First Delivery

September 1, 2014: Mike Drakos and Jim Reha make a delivery to Madison Jeffries' shop. There is much awe.

Jeffries Auto Detailing and Refurbishing, Inc.

Madison Jeffries' body shop mingles his two major business, the auto detailing and refurbishing business and his less-profitable but more amusing side operation, BFR (Big F***ing Robots), Inc..



Mood Music:

Madison Jeffries' body shop mingles his two major business, the auto detailing and refurbishing business and his less-profitable but more amusing side operation, BFR (Big F***ing Robots), Inc.. Madison has just finished over there, climbing down from a massive caterpillar he's building out of old train cars. By the time he's done, it'll have tank treads and be able to crawl over a massive pile of wrecks for the entertainment of monster truck fans across the South. State fair season just ended in the north, but it's about to fire up below the Mason Dixon.

He knows he's expecting a parts shipment sometime soon, wiping his hands reflexively on a rag. With his powers, he doesn't need to use his hands to manipulate the machines, but he likes to do so. For one, it lets him feel more in touch with what he's building, get a sense of the metal, almost making friends with it. Plus, it lets the mechanics that he hires see that, mutant or no, his powers don't make him too good to get his hands dirty. He's standing out in front of the shop, pushing his goggles up on his forehead.

Yeah, New York's going to work out just fine.


Jim was skeptical when he got the order in for a delivery of a panel truck of assorted odd bits and ends. He was doubly so when the offer came from a first-time buyer. The paperwork seemed legit, and it took a couple of days to get the items in the shipment together… and then he had to wrangle the boss to drive because, unfortunately, his only good method of transporting such a chunk of metal would… have been rather noteworthy and potentially dangerous, to say the least.

He's a little bit excited about this, it's the first delivery he's been on — usually he has to wander around the yard all day making sure odd bits and things are being done. The doubly-employed fellow glances over at his boss, hoping that this isn't a 'wild goose chase' or some set-up to get robbed. But if it is a robbery, they're just going to get some one-off airplane and vehicle parts that really wouldn't do much of anything, even to Tony freakin' Stark.


For days now, Mike's been over-extending himself; his sweep-bugs have been looking for the presence of Hydra virus in New York, and since a few of them happened to come near BFR, Inc, he has been feeling the presence of another person with powers like his own. Technomancy is not a common power; there are probably fewer than ten in the world, and for Mike, it's been kind of strange having odd thoughts of giant robots sneaking back into his brain when he interrogates the sweep-bugs from a particular section of town. But he narrowed it down, and discovered what has to be the source. And it's someone older, more Canadian, and definitely with his own distinct design sense. The mutant robot guy is intrigued, enough to stop by.

If nothing else, they might end up helping each other out with parts. Wouldn't that be useful?

An hour ago, the panel truck left Drakos Recovery, and traveled by a somewhat roundabout path to Brooklyn. It's still faster to go the long way around than to try to take a panel truck through Manhattan, even on Labor Day. Mike has waved off his newest employee's attempts to pay for the gas for the delivery. That's silly; it's a business expense, and besides, this is an excuse to see this guy.

The panel truck pulls up to the front of the delivery address, which appears to be this particular shop, and Mike gets his first glance at the person who has been sneaking giant robots into his scan summaries.


Madison Jeffries has lit an American Spirit cigarette, the butt dangling from the corner of his mouth as he raises a hand in greeting. Wearing just a t-shirt, his arms are sleeved in tattoos, cogs and circuitry mingling together in interlocking designs. And letters on the knuckles of each of his fingers and thumb, spelling out "HEAVY METAL".

As the truck draws near, he finds his own senses reacting to the artificial beings he's encountering, mechanical intelligence always jumping out at him. He keeps his own withdrawn, not out of fear or an attempt to hide, but out of respect. His power naturally seizes control to some degree and, even if he's trying not to override any systems, an AI can find contact with Madison's mind, at least if he initiates it, rather like being held up by the scruff of the neck like a kitten. Also, he's not certain how much cover they want to keep. So all he does is wave a hand and gesture towards the loading dock, where a few of his men are waiting to help unload the haul.

