOC: Prop 65 jokes are very region-specific gold and I will fight anyone who says otherwise.))

The machine whirs a bit, then chimes. Several of the sensors on the mast switch off. LaPointe's voice announces, "Language functions modified. Hello. This is an autonomous survey-and-settle device. It has designed an organic housing suitable for initial settlement." The machine directs a laser pointer at the bubble. "It wishes to observe social structures and interactions as exhibited by indigenous life. The settlement will convert organic material upon contact, do not touch it."

[Sierra Lyricalia]

Leo says loudly, "Yes, I quite recommend the western omelette. The ham herein is very well smoked, and they didn't skimp on the scallions nor the cheese. This is precisely what the doctor called for!" Rather quieter, he continues, "I seek no money from you, sir, only information. Who'll be coming for us if we spirit you away? Whose interests are we poking in the eye, and who's going to worry about you spilling their beans to authorities? Who'd you piss off, and most important, who'll they take it out on when they can't find you? We do enjoy noogie-ing bastards and charlatans, but we prefer to know whose head we're grabbing first. Capisce?"

Leo takes another large bite of eggs, and follows it up by draining the last of his beverage. "Ahhh. That was quite refreshing as well." He glances around to locate a server and orders a black iced coffee, "Enormous, please, the darkest roast you have. And if you've got goods on the right sort of bastard, well... I won't get your hopes up, but you might find yourself a quality of life improvement fairly soon after. But this is hardly the place for it. I'll remain here a while as I'd planned. When the halls fill up near the end of the workday, come find me in Debate Chamber 7-C - it's still listed as reserved for Ms. Chinmusic and there'll be no one else in there. Don't get followed."

He stretches, yawns, and takes a few chugs of the huge glass of coffee that just arrived. "I'll say the fruit is surprisingly fresh as well. I ought to break my fast in here more often. Perhaps biscuits and gravy come the weekend..."

A waiter comes around and sets a plate down in front of Uwet. He was only vaguely familiar with most of the food on it; outlets in the City only occasionally deigned to work, and when they did were generally used for devices with more uses than toasters had, the fruits found in the Markets were usually either dried and packaged or immediately resold for far more than he could afford, but eggs? There were only so many ways to cook eggs.

“This is a treat,” he says in a normal voice, as he pops a grape in his mouth. “The food in the City is... well, it’s edible. But that’s all you can say for it.”

Quieter and between bites of omelette, he adds, “I spent 20 breaths as a soldier for the Morza, and he won’t be happy about losing a valuable employee. He might put the rest of his men on a shorter leash, and he’ll probably send someone to retrieve me, but a good neighborhood leader doesn’t lash out at his own people. I’m more worried about Khu Cua, to be honest- the Underground entrance I came through is in her neighborhood, and I broke into it to get here. She will be very unhappy, and so will the entire Sel family- they’re the ones who own the entrance. Especially Icumar, since he’s the one I locked in the storage room.”

Another waiter appears to collect Uwet’s already empty plate and leaves a mug of coffee in its place. Uwet gives it a sip, winces at the bitter taste, and starts choking it down anyway. “I have a few hours before they come after me. They’ll have to wait for streetdark to end, realize the Wheelhouse isn’t opening, get Icumar’s story, and gather a posse first. How long is it until the workday ends? And where is Debate Chamber 7-C?”

((OOC: Can it be safely assumed that the universal translators also translate writing?))

Personally I wouldn't, but that's an individual preference - either way, the Universal Library Coalition will have facilitated the transliteration/translation of all alphabets and languages known to World Assembly nations, so if my folks can't read it right this second, a quick picture and MMS message to the office will have its meaning plain in a few minutes.

"Now that sounds promising. 7-C is seventh floor of the HQ building, east wing - really, it's impossible to miss. As for timing, well... that's the hard part in this particular spot, isn't it?" Leo produces a pack of what in his country is a standard deck of playing cards, and begins to shuffle. "You see, there are four suits - clubs, gems, hearts, and pickaxes - with thirteen cards per suit..."

