an icepick through the keyhole

TC'S RULES

Thu, 07 Nov 2019 23:36:09 GMT

TC’S RULES

1. All information is useful

2. Everybody lies; find out why they’re lying - the rest will follow

3. Coincidences happen, but don’t trust them

4. Never theorize without data, or twist facts to suit theories

5. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, is the truth

6. Grab what you need and get out

7. Advocacy is both chess and poker

8. Get them to admit the smaller things and they’ll be ready to admit the bigger ones

9. Apportioning blame is unproductive; work the problem first

10. Prepare for the worst case scenario, but don’t live in fear of it

11. Always have a fall-back position; preferably two

12. Give witnesses rope and they’ll hang themselves

13. No position is bulletproof; there’s always a flaw if you look hard enough

14. Attack their argument at its strongest and use it against them

15. Don’t anticipate too much; present your best case first and foremost

16. No plan survives contact with the enemy; leave room to improvise

17. Know your audience and tailor your presentation accordingly

18. Everybody lies; physical evidence doesn’t

19. Trust yourself and finish what you start

20. Don’t bring your work home with you

21. Never present problems without solutions

22. If you don’t know, say so - then go find out

23. Sometimes you’ll face a no-win scenario, but you don’t have to like or accept it

24. Your gut may be wrong or it may be right, but never ignore it

25. How you think is more important than what you know

26. Ignorance is curable; stupidity less so

27. If you have discretion, don’t be afraid to exercise it

28. Sometimes it’s not that you’re wrong, but someone else just had the last word

29. You will never get a Perry Mason confession

30. The goal of cross-examination is so they sound stupid or incredible

31. Know when to hold ‘em, when to fold ‘em, when to walk away, when to run - and never count your money sitting at the table

32. Guilt can be useful, but don’t let it define you

33. If you need to ask if it’s right or wrong... it’s probably wrong

34. Don’t be a dick or a doormat

35. Takedowns should always be as quick and efficient as possible

36. Right isn’t always nice or pretty

37. Actions have consequences; be prepared for them

38. Develop muscle memory for the mundane; it frees your brain for the unexpected

39. Life’s too short to be scared of stupid people

40. Breathe

41. If you keep accusing people of conspiring against you, don’t be surprised if they eventually do so

42. The other side has rules, too

43. Never start a fight, but always finish it

44. What you mean is less important than what you do

45. There is always doubt; the question is whether it’s a reasonable one

46. Eat an elephant one bite at a time

47. Don’t let the perfect be the enemy of the good

48. Trust in God, but row away from the rocks

49. Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades

50. Do the job that’s in front of you

51. Whenever possible, choose kindness

52. Do good, even and especially if there is no reward

53. Fight the right battle and on your chosen ground, not theirs

54. Sometimes you have to roll the hard six

55. If you can keep getting up, you haven’t lost

56. It’s okay to say “I don’t know the answer…”, but always follow it with “… but I’ll find out.”

57. Truth may be assailable, but lies always crumble

58. Sometimes a futile gesture is the only one worth making

59. Relationships are reciprocal, not transactional

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[dw canon_fodder] Torchwood, UNIT, the Forge, and ICIS

Tue, 02 May 2017 03:58:45 GMT

So for people like me, who consider that it's all canon, let's see about fitting together all the super-seekrit stuff from the television series, the novels and the Big Finish audios.

( Spoilers for Torchwood in general, various books and audios, and some from Army of Ghosts. )

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[fanfic] Old Steel

Tue, 02 May 2017 03:52:30 GMT

Old Steel

"Hey, buddy, time to go."

"Mmm?"

"I said," the bartender repeated, putting his head at the level of the counter where the drunk had his own face plastered, "Time. To. Go. Home. Sleep it off." Around them, the bar was empty - even the most die hard of the patrons had wandered back to their Talos Island apartments, anticipating the hangovers they would have the next morning. This guy, though, looked like he was going to be cultivating his for a long time.

The drunk placed two hands on the counter, tried to push up and off, and only succeeded in losing his balance. He tumbled off the stool and hit the floor. The bartender didn't move to help him. The drunk didn't feel a thing. "Home?" he slurred, as he ungainly wobbled to his feet. "Don't have a home," he added, barely loud enough to hear. "Don't have a home, don't have a job, don't have a life..."

He stood up to his full 6'2" height, rubbing his unshaven face, the formerly neatly kept beard now a tangled growth. The shirt he was wearing was missing a tie, his pants were permanently wrinkled from sleeping in doorways, and he hadn't had a shower for weeks. With as much dignity as he could muster with eighty-proof breath, he turned to the bartender and said, "I used to be somebody, you know."

"Sure you were," the bartender said skeptically, coming around to take a hold of the drunk's arm and guiding him to the exit, "I bet you were a superhero. Superheroes make the worst drunks."

