Untitled Paratech Company

Link to article: Untitled Paratech Company.


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text="I don't sympathize with LOSS OF LIFE that I have not personally met. We do business with those that PAY rather than the ones that don't."]]

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⚠️ **Content warning:** Mentions of Terrorism, Gun Violence.

//Untitled Paratech Company// - Written by [[*user Frostbyters]]

//Critted by// - [[*user ViciousSpirit]] [[*user Sinking_Otter]] [[*user AstralNavigator]] [[*user KatyaStrangelove]] [[*user Diogene_s]] [[*user Enayy]]

//🖋 4150 Words// 
//⏱︎ 15 Minutes//

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+++ **SIGNAL RECEIVED.**

…

//SYSTEM STARTUP.//
//ENGAGING JOINT LOCKS.//

…

//MOTOR SKILLS: FUNCTIONAL.//

//COGNITIVE SOFTWARE: FUNCTIONAL.//

//FLUID PUMPS: FUNCTIONAL.//

//SSD: FUNCTIONAL.//

//CONNECTION: STABILIZED.//

…
…
…

+++ **ENGAGING BIOS.UNTITLED**

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— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

//Untitled's screen lit up, its cameras flashing red lights before its display began. It felt probes behind the baseplate of its back, plugged in from this morning. A base firmware update to enhance its performance. Its frame rattled, titanium scraping against iron as it stepped out of its upholstery. Untitled's feet echoed against the concrete as it walked around the workshop, scanning the current board of projects that Roman had to work on. The amount of overlapping pages and blueprints that were pinned probably would’ve exceeded the weight of the board itself if it hadn’t been bolted to the wall.//

//Roman had always made paratech to sell to anyone who had a need for it. The human side of this business has been legally questionable due to how he gathered his information on what he'll have to build next to please the market. He might just be an old man who can craft things, but one thing is for sure, he knows his way around every other party there is. He said that someone taught him, but he has never elaborated further. That someone is most likely dead at this point. Roman is a frail, old man. How he had the energy to keep going is something only he'll know.// 

//It paced forward, metal screeching as dust moved its way inside its machinery. Their warehouse was filthy, debris pushed to the walls instead of properly disposed of. Metal supports were evenly spaced out across the warehouse, and were built onto with large chain link walls which helped give a sense that this is a place meant to be lived in. Each sectioned off space had a purpose. Around Untitled were rows of tables with pieces of tech in their production stages as well as boxes, filled with sold pieces that had to get shipped. Its thoughts waned.//

"Sigh."

//It wishes it could exhale air instead of having to pronounce it. While Roman and Sykes were out, busy doing who knows what, it'd be a good idea to keep working on its side of the company in peace. Untitled got down on one knee, brushing away stains as it lifted up the hatch in the floor in front of its upholstery. It climbed down before it slammed the hatch shut above itself, a creak greeting its sensors while dirt and sand sprinkled down like snowflakes from the hinges. A corroded ladder down to the bunker welcomed it like an old friend.//

//Down here is its domain. Entirely its. The bunker had to have been one of the most unpleasant places to turn into a workplace … for a human, that is. From a robot point-of-view, it did what it was meant to do. Damp and oppressive, an atmosphere most likely born out of Untitled's intentions. As a machine, it didn't have a need to breathe. The air is noxious and deadly, due to all the active fumes produced across numerous chemistry sets and machines. A single ventilation unit was near the entrance to ensure nothing would escape when the hatch was open.//

//As it stepped across cracked concrete, it pulled back a ragged curtain that hid a section of its lab, revealing a half-built endoskeleton, with spools of wires and plugs flowing outwards from its chest like a still life of a man getting shot. Untitled did not properly know how to clean up after itself in this regard. The pros & cons list that it computes every time it enters this place always says sorting this plastic mess will be a waste of time.// 

//Before the robot could do anything meaningful, it heard the sound of the Way opening upstairs. It grabbed the curtain and dragged it together. The hydraulics in it hissed as it made its way up the rusty ladder, opening the hatch yet again.//

//The first thing it saw was Roman, dropping off a saggy duffel bag on a granite tabletop as he pushed away a pile of electronics that he had previously tinkered with. Sykes had ran off to the bathroom. The man drinks too many energy drinks while he walks about. Roman takes a puff from his inhaler as he speaks.//

"Hey, U. Glad to see that ... you are awake."

