Paragon Industries (Comedy, Tech - Dead) - IC

[Province of Cossack]

Oliver “Cyrus” Parham, Black Ops

“Well, you see ma’am, I haven't exactly gotten a tour myself, but I’ll try my best” Oliver said, pretending not to notice the crime boss slip his handgun into a suit pocket. He strode confidently towards the sole remaining door in the room -- after all, what could go wrong?

He got his answer faster than he expected. A rack of rifle magazines crashed down in front of him and the inspector as soon as he opened the door.

Despite the small setback, Oliver was determined to make a good impression. Putting on his best tour guide voice, he said:
“As you can see ma’am, this must be the err, armory. As you said yourself, lot of bad people out there these days. You never know when you’ll need to exercise the castle doctrine.”

As he tried to read the inspector’s expression, Oliver subtly checked his concealed holster for his Colt revolver.
Locked and loaded, he thought. Just in case I need to exercise the castle doctrine.

[Barapam]

As she trailed behind, KIM's eyes fell on the "Broom closet" sticker on the door to the server room. Since the door was wide open, the sticker was completely useless where it sat. It would do a much better job stuck to the door of a certain office where a certain probably illegal manifesto about overturning a certain human society was hidden. Hmm...

The inspector and KIM's colleagues seemed to be all engaged in grinding their teeth, although for slightly different reasons. This was her chance. So while the rest of the group had their attention elsewhere, as far as she could tell at least, KIM got to work. "Come on, stupid sticker!" she whispered. "Get loose! No, not like that, don't break! Urgh, and now it's torn halfway... but I guess I just have to keep trying to scrape it off..." Finally, she suceeded! But then the ends got tangled into each other, and the middle part got glued to her fingers. "Oh for the love of robot god..." KIM sighed, but time was a factor and she couldn't afford to stall any longer. She quietly snuck away.

A few moments later, the sticker had now been taped over the text "CEO Vanessa Carlyle". The office was now a officially a broom closet, but one of the low priority ones, given the sorry state of the sticker... but it would do. It would do just fine. Although to be on the safe side, it was probably a good idea to try and get back to the inspector to see what she was up to. Where could they be now? KIM guessed they would've arrived at the armory by now. She hurried down again, past the Bay sibling's pitch meeting... just as the door exploded. Unlike Mike she wasn't prepared and as a result she didn't leave entirely unharmed.

"Son of a..! Mike, I'll be back for you!" she yelled as she held the half of her face plate which had been blown off in the explosion. She kept running, but a few alert eyes in the audience might perhaps already have seen an angry robot with half its steel skull showing, and a glowing red eye. Unaware of this predicament, KIM eventually reached her destination. There was only one problem.

This wasn't the inspector she was looking for.

[Talchyon]

Servers room
Louise Grazowksi, OSHE (?) Inspector; CEO Vanessa Carlyle; COO Desmond Morrow

James Anderson

Done with Shipping, on to Servers
Louise Grazowski, OSHE (?) Inspector; CEO Vanessa Carlyle; COO Desmond Morrow - with KIM trailing

As her clipboard filled up with red marks up the wazoo, the perpetually antagonistic Louise Grazowski filled several pages on the Shipping area, before she harumphed and announced with a gruff voice, "We're done here. Now take me to your servers area."

Inwardly, Vanessa gulped. That was one of the most obvious places where the OSHE Inspector would notice some awful abuses of safety. The whole room was a fire hazard. It was one of the first rooms Desmond Morrow had posted his fake "Broom Closet" signs. If that's where this sadist of an inspector wanted to go, there was no way they would ever pass the OSHE inspection.

Desmond offered the only hopeful comment one could make in this situation. "Absolutely. The cafeteria it is! That's where our lunch servers work, all wearing plastic gloves, plastic hair nets, hats, and other OSHE-regulated food service apparel!" Not that the cafeteria was safe from the inspection as it was. Not only did the cafeteria workers regularly wear plastic gloves and hair nets. They also tended to wear full hazmat suits due to accidental radioactive leaks in their chili. Any Paragon employee foolish enough to eat in the company cafeteria had to turn off all portable Geiger counters they might be carrying, if they wanted to maintain a sensible level of hearing. Still, the cafeteria was safer to inspection than the computer servers room...

But Louise Grazowski wasn't having it. "Not the cafeteria, you moron! The computer servers room!" And she made another few red marks on her clipboard.

This time, Vanessa gulped out loud. She covered her tracks well, though. "I need some water. Excuse me." Then fake coughing, Vanessa found the water fountain - leaky - and took a long swig of lukewarm water. There was going to be no getting out of going to the servers room. Maybe they could stall. But something told her it wasn't going to work.

Vanessa came back, and hoping again that KIM would go her own way, led the OSHE inspector to the servers room... the long way. Passing several closed doors with signs on them that read "Broom Closet," as well as several other areas on the inspection tour, up stairs and down, getting more than a decent cardio workout by walking the long corridors, and taking as much time as they possibly dared, they finally came back to the same hallway they started in, and went to the room next door to Shipping where they had just been. The heavyset Louise Grazowski by this time was out of breath, huffing and puffing, glaring bloody murder at Vanessa and Desmond, and breathing as heavy as hippos making love.

Entering the wide-open servers room, they saw an employee typing furiously on a laptop. And wasn't that the employee who perpetually ran the break room supply storage into the red because he was never truly working?

Vanessa saw James and groaned inwardly. Not him! Not on an OSHE inspection! This employee himself broke many OSHE regulations. But she sounded confident in her own mind when she said, "And this is the servers room."

Louise Grazowski's eyes lit up at the stripped and fraying wires attached to their servers, to the small electrical fire in the corner, and to James. The red marks increased by a hundred thousand fold... "Oh, you guys are in BIG TROUBLE just because of this room," she cackled as her pen bled onto the pages held by her abused clipboard.

Startled by an evil laugh James jumped a little, knocking loose a cable as he turned and looked at the intruders. What he saw was a group lead by Paragon's CEO with a horrified look on her face, and someone, presumably an inspector of some kind, putting down lots of red ink on a piece of paper. "Uh, welcome to the server room," said James, uncomfortable in the spotlight. "Uh, hold on- you probably want me to put out the fire," he said, typing in a command that somehow remotely extinguished the fire. "If you want to come in, be careful- I'm pretty sure most of the east coast gets their internet from here." He pointed to a cable at perfect tripping height. "For example, that one goes to OSHE," he said and then pointed to a cable at neck height. "And that one goes to the white house. Speaking of which, Pinnacle Tech probably wants their internet back," he finished as he picked up the cable he had knocked down earlier and plugged it back in.

As the remote extinguisher doused the flames, an acrid smell of chemicals filled the room. CEO Vanessa Carlyle got excited that maybe this would speed up the execution that the sadistic OSHE Inspector, Louise Grazowski, had only just begun in the servers room. The stocky, heavyset woman with a perpetual scowl was bleeding all over her report with red ink, so much that the paper was starting to drip.

Trying to take advantage of the situation, Vanessa started talking really fast. "So,servers.Whatcanyousay?Lotsofcompaniesgetinternetroutedthroughhere.Somesmallcountries,too.Boy.Didyousmellthat?Thatcouldbehazardous.Weshouldreallycallthisroomgoodandmovetothenext."

Louise Grazowski paused and looked up at Vanessa. "What did you just say? Were you talking about trout? What does that have to do with this?!" She found, miraculously, a spot that hadn't been touched yet on her paper (inside an o). She made another note.

Meanwhile, Desmond Morrow took a look at the scene and leaned against one of the tower cases. Something James had said had caught his attention. "So, as you can see, we're in the process of upgrading here so what it looks like now is not what it will look like. Soon. Because, you know, it would be a horrible thing for a company or a governmental agency to lose browsing capabilities because of a less than ideal user format." And he leaned down and put his finger on the cable that reputedly was responsible for giving OSHE their net access. It was a threat, yes. A subtle threat, yes. But a threat that he could not be charged for making. The message was clear - Rate Paragon poorly, and lose your net. He wondered if Louise Grazowski was so thick-headed that she would need to be told in less subtle terms. Something told him that she was thick-headed enough, a hammer blow to her skull would bounce off. Not that he was going to try to test that theory.

