GenX: Ready or Not - Arcade
Apr. 7th, 2018 08:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsThe real mastermind behind Predator X. Seed was just a pawn for beta purposes.
"It appears the experiment is over, Mr. Lowenstein." Heels clicked on the floor, approaching the desk. "Our man has been apprehended, as planned. A disgruntled employee taking revenge, the company just another victim."
"I had expected a higher body count. We need to recruit more heavily from the Far Cry community next time. Those weird little fuckers are just aching to dry hump each other's eye sockets, not to... work together." He made a disgusted noise as he gestured at the screen. " Ms Coriander, I'm not happy. I mean, beta test was a success but... I wanted those deaths wet! Prime 8chan currency was just ready to have actresses faces and tits mapped on to the dead bitches."
"The cooperation was unexpected." Ms. Coriander frowned. "I'll have our analysts crunch the demographics for next time. But we do know the system works, at least."
"I suppose." Adam said petulantly, as he tapped away at his laptop. "Look at the feedback spikes on here. I bet we could modify the system to eventually impact in a non-VR environment. Can you imagine that, Ms Coriander? Get them in some kind of fuck puppet game and then demand money to let them out before they stroke out? Guccifer two point who gives a fuck at that point!"
"It does sound... profitable." Coriander tapped her forefinger against her chin thoughtfully. "It would take a certain amount of investment to pull off. But I'm sure we could find someone who would pay for those particular services."
"Reminds me. Lets make sure we're one hundred percent clear of our patsy. Plant some pain pills in his apartment, add some Nazi shit to his Facebook. Maybe a couple of harassing emails to Zoe Quinn just for good measure." Adam leaned back in his executive chair. It was a work of art; a necessity considering how much time he spent in it. "Once he comes to light, we pull out overt investment. The shell corps have already largely cleared out. We trigger the crash and the legal team drops our 'first rights' buy out on the tech. Diskrom will be up to their eyeballs in law suits and dead and buried in a month. We'll hide the patents across a dozen of our subsidiaries." Adam Lowenstein was putting in place measures he'd planned from the beginning. After all, what was the put of using your money to develop the tech when for ten percent of the cost, you could get another company to do so, crash it and take it from the ashes for pennies?
"Everything's in place and ready to go. And in prison, accidents can happen, so that one last connection won't be around long."
Adam gave her a wide grin, enhanced by his handsome face. His parents thought he was vain for the money he'd spent on cosmetic surgery; an sculpted nose, ear tuck, Lasik surgery and strong chin, wiping away the nerdy awkward bespectacled ginger in his high school photos. While he still resented never hitting six foot, his hours in the gym had given him a well toned body to match his face. The older generation didn't understand that being good looking was as useful a business investment as any other, making people more willing to make deals and trust his carefully aligned and capped smile.
"When you think about it,this was... beta testing! It was beta testing! We accrued enough data that-"
"Oh Bubala. It's not development hell. It's me." A man stepped forward, his bright white suit illuminating the space. The penthouse office had one of the most complex security systems on the market and it never registered a thing. "It's me. And you don't go after kids. I thought your parents taught you better."
Miss Coriander stepped in front of her employer, a handgun appearing in her hand. "This is a private meeting, sir. And you don't have an appointment. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave..."
"Rein her in before Ms Locke has to get involved." The man said. He stepped forward and Adam gasped.
"Uncle Jacob?"
"That's right. I like your approach, kid, but you don't target kids. It's not right. It's also bad business." Arcade looked fully recovered from the events of Excelsior East (having used his SPB insurance clause to recoup the repair costs and more to his tower). He smiled around his toothpick, slouched and with his hands in his pockets like a retiree considering a bocce ball game. ""Because, the brain chemistry is all fucked up. Gives false positives. Tell your girl to find somewhere else to park her cute ass while we talk."
Adam nodded to Miss Coriander and she reluctantly left them alone.
"This is very nice. A little spare, but that's the style in your field, I guess."
"Uncle Jacob, what do you want? I'd ask how you knew about the field test but that's a dumb question."
