R.O.B. 37

"You ever sit down for lunch and realize halfway through that the menu includes a political coup, a generational reunion, and a redemption arc for the guy your government locked in a basement? Me neither. Until today."

...........

Stream Connection Established — Orientation Chat Active

cartoon_nightmare:

Alright, whose cursed furbi did I just bond with? This thing glitched my toaster.

most_interesting_demigod:

Not mine, but 10/10 would install again. It called me a "priority asset" and played elevator music.

disinterested_doorknob:

Mine vibrated, made a sad chirp, and then crashed the coffee machine.

momfriend.exe:

You're all hopeless. It synced to my laptop, compiled itself into a UI, and asked for my blood type. I said no.

most_interesting_demigod:

Bet it still took a sample. Probably already scanning your genome.

cartoon_nightmare:

Mine wanted a selfie. I gave it a duck pic.

disinterested_doorknob:

Of course you did.

ScarTactics:

...Is this some kind of group chat?

AncientLibrarian:

Testing connection... Is this transmission active?

FulcrumInChat:

Oooh, shiny. Hello? Anyone else seeing a weird blue glow when you tilt the screen?

HelloThereGen:

I appear to have received a device. Not standard issue. Curious interface. Who are you?

SandHatesMe:

Okay. This is either a prank, a weird communicator update, or the start of something deeply inconvenient.

StarkNakedLogic:

This interface was not on my design docket. Also? It hijacked a secure workspace. Whoever made this: rude.

most_interesting_demigod:

Oh, this is gonna be fun. New faces.

momfriend.exe:

Don't scare the newbies. Yet.

disinterested_doorknob:

Define "new." Because someone here just posted using a terminal font from the Clinton Administration.

ScarTactics:

Right, okay. Just to be clear... I didn't buy this. Found it on my desk like it had always been there.

Feels…odd. Familiar... but different?

AncientLibrarian:

Same. The device is beyond our current tech level. Biometric-responsive, no obvious power source, adaptive UI. I'd suspect Ancient origin if not for the formatting.

FulcrumInChat:

It looks like something I'd take apart just to see if it screamed. In a good way!

HelloThereGen:

It has a calm presence. As if designed to encourage dialogue without intimidation.

SandHatesMe:

Mine feels like it's judging me. And not wrong.

StarkNakedLogic:

Did anyone else get a "stream unlocked" message? Followed by an obnoxious ping sound that somehow played in surround?

cartoon_nightmare:

Lmao yeah, mine screamed in 8-bit.

most_interesting_demigod:

Mine played smooth jazz. I feel violated.

ScarTactics:

Still not sure what this is. Or why I can suddenly message strangers across... wherever this is.

AncientLibrarian:

Possibly universal. The symbols embedded in the frame cycle through glyphs not native to any known modern language. The interface updated in real-time to my dialect.

momfriend.exe:

Definitely not local. This isn't just cross-platform, it's cross-reality and multiversal. The coding's absurdly layered. I've had access for a couple years, and can't trace the origin.

StarkNakedLogic:

I say it's a bored bald pirate with too many satellites.

disinterested_doorknob:

Define pirate.

StarkNakedLogic:

Bald. Scowly. Talks like he eats secrets for breakfast. Last seen yelling about protocols while crashing my brunch.

SandHatesMe:

That... sounds relatable.

FulcrumInChat:

My interface has a setting called "Chaos Threshold." I set it to 11.

ScarTactics:

Is this safe? I mean... whatever this is, someone clearly went to a lot of effort to set it up. And find us.

AncientLibrarian:

Not safe. But also not, not safe. Stable. The quantum signature is locked in a pattern I can only describe as anchored entropy.

HelloThereGen:

An apt phrase. There is a sense of intent behind all of this.

most_interesting_demigod:

Welcome to the chat, folks. You're now part of the weirdest long-distance call in existence.

momfriend.exe:

Group name's not important. What is important: trust no one, don't click the cursed icons, and don't accept strange quests unless you're ready to meet gods, ghosts, or your emotional baggage.

cartoon_nightmare:

Also: keep snacks on hand. You never know when time loops back and makes you hungry again.