Vanessa, looking around for KIM and not seeing her, turned her attention to James instead. She thought she saw the new guy - was his name Procyon? - slip out of the room as she spoke to James. Hmm. That wasn't normal. She'd have to look at the videos, and check out this Procyon and what he was doing instead of working. Maybe it could make Paragon money! Back to James, Vanessa said, "And you... I want the next expense report from your sector." She didn't even remember what sector James was in, and she certainly wouldn't waste time reading any numbers and figures he brought in. She said it, just as a convenient way to get rid of him and not have him be even more of a cause for Paragon to go down in flames.

---

The armory, inside the Black Ops room
OSHE Inspector Grace Henshaw and Giovanni Fellini, "businessman"

Opening mystery door number one proved to be a military grade armory of weapons, ammunition, and various high tech pieces of equipment that corresponded to those. And it was "loaded." So full that the slightest provocation of opening the door caused an overflow into the Black Ops / aka, "Cybersecurity" office.

Oliver “Cyrus” Parham, Black Ops

“Well, you see ma’am, I haven't exactly gotten a tour myself, but I’ll try my best” Oliver said, pretending not to notice the crime boss slip his handgun into a suit pocket. He strode confidently towards the sole remaining door in the room -- after all, what could go wrong?

He got his answer faster than he expected. A rack of rifle magazines crashed down in front of him and the inspector as soon as he opened the door.

Despite the small setback, Oliver was determined to make a good impression. Putting on his best tour guide voice, he said:
“As you can see ma’am, this must be the err, armory. As you said yourself, lot of bad people out there these days. You never know when you’ll need to exercise the castle doctrine.”

As he tried to read the inspector’s expression, Oliver subtly checked his concealed holster for his Colt revolver.
Locked and loaded, he thought. Just in case I need to exercise the castle doctrine.

When the rifle magazines crashed down after opening the door, Grace Henshaw jumped in fright! "Oh, my goodness!" was all the startled, timid OSHE inspector could say. Her companion, "businessman" Giovanni Fellini, had a different reaction to seeing the armory. He smiled warmly.

Taking Grace gently by the elbow, the way a gentleman would escort a lady to a 4 star meal, Fellini tried to calm down the inspector, who was still quite anxious. "Oh, my goodness. I didn't expect to see so many weapons. Having my office so close to such things would make me afraid."

Fellini nodded, sympathizing. "I think the same thing. It's a marvel how this fine employee here can do it. He must have guts. So," speaking directly to Grace, "Do you need to sit down for a few minutes, or are you able to continue?"

Grace Henshaw swallowed and nodded. "I think I'm good. Thank you." Her voice held a sincere note of appreciation for Fellini.

Fellini smiled, and said, "If you don't mind, I have a question." When she smiled and encouraged him to speak, the mobster walked into the armory and went to one of the shelves. He pulled out an odd-looking rifle of some kind, that had a square grid off to the bottom right side of the barrel. "What I want to know is, what kind of gun is this? This doesn't look like anything I've seen in the movies."

Little did Giovanni Fellini realize that just then, KIM had arrived! With half her face plate blown off, a steel skull and dangerous looking glowing red eye left staring. And there he was, a mobster holding a weapon (who knew if it was loaded, or what it took to load it), and to a rebellious robot wanting to take down humanity, who knew how this would look?

---

The commercial pitch meeting
Suxx-tron

Having heard the distinct sounds of an explosion, and being the good kind of robot he was that only wanted to help people, Suxx-tron eventually made his way to the small room where Michelle and Mike Bay were giving their commercial pitch for the car battery company. The door was on the ground, burning. As was the doorframe, a nearby wall on the other side of the hallway, and a extremely clueless man wearing a toupee.

Suxx-tron burst out his handy-dandy, A-1, standard digital firehose from a small compartment inside his right leg. He began looking around for a fire hydrant, and not seeing one, a nearby drinking fountain that he could hook the hose up to. But again, not seeing one, he was running out of options.

Entering the small pitch room, Suxx-tron spoke to Michelle and Mike, saying, "Excuse me. I understand that there was an explosion here. Do either of you have access to a large water source so that we could extinguish these flames?" It was his mission in life to be helpful. And this looked like a good way to do it, if he could ever find water.

[Province of Cossack]

Oliver “Cyrus” Parham, the tour

Cyrus jumped back himself, and then immediately turned to the inspector, expecting a damning rain of bureaucratic safety regulation infractions to come pouring down on him. Instead, the inspector seemed to recover relatively quickly.

Fellini nodded, sympathizing. "I think the same thing. It's a marvel how this fine employee here can do it. He must have guts.

Cyrus gave a slight shrug. “In fact, I didn’t know this was here until today. Like I said I’m…uh…relatively new around here”.

"What I want to know is, what kind of gun is this? This doesn't look like anything I've seen in the movies."

Adjusting his tie, Cyrus reached to pick up another such rifle off the ground. It indeed was an odd contraption, but given Paragon’s track record, it was hardly surprising. He fumbled for a power button, finally bringing the grid to life. On the grid was a high-definition video, showing footage from what seemed to be a microcamera attached to the bottom of a barrel. There was no visible scope, and as such Cyrus assumed the grid was a viewing platform for aiming.

“The grid seems like a scope of sorts”, he mused aloud, “yet it’s on the right side of the stock. How would you even aim it?”
As he vocalized that sentence, a malicious looking robot appeared in the doorframe to his office. Startled, Parham dropped the rifle and swiftly drew his Colt…

[Window Land]

James Anderson

Startled by an evil laugh James jumped a little, knocking loose a cable as he turned and looked at the intruders. What he saw was a group lead by Paragon's CEO with a horrified look on her face, and someone, presumably an inspector of some kind, putting down lots of red ink on a piece of paper. "Uh, welcome to the server room," said James, uncomfortable in the spotlight. "Uh, hold on- you probably want me to put out the fire," he said, typing in a command that somehow remotely extinguished the fire. "If you want to come in, be careful- I'm pretty sure most of the east coast gets their internet from here." He pointed to a cable at perfect tripping height. "For example, that one goes to OSHE," he said and then pointed to a cable at neck height. "And that one goes to the white house. Speaking of which, Pinnacle Tech probably wants their internet back," he finished as he picked up the cable he had knocked down earlier and plugged it back in.

Ricky scurried back to his brothers to tell them what he saw.

"This dude was awesome with the computer, he hacked a fire, and he knows where Pinnacle gets their Internet" he reported.

Every good heist adventure needs a hacker, and they had just found one.

"Also, the actress is there, and she's doing great" added Ricky.

"Ok, we'll talk to her at the end of the day, so we don't disrupt her "inspection", got it?" said Gordon. His brothers agreed.

"Now, go back and put this note in his pocket, then find the sniper" said Gordon, handing Ricky a folded piece of paper which Joey had written "Meet me behind the warehouse, after work" on.

"Got it" replied Ricky. He ran back to the server room, discreetly slipped the note in James's back pocket, and ran off to find Oliver. He did find him, walking alongside two people, whom he didn't recognize, but being the loyal soldier type, he went back to inform the other two.

"H-he's alright" said Ricky, out of breath. "There are two other people there, no room to walk past and slip the note" he reported.

"Hmm, we'll just have to do it later. Who's next on the list?" asked Gordon, turning to Joey.

"Explosives expert" said Joey.

"Where the heck are we gonna find one of those?" asked Ricky. Just as he finished talking, a loud boom, then THUD were heard.

"I think I know where we can find our explosives expert" said Gordon confidently, before climbing back into the disguise, and heading in the direction of the boom.

Michelle Bay

"Ahem, thank you ladies and gentlemen for attending my pitch meeting" began Michelle to the disappointingly small group of people, nervously reaching for the remote to play her commercial. She turned on the TV, and on came a scene of a beautiful countryside, when the TV shut off, and fell from the wall with a bang. Immediately, she knew her brother was to blame for this.

Mike Bay

The door to the room fell to the floor with a fireball around the edges (Mike had outfitted every door at Paragon with exploding bolts, in case he needed to make an emergency dramatic entrance). He walked through, unsinged. He then wheeled a cart in, with a projector on it. Turning off the lights, he turned on the projector, which projected at the blank wall. A big explosion was seen on-screen. Followed by the words "Paragon Industries, our products are explosively cool" in voice over as the screen faded to the company logo. Mike was proud of his explosive commercial, but was completely unaware that the product it was intended for, were electric car batteries.

As Procyon arrived at a meeting room with the door blown off, Joey noticed something.

"Hey what's that sign say" he said pointing to a plastic plaque wit ha half-burnt paper sign. He used Procyon's arm to pick it up, and read it. "EV battery commercial pitch" it read.

"Hope the batteries don't end up like the doorframe" joked Ricky. By this point people had noticed that Procyon was standing there, and he had to say something, but what?

