Richardson Gold and Stinger

Pronouns: He/Him

Age: 28
Hometown: Corona, New Manhattan Cluster
Sponsor: Seabook Contraptions
First Season: 328
Grand Victories: 2
Current Division: Mixed
Current Mech: Stinger

 

 

 

 

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As colonies go, Ronkonkoma of the New Manhattan cluster is the typical cylindrical model that was standard when it was built nearly 350 years ago. The main body is composed of three habit sheets that are separated by three massive windows of transparent fiber-metal which allows in sunlight while filtering harmful radiation. At either end agriculture bays hum with workers tending to food, water recycling, and material production. It's an almost completely self-sufficient ecosystem floating in the vastness of space.

On the one side three large mirror panels lined up with the windows fanned out from a central hinge. From there a series of flashing buoys direct incoming and outgoing traffic to the colony’s station bay lead a blocky intercolony ferry along the path to the bay. Its passenger count is low, as Ronkonkoma sees little in the way of commuter or tourist. Most absently watch from the observation deck as the colony slowly gets closer. 

The ferry adjusts its angle with small blasts of gas as it coordinates with the approach line of the station bay. The docking hook swings out and latches to the hard-light guide teether with an inaudible ka-thunk and the ferry is pulled towards the magnetic aligning locks. The crew begin the finalization checks as the handful of passengers get ready to disembark.

A man in a finely tailored indigo suit exits from the ferry. He adjusts his golden decorated tie and under-rimmed golden glasses as he is met by a gaggle of eight or so press shouting, “Mr. Gold! Mr. Gold!”, and asking him questions faster than it would be possible to answer.

“Damnit, so it DID leak…” thought the Battler, Richardson Gold.

Gold and his team wanted to have their preseason meeting in secret. It is common practice to leak information that is “supposed to be secret” to enthusiast press to kick up some interest. What was NOT supposed to leak was the date he and the team were meeting to go over the mech’s new specs. A minor misstep that resulted in Richardson getting accosted by journalists and fans alike. He could already tell it was going to be an exhausting day in more ways than one.

“Ain't got time for interviews, baby,” he says waving his hand in a dismissive “shoo” motion as he pushes through the mass of people and steps into a private transport waiting for him. The car slowly moves forward as the small crowd separates from it and then zooms off to merge with one of the many transit lines of the colony. 

It is a lovely day, as it often is, in Ronkonkoma. Light shines off the solar mirrors and the colony's stabilizer aerojets have orientated it to the noon position. The transport car clicks onto one of the magnetic tethers of the main thoroughfare towards Sheet B and is pulled along until it switches to a local line before coming to a stop at its programmed destination. The door opens and Gold steps out then looks towards the building in front of him. Along its side reads “Seabook Contraptions, A Cytrus IT Affiliate” and has a large circular sign with a S C logo.

“Richardson Gold!” a friendly but stern voice shouts.

Richardson turns his gaze to the small office park off to the side of the front of the building. A woman in pale orange office attire hurries over to him.

“You’re on time for once!” she says.

“Ah, Director Huang,” he opens his arms for a hug, “how is the research going for my mech?”

“Not here, you dolt!” the Director scolds him with a finger wag, “Let's go inside first! There are people watching!” 

A few of the people lounging in the park turn their heads and try to act nonchalantly. Richardson gives them a playful smile and wave before following Director Huang into the building.  

Inside a modest conference room the Battler, director, and her team of engineers and support staff discuss their recent developments. A large screen displays detailed schematics of Richardson's mech, Stinger, along with its weaponry. Graphs visualizing its capabilities are displayed to one side. On the other the projected stats from the UMBC supercomputer reads:

Offense = 18
Defense = 7
Agility = 15
Battler = 10
Starpower = 12

“No change from last year?” thinks Gold as he leans forward to place his head on a hand. He is doing his best to absorb all the information that Director Huang is explaining while not losing focus.

