Whatever 'Doctor Von Orwell' may consider to be a home, or at least a secret lair, there was a message waiting for him. Specifically, this one.
To Whom It May Concern,
[You backstabbing little weasel/Valued applicant to our contest]: We [regret/are happy] to inform you that [nuclear missiles are locked onto your face/your application is accepted]! You should be expecting [eminent doom/a care package] sometime in the immediate future. We look forwards to [the greasy spot where you used to be/working with you].
[Die in a fire/thank you for your attention]
He'd better hope he reads fast. Because, approximately fifteen seconds later, a missile plows into his roof and deposits itself near him.
Shaking the debris off of himself and his extremely-stained formerly-white labcoat, the good doctor and completely legitimate scientist, whatever those hacks at the academy might choose to in their foolish lack-of-sight believe, opened the hand that he had reflexively closed as soon as he heard the crash, dropping the now crumpled letter that he had read and processed in a good ten seconds - quick thinking and faster reflexes are important when you're on the cutting edge of technology, involved in explosively growing fields, and lacking even the most basic grasp of metaphorical statements, after all - and sighed at the destruction of yet another greenhouse. Comforting himself that at least this time it was the fault of the harbinger of greatness instead of the shortsightedness of the often rash communities that for some reason are too afraid of carnivorous almost mobile plants for their own good, he decided that it was probably time to move to a new location anyway. He carefully made his way around a semi-collapsed table full of Red-Leafed Snapping Creepers that were probably not going to be able to make it to a fertile spot of soil from which to root and terrorize the surrounding community for decades to come, Doctor Von Orwell picked his way over to the missile and examined it for hatches, latches, or removable covers.
"Vell vell, Vhat have ve here?"
The missile... Simply explodes. Mind, all the bits vaporize before they hit anything. And out rolls a... Hunk of metal. With an optical port and several antennae. It slowly starts to rise in repulsing engines. And then it looks around.
"Vell, that vas hardly unexpected," Von Orwell commented to the air as he brushed yet another layer of debris off of his slender figure. Taking out a small pair of spectacles from his coat pocket, he holds them in front of his eyes and peers at the robot that emerged from the delivery missile, and starts musing to himself.
"I haven't heard that particular repulsion vhine since... Old Professor Hibberts ticked off Nemesis Inc, about three years ago. I seem to recall he was trying to compete with one of their distributional centers or something like that, and next thing there was a smoking crater where his lab used to be. Voke me up that night, I know, and I never did see Roberts after that either."
Carefully backing away from the robot once it starts to fully unfold, Von Orwell carefully keeps his hands in plain sight, certain that the robot is both fully aware that he has a set of spring-loaded syringe-based delivery systems up his sleeve, and that he otherwise is very incapable of stopping a robot - if this is the BrotherBot he was expecting, then his weaponry is already known, and if it isn't then it's for some new force, since all of Von Orwell's known foes are either rogue experiments from within his greenhouse labs, competing scientists on the quest for not-dubiously-obtained-at-all knowledge, or arrogant fools with hero complexes and all-too-organic bodies.
It does seem to be the Brotherbot. After all, it's stamped on the side of the floating eyebot. The thing looks around for a moment before turning to Orwell. And, in a cheery but robotic voice...
"Hello! I am your designated Brotherbot. My designation is B4574RD. What shall we do today?"
"Today, ve shall... leave this greenhouse. Ve must pack up those materials," and here Orwell points at a small pile of metal cases, "and load them into my minivan."
Von Orwell knows, and thus he suspects that the Brotherbot will know, that the corporation that owns this greenhouse did not actually know or condone of Von Orwell's use of it, and that he will have only a few more minutes before security arrives. Of course, those security forces are unlikely to be prepared for syringe launchers loaded with knockout drugs, mobile plants that have nasty tempers, or extremely quick and explosively growing packets of roses with extra large thorns and poppies that were based on a movie.