"Umm, I'm looking for an explosives expert" said Procyon, nervously.

As the CEO and COO desperately tried to get the OSHE inspector to stop abusing her clipboard, James felt something briefly enter his pocket. When he felt his pocket, there was a piece of paper there, and he turned around just in time to catch a glimpse of something slink out of the room. However, he didn't have much time to think about it, because Vannesa was about to give him his first-ever assignment.

Servers room
Louise Grazowksi, OSHE (?) Inspector; CEO Vanessa Carlyle; COO Desmond Morrow

James Anderson

Startled by an evil laugh James jumped a little, knocking loose a cable as he turned and looked at the intruders. What he saw was a group lead by Paragon's CEO with a horrified look on her face, and someone, presumably an inspector of some kind, putting down lots of red ink on a piece of paper. "Uh, welcome to the server room," said James, uncomfortable in the spotlight. "Uh, hold on- you probably want me to put out the fire," he said, typing in a command that somehow remotely extinguished the fire. "If you want to come in, be careful- I'm pretty sure most of the east coast gets their internet from here." He pointed to a cable at perfect tripping height. "For example, that one goes to OSHE," he said and then pointed to a cable at neck height. "And that one goes to the white house. Speaking of which, Pinnacle Tech probably wants their internet back," he finished as he picked up the cable he had knocked down earlier and plugged it back in.

As the remote extinguisher doused the flames, an acrid smell of chemicals filled the room. CEO Vanessa Carlyle got excited that maybe this would speed up the execution that the sadistic OSHE Inspector, Louise Grazowski, had only just begun in the servers room. The stocky, heavyset woman with a perpetual scowl was bleeding all over her report with red ink, so much that the paper was starting to drip.

Trying to take advantage of the situation, Vanessa started talking really fast. "So,servers.Whatcanyousay?Lotsofcompaniesgetinternetroutedthroughhere.Somesmallcountries,too.Boy.Didyousmellthat?Thatcouldbehazardous.Weshouldreallycallthisroomgoodandmovetothenext."

Louise Grazowski paused and looked up at Vanessa. "What did you just say? Were you talking about trout? What does that have to do with this?!" She found, miraculously, a spot that hadn't been touched yet on her paper (inside an o). She made another note.

Meanwhile, Desmond Morrow took a look at the scene and leaned against one of the tower cases. Something James had said had caught his attention. "So, as you can see, we're in the process of upgrading here so what it looks like now is not what it will look like. Soon. Because, you know, it would be a horrible thing for a company or a governmental agency to lose browsing capabilities because of a less than ideal user format." And he leaned down and put his finger on the cable that reputedly was responsible for giving OSHE their net access. It was a threat, yes. A subtle threat, yes. But a threat that he could not be charged for making. The message was clear - Rate Paragon poorly, and lose your net. He wondered if Louise Grazowski was so thick-headed that she would need to be told in less subtle terms. Something told him that she was thick-headed enough, a hammer blow to her skull would bounce off. Not that he was going to try to test that theory.

Vanessa, looking around for KIM and not seeing her, turned her attention to James instead. She thought she saw the new guy - was his name Procyon? - slip out of the room as she spoke to James. Hmm. That wasn't normal. She'd have to look at the videos, and check out this Procyon and what he was doing instead of working. Maybe it could make Paragon money! Back to James, Vanessa said, "And you... I want the next expense report from your sector." She didn't even remember what sector James was in, and she certainly wouldn't waste time reading any numbers and figures he brought in. She said it, just as a convenient way to get rid of him and not have him be even more of a cause for Paragon to go down in flames.

James was in big trouble- not only was handling expense reports not something in his job description, but he also didn't even remember what sector he was in. "Uh, um, sector, uh, 7G's expense report it is then," he stammered out, making things up as he went. "I definitely know how to do that. Uh, Inspector, watch where you're dripping that ink, you're getting it awfully close to that cable," said James, trying to distract from the report he desperately hoped Vanessa would forget about.

---

Chloe Mitchell Jane Smith
The last few days had not been fun for the woman known as Jane, as she had caught a particularly unpleasant strain of the stomach flu. However, she was feeling good today, because today was inspection day- if anything could bring enough of Paragon into the light to make her reports seem accurate, this was. Asking around trying to find the inspector, she was eventually led to the dark operations room, but before she could enter, she was passed by an angry KIM, who appeared intent on destroying humanity.

[Deblar]

Chris Hoffman

Chris arrived at Paragon, and he almost immediately noticed something, other than that one strange janitor Chris sort-of knew singing old 80's music at the top of his lungs. The place seemed a bit more...rushed than usual, and Paragon, as he knew all too well, was pretty rushed to begin with. Something was definitely off, but he couldn't quite identify what it was. As he passed the front desk and went deeper into the building, passing up a peculiarly high amount of broom closets, Chris' mind began racing.

"Alright, something's definitely up, but what could it be? Some big faculty meeting? Stockholders meeting? Safety inspection?", he thought before catching sight of Vanessa and a lady with a tag that read "Louise Grazowski, OSHE Inspector", the latter of which confirmed his suspicions. "Yep, safety inspection," Chris thought to himself.

Then Chris recalled all of the wacky hijinks he'd been a part of since starting his job here around a year ago, then realized something.

"There's no way in hell this place would pass a safety inspection," he thought.

He kept walking towards the robotics department, mentally preparing himself to deal with his technically superior Ron Jones who had just about the worst case of multi-personality disorder he’d ever seen courtesy of Solomon, when he saw KIM pass him by, half of her face missing and a pissed off look on whatever was left of her face.

“Uhh…” Chris began to say something, but KIM passed him by. Knowing by the look in her face some unlucky soul would receive at best one hell of an earful or at worst a one way ticket to see Jesus, Chris began to follow her, hoping he could at least play the part of damage control. Eventually they ended up in the Black Ops/Cybersecurity area, one of the few parts of the building he had never been in, and when the other guy drew his weapon, Chris stepped in front of KIM.


“Woah, woah, woah! Hold on! There’s no need to…commit a felony…”

[Nova Catania]

Karl Petrov

“More than a feeeeling, more than feeling, when I hear that old song they used to play” sang Karl, listening to “More Than A Feeling”.

He was stacking boxes on shelves, when his OCD took over. After 2 hours he had only done 3 boxes. His instincts made him fix the shelf to make it perfectly level, and aligned with magnetic north.

“Can never be too careful on inspection day” he said to himself, in his Russian accent. He knew the inspector would be impressed.

Procyon Lotor (a.k.a. the raccoons)

Gordon, Joey and Ricky were bored. They had run out of things to appear to be doing. Until Ricky had an idea.

“Let’s sneak into the PA system!” He suggested, all giddy.

“Bad idea Rick, besides why would you want to sneak into the PA?” asked Gordon.

“And what would you say over the PA?” added Joey.

Ricky whispered his plan to his brothers, who said in unison:

“Ohhhh, clever”

So, they walked over to the main office, where Joey picked the lock. They then entered the room, and scurried over the the mic. Ricky cleared his throat, and Gordon got out their phone. They only have one for all 3.

Some 90’s dance music began playing over the PA, and seconds later, Ricky began singing.

“We’re no strangers to loooove. You know the rules, and so do I. A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of. You wouldn’t get this from any other guy. I just gotta tell you how I’m feeling, gotta make you understand.”

“Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you. Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna tell a lie, and hurt you.” The others joined in for the chorus.

Three raccoons had just rickrolled the company.

[Blargleyarg]

Oats
Difficult Entrance
Internal clock: 79-389-79

At last, she'd arrived!
It'd taken quite a while to traverse the city's hazards, but it was all worth it. She'd finally found the place emblazoned on her flank- Paragon Industries headquarters..
The place was a bit less shiny than she'd imagined, but that was alright- more for her to clean up. The bullet holes might be a bit much for her, though.

Satisfied with her evaluation of the mansion's exterior, she began scuttling up the drive. With all eight legs a-clacking, she made it nearly halfway up the drive before she heard it- an awful noise. An annoyingly loud series of noises, really.
SKWREEEEEEEEET. KACHUNK. BLEEP. BEEP BEEP. BLEEP. KACHUNK, KACHUNK. BLEEP.
It sounded annoyingly and loudly important. She spun about, limbs trying their best to keep up, and found, to her surprise, what seemed to be a metallic tube extending from the ground. It wasn't much to look at- a scuffed up, silvery column with a bright red light on it's tip. Perhaps a sentinel?