//Untitled made its way around, gliding a hand against the edge of the table.// "Yes, Roman. I appreciate the **WORK**," //it raised a palm up,// "I feel refreshed and **INVIGORATED**." //It looked at Roman, the cameras in its head tightening as it zoomed in on his face. Untitled's distorted voice was like a relic of that which Roman had worked with to make the machine. Crude and harsh. Every few words crashing unceremoniously into itself was something the two of them got used to. Some bugs in the code can't be squashed.//

"Uh-huh." //The man was busy, digging through the bag as he placed an assortment of items out on the table. For an old man like Roman, his raspy voice did have the power to travel quite a bit. The echo of the building did help.// "Definitely. Please, just remind me to fine tune anything that's off. Sykes!"

"What?!"

"The veritas headset, the one the gawker gave us— where is it?!"

//The flush of a toilet rang out. Sykes came out and leaned against the doorway of the workshop. Gloved hands run leather fingers through slicked back, dark hair.//
"In my bag! Don't get your panties twisted, man."
//Sykes chuckles, dirtied boots leaving slight stains as he steps in, squatting down as he grabs the headset from his backpack. He carefully hands it over to Roman.//

//The robot took a few steps closer, looking down at the odd device.// "Your status with the **SERPENT’S HAND**. Are they aware?" //Its head cleanly rotated to look at Roman, the expression on its facial panel showing a neutral glare.//

"Bah—" //He bluntly exclaimed,// "I can always just give them another hint or tip on what the … the GOC or Foundation is doing next. Everyone needs this thing just as much as we do, considering the innovations that have been happening at Eurtec. My inside man is getting antsy." //Roman grasped for his inhaler as he spoke.//

"Whatever you say, Rome ... "
//Sykes grabbed his bag, heading off to the kitchen to fill his stomach.//

"We need to improve upon their design; make it compact enough, cheap enough. The GOC's engineers ... cannot design jack shit efficiently." //Roman sits down on a comfortable mattress chair, the cover scratched and worn.// "U, I know we were just out, but … yes, would you mind fetching me an order I placed in Three Portlands? It's food and medicine." //He shook his inhaler around.// "I heard there is a parade of sorts going around across the entire city … lots of outsiders and such … you'll blend in with those augmented people, forgot their names."

"Do I get a pass?"
//Sykes stood behind, hands placed at the neck rest of the chair.//

"Yes, you can go too. Just make sure to be quick … I am sure both storefronts close in two hours. Didn’t you just go to make lunch?"

//Untitled placed its cold hands on Roman.//
"We will go with **GREAT HASTE**, father."

------
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+++ ♔

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------

//A Way is a form of travel that requires a method to access it, known as a Knock. In exchange for free orders on all future products, Roman made a deal with a human that possessed incredible thaumaturgy. They created an illegal way to Three Portlands as well as several other Free Ports and Nexus's so that the company may conduct business without intervention. The police force that works in Three Portlands, nicknamed the Fireflies, are specifically looking out for Sykes & Roman, both for their own reasons. They work to keep the island clean from filth like them.//

//... Who was that human?// 

//Untitled stepped out of the Way, with Sykes close behind. Their little pocket dimension filled with doors folded into itself as they exited. Out into the same spot they always have, the empty upper floors of a skyscraper currently owned by some random company that didn't matter to them. They just needed free space so they could do their travel uninterrupted. Bribing is the best option they had. Failing businesses needed any cash flow they could get to survive in this world.//

"I wonder … will anyone try to turn me in to the fireflies if they recognize me?"
//Sykes's mind was always on the wrong things.//

//The robot gripped his shoulder tightly.// "Look out for **POSTERS**, Sykes. We must be careful here." //Untitled turned, walking through stale air and down musty, molding corridors. The workers knew not to pay much attention to them if they knew what would happen to their jobs.//

"You know I can handle myself if things get messy, tin can."

"Do not shake the **HORNET'S NEST**."

