Post by Dunwik on Oct 18, 2022 15:06:13 GMT
Dr. Isaac Arthur, Dunwikki Minister of Research, was a middle-aged man by now, having spent 20 years deepening his pockets and accruing a massive assortment of patents under the Nelson administration. Beneath his eye, telecommunications, powered flight, electricity, and numerous other marvels were introduced - and he himself had played a role in countless inventions, from the indispensable to the insane.
The energy of youth had not left him and he still maintained his eccentricity, dressing in a white, protective lab coat, thick rubber boots, gloves, and keeping a pair of protective goggles on his head at all times, if mad inspiration struck him. A clipboard hung from a lanyard around his neck, a pen tied in turn to this. In his hands were a dense stack of notes, pertaining to his latest experiments and the news he had heard recently.
He was standing in front of the Grand Chairman's office, and - eschewing knocking - had opened the unlocked door, stepping past the armed guards dismissively.
"Grand Chairman, Minister House and I have just completed the-" is all he managed to say before he saw the scene in front of him. Isaac had wanted to speak about the situation developing in Leng and his latest experiments testing the validity of prayer under stressful situations, but was dumbstruck by what he saw.
The room stank of sweat, marijuana smoke, and feces. Needles of indeterminate origin were piled neatly in the corner, and the obese Grand Chairman and his equally obese son were performing unmentionable acts to a slave, all three of them clearly high out of their minds. Worse, one of Isaac's prized parrots was dead - being cooked on a spit in the kitchen in the back.
Isaac for some reason would remember the bowl of peanuts next to the dead parrot. Then his entire field of vision went red, and he darted out of the room even faster than he had arrived.
The Platts had no idea what had transpired and the event faded from their memory before it was over, but Arthur was a different sort of Dunwikki man. Not of old money, and temperate by Dunwikki standards, the mad scientist could only be pushed so far before an immediate and overwhelming response was established. Under the Nelson Administration, Arthur had been left to his own devices, but here, the insult was inexcusable.
Within the week, the Minister of the Interior Maxwell House, the former Minister of War Trevor Lucas, and Arthur had concocted a plan and executed it with ruthless efficiency.
Late in the year 1913, Platt's motorcade had just departed a banal art exposition event, where Platt rewarded another one of his favorites generously. Guard was relatively low, everything was calm, and nothing seemed to be amiss as Platt's novelty car slowly made its way onto a bridge in Miskatonic, crossing the river. A small crowd of men had been conversing and exchanging briefcases on the side of the bridge, but as they saw Platt's car, they opened the cases, revealing submachine guns. Platt's driver stepped on the accelerator of his vehicle, but the engine stalled.
The Grand Chairman, his son, his driver, and wife were subject to a hail of automatic gunfire. Platt's incredible corpulence allowed him to survive the initial volley, and his return fire felled several assassins, but a bullet eventually tore through his skull, and his white suit was completely stained red by the end of the attack.
After the initial chaos, Isaac Arthur and Maxwell House, both extremely popular and influential men, got what they wanted. Platt's allies were too cowed or disorganized to mount an effective response, and by the end of the week, Arthur had been sworn in as Grand Chairman, promising to abdicate to House by the end of his term.
The energy of youth had not left him and he still maintained his eccentricity, dressing in a white, protective lab coat, thick rubber boots, gloves, and keeping a pair of protective goggles on his head at all times, if mad inspiration struck him. A clipboard hung from a lanyard around his neck, a pen tied in turn to this. In his hands were a dense stack of notes, pertaining to his latest experiments and the news he had heard recently.
He was standing in front of the Grand Chairman's office, and - eschewing knocking - had opened the unlocked door, stepping past the armed guards dismissively.
"Grand Chairman, Minister House and I have just completed the-" is all he managed to say before he saw the scene in front of him. Isaac had wanted to speak about the situation developing in Leng and his latest experiments testing the validity of prayer under stressful situations, but was dumbstruck by what he saw.
The room stank of sweat, marijuana smoke, and feces. Needles of indeterminate origin were piled neatly in the corner, and the obese Grand Chairman and his equally obese son were performing unmentionable acts to a slave, all three of them clearly high out of their minds. Worse, one of Isaac's prized parrots was dead - being cooked on a spit in the kitchen in the back.
Isaac for some reason would remember the bowl of peanuts next to the dead parrot. Then his entire field of vision went red, and he darted out of the room even faster than he had arrived.
The Platts had no idea what had transpired and the event faded from their memory before it was over, but Arthur was a different sort of Dunwikki man. Not of old money, and temperate by Dunwikki standards, the mad scientist could only be pushed so far before an immediate and overwhelming response was established. Under the Nelson Administration, Arthur had been left to his own devices, but here, the insult was inexcusable.
Within the week, the Minister of the Interior Maxwell House, the former Minister of War Trevor Lucas, and Arthur had concocted a plan and executed it with ruthless efficiency.
Late in the year 1913, Platt's motorcade had just departed a banal art exposition event, where Platt rewarded another one of his favorites generously. Guard was relatively low, everything was calm, and nothing seemed to be amiss as Platt's novelty car slowly made its way onto a bridge in Miskatonic, crossing the river. A small crowd of men had been conversing and exchanging briefcases on the side of the bridge, but as they saw Platt's car, they opened the cases, revealing submachine guns. Platt's driver stepped on the accelerator of his vehicle, but the engine stalled.
The Grand Chairman, his son, his driver, and wife were subject to a hail of automatic gunfire. Platt's incredible corpulence allowed him to survive the initial volley, and his return fire felled several assassins, but a bullet eventually tore through his skull, and his white suit was completely stained red by the end of the attack.
After the initial chaos, Isaac Arthur and Maxwell House, both extremely popular and influential men, got what they wanted. Platt's allies were too cowed or disorganized to mount an effective response, and by the end of the week, Arthur had been sworn in as Grand Chairman, promising to abdicate to House by the end of his term.