Quieting down again, he continues. "Best bet is possibly to grab a seat right by the door and move when the traffic gets heavy. I would swear my watch--" a quick glance at his wrist "--was synched to that clock above the bar when I came in here, but now they're all out of whack. Best to be on our way within half an hour or so, I'd think. Change of plan - you go first, and I'll tag along behind to make sure we're not tracked." Leo sends a quick message on his phone, and then continues babbling about the rules of poker for a few minutes, pausing every so often to sip his iced coffee. "See, because this heart flush is ten-high, it beats the eight-high shovel flush. Now, they might later decide some of this this is above my pay grade, but we may as well get started while we wait. Where exactly is the City you said you're from?"

[This City of Ours]

Personally I wouldn't, but that's an individual preference - either way, the Universal Library Coalition will have facilitated the transliteration/translation of all alphabets and languages known to World Assembly nations, so if my folks can't read it right this second, a quick picture and MMS message to the office will have its meaning plain in a few minutes.

"Now that sounds promising. 7-C is seventh floor of the HQ building, east wing - really, it's impossible to miss. As for timing, well... that's the hard part in this particular spot, isn't it?" Leo produces a pack of what in his country is a standard deck of playing cards, and begins to shuffle. "You see, there are four suits - clubs, gems, hearts, and pickaxes - with thirteen cards per suit..."

Quieting down again, he continues. "Best bet is possibly to grab a seat right by the door and move when the traffic gets heavy. I would swear my watch--" a quick glance at his wrist "--was synched to that clock above the bar when I came in here, but now they're all out of whack. Best to be on our way within half an hour or so, I'd think. Change of plan - you go first, and I'll tag along behind to make sure we're not tracked." Leo sends a quick message on his phone, and then continues babbling about the rules of poker for a few minutes, pausing every so often to sip his iced coffee. "See, because this heart flush is ten-high, it beats the eight-high shovel flush. Now, they might later decide some of this this is above my pay grade, but we may as well get started while we wait. Where exactly is the City you said you're from?"

“Down the hall there’s a door braced open with a grappling hook and a steel tether. Just follow the tether and you’ll reach the door that opens into the Wheelhouse, which is in the Laiispot neighborhood of the City. Don’t go wandering or you’ll be lost in the Underground,” Uwet said that last sentence very firmly. That had not been a fun period in his life. “And I’m not... I’m not a City native, so I can’t say I’m from there. I just lived there for twenty breaths.”

He raised his voice. “Do any of the suits have priority over the others? If one person gets a... ten-high of gems and another a ten-high of hearts, who wins?”

[Living Corporations]

The machine whirs a bit, then chimes. Several of the sensors on the mast switch off. LaPointe's voice announces, "Language functions modified. Hello. This is an autonomous survey-and-settle device. It has designed an organic housing suitable for initial settlement." The machine directs a laser pointer at the bubble. "It wishes to observe social structures and interactions as exhibited by indigenous life. The settlement will convert organic material upon contact, do not touch it."

LaPointe shakes her head. That is so creepy, hearing her own voice coming from that thing. “If you wanted indigenous life, you came up to the wrong people. We’re corporations- we’re conglomerates made of up to thousands of employees, called into existence by our founders. We’re pretty atypical even on our own world.” She pauses. “And the ones here are more atypical than most.”

HealthMart seems more concerned about the “organic housing bubble. “Can you make it not do that? I don’t think summons are considered organic, but being “converted” sounds like an unpleasant thing to risk.”

[Kardashev III Civilization]

The machine whirs a bit, then chimes. Several of the sensors on the mast switch off. LaPointe's voice announces, "Language functions modified. Hello. This is an autonomous survey-and-settle device. It has designed an organic housing suitable for initial settlement." The machine directs a laser pointer at the bubble. "It wishes to observe social structures and interactions as exhibited by indigenous life. The settlement will convert organic material upon contact, do not touch it."

LaPointe shakes her head. That is so creepy, hearing her own voice coming from that thing. “If you wanted indigenous life, you came up to the wrong people. We’re corporations- we’re conglomerates made of up to thousands of employees, called into existence by our founders. We’re pretty atypical even on our own world.” She pauses. “And the ones here are more atypical than most.”

The machine scans both of the corporations again, several times over. "Multiple anomalies detected. The surveyors will find you intriguing. This is an optimal development. Expect many queries."