//The two of them stay close together, with Untitled leading the way. They make their way down a fire exit and walk out into the alleyway next to the building. Fresh air at last. The city was radiating with noise, and looking to the exits of the alleyway showed crowded streets. Trash didn't pile these dumpsters as much, but with the parade, confetti and litter became noticeable among the hundreds of feet stomping on the ground. Workers make sure to stick to a tight schedule while maintaining the beauty that this city holds. With the water around them, most people prefer to give their trash to the fauna that makes good use of it. The outsiders who visit Three Portlands aren't very aware of this tradition.//

//The screen on its head flashed an ellipsis.// "Decoding GEO.Node … Sharp's Special Souls **AND** Dali Pharma."

"That's going to be one long walk—"

"Apply your **BUFFER** and stop complaining. I would like a clean **EXPEDITION** from you." //Untitled raised a finger at Sykes as it began walking, not bothering to turn around.//

//Robots like Untitled were very uncommon in Three Portlands, albeit they were always confused for devoted Maxwellists. No one bothered to look for flesh, because you'd never know if the only thing left was a heartbeat. Men like Sykes blended into the background due to the far more interesting anahumans you'd see roaming about. Navigating through the dense crowds allowed them to see winged men and children, horns and teeth in places where they don't belong, and humans who are part machine. Squeezing past tightly packed stalls selling paraphernalia made movement through the main city streets slow. It was not long before the two of them passed by Sykes's posters, signed by the United States Domestic Security Court. A detailed poster with Sykes's prison mugshot was pinned to an intricate bulletin board, as well as several more on the surrounding lampposts. A lot of it was covered up by advertisements for the current festival alongside UIU and Anderson Robotics recruitment campaigns.//

//He ripped the poster from the board, looking down at it. The buffer somewhat muffled his voice.// "My jawline is sharper than that. I swear they didn't angle the lights properly while I was in there"

"Get a **MOVE ON**, Sykes. Before **THEY** notice."

//It'd be a good idea to fetch Roman's medication before dinner, Untitled thought. Roman neglected to mention that nearly everyone had some form of green apparel on for this event. The two of them stuck out like sunlight reflecting off of snow. Luckily, so did the people who put the posters up. The long, crystalline barrels of a Firefly's weapon was easy to spot from a distance, and they navigated around them in the crowds to avoid any altercation. It was barely an hour before they arrived at Dali Pharma. Clinical, clean and handcrafted. A knock on the floral pattern shutter under the overhang, simple proof of payment and they were off with a brown carton bag. Untitled twitched the visible gears on its back as a thank you. This was one of the only shops not flooded with outsiders.//

//His stiff neck cracked as he rolled his head.// "How many people do you know in this damn city?"

"The perfect **LIFEFORM** is a fungus, due to its mastery in **CONNECTION**. It can teach you things, Sykes."

"Oh, fuck you."

//To the other side of the city on a normal day, it would be 35 minutes. With this crowd, it would likely take 53. Margin of error leaves 7 minutes. Expert navigation using backstreets to the best of their ability ... 15. As they quickly walked through a narrow alley, Untitled suddenly grabbed Sykes by his collar, placing their backs against a spray-painted brick wall.//

"**HALT**."

//He stuck close to the wall and peeked around as he got close to the robot. Untitled had its reasons, so Sykes did not struggle.// "What do you see? Anyone in our debt?" //Untitled heard the bolt of Sykes’s hidden rifle slide open.//

"Refrain. It's **REINVELD**," //It looks up, seeing a fire escape ladder out of reach,// "Up there."

//Sykes balls his fist and sighs before Untitled turns around, crouching as it extends a hand. The man steps up, the joints locking in place to sustain Sykes's weight. In a moment, the ladder falls down, and the two of them carefully climb up to the roof.//

//Reinveld is an engineer working for one of the many successful companies that moved to Eurtec, specifically, LifeSynth. Or, at least, he is on paper. A massive reactor meltdown and eventual explosion caused by "system malfunctions" occurred in another facility not too far from their headquarters that had a body count in the triple digits. Paratech companies are willing to hire terrorists and mercenaries to get rid of their enemies if it means they'll get more time to experiment and find solutions to problems that wouldn't exist if it weren't those same companies creating those problems in the first place. The competition is fierce. Untitled sought to work alongside Roman and play both sides.//

"How much did he pay you to develop that bomb?" //Sykes spoke flatly; his rifle squared against his hip as he held on to the stock.//

"I don't sympathize with **LOSS OF LIFE** that I have not personally met. We do business with those that **PAY** rather than the ones that don't." //Untitled looked over towards Sykes, its rigid fingers pushing the black barrel down.// "Not now. We plan for it when it **BENEFITS** us."

