The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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IamLEAM1983
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The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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Late May's sun shone brightly on Holden Hall, Bagley's awareness of the premises awash in a comfortable summertime glow. The main hallway only partially allowed for sounds coming from deeper within to reach the front, as only the placid tick-tock of two perfectly synchronized grandfather clocks could immediately be heard. The smoking lounge straight ahead was empty, and the entire West wing had been locked shut weeks ago. With their team being so small and air conditioning bills for the Hall having always been significant, Archie had wisely chosen to seal off part of the building. They'd see about sprucing those dormant rooms and corridors up once they'd have funds to spare. The Shield Act was still young and so was 2025, so it stood to reason that neither City Hall or Wyvern Securities saw it as being in their best interests to offer no-holds-barred financing.

They'd build confidence, first. You didn't solve a city's problems by throwing billions at its infrastructure. You test-drove your solution a first few times.

The East wing, however, was the seat of a dispersed amount of activity. Most of the rooms that had been used as exhibition floors had been re-converted into salons, waiting areas and offices. One of the three ways down to the basement at the very tip of the wing led down to Bucky's private dojo (which he preferred to call a workshop, judging by the amount of concrete blocks and two-by-fours he cut in half). Off to the side of that room was was a corridor that connected it and another room - Sir Percy's mandated sparring practice ring.

The gruff could only have been called an anthro goat in the most generous sense of the term. Approaching seven feet tall and layered in successive slabs of muscle that seemed more intimidating than harmonious, his bisected cloven hooves continuously clanked against the concrete floor, his cold iron horseshoes sending little sparks flying as he circled the young man. All the same, his massive horns and face managed to look merely stern and to project an air of innate nobility. As usual, he wore a dark green sleeveless quilted shirt, the edges of a short-sleeved chain-mail suit poking from underneath it. Suit-cut leather pants covered his legs, while the scabbard for his claymore, Vigilance, stood out in thicker, darker leather against his back. At his right shoulder waited a complex silver brooch in the shape of a tree, which held up his eternally present cape of a deep, dark red hue.

"How art thou to alternate between thine firearms and sword if thou showest fear at the thought of wielding it?" opposed Percival of Evergloam to Aidan's expressed doubts. "Nothing comes without pain, soldier. Nothing comes without effort. I hath forged thine blade to withstand weapons of Faerie make, including Vigilance. Thine reluctance shames my craft."

Nervously, the human kept his eyes on the large blade the gruff's three-fingered hand held up without the least bit of effort. "Well, excuse me for thinking this thing is fucking huge! I get that I'm supposed to parry that blow; but you gave me a bastard sword. There's no way I can meet your torque with mine. If anything, I'll break my arms if I try!"

The gruff produced a low, rumbling sound that felt like a bleat's annoyed, actually scary relative. "Wouldst thou use an exosuit, then? The Black dragon will not appreciate being told of thine need for police property. He was promised complete autonomy.
- N-No," nervously replied Drake. "I've seen enough of Aldergard for the next year, I think. You're just - marginally less scary."

Percival laughed. It was a joyless, pitiless sound. Aidan knew he felt like a waste of time for the gruff - nearly everyone else had twice as much potential as he did. They could've drafted Wyldfae and a few Sidhe from Evergloam's guard detail, but the mayor had been specific about there being a mundane in the ranks. Upon seeing Aidan's service record, he'd insisted the discharged soldier be put on weapons detail and made to train the others in the use of firearms. That was one thing. That was something he could manage.

But - fencing? With Medieval weaponry?!

"Then use thine gifts, soldier-whelp. Cast aside thine fears and steady your arms further. I may have patience, I may yet watch your skills grow and your arms thicken - but thine enemies will not. They shall cleave thou in twain as soon as cross thine gaze!
- I showed you, for God's sake! I can't lift more than a quarter!"

Another sigh. "Hast thou persisted in the roane's offered exercises?
- Well, I didn't find much time last week, see, and I was up to my neck in paperwork, and-"

Without preamble, Percival went from being totally relaxed to bringing his weapon down on Three's head with a howl. Drake's neck tingled, and something snapped into place, somewhere inside. He raised his arms at the right angle, as practised, and felt himself seize upon the notion that Vigilance's weight was something he could grasp. Something he could safely catch, even. Eyes on the incoming blade, in that split-second before the impact, he cushioned the air, briefly knowing exactly what to do despite his lack of conscious understanding. The blade was deflected by the smallest of margins, but this, coupled with his own forward motion, made the bigger blade glance across the much smaller one and miss the young man entirely.

