12:37 <VoxPVoxD> Willie's brought proper picnic-style buttermilk fried chicken, and a homemade pizza with spanish chorizo and pickled onion. Take that, takeaway. She's helping Richard with some administrative piffle when someone else speaks... but who? 12:37 <Crion> Aster: "Wait, is this real fried chicken?" 12:37 <Crion> "Hmmm." 12:38 <Crion> ...He hasn't eaten today. He can do two slices and a thigh. And maybe seconds. 12:38 <Crion> ...He hasn't eaten today. He can do two slices and a thigh. And maybe seconds. 12:38 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "That's right! I hope you like it. Always a bit touch-and-go making American food for Americans." 12:39 <Crion> Aster: "Mmmmhh. Mmmmmphhh." 12:39 <VoxPVoxD> That's the sound of success. 12:39 <tom> Bob’s whistling while he works. He’s got a tray of brass cartridges that he’s working over one by one, scooping up small amounts of grey powder from a dish into a measure and filling them one at a time. He’ll greet Willie’s entrance with a friendly grunt, then take a second look when he sees the chicken and pizza. 12:40 <Crion> "It's excellent." Could probably use a bit more spice in the breading and the marinade for the chicken, but the pizza is perfectly done. 12:40 <Crion> And, well, she didn't know if they wanted spicy. 12:40 <tom> Shit, shit! Leg’s asleep. He slouches over. 12:41 <tom> “Are you making this every night? It’s gotta take hours.” 12:42 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "Once you've got your kitchen set up it's very easy going. I do it to relax." 12:42 <VoxPVoxD> "If it weren't for you lot I'd be bringing all this in to work, and most people are still remote." 12:43 <tom> “I know the feeling,” says the man building a shotgun. 12:43 <tom> “It’s almost done, by the way!” He beams. ”Just gotta get the tooling right and give it a heat test.” 12:45 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "See, you want to talk remarkable. It boggles my mind that you can just... make a gun." 12:45 <Crion> Aster stares dubiosly at the work. 12:45 <Crion> Aster stares dubiosly at the work. 12:45 <VoxPVoxD> "I would've thought you needed, I don't know. Forges. Factories." 12:45 <Crion> It surprises him, too. 12:48 <VoxPVoxD> Belatedly, when she thinks of a third F thing: "Foundries!" 12:48 <tom> He waves vaguely over his shoulder at the sleek weapon undergoing its finishing touches on the table. The stock’s still a few varnishes away, and then he’ll have to go over it with a sander, polish up the tool-marks on the barrel. But even now in its broken-down state, the shotgun’s open action gleams meanly in the fluoresent lighting. https://i.imgur.com/Pg9gwwU.jpg 12:48 <VoxPVoxD> Can Willie see? She's curious now. 12:48 <tom> “Oh, it’s no thing. You should see what Bubbas get up to when they get their hands on an angle grinder. The trick is making it actually look good.” 12:48 <Crion> Aster: "You just need a shop. Tooling is necessary for mass production, but. That's not our aim." 12:49 <tom> He’ll let her follow him back over to the workstation as he returns to his work. He sets aside the tray of shells for now. 12:49 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "Oh my God. That's so vintage!" 12:50 <tom> If she gets close enough, she’ll see the words ”Willie Pete is not your friend” carefully embossed into the stock in chrome lettering. 12:50 <VoxPVoxD> After a squint: "Who's Pete?" 12:50 <tom> “I’ve had free time,” he adds. ”Lot’s to think about.” 12:50 <tom> “Phosphorus,” He coughs. 12:50 <tom> Every grunt down the chain of command knows the one thing.. 12:51 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "Ah, yeah. Bad for your kidneys." 12:51 <VoxPVoxD> That doesn't stop her from going through a bottle of Chocolate Milano every couple of months. But it probably should. 12:52 <Crion> Aster: "Really? White phosphorus references? Well I suppose we aren't in the Middle East." 12:52 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "What's white phosphorus?" 12:52 <Crion> He's maybe a third of the way into his plate, otherwise looking things up on his networked laptop. 