"Hey, Jackobot, how long is this supposed to take? Does Team Leader need to fill out any of those forms?" Steam asks,

"BEE-DEE-BEE-DEE-BEEP, superior troubleshooter," Jackie intones, "I cannot accurately predict how much time will be required for the superior staff of the PLC to process the requests of the other superior humans, nor am I privvy to information about their requests or the complexity thereof."

It pauses, as if caluclating.  "BEE-DEE-BEE-DEE-BEEP.  By my calculations, it will take... as long as it takes."

Can robots be sarcastic?  If so, Jackie certainly carries that in its tone.

"BEE-DEE-BEE-DEE-BEEP.  I apologize, oh outstanding one, but as I am not personally assigned to the PLC, I have not been programmed with the requirements of which forms will be ncessary for the esteemed Team Leader to complete.  At your service."

The waiting is excruciating.  It would appear that even trivial requests are met with a variety of form requests - some of which are available at the long table, though it does not seem to be uncommon to have a clone sent to come other location in search of either a form or the correct authorization to be placed on one.

As sentiment grows for a way to bypass the line, an Orange clone seven or eight spaces ahead of you seems to have the same idea.  "Here, now!" he states, "I outrank the lot of you, and am on important business for Friend Computer.  All of you Infareds and Reds, out of my way!"

As he begins to push past, one of the laser cannons hums loudly, points, and burns a massive hole in his chest.  Before the clone's dead body can even hit the floor, the Computer's voice emits loudly though the various speakers in the room. 

CUTTING IN LINE IS TREASONOUS, AND IS DETRIMENTAL TO YOUR HAPPINESS. PLEASE OBEY ALL OTHER POSTED REGULATIONS.

AT YOUR SERVICE.

There are no posted regulations visible anywhere within the room.

-----------------------------------------------------------

After approximately three hours, you find yourselves at the front of the line.  A bored, weasel faced, sandy haired male Infared with a nametag of "Stock-BOY" greets you. 

"Welcome to the PLC, Citizens!" he oozes with a pasted on smile.  "I am here to expedite your equipment requests.  Please provide your mission number to begin."

Having just been through this drill with the electrified door, you are all aware of the fact that you do not actually possess a mission number - or, at least, that none has been communicated to you.  When he learns this, Stock-BOY becomes far less helpful.

"If there is no mission number, then no equipment has been reserved for you," he states flatly.  "Thank you, and have a nice day."

The hoverbot finally came to a merciful landing in front of the PLC.  Really, though, given the circumstances it seemed that clone Steam had actually done a remarkable job.  They weren't dead after all.  Well, one clone was.  But such things were standard events afterall, so it was hard not to expect an occaisonal complete and total slicing and dicing.  No doubt it was the most efficient way to recycle a clone anyway.  Start with puree.  

Once inside the PLC Blowz saw long lines of clone after clone after clone after clone.  Given the incredible importance of their mission (What exactly was it again?) he thought briefly about trying to move to the front of the line.  Surely not everyone was equal here.  But even before he moved a foot he had already rethought the whole plan.  Everyone had seen the lasers when they entered the room.  Lasers were part of another standard event that he would rather avoid.  The wisdom of this choice was quickly illustrated when an orange clone attempted to move up and was promptly "standard evented."  Nobody around the orange was even surprised, they simply moved away to provide the body room to topple.  

Also standard was the sense of frustration that everyone in the group felt when STOCK-boy seemed ready to turn them away because they lacked the standard mission number.  Blowz knew about this problem.  He had felt the shock of that particular standard event before.  He quickly turned to the jackobot and said, "Jackzie, Ze Mizzion nomber.  Zu punched it inzu se dorz beforz.  Zu muzt knowz it.  Tellz se nizz zuperiorz clonz ze numberz.  Yez?" 

Blowz knew he didn't know the mission number.  But there was a number and friend computer had provided them with something that did know.  Certainly friend computer providing them with the tools needed for their mission was a standard event as well, yez?  

Aching feet, sure back and a headache was all Brighte2 had to show for nearly three hours of standing in line.  Frustrated would be a nice way to describe his mood.  Having finally arrived at the help window they were met by a most unhelpful clone.  Just because they didn't have a mission number he was turning them away.  Brighte2 was just about to launch into a long, biting speech about how they were working for friend Computer and not helping them would be treason and the unhelpful clone would be reported to Computer one of the other clones remembered that the jackobot knew the mission number.  Brighte stepped aside so the jackobot could approach the window.  He had no idea why friend Computer didn't trust then with the mission number.  Maybe in case they were caught they could not give away the plan.  Maybe because Computer figured most of them would have to be recycled several times during the mission and did not want to have to give out the mission number several times.

