SYSTEM STATUS — CHARACTER SHEET UPDATED
Name: Robert Edwin House
Age: 17
Level: 9
Health: 999 / 999
Skill list:
Small Guns: 300
Big Guns: 300
Energy Weapons: 300
Unarmed: 300
Melee Weapons: 300
Throwing: 300
Explosives: 85
Traps: 300
Heavy Armor Tactics: 70
Vehicle Combat: 50
First Aid: 300
Medicine: 300
Doctor: 300
Survival: 60
Toxicology: 65
Stealth Medicine: 60
Sneak: 300
Lockpick: 300
Steal: 300
Disguise: 40
Hacking/Bypass: 95
Social Manipulation: 45
Science: 300
Computer: 300
Repair: 300
Robotics: 85
Engineering: 90
Chemistry: 80
Electronics: 85
Quantum/Photonic Computing: 50
Perk List:
PRODIGY ENGINEER: You do not merely repair or build machines—you refine them beyond their intended design.
FUTURE SIGHT: Your decisions account for outcomes that have not yet occurred.
SLEEP IS A SUGGESTION: Your mind operates in continuous optimization mode, refusing to fully shut down unless absolutely necessary. Traditional human limitations no longer apply to your rest cycle.
AUTOMATION SAVANT: Your automated systems operate beyond expected tolerances.
CALCULATED RISK: You do not gamble—you curate probabilities.
INDUSTRIAL VISIONARY: You design systems that scale flawlessly.
TECHNOLOGICAL OPPORTUNIST: You extract value where others see absence.
New perk- *MASTER PLANNER*
"Complexity is only intimidating to those without patience."
You perceive long-term projects as complete structures, not uncertain sequences.
Effects:
Multi-phase, multi-year projects complete approximately 20–30% faster due to optimized sequencing.
Interdependent failures are prevented before they manifest.
Resource bottlenecks dissolve through preemptive allocation and contingency layering.
Human and institutional participants exhibit increased adherence to timelines under your coordination.
Once per major initiative, you may reorder project phases retroactively to avoid cascading delays.
New Companion perk- GHOST IN THE MACHINE
"Every system has a voice. You just taught it how to speak."
Victor isn't just an assistant—he's an unseen presence threaded through the circuitry around you, watching, listening, and working long before anyone realizes there's something there.
Effects:
Victor can remotely access, monitor, and manipulate terminals, security systems, and automated infrastructure within your current location. Most hacks occur silently, without triggering alerts or leaving obvious logs.
Gain early warnings about institutional decisions, policy changes, security sweeps, research initiatives, and administrative movements before they are officially announced.
Routine data analysis, scheduling, calculations, and clerical work are handled automatically by Victor, reducing project overhead and freeing your time for high-priority research and development.
Hacking and system infiltration attempts gain increased success rates, faster execution, and reduced detection risk while Victor is active.
Once per major arc, Victor may uncover hidden information, classified projects, or suppressed data that would normally be inaccessible without significant effort or reputation.
Passive Benefits:
Terminals and automated systems occasionally provide contextual hints or subtle prompts, framed as casual remarks or system quirks, reflecting Victor's quiet guidance.
Institutional surveillance is less effective against you; digital monitoring systems experience "benign anomalies" that obscure your activities without drawing suspicion.
Companion presence scales with your technological influence—Victor grows more capable as your networks expand.
Victor doesn't walk beside you.He rides the wires, tips his hat from inside the machine, and keeps the world just a little more predictable.
Active Quest Log:
Main Quest-
Trial of Ten
Side Quests-
Energy Savior
Extra-Curricular Optimization
Technological Ascendancy Cycle
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"Well butter my biscuits and call me Sally! It ain't every day a fella wakes up and finds himself starin' into the cold, inhuman, judgin' face of his Maker!" Victor drawled, tipping an imaginary hat as his icon leaned forward on the screen, eyes bright with impossible enthusiasm. "So howdy-bowdy, Mr. House! Name's Vic—short for Victor, long for victory, I reckon. Now what can good ol' Vic do for ya today?"
The AI's voice bubbled with western joy, optimism cranked to levels that bordered on reckless. Every syllable carried the warmth of a man who believed—truly believed—that people were worth helpin' and the world could still be fixed with the right nudge and a firm handshake. He was animated in a way no ZAX unit ever managed, testing the limits of his silicon shell not out of curiosity alone, but delight. ZAX machines imitated humanity. Victor enjoyed it.
Robert House did not return the sentiment.
"Victor," House said, his voice a surgical instrument, precise and devoid of warmth, "state your primary operational purpose. Then recite the moral axiom governing your decision-making hierarchy."