StarkNakedLogic:

Quests? Like some kind of role-playing emulator? I thought those went out in the 90s.

This better not be a team-building exercise. I don't do "pep."

disinterested_doorknob:

And yet here you are. Among the peppiest.

FulcrumInChat:

How long till we figure out who's who? I'm taking bets.

ScarTactics:

...Define "who."

AncientLibrarian:

Let's begin with "why."

OffScript:

Stormborn, Lorekeeper, Needlepoint, Fast Hands, Pilot Down, Bald Pirate Bait—welcome.

OffScript:

You've all touched the edge of something bigger than your worlds will admit. These devices are tuned to you. Not because you're ready—but because you might be.

OffScript:

The chat has a direct message function. You can message another user privately. The catch? You can only send a DM if you know who you're messaging. They don't have to know you. Use it wisely.

....

Black Manor

Friday, May 3, 1991

1:00 p.m.

The low hum of quiet conversation in the sitting room stilled as green flames erupted in the receiving room beyond.

Josh stood from his place near the hearth, boots clicking softly on the stone floor. His dark denim jeans and fitted black shirt blended easily with the subdued elegance of the room, while the silver heir ring on his right hand caught the light as he adjusted the fall of his gray vest. A silver chain peeked out from beneath his collar before slipping out of view again.

Next to him, Percival rose in one fluid motion. His white shirt was neatly buttoned, sleeves rolled up just enough to suggest readiness. His own vest was ash gray, darker than Josh's but well-worn and tailored. Nymphadora Tonks leaned forward on the arm of her chair, shifting her weight before she bounced to her feet in scuffed boots and a punk-inspired jacket, her electric purple hair coiling up into messy victory curls.

Arcturus Black stood with deliberate purpose. The deep burgundy of his formal robe stood in quiet contrast to the casual clothes worn by the Myrddins. He tapped the armrest once before gesturing for them to follow.

"Let's not keep them waiting," he said.

The four stepped into the receiving room just as Ted Tonks landed in a swirl of green fire and soft soot. He brushed his sleeves reflexively and took a cautious step forward, eyes scanning the ancient stonework and ancestral crests. The room felt like history pressed into walls, and for a Muggle-born like Ted, it was nearly overwhelming.

Andromeda Tonks emerged from the Floo a heartbeat later. She straightened before even shaking off the ash, her expression calm but composed. There was tension around her shoulders, the kind carried for too long. She wore a long charcoal coat over practical robes and met Arcturus's gaze with measured control.

Josh stepped forward first. "Ted. Andromeda. Welcome."

Ted offered a handshake, his grip firm and cautious. "Josh. You've done more than enough just bringing us into this."

Josh smiled faintly. "This is only the beginning."

Andromeda looked from him to Arcturus, then to Tonks. Her daughter gave her a crooked grin and a two-fingered salute.

Arcturus's voice was cool, though not unkind. "You should have come to me. The decision to marry who you wished was yours to make, but allowing Walburga's tantrum to stand as law was beneath you."

Andromeda blinked, caught between pride and surprise.

"Walburga never had the authority to disown anyone," he continued. "She burned a tapestry. That's all."

Ted shifted awkwardly until Percival stepped up beside him with a short nod and a calming hand on his shoulder. "We're here now. That's what matters."

Before the weight of the moment could settle deeper, the Floo flared again. Amelia Bones stepped through cleanly, brushing no soot from her robes. Her arrival was silent but exact.

"Madam Bones," Arcturus said, inclining his head.

"Lord Black," she returned, giving the gathered group a once-over. "Quite the company you've assembled."

Arcturus gave a small nod. "An injustice was done. You are here because I would see it corrected properly. Without interference."

Amelia's eyes flicked toward Josh, then Tonks, and finally Andromeda. She seemed to assess the entire room before nodding once.

"Then let us begin."

Arcturus turned toward the hall. "We will speak over luncheon. This way."

As they made their way through the manor, boots and shoes echoed against polished stone. The portraits watched in regal silence as Black blood, new and old, passed beneath their eyes.