“So, the output of the Xf91 Prototype Hyper Particle Beam Bazooka should allow for extended range and-”

“Ok!” interrupts an overwhelmed Richardson, “I get it! This one is better than the last one.”

The Director tuts, “Mr. Gold, it is important you understand the details of this equipment. It is paramount to the success of you, SC, and the whole of Cyrus!”

“Look, Jin,” the Battler’s voice is flat, “you know I know how to handle things. We got second last year, and-”

“And!” the Director interrupts, “That was then. This is now. These upgrades are significant, Mr. Gold. You will need to know all about them if you are going to win this time. Need we remind you why we only made second place last season?”

Richardson needed no reminder. It was his fault. Early in Top 64, during his match with Avery the Bastard, Richardson pushed the hyper-bazooka too much and it nearly exploded. For the rest of the tournament it could only safely produce a quarter of the output for half the normal time. In the semifinals the bazooka gave out completely. When he met Dea Tacita in the grand finals, all he had was his HLT sword. Dea was able to take advantage of that by being especially aggressive and simply overpowered him. Had Richardson listened to Director Huang's advice, he would likely have been the Grand Victor that season.

“Okay, okay,” relents the Battler, “Tell me all about the damned thing. I'm all ears, Director Huang.”

The rest of the day is spent with lectures about the minutiae and specific details of the upgrades, time in the onsite simulator, and persona coaching. The latter being Richardson Gold’s strongest skill. Seabook Contraptions picked him for his charisma and not even Director Huang could deny that. “You need to appear powerful to sell that this tech is powerful,” she regularly says. 

By the time Richardson is allowed to leave, the three large windows have taken the dark hue for night mode. Streetlights glow with orangey and purple light. Richardson's head is spinning trying to keep track of all the information injected into it, but he’s keenly aware there is something the day is not done with him yet. 

A car is called to bring him to a hotel. Press and Circuit fans are still lingering outside the Seabook building and all swarm towards the Battler as he exits through the front door. This was all part of the game and Gold meets them with a smile and a wave, “Hello, my beautiful fans. I've had an extra long day of secret training. We got a new big ass gun, but don't tell no one. Got that?!”

“Just give them a taste and they'll think it's a feast,” he thinks to himself as he pushes through the crowd as questions and camera flashes bombard him. He doesn't flinch as he moves towards the personal transport. It is as if they were not there. Richardson imagines himself in a jar, surrounded on all sides by impenetrable glass. Those outside the glass are only shadows. Fake people. That's how he is able to deal with the pressure of the public. If the glass were to shatter so would his resolve, but that had never happened before and doesn't happen now. He boards the transport and once it pulls away Gold exhales and does one round of square breathing to better center himself. That's when the other passenger made himself known. 

“Hello, Mr. Richardson Gold,” says an airy voice from a man that resembles a snake.

Binxley Throbsen works for New Manhattan Battler’s Gazette, an infamous publication that specializes in getting interviews by any means necessary. Throbsen and Gold had many encounters in the past but came to a mutual respect of a sort. Once Richardson lays his eyes on the reporter his expression sours, then relaxes, then the Battler laughs, “Of course it would be you, you mother fucker. What do you want now?”

“Just an interview,” says Throbsen, leaning forward with a small handheld recording device out-stretched. It picks up the quiet hum of the transport moving along the magnetic line.

Richardson knocks away the device with the back of his hand, “C’mon baby, I’m on my way to relax.”

“Okay, just a chat between peers then,” Throbsen says, almost sardonically as he picks up the recorder from the floor, “It will take thirty beats to get to the hotel anyway.”

The Battler squints at the reporter and exclaims, “THIRTY BEATS?! You dirty bastard! You set this baby on a longer route, didn't you?”

Throbsen proudly shrugs as the orange light of the colony in twilight passes over the car.

“Well, I gotta admire your effort at least. Ok, Binx, what do you want to chat about?”