The line moved another half an inch forward and Steam buried his hands deeper into his crossed arms to restrain himself from recycling everything around him. Didn't these idiots know they worked for Friend Computer? He squinted, trying to see the front of the line. Such inefficiency.

An Orange steps out of line, trying to cut the process, and is blown to clone hell.

That cheers Steam up a bit and he doesn't even try to hide the glee on his face at the smoking of a traitor. His hands twitch once more for his laser pistol, wishing only that it had been his finger on the trigger. The glee only lasts so long, in the long run, as it's three more hours before it is their turn to talk to the pastey-faced Infrared behind the counter.

GerblegrumferdumberlInfrassholesperkinmothrerderk, Steam thinks to himself, too disgusted to make out his own inner rantings anymore. He stands where he should, behind Team Leader, but he can feel the heat of his anger radiating off of him.

"Welcome to the PLC, Citizens!" the scumbag oozes and Steam wants to soak the blades of the hoverbot with the Infrared's s***-eating grin, "I am here to expedite your equipment requests. Please provide your mission number to begin." When it's made clear that their team has no mission number, that grin falls away, "If there is no mission number, then no equipment has been reserved for you. Thank you, and have a nice day."

Infraredsuckingpirecias***iafacenkerntmcokbitinghor.

Blowz turns to the jackobot, "Jackzie, Ze Mizzion nomber. Zu punched it inzu se dorz beforz. Zu muzt knowz it. Tellz se nizz zuperiorz clonz ze numberz. Yez?"

Steam snaps out of his internal grumblings at the sound of Blowz having an idea.

"Hey," he says under his breath and pokes Team Leader in the shoulder, "Hey Team leader, wouldn't ever try to tell you how to do your job or anything, but this guy's an Infrared," he says louder, glancing at the pipsqueak, "you have authority over him. You could recycle him for being uncooperative with Friend Computer's orders," louder still he says, "Which clone number do you think this inefficient traitor is on, anyway? I hope it's six."

As Steam grumbles and suggests team leader pull rank on the customer service clone, Brighte2 steps back a bit.  He is pretty sure such a confrontation will result in another laser blast.  Deciding that the last vaporized clone resulted in a small increase in morale, he egged on the nearly irate Steam.  "You tell em Steam.  Step up and give that clerk piece of your mind for not supporting our Friend Computer approved mission."

Steam turned to face the worthless clone, to which rank and title obviously meant nothing, and already regretted the breath he was about to spend on him, "If that's what Team Leader wants, Morale Officer, I'm not one to speak out of turn though," he smirked as he turned back toward Team Leader, tired of wasting his time, "I didn't even learn that in the military, though it helped. That was a good old fashioned Friend Computer upbringing that taught me that. Great job at the morale boosting, by the way," he says, his back completely to the clone again, "I can honestly say I haven't ever felt this way about getting a job done before."

Artie was happy to stand in line out of sure loyalty to Friend Computer, but did the line have to take such a long time to move? And then went they did reach the front, they were denied their weapons for the mission. Loyalty was important to Artie, that above all was clear. But shouldn’t Friend Computer have trusted at least one of them with the mission number so that they could complete the mission in a timely manner?  

"BEE-DEE-BEE-DEE-BEEP.  I apologize, oh outstanding one, but as I am not personally assigned to the PLC, I have not been programmed with the requirements of which forms will be necessary for the esteemed Team Leader to complete.  At your service."

Of course you don’t! Useless bucket of reconditioned crap! Ammpe fumed. They’d been standing in this line for only Friend Computer knew how long and would likely be standing here for twice that time again before they’d even be near the front. It was all he could do to keep himself from deep-frying everything in the place. When the Orange, apparently just as irritated by the wait as he and his team had become, stepped out of line and got recycled for his trouble, though, Ammpe was thankful to the Merciful Microchips that he’d been programmed with, at least a modicum of patience. There was a popping noise in his ear, then, and he was pretty sure he smelled ozone… Didn’t need that brain cell anyway…

Finally, after several more hours and several more electricity scented pops in his ear, Ammpe and his team made the front of the queue and were greeted by an Infrared with the designation “Stock-BOY.”

"Welcome to the PLC, Citizens!" he oozes with a pasted on smile.  "I am here to expedite your equipment requests.  Please provide your mission number to begin."