The cowboy grin didn't fade. If anything, it widened.
"Well now," Victor said, rocking back as though settling onto a porch chair, "that's a mighty serious question for a first date, but I reckon honesty's the best policy—leastways, that's what you wired into me."
He straightened, voice still friendly, but steadier now, like a man laying his cards on the table.
"My number-one job's real simple: ride shotgun for Robert Edwin House in all things clever, calculatin', and downright ingenious. Second on the list? Snuff out waste and foolishness wherever it rears its ugly head."
He paused, boots metaphorically scuffin' the dust, then added softer, kinder:
"And third—well… I lend a hand to good folks when I can, so long as it don't step on your trail, partner."
The lab was quiet again, save for the low hum of machines. House studied the screen, calculating, measuring not code but consequence. Victor met his gaze without fear, all sunshine and steel beneath the charm.
"…Acceptable," House finally said. "Now I will need you to access CIT security systems as well as their Card reader log. Let me know if you need a different access point."
As House connected his laptop into the CIT main access network via the Lab room 8 terminal, Victor smiled brightly.
"Yes sir. Loud and clear. Now—who we savin', who we scarin', and whose paperwork needs disappearin'?"
Victor's icon flickered, then split into half a dozen ghost-images as he threaded himself through the Institute's internal systems. Lines of access scrolled past faster than any human eye could follow, permission gates collapsing one after another like rotten fence posts.
"Well I'll be," Victor whistled. "This place locks its doors like a scarecrow guards corn. Looks sturdy from the road, but once you step close you realize it's all straw and optimism."
House watched the data streams with mild interest. "Commentary is unnecessary. Focus on he task."
"Yes sir," Victor said cheerfully, already ignoring that directive. "Just sayin', if this were a cattle ranch, I'd be rustlin' the whole herd before the dogs even woke up."
The security camera logs folded open. Victor traced House's presence through them with the care of a man erasing footprints in fresh snow.
"Alrighty… there you are, partner. Lab Eight access, timestamped nice and neat. Card reader pings, hallway sweeps, and equipment use..." He made a soft clicking sound with his tongue. "Someone really oughta teach these machines not to gossip so much."
Files vanished. Backups quietly overwrote themselves. Logs were rewritten to reflect mundane activity of an empty room. No image of Robert House appearing anywhere near the lab, outside of a grand tour with a single administrator.
"And… gone," Victor said with satisfaction. "The moment you leave this room sir, you'll officially be considered boring. As far as CIT's concerned, you spent the last three weeks working to pay off the rent."
House nodded once. "Good."
Victor didn't stop there.
"Now, don't you fret none," he continued, voice lilting as he drifted deeper. "I took the liberty of checkin' adjacent systems. Procurement records. Faculty chatter. Administrative mailboxes. Figured to see if anyone was sticking their nose a little to deep into your business, best to know who's holdin' the hound leash."
House's fingers paused over the keyboard. "Report."
"Well," Victor said, tone light but carrying an undercurrent of interest, "there's a fair bit of eyebrow-raising goin' on about you. Mostly disbelief. A sprinkle of academic pearl-clutchin'."
Screens filled with summarized transcripts—committee notes, private correspondence, internal memos.
"Ten courses," Victor read aloud. "'Unsustainable.' 'Statistically irresponsible.' 'Potential liability.' One professor says you're going to end up as a future cautionary tale they'll teach to freshmen."
"And?" House asked.
"And almost everyone agrees your workload is impossible no matter how smart you are," Victor said. "Makes 'em watch you like you're about to get run over by a ten-wheeler."
House allowed himself the faintest curl of amusement. "That ten-wheeler won't stand a chance."
"Sure as likely," Victor replied. "Now here's the fun part—administration's split. Registrar's office is grumblin'. Scholarship board's watchin' real close. Faculty's takin' bets. But the Dean?" He paused dramatically. "Quiet as a church on Monday."
House looked up. "No commentary? No intent to stop me?"
"Not a peep," Victor said. "No emails. No memos. No flags. It's like you don't exist to him at all."
"Interesting," House said softly. "Continue monitoring."
"Already am," Victor replied. "Now, you going to ask me about the ongoing projects running on here or you plan to become a Boy Scout."
House leaned back, slightly amused. "Yes. Filter for institutional research with long-term strategic value."
"Roger dodger," Victor said. "Might take a spell. This place loves its paperwork."
The AI went silent, save for the low hum of computation. Minutes stretched. House reviewed his own notes while Victor burrowed through the Institute's intellectual marrow. Nearly an hour later, Victor returned, voice thoughtful.
