Reception

Date/Timing: 3 December 2025
Setting: DriftSci lab, Carnegie Mellon University; Pittsburgh, USA
Inspired by this list.
.
Logan takes a deep breath—
The security camera over the door focuses on him.
—squares up, swipes his card, and pushes through into the lab.
The /empty lab.
Logan exhales, slouches over to the front desk, slaps the computer awake. Wanders over to the coat rack, hangs up his jacket, tugs down the hem of his jumper. Strolls back to the desk, plops into the chair, logs in. He nudges open his email. Sighs.
/From: collocott@mojodojo.com
/To: lp_jones@cmu.edu
/CC: macrossan@mojodojo.com; allaway@mojodojo.com
/Subject: RE: WhoTF?
Seriously, Jones. 
Who's this "Jamie" and why does he keep emailing us?
Also, why does he keep offering to introduce us to your "Nanny"?
—❀
The main door /clicks as the lock disengages right on time.
/From: lp_jones@cmu.edu
/To: collocott@mojodojo.com
/CC: macrossan@mojodojo.com; allaway@mojodojo.com
/Subject: RE: WhoTF?
We used to work together. Tell him to fuck off.
Also, leave Nanny alone.
Pokes 'send', leans back, laces his fingers behind his head.
The door bangs open.
"I can't find my backup jumper," hollers Jack, "and it's fucking /freezing out there!"
Logan pulls open his bottom right drawer, flings—
"Phlbbt!" Jack claws the jumper off his face. "Oh. Thanks."
—flicks a salute.
Jack shakes out the woolie and a slip of paper flutters to the floor. He picks it up. Squints. "The fuck's this?"
Logan thinks loudly.
Jack glowers at him, probably doesn't notice he's tucking the picture in his pocket.
Logan smiles sweetly.
"I hate you."
::Talk, talk, talk.::
Jack grumps off to The Bridge.
Logan queues up the next image dump—Becket wasn't kidding about having a ton of pictures—then pops open the latest operating code for Chip-the-robot, skims the error log.
The door opens.
"—that everything can be art! Like body modifications and—"
"We /know."
"Just get the damn tattoo already."
The herd of grad students trump past him toward the deeper desks.
""I'm afraid I won't be able to get a job if I have one!""
""That's /so last century!""
""C'mon, even /he has 'em. And he's a /teaching /assistant!""
Logan tweaks a faulty expression.
""How would /you know?""
A scoff. ""Two words: the internet.""
Logan sighs.
A door opens.
""Really? Where'd you—""
Door closes.
Blissful quiet returns.
Three modules get corrected, Logan takes a shot in the dark at a fourth and sets the compiler to work.
The door slams open.
"You're all fascists!"
Logan rolls his eyes.
"Why didn't I get accepted to your stupid program?!"
Logan retrieves, holds up the sign.
- Lightcap's not here -
"/You take a message for her!"
Logan quirks an eyebrow.
"/You're her assistant!"
Logan stands, looms, projects 'grievous bodily harm imminent' as powerfully as he can.
Noisy swallows, steps back. Flutters.
Logan looms a little closer.
Flees.
Logan sits back—
/CRASH
""I'm having /a /problem,"" yells Jack.
—asks the ceiling for patience, pushes off for The Bridge.
Inside, Jack's on the floor next to his toppled chair.
"Fucking Roomba."
Said green puck whirs nervously against the far wall.
Logan frowns at it as he rights Jack's seat.
Roomba cowers deeper into its corner.
"Thing jumped me when I went to fix the thermostat."
Logan nods, 'of course it did'.
"Don't patronize me."
Logan doesn't roll his eyes, crouches, gets his hands into Jack's armpits, and hoists him to his feet.
Roomba zips out the back door.
Jack finds his balance, rubs his neck. "Thanks."
::'welcome.::
Jack heads to turn up his sauna.
Logan watches for a beat, then moseys back to the front desk.
File transfer's still grinding away; and there're five /new errors in Chip's code.
Logan huffs, opens his email.
""I mean, like, I didn't grow up on heavy metal, but, like—""
""We don't, like, care.""
A sniff.
About half the grad students trundle past, heading for class.
""It's a totally valid, like, genre of music.""