12:52 <tom> “Bad for everything,” He continues, picking up the barrel and slotting it into the wooden furniture before handing it over to Willie. The action is visibly open and empty, letting her see along the thin spiral threads to daylight out the end. 12:53 <tom> “You know, incendiaries. It’s in pretty much everything we throw at the bloodsuckers.” 12:53 <Crion> "A chemical marking agent originally intended for flare and zone-control use. But then the Air Force realized what it does to human skin and bone." 12:53 <tom> “Uh, and also that.” 12:53 <VoxPVoxD> Willie holds it gingerly, as if it might double-secretly be loaded and dangerous somehow even now. "...ah." 12:54 <tom> “They use it to put down uhh smokescreens over enemy positions. Except it uh turns into phosphoric acid when it touches water, so like. In your lungs and eyes.” 12:54 <Crion> "It doesn't go out when you douse it in water. It's a chemical reagent. It just keeps burning." 12:54 <tom> He’ll stop. 12:54 <tom> “Not good to use on people! Don’t recommend it!” 12:54 <tom> This is a lot less cute now, isn’t it. 12:54 <Crion> Aster: "We use it on people all the time. It's very effective." 12:55 <VoxPVoxD> After a beat: "Well this is absolutely gorgeous. Seriously, I feel like I'd have to dress up to carry this into battle." 12:55 <Crion> "I would suggest we get some." 12:55 <VoxPVoxD> "Something starched and Edwardian." 12:55 <tom> Moving on: ”How’s it feel, not too heavy?” 12:55 <Crion> He finishes a slice of pizza. 12:56 <tom> “Used hickory for the stock. Doesn’t split. Heavy for furniture, but it’s already a lighter gauge than a twelve so it should just help bring down the kick a bit.” 12:56 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "It's pretty heavy, but no heavier than an iron skillet." 12:56 <VoxPVoxD> "And it's not like I have to bonk someone in the head with it." 12:57 <tom> There’s a little inset on the stock that Bob takes hold of, turning a pin and freeing the stock from the action. ”It’s a take-down model, too. So it should be reasonably easy to carry anywhere.” 12:57 <VoxPVoxD> "Hang on, back up a tick. What's 'gauge'?" 12:57 <tom> He takes the two halves of the weapon back from Willie and sets them back down on the bench. ”Not quite done with the finishings yet.” 12:57 <tom> Oh shit, here we go. 12:58 <tom> “I need you to promise me to use this knowledge only for good.” 12:58 <tom> He sits down at the table and pulls out a notepad and begins drawing circles. 12:58 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "I'll do my very best." 12:58 <tom> “Okay so, so, gauge makes no sense, just like caliber, but even stupider.” 12:59 <VoxPVoxD> "Caliber is how big your bullets are, yeah?" 12:59 <tom> “A twenty gauge- like this one, yeah. That’s right.” 12:59 <VoxPVoxD> See, Willie knows things. 12:59 <Crion> Aster goes to get more pizza, rather than say something. 12:59 <tom> “It’s actually lighter than a twelve, because we’re actually talking about fractions.” 12:59 <Crion> It is VERY good pizza. 13:00 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "1/20 as opposed to 1/12." 13:00 <tom> He taps his pen on the paper and begins drawing a crude pipe the size of the first circle. ”So they used to uh measure cannon balls in terms of weight of the ball.” 13:00 <tom> “Yeah, yeah.” 13:01 <tom> “And what’s a gun but a smaller, cannon, right? So if you.. I don’t know why you’d do this, you take a lead ball the diameter of the barrel, and you weigh it, and then multiply that by how many balls you need to make a pound. And that’s shotgun gauge.” He looks completely defeated by this explanation. 13:01 <tom> “So in theory twenty lead balls the diameter of the barrel should equal a pound? I think?” 13:01 <tom> “I have no idea why it’s like this.” 13:01 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "They do shrimp the same way." 13:01 <tom> “Really?” 13:01 <VoxPVoxD> "They're sold at the market by how many go into a kilo." 13:02 <tom> “Far out.” 13:02 <tom> “But yeah. Everyone hates twenty gauges because they’re for women or kids or whatever. But they’re dumb as hell.” 13:02 <VoxPVoxD> "Hell being the dumbest thing there is, of course." 