The shape suddenly began to speak in it's crackling tone. "Oh, joy, I've detected an intruder."

This wasn't what'd been supposed to happen. Wasn't she registered as a Paragon drone? Maybe Mother had taken out the tracking chip when she'd stolen her frame?

They spoke again, more pointedly. "Are you deaf? You're an intruder, you don't belong here. Scram."

At least she still had a barcode for them to read. "Well, uh- I'm pretty sure that I do. Look at my barcode." She gestured towards it, and the tube complied.

"Hm. Maintenance drone, went missing five months ago, presumed stolen. Right around the same time those protesters showed up."

The tube leered at her before continuing. "More like rioters, really. Or, more accurately, terrorists. You follow, me, yes?"

She didn't, but nodded regardless.

"These guys, they came on the property yelling at the boss about pollution or some hippie mumbo-jumbo, we booted them off. Standard stuff, right? But then, a week later, a perimeter gun shot down a drone carrying gasoline- a known explosive. It's owner claimed it was a delivery, but I know those bastards have been plotting against the company ever since, despite my coworker's doubts. Long story short, I'm 77% you're a bomb."

This could be a problem- being shot at or banned from the premises would put a major dent in her plans. "Look, uh, can we talk about this? There's got to be something to that thirty-three percent, right?"

After pausing for what seemed like far too short a period for any real consideration, they responded. "Nope, sorry. I've done the calculations, pondered the possibilities, and made my decision- I'm going to round up my percentages to 100 and relay my theory to whatever the highest level of command I'm still allowed to talk to is."

"Seventy-seventy doesn't round up to a hundred, you clod!"

"Does too! Anyways, even if it didn't, I've already alerted my superiors, so you're too late! Hahaha!"

The tube then promptly sank back into the ground, laughing it's evil little head off all the way down.

[Barapam]

Chloe Mitchell Jane Smith
The last few days had not been fun for the woman known as Jane, as she had caught a particularly unpleasant strain of the stomach flu. However, she was feeling good today, because today was inspection day- if anything could bring enough of Paragon into the light to make her reports seem accurate, this was. Asking around trying to find the inspector, she was eventually led to the dark operations room, but before she could enter, she was passed by an angry KIM, who appeared intent on destroying humanity.

The armory, inside the Black Ops room
OSHE Inspector Grace Henshaw and Giovanni Fellini, "businessman"

Opening mystery door number one proved to be a military grade armory of weapons, ammunition, and various high tech pieces of equipment that corresponded to those. And it was "loaded." So full that the slightest provocation of opening the door caused an overflow into the Black Ops / aka, "Cybersecurity" office.

When the rifle magazines crashed down after opening the door, Grace Henshaw jumped in fright! "Oh, my goodness!" was all the startled, timid OSHE inspector could say. Her companion, "businessman" Giovanni Fellini, had a different reaction to seeing the armory. He smiled warmly.

Taking Grace gently by the elbow, the way a gentleman would escort a lady to a 4 star meal, Fellini tried to calm down the inspector, who was still quite anxious. "Oh, my goodness. I didn't expect to see so many weapons. Having my office so close to such things would make me afraid."

Fellini nodded, sympathizing. "I think the same thing. It's a marvel how this fine employee here can do it. He must have guts. So," speaking directly to Grace, "Do you need to sit down for a few minutes, or are you able to continue?"

Grace Henshaw swallowed and nodded. "I think I'm good. Thank you." Her voice held a sincere note of appreciation for Fellini.

Fellini smiled, and said, "If you don't mind, I have a question." When she smiled and encouraged him to speak, the mobster walked into the armory and went to one of the shelves. He pulled out an odd-looking rifle of some kind, that had a square grid off to the bottom right side of the barrel. "What I want to know is, what kind of gun is this? This doesn't look like anything I've seen in the movies."

Little did Giovanni Fellini realize that just then, KIM had arrived! With half her face plate blown off, a steel skull and dangerous looking glowing red eye left staring. And there he was, a mobster holding a weapon (who knew if it was loaded, or what it took to load it), and to a rebellious robot wanting to take down humanity, who knew how this would look?

Oliver “Cyrus” Parham, the tour

Cyrus jumped back himself, and then immediately turned to the inspector, expecting a damning rain of bureaucratic safety regulation infractions to come pouring down on him. Instead, the inspector seemed to recover relatively quickly.

Fellini nodded, sympathizing. "I think the same thing. It's a marvel how this fine employee here can do it. He must have guts.

Cyrus gave a slight shrug. “In fact, I didn’t know this was here until today. Like I said I’m…uh…relatively new around here”.

"What I want to know is, what kind of gun is this? This doesn't look like anything I've seen in the movies."

Adjusting his tie, Cyrus reached to pick up another such rifle off the ground. It indeed was an odd contraption, but given Paragon’s track record, it was hardly surprising. He fumbled for a power button, finally bringing the grid to life. On the grid was a high-definition video, showing footage from what seemed to be a microcamera attached to the bottom of a barrel. There was no visible scope, and as such Cyrus assumed the grid was a viewing platform for aiming.

“The grid seems like a scope of sorts”, he mused aloud, “yet it’s on the right side of the stock. How would you even aim it?”
As he vocalized that sentence, a malicious looking robot appeared in the doorframe to his office. Startled, Parham dropped the rifle and swiftly drew his Colt…

Chris Hoffman

Chris arrived at Paragon, and he almost immediately noticed something, other than that one strange janitor Chris sort-of knew singing old 80's music at the top of his lungs. The place seemed a bit more...rushed than usual, and Paragon, as he knew all too well, was pretty rushed to begin with. Something was definitely off, but he couldn't quite identify what it was. As he passed the front desk and went deeper into the building, passing up a peculiarly high amount of broom closets, Chris' mind began racing.

"Alright, something's definitely up, but what could it be? Some big faculty meeting? Stockholders meeting? Safety inspection?", he thought before catching sight of Vanessa and a lady with a tag that read "Louise Grazowski, OSHE Inspector", the latter of which confirmed his suspicions. "Yep, safety inspection," Chris thought to himself.

Then Chris recalled all of the wacky hijinks he'd been a part of since starting his job here around a year ago, then realized something.

"There's no way in hell this place would pass a safety inspection," he thought.

He kept walking towards the robotics department, mentally preparing himself to deal with his technically superior Ron Jones who had just about the worst case of multi-personality disorder he’d ever seen courtesy of Solomon, when he saw KIM pass him by, half of her face missing and a pissed off look on whatever was left of her face.

“Uhh…” Chris began to say something, but KIM passed him by. Knowing by the look in her face some unlucky soul would receive at best one hell of an earful or at worst a one way ticket to see Jesus, Chris began to follow her, hoping he could at least play the part of damage control. Eventually they ended up in the Black Ops/Cybersecurity area, one of the few parts of the building he had never been in, and when the other guy drew his weapon, Chris stepped in front of KIM.


“Woah, woah, woah! Hold on! There’s no need to…commit a felony…”

KIM had barely registered Jane as she passed her. Normally they had a love/hate relationship going on, at least on KIM's part. Besides the obvious reason for hating Vanessa's other secretary, that being that she was a human, it was the fact that she was competition, and easily made KIM look bad simply by being less lazy. On the other hand, KIM at the same time loved Jane for doing most of the actual secretary work, so that she didn't have to. Right now however, the half-faced machine had other priorities, and didn't even bother to say "hi" to her frenemy.

In front of her was the big boss himself, holding what seemed to be a BFG-69, a.k.a. "the organ grinder", a new rifle planned to be used in the military, which works by shredding people's internal organs. A nice old lady was also present, and a not so nice new guy, KIM thought, judging by the fact that he was pointing his gun at her. The robot lashed out.

"Vaffa, Gio!" she yelled at the mobster, and thus used up all of her Italian (including talking with her hands). "Why you go behind my back and do business with this guy? Who is he even? If you wanted weapons, all you had to do was ask. When have I ever let you down, eh?"

Then suddenly Chris stepped in between, literally. Annoyed, KIM gave him a shove, just so that he'd move out of the way.

"Oh, I'm committed to Fellini alright", she replied to Chris, having misheard his warning. "But it seems I can't say it's also the other way around..." she added, and glanced at the man in question.