HealthMart seems more concerned about the “organic housing bubble. “Can you make it not do that? I don’t think summons are considered organic, but being “converted” sounds like an unpleasant thing to risk.”

"This instrument cannot comply with your request. This is an essential function of the settlement. It is nearly done. Do you have any additional queries? This instrument contains a limited database of 40 petabytes, which may contain rudimentary information of interest to you."

[Living Corporations]

((Augh augh I’m sorry! For some reason I thought I had already replied, but I clearly haven’t))

The machine scans both of the corporations again, several times over. "Multiple anomalies detected. The surveyors will find you intriguing. This is an optimal development. Expect many queries."

“And you’ll get answers to them,” says LaPointe, with a grin and a flap of her hand. “The finer points of living collectives are something I am quite familiar with.”

“Mostly because you keep pushing the envelope of what you’re allowed to do,” interrupts HealthMart.

“I’m a law firm; I need to know exactly where the law ends and delightful ambiguity begins.”

“There was nothing ambiguous about what you did.”

"This instrument cannot comply with your request. This is an essential function of the settlement. It is nearly done. Do you have any additional queries? This instrument contains a limited database of 40 petabytes, which may contain rudimentary information of interest to you."

“Yes. Why is conversion an essential function, and how dangerous is it to the people in this Bar?” asks HealthMart.

[Kardashev III Civilization]

((Augh augh I’m sorry! For some reason I thought I had already replied, but I clearly haven’t))

OOC: No problem, it's happened to me too.

“And you’ll get answers to them,” says LaPointe, with a grin and a flap of her hand. “The finer points of living collectives are something I am quite familiar with.”

“Mostly because you keep pushing the envelope of what you’re allowed to do,” interrupts HealthMart.

“I’m a law firm; I need to know exactly where the law ends and delightful ambiguity begins.”

“There was nothing ambiguous about what you did.”

"This instrument cannot comply with your request. This is an essential function of the settlement. It is nearly done. Do you have any additional queries? This instrument contains a limited database of 40 petabytes, which may contain rudimentary information of interest to you."

“Yes. Why is conversion an essential function, and how dangerous is it to the people in this Bar?” asks HealthMart.

"The settlement requires organic compounds, which it retrieves from the surrounding environment. Under normal conditions, the settlement will automatically restructure biomass that contacts its surface into useful matter. Death for an organic of your volume would occur between 10 and 14 seconds after contact. Exact conditions in this environment remain unknown. Err toward caution."

The top of the bubble cracks like the side of an egg. Vapors slowly climb from between the edges. A hand pushes through the bubble and sends a large piece of shell tumbling away. Steam billows voluminously out of the bubble's open side. From the steam emerges a figure, tall and lean. It shields its eyes, stepping out of the bubble carefully.

"What is this? Surely I am not here to catalog ancient relics," the figure says.

The machine chirps rapidly, extending its arm at LaPointe.

Stepping forward, the figure becomes human...almost. Its skin is an even tone of rusty red, with a well-kept mane of hair growing from the top of its head to below its shoulders. "Ah, now that is interesting. And they have language, you say? You could have fooled me. Look at those teeth!"

[Living Corporations]

"The settlement requires organic compounds, which it retrieves from the surrounding environment. Under normal conditions, the settlement will automatically restructure biomass that contacts its surface into useful matter. Death for an organic of your volume would occur between 10 and 14 seconds after contact. Exact conditions in this environment remain unknown. Err toward caution."

The top of the bubble cracks like the side of an egg. Vapors slowly climb from between the edges. A hand pushes through the bubble and sends a large piece of shell tumbling away. Steam billows voluminously out of the bubble's open side. From the steam emerges a figure, tall and lean. It shields its eyes, stepping out of the bubble carefully.

"What is this? Surely I am not here to catalog ancient relics," the figure says.

The machine chirps rapidly, extending its arm at LaPointe.

Stepping forward, the figure becomes human...almost. Its skin is an even tone of rusty red, with a well-kept mane of hair growing from the top of its head to below its shoulders. "Ah, now that is interesting. And they have language, you say? You could have fooled me. Look at those teeth!"