The drunk reacted to this, flinging the bartender off easily - strong for a lush. He grabbed the bartender by the shirt, and yelled in his face, "Not a drunk!" He released his grip, pushing the bartender back. "Not a drunk," he repeated, in a softer tone, "Not a hero. Not... not anything."

He walked out of the bar, with the bartender screaming obscenities back at him, warning him never to step in there again. He wondered which alley looked comfortable tonight. Maybe he'd be lucky and some Tsoo would come along and start beating him up again for fun. At least this time, he'd be able to use the hospital facilities without paying off too much. When he turned the corner, there they were. The Tiger Enforcer smiled, cracking his knuckles. "Gotta pay the toll," he said.

Thaddeus Connors, former CEO of ConTek Industries, former holder of the Stark-Hawkins Chair at Paragon University, former engineering wunderkind, former superhero celebrity, former human being, just smiled. Maybe this time I won't get up.

Just weeks ago, he was on top of the world. Dinners at the White House, interviews with the Paragon City Press. Nemesis was said to grow livid at the mention of his name - no easy feat for a steam-driven cyborg. Connors - Battlebug - had been cleared for access to the Shadow Shard, and General Hammond himself was saying he looked forward to working with him.

Then the newspapers revealed that Connors had been embezzling funds, skimming off the top of ConTek Industries, overreporting revenues, deceiving stockholders. An SEC investigation quickly (perhaps too quickly) found evidence of insider trading. An IRS audit followed, but Connors still had enough influence with the government and brownie points stored up to prevent any major felony charges from being filed. He lost the company, lost his security clearance, and worst of all, lost the suit and the associated technology. The Incomparable Armored Battlebug, who had bounced back from every defeat, wasn't bouncing back from this one.

He was losing himself in the oblivion of another Tsoo beating when he heard the familiar sounds of a flame blast. The Tsoo around him could barely react as they were quickly surrounded by waves of heat and the moisture was sucked out of their bodies. Whoever did it had excellent aim - Connors was untouched, while his assailants dropped to the ground, unconscious, and were teleported away by the city police grid into the Vaults.

He sat there on the alley floor, propped up by a brick wall, and looked up at his rescuer with bleary eyes. "Didn't need rescue," he muttered, "Jus' leave me alone..."

"Thaddeus Connors?" the red-clad figure in front of him asked. "Battlebug?"

"Not any more," Connors laughed bitterly, "Who wants to know?"

"My name's Thermion," he said, "I'm with the PACK."

The PACK. He'd heard of them. Big supergroup - operated in another part of the city, though. They and Penguin Force never crossed paths. "Whoopee for you," he said, spitting out some blood and part of a tooth, "So what? You gonna give me a lecture on what a disgrace I was to the tights?"

"No," Thermion said, "You didn't do what they said. We found the evidence inside a CreyNet mainframe. It's not enough to reinstate you, but..."

He shook his head, trying to clear it for the first time in days, because he wanted to hear this. Evidence? Proof he was innocent? If the PACK had proof, they had to know...

"Who?" Connors managed to get out, his voice with an edge to it. The old steel.

"Countess Crey."

Of course. It was obvious. Crey Industries had wanted the Battlebug technology from the beginning. They were the ones that tried to steal the prototype, sending a raiding force of Fifth Column and Sky Raider mercenaries, back when Connors was freshly graduated from MIT and trying to perfect the cold fusion generators that would power the armor. Connors had been saved by the 1960s hero Battle-Bug, but the older hero died from his wounds, and Connors decided to take up the fight in his name. The Countess. He had gotten close once or twice, even took down Hopkins, her right-hand-man, alongside Task Force Chimera, but he'd never met her himself. The Countess. So, it was personal. Probably got so right after he shut down Project Locke and the obscene way they were creating the Paragon Protectors...

Connors leaned his head back and sighed. "What do you want?" he said, suddenly very tired, "You can't get my company or my suit back. What can you offer me?"

"A second chance," Thermion said. He tossed a large bundle at Connors's feet - it clanked when it hit the pavement. Connors looked down and unzipped the bag. Inside were the pieces of his old armor - the Mark I suit, when he was starting out, that he had kept in his trophy room as a reminder but had long abandoned. It was pretty basic, without all the bells and whistles he put on the Mark II, III and IVs, but... it was the suit. He was quickly sobering up as he saw it, and wanted to ask how Thermion had gotten his hands on it, but in the end, all he could get out was one word, carrying with it everything.

"Why?"

"Revenge," Thermion replied, smiling, and added, "Justice."

Connors ran his hands over the pieces of the armor. It felt good, like a call to battle once more. He looked up at Thermion and smiled back. It had an edge to it, too, this smile.

The old steel.

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