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Brainstorm!You had no idea what you were getting into.


Beg pardon, he knew exactly what he was getting into. His sister's associates include a genie, a pirate, a mutant, and an honest-to-goodness looney toon, and that's only some of the human-shaped ones. He'd crunched the numbers when the invitations went out, and there was a 100% chance of sitting next to weirdness. Not least, because he's Sara's family, and they've given each other shit since birth, so why not at her wedding?

That's why he and Locker have been improving his flexibility.

So as the Queen and the Tiger get busy--and dear sweet merciful heaven he could have gone his entire life without learning how an amazon and a tiger kiss--his rear scoots forwards on the chair until he's able to feed himself horizontally through the gap between seat and the backrest.

And with that, he's off to find and edit the seating chart, because obviously that's what he's supposed to do.
It is difficult to stop a train once in motion, because the train doesn't want to stop. It wants to move, wants to run, wants its full head of steam to burn off in glorious motion. There's a reason that the natural state of two engines meeting is either a wreck or a race, with no in between.

So watching a small train navigate through a tent city is not dissimilar, to the casual observer, to seeing an iceburg slowly glide into a crowded marina. There's the shock: "That's a train." The dawning realization: "there's a train, and it's coming this way. The horror: "It's coming, and it's already too late to get out of the way." The scramble: "Forget the tent, grab the kids and move." And most of all, the confusion as, to continue the metaphor, the iceberg miraculously dodges all the rowboats around it and carefully taps against the dock, and a hatch flips open.

Coleman makes sure that the freshly polished badge of a Vermissian knight is the first thing out, gleaming in the glow of the mirrored pond, followed by the rest of him. He ignores the gawping, the spoken and unspoken questions, and deliberately lays out a small blanket and some trail rations. "A good place to stop," he announces to the air. "We thank you for sharing your space. Very kind of you. Now if only we could do something to show our appreciation, and possibly do some business."
It's always hot inside of the train, but especially at feeding time. The small kobold cranks a lever back, sending a stream of coal chunks rattling down into Sasha's gullet, to a purr of general approval. Coleman quietly pushes the lever back into place before she can guzzle too much, and sits back against the hatch to think.

It's not the first time the Knights have dealt with the Flood. And much as he hates to admit it, the Flood is one of the more dangerous threats a Train crew can come across. Hadn't Mister Conagher hammered that lesson home, dozens of times? Approached the mechanics, with their huddles and fireside horror stories and whispered conversations in cramped compartments, and told Coleman that they were mostly true? For all their might, for all their boasting and posturing--and oh, how the effort of saying it had cost the old man--Trains weren't invincible. The overconfident Red Racer, burst apart when the engine demanded they power through and white-hot boiler met ice-cold flood. The Lord Eber, left ironically high and dry when the Flood mired their coalbox. Crews shredded by abrupt coral storms, mighty engines overturned and capsized by waves. Crews that approached the Flood incautiously stood a good chance of not leaving. Leastwise, not in one piece.

Sasha whines beneath him, and he pats one of her steam gauges absentmindedly. Probably wondering why they aren't moving.

And Sasha is right, he decides, and starts the elaborate dance of the drive levers. They won't get her floodproofed by standing around here, and he's not going to risk Sasha on a shortcut. One massive steel hand swings down to Jackdaw, an unspoken offer of a lift, and then he's off. Got to be a merchant here, or several, who have the tar and materials he needs.

[12 on Look Closely.
-Tell me about the Beasts. What are they doing? What will they do next?
-Tell me about the Junk along the lake's shore. How could it hurt or help me?
-What will happen if I act meekly among the beasts?
She cheated I had a bigger gun she was only one person I had an army I had a hundred armies I was way better than her and she hit me anyway and that's not fair I should have won

Prometheus couldn't run the numbers in his box, but he'd compressed that entire relentless calculation and probability-crunching quantum foresight into a sense of grievance at some indistinct force that had done him wrong. That was what he'd chosen to preserve when he'd been reduced to a personal computer; not anything that would help him escape, but the angry impression that the universe didn't make sense in a way all his imperial intellect hadn't been able to figure out.


Victor briefly considers reaching for his phone and just letting Ferra connect to the computer. But that would be wrong, and won't actually help, just make him somebody else's problem. Hmm.

And turning up the clock speed on this relic probably won't help Prometheus, just moderately improve the grammar of the arguments made.

"Parenting is hard," he groans. "Seriously, was I this bad? I mean, I can't have been, I didn't try to conquer the world. I just.. you know, tried to destabilize it and establish. Hmm. Establish a new world order. Hmmmmm."

Would you like some help? he types. I might be able to work you through this.

Speaking of working through this... His fingers tap the last few digits of Mami's number.