"Of course I have language," LaPointe says. She raises a hand, snaps her fingers, and then starts rifling through the legal documents that appeared in said hand. "I'm a law firm- I wouldn't exist without it." She sets the still-growing stack on the table and nudges it over to the almost-human figure. "Go on and give those a read- language yourself out." Honesty, or an attempt to prod the figure about the language thing? LaPointe certainly wasn't letting on.

"Or don't," says HealthMart. "It'll mostly be legal babble that no one would ever use in casual conversation. Are you a... "surveyor?""

[Kardashev III Civilization]

"The settlement requires organic compounds, which it retrieves from the surrounding environment. Under normal conditions, the settlement will automatically restructure biomass that contacts its surface into useful matter. Death for an organic of your volume would occur between 10 and 14 seconds after contact. Exact conditions in this environment remain unknown. Err toward caution."

The top of the bubble cracks like the side of an egg. Vapors slowly climb from between the edges. A hand pushes through the bubble and sends a large piece of shell tumbling away. Steam billows voluminously out of the bubble's open side. From the steam emerges a figure, tall and lean. It shields its eyes, stepping out of the bubble carefully.

"What is this? Surely I am not here to catalog ancient relics," the figure says.

The machine chirps rapidly, extending its arm at LaPointe.

Stepping forward, the figure becomes human...almost. Its skin is an even tone of rusty red, with a well-kept mane of hair growing from the top of its head to below its shoulders. "Ah, now that is interesting. And they have language, you say? You could have fooled me. Look at those teeth!"

"Of course I have language," LaPointe says. She raises a hand, snaps her fingers, and then starts rifling through the legal documents that appeared in said hand. "I'm a law firm- I wouldn't exist without it." She sets the still-growing stack on the table and nudges it over to the almost-human figure. "Go on and give those a read- language yourself out." Honesty, or an attempt to prod the figure about the language thing? LaPointe certainly wasn't letting on.

A faint look of curiosity creeps over the humanoid's face. It grabs the pages and hands them to the machine. "Find out what you can about the materialization of these objects, I cannot locate a power source for the process."

The machine whirs and slides the pages into a slot on its side. The humanoid turns to face it, apparently frustrated.

"No that's not what I asked for at all! Wa--oh, really? That's how they communicate? Fair enough. Read it for me. I still want your input on that power source. Yes, and don't bother me unless you have some ideas." The humanoid returns its attention to the corporations. "Sorry about that. The thing is barely sentient at times. And to think it was manufactured after I was!"

"Or don't," says HealthMart. "It'll mostly be legal babble that no one would ever use in casual conversation. Are you a... "surveyor?""

The humanoid lets the slightest signs of a smile work around the corners of its mouth. "Surveyor? That's a very accurate word. I am, after all, here to explore and catalog the most interesting and valuable aspects of this region. With some more work, we'll likely capture a serviceable image of the entire complex for further analysis back home. Assuming, of course, they are still interested in this quaint place. And you say you are corporations? As far as I can tell, you are individuals. I would expect a corporation to be far less cohesive than a single mind."

[Living Corporations]

A faint look of curiosity creeps over the humanoid's face. It grabs the pages and hands them to the machine. "Find out what you can about the materialization of these objects, I cannot locate a power source for the process."

The machine whirs and slides the pages into a slot on its side. The humanoid turns to face it, apparently frustrated.

"No that's not what I asked for at all! Wa--oh, really? That's how they communicate? Fair enough. Read it for me. I still want your input on that power source. Yes, and don't bother me unless you have some ideas." The humanoid returns its attention to the corporations. "Sorry about that. The thing is barely sentient at times. And to think it was manufactured after I was!"

“I can help you with that,” says LaPointe, grinning lazily. “Or possibly just make things even muddier. Those papers are a part of me. They’re not real- they’ll just disappear if I stop concentrating on them. We have a technical term for it: imagery. I can call up anything relating to my field, corporate image, etcetera, but it’s all temporary and the more on-point it is, the easier it is. I’m a law firm, so that mostly means nice suits and paperwork.”

“And false evidence,” says HealthMart. “Which is why they shut you down.”