""We still don't, like care.""
The door closes.
Logan shakes his head.
/From: macrossan@mojodojo.com
/To: lp_jones@cmu.edu
/CC: collocott@mojodojo.com; allaway@mojodojo.com
/Subject: RE: WhoTF?
Did you know you can find wonderful things on the internet?
Like how this "Jamie Walker" was apparently your press agent slash babysitter? And "Nanny" is your beloved grandmother?
If I was I more excitable person, Iiiii'd think someone was trying to play matchmaker for us.
—Bubbles!!!
Logan rolls his eyes.
/From: macrossan@mojodojo.com
/To: lp_jones@cmu.edu
/CC: collocott@mojodojo.com; allaway@mojodojo.com
/Subject: RE: WhoTF?
I'm TOTALLY an excitable person.
We'd be ADORABLE together.
—Bubbles!!!
Logan ... sighs.
/From: lp_jones@cmu.edu
/To: collocott@mojodojo.com
/CC: macrossan@mojodojo.com; allaway@mojodojo.com
/Subject: RE: WhoTF?
A. C. E.
Give up now.
Jabs 'send'.
The hairs on the nape of Logan's neck stand up.
He listens.
Hissing from the vicinity of the fabricator.
Logan glides his chair aaaaaall the way over.
Students hover near the machinery, unspooled filament tangled around their feet.
The fabricator makes a very unhappy choking noise.
Logan whistles an interrogative.
Mike the TA whirls. "I need a /knife—your sweater is such a beautiful colour orange I love it—/knife." Holds out a hand.
Logan passes over his pocket multitool.
Mike lunges for the fabricator, cackling.
The flutterers step back.
Logan shrugs, scoots away to his station.
His email tab blinks.
/From: macrossan@mojodojo.com
/To: lp_jones@cmu.edu
/CC: collocott@mojodojo.com; allaway@mojodojo.com
/Subject: RE: WhoTF?
NEVER!!!!!
Logan drags a hand down his face.
The door opens and another knot of students strolls in.
"Logan?"
He attends.
"Chuck here?"
Shakes his head.
"Dangit. I need her to troubleshoot my project. Do you know when she'll be in?"
Shrugs helplessly.
Another student shifts their feet. "Can I, uh, ask a question?"
Logan keeps his face neutral.
"Is it true she made a full-sized coffin? And keeps it in you guys's basement?"
Logan blinks.
"That's so fucking edgy," murmurs another student.
Logan picks up his notebook and pen, writes, offers a view.
- Not that I've seen -
The crowd looks disappointed.
Logan doesn't roll his eyes.
"Oh. Well." Chuckles weakly. "Guess you can't believe everything you read on the internet, huh?"
Logan /does roll his eyes.
The students slink off to the back.
Logan glances at his email.
/From: allaway@mojodojo.com
/To: lp_jones@cmu.edu
/CC:
/Subject: RE: WhoTF?
Would you like me to beat Bubbles' butt for you? She's starting to get on MY nerves too.
Logan snorts.
/From: lp_jones@cmu.edu
/To: allaway@mojodojo.com
/CC:
/Subject: RE: WhoTF?
Be my guest.
He grins, taps 'send', leans back. 
The ol' mental pocketwatch sounds off.
Logan stands, stretches, aims his feet toward The Bridge.
Aaaand there's Jack, gazing forlornly at the bin.
Logan strolls over, stops next to him, cocks his head.
">Yup ... that's /definitely a thing."
Jack sighs heavily. "It's a toy I designed." Rubs the back of his neck. "I spent a week on the plans."
Logan waits.
"You see, I put it on the bin because ... the colours ... the, uh, contrast?" 
Logan tilts his head to the other side.
"Okay .... it's broken and it's trash and I got a second degree burn making it."
Logan pat-pats Jack's back.
Jack sighs again. "Suppose you're here 'cause it's lunchtime, ay?"
Logan nods.
"Who's gonna watch the front while you—"
Logan sighs.
Jack pat-pats his back. "I'll bring you something."
">Thanks."
Jack snags his coat and they leave The Bridge together.
Jack keeps on going, right past a couple of new faces chatting in the waiting area.
"—my god! You're in that class, too?!"