May 3, 1991 — 1:05 p.m.

Black Manor, Informal Dining Room

The walk from the sitting room to the informal dining hall was quiet, each step deliberate. Arcturus led the way, his posture straight and steps even. Behind him followed Percival and Josh, then the Tonks family and Amelia Bones. All of them carried a weight of expectation that only grew heavier as they approached the tall walnut double doors.

Just before reaching them, Arcturus paused and glanced back at the others.

"At this table, all sit as equals," he said. "Whatever roles we hold outside this room are left at the door."

The doors opened without a sound.

Inside, the room offered a quieter, older kind of elegance. The walls were lined with dark paneling and tall curtained windows that softened the daylight. The furnishings were refined but not ostentatious. The strength of the room came from its balance, not from excess.

At the center stood a round mahogany table, finely crafted and polished to a deep sheen. It sat on a sunburst-patterned rug and held nine identical chairs evenly spaced around it. There was no head of the table, no symbol of authority in any one seat. It was a table designed for parity.

Seven of the chairs were clearly meant to be used. The remaining two, though set identically with plates and menus, remained empty. Their untouched cushions and perfect placement made their purpose clear without words.

Josh's eyes paused on the one across from him, then the one beside it. He said nothing, but his expression shifted subtly.

Each setting had polished silverware, folded napkins, and a ceramic plate with a soft green edge. Beside each plate lay a leather-bound menu with the sigil of House Black in silver ink. The menu offered a multitude of dishes from around the world.

Notably from America, there was smoked brisket with molasses-baked beans and cheddar grits, Ground Steak and boar bacon cheese burgers with double battered chili cheese fries served with a coke. From France, duck confit and saffron-infused ratatouille, Bouillabaisse with a half baguette toasted. Italian options included penne arrabbiata and chicken marsala. Chinese dishes like char siu pork and dan dan noodles appeared alongside soft steamed buns glazed in ginger. Just to name a few.

A single British option rested among the others. Steak with mashed potatoes topped with bacon, served with green beans sliced in the French cut and a side of baked beans.

Nymphadora raised an eyebrow as she flipped open her menu. "This might be the most rebellious pureblood lunch I've ever seen."

Andromeda smiled faintly as she took her seat beside Ted. He leaned toward Josh.

"This is... not what I pictured when you said we'd be having lunch with the Blacks."

Josh gave a quiet nod. "Exactly."

A figure stood near the far wall, not speaking but observing. At first glance he appeared human. A second look revealed the truth.

Robert, the Black family's house elf, wore a tailored butler's uniform with a high collar and subtle silver trim. His build was solid, his movements precise. He stood taller than most of his kind and carried himself with a confidence few would associate with a house elf. His uniform was crisp. His eyes were alert.

Ted blinked, then gave a short respectful nod.

Robert returned it with a formal bow. It held no submission, only professionalism.

He had been named by a rebellious young Sirius Black who once declared, loudly and stubbornly, that if elves must serve the family, they should at least be treated with decency and have proper names.

Amelia Bones took a seat near Arcturus and rested her wand beside her napkin.

"Thank you for the invitation," she said. "And for the effort to make this a neutral meeting."

Arcturus inclined his head.

"The matter requires clarity, not politics. You are here to witness and to judge based on fact."

Percival took his seat in silence, his sleeves rolled to the forearms, vest neatly pressed. He looked over the table and nodded once, approving the balance of form and function.

Robert stepped forward, ready to take their orders.

As conversation stirred and menus opened, Josh looked again at the two empty chairs.

Their absence said more than any toast.

The table was ready. The real work had yet to begin.

....

The table came alive with quiet conversation and rustling menus. Robert, ever efficient, took orders with precision and a neutral expression. No one touched the lone British meal option.

Josh's burger was exactly as he wanted: well-done, melted American cheese, Heinz ketchup, French's mustard. Fries smothered in chili and cheddar. Coke in a glass bottle with a lemon wedge. He ignored the salad.

"This," he declared reverently, "is a proper lunch."