“Details! So, you appearing from that bubble, that wasn’t you being manufactured?”

The humanoid lets the slightest signs of a smile work around the corners of its mouth. "Surveyor? That's a very accurate word. I am, after all, here to explore and catalog the most interesting and valuable aspects of this region. With some more work, we'll likely capture a serviceable image of the entire complex for further analysis back home. Assuming, of course, they are still interested in this quaint place. And you say you are corporations? As far as I can tell, you are individuals. I would expect a corporation to be far less cohesive than a single mind.”

HealthMart shrugs. “You’d probably get different readings from the corporations back home. Those of us here at the World Assembly are individuals. We all left our home universe because for one reason or another, we were losing, well, basically ourselves. I was bought out by someone not especially interested in keeping me around as a subsidiary, Roth went bankrupt and and was in the process of closing the last of his stores, two-thirds of LaPointe’s lawyers are in jail and the rest are disbarred, and CyberVid has been in a death spiral since, uh, pretty much when she was founded. Being here keeps our bodies from fully connecting to the conglomerate part of us. It’s basically why we’re alive.”

“If you visit our world, you should look into Wonder Co,” interrupts LaPointe. “They’re the largest entertainment conglomerate in Vespuccia. And let me tell you, they really work that plural. They have two hundred thousand employees. Me, at my height I barely had more than a dozen.”

[Kardashev III Civilization]

“I can help you with that,” says LaPointe, grinning lazily. “Or possibly just make things even muddier. Those papers are a part of me. They’re not real- they’ll just disappear if I stop concentrating on them. We have a technical term for it: imagery. I can call up anything relating to my field, corporate image, etcetera, but it’s all temporary and the more on-point it is, the easier it is. I’m a law firm, so that mostly means nice suits and paperwork.”

“And false evidence,” says HealthMart. “Which is why they shut you down.”

“Details! So, you appearing from that bubble, that wasn’t you being manufactured?”

The machine chimes, almost cheerfully, drawing the humanoid's attention. "Yeah, imagers, a likely possibility. Doesn't explain the body itself. Or why you couldn't sample that one's genes to make me look more familiar."

HealthMart shrugs. “You’d probably get different readings from the corporations back home. Those of us here at the World Assembly are individuals. We all left our home universe because for one reason or another, we were losing, well, basically ourselves. I was bought out by someone not especially interested in keeping me around as a subsidiary, Roth went bankrupt and and was in the process of closing the last of his stores, two-thirds of LaPointe’s lawyers are in jail and the rest are disbarred, and CyberVid has been in a death spiral since, uh, pretty much when she was founded. Being here keeps our bodies from fully connecting to the conglomerate part of us. It’s basically why we’re alive.”

“If you visit our world, you should look into Wonder Co,” interrupts LaPointe. “They’re the largest entertainment conglomerate in Vespuccia. And let me tell you, they really work that plural. They have two hundred thousand employees. Me, at my height I barely had more than a dozen.”

"And to think I wrote this off at first as merely a primitive backwater!" joked the humanoid. It told the machine, "Transmit to Upuopskin, we've found a candidate for the Nexus. You two are truly fascinating. I just can't imagine why this is the sort of place you would come to survive. Certainly if you have this ability, you could choose any reality to exist within, as long as it were not that of your origin?"

The humanoid claps its hands together, eyes locked onto the corporations in eager fascination. "I'm definitely going to get an upgrade for this."

Another chime, less enthusiastic, comes from the machine. "Oh, of course. Your question. My apologies, I should answer it before asking my own. Yes, this body was built only recently in that rather unimpressive settlement right there." The humanoid points to the bubble, its dome collapsed in on itself and condensed steam dripping from the cracked edges. "But I'm not my body, after all. I think we share that sort of thing in common. No, I'm in here," it says, pointing to its skull, "an old but still perfectly functional OR-500. I've been running since the 55th galactic minute. All silicon and silver and gold and copper. The body is to make me look familiar and to make communication less awkward. Old nuts and bolts over there couldn't hold a conversation with a child, let alone a pair of corporations."

[Union of Sovereign States and Republics]

An, obviously inebriated, Uzbek man in his mid to late fifties stumbles in with President Lebedev on his shoulders; both very, very drunk.