[Danceria]

J.J.
First Impressions
Circa 09:30hrs, Atlantic Standard Time

---

On the inside of the rather well kept Jeep Grand Cherokee, the din of the city was subdued by classical music. At first, such tastes in music were forced upon him, mama and papa Leandres weren't too happy about that "ghetto trash" that permeated people of his ethnicity, fighting long and hard to keep the image of "well-to-do" family members. Being the son of a Uni Professor didn't help. Not that he didn't enjoy his fair share of RNB, drum-and-bass, and the urban styles hip with the kids these days, but J.J. was a man of many secrets.

One of the more odious ones being that he liked Chopin! Him! Lexi'd never let him hear the end of it, neither would his lil' brothers and sisters. But this shuffle was for a good reason: he wants to give a good first impression, and first impressions are important. It was no secret that Paragon was on the way out, but if his shadier "family" taught him anything-it's that anything can be scavenged.

Speaking of, as he drove into the parking lot and carried out his equipment, he couldn't help but notice the diminutive drone sitting on the entrance like a lost puppy. From this angle, it looked like Standardized Coordinater UltraTerrain Robot, or more known colloquially by their acronym: scooters. Sure it looked like it crawled out of a trash can-well, most drones that J.J. came in contact with were-but it seemed to be Paragon branded. Was it company property? Some sort of Sec-Drone?

After pausing for what seemed like far too short a period for any real consideration, they responded. "Nope, sorry. I've done the calculations, pondered the possibilities, and made my decision- I'm going to round up my percentages to 100 and relay my theory to whatever the highest level of command I'm still allowed to talk to is."

"Seventy-seventy doesn't round up to a hundred, you clod!"

"Does too! Anyways, even if it didn't, I've already alerted my superiors, so you're too late! Hahaha!"

The tube then promptly sank back into the ground, laughing it's evil little head off all the way down.

He caught most of the conversation, or rather the bits that mattered. Coding was Greek to him, so he couldn't fathom why two AIs couldn't figure out their apparent issues. Though the first problem arose: security was arriving to dispatch the little drone. Hopefully it wasn't actually a bomb, or else he'd be in deeper trouble than he's risking.

After slowing his stride, and gently kneeling near the drone, he gave a warm smile. "Hey there amigo, you lost?"

[Blargleyarg]

Oats
Fateful Meeting
Time: 80-480-78

---

Speaking of, as he drove into the parking lot and carried out his equipment, he couldn't help but notice the diminutive drone sitting on the entrance like a lost puppy. From this angle, it looked like Standardized Coordinater UltraTerrain Robot, or more known colloquially by their acronym: scooters. Sure it looked like it crawled out of a trash can-well, most drones that J.J. came in contact with were-but it seemed to be Paragon branded. Was it company property? Some sort of Sec-Drone?

He caught most of the conversation, or rather the bits that mattered. Coding was Greek to him, so he couldn't fathom why two AIs couldn't figure out their apparent issues. Though the first problem arose: security was arriving to dispatch the little drone. Hopefully it wasn't actually a bomb, or else he'd be in deeper trouble than he's risking.

After slowing his stride, and gently kneeling near the drone, he gave a warm smile. "Hey there amigo, you lost?"

Oats was taken aback. Most humans she'd met had either ignored her completely or been outright malevolent, but this one wasn't doing either. It'd just kinda trotted over and started talking to her. Strangest of all, it was doing so nicely, and had even crouched down to her level.

Encouraged, she decided she could risk a bit of conversation.

"Oh, well, I'm not really lost- I'm trying to get through this door, but a very rude tube wouldn't let me, for some reason. Something about bombs."

[Danceria]

J.J.
First Impressions
Circa 09:31hrs, Atlantic Standard Time

---

Oats was taken aback. Most humans she'd met had either ignored her completely or been outright malevolent, but this one wasn't doing either. It'd just kinda trotted over and started talking to her. Strangest of all, it was doing so nicely, and had even crouched down to her level.

Encouraged, she decided she could risk a bit of conversation.

"Oh, well, I'm not really lost- I'm trying to get through this door, but a very rude tube wouldn't let me, for some reason. Something about bombs."

Of course it was sickeningly naïve. Seemed like the "rude-tube", the PORD-ICE, was doing it's duty as a coordinator for all the little Roombas and tech that might be passing through this establishment. He'd heard about the little "incident" alluded to by the tube in question roughly a month back. He had his "college garden buddies" look into it, but a rabble of unwashed hippies were in fact that. Just Hippies. Certainly no ecoterrorists.

Still, he sympathized with the PORD-ICE. A cute, defenseless maintenance drone that seemed clever enough to be relatable yet dumb enough not to know what a PORD-ICE was? Or chirp ahead?

His shadier "family" did enough "deliveries" to know how this story ends.

Still, to quote an apt proverb from an old television show: "Hear both sides, believe only yourself". Now was the time to hear the Drone's side of the story...after a few precautionary measures.

In his ID was a button that acted as a "chirp", to toggle response from the local subnet. Once the POR-IC popped up, the man gave a warm smile. He identified himself as a "Javier Joaquín Leandres", complete with a company ID. Seemed like he was one of many hardware engineers here, one of the new hires, and the relation of one Professor Jamie Leandres of Caerus University.

"Seems to me you got a lost maintenance drone..." He turned to the diminutive spider-like robot. "Designated...?" Seemed like he was hoping for the little fella to speak their identification number. "Or I could do a remote scan of the barcode here."

He knew that the POR-IC no doubt already did, and he knew, much like people, AI preferred to think very highly of themselves.

---

Translation/Acronym Guide:
PORD-ICE: Public Oversight Recognizer Device AKA "Pordie" or "Pord": Infiltration Countermeasure Enforcer - The "rude tubes" or nubs of glass and silicone that have replaced some security cameras. For people using company identity or property over a wide area, they "tag" people by their devices and sequester wi-fi and subnet access accordingly.

CHIRP: Computerized Help Interface Response Program - Somewhere between Google Autofill and turning on the car alarm to find it in a densely packed parking lot, to "chirp" something is essentially to find one's device and utilize it remotely. Whether it's your parallel park assist chirping a compliant car/nearby PORDs that the guy t-boning you wasn't paying attention, to deactivating your phone or credit card. This is a blanket term to seek out something and response. The software equivalent of "holler at 'em", or the unseen conversations occurring between multiple devices.
Ex.
Person A: "My laptop's chirped at the library ten times, how come I "can't use it on the premises"?"
Person B: "Must've pissed off the Pordie, did you try and download those strange Japanese cartoons again?"

[Blargleyarg]

Oats
Fateful Meetings
88-510-23

In his ID was a button that acted as a "chirp", to toggle response from the local subnet. Once the POR-IC popped up, the man gave a warm smile. He identified himself as a "Javier Joaquín Leandres", complete with a company ID. Seemed like he was one of many hardware engineers here, one of the new hires, and the relation of one Professor Jamie Leandres of Caerus University.

"Seems to me you got a lost maintenance drone..." He turned to the diminutive spider-like robot. "Designated...?" Seemed like he was hoping for the little fella to speak their identification number. "Or I could do a remote scan of the barcode here."

"I'm designated as HESD-0475, but my regular old name is Oats."

The little bot turned sideways, proffering the barcode on her side for investigation.

"The tube guy already scanned me, but I guess you could do it again if you need to."

[Danceria]

"I'm designated as HESD-0475, but my regular old name is Oats."

The little bot turned sideways, proffering the barcode on her side for investigation.

"The tube guy already scanned me, but I guess you could do it again if you need to."

"Oats?" This was met with an eyebrow raise at first the rather unusual name, but identifying herself as a "HESD"? In so small a package? Smallest ones he'd seen bummed about as nurses at chic hospitals. The CPU used to run all the processing power needed to be a full on HESD would stuff the poor little drone's chassis to bursting.

Yet his barcode scan showed that she was a maintenance drone-the only thing different was "HESD" rather than the atypical designations of most makes and models. Shrinking HESD processors down to something a standard minidrone would have been a pipe dream from most in the Railroad. Must've been a robocell[1]...

He pulled out another device, this time a DEEPSCAN. Something to figure out what's under the hood.

"Now tell me if you feel tingly or any sort of sensation." It was a half joke, not that J.J. could fathom what an AI would feel-if they could feel. Do robots fear electric needles? Nevertheless, a reputation of good bedside manner wouldn't hurt.

Except what he saw caused that facade to quickly and genuinely fade.

"Good news," He informed the PORD with a shaky smile, and a display of the schematics. "No bombs, just a very lost LA-RES[2]." He then muttered under his breath. "At least...you're supposed to be a LA-RES." Bad news was he was right, the chip size for the drone was normal, and no outbound net-a fully sufficient AI. And a HESD! It was like finding out that your calculator had the Library of Congress on it!

