About Sampson

“I need to take that,” the doctor chuckles. “Back in probably an hour once Angela is feeling like herself again; feel free to keep using my office to plan for now.” Benjamin Maddox Beaux walks calmly out of the room.

“So she turns into a giant bulletproof ‘monster’ and can't talk and can't turn back on her own,” Fantasia Blackheart muses, “I can see why she can't be left on her own for too long… especially if the transformation can be triggered by external problems… which the meditation thing makes me suspect.”

“So like, what kind of plans?” Irene Fox inquires, finally stopping the belly-rubs. Sampson looks sad, and sticks around crowding the woman's feet. She just smiles.

“We plan to build a headquarters, and we're planning on what all everyone is likely to need out of it,” the good witch shrugs, “So we have huge doors and ceilings everywhere for Werhure, as we can't have her getting stuck if she gets upset… likewise, we have a meditation room for her use. I need a space for working magic, we were planning on stocking medical suites for the doctor, and such. We… were under the impression that you were a tech based heroine, and so were planning a workshop for you ....”

“Eugh, so I'm like, stuck with some lame garage?” Irene cringes, and the puppy-like creature at her feet bristles.

“Not at all,” Ms. Blackheart notes the paired reaction as she smooths things over, “we're in the early planning stages. Everything is just penciled in at this point. What sorts of facilities do you think you and Sampson would find useful?”

That gives the woman pauses, “Umm… like, an apartment and junk? He doesn't need much. Like, roof access, maybe a firing range so we can do some target practice?”

Fantasia nods, “Plenty of mountains out here for backstops, we can do that. You should be able to use those heavy weapons you're becoming famous for.”

“That's like, not the heavy stuff,” Irene shakes her head, “Not even the light stuff. We've been limiting ourselves to… umm, like the… ‘pointy defenders’?”

“Point Defense,” the ‘puppy’ pipes up.

“Right, like, that,” Ms. Fox continues, “We went out behind Jupiter so Sampson could show me his light weapons… and like, the next day the news had a bunch of astronomers guessing that the ripples going through Jupter were like, because an Earth-sized meteorite hit it.”

Fantasia pauses, remembering that little kerfuffle on the news a month ago, “...and what did they say about the heavy weapons?”

“Dunno,” Irene shrugs, “We'll find out in, like… umm…” She pauses, “...how long does it take light to get here from Delta Scuti? It's not there anymore, by the way.”

“Any closer and I'd hurt my friends!” The cute little puppy of mass destruction agrees playfully.

The witch frowns, and looks the star system up on her phone, “Minimum safe distance is just over two hundred light years?” She blinks a few times, “Okay… when was this?”

“Ah, like two nights ago I think?” The Iron Fox shrugs, “The trip took, like, an hour each way.”

Fantasia kneels down to be eye level with Sampson… or at least, where his eyes would be on the harbor seal who's general form he's taken, “Just what are you, little guy?”

That robotic voice is back, “Prototype SMS Zero dash N, classified top secret due to violation of Intergalactic Treaty Omicron sections four, seven, twelve, and fourteen through twenty inclusive,” the harbor seal like creature’s voice switches back to the child-like one, “I'm a good boy!”

“Yes you are!” Irene goes back to giving her little intergalactic war crime belly rubs, “Such a good boy!”

Staying kneeling, Ms. Blackheart continues probing, “and what happened to your makers, Sampson?”

“Don't wanna!” The creature hides (ineffectually) behind Irene.

“Oh great, now he's going to be like, all mopey for days,” the natural blonde huffs, “Sampson, please be a good boy and give mommy a great big hug.”

The creature hugs Irene, melting around her and climbing up her body, quickly forming the black and glowing green suit, fully covering her except for her face.

“There… he always like, feels better when giving me a ‘hug’,” the Iron Fox rolls her eyes, “I don't think he was intended to work independently.”

“I can certainly see the logic of tying a weapon that can destroy entire star systems to an organic being,” the good witch shakes her head, “what's that about a treaty, though?”

“Oh, it's like, in the library?” The Iron Fox shrugs, “...and anything I pull up while in here gets translated. Section four bans self-maintaining and self-replicating weapons; seven bans weapons good for destroying planets or larger areas; twelve is about thresholds for cognitive ability, defining person, and the rights of anything meeting those criteria; the others are about limiting specific technologies that, quite frankly, are totally over my head.”

Fantasia takes a minute to let that sink in, “So… someone deliberately ignored a treaty to make a super weapon, embedded an artificial intelligence into it with the mind of a child, presumably kept it enalaved, and then programmed it… him… with a cold certainty that it is illegal for him to even exist.” The witch shakes her head, “...and people renamed my family ‘Black Heart’....”

“Like, I'm not sure if this makes it better or worse…” Irene begins, “...but I kind of get the impression from talking with him that he like, made very, VERY certain there wouldn't be a production model, or even another prototype, ever.”

Fantasia shrugs, “Sounds like they got what they deserved… sucks for Sampson, though. I'm glad he found someone he likes.”

“Yeah… I think we kind of saved each other?” She pauses, “He was like, really sad when I found him… and I had just lost my job… but now I got a new one! And he seems much happier.”

“Speaking of, let's get down to details on what you want….”

The two go into the nitty gritty of what to tell the architect for the design of her apartment…