The Uzbek man, the Soviet delegate to the WA, proclaims, "And that's when I said to my wife, no, no, no, you're talking to the horse! My mother's over there!"

The President and the Delegate roar in laughter, even causing some people around them to laugh a bit before they take their seats.

[Seedless Watermelon]

As a local representative of the Seedless Watermelon community enters, it instantly becomes apparent that something is off about it. Whether the people in the room realize it, this representative, is, in fact, a watermelon. A seedless one, at that.

The issue with being a watermelon, at its core, is that it is inherently more difficult to communicate with others, what with the being an inanimate object and all. It does seem to be trying to communicate with the others, however. When approaches closely, one can hear a clicking noise. The clicking is seemingly random, until an older gentleman with a name badge which says "Watermelon Supervisor." This supervisor interprets for the Watermelon, who is seemingly getting rather frustrated.

The supervisor, interpreting for the watermelon, said in an over-the-top voice "Greetings, mortals! I am King Lanatus, of the Citrullus family! I rule a minor province in my Great Empire, in a region we call the 'Refrigerator.' I have been granted permission to come to this esteemed bar on behalf of my Great Empire, and I hope that you will accept me in open arms."

Following a clarification that he himself has not a king, but rather a lowly servant of the watermelon, the supervisor sighed and awaited further instructions.

[Marxist Germany]

Ambassador Klaus Schmidt enters the bar looking sloppy, his suit is unbuttoned, his tie is barely holding together, whilst his shirt has got a lot of creases, his suitcase is black and squared, and it looks like he's struggling to keep holding it. He looks for an empty seat and finds one in the left hand side of the bar, he walks toward the table looking very fatigued, eventually reaches the table, and takes a seat. He drop his suitcase on the table and glances around before inputting the lock code and unlocking it. A bunch of papers are launched out of the case and into the ground as he opens it. He quickly starts collecting the papers that fell on the ground and he curses when he finds out that one of the papers was creased, he places the creased paper in his pocket and leaves the rest inside his suitcase that he closes. He proceeds to the bartender Neville, and says the following, "it has been quite the month, I've been debating in four different rooms on four different proposals, I've barely slept more than 5 hours in a single day; I shouldve known that drafting too many proposals at once would be tiring..." he takes the creased paper of his left pocket and shows it to Neville, "look at this, its a message from the World Assembly board of repeals saying that my proposal to repeal GA#468 has failed to achieve quorum, do you know by how many approvals?! SIXTEEN!! This is HONESTLY ANNOYING!" he looks around and sees other ambassadors staring at him, "I should probablyccalm down before I'm kicked out of this place, anyways, this all could've been prevented if I hadn't given delegates the wrong copy of the proposal in the telegrams!! This development has really ruined my day, so I'm asking for a bottle of ale if possible, I really need to drink this event away." he places some cash notes on the counter in front of Neville then returns back to his table exhausted.

[Kardashev III Civilization]

The surveyor jumps, astonished as the two corporations vanish from the bar. Certainly they had been there just a moment before, but in an instant they had gone from flesh and blood--or whatever anthropomorphic corporations are made of--to nothing at all.

"Did they just die? Perhaps an intersection of their world with this nexus?"

"Both subjects have ceased to exist. No other anomalies detected," says the machine, still mimicking LaPointe's voice.

"Thanks, detective," the surveyor quips. "Go find something useful to do, I need to investigate this."

Immediately, the machine spins its mast, locks onto a nearby patron, and drives at a considerable speed through the bar. It brakes hard, stopping only a couple feet from Schmidt. The sensors on its body light up, scanning Schmidt and his surroundings. It identifies the ale just recently brought out for the German ambassador.

"Warning, high ethanol content, toxic to your organ systems. Do not ingest."

[Marxist Germany]

"Warning, high ethanol content, toxic to your organ systems. Do not ingest."

The ambassador turns to the surveyor and looks at it in a peculiar way, "I know what alcohol does, that's the whole point, I'm trying to drink my miseries away. Thanks for your warning, I'll just drink half the bottle instead just to be safe." he glances back at his glass of ale and takes a sip.