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Name: Geraldine Georgia Radford
Preferred Name: G, or Georgia.
Codename: Giga
Background: Right, so. Perhaps you've heard of DefLoc Security? Owned by Jason Radford the Fourth? Well, maybe not. Anyway, it was formed back in the 20s, as Radford Locks and Security, but Granddad jumped hard on computers and robotics in the early seventies...he was a man ahead of his time, and nearly bankrupted the company proving it, BUT, in the end he was right, and now they're big, especially as defense contractors and pioneers of fake AI. Maybe someday it'll be real AI, but right now, it's just a very well-trained toy. Trust me, I've seen the code. Wrote some of it.
ANYWAY. The illustrious Mr. Radford (the Fourth) is my esteemed daddy and I am the apple of his eye. Or so his secretary always used to tell me. I had the best toys growing up, which is a good thing, since about the age of 5, I started building new ones with the superior pieces. A Lego castle is fun; a Lego castle that goes through an automated siege every hour is AWESOME. My daddy may not have been the most cuddly guy, but no one would say he's not sharp, and so as soon as he found out about his baby girl's little hobby, I got the fast track to prodigyville: best teachers, best schools, internships in the R&D department of the home company...you name it, I had it.
And then the Destruction of San Diego. I guess that was the first time that I ever thought about what all these neato-keen gadgets that ran through my head could be used for. /Would/ be used for, if people like my dad had their way. I mean, who exactly IS 'the enemy', anyway? Homo homini lupus, after all, we're ALL sheep to someone. It didn't take long (precisely 2.5 seconds, if you're curious) to work out that dad was not the type to embrace the love and peace vibe, no matter HOW close to San Francisco we were. As a matter of fact, after the Destruction, DefLoc was back, bigger and badder than ever. Provided a LOT of private security to upper crust friends afraid that looters would steal what was left of their Hummers, and a fair amount of 'public relations' jobs, too. And, now, of course, certain people had a burning question: how do you outfit regular joes to kill (sorry, NEUTRALIZE, because that looks better in grant requests) supers. People like me, when you get down to it. And really, who better to design bang-up super-splatterers than the darling of the labs?
I came up with this plan before they did, luckily. So I went crazy. Not hard, particularly when so many other people in the area went that way for real. PTSD leading to catatonic schizophrenia was the final diagnosis. Keen, huh? I sure thought so, and luckily you can find the full text of the DSM online even in those days, complete with diagnostic procedures and test norms. And, as I planned, my loving daddy shipped me off to a very expensive, very exclusive nuthouse. Sorry, 'contemplative residential retreat'. The best of everything, even in my drooling, non-responsive state. Which lasted for...two weeks and three days, which is how long it took for me to arrange to be wheeled by the security room and watch the administrator type the password in (For the record, guys? 'password' is nowhere near as clever as you THINK it is, kay?). But, hey, they weren't hired for their brains, only their ability to keep a secret and not diddle the vegetative daughters of high society.
So, out I go, free as a bird, poor as a churchmouse. Dyed my hair, made a few changes, fell in with college students, geeks, and fen; they're fun, generous, and don't ask a lot of questions...especially when you can do all sorts of fun stuff with computers. You can make a living that way, but I've started realizing that all the people like me didn't just give up the costumed posturing for a bad job, and while I don't want to have a hand in creating the Anti-Super SWAT Team, the regular police really DON'T have all the tools to do the job. Nice guys, but when something I can build in a couple of days can knock out five upstanding officers of the law in less than a minute (58.39 seconds, and don't ask how I know that...), it's clear that something must be done.
Sat myself down and had a good, long think about things, and realized that the only one I really trusted not to use my tech to do something deadly and naughty...was myself. I'd be lying if I said I didn't find the idea all kinds of exciting, and I've got the Gigasuit (Ver. 1.27, now with less smoke!) ready to roll for field testing. Power up!
Preferred Name: G, or Georgia.
Codename: Giga
Background: Right, so. Perhaps you've heard of DefLoc Security? Owned by Jason Radford the Fourth? Well, maybe not. Anyway, it was formed back in the 20s, as Radford Locks and Security, but Granddad jumped hard on computers and robotics in the early seventies...he was a man ahead of his time, and nearly bankrupted the company proving it, BUT, in the end he was right, and now they're big, especially as defense contractors and pioneers of fake AI. Maybe someday it'll be real AI, but right now, it's just a very well-trained toy. Trust me, I've seen the code. Wrote some of it.
ANYWAY. The illustrious Mr. Radford (the Fourth) is my esteemed daddy and I am the apple of his eye. Or so his secretary always used to tell me. I had the best toys growing up, which is a good thing, since about the age of 5, I started building new ones with the superior pieces. A Lego castle is fun; a Lego castle that goes through an automated siege every hour is AWESOME. My daddy may not have been the most cuddly guy, but no one would say he's not sharp, and so as soon as he found out about his baby girl's little hobby, I got the fast track to prodigyville: best teachers, best schools, internships in the R&D department of the home company...you name it, I had it.
And then the Destruction of San Diego. I guess that was the first time that I ever thought about what all these neato-keen gadgets that ran through my head could be used for. /Would/ be used for, if people like my dad had their way. I mean, who exactly IS 'the enemy', anyway? Homo homini lupus, after all, we're ALL sheep to someone. It didn't take long (precisely 2.5 seconds, if you're curious) to work out that dad was not the type to embrace the love and peace vibe, no matter HOW close to San Francisco we were. As a matter of fact, after the Destruction, DefLoc was back, bigger and badder than ever. Provided a LOT of private security to upper crust friends afraid that looters would steal what was left of their Hummers, and a fair amount of 'public relations' jobs, too. And, now, of course, certain people had a burning question: how do you outfit regular joes to kill (sorry, NEUTRALIZE, because that looks better in grant requests) supers. People like me, when you get down to it. And really, who better to design bang-up super-splatterers than the darling of the labs?
I came up with this plan before they did, luckily. So I went crazy. Not hard, particularly when so many other people in the area went that way for real. PTSD leading to catatonic schizophrenia was the final diagnosis. Keen, huh? I sure thought so, and luckily you can find the full text of the DSM online even in those days, complete with diagnostic procedures and test norms. And, as I planned, my loving daddy shipped me off to a very expensive, very exclusive nuthouse. Sorry, 'contemplative residential retreat'. The best of everything, even in my drooling, non-responsive state. Which lasted for...two weeks and three days, which is how long it took for me to arrange to be wheeled by the security room and watch the administrator type the password in (For the record, guys? 'password' is nowhere near as clever as you THINK it is, kay?). But, hey, they weren't hired for their brains, only their ability to keep a secret and not diddle the vegetative daughters of high society.
So, out I go, free as a bird, poor as a churchmouse. Dyed my hair, made a few changes, fell in with college students, geeks, and fen; they're fun, generous, and don't ask a lot of questions...especially when you can do all sorts of fun stuff with computers. You can make a living that way, but I've started realizing that all the people like me didn't just give up the costumed posturing for a bad job, and while I don't want to have a hand in creating the Anti-Super SWAT Team, the regular police really DON'T have all the tools to do the job. Nice guys, but when something I can build in a couple of days can knock out five upstanding officers of the law in less than a minute (58.39 seconds, and don't ask how I know that...), it's clear that something must be done.
Sat myself down and had a good, long think about things, and realized that the only one I really trusted not to use my tech to do something deadly and naughty...was myself. I'd be lying if I said I didn't find the idea all kinds of exciting, and I've got the Gigasuit (Ver. 1.27, now with less smoke!) ready to roll for field testing. Power up!
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