Best Friends in Science
Communications with Big Mountain were often scarce. A place left truly to its own devices by the harsh desert, perhaps because it was more fearsome than even the Mojave, few dared enter. Those to wander in by mistake did not typically leave, and if they did, they did not do so with their organs fully intact. The so-called “gods of Big Mountain” made sure of that. A group of five, all of whom have long since forgotten the value of morality and humanity, dead set on the pursuit of their own distorted branch of science. The doctors were constantly hard at work, slaving away over bizarre contraptions and ruthless lobotomies. Even the gods have something to fear, however; just across the crater they called home was a former comrade, supposedly driven mad by his own creations. In a zone he himself dubbed “forbidden,” he sends upon them scores of intelligence draining robo-scorpions and other such terrors. They dare not leave the sanctity of their Think Tank, lest they be attacked by his minions.
This is precisely the way he wants it. Dr. Mobius would rather they stay right where they are, even if they are forced there by fear. Better than unleashing them upon the unsuspecting wasteland; Lord knows what horrors they would let loose there, without the barriers of Big Mountain to keep them at bay. They’re just fine where they are, under the illusion that there is nothing beyond the crater, and he is fine where he is, in his dome, away from their shenanigans and away from the general population of the desert. He has plenty to occupy his time with, and yet he still feels those pangs of loneliness every now and again. Exiled of his own volition from his colleagues, Dr. Mobius spends a vast majority of his time alone. Robo-scorpions do not make the best company, unfortunately. The few visitors he has received were always a welcome reprieve to his self-induced solitude, but lately, there have been none. It has been quite a while since the meddlesome courier has shown their face in the Forbidden Zone. Plagued not with worry, but sadness, Mobius glides across the floor of his laboratory, waiting for them to reappear, hoping they’ll want a Mentat, or to have a nice conversation with him again. They weren’t even kind enough to leave their brain with him when they left. Just as he is about to surrender all hope that they’ll reappear, an unfamiliar signal begins to hassle his terminals. Someone is trying to contact him from outside of Big Mountain. It is with great caution that he allows the signal access to his communication device. It is with less caution, more amusement, that he foregoes the pre-recorded messages for once. He will allow the mysterious source to speak first, watching the monitor in silence.