Logan sighs into the chair.
"Yea, I need a break from all the science stuff."
He squints at Chip's error log.
""What'd you do for this week?""
""I drew me because I like drawing and I like me.""
Logan coughs over a snort.
""Bless you~!""
Logan thumbs up.
""What did you do?""
""I built—"" A beat. ""—this!""
""That's, uh, interesting?""
""The whole piece is based on a list of visual puns."" Papers shuffle. ""Let's begin.""
""I've got a thing.""
Rushed footsteps.
The door opens, closes.
A sigh. ""Some people just don't appreciate art.""
Logan smothers more 'coughs' in his elbow.
""You should get that looked at. Sounds like it's gone to your chest.""
Logan waves it off, straightens, holds up the sign, and whistles.
"Oh, I'm not here for Doctor Lightcap. I'm waiting for Mike to be ready for lunch."
"Did I hear my name?" Mike rolls up, hands Logan his multitool. "Thanks for that."
Logan bobs his chin, stuffs the tool back in his pocket.
Mike scratches his head. "Can you, um, ask the repair people to come take a look at the fab? I don't think I totally fixed it."
Logan's eyebrow quirks, 'no, really'.
"I got it to stop puking filament," he huffs, "but now it won't start the cool-down cycle."
">Is it going to catch fire?"
"I don't think so?"
Logan frowns.
"I pulled the plug, but." Mike shifts his feet.
Logan sighs, pulls up his email.
"Thanks, dude." Mike heads out, Mx Visual Puns falling into step with him.
Door opens, closes.
Logan dashes off a note to the support people about the fabricator and flags it 'urgent'. Grabs a piece of paper and a marker, carefully prints, - FABRICATOR'S OUT OF ORDER -, and props the sign on the front of the desk.
His inbox blinks.
/From: jamie.walker@border.gov.au
/To: lp_jones@cmu.edu
/CC:
/Subject: RE: WhoTF?
Go ahead: try to derail my cunning plans, Jones.
Take some time out from your packed social calendar to mess with little ol' me.
It'll be time well spent.
♥ Jamie ♥ Walker ♥
Logan glowers at the screen.
/From: lp_jones@cmu.edu
/To: jamie.walker@border.gov.au
/CC:
/Subject: RE: WhoTF?
GO. TO. HELL.
LEAVE NANNY THE FUCK OUT OF WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING.
He smashes 'send', slouches forcefully back in the chair, arms crossed.
The screensaver comes on.
He scowls a full eighty-nine seconds.
Gives in, pokes the mouse.
/From: jamie.walker@border.gov.au
/To: lp_jones@cmu.edu
/CC:
/Subject: RE: WhoTF?
No need to shout. I may be old, but I hear like a person half my age.
♥ Jamie ♥ Walker ♥
Logan grumps, lets his head fall back.
Students chatter past, headed out.
Door opens, closes, opens again.
""Here for the fabricator?""
Logan points to the back.
""Thanks. I'll let you know what I find.""
Thumbs up.
Door opens, closes.
Students chatter past, headed in.
""You okay?""
Thumbs up.
""Oooookaaaay, then.""
Six quiet minutes.
Door opens, closes.
""They had calzones,"" announces Jack.
Logan perks right up, makes grabby hands.
Jack passes over the bag. "You want me to—"
Logan's at the door to the storage closet, locking himself in with the eats. He floats to the floor, breaks into the takeout container, inhales the heavenly scent of melty cheese and marinara.
Then he inhales the food.
Tucks the trash into the bag.
Leans back against the wall, dozes.
Banging on the door.
""Break's over!"" yells Jack.
Logan huffs, stands, stretches. Grabs the garbage, lets himself out, heads for the desk.
Jack follows. "The fabricator'll be down for at least two days and Lightcap's in her office."
Logan deposits the bag in the bin, digs in a drawer.
"Getting ready for the inevitable?"
Sighs, drops the sign on the desk.
"But before you get /too comfy—"
Rolls his eyes.
"—I need your eyes on some naughty code."
Inclines his head, 'lead the way'.
They set out for The Bridge.
""Stop!""
Logan plows into Jack—
"/Jesus!"
—grabs the back of his jumper, tows him to plumb.