"Does it matter if it benefits us if we know it'll benefit everyone else?" //He folds his rifle together, hiding it in his backpack.//

"Do you **VALUE** strangers more than the bounty your own hide is worth, Cristobal?" //One could barely make out a robot similar to Untitled speaking to the Fireflies between the decorated washing lines and banners before disappearing into the cheering groups of the festival. It seemed to carry an instrument with it in a guitar case. Performers are common ... robotic ones, not at all.//

"I value the peace I'd get knowing that someone who has probably killed thousands is dead." //Sykes turns his back to Untitled before he begins to climb down the fire escape opposite the one they previously climbed.//

//The two of them pushed past entranced civilians who look onwards to the annual Portland Prairie Festival main event, meant to harmonize land & sea together through a thrilling display of thaumaturgy where the backlash causes beautiful alterations to the greenery and sea life. A massive stage is built in advance in the main plaza, similar to an amphitheatre. There's a lot more anomalous properties to the festival than just the show itself. The blind see the artistic display of talent, the deaf hear the rhythmic melody of the talented orchestra and the voiceless sing their praises. It unites all those that oppose each other yet love that which nature gives them. It is with much thanks to The Mayor that everyone gets a chance to experience this event every year.//

"Hey … what the hell are they celebrating really?"

"I just had it open in my database. **ONE MOMENT**—"

//Sykes pulls Untitled closer by the shoulder, standing aside as he leans in, hushing his voice.// "Don't you think it's a big coincidence to see Reinveld here the same day they're doing this bullshit?!"

"Relax. He is most likely **SIGHTSEEING** with his daughter. He would not do it twice in the same quarter, nevertheless with **HER** witnessing. Besides. What would his motive be? **ANDERSON'S** plaza is further away. **PROMETHEUS** left months ago. Who'd **RUIN** this lovely event?"

"You sold him more than one, didn't you? I know you are fine with your 'I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYONE' mindset, but this is just … fucked up. I can't believe you!"

//Untitled grabbed Sykes by the back of the neck, raising him up and carrying him on his shoulder as he walked to Sharp's Special Souls. Sykes tried resisting for a moment, but he knew he could never be as strong as the robot even if he tried. Onlookers laughed briefly before the two disappeared behind brick and stone.//

"Stay quiet in front of the public eye before we have to **BREAK YOU OUT** again. You're attracting **UNWANTED ATTENTION**."

//After a burdened walk, It put Sykes down on the ground as they entered Sharp's shop. Wooden beams held up a large thatch roof, with large logs stretching across. The floor tiles had intricate geometrical patterns and the seats were worn down. Squishy and relaxing. The commotion outside brought a lot more business to this quaint restaurant, and people are, without a doubt, enthralled. The line is long, and some people won't get served in time. Luckily, the man of the hour is free to serve them.//

"Unty, my boy! Just in time. What can I get for you and your friend'o there?" //Sykes paced to the left, slightly hiding behind the robot. Sharp grinned, happy to see one of his favourite recurring customers amongst the crowd of new faces.//

//Untitled stepped forward.// "**CAESER** placed an order. I am picking it up." 

//Sharp's crooked blue horns began to glow before he flicked his tatted blue fingers at them, flaming sparks flying through the air.// “Right'o, right'o. I'll give you an extra bottle of Sirpa on the house, how's that? I owe the man, after all!” //Roman's favourite alcohol. The ASCII smile formed on Untitled’s screen.//

"That would be **PLEASANT** to deal with. Thank you very much, Sharp." //Untitled saw Sykes looking off through the windows, so it quickly slipped the flyer it had hidden in its forearm to Sharp underneath the bill. The two of them nodded to each other before the robot stored the packages in its rug sack compartment which opened up like a shutter on its back.//

"**LET'S GO**. Our tasks are finished."

