Dr Victor Frankanbeans was having an excellent day (well apart from the obligatory angry mob outside the door, but they were all bark and no bite really, they needed the tourism money, and as far as tourists went he and Igor were it.) Outside the storm raged, and lightning crashed (He’d specifically picked a town on the coast to take advantage of a Gods tantrum, because stormy weather elsewhere wasn’t happening lately, unless you had a rhubarb patch for some inexplicable reason.)
Igor raised the metal table via chains, and stood ready at the switch, they were almost ready when they were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Now in Victor’s experience angry mobs didn’t usually knock, leastaways not without a battering ram, but he chose to ignore it, on the grounds that he was in the middle of something here.
Then the tower shook, as a deafening gong rang out, well it was too late now, the moment was ruined, and apparently their guest had found the doorbell.
“Igor, be a dear and put the kettle on won’t you?”
Igor ran off to do his bidding (they really weren’t the yes master type, they were a highly paid executive assistant in charge of procurement, not a lackey, but they couldn’t find the staff these days so Igor didn’t mind making the occasional cuppa.)
At the door was an officious looking lady in an expertly tailored suit, clutching in her hands a clipboard.
“Doctor Victor Frankanbeans?”
“Yes?”
“I represent the C.A.N.O.L.I, and we need to speak with you?”
“C.A.N.O.L.I?” Victor inquired? In his experience between an acronym and an angry mob the mob was usually less trouble.
“The Constructs, Automaton, Nocronimic entities, and Organoids Liberation Initiative.”
“Wouldn’t that be C.A.N.E.O.L.I”
“Yes but that was taken by another organisation?”
“Really?”
“Yes, and believe me sir I am as surprised by that as you. Now the reason I am here today is because we have been informed that there is a necromantic construct on site.”
“My creature is no mere NECROMANTIC CONSTRUCT,” howled Victor angrily, while Igor, who had just finished making the tea backed out of the room. Sometimes in life it is possible to time a cuppa wrong and walk right into the middle of a drama storm. “My creation is an abomination against the natural order, created by pure science. An abomination that spits in the eye of Death and The Gods.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Really sir? CREATURE?, OK I’ll run through the checklist with you, is said INDIVIDUAL (she stressed this word, calling them a creature was offensive after all,) deceased by regular mortal standards.”
“Well.... technically yes but......”
“Just answer the question Sir”
“Yes.”
“And are they mobile, under their own power?”
“No”
At that moment an ill timed flash of lightning and a groan from the lab made him a liar.
“Yess?” He ventured.
“Is any part of said individual’s anatomy stitched, bolted, secured with kraken tape, or otherwise held together by non organic means? In the interests of clarification pig or other animal based thread applies as a non organic means due to it not being a natural state for said organic life form. ”
“But that is standard practice,” Victor sputtered.
“Amongst necromancers and construct engineers,”
“technically yes.”
“Then congratulations on becoming a father, have you issued your newborn any directives?”
“Does destroy man count? it’s in the command line but unimplimented, I just wanted to see if it would work.”
The glare she shot him at that moment would have stripped paint. “Hmmm it seems that we need to arrange regular welfare checks at this location, that command and any others, up to and including recipes for chicken soup and other miscellaneous commands are to be erased immediately. Your construct is under the kingdoms laws a child and has all the civic rights associated with that. Any attempt at a command that is coded into them will be treated as enslavement, and may result in fines or imprisonment from this moment on, do I make myself clear?”
“yes....”
“GOOD, now just a moment.”
She rounded on the pitchfork wielding mob, “AND AS FOR YOU LOT, YOU OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELVES PICKING ON A CHILD.”
“But, they’re so shambly,” the man in the lead of the mob whimpered.
“That sir is a harmful stereotype, now if you are quite through being racist towards a child I suggest you disperse?”
“Racist? We aren’t racist,” a woman at the back of the mob shouted.
“Yeah we just think the dead should stay in the land of the dead,” another added, it took a moment for him to play that back mentally.
“Then let’s ask a few basic questions, is the child different in appearance than you?”
“Yesss” the mob replied, sounding very much like a classroom of kids caught out by their teacher.
“Are you planning to mob, threaten, bully, maim, injure, or say mean words to this child based on said differences?”
In the crowd a few torches and pitchforks gradually lowered, they had been really looking forward to a good mobbing. But she just had to go and make it all awkward.
“Very well then, I will be back in the area for periodic welfare checks, and if I even see a HINT of shunning there will be consequences, by which I mean a fine of no less than twenty five golds and potentially criminal charges, do I make myself clear?”
************************************************************************
Six years later.
Suzie ran up to the door of the windmill turned lab, and gave a knock on the door. It was her first day of school, she could hardly wait.
The door was opened by Igor, it always was, Professor Frank would be out back working on new prosthetics.
“Hi Mister Igor, it’s time for school, and Grarn said he’d wait with me for the wagon.”
“ Who is it honey?” Frank asked.
“It’s little Suzie here for Grarn, GRARN YOUR LITTLE FRIEND IS HERE.”
From upstairs came an earthshaking noise, as the seven foot construct sprinted down, proudly showing her his new backpack, Suzie was unperturbed and took his hand, noting with excitement he’d had his stitches redone in pretty colours for his first day. Igor waved them off proudly, after taking a quick picture for the scrapbook. Their little Abomination off to school, it made a father proud.