"I /loooove your texture," coos Lightcap, floating over and stroking Jack's arm.
Jack tugs at his collar. "Uh, thanks?"
"Where'd you get this sweater?" Still stroking.
"He—" Jerks a thumb at Logan. "—made it a while back." Subtly tries to get some distance.
"/Reeeally?" Lightcap sparkles at Logan, continues to pet Jack. "Will you make me one?"
Logan shrugs. ::If you buy the stuff.::
"Great!" She stops touching, heads back to her office, mumbling, ""Pink? Maybe green? Or purple? What about—""
Her door closes.
Jack looks to Logan.
Logan shrugs.
Jack grunts, leads the way to The Bridge, flops into his chair. "It's this thing here. I can't get it to line up right no matter what I try."
Logan leans over his shoulder, squints at the code and the wireframe preview.
Leans closer.
"Am I in your way?"
Leeeeeeans—
"Personal space much?"
—straightens. 
"Well?"
">I got nothin'."
Jack sighs, "Some help you—"
""I'm a /genius! /A /GENIUS!""
/CRASH!
/clatter-clatter
Logan looks at Jack.
Jack looks at Logan.
"Which've us should—"
Logan holds out his hand, palm up and flat.
Jack rolls his eyes. "Fiiiine. On three. One ... two ... /three!"
Logan cackles.
"You cheat! Somehow you cheat! You always /cheat!"
Logan waves his fingers.
Jack grumps off to Lightcap's office.
Very slightly uneven footsteps fade.
Logan grabs the mouse, places the cursor, makes a /teensy change to Jack's code, clicks 'save'.
The wireframe spasms into the correct shape.
Logan grunts, scribbles, - You forgot to save changes dumbass -, on a sticky note and affixes it to the screen. He dusts off his hands, whistles on out.
A knot of students between him and the desk.
"Who will fight for this last sticker?" crows one with their back to him.
Logan rolls up, plucks the item from their fingers, tucks it in a pocket.
Sticker Hoarder blinks.
Crowd blinks.
Logan tips an imaginary hat, saunters to his chair, drops in.
Crowd slinks to the back.
His mobile /nyans.
queen_of_the_jungle: You like stickers?
queen_of_the_jungle: You don't seem the type.
snikt: Like quiet actuly
queen_of_the_jungle: Ahhh.
queen_of_the_jungle: You seem to be enduring your punishment with good humour.
snikt: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
""Umm, hi?""
Logan swivels his chair, queries.
"The fabricator won't start up."
Logan sighs spectacularly, reaches behind him, grabs and holds up the sign.
- It's BROKEN -
Flips it around.
- Like the sign on it SAYS -
"Oh. Umm." Student shuffles their feet, studies the floor. "Sorry to bother you." Flees.
Logan spins to his screen, check his mobile.
queen_of_the_jungle: You may wish to check in on your brother.
snikt: ?
queen_of_the_jungle: He appears to be trying to meld with his work surface.
snikt: Gr8
snikt: Thx
On The Bridge, Jack's invisible and the Sticker Posse huddles around the bin.
"—/swear it reminds me of something ...."
"It looks like Duchamp."
Logan wanders over to where Jack's face-down on the desk.
"/Yes! That's it! Yes!"
Jack whimpers into his folded arms.
"That's /so edgy."
Logan pokes his shoulder.
Jack drags his head around.
::What're they talking about?::
"He's this artist who—just look him up." Resumes moping.
Logan asks the ceiling for patience, jabs Jack.
""What.""
Logan asks for /more patience, crouches to ear level. ">You gonna be alright?"
""Fuck off and let me mourn the youth of the world.""
">Whatever you say, old man." Pats Jack's head, stands.
Jack salutes with a single finger.
Logan snorts, exits.
Yet /another bunch of students in the waiting area, clustered around something crinkling like a bag of potato crisps.
"These are /sooooo good," squees one. "What kind are they?"
Crinkling.
Logan sits down.
"Zapp's."
"We're eating Zapp's? Oh, /FUCK /ME!"
"What? What's going—?"
"Extreme peanut allergy!"
Logan opens the top left drawer, grabs an epi-pen from the supply, twists, whistles—
One crowd member attends—
—tosses it—
—catches it.