13:03 <tom> “Some Bubbas give ‘em a real run for their money. I don’t think anyone in the history of creation has ever looked down the bore of a shotgun and been like.. pfffft.. it’s only a twenty gauge.” 13:03 <Crion> Aster: "It's why we still use feet as a unit of measurement in some parts of the world, and why hands were a unit of measurement for a great long time as well. Convenience to a supply chain." 13:04 <Crion> The chicken is excellent as well. He'll have to go for a short run this evening. 13:04 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "They still measure horses in hands." 13:04 <VoxPVoxD> "Forgive me, a 'Bubba'..." 13:04 <tom> “For you, it should mean it’s controllable with minimal experience, the kick shouldn’t bruise your shoulder, and buckshot is buckshot, as they say.” 13:04 <Crion> "Yes, and it's quite silly. As is gauge. As is caliber not measured in metric." 13:06 <tom> “What I really need to see is how well the high-temperature insulation holds up under, uh, combat conditions. There’s a pouch in the stock, see, here-” There’s a square compartment cut into the wood, no panel yet, he’s getting to it- ”You can get six shells in there, if you squeeze ‘em. That way if it gets too hot you can throw the damn thing down and not worry about ammo on 13:06 <tom> your belt going up.” 13:07 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "This is like a skeet gun. My brothers love to massacre clay pigeons with things like this." 13:07 <tom> “Yeah, yeah, that’s what they use ‘em for in the summer games. These things have minute of angle accuracy.” 13:07 <tom> “It all comes down to the shell- which reminds me.” 13:08 <tom> “Aster, hey!” He waves. 13:08 <tom> “That piece you got, that a glock or what.” 13:08 <Crion> Aster, face full of excellent chicken thigh: "Mmmrph?" 13:08 <Crion> He chews and swallows. "Glock 17." 13:09 <tom> “Sick. I think Rolf’s using a .45, but I don’t have the guts to try to talk to that guy. Mostly I’m just nodding.” 13:09 <tom> “I think we should drop my .22s and his ACP for nines. Get the whole squad rolling with the same kit.” 13:09 <Crion> Aster frowns. "Why? Do you have more 9x19 platforms to share with the class?" 13:10 <tom> “No, I just- it’s S.O.P. to trim down to one line of ammo per, for emergencies, extended firefights.” 13:11 <tom> “I mean, if we’re running this military.” Are we running this, ‘military’? 13:11 <Crion> Aster: "Yes. It's SOP for an operation with supply lines and requisition orders. But we're in England." 13:11 <tom> “The game’s the same, my man.” 13:11 <Crion> "And we don't have clearance to requisition guns from Leeds or the Royal Armouries." 13:11 <Crion> "So. What's harder to get and supply, as an armorer?" 13:11 <Crion> "The ammunition, or the platform?" 13:12 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "Platform just means 'gun', right?" 13:12 <Crion> Aster puts down his chicken thigh. "Because there's five of us, and we have five different platforms -- but we have the platforms!" 13:12 <Crion> To Willie: "Yes." 13:13 <VoxPVoxD> As a government official, Willie knows from seemingly-pointless jargon. 13:13 <Crion> "We've got .45 ACP, 9x19 Parabellum, 20 Gauge, I believe, 7.62x54 for the SVD, and whatever it is you're using at any given moment, Bob." 13:13 <tom> “It’s not about like, cutting cost.” Bob holds up his hands, kinda slouches back down into his seat at the workstation. ”I mean, in FORT we all carry the same calibers- except for the specialists, I mean, you know- so if one of us gets caught out and zeroes out their ammo they can just grab one from a squaddie.” 13:13 <Crion> Aster: "Certainly. But we're all specialists, here." 13:14 <tom> Bob, instantly: ”I am using hot-shot twenty-two long rifle.” 13:14 <tom> “Okay, and if I run out of ammo, I’m shit out of luck because you’ve got a glock and Rolf’s got that hand cannon.” 13:14 <Crion> Aster: "And you want to go off that for what? Or do you want to move Badawi onto custom .22LR?" 13:14 <tom> “No, no, I just mean you gotta think about what can go wrong, right?” 13:15 <Crion> Aster: "I agree. Your best bet is to not run out of ammunition." 13:15 <tom> Bob is on the verge of despair. 13:15 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "It sounds like a problem we can work on if and when we've got more established connections, and sourcing new guns is, if not America-simple, at least British-criminal-simple." 