Then, as conscious thought rushed back into his mind, Three found himself panting. "Holy - Holy fuck! I just did that, didn't I?
- Aye," agreed the gruff. "Thou couldst do much more if thou learned to accept thine abilities. I care not what witchcraft from the Near East hath blessed thou with Kinesis, thou of formerly mundane stock. I only care that thou knowst how to wield it."

That made Three thoughtful. "Any word on Doctor X?" he asked, this being the placeholder he'd given to the shadowy man he only vaguely remembered and whom he could only assume stood at the source of his telekinetic abilities. Percy grunted in response.

"Thine mortal government's concerns do not meet with yours, unfortunately. Lord Holden hath attempted renewal of communications. He is seen as - old. Antiquated. Quaint. Ineffective by the standards of mortalkind's augmentation technologies. A foolish assertion, that."

Drake sighed and turned away to briefly focus on returning his blade to its still destabilizing and nonexistent "sheath", behind his back. Held up by forces he didn't quite understand, the blade briefly grew warm, shone brightly, and then seemed to recede underneath his wife beater. Three's bastard sword was essentially stored in his own being, channelled into availability by a tattoo of Fae design he could still feel tingling between his shoulder blades. Determined to make everyone's skills complement one another, Archie had commissioned the design from Detective Benson of the HPD and then given it to Aislinn McConmara, for her to execute. Similarly, Three's inner wrists had received tattoos representing minuscule pistols, essentially binding a pair of HK USP Match-5s to his very being in a similar manner. The loading mechanism being of Karthian make, the only sizable advantage Drake had found to them was that reloading them mid-fight would never be a concern. Shaving minuscule shards of ablative matter from a core block for each shot, each pistol could fire about a hundred shots before requiring a core block replacement.

The end result was that Aidan only needed to focus on the ethereal, diffuse sensation of his weaponry's presence and weight in the appropriate spot of his body, and they'd spring into being. The first few weeks with his pistol tattoos had been troublesome, as he'd always felt them pressed against the palm of his hand, his index finger always close to threading on a trigger that wasn't actually there. It made forcing himself to type out sentences at the computer a bit of a chore. That, overall, had been much more familiar to him than the sword, however.

Three sighed and picked up a discarded towel to wipe at his face. "I'm heading upstairs," he said. "Archie said he was prepping a briefing and I need a shower. I think he'll balk if he sees me in sweatpants, anyway."

The gruff grunted in assent and bowed down, hunching his shoulders together to pass through the doorframe.

***

True to himself, Archie hadn't touched his office's computer since its arrival. He did everything on paper and by hand, stubbornly refusing to even consider using his old smoking room the way it had been recently prepared for. Bagley's hardware had been upgraded in the room, in order to include a high-quality wall projector with motion-sensing and recognition capabilities. The plan was to use one of the four walls of the room as a sort of whiteboard - but the Clank wasn't too hot on disturbing the comfortably musty space. The fireplace in that room, the exuded heat - they both allowed him to comfortably doze off. Instead, he'd simply call for an assembly, there, take to his seat and have a few hand-made copies of the police reports' salient facts passed around.

Shamus, seeing him prepare himself in that matter, lowered his head into the doorframe and knocked on it a few times.

"Yes, Shamus?
- Y'know, we just got something really nifty along with the soda machines in the old servants' kitchen. It's called a photocopier, see? You slot one page in, select how many copies you want and just let it happen! Oh, speaking of - there's this thing called mooning where you stick yer butt on that machine and pass around copies o' yer-
- Yes, I'm sure it's all very fascinating," dismissively replied the Clank's clearly accented, yet slightly tinny voice. "Understand, the lads have deserved a bout of celebration - of that I am well aware of - but mister Kuhn is expecting clear results within the week. Today is Thursday, Shamus. There is precious little time to waste!"