Still, Von Orwell knows that he cannot rely on the element of surprise. Hefting one of the lighter cases, he starts making his way towards the parking lot, where his red minivan is parked. "Ah, B-4-5-7-4-R-D, if you vould be able to move the rest of that pile into the back of my vehicle, then I vill explain the rest of vhat ve are to do today on the vay over."
The Brotherbot looks at the cases for a moment. There's a few clicks, as if there's a camera taking pictures. Which, of course, is exactly the case.
"I can use the Anti-Ray to lift them on the 'anti-gravity' setting. Live Tech takes no responsibility if the Anti-Ray is accidentally set to 'anti-matter' prior to use."
"Vhat's life vithout a little risk? Would you kindly make it so."
Orwell knows that there's nothing in those cases that cannot be replaced, even if it may take time, effort, funding, and, in the case of the metallic grey case on the bottom of the pile, an expedition deep into the lair of an old enemy.
But now is not the time for ruminations, and the good doctor knows it. Hurrying to his vehicle, he digs around in his pocket for the keys, then opens the doors. All of the interior seats have been removed, and a small hydroponics setup takes up the space where the seat directly behind the driver's seat used to be. The plants inside perk up noticably when the door opens. "Ah, my beauties, there's nothing to vorry about. We're just going to be taking a little trip." He turns around to check the progress of the Brotherbot, and looks around some more to ensure that the guards haven't shown up yet. "Just place the cases in the back there, and ve'll be off."
The brotherbot, in this case, has lifted the case and places them in the back of the car. By 'placing them', we mean 'drops them with a fair amount of force'.
At this point, there's some sort of pursuit. Some people yelling and a general ruckus being made. The bot simply sits there, awaiting orders. Or requests. Or a musical dance number.
Van Orwell winces slightly when the case crashes down, but seeing that it hasn't split open he relaxes slightly, seemingly uncaring about the ruckus in the background. Lucky thing I've ensured my van can withstand that punishment.
Getting into the driver's seat of his vehicle, he throws out a question to the Brotherbot: "Can you keep up with a car going at the maximum speed?" He starts the car and pulls a large belt-fed syringe launcher filled with a bubbling green liquid out of the glove compartment, but waits to smash the accelerator down and speed past/through those in the way of the exit until he hears the answer.
"Very vell then." Closing the door and opening the sunroof, Orwell shouts up, "I'll explain on the road vhat ve'll be after in the short term!" as he mashes down the accellerator and straight towards the exit from the greenhouse compound. "Let's see if I've still got it." he mumbles to himself as he he keeps one hand on the steering wheel and one on his launcher, barreling towards the gate that he plans to smash on through.
"Humph. Zose... are new. B-four-Five-seven-four-R-D, vould you fire you anti-matter beam at ze gate?"
Still, he doesn't let up on the acceleration; Orwell knows from experience that it'll take more than two SUVs to bring him down. And, he always could resort to the little red button. And speaking of the button... "I hope you insurance covers Acts of Science!" he screams as he triggers the release of the particularly playful -and sharp- rose-derived plants from greenhouse three.
"That'll vork, but it needs more time!" Orwell mutters under his breath. Hoping that the released creatures will distract the guards for long enough, he slams the brakes and shifts to reverse, then accellerates back to both build up time for either the ray to switch or raise the gate high enough to not matter, and to allow him to build up more speed.
There's some screams from behind him. The ray... Simply floats. It doesn't float up. It just floats there. Luckily, there's no cars behind him right now.
"Hmph. Vell, if zat is ze hand I am dealt..." Orwell guns it. He accelerates straight towards the floating gate. As the accelerometer creeps upwards towards the maximum, which in this car has helpfully been labelled 'Ramming Speed', Von Orwell grins maniacally and slams the red button. With the gate floating and the button pushed, he thinks that either he'll end up pushing a heavy gate ahead of him as he blindly charges down the road, or it'll spin around the horizontal axis as he passes through, leaving a spinning gate of doom for those who try pursuit for as long as it is within range of the Brotherbot. And either way, it's fine with him.