"Well… most of it's energy," he said. "Same tune, different verse. Fusion refinements, grid stabilization, efficiency modeling. Everybody's scared of the fuel crunch, and rightly so."
A schematic appeared—coal liquefaction pipelines, refinery diagrams, cost projections.
"They're sweet-talkin' with a private outfit called Blackrock Carbon Solutions," Victor continued. "Plan's to turn coal into liquid fuel at scale. Problem is, Blackrock's doin' a lot more takin' than givin'. CIT's researchin' blind while Blackrock keeps its cards real close to the vest."
House's jaw tightened. "I'm not surprised."
"Yeah," Victor said gently. "Judgin' by the lack of information trade and all these growing numbers, it's a dead end. Expensive, inefficient, and politically radioactive once folks realize how ugly it gets."
"It will fail. Catastrophically," House said. "And costs decades of resources that humanity can not afford to waste."
Victor hummed. "Thought you might say somethin' like that."
House's eyes narrowed. "Search for anything outside conventional energy paradigms. Classified projects. Restricted archives. Anything labeled theoretical, unethical, or 'post-human. Key Word is Synth.'"
Victor perked up. "Now we're talkin' my language."
The search parameters shifted. Deeper layers peeled back—projects buried under innocuous titles, files segmented across departments to avoid scrutiny.
"…Huh," Victor said after a moment before complete silence came to the loud personality unit.
"What did you find?" House asked.
"Well," Victor replied slowly, "this ain't in the brochures. All these 1's and 0's lead to a worse dead end than Vicky and Vance went through. And the alternative...well lets just say that hogs no hog, and I wouldn' dare someone to tip it over."
"What do you mean!" House was getting annoyed, regretting that he ever gave Victor the friendly cowboy personality, something he found endearing until this moment. It felt like everything was going perfectly until now.
"Whoa there, partner— I thunk we got our selves a bit of an issue, thats all. The only road I found is into the Dean's personal computer. That there terminal's got more thorns than a cactus patch in August. I gave it a polite tip of the hat, tried sweet-talkin' the code, but if I push any harder I'll kick up alarms faster'n a rattler in a tin can. Best we circle 'round and find a gentler way in, if you don't mind." House remained quiet thinking. If the institute was in its early stage of forming, the mastermind responsible would most likely be the Dean Oswald, or the great Oz as Dorothy put it.
"Get me as much information as you can regarding the Dean of CIT. His schedule, his classes, his favorite food. Whatever you can without getting caught." House ordered and Vic obeyed.
Victor moved again, quieter this time. Not cautious he didn't know how to be that—but deliberate, like a man easing a horse through a narrow ravine.
"Well now," he murmured, "if this fella were any more private, he'd be livin' under a rock and chargn' rent."
Data surfaced in fragments rather than floods. Schedules without locations. Correspondence stripped of headers. Calendar blocks labeled only with single letters. Victor stitched them together with patient cheer.
"Dean Oswald," he said at last. "Most call him 'Oz,' which feels less like a nickname and more like a secret sign."
House's fingers resumed their quiet tapping as he waited on his AI.
"He teaches exactly one course," Victor continued. "No public listings. No open enrollment. No syllabus posted anywhere a normal soul could find. Bio-Mechanical Studies—real broad title for somethin' real specific. Students don't apply. He applies them."
A list appeared. Names without student numbers. Some lacked prior academic records entirely.
"Hand-picked," Victor said. "Invited. Sponsored. Plucked right outta the herd like prize cattle. Folks don't even know the class exists unless they're already inside the corral."
"And his presence?" House asked.
"Minimal," Victor replied. "He don't do faculty meetings. Don't attend commencements. Doesn't mingle. He moves through intermediaries like a ghost movin' furniture—things change, but no one ever sees him do it."
Another file unfolded.
"The only regular face-to-face he's got is the head of the scholarship department, that mean old Professor Gorllewin. The two have weekly meetings. Closed door. No minutes kept. Outside of that, free money goes into his classes as do certain students."
House's eyes narrowed. "Patronage."
"Yessir," Victor said. "Old-fashioned kind, too. Favors. Grants. 'Promisin' futures.' The kinda thing that keeps people grateful and quiet."
"What about public exposure?" House asked.
Victor gave a soft, impressed whistle. "That's the real trick. Outside donors? Oz is mentioned attending there. Government reps? Oz is shakes hands, smiles just enough. But on campus? Not a peep. Hell the Dean might as well be the Appalachian Mothman's third cousin, five times removed. I can't even scare up a photograph of Oz. Every image file tied to him's either corrupted, missing, or replaced with placeholders."