"Thank god, I was just beginning to think I'll have to pitch a tent here."

"**QUIET**."

//Untitled was thankful for once that Sykes's attention could easily be taken off of it and onto the crowds around them. Slipping that paper was important. Customers of its side of the Untitled Paratech Company had to get its list of available products one way or another, right?//

//Both make their way through the chanting groups and back to the same office building, climbing up the same flight of dilapidated stairs. As they stand near massive, thick framed windows, walking down the grungy hall that leads to the Way, the echo of a rifle rings out nearing the festival centre. At least, it sounds that way to Untitled. Two more shots ring out before the screams of all the crowds begin to exceed the music that abruptly stops. People begin to disperse like ants, all hording against each other to get away from the gunfire. Some with powers don't hide but instead seek. Buildings block their view of people that are most likely dead, but nothing blocks its line of sight to the perpetrator.//

//The robot that spoke to the Fireflies. Its design was minimalist and practical. Steel plates blocked its vital components. Its legs and arms were stripped to their core for efficiency. Spring counterweights were attached within cylinders that jutted out from its shoulders. Why here? Why now? Did they have a deal? They wouldn't hire mercenaries, would they?//

//Its weapon. A modified instrument that could be built into a lightweight rifle with ease. The motors within Untitled began to whir with excitement. A fellow robot doing what it does best? They exist?//
"I have never seen someone use such a **CREATIVE** method for hiding a weapon in plain sight."

"What the fuck are you talking about, tin can?"

"**OH**, right." //Untitled began to point with its left hand.// "To the **LEFT** of the office block on our right, look **UP** to the ventilation units. Right **THERE**. Armed shooter. **MARVELOUS**!"

//The man immediately reached behind his bag without hesitation. Sykes unfolded his rifle and placed the barrel of his gun on Untitled's shoulder, chambering a round as he began zeroing the scope.// "Distance to target?"

//Untitled processed for a second before answering. Interfering could cause problems ... but after the run in with Reinveld, Sykes was most likely itching to shoot anything he could. This could be seen as heroic to the public, and the Fireflies could take credit for a third party's silent involvement. Distance.//
"**ONE THOUSAND** metres."

//He adjusts his scope before carefully aiming. His breath steadies, his hands jittery. Another shot rings out. Leather gloves squeeze tightly against the glass fibre stock of the rifle, and a drop of sweat rolls down Sykes’s forehead before he swallows the spit in his mouth.// 

"Shoot the top of its thigh. It won't be able to **ESCAPE** without control of its legs."

//All of the sound dissipates in Sykes's ears but for a moment. The last breath exits his lungs, and he relaxes. The rifle rattles against his shoulder as a shot is fired, and all of Sykes's senses return to him like a floodgate of stimulation. Untitled's shoulder slightly heats up as smoke trails the gun barrel. Sykes takes another breath in before slinging it away.//

"Hit?"

"... Down."

"//**EXCELLENT**//."

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+++ ♔

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//Untitled roamed the building before settling in the living quarters, watching Roman scroll along on the laptop, reading an issue of Magpie Swoops. All old men have their own forms of entertainment. Before the robot could speak, Sykes walked in, taking a seat at the far end of the mahogany table.//

"Hey, tin can. Did we ever look at what actually happened the other day?"

"From what I can gather on **VOID** & other sources, it appears that the **ASSASSIN** … "

//Roman looked up from the screen.// "Yes? Keep going, U."

" … shot Reinveld. He'll be getting **JAILED** when he recovers. One bullet to the shoulder. One to the **INTESTINES**. One to his leg. Another shot apparently **GRAZED** his daughter's hand. Despite **SYKES** and I interfering, the assassin got away."

"Looks like someone did my job for me." //Sykes chuckles, leaning back as he interlaced his fingers behind his head.// "So much so for that shitty mindset, huh?"

"Yes. It would **APPEAR** so.”

//With Reinveld off the board for now, companies are going to want to find his supplier. One man can’t make such chemicals alone. but they fail to consider it's not a human doing it. Perhaps that robot was doing Untitled a favour in that regard. The thought didn’t cross Sykes’s mind, but it definitely crossed Untitled’s.//

//And that thought made its binary flutter with glee.//

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Untitled Paratech Company

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