Bucky scoffed dismissively. "I tell ya, I'd like to have that old goon right here, in front of me. I'd tell him to stick his scaly ass to work getting us more recruits - not sit there like a fuckin' tycoon, waitin' for some sacrosanct results to come outta' this whole thing! Do you honestly think the kids are just gonna get out there, bust a couple perps and ride back in?!
- Well, something must be done, old bean. They have seen enough simulations in closed-off parking lots, they know the tools of our trade, they know which divisions to call in the case of technical work being required - we cannot wait much longer. Several precincts are already expressing contempt for our initiative - the last thing I wish to see is a bloodbath, during which a few squad cars ran by ungrateful pissants show up several minutes too late! Relationships between Shield and the mundane force must be established. One does not simply acquire notoriety and situational acumen by having paintball matches!"

Wallace grunted dismissively, the exhaust pipes threaded through his helmet's rim letting out a corresponding annoyed peal of steam. "Whatever, boss-man. Just get your papers ready before the kids get cold feet."
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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Ciaran had passed through the gates that Bagley guarded and parked his motorbike in the appropriate place. He then walked up the steps and entered Holden Hall. While he had been put through training along with the others, the whole Shield Act still felt surreal. They had yet to be put through the ringer, so he had no real idea of what to expect. Simulations only went so far. In a way, his previous job as a dockworker felt peaceful, whereas this felt like jumping into the deep end of the pool.

The selkie man first searched in the libraries to see if he could find anybody. Finding no one there, he found his way to the clank's office. Ciaran discreetly shook his head at the sight of the man writing his hand-outs with a pen. Why hadn't he used a typewriter? It still would have been antiquated, but it was faster than writing with an ink pen.

He then looked up at the much taller automaton. "Hey, Bucky," he said.
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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Bucky looked down to Ciaran. "Hey, buddy," he replied. "Looks like today's our big day, huh? First big case."

He paused and gave Archie a look. "Y'oughta hire a stenographer if that's how you wanna do it, Archie.
- Do be quiet," replied the British Clank with a tone that suggested as much annoyance as it did a sliver of amusement. "I've almost finished, in any case."

The kitaiteki shrugged. "Anyway, the lowdown's that there's been some weird-ass murders around town. They don't look like anything we could peg on humans, anthros, therios or supes, so nobody's called in Special Response yet. Plus - no targets. Fat load o' good exosuits are gonna do ya if you don't know who to hit at with. Supernaturals division is already on the case; they've crated a couple pieces of evidence and FedExed 'em our way early this morning."

Archie looked up at Shamus, his pen stopping. "You've gone and spoiled my work, Wallace. I take offence at this - this was to be a very thorough summation of the last several months' worth of homicides!"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Dead bodies; s'all the same anyway."

The samurai dipped a hand in one of the cardboard boxes that had been placed on Archie's desk, pulling out a curious object bagged in police-issue sealed cellophane. It was a long brass spindle, in some ways reminiscent of Archie's own key, but their rather blitzed studies of Clank anatomy would allow Ciaran to at least immediately recognize this as being anything but a key. It was a Tweaking device, an implement used to purposefully jam certain cogs and over-crank certain springs. Self-stimulation was a diverse, yet costly art for automatons, and it usually ran directly alongside with the lasting human and vampire groups' occasional predilection for BDSM.

"As far as we know," Bucky summarized, "all the victims were Clanks who'd bought something like this - one model or another, dependin' on their make and model - or known partners or romantic interests for Clanks. The fleshy ones had one of these, in some cases..."

He then pulled out another sealed object, this one being an ornate-looking cubic puzzle box. The details, however, were like nothing Ciaran would've ever seen before, and the inscriptions on each face of the cube had oddly and faintly nauseating qualities - as if fixating on them for too long would be liable to mess with your mind.

Wallace coughed. "Uh - yeah. Note says we ain't s'posed to look at the inscriptions directly. We can stare at their reflection just fine and try and correlate 'em with whatever Arch and I might've picked up in our adventure days, but..."

He gave the box a look. "I'm drawing a blank, here. We saw spooky shit in the Cooks, the Fiji, Micronesia, South Pacific dots o' land in the middle of nowhere - but this is new. At least to me, it is."
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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The door to the library opened quietly, and shut again with just as much care. The person slipping into the room was trying to do so unobtrusively, and what a job *that* was. Tam Zainall was almost seven feet tall barefoot, and even the practical soles on the boots she wore neatly rounded out the number, leaving her trying not to attract attention while standing head and shoulders above the crowd and looking bluer than her denim jacket, too.