Is something melting? Ammpe sniffed, blinked, and rolled his eyes. Again with the mission number? He glowered at Stock-BOY and sighed out the words; “This stupid Jackobot has lost our mission number.”

"If there is no mission number, then no equipment has been reserved for you," the weasel states flatly.  "Thank you, and have a nice day."

"Hey," Steam mumbled poking him in the shoulder, "Hey Team leader, wouldn't ever try to tell you how to do your job or anything, but this guy's an Infrared," he says louder, glancing at the pipsqueak, "you have authority over him. You could recycle him for being uncooperative with Friend Computer's orders," louder still he says, "Which clone number do you think this inefficient traitor is on, anyway? I hope it's six."

Ammpe grinned at that. “I’d bet at least five.” His grin widened, just a little menacingly given the sparks that crackled behind his eyes, and he leaned toward Stock-BOY. “I didn’t say there wasn’t a mission number, pip-squeak,” he growled, “I said that this stupid jackobot lost it. Isn’t it your job to have a backup mission number in the event of faulty robot memory? Isn’t that standard event 25010 protocol?”

Blowz was rather proud of his idea to get the jackobot to divulge the mission number before getting everyone zapped this time.  It should work.  Surely that was one of the reasons the jackobot was there.  But then a couple of others referenced the bot 'losing' the number.  When had it said it had lost it?  It had just never done anything helpful (like give the mission #!) unless specifically asked for it.  So Blowz had asked for it.  He was curious who was right. 

He was less curious about the outcome of Steam's threats.  Threats to friend computer's workers were another type of standard event which frequently lead to another type of standard event which frequently generated a certain type of standard reaction from those around the event who were trying to keep their lunch on the inside.  When they couldn't, that was another type of messy event.  None of those events or reactions were they type of event that Blowz particularly wanted to be a part of.  So he looked to the jackobot to answer his question and stepped politely back from Steam and stock-BOY to give the jackobot room and himself space from the inevitable 'eventing.' 

Ah, life in the wonderful world of the computer. A place where so many completely predictable events happened, and yet you never really knew what would blow up next.  Yep, Blowz was a good name . . . 

"Hey," Steam mumbled while poking Ammpe in the shoulder, "Hey Team leader, wouldn't ever try to tell you how to do your job or anything, but this guy's an Infrared," he says louder, glancing at the pipsqueak, "you have authority over him. You could recycle him for being uncooperative with Friend Computer's orders," louder still he says, "Which clone number do you think this inefficient traitor is on, anyway? I hope it's six."

Ammpe grinned at that. “I’d bet at least five.” His grin widened, just a little menacingly given the sparks that crackled behind his eyes, and he leaned toward Stock-BOY. “I didn’t say there wasn’t a mission number, pip-squeak,” he growled, “I said that this stupid jackobot lost it. Isn’t it your job to have a backup mission number in the event of faulty robot memory? Isn’t that standard event 25010 protocol?”

Jackie seemed offended at the suggestion, though it was unclear if Jackobots were even programmed with emotions.  "BEE-DEE-BEE-DEE-BEEP, superior human intellect," it chimed.  "It is unnecessary to levy insults.  Perhaps my memory chips are degrading and need examination, but I do not recall you ever asking for the mission number.  How then, oh intelligent one, did you surmise that I had lost it?"

Stock-BOY seemed unphased.  "Perhaps you troubleshooters did not notice when that Orange clone was shot for trying to break line.  I can assure you that you will be reduced to charred carbon before that laser pistol clears your holster," he spoke in a bored tone as he gestured meaningfully to the ceiling mounted laser cannon.  "It happens in here two or three times a day.  Also, Standard events do not extend into that high of a numbring range."

The infared bobbed his head officiously.  "I am very sorry, but this office is not equipped to determine the veracity of lost mission number claims.  Without a number, I simply cannot cross reference any equipment that may or may not have been assigned to a mission that may or may not exist.  Have a nice day.  Next!"

Fortunately, Blowz was not so easily deterred.

He quickly turned to the jackobot and said, "Jackzie, Ze Mizzion nomber.  Zu punched it inzu se dorz beforz.  Zu muzt knowz it.  Tellz se nizz zuperiorz clonz ze numberz.  Yez?" 

" "BEE-DEE-BEE-DEE-BEEP, superior human," the jackobot intoned.  "If you insist, I will relay the mission number."  Turning to Stock-BOY, he continued.  "The mission number for these overqualified troubleshooters is SEC-481013A4.34C-TOP."