Upon impact with the gate, the gate spins, and smacks his car on the rear end. This cuts off most of the pursuit. Though he can hear helicopters getting close.
Aww, they think they can stop me with the whirlybirds. How cute.
The good doctor guns it, accellerating ever closer towards the maximum speed his vehicle can handle as the gate spins behind him, rushing down the tree-lined road towards the building that is his goal. He quickly shouts up to the robot attached to his car wha the needs to do: "Zere is a company, just outzide ze city borders, and zat company is a biotech firm. Not nearly as good as I, but. vell, they haf more people, and in mass enough people can pull together. Zey haf created a bacterial agent zat can convert ordinary building supplies to high octane oil. It is kept in zier vaults. I must acquire a sample, zen get zat sample to ze corporate headquarters ov a particular company - you haf files, I'm sure you know vich one - but now, ve must escape zese birds."
"Ze whirlybirds. Helicopters. Such a painf to avoid, but needs must."
Seeing the shiny odd thing in the distance, the good doktor dares to take his eyes off the empty road for a split second to gaze in curiosity,trying to see if he can identify what the likely metallic thing is, and whether he should drive on or come to a screeching halt.
Staring straight down the barrel of the tanks and resolutely not looking at the explosion behind him, as befits a true man, the good doctor waits for one second... two se--- hard right, off the road. As he leaves the asphalt and begins to drive on dirt and grass madly avoiding the odd tree, he flips another button and the contents of the back of the van are ejected behind him. "Live, my beauties! Live, and spread!" He yells not at all madly, in the manner of a completely sane person, and if the tendrils of the plants that fall out the back seem to wave, well, it could just be the wind. Maybe. "And now that zey are safe..." he mumbles, as he turns his attention back to the tanks, attempting to drive faster than their turrets can turn.
It's going to be rather hard to outrun the tanks. But the tanks seem to be stuck staring at the plants. There's a few seconds wait before there's another explosion behind them. A more ready boom. Like cannon fire.
He'd better hope he reads fast. Because, approximately fifteen seconds later, a missile plows into his roof and deposits itself near him.
My helpdesk should you need me.
"Vell vell, Vhat have ve here?"
And thus do empires and settlements fall
My helpdesk should you need me.
"I haven't heard that particular repulsion vhine since... Old Professor Hibberts ticked off Nemesis Inc, about three years ago. I seem to recall he was trying to compete with one of their distributional centers or something like that, and next thing there was a smoking crater where his lab used to be. Voke me up that night, I know, and I never did see Roberts after that either."
Carefully backing away from the robot once it starts to fully unfold, Von Orwell carefully keeps his hands in plain sight, certain that the robot is both fully aware that he has a set of spring-loaded syringe-based delivery systems up his sleeve, and that he otherwise is very incapable of stopping a robot - if this is the BrotherBot he was expecting, then his weaponry is already known, and if it isn't then it's for some new force, since all of Von Orwell's known foes are either rogue experiments from within his greenhouse labs, competing scientists on the quest for not-dubiously-obtained-at-all knowledge, or arrogant fools with hero complexes and all-too-organic bodies.
And thus do empires and settlements fall
"Hello! I am your designated Brotherbot. My designation is B4574RD. What shall we do today?"
My helpdesk should you need me.
Von Orwell knows, and thus he suspects that the Brotherbot will know, that the corporation that owns this greenhouse did not actually know or condone of Von Orwell's use of it, and that he will have only a few more minutes before security arrives. Of course, those security forces are unlikely to be prepared for syringe launchers loaded with knockout drugs, mobile plants that have nasty tempers, or extremely quick and explosively growing packets of roses with extra large thorns and poppies that were based on a movie.