Just who made this thing?!

---

Translator notes:
[1] Robocell (pronounced: Row-bow-sell): One of the solutions to creating and coordinating robots for dangerous or numerous works would be a machine controlled/CHIRP'd by another, offsite AI. Like how Alexa could hypothetically control your Roombas while making sure your fridge stays cold. These puppeted/semi-autonomous automatons are called "robocells", like cells of a body.
[2] LA-RES (pronounced: Lair-eez): Local Automated Repair-Assistant Employee Synthoid: Roombas, but for officework. Named after the Roman household spirits.

[Talchyon]

The server room gone to hell
CEO Vanessa Carlyle, COO Desmond Morrow, and the abusive OSHE (?) inspector Louise Grazowski

As the employee left who had been in the server room, giving some last minute warning about dripping ink on the wires, Vanessa tried to steady her breathing. Sure, the sheets Louise Grazowski had filled out were so full of red ink they might have been mistaken for the remains of a factory explosion where they only made red color photocopier ink cartridges. But still. Someone might be able to read them.

Vanessa was about to say something distracting to the OSHE inspector when all of a sudden, the PA turned on and a really lousy karaoke started broadcasting all throughout Paragon. Vanessa cringed a smile and tried to forget about it. It's not that being Rick-rolled was a terribly bad thing - but today? Seriously? Didn't she have enough to do? Whoever was singing, there was more than just one. Sounded like a trio or quartet - that is, of a trio or quartet of some of the most atonal, non-blending voices she had ever heard karaoke that song. It reminded the CEO that Paragon should really do some fine-tuning on that Autotune software they had been trying to produce. Or more accurately, they finally needed to do some real tuning on that Autotune software. So far, Paragon's product could only auto-tune the voices of castrated yaks, and that wouldn't cut it for the Grammys.

Desmond Morrow's eyes got narrow at the unwanted intrusion of the 90's song over the PA. Whispering to Vanessa, he said, "Want me to go take care of them?" She nodded slightly, and he was just about to leave when a call came in on Vanessa's phone. She motioned for Desmond to stop, and he did. It was a good thing, too, because the phone call was about a more serious matter.

Oats
Difficult Entrance
Internal clock: 79-389-79

At last, she'd arrived!
It'd taken quite a while to traverse the city's hazards, but it was all worth it. She'd finally found the place emblazoned on her flank- Paragon Industries headquarters..
The place was a bit less shiny than she'd imagined, but that was alright- more for her to clean up. The bullet holes might be a bit much for her, though.

Satisfied with her evaluation of the mansion's exterior, she began scuttling up the drive. With all eight legs a-clacking, she made it nearly halfway up the drive before she heard it- an awful noise. An annoyingly loud series of noises, really.
SKWREEEEEEEEET. KACHUNK. BLEEP. BEEP BEEP. BLEEP. KACHUNK, KACHUNK. BLEEP.
It sounded annoyingly and loudly important. She spun about, limbs trying their best to keep up, and found, to her surprise, what seemed to be a metallic tube extending from the ground. It wasn't much to look at- a scuffed up, silvery column with a bright red light on it's tip. Perhaps a sentinel?

The shape suddenly began to speak in it's crackling tone. "Oh, joy, I've detected an intruder."

This wasn't what'd been supposed to happen. Wasn't she registered as a Paragon drone? Maybe Mother had taken out the tracking chip when she'd stolen her frame?

They spoke again, more pointedly. "Are you deaf? You're an intruder, you don't belong here. Scram."

At least she still had a barcode for them to read. "Well, uh- I'm pretty sure that I do. Look at my barcode." She gestured towards it, and the tube complied.

"Hm. Maintenance drone, went missing five months ago, presumed stolen. Right around the same time those protesters showed up."

The tube leered at her before continuing. "More like rioters, really. Or, more accurately, terrorists. You follow, me, yes?"

She didn't, but nodded regardless.

"These guys, they came on the property yelling at the boss about pollution or some hippie mumbo-jumbo, we booted them off. Standard stuff, right? But then, a week later, a perimeter gun shot down a drone carrying gasoline- a known explosive. It's owner claimed it was a delivery, but I know those bastards have been plotting against the company ever since, despite my coworker's doubts. Long story short, I'm 77% you're a bomb."

This could be a problem- being shot at or banned from the premises would put a major dent in her plans. "Look, uh, can we talk about this? There's got to be something to that thirty-three percent, right?"

After pausing for what seemed like far too short a period for any real consideration, they responded. "Nope, sorry. I've done the calculations, pondered the possibilities, and made my decision- I'm going to round up my percentages to 100 and relay my theory to whatever the highest level of command I'm still allowed to talk to is."

"Seventy-seventy doesn't round up to a hundred, you clod!"

"Does too! Anyways, even if it didn't, I've already alerted my superiors, so you're too late! Hahaha!"

The tube then promptly sank back into the ground, laughing it's evil little head off all the way down.

Vanessa could hardly make out the voice on the other end, due to the musical disaster that was karaoke-ing over the speakers. All she could hear was something about a bomb. And a spider. And protesters. And then something else about terrorists. Or was that terroristic spiders made of protesting bombs? Whatever it was, the voice on the other end of her private cell line was going on and on, and all Vanessa could do was politely say she would look into it and thank you, before hanging up with the caller's voice mid-sentence.

Bombs? Terrorists? That could be bad. But it could work too. Would definitely give Paragon more funding due to the small tiny fine print in the labor contracts her employees were forced to sign to work there. That was, all of their life insurance, possessions, and any other assets would be turned over to Paragon Industries in the case of an accident at work. With bombs or terrorists, Paragon could see some bright financial days ahead! But that was going to be a bad thing today, because of the OSHE inspector. She wouldn't certify them, for sure, if there were terrorists throwing bombs, or protesters throwing spiders, or any combination of the above.

Instead, Vanessa just whispered to Desmond to go check out the lobby again because of a potential terroristic bomb threat. His eyes grew hard and serious, but he nodded grimly, and ducked out of the server room before the awful karaoke version of rick-rolling was done.

When Louise Grazowski finally stopped writing, she looked up and noticed it was just her and Vanessa. "Where did everyone else go?" she barked suspiciously. Vanessa simply said, "They had other duties. Now, how about we go to another room?" To which, grudgingly, Grazowski relented and left the server room with the CEO.

---

The black-ops armory
OSHE Inspector Grace Henshaw and Giovanni Fellini, "businessman"

The whole room had become like a high-tech version of the O-Kay Corral, with guns a 'blazing and shots ready to be fired. One could almost begin to hear the sounds of the theme to The Good, The Bad and the Ugly... that is, until the PA kicked to life to the sound of three voices trying to sing (and not doing that great a job). The music startled Grace Henshaw so much that she dropped her purse. "Oh, my goodness!" was all the mousy little woman could say.

Giovanni Fellini, however, was taking it all in - as if he had seen guns pointed right at him as a daily occurrence. He still held the odd rifle with the grid on the side of the stock that could no way be used for aiming anything. But when KIM burst in, and the others after her, Fellini saw her knowingly. An old business acquaintance. He had no idea she still worked here. Her face was looking like a nuclear blast, with 50 percent of it falling out. Being somewhat in character as a reputable businessman on a simple tour of Paragon, however, put him in a unique situation when she addressed him. He didn't know whether to ignore her, to feign surprise, to acknowledge their secret dealings, or what. But when some brave hero suicide wannabe stood in front of the gun Cyrus was pointing at KIM, that did the trick and Fellini knew what to do.

He cleared his throat until he clearly had all the attention in the room. "Gentlemen, gentlemen. Let's put down the firearms, shall we? We came to have a nice tour. This nice OSHE Inspector was friendly enough to invite me to accompany her. We don't want to let her down, do we." It wasn't a question. Giovanni Fellini was not in the habit of asking people (or robots) he considered beneath him. Which was pretty much everyone.

And they'd be smart to put down their weapons. First, because they were in a small area and more than one would be hurt. Second, who knew if they were firing weapons designed at Paragon, which would most likely automatically backfire on them. And third, Fellini was wearing one of his nicer suits today, and nobody in their right mind would want to make Giovanni Fellini upset about having to pay his dry-cleaner extra, would they.

[Blargleyarg]

Oats
Examining Findings

"Oats?" This was met with an eyebrow raise at first the rather unusual name, but identifying herself as a "HESD"?

He pulled out another device, this time a DEEPSCAN. Something to figure out what's under the hood.