"There are no dumb questions. Just people with different capabilities for ignorance. Your Aunt Lorina and I-"
"She's not my aunt. She's just your trophy wife."
"My trophy wife with a doctorate in robotics, kiddo. Don't you forget that." Jacob said, his eyes tightening slightly. "You Aunt Lorina and have been, well, in the process of retiring over the last three years. Moving assets to legal holdings, divesting of networks, shutting down all connections between our work and our former... empire, I guess you could say. However, it occurs to me that Murderworld and our activities had an important part to play in the criminal ecology of our changing world. See, it represented a way to help bring order to chaos, or at the very least, serve as a neutral player to weed out people on the wrong side of the cycle of power."
"Yes, a hidden basement stuffed with a bunch of robotic death traps is a key part of the New World Order, Uncle." Adam sneered.
"You're still young and stupid, but even stuffed inside your chatrooms and meme chambers, you know that the idea of Arcade and Murderworld always had more impact than the actuality of it. Just like a few hundred people with a bunch of bot programs can shape the virtual mindscapes for millions when used properly. It seems to me that you might just be the right person to take that idea into a new age. So, as long as you agree to a few conditions, we're willing to turn the keys to that empire over to you. You'll need to shape the organization into a new direction without our resources, but the networks and contacts are there and waiting."
"What are the conditions in this... gift?" Adam said wearily.
"Just an assurance that I'm not giving over the enabling pathway to some harebrained fascist state. You don't target kids. You maintain a legitimate persona. And if I need a favour, you'll provide it." Jacob grinned widely. "That's it."
"Why should I care about following your conditions once it's all mine."
"You know by now, I wouldn't have come here without a mountain of evidence and the political connections to bury you in a SuperMax in Wisconsin for the rest of your life. So, what do you say, sport?"
Adam paused, looking at his ridiculous uncle, aware of the cunning and ruthlessness behind his smile. If he said no, he'd be in a war with him that he couldn't win. Agree and he'd be under the man's thumb.
For now.
"It's a deal." Adam extended his hand.
"You'll do fine, Adam."
"U-uh!" Adam held up a finger. "It's Arcade now."
"It appears the experiment is over, Mr. Lowenstein." Heels clicked on the floor, approaching the desk. "Our man has been apprehended, as planned. A disgruntled employee taking revenge, the company just another victim."
"I had expected a higher body count. We need to recruit more heavily from the Far Cry community next time. Those weird little fuckers are just aching to dry hump each other's eye sockets, not to... work together." He made a disgusted noise as he gestured at the screen. " Ms Coriander, I'm not happy. I mean, beta test was a success but... I wanted those deaths wet! Prime 8chan currency was just ready to have actresses faces and tits mapped on to the dead bitches."
"The cooperation was unexpected." Ms. Coriander frowned. "I'll have our analysts crunch the demographics for next time. But we do know the system works, at least."
"I suppose." Adam said petulantly, as he tapped away at his laptop. "Look at the feedback spikes on here. I bet we could modify the system to eventually impact in a non-VR environment. Can you imagine that, Ms Coriander? Get them in some kind of fuck puppet game and then demand money to let them out before they stroke out? Guccifer two point who gives a fuck at that point!"
"It does sound... profitable." Coriander tapped her forefinger against her chin thoughtfully. "It would take a certain amount of investment to pull off. But I'm sure we could find someone who would pay for those particular services."
"Reminds me. Lets make sure we're one hundred percent clear of our patsy. Plant some pain pills in his apartment, add some Nazi shit to his Facebook. Maybe a couple of harassing emails to Zoe Quinn just for good measure." Adam leaned back in his executive chair. It was a work of art; a necessity considering how much time he spent in it. "Once he comes to light, we pull out overt investment. The shell corps have already largely cleared out. We trigger the crash and the legal team drops our 'first rights' buy out on the tech. Diskrom will be up to their eyeballs in law suits and dead and buried in a month. We'll hide the patents across a dozen of our subsidiaries." Adam Lowenstein was putting in place measures he'd planned from the beginning. After all, what was the put of using your money to develop the tech when for ten percent of the cost, you could get another company to do so, crash it and take it from the ashes for pennies?