13:15 <Crion> "You take four box magazines into the field, stow four more in the van. You source the ammunition beforehand. If you have to take ammunition from another specialist, a critical failure has already occured." 13:16 <tom> “Yeah, yeah, alright. I’m just saying’s all.” 13:16 <Crion> "You just handmade a vulcanized Saturday night special. A super-shotgun." 13:16 <tom> “Please. This baby’s much more surgical.” 13:16 <Crion> "That means you're overqualified to do handloads in, arbitrarily, twenty different configurations." 13:17 <Crion> "Now: What's easier to source materials for? Brass and powder, or the week-long project you just finished?" 13:17 <tom> “Okay but, point of information: hand-loading tiny-ass twenty-two’s with a dremel blows.” 13:18 <tom> “So I’m probably gonna pump up to nine by nineteen as a matter of course.” 13:18 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "Didn't you get a gun off the Cheiron boys?" 13:18 <Crion> Aster: "That's certainly a choice to make. I can just give you my Glock." 13:18 <tom> “Everyone keeps trying to give me their gun! It’s fine. We’re fine.” 13:19 <tom> To Willie: ”One was in 5.7 special-snowflake. Trash gun for idiots. Other one’s needed as a backup.” 13:19 <tom> “I can get real bullets now from Badawi’s supplier. I just wanna.. you know, cover the bases.” 13:19 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "5.7 is less than 9." 13:20 <tom> “F.N. likes to get cute sometimes. I don’t encourage it.” 13:20 <VoxPVoxD> It sounds to Willie like Bob is worried about something besides, precisely, mismatched ammunition. 13:20 <Crion> Aster: "I don't actually want to have a weapon that can get me arrested and deported on my person if I don't need it." 13:21 <tom> He exhales. ”Isn’t that already the case with a glock? What, they give you a 007 license?” 13:21 <tom> “Can you file that on your taxes?” 13:22 <Crion> Aster: "You recall how police have to file a report every time they discharge their service weapon, yes?" 13:23 <tom> “Are you.. doing that?” 13:23 <tom> That’s fucking sad, my man. 13:23 <VoxPVoxD> Willie wants no part of whatever manly slapfight is brewing here. Time for more practical ingenue-ity. "Is it hard to learn to shoot a shotgun?" 13:23 <Crion> Aster: "That's why I have a Glock 17. In case I need to kill someone, and not file a report." 13:24 <tom> “Oh no, there’s like... there’s only two ways you can catastrophically kill yourself with one on accident.” 13:24 <Crion> "Because what I have to file the report on is my mind." 13:24 <tom> Work on that pitch a bit, Bob. 13:24 <Crion> Aster: "Now that I'm no longer with VASCU, I don't have to report every time I use the Talon module. So the Glock is superfluous." 13:25 <tom> Bob: ”What’s the ‘Talon Module’?” 13:26 <Crion> "And frankly, just a dangerous thing to have sitting about the room. If someone body-rides you -- by that I mean, takes control of your motor functions by psychic fiat -- what's the most dangerous thing to have sitting close at hand? It's an easily-manipulated and fired semiautomatic handgun. I have a time-locked safe in my room that I throw its guncase into every time I feel a tickle in my 13:26 <Crion> brain." 13:26 <Crion> Aster makes a slight exasperated gesture. "It's the way I hurt people." 13:26 <tom> He lights up: ”Oh, shit, the nosebleed.” 13:26 <VoxPVoxD> Willie's resigned to letting this play out. Getting out in front of Bob's gunchat is one thing. But once Mr. Aster starts emphasizing my mind, you have to cut your losses. 13:27 <tom> “Oh, that’s cool as hell. Why didn’t you say so?” 13:27 <tom> “Could you, you know..” 13:27 <Crion> Aster: "People tend to freak out." 13:28 <tom> “Hit me with it real quick?” He kinda rises up, still slouched, though. Shadow boxes. 13:28 <Crion> Aster: "What?" 13:28 <tom> “Yeah!” 13:28 <tom> “Let’s see what you got!” 13:28 <Crion> Aster: "That's not how this--what?" 13:28 <Crion> "Are you fucking stupid?" 13:28 <tom> “I am in the army.” 13:29 <Crion> Aster leans back and stares at the ceiling. After a moment: "Willie, please move the other side of the room." 13:29 <Crion> "Take the weapons with you." 13:29 <tom> Yesss. 