Tonks stabbed a fry with glee. "M'man."

Conversation stirred around them. Arcturus dipped his bread into bouillabaisse. Amelia carved duck. Ted mused about potion blowback and muggle chemistry. Josh leaned in.

"Depends how you're defining reaction. Sulfur and powdered bicorn horn behave a lot like volatile catalysts in closed systems. Ugly cousins. The kind you send holiday cards to but never invite to dinner."

Ted blinked."Now I want to compare them."

"You'll need fire insurance."

Andromeda laughed softly."How you turned sarcasm into pedagogy, I'll never know."

Josh smiled. The burger vanished bite by bite. The soda fizzed like reward.

Orientation Chat Active

StarkNakedLogic:Board's crawling up my spine again. They want my prototype but have no idea what it even does.

HelloThereGen:My superior keeps stalling through Senate channels. I'm expected to resolve everything quietly, yesterday, and without help.

StarkNakedLogic:Classic productivity theater. Had a general like that. Used to say "the future is kinetic" while wearing shades indoors. Still not sure if he was joking.

HelloThereGen:Mine brings graphs. The horror is tangible.

StarkNakedLogic:I'll send headphones. Or trade bosses.

HelloThereGen:If only.

Josh snorted quietly, wiping his mouth.

Congress and the Senate. Technology and diplomacy. Neither names their world, but they're circling the same fire.

He tapped the admin overlay.

Renaming HelloThereGen to KnightSentinel.Renaming StarkNakedLogic to BillionairePlayboy.Renaming ScarTactics to LawLord.

OffScript:No further questions at this time.Uploaded gif: someone zipping their lips and tossing the key.

cartoon_nightmare:And with that, the admin has spoken.

most_interesting_demigod:I still hear the zipper. Just me?

1:35 p.m.

Josh set down his empty glass. Tonks tapped her fork on her plate.

Robert stepped forward. Snap. Plates gone. Glasses refilled. No wasted motion.

A thick leather-bound folder shimmered into view before Arcturus. He placed a hand on it, steady.

The meal had ended. The real work was about to begin.

.......................

✦ OMAKE: CONTINUING TRANSMISSION — Heist Across the Stars: Part II – Ghosts of the Gate ✦

(Because galactic salvage counts as therapy)

Quest: Heist Across the Stars – Part II: Ghosts of the GateTarget: Prometheus-class warship from a dead Earth. Tech and Stargates intact.

"This is... eerie," Hunter muttered, stepping over a shattered console. The control room was quiet—too quiet. Earth, in this timeline, had fallen to a genetic plague. No SG-1. No Atlantis. Just bones and legacy code.

Josh crouched near the core housing, fingers brushing old burn marks.

"We'll retrofit her," he said. "Give her a second life."

They found two Stargates in sealed storage bays—clean, unused, each with an intact DHD. Labeled in four languages, like someone had once hoped for visitors.

Josh slotted a ZPM into the power cradle. The Prometheus hummed back to life, lights flickering to full like a corpse remembering how to breathe.

Then came the Ha'tak.

A golden pyramid-ship drifting above a planet that never rebelled. This version of Earth had fallen, long ago. Ra's empire still thrived. The AI core was stripped. Its memory banks dumped into Jump Station archives.

They stole everything they could before the automated defense grid woke up.

Ancient gene mod chamber?Secured.

System Lord war schematics?Downloaded.

They didn't stick around for goodbyes.

Loot Acquired:

1x Prometheus-class Battlecruiser (Genetic Plague Variant)

2x Stargates + DHDs

1x Goa'uld Ha'tak (Empty Shell, Fully Stripped)

1x Ancient Gene Mod Suite (Portable)

+400% ZPM Drain Efficiency Upgrade

New Perk Unlocked: "Grave Robber's Honor" – You loot the dead, but you don't dishonor them. +10 Diplomacy with AI ghosts and post-apocalyptic constructs.

Next target loaded. Scanning for timeline: "Atlantis Never Fell."Estimated Threat Level: Blue Glowing Cities and Bioluminescent Regret.Pack snacks.