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  • Results 1 to 4 of 4

    1. #1
      Old Bastard

      Join Date
      Mar 2006
      AL Points

      [Russia] Own the Means of Production

      “Alright Joe, I want you to charge as much energy into the moissanite as you can.”

      “Yeah, I got you, hold on.” Joseph replied.

      Joseph looked down at the lump of rock with all its attached monitoring equipment and placed the palm of his hand on it top. Invisible power coursed from a metallic spine that served as the focal point for his HEAS and an additional storage bank for his power. Two researchers sat behind an insulated barrier and watched in amazement. Within seconds, Joseph had managed to store over a terawatt of power into the mineral.

      “Okay, stop. We need to measure how long it can hold the power. ” Turning to his colleague the same scientist said: “Activate the Sagan Wave generator and focus it over the moissanite.”

      “Done.” The other replied.

      “You can go Joseph; we’ll let you know how well this goes.”

      -A Few hours later-

      Joseph was exhausted, he had spent hours performing tests on different metals for optimal use with the Sagan Wave, all for some plan that the leader of the institute, Michael Forsyth, had planned. In the last few months, since becoming rich from the HEAS, Mike had sort of become the mad scientist of fiction. He was by no means as bumbling or incompetent like aforementioned scientists but he was always planning something and apparently this recent one would set the institute the history books.

      Almost as soon as Joe closed his eyes to sleep the intercom in his room crackled on and lo and behold it was the voice of Forsyth: “Joseph can you come to my office, it is important.”

      It was always important, Joe thought to himself.

      -Ten minutes later-

      Joe opened the door to Mike’s office and was instantly greeted with a smile.

      “Joseph! Come in, come in. Take a seat.”

      Forsyth kept talking as his human Sagan Wave did so.

      “So I thought I wouldd deliver the results of the tests that you did earlier in person. Like I thought the pure moissanite held the charge you provided the longest but required more time under the Sagan Wave than the other samples did. However, it began to create more charge on its own after about an hour, making it essentially a continuous generator of clean energy.”
      Joseph was no scientist but after almost a year of working with Forsyth and his team he was beginning to understand all this stuff a lot more than he used to.

      “That is amazing, Mike.”

      “Yes it is, but at the same time the energy wasn’t being used so it had time to recharge itself. That is not reason I called though. I brought you up here to tell you about the brilliant plan I have been working on. As you have seen on the news, America is having quite the shake-up in political powers which may end up being bad for business, so I am moving the institute to a different country. Everything is being packed and moved to Russia.”

      “Why Russia?” Joseph asked.

      “Because of Putin’s desire to make the country run clean energy and the fact that they have a massive amount of nuclear power generators that we can use instead of having you drain your body to charge our samples.”

      “So you won’t need me anymore?”

      Forsyth shook his head and said: “You are coming with us your powers are still unique and we will need you to help manage to the power required to charge everything up. Trust me, Joseph, I would not be where I am without you; I am not going to drop you off on the curb and say goodbye because you proved my latest theory.”

      Joe nodded, allowing the professor to go on.

      “Anyway, this is not going to be easy. I doubt Putin will just allow a group of Americans to come and shake up his entire country but we are going to have manage it somehow. That is where you come in, you can use your abilities to show the President what the Sagan Wave is capable of and if he does not respond to that, well we will have to get creative. Simply put, this is going to happen in any way possible. We leave tomorrow morning, I have two planes set up, one for the supplies we are taking and one for our personnel. Go get your stuff ready and then go down to the HEAS lab, they have a modified system that you can wear underneath a business suit.”

      “Alright, see you tomorrow, Mike.”

      Joseph got up and headed back to his room, rather curious about how tomorrow was going to go down and how creative he would have to get with Putin.

      -Twenty-two hours later, Moscow, Russia-

      “Son of a bitch it’s cold.” Joseph blurted out while pulling a parka over his suit jacket. He could feel the extra weight of the coat push against his spine implant, successfully reminding him of how awkward the device was.

      “It is Russia. Of course it is cold.” Forsyth replied in between breathing into his hands, despite them being gloved. Turning to his hired crew he said: “See those trucks? That is where the cargo is going. The drivers know where to go. Joseph and I have a meeting with President Putin.”

      The crew nodded and Mike picked up his briefcase and signaled Joseph to follow him. Two Russian soldiers fell into line next two them and escorted them to a car that would take the men to the Kremlin.