The PLC clone bobbed his head and consulted his terminal.  "Oh!" he exclaimed.  "It's a SECRET mission!  Well, why didn't you ay so already?"  He types somthing in, and helper bots begin bringing equipment to the desk. 

Meanwhile, Stock-BOY prints out a receipt.  "Team Leader, please sign this form to notaraize that you have received all listed items, and that they are in good working condition."

The manifest reads:

1 container supergum/solvent
1 gas mask
2 case, Cruncheetym Algae Chips
1 First Aid Kit
1 Biochemical Supplementary Pack with hypo-syringe
15 red laser barrels
4 grenades
1 Thermo reflecto-blanket
1 Life-size Teela-O-Mly mannequin (poseable)
1 Porto-scrubber
1 standard Type I Multicorder
6 standard Comm 1 units

Once everything is collected, Stock reminds you to be certain to not damage anything.  Meanwhile, the line behind you has grown not only loger, but dangerously impatient - it seems a wise time to leave the PLC.

The team returns to the hoverbot.

"BING! Welcome back, troubleshooters.  According to your mission plan, the next scheduled stop is Research and Development.  Please fasten all safety restraints, and enjoy the trip!"

Of course, there still are no safety restraints.  And holding on seems even more precarious than ever, what with the new equipment in tow.

Fortunately, the streets have emptied a bit - or Steam has gotten better at piloting.  One corner is taken too sharply, and the hoverbot does make a sickening crunching, craping sound against a building, but while evryone is thrown around like loose change, amazingly, no one falls out.  Soon enough, two trash recepticles are crushed in the process of parking.

"BING!" the hoverbot chimes. "Research and Development - we have arrived at our destination. Please watch your step when deboarding, and have a nice day!"

“I didn’t say there wasn’t a mission number, pip-squeak,” Team Leader growled at Stocky, and Steam grinned at his rare showing of moxie while simultaneously taking a couple steps back, “I said that this stupid jackobot lost it. Isn’t it your job to have a backup mission number in the event of faulty robot memory? Isn’t that standard event 25010 protocol?”

The jackobot whined behind him as the infrared found the gall to talk back to a superior, "Perhaps you troubleshooters did not notice when that Orange clone was shot for trying to break line." He said, talking about a line when Team Leader was talking about work for Friend Computer, "I can assure you that you will be reduced to charred carbon before that laser pistol clears your holster It happens in here two or three times a day. Also, Standard events do not extend into that high of a numbring range."

This idiot didn't even know about all of the standard events! Like a world run by Friend Computer would not be prepared to handle at least 25010 standard events. And now he continued to waste their time, while behind him Blowz slurred something in his Blowz way--thankfully not into Steam's ear again--to the jackobot, and the pain in his forearm was growing unbearably. Wrestling with the hoverbot's controls had seemed to do hardly anything but exacerbate his condition.

"BEE-DEE-BEE-DEE-BEEP, superior human," the jackobot intoned finally, "If you insist, I will relay the mission number." Steam stared slackjawed at the machine, wondering what traiter to Friend Computer had built such a defective machine, "The mission number for these overqualified troubleshooters is SEC-481013A4.34C-TOP."

"Oh!" the PLC clone exclaimed, figuring out how to do his job, "It's a SECRET mission!" he shouted for everyone to hear, "Well, why didn't you ay so already?"  He begins typing more and helper bots begin bringing equipment to the desk.

Steam's eyes go immediately to the First Aid kit, and asks as Team Leader divvies their stash, "Team Leader, permission to hold on to the First Aid kit? I'd like to clean and bandage my arm to the extent of the kit's ability in order to ensure I am able to fulfill my dutes to the upmost efficiency and effectiveness Friend Computer requires of us!"

((OOC: assuming positive response? Hopefully? Will retcon as necessary))

"Thank you, sir," he says and begins the cleaning and bandaging process. The sparks coming from the jittery Team Leader clone must be an indication that it is working at the best of it's abilities, Steam thinks, realizing he hasn't wanted to slaughter Team Leader for a record amount of time.

"BING! Welcome back, troubleshooters.  According to your mission plan, the next scheduled stop is Research and Development.  Please fasten all safety restraints, and enjoy the trip!"

Somehow, everytime Steam is at the helm of this ride it becomes more difficult to manage. By the grace of Friend Computer, their stash and team all remain inside the vehicle this time, and hardly any property damage is done this time, Steam lies to himself.

"BING!" the hoverbot chimes. "Research and Development - we have arrived at our destination. Please watch your step when deboarding, and have a nice day!"