She took a moment to fiddle with an earring, looking straight to the clanks who were demonstrating the meeting's subject. She still wasn't nearly comfortable with this whole thing yet, having been hired on as a mechanical consultant outside of her regular gig, and then laterally 'promoted' once it was witnessed what she could do with boots and a tire-iron when threatened. Efficient and effective violence that stopped short of chargeable murder and/or permanent disability, she could understand wanting that. But why they would push for her to be some kind of *agent* and investigator, that was where it broke down and fused in her head.

Still, they were paying, and training in ways she couldn't turn down. She'd been partway through what the others had already completed, and was still working on it in her off-time while SHIELD's previous recruits surged on ahead, and so hadn't gotten to know them well yet.
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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Archie looked up and beamed in his usually restrained and faultlessly polite manner. "Ah, miss Zainall! So good of you to join us! I had prepared a small assembly of the pertinent details for what is to be your first assignment, but it seems as though my inestimable colleague thinks it more worthwhile to seed doubt into unprepared minds..."

He stood up, rounded his desk and took the sealed cube from Bucky, gently opening the seal and reaching in with one of his seemingly perpetually gloved hands. Out came the cube, which he handed to the Drifter.

"Your task, should you choose to accept it, will be to peruse both our available resources and the Trismegistus Institute's in the hopes of finding a device or some sort of link between this object and something we could at least factually identify. In doing so, you will be called to disassemble it as carefully as your knowledge allows you to, and to test this puzzle box in a controlled environment. Matthias d'Aubignier has already been contacted, and the Institute stands willing to give you access to its robotic arms and Danger Room, in case this object confirms its Eldritch nature."

Tam obviously wasn't a mage, but she'd received a rather extensive primer on automatons as part of her training. This, coupled with her own affinity for engineering, would allow her to disregard any potential arcane nature and instead, to focus on the factual operation of the device. This was where the Institute's Danger Room came useful. Designed much like the isolation room in which actively irradiating agents were stored during manipulation, Tam would count on being able to indirectly manipulate the box thanks to a fairly advanced set of motion control arm-length gloves.

This way, if the device ended up being a bloodsucking or soul-stealing mechanical horror, its intended effects wouldn't find any sources to tap into. The robot arms would be doing the direct manipulation, while she'd be working on the robot's audiovisual and tactile feed from the other side of the building.
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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Ciaran grimaced and grunted softly. "We selkies try to avoid the Pacific Ocean, if at all possible. There's stuff there you don't want to see or stuff that'll just plain end your life." He glanced briefly at the ornate box and then back at Archie and Bucky. "This might have no relation at all to our case, but it reminds me of the stories that are handed down of the squid men's language. The sound of it will make you lose your mind as it can't be uttered or withstood by any natural thing. I mean, there might be some ties between the spindle and the box, but they're probably distant ties. Squid men like to remain hidden. Whoever's behind these murders might be associated with the squids' masters," he surmised.
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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Archie glanced at Ciaran, eyebrow arched in curiosity. "Squid men, you say? This may simply coincidence or old Polynesian wives' tales, but I do recall a few distinctly terrorized islanders mentioning their closest neighbours being somewhat - touched, one could say. Research has shown me that these dots of land are currently havens for mercenaries of the worst sort - but I fail to see what a wide-eyed modern-day pirate spouting gibberish whilst toting a Russian rifle from a century ago could possibly hope to do with this," he said, eyeing the box.

Still, he shrugged. "This will merit some looking-into, of that much I am certain."
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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"Put it in the thing, I'll take a look at it," Tam said, squinting at it. The little- patterns, on the tiles made her head swim- but if she could look past them, she could maybe get a look at what kind of puzzle it was.
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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Archie gave a good-natured scoff, reinserted the cube into its shipping box and paused long enough to slip a little business card on top.

"I'm afraid the thing is not in the Hall, my dear," he said, correcting her. The card displayed the Trismegistus Institute's contact number and address, along with today's date and a time window. Apparently, the Institute's testing apparatus would be hers to use between 9 AM this morning and 6 PM.

"Monsieur d'Aubignier is already expecting you," added the Clank, "and so are his staff. I've seen to it that you are to have a workbench and all appropriate watchmaking or clockwork-related tools at your disposal."
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Re: The Toy-Maker's Dilemma

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Tam refrained from an eye-roll. Of course the thing wasn't here, but apparently either sarcasm was lost on the old-fashioned clank or he thought her simple. She reached out and gently took the box, settling it firmly in the crook of her arm.

"Anything else here, or can I get to cracking this puzzle-toy?"
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