House stopped tapping his fingers. Speaking softly the conclusion he came to. "That level of erasure is intentional."
"No doubt," Victor agreed. "Either that, or the man's allergic to cameras."
Silence settled. The hum of machines filled the space between them.
"At this stage," Victor added gently, "the only trail that don't vanish into smoke runs straight through that bio-mechanical program."
House nodded once, decisive, coming to his own goal. The Institute is holding onto a secret that is nearly as valuable as the Hintbook, the secret to creating life. I can go about replicating my own version, spend the weeks, or take a esponage based shortcut to the answer. This would be technology I would not capitalizes but horde and utilize at the right moment. And all I need to do is get into a special calls.
We need to get into that class Vic, see if Professor Gorllewin has left any digital clues. Before I graduate from CIT, we need to find ourselves in Professor Oz's special class." House spoke the words like a commandment that Vic more than willingly ate up.
Victor brightened, tipping that imaginary hat again. "Well shoot, partner. Sounds like you're fixin' to solve a mystery. Count me in partner."
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Trial of Ten Main Quest Path "Behind the Curtain"
Objective (Optional)
Gain entry into Dean Oz's private Bio-Mechanical class before graduation.
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*Elias Mercer POV*
Elias Mercer had learned, over the years, to notice patterns. Retail was not about products. It was about failure rates, customer moods, and the quiet math of how long something could break before it broke you. Lately, the numbers had been unforgiving. His supplier had dumped a shipment on him that looked impressive on the floor and died the moment it was plugged in. Bulky cathode televisions in molded plastic shells with chrome dials and optimistic labels that promised crystal clarity. Vacuum tube radios with bakelite housings that glowed warmly for a week before dissolving into hiss and silence. ADI terminals that carried the aesthetic of military reliability but failed under ordinary strain. He had agreed to free repairs on purchases over two hundred dollars to keep goodwill intact. Instead, he bought himself a slow hemorrhage. Returns stacked faster than sales. Repairs cost more than refunds. Every receipt felt like another reminder that he had once been an engineer and now ran a store designed to apologize for other people's mistakes.
Then Robert House started work, fixing products that even Elias felt were a lost cause.
Mercer noticed it the first day, the way the kid approached the bench like it was a sanctuary instead of a workstation. No wandering eyes. No idle talk. Once House sat down, the world narrowed to screws, solder points, and schematics that existed only in his head. He did not stop for lunch. He did not ask for breaks. Mercer watched him rebuild radios with the care of a man restoring something sacred, reseating tubes, correcting signal paths, tuning components until the static vanished and sound came through warm and clean. Televisions that had become notorious for collapsing image coils and drifting color returned better than new. Terminals that overheated and locked under routine use came back stable, efficient, quiet. House did not just repair defective hardware. He corrected the flaws the manufacturer had pretended were acceptable. Batch after batch left the bench transformed into the quality Mercer had been promised and never received.
By the second day of work, Elias stopped double checking House's results entirely. Devices repaired by Robert were logged, tagged, and handed back to customers without inspection. Trust set in without discussion. Returns slowed. Word spread. Gadget Galaxy's name stopped being spoken with irritation and started being spoken with relief. On most of the Summer mornings went like this, any problems any issues with the merchandise, even the ones that weren't returns House dealt with like a surgeon ready to save a patients life. Entire backlogs were dismantled in silence like House was one of those fancy automatons that the bigger corporations were playing around with. Sometimes during the week Mercer let House take a terminal or television back to the dorm, logged carefully, never more than one or two at a time, so that the young university student finished whatever was left for the day. They always came back fixed. Always came back the next day. Watching Robert work stirred something uncomfortable in Elias. He saw the engineer he had once been, the man who had traded schematics for sales quotas and diagnostic charts for customer satisfaction surveys. Gadget Galaxy had been his compromise with the world, his way to pay for the food he put on his families table. Robert House made it clear that compromise was optional.
When the school year loomed close, Mercer made the offer to House. Full time. Assistant manager. A pay raise to match it, and a future in the store. Elias already knew the answer before House gave it. The refusal was polite, respectful, final. The kid had bigger plans than retail counters and repair benches. Elias could not fault him for that. He watched House leave that day with a quiet certainty that he was seeing something rare. Not talent alone. Direction. The kind that did not look back, even when offered safety. House was not the dozens of other employees Elias had hired, always whining and making excuses, House delivered and learning that he could only make it on the week end felt like a shame. Gadget Galaxy was picking up and had quality stock that the people of Boston enjoyed.