"Now tell me if you feel tingly or any sort of sensation." It was a half joke, not that J.J. could fathom what an AI would feel-if they could feel. Do robots fear electric needles? Nevertheless, a reputation of good bedside manner wouldn't hurt.

Except what he saw caused that facade to quickly and genuinely fade.

"Good news," He informed the PORD with a shaky smile, and a display of the schematics. "No bombs, just a very lost LA-RES[2]." He then muttered under his breath. "At least...you're supposed to be a LA-RES." Bad news was he was right, the chip size for the drone was normal, and no outbound net-a fully sufficient AI. And a HESD! It was like finding out that your calculator had the Library of Congress on it!

"Yup, that's me. Oats, at your service!"

Her cheer was suddenly diluted when she noticed that the human holding a strange box- a machine, maybe- and, somewhat concerningly, was pointing it towards her.

"Wait, what's tha-"

In moments, they'd activated the device. She braced herself, but, happily, it didn't appear to be melting her. Not very quickly, anyway.

The human asked her something, but she didn't hear. Not because of her audio, which was working fine, but because she was distracted by the strange vibrations washing over her. A numbness permeating her.

She shivered as the sensation faded into normalcy.

Once she'd recovered fully, she glanced up at the human as they examined the box's diagnosis- apparently, the box was a scanner of some sort. Their face was giving the impression of either curiosity, confusion, or concern. Probably all three, knowing humans.

Giving herself a little shake, she responded to their findings.

"I'm glad to hear the bomb issue is over with. Also, what's a LA-RES? Aren't they a type of cleaner?"

[Danceria]

"Yup, that's me. Oats, at your service!"

Her cheer was suddenly diluted when she noticed that the human holding a strange box- a machine, maybe- and, somewhat concerningly, was pointing it towards her.

"Wait, what's tha-"

In moments, they'd activated the device. She braced herself, but, happily, it didn't appear to be melting her. Not very quickly, anyway.

The human asked her something, but she didn't hear. Not because of her audio, which was working fine, but because she was distracted by the strange vibrations washing over her. A numbness permeating her.

She shivered as the sensation faded into normalcy.

Once she'd recovered fully, she glanced up at the human as they examined the box's diagnosis- apparently, the box was a scanner of some sort. Their face was giving the impression of either curiosity, confusion, or concern. Probably all three, knowing humans.

Giving herself a little shake, she responded to their findings.

"I'm glad to hear the bomb issue is over with. Also, what's a LA-RES? Aren't they a type of cleaner?"

It was a little disconcerting, for both parties involved. That reaction confirmed it-she was a self-contained unit. No puppet AIs, just somehow-somehow-a HESD shoved into the body of a LA-RES.

He recovered his smile, to a more curious smirk, one used when uncovering something truly novel.
"They are, Oats." He answered, "You, ah, don't remember where you were before your most recent activation? What are your Primary Programs?"

Time to get down to brass tacks, even though his knees killed him ever so slightly. He'd have to get used to it since he played baseball back in high school. Not that he was very good at it-mediocre at best-but between the camp and less...legal activities, he knew how to stay in uncomfortable positions for a long period of time. Plus, he didn't dare to move unless he had a fellow human to dissuade any further PORD antics.

Every fiber of his being told him to scoop up the small drone like a lost puppy-for dissection and discernment of what exactly were her origins, not that she was cute or anything. She was just a drone. Honest.

[Blargleyarg]

Oats
Trusting The Meatbag

He recovered his smile, to a more curious smirk, one used when uncovering something truly novel.
"They are, Oats." He answered, "You, ah, don't remember where you were before your most recent activation? What are your Primary Programs?

The human, having recuperated from whatever confusion it'd been suffering, began to question her. However, she had a question of her own- should she answer, or just run? Turning from them for a moment, she weighed the factors. They'd been friendly enough thus far, hadn't tried to smoosh her, despite ample opportunities, and they'd called off that angry pipe.

What more could she possibly want? This human¹ quite clearly fit her parameters for friendship- they were alive, not actively malicious, and did nice things for her, all of which were very good signs!

Of course, that could just mean that they were trying to catch her rather than crush her, but it's not like she could stop them either way- little robot legs could only run so fast, after all- so she decided it was worth the risk. Pivoting to face him, she responded.

"Well, I actually do know where I was- at home, where I went to sleep at nine on the dot as per usual. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in a grody metal box four months later."

"Prime Programs? Like, rules, goals, that kind of stuff? I don't really have any, I kind of just, uh, do things."

It suddenly occurred to her that she probably could have done some sort of negotiating, maybe for some information in turn, but it was too late- the beans had been spilt.

---

1 Speaking of which, she probably ought to ask about their name at some point. "Human" worked fine up until there were more than one, then it was all "brown tall human", "dark brown wide human with small nose", "yellow-haired human with big earings and a wig", and so on. Names were far easier to deal with.

[Danceria]

"Well, I actually do know where I was- at home, where I went to sleep at nine on the dot as per usual. Next thing I knew, I was waking up in a grody metal box four months later."

"Prime Programs? Like, rules, goals, that kind of stuff? I don't really have any, I kind of just, uh, do things."

It suddenly occurred to her that she probably could have done some sort of negotiating, maybe for some information in turn, but it was too late- the beans had been spilt.

The robot seemed...skittish, did the DEEPSCAN prod at something in Oats? Surely he would've detected something. But there wasn't any puppet-programs. This wasn't a Robocell, this was not only a self-contained unit, but...

He shook his head and smiled, offering his satchel for Oats to jump into. "My name's Joaquín Javier Leandres," he offered a hand for a handshake at least, and to help Oats into the satchel. "But you can call me "J.J." for short. Right now, I work as an engineer at this 'ere company." He gestured to Paragon. "Right now, I might be on the clock-or a little in trouble for bein' late." J.J. chuckled and gave a genuine look of sympathy for the little drone. "But it's worth it, helpin' someone lost."

[Blargleyarg]

Oats
Full Metal Package

He shook his head and smiled, offering his satchel for Oats to jump into. "My name's Joaquín Javier Leandres," he offered a hand for a handshake at least, and to help Oats into the satchel. "But you can call me "J.J." for short. Right now, I work as an engineer at this 'ere company." He gestured to Paragon. "Right now, I might be on the clock-or a little in trouble for bein' late." J.J. chuckled and gave a genuine look of sympathy for the little drone. "But it's worth it, helpin' someone lost."

"It's very nice to meet you, Mister JJ."

She placed a steel foot on his hand.

"I'll, uh, try and keep you on schedule."

Using his hand as a springboard, she hopped into the bag with a whump.

With luck, he wouldn't toss her anywhere unpleasant.

[Talchyon]

The lobby
Desmond Morrow, COO

Just then, Desmond entered the lobby with a number of security agents in full battle gear. Desmond himself had also donned "protective" clothing - which, for the COO, was actually a pretty nice robotic exoskeleton made by Pinnacle Tech, with their name and corporate logo unrecognizable. It took tons of the acid needed to burn through the indented Pinnacle Tech logo imprinted into everything they made, but it was a price worth paying. For some reason, Vanessa had frowned upon using products her sister's company made, but Desmond was no fool and was not going to risk his life by using anything Paragon had made if he had to face someone. And it had also been worth the expense to have the same kind of armor and weaponry for at least some top security people available.

As the squad entered the lobby with weapons drawn, the scanners in their exoskeleton suits showed a man allowing a small spider-looking robot into a satchel. "Target acquired," the intense sounding voice of the exoskeleton's computer announced.

The squad surrounded the man, weapons drawn and pointed at him. Desmond announced, "Sir, you are under advisement to set your satchel bag on the floor gently. Then raise your hands and keep them high."

If the call-in about the bomb threat was genuine, and it seemed to since it involved a robotic spider, then they had just caught the bomber!

[Danceria]

J.J.
Suits for Men and Machines
Circa 09:35hrs, Atlantic Standard Time

---

J.J. wouldn't be able to toss Oats anywhere, with the apparent arrival of an honest-to-God Raptor 2 Power Armor. He'd seen enough of it-both from the promotional advertisement, a few close calls, and tales from south of the border where it stoically absorbed bullets like a fat kid absorbed candy. Of course, there were all the other security guards here too-so much for Paragon Industries being in "dire straits" if they can sic a whole squadron on him this quickly.

Then again...there was a bomb threat, with him playing cozy with the suspected "bomb" in question. He gave a calm expression, and complied.