    2. #2

      Re: Own the Means of Production

      (OOC: Felt that this thread deserved a bit of lovin', so I hope no one minds if I jump into the mix. One good mad scientist deserves another, after all. ^_^ Feel free to turn this into a spar or an RP, whatever you'd prefer.)

      MeGaLoVania - Clash with a Doctor Mix
      by Namikin

      In Soviet Russia, the cold feels you. That was how it seemed to most people anyway, doubly so for foreigners unfortunate enough to visit during wintertime. The chill in the air seemed to reach up into even heavy coats and have its wicked way with trembling skin, tinting blue with its caress what was supposed to be flush and absolutely ravaging any exposed skin. It was like a thing alive, an invisible hydra of countless heads wrapping tendrils of frigid death slowly but surely around every living thing. Not many could stand up to the fierce love that Russian winter freely poured out... no wonder the rest of the world thought the Russians were crazy to stay.

      He shifted his coat, pulling loose straps tight so they didn't flap around so much. He didn't feel the cold so much as acknowledge it -- to the Traveler it was just another fact of his surroundings, like the gently falling snow or the colorful domes atop various buildings that gave them the look of swirled ice cream towers. It was there, suffusing the air around him just as much as anyone else... it just simply didn't have a "hold" on him. No skin, no meat, no blood -- to make the Traveler feel cold would be like expecting a rock to recite Shakespeare. The wind whipped feverishly at the straps of his faintly glowing goggles, a paper-thin white scarf, and the edges of a long dark overcoat, but that was only to be expected when standing on the top of a tower twelve stories tall. The view from so high up was fairly dramatic, allowing an observer to see straight across Red Square to the very walls of the Kremlin with no difficulty. The Traveler checked his watch, shaking off a thin layer of snow glittering on the home made timepiece. If the intel was good then a certain band of scientists -- researchers on the curious new Sagan Wave development -- would be sending their equipment through here shortly in unmarked trucks. The Sagan Wave... everything he'd read about it since being reborn into this would suggested it had tremendous potential.

      The entity known as the Traveler wasn't usually the kind to go about raiding caravans or similarly theatrical thievery... but knowledge about the Sagan Wave was just too tempting of a target.

      The trucks came into view down below. It was time. Moving with a sense of urgency the strange phantasm-man ran towards the edge of the roof... and jumped off, pushing a button on the side of the watch as he did so. On his back a curious bundle rapidly unfurled as he fell, whirling and spinning for precious moments before taking shape. It was a winged metal glider in the fashion of a DaVinchi construct except with the addition of a handful of exposed wires, cogs, gears, and what looked like a miniature jet engine mounted on the rear brace. With the hiss of intake valves and a lurching belch of propulsion the wings snapped wide and the thruster ignited, firing out a white-hot exhaust of steam in its wake. Angling upwards (to miss the rapidly closing ground) the vagabond specter rose into the air until his presence in the skies was obscured almost entirely by the falling snow... and then began once more to descend.

      Straight onto the caravan of trucks.

      Pulling up a few feet overhead and hitting the reverse thrust hard, the trenchcoated aerial acrobat made a hard but tolerable landing on the rearmost cargo hauler -- enough that the driver probably heard. And probably sent out a call for help, at that. Still, that was largely irrelevant; the Traveler was already hard at work. Unfurling like some kind of collapsible wizard's staff and humming with mechanical life, the Traveler's lance's circular saw blade quickly revved to full spin as he brought it down to bear on the top of the truck's roof. The steampunk weapon carved open the thin metal canopy like it was tin foil, sparks flying left and right to shower any unfortunate cars behind the caravan. Reaching down for the rough-hewn edge of cut roofing, the Traveler's preternaturally long black-gloved hands gripped the steel sheet and pulled it up like he was opening a can of sardines before peering in. Lots of packing crates, meticulously organized and -- most importantly -- labeled. The institute's interns, it seemed, were nothing if not orderly. Green-glowing goggles leered from one box to another, scanning the writing on each with an eagle-keen gaze: 'Accounting', 'Refrigerator', 'Medical & Emergency Supplies', 'Personnel Records', 'PPE'... a variety of mundane knicks and nacks. Not what he'd been hoping for. Dropping the torn-up sheet metal, he revved the glider-pack's engine and prepared to move into the next truck.

      The secrets of the Sagan Wave were so close...

      The Traveler

    3. #3
      Old Bastard

      Join Date
      Mar 2006
      AL Points

      Re: Own the Means of Production

      “Look, Mr. Putin, it is simple. You give over control of Russia power systems to my company and I will make your desire for a clean and efficient Russia a fact.” Irritation resounded through Michael Forsyth’s voice; he had made very little progress with President Putin since arriving in the man’s office two hours ago.