"Everything's in place and ready to go. And in prison, accidents can happen, so that one last connection won't be around long."
Adam gave her a wide grin, enhanced by his handsome face. His parents thought he was vain for the money he'd spent on cosmetic surgery; an sculpted nose, ear tuck, Lasik surgery and strong chin, wiping away the nerdy awkward bespectacled ginger in his high school photos. While he still resented never hitting six foot, his hours in the gym had given him a well toned body to match his face. The older generation didn't understand that being good looking was as useful a business investment as any other, making people more willing to make deals and trust his carefully aligned and capped smile.
"When you think about it,this was... beta testing! It was beta testing! We accrued enough data that-"
"Oh Bubala. It's not development hell. It's me." A man stepped forward, his bright white suit illuminating the space. The penthouse office had one of the most complex security systems on the market and it never registered a thing. "It's me. And you don't go after kids. I thought your parents taught you better."
Miss Coriander stepped in front of her employer, a handgun appearing in her hand. "This is a private meeting, sir. And you don't have an appointment. I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave..."
"Rein her in before Ms Locke has to get involved." The man said. He stepped forward and Adam gasped.
"Uncle Jacob?"
"That's right. I like your approach, kid, but you don't target kids. It's not right. It's also bad business." Arcade looked fully recovered from the events of Excelsior East (having used his SPB insurance clause to recoup the repair costs and more to his tower). He smiled around his toothpick, slouched and with his hands in his pockets like a retiree considering a bocce ball game. ""Because, the brain chemistry is all fucked up. Gives false positives. Tell your girl to find somewhere else to park her cute ass while we talk."
Adam nodded to Miss Coriander and she reluctantly left them alone.
"This is very nice. A little spare, but that's the style in your field, I guess."
"Uncle Jacob, what do you want? I'd ask how you knew about the field test but that's a dumb question."
"There are no dumb questions. Just people with different capabilities for ignorance. Your Aunt Lorina and I-"
"She's not my aunt. She's just your trophy wife."
"My trophy wife with a doctorate in robotics, kiddo. Don't you forget that." Jacob said, his eyes tightening slightly. "You Aunt Lorina and have been, well, in the process of retiring over the last three years. Moving assets to legal holdings, divesting of networks, shutting down all connections between our work and our former... empire, I guess you could say. However, it occurs to me that Murderworld and our activities had an important part to play in the criminal ecology of our changing world. See, it represented a way to help bring order to chaos, or at the very least, serve as a neutral player to weed out people on the wrong side of the cycle of power."
"Yes, a hidden basement stuffed with a bunch of robotic death traps is a key part of the New World Order, Uncle." Adam sneered.
"You're still young and stupid, but even stuffed inside your chatrooms and meme chambers, you know that the idea of Arcade and Murderworld always had more impact than the actuality of it. Just like a few hundred people with a bunch of bot programs can shape the virtual mindscapes for millions when used properly. It seems to me that you might just be the right person to take that idea into a new age. So, as long as you agree to a few conditions, we're willing to turn the keys to that empire over to you. You'll need to shape the organization into a new direction without our resources, but the networks and contacts are there and waiting."
"What are the conditions in this... gift?" Adam said wearily.
"Just an assurance that I'm not giving over the enabling pathway to some harebrained fascist state. You don't target kids. You maintain a legitimate persona. And if I need a favour, you'll provide it." Jacob grinned widely. "That's it."
"Why should I care about following your conditions once it's all mine."
"You know by now, I wouldn't have come here without a mountain of evidence and the political connections to bury you in a SuperMax in Wisconsin for the rest of your life. So, what do you say, sport?"
Adam paused, looking at his ridiculous uncle, aware of the cunning and ruthlessness behind his smile. If he said no, he'd be in a war with him that he couldn't win. Agree and he'd be under the man's thumb.
For now.
"It's a deal." Adam extended his hand.
"You'll do fine, Adam."
"U-uh!" Adam held up a finger. "It's Arcade now."