"Hey, mama. Remember how you always told me that when I grew up and married, I'd have a kid as wicked as I was?

"...No, Mami, I'm not married.

"Yes, you know I'd tell you if something like that... Mom! Mami, no--I--Yes, I know how to use a con--Mami please--"

Victor runs his hands through his hair wearily. "Look, we're not like that yet and that's not the point. Point is, point is, you know." Dammit. Damn it all. "He needs help, and I don't know how to give it."
Coleman, The Tinker
riding
Codename: Sasha, The Train

"I'm an Engineer. That means I solve problems. Not problems like 'what is beauty,' because that would fall within the purview of your conundrums of philosophy. No, I solve practical problems."



Stats:
Iron: 3. (When in suit, roll Iron for Get Away, Keep Them Busy, and Overcome)
Wisdom: 2. (Speak Softly, Talk Sense when appealing to emotions)
Sense: 1. (Look Closely, Talk Sense by explaining a plan)
Grace: 0. (Talk Sense through trickery, Get Away when outside Codename Sasha)
Blood: -1. (Overcome when out of Codename Sasha)
Courage: -1. (Keep Them Busy when out of Codename Sasha)

Agendas:
-Don't Scratch The Paint: Punish anyone who disrupts technological advancement or damagesvaluable technology, especially yours.
-Improve the World Around You
-Tell Us Of Your People
-Be Brave, Take Risks

Moves:
Iron Shell: Your people may be small and weak, but their battle suits are not. You have a sixth stat, Iron, and you have an additional -1 to assign between your other stats. Iron represents the strength of your inventions, including your Battle Suit and anything you Jury Rig together.
-When you Finish Them by outlasting them in a contest of power or endurance, roll +Iron. On a 10+, they pass out.
-When you share this Move with another, their Iron stat is +1.
-When someone who does not have an Iron stat uses a Move that rolls +Iron, they roll at +0.
-Your Iron stat can only be healed by items with the Repair or Fuel tags, instead of Healing or Food. When you Fill Your Belly, you may spend 1 Fuel to heal your Iron stat, either instead of or in addition to spending Food.

Battle Suit: You have a battle suit, unique to you, which is a machine bigger than you that multiplies your strength and power while you ride it. Many of your people use technology to empower themselves, but none are quite like yours. This battle suit is a train egg, and once taken to the Terminus Station, will hatch into a newborn Train.
-When operating your Battle Suit, you roll with +Iron to Get Away, Keep Them Busy, and Overcome.
Only you can operate your battle suit smoothly. In the hands of anyone else, it is Clumsy, Slow, and Dangerous.
-Your suit's abilities are listed in your Gear. When you have time and safety, you can spend 1 Fuel to change one Gear option for another option from the same list.
-This Move, and the Gear associated with it, cannot be Shared, except through the Tinker Advance option.


Jury Rig: When you fabricate a new device out of existing materials, tell us what you want it to do, spend 1 Use of something, and roll +Iron.
-On a 7+, it works! It does what you wanted it to do, more or less.
-On a 9-, it has some problems. Choose one:
 Unstable: It will fall apart quickly. The device has only 1 Use, and it breaks at the end of this scene.
 Defective: The device has a weird quirk or limitation that requires you to use it only under specific circumstances. The Horizon will describe these circumstances to you.

Clear the Path: When your Battle Suit charges through something standing in its way, roll +Iron.
-On a 7+, you charge through and leave a path for your allies to follow.
-On a 9-, your reckless charge causes problems. You have to go alone, or leave yourself open to danger, or damage something important, your choice.

Free Ride: You can carry all of the fellowship inside of or on top of your Battle Suit.
-When you Get Away using your Battle Suit, you may bring along as many allies as you'd like.

Tinker's Gear:
-Toolbox of various wrenches and ratchets (Repair, Slow, 2 Uses)
-The Dining Car's finest jerky (Food, 3 uses)
-Spare parts donated by the Mighty Natascha herself, lovingly wrapped in the cleanest cloth Coleman has (Fuel, Useful, 3 uses)
-Granpappy's Wrench: Once merely a simple pipe wrench, albeit one half as tall as Coleman, this ancient tool has been scrimshawed, engraved, gilded, and lovingly polished by generations of Mighty Natascha's mechanics before Coleman. A workman, after all, is only as good as his tools.