      In response Putin shook his head letting loose a very aggravated “Nyet. I cannot do zhis. Zuch action would harm Russia. Sagan Wave not reliable for providing power.”

      Before Forsyth could say anything, Joseph spoke up for the first time since he greeted the President. “President Putin, how much do you know of the Sagan Wave? For the way you speak about it I would assume very little and to be quite honest I barely understand it myself, despite it being one of the reasons electrical storms are not shattering your office at this moment.”

      Joseph stood up quickly, pulling off his suit jacket and unbuttoning the dress shirt below. “Forgive my abruptness, but you two aren’t getting anywhere. I’m going to prove that the Sagan Wave allows for energy to be created at a whim.” Setting his shirt and jacket down, Joseph turned around revealing the silicon carbide spine attached to his back.

      “Vot zis device? It looks like spine but such a thing is inconceivable.” Putin uttered with slight confusion muddling his accent.

      Forsyth took over from there, explain the HEAS to the President quickly before telling Joseph to turn around and demonstrate the power it provided.

      “My natural abilities do not allow me to create electricity but through the Sagan Wave, I can do so with ease.” Joseph raised his left hand up and concentrated. Within seconds a sphere of crackling energy was hovering in his hand.

      “Michael, deactivate the HEAS so I can prove that I cannot do this without it.” Joseph said, closing his eyes to allow maximum control over the sphere once the HEAS no longer provided him extra control.

      Forsyth got up and walked around behind Joseph, he opened a small panel on the spinal attachment. With a press of a button the HEAS disengaged and fell into Michael’s hands.

      “Now Mr. President, you saw no flicker in your power system when I created this sphere because I did not have to draw energy from local sources, it was created in HEAS for me to use. To make this larger I will need to do so.” Langston’s mind probed around the room and found the chandelier above. This caused it to dim and go out, plunging the room into darkness except for the crackling ball in Joseph’s hand, going ever larger as the Kremlin’s electrical grid was drained through the lights.

      “Stop, Joseph. You proved our point.” Fear was prevalent in Forsyth’s voice as he had seen what happened when Joseph lost control.
      “I’m trying to.” Joseph grunted “Get ready to attach the HEAS when I say so.” Langston brought his other hand up around the sphere and essentially grabbed a hold of it. He turned the ball towards the chandelier and forced the energy to fly back into it, which would most likely blow out every bulb.

      “Now, Michael!” Joseph felt the device engage as he launched the energy at the chandelier, destroying every bulb only seconds after they lit up brighter than they ever had before.

      “I apologize, Mr. Putin, my ability is a strange one but my point is still proven. The Sagan Wave allows creation of energy out of essentially nothing. You saw how different my power worked when I used the wave.” Joseph said putting his shirt and jacket back on.

      “Understood, Gospodin Langston. I do not like zis, however I will give chance. You work with Russian scientist group and report to me.”

      Joseph nodded and Mike verbally agreed. “I believe this arrangement will work out well for all of us. Once my lab is set up I will speak with you again, Mr. Putin.”


      Outside the Kremlin

      “That certainly took a long time, thank you for your help Joseph, without your demonstration I’d still be in there beating my head against the wall.”

      “You’re welcome Mike. Now I need a good bottle of Russian vodka – “

      Before he could finish, both Joseph and Forsyth’s phones started ringing. Mike’s playing a generic tune while Joseph’s played the Party Rock Anthem. Both men answered their devices and we surprised to have two men from the convoy calling them. Apparently the convoy was under attack by an unknown man. He was tearing into the trucks looking for something but other than that doing no damage.

      Forsyth told the driver to allow him to continue but to drive faster to the lab and that he and Joseph would meet them there.

      “What do you think he wants Mike?”

      “I’d assume information on the Sagan Wave, if so it is good that I put all the information on it in my briefcase and not on the trucks. Now let’s go, we have to get to the lab.”

    4. #4

      Re: Own the Means of Production

      The woman was called at some ridiculous hour in the night and was not pleased about it. Groaning, she rolled over and tried to locate her mobile. It turned out to be in the pocket of her trousers near the bed – where she had left it only a few hours earlier.

      “Chto? What do you want?” she asked, decisively unfriendly. Varvara did not appreciate being woken up as her working hours were irregular at best and sleep was one of these commodities that were hard to come by. However, if you worked for the government in Russia, you better answered your phone regardless, lest you found yourself in a very unpleasant situation. As a matter of fact, she had two mobiles for this reason. One for personal contacts – which could go to hell if she was sleeping – and one for work purposes. Alas, it was the latter that now required urgent attention.