Still, Von Orwell knows that he cannot rely on the element of surprise. Hefting one of the lighter cases, he starts making his way towards the parking lot, where his red minivan is parked. "Ah, B-4-5-7-4-R-D, if you vould be able to move the rest of that pile into the back of my vehicle, then I vill explain the rest of vhat ve are to do today on the vay over."
And thus do empires and settlements fall
"I can use the Anti-Ray to lift them on the 'anti-gravity' setting. Live Tech takes no responsibility if the Anti-Ray is accidentally set to 'anti-matter' prior to use."
My helpdesk should you need me.
Orwell knows that there's nothing in those cases that cannot be replaced, even if it may take time, effort, funding, and, in the case of the metallic grey case on the bottom of the pile, an expedition deep into the lair of an old enemy.
But now is not the time for ruminations, and the good doctor knows it. Hurrying to his vehicle, he digs around in his pocket for the keys, then opens the doors. All of the interior seats have been removed, and a small hydroponics setup takes up the space where the seat directly behind the driver's seat used to be. The plants inside perk up noticably when the door opens. "Ah, my beauties, there's nothing to vorry about. We're just going to be taking a little trip." He turns around to check the progress of the Brotherbot, and looks around some more to ensure that the guards haven't shown up yet. "Just place the cases in the back there, and ve'll be off."
And thus do empires and settlements fall
At this point, there's some sort of pursuit. Some people yelling and a general ruckus being made. The bot simply sits there, awaiting orders. Or requests. Or a musical dance number.
My helpdesk should you need me.
Getting into the driver's seat of his vehicle, he throws out a question to the Brotherbot: "Can you keep up with a car going at the maximum speed?" He starts the car and pulls a large belt-fed syringe launcher filled with a bubbling green liquid out of the glove compartment, but waits to smash the accelerator down and speed past/through those in the way of the exit until he hears the answer.
And thus do empires and settlements fall
"The Live Tech Brotherbot has many modern day enhancements, including metal-to-metal annealing."
The ruckus gets closer. There's pursuit. On the way.
My helpdesk should you need me.
And thus do empires and settlements fall
My helpdesk should you need me.
Still, he doesn't let up on the acceleration; Orwell knows from experience that it'll take more than two SUVs to bring him down. And, he always could resort to the little red button. And speaking of the button... "I hope you insurance covers Acts of Science!" he screams as he triggers the release of the particularly playful -and sharp- rose-derived plants from greenhouse three.
And thus do empires and settlements fall
My helpdesk should you need me.
And thus do empires and settlements fall
My helpdesk should you need me.
And thus do empires and settlements fall
My helpdesk should you need me.
The good doctor guns it, accellerating ever closer towards the maximum speed his vehicle can handle as the gate spins behind him, rushing down the tree-lined road towards the building that is his goal. He quickly shouts up to the robot attached to his car wha the needs to do: "Zere is a company, just outzide ze city borders, and zat company is a biotech firm. Not nearly as good as I, but. vell, they haf more people, and in mass enough people can pull together. Zey haf created a bacterial agent zat can convert ordinary building supplies to high octane oil. It is kept in zier vaults. I must acquire a sample, zen get zat sample to ze corporate headquarters ov a particular company - you haf files, I'm sure you know vich one - but now, ve must escape zese birds."
And thus do empires and settlements fall
From above, the robot responds, "I see no birds."
My helpdesk should you need me.
Seeing the shiny odd thing in the distance, the good doktor dares to take his eyes off the empty road for a split second to gaze in curiosity,trying to see if he can identify what the likely metallic thing is, and whether he should drive on or come to a screeching halt.
And thus do empires and settlements fall
"Helicopters. Flying vehicles that rely on vertically-mounted rotor blades to maintain lift. One moment."
One moment later, they're the sound of an explosion behind them.
My helpdesk should you need me.
And thus do empires and settlements fall
My helpdesk should you need me.