"As I'm sure your HUD's already known, there's a shiv on my upper left leg." he confessed. "...Mostly in case the allegations about your company are, ah, true." A half-truth, he would be hard pressed to go anywhere without some form of weaponry. "Though if you got any net-heads, I wanna make sure that this drone here's a Scu[1], and not a Scu-diver[1]."

J.J. would be more than happy to rely upon his intuition-the little gal couldn't store much. Plus, it'd be a waste to use a genuine HESD for det-droning. But he'd be remiss if he didn't see a drone of her stature houdini[2] something.

"This is Oh-four-seven-five. Allegedly a HESD. Scan her yourself if you don't believe me or the Pord." He went with a more formal approach, perhaps to the drone's confusion. These people are professionals, or at least, professional hardasses. Like an unbeknownst-to-him person inside the actual facility, this isn't the first time he had a bunch of guns pointed at him.

---

Translator notes:
[1]Scu/Scu Diving, noun/verb - Pronounced "Skoo/Skoo-die-ving": From the acronym SCU (Self contained unit), the act of shoving a repeating virus or some form of covert malware into a drone and using said drone to infiltrate and propagate said malware. While not a bomb per se, Oats could be rightly be suspected to be a spy-drone, or a SCU-diver for more overt sabotage.

[2]Houdini, verb - Pronounced "Who-dee-knee": The act of elaborately attaining something through sleight-of-hand, or performing impressive feats through sleight-of-hand or stealthy means. Named after the eponymous Houdini, and popularized as a regular, non-geek slang by Eighty-Six-Six-Six's 2016 track "Houdini", which elaborates on the acts that the famed emcee did whilst in the limelight, maintaining his "thuggish street cred". Of course, the most thuggish thing he did was evade a parking ticket, before being tried for a murder occurring during his career's nascence, much to the bemusement and eventual parodying of many in the rap community. For further information on related rap/street terminology, select [Hook Line and Sinker], and posit your request.

[Province of Cossack]

Oliver "Cyrus" Parham, the armory

Cyrus simply furrowed his brow and stared in annoyance at the PA system, which was blaring some God-awful music. Probably produced by "woke" kids these days, Cyrus grumbled internally, unaware that ironically, that the song had actually come out before he was born.

Fellini, the mob boss himself, thought Cyrus, his suspicions confirmed. Suppose we can make a friend or two in the right places here

Normally, Cyrus would have blown a maniacal-looking, Italian-speaking robot to pieces with a couple of rounds, but for the sake of civility he scowled and tucked the revolver back into it's holster. "I think we're jumping to conclusions here", he said dryly. "I am Cyrus Parham, head of cybersecurity. There is no business being conducted here. This is a tour, and there have been some unexpected..uh, events. Now, who are you two?" he asked, pointing at the robot and the idiot who just jumped in the middle of a possible gunfight.

[Talchyon]

COO Desmond Morrow

The target was smart. Hands up, not making any sudden moves, keeping it cool. Good. The guy had some sense, anyway. Even if his motives still remained to be known. Desmond listened as the potential bomber began to explain.

J.J.
Suits for Men and Machines
Circa 09:35hrs, Atlantic Standard Time

---

J.J. wouldn't be able to toss Oats anywhere, with the apparent arrival of an honest-to-God Raptor 2 Power Armor. He'd seen enough of it-both from the promotional advertisement, a few close calls, and tales from south of the border where it stoically absorbed bullets like a fat kid absorbed candy. Of course, there were all the other security guards here too-so much for Paragon Industries being in "dire straits" if they can sic a whole squadron on him this quickly.

Then again...there was a bomb threat, with him playing cozy with the suspected "bomb" in question. He gave a calm expression, and complied.

"As I'm sure your HUD's already known, there's a shiv on my upper left leg." he confessed. "...Mostly in case the allegations about your company are, ah, true." A half-truth, he would be hard pressed to go anywhere without some form of weaponry. "Though if you got any net-heads, I wanna make sure that this drone here's a Scu[1], and not a Scu-diver[1]."

J.J. would be more than happy to rely upon his intuition-the little gal couldn't store much. Plus, it'd be a waste to use a genuine HESD for det-droning. But he'd be remiss if he didn't see a drone of her stature houdini[2] something.

"This is Oh-four-seven-five. Allegedly a HESD. Scan her yourself if you don't believe me or the Pord." He went with a more formal approach, perhaps to the drone's confusion. These people are professionals, or at least, professional hardasses. Like an unbeknownst-to-him person inside the actual facility, this isn't the first time he had a bunch of guns pointed at him.

---

Translator notes:
[1]Scu/Scu Diving, noun/verb - Pronounced "Skoo/Skoo-die-ving": From the acronym SCU (Self contained unit), the act of shoving a repeating virus or some form of covert malware into a drone and using said drone to infiltrate and propagate said malware. While not a bomb per se, Oats could be rightly be suspected to be a spy-drone, or a SCU-diver for more overt sabotage.

[2]Houdini, verb - Pronounced "Who-dee-knee": The act of elaborately attaining something through sleight-of-hand, or performing impressive feats through sleight-of-hand or stealthy means. Named after the eponymous Houdini, and popularized as a regular, non-geek slang by Eighty-Six-Six-Six's 2016 track "Houdini", which elaborates on the acts that the famed emcee did whilst in the limelight, maintaining his "thuggish street cred". Of course, the most thuggish thing he did was evade a parking ticket, before being tried for a murder occurring during his career's nascence, much to the bemusement and eventual parodying of many in the rap community. For further information on related rap/street terminology, select [Hook Line and Sinker], and posit your request.

Not a bomb? Desmond ran the scans in his Raptor, and sure enough, the little passenger in the stranger's bag had nothing explosive in it at all. It was just a little spider-drone. With his magnet grip, Desmond pulled out the drone from the man's satchel. "Nervous little thing, ain't it," Desmond said more to himself. Then he came to a decision. "Ok, men, stand down. False alarm. This is no bomb nor bomb threat here. Seems like we got ourselves a lost droid. And, unless I'm mistaken," turning to J.J., Desmond asked, "are you employed here? You're not wearing your Paragon Industries i.d."

The other men in the high tech armor backed off, disengaging their armor at the same time until the nanites had dismantled the whole thing and shrunk it down to negligible size. Desmond, meanwhile, was looking at the drone. "What do we have here? Is this one of ours?"

---

Armory
Giovanni Fellini

As the other man introduced himself, Fellini's face stayed its poker-self, not making any emotion or sign of interest. But his mind was recording everything. Cyrus Parham, head of cybersecurity, eh? Fellini would remember that name. Meanwhile, KIM with her face blown off, and the other guy wanting to be suicidal and stand in front of aimed weapons, were about to say something...

[Blargleyarg]

Oats

Not a bomb? Desmond ran the scans in his Raptor, and sure enough, the little passenger in the stranger's bag had nothing explosive in it at all. It was just a little spider-drone. With his magnet grip, Desmond pulled out the drone from the man's satchel. "Nervous little thing, ain't it," Desmond said more to himself. Then he came to a decision. "Ok, men, stand down. False alarm. This is no bomb nor bomb threat here. Seems like we got ourselves a lost droid. And, unless I'm mistaken," turning to J.J., Desmond asked, "are you employed here? You're not wearing your Paragon Industries i.d."

The other men in the high tech armor backed off, disengaging their armor at the same time until the nanites had dismantled the whole thing and shrunk it down to negligible size. Desmond, meanwhile, was looking at the drone. "What do we have here? Is this one of ours?"

Just when Oats had nearly settled in amongst JJ's things, she was abruptly lifted out of the bag and into a metallic palm with a ringing clang. Startled by the sudden movement, she panicked and began shrieking a few dozen decibels above a human's range before engaging in the robotic equivalent of a breath exercise.

One, and zero. One, and zero. One, and zero. Phew.

Having taken a bit of time to purge some of the terror she'd felt from her system and regain her composure, she began examining the situation more closely, and found, happily, that trusting JJ had been a good idea. He'd convinced the guy with the big hands not to crush her, quelled the whole bomb issue, and even identified her, removing any further inconveniences she might have regarding entry- the guy really knew how to take care of a crisis!

The dude with the massive paws still seemed to be questioning JJ, though, despite his giving what she thought was a great explanation. Seemed rather inconsequential, though, so she figured she could wish Mr. JJ luck, leave them to it, and hop back in the sack for some rest.

Or try to, anyway. She was still glued to the robot's palm, so what she'd expected to be a jump followed by a whump came out as a squeak of metal on metal. She sighed. Seemed she'd be hanging here for a while.