—turns back around, pokes the big red 'nine' on the corner of his screen.
""Fire or medic?""
Logan whistles two sharp notes.
""Medics are on their way, Mr Jones.""
'Thank you~!' Disconnects, heads over to the drama.
No-Peanuts has the pen jabbed into their arm; everyone else hovers nervously.
"Did you call the ambulance?"
Logan nods.
No-Peanuts exhales some tension. "Why do you guys have those in your front desk anyway—not that I don't appreciate it, but—why?"
Logan quirks an eyebrow, encompasses the scene.
"Oh. Okay. Well, uh, thanks again."
Logan bows, retreats to his chair.
Door opens—
""Who's the emergency?""
""Me!""
Logan digs back into Chip's OS. Deletes a bracket, adds a couple of colons, corrects something that's plain /wrong.
Someone clears their throat.
Logan glances their way.
Person in Medical colours says, "We're taking her down to the health center to keep an eye on her, but it's just a precaution. You pretty much saved the day before we got here."
Logan puffs up.
"Thanks for that." Bows. "I'll let you get back to work."
Logan flicks a salute, file dump spits out an error message.
Logan squints, reads.
Scowls at the screen.
Throws up his hands.
Jack leans on the edge of the desk. "Bet it's the copyright check."
::Fucking rules.::
"Without those rules, no one could make a living off their art."
::Know anyone who can anyway?::
Jack says—sighs. "Nope. All the old crew is doing stuff like this now."
::Could be worse.::
Jack concedes, then wipes his hands on his trousers. "Most of 'em are married. Have kids, too."
::Like I said.::
Jack glares, throws a lazy punch.
Logan scoots out of range.
Thumping and muffled cursing from the area of the fabricator.
"You're /kidding me. There's a /sign and everything!"
Logan grabs /his sign, throws himself to his feet, stomps over while pushing up his sleeves, slams open the door.
Students huddled around the fabricator jump.
Logan glares daggers.
Students cringe.
- It's BROKEN -
Flips it around.
- Like the sign on it SAYS -
"We thought—"
Logan steps—
Eeping and further retreat.
Jack sets a hand on his shoulder. "The tech actually took parts /out of it. It's not gonna work no matter how much you argue with it."
Students deflate.
One whines, "But I need it for my project!"
"There's one in the general lab on the first floor," another points out.
"There's a /waiting /list and my project's due /tonight!"
Logan growls.
Procrastinator swallows—
Jack applies pressure. "Then this is a good lesson about how the world works, ay?"
—flees.
"The rest of you lot plan a little further ahead?"
Heads nod.
"Good. This thing should be back up in two days and we'll start list up front—"
Logan grumbles.
"—so no one jumps the queue."
Heads nod.
Jack grunts, steers Logan back to the desk.
Logan finds a clipboard with a working pen attached, passes it to the nearest student.
They scribble away.
Logan flops into the chair.
Next one asks, "This for DriftSci or the 'Art for Nerds' class?"
Jack fights a sigh.
"Art."
Logan pokes his side.
"What're you printing?"
Jack glares.
"Originally, I was gonna make this big cross and then it hit me: I'm not Christian." Hands the clipboard on.
"What are you, then?"
"Human?"
A scoff. "No-o, religion-wise."
"Oh. Pretty areligious, actually." On to the next student.
"Speaking of that, I've got a cousin who joined a Kaiju cult and—"
Logan sits up straighter; Jack winces.
First-on-queue hisses, "Don't you know /who /they /are?!"
"Of course I do! Just let me finish!" Huffs. "This cousin went BuenaKai, /but dropped out when a Kaiju threw a Jaeger into his home temple." Smacks palms together. "Squashed it flat. Decided that was a /sign and came home."
Logan laughs; Jack snorks.
"What's—?"
"Are you—?"
Jack waves it off, chuckles, "You're talking about Auckland, ay?"
"Yea."
Logan snickers.
"That was us."
"Really?"
"Yea, we did it."
"Sooo, you crushed a shrine with your butt and de-programmed at least one cultist in the process?"
Logan preens.
"That was a good day," agrees Jack.
>TBC<Category:Ficlet
Category:Work in Progress