The portly fellow is not a smoker. He finds the habit a bit disgusting, which allays his partner's concerns about lung cancer by a fair bit. However, the ink is pretty impressive. He'd been in the Navy, but there'd been restrictions on what one could get done, and Jim had never had the money, the time, or honestly… the courage to get one himself.

He finds himself staring at the fellow intently, even when he tries to bring his gaze away. Something about that fellow — The partner is giving him an excited babble inside his head - space about finding yet another 'kindred spirit' and how they have to secure positive relations with them at all costs. This prompts Jim to clear his throat.

"Mike, the partner likes this guy already, says we should marry him or something. That's really not my thing, so, you married? I mean, it REALLY won't shut up about 'establishing ties'. Don't worry, I'm on the clock, he won't say a peep 'less I'm on break or lunch, that's the deal we got set up."

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to him, his sometimes trollish 'partner' decides to bend the letter if not the spirit of the deal.

Query: Identification?


Mike isn't even trying to look human. He's either made of metal, or (judging from the way he moves and so forth) a very sophisticated humaniform robot. He guides the panel truck to the loading dock, where he can set things up.

"Yeah, tell the Bird that the man is a technopath, and I'd like to finish our job here before it gets all hyperactive-chatty," Mike says, and hops out of the truck to help unload. "Take the copy of the bill of lading to the guy and have him check it out, I'm gonna help the guys here."

He proceeds to do that, chatting with whichever mechanics are checking things on the receiving side. They don't seem to be freaking out, which is good.


Madison Jeffries smiles, a bit pleased to see an artificial being with his own business. -I welcome our new robot overlords- he thinks to himself, making sure to keep the thought shielded. AIs can sometimes have a difficult time with senses of humor.

The poke from the strange-feeling entity within the assistant is responded to with a sort of psychic laugh and the equivalent of a handshake, firm and confident, showing that Madison is both a being of consequence and has control of his faculties. Madison, although I go by the handle Mech much of the time. It seems to fit. he transmits in return, nodding to Mike politely.


Jim hops down out of the truck with a bit more excitement and verve than he's used to, and his landing isn't as pretty as one might think. He stumbles a bit and grabs the truck for support, then practically skips over to the waiting tattooed fellow. There's a look of consternation upon the guy's face, and the frivolity sort of melts out of his frame.

"Uh, let's see here… Mister Jeffries? I'ma here from Drakos with a delivery. Here's the bill of lading for you, sir. Need me to walk through anything with you?"

Greetings, Madison AKA 'Mech'. This one is 'The Corvinus', Extrapolated Intelligence tasked with the Enlightenment of the Client Peoples of Thanagar. Status: Pending. This one is glad to meet one, and should probably let one do the meat-business transaction before the partner becomes nosy.


Mike blinks. That transmission was sent in his direction. He looks over at Madison and grins.

"That was the other guy," he says. "I'm the robot overlord, he's the alien AI." When this gets a weird look from one of the workers, he just grins and says, "No worries, I'm just the robot overlord of the guys who work for me. I don't want to rule the world, it's way too much hard work."

He'll squash the bird for breaking the rules later. It's like a little kid sometimes.


Madison Jeffries can't help but grin a bit at the bickering pair, his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth as he quickly scrawls his signature on the paperwork Jim hands him. "Takes all kinds to make a world, I say. S'long as I get what I ordered, we're always cool." he says. Madison's curious, but he doesn't want to press either. He may be a bad-ass soldier and a giant robot fighter, but he's also Canadian. He's polite.

To Corvinus, he answers once he's finished with the paperwork. Definitely don't want to get your partner in trouble. Can't say I'm familiar with Thanagar. Then again, I'm from a place called Saskatchewan, so I shouldn't nitpick. I can't say I know much about enlightenment. I tend to leave religion to priests and nuns. I'm a mechanic.