Steam tried to remember what there would do here, but was pretty sure it was for some new, top-of-the-line equipment. Why else would they need to stop by R&D before their mission started? His newly bandaged but still badly seeping arm ached as he clenched his fists, excited to get them around some real weapons.

Blowz didn’t know If he should grin or shake his head as the jackboot gave the team # to STOCK-boy.  On one hand, his suggestion had worked perfectly.  On the other hand the stupid bot had again failed to offer assistance when the need was obvious.  Surely the computer could have sent them a more useful guide and assistant.  But no, they go the jackboot.  Perhaps this was a part of the computers grand plan?  Perhaps they had to prove themselves.  Perhaps. 

Or perhaps the jackboot was just stupid.  Superior, indeed. 

And all of that pondering brought the team back to the hoverbot and its extremely helpful and friendly bot.  It seemed that there were not just standard events but also standard bots.  Or standard bot levels of usefulness.  At any rate the team climbed cautiously into the hoverbot and held on for dear-life as Steam careened them across the city-scape to their next destination.  Was the extreme danger or the “safe landing” due to Steam or the bot?  Had they been standard botted? 

Whatever it was, he was glad nobody got standard evented.  Now he disembarked at research and development and looked to the team leader.  What was their next move? 

Artie, having stood in line for an insane amount of time, was finally at the front of the line where he and his team were denied the weapons needed for their mission. Why would Friend Computer make their mission so hard to begin?

He vaguely could hear Steam and Team Leader converse onto how the best way to acquire the weapons would be when they finally got ahold of the mission number from the Jackobot. The stock-BOY was quick to give the weapons to Team Leader after the number was presented to him.

Now all Artie had to do was wait for Team Leader to divide it amongst everyone. 

The equipment is divvyed up, and the troubleshooter team beats a hasty retreat out of the PLC, propelled by the nigh-murderous glares of clones forced to wait even longer for the "secret mission" interaction to play out. 

Steam pilots the Friendliness Hoverbot with incredible efficiency - with only one jarring crash and grating of metal at the end - to RND sector.  Once the hoverbot is (more or less) safely parked, the team passes through a series of large, thick metal doors to find yourselves in a hallway lit by green symbols on the ceiling.  The corridor itself is unpainted, however, suggesting that it is not treasonous for you to be here, and the presence of various infared and red clones seems to confirm that.

As you walk along, a screaming alarm klaxon suddenly goes off, and the doors slam shut and seal behind the team.   All nearby personnel take off at a dead run, and all of these foreboding green signs on the ceiling turn quickly to a much more relaxing red. The flashing red triangles helpfully illuminate your path to the R&D labs, which is nice, as the corridors have completely emptied of all life. After three or four minutes, the alarm abruptly stops, leaving the corridors utterly silent (though the red triangles continue to pulse).

As the team enters the lab, you see two clones behind a counter; an older man is dressed in a bulky indigo envionmental suit of some sort, and the other is a younger man wearing a bulky yellow suit of similar design.

"Welcome to R&D!" the indigo chirps in friendly greeting.  "I am Misterwa-I-ZRD, and this is my assistant, Jimm-Y-EEE.  What can we do for you troubleshooters, today?  You have a mission number, I presume?"

Steam adjusted quickly to the flashing red signs once they transitioned from that green nonsense. The alarm might have bothered him more if he hadn't spent his entire day wrangling around the worst agents Friend Computer could find for him. He finally got it though, he finally knew why he had been paired up with such deplorable, likely Commie, clones. He was the only one who could tolerate this crew and ensure the mission succeeded. If a few ridiculous, novice clones wound up smeared on the side of the road, well, he couldn't blame himself for their incompetence.

The alarms suddenly stops and all he can hear is the reassuring sound of boots moving urgently along their mission. It would have been relaxing had he not been skeptical about the other clones doing something to get them all shot again. Steam slowed his pace so that he could follow in the back of the marching order. This was as much to keep an eye on them as it was to make sure neither Slipp nor Blowz crept up on him again.

He couldn't wait to figure out what treasonous scum they truly were.

Steam follow the team as they entered the lab. Two clones stood behind a counter, looking as cheery as Steam felt imagining himself as the arbiter of any and all commie demise.

"Welcome to R&D!" the indigo blurts brightly out at them, "I am Misterwa-I-ZRD, and this is my assistant, Jimm-Y-EEE. What can we do for you troubleshooters, today? You have a mission number, I presume?"

Once more Steam sits back in his place, awaiting Team Leader to team.