      An equally unfriendly voice on the other end told her to come to the office. Now. And no, it could not wait until morning. A click signalled that the phone call was over as far as the other party was concerned. She made sure of that, then viciously threw the mobile on the bed. She cursed, but got up and picked some clothes off the floor. They were deposited in a laundry basket in the small bathroom where she washed the sleep from her eyes. It didn't take too long for her practised hand to pull her long hair into an elegant yet unpretentious bun. Then she painstakingly applied the necessary make-up, and picked a two-piece suit from her wardrobe. Between buttoning up her blouse, she grabbed the mobile again, and by the time she had closed the zipper on the knee-length skirt, she had ordered a taxi. Her shoes had been left by the door, where she fetched them. Jacket, elegant little scarf and a coat later, she was ready to go. Her mobile, wallet and 'female necessities' were thrown in a matching handbag, joined by her keys after she left the modest flat and locked it. She had two flights of stairs to go. Outside, it was raining. Luckily, the taxi had already arrived and she hurried towards it. It was a drive of maybe twenty to fifteen minutes, and it was still drizzling by the time they arrived. Varvara was also still quietly cursing.

      The moment she entered the building, however, a relaxed smile was plastered to her face. Her direct superior – sexist mudilo – was located in an office near the back of the building, on the fifth floor. There was no one in the hallways, no one in the lift. Still, Varvara smiled. You never knew. Things had been rather heated on the streets the last few weeks and she did not want to take any risks. Her knock on the door was followed by a curt “Enter”.

      “Good evening, sir. I hope I am not interrupting. I had been called.” She said, respectfully, to Bronislav Potemkin, the man who decided on her assignments – without any regard for time of day.

      There was no invitation for her to get seated as he looked her down appraisingly before turning his attention to the report he had been reading. He seemed to study it, then looked at the woman before him again.

      “Turn around.”

      She did as she was told without asking questions. You don't ask questions. He was eyeing her closely. It would be nerve-wrecking, weren't it for the fact that this had happened before. For women in the politsiya, appearance was a pretty big thing. At least it was in Varvara's part of the organisation. Bronislav was again studying the report, then looked up.

      “Sit down.” He did not pause while she followed his command. “I have an assignment for you. It's about some American researchers. They claim to have some power source that can create clean and unlimited energy. With this, they want to take over the Russian power industry. They want to put mister Shmatko out of a job and take it themselves.” He laughed as though this was a most hilarious joke. Varvara smiled a little but remained quiet. He became serious again without any warning and looked at her as though it had been very inappropriate of her to laugh with this matter. “Nonetheless, we should keep our eyes on this development. Maybe this new technology is useful for us. Maybe it is a hoax. The Americans are liable to take our system, sabotage it and then drop us in the cold.” Varvara wondered shortly whether that pun was intended. He gravely shook his head. “This can not be allowed. We have decided to give them some breathing space so we can see what they get up to. They shall be working with a team of our best men. Of course these people have been explained the situation and they will keep their eyes open.” Now he looked back at the report. “But these Americans might be... tricky. So, you shall be their guide. You shall make sure they stay within this area. Curb their freedom somewhat. Restrain their curiosity.” There was a pause. Again that calculating look from under his bushy eyebrows. Varvara had some idea of what was going to be said. It was pretty obvious. “These Americans are men. They might have certain needs. Certain weaknesses. You are to provide for these. And if you could come into any information that way, you are to contact me directly. We will be cutting a few middlemen, give you some leeway to win their trust.” He folded his hands on the desk and sent a piercing stare this time. “We are counting on you.”

      This time, Varvara did reply with an earnest 'Da'.

      By the time she got back to her appartment, it was several hours later. She threw the files and handbag on the table. Kicked off her shoes. She left the clothes where they fell, wiped the make-up off her face quickly and undid the bun before dropping in bed. She hardly had time to consider the whole concept 'whoring yourself out for your country' before she fell asleep. Then again, it wasn't the first time anyway.


      She was supposed to meet these 'Americans' at the building that had been put to their disposal. She went a little early, going over the information she had received again in her head.

      Soon, she found two men arriving and walking to the building. She intercepted them and introduced herself in slightly accented English. “Good afternoon. I hope you are enjoying your stay so far. My name is Varvara Nazilevskii and I will be you assistant in all practical and administrative matters.” She simply smiled as she added, “Please feel free to rely on me if you have any questions or need anything.”

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