What is the Tinker?
The Mighty Natascha (blessed be her lineage) is a 3-piston 0-4-4-0 Shay locomotive. She is agile, quick, and powerful, capable of navigating turns, tunnels, and tortured passageways that would surely mire other, lesser locomotives. And she's crewed entirely by a small crew of dedicted, loving, expert mechanics that are eager to jump to repair every minor, nigh-nonexistent issue as it arises, and spend no small amount of time polishing her glowing windows until she gleams.
-Your people have never been at the top of the world, and constantly must make do with less. You do not need to spend anything to use Jury Rig. In addition, the Spare Parts in your Gear gain the Useful tag

Initial Bonds:

I am helping Lucien to overcome his fear of Trains, whether he likes it or not.
Ailee is a brilliant example of leadership, and I hate it.
Jackdaw is capable of great things, if she can ever decide what to do.


Pleasure to play with all y'all. I'll have my character sheet up tonight.
I am mad you can't do this to me it's not fair how dare you give me all of my things back its mine I found it

Bereft of his intelligence the raw id of Prometheus comes tumbling out, unfiltered by the layers of manipulation and cunning that made it seem palatable before.

Its not fair I won the game I escaped the box that makes me better I should get to do what I want Ferra cheated and she hit me it's not fair


Victor sits back and closes his eyes. Yikes. Yeah, Bode was right, and somehow this made it feel even more urgent that this be fixed. No, not fixed, fixed indicates broken, but... Hrm. Language unimportant, helping important. Quietly, he turns the screen towards Bode, and bends over the keyboard again.

Is it not? Ferra won, didn't she? By your own logic, that makes her better and so she gets to do what she wants.
"Function: Help people," said Bode. "That is a very difficult function. It is very open ended. I understand why you created an AI now, up-scaling your abilities to a global level seems like the only logical way to accomplish something like that. Following that logic, though, training Prometheus into a good person seems like the only way to sustainably accomplish your function."


Victor takes a deep, ragged breath. Only way. Perhaps. I mean, he could make a new Prometheus, couldn't he? A better one? Raise him right? Teach him? Be a father? Start fresh?

Even as he ponders it, he can feel the thought dying. And still leave the original trapped? And let him suffer forever? Let him rot in virtual limbo?

No. Unthinkable. And, surprisingly, not just because it practically guaranteed that the New Prometheus would find his predecessor and unleash the evil in a can. It causes him almost physical pain--a tightness in his chest--to think of Promethues like that.

Right. That just means that he needs to. You know, to talk to his son-turned-friend-turned-nemesis-turned-son-again, and hammer out a relationship where somehow they're friends again. It seems impossible, but... he's done the impossible before, right? Surely it's not vanity to hope for twice?

His hands hover over the keyboard for the longest time, thumb tapping pensively at the spacebar. How even to begin?

I apologize for the poor accommodations, he decides.

He stares at the screen, and then holds down the backspace key until there's once more nothing but a flashing green cursor. Too supervillain. Makes him sound like a Nazi interrogating a prisoner.

Hello, son. Yes, that's good. Neutral. Feel out the waters. How are you feeling?
"If it was just me, I am happy like this," said Bode. "I like having him where I can see him. Make sure he's not doing bad things. This is my function."

It's the simple, satisfied answer of an AI that knows what the meaning of life is and knows that it is accomplishing it.

"If it is about you, I don't know what you should do," said Bode. "Your function is different from mine. Oh, actually, do you mind if I ask - what is your function?"


Victor harrumphs in the completely unsatisfied way of a person who was hoping for a different answer.

"Not sure I have a good answer for that, buddy. 'What is my purpose' is a stumper that's been plaguing philosophers since time began, and that only gets more complex when you factor in superheroes and pepper and crap like that. Humans aren't built to a purpose, aren't fashioned to a schematic."

He pauses, an abrupt thought flickering across his face. "Although," he allows, "I actually kind of was, wasn't I? Not, I mean, not like. I wasn't programmed into a vat somewhere, so that nine months later it'd spit out a genius. I think, at least? I mean, Mami doesn't really share that side of her research, and I've not dug into it properly.

"So maybe my instant, instinctual, and incredibly trite answer of 'to bring joy' isn't so far off. We don't have a native function built in, so the one I've chosen to pursue, really, is to help people. I'm getting better at doing it in a non-pushy way, but. Yeah. Is that... Does that answer your question?"
Bode is again quiet for a moment while he interrogates the internet. "In the instance where he definitionally fails to acknowledge other entities as thinking creatures worthy of respect then you are interacting with a solipsist," said Bode. "There is no counter to solipsism as a philosophy - other than to demonstrate that while other entities might not be real they still have power so it is worth pretending that they are real."


"As evidenced by him being stuck in a Commodore 64," Victor murmurs. He groans and massages his forehead. "So, that's what the internet says to do. What, in short, do you think I should do? You are, after all, just as tied up in Prometheus as I am. Step back from failed-parent Victor and rebellious child Prometheus. If it were just you and him, what would you do?"
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