Necessary Evil - The Australian Saga
N G Nere
Nigel is a sadistic, twisted inventor seeking to cheat his own inevitable death through the use of his android technology.
Name: The Machinator
Real Name: Nigel G. Nere
Total XP: 23
Spent XP: 20
Wounds: Stomach Scar
- ATTRIBUTES -
Pace: 0/4 (in wheelchair)
- EDGES -
Arcane BG (Supers)
Power Points (Novice)
Noble (Corporate – Lassiter Cybertechnics)
Command (+1 Spirit to recover from being shaken)
Natural Leader (Allies can use my bennies)
- HINDRANCES -
Terminally Ill (Major)
- SKILLS -
Knowledge (Engineering): d6
- POWERS -
-—Invent 3 (d12+2 Swimming)
-—4x Super-Powered Servitors (Minions)
Christmas, 3 years ago…
Henderson gently shook the man’s shoulder. He was sitting in front of the fire in his motorized wheelchair, head slumped to the side. He was wearing an oxygen mask, the tank for which was strapped to the back of the chair along with an IV stand.
“Mr. Nere, are you all right?”
The man slowly raised his head, his eyes fluttering open. “Eh? Oh my, Henderson. I must have dozed off again.”
“I was afraid it was more serious than that, sir. You didn’t look like you were breathing.”
“Then I think it’s time I go to bed. If you can wheel me up there, Sarah will help me from there.”
“Of course, sir.”
Nigel Gideon Nere was once the most promising engineer working for Lassiter Cybertechnics. He designed a number of consumer products, like holographic telephony devices and self-contained headset phones called “Ear Pods” that revolutionized how people enjoyed their communication and entertainment on the go. That was then…
Now, the prematurely-aged Nere is a husk of his former self. An unknown degenerative disease attacked him in his late thirties. He is now 42, but with the body of a 70-year old. The onset of the disease caught him totally by surprise, but while his body seemed to be decaying around him, his brilliant mind was still fully active. He dedicated his fortune and Lassiter’s prodigious resources to a single purpose: Preservation of the human mind in a fully mechanical construct. Thus the Servitor project was born.
When the V’Sori attacked, Nere had just completed his first trials of the Servitor technology. Henderson, Nere’s butler and right hand man on the Lassiter payroll, abducted human subjects for Nere’s experiments. Mostly vagrants and transients, the disappearances were hardly noticed. Nere had already developed an automated bot that could cleanly remove the brain and spinal column of a living subject and implant it into a cybernetic body in under 30 seconds with the precision of an assembly line.
Nere presented the first successful test subject to the Lassiter board, showing how the Servitor still possessed basic cognitive skill and logic function while also being freed from the limitations of human emotion and pain thanks to an inhibitor chip implanted in the brain itself. When the board asked if the chip inhibited higher thought processes, Nere conceded that it was a shortcoming of the design…one that he intended to repair in future versions. The board requested that he disable the chip so that they could speak to the real person within the machine. Even with Nere’s objections, the board insisted. Nere remotely disabled the chip, and the Servitor grabbed its own head, screaming with inhuman pain. Within seconds, the servitor had brutally crushed its own head in its mechanical hands, splattering the wall behind it with gore from what was left of the brain inside. Nere was removed from Lassiter’s board, but was ordered to continue his research. Although Lassiter could not be directly associated with him, the company felt that his work could be very useful as a weapon for a military contract.
Lassiter would later sell his early research to the V’Sori, giving the invaders all of the necessary biological data they needed to adapt their own Drone technology to the human corpus. In return, the V’Sori lessened the oversight on Lassiter’s holdings, as long as they kept providing them with new tech.
Nere, meanwhile, continued his own research at home, creating over a thousand automatons, each one slightly different than the one before. Nere became obsessed, insisting that he could find the key to eliminating his own degenerative disease by moving the one thing in his body that still functioned properly to a body that would never degrade, grow old, or die. While to this day, his quest to find the perfect frame is unsuccessful, his army of automatons continues to grow…and they do have their uses…
As Henderson wheeled Nigel to the elevator in the main foyer, the haunting echo of Christmas carols reached Nigel’s ears.
“What is that, Henderson? Are those carolers on the doorstep?”
“It certainly sounds like it, sir. Shall I send them away?”
“No. No…let them in. It would do me good to have some holiday cheer. It has been a tough year, over all.”
“Of course, sir.”
Henderson opened the door, and immediately noticed something was wrong. The carolers were terrified, and their voices were shaking. Suddenly a shabbily-dressed man burst from the back rank of the carolers, leveling a gun at Henderson’s head.
“Merry fucking Christmas. Take me to your master, or I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”
Henderson backed into the house, his hands raised. The man kicked the door shut behind them. He eyed Nere, who sat in his wheelchair, helpless.
“Which one of you fuckers took my Natalie. Where is my wife?”
Nigel replied, “I don’t know what you are talking about, and neither does Henderson. Now if you lower the gun, we’ll discuss this civilly.”
“No! No talk, you bastard. I know what you assholes have been doing up here. You’ve been taking people. There’s all sorts of talk about it in the homeless community. You show up and snatch people away. That’s what you do. You took my Natalie, and I want to see her. NOW!”
“You really want to see her? Fine. I’ll grant you that. Come with me. Henderson, take us downstairs.”
Henderson, Nere, and the gunman took the elevator down to Nigel’s lab. Several Servitors lined the walls.
“What the hell IS this place?” The gunman looked aghast at the huge underground lab that sprawled before him. In one corner, a table was set, with a robotic apparatus hanging over it, extending a number of blades, buzz-saws, and syringes down menacingly. In another corner, a large bank of computers displayed readings from a single servitor standing next to the console, wires attached to its back and head.
“You wanted to see her? There she is. She is my only female servitor to date. Unit 746, why don’t you say hello to your husband?”
The look of horror on the gunman’s face was like a sweet symphony to Nere. The servitor stood, walked to the gunman, and looked down. The robotic chassis was about 7 feet tall. When it spoke, lights emitted from the slit-like mouth.
“You should not have come, Larry,” it said in a mechanical monotone, “But it’s too late for you now.” As the machine ripped the gunman’s arms off and strapped him down to the table, Nere laughed, spattered with the doomed man’s blood.