“Tell me about your day,” says the reporter, narrowing his serpentine eyes, “Surely it was regarding improvements to Stinger.”

“That much was leaked,” replied the Battler.

“Do you know who the leaker is?” asks Throbsen.

“Yeah,” says Richardson with frustration in his voice.

“Wh-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Richardson cuts him off. The leaker is a new PR rep straight out of school. It was an honest mistake and they had already been talked to about it. Even tired and annoyed as he is, Richardson doesn’t see a reason to spill the specifics.

“Fine, fine,” Throbsen says waving a hand, “I won’t press you on it. Why don’t you tell me about the upgrades. Stinger is already a very consistent performer. Surely it's not the one who needs improvements…”

Richardson leans forward, “My good sir, are you implying that I’m the weaker of the two?”

Throbsen gives a wide wry smile but does not answer.

The Battler sits back, “Well, whatever. It’s just the routine stuff. Better weapons, more agility. The wings fold over the front now. They add a bit of armor, but it’s mostly to look intimidating. 
She controls like a dream in the simulator! Doubt anyone will be able to hit us from far away now. It’ll all be in the press release later this week, so you won’t be waiting long.”

“I see,” replies Throbsen, “Then let’s move on to the other topic I wanted to discuss.”

“You really know how to have a casual chat, eh?”

Thorbsen ignores the comment by saying, “You and your handler, Director Haung,” he makes a suggestive gesture with his hands, “are you fu-”

“Cut that shit out, baby,” Richardson says, sternly pointing his fingers, “We ain't like that. I don't answer that creepy shit anyway. You know that.”

“Ah, I see,” replies Throbsen, putting his hands together, “then let me ask you about your peers.”

“Pfft, if you can call’em that.”

“Did you see the comments made by Billy Nobunaga about you?” asks the reporter.

Richardson's face shows disbelief and confusion, “That old west otaku? Seriously Binxy? He’s a kid playing an adult’s game. Not even a blip on my radar. I haven't thought about him in, uhh, ever!”

“Ah, well, he thinks very much about you,” replies Throbsen, “No matter. Moving on. Did you hear our old friend Helena Ashley will be competing again this season?”

Richardson rolls his head back in disgust, “Ugh, no comment.”

“Mmm, no love for the Mixed Division’s fallen angel?” prods the reporter. 

Getting annoyed, Richardson says, “Okay! Enough of this gossipy shit. Ask your real damned question!”

Street light rhythmically cascades over the reporter as a sickly grin comes across his face.

“Well, rumor has it your rival, Dea Tacita, will be unveiling a new version of the Grey Ghost this season. It supposedly uses one of those new KRD mechs as a base.”

“So, I hear. Why don't you pester her about it then?”

“Oh, come on, Gold, you know the specs for those things are incredible. How are you and Stinger going to keep up?”

“Just fine!”

“Hrmm, she really embarrassed you last season. Cut Stinger’s wings off, if I recall.”

A flash of the finals echoes in Richardson's mind, “Yeah, well, we got a new flight system. That ain't gonna happen this year.”

“Mmhmm, unless you push your bazooka too hard again…”

A rage bubbles up in Richardson. Thorbsen really knew how to open old wounds. Gold knows he shouldn't say anything he, or more importantly Director Huang, wouldn't want printed, but he simply cannot resist defending what he believes is his honor. 

“Look pal,” Richardson says pointing with two fingers at the reporter, “Yeah, I messed up last season. I pushed her too hard. My team has taken precautions something like that doesn't happen again! I will crush that silent stiff when we meet up in the finals again. The new flightpack is nearly two and half times as powerful! The new hyper-bazooka will rip through those drones of her’s, and the hardlight saber will slice right through her damned scythe! Its output has been doubled! She ain’t gonna know what hit her!”

The small transport pulls up to the hotel and the automatic doors slide open. The Battler steps out and says back, “We're done here. Print whatever crap you want about me and Stinger. Just spell my damn name right this time!”