The portly fellow blinks. "Aw, hell, its not swearing or something, is it?" Last thing he needs would be for a choice parts contract to go south because Buddha Bird couldn't keep its gosh darn mouth shut. He rubs his temples a bit. "It was a bit of a dig to find those O-rings. Didn't think we had any but Mike swore up and down he had them over in the rubber goods. Swear the man has the entire lot written on the back of his hand or something."

Okay, it's a bit of a an exaggeration, but given Mike's mind and set-up, something like that was entirely possible.

This one appreciates the consideration. Thanagar is another world, and this one could not point it out directly to one, it has moved a bit since this one was there last. Saskatchewan…. retrieving…. downloading… updating… Province, Canadian, Capital, Regina, population c. 1 million. Search complete. Enlightenment comes in many forms, and every day one gains some, otherwise, one is not truly alive. In a manner of speaking.


Everything in the back of the truck matches what was supposed to be there, and Mike is cooperative with them inspecting stuff, especially the weirder parts. Everything, especially the airplane parts, is in exceptional condition and without even the signs of mechanical stress one would expect in used parts. Especially the o-rings. Mike remembers what happens when o-rings go bad.

"All happy here? Let's go talk to your boss-man," Mike says to the guy who accepted the load. They walk over to the man and the shop boss shows that what he got matches what they signed for, yada yada.

Mike looks curiously at Madison. "So, I take it when you were a kid, you did not have body parts replacing themselves with robot parts whenever you had the slightest trauma."


Madison Jeffries walks Jim over to Mike, making it so the three of them don't have to converse across too much space. Plus, he's rather eager to get a look at a few of those pieces, especially one of the older airplane engines, "Excellent, the propeller drive. That's going to look so cool once I attach…" he starts to say, and then realizes he's both about to ramble and to discuss trade secrets a little bit.

He answers Corvinus in his head and Mike aloud, having developed that talent from years of programming while holding a conversation. I think the Earth phrase is "Live and learn." If so, my enlightenment has been teaching me to do what I love, help who I can and let the rest sort itself out.

To Mike's query, he shakes his head, "Not exactly. For me, it was…and he reaches out a small go-cart, not yet stripped for parts, and just gestures with it a little, reconfiguring the pieces around until it's a two-wheeled standing scooter, the wire and plastic bending around to form a carapace to protect the rider. "I found that I could…feel the technology around me. Talk to it. Control it. Change it. Even meld with it. Become one with it," he says, and he gestures towards Box, his primary robot, standing quietly at the moment in the back, powered down. 12 feet tall, made of crimson titanium, chrome and a thousand other things, a custom design born from the depths of Madison's complex head. Box never stayed the same for long when he and Madison were one.


This one applauds one's simple yet practical solution to advancing the Self and the Other in an efficient fashion. Would that all sentients on this world were so… aware. It's not snark, but almost a wistful longing, if such could be attributed to the clearly ancient intelligence.

Jim follows along and gapes at the reconstruction, a bit speechless.

What the partner means to say is 'Oh, wow, COOL!' Unfortunately, his speech center is currently disabled in the moment of shock and awe at such masterwork and such careful reconfiguration.

Jim looks a bit perturbed. "Dangit, Corv, I coulda' said that. Just, give a fella a minute to appreciate the cool, okay? Eeesh."

This one utilizes a similar method of self-adjustment, but it is not nearly as elegant or quick as one's.


"For me it was metal. Technology came later when I was 16," Mike says, "along with that 'robot replacement parts' thing. My current status is thanks to getting hit by a train. Pretty much injured the whole body, nothing left to reboot to flesh with."

He looks up at Box. His metal-sense almost slides too easily around it. "Now that is one awesome machine. Do you mind if I look closer?"

Madison Jeffries gestures towards Box, "Feel free. And I'm glad you think it's cool. Cool machines are how I pay my bills," he grins. "I dunno about you guys, but I'm a mutant, so I feel like it's important to be an open mutant business owner. Show that we can be a part of the community, contribute like anyone else. And, if, on occasion, I have to take Box out and wallop on a bad guy or two, all the better.


"I'm not a mutant. But that don't mean a thing to me, seriously. If anything, having that as a distinction between people builds a barrier and gives folks a chance to marginalize people. A guy that's a normal CEO can be just as much a jerk as someone who can level a stadium with his hand. Doesn't change the fact that they're both jerks, right? Or even the amount of damage they can do to a place? It's just different scales and different means?"

Jim kinda rambles to a stop, then considers.

"You'll, ah, find that it happens with perverse regularity. In fact, enough that I actually ENJOY going to work for Mike and Pepper. Because the weirdness doesn't happen as often at work as it does on my days off. Fact, the other day, when I was off, thought the world was gonna come to an end the amount of stuff I kept running into…"

He smiles a bit.

"Still, wouldn't trade it in for the world."


Mike already heard about the terrible awful very bad no good rotten weird day, and figures that Jim picked up a 'blessing' from Loki, that one time.

"My primary job is as Chief Design Engineer at my Dad's company," Mike says as he walks back to the big robot, "Drakos Motors. My first engine design placed third at the Daytona when I was 15, my second design a year later was the winning engine. Between me and my father, we've had a design component in one or another major race since then. And I've always been open about being a mutant. Hard not to be when you have spontaneous cybernetics showing up in public."

Mike is talking. He's also sniffing at the design systems for Box. The metal is talking to him. He runs a hand gently above the surface of the who u? not the boss. keep doing that it feels gud chassis, talking back to the metal. He stops, and does the entirely human-movement of holding his breath, exhaling, and inhaling again to refocus, and steps away from the machine.

"If I'm not careful I'll fall in," Mike says.


Madison Jeffries nods quietly to Jim, "It feels like that someday. The world gets more and more full of wonders, but terrors, too, I guess. Roses and thorns," he says, and then, seeming to catch something, "Pepper? Pepper Potts, with Stark Industries? You work with them?" he asks. He's always wanted to get a good look at the armor.

To Mike, he smiles, "He's used to it. I have to make sure not to walk too close, I tend to just merge with him out of habit," he says. He nods his head slightly and, as Mike is out of the way, Box converts, chrome and steel reshaping, glass and plastic molding itself anew until a pair of tires form underneath and he now looks like a classic red Boxter convertible.


"Please don't fall in, boss. That'd totally suck. Aside from having to try and dig you out, the amount of paperwork we'd have to do to get it fixed would probably be kinda huge, right?"

He glances over at Madison… guy seems decent enough.

"Yeah, I work over there part-time. Full-time with Mike. Barely have enough time to think between the two, much less do outside of work stuff so personal days kinda important. And… haven't seen any hardware except some tablets, really. Been mostly just shuffling electronics and paperwork… and I'm kinda under an NDA on what that is all about?"

This one has not seen any of the real triumphs of Mister Stark. This one did, however, get the 'title' 'CorCor' from him, though.

Jim shakes his head a bit and sighs. "That looks like a freaking amazing power right there. Just… neat."


"Huh," Mike says. He smiles as Box converts into a Boxter. "I usually change this chassis into a bike, but I didn't bring a spares depot with me. Hey, it's good meeting you, Mr. Jeffries, but I'm thinking we need to get back to Jersey before I have to fly that panel truck to get through traffic."

Mike offers a handshake, holding his energy-signature very very still in the hand so it won't mess up, and then he's heading back to the driver's seat of the panel truck.

"Hey, Madison. If you know a guy named McCoy, go get a shot from him. If you don't, come over to Mutant Town and hit the Avenue C Clinic. There's a really nasty bug out there you do not want to catch."

Once Reha is in the truck, Mike waves and pulls away. They have each other's numbers now.


Back to: RP Logs

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License