13:29 <VoxPVoxD> Willie gives Aster a 'you don't have to do this' look. But she does as directed. 13:30 <Crion> No, he actually does. 13:30 <Crion> Bob isn't going to leave him alone until he does this. 13:30 <tom> Corporal William “Bob” Goreman rises to his feet and flashes Aster a shit-eating grin. 13:32 <Crion> Aster: "To prepare you for what's about to happen: you're about to have a psychotic break. You're going to see images that are not real. You will experience 'mondo bad vibes.' Most of these images will be conjured up by your own mind; for your own sake I would suggest that when we are through you do not share their content with anyone. They are not a reflection upon you or your worth as 13:32 <Crion> a person. They are the literal weaponization of your subconsciousness against you, unfairly." 13:32 <tom> “Understood.” He squares up. 13:32 <Crion> Aster: "Do you have handcuffs?" 13:33 <VoxPVoxD> Willie glances in the direction of the TrackCheck at the end of Aster's warning speech. 13:33 <tom> “Rolf suggested I got some zippies. You want me to play it safe?” 13:33 <tom> Bob taps the Odin reticle’s power switch and flips off his sunglasses before replacing them onto the table. 13:33 <Crion> Aster: "If so, cuff yourself to something sturdy. Just one hand, so you can't lunge. Take something sufficient -- a belt, perhaps -- and put it between your teeth." 13:34 <VoxPVoxD> She's thinking about it... but no. If Aster had started it, maybe. But to do it now would be to add insult to injury which was itself added to insult. 13:34 <tom> “Hell dude, I didn’t think you liked me that much.” He’ll do as instructed. 13:34 <VoxPVoxD> Willie: "Is there a chance he goes berserk?" 13:36 <Crion> Aster: "Not a chance. A certainty." 13:36 <Crion> And then Bob sees what he sees. 13:36 <banana> There's a little click noise from across the safehouse. Haldane has locked himself in his room. 13:38 <Crion> This is the power of the mind. 13:41 <tom> For a second, it looks like nothing happened. Bob’s starting to feel a little stupid, here. Well, never you fear, because after about five seconds of scoffing, incredulous snickering, and the like, Bob goes completely limp, ragdolling off the zip-tie holding his wrist to the wall, slumps over. 13:41 <Crion> Aster runs over to him. "Help me get him up." 13:41 <tom> Then he’s back up again! Only, not going anywhere, just sorta quietly going completely apeshit in place. 13:41 <Crion> "Ah." 13:41 <Crion> "Alright. Instead. Stay out of the range of his arms." 13:42 <tom> How long does this go on for, again? 13:42 <VoxPVoxD> Willie's got some tissues for Aster as she stays in place. 13:43 <Crion> So far it's only the one nostril. If he has to knock Bob unconscious with the Talon module, though, it'll ruin the shirt. 13:44 <VoxPVoxD> Let's try to minimize all forms of damage. 13:44 <VoxPVoxD> *minimise 13:44 <tom> ”KhhhhhI”M OKAY!” 13:44 <tom> “GHHEAH.” Fighting it off. 13:45 <tom> Bob’s hands are shaking, his palms are sweaty. But he’s still getting headshots- 13:45 <Crion> Aster: "What caliber is the shotgun you made Willie?" 13:45 <tom> “I’m good.” 13:45 <tom> “It’s a twenty gauge, man..” 13:45 <Crion> Aster: "There we go." 13:45 <Crion> Aster cuts him free. 13:45 <tom> “Good shit. Wow, That fucking sucked.” 13:45 <tom> “You can hang.” 13:45 <Crion> Aster will haul him over to one of the ersatz cots they've set up in one corner. 13:46 <tom> He claps Aster on the shoulder as he comes over. Gently. 13:46 <Crion> Aster: "You're on bed rest for the next four hours." 13:46 <tom> He salutes, lets his hand drop to his face, rubs his eyes. 13:46 <Crion> "I'll get your headphones." 13:46 <tom> “Thanks.” 13:46 <Crion> To Willie: "Prop his head up, under the pillows." 13:46 <VoxPVoxD> Willie is by his side instantly as well. She's got a cold pack from the kitchenette fridge and follows Aster's instructions. 13:48 <Crion> The man wanted to know what it felt like to have the equivalent of being waterboarded or tasered, and now he knows. Aster will keep him alive for the next couple hours until he's back on his feet. 13:48 